Night Shift (Book 1, the Night Shift series)

Chapter Fourteen

The long dark hair was matted and tangled. Her face was an unrecognizable pulpy mess. Daniel's back slammed into the wall as bloodied hands clawed at his sleeves, leaving splotches of red on his shirt. He gritted his teeth, smelling a foul odour...garlic?

As he remembered the spaghetti sauce from last night's dinner, the scene took on a whole new meaning.

"Petey," he growled, pushing the hairy mess away.

Explosive laughter echoed down the hallway. Jonathan was bent over, holding his stomach. "Holy crap! You should see your face."

"There's something wrong with you guys," Daniel said, wondering if Monique had told him the story of the bloody assistant on purpose. Were all the staff ganging up on him tonight?

Petey pulled off the sloppy wig. "You're right," he laughed, stepping out of the silver shoes. "I've got to start using water. These gags with fake blood take too long to clean up."

Daniel's top was ruined. He pushed past Jonathan and went directly to the locker room. He changed back into his faded Henley shirt, then dropped his uniform in the clothes washer. Mr. Oliver was sure to fire him tonight. How was it that he could get yelled at for not arriving early enough to meet with the insurance company, but it was perfectly fine for Jonathan and Petey to keep pulling these stupid gags?

Daniel rubbed his face, still nervous from the scare. He pictured Mr. Oliver with his nose in the paper and his back to the monitors—the monitors he always shut off. He thought about the window displays and how Jonathan was determined to make him look stupid in front of the girls.

"Screw that," Daniel told the washer. He jogged up the grand staircase and headed for the second floor—Sporting Goods, to be exact. The golfing section.

He found Mary tidying up in the Leisure section. A narrow path flanked by high bookcases opened into a cozy reading area with overstuffed loveseats and an electric fireplace. It took some convincing on his part to drag her away from cataloging a new shipment of hardcovers, but she finally agreed to spare him an hour.

Mary suggested they start by teeing off at the top of the grand staircase. It was soon obvious that she had played this game more than once. Her ball never rolled under displays or got lost under racks of clothing. In fact, she hit the perfect shot nearly every time. Daniel's stroke count was almost three times her score once they had reached the ground floor.

"Another hole in one," he moaned. "How is that possible?"

"I've had a lot of practice," she said. "Repetition improves technique."

They were in the gift shop, surrounded by merchandise adorned with an image of the colossal storefront. One entire wall displayed teddy bears wearing the famous blue-and-white-striped aprons.

Mary retrieved her golf ball out of a coffee mug decorated with a blue W. "It's not my fault I got a perfect bounce off the makeup counter."

"Which could have easily smashed," he said. "You hit the ball too hard from the landing."

"Said the sore loser."

They walked out of the gift shop and stood in the main foyer. "One more?" she suggested. "We're aiming for the Confectionery."

Daniel lined up his ball on the black granite tile. "So how long have you been practicing?" he asked.

"Awhile."

His ball rolled down the main aisle before it gently bumped against the wall and came to a rest. Mary's shot sailed through the air and pinged off an archway, barely missing a glass display case. It bounced out of sight, far beyond his ball. Daniel's earlier cavalier attitude was slowly ebbing, being replaced with visions of Mr. Oliver throwing open the security door and scowling at them. They exchanged worried looks, but the door stayed shut. Daniel let out a relieved sigh, then gave her a wink and walked up the aisle, resting the club on his shoulder.