Wicked Business

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Diesel was asleep on the couch when I left the house at 4:30 A.M. He had one foot on the floor, one foot hanging over the armrest, and Carl was sleeping on his chest. It was endearing. I kissed him on his forehead, and he said, “See ya, Sunshine,” without ever opening his eyes.

No one accosted me on my way to Diesel’s car. I’d helped myself to his keys, and I hoped he didn’t want to go anywhere, because he wouldn’t have a car until I got off work.

Lights were on when I got to the bakery.

“How’s the arm?” I asked Clara.

“I’m supposed to have it in a sling, but the sling drives me nuts. All the special orders for Monday have called in for today. I hope Glo gets here soon.”

“She has an injury, too,” I said. “Let me do the heavy lifting today. Glo can frost the cupcakes.”

Twenty minutes later, Glo arrived.

“This isn’t normal,” Glo said. “Nobody gets up and goes to work at this hour. It’s nighttime. Why don’t we do the baking the afternoon before? Then we’d just have to put everything out in the racks and shelves when we open the store.”

“It wouldn’t be fresh,” Clara said.

“Well, honest to goodness, how fresh does something have to be?” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson would never know the difference. Tell him his stupid pretzels are organic, so they might taste stale. You could charge him extra.” She tied an apron on. “You’ll never guess who called me last night after I got home. Hatchet. He wanted a date. He said he really enjoyed cutting me, but he wouldn’t do it anymore if I didn’t like it.”

Clara and I were momentarily speechless.

“You aren’t going out with him, are you?” Clara asked.

“I don’t think so,” Glo said. “He’s a psycho-minion. Actually, that makes him a little interesting, but the whole poisonous snake thing puts me off.”

“Get the pans ready,” I said to Glo. “I’m starting the cupcakes.”

At ten o’clock, Glo was helping a customer, Clara was pulling loaves of bread out of the oven, and I was whipping up a cauldron of buttercream frosting when Deirdre Early burst into the kitchen. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes were wild-woman, her hair was filthy and snarled, and her clothes were a mess.

“It’s a fake,” she said. “A fake!”

Glo rushed in from the store, and Clara and I snapped to attention.

“What’s a fake?” I asked.

“The stone. That hideous Hatchet gave it to me. He said it was the Luxuria Stone, but I know it wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” I asked her.

“It doesn’t do anything. I carried it around, and I felt nothing. And when I finally found my way out of the tunnel maze this morning, no one would talk to me. If it was the Luxuria Stone I was carrying, those college guys would be all over me, right? I mean, they’ll hit on anything.”

“You’re sort of a fright,” Glo said.

Early looked down at herself. “It wasn’t easy getting out of that tunnel. There were bats and spiders, and I kept falling into holes.”

“Do you have the tablet?” I asked her.

“I have half of it. It broke when I fell, and I could only find one piece in the dark. And it’s not like I didn’t look. I can’t read the stupid thing anyway.”

“If you want to give it to me, I might be able to find someone to read it,” I told her.

“How about this. You give me the real stone, and I give you what I have of the tablet.”

“Are you sure the stone isn’t real?” I asked her.

“I hit it with a hammer.” She pulled some pulverized stone out of her pocket and dumped it on the floor. “If it was magic, it wouldn’t break like this, right? What kind of magic stone breaks like this?”

We all shrugged.

“It’s Hatchet,” she said, her hands clenched, eyes narrowed.

Jars rattled on the pantry shelves and the building vibrated.

“I should have finished him off like I finished off Wulf. Mr. Look-at-me-because-I’m-so-sexy-and-powerful. He never even called the next day. We had this big hot date, and then nothing. What’s with that? Even basketball players call me the next day. Or at least send flowers. Have some respect, you know? It’s not like I didn’t go to some effort. I was wearing La Perla.”

“Bummer,” Glo said. “That sucks. I hate when that happens. You know what’s even worse? When they get shot with a nail gun and don’t even show up.”

Deirdre Early looked around. “I lost my focus. Why am I here?”

“Cupcakes,” I said. “You want cupcakes.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“A loaf of bread. This is a bakery,” Clara said. “People come here for bread.”

“No. It was something else.”

“Hatchet?” Glo said.

“Yes! I hate Hatchet. He tricked me. I’d hate Wulf, too, but I killed him.”

“Actually, he’s still alive,” I said.

She went still for a moment. “What?”

“He healed.”

“That’s impossible. I have all his power. I can cook an egg in the palm of my hand. I can hear grass grow. I can throw fire.”

“I didn’t know Wulf could throw fire,” I said.

