His brow scrunches. “So you’re wasting my time?”
I shrug and open my mouth to say something.
“Un-fucking’-believable. I fucking took 50 shots of you already and you just want to end it here?”
“I’m sorry.” I go to stand. Devlin steps closer, grabs the top of the slip, and pulls it down past my breast to reveal my bra.
“What is this shit?” he says.
I grab the light stand and pull it. The pole tips over towards him. Devlin drops his camera and catches the hot bulb before it hits his face. For a second I can hear his skin sizzle.
…my palms flare with fire...
“Fucckkkk!”
Fighting the fire in my hands, I stumble past Devlin. He bounces around the room and spits on his palms to cool them off. I run behind the partition and swipe my clothes and jacket. I break for the door only to find his enraged face blocking the way. “You fucking bitch!”
I pull out the butterfly knife from my pants pocket and open the blade. Devlin stares at it in disbelief.
“What? Are you going to cut me?”
He makes a move. I stab the knife into his shoulder.
…warm steel breaks my skin and scrapes the bone...
He screams. And so do I.
Devlin stumbles away and lands on the bed as he holds his bleeding shoulder. Tears swell up in my eyes as I deal with my own pain. I open the door, run out of the office, down the stairs, and out into the winter air. No one seems to mind as I slip my jacket on and sprint across the traffic.
CLEAN UP
I rush upstairs to the 2nd floor dining room of Wendy’s. The people eating their mid-afternoon burgers and fries ignore me as I head to the bathroom. Both the woman’s and men’s room are locked. I knock on the door and woman shouts “Be out in a minute, damn it.” I stand and hug my clothes as I try to shiver off the winter chill around my bare legs. The pain in my shoulder and palms subside to a dull ache. I imagine that Devlin isn’t experiencing the same benefit. The whole stabbing was so surreal. I’ve never stuck anyone with a blade before. Then again, I haven’t been attacked before either.
The bathroom door opens. A large bundled up black woman gives me the evil eye as she waddles out. I ignore her, slip into the bathroom, and lock the door. I sit on the rim of the toilet seat and breathe, calming my rapid heart. I rub my shoulder and twist it around to help work the ache out. With my head more together, I stand up and take the slip off. I put my regular clothes back on and then run cold water on my warm, red palms. When the burn lowers to a tingle, I take the knife out of my pocket and wash the blood off. I wonder if I should bring the slip with me. Fuck it. I stuff the lingerie in the garbage. What I really need is the one in the hamper back at the studio. I shake my head. God, why didn’t I grab it before I left?
Just as someone knocks on the door, I step out of the bathroom and pass an elderly Asian woman who’s not too shy to elbow me as I walk by. I leave Wendy’s, check the time on my cell, and notice I have a message. I hail a cab, hop in, tell him my address, and then check my message. Chris called sometime around when I stupidly placed my life in danger.
“Hey there, pretty girl. It’s me. Just got out of class. So when do you want me to pick you up tonight? I heard about this great vegan place on Vestry. Then maybe we can get a drink at The Hermosa Strand. Call me back.”
Hermosa Strand? Is that place still even around?
I scroll through my missed calls and find Chris’s number. I then wonder how he got mine. I don’t remember giving it to him. Then again, I was so wasted last night I probably did tell him. God, last night. I can’t help smiling.
“Chris Chandler,” he says on the other line.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say. “Sorry I missed your call. Was in the middle of something.”
“It’s cool. So what time you want me to pick you up?”
I check the time again. “Hmm, I’m in a cab now. But I think I can be good to go in two hours.”
“Great. I’ll make the reservations and I’ll see you in two.”
“Awesome,” I say, feeling my face in a permanent smile.
“Oh, just wanted to let you know too, that your painting arrived today. Got it hung up in the front room. Love staring at it.”
“Oh, great. Glad you’re enjoying it.”
“How can I not. My mom is flipping for it, too.”
“Very cool. I gotta run, babe. Cab is pulling up to my building.”
