Suicide Bomb

by Bobby Nash

  She breathed a silent sigh of relief that Charisma wasn’t there when she arrived. They needed to talk, but Jacks needed to decompress after a stressful day at work before she was mentally prepared to go a few rounds with her. Her teenaged little sister was prone to staying out late, partying, and doing God only knew what until the wee hours of the morning so it was certainly within the realm of possibility that Charisma was off somewhere enjoying herself. Jacks was fearful for her sibling. The girl tended to breeze through life unaware, or unconcerned, with what was happening around her.

  Growing up in the social media age to a wealthy family had somehow made your Charisma Jackson an Instagram celebrity, something that Jacks had trouble wrapping her head around. There were actually people who paid good money for the opportunity to hang out with her baby sister and get their photos taken together. On the one hand, the constant on-line presence opened her up to stalkers and rabid fans. On the other, it was the closest thing Charisma had to a job so there was that.

  Jacks worried, but the responsibility of big sister could only go so far. At some point, she had to let Charisma live her life and deal with the consequences of that life. Jacks often wondered if her older sister had worried like this over the teenaged Catherine, who was less than a saint in those formative years herself. She could only imagine how much worse she would have been if social media had been as prevalent when she was a teenager. Would Jacks, with her model looks have become Instagram famous? She shuddered at the thought.

  Charisma was an intelligent girl, but she desperately wanted to be a grown up, only without the responsibility that went along with it. Catherine understood the notion. She had been much the same way at that age, only to a somewhat lesser degree.

  And she certainly could not disagree with the notion that their mother wasn’t the easiest person in the world to live with.

  Friction between Mother Jackson and Catherine was primarily responsible for the middle Jackson daughter moving out of the family home at age eighteen. On the morning of her actual eighteenth birthday, to be exact. She had already quietly moved all of her important possessions out of the house before she broke the news to her parents that she was going. Her mother was… well, let’s just say she was less than thrilled by the idea.

  While it wasn’t the happiest birthday on record, it was certainly the most memorable of Catherine’s life.

  Since then, the two of them had since patched up their differences, most of which stemmed from dear old mom constantly comparing Catherine with her two year older sister, Elanya. A trait their mother still exhibited to this day, only with less frequency, which had more to do with the fact that Catherine could simply leave or hang up the phone the minute her mother stepped over the line and she was an expert at dancing on that line.

  Okay, perhaps saying that they had since Band-Aided their problems might be a better description of their relationship, but why quibble. They spoke on the phone at least once a week or so, but those were usually short, clipped conversations punctuated by long periods of uncomfortable silence since neither knew how to talk to the other like adults. Instead, they always fell back into familiar patterns that ended with one, or both, of them angry.

  Except when Charisma decided to leave home in a huff. Then, Catherine was her mother’s first call. That was when she appreciated her daughter’s choice of career.

  Every time there was an argument between Charisma and either of her parents, little sister’s first reaction was to run away.

  Of course, she never ran far.

  Just to my couch, Jacks thought.

  The teen’s absence from her apartment did not mean that the problem had been solved and the family unit was whole and hearty once again. Quite the opposite, Jacks assumed. Especially since there were fifteen voice messages blinking incessantly on her voicemail. She tossed her mail on the desk, took a deep breath, and pushed the button to listen to the messages.

  “Catherine, this is your mother. Call me. We need to talk.”

  BEEP!

  “Catherine, call me as soon as you get in.”

  BEEP!

  “Detective Jackson, this is GiGi Martin from the Coroner’s Office. You asked to be informed when we finished up the Washington files. It’s, uh, 6:30 now. If I don’t hear from you by 7:00 I’ll leave them at the front desk with the watch commander. Maybe you can come by and pick them up.”

  BEEP!

  Jacks looked at her watch. “Damn. 7:05.”

  “Cat, this is Charisma. Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch. I’m out with Jess and Crieger. Call me on my cell if you need me.”

  BEEP!

  “Crieger,” Jacks muttered. “Oh yeah, Mom’s going to love that.”

  “Catherine, it’s your mother again...”

  Catherine hit the button on her phone, stopping the message in mid sentence.

  Okay, this is getting ridiculous.

  Sighing to get it out of the way, Catherine tapped in the appropriate phone number without looking at the keys. As the phone rang against her ear, she flipped on the laptop computer at her desk.

  Her mother answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hello, Catherine?”

  “Hi, Mom. What’s the matter?” She tried to sound as cheery as possible, despite the urge to yawn.