“It’s this gadget I bought,” Early said, pulling a propane torch out of her Hermès shoulder bag. “I bought it to caramelize crème brûlée, but you can torch anything with it.”

“Your town house?” I asked.

“That was an accident.”

“My car?”

“I was practicing. And how did I get all that flour on me? I can’t remember.”

“Flour?” Clara said. “What flour?”

I agreed. “I don’t remember any flour.”

Early pulled the trigger and-whoosh-about ten inches of blue flame shot out.

“Whoa,” Clara said. “That’s way beyond crème brûlée.”

“I like fire,” Early said, flicking the flamethrower, shooting out fire.

“So now what?” I asked her.

“World domination and chaos. My name is Anarchy!” she said, waving the torch around, shooting flames out at us. “What’s my name?” she asked us.

“Anarchy,” we said in unison.

“I want the stone, and you are going to get it for me.”

When she said you, she pointed at me and set my chef apron on fire. I batted at it with a kitchen towel, and Clara shot it with water from the sink hose.

“Jeez Louise,” I said, untying the wet apron, examining the hole in it. “Could you be more careful with that flamethrower! It’s not like aprons grow on trees.”

“You have twenty-four hours to get the stone to me, or I’ll burn your house to the ground,” she said.

She aimed the torch at a stack of towels and phffffft. Up in flames.

“I don’t have the stone,” I said to her. “Wulf has the stone.”

Okay, that was a rotten thing to do to Wulf, but I didn’t care. I was willing to throw him under the bus to get rid of Early or Anarchy or whoever the heck she was at the moment.

“Pay attention,” she said. “I’m telling you to get it and bring it to me. You’re making me angry.”

Phfffft. She cremated a tray of soft pretzel rolls.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson’s going to be in here any minute, and he’s going to be pissed.”

“I want that stone!” Anarchy shrieked.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Where do you want it delivered?”

She pulled a card out of her purse. “This is my cell phone. I’m currently between addresses.”

“Okeydokey,” I said. “Would you like a cupcake for the road?”

“I don’t eat cupcakes,” she said. “Do I look like I eat cupcakes? I don’t think so. I work glutes and abs seven days a week. I haven’t got a single cellulite dimple. I eat like an alpaca. Sprouts and watercress.”

“No wonder you’re always so cranky,” Glo said.

Phffft. Phffffft! She torched a roll of paper towels and three loaves of pumpernickel.

“She didn’t mean cranky,” I said to Anarchy. “She meant sharp and focused. Eye of the tiger. Woman in charge.” I looked over at Glo. “Right, Glo?”

“Yep,” Glo said. “That’s what I meant.”

“Eye of the tiger,” Anarchy said. “I like that.” She looked around. “Why am I here?”

Clara bagged a loaf of multigrain and handed it to her. “You wanted bread.”

“Oh yeah,” Anarchy said. “Thanks.”

And she left.

Clara closed and locked the door. “She’s completely lost it. I’d like to get her some help, but I don’t know where to begin.”

“It’s a problem,” Glo said. “If you try to catch her with a big butterfly net like in a Three Stooges movie, she’ll only set it on fire.”

The bell jingled over the front door, and Glo took a quick peek into the shop. “It’s Mr. Nelson,” she said. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell him we’re very sorry, but a batch got burned, so he’s a little short this week. And give him as much as we have,” Clara said. “Make up the difference with bagels.”

“Do you think she’d really burn my house down?” I asked Clara.

“She burned her own house down. I think she’d burn anything.”

I shoveled the cremated pretzels into a garbage bag and took the tray to the sink. “I can still smell burned bread and apron. It’s like it’s getting stronger. Now it smells like rubber burning.”

BAROOOM!

Clara and I froze.

“Something exploded in the parking lot,” I said. “I hope it was Anarchy.”

Clara opened the door and looked out. “Did you drive Diesel’s car to work?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to need a ride home.”

I could see the giant fireball from where I was standing.

“This isn’t good,” I said to Clara.

An hour later, the fire trucks pulled away and we now had two blackened, twisted hunks of dead vehicle in the parking lot.

“Lucky thing I parked on the street,” Glo said, looking out the door at the wreckage. “What did Diesel say when you told him his car was toast?”

“He said he walked down the hill to the grocery store and got milk and cheese and cold cuts for lunch, but he’d like me to bring bread and a cheese Danish home.”

“Nothing about the car?”

“He mumbled something about calling his assistant.”

The front door jingled again, and Glo hurried off. She returned to the kitchen minutes later with a large vase of cut flowers.

“Someone sent me flowers!” she said. “I think it must be the bellringer.” She opened the card that was attached and read the message. “‘Roses are red. Violets are blue. I doth think thou is hot. I hope thou doth thinkest I’m hot, too.’”

