by C A Devine
‘I don’t think so, big boy, let’s go.’
She drove us back to my place where I sank more whisky and passed out before anything happened. I woke up two hours later with my cell screaming in my ear and Lisa pushing at me.
Same deal: an alley, a barman throwing out the last garbage, a dumpster. I dragged myself off the bed, staggered down to the car and drove drunk to the scene. I must have smelled bad because Yolanda stuck mints in my mouth as we went to view the body. The smell of ripe flesh hit me at the entrance to the alley. My stomach churned. Kate stopped us before we got there and handed us the plastic bag, with the plastic bag inside, with the note inside that.
This time I didn’t have to look twice.
‘Oh God, oh no,’ I fell backward onto the blacktop. I was choking, I couldn’t breathe, my vision blurred, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
‘What Mac? Oh shit. Who Mac? Who is she?’ Yolanda shouted.
‘Lily, Lily Lee, my college sweetheart,’ I gasped through hot tears. I started to crawl towards the emaciated body. I reached out to touch her rich black hair, her big faded eyes.
‘No, Mac,’ Yolanda dived down and hauled me away.
She had been deprived of food, water and sleep. It had taken her five days to die.
Siouxsie, then Lainey, now Lily. The connection was me. These women had died horrific deaths because of me.
Tears had been replaced by rage when I stormed back into the loft a few hours later. I was disgusted with myself for my inability to function at the crime scene and my impotence in solving the murders. My life felt pointless. Lily was dead and if I was a halfway decent detective I might have been able to save her.
Me. I was the connection and I hadn’t seen it. My captain was talking about taking me off the case, conflict of interest, blah, blah, blah. More like he thought I was totally incompetent.
I was looking for my spare sidearm. I was intent on doing something. I didn’t know what, just something. Lisa was still there. ‘Where the fuck is my spare piece?’ I shouted at her.
‘How would I know?’ she stared at me.
‘Did you touch it? Did you take it?’ I stepped towards her; she backed up. I took another step, watching myself intimidate her with some kind of warped raging glee.
‘Fuck off, Ryan,’ she said it all tough like. And that just irked me more so I picked up a plate and hurled it on the floor. Lisa flinched, wide-eyed, terrified, watching me, as splinters found every crevice of the oak floor. When I lunged for a chair and smashed it against the wall, she grabbed her purse and ran.
She didn’t show for work that evening. She wasn’t in her apartment. If I stopped and thought about anyone but myself, for more than one second, I would have realised she was in danger. I should have protected her.
Her body was discovered in an alley two days later, three days after Lily.
My old cases were an obvious source. The big heroin haul was the most recent. We went back to the DEA. They admitted there were rumours The Baron had survived. It took my dad’s threats to expose the case fuck-ups to get the report.
No male body was found in the rubble of the bombed-out home, only a woman and two little girls. The Baron wasn’t killed, but his wife and two daughters had been.
And so, it all fell into place, The Baron, the Afghan connection, the torture techniques reported online as being used by the US. All his women had been killed. So now mine would be too.
We set up a sting; it was Yolanda’s idea. He was going after my girlfriends, so she would become my latest girlfriend. We let it be known we were an item. It wasn’t hard. The murders were the city’s hot topic. I was in the news again. A few public dinners, the odd inappropriate crime-scene kiss. We believed it was just a matter of time till he made a move on her and when he did we were going to be ready.
We were dining at a favourite Italian cop hangout, when I got the call. ‘Somethin’s goin’ down in Queens. Now.’ It was Little Sal. He would sell out anyone for a hundred bucks. No loyalty – the best kind of snitch.
‘What?’
‘Don’t know man, but I know you was mentioned.’
‘He’s not going for you, Yolanda,’ I croaked and sprinted out the door for the car.
‘What’s going on?’ Yolanda said, catching up to me.
