Iron Goddess

Chapter 2

2

Shea looked up at the deputy looming over her, his service pistol drawn. The aspiring commando’s muscular frame blocked the aisle. His partner, who looked more frat boy than cop, penned her in from the other side.

She wanted to cover her exposed breasts, but was too busy with the chest compressions. “I’m the owner, Shea Stevens. I can’t lay down. I’m trying to save my friend.”

“Get on the floor,” said Deputy Commando. “Hands behind your head. Now!”

“My friend has two chest wounds and his heart stopped. If you don’t want me to continue CPR, come over and do it yourself.”

“Winslow, get down there and take over for her.”

“Roger that.” Deputy Frat Boy holstered his weapon, knelt down, and replaced Shea’s hands on the blood-soaked T-shirt covering Derek’s wounds.

Deputy Commando turned back to her. “You! Get on the floor, now!”

“There’s broken glass everywhere.”

“Do it now!”

She brushed away the glass in front of her and lay down. Shards that she missed bit into her breasts and belly. She winced, but didn’t want to give Deputy Commando the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain.

Boots crunched next to her ear. She felt him pull her Glock from its holster. “Are you carrying any other weapons?”

“No.”

“Is there anything sharp or otherwise dangerous in your pants pockets?”

“No. My ID’s in my back pocket.”

“What are you doing here?” Deputy Commando’s hand fumbled into her back pocket and pulled out her wallet.

“Holster your weapon, Deputy Aguilar. She owns the place.”

That voice she knew. Shea turned her head. Sergeant Willie Foster stood beside her. They’d known each other since they were kids, and despite her previous run-ins with the law, the two of them had maintained a cordial relationship.

“Need a hand up?” He grabbed her elbow and helped her off the floor. “You all right?” He stood five nine, had put on weight since she’d seen him last, but still wore the same horseshoe mustache and horn-rimmed glasses.

Shea felt awkward with him seeing her topless and covered her breasts with one arm. “I’m all right, aside from some cuts. I ain’t so sure about Derek.” She wanted to pick the bits of glass out of her chest, but her hands were sticky with Derek’s blood. He was an ex-junkie; using her blood-covered fingers to dig out slivers could be risky.

The EMTs arrived moments later and went to work on Derek. Willie waved over another EMT, a gal with dark hair tied up into a bun, caramel skin, and large, mahogany eyes.

“Jackie, can you help this woman?” Willie asked her. “She’s got bits of glass in her chest.”

“Sure,” she said. “Is there a place where we can sit down?”

“Follow me.”

Shea led Willie and Jackie the EMT to the customer waiting area—a half dozen stackable padded chairs upholstered in burnt orange tweed that had gone out of style about the time Chico and the Man went off the air. A small TV sat silent on its platform mounted near the ceiling. In the corner, a water dispenser stood next to a double-burner coffeemaker.

Shea gritted her teeth and tried not to wince while Jackie dug out the slivers of glass with a pair of tweezers and a penlight. Shea trembled, partly from adrenaline, partly from cold, partly from anger, thinking of the nastiest things she could do to whoever shot Derek. At the same time, a question haunted her. Why’d Derek come back after everyone left?

“How is he?” She craned her neck to see the EMTs working on Derek.

“I don’t know.” Willie pulled out a pad and pen and sat down. “The EMTs will do everything they can. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Shea gasped as Jackie dug at an elusive shard of glass.

“Sorry.” Jackie adjusted the angle of her penlight. “This one doesn’t want to come out.”

“Gotta call from the alarm company about four o’clock,” said Shea as she glanced up at Willie. “Found the door smashed and a lot of our inventory gone, including three custom bikes for the Pink Trinkets.”

“The Pink Trinkets? That all-girl punk band?”

“Yeah, they commissioned three bikes. Supposed to unveil them down in Phoenix in a couple weeks to kick off their latest concert tour.”

“What about Derek?”

“Found him on the floor bleeding. That’s when I called 911.” She looked at her hands covered in his blood. A wave of sadness mixed with anger overwhelmed her. The kid could be a smart-a*s sometimes, but she liked him. Maybe because he reminded her of herself.

“He say anything when you found him?”

“Yeah, he said, ‘They made me.’”

Willie’s eyes narrowed. “‘They made me’? What’d he mean by that?”

“No idea. Maybe someone set him up.”

“Did he say who?”

“No.”

“Any idea who woulda done this?” Willie asked.

She shook her head. “Naw.”

“Maybe one of your other employees.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why would one of my employees do this?”

He shrugged. “You do tend to hire criminals.”

