Nine Cocktails

by J. V. Speyer

  Her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket, straining to breathe. Had Jack gotten her new phone number? If he could get Austin’s and Abby’s, he must have had no trouble getting hers too. When she looked down at the screen, though, she saw her mother’s exhausted face looking back at her instead. “Hello, Mom.” She made herself smile when she spoke, so she wouldn’t worry her mother. Channary Lim had been a beautiful woman in her youth, and the traces of that beauty could still be seen by anyone looking for it. So could trauma, starvation, and genocide.

  “Paige? This is your mother.” This was something all mothers did, regardless of background or language. Channary spoke Khmer, a stroke two years ago having stolen most of what little English she’d picked up along the way, but the mother of every friend or lover Paige had ever known greeted her children on the phone the exact same way. It was like none of them had ever had caller ID.

  “Yes, Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m busy and tired. Where are you? I sent your brother over to look for you and he said the police had your apartment blocked off.” Channary cut herself off. “Are you in jail?”

  Tears sprang to Paige’s eyes at the fearful sound to her mother’s voice. She understood why her mother was so frightened. She just couldn’t do anything to stop it. She hadn’t been thinking about it, either. She’d only been worried about Abby, because Abby was the one in the direct line of fire.

  What if Jack goes after them? Paige’s blood ran cold.

  “I’m not in jail, Mom.” She closed her eyes. “Jack killed someone, and he tried to kill someone else. The police are keeping me safe until they catch him.”

  Channary gasped. “He was such a nice boy in high school. Are you sure it’s him?”

  “I saw him myself, last night. He shot a police officer.” She closed her eyes. “I know your experience with the police isn’t great, but they really are helping me.”

  “If you go to the police, they’ll kill him.” Channary dropped her voice to a whisper. “You don’t want that on your soul, do you?”

  Paige bit down on the inside of her cheek. She knew her mother wasn’t talking about shooting back. Her mother had witnessed genocide first hand. Paige hadn’t been able to convince her mother of the differences between the Cambodia she’d grown up in and modern Boston, even before her stroke. She wasn’t going to be able to do so now.

  “Mom, he’s killing random people because he thinks they’re too close to me. He killed a customer at the bar, because he was a regular. I didn’t go to the police, and the last time I did go to the police they didn’t do anything. Now he’s out killing people. He needs to go somewhere and get help.” She avoided the word prison.

  She folded herself up as small as she could as her mother replied.

  “This is all so much to deal with. It’s too much—too much attention. Too much attention on you, on us. What if the police start asking questions about us?”

  “I can’t do anything about that, Mom. Jack makes his own choices. And they’re bad ones. If I’d stayed with him and lied to him back in high school, he wouldn’t have been any different. I’d just be dead now and he’d be going after you.”

  “I know.” Channary sniffed. “I just don’t know what we can do about it. It would be easy to blame it on you, but I know I can’t.” She paused for a second. “I sent your brother over to ask to borrow some money. They raised the prices on my medicine again.”

  Abby sighed. “Of course. Tell him I’ll transfer some to his account. I can’t bring cash, I have to hide until they’ve caught Jack.”

  “Do you think he’ll come for us?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll talk to the police. They may have someone near you.”

  “Thank you, Paige.” Channary paused for a moment, but she didn’t hang up. “I didn’t…I don’t say this often. You’re a good girl, Paige. You work hard, you help your family. I know we haven’t been able to give you everything other American girls have.”

  Paige dabbed at her eyes. “You’ve been a great mother, Mom. You’ve done the best you could with what you have, and no one can ask for anything more.”

  “I love you.” Channary hung up, and Paige did the same. She stared at the coverlet for a second.

  Abby coughed politely, making Paige jump. “How much of that did you hear?”

  Abby gave her a wry grin. “Maybe half. I didn’t understand much of it. If I could, I’d have walked away. I’m not here to eavesdrop.” She bent her head to the side. “Is it all right if I come in?”

