Page 18 of The Biting Bargain

"She packed apple pie, too," I say. "Special for you. It's vegan."

"Awww. Your grandma is the best."

While Marigold giggles, I automatically come to a stop at the same place where I have always stopped for the past six months. The window panes of the empty store gleam darkly at me.

For fifty years, a bookstore/liquor joint was in here, until the cops busted the owner for money laundering. And since then, every time I pass by, I stare into the empty space and at the yellow sticker stuck across the glass that reads"FOR SALE"— and dream.

"Are you staring into Poppy Panties again?" asks Marigold in my ear. I blink myself out of my trance.

"There is no Poppy Panties," I sigh, my eyes roaming the empty solid wood counter silhouetted in the darkness behind the glass. "It’s just a pipe dream."

"A pipe dream you can make come true," Marigold says and I scoff.

Poppy Panties is my personal lingerie empire that will revolutionize the fashion world with sparkles and fluffiness and earn me a colossal pile of dough. At least, that's what Mae and Marigold's highly alcoholic idea sounded like when this little store suddenly went up for sale.

Yet, the whole thing got stuck in my mind and here I am, staring and dreaming.

In my mind I see the bare interior covered with pink paint. It’s full of gaudy clothing racks and dressmaker's dummies displaying my latest creations.

Bras and panties with rainbow patterns. Babydolls littered with little ponies and cute kittens. Stockings with brightly colored garters. Corsages with lush ruffles. And lace, lace, lace on every bit of fabric.

The entire store — and the accompanying online store that will ship my squishy and cute lingerie all over the globe — will look like one of Marigold's cupcakes. Sweet, over-the-top and so, so delicious.

Of course, this is a massive pie in the sky. Just as likely as winning the lottery, a direct meteor strike, or my mom showing up again. Also, I’m broke as fuck. Instead of the fat minus in my bank account, I'd need to have an even fatter plus to even dream of something like this.

"Not a chance," I tell Marigold.

"Never say never."

She is giggling into my ear, but before I can come up with a clever retort, a dark form emerges from the shadows right in front of me and plucks the cellphone out of my hand.

I freeze on the spot. I can still hear Marigold's tiny voice coming from my phone, then a fat thumb presses the red button on my display and she goes silent.

"You're a hard woman to reach, Miss Bukowski," the man says with a smirk, stepping forward. "We were starting to think your phone might be broken. But, surprise, it works just fine."

It's the shorter of the two. The one with the mustache and the thin weasel smile. Towering behind him is his partner, the troll with the bomber jacket, monobrow and giant hands of steel who gave me the bruises the last time we met.

Before I have a chance to bolt, they're pushing me into a side alley and I crash with my back into a wall. I gasp and drop the baskets. One of the plastic containers rolls across the cobblestones. The troll scoops it up with one paw and sniffs.

"Hmm, smells good."

"What do you want?" I press out, squashing down my panic. Apparently Twin Pines is not that safe after all.

Mustache Guy smiles. "Just having a little chat."

I swallow. "Like last time?” Is he going to rip my arms off completely this time?"

He grins as the troll opens the container, takes out one of Grandma's steaks and chomps it down with one bite.

"Rocco went a little overboard, and he's going to apologize," Mustache says. "Won't you, Rocco?"

"Sorry," Rocco mumbles, gob full of steak. Of course his name is Rocco. Probably Mafia thugs are recruited by their first name. Or he got a new one when he started.No, Gaylord isn't intimidating enough. From now on, your name will be Rocco Wrist Crusher, something like that.

And apparently in fear of death, my brain gallops off into useless side quests.

"We need to talk about the money." Mustache holds out my phone and I snatch it back.

"No idea what you mean."

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