Chapter 11

Author's Note: Boy do I appreciate all of you!!! This chapter was tricky, so it took a bit longer to puzzle out, which is all worth it because I know you're here waiting for it 😄. We're either at the halfway point, or just beyond it right now. This book will be no more than 80k words, no less that 50k (and we are at 40k).

I think that when I am done with this draft and I move into workshop-it mode, I will likely post little short stories here, and my paid members will get to suggest prompts or make requests for their favorite tropes, characters, and situations. Excited for that! But also excited that this story is still flowing and is not showing signs of stopping.

THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE!

*A bit earlier*

Miles ascended the stairs to Brooks’s office feeling a reasonable amount of nerves but an odd amount of guilt. It felt strange to be going behind Maxine’s back, even if it was for a good cause. Ever since he’d learned from Brooks that the underlying scheme at the catering hall had to do with the human trafficking of young Hispanic women and girls, he’d become resolute in his ambition to do whatever it took to help and to keep Maxine as far away from it as possible.

What he’d done the previous night to get her to stop asking him questions had been morally gray, to say the least. That was her way, though, wasn’t it? She did this when following cases; he’d learned as much from her last mark himself. He winced inwardly as he remembered his encounter with Enrico Cruz. Somehow, he’d compartmentalized the fact that the guy had died, and the reality of it washed over him anew. He wondered if Maxine had done the same.

They had both chosen to be out of their right minds the night before, and a part of him knew it’d been a way to cope after hearing such startling news. Given Maxine’s prior relationship with the guy, if it could be called that, he imagined his death would impact her significantly. 

Then again, she was a professional. Miles was also a professional, just not in the same field. However, he would do his best to pretend he was her kind of professional. That’s all that last night was: business—keeping his word to his new/current boss and ensuring Maxine remain in the dark.

If he had to do a lot of work to stop envisioning the open-mouthed look of ecstasy on her face when he’d brought her repeatedly to orgasm with his mouth, so be it. He would adjust his jeans accordingly and move forward.

It was silly to knock on the door since he was expected, but he did it anyway.

“Come in,” called Brooks from the other side, and when Miles entered, he saw that the man was not alone.

“Detective Gladstone,” said a tall blonde woman, moving toward him with an extended hand.

He took it and introduced himself distractedly, as his attention was immediately pulled to a pile of photographs spread across the desk.

“Got these from a first responder on site for the quinceañera. It’s protocol to photograph the scene even if it’s an accident,” Brooks explained.

“Yeah,” said Gladstone, “We were lucky it was someone I knew. They were ushered out and replaced with a different team.”

Miles winced as he took in the images. There he was, Enrico Cruz, sprawled out on the floor surrounded by—he wasn’t sure what the mushy substance that coated the floor beneath the body could be.

“Don’t worry, it’s not some kind of bodily excrement,” said Gladstone, and Miles looked over at her with a pained expression.

Brooks, however, was the one to explain fully. “Yeah, that’s just a bunch of mushed-up bananas,” he said.

“You’re telling me this guy slipped on bananas?” Miles said.

“Foster,” Gladstone said.

When Miles merely stared back, open-mouthed, she went on.

“Bananas foster; it’s a type of flambeed dessert. He was carrying a platter of the stuff.”

“According to the witness statement we got via our EMT friend,” Brooks said, “the waitress who found him heard the platter crash before hearing him fall to the floor.” He then fiddled with some of the photographs, revealing additional ones below showing the scene from other angles.

The bottoms of Enrico’s black work shoes were indeed covered in smashed bananas. Only something about it seemed off, and Miles felt his eyes narrow as he leaned in for a closer look.

As he did so, Brooks reached forward to reveal a photo of the wound on the back of Enrico’s head, causing Miles to wince anew.

“The only problem is that there is no way a fall to the floor caused that kind of laceration,” said Gladstone. “That and he was apparently dead as soon as she found him, which was only moments after the fall. Now, what kind of blow to the top back of the head kills a man instantly?”

Miles opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. “That’s right, it doesn’t. There was absolutely foul play here.”

“But we can’t prove it without the coroner involved, and since it was officially ruled an accident involving slipping on bananas—”

“Foster,” Gladstone said, and Brooks let out an exasperated sigh.

“Could you please stop with that?”

“What?! It’s an entirely different thing! It’s bad enough the kid’s murder is being ruled an accident; let’s not have his dignity further besmirched by saying he died by slipping on a banana!”

Miles let out a humorless laugh and said, “That would be a very silly way to—”

“Alright, fine! Bananas foster, okay?! Regardless, the fall didn’t kill him, and neither did the hit on the head, but we can’t find out what the real cause of death is without an autopsy!”

“When’s the autopsy?” Miles asked.

