Page 23 of Ghost
A few heads turn her way, some nodding in agreement, others looking skeptical. I wrap my arm tighter around her waist to remind them all that her place here isn’t up for debate.
Mania taps the table. “Alright, let’s assume this isn’t a one-off. Whoever sent the drone was scouting. Testing us. Which means they’ll try again—unless we make sure they can’t.”
“And what do you suggest?” Caesar growls, leaning back in his chair. He’s skeptical by nature, but he’s got a point. “We sit here twiddling our thumbs, waiting for another drone? Or worse?”
“No,” Tizzy snaps, leaning forward slightly. “We don’t wait. We bait them.”
The room goes quiet again, her words sinking in. I glance at her, and the fire in her eyes is enough to make me grin. That’s my girl.
“Go on,” I say, my voice steady and encouraging. She’s got everyone’s attention now.
“We set a trap,” she explains. “Whoever sent the drone is looking for something—or someone. We make them think they’ve found it. Use the same tech against them. Crypt, you can rig something up, right?”
He nods slowly, a spark of interest lighting up in his usually deadpan expression. “Yeah. I could rig a decoy signal. Something that looks like a high-value target. But it’ll take time—and we’ll need the right bait.”
“That’s where we come in,” I say, looking around the table. “We’ll need eyes on every inch of this property. No one gets close without us knowing. Taz, Mania, you’ll handle perimeter shifts.Caesar, you’ll work on the tech with Crypt. And the rest of us? We’ll be ready for whoever comes sniffing around.”
“And what about me?” Tizzy asks, her voice challenging.
“You stay close,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “If this shit gets messy, I want you where I can see you.”
She gives me a look like she’s ready to argue, but then she nods. It’s a small concession, but I’ll take it. Keeping her safe is non-negotiable.
“Alright,” Crypt says, standing. “I’ll need some extra hands for the setup. And a little time.”
“You’ve got it,” I reply. “Let’s get to work.”
The gavel drops, the sound echoing in the tense air, and the brothers rise, already discussing their tasks. Tizzy stays in my lap for a moment longer, her hand resting lightly on my chest.
“This could get dangerous,” I murmur to her. “You ready for that?”
Her eyes meet mine, unwavering. “Always.”
Chapter Twenty
Tizzy
I snap my pink elbow-length rubber gloved over my hands, then pull the matching pink goggles over my eyes. Picking up the pink bucket with all the cleaning supplies I could need, I nod before heading toward the exit door.
“Uh, Mama Tiz. Where ya headed will all that girly shit?” Caesar asks, eyeing the bucket and my getup as he nibbles on some banana bread.
“To put in some elbow grease! It's time someone finally took care of business.” I nod decisively, not sticking around even when I hear him behind me.
“Uh… I don't think that's the best idea. Prez wants to keep it…”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Devon wants the upstairs to look like a dump, but I just can't live like this. I get it; it goes with the whole theme if the place seems out of business and downright dingy. But how flipping fabulous would it be to someday have this place restored to its former glory?
As I come out of the hidden door and make my way to the front, standing behind the counter, I take in the place. It has somuch potential. From the eight okay-looking lanes that just need some oiling and a good buffing, to the vinyl chairs that may be cracked, but I'm sure I can get them scrubbed clean and looking at least better. They may not match, but they sit a rump just as well as all the rest.
I keep moving over to the lanes and wince at the state of the pins, all scattered about and duct taped. The register at least looks like it works, and it's not from the dino age. Then there are the shoes that run all along the back wall, the ones that I would bet money stink so bad they could get up and walk out of here themselves. I’ll need to figure out if they are a complete lost cause or not. Maybe I can talk Devon into that job. I don't want to lose my nails to some foot fungus that might be hiding in one or more pairs of those ugly things.
I wonder if I should start with the small arcade space? The area back there may only have a few machines, and only one of them is actually working, but the space has potential. It's currently filled with trash and junk you would find at an estate sale, but if we clear all that up, we might have something to work with. I might have to get some of the guys to help me with that one, too. I saw a shed out back that I can put all that stuff in, and I have a feeling there will be a few things buried deep in here that I won't be able to get all by my lonesome.
One of the high-top tables is turned over, but other than straightening them up and wiping them off, those will work fine. Further down the wall, I notice the small bar. No real taps or true bar are set up, only a tapped-out keg and a secret beer stash in the fridge behind some empty boxes. That brings me to the biggest hurdle with this project. I might be able to scrub this place clean, clear out all the trash, and straighten up the whole place enough to get it running. That will be a bit of a challenge,one I’m definitely up to. But the real conundrum is how I will convince the two old grumpy men who live at that sticky beat-up bar top to go along with my plan.
Getting myself into gear, I throw myself into cleaning. I find a small radio behind the messy main counter and put on some old-school hits. Dancing, wiggling, and scrubbing, I'm in my element. I’ve never felt so determined or happy in my life at the potential of this place. I’m singing loud and probably off-key when the song is suddenly interrupted, and I’m left screeching all alone.
“RUDE!” I yell, whipping my head to turn and look at who dared mess with my tunes. Rolling my eyes at Devon's crossed arms, I pull the goggles off my eyes and set them right below my hairline.