He pulled her face toward his.
She looked into his eyes.
She knew something was wrong as he kissed her. She just couldn’t place the feelings into a category she was familiar with. She felt freaked but didn’t know what it was. Maybe the weed had made her paranoid? No. He felt cold, maybe? Reptilian? Predatory?
The image of a snake wrapping itself around her flashed through her mind. She pulled back with a slight shudder.
“I meant what I said. I’m not having sex. It’s nothing personal. I’m just not getting involved with married guys anymore. I’m sorry. I thought I was clear. Can we head back?”
Drew watched him. His face contorted. He was thinking. He wanted to speak. Involuntarily, her body prepared to be struck.
But he checked himself. Whatever it was he was going to say and do; he changed his mind. He stood instead and smiled like a church deacon holding an empty collection plate.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry. I got my signals crossed. I thought we were on the same page.”
His friendly smile broadened, and he offered his hand.
She took it. He helped her stand.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he said.
He went into the galley.
Drew followed him. She watched as he brewed coffee, cleaned the counters, and set two mugs down with milk and sugar.
“I’ll be good. If you want to spend the night out here, I’ll stay on my side of the bed. The mornings at sea are beautiful.”
He smiled, and his voice was teasing and friendly.
She was tempted to say yes, but she was wide awake.
“You don’t give up, do you?” she asked.
“Do you blame me?”
“No, I guess not. I’d better go home. You don’t mind?”
“No, of course not.”
...................
Drew was in her own bed hours later. She wondered if she’d made a huge error in judgment agreeing to go out in the first place. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d hit on her. No, in fact, it wasn’t. She expected it.
It did seem like she was being a tease. It’s just sex, after all. Or is it? Is it ever just sex? She wasn’t sure about this herself. She couldn’t sleep yet, even though it was nearly morning. She got out her vibrator and fell asleep a few minutes later.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The punishment approach and bad consequences approach to treatment is the kind of thinking that is prevalent in every residential substance abuse treatment center in the United States of which I'm aware.
~ Chris Prentiss
The International Society for Krishna Consciousness has a belief that a criminal is not responsible for his crime. Society is responsible. In many ways, they are absolutely correct. But when it comes to psychopathic monsters, only evolution, or a god, can take the blame.
~ Special Agent Jimmy “Tam” Tamboli
...................
Jimmy Tamboli thought it would be a good time to get lunch.
“What’s it going to be today?” Rick asked.
“Hawaiian, sushi, or Thai. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well boss, our next appointment is in two hours, so you’d better hurry up and figure it out. I’m leaning towards Hawaiian barbecue if my opinion counts.”
“It does not.”
Tamboli directed Rick, who was nearly always the driver, even though he drove too slowly, to a Hawaiian barbecue. The owner had several new dishes he wanted Tam to sample, so this had been his first choice as well. Haukea’s Cafe.
“There, pull into the left.”
“That’s it?”
“Haan.”
“You’re sure? It looks like a dump.”
“Bandar kya jaane adrak ka swaad.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Park. Trust me, Padawan.”
“Okay, boss. Please stick to English at lunch and nothing weird, okay?”
“Define weird. Weird to you? Sheltered white-boy weird? Weird to me? Weird to the Hawaiians?”
“Just nothing gross.”
“Define gross—”
“Jackwagon.”
They approached the counter, and Tam leaned over and kissed the cashier on the cheek.
“Uncle,” she said.
“Don’t be so shy. He’s handsome, yes?”
The young woman blushed.
“Tam. Honestly,” Rick said. He looked at the woman behind the counter. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. Now even more embarrassed.
“Tell your dad I’m here?” Tam said.
She turned her head to the kitchen. “Dad... Dad... Dad!”
The man in the kitchen looked up.
“Tam!” he said. He smiled broadly and held up one finger.
Jimmy Tamboli nodded and pointed to the patio.
The man nodded back.
Jimmy and Rick sat across from each other at a table big enough for six. Rick rarely asked questions anymore about these lunch excursions, which was just as well, because Jimmy rarely answered him anyway.
The young woman brought out the first round.
“Lomi-lomi, with a twist. Fried Shrimp with a mango-coconut dipping sauce. Dad’s specialty Lumpia. And huli-huli chicken, but with a Southern barbecue glaze, Tex-Hawaiian. Don’t ask, just try it. My dad says he’ll be out later—he’s working on a big order—you guys need anything else to drink?”
They sampled in silence. Tamboli’s favorite part of the day. Lunch.
Between rounds, Rick looked at him. “Anything?”
“Yes. I’ve been going through two lists.” He stopped talking and went back to eating.
“And?”
“Ginger, garlic, and li hing mui.”
“What?”
“The spice combination, it’s fantastic. Kaipo is a genius.”
“I meant the list.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Don’t rush a thinker.”
“Okay. You eat. I’ll check my email again.”
“Forget it. She was the wrong type for you.”
“Probably. She could have at least written back.”
“Don’t try to understand women, Padawan. It’s bad for the digestion.”
“Yeah. True. I think I’ve prioritized this list the best I can. I want to follow up on this redheaded Chuck character next.”
