Imperfectly Criminal

by Mary Frame

  “Are you calling me a vengeful bitch?”

  I slowly shake my head. “No. Out of all of them you were probably the only one I didn’t feel any guilt about. Carl is a real asshole.”

  “Cameron,” she corrects again.

  “Whatever.” I run a hand through my hair. It feels greasy and gross. No time to shower this morning before the cops started knocking at my door. “Anyway, sometime after I left them, alive and well,” I feel the need to place emphasis on the last three words, “they were both killed. I’m the only suspect, because I’m the only connection they’ve found between the two.”

  She watches me as I explain.

  “How long have you been here?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. All day. Ten hours, maybe. I told them everything I know, about a million times. They’re being pricks because they want to search my apartment, and I told them I want to see the warrant. Since then…” I trail off.

  “Why don’t you let them search? It might be the easiest way to prove your innocence.”

  I shake my head again. “There’s too much stuff in there. Not necessarily anything that could get me in serious trouble, but maybe some misdemeanor offenses, and…I don’t want to incriminate any of my clients. It’s not right.”

  She reaches over and pats me on the hand. “It’s sweet that you’re concerned about your miscreant ruffian friends,” she says before pulling her hand away and standing. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She adjusts her top and visibly straightens before striding back out the door, shutting it behind her.

  I almost call out to stop her. What the hell is she going to do now? But something holds me back. I’m curious to see what she does. She never fails to shock me. One time, I saw her hiding in some bushes in an alley. When I stopped to figure out what the hell she was doing, her hair got caught on some of the brambles and I had to help untangle her.

  The odd thing is, I barely remember what her ridiculous excuse was for her behavior. But I do remember how soft her hair felt between my fingers, and how her ass looked sticking up in the air.

  I shake my head at the thoughts. I don’t have the liberty of indulging in harmless flirtations or coed crushes. I have too many real things to worry about.

  A few minutes later, the door flies open again, and Freya is standing there with a goofy grin on her face.

  “Let’s go,” she says.

  ***

  “Thank you, really. You have no idea,” I tell her as I climb into her old VW Bug. The passenger door is busted, so I have to crawl in through the driver’s side door.

  Freya slides in after me and starts the car.

  “No problem. Where am I taking you?” she asks.

  “The parking garage next to the language arts building.”

  We drive in silence for a minute. It’s nearly dark outside and her headlights aren’t the brightest. Luckily, the road is fairly well lit so she might not hit any small children or animals.

  “How did you get them to let me go?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Just a hunch. Everything they have is circumstantial and they’re missing something important.”

  “What’s that?”

  The side of her mouth tilts as she smiles. “Motive.”

  We’re silent for a moment and then she asks, “Why did you use your one phone call on me?”

  It’s my turn to shrug. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  We stop at a red light and I feel her watching me. I keep my gaze focused straight ahead.

  “What about one of your buddies from the fights?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I can’t ask them,” I say. “I need someone who knows something about law. I don’t know anyone else connected with the law school, and I can’t afford a real lawyer.” I turn my head to meet her eyes in the dim light. “I still need your help.”

  “What kind of help? I’m not anywhere near being a lawyer yet, and until they actually charge you with any crimes—”

  “I can’t afford to be under this kind of scrutiny and I definitely can’t afford bail if they decide to nail me with something. I need to find out who the real killer is, before they charge me with anything.”

  The light turns green and she slams the gear into place before lurching forward. “You want me to help you find the killer?” she asks, glancing over at me.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “And this is what you want in exchange for dropping any case you might have made against me for hitting you with my car?”

  “Yeah,” I repeat. She doesn’t sound like she wants to help and the thought makes me panic, a little. I don’t have time for this. I need someone to help me. “Besides, you’re the reason I started being a thug for hire in the first place. If you hadn’t gotten me into this business, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  She frowns and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “It’s not my fault you consented when I hired you. You could have said no,” she tells me.

  “I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “Bullshit. It’s not like anyone forced you! I mean, look at you.” She eyes me up and down. It takes a while. “And look at me. It’s like a snail coercing a mountain.”

  I wave a dismissive hand in her direction. “All of that’s irrelevant. Someone killed these guys. I want to find out who.”

  “I’m not sure this is the best idea. That’s not your job. Or my job. Leave it to the professionals.”

  “Have you met the cops in this town? They’re like the love children of Barney Fife and Chief Wiggum.”

  “Who’s Barney Fife?”

  I let out a frustrated moan and plop my head in my hands. I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. “They’ll pin this shit on me because they’re too incompetent and lazy to find the real killer. I’m an easy solution.”

  “Okay, well, good luck playing Law and Order.” She pulls into the parking lot and stops just inside the entrance, popping off her seat belt and reaching for the door.

  I reach out and put a hand on her arm. “Wait, Freya.”

  “What?” She turns towards me, and then glances down at my hand on her arm, an expression of surprise flitting across her face.

  “You don’t care that I could sue you?” I ask.

