Hazardous Duty (4 page)

I stood and stretched, ready to go
inside, take a shower, and fall into bed. It had been a long, long day.

As I stepped inside the old house, the
door on my left jerked open. Sierra. My neighbor stuck her head through the
orange beaded strings hanging in the doorway. The small, second generation
Japanese girl jerked back, a pierced eyebrow darting up.

“What happened to you?”

I touched my frizzy locks with my
bandaged hand and wondered what I must look like. “Long story.”

Sierra pulled me into her apartment and
led me to the rust-colored couch that rested against a brown wall. I melted
against the cushions. My entire body cried out for sleep, yet my mind was
surprisingly alert. Almost being killed would do that to you.

My head fell back into the cushions as
the musky smell of incense soothed my nerves. I normally didn’t like the scent
and begged Sierra not to light them when I was over for our weekly gossip
sessions, but tonight it covered the odor of smoke and blood that had seeped
all the way into my pores.

Sierra plopped down in the seat across
from me, leaning in close and wrinkling her nose. “You look like you’ve been in
a war.”

I told her about the crazy night I’d
survived, leaving out the part about the gun. I needed to keep that quiet in
order to not compromise the investigation. I knew that much from watching
reruns of
Murder, She Wrote
.

“You could have been killed.”

“I know.”

“So, what are you going to do about all
of your equipment?”

“I guess I’ll call the insurance company
and see what they tell me. I can still do small jobs, ones that don’t require a
lot of equipment.”

One of Sierra’s many cats rubbed against
my leg. In the background, whales moaned as one of Sierra’s nature CDs played.
Weird as it was, it did have a soothing effect. Although, the Les Miserables
soundtrack would have been better.

I glanced at the tiny woman across from
me, deciding it was time to change the subject. Don’t get me wrong—I wanted to
throw out theories and hypothesize what could have happened. I wanted to stick
a pencil behind my ear, pull out a notepad and start talking like a PI,
complete with a saxophone droning in the background and cigar smoke filling the
room. Here, I’d have to settle for whales and incense, which just wouldn’t do.

I cleared my throat. “So, were you
waiting up for me?”

My friend’s almond eyes lit up. “I had
to tell you—we have a new neighbor.”

She’d been waiting for weeks for someone
to occupy the vacancy. Sierra had become an unofficial social director of the
building. She knew everyone’s business and even their birthdays. It was
slightly suspicious when you considered she was writing a book called “Stupid
People.” Maybe we were all case studies for the animal loving vegan’s latest
whim.

“Have you met them yet?” I asked.

“I’ve only seen him from a distance. He
appears normal.”

Someone pounded down the wooden stairs
of the building. Sierra darted to the window and moved the curtain aside.
“There he is.”

“He must be a night owl.”

Sierra pressed her forehead into the window,
twisting her head at an angle that looked extremely uncomfortable.

“What is he doing?” Sierra strained to
see the man. “He’s just standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring at
the sky.”

“Maybe he’s talking to God or asking the
stars for answers to life’s pressing questions.” I’d choose the stars over God
myself. I’d long ago given up in believing a loving God controlled this messed
up world.

Growing up, my family had been strictly
Christmas and Easter churchgoers. When I say “family,” I mean my mother,
brother and I. My father said a certain very hot place would freeze over before
he set foot inside a so-called “house of God” again. Funny thing was, my
grandfather was a pastor when dad grew up. He’d died of a heart attack when my
father was only eighteen. Dad hadn’t gone to church since then.

I think my mother wanted to attend
church more faithfully, but my father wore her down about it. That was my
mom—worn down. I knew when she was young—before she met my father—she’d been
bright-eyed and vibrant. But my memories of her, right up until she died three
years ago, consisted of worn circles beneath her eyes, frizzy red hair pulled
into a makeshift bun, and a wardrobe that desperately needed updating. Since
she had to work full-time as an administrative assistant and part-time at a
grocery store in order to make ends meet, it was no surprise she looked like a
poster child for those down on their luck.

