Ladies' Night (Sisters in Crime/LA Chapter Book 2015) Read online

  We pulled up to the outlaw bar and parked.

  Rust & Bones Free Bar—proprietor Russell I. Preston read the sign out front.

  Free Bar was the common name for an outlaw bar—a drinking establishment that didn’t cotton to rules and regulations. They allowed most patrons in, as long as you didn’t stir up the shit and your currency or barter item was legit. Outlaw bars thrived during the lawless decades, but these havens for the good, bad and ugly are a dying breed. New establishments obeying the VVM (Vaccine Verification Mandate) pull in patrons who want a night out without fear of contagion.

  Rust & Bones remains a free bar, with one caveat to satisfy their inoculated regulars—everyone must have their wrist scanned for the vaccine tattoo. Those without are seated in a back room, free to drink, but not to mingle. I still carry in my bio-mask and broad-spectrum Epi-pen. Cautious is as cautious does.

  We sat in a secluded corner of the dark-paneled main bar, a vintage wine barrel as our makeshift table. The owner, Russell I. Preston, delivered the first round of drinks. As regulars, we called him Rusty Eye; the nickname a result of his excessive sampling of his home brews.

  “R.I.P. vodka,” he announced. “My premium batch. First round’s on the house, gals. If it tickles your fancy, I’ll sell you a bottle to go. Good price for good customers.”

  Sounded like Rusty Eye was feeling the pinch of the competition.

  “I’ll let you know,” Viper replied and waved him off.

  Rusty, gray and grizzled beyond his actual years, came from a long line of survivalists. His granddads, a paranoid pair of elders, had the foresight to build the best underground bunkers money could buy, stocked them with MREs, medical supplies, and enough comforts for the duration. They sprung for a pricey Home Shield Array that protected the ground above from nuclear and biological fallout. They even built a burial catacomb. People thought these elders were extreme, but Rusty’s family survived underground for half a century. Unlike the fate of other Bunker Broods where poor air filtration and sanitation led to disastrous results, including a resurgence of scurvy, leprosy and “Bunker Malaise.”

  I scanned the bar—no scurvy lepers that I could see. Ironic somehow. Here I sat with someone toxic, her impending doom, like a newly pregnant woman, not showing yet. We clinked glasses and downed the R.I.P. Most tasty—unlike the local rotgut booze. Viper signaled Rusty for another round, and I knew a long night lay ahead.

  I felt the rush of vodka warm my face. If it could only warm the chill in my soul.

  “Where do we go from here, Gloria? How can I help you?”

  Her brown eyes squinted. “That’s easy. Be there are the end. Give me the shot.”

  Like everything else she controlled in life, Gloria Viper intended to control her death.

  I agreed. Although, the thought of what I just committed to made me shiver. Not so easy to kill someone even at their own request. We lived in really fucked times.

  “I have another favor. Help satisfy my debt. There’s an Equivalency Note I need paid off. I don’t want any repercussions for my sisters or their kids.”

  I groaned. “An EQN? Why in hell would you do that?”

  “After the bastard ran out on me, how was I going to pay back the loan? I signed an Equivalency Note. Problem solved.”

  Obviously not, I thought. What a mess.

  Equivalency Notes are an unregulated business, fueled by desperate people and opportunistic predators more than willing to cover a loan with no collateral. Sign an EQN and you’re obligated to repay in legitimate currency, or its equivalent—gold coins, precious gems, even real estate. The interest rates are shocking, and your obligation is in perpetuity until satisfied. You die, they’ll shake down any living relative or descendent. They’ll haunt you for centuries. They are true vermin.

  “Don’t panic,” Viper said, reading my body language. “I have a plan.” She motioned to huddle up close. “Do you know how many banks there were in Los Angeles County before everything collapsed? Hundreds, minimum. Most of them were destroyed during the great fires, but here’s the catch. A majority of the vaults and related infrastructure were fireproofed and located underground. Many of these still exist, untouched, buried in rubble.”