  She looks up at me. “You’re going to be too busy avoiding a murder charge. I don’t think you’re going to want to spend more time in court.”

  I squeeze her arm gently. “Help me. Please?”

  “Don’t try that playboy charm on me, buddy, I’ve been burned before and I know better.”

  I remove my hand and glare at her. “You owe me.”

  She laughs. “I owe you dick. Plus I just saved you from becoming someone’s bitch and learning how to make booze in a toilet. We’re square.” With that, she shoves out of the car and stands next to the door, waiting for me to get out.

  I have to take a deep breath and calm myself down. I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up. I mean, I know why I’m upset. I can’t have the law breathing down my neck, not when I have to make money to feed my family and keep a roof over their head. Even a leaky one is better than nothing. But I shouldn’t be taking it out on Freya. It’s not her fault. The fact that she won’t help me is bothering more than it should. I just have to think of something to say to convince her. That’s all.

  When I finally crawl out of the car, Freya is looking at the ground, not meeting my eyes. I stand in front of her and wait for her to look up at me. “It is your fault I started beating up exes in the first place.”

  “Yes,” she says, her hands flapping to her sides in exasperation. “I forced you to take all those jobs. I put a gun to your head. Not to mention, I increased your business and made you more money. How again, do I owe you?”

  “Because if you hadn’t told all your friends, I wouldn’t be facing a murder charge!” I yell.

  “Right, you would just be facing illegal gambling and possession with intent to sell charges,” she yells
back.

  “I don’t sell drugs,” I say, offended.

  “Out of all of the insults I give you, that one bothers you the most?”

  “Whatever.” I turn away, running a hand through my hair and stalking off a few paces. “Just forget it. I don’t know why I bothered—I thought maybe you had a heart.”

  I think she says something else, but I don’t hear it. I’m walking towards my car. I have too much to worry about to add her to the list.

  Chapter Seven

  Freya

  The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: decide what you want.

  –Ben Stein

  Two days later, I can’t get Dean out of my head. I’m chased by guilt for not helping him, and every night when I close my eyes, I hear the thump-thump sound his body made when I ran him over.

  I should help him.

  I don’t think he’s a murderer. Maybe I’m gullible. A real bleeding heart, but in all of my interactions with Dean, although he’s moody and sullen and finds me incredibly annoying, I’ve never felt scared of him. The guy is ripped. He’s all bulging muscles and wide shoulders, if he really wanted to hurt someone (i.e., me, which I’m sure he has) he could, but he doesn’t.

  Unless he’s in the ring. Or being paid. Dammit, okay, maybe I know nothing about him.

  I might have been less defensive, I might have even agreed to help him if he had told me he wanted me to help him for an actual valid reason, rather than harassing me into it.

  Not that I expected him to say he wanted me to help him because of my keen intellect and cat-like reflexes, I just thought maybe…maybe he would want me to help him because of some actual skill I possessed rather than blame me for his current predicament, or blackmail me into submission.

  The one thing that I keep thinking about is the moment he touched me. It was an innocent gesture—he just put his hand on my arm, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t flinch or want to jump away. Instead, I felt a zing of something shoot up my arm and lodge somewhere in my chest.

  It’s because of his general hotness. Even with his unkempt appearance and tired eyes, he’s still way too good-looking. Especially when he put on that mournful, sexy expression. It’s my own stupid brain, being attracted to stupid jerks instead of the nice guys. I am such an idiot.

  I need someone to talk it over with. Someone logical and understanding. Someone smart, and slightly creepy.

  “Lucy!” I bang on her apartment door.

  It swings open, and I barge in, throwing myself on her couch.

  “Come on in,” she says belatedly, shutting the door and joining me in the living room.

  “I need your help.” I shift over onto my back, flicking my shoes off with the heel of my foot.

  “You’re so needy,” a voice says from the chair opposite me.

  “Hey, Ted.” Ted’s a friend. A very gay friend. His tall, lanky body is draped over Jensen’s favorite recliner. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously.” He waves a dismissive hand in my direction.

  “Did you need my help as your friend, or my help as a medical professional?” Lucy asks me sitting in the chair next to the couch.

  She’s not joking, although if you didn’t know Lucy like I do, you might mistake that last comment as sarcasm.

  “Both,” I say. “Ted, you too. I need a male perspective.”

  “I’m not sure I’m much help in that area,” he says.

  “Fine, I need the bitchy, irrational perspective.”

  “That’s more like it,” he says with relish.

  I move my gaze up to the ceiling and frown. “Why does it say ‘Get off my sister’ on your ceiling?”

  Lucy glances up and then shuts her eyes. “Sam,” she says. It sounds like a curse word.

  “It looks like permanent marker,” I say, which doesn’t seem to make her any happier.

  She shakes her head. “He also printed a life-size color photo of himself and taped it to the ceiling in our bedroom.”

  Ted laughs.

  Sam is one of her brothers. She has four brothers and they’re all crazy and constantly playing pranks on each other.

  “I guess that note was left for Jensen. Speaking of, where is Hottie McSexy Pants?” I ask.

