Hero Stalker

Part Twenty-One

The next day found me back in Slatefort with Valerie. She'd come to argue with Chamber Restaurant Supply, the people who sold us industrial stand mixers, and arguing made her hungry. I ran back and forth to the McDonald's across the street and bought a different meal each time, trying to find something she liked. My fifth desperate attempt was a McRib. She enjoyed it until she got barbeque sauce on her blue paisley blouse. Then she'd tossed it to Needles, stuffed her Visa back in my hands, and ordered me to go buy her another shirt.

I knew better than to ask her size.

Thankfully, I'd seen a Talbots only two blocks away when we'd driven in. They had a nice rack of button-down shirts hanging near the door. I rummaged through the hangers, looking for something obnoxious enough for Valerie. The best candidate was peachy yellow and had white rhinestones on the collar. I bought a medium, even though Valerie normally wore a large. She'd never call me out for assuming she was skinny.

Sweat trickled down my face as I walked down the sidewalk, swinging the Talbots bag in one hand and my new purse in the other. To keep anyone from seeing my leotard under my white blouse, I'd pulled on a tight blue tee-shirt for a middle layer. It hid the black spandex, but the temperature had hit the mid-nineties this morning. Despite my layers of deodorant, I was drenched in sweat.

Who didn't love summer?

'How do you deal with the heat?' I texted Amanda. Then I texted her a smiley. I really needed at least one of the Centurions liking me.

 'I work inside.' she replied. 'Are you coming by the Tower tonight?'

'Not sure yet.' Femme had told me yesterday that Slasher needed to do some serious investigative work and would let me know when he found something. Frankly, I didn't think he'd bother. But I had no other choice save waiting and praying Harpy resurfaced before Harbor Day.

I made it back to the conference room where Valerie was meeting with the Chamber representatives and gave her the bag. She whisked it off to the bathroom, leaving me standing at one end of a faux wood table. The sunlight streaming through the window behind me stretched my shadow to ten feet long.

"Do you enjoy working for Ms. Lavoie?" a man at the other side of the table asked me. He wore a three-piece suit and his forehead was covered in sweat. I could relate.

"Yes," I muttered, staring down at my new purse. Valerie had released Needles from her shoulder bag. The little white dog started chewing on my shoe.

Two more minutes passed. Valerie swept back into the room. The rhinestones on the collar of her new shirt threw sparks of light across the table. "We have little over a week until Harbor Day. I'm catering the Police Ball. I have double the orders to fill, and three of our ten-thousand dollar stand mixers break. Honor the warranty or I'll bring in my lawyers!" On the floor, Needles yipped.

The suppliers clustered together around the far end of the table like it was the last lifeboat leaving the Titanic. "Ma'am," croaked an older man, "you beat one of the mixers with your shoe. The photos you sent us had footprints on the arm."

"It was a flat. It shouldn't have left a dent. Let alone broken the arm. You bastards are so damn cheap!"

I held my phone under the table and texted Amanda again. 'Can a Centurion save me from my evil boss?' See? I'm funny. Let's be friends.

 I never imagined I'd get the response I did.

On the far side of the table, the Chambers representatives huddled. They passed around the glossy photographs Valerie had brought and examined her crumpled receipts. The older man pulled out his phone and made a call. The man in the fancy suit argued in hushed tones with the only woman in the group. Five minutes passed.

Valerie picked up Needles and stroked him. He yipped and squirmed. She had only started dragging him everywhere in May, when she'd been sentenced to anger management therapy after a road rage incident. I was pretty sure the therapist suggested hugging her dog would calm her down. But Needles wasn't exactly a calming dog.

"I'm waiting," Valerie growled.

The woman at the other side of the table gulped and spoke up. "Ms. Lavoie, you can't expect us to believe our equipment is faulty when it only ever breaks in your personal presence—"

The window shattered. I ducked and threw my hands over my head. The suppliers gasped. Valerie swore in French.

"Valerie Lavoie!" Peregrine shouted, floating to the floor in a shower of safety glass. "The Bayton Centurions have a special order for your company."

Oh, Lord. I buried my head in my hands.

"Stu—stu—stand up straight, Gloria." Valerie's foot nudged me in the shin. "Grab your puh—pen and write down her order. My assistant's a big fan of yours," she announced to the entire room.

Thanks, Valerie. I scrambled for a pen. "What are you doing here?" I asked her. "I mean, how can I help you, ma'am?"

"The Centurions are adding a new member to our ranks. This member will be sworn in at the exhibition on Harbor Day. We would like you to prepare an edible centerpiece for the ceremony." She hovered a few inches off the ground, which make Valerie look slightly uncomfortable.

"Centerpiece?" Valerie asked. She squeezed a shivering Needles closer to her chest.  "Like a bouquet? You might want a floral company for that."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a giant sushi roll. You there. Overworked peon." She pointed at me. "Pick a flavor."

"Portland roll?" It was the only type of Valerie's sushi I liked.  

"Excellent. Make it at least ten feet tall and twelve in diameter. Municipal workers will pick it up on Harbor Day and deliver a check." She winked at me. "See you at the expo."

Then she flipped out the window and was gone.

"Overworked peon," Valerie muttered. "Gloria, do you feel overworked?"

"No, ma'am." I trailed my foot in the broken glass and wondered who'd end up paying for the damage.

"Good. I'm giving this project to you, then. All my work is giving me a headache. You think you can handle it?"

Sure, if you give me a raise. "Yes, ma'am."