Solo in the City

By Zola Joyce

A stolen diary, a broken heart, and two dozen missing Stormtroopers...in a city bowing to the Gods of Money, true crime is being committed with no justice in sight. Until Magda Lane comes to town. With the constitution in one hand, and a loaded .38 in her pocket, she’s determined to carve out a place in the big city.

Three jobs later, she’s offended the mayor, fallen behind on the rent, and can’t keep her mind off the gorgeous J.D. Kelly. If her anti-establishment father doesn’t bury him first, she just might wrangle a second date from the six-foot-two officer of the law.

A third-generation cop, J.D. Kelly knows better than to be swayed by a pretty face with a love for circumventing the law of the land. But how’s a guy to resist a crack shot in spandex with a big heart and a soft spot for the little guy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zola Joyce
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005253981

Zola Joyce

Zola Joyce writes both modern-day romantic comedies and action-packed historical westerns. All her stories guarantee lots of action, a heroine and hero with a backbone, and a happy ending!In past lives, she's studied in Brazil, taught ESL in Budapest, and dabbled in hazmat cleanup. She currently develops software in the great state of Texas, with an amazing husband and two wonderful kids.

Book preview

She never thought a pair of camouflage pajamas would come in handy. Magda had rolled her eyes when they’d arrived in the mail from her father, with a note penned in his typical cryptic style: In case you have to leave quickly in the night.

And yet here she was, flat-backed on the metal grate of the third largest wastewater treatment plant in the greater San Diego area, praying her father’s Christmas gift would keep her presence from the security guard shuffling her way.

She struggled to make out the guard’s location, as his heavy bootsteps echoed through the domed structure. The metal stairs clanked loudly as he made his rounds. When he stopped at the top of the first flight to rest, a bead of sweat slithered down her spine. Her breathing was too loud, with only the gentle swirl of the sludge ponds masking it.

Magda turned her head to better assess the guard’s position, as he’d not moved up the second flight. The smell nearly knocked her off the overhead perch. It came in waves, refreshing her nausea with each slow roll of the sludge pond. She forced shallow breaths through her mouth, struggling not to gag. She should not have eaten that day-old bagel.

Twelve more steps, she counted to the beat of shallow pants, and he’d be directly underneath her. The minimal night lighting was dim, but she was dripping enough sweat onto the floor to fill a kiddie pool. She had a flash of the guard slipping in the puddled mess below, falling hard on the steel landing, and looking straight up into her startled eyes.

Get ahold of yourself, she admonished, cursing her racing heart. Her father had taught her how to wait. She and her sister had to practice daily, lying prone and perfectly still for longer and longer times, then running flat out, through muscle cramps and the jitters. But it had been a game to her then, practiced in the safety of their one-hundred-acre compound. She’d never had to handle the adrenaline in their family practice runs.

Her gaze fluttered through the dark, looking for something to distract her. She spotted a Matchbox car. It was a ‘69 Camaro, now a dull yellow, scraped and scratched from pudgy two-year-old hands and a quick trip down the toilet. She forced herself to count each trapped car, then catalog the make and model until her breathing grew more regular.

She spotted a white Buick sedan, missing the back passenger side tire, just inches from her booted foot. She sucked in her breath as the footsteps started toward her. The toy was hanging precariously by one fender, lodged none too securely in the grate. Her side was cramping painfully, and she wanted to shift her aching body. But was afraid she might jostle the Buick free, sending it clanking to the ground.

The guard reached the landing, his heavy gait shaking the floor and causing the webbed ceiling to rattle. He paused at the top. She watched as he pulled a Slim Jim out of his uniform pocket, and leisurely enjoyed a snack less than five feet beneath her.

Magda risked a glance toward her foot. The Buick hadn’t shaken free, but Jabba was in imminent danger of slipping. She’d tucked the action figure into her bandolier, tail first, and now the slug-like criminal was about to give her up to the Man. So much for honor among thieves, she thought.

