Okay but try not to murd.., p.1
Okay, But Try Not to Murder Anyone, page 1
Would you like to see chapters of my books before they come out? Do you want to see cover art sketches and vote on which poses should make it to final production? Would you like to see even sexier versions of my covers? Would you like to get my audiobooks at a deep discount?
Of course you would! Join my Patreon here to get all these awesome benefits (or search for my name on Patreon.com).
You can also join my Facebook group right here. Then you’ll know when my books come out before anyone else.
Chapter One
“And you’re sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” Mary Johnson slid up next to me at the counter and batted her emerald-green eyes. “I know I’m the only thing keeping you going these days.”
“The only thing? You wish.” I rolled my eyes and laughed at the brunette. Then I folded the cardboard box over my knee before I tossed it onto the industrial-sized laundry hamper we used to keep our recyclables all in one place.
“You’re so mean, Jonah!” Mary crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her lower lip in a playful pout. “We’re work buddies. You know what that means? We’re each other’s last line of defense before we lose our minds to the soul crushing abyss that’s corporate America. That’s more serious than any relationship, ever. We’d be fucked without a healthy dose of disillusionment.”
“I retract my previous statement.” I dusted off the fronts of my khakis and flashed the short woman an affectionate smile. “I don’t think I’m gonna manage without you tonight. You’re literally the only person who could make this last hour go by in fifteen minutes or less.”
“Awww, stop it.” Mary dropped her shoulders slightly and giggled.
The two of us worked together at the Copy, Post, Ship, Bellamy’s one stop shop for all your postal and copying needs. The CPS, as we lovingly called it, functioned just like any other postal store. We could ship packages, hook someone up with a birthday card, help fax a letter, print flyers for a high school prom cheaper than the local competition, and as of last year, we’d recently been given all the right approvals to snap photos of folks for their shiny new passports.
The true miracle of the shop was we’d somehow been able to avoid being bought out and converted into some kind of UPS or FedEx location by now, but Mary remained adamant that Rudy, our manager and the owner of the shop, had made some kind of blood oath with the corporate heads of the shipping supergiants, which was what kept us around.
I appreciated her imagination.
In reality, the CPS was just fortunate enough to fill something of a niche in our sprawling community. I couldn’t figure out how exactly it worked, but Rudy pulled all the right strings, and we were authorized to accept and ship packages for any of the major postal companies here in the nation and even a few international services as well. Most of the time, it was easier to drop a package off with us and let us get it to the right people rather than waste an afternoon getting to the correct shop before they closed inexplicably at two o’clock in the afternoon.
I’d been someone’s personal savior more than a couple of times, so the rants were all very familiar to me.
“At least it’s just a Thursday,” Mary said. “Five o’clock closing time, no crazy rush with fifteen minutes to close when everyone realizes they have mail that needs to have been sent out yesterday…”
“It’s true,” I replied. “I hear the new location in West Bellamy gets slammed like clockwork right before closing.”
“It’s because it’s in the suburbs.” Mary rolled her eyes. “Soccer moms have to make their forgetfulness everyone else’s problem, you know.”
I just chuckled and looked back out the front window. It was only four, but the sun was already starting to set, and the sky was full of big swatches of red, orange, and yellow.
Mary turned around and followed my gaze out the window. Our uniform khakis fit her a hell of a lot better than they fit me, and I may have indulged in admiring her firm ass for a moment longer than I should have. Even our scratchy blue polos seemed tailor-fitted to hug her curves in all the right places.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay getting to the bus stop?” I asked her with a cautious edge in my tone. “I know it’s two blocks away and all, but…”
“Sure,” the woman chuckled. “Why not?”
Bellamy sat far enough to the west of Chicago to avoid the majority of the issues that came with being a metropolitan area, but that didn’t mean we were immune to all problems.
Even though the travel brochures boasted about our cute-as-a-button boutiques and city charm at the fraction of a size, they always seemed to avoid mentioning our steadily increasing crime rate over the years. We were starting to get as dangerous as the Windy City, and there wasn’t a clear reason why.
And that wasn’t even considering the latest streak of trouble that plagued our “charming streets and green riverside parks.”
The newspaper stand stood right in front of the shop window, and I was sure Mary noticed it just like me. No one could miss the headline in bold, black letters that detailed the Sigil Murderer’s latest kill.
“He’s been going for women,” I reminded her with a touch of warning. “Brown hair, green eyes…”
“What makes you think it’s a guy, huh?” The woman attempted to act nonchalant, but I noticed her furrowed brow. “Women can be serial killers, too.”
“It’s the fact that the lunatic can apparently brand a woman with an iron rod and not feel a shred of remorse.” I rubbed my temple with a sigh. “Look, I’m being serious. I’d lock the doors right now and deal with Rudy’s bitching tomorrow if it meant you weren’t walking home alone. You just have to give me the word.”
“It’s only two blocks,” Mary said with a laugh. “And besides, Raymond promised to meet me at the stop on 25th and Broad. We’ll walk home together.”
