Running Secrets

Chapter One

Vic

I tossed the dirty oil rag to the side. The air hung hot and heavy in the auto shop. The intoxicating fumes of the gas and oil left a small high. I was so used to the smell by now, the high wasn't as intense. I walked towards Zach's office, who was the owner. He has been running this place since he was 18. I admired him and his strong work ethic. It inspired me to dream about me owning my own shop one day. Zach was a close friend of my father, who took on the role of my father. My father Michael J. Mensa had died a two years after I was born. I had not one or two memories of my father. My Uncle was the closest thing I had and wouldn't really have any other way. I don't mean to come off as harsh, but I can't cry or complain about someone I don't know. Or remember. I love my father for making me. His death is something that crosses my mind, but doesn't keep me awake at night. My thoughts fled my mind as I reached the office. Knocking, I waited all of two seconds before Zach's low gruff tone told me to enter. I pushed open the door and walked in. Sitting at his desk, Zach scribbled on a yellow notepad. His caramel toned face held an intense expression. He was balancing the books again. And by the way he never once looked up, I knew somebody had fucked up.

"What's wrong now Zach?" I asked, falling into one of his soft plush office chairs. I leaned my head back enjoying the seat.

"Six hundred dollars are the problem," he shook his head.

"What?" I asked, snapping my eyes to look at him.

"Vic, somebody is missing six hundred dollars from the books. Now either somebody didn't pay or somebody stole it. In these books, it is recorded that everything is paid. But the money in the account for the business, says otherwise." he swiped a hand down his face. "I didn't expect someone to steal."

"And everything in the books check out, you said?" I questioned, trying to help.

"Yup." he looked at me, his eyes hardening.

"Backtrack all the recipes and checks. Check everything electronically and non-electronically. Somebody will slip up." I said, leaning forward.

"Good idea. Go tell Jacob to come here. All three of us are about to solve this." he instructed.

I rose from my seat quickly. I exited out the office, walking towards the back door. Jacob operated the tire changing station. He also was into painting the cars. Both stations, which happen to be right next to each other. The sun beat down in heavy hot waves. The summer had officially start about two weeks ago and a nigga couldn't be more excited. Getting closer to the tire station, the sound of music wafted to my ears. That verified that Jacob was off break and grooving. I grinned hearing the music. Jacob was family even though we weren't blood. We have been best friends since daycare. Ms. Betty was the building’s residential babysitter, aka ghetto daycare. She charged about thirty bucks for each kid. Since our moms had to work to support the household, she watched us doing their work hours. We bonded over cookies and ninja turtles. Even when we got too old to have someone watch us, we stayed friends. Often staying at each other's crib until our moms came home. We bumped heads often because we were like night and day. He was outgoing, and I was more conservative. But cars are one of the few things that we had in common. I reached the doorframe of his work station. Just as I had predicted, he was dancing as he sprayed paint onto a car. He was so into the music, he didn't notice when I snuck over to his desk.

"Don't even try it bruh," he said, just as I was about to steal his bag of M&Ms.

"I love how you always know I'm here." I replied dryly, dropping the bag onto the stand.

"We do this every time; you come in here to get me and I be jamming.You sneak in and think that my other human senses don't know you are there. Just because my eyes are focused, doesn't mean my ears aren't." he smirked, turning to face me.

I grinned, giving him a pound. He was right though; he was about to focus his senses on different things. He was good at multi-tasking. A trait I failed to require in my life, but am surely working on. I flopped down onto his chair, glancing at the M&MS. I had a sweet tooth and needed to fill the fix. I looked at him, pleading with my eyes.

"Stop that gay shit. Get some but don't ask for some anymore."

"Give me the bag and it wouldn't be a problem." I grinned, pouring as much as I could into my hand.

"Whatever. What you in here for? You like putting new parts in cars, not paint design." he asked, putting down his paint equipment.

"Zach want us to do some detective work. Six hundred dollars are missing." I answered, chewing on the candy.

"Run that by me again player," he said with his eyes growing wide.

"Six hundred big ones patna," I mocked in a terrible southern accent.

"You lying your ass off,"

"Nope."

"Shit, let's go then. Bet it was that dude Mark. His bitch ass." Jacob concluded, pulling off his gloves.

"Bruh, you only saying that because you hate him." I told him.

"Damn right, nigga should have stayed out my way." he grumbled.

Mark was hired a three months ago. He is this tall lanky 19 year old brown skin kid, with a taste for hot wiring cars. He and Jacob got into many times because the kid was careless. Plus, Mark had this idea that he superior over Jacob. JAcob with his quick temper and easily offended nature, had come close to killing the kid. I couldn't blame Jacob though. The kid was seriously out control, but skilled at being a mechanic. His behavior and attitude is what made him such a pain in the ass. But he doesn't scream thief. I rose from my seat, walking with Jacob back to the office.

Josephine

Wiggling into my jeans, I buttoned them up. I had about two hours before they found me. I couldn’t believe I had slipped up. Again. I pulled my shirt over my head and grabbed my bag. Looking around my tiny little studio, sadness filled my heart. I had finally managed to build a little life with and now I have to leave it. I have not spoken to my mother or sisters in about a year. It was killing me not knowing where they were, or if they were okay. Here, this studio and my new life had occupied me from thinking too hard about it. But here I am leaving again; fleeing because I didn't want to die or have anyone else die. I shook the almost tears from my eyes and walked quickly out the door. No need to lock it, I wasn't coming back. I made it downstairs and placed my studio key in the mailbox of my landlord. I had left an envelope of money for the next three months in there as well. That should cover the lease I wasn't able to finish using. Looking both ways, I hurried across the street to my 2008 black Honda Civic. I pulled my keys out my purse, and quickly unlocked the door. Inside the car, I started the engine and pulled off. My eyes darted all over the road. They knew I was here; I needed to hurry up and be out. Just as I was about to turn the corner, the sleek black Audi passed me. I damn near almost pissed on myself. They didn't see me, so I was good. I hit the gas a little harder and hit the highway.

Here I come New Mexico.

Vic

The three of us crowd into the small office. The air conditioner in the corner window tried it's best to keep us cool. I looked at the books for the tenth time since I had come back in. No denying it; the money was definitely missing. Jacob scratched his head, trying to figure out it out. Everyone had turned in the money in either checks or cash. It was all accounted for. My eyes darted over to the bank statements.

"Hold up," I said, lifting up the stack. "Who made a withdrawal?"