Sucking in her stomach, she tried to get the bandolier to lay flat and keep Jabba tucked in safe. But all-you-can eat dorm meals were catching up with her. She nearly bit through her lip when the guard’s cell rang, shrilling out a scratchy imitation of a cop car siren. And there was no one in this big, bad city to bail her sorry ass out of jail.

Hey, sweetheart, he prattled into the phone, his booming voice echoing through the steel rafters as he cut his rounds short and headed downstairs. Calm down. The money’s on its way. I’m hardly ever late on the child support, so swearing is un-called for. And no, I didn’t spend it on lingerie for Cherise. Where do you get these ideas? The guard let a tiny grin escape, and pulled a tiger-striped thong out of his pants pocket.

The satisfied smirk on his face snapped Magda out of her funk. She was here with a purpose, and the cheating rat beneath her had just reminded her there was justice in her mission.

She watched as the harried Ex complained at the cost of twins, his whiney excuses nicely covering any noise she made as she slipped to the ground.

As soon as she heard the clang of the door to the security office, she placed a tiny boat in the sludge pond, checking the tow lines to her makeshift raft. She held her breath, not entirely convinced the Death Star would float. Tub testing had proved inconclusive, allotting her less than twenty minutes before sinking. But she figured the sludge ponds had buoyancy to spare. She’d also strapped a blow-up Princess Leia to each side, reminding her of the mermaid buoys her Uncle Jim had favored on his fishing boat.

The Death Star bobbed nicely, and fell into line as she maneuvered it into the center of the sludge pit. She steered the little tugboat forward, then shifted the remote control into reverse. This was the tricky part. She wanted to anchor the Death Star so that it would remain in the middle of the sludge. Her efforts would be a waste if the Crappy Boyfriend didn’t see her genius work when he arrived for his morning shift.

She pressed the release button on the tow line, and cringed as the Death Star began to list to one side. But it righted itself quickly and she allowed herself a small smile. Mission accomplished.

Magda checked her watch. She had six minutes before the guard was scheduled to make another round. Plenty of time to make a quiet escape. She glanced down at Han Solo, stroking her thumb down that cheeky smile. You knew I couldn’t leave you behind, didn’t you?

She glanced over to the Death Star, where Vader, the Emperor and twelve pristine in the box Storm Troopers were lashed to the side, bobbing in God knows what. They wouldn’t stay white for long, she thought, as she headed out a side door. Jabba and that hussy of a Princess were clutched together, surrounded by the Empire’s henchmen. Magda’s friend, Stephanie, had specifically requested that Leia be featured in the prank. Something to do with catching the Crappy Boyfriend with his smelly hands all over a metal brassiere, at Star Wars Celebration.

But Magda had a weakness for Han, the ultimate outsider saving the world. She tucked him carefully in her pocket, and set off for the six-mile run home.

********************

The screams could be heard as far off as The Pancake House on Convoy Street. Magda lurched for the volume, but not before her landlord cursed the lazy, jumped-up youth of today as he pounded loudly on the wall.

Keep it down, in there, he grouched. It’s six o’clock in the morning, for fuck’s sake. And your rent’s due today.

She slid into her computer chair, neatly spilling Earl Gray down her only clean work shirt.

Damn, she muttered, her eyes darting to the roll of paper towels at the opposite end of the room. She grabbed the unpaid electricity bill off the floor and dabbed at the tea stains dribbling down her chin, her eyes never leaving the screen. She watched, eyes round, as his co-workers tried to stop the Crappy Boyfriend from jumping in after his precious dolls. The maintenance guy had the slime bag in a shoulder lock as he struggled to get a better look at the sinking mess.

Come on, jump, Magda whispered, gripping shredded cuticles around a lukewarm cup of tea.

She watched as he struggled half-heartedly another few seconds, but then the fight went out of him. He plopped down dejectedly on the floor.

And you call yourself a Star Wars fan, she scoffed, pushing off the salvaged door she used for a desktop. She twirled twice around on the squeaky wheels of her recycled computer chair, before facing the screen again.

