On the Run - M Zeigler (philippa perry book .txt) 📗

I’m hungry and it’s been a while since I’ve eaten Chinese food. With the bag in hand I walk back towards the tiny dining room and sit down to eat. Although on a second thought I should probably read the note left on the door, it might shed some light on who was in my bus.

 

Here’s a fortune for you, what you thought was the final price was only a portion of the cost. I will be back.

 

Huh, that’s strange? There is no signature on the note nor is there any clue on who left it, the best bet I can think of at this point is a really crazy fan or something, that or one of my anti fans trying to scare me so they can brag to their friends about it.

 

Giving no more thought to the odd occurrence I crumple the paper up and toss it into the waste bin between the front door and driver’s seat. Richie, the tour bus driver, usually has it filled with sunflower seed shells, his favorite driving munchies while we’re on the road.

 

Just as I’m eagerly about to take my first bite of orange chicken my cell phone rings, causing my excited mood to fade away. With clear aggravation linked to my lack of food intake I retrieve my phone from the opposite side of the table. It’s Marcus’s signature ring tone meaning I have no choice but to answer, Marcus isn’t a call that you just ignore. He is my manager, therefore, if he calls I had better answer otherwise i'm in huge trouble when he finds me.

 

“Darn.” I sigh putting the food aside completely. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask answering the phone trying to sound like I wasn’t doing anything of importance; like trying not to die of starvation. “We’re all heading over to Bella Dona’s to celebrate your nomination. Why don’t you come join us?” Marcus suggests with a tinge of tiredness in his own vocals. Bella Dona’s is a great place to eat at; from what I hear it’s a high end restaurant that serves just about anything you can think of within reason. For me, the only down side to the eatery is that it’s approximately ten blocks from my current location.

 

With a deep sigh I look at my much wanted Orange Chicken only to decide that it’s only right that I join everyone for dinner after all they are celebrating my latest big win. “I’ll meet ya’ll there.” I announce begrudgingly, there’s a loud crashing sound in the background before Marcus replies. “Okay, see you in a few.”

 

The line goes dead a second later leaving me to box up my dinner. On the way over to the fridge I notice that the door to the tour bus is open again, the problem is. I know I closed that door; the latch on the door was a little stiff but I heard the darn thing click closed.

 

Stealthily, irritably, and arrogantly I start towards the door hoping that whoever is messing with me is standing right outside listening and waiting for me to step out. The closer I move towards the door the more I can hear a slight scratching noise, like claws metal, the moment I take my first step down I accidentally locate one of my dogs toys that gives a loud squeak, the sound outside stops. I mentally curse my dog, Brass, for leaving that toy on the stairs so often. I've tried training him not to, but the dog just will not learn.

 

After remaining still for a long time I hear the scratching sound again, this returning noise only brings me to set the bag of food down on the short stairway landing behind me. I look back to the landing to ensure that the food will stay where I want it to.

 

To my surprise when I look back to the open door way I find a set of golden eyes look back at me, I am startled by none other than a dog. A Labrador retriever mix breed, his once honey colored fur is stained with mud, not to mention the black smudges of engine grease. He must have crawled up under the tour bus to seek warmth earlier today and is now out looking for food.

 

Sadly, this dog is beyond all benefit of a doubt, skin and bones. It really baffles me how anyone can adopt a dog or any animal and then throw it to the streets; I mean at least have the kindness in your heart to try and find a new home for the animal or take it to a shelter for goodness sake. I try to reach down and pet the dog but he’s not okay with that, I get a snarling response. The dog must not trust humans, can you blame him though? Humans can be so cruel and unusual sometimes, it’s unbelievable!

 

“Alright hoss, eat this.” I try to sound gentle when speaking to the mutt so as not to make the young pup anymore fearful than he already is. With slow careful movements I find myself reaching back to the landing only this time I mean to retrieve the food instead of place it aside. The bag crinkles a bit causing the canine to leap back which, thankfully, gives me enough room to step out, kneel down, and place the bag of food on the ground. After that it doesn’t take much more effort to open the boxes. I really cannot imagine that Chinese food is very healthy for the dog but at least he’ll live a little longer and maybe find another human that he can trust.

 

“Good luck, dog.” I sigh as I reach back and close the bus door, this time locking both locks to ensure that no one gets in while I’m out.

