Grease Monkey [Drunk Monkeys 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 9

  “From your parents?” Niner asked from the doorway.

  “Yeah. State sold off everything else of theirs when they died, and put the money in an account for me. Wasn’t much. They weren’t rich. I took these off their bodies myself when they died.”

  After one last check, she knew she could leave the apartment and not look back. Just some nonessential clothes and other things she’d picked up here and there since moving in with Sarah. Dolce had everything else she’d need for survival. She didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions to start with after growing up in foster care and then going into the military. Living light had been her way of life for longer than she wished.

  She had one last thought. She pulled the storage box out from under Sarah’s bed, then found the spare key where she knew her friend kept it hidden in her dresser. Opening it, her heart fell.

  “Oh, no.”

  “What?” Roscoe asked.

  She swallowed back a lump in her throat. She didn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense.

  The men walked into the room. “What’s wrong?” Niner asked.

  Dolce sank to her knees, her eyes dropping closed. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Niner asked.

  She pointed into the box. “Sarah didn’t take her sidearm. Why? She always carries it. At least, she told me she did.” She finally opened her eyes again. In the box lay the nine millimeter, nestled in the concealed waistband holster that Sarah always used.

  Dolce finally reached in and withdrew it, checking it. It was fully loaded, a round in the chamber. Three boxes of ammo also sat in the drawer.

  She tucked the gun into her own waistband and added the three boxes of ammo to her bag.

  After hesitating for a moment, she rationalized that it was unlikely Sarah would return to the apartment for Dolce to issue her an apology for borrowing it.

  If Sarah didn’t have it with her, she was nearly defenseless against whatever it was they came up against.

  Dolce didn’t bother relocking the box, shoving it back under her friend’s bed.

  “Okay, up to Mark’s,” she said as she led them toward the front door.

  Back into the stairwell, she still couldn’t get over how eerily quiet the building felt. As if they weren’t the only ones who’d already thought about bugging out.

  Like maybe they were the last ones who had.

  Normally, people used the elevator all day. She couldn’t recall hearing it a single time since they’d arrived. She wasn’t a fan of it, unless her arms were just so full the stairs were impractical. The stairs helped keep her in shape and made her think twice about her trips up and down.

  She also didn’t trust the damn elevator. It was supposed to have a fail-safe magneto system built into it, that if the power did go off and stay off for more than an hour the car would slowly lower itself to the ground floor, and then any passengers could manually open the doors from inside.

  It wasn’t exactly in her nature to want to test the theory.

  Especially now, in these uncertain times.

  When she opened the stairwell door for Mark’s floor, again the quiet unsettled her. Like a thick, dour woolen blanket had been draped over the world.

  She noticed both men rested their hands on their hips as they followed her.

  “I know,” she softly said, feeling like normal vocal levels were out of place in this environment. “It’s…weird.”

  “You got that right,” Niner agreed.

  She stopped in front of Mark’s door and knocked. “It’s me.”

  “Where you been?” he called from inside.

  “Long story. I have…friends with me. They’re okay.”

  “Your roommates?”

  “No. New friends.”

  She saw the flash of movement behind the viewfinder, then the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. “You know the routine. Have them put their hands in the air and move slowly.”

  She put her hand on the doorknob. “Seriously, just let him get to know you. Do what he says.”

  Both men raised their hands as she opened the door and let it swing open, stepping in first and to the side so she could set her bags down.

  Mark sat in his chair, shotgun pointed at the men. “Real easy,” he said. “Step inside and close it for me. And lock it.”

  Niner did that.

  “So who are they, Dolce?”

  “It’s…a long story,” she said. “We sort of mutually saved each other’s asses. My car died, their truck didn’t want to start, and I got their vehicle going and caught a ride from them before a riot swarmed over us. But, good news, they’ve got a safe place. I’ve been there. Better than we have here. There’s a whole group of them, including a couple of women. And a couple of doctors. They’ve agreed to let us go with them.”

  One eyebrow arched skyward, displaying his doubt. “Why?”

  “Safety in numbers,” Niner said. “And not without a stick test, first.”

  “How I know you boys aren’t blue?”

  Roscoe pulled out a box of test strips and stuck himself, holding up the clear strip. “Next?”

  Niner did it, then Dolce, just to marginally settle her nerves. Then Mark took one and did it, predictably coming up clear.

  Once that was done, the older man stared at Roscoe and Niner. “Don’t bullshit me, boys. You’re not coming to take care of an old man out of the kindness of your hearts. What’s up? Really?”

  Dolce glanced at the two men. “They’re…specialists.”

  Mark let out a snort of laughter and sat back, his shotgun now lying across his lap, but his hands on it and ready to swing it back into position. “Bullshit. Try again.”

  “We can’t tell you the full story,” Niner said, “until we know for sure we can trust you. How’s that?”

  He nodded. “Better. Keep going.”

  “They’re military,” Dolce said, sick of the dance. “And they’re on an undercover mission.”

  Mark slowly nodded. “An undercover mission on US soil, eh?” He kept nodding. “I was in the military. Don’t let my looks now fool you. I saw action in my early twenties. Plenty of it. I was farking glad to only be fighting fires when I got my ass back here in one piece after my tour was over, I’ll tell you what. That was easier than getting shot at.”