‘My mom.’ It was twenty minutes out to my parent’s house this time of night. I was hurtling through the traffic, siren blaring. I rang the house phone; she was probably out in the garden, reading, that’s what she did with these good early summer evenings, or talking to the neighbours. The cell would be on the kitchen table. I could picture it as it rang in my ear. She’d come back and check it in ten minutes, then call me saying, ‘Well MacKenzie Ryan it’s about time you called your mother.’ I screamed through the tunnel. Yolanda was on the radio; a local car was en route, five minutes away. Please God don’t let me be too late.
My cell rang. I hit answer, ‘Mom.’
‘Well, MacKenzie.’
‘Mom, he’s coming after you. Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s not home yet,’ I heard her run through the house. ‘Tell me.’
‘He didn’t go for the trap. His daughters were killed.’ I heard the safety click off on her Glock, the rustle of blinds. ‘I don’t have daughters.’
‘But you do have a mother. The local boys just pulled into the street.’
I let out a breath, ‘I’m two minutes away, Mom.’
I tossed the cell to Yolanda and pumped the accelerator. We screeched onto the street and slammed to a halt in front of the house. I pulled my weapon and ran for the front door. It was hotheaded, undisciplined, just plain stupid.
I was halfway there when I heard the whiz. I dived. I was going to get out the way in time. It pierced my shoulder. I heard number two a millisecond later; it battered my thigh. I hit the ground.
There were no more shots. No-one else was hit. He wanted to cause me pain, not kill me. This was very personal.
‘That was two months ago.’ I sucked in a breath, ‘Officially I have post-traumatic stress disorder. Unofficially, I’m a disgrace to the department and my parents.’
‘I’m sure they don’t think that. You didn’t ask for any of this,’ Max said.
‘I should have saved Lily and Lisa. I should have caught The Baron. I was turning up to crime scenes drunk. You can bet your incredibly fabulous ass they think that. New York’s finest live in the now society, just like everyone else. And after my behaviour, I deserve it.
‘And it suits them to keep me all tucked up and out of the way. The big heroin trial is up next month and they don’t want any controversy over some rogue star witness.’
28
Becalmed (Day 8)
We awoke to serenity: the sky, clear and blue; the sun, warm and high and the ocean, a lake of smooth perfection. We dragged the mainsail from the locker, rigged it with a spare halyard and hoisted it to check for damage. Miraculously it had incurred only two small tears which Max repaired, as she said, in short order. We hoisted it again and rolled it into the mast.
‘As good as new,’ she said.
‘I don’t think Marcus will think so.’
‘We better make the journey worth it then.’ She walked towards the stern of the boat stripping off her t-shirt and my underwear as she went.
I watched her, puzzled, but smiling at her little strut. ‘What are you up to?’ She kicked the throttle into neutral and pressed the off button. She climbed down onto the swimming platform and fear gripped me, ‘No, Max, No.’ I tore to the back of the boat.
‘I’m not going to do anything silly, New York. Chill. Look,’ she sighed, ‘this is as calm as it gets out here in the ocean. You very rarely get a chance like this to swim. We’ll throw the life-rings out as far as we can. Is that safe enough?’
‘You scared me.’
‘I know.’ She paused, cast her eyes to the floor, then up to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ her voice was quiet, ‘I won’t do it again. I didn’t mean it. I d
on’t think I did. It’s just,’ she sighed again, ‘I saw my back and suddenly my whole life seemed … irreparable.’ She closed her eyes and lifted her head to the warm rays. When she opened them, she looked straight at me, ‘Now, all that doesn’t seem so final. Things were very bad for you and … well,’ she shrugged, ‘you went to Spain.’
I sniggered and shook my head, despite myself.
‘Now, enough of the deep and intense,’ a smile lit up her face. I suddenly realised it was the first time I had seen her olive skin since the morning of Fiesta Major. The bruises were healing and the weight loss wasn’t so stark now. She was staggering and I must have been staring. ‘What?’
‘God, you’re beautiful.’
‘Close that jaw before it drops off, New York,’ the smile was back and a laugh rang from her. ‘Have you ever swum out here in the deep ocean?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you said you wanted new experiences,’ she grabbed a life-ring and hurled it as far as she could. ‘How about one very few people will ever experience?’ She crossed to starboard and let a second ring fly. ‘Get your kit off, New York,’ she dropped the swimming ladder, ‘you’ll love it.’
