Two cop cars are parked out in front of the building. The officers are standing near the door discussing something while a third officer tacks up a bright orange notice. My truck’s parked nearby under a shade tree, right where we left it this morning. The cops all look over as I pull in to the side and step out of the truck.
Lora follows me.
“Something wrong here, officers?” I ask.
The one on the far right, the oldest of the group, turns to me. He’s got dark eyes and dark hair, but it’s starting to recede, and his mustache had just a hint of gray.
“You the owner?” he asks.
“I am,” I say. “Along with Lora Lofthouse here.”
He glances at her, but he’s not surprised. I’d hoped her last name would soften things a bit here, but apparently not.
“We got word that there’s some kind of… indoor park being built?” He frowns at us.
“That’s the plan, officer,” Lora says. “We have the batting cages in the truck, actually.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Batting cages? Man, I’d like—” He cuts himself off as the guy standing next to him clears his throat. “Right, well, turns out this place isn’t zoned for that.”
“Excuse me?” Lora asks.
“It’s not zoned for that,” he repeats. “And you don’t have any permits. We can’t allow any construction on here until you get the permits.”
“We’re working on the permits and the zoning, officer,” I say, although that’s not quite true. I should’ve been on top of all that already.
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t help you there. Once you’ve got the proper permits and zoning, you’re all set to go. And I really do hope you get it up and running.”
“Thanks, officer,” Lora says.
They nod and walk off. Two get in one car, and the third rides alone. We stand there and watch as they turn around and drive off.
I walk over to the note on the door. It’s some bullshit about permits and zoning, and I don’t bother reading it. I rip it off the door and crumple it up.
“What the fuck is that about?” I say. “This place has to be zoned for commercial use. It was a goddamn warehouse for years. Half the town worked here at some point.”
“Something’s off,” Lora says, shaking her head.
“You’re not joking. First the car wash and now this.”
“There’s no way we’ll get permits so easily again,” she said. “I doubt flashing my name will work twice.”
“No, definitely won’t. And how the hell do the cops even know what we’re doing out here? We haven’t even officially settled on the place yet.”
“Someone called them,” she says, staring at me.
I clench my jaw. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Let me go talk to my uncle. We shouldn’t even be in this position to begin with. He should’ve gotten this place zoned properly at the very least before it was built.”
“Fine, you do that. I’ll start making calls and see if I can’t get the permit process started at least.”
“It’ll be okay,” she says. “We’ll get through this. And hey, when we’re done, it’ll be official at least.”
I nod and put an arm around her. I pull her against me and kiss her cheek. “You go,” I say. “I’ll stay here and unload.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, frowning.
“I won’t put anything up. I mean, it’s a fucking warehouse. We can at least store the damn cages in there.”
“You shouldn’t do it alone. Let me stay and help.”
“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll go slow. You go talk to your family.”
She bites her lip then nods. “Thanks, Dean. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I smile and shrug then toss her the keys to my truck. “Enjoy the ride.”
“Oh, I always do.” She laughs and heads off. I watch her get in and drive off.
I should’ve known this would happen. I can’t say for sure that it was my father who called the cops, but I have my suspicions. He’s angry and probably petty enough to pull something like this shit. And since the permits issue was already on his mind, it makes sense that he’d think of it to use against us. Plus, he’s on the town council, which makes it easy for him to influence officials.
Fucking prick. I won’t let this slide. But for now, I’ll empty the damn truck and get everything stored.
Working hard might calm me down and keep me from killing my father at least.17LoraI find Uncle Ron sitting in the lounge smoking a cigar and talking with my father. I’m surprised to see Dad home right now, and he looks genuinely happy when I step into the room.
“Hello, darling daughter,” he says, getting up. He looks tan and happy as he comes over to give me a hug.
“Hi, Dad,” I say.
He’s always been the affectionate one, even when we were younger. Mother pushed us to work hard and learn how to be a proper Lofthouse, but my father was always encouraging us to dream big and pursue whatever we’re interested in.