  I felt an unease creep through me as she continued. “I acquired access to old street maps and building blueprints that survived. Not only do I know the location of one of these lost banks, I know how to get into it undetected, and I have the proper tools to open the vault.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to break into a buried bank vault.”

  “No, you are.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  She ignored that. “Not the main vault. That requires explosives. Fortunately, this branch installed their deposit boxes in a separate, caged room—a mini-vault. That, we can get open. There are hundreds of deposit boxes in there, probably still full.”

  My unease grew. “You don’t know that.”

  “Do the math. At the height of the Misery, people were dying by the thousands. Did every person with a deposit box have time to empty it? I’m betting no.”

  “You want me to plunder deposit boxes. Take other people’s stuff.”

  “Plunder’s rather harsh, don’t you think? After all this time, it’s safe to presume these people are dead and there will be no claims.”

  “I guess.” Her plan disturbed me. “How do I open them? You have keys?”

  “Of course not, but I have access to a Clean Sweep security tool developed to override the lock tumblers. They use it when there’s a descendent claim. I can show you how it works. You only need to empty those boxes with tangible assets—gold, gemstones, viable currency; anything equivalent to cash will satisfy the EQN. You could probably do this in one night.”

  I sat back, dismayed. “You’re asking me to steal for you. I don’t want to do that. I’d rather bust the cartels that poisoned you.”

  “That’s never going to happen.” She grabbed my arm. Her nails dug into my flesh. “You listen hard, Kendall. The cartels are vicious people you don’t ever want to mess with. Do not pursue it.” She relaxed her grip, sat back. “You want the truth. I screwed up. Blew my cover. Compromised the entire operation. They moved the bio-lab and the people who hired me are back to square one.”

  She gulped her second shot. Let the alcohol do its magic then said, “This bank has been off the grid for decades. It’s in a Red Zone neighborhood.”

  “I don’t know. What if there’s a descendant claim some day?”

  “There will be no claims. Don’t you get it? No one is going to show up with a key. They’re all dead!” Her voice rose a little too loud. The room hushed. A few people looked in our direction. Rusty hustled over with another round, smiling at the patrons. The moment passed.

  “If it’s in a Red Zone, how do you know it’s safe to enter?”

  Sweat beaded on Viper’s brow. She was stressed. From being toxic? Boozed up? Then she answered, “I’ve been there.”

  In that instant, I understood, and my heart sank.

  “You’ve already been plundering the deposit boxes, haven’t you?”

  She shrugged, and looked away, uncomfortable. “Maybe, yes. Okay, so I have. Those loan goons were on my case. I did what I had to do.”

  “It’s still stealing.”

  “Like you’ve never stolen anything before.” she replied, angry.

  What a low blow. Yes, I had stolen, out of necessity, as many people did to survive.

  “That was before. We’re in a New Age. We’re supposed to be better than that now.”

  “Stop with the bleeding bull-crap. Everyone’s an outlaw.” She grabbed my shot and chugged it. Slammed the glass down. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “You hit me with this all at once. I need time to think.”

  “Don’t think too long. I don’t have many more sunsets.” She threw a bunch of coins on the table to cover our drinks and walked over to a familiar motorcycle dude slouching at the bar.

&n
bsp; “Hey, Turbo,” she said, rubbing her hand across his ass. “I need a ride home.”

  With that, she was out the door.

  I must have sat in Rusty’s bar for another hour, shell shocked, replaying the day’s events like a vintage video stuck in a loop. Could I really fail Viper when she needed me most?

  I stared into my empty shot glass, which looked more like the moral abyss, and weighed my choices. The idea of plundering those deposit boxes depressed me, but what those loan goons could do terrified me.

  I could toss my ethics in the toilet for one night. The company vehicle was mine until they assigned Viper’s replacement. There was Viper’s map, and tools for breaking locks. She said I could get it done in one night. Yeah. Right. Like a one night stand with a rich lover. I felt like a whore.

