Suds and Sam For Hire

by Stella Marie Alden

  I point down at the smiling Count Catula, prancing about with its wriggling victim dangling from her mouth.

  Joey reaches for the scruff of her neck but the cat dashes across the room and drops the rodent on Suds’ bare foot.

  I stare, horrified. “Oh my God. Don’t let it bite you. You’ll get rabies.”

  “I think that’s for coon-bit dogs. Maybe skunks.” He holds up the mouse by the tail. “Is this what you ladies was screamin’ about?”

  Mia, sitting with her butt on the table and feet on the chair, looks about the kitchen. “You think he’s got brothers? Cousins? Rats?”

  Suds starts snickering and when Joey joins him, I realize how ridiculous we ladies look and try to defend our actions. “This is so not funny, you two. I bet we got mouse turds in our silverware drawer. We’ll have to fumigate the whole apartment.”

  “Don’t go anywhere. We may need your gun.” Rose climbs off the kitchen table, grabs a paper towel, and cleans up her hot cereal on her hands and knees. While down there, she uses her cellphone’s flashlight to search the darkness under the stove and refrigerator.

  “You see any more, sis?” Mia scoots to her chair yet keeps her feet off the floor with her knees to her chest.

  When Suds walks across the kitchen floor, opens the garbage container, and dangles the poor creature, I wave my hands in the air. “Stop. You can’t throw it in there. It’s still alive.”

  “You want me to mercy kill it?” He snickers, closes the bin, and as he takes two steps toward me, I point down the stairs.

  “Just, just… take it outside.”

  “You good with this?” His brows raise at Joey.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” He kisses his Saint Christopher medal. “I thought for sure someone was dyin’. Gimme that thing.”

  “Be kind.” Suds rifles through a few drawers, puts the mouse in a plastic bag and hands it to my cousin.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure t’ing. I’ll break its tiny little neck, recite a few words, and give it a Catholic Mass.” Muttering, he stomps down the stairs and Chloe follows.

  “Scat!”

  Chastised, Count Catula skitters back up, through the kitchen, and hisses under the couch while Suds laughs his ass off.

  Shaking his head, he turns at my bedroom door. “Y’all have a real nice day. I’m getting some shuteye.”

  Chapter 25

  Suds

  After the mouse incident, the apartment quiets and I sleep for a short while in peace. When my eyes open I’m back in the desert.

  Fuck, not again.

  My team and I pile into the Hummer while I try to convince them to stay put. Shit. Like always, they’re about to die and I can’t say or do nothin’ to change their minds. First, our vehicle roars across the desert. Then, we slow at a small town with ancient dirt houses. A woman, wearing a burka and holding a child jumps in front of us.

  “Go. Go. Go!” Knowing what’s about to go down, I aim my weapon but the world blows apart before I can fire.

  Seconds later, sitting ass deep in sand, I stare at the bloody remains who were my best friends.

  “Suds? You with me?” Lucky calls out but it’s a young woman who moves her mouth in front of my nose.

  With the IED ringing in my ears, time gets all jumbled up in my brain.

  I know this girl from another lifetime. I’m pretty sure I plan on marrying her. Too bad I’m about to die.

  “Sebastian. You’re safe. You’re with me.” My angel cups my cheeks, gazing at me with love.

  My eyes close and when I open them, I’m in her bedroom, back where I belong. I haven’t had a dream that frightening in months. My blood pressure must be sky high.

  “You back?” Sam combs her fingers through the damp hair on my forehead and a new thought causes another dose of adrenaline to race through my veins.

  I touch her neck, arms, and legs. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  When will this end? Face in my hands, I moan. “I am so damn sorry. I never should’ve slept without my monitor.”

  “You didn’t hurt me, Suds. It was a regular nightmare. Everyone has them occasionally. Besides, it’s my fault. I was so tired after my shift I didn’t think to set it.

  “We shouldn’t ever chance it. Shit.” I point to the electronic device she bought me for Christmas. “It’s sitting right there. All I had to do was turn it on.”

