Free Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet by Darynda Jones

sunshine in Seattle. So I wasn’t complaining so much as
     bemoaning the fact that I had to drive in it. Hard rain made it almost impossible
     to see the road. Hopefully, whoever owned those trash cans I’d sideswiped would understand
     that.
    After idling on a side street for a bit, watching through chain link as car after
     car entered a fenced-in area, I decided to grow some balls and go through, too. How
     bad could this be? I removed Margaret and stuffed her under my seat before heading
     in.
    A gigantic man in a black plastic poncho held up a hand to stop me the minute I drove
     past the entrance. I stopped. Partly because he was massive and partly because pulling
     off that look was awe-inspiring.
    I unzipped my window, wondering if I should think about getting a car with all the
     latest gadgets. I could do without unzipping windows, but Misery was such a part of
     me, I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Unless my new ride sported a jaguar on
     the hood. Then I’d kick Misery to the curb faster than a crushed aluminum can.
    I patted the dash. “Just kidding, girl. I’d never abandon you. Unless you catch fire
     and I have to run for my life.”
    As if launching a comeback, she sputtered and shimmied before returning back to her
     normal purr. Such sass. We were totally made for each other.
    “You a cop?” the poncho guy asked.
    “No, but I dated one once.”
    He raised a flashlight and scanned Misery’s innards. Sadly, all he’d find was a mishmash
     of files, a couple of jackets, and basic survival gear that consisted mainly of Cheez-Its
     and an emergency stash of Thin Mints. Frickin’ Girl Scouts. Those things were way
     too addictive. They had to be laced with crack.
    I couldn’t see Poncho Guy’s face past the darkness of the night and the shadows of
     his hood. But he did the menacing bit well. His head tilted to the side. “Were you
     sent here by cops?”
    “Not today.” I smiled, pretending rain was not pelting me in the face.
    “Did you get an invitation?”
    “I got an invitation to Nancy Burke’s slumber party in the sixth grade. We played
     spin the bottle. I had to kiss a turtle named Esther.”
    “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you, and I don’t give a shit.”
    “Oh!” I jutted my hand out of the window. “I’m Charley.”
    He backed away and motioned for me to turn around. “No entrance. Go back the way you
     came in.”
    Damn. I totally should have dressed sexy and called myself Bunny. “Wait!” I felt under
     the dash for my emergency mocha latte money. “I’m just here to talk to Reyes Farrow.”
    He seemed unimpressed. “Farrow doesn’t talk. Now go or I’ll drag your ass out of your
     vehicle and beat the shit out of you.”
    That was totally uncalled for. As if in involuntary reaction, my fingers felt blindly
     along the door until they found the lock. Just in case. Then I held out the fifty-dollar
     bill and decided to play his game. The forlorn girl so in love with the god Reyes
     that I’d do anything to get in. Anything to see him. “Please. I just want to see him.
     I just … want to watch.”
    With a loud sigh, he took the fifty out of my hand. “If I catch you recording anything,
     I’ll drag your ass out of that building and beat the shit out of you.”
    Holy cow, he liked to drag and drop. “Thank you.” I blinked a few times in concession,
     only partly because rain was still pelting me in the face. “Thank you so much.”
    He frowned and swept the flashlight to the left, showing me where to park. I followed
     his directions, grabbed one of the cast-off jackets from the backseat as a makeshift
     umbrella, saluted a good-bye to the kid sitting there, staring off into his own little
     space station, then hurried to a side door, where I’d seen a couple run in earlier.
     Sadly, I was stopped again. By another big guy in a black plastic poncho. Who wanted
     money.
    “Fifty bucks,” he said, his tone flat.
    No way. “Fifty bucks? I just gave