“See you soon.”
“Bye.”
I pay the cabbie and make my way up to the condo. Comfort and calmness flood my body. Being all the way across the city from a potential killer would make anyone feel secure. But then I curse myself out in the elevator for being so stupid. Never again am I going to pull shit like that. At least - not alone.
Upstairs, Grandpa and Corey are sitting on the couch watching the end of Dr. Phil. It seems to be the only show they agree upon. That and Judge Judy.
I take off my jacket and approach them. “How are my two favorite men?”
I lean over the couch and receive kisses on the cheek from them.
“Hello, my sweet bambina.”
“How did the meeting go?” Corey asks.
“Good,” I lie. “Can’t complain.”
I sit down between them and watch a few minutes of Dr. Phil berating a girl in front of her parents for being a slut. Not able to refrain from punching the television and that fat mustached face for being too stupid to see that the parents are at fault, I excuse myself.
“Chris is coming by soon,” I announce.
Grandpa turns. “Your young man is coming here?”
I walk backwards to my bedroom. “Yep. So gotta move.”
Grandpa stands, “So do I,” and heads to his loft.
I smile, finding him so cute that he has to change out of his bus driver uniform.
When Grandpa is upstairs, I stand at my door and say, “Aren’t you going to change, Core?”
He flips me the finger without turning. I laugh and enter my bedroom.
THE SLIP
I think I know which vegan restaurant Chris mentioned on the phone and, if I am correct, it’s a five star deal. I have nothing in my closet for a five star restaurant. My wardrobe consists of pants and shirts mostly bought from the men’s section at Target. I’m a tomboy at heart. Not that I don’t have nice legs, I just don’t feel the need to show them off. I don’t even like to wear shorts in the summer unless it’s one of those humid 90 degree days.
I pull out a far from glamorous pair of dark brown pants and a thick light blue sweater. If Chris should get so lucky to peel these layers off he’ll be rewarded with black hip hugger panties and low cut bra. I slip my feet into black Doc Martin’s, which are less scruffy than my red ones, and walk out to the living room.
Grandpa stands up from the couch and shows off his pressed dress pants and red polo shirt. “What do you think?”
“Very handsome,” I say.
“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Corey says from the couch.
“The big deal is that our Michelina likes this boy and we don’t want to give him the impression that we are low class peasants.”
“Hey, I’m completely comfortable with being a low class peasant and if he can’t accept it, then that’s his problem.”
Grandpa throws his hand at him, “Ahhhh.”
“Listen, you two. If anyone has to worry about how they dress it’s me,” I say, sitting on a lounger by the window.
“What? You look beautiful.”
“Yeah, you look fine,” Corey says.
Grandpa Blaise steps up to me and takes my face in his hands. “Look at this face. Look just like your grandmother when I met her. A sweet little village girl right off the boat from Sicily.”
I blush and move his hands away. “Grandpa, please.”
He removes his hands and pats my head, a big goofy smile on his face.
The buzzer sounds off, making Grandpa jump. “I hate
that thing.”
Corey and I exchange smiles. He gets up before me and moves to the intercom. “Who is it?” he asks.
“Hi, there. It’s Chris. Is Miki in?”
“Chris? Chris who?” Corey asks.
I punch his arm and pull him away from the intercom. I press the talk button, “Come on up,” and buzz him in. I point a finger at Corey. “Behave.”
“Don’t I always?”
Chris enters the condo and all I can do is feel sorry for him. He stands by the door as two Looney Toons confront him. Grandpa smiles and looks Chris over while Corey takes it a step further and walks with a scrutinizing expression around Chris. And here I am hoping to God that he doesn’t run out of the room, screaming and waving his arms. But he handles it well and smiles. Chris holds out a bunch of flowers, “And these are for you.”
Corey swipes them, “Oh, thank you,” and buries his nose in the pedals.
“Down, Corey.”
He barks, smiles, and hands me the flowers.