  “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  Damn straight it won’t. Maybe I’ll start cuffing one hand to the headboard again. Better that, than risk hurting her.

  I stretch, hop out of bed and pace until I’m grounded in this reality. Outside her bedroom window, snow falls, lit by the flickering light of Joey’s living room TV.

  “We should get going.” Sam slips on a red sweater and shimmies into her stretchy jeans.

  “Right. The stakeout.” I grab my clothes from yesterday, sniff, and hope she won’t take offense. It’s not my fault our schedule hasn’t left time for the laundromat.

  When I exit the bedroom the apartment is surprisingly quiet except for Chloe’s meowing as she circles her food bowl and the baby crying downstairs.

  On the way out, Sam says goodbye to Joey, we stop for calzones, and I drive us through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel to Lower Manhattan.

  In the dark, parked by the curb, she holds my hand. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” A little of the tension in my chest eases up. Apparently, I haven’t screwed things up too badly.

  She squeezes my fingers. “Can we talk?”

  Ah shit, here it comes. “Sure.”

  “You need to treat me more like an equal partner.” She waits while I take a deep breath and try to figure out the right words to say to get her to understand.

  “You are a brilliant analyst and I’ll never understand why the FBI let you go. In that way, you’re a hell of a lot more than my equal.”

  A heavy sigh comes out of her. “But you don’t trust me on the street…”

  I’m saved from answering because Townsend’s door opens.

  Anxious to remove myself from the conversation, I jump out and whisper over the seat. “I’ll ping you when we come up from the train.”

  I follow Townsend to where he exits the subway uptown. Above ground, I text my partner and tell her to meet me inside the same bar as last time. Thirty minutes later, we nurse our beers in a booth near the door while her suspect plays pool.

  “C’mere. I need to tell you something.” My lover leans forward and I bend until our foreheads touch over the table.

  “What?”

  “Earlier, after the mouse incident, I called Jeremy’s coworker. Guess what? The guy never missed a day of work.” She purses her pretty lips waiting for me to get the full implication of her statement.

  He lied. That changes everything. “How is that possible? I thought you confirmed his absences.”

  “I did.” She glances over her shoulder and takes her voice down low. “But when I spoke with him, he said their payroll messed up.”

  A shiver starts at the back of my neck, runs down my spine, and stops at my ankle. Ah fuck. “Sam, you got to promise me to stay safe, whatever happens tonight.”

  “Same goes for you.” She punches me on the arm.

  How does she not understand I am a former Seal while she, a paper pusher? It boggles the mind.

  While we’re talking, Jeremy sidles up to a young blonde at the bar and I mutter into my beer bottle “If she’s legal, I’m the Easter Bunny.”

  “Well, you better hop to it.” Sam snickers into her bottle, finishes it off, then sets it down.

  “Egg-zactly.” Clenching her upper arm, I lead her out the door as Townsend and the girl grab their coats.

  “Where’s the car?”

  As she hands me a ticket, she points down the block at a red neon sign spelling out PARK.

  “If their ride comes before I get back, stick this under the bumper.” Reaching into my pocket, I place a min
iature tracking device in her hand, and race down the street.”

  By the time I retrieve the car and return, her face is flushed. “They got into a blue sedan so I did what you said.”

  I open my phone, throw it to her, and burn rubber. “Where to?”

  “Hold on. The app is still locking on… They’re heading north on the FDR.”

  With the river on my right, the city to the left, I follow. Even though it’s late, traffic is heavy and I can’t catch up.

  Sam’s face lights blue from the phone screen at her nose. “They’re taking the bridge.”

  “Jersey?”

  “Seems so.”

  I want so badly to call for backup but we got nothing on this guy other than her hunches and my tingle.

  “Dammit. It’s not a crime to go into Jersey.”

  “That’s what you think,” she grins and recites the old Saturday Night Live sketch. “You from Jersey? I’m from Jersey.”

  “What exit?”

  “The one near the chemical dump.”