  She plunged ahead. “They’re working on putting together a specialized team of people who can solve a…certain problem.”

  Both his eyebrows arched. “No fucking shit?” His voice now bore a tone of awestruck respect.

  “Huh?” Dolce asked.

  “You boys are part of the Drunk Monkeys, aren’t you?”

  She blinked as Niner and Roscoe stared at each other. She recovered her voice first. “Um, what?”

  Mark chuckled, slowly shoving himself out of his chair and walking over to his computer, laying the shotgun on the table next to it. “Yeah. I just read about you crazy motherfuckers this morning. On one of the military boards I go on.” He turned on the laptop and impatiently tapped his fingers on the table while waiting for it to fire up. “I was looking up bug-out locations in the area for backup in case we needed it. You boys are famous.”

  The three of them gathered close behind him as he finally got the laptop going and the website pulled up.

  Sure enough, heated discussions about the Drunk Monkeys were flooding one of the threads. Mostly pro. The odd dissenting commenter got mercilessly pounced on by everyone else, who looked to be decidedly pro-Drunk Monkeys.

  “Holy farking shit,” Roscoe said as he scrolled down through the comments. “What the hell?”

  Mark laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Somewhere out there, you boys got a big fan club. You’re heroes. Everyone’s rooting for you. Well, the people who know about you are rooting for you. I suspect the worse things get, the harder it’ll be for people to get on the Internet. But for now, anyway, the tide’s totally in your favor.”

  Mark turned to face them. “So how about telling me the full story and quit je
rking me off, huh? I’ll keep my mouth shut if it means I won’t be trapped here while the city burns down.”

  * * * *

  They gave him the short and sanitized version. Not only did Mark still want to join them, he also had plenty of contacts in the region he said would be willing to assist them.

  “You boys—and girlie here—help me get my shit loaded, and we can get the hell out of this place.”

  Dolce wouldn’t deny she took a little bit of pleasure at seeing Roscoe and Niner both apparently stunned into silence by Mark taking charge.

  “We, uh, have to clear things with our CO first,” Niner said.

  “I would expect that, son,” Mark said. “But meanwhile, let’s not waste precious time or energy here. Look, I was in the fire department over thirty years. I know a lot of damn people in this area. People who will be more than willing to help us out, or at least let us use their property with no questions asked, okay? Wherever your safe house is, if it’s in this area, it’s living on borrowed time. I’m guessing we have less than two days before either the rioting gets too close for comfort, or Kite explodes, if it hasn’t already.”

  The men exchanged another glance.

  “Oh, for fark’s sake,” Dolce said. “I’ll talk to Papa about it if I have to. I’ll put my neck on the line and vouch for him, okay?”

  “No offense,” Roscoe said, “but we barely know you.”

  “You and your no offenses tend to offend people,” she shot back. “I know that much about you already, Brooklyn boy, that you tend to get yourself in trouble with your mouth.”

  “Idí ná khuy,” he muttered.

  She turned and flipped him off. “Right back atcha, comrade.”

  Niner broke out laughing as Roscoe’s face turned red. “Oh, dude, she just slam-dunked you.”

  “I served with a guy whose parents spoke Russian. He taught me the swear words by osmosis while working on vehicles in the motor pool.”

  She returned her focus to Roscoe. “Asshole. And oh, hot news flash.” She jabbed a finger in his face. “I hear pizdá come out of your mouth in relation to me?” She made a fist and shook it under his nose. “Don’t think I won’t deck your farking ass. And just in case you were wondering, I don’t hit like a girl. Douchebag.”

  Niner was laughing so hard he leaned against the wall, a hand pressed against his abs. “Oh, fuck me…stop it…you’re killing me!”

  Roscoe shot him an evil look but didn’t respond. Finally, he stepped back from her and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “That’s better.” She extended her hand to him. “You want to try getting off on the right foot with me for a change?”

  He shook with her. “I’m sorry, okay? Yeah, I suck at dealing with women. I admit it.”

  She smiled. “Naw, really? Here’s my shocked face.” She stared at him for a moment, expressionless, sending Niner into another fit of laughter across the room.

  She gentled her tone. “Look, I’m not a scientist. I’m a grease monkey. But your eggheads will need mechanical support at some point. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Mark has the local logistics nailed down in a way you guys probably don’t, no offense.

  “I have no loyalty to this city,” she continued. “I would like a little closure about my friends, if possible, but I know me dying won’t help them. I have no desire to reenlist, either. But if you guys are on the right track about getting this shit handled? Yeah, I’ll throw my hat in with you, at least for now. I won’t leave you guys in the lurch, either. I can shoot pretty damn well, according to the military, and I can hold my own in a firefight. So, we good?”

  * * * *

  Roscoe stared at her. In the space of a minute, he’d gone from interest, to irritation, to schooled embarrassment, and then to respect for this woman.

  He didn’t want to alienate her. He did want to work with her. He knew a little about mechanics, but that wasn’t his specialty. Fighting and language were his strong points. They had several guys in their unit who were at least bilingual. They needed the wide variety of languages if they were to operate all over the world. They had the basics covered.