“Nice to meet you, Corey,” Chris says, offering his hand. “Heard a lot of great things about you.”
Corey shakes his hand and puts on his best behavior. “Same here.”
“And this is my grandpa Blaise Radicci,” I say.
Chris steps up to Grandpa. “Mr. Radicci. An even bigger pleasure.”
Corey rolls his eyes.
Grandpa crosses his arms and looks down his nose at Chris. “So you’re Christopher Chandler.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what are your intentions with my granddaughter Michelina?”
I rub my eyes and bow my head. “Oh, God.”
I hear Corey snicker behind my back.
“I assure you, sir. My intentions for your granddaughter are honorable. I have found her to be an exceptional young woman with an amazing intelligence that I can not find in the other women I have encountered.”
“This is true,” Grandpa says.
“I intent to treat her with the utmost respect and to do what I can to make her happy during our time together.”
Grandpa’s face softens into a smile. “Very well.” He grabs Chris’s hand with both of his and shakes it. “You two have a good time, take her someplace special. Have an ice cream on me, eh?”
Chris smiles at him and takes his hand back. “We sure will. Thanks, Mr. Radicci.”
I put on my leather jacket, say goodnight to everyone, and leave. We stand in the hall and wait for the elevator.
“Your grandfather slipped me a twenty.” Chris holds up the bill. “Am I supposed to buy you ice cream with this?”
“Aww, he’s so sweet.”
“You didn’t tell him I have money?”
“I did. But he never had daughters so, I guess he thought that was what you’re supposed to do.” I place my hand on the back of his head and kiss him full on the mouth.
“Mmm. What was that for?” he asks.
“For not embarrassing him and giving him back the money.”
“Then it was well worth it.”
The elevator doors open and we step inside. As they close, we take each other into our arms and kiss until we reach the bottom.
LUV
After we have a few drinks at the Hermosa Strand and see an acoustic show of Bob Mould in the upstairs room, Chris asks, “Ready to go home?”
“Are you serious?” I say. “It’s only 11:30.”
“Yeah, I should probably get you home by midnight.”
“Does this have to do with my grandfather?”
He shrugs, blushing in the dim light of the club. “I did promise him I would treat you right. If you were one of the party girls who’re into my money we would hit a few more clubs.”
I laugh and hug him. “You are so cute.” I kiss him and take his hand. “Okay. Take me home.”
At the vestibule of my building, Chris and I stand by the elevator and make out until midnight. I enjoy the way our tongues and lips move now than when I was drunk off my ass the other night.
“Did you have a good time?” he asks.
“Yeah. Was perfect.”
“Just checking. A few times you seemed like you were spacing out.”
I was. I kept thinking about Devlin and what I should do about the bloodstained lingerie back at his studio. I considered telling Detective Sampson about it, but passed on the idea since I have nothing solid that leads to the murder of Katherine Moore.
“Just work on my mind,” I say, kissing his lips.
“I guess I should get used to that, having an artist as a girlfriend.”
“Oh, so I’m your girlfriend now?”
“Hell yeah,” he says. “I don’t want to see anyone but you.”
I smile hard as the sensation of my feet leaving the ground fills my body. “Good. Cause I feel the same way.”
“Good,” he says.
We kiss a little more and then say good night.
When I enter the apartment I find Corey watching some horror movie on the couch. I plop down next to him and ask, “Waiting up for me?”
“Yeah, Blaise would have but he kept falling asleep,” he says. “In a way I’m glad. All he wanted to watch was science shows about nuclear weapons.”
“He’s so sweet.”
Corey checks his watch. “So this is early for you. Wanna hit up some bars?”
I scrunch down on the couch and put my feet on the glass coffee table. “No. Don’t feel like going out. Besides, you have school tomorrow.”
Corey slaps his hands to his cheeks and opens his mouth in fright, Home Alone style. “Oh, Lord. You are in love.”