“Guess they aren’t from the bellringer,” Clara said.

“No,” she said. “They’re from Hatchet. He’s nuts, but he’s sweet.” She put her face close to the flowers to smell the roses, and she shrieked and jumped back. “There’s a big spider crawling around in the flowers.”

“Probably meant as a pet,” Clara said. She picked the vase up, carried it out to the parking lot, and set it next to the Dumpster. She came back inside and locked the door.

Diesel was hands in pockets, looking out my front window. “I think she’s here with the car,” he said.

“Your assistant?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what this latest one looks like.”

“You still don’t know her name, either, do you?”

Diesel grinned. “No. I keep meaning to ask.”

She was pretty in a girl-next-door Miss America kind of way. Straight, shoulder-length, Jennifer Aniston blond hair, messenger bag hung on her shoulder, designer jeans, and a dressy little black jacket.

I went out to her and extended my hand. “I’m Lizzy Tucker. I work with Diesel.”

“Mindy Smith,” she said, shaking my hand. “I’m Diesel’s assistant. He requested two cars. My associate should be coming right away. She was a couple minutes behind me.” Mindy looked past me to the house. “Is Diesel here? I’ve never met him. I hear he’s incredibly handsome.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Three months. If I make it to six months, I’ll get a hardship bonus. He has a reputation for being a little difficult.”

I looked back at the house and crooked my finger at Diesel to come out.

“Was that him behind the curtain?” Mindy asked.

“Yes. He’s very shy.”

She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “Just goes to show how wrong rumors can be.”

Diesel ambled out and Mindy sucked in some air. “Wow,” she whispered.

“This is Mindy Smith,” I said to Diesel. “Your assistant. Her associate is coming shortly with the second car.”

“Nice,” Diesel said.

Hard to tell if he was talking about the cars or about Mindy Smith.

“As you know, we try to get the best vehicles available,” Mindy said, handing Diesel the keys to a black Aston Martin. “I hope this will be all right. The second car is identical to this one.”

“I can make do,” Diesel said.

“The papers are in the glove box. I’ve made arrangements to have your previous cars towed from the bakery parking lot. And I have the two new cell phones you requested.”

The second car eased to a stop behind the first car, and a woman who looked like a Mindy Smith clone got out. She flushed a little at seeing Diesel, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to do something awful, like curtsy to the king. Fortunately, she pulled herself together and simply smiled and gave Diesel the second key.

“While you’re here, you can help me out with one more thing,” Diesel said.

He ran into the house, and minutes later he came out carrying the painting wrapped in a sheet, the Duane bell, and the Motion Machine.

“These need to be returned to their owners,” he said. “There was a plaque that needed to go back as well, but it was stolen by a crazy lady.”

Mindy took the painting, and her clone took the bell and the Motion Machine. Both women looked like deer in headlights, not sure what to do but unwilling to ask Diesel.

“Thanks,” Diesel said to the women. “Have a good trip.”

I followed Diesel into the house. “Where are they going? And how will they get there?” I asked him. “They haven’t got a car.”

“I guess they’ll go back to the office, wherever that is.”

“You don’t know where the office is located?”

“No. Never had to go there.”

I looked out the window. The women were gone.

“How? What?” I asked.

“They’re very resourceful,” Diesel said.

“Did they get beamed up or something?”

“You don’t want to know. It would freak you out. Let’s say someone gave them a ride.”

Good enough for me.

“I’ve been instructed to defuse Anarchy,” Diesel said. “She’s made herself a sufficient nuisance to catch the attention of whoever makes these decisions.”

“You don’t know who makes the decisions?”

“I know some of the people involved. Their precise responsibilities aren’t well defined. It’s a blurry hierarchy.”

“I have her cell phone number.” I handed her card to Diesel. “She gave me twenty-four hours to get the stone to her, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“She’ll burn my house down.”

“I’d hate that,” Diesel said. “I like this house.”

Diesel had the two cell phones that replaced the ones that had drowned. He gave one to me, and he punched Anarchy’s number into the other. She didn’t answer.

“Probably getting her hair done and a manicure,” I said.

“Do you have an address?”

“No. She said she was between addresses.”

“No doubt.”

“What all is involved in defusing someone?” I asked him.

“I can block certain kinds of destructive energy.”

“Can you do that to Wulf?”

Diesel shook his head. “I’ve never been sanctioned to try. There are people in high places who protect Wulf.” He looked at his watch. “I have an errand to run. Pack some sandwiches. When I get back, we’re going on a field trip.”