“There’s not gonna be one, as long as her kind,” Brooks said, pointing an accusatory finger at Gladstone, “are being paid off to keep it from happening.” He had not looked her in the eye as he said this.

“Hey!” she cried, bending her head down to catch his eye. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to figure this out with you, so if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a little less slandering of my entire profession because of one piece of shit scumbag sergeant; thank you very much.”

“You say that as if he’s the only one,” Brooks said, rounding on her.

“That is not what I said; don’t put words in my mouth,” she replied, squaring up to Brooks with a ferocity equal to his.

Miles was beginning to feel as though he was intruding on a private moment and felt himself start to back up slowly. As he did so, however, they turned to him and said in unison, “Sorry.”

Then, both having snapped out of it, they returned to examining the desk full of photographs. Both let out heavy sighs.

“Step number one,” Brooks said, looking up at Miles, “Is to get someone on the inside to retrieve the evidence he couldn’t.”

Miles swallowed with some difficulty as the reality of the plan set in. “So I’m the new Enrico? That’s the job?”

Detective Gladstone’s hand was placed gently on his upper arm within seconds. “You are not the new Enrico by any stretch. He was deep in this. We just need someone to get the lay of the land and help us with a plan. If there’s a way for you to get the evidence yourself, that would be a major bonus, but it doesn’t have to be you.”

“Yeah,” Brooks agreed, “No offense, but we don’t expect a total novice to walk in there on day one, get hired, gain access to private offices, and walk out with the necessary unscathed.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or offended.”

“You can be both if you like, but will you do it?”

“I already told you last night; I’m in.”

“He’s just checking,” Gladstone said with a kind smile and a squeeze to his upper arm before letting her hand drop. “Given all the new information, you’re at liberty to change your mind.”

Miles looked down at the photos, and his eye was immediately drawn back to the shoes. The thing that had bugged him earlier became clearer as he stared: the bananas weren’t covering the entire bottom of the shoe. Certain sections of the sole were completely clean. It was almost as if someone had picked up globs of the flambeed fruit and hurriedly mashed them into the treads without taking much care to make it seem believable.

These scumbags were getting away with murder and so much more. He’d never felt much of a calling to be a vigilante, but he did value justice. This guy could have been a brother or a cousin. This guy could have been him. Just some expendable workhorse that most people overlooked, not important enough to have his death investigated. He had a sudden and irrepressible urge to find out what really happened. Not only that but to go the extra mile and walk out with the evidence himself.

“Like I said, I’m in.”

𓂃🖊 

“He’s heading to the catering hall, for sure,” Maxine said into her phone. “I’m not following him off the Parkway; I’ll meet you guys at the Wawa on Route 18, and we’ll head there together.”

Maxine waited, listening to Arden tell Eashan, who was driving, where they needed to go. The crew had gone to get a white van from Derek’s family farm's processing center to use for surveillance and some tech equipment from a black market dealer Maxine connected them with. Their journey had been largely without incident, aside from the fact that Eashan had gone from wannabe 1940s mobster to thinking he was John Krasinski in some new hotshot P.I. show.

“I’m not putting it into the GPS. That’s lame! No one knows how to get around on instinct these days,” Eashan said.

“Dude,” Derek said with a sigh. “Just put it in so we can all see where we’re going, okay? We promise you that we believe in your infallible instincts.”

“We promise nothing!” Arden cut in. “Put the damn Diamond Palace into the GPS, then add a stop at Wawa, Eashan, or I’m revoking your authorization on my Costco membership.”

Maxine gasped along with Eashan; she knew how he felt about it.

“You wouldn’t,” Eashan said in a low tone.

“Try me.”

“But I need my sous vide egg bites; I die without them. You’re threatening murder!”

“Not if it’s your choice!”

Eashan gasped, a new thought occurring to him. “But my Kewpie Mayo!”

“PUT IT INTO THE GPS EASHAN.”

“FINE!”

“Uh, yeah, so I’m gonna let you go,” Maxine said into the phone, hoping Arden could hear her still. “See you at Wawa?”

“Oh, what? Uh, yeah! See you in… seven minutes exactly—NOW, WAS THAT SO HARD, EASH?!”

𓂃🖊

Miles took the giant man’s hand and shook it. “Miles Perez,” he said through gritted teeth as the bones of his knuckles were crushed together.

“Orlando. I’m the manager here,” he said, low and smooth.

This was not the man Miles was expecting. From the reconnaissance photos Maxine had taken at the start of the job, he had thought the place was run by a scrawny, balding, bespectacled man, not one that could pass as the cousin of Andre the Giant.

It dawned on him that the previous manager was likely fired over whatever had happened with Enrico. Whoever this pinch-hit replacement was, he did not seem like the type to be in the hospitality business.