“And why?”
“I talked to Jerry Turner yesterday; he had a profile match, a Charlie Ronald Smith. He finished parole two years ago. He’s a white male sociopath sex offender with a record going back thirty years. He’s forty-seven, and he’s an ugly guy, too. I figured that since the women were so beautiful, our suspects got to be ugly.”
“Fair enough, what about Rodriguez, T., Parkerson, F., and Blake, G.?”
“In my top ten. Except for Rodriguez — I see a white guy for this.”
“Don’t turn the profile into blinders and handcuffs. Save those for your nights off.”
“I wish.”
Tam looked up. He smiled, stood, opened his arms.
“Kaipo. Broke-Da-Mouth.”
“You like?”
“Ono, brah.”
Kaipo sat. He and Tam discussed the intricacies of spicing food for fusion dishes.
“This is over my head, but the food is fantastic,” Rick said.
“Tanks, eh. Your partner is one akamai guy. I wen tink he no can figah li hing mui, but he gettum.”
“Akamai?” Rick asked.
“Smart. When God wen say line up for brains dis guy was tinking he say time for grinds, and he say, I like two servings, eh.”
“I wish you guys would stick to English,” Rick said to himself.
Kaipo stood, shook hands, and went back to the kitchen.
“Nice guy,” Rick said.
“We spent a lot of nights drinking in Waikiki together, a long time ago.”
“So, back to work. What do you think of my list?”
“You’re on the right tra
ck, Padawan, on the right track. But still, a lot to learn. Boond-boond se ghara bharta hai. A water drop hollows out the stone by falling not twice, but many times; so too is a person made wise by reading not two, but many books.”
...................
Rick drove them to the address provided by SDPD. The neighborhood was old, a mix of small houses that would eventually succumb to development and apartment buildings which sat on lots once covered with starter homes built for baby boomers. The best thing about the neighborhood were the old trees that had remained from the forties and fifties. The worst thing was the graffiti.
The old trees were few. The graffiti widespread and layered.
Rick double parked in front of the building. The last recorded contact with Charlie Smith was nearly a year old. It was entirely possible he’d moved, but the computer spit this address out as current, and as everyone knows, computers only lie occasionally.
“I’ll take the lead. Watch. Listen.”
“Okay,” Rick said. “After you.”
Tam approached the door and knocked. He placed his hand over the peephole. He knocked again, harder. And again.
“The fuck?” A tall shirtless redhead opened the door a crack. “You got a warrant?”
“Not here for you, Chuck. We looking for Anthony Winder, he’s violated.”
“Don’t know shit.” He shut the door.
Tam beat on the door again.
“The fuck?”
“Don’t shut the door on me again, Chuck. If you do that again, my partner will swear he hears a young female in pain, whimpering help me, help me please, coming from inside. Capisce?”
“Fucking cops. Yeah, I capisce. The fuck you want?”
“Anthony Winder.”
“Don’t know the man.”
“You’re in twelve step groups with him. We’ve checked.”
“Okay, so you’ve checked. So what? That shits anonymous. Maybe the guy goes by Mike or Dave. The fuck I’m gonna know about it?”
“Tell me what you know about these two blondies.”
“What two blondies would that be?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
Tam studied the man. His mouth and the door were both half open and still. Tam scratched his nose, like a third base coach sending a signal to a man on second.
“I think I hear a voice. It sounds like a little girl, Tam. She’s in pain.”
“Okay, okay. Fuck. I’ll talk to you guys. But fuck, really. You’re two cold motherfuckers.”
“Speak,” Tam said.
“Okay, the blondes. Yeah, everyone knows about them. Good-looking cheerleader types. Every red-blooded American male wants to dip it in one of those types. But, check my jacket, fuck. You guys don’t like homework? I do Mexies. Especially ones that learned to cook from their grandmothers.” He gave them a wicked smile. “You can read that as chubby chaser. The fuck I’m gonna do with a white stick figure? I can beat off in front of a mirror if I want that. Fuck. I haven’t tore up a white bitch since I was thirteen.”
...................
Rick drove to the next guy on the list. Tam’s list.
“I guess I jumped the gun a little,” Rick said.
“It happens.”
“You believed his spiel?”
“Yes. But not enough to forgo verification. Stupid for him to lie about that, however, it’s too easy to verify.”
“Okay, you’re right. I should have done more research.”
“All part of the process.” Tam looked out the window, tapped the glass, and then looked at Rick who could tune out the entire world when he was deep in thought.
“So what do you like about this guy? Jason DeLong?” Rick asked. His tone was uncommitted, neither enthusiastic nor negative.
“You tell me what you see, Padawan.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
And in freedom, most people find sin.
~ John Green
What I envy most about Drew is that she doesn’t care about losing face. She’s not controlled by the judgments of others and that is something my cultural upbringing cannot fathom.
~ Chelsea Park
...................
Ben Davis loved his girlfriend, Chelsea Park. He was grateful for her lack of jealousy towards Drew, which he imagined might be hard. Drew turned heads and broke hearts.