  “It’s your sister,” Mavis Jackson’s eternally tired voice sighed on the other end of the line, a scant twelve miles away. It still amazed her how when there was a problem it was Your Sister, but when everything was okay, it was My daughter. She wondered if Mother Mavis even noticed that she made the distinction, though she doubted it ever occurred to her.

  “What happened this time?”

  “Catherine, why do you always assume there was some kind of incident when I mention your sister?”

  “Because my sister slept on my couch last night.”

  “Oh, thank God!”

  “You didn’t know she was here?” Jacks asked questionably. “She always comes here after you two fight, Mom. You would think you’d understand that by now.”

  “I expected her to run off with that… that… boy.”

  Ah ha! So, the worm turns. From the way she had emphasized the word boy she knew exactly what had kicked off the latest round of teenage rebellion. “Are we talking about Crieger, her boyfriend, again?” Jacks asked.

  “He is not her…!” Mavis started to shout, but she managed to reign in her temper and lowered her voice back to its normal timbre, which was still just above panicked. “She said that he is not her boyfriend. They’re just… friends.”

  Of course they are.

  Jacks massaged her temple with her free hand, trying to derail the headache she could fill building toward mammoth proportions.

  “Then what’s the problem, Mom?” she finally asked. “I’m really too tired to play referee tonight.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. If it had not been for the sound of her breathing, Catherine would have wondered if her mother had hung up on her.

  “Mom?”

  “I… I just worry about her, is all.”

  “I know you do, Mom. Listen, she left a message on my machine. She’s gone out with… uh, with some friends.” Jacks grimaced as she said the word, knowing the pained look that had to have been plastered on her mother’s face on the other end of the line.

  “She’ll probably come back here tonight. I’ll talk to her and have her call you. We’ll work this out, okay?”

  “I…” Mavis started to protest, then reconsidered. “Thank you, Catherine,” she said instead.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Just try not to let it upset you so much. Your blood pressure is high enough as it is, don’t you think?”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Mavis Jackson answered. “You don’t understand what it’s like. Just wait until you have a child of your own then come and talk to me about not letting it get to you. I’ll call you tomorrow, dear.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  As quiet descended upon
the modest apartment, Catherine Jackson cradled the phone against her ear long seconds after her mother ended the conversation. All she could hear was the echo of heartbeat bouncing through her ear like an annoying fly she was unable to swat.

  She could feel the familiar, yet totally unwanted, pressure on her eyes. I will not cry, she told herself, reigning in her emotions. She knew she had the rest of her life to let this particular anger eat away at her, but this was not the time for it. The pain was still too fresh. So fresh that she had not even told her mother so she knew her closing comment had not been said with malice, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The only person she had confided in was her partner. It had been the first and only time she had said he word miscarriage aloud. Mel listened and offered comfort, but not advice, which she appreciated. She knew she and her mother would have to discuss it sooner or later, but she really wanted it to be later. Much later.

  While she had the phone in her hand, Jacks dialed the Medical Examiner’s Office. Work was always a good way to take her mind off of her personal problems. She had hoped to catch one of the lab assistants or doctors still in the office, working late.

  Kinda pathetic I know their number by heart.

  Unfortunately, not everyone was as much a workaholic as Detective Jackson.

  After six rings, a computer-generated voice announced that the M.E.’s Office was closed. It then gave a monotone announcement of posted business hours and who to call in case of an emergency, finally culminating with a message to press zero to speak to the front desk.

  Jacks depressed the zero key on her phone and waited.

  After a few seconds, a gnarled voice answered, squelching the irritating Musak version of Aerosmith’s Walk This Way that did nothing to appease her growing migraine. Although it did sound better than the bluegrass version one of her friends had sent her in an email the week before. That had been beyond scary so naturally it had gotten stuck in her head for a few days. On the up side, she now had a candidate for the worst cover song since Dolly Parton belted out Stairway To Heaven.

  “Front desk.”

  “Hi. This is Detective Catherine Jackson with the Washington Metro, Homicide Division. I’m returning a call from Dr. Martin. Would she, by chance, still be there?”

  “Lemme check,” he said. “Hold on.”

  She heard papers rustling.

  What the rent-a-cop on duty at the front desk lacked in social graces, he made up for in proficiency. The next song, an awful cover of the equally bad Ricky Martin song, Living Lavida Loca, had barely begun before he returned with the bad news.

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but Dr. Martin checked out at seven-oh-two.”

  Damn.

  “Okay, thanks. I appreciate your checking for me. I’ll stop by on Monday morning and talk with her then.”