Miles steeled himself as his stomach roiled at the thought of what the man in front of him represented. Who he worked for, and what they were doing. He pushed those thoughts aside to do what was necessary, just as he had pushed away his feelings about Maxine.

“You’re lookin’ for work, huh?”

“That’s right, sir.”

A grunt was all he received by way of reply. The man was scrutinizing Miles’s face, so he did his best to remain neutral.

“Are you, uh, hiring?” he said, feeling like he was maintaining an air of innocence very well.

“No,” the man growled. “But I am curious as to why you came lookin’, even though we ain’t advertisin’ jobs.” Then, he tilted his head slightly, eyes boring holes into Miles’s. “And why today?”

Miles could tell that Orlando was suspicious of him, but he had a plan.

“Uh, well, sir, because as of last night, I can’t drive Uber. My car broke down, and I don’t have the cash to fix it; I had just sunk all my money into some medical treatments for my grandmother when it happened.”

Another grunt, but Miles thought he saw a sense of approval in the man’s raised brow this time.

“I like to see a young man doin' right by his family. Grandmothers should be protected at all costs.”

“She is my whole world; I would not be here without her.”

After a beat, the man nodded and said, “Well, we’re not officially hiring, but we do have an opening we need to fill.”

When Miles did not look surprised to hear this, Orlando said, “You heard about what happened here.”

Not a question but a statement.

Miles nodded once, and a look of dawning comprehension came over the man’s face. 

“You knew there’d be an opening, so you swooped in.”

“I did, and sorry if that’s crass, but like I said, I really need the work.”

Upon hearing this confirmation, one end of Orlando’s mouth curled up in a smirk.

Something about it made the hairs on the back of Miles’s neck stand on end.

“You got references?”

“Not formal ones,” Miles said, leaning on being earnest as it was working. “But I’ll show you my Uber driver profile. You can see my ratings and comments; I have a 4.9.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy said, waving a dismissive hand. “I can already tell you’re a fuckin’ boy scout just by how you talk. This job doesn’t require too many brain cells; we just need people with good attitudes and work ethics.”

Miles wasn’t sure if that was intended as a compliment, insult, or a bit of both.

“Come this way; we had to put a hold on events for a few days, but there’s plenty to do in the backroom. We start everyone with a trial and training regardless of experience. If you can hack it, especially with all that’s been goin’ on here, you’re hired. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Miles said, letting his eyes wander as they walked through the employee-only hallways. He did his best to memorize the twists and turns, just like he did on coasters. He noted where the manager's office was and how far it was from where he’d be working.

Over his shoulder, Orlando said, “I don’t have time for paperwork right now, but we’ll have you sign somethin’ before you leave, okay? Don’t let me forget, or you’ll be fired before you’re even hired.”

“Yes, sir,” Miles said, nearly raising his hand into a mock salute but restraining himself.

Best not to mock the giant man who could probably choke him with his bare hands. Bear hands!

Miles reminded himself that he didn’t need to retrieve any evidence; he just needed to get a foot in the door, and he had. It could take days, or even weeks, for him to help Brooks concoct a way to double-infiltrate the place, with Miles as a man on the inside.

𓂃🖊 

“We are getting this evidence today,” Maxine said.

They were coasting down the parkway in the Crystal Brook Stables van, Eashan still at the wheel as Derek and Arden prepared to go undercover.

“Eenie, aren’t you gonna tell us what the evidence is about? I figured we’d get the full briefing on the way there,” said Eashan.

“You figured wrong,” she said, unwilling to tell them that even she did not know what the evidence was about, only that it was bad enough to have someone get mysteriously killed.

“Aww, come on! This is my first time getting in on a case, and I don’t even know what it’s about.”

Maxine wanted to explain to Eashan that entry-level assistants never know the full scope of the case and that even at her level, she is often kept strategically in the dark for safety reasons. However, she didn’t need to do so because when Arden forcibly said “Costco,” Eashan mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

When Derek began asking Eashan questions about some of the surveillance equipment they’d acquired, Arden rounded on Maxine.

“Hey,” she whisper-shouted, “What happened last night, anyway? I figured I wouldn’t ask you in front of the guys, but can you tell me now?”

Maxine’s expression hardened. She’d conveniently avoided such interrogations about how she’d spent her evening until now and wanted to keep it that way.

“Nothing happened. He—we—it was nothing.”

“Woooow, something big happened.”

“No, it didn’t! For real, I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well, alright then,” said Arden, “I guess you don’t tell me much of anything anymore so that tracks.”

Maxine recoiled, shocked to hear that sort of tone from her long-time friend.

“Don’t tell you much of anything? Arden, you know I can’t tell you about my cases—”

“Not about the cases, Max. I’m used to that. But you’ve been getting all wrapped up in this guy, and I’ve gotten exactly zero girl chat about it. What’s up with that?!”