  Paige huffed out a little laugh. “It’s your bedroom.”

  “It’s your space when someone puts you to bed in it.” Abby shuffled inside. “I wanted to touch base with you. You were pretty upset when you fell asleep, but you also had a pretty trying night. I wanted to check in and see if I could ease your mind about anything.”

  Paige toyed with a pulled thread on the blanket. “You’re the one who’s hurt.”

  “It’s like I told Mark. It’s hardly the first time I’ve been shot, and it’s sure as hell not the worst. Okay? These things come with the territory. We don’t seek them out. I was in the army before I was a cop. I’m fine.”

  “You have to think I’m such a freak, breaking down like this.” Paige looked away.

  “No. Not at all. It’s normal. And it’s terrifying when someone gets shot, who isn’t you. There’s nothing wrong with getting scared or upset. No one thinks less of you, okay?” She moistened her lips and sat down on the end of the bed. “You know we got the warrant. We’ve gone through his house and gotten what we need there, but he hasn’t been back since last night. Here’s the thing. We need to know who might hide him, where he might go for shelter.”

  Paige dropped her jaw. “I haven’t spoken to him in years. Not since I broke up with him. I have no idea who he hangs around with now.” She took a deep breath and tried to push the absurdity of the question out of her mind. “Um, I know he’s in good with a lot of other artists and gallery owners.”

  “Are there any who seemed to stand out as offensive to you when you tried to submit there or show there?” Abby’s voice stayed measured and calm, no anger there at all. “Anyone who’s been vocal about attacking you?”

  Paige had to think about that one. “There are two guys,” she said after a moment. “One has a little gallery in Cambridge, up in Central Square. He thinks he’s someone special and edgy, but he’s a trust fund brat and his parents got him the place after he flunked out of business school. His name is Pete Wilson. And there’s Brad King, who’s got a studio down in Dorchester near the ‘gentleman’s prestige club.’”

  Abby curled her lip and turned her head away. “Ah. Yes, that place. I’m familiar with it.”

  “I thought you might be.” Paige laughed in spite of herself. She sobered quickly, though. The fear in her mother’s voice stayed with her. “Do you think he’ll go after my mom?”

  Abby thinned her lips out for a second. “I don’t think he will, but that’s not a guarantee. He’s been going after people he sees you with, all the time. And we don’t see you with your mother very often.”

  Paige ran her tongue against her teeth. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “I moved out after high school, in part to save on money, but partly because I didn’t want my little siblings to get caught up in Jack’s nonsense. I didn’t want them to see his behavior and think it was normal for American guys, and if he hurt me, I didn’t want them to think that was normal for American women. I didn’t want Jack to have them as a target. But they still live in the same place. And I do visit sometimes, to help out with things.”

  Abby nodded. Paige blushed at herself. Here was this woman who’d been to war, and who’d just been shot, listening to Paige’s fears like they meant something. “Anything is possible, but he seems to be aiming himself at people who he views as having a sexual interest in you. And, er, a lot of men with a sexual interest in Asian women find their interest in family to be attractive. So I
wouldn’t expect him to target your family. We do have people watching your mother’s apartment, just in case he shows up, but it’s not the most likely place I’d find him.”

  Paige rested her head on Abby’s shoulder. “I never thought of him as the ‘yellow fever’ type, but I guess he was. I didn’t give that stereotype much thought back in the day.”

  “I honestly didn’t hear about it at all until I was in the army.” Abby put an arm around her shoulder. “But it’s something that’s come up on a few cases. We’re not going to let him get to your mom. We’re close to getting him. Thanks to the information you just gave us, we’re closer than ever. Hopefully we’ll track him down and be able to fix this thing in the next twenty-four hours.”

  Paige didn’t say anything. She knew Abby would insist on being part of the arrest party, and she wouldn’t ask her to stay away. Every fiber of her being wanted to, though. The last thing she wanted to do was to put the woman she loved in danger yet again.

