“Yeah, well, at least it was a fortune we planned for,” Yuka grumbled, letting the keg thump to the ground. “Unlike the tires.”
“Tires?” Val asked. “You guys got a flat?”
Blair grimaced. “Not...exactly. Yuka, we don’t need to bother Val with this.”
They strolled outside, unhurried now. They’d unloaded all the beer. Val knew she should get back to the bar, but the set of Yuka’s shoulders worried her. “Val isn’t bothered. What happened?”
“It was nothing.” Blair shook his head.
Yuka’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t think it was nothing.”
Blair’s expression softened at the hitch in her tone, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know it was scary, my jewel, but nothing’s going to happen to us.”
Val folded her arms. “What happened?”
Yuka bit her lip and looked away. Blair’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “We came out of a bar in Queens after a meeting with the owners and found all four tires slashed.”
Val stiffened. “Slashed?”
“With something sharp. There were big gashes in the sidewalls.” Yuka shivered, her eyes glassy. “Someone did it on purpose.”
“It was a dodgy neighborhood. Probably a junkie with a boxcutter chasing delusions.” Blair kissed Yuka’s forehead. “It’s okay, jewel. We’re okay.”
Val wasn’t as sure. “Do you guys have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt you?”
“Yes,” Yuka muttered.
“No. We have business competitors, not enemies.” Blair shook his head. “I’m telling you, Val, it was a one-off crime. For Merlin’s sake, maybe someone doesn’t like short people! People are screwed up. I don’t think we were targeted then, and I don’t think we’ll be targeted again.”
“I hope not.” Yuka wiped her eyes.
“I’ll keep us safe. I promise.” Blair gave her another squeeze.
Val shrugged. “Look, I don’t want to alarm you, but if you see or need anything, you know where to find me. I’m only a phone call away.”
“Thanks, Val.” Blair smiled. “We’ll call if we need you, but I’m sure we’re fine.”
“Thanks, Val,” Yuka mumbled. Her shoulders loosened. “Let’s go home.”
“Let’s do that. Takeout first, though,” Blair suggested. “KFC.”
Yuka’s smile returned. “That sounds good.”
They returned to their truck, and Val watched them drive away, biting her lip as the diesel engine rumbled into the dark.
Val’s feet ached as she stepped out of the 1971 Mach 1 Mustang in the familiar quiet of the garage behind her house.
“What a night, Genevieve.” She stretched, rolling onto the balls of her tired feet.
Genevieve honked in agreement, then revved her engine.
“Maybe we’ll have time for a drive tomorrow.” Val patted the gleaming pewter roof.
She let herself into the living room and kicked off her hobnailed boots. The deep carpet soothed her tired feet as she strolled into the kitchen and pawed through the fridge, looking for something quick and easy for dinner. The numbers on the microwave read 01:24, and Val was more than ready for bed.
She grabbed leftover pasta from the fridge, shoved it into the microwave, and flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. With one foot on her knee, she massaged her tired muscles. Her eyelids drooped.
Bzzzzzzzz.
“Aw, crap. Really?” Val opened her eyes and glared at the microwave. “If you die now, I’ll throw you through the window.”
Apparently mindful of the threat, the microwave went about its business, but the strange buzz still rose from it.
Val frowned, stomped to the rebellious appliance, and hit the top with a flat hand. “Stop it,” she ordered.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.
It sounded like she was nuking a swarm of hornets instead of penne rigate. She bent to peer through the glass, and the microwave stopped.
The buzzing didn’t.
Val’s head snapped up. The sound came from outside, she realized.
She drew her dagger, and Damascus steel gleamed as she moved quickly and quietly to the front door. Val glanced swiftly out the window. Nothing except a brief glitter.
The buzzing intensified.