  “Yeah, which one?” She quiets on the George Washington Bridge.

  When traffic thins out on Route 4, she points out the blue Ford. “They’re getting off on River Road.”

  The Fairleigh Dickenson campus is well-lit but empty at this time of night. Picturing a murder in a parking lot, I heave out a sigh of relief when the Uber driver doesn’t turn. Instead, he goes up a hill and stops in an expensive neighborhood with well-kept lawns. Each home has at least four bedrooms with a Beemer or Benz in the driveway.

  “I thought the slasher only murdered in the city.” I open my door quietly, ready to bolt, while Jeremy pays the driver,

  Sam whispers, her voice charged with nervous energy. “He’s changing it up. He must know we’re getting close. It has to be him.”

  As much as I’d like to argue, I can’t help but agree as I slip out of the vehicle. “Don’t move.”

  “Right behind you.” Obviously, something’s gone wrong with her hearing because my partner exits the vehicle and follows on my heels.

  Fuck. I keep her behind me as we climb the hill and approach the home where a dim yellow light frames the drawn drapes of the bay window.

  Inside, Jeremy could be murdering the girl, making love, or sharing a glass of Chardonnay. Who knows?

  “What if we’re wrong about him? Worse, what if we’re right?” Sam places her hand on my back as we make our way to the deck stairs at the back of the house.

  “Stay put. I fucking mean it.” I creep up closer and halt at the loud sound of ice crunching under my boot.

  Crouching low, I slip out my gun. After a bit, when the drapes stay still, I continue up the steps to the sliding glass door.

  “What are they doing?” Sam peers over my shoulder.

  “Getting undressed.” I shake my head as I watch them get naked. “Maybe we’re mistaken. They both seem into it.”

  Chapter 26

  Sam

  From what I’ve seen of the FBI’s files, this is exactly how the serial killer works. He finds a woman, convinces her to take him home, and then murders her after having consensual sex.

  Everything is spot on, except for the part about being in New Jersey.

  Still kissing the girl, Townsend takes her hand and they leave the living room, presumably to a bed close by.

  When the blonde screams, Suds struggles with the sliding glass door and I yank up on the nearest window. When the glass lifts, I grab my gun and push the opening wider. Standing on tip toes, I jump in, dangle by my waist, and wriggle my shoulders inside.

  Light catches metal and what happens next, takes place in slow motion. First, the sharp edge of the knife glistens close to the girl’s neck. I’m sure I’m too late but take aim anyway. My index finger squeezes, the blade stops short of its target, and Jeremy falls back, eyes wide, gasping for breath.

  Another gun fires, glass crashes, and Suds rushes into the bedroom.

  “Fuck.” Squatting, my partner places a palm over a spreading circle of red on Townsend’s chest while feeling for a pulse. “Sam! Call nine-one-one.”

  In my mind’s eye, the last five seconds of my life plays is still playing and somewhat stunned, I drop back onto the porch.

  After, I step through the broken glass door into granite covered kitchen, I click on the pistol’s safety, and I reach into my pocket for my phone.

  The operator asks, “What’s your emergency?”

  “There’s been a shooting. We need an ambulance at… ” Shit. I have no idea where I am. “Just a moment.”

  “Tell them your address.” I run back into the bedroom, step over the body, and hold the electronic out to the whimpering girl.

  In tearful sobbing gulps, the young victim manages to spit out our location.

  “Is the shooter still in the house?” The 911-operator asks the girl who looks up at me and flinches.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Help is on the way. Stay hidden and stay on the line.”

  “Reach into my back pocket, Sam. Call your father.” Sebastian’s voice is super calm as outside, sirens wail and grow louder.

  I place the 911-operator on the mattress near him and while he rattles off more details, I punch in Dad’s home number.

  Sam?” He picks up almost immediately and I cut him off before he can give me hell for some misdemeanor.

  “Can you get to Teaneck? I just shot the Manhattan Slasher.”

  “Say again?”

  “Remember? Jeremy Townsend? I was right. I’m going to need a lawyer.”

