Page 54 of Capitol Matters

“Well.” He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and unwrapped a stick. “Where’s the beef?”

I barked an abrupt laugh. “That’s funny, Rip. I didn’t know you did funny.”

Tossing the gum wrapper on the ground, he stared at me while chewing. Sunlight glinted off his solid white eye.

“Over there.”A flick of my hand toward the storage unit raised the door halfway. Frost billowed out and condensed in the air.

Maggie perked up, and a sound like a purr rumbled in her throat.

“Bon Appetit,” I told her.

She needed no further instruction to trot toward the opening, leaving the rest of us looking after her.

“He… hung himself,” Donovan said as the zombie girl ducked inside. “Is that gonna bother her?”

Ripley scoffed. “Hardly. She enjoys playing with her food.”

I squinted toward the storage locker, trying to clear the visual of Yankee Doodle’s dangling corpse from my mind. “So, it’s like a piñata party in there?”

Donovan turned toward me. Storm clouds darkened his face. “Wow, Fitch, for someone who was really shook up a while ago, you’re sure back in jackass mode now.”

“That was on. This is off.” I sneered at him. “I like off better.”

Ripley looked back and forth between us, then chuckled. “I used to wonder what it would be like having a sibling. You two make it look like a hell of a time.”

Seeing that we’d been loitering on the Lock n’ Roll lot for over an hour, it wasn’t unlikely someone else would come along. I worried the woman from the front office would get bored or nosey enough to follow up on my mad dash of an arrival. But even another customer seemed more likely than what I saw next.

A new car rounded the corner. That made three vehicles—by definition, a crowd—and I felt immediately pressed. Beside me, Donovan’s eyes stretched wide. Ripley showed no surprise, and his lack of reaction slowed mine long enough to recognize Jacoby Thatcher’s Lexus sedan creeping onto the scene.

Through the windshield, I watched Thatcher’s gel-slick ducktail grow into shoulder-length waves. Hissharp, rat-like features hardened off to Grimm’s stern, chiseled ones.

I gritted my teeth. “Why’s he here?”

Ripley stood with his arms crossed, working the bubblegum. I zeroed in on him.

“You?” My voice sounded shrill. “Why would you…? Whose side are you even on?”

Donovan buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I’m so screwed.”

“Donnie, it’s fine. I’ve got this,” I told him, then whirled around, stomping one foot that rocketed a wave of force toward Ripley. “You ass kissing, tattletale snitch!”

The blow struck him so hard that he choked on the gum. His hacking cough drove out puffs of smoke as Grimm shouted.

“Gentlemen! Boys!” His clothes and torso were changing, making his head look oversized on Thatcher’s string bean body. As he walked forward, his loafers clacked against the pavement.

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.

Donovan faded to the background while Ripley wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his black Henley.

“I had this under control,” I said to Grimm’s approach.

The older man surveyed the three of us standing before his gaze settled on the open storage unit door. He drew a chest-swelling breath. “I might believe that, Fitch, if Miss Lyle hadn’t spent the last hour scurrying around the Capitol building cursing your name.”

I grimaced.

“And right after she extended an olive branch to you, too.” Grimm shook his head. “Not the best timing.”

“Not a good look,” I grumbled, quoting Holland’s voicemail.

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