  “At the studio working on his latest piece. Now tell us what’s going on.”

  I close my eyes and start my story with the whole running-over-Dean thing, since Ted hasn’t heard that part yet. I go on and tell her and Ted everything that happened at the jail, and how I totally blew him off.

  “Do you want to help him?” Lucy asks when I’ve finished.

  “I don’t know. Maybe? I feel guilty for not helping him. Would I feel bad if I was doing the right thing?”

  “Let’s start with the negatives. What are your reasons for not wanting to assist him?” she asks.

  “He’s too hot. I don’t want to be around attractive men. I’m trying to be a lesbian.”

  Ted snorts. “Worst lesbian ever.”

  “Fuck off, Ted.” I flip him the bird.

  “Ouch. The kitten has claws,” he says, and then makes a hissing noise.

  I can’t help but giggle a little.

  “Are there any other reasons?” Lucy asks.

  “I hardly know him?” I try. “I have better things to do?”

  “He’s not asking you for a romantic relationship,” she points out.

  “True,” I concede.

  “He’s not telling you that you can’t be a lesbian.”

  “Also true.”

  “You were just saying the other day that you wanted a distraction. Doesn’t this seem like a great opportunity?” she asks.

  “Maybe. I don’t know about this guy though. I mean, the detective told me he doesn’t have an alibi, and he’s their only suspect. What if he is the killer and he’s dragging me into his Ponzi scheme?”

  “I don’t think you understand what a Ponzi scheme is,” Ted says. “Why don’t we use our little hacker here to do some research on him and see if we can tell if he’s a good witch or a bad witch?”

  Lucy nods. “That’s a good idea, Ted.”

  Within minutes, her laptop is out and she’s typing and reading at an unholy speed. Ted and I are crammed together, looking over her shoulder but trying not to be too annoying about it.

  Ted pinches me on the butt.

  “Ouch! Hey! What was that for?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “You looked like you needed it.”

  I frown at him, but then Lucy makes a noise.

  “Hmmm,” she says when her fingers stop moving.

  “What is that?” I ask anxiously. “Is that hmmm he’s a psychopath with a predilection for rolling around naked in rutabagas, or hmmm there’s nothing?”

  “It’s an interested hmmm. He’s fairly intelligent.”

  High praise coming from the genius.

  She continues, “He graduated high school at the top of his class. He received a near-perfect score on his SATs. He was awarded a full scholarship including a living allowance, but that’s when it gets weird. He’s living in the apartments up off Center Street.”

  “The ghetto complex?”

  “The plot thickens!” Ted claps his hands together. “With the living allowance and scholarship, he shouldn’t have to do the things he does for income. Why spend all that time and effort on the gambling, the fighting, and taking money from the scorned and desperate female population?”

  “And he’s living in the cheapest place in a ten-mile radius, so what is he doing with the rest of the money?” I ask.

  “Inquiring minds want to know.” Ted nods at me.

  Lucy cranes her neck to meet my eyes. “You know, there’s only one way to obtain the answers to these questions.”

  “I know,” I say with a groan. “I have to ask him.”

  Ugh. Lucy’s always so logical and to the point and wanting to take the closest line from A to B.

  “But can we eat first?” I ask. “
I’m starved.”

  We order pizza and I force them to talk about themselves to try to get my mind off of the questions circling in my brain.

  I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, working on my third slice of pizza pie and listening to Ted gripe about the lack of gay males in the immediate area, while I gripe about his broken gaydar when the front door bangs open.

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  Jensen bounds into the kitchen and immediately sweeps Lucy into a back-bending kiss.

  Ted groans. “God, this is disgusting.”

  I nudge Ted with my elbow. “You’re just jealous.” He totally used to have a thing for Jensen. Too bad Jensen’s in love with Lucy. And straight. Sort of a deal breaker.

  Jensen releases Lucy and grins at us. “Hey guys,” he says, snagging a slice of pizza and heading down the hall. “I need to shower,” he calls out behind him.

  “I do not want to think about that man all naked and slippery in the shower,” Ted says.

  “You mean, you do, but you know it’s wrong.”

  “Exactly. I’m out of here. Thanks, dollfaces, for the smashing good time.” He kisses both of us on the cheek before making a hasty exit.

  I slide off the counter onto my feet. “I guess I better get going so you guys can have wild monkey sex.”

  She smiles at me. “Our sex is way wilder than that of any simian species.”

  I groan. “I did not need to hear that.”

  She walks me to the door. “Let me know what happens when you talk to Dean.”

  ***

  I drive home lost in thought. Should I call Dean? What do I say? Do I apologize for being a heinous bitch? He wasn’t exactly Mr. Politeness when I got him out of jail, but he did, admittedly, have a better reason for being in a bad mood than I did.

  I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I miss the turn off to my apartment. Dang it.

  I flip around at the next street and turn back in the right direction. There’s a car behind me, but they seemed to be turning down the road I used as a U-turn. No wait, the headlights behind me swing around after I do and continue to follow along behind me.