  “Goddammit. He wasn’t even on our radar. Why the fuck didn’t you… Are the police there with you now?”

  “On the way.”

  “When they arrive, keep your hands on your head until they say you can move. Tell that to your partner, too. I assume Sutcliff is there with you?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Daddy. I got to go.”

  The victim wraps herself in a comforter and cries softly so I put my arm around her. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “My parents are going to kill me.”

  I place my cell phone in her hand. “Best you let them know.”

  “I can’t ruin their vacation. It’s their twenty-fifth anniversary and they never had a honeymoon.” While she sobs uncontrollably into a small yellow teddy bear, I squat near Suds.

  Glancing down at Townsend, I swallow hard. How could this man be responsible for more than a dozen murders?

  A part of me hopes he’ll die and save the city millions of dollars in court fees but what if there are more dead women? Those families will need closure. Clearly, he wasn’t exclusively killing in Manhattan.

  Jeremy coughs up blood, then catches my gaze. “How? How did you know?”

  “A woman’s intuition.”

  Chapter 27

  Suds

  Outside, sirens stop and when over ten car doors slam, my usual calm is shaken. What if these suburban cops shoot first and ask questions later?

  Trying to avoid that scenario, I speak clearly and calmly to the operator on the line. “Would you mind asking the officers not to kill us?”

  “Police. Open up.” Someone pounds on the front door and Sam, looking a bit dazed, glances at me for reassurance.

  With my hands still applying pressure on Townsend’s chest, I motion with my head to the dresser. “Put your gun down. Let them take the lead. You got this.”

  She removes her weapon and as she walks out of the room, the 911 operator speaks from the phone on the mattress. “I’m going to conference in Sergeant Billings. He’s in charge.”

  “Open the damn door.” The voice sounds out front and through the cellphone’s speaker.

  “Hold on. My partner is coming to the door. She’s unarmed. Don’t shoot and we need that ambulance.”

  Sam’s footsteps echo down the hall. She stops, sighs, then shouts out. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Clear!” A scuffle ensues, policemen shout, and rush the stairs. They pound down the hall and poi
nt their weapons at my head.

  “Hands in the air. Now.” One glares, his fingers itchy.

  I keep my voice slow and real southern-like. “I would, but then, this here man will probably die. You choose.”

  The cop closest to me looks down, turns green and wobbles.

  “Sit or leave, but don’t puke. You’ll mess up the crime scene.” I glance over at the man in charge who grunts his agreement.

  Sounds of retching are followed by paramedics arriving. Then, my hands are relieved by those of a professional. Stretching to lessen the cramp in my leg, I turn and stand eye to eye with a grim-faced cop.

  “What went on here?” He glances down at Townsend, now being lifted onto a stretcher.

  I shake my head, not quite believing it myself. “That there is the Manhattan Slasher.”

  “No fucking way.” While Billings glances at the blood spray on the wall and the open window, I raise my hands.

  “Can I reach into my pocket and show you my detective license?”

  “Why the hell not? Go ahead.”

  More paramedics enter the bedroom making it tight so the sergeant walks me into the living room where about a dozen cops, mill about chatting excitedly.

  “McGrath, Abrams? You stay. The rest of you? Get back to work.” The sergeant gives them a dirty look, emptying the place.

  “Alright. Tell me everything.” He pulls out a small recorder but I shake my head, no.

  I don’t want what I say next to be used against me in court. “Put that away and I’ll explain.”

  He puts the device in his belt, crosses his arms, and nods. “I’m listening.”

  Keeping in mind that we saved a girl’s life, I take a deep breath. “My partner’s a private consultant for the FBI but she used to be an analyst in their DC office. She firmly believed Townsend was our man but we had no evidence. So, we’ve kept an eye on him. Tonight, he picked up a girl in the city and we followed them here. We heard her scream and I fired one round to break the sliding glass door in the back. When I got to the bedroom, Townsend was on the floor and my partner was calling nine-one-one.”

  “Who shot him?”