Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(153)

Jack turned to us, his eyes did a professional full body scan of me then they moved to Bobby.

“Got the call,” he told Bobby.

“Code One?” Bobby asked.

“Yup,” Jack replied.

I looked between them wondering who would explain.

“I’m off,” Bobby said then he was.

The door closed behind him. This I took as Bobby not being the one to explain.

Therefore, I turned and asked Jack, “What’s Code One?”

“Sit. Watch the monitors,” Jack responded.

I sat in a swivel chair in front of the bank of monitors, six across, four rows, each with what looked like a DVD recorder under it. I trained my gaze on the screens and repeated, “What’s Code One?”

“Do as I say, when I say, no matter what you see on the monitors,” Jack answered.

Though this wasn’t really an answer I didn’t quibble. I didn’t suspect that now was Quibble Time. Quibble Time was after whatever Code One was was over and I was innocently playing Yahtzee with my friends again.

“Should I be worried about whatever’s happening?” I went on.

“Nope.”

“You’re sure?” I pressed.

“Yup.”

I didn’t really believe him but, as I mentioned, it was not Quibble Time.

We watched the monitors.

Then I asked, “What are we looking for?”

“Anything.”

“What kind of anything?”

“Anything, anything.”

I was feeling ill-equipped to be Jack’s Monitor Helper but I decided to stop asking questions about my assignment. It was not only not Quibble Time it was probably not Question Time either. Except for things looking like they’d gone back to normal at Fortnum’s and a bunch of people in the pool hall doing pool hall type activities, nothing much was happening.

I decided on a different subject. “Can I call Hector?”

“Nope.”

Blooming heck!

“Can I call him in, say, fifteen minutes?” I tried.

“You can shut up. That’d be good.”

My back went straight but my eyes didn’t leave the screens.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“I see you didn’t hear me.”

“Hector was in a gunfight!” I snapped.

“Not the first, probably not the last.”

Oh my.

That shut me up.

I decided not to think about that until I was, say, six hundred years old and silently we watched the screens.

Then I saw something in the pool hall.

“Oh my God!” I cried.

Jack went on alert.

“What?”

“Look at her outfit!” I pointed at a girl in the pool hall. “Her tank top is skintight and she’s not wearing a bra. And her skirt is shorter than the one I wore to Stella’s gig!”

Jack was silent but I felt he’d lost his intensity.

I peered closer, the girl on the screen bent over a pool table and I gasped when I was treated to a partial moon. “Blooming heck! She’s wearing a thong!” I exclaimed then went on, “Now, if you’re going to wear a skirt that short, you really should wear proper underwear.”

Jack remained silent.

I looked at him. “Don’t you think?”

Jack’s eyes remained on the screens. “I think Hector owes me big time is what I think.”

Hmm.

Perhaps Jack was not the kind of man who discussed women’s underwear choices, even after dramatic shootouts (or, perhaps, ever).

I decided that was my cue to stay silent again.

This lasted less than a minute.

“Why are we watching a pool hall?”

“The Balduccis own that pool hall.”

I felt bile slide up my throat and I swallowed it down.

I thought that was apropos. The Evil Fitzpatrick clan hung out at a pool hall in Veronica Mars.

I didn’t share this with Jack.

“Oh,” was all I said but I watched closer.

We sat in silence for awhile and then I saw Hector’s Bronco enter the garage.

“Thank you God,” I breathed, watching him park.

He got out, started toward the door to the stairs, I felt my body begin to relax but then I saw Hector stop and look toward the entrance of the garage.

Jack tensed.

I tensed.

Then I saw a BMW careening into the garage.

Hector pulled his gun out of the back of his jeans again and I automatically went into a squat, not standing, not sitting and not sure what I was going to do.

“Sit,” Jack ordered, not taking his eyes from the screen.

I sat.

I stared.

The BMW halted and Hector had his head cocked and his gun up, trained on the car.

I held my breath.

Marty Balducci got out of the BMW and my body automatically went into my ready to run squat again.

“Sit!” Jack repeated, louder this time and I didn’t want to, I really didn’t want to but I sat again.

Marty didn’t look good and I felt the blood drain out of my face. I couldn’t see all that clearly on the small screen but he appeared to be bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest.

Marty held onto the open car door to keep himself up but I could tell he was struggling. He lifted his gun toward Hector but he couldn’t quite lift it far enough. I could see they were talking (or shouting) at each other. Hector, arms out, gun up, was advancing slowly.