 

After a brisk four minute walk over to the private parking lot I’m on my ever faithful Harley heading towards the eatery that Marcus and the others are waiting for me at. Driving down the boulevard I find my thought’s drifting back towards the oddness of the tour bus door being opened by itself, ‘twice’, and all in the same night, not to mention the lights being out. Giving more thought to the incident, the breaker could not have been tripped; I was able to turn the lights on without flipping the switch on. If the breaker was out then I would have had to go back and flip the switch to the on position before any lights were to come on.

 

I don’t mean to sound like an arrogant jerk here, but I expect the lights to be on when I get off stage. Chelsea has never ever forgotten this task, which makes this situation even stranger, and she has never left the door open either. Surely my faithful, all around perfect, assistant couldn’t have forgotten such minor yet important details. The question still remains, if she didn’t forget these two tasks then who did? That letter suggests maybe a crazy anti fan could have done it, but then again at the same time the note seemed a bit more personal than a hateful person would write.

 

Wandering back to my darker days I begin to go over the names of people I’ve wronged, the only name that really stands out as a person who would strike back is a loan shark named Devon Morgan. When I turned eighteen I decided that I wanted to get into the moonshine business and couldn’t seem to earn the needed funds fast enough to get in while the getting was good.

 

However, if I was paying off a loan I could get the money to them over a couple months time span, the problem was that I had no credit; therefore I couldn’t obtain a loan from a bank like any other person. I being the impatient man that I was back then began asking around the biker bars, and other dives until a random fellow biker named Travis, gave me a card with Devon’s name on it.

 

Travis had made it clear that Devon was dangerous; if I was even a day late on my last payment my mostly pleasant life would be cut short, to my dismay I was arrogant in thinking I would have no problems at all with paying Devon back in a timely manner.

 

The following week after Travis gave me the card I called and set a meeting with Devon, I of course being only eighteen at the time didn’t really think the situation through or even notice the fact that this man was shadier than a pine tree at midnight, I took out the loan not knowing what wild ride I was in for.

 

With the loaned money I was able to set up a distillery without defect and began raking in a huge profit, the only down side to being eighteen and rolling in cash is that I was neglecting important tasks and responsibilities, for instance, my car. I should have fixed the transmission immediately, I knew full well that the car part was about to take a turn for the worst. Another error in judgment found me parked road side with the transmission hanging on the ground, I was many hours away from meeting Devon and had no other way of delivering his money. In the end I was two days late on my last payment, this was a simple incident that could have been remedied via electronic transaction, sadly Devon was set on receiving the money cash in hand.

 

Devon was beyond furious even though I called and explained to him what was going on, and then went on to explain I would figure some other way to get the money to him. Within the weeks following the phone call I made many efforts to contact Devon but he never answered. To my utmost surprise word began going around that Devon was questioning my whereabouts from some of the bikers I knew. Thankfully my biker buddies caught on to what Devon was planning, so when the loan shark and his boys caught up with me, my friends were able to pay him off in full to get Devon to back off. By the end of the scenario I found myself paying the money back to my close friend Carlos for close to six months, and that was after being arrested for the transport of illegal merchandise. Yes, I was arrested on my way home for transporting moonshine. I was let off with ninety days community service, sadly through the entire situation I lost the distillery, my regular job, and a few close friends along the way.

 

“Barrette? Hello, earth to Barrette?” Chelsea’s voice breaks my focus, after blinking a few times I see the blonde standing beside a cute waitress. The waitress is about five foot seven and not much thicker than a tooth pick, she’s wearing the signature Bella Dona uniform, a black knee length skirt that is matched with professionally by a white short sleeved, button up, dress shirt.

 

Chelsea smiles wide when she realizes that I’ve come back to reality instead of being lost in a long ago memory, the short vivacious blonde bats her eye lashes at me giving an amused giggle over my zone out moment, then beckons to the table where everyone on the team is sitting waiting patiently for me to get here.

 

Strangely enough, I feel rather out of place within this high class restaurant, mostly because I am not wearing what other think of to be professional. I’m also slightly perplexed since I do not recall the drive here, or walking from the parking structure to the restaurant which is a good four blocks.

 

“Oh, right. Sorry Darlin.” I apologize quickly to Chelsea who gracefully gestures her hand to the only seat that is still available aside from her chair. With a dazed stumble I trudge across the burgundy carpeted floor over to the table that is covered with a white table cloth, the cloth that covers the table is somewhat