Suds and Sam For Hire
Page 15
“You? With him?” My father points at a picture of my mom kissing the pot-bellied butcher, who happens to be gay.
Mom jabs a finger into his chest. “Me? That girl’s not even out of her twenties.”
“What’s going on?” Rose sidles up behind me, dishcloth still in hand.
“My parents are learning an important lesson.”
I cross the room and into Suds’ open arms who leans over and whispers. “You need to tell them.”
“I will. Give me one more second.” After going back into the kitchen, I return banging on a sauce pan with a wooden spoon. “Attention, everyone. My parents are not getting a divorce. The photos are doctored. No one is cheating on anyone.”
When my whole family starts talking at once, Suds and I slip out the back door. On the way down the driveway, Joey gets out the car with Kimmy.
“Yo, what did I miss?”
Suds laughs. “Go check it out for yourself. We’re heading home.”
We walk in the cold and back to our studio apartment which sits above the window with the Suds and Sam sign facing the street.
A woman pacing in front of our door stops us. “Are you Suds and Sam? I think I may have witnessed a murder.
From the Author
Hi Luvs!
I lived in Brooklyn for years and have friends who grew up in Bensonhurst. Like Suds, my husband and I were adopted into a family with cousins too numerous to count and a grandmother who only spoke Italian. I also remember relatives on both sides of the law.
I sure hope you enjoy reading this detective duo as much as I love writing them. If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out my free prequel, started below.
Thanks for being my fans and supporting my efforts! I appreciate every download. Be sure to check out my audio books, too, so you can listen in the car, doing housework, or pretending to pay attention on a conference call.
If you haven’t yet, you’ll laugh out loud as the duo solves the infamous cat caper in Book One or start at the prequel.
Suds and Sam, The Prequel, (only available here)
Suds and Sam, Book One (on Amazon)
A Suds and Sam Christmas
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Fondly,
Stella
Suds and Sam
The Prequel
Chapter 1
Suds
“The FBI thinks what?” Clunking my beer bottle on the small table, I clench my back teeth.
“Keep it down.” Always on high alert, Slate glances around this hotel’s drinking establishment but I’ve already vetted the place.
To our right, a young couple gazes into each other’s eyes, ready for sex. Three large guys in cheap suits talk animatedly behind us and those gathered around the bar focus on a soccer game.
I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. “Y’all want to explain, boss?”
Slate eyes me over a short glass of amber liquid. “The FBI reopened the investigation of the bombing in New York last fall.”
Shit. I’m about to share a few choice words on the matter when I glimpse in the mirror behind the bar. One of the business men touches his ear, a sure tell he’s wearing a listening device. With a toss of my head and a meaningful glance, Slate nods. We need to change topics, then vacate.
Eager to help out, I wink at a long-legged women ogling me from the bar and give her a panty-melting smile.
My pal shakes his head. “When are you going to stop playing the field and settle down?”
“When you gonna make an honest woman of your gal? If y’all don’t marry her, I will.”
Slate sighs. “Lilac wants a big wedding with showers and bridesmaids but says she doesn’t have time to plan a big affair.”
“Better you than me.” I raise my beer bottle and glance in the mirror where the guy still watches us with too much interest.
Slate throws a few bills on the table, rises, and slaps my back. “You’re not getting any younger, my friend.”
Grinning, I scrape my chair on the hard wood floor, and stand. “Just because y’all are pussy-whipped, doesn’t mean I need to join the ranks. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
The three in cheap suits look up, none too happy as we pass by and I can’t help but add some sage advice.
I point at my ear, then at the man with the nervous habit. “Y’all need to keep your hand away from your ear. Might get you killed. Your welcome.”
Chuckling, I follow my boss past the lobby’s six-foot fountain and exit via the front entrance.
My black leather jacket keeps away the chill. More importantly, it lets me fade into the shadows. Slate, in a dark suit, shirt and tie, disappears as well.
We lean against the building and wait to see if we’re followed.
After about five minutes, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“The Joint Task Force is looking into the restaurant explosion in Manhattan. Patten suggests you play dumb. It should be easy enough. For you.” His white smile gleams.
“Smart ass.” I smile but there’s nothing amusing about that day and as the memories rush in, air gets sucked out of my lungs.
A Sunday morning, it should’ve been no big deal. I’d volunteered to guard a fucking baby shower, mostly so I could hang out with best pal, Lucky. His wife was the guest of honor and I figured we could catch up while the ladies opened gifts and cooed.
There were balloons, giggling women, and stupid games. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
In Technicolor slow-motion, the events play out in my mind’s eye. I’m laughing as Callie lifts a tiny pink outfit with our company’s logo. Then, the waiter has me at gunpoint. The cook exits the kitchen with a rapid fire rifle so I drop my weapon.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I recall the bullet going through my gut, getting locked in the freezer, and smelling gas.
“It wasn’t your fault. You had bad intel.” My boss eyes me the way he does when he thinks one of his employees needs time off so I light a cigarette to calm the fuck down.
“It don’t sit right. I almost got them killed.” I inhale slowly and puff out, letting the nicotine do its work. Then, smiling like I got no worries in the world, I change the subject.
“Lucky’s wife, Callie, sure is something. Still, I can’t imagine him changing diapers. If you ever hear me say I’m in love, just fucking shoot me.”
Slate laughs. “It’s bound to happen someday”
“Not to me.” I shrug.
He hands me a printout with a name, office, and address. “So, are you good for tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Just ask for Sam, right?”
“She’s supposedly one of the FBI’s best analysts and by the way? Patten said to keep it in your pants.”
I chuckle, relaxed for the first time this evening. If our company’s owner said that, she must be my type. I figure she must be older than twenty but less than forty. And pretty.
Maybe this interview won’t be as bad as I thought.
Chapter 2
Samantha Russo
There’s a tap on the conference room door, it cracks open, and the downstairs guard pops his head through. “Mr. Sutcliff is here.”
“Let him in.” I glance up from my computer screen and gasp.
Holy shit. A sullen dark angel, Sebastian Sutcliff AKA Suds, locks onto my gaze and holds it captive.
The guard, sensing the sexual tension, clears his throat and motions his charge toward a plastic chair on the opposite side of the table.
Turning to me he adds, “If you need anything, Sam, I’ll be right outside.”
“Thanks.”
Eyes locked onto my face, my interviewee lowers into the seat, and smirks.
“Y’all gonna ask me some questions or just sit there and drool?”
I snap my laptop closed and continue to meet his stare. If not for the low drone of the air conditioner and the buzz of the florescent tube overhead, I’m sure he’d hear my rapid heartbeat.
Lowering my voice, I take a deep breath and try like hell to sound like I’m the one in charge. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Sutcliff.”
“I didn’t have much choice, sugar.” The former SEAL narrows his gaze, grins, and leans back in the flimsy chair until I’m sure it will crack.
When it doesn’t, I click on the recording device.
After I announce our names, case number, and date, I begin my first interview. “How long have you been working for Patten Securities?”
“Since I was honorably discharged.” His lids lower halfway with lashes so long, on another man, they’d seem feminine.
“And from what branch?”
“Why you askin’ me shit you already know? This is a waste of your time and mine.” He starts to stand and my cheeks heat.
“Ah… there are a lot of facts redacted in your service record.”
“Guess you don’t have high enough security, sweetheart.” He smiles again but it’s not the kind meant to put me at ease. “Get to the point, darlin’ or is there something else you need.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket, spreads his legs, and shows off a massive bulge behind his fly.
Zzzpt. Brain synapses misfire. Oh fuck me. Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. Shit.
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