Raymond was Mary’s long-time boyfriend, but I shuddered at the use of the word because the guy was more of a parasite than a partner. He’d never done anything bad, but he was a real deadbeat. I suspected Mary knew it, too, but unfortunately for her, the personified wet blanket paid most of the rent on their tiny shared apartment.
The CPS was a hell of a lot better than a cashier gig at a fast-food restaurant, but that wasn’t really reflected in our paychecks.
“And he’ll be there this time?” I lifted a suspicious eyebrow. “He’s not going to forget again, or whatever other dumb excuse?”
“He’s getting off work now, too,” Mary replied as she rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
She reached out suddenly and grabbed my arm just above the elbow. Then she bit her lip and offered up a small smile, and my heart melted a little as I stared at her.
If it weren’t for Raymond, I’d have made my move ages ago. Even now, I struggled to calm my heart as it hammered in my chest, and I violently resisted the urge to kiss her right then and there. As it stood, Mary and I had a good thing going, and I wanted to keep the doors open for that wonderful day in the future when the woman was finally ready for greener pastures.
“I just want to make sure you’re safe,” I finally said when the silence stretched on for too long.
“You’re so protective,” Mary giggled and let me go, and then she scooped her purse up from the counter. “It’s a wonder you don’t have a girlfriend yet.”
“Ah, well, you know.” I laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of my neck. “I’ve got a girl who I think would fit the bill.”
“Just one?” Mary smirked.
“Two.” I leaned against the counter on my forearms. “Maybe more. I could be sparing your feelings. I’m a hot commodity.”
“Emphasis on hot,” Mary teased, but then she blushed and cleared her throat. “Alright, Casanova, I’m hitting the dusty road. Would you mind texting me a photo of the schedule whenever Rudy gets around to posting it?”
“Sure thing.” I flashed her a finger gun, and even though I felt a little goofy doing it, I figured it was worth it for the way it made her laugh without fail.
“This is what I mean,” Mary said between her laughs. “The last line of defense. Have a good night, J-Man.”
“Wow, I hate that.” I dropped my hand and laughed. “Please don’t stick with that as a nickname. I’d rather work a shift with Rudy.”
“Best not to tempt fate!” The girl sashayed toward the door, and her brown curls bounced right along with her. “Big Brother is listening to your every word.”
“Your cynicism is appreciated!” I called after her.
The old brass bell rattled over the door in tune with Mary’s laugh as she stepped out into the chilly evening and waved over her shoulder.
Then the door closed, and I was officially alone.
I let out a long sigh as Mary walked out of my line of sight, and then I pushed myself off the tacky green counter and went back to breaking down the empty boxes we’d stacked up off to the side.
The sooner I got through my closing tasks, the sooner I could get out of here, too.
As much as I complained about the job, the closing shift wasn’t the worst thing about it by a mile. It was comforting to know every finished task meant I was one step closer to punching out.
In between helping out the handful of people who came in over the next hour, I finished up the boxes, straightened up the display walls, and finished sorting out the packages in the back so the day crew could load them on the right trucks tomorrow morning.
Mary texted me at one p oint to let me know she’d met up with Raymond and they were headed home, and I appreciated the comfort of knowing she was okay even though I once again wished it was me she was going home with.
After a brief eternity, five o’clock rolled around, and the store was completely empty, so I smiled in relief as I grabbed the keys from behind the counter and sauntered toward the door.
Then, out in the parking lot, I saw a black car screech over the faded yellow lines and park in four spots simultaneously. A moment later, a man scrambled out of the car in a tan trench coat and ran around to his trunk to grab a box from the back.
“Ah, shit.” I hustled to the door a little faster and prayed I could lock the front and duck out of sight before this guy saw me.
I could fake service with a smile as well as anyone, but I really wanted to get back home and decompress for the night.
The man turned around just as I reached the door and waved desperately at me. Then he slammed the trunk and sprinted toward the door. He clutched a package about the size of a shoe box to his chest, but I didn’t see any branding or old labels on the box to give me an idea of what might be inside.
I let out a groan and opened the door just enough to stick my upper torso out.
I wasn’t going to let this man in, but I’d at least do the right thing and tell him we’d be open tomorrow.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” The man had a thick accent I couldn’t place, and he slowed his pace until he finally came to a stop in front of me. “But I’m here now.”
“Yeahhh.” I frowned as I tightened my grip on the door. “I’m really sorry, sir, but we close at five on Thursdays. I can’t take packages after that time.”
“You’re a funny guy.” The man panted a little as he glanced quickly around at our surroundings, and the more he spoke, the more I guessed his accent was Italian. “But stop yanking my chain, yeah? I have work to do tonight.”
Then the man held the package out to me.
I glanced down at the box, but I realized it was completely blank. No shipping label, no handwritten return address, and perhaps most damning of all was the fact that this guy didn’t even bother to tape it up. He’d just tucked the flaps in under themselves to keep them from popping open.
“C’mon, take it,” the man insisted.
