Free Herculanium by Alex G. Paman Page B

can help me?”
    “I’m not the police, mister, just security. If you need help, you’re going to have to call someone else. There’s probably a payphone down the road where you came from.”
    “Perhaps those people in that van can help me. I’m sure they have a phone I can borrow?”
    “They’re moving, too. We’re telling all news folks that Preston Jones has no comment to make. This area is off-limits to everybody. That includes you and them.”
    Allan felt a curious cold area suddenly crater in his heart.
    “Did you say ‘Preston Jones’? Preston Jones the basketball player?”
    “Yes, I did. Please move along.” The guard swung his flashlight in the direction of the exit.
    “I went to high school with the guy! Do you know how long it’s been since I saw ‘Pres’? Oh, my god!”
    “You know Preston Jones? Superstar basketball player Preston Jones?”
    “We were high school buddies. I used to do his homework. Hell, we used to walk home together. After the big game.” Allan subconsciously recalled every sitcom situation he had ever watched, piecing scenarios together to form a story.
    “Uh-huh,” mumbled the guard. “Everybody knows Preston, pal. And quite frankly, you look a little bit too old to be his bed buddy. Now please move your vehicle. Follow these other cars out and I’m sure someone can help you.”
    “But you have to let me see him. Just tell him Al said…”
    “Look, asshole. Just move your fucking car, okay? Move it or I’ll have your ass towed.”
    “That’s not funny. If you’re trying to tell a joke, I’m not laughing.” Allan casually reached under his chair in the darkness, taking care not to drop his shoulder any more than it already was.
    “Mister, just move your vehicle, please?” The guard bit his lip to control his temper and his patience.
    Allan winked at him. “C’mon. Just a quick how-do-you-do? He’s my friend. You can be my friend, too. I’ll make it worth your while.”
    “Alright, asshole, if you’re not going to listen, then neither am I.” The guard unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt and raised it to his mouth. He clicked the talk button and was ready to report an incident.
    Allan Henderson raised his right shoulder high, saying “that’s a nice jacket,” before firing his pistol.
     
    Darienne raised her head as she handed Lilian a towel she retrieved from the van’s rear. Was that fireworks? Or a car backfiring? Strange, she thought, hearing popping sounds from such a secluded area.
    She could also tell it was used as an oil rag just from its scent, but Micky’s agent was just so insistent about drying off that she just couldn’t refuse. In the darkness, Lilian was rubbing oil and grease all over her soaked dress.
    “Those bastard guards just told us to leave,” complained Lilian as she then dabbed the towel on her cheeks and neck. “But we can’t bloody leave because Mr. Smith didn’t leave us the keys. Now they’re going to have us towed. Good! That’s what Micky gets for defying my orders.”
    “I’m sure they’ll be back soon, Ms. Hirsch. If they can’t get in the party, they’ll be back in a few minutes. Let’s just sit tight.”
    “Thank you for your opinion, Ms. Snow,” said Lilian. “Next time, please wait for someone to ask for it first.”
    Darienne turned her entire body towards the door, away from Lilian’s seat. Being insulted by this hag of a woman was not how she pictured herself spending quality time with her best friend. She could probably strike her and then claim ignorance, assuming she could knock her out with one punch. But these socialites probably had a ton of lawyers to back them up, something Darienne couldn’t financially match. Stealth oil rags would have to do for now.
    The van subtly shook in place, as if someone had leaned against its back bumper. The distinct sound of breaking glass was barely audible against the splashing of the sprinklers.
    Another strange sound, Darienne thought. She