A few taps of the keyboard, and she adjusted the angle of the video surveillance camera over the sludge pond. It had only taken Magda three tries to guess the Crappy Boyfriend’s password, which was starwars99. She was hoping for a close up of the turd, as he tried to piece together what had happened.

It took him a moment. Half an oversized cup of tea, in fact. She watched his unibrow make several appearances on his otherwise handsome face. He got heavily to his feet, pushing aside the helping hands of his coworkers. He paced the length of the sludge pond and back before she saw his eyes widen, and his mouth part.

Stephanie, he bellowed, enunciating every syllable, and punching his fist into a solid steel pole on the last ‘e’.

Magda tapped his image on screen, and gave a contented nod. My gift to you, Stephanie, and nice girls everywhere.

Chapter 2 | Demoted to Dishwasher

Magda awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented to find her unpainted lips glued to a window. She pulled back and glanced around, surprised by the nearly empty bus. Mrs. Chan, her usual seat companion, was nowhere to be seen, and a quick glance out the window revealed unfamiliar streets.

Crap, she thought, yanking hard on the emergency stop button. This set off an alarm and a spate of what could only be cursing in an unfamiliar dialect.

She stood up to hurry to the front, only to be tossed back into the lap of a snoring old man, as the bus came to a sudden stop.

What the --?

Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep, she muttered, patting the man on the cheek before she lurched out of his lap and sprinted up the aisle.

Why did you pull the string on my bus, madam? The driver struggled to his feet and waddled down the aisle.

I missed my stop, Magda answered with a half-smile.

Can you not see the sign? he asked, tucking strands of graying hair into his turban. The one right there in oversized, neon red letters that reads Emergency Only. This means that a passenger must be on fire or giving birth to a small child or it is most inappropriate to pull the chord. All I see before me is a lazy girl who has missed her stop.

But I’ll lose my job. And she was behind on her rent, as of this morning. After the loss of her last job, she couldn’t afford another screw up.

This is most definitely not my problem, he insisted, his normally musical voice turning shrill at the higher pitch. My manager is already most displeased with me for several small accidents. He would not like to hear that I am defying the rules and going off my assigned route for a pretty girl. You will stay off of my bus, please. The doors parted with a swish, and he waved her away with two bejeweled hands. Quickly, quickly.

She scrambled down the steps, and made a mental note to bring the irate bus driver a suitable bribe tomorrow morning. Hopefully, a day-old muffin from the diner would do the trick, as she didn’t think she could afford a latte.

Running three blocks in a skirted uniform proved tricky, and Magda was certain she flashed more than one pedestrian as she sprinted around the corner, the polyester hitched up to her thighs for better speed.

She rounded the corner in record time, only to stop short in front of a packed restaurant -- including every table at her station. Table twelve was currently being waited upon by the owner. He scowled at Magda through the glass window, pointing meaningfully at the hungry customers.

She quickly smoothed her skirt into place, and ran her hands over her rioting curls. The sweat just might calm the frizz for once, she thought.

Where have you been? he whispered into her ear as she scrambled up behind him. You’re fifteen minutes late. Once more and you’re gone.

I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.

See that it doesn’t, he snapped, his lips thinning further. I don’t tolerate slackers. Get over to table twelve. Now. The mayor has been kept waiting long enough.

Taking a pad and pencil from the owner, Magda forced a rubbery smile. The mayor. That slime had been flirting with her for weeks. Every morning, he showed up and insisted on being seated at her table.

Let’s get this over with, she mumbled under her breath. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her bright red ears, and checked the length of her skirt. What it’ll be this morning, sir? she asked, forcing a smile.

Just a refill on my coffee for now. That flush to your cheeks is most becoming.

Missed my bus, she said, glancing pointedly at his still open menu while she poured him a fresh cup. You sure I can’t put in your food order now? The kitchen will be backed up soon.

You deserve better than this, my dear.

She froze as she felt his hand slide around hers over the coffee cup she’d just set down in front of him.

Come to dinner with me tonight, he said, a confident smile assessing her figure as he stroked his manicured fingers across her wrist. "I’ll show you what five-star living is like. I could get you the kind of