Bishop's Folly by Evelyn Glass Page B

locked gazes as he lowered his laptop to Bishop's tray table. On the screen, two familiar images displayed. Half of the screen displayed the parking lot to the Rusty Bear's north and the lot to the west.
     
    Bishop stared at the grainy images on the split screen with a sense of dread in his gut. White numbers ticked by in the upper right hand as black and white cars drove in and out of the parking lot. Qwerty had the foresight to start it a few seconds before Stella arrived on the scene. Instantly recognizing the car, Bishop's shoulder's tensed. She pulled into the parking lot and stopped. A man came up to the car, knocking on her window. As Stella and the man exchanged words, other men crept up to the car. Bishop's hands clenched into fists as the following scenes preceded quickly. All those men struggling to get at Stella and Stella fighting back valiantly.
     
    Then his men arrived on the scene. He knew what happened from there, but seeing it played out in gritty black-and-white suffused his adrenaline and memories. His knuckles ached, now knowing what the attackers' intent was with Stella.
     
    “You want to notice this car here,” Qwerty murmured and pointed to a sedan in the distance. Bishop's gaze flicked from the brawling bodies to the car. On film, it was black and sleek. Possibly an Impala, but the quality was working against his keen eye.
     
    The car parked on the other side of the bar. For a few breaths, someone shifted inside, and then the driver – masked – darted for the fight. He edged behind cars, avoiding any and all fighting. Bishop glared at the figure, hate already consuming his thoughts. The masked figure caught sight of Stella just as her captor raced off toward the van.
     
    The stranger crept toward the woman without hesitation. His arms locked around her and he dragged her toward his car. Somewhere along the way, he managed to get a handkerchief out of his back pocket, pressing it to Stella's nose and mouth. Bishop growled under his breath.
     
    Stella waited as they reviewed the videos. She presumed they were from the Rusty Bear, since Coyote and Qwerty both exchanged glances before positioning themselves between her and the computer. Her heart raced just thinking about that night. Gratitude at the men and annoyance at her fearful reaction mixed in her head. She averted her gaze, wondering what she should do with Stan and Delilah.
     
    The tapes wouldn't be enough. She doubted they were high enough quality to pull license numbers. If Stan were the least bit intelligent, he would have removed the plates prior to going to the bar. Her mouth dried as a thought sunk into her head: What if they couldn't get proof of Stan's wrongdoings? Uneasiness twitched through her guts as, again, tears bit at her eyes.
     
    Her phone suddenly buzzed, crashing through her thoughts. 'Stan' flashed across the screen and her stomach flopped into her knees. She didn't bother glancing to the three Tribesmen gathered. Standing up abruptly, she headed for the bathroom, despite Bishop's curious gaze on her.
     
    Stella answered the call just as she shut the door firmly behind her. “Hello, Holmes.”
     
    “Stella, thank God.” Stan's voice slicked into her ear like oil. “Are you okay?”
     
    “Yes, I'm fine.” Even the lie churned her stomach. She paced the small room as she laughed uneasily at herself, “I guess I'm more shook up than I thought. I wanted to get home before dark.”
     
    Sickly sweet concern still peppered in his tone, “Why didn't you tell me? I would've accompanied you home.”
     
    Stella's stomach lurched at the mere prospect. She paused in front of the mirror and stared directly at her reflection. “No, that's alright. You were busy.”
     
    “How do you know that?” Stan laughed, but something in his voice seemed strained.
     
    She leaned against the sink, her free hand clutching at the basin. Her gaze fell to the sink drain, her mind working out a quick lie. “I asked some of the