I smile at the television and the girl screaming as a chainsaw rips her up. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
LICKING THE PINK
Grandpa kisses the top of my head, grabs his lunch pail from the kitchen counter, “Have a good day, my bambina,” and heads out the door. I sit at the island, sip my coffee, and slide the paper over to skim through the news headlines. I spot a familiar face that hallows out my heart.
“Oh, no.”
Fanny Lee, the Asian girl I met at Katherine Moore’s memorial, was found dead last night. According to the article, a pastry cook working at the Sweet Tart on 14th Street discovered her as he took out the garbage. Her body was positioned next to the dumpster and suffered multiple stab wounds to the stomach. So far the police have no leads and are exhausting all channels. The article then goes on about how she was an art student at the Fashion Institute of Technology and lived with her parents and two younger siblings in Chinatown. I notice there’s no mention of the Red Velvet Pocket and I doubt that the police will find any proof that she was working for the site.
“You look like shit.”
Corey pours a cup of coffee and sits down. I show him the article on Fanny Lee.
“Shit. Poor girl,” he says.
“It’s him. It’s the guy who killed Katherine Moore.” I stab my finger at the story.
“What makes you think that?”
“She was found in an alley the same way as Katherine Moore.”
“Oh, c’mon. We live in the city. People throw their unwanted babies in dumpsters, for Christ’s sake. It’s the only logical place for nuts jobs to get rid of a human life. That and the Hudson.”
“They both worked at the Red Velvet Pocket.”
“The what now?”
“I’ll show you.”
As I boot up the computer in my bedroom, I show him the articles on the death of Chloe Bateman that I printed out. I then open my browser and sign into the Red Velvet Pocket.
He looks at the screen and reads, “Lick the Pink? When did you start getting into goth porn?”
“Wait. Just hold up.”
I find Katherine’s pictures and point them out to Corey. I pull out the newspaper articles with her picture in it.
“Tell me that’s not the same girl,” I say.
Corey looks between the two pictures. Before he can answer, I click into Chloe Bateman’s page. “This is Chloe
Bateman.” Corey holds up the news article of her death next to the goth girl posing with a ravaged teddy bear.
“One more, then you can speak,” I say.
Although I don’t know Fanny’s model name, I do a search for Asian on the site. Luckily only two girls pop up. I spot Fanny right away and open up a few of her pictures.
“Holy shit,” Corey says.
“Yeah. Holy shit is right.”
“Did you tell the cops yet?”
“No.”
“Well what are you waiting for?”
What am I waiting for? I made a connection to three girls’ deaths, but is it enough for Detective Otto to arrest Devlin? And even if they did arrest him, couldn’t Devlin just shut down the site and act like it never existed? No, I need more evidence. Something solid I can take to the police.
“Hm, that’s weird,” Corey says.
“What?”
“Well, the cursor on your mouse is shaped like a tongue as if there’s a link there.”
I see that he’s right. The tongue rests on Fanny’s cooch.
Corey grabs the mouse and moves it around. The tongue turns into a regular cursor when off the pink spot. He then brings the cursor back over to form the tongue again.
“Has to be a link, right?” I ask.
“Only one way to find out.”
Corey clicks the spot. Nothing happens.
“Weird,” he says. “It’s not a link or some kind of button.”
He shakes the mouse, making the tongue go back and forth over the pink spot. The screen dims. Corey removes his hand from the mouse and leans back. “I’m stumped.”
“No. Wait. Something happened. The screen looks darker, right?”
“I guess.”
Then it hits me: Lick the Pink.
“That clever son of a bitch,” I mutter.
I grab the mouse and move the tongue from side to side over Fanny’s pink spot. The screen sinks darker and darker until Fanny’s picture disappears and a video play button fades up into the middle of the screen.
“How did you know to do that?” Corey asks.
“The site says ‘Lick the Pink’, right? Well. I did.”
“Are you going to play the video?”
“I guess. But I have a bad feeling about it.”
A Black Deeper Than Death (Miki Radicci Book 1) Page 8