Iron Goddess

Chapter 5-1

5

Shea stared at the bloodstained floor, pushing away the haunting memories of her mother’s death. Her hand tightened on the shirt soaked with Derek’s blood before tossing it into the garbage. She pulled out a mop and rolling bucket from the broom closet. With the bucket in the janitor sink, she poured in floor cleaner and turned on the water.

As the bucket filled, Shea caught a glimpse of her scar-riddled face in the aluminum cover of the paper towel dispenser. Something inside her twisted. She pounded the dispenser, denting her reflection.

What’s past is past, she thought. She’d long since given up crying and feeling sorry about her disfigured face. Now she wanted to hurt whoever shot Derek. Whether it was the Jaguars, the Thunder, or a local junkie, she didn’t care. One thing Ralph had taught her was when someone came at you, you had to push back hard. You had to send a message you weren’t someone to be f****d with. Otherwise, they’d keep coming after you.

Shea dragged the mop bucket into the showroom. The front door chimed. Terrance, Monica, Switch, and Lakota wandered through the showroom, surveying the damage.

Terrance stood a few inches taller than Shea, but with his bodybuilder’s physique, he looked much bigger. His trim, full beard and tidy afro gave him a cuddly, teddy-bear look.

“We were next door at the café when we saw the CSU van leave.” Terrance assessed the damage. “Robbers sure didn’t miss much, did they?”

“Nope.”

He followed her to the mess on the floor. “Man, that’s a lot of blood. Sure hope homeboy pulls through.”

“Me, too.”

“How is he?”

“Still listed in critical condition. Doc’s not sure if he’ll make it or not.”

“Damn. You think he was in on the robbery?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Not sure. Don’t want to think about that.”

“He has been showing up late to work the past week. Maybe he’s smoking crystal again.”

She stared at the mess on the floor, refusing to acknowledge Terrance’s point.

“I called the glass company,” he said. “They’re sending someone by later today.”

The others approached. “Lakota, keep Switch away from this. Don’t need her getting all triggered and freaky.”

She had hired Lakota after the woman had transitioned out of a halfway house for alcoholism. Her deep-set eyes and strong nose, coupled with a gentle smile, gave her a motherly appearance. In addition to her skills as a mechanical engineer, Lakota’s other gift was calming down Switch when she got triggered.

Switch, a lanky young woman with bushy hair that always looked unkempt, had joined the crew after being released from a long-term mental facility. She’d been abused by her folks as a small child. Shea didn’t know the details, but gathered it was the kind of horror story you read about in the papers. Whatever hell Switch had endured left her triggered by certain things like blood or people yelling. Once set off, she became a whole different person, and things tended to get broken.

“Come on, Switch,” said Lakota, as if talking to a kid, “let’s see what’s going on in the workshop.”

“Let me get some gloves and pick up that trash before you start mopping,” said Terrance.

Monica walked over, covering her mouth and looking a little green.

“Mon, don’t you go vomiting and giving me more s**t to clean up,” scolded Shea.

“I’m all right.” She didn’t sound convincing.

Monica, who served as Iron Goddess’ salesperson, had worked there almost as long as Shea had. Her bleach blond hair and immaculate makeup reminded Shea of an aging biker magazine model. Still, she was the closest any of them came to normal. No criminal record or d**g problems. Just a fondness for motorcycles. “You saved his life, huh?”

Shea shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“They should write an article about you in the newspaper.”

“Yeah, right: ex-con saves former junkie after break-in. Great headline.”

“Okay, maybe not.”

“Assuming they didn’t steal our computers, I need you to print out our current inventory and figure out what got stolen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She hurried away to the office.

“And stop calling me ma’am!” she called after her. “Makes me feel old.”

Terrance gathered up the medical waste the EMTs had left behind. “Any thoughts on what to do about the Pink Trinkets’ bikes?”

“I got a plan, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”