  I could take the high ground, no plundering. Find another way to pay off Viper’s EQN, Yeah. Right. Where would I find that windfall? I owned one valuable item and it wasn’t nearly enough to cover her debt.

  What choice should “the lucky girl” make?

  Time to clear my head. Switch to caffeine. One of Rusty’s homemade pickled eggs looked good, too. I signaled him. Instead, a guy from the bar approached. He had sat there for a while, failing in his effort to watch me without me noticing. Not what you’d call a Stealth Pilot. I don’t remember when he arrived, but he was at the bar when Viper cut out with her motorcycle dude. He looked older than me, younger than Viper. Built like a bulldog, stocky and muscular. Not a pretty-boy face, but handsome in a rugged-hot way, with dark soulful eyes. He had a mouth I could kiss. Maybe that was the vodka talking.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked.

  Before I could say no, he held up a bottle with a label I’d never seen before.

  “Sixty-year-old premium Kentucky Bourbon,” he said with pride. “Stored at the proper temperature. I sold a case to Rusty. Kept a bottle for myself. But this is too good to drink alone.”

  I never had tasted Kentucky Bourbon. “Will it go with a cup of coffee?”

  “Rusty’s coffee? It should only make it taste better.”

  I gestured for him to sit. “What’s your name?”

  “Devon Royal.” He slid into the seat, pulling it closer to me.

  “I know that name. Seen it on manifests at CSA. You work for Fortunate Sons Salvage and Restoration.”

  “Correction, I am Fortunate Sons. It’s my family’s company.”

  I knew all about Fortunate Sons. Contracted by families, corporations, governments, anyone with money to pay their retainer. They locate and salvage personal belongings, merchandise, legal documents and the like. Licensed plunderers, to my mind.

  I pointed at the bourbon. “Did your company plunder some rich guy’s private stash?”

  Hurt and anger crossed his face. “I don’t plunder. I came by that liquor legally.”

  “Yeah, sure you did.” I got up. “Been a long day. Save that bourbon for someone who’ll appreciate it.”

  “You’re leaving? We just met.”

  I headed for the exit. “Maybe catch you around here another time.”

  He followed me outside. “At least tell me you name.”

  “Kendall Mulholland.” I slid into the driver’s seat of the CSA vehicle. Activated the power. Nothing happened. “Damn, that battery better not be dead.” I climbed out and lifted the hood. It was worse. Someone had stolen it. “What the fuck! They’re gonna dock my pay. Again!”

  Devon approached. “Maybe I can help.” He rummaged in the back of his over-sized solar-powered van parked nearby. “You won’t drink my bourbon. Perhaps you’ll accept this instead.” He held up a solar battery. “I always carry spares parts. Part of the job.”

  “Thanks, you’re a life-saver.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, good-natured, and disappeared behind the raised hood of my vehicle. I got back in the driver’s seat—waiting for his signal.

  On second thought, I mused, he seemed nice. Maybe I should have a drink with him.

  It took him a few minutes to make the swap. I used that time to check my appearance in the rear-view mirror. Tired green eyes stared back at me. As I ran a comb through my hair, a thought occurred to me.

  A third option.

  Devon slammed the hood closed. “Okay—start her up.”

  The vehicle purred like a kitten. “I owe you,” I called out.

  “I plan to collect.” He leaned in the open window, inches from my face. “Have dinner with me some night.”

  I flashed a rare smile. “I’ll consider it. Rusty makes a barbequed wild boar to die for.”

  He leaned in closer to me. “Not here. I’m taking you to a proper restaurant.”

  I blatantly flirted. “Are we proper now? Outlaw bars aren’t good enough?”

  “I bet you’ve never eaten in a proper restaurant.”

  “I didn’t even know they existed.” I studied his eyes, that mouth I wanted to kiss even more. Maybe Option Three could work. I cocked my head. “I’m curious, does your company give a reward if someone turned in stuff that belonged to somebody, but they don’t know who exactly? Like gold coins or jewelry?”