I looked back up at the man. Nothing about his five o’clock shadow and blue eyes struck me as extraordinary. Paired with the trench coat, he could have passed for any of the hundreds of metropolitan men who came through the shop on a regular basis. I noticed a gold necklace on his tree trunk neck, and a tiny crucifix with a smaller Jesus nailed to its faux-wood surface hung from the golden chain.
I studied his face in a vain attempt to see if he was being serious, but it was useless. These types were never joking.
Like Mary said, some people just liked to make their own problems everyone else’s, too.
“Sir… I’m really sorry you drove all the way out here, but it’s just store policy,” I said with a sigh. “But we’ll open at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. You could come back… And, you know, that would give you time to prepare your box.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” the man snapped. He shook the box a little, and I heard paper shuffling inside.
“Well, sir, we ask that boxes be sealed up with a good packing tape before they get to us,” I explained. “And you’ll need an address label--”
“It’s not going to be shipped, you baccala!” the man interrupted. “You know who I am, right?”
I clenched my jaw and took a breath to steady myself.
This was not what I needed right now.
“You’re being a real asshole, dude,” I gritted out. “Just come back tomorrow. It’s not the end of the world.”
“There is no tomorrow, Funny Guy,” the man said. “You take the box now, I get rid of it. That’s the deal.”
“I’m afraid I don’t owe you anything.” I started to close the door. “Have a good night, sir.”
“Hey!” The man shoved a dress shoe in between the door and the frame, and I lurched forward a little as the door stopped suddenly. “I’m done joking around, kid. Take the fucking box.”
“Can you move your foot?” I demanded. “We’re closed. I need to lock the door.”
“You better let me in.” The man shifted the box under his arm to free up his right hand.
“We’ll open at eight o’clock tomorrow--” I started.
Suddenly, the man slammed his left shoulder against the door. The sudden force caught me off-guard, and my grip on the door loosened as I staggered back a foot.
The man took the advantage and shoved his way into the store, but he clipped his hip on the corner of the table Mary put by the door just this morning, so several of the artfully arranged holiday cards fell over as the man let out an irate shout.
“Motherfucker!” The man threw the box onto the table and crushed the remaining cards in the display like they were made of tissue paper instead of cardstock.
I immediately pulled my fists up to my chest and prepared for the worst. I’d only ever been in a few fights over the course of my short life, but it was clear this guy was looking to contribute to my list. I was certain in another moment he’d throw himself at me, and the CPS would quickly turn into the Thunderdome.
Instead, the man clutched his hip and let out a string of Italian curses as he shifted the weight off his leg.
“See what you made me do?” he shouted at me.
“I didn’t do anything!” I protested in a sharp tone. “Take your box and get the fuck out of my shop before I call the cops.”
“You fucking punk,” the man snarled as he raked his fingers through his hair. “You better believe Little Jimmy’s gonna hear about this. Then we’ll see who’s laughing, Funny Guy.”
The man whipped around on his heels and pulled the door open with so much force I was afraid the poor thing would snap right off the hinges. Somehow, it held, and the man stormed out of the shop and started back to his car, muttering as he left.
I shook myself out of my trance and ran after him, but not before I stopped by the table and grabbed the box.
Outside, a cool breeze lifted the hairs on the back of my neck as I started after him. “You forgot your box!”
“Keep the fucking thing in the shop, giamope!” the man bellowed. “What, I have to tell you how to do everything? Beansy will be by tonight to grab it.”
“Sir, I can’t just--”
The man hopped into his car, and the engine roared to life. A moment later, he threw the unassuming vehicle into drive, and it shot forward with a shriek.
“Hey!” I sprinted for the car and desperately attempted to memorize the license plate, but the guy moved a little too quickly. I only got the first three letters before the car bounced over the curb and took off down the street.
The engine faded from earshot as city noise rose up to fill the emptiness, and I heard the distant sound of sirens from the other side of town and a perpetual hum of traffic from the nearby highway.
Another breeze played over my neck, and I shivered before I looked down at the box in my hands. What did this guy expect me to do with it? I certainly had no plans on sticking around for some other dude to pick it up.
With a huff, I turned and started back toward the CPS, and my heart was still pumping hard in my chest from the sudden exertion.
“Entitled fucking asshole,” I muttered as I pushed against the front door with my hip.
Inside the shop, the welcome heat tingled against my chilled skin as I walked to the back and set the unmarked box on the back counter. I didn’t want to hold onto it, but I also knew throwing it out wasn’t an option, even if it would be satisfying to show this guy what happened when he pissed off a postman.
Rudy would be with me during tomorrow’s opening shift, so I’d just explain the situation to him then, and he could deal with tracking down the man.
Which reminded me…
I scribbled down what I remembered of the license plate on a sticky note, and then I peeled it up off the stack and slapped it on the box.
There. It was officially no longer my problem.
I shut off the lights and collected the keys from the ground where I’d dropped them up front, and then I locked the front door with a sigh of relief. The sunset and the streetlight on the corner were the only two sources of light as I walked back toward the registers to put the keys back, but I didn’t mind. I could deal with finishing up my closing in the dark if it meant I wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else for the night.