  What he didn’t have, apparently, was the secret to unlocking the ability to not piss women off when he talked to them. The last time he and Niner had gotten laid over a year earlier, they’d been on a stopover in Manila. Niner had forbidden him to say anything until they had the woman naked and in bed with them.

  He’d stuck to that, willing to do anything at that point to break their dry streak, which had been nearly two years before that.

  Hell, his mom had died when he was three. It was his dad and three older brothers trying to get along together in their little apartment in Brooklyn. His dad worked, so his brothers had to take up the slack.

  No, maybe he hadn’t learned the softer side of life, but he’d survived it, despite its best efforts to kill him.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I’m a guy. I’m gonna say stupid shit.”

  “Again, not exactly an epiphany,” she said. “Just chill out and watch and learn and listen to people instead of opening your yap.”

  He felt something inside him stirring, deeper than he’d ever felt before.

  “Deal,” he said.

  At this point, he’d say or do anything to quit fucking up with this woman. There was something about her that had already snagged its hooks into him.

  He didn’t know why, or how, but he knew he didn’t want this woman walking out of his life just yet. Not until he’d figured out why he wanted to follow her around.

  And why she’d suddenly grabbed hold of his interest the way she had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roscoe and Niner decided it was pointless, and risky, to split up their small group and leave anyone behind. Mark offered to be blindfolded.

  “Besides, you guys don’t like me? You can kill me. Not like I’ve got a lot of bargaining power here in terms of firepower.”

  After a brief talk with Mark, Papa agreed to him staying on, even though he also agreed that, based on deteriorating conditions, they likely wouldn’t remain in Los Angeles longer than a week, if that.

  The next step, however, would be to go and retrieve Dr. Perkins’ research data and other belongings, as well as look for Dolce’s friends. Papa assigned Roscoe, Niner, Foxtrot, and Kilo to it. He told them to take some extra weapons, two vehicles, and ordered them to be back by dark.

  With or without the missing women.

  After getting detailed instructions from Dr. Perkins—who’d already been issued the code name Canuck—about where and what they were looking for, as well as the key to her room in the boarding house, they set off.

  The boarding house felt eerily empty when they reached it, even though there weren’t signs of nearby violence or mobs.

  Yet.

  Dolce took the lead, the men thinking having a woman go in first might seem less suspicious. With a hat on her head and a surgical mask concealing the lower half of her face, she could pass for Dr. Perkins as long as someone didn’t look too closely for too long.

  Then they realized there wasn’t anyone around to make suspicious.

  The house was an old residence in what had formerly been a high-income district. It had been turned into ten separate rooms that shared a common kitchen. But nowhere in the house did they hear any noises they might expect, even though it was the middle of the day.

  A shiver ran down her spine as Dolce took a quick detour into the kitchen, just to find it had been picked clean of food.

  They hustled upstairs, relieved to find Dr. Perkins’ room locked and intact, and the data drives exactly where she’d said they’d be, hidden inside an air-conditioning duct covered by a small grate.

  She’d pre-packed her three duffel bags, which were sitting on the bed. That made this part of their job easier, at least.

  Within a few minutes, they were on the move again toward the CTSC yard. Roscoe drove the truck they rode in. The more they
moved through the city, the more Dolce realized how few pedestrians were out and about. Far fewer than normal. No bicyclists, which was odd. Very few private vehicles actually driving. And they hadn’t seen any city buses.

  Even more odd.

  “This is farking creepy,” Dolce said from where she rode in the backseat. “There should be more people out walking. Buses. Anything.”

  “We get in,” Niner said, “and get out. “Fast. If we can even get there.”

  They wound their way toward Downey, Dolce’s hopes sinking with every block of progress they made. The streets were growing deserted, and a couple of buildings had been recently burned, only their standalone location preventing the fire from spreading to nearby structures.

  The front gate of the CTSC yard looked like it had been rammed. There were still a few CTSC vans and trucks parked in the yard, as well as private vehicles, but some of them looked like they’d had the windshields and windows smashed out, and some had even been burned.

  As Roscoe stopped near the gate, he looked at Niner. “What do you want to do?”

  Dolce spotted a car in the yard that looked a lot like Colleen and Desiree’s. It had been burned.

  “I think that’s their car,” she said, pointing.

  “What are we doing?” Foxtrot asked over the radio.

  “We’re thinking,” Roscoe said.

  “Is that slang for pulling your pud?”

  Roscoe didn’t bother replying. Instead, he turned to Dolce. “Well?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “They’re your friends. You want to go in?”

  “Alone?”

  “No, with a mariachi band and a piñata.”

  Niner smacked him on the shoulder. “We’re not sending her in there alone, asshole.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”

  “Never mind,” she muttered as she got out and started toward the facility, a nine millimeter in her hand. Her head pivoted from side to side as she heard one of the men in the other truck swear as he got out and hurried after her. She thought it was Foxtrot, confirmed when he caught up.

  She heard the truck she’d been in shift into neutral and the ratcheting as Roscoe pulled the e-brake. Seconds later, Roscoe joined them.