Ben and Chelsea had been together for seven months, in love for six of those, and they often included Drew in their plans because neither Ben nor Drew had family on the west coast. They were each other’s family; Chelsea understood and respected that. She looked up to Drew and considered her a friend in her own right, and not just because Ben treated her as if she was a blood-related sister. Ben hoped they’d become even closer friends over time. He knew that they were very different: Drew an outspoken former model and mild celebrity, Chelsea a first generation Korean American whose family would disown her if she talked like Drew, much less emulated any of the crazier things she actually did.
But Chelsea was raised in America, and the culture of children in public schools is hard to inoculate against, so her parents and grandparents accepted who she was, even when she started dating a pale, white guy from the east coast with a strange accent. Although Chelsea retained much of her cultural inheritance, for instance, she was still shy, quiet, and perhaps a bit diminutive; she had changed after becoming friends with Drew. She didn’t emulate Drew’s upfront and confident personality, and sometimes it scared her, but she did learn to be more confident, vocal, and courageous. Ben could tell she genuinely liked Drew, which was important to him; he couldn’t imagine what he’d do otherwise.
Ben sat next to Chelsea at the Outback Steakhouse and attempted to speak in an Aussie accent to Drew, who was sitting across the booth from them.
“Good-Day Mate! Wanna shrimp on the barbie?”
“Ben, you’re embarrassing Chelsea,” Drew said. “We can’t take you anywhere. Maybe us girls will go out drinking later without you.”
“Yeah, behave,” Chelsea said.
They ordered. The women split a dinner, protecting their girlish figures they both said. Ben tuned them out as they chatted about school work. A petite, attractive blonde walked past their table, and he followed her with his eyes.
“Get those eyes back into your head, before I stab you with a fork,” Drew said.
“No, it’s not that. I wasn’t...”
“Yes?” Chelsea said. “We’re waiting for an answer that doesn’t sound like complete BS.”
“Yeah, no bullshitting, Ben,” Drew said. “What? You’re conducting a research study for a paper on nice asses?”
“No. Sorry. I was thinking about the missing women. I didn’t want to be a downer, so I was trying to forget about it. But that blonde reminded me. She fit the type, you know?”
Two months had passed without any new information on the missing women. No bodies had been discovered, no new evidence had surfaced, and no new cases of missing blondes had made the news. The stories about a possible serial killer were no longer in the local papers or the local television stations. The school, officially, was still on alert status, but with no new events, life had mostly gone back to normal.
“Do you still think there was, or is, a serial killer?” Chelsea asked.
“Yes,” said Drew.
“No,” said Ben.
“Why no?” Chelsea asked.
“I think it was just a coincidence that the two girls looked alike. A mathematical anomaly, something that seemed related, but wasn’t. I guess I could be wrong, but there hasn’t been anything since — well — it’s been a couple months at least. Why do you think there is a serial killer on the loose?” He looked at Drew.
“I don’t like that kind of coincidence. It doesn’t seem rational. If they were just good looking, okay. If they were just blonde and good looking, okay. But they were both blonde, good looking freshman, who disappeared on the same night of the week in similar neighborhoods. That can’t be a coincidence. I’m pr
etty sure that there’s a serial killer out there. It’s not that uncommon.”
“Well, one of them was a sophomore,” Ben said.
“Really? Serial killers aren’t uncommon?” Chelsea asked Drew.
“Nope. There’s probably a dozen in California right now. Most of the women they take are runaways and prostitutes and low-class women that don’t make the major news reports. It’s only when you have upper middle-class college-aged white girls go missing that the press makes a fuss.”
“That seems cynical,” Chelsea said.
“Maybe. But it’s true. Good looking bitches and cute white children equal the six o’clock news and tabloids.”
“God, let’s change the subject,” Ben said. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Let’s have a fun time tonight; we can talk about Drew’s love life.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what she was hoping you’d say,” Chelsea said.
“How’s the love life?” he asked Drew.
“Non-existent. A couple months back, after Kyle, I got hit on pretty hard. Married guy. Again. I’m so done with unavailable guys. I’ve been laying low.”
“That mean you’re staying away from bars?”
“Pretty much,” Drew answered. “I’m focusing on my class work. Trying to stay ahead on my reading. Being a good student. I’ll admit it’s lonely on Saturday nights.”
“Now you understand what it’s like to be an Asian girl,” Chelsea said.
“Next, you know? I’ll be getting straight A’s.” Drew smiled and raised her beer.
Chelsea raised hers, too. They tapped glasses.
“To all the shy Asian girls back in the dorms studying,” Chelsea said. She looked at Ben. “Your sister has corrupted me. By next semester I’ll have a B average and my parents will have disowned me. I’ll have to change my last name to Smith and buy a Chevy pickup truck. I’ll probably move to Sacramento and enroll in a community college. I’m pretty sure my father won’t have you killed, assuming you change your name and leave the state.”
Dinner arrived while they were laughing.
...................
The server asked if they wanted to order dessert. The script for the dessert upsell was awkward, the waitress stood silently, and waited. Ben bit his tongue and looked with raised eyebrows at the women. They were the ones who worried about fitting into tight jeans.
Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2) Page 11