She dived off the platform and screamed as she hit the cold Atlantic water. I watched her swim back and forth, those long confident strokes. I kicked off my jeans. She looked happy away from Angelo, the henchmen, the authorities making her do their right thing. ‘Come on, it’s lovely and warm,’ she shouted through chattering teeth.
I jumped in, splashing her. She screamed again and flicked water at me. She swam up to me, flung her arms around my neck, legs around my waist. Intimate. ‘Remember this, New York, this will probably be the one and only time you’ll swim with a naked woman around you and thousands of feet of ocean below you.’
‘You know, it’ll be a bit weird if you call me New York, when we are in New York.’
‘Really? I’m going to have to think up another name for you then because I just can’t do Mac. It doesn’t sit well with my Scottish sensibilities. It’s a pity, I like calling you New York. Maybe I could call you MacKenzie or Ryan. God, can you imagine if we ever got married, the priest would have to say, “Do you Elizabeth Bakhtawara Ryan McKenzie take thee MacKenzie Ryan?”’ She sniggered then froze, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t mean … I was only having a laugh about our names,’ she rambled on. ‘I’m not one of those stalker women who wants to marry a man after two weeks.’ She tried to push away from me, embarrassed, but I held tight and roared laughing.
When we got back on board, an email was waiting in my inbox from Joe. It contained a movie attachment, a film of an interview.
‘It’s the woman Jason picked up the night I was arrested for drunk driving,’ Max said. ‘She was refusing to talk.’
She was a small bleach-blonde woman. She sat on a red plastic chair in a grey interview room. A table stood in front of her with a paper cup sitting on it. Her hands were crossed. She looked young, almost a child. The only person in the room with her was Joe.
‘You don’t understand,’ the woman said. ‘You don’t care. They don’t care. No-one cares. He’s the only one. Malak’s the only one who cares, he’s the only one who cares about giving us peace.’ The clip blinked off.
‘That was enlightening. What is The Baron up to?’ I said.
‘Sounds to me like he’s starting a cult.’ Max sat across from me, on deck, gazing up into the dusk, deep in thought. Her scalp was healing well; every day she looked more like the woman I had fallen in love with. She turned to look at me, ‘We’re making good time. We’ll be there sooner than expected.’
I smiled at her.
‘Then we’ll have to face …’ she frowned, ‘whatever …’
‘You’re getting stronger.’
She nodded, slow up-and-down movements, ‘I don’t know if it’ll be enough.’ She gazed back out to sea.
‘I’ll be there,’ I reached across to her. She looked down at my hand, then turned a haunted gaze up to meet me. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘That’s what you asked me, that day on the quay. I never did tell you. I want to. I’m going to. But I want you to do something for me first.’
‘Anything.’
Her eyes floated back to the sea. She sat there so long I thought she wasn’t going to tell me. When she did turn back, she sat up tall, placed her feet on the deck and turned her whole body to face me. She looked straight into my eyes, ‘I want you to make love to me.’ Her last word quivered.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
She nodded again, ‘I don’t want it to become like some Holy Grail, after we’re back in the real world. And I want it to be you. And I want it to be now. I’ve been psyching myself up for this all day.’ The last words were barely audible. She skipped up off her seat and slid down below without waiting for me to respond. I sat there frozen. A beautiful woman I loved had just asked me to make love to her and I was petrified.
I warred with my instincts until I was sure no anger would surface at her injured flesh and no roar of desire would make me forget the situation. I wanted to do this, needed to. I had to.
When I stepped into the cabin she was already undressed and under the blankets. My ball cap still sat on her head.
I undressed with her eyes on me; the sheet tucked up under her neck. Neither of us spoke. She trembled as I climbed in naked beside her. My heart was banging in my chest. I was terrified I would make the wrong move.
I lay on my side and watched her furrowed brow. ‘I was thinking you might not come,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to make it sound like a demand. I don’t want to pressure you. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I mean it’s alright, it’ll keep.’