  He stood back, hands on his hips, and scrutinized me. “That depends on where the items were found, and how you came to have them in your possession.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about me.” I leaned out the driver’s window, arms folded and resting on the window jam. “I mean with all this reconstruction going on, I’m sure a lot of personal belongings are being recovered, you know, from all those abandoned homes.”

  He turned all business. “Any abandoned home still standing after all these years has been ransacked by now. However, Fortunate Sons has a policy. If the recovered items fall within specific legal parameters, or if there’s a legal provenance, we can offer a finder’s fee.”

  “Good to know.” I put the car in reverse. Tires rolled. He stepped away, his expression unreadable. Neither of us said another word and I drove off.

  My spirits rose as I headed for Viper’s apartment. This chance encounter with Devon Royal presented a viable third option, one less onerous than outright stealing. I couldn’t wait to tell her my plan.

  Viper still lived in the quarantine co-op. The building had been retrofitted and converted into private rental apartments. I had moved out over a year ago. Not far. Found a one-room loft over a remodeled garage. Cheap rent, old toilet, but there was a backyard with a garden. I planted vegetables—carrots, onions, potatoes—the hearty kind that survived the last catastrophic crop collapse.

  I let myself in with my key, and found her asleep on the couch; a handkerchief smeared with blood had fallen from her hand and lay on the floor. Alarmed, I woke her. She was groggy. Her eyes fluttered and she appeared weak. I went in the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She admitted that the blood was from a nosebleed, one of the early signs that the toxin was progressing through her body. I swallowed hard at the news. Had to keep it together.

  A few minutes later, we sipped cups of chamomile tea and shared a tin of sardines with stale crackers from an old MRE we broke open.

  “I assume from your presence here that you’re going to help me.”

  “Yes, but this is one-time only,” I declared.

  I waited until she’d given me the map, directions, and a demonstration on how to work the hi-tech lock pick. Then I told her my plan. It did not go over well.

  “No, that is a very bad idea. They will ask too many questions, and I doubt they will give you enough money to cover the street value of the items.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  “More than you will recover in one night if you turn the valuables over to Fortunate Sons. I prefer you do it my way.”

  “And if I do nothing?”

  “The loan goons will go after my sisters for payment. It will wreck their lives, and ruin them financially.” Her eyes welled up with those tears she’d never let fall. “For everything I’ve done for you over the years, I’m asking for this
favor in return.”

  “Lay on the guilt, why don’t you.” I gathered everything up. “I’ll do this for you, but tell me who murdered you and why?”

  “I won’t reveal who and I’ll take that to my grave. I refuse to put you at risk.” She sank onto the couch. “As to why they poisoned me...these monsters are perfecting a new way to assassinate their opposition. Less collateral damage with a Poison Pill. Plus it’s difficult to trace back. My bad luck, they busted my cover. Rather than shoot me in the head, old-school, they shot me with the toxin. I was their perfect lab rat. If the toxin didn’t kill me, they’d use that detail to their advantage, and then shoot me in the head.” She slouched back into the cushions. “Happy now? Got enough gory details?”

  I wanted to cry, but I had to stay focused. “You rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The buried bank was located in North Hollywood at one of those giant shopping malls with acres of underground parking on multiple levels. The mall was a wreck, the buildings demolished. Wildfires and earthquakes had devastated this part of North Hollywood and little remained that could be salvaged.

  According to the map, the hidden entrance was nowhere near the bank, but at the opposite end, about a quarter of a mile away. When the Mall was functioning, it was an emergency exit that connected to the underground parking. Now, massive pieces of the fallen structure covered that entrance. To get access, I slid under an eroded concrete slab and dropped down half a story to one of the underground parking levels.

  Once inside, I followed her map through an obstacle course of rubble. Tons of it. Broken glass, rusted rebar and pancaked concrete littered the space. Looked like the whole structure had imploded on itself. The remaining reinforced concrete and steel support beams still standing created enough space to pass through. I crept along. Nerves on edge. Ears alert for any unusual sounds. I heard the scurrying of rats, but no human voices.