  Chapter 8

  Abby had never been a fan of zoos. She understood the reason they existed, and how many animal lives they saved and all that. She could appreciate those things from a respectful distance. When she was there in person all she could think about was the animals in cages, pacing around in small enclosures.

  Being in her condo right now, even with Paige, made her feel like one of those poor zoo animals. Having at least one of her colleagues in the room at all times didn’t help.

  She could research the two suspects Paige thought might be abetting Jack from her couch. Paige had taken one look at Abby’s kitchen, and sent Mark out with a grocery list. Mark raised an eyebrow at Abby, but didn’t say anything. Abby appreciated it.

  She knew she couldn’t get used to having Paige around. Paige was an incredible woman, and they were both attracted to each other, but they weren’t going to spend their lives together. Paige was here because she was in danger and Abby’s place was easier to protect. They might not even be compatible without the adrenaline to propel them. Abby would do much better by both of them if she focused on catching the bastard who wanted to terrorize them instead of trying to figure out a way to keep Paige around.

  She tapped her fingers against her laptop and looked up at Jenkins, the cop guarding her and Paige at the moment. “You know…” She looked back over at her screen. “Surveillance says the guy in Dorchester has been buying a lot of beer. But he’s still going to his AA meetings.”

  Jenkins sat up a little straighter. “Isn’t that exciting? It’s possible he’s just fallen off the wagon and doesn’t want people to know.”

  “Notes say he hasn’t opened the curtains in three days. That’s kind of weird too.” Abby turned toward the kitchen. “Hey Paige, what do you know about Brad King? Is he a drinker?”

  Paige stopped chopping vegetables for a moment. “Um, no. He used to be. He was a big whiskey guy. He’s spent the past five years talking about how everyone and their mother needs to stop drinking alcohol right the hell now, because of slavery.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think he knows what slavery is, but you know. Whatever. If it works for him, I guess it’s fine. Why?”

  “So him buying beer would be out of character?”

  “He never drank beer. It didn’t agree with him. Gave him—” She stopped herself and looked down at her cutting board. “Sorry. He always overshares.”

  Jenkins put a hand to his gut. “So it’s safe to say the beer wouldn’t be for him.”

  Abby grinned and pulled out her phone. She started a text to Mark. “Awesome. That’s perfect.”

  According to Mark, the judge still wanted to hem and haw about it. After all, just as Abby had said, it was possible that Brad King had simply relapsed into addiction. It happened all the time. However, given King’s history with beer and his history of abusive commentary toward Paige, Mark persuaded him to issue a warrant.

  Mark came to pick her up on the way. He didn’t ask, but he didn’t need to. If he’d tried to take Jack down without Abby, Abby would never have forgiven him.

  King lived in a triple decker near Gallivan Boulevard, with a great view of a seedy bar whose sign proclaimed it to be a “Gentleman’s Prestige Bar.” The deck on the back had been made out of unfinished two-by-fours and was starting to sag. In a few years, it would fall. Abby shook her head. “It’s good to know the old traditions of absentee land lording are alive and well.”

  “I guess they could torch the place for the insurance money. There’s a good old Boston tradition.” Mark gave her a wolfish grin.

  “Fun times. Haven’t seen much of that since the early nineties.” Abby checked her vest. Everything seemed to be in place for the attack, but that didn’t mean getting complacent was a great idea.

  They’d debated going in with SWAT. Jack was a killer, and who knew about this Brad guy. The only problem was that police tensions with the community in this part of town were high, and the population density was higher. There was no way to get SWAT in here without causing a lot of problems, and God forbid something went wrong.

  Something pretty much always went wrong.

  So instead of bringing in SWAT, escalating the situation, and risking disaster, the department had decided to go in quiet. They approached with lights off and parked elsewhere. They surrounded the house, moving as silently as they could to avoid alerting the enemy. And they carefully made sure all the other residents were at the Gentleman’s Prestige Bar before approaching the suspects.