“I am not all wrapped up—”

“Okay, fine!” Arden cried abruptly. “I can’t ask for honesty from you without being honest with you myself; I heard you guys last night.”

“What?!” Maxine cried, causing Derek and Eashan to pause in their conversation to look back at the girls.

“Nothing!”

“Never mind!”

Arden and Maxine spoke in unison, and when Eashan protested, one final “Costco!” shut him up.

“I got up to get drinks from the lounge and heard an awful lot of huffing and puffing coming from Miles’s room,” she whispered, eyes widening as she attempted to will Maxine into speaking.

It worked.

“Okay, fine! Something happened! But it’s not what you think.”

Maxine explained the whole situation and how it turned out that Miles was merely playing her to get her to stop asking questions.

“Well, that might be true, but how was it?”

“How was…” Maxine said.

Arden gaped at her. “How are you playing dumb about this?! If he actually got you to stop asking questions, it must have been phenomenal!”

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Maxine mumbled. She did not like what was happening inside her chest. Her heart might fall out of it soon.

“You guess it was?!” Arden cried. “Girl, let’s go. I wanna hear everything; why are you being so—”

Maxine was looking down at her shoes, but when Arden stopped speaking, she snapped her head up.

“What?”

“Oh my god,” Arden said, wide eyes meeting Maxine’s. “You really like him.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You do; you like him. You like him a LOT.”

“Oh, you talkin’ about my favorite ship? Though I can’t decide on the portmanteau, should it be Maxiles? It doesn’t roll off the tongue—oh! I know! Mileenie!”

“Stop with the ship names!” cried Maxine.

“Yeah, truly terrible, dude.”

“Thank you, Derrick!”

“But for the record, I do ship whoever they are.”

“Derrick, you traitor!” Maxine said, and her friends all laughed, but her attention was grabbed by something alongside the road.

“Judy Bloom Service Area? Wait, where are we?”

All heads turned to Eashan’s phone, which was mounted to the dashboard.

Derek reached forward to place two fingers on the map to zoom it out.

“Wall Township?! Isn’t that like way South of where we’re heading?”

“I put the destination in the GPS because you clowns wouldn’t let me rely on my sense of direction; this is not my fault!”

“Wait,” Derek said, grabbing the phone off its pop socket mount and hitting the screen a few times with his thumb. “The Donut Palace?!”

“The what?!”

“Holy shit!”

“I typed in The Diamond Palace! It must have auto-corrected!”

A chorus of groans and other expressions of annoyance cascaded through the van. Eventually, Arden cried, “Derek, can you please fix it?”

“I’m on it,” he said, Eashan’s phone already in hand.

Maxine let her face fall into her hands as she sighed. After a moment, she felt a hand on her knee and looked up into her best friend's kind, calming eyes.

“I’ll be here whenever you wanna talk about it.”

She stared back at her friend and, after a beat, said, “I don’t want anything to happen to him, Arden.”

Arden squeezed Maxine’s knee and said, “I know, babe.”

𓂃🖊 

“So here we are,” said Ernie, a forty-something man with a thick southern drawl and the temperament of Shirly Temple, as they approached a doorway.

“Ta-da!” he said, lifting his arms in the air and stepping into the small room with a single table and a few chairs, one occupied by a girl probably five years younger than Miles. “The napkin folding room!”

“Otherwise known as the break room where we’re forced to work during breaks,” said the girl.

“Oh, well, hello to you too, Jill. This is Miles, temporary trainee.”

“He’s gonna be real temporary once he notices the chalk imprint still on the back hall floor.”

Abruptly, Ernie broke out into furious shushing aimed in Jill’s direction, but she remained stone-faced.

Miles was grateful they had been distracted because he couldn’t contain his greedy expression upon hearing this. Was the crime scene even properly inspected? Could a clue have been left behind?

He knew he wasn’t being asked to solve a murder, but a part of him really wanted to. Maybe it was about the guy having some tie to Maxine, as if they shared that somehow. Miles wanted whoever was responsible to pay for their crimes.

“It’s okay, guys, I knew about the accident. That’s actually how I knew there was an opening.”

Ernie sucked in air, clearly stung by Miles’s words.

Before he could say anything, however, Jill let out a small laugh, and her face broke into a smile. “That’s kinda evil, I love it,” she said.

When Miles smiled back at her, the expression melted off her face as quickly as it had come, and she returned to folding napkins.

“Okay, well,” Ernie said, clearly dying to remove himself from this conversation. “Jill will show you how the swans are made; that will be the majority of the day here, in addition to wrapping silverware. Y’all let me know if you need anything!”

Then he turned and left the room.

A few moments went by before either Miles or Jill said anything. 

Finally, Jill broke the silence when she turned to him and said, “You wanna come see where I found the body?”