Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said quickly, tearing off the piece of the paper with the writing on it and stuffing it into her pocket. “I’m going to be late for work. Uh, dinner you said, right? Yeah, we’ll have to do that some time. I’ve got to go, though. Bye.”

Maureen left her garbage on the table and rushed out of the coffee shop and into the burning sunshine. She ran down the street and stopped in front of city hall. She looked up at the clock tower for the time. Twenty minutes until her shift started. She sat down on the steps to catch her breath and drew the piece of newspaper out of her pocket and stared at the letters and numbers, wondering what they meant. It looked like a code; it meant nothing to her.

Maureen crumpled up the paper in frustration and was about to throw it to the ground when she stopped. She didn’t know why, but instead of doing that, she smoothed the paper back out, folded it tightly, and stuffed it back into her pocket. Then she got up and made for the bar.

EIGHTEEN

Maureen decided to go in through the alley door of Anderson’s. She wasn’t sneaking in, she just didn’t feel like being seen until she was ready to put on her show at the bar. The episode at the coffee shop didn’t let her make it back to her apartment, so she wasn’t able to glamorize herself in the way that the regulars were used to seeing her. Equally unfortunately, she only had on her regular bra, which meant the girls wouldn’t be out tonight. Without her usual cleavage, she’d have to work on her makeup a little more to make her tips. If she could even force her smile to the surface.

She moved quietly through the back storage area to the employee bathroom where she kept some emergency cosmetics hidden. She avoided detection and within seconds was rummaging through her makeup bag. She decided she would go with smoky eyes and just a little lipstick as her look for the night, and she was just getting out one of her brushes when the door flew open behind her.

“Maureen,” Mr. Anderson said, walking through the door, “need you out front.”

“Jesus, Todd!” she shouted back. “What if I was on the can?”

“Don’t tease me,” he replied sarcastically.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she told him and turned back to the mirror.

“You don’t need to do your makeup.” He turned toward the door. “Hurry up.”

Maureen stuck up her middle finger as the door closed. She decided to at least put on a little concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. Outside of them, the effects of the previous night’s drinking were non-existent. She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of that fact or concerned. Escaping into a bottle was nothing new for her, but the prevailing theory was that hangovers got worse the older you got, not better. She really didn’t have time to think about that now. Mr. Anderson’s strange tone had set her on edge, and she had no idea what she was walking into. She gave herself one last look in the mirror, drank a sip of water from the sink’s faucet, and headed out to find out what was waiting for her.

She rounded the corner into the front of the house and was greeted by perhaps the least welcome sight she could have imagined. Sitting at the bar with Mr. Anderson, sipping a glass of water, was Detective Benitez. He and her boss were speaking in tones low enough that she couldn’t hear anything other than dull murmurs, even in the empty bar. Their faces were serious, and she could only believe that whatever happened next, it wouldn’t end well for her.

She cautiously approached, trying her best to keep her face even. They immediately broke off their conversation as soon as her footsteps echoed off the walls and turned to look at her. She caught a quick smirk flash across the detective’s face, but it was wiped clear by the time she was standing next to him. The three stood silently for a few beats too long for Maureen’s liking, and so she decided to break the silence.

“Okay, gentleman,” she said, making her best effort at a mocking tone, “what can I get you?”

“I’m actually going to excuse myself and let you two talk,” Mr. Anderson said, got up from his stool, and disappeared into the back.

The detective watched him leave and then turned to Maureen. “I told him I was here on business for the FBI. Sure hope that little tidbit doesn’t get back to Layton.”

She moved behind the bar and filled a beer mug from the tap. She set it on the bar and pushed it toward the detective.

“Would love to, but can’t,” he said, pushing it back toward her. “We’ve got work to do.”

The word we made her heart jump. What could he possibly mean by that? Maureen reached out, took the mug of beer, and drank down half its contents in a single gulp. She made sure to keep her eyes glued to the detective, trying to pick up any tell.

“Didn’t think I came here to say that, did you?” he smirked.

She shook her head and continued to sip the beer.

“But you heard right. I said ‘we’. I need your help. But, thanks to some excitement this morning at the department, I’m not, strictly speaking, part of the investigation anymore.”

“And what sort of excitement is that?”

“I punched out a worthless, asshole sergeant,” he said, shaking his head and stifling a laugh. He cast his eyes down and began caressing the knuckles of his right hand, as if massaging them after a job well done. Maureen could see the remnants of dried blood on them, not only confirming that he was telling the truth but confirming how proud he was of the badge of honor.

“I