‘Stop rambling, English,’ I said it quietly, smiling at her, ‘you’re making me nervous and not much is going to happen if I’m nervous.’ She grinned at that. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked again, drawing her hand from under the sheet and kissing her palm.
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded, ‘Yes, no, I don’t know.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I want to know … you know.’
‘I know.’
‘And you, you and I used to be good at this,’ she tried a smile, but it didn’t quite work. She swallowed a gulp, ‘Y-You are the only one I trust to find out with.’
‘If you want me to stop at any time …’
‘At any time?’ she flashed that wicked grin of hers and I thought my heart might stop as I caught a glimpse of the woman I had met only a few short weeks earlier. It gave me the courage to push on.
‘Hold on a minute,’ I jumped from the bed and headed for the bathroom. I returned holding a bottle of red liquid. She looked puzzled. I held it up like I was displaying a product on the home shopping channel. ‘I noticed it in the head the other day. Japanese erotic massage oil,’ I said, frowning at the bottle. She giggled. ‘You know, Yolanda’s right, there were so many clues about Marcus. I couldn’t detect my way out my own arse.’ She laughed. I climbed back onto the bed beside her, poured a drop of oil on my palm and rubbed my hands together.
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ she said, ‘you have to want to see these things. Marcus is like your brother. His sexuality wasn’t an issue for you. So you weren’t looking. It doesn’t mean you didn’t care.’
‘I think I might transfer out of homicide when I get back. Maybe narcotics again or maybe vice.’
I could feel heat on my palms and the scent of jasmine wafted in my nostrils. ‘Turn over and we’ll see if we can work a bit of Japanese magic.’ She turned onto her front and I slid the cashmere covers from around her legs. I touched my fingers to her calves and felt a tremor. I pressed my fingers into the muscles in a slow circular movement.
‘Vice huh? You’d probably do well there,’ she turned her face towards me grinning. I worked my hands upwards to the back of her thighs, kneading. ‘Hmm,’ she sighed, ‘you have good hands, New York. I should have made you do this sooner. It w
as always so frenzied and frantic before.’
‘Frantic is right, you were so energetic and sensual. You did the strangest things to me the first time I saw you, when you walked out of the water. You had the most incredible …’
‘What?’ she laughed.
‘Ass.’
‘Yeah right.’
‘Honestly, I was too shy to look at your, you know.’
‘You pick the oddest moments to be gentlemanly about language, New York.’ I slid my fingers around and pressed the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She let out a small sigh, but she didn’t tense, so I applied a little more pressure, working my fingers on her muscles. ‘I like that about you.’
I stopped at the top of her thighs, ‘What else do you like?’
‘I don’t know,’ her voice was husky now, her breathing quick, ‘but if you don’t hurry up and move your hand up a bit, I’m going to do it myself.’
I smiled, reaching up into the damp heat. This time she let out a deep guttural moan. I smeared my fingers around the potent flesh. Blood charged around my veins. ‘Oh man, are you sure you weren’t involved in vice before,’ she breathed. I continued the lazy pace. She turned hazy eyes up to me, her breaths becoming shallower. Her pupils were rolling back when she jumped up and pushed me down. I offered no resistance.
She grabbed the bottle of oil and let a couple of drops fall into her palm before rubbing her hands together. She threw her leg over, straddling me, her mouth open in a delicious pout that I hungered to nuzzle on. But I didn’t move except for a small tremble of fear that shot through me. She dropped her hand and looked into my eyes as she rubbed her lubricated palm along the whole of my length. Blood roared in my ears. Now it was my turn to close my eyes and let out a moan. She linked her fingers with mine and squeezed; the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. As she lowered herself onto me, her eyes burned into my soul. I slid in; she groaned and closed her eyes. Her head fell back and she started rocking. A heady mix of sensation and emotion swamped me, and still I didn’t move. I let her work her own rhythm, watching her beautiful face, the motion hypnotic. My breath quickened. She looked stunning, perched atop me, wearing nothing but my Yankees cap, her eyes closed in concentration. She opened them and smiled at me. It lit up her face and warmed my soul. ‘Are you just going to lie there?’ her croaky voice mocked me.