  Abby flattened herself against the wall. She had a wicked grin on her face, despite the situation. They’d carefully managed information doled out to the press. As far as anyone knew, Abby was still too injured to leave the hospital. How much would it piss Jack off to see her here? The gash in her side throbbed for a moment, but she ignored it. Jack was finally going down.

  Mark knocked on the door three times, the heavy thuds carrying all the finality of a tolling bell.

  “Brad King? This is the Boston Police. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up.”

  Abby held her breath. Would King obey, or would he demand the use of force?

  After a few seconds, the door cracked open. Abby could see a shock of dark hair, wild and unkempt. She got an impression of a bloodshot eye and more stubble than was appropriate for one day. “Fuck off. I don’t have to let anyone in.” The speaker wasn’t Jack. It had to be King.

  “Actually, you do.” Mark plastered a big, bright smile onto his face. Abby knew just how fake it was. “The whole ‘warrant’ thing means you do have to let us in, sport. That’s how this works. Now you can let us in the easy way, and we can make this all go quietly and maybe we’ll tell the judge you cooperated, or we can force our way in and we’ll make it real clear you tried to buy time for your murderer buddy to try to sneak out the back.”

  Brad scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mark shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He used his massive shoulders to force his way into the building. “Hands up, both of you!” He manhandled Brad up against the wall and handcuffed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Abby tuned him out as she led six uniformed officers into the apartment. It wasn’t much of an apartment, but art didn’t usually pay well. The stuff on the wall wasn’t exactly to Abby’s taste, but she didn’t pretend to be an art critic. She knew what she liked and that was enough for her.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out that two people had been living here. The couch had a stack of folded-up bedding, for one thing, and there was an old army duffel sitting in a corner. Abby noted it, but ignored it for now. The living room didn’t have any good hiding places, and the kitchen was a galley with an open window. The apartment had plenty of other spaces, though.

  The officers spread out, each taking a different room. Brad had designated all but one of the bedrooms as studio space, which left plenty of open places that could be dismissed quickly. The closets were
small and checked out without much trouble. Abby let uniforms take the master bedroom.

  She was going to take the bathroom.

  A pit grew in her stomach, despite her bravado. The radio hadn’t gone off to let the entry team know they’d caught Jack, so he had to be in there. The guy had shot her once. Sure, it had been a minor injury that time. Did it make sense to take the risk again?

  Of course it did. Paige was worth it. Abby was worth it. She wasn’t about to live her life in fear just because some jerk thought he owned women. She brought her gun up and kicked the door open. “Jack Kavanaugh, you’re under arrest for murder.”

  Jack had his gun, but he had to use it with one hand and it wasn’t his good one. The shot went wide, burying itself in the wall and sending everyone but Jack and Abby to the ground. Abby didn’t think, she just reacted and tackled Jack to the ground.

  He yelled. “My shoulder!”

  She shoved his gun out of range before flipping Jack over. He screamed in pain, but she ignored him. “This is what happens when you go taking pot shots at cops, Jackie boy.” She took the sling off and handcuffed him, despite his howls. Under other circumstances, she would have just secured his good arm to his belt and belt loop. She wasn’t a fan of torture under any circumstances, and she didn’t want to open the department up for yet another lawsuit. At the same time, Jack had proven he was still dangerous despite his injury.

  She hauled him to his feet. “Right. Where were we? You’re under arrest for murder, attempted murder, aggravated assault of a police officer, and whatever else the DA decides to throw at you. You have the right to remain silent, and I’m going to encourage you to exercise that right.”

  He spat at her. “Fuck you, bitch. She belongs to me. I’ll kill you before you get to have her.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Hey Mark, you want to read the Boy Genius here his rights?” He tried to head butt her, but she’d seen it done before. She stayed out of the way while Mark finished Mirandizing Jack, and they got their suspects out of the house.