So anyway, every holiday she’d dress me
up (like orphan Annie, of course) and we’d go to the services at the Baptist
church down the street. I remember asking her about the big cross hanging
behind the preacher. She explained to me that a man named Jesus—who was
actually God in flesh—had died on one of those. She told me about creation and
a flood and the first Christmas. I stored those stories right up there with
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

“Our new neighbor appears to be talking
to himself.” Sierra looked over at me. “What do you think? Mental case?”

“You never know.”

“Should we go introduce ourselves?”

My head pounded, and I pushed myself
farther into the cushions. “I’m not really in the mood.”

“We need to confirm whether or not a
psycho is living in our building. This can’t wait.”

“Sure it can. We already have some very
strange people living here. One more won’t hurt.”

“I’m going with or without you.”

My silence caused a sigh to leak from
her lips. She turned to me halfway out the door. “Call the police if I’m not
back in fifteen minutes.”

The door shut.

Great, so I’m sitting around doing
nothing while Sierra’s being abducted by the oddball in the parking lot.

I forced myself to stand. My bones
ached, and I felt twice as old as my twenty-seven years. Pieces of ash fell
onto my shoulders like oversized dandruff. I flicked them off and caught a
glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I almost screamed when a monster looked
back. Then I realized it was me.

Smudges of black dirtied my face,
matching the dark circles under my eyes. My hair sprung out like it didn’t want
to be part of the whole “Gabby” mess.

Shower? Save Sierra? It shouldn’t have
been so hard to decide.

I had to check on her but, unless the
guy had antennae and was loading her in his flying saucer, I was heading for
the shower as soon as I knew she was okay. Tonight of all nights I deserved
some peace.

Chapter Five

I stepped into the breezy
nighttime air, rubbing my sleeve over my face in a last ditch effort to get rid
of any smudges. An exercise in futility if there ever was one.

Across the parking lot, Sierra turned on
her heel and charged toward me. Certainly the little pistol wasn’t losing her
courage. She had more guts than a drunken womanizer.

“I left my fondue pot on,” she muttered.
“Last time I did that, it caught my tablecloth on fire.”

Before I could argue, she whipped past.
The door to the building slammed shut. For a minute I wondered if this was all
an elaborate scheme of Sierra’s so that I would be the one abducted.

I turned away, but, just then, the man
glanced over and waved. I didn’t see any webbed fingers or any extra eyeballs.
It wouldn’t kill me to say hello. The man would be living across the hall from
me, and I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. I stepped toward him,
soaking my new neighbor in.

He was quite a bit taller than my 5’4”
frame. Dark hair that needed a trim, brushed his ears and neck. His profile was
strong, but pleasant. Not bad looking for someone from another planet.

He rocked back on his heels. “Hey.”

Intelligent blue eyes framed by long
lashes greeted me as I got closer. The man had the lean build of a runner and
an easy smile that made him seem approachable. Plus, he was wearing a Redskins
sweatshirt. He couldn’t be that bad.

I fingered my frizzy hair, remembering
that a flirty smile from my sooty face would look like I was the center ring at
a three ring freak show.

I settled for, “You must be the new
guy.”

“That’s me.”

His eyes grazed my appearance. I forced
my shoulders back, determined not to feel inferior for not looking picture
perfect. That had to be the understatement of the year, I thought with a mental
snort. I didn’t even look
clean.

“You must be . . .” he
said.

“Your neighbor across the hall. Gabby
St. Claire.”

“Riley Thomas.” He looked up into a
nearby tree. “I was in my apartment trying to sleep when I heard something
squawking outside. I decided to check it out and it turns out there’s a parrot
up in that tree.”

“A parrot?” A squawk cut into the
moment. I looked up at the Bradford Pear tree beside me and saw a flash of red
and yellow. “How in the world . . . ?”

“I’m guessing he’s someone’s pet that,
er, flew the coop.”

Sierra must have deemed it safe to come
out. The front door slammed and I saw her bobbing toward us in her typical
bouncy fashion. Introductions went around and, as we filled her in on the bird,
her eyes zeroed in on the creature.