She looked him square in the eye. “I hire ex-cons, just as Lenny Slater hired me when I got out. Keeps us from ending up back in the system.”

“Yeah, you’re doing society a great service.” His voice dripped with condescension. She resisted the urge to tell him to kiss her a*s. “That said, this place is the cycle shop of misfit toys. Anyone here have a beef with Derek? Any arguments? He owe anybody money?”

She glared at him. “None of my guys were involved, Willie.”

“Whatever you say.” He made a few more notes in his notebook. “Any suspicious people hanging around recently? Other than your employees, I mean.”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Has Iron Goddess received any threats?”

“Nope.”

“Was Derek working late last night?”

“We all were. Me, Derek, Terrance, Lakota, and Switch.” Terrance was the co-owner of Iron Goddess and their business manager. Lakota was their engineer, Switch their electrician. “We were finishing up a bike till midnight.”

“Was Derek the last to leave?”

“No, I was.”

“Why would he come back?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe he forgot his house keys. He had his own key to the shop. He wouldn’t have broken the front door. I figure someone must’ve jumped him as he was leaving.”

“He’s a crystal meth addict, right?”

“Was. He’s been clean two years.”

“Maybe he’s using again.”

“If he is, I ain’t seen no evidence of it.”

“He been missing work or showing up late?”

“No.” It wasn’t the complete truth. He’d been coming in an hour or so late the past week. But considering he was at death’s door, she wasn’t going to trash-talk him to the law. If he’d relapsed, she’d deal with him later. If there was a later.

“Any problems with customers?”

“We had an old veteran rider complain about our imported helmets, but aside from that, no.”

“Do you know what all they took?”

“Several bikes. They got a lot of our gear, too—helmets, jackets, boots. I can give you a complete inventory once we get this place cleaned up. “

When Jackie finished bandaging her wounds, there was more gauze than skin showing. Shea looked like a mummy. “You’ll want to change the dressing and put antibiotic ointment on the wounds three times a day,” Jackie said. “You might also consider getting a tetanus shot from your doctor.”

“Thanks.”

Jackie smiled and joined her comrades working on Derek.

“Willie, there’s a box of Iron Goddess T-shirts in the office. Mind grabbing me one while I wash the blood off my hands?”

Shea walked into the women’s restroom, still shaking. She wasn’t normally emotional. Yet memories of her mother’s death kept bleeding into the more recent images of Derek lying on the floor in the dark. She scrubbed the blood off her hands, arms, and a spot embedded in one of the deep scars on her cheek.

Willie met her outside the restroom and handed her a black T-shirt. “Wasn’t sure what size.”

The label said it was a men’s XL, several sizes too big for her medium frame and small chest, but it slipped over the bandages.

Across the room, the EMTs lifted Derek onto a gurney with a metallic clang. “They taking him to Cortes General?”

“Yep.” Willie looked up from his notes. “Now, Shea, promise me something.”

“What?”

“You’ll leave solving this case to me and the boys. We’ll find out who shot Derek.” He held out her Glock. She reached for it but he pulled it away. “Promise me.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I’ll leave it to you.” He offered her g*n again and she took it. “And if it ain’t too much trouble, find my stolen bikes and other merchandise.”

“Shea, those bikes are halfway to Mexico by now.”

“Let’s hope not.” She holstered her g*n as the crime scene folks walked in. “I don’t deliver those Pink Trinket bikes in two weeks, I’m up s**t creek.”

“You’ll need to leave the premises while we process the scene.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Call me if you think of something that might be relevant to the case.”

“Fine.” She ambled out the door and called her business partner, Terrance Douglas. It rang three times before he answered.

“Geez, Shea. You know what time it is? Somebody better be bleeding or on fire.”

“Derek’s been shot.”

“What? Derek? Is he okay?”

“No, definitely not. Somebody broke into the shop and shot him twice in the chest. He lost a lotta blood.”

“Geez! Where are you?”

“Still at Iron Goddess, but I’m gonna follow the ambulance over to Cortes General.” She took a breath, stilling the emotion out of her voice. “Look, man, I know you scheduled the day off to spend with your family, but I need you here to help clean up the mess. No need to rush. The cops gotta do the whole crime scene thing.”

“No, it’s cool. My mom can take Elon to his soccer game.”

“Oh, and T?”

“Yeah?”

“They stole the Pink Trinkets’ bikes.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Don’t worry. You know me—I’m good at finding things.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Shea. Let the cops handle it.”

“No worries, T. Got it all under control.” She didn’t. But no way in hell was she leaving this to the cops.