Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Nowhere is, really.
I haven’t been settled in one place for my entire adult life, but I do need to be able to disconnect from work so I don’t get burned out. I try to keep my job out of my personal space when I can.
Tonight, that means taking a long, hot bath with a crisp glass of white wine, then I’m going to binge-watch a few episodes of Game of Thrones for the third time.
The performance facility is quiet, and I glance at my watch as I head toward the lobby. It’s almost seven and I’m surprised how deserted it seems. Often, people are here after hours, working late in the executive suite, or players doing a late workout. I only pass one person on the way to the door, an equipment manager looking rushed and harried.
Jimmy, the night shift guard, looks up from his phone as I approach the lobby desk, already grinning. “Whoa, whoa—hold up, Spielberg.”
He sure is different from the surly day shift security guard whose name I know is Walter, only because of the tag on his shirt.
But Jimmy made sure to introduce himself to me my first night here and always has a smile when I approach. He’s probably in his early forties and built like he played linebacker in high school and never fully stopped thinking of himself that way. His uniform is regulation, but the personality underneath it absolutely is not.
“When are you going to put me on camera?” he asks. “I’m ready for my starring role, and I’ve been working on my serious face.”
He mugs it for me, and I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s a documentary, Jimmy. No one stars in it.”
Except maybe Crosby, but I’ve yet to talk to him. He’s like a wild animal who’s easily spooked, so I’m ignoring him for now.
“Tragic,” he says solemnly. “All this charisma, these good looks… wasted on a clipboard.”
“You’ll totally get on camera, my friend. Give me time.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You say that now. But one of these nights, I’m gonna catch something dramatic. A suspicious raccoon. A rogue Zamboni. Boom. Jimmy’s moment and you’ll have missed it.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I badge out. “I promise you this—I will get an interview from you. Be prepared to recount the raccoon story.”
“Looking forward to it,” he replies with a chuckle, pushing up from the desk. “I have to go back to my rounds. You have a good night, Juno. Drive safe.”
“You too, Jimmy.”
He taps the radio clipped to his shoulder and heads off down the corridor, boots echoing as he starts his patrol. Once the front doors lock at six, he doesn’t stay planted behind the desk. He walks the entire building—upper levels, training rooms, service hallways, outdoor perimeter. He knows every corner of this place, every blind spot.
I step outside, the doors sealing shut behind me with a muted click, and the night air hits my face—cool, clean, a relief after hours under fluorescent lights.
The parking lot is mostly empty—only three cars remaining—but I’m not afraid. The lighting out here is ridiculously good and besides… I’ve got mace on my keychain, ready to deploy as needed. A good squirt to the face and a knee to the nuts is all the heat I need to pack.
Still, I scan the parking lot as I make my way to my little Volkswagen Passat. It’s white, nondescript and reliable. It’s served me well for going on six years now, thanks to me being a stickler for routine maintenance.
That’s when I see it.
The front passenger tire is completely flat. Rubber slumped against the asphalt like it had given up mid-fight.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, bending to peer at it closer. While there’s a lamppost ten feet away, I turn on my phone’s light and inspect the tread.
And there it is… a big honkin’ nail.
I blow a lock of hair out of my face, a huff of frustration. Evan left an hour ago at my insistence. I could call him but he’s a good half hour away, also preferring to stay downtown.
I unlock my car, toss my bag into the passenger seat, and try to process the situation. I could go get Jimmy, but no telling where he is in the building.
Or I could change the damn thing myself. I’ve never done it before, but it can’t be that hard. They have YouTube videos on everything, and besides, I’ve seen it done a few times.
Determined to be self-sufficient and only allowing myself to ask Jimmy for help if I can’t get it done, I pop the trunk. I manage to find the jack and confirm the spare tire looks to be in good shape.
There are also handy little instructions on the bottom of the jack.
Bonus.
I walk toward the tire, turning the jack over in my hands, trying to understand which side goes on the ground. The metal is cold, heavier than I expected.