“I do believe that would be a parrot in
a pear tree,” she said. “Seen five golden rings lying around anywhere?”

I groaned inwardly, feeling some of the
tension leave my shoulders. I had a feeling Riley and Sierra would get along
just fine if puns amused them both this much.

Sierra stared up into the leafy
branches. I knew the way her mind worked. She was trying to figure out how to
rescue the bird.

“I’m going to go get my birdcage,”
Sierra suddenly said, breaking out of her trance. She pushed her glasses up on
her nose like Clark Kent
about to transform into Superman. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the apartment and
awkward silence had me squirming. What do you say to a stranger while standing
in a parking lot in the middle of the night? My brain felt as fried as my hair,
and social graces weren’t exactly my thing. Luckily, my new neighbor must have
taken some Miss Manners classes at some point in life.

“You must have been to a campfire
tonight,” he started.

Maybe manners weren’t his thing after
all.

“It depends on how you define
‘campfire.’” Did a 6,000 square foot house count?

Thankfully, Sierra made like Houdini and
magically reappeared, cage in hand. I could only imagine what she’d used the
barred container for in the past. I’d known her for two years and she’d never
owned a bird.

She marched ahead, going straight for
the bird, and gazed through the branches. “I’ll need to climb the tree. Can you
guys spot me?”

She didn’t wait for our answer. She
grabbed hold of a branch and began to climb. Maybe she was part monkey, the way
she swung from the limbs so effortlessly. Darwin
would be proud. The squawking became louder and more frequent the closer she
got, as if the bird was happy to see her.

“Does she do this a lot?” Riley
whispered.

I nodded. “She’s an animal right’s
activist, as in full-time, it’s-my-life-mission, animal right’s activist.”

“Sounds noble.”

I smiled, knowing he’d find out soon
enough just how noble it was. More like obsessive, in your face, and
hair-brained. But overall, lovable.

I watched as the bird hopped into the
cage and Sierra slammed it shut. She lowered it to Riley and hopped from the
tree, landing with a plunk in her fuchsia flip flops.

That was the one thing Sierra and I had
in common—our love of shoes. I was thinking about sending Guinness a notice
about my flip flop collection. I had to have one of the biggest on the East
Coast, everything from camouflage to sparkles. It was the cheapest of shoe
habits, in my opinion. $5.95 and I could add another pair to my collection.

Sierra’s niece had weaned me from the
platform variety. Told me they were out and then proceeded to take five pair to
the dumpster before I could object. I guess everyone needs someone to keep them
up-to-date fashion-wise. I made sure I hid my toe socks before she saw them,
though.

Sierra nodded toward Riley. “Looks like
you’re going to have a new roommate.”

His face registered Sierra’s thoughts,
and he shook his head, handing the cage back to Sierra. “I’m not really a pet
person.”

“A bird is not a pet. It’s an animal
companion. The word pet is so derogatory.” Sierra thrust the cage into his
hands. “Just keep him until I can find out who the owner is.”

“I know nothing about taking care of a
bird.” There was no whine to Riley’s voice, only underlying confidence.
“Besides, I wanted to catch the bird so I could sleep, and he was squawking
outside my window. Having the bird in my apartment would defeat my goal.”

“I have a book in my apartment that will
help you out until we find our feathered friend a home.” Sierra walked toward
the building. “Follow me.”

I shrugged at Riley and followed, not up
for arguing. I’d stay a few minutes—until he got the bird settled—then head
home.

Sierra opened the door to her apartment
and pushed aside the beads. We stepped inside and she excused herself, hurrying
toward her spare bedroom.

I glanced at Riley, trying to read his
expression. He stared at the bandage on my hand. “What happened? That’s fresh.”

“Accident on the job.”

“Are you a fire fighter?”

“I almost was one tonight. A building I
was working in caught fire. I burned myself getting out.” I plopped onto the
couch. “The accidental part is still in question.”

Riley set the squawking bird on the
vinyl dining room table beside the front door and sat in a chair across from me.
“What do you do for a living?”