  “Actually, Detective," the guard interrupted. “Dr. Martin left a package here at the front desk with your name on it. If you want to stop by, I’ll be glad to let you have it. Provided you have the proper I.D. of course.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll be down in…” she looked at the clock at the lower right hand corner of her computer screen. “Oh, let’s say, one hour, give or take?”

  “Take yer time, Detective. I’ll be here all night,” the gnarly voice replied. “Just ring the buzzer and flash yer badge.”

  “Thanks again,” she said as she disconnected the call.

  Before she could even set the phone down, it rang again.

  “Mom…” Jacks whined, not wanting to listen to her mother complain about her baby girl again.

  “Jacks,” she answered without looking at the screen, her tone clipped and ready for another confrontation. She wasn’t going to give her mother an opening this time.

  “Hey, sis.”

  “Charri?”

  The prodigal daughter herself.

  Jacks could hear a heavy beat in the background and the sound of several conversations overlapping. A dance club, she assumed. No wonder Mom was pissed.

  “Where are you? I can barely hear you.”

  “We’re at some club downtown. I just wanted to know if Jess and I could crash at your place tonight?”

  “What do Jess’ parents have to say about it?”

  “Oh, they’re cool with it.”

  “Like yours were with you last night?”

  Jacks could actually hear her baby sister sigh over the din from the club.

  My God, but she’s just like her Mother. No wonder they don’t get along.

  “Yes or no, Cat?”

  “Of course, you can stay, Charri. But we’re going to have to do something about you and Mom. I’m really getting tired of playing referee for you two.”

  “I know. Look, I’ve got to go, okay? Thanks, Sis. I’ll see you later.”

  “But…”

  Her protests fell on deaf ears.

  And another disconnected call.

  “Kids,” she found herself saying through clenched teeth. Then, she laughed at the absurdity of it all. Her sister was going to drive her to drink.

  She opened the internet browser and checked in on little sister’s Instagram page. Sure enough, there were photos of her at a club. As usual, she was dressed to the nines, wearing the latest and greatest trendy styles. Her equally Insta-famous friend, Jess was in several of the photos, looking rather dashing herself. Crieger, the not my boyfriend, was in a few shots, though not as prominent. Charri’s followers were not interested in her bad boy not boyfriend who didn’t have much of a social media presence and did not look like he was swimming in money.

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Jacks carried the laptop to the kitchen counter. She dropped the cell phone on the counter next to it as she began pulling out salad fixings for dinner.

  No sense going too far away, she mused. Damned thing’s just going to ring again.

  That said, she really was not all that surprised when the blasted contraption did just that so as not to disappoint her.

  “Grand Central Station,” she answered testily after scooping up the phone on the second ring. Assuming it was her mother again, she did not look before answering.

  “Catherine?”

  “Oh, hi, Daniel.” She grimaced, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, even though she didn't know why. “Sorry about that. It’s been one of those days. You know how it is.”

  “I understand all too well,” he said with a playful chuckle.

  Jacks found herself smiling. It was the first really smile-worthy moment she’d had all day. “So,” she started. “How... are you?”

  “I’m well,” he said. “A busy day, as usual.”

  “Preaching to the choir, my friend.”

  “Sounds like your day might have been busier than mine.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “I thought you said today was your day off.”

  “Yeah. I thought that too.”

  “Well, look, the reason I called is, well I was wondering, if you haven’t eaten yet, I thought you might like to join me for dinner.”

  “Well…”

  “Oh, come on, Jacks. You wouldn’t make a lonely man eat all by himself, would you?”

  “I just can’t win today,” Jacks said, surrendering to the inevitable and closing the laptop.

  Daniel pressed the advantage. “Can I take that as a yes, Detective Jackson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. “I’ll pick you up in, say thirty minutes?”

  “That’s fine, Daniel,” she said as she dropped the salad pieces back into the refrigerator, kicking the door closed with her foot as she turned back to the counter.

  “But I have to make a quick stop on the way to the restaurant if that’s okay.”

  “No problem.”

  “Can we make it something casual tonight? I’m not in the mood to be very dressy.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Daniel Benson agreed playfully. “I don’t think my attire screams Whi
te House State Dinner Party.”

  She had to chuckle at that, damn the man. Why does he have to be so charming?

  “I’ll have to shower,” she told him.

  “I’ll see you in half an hour?”

  “Half an hour works for me,” Jacks said, wondering how the hell she was going to manage to look put together in such a short span of time. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

  “All right,” he said before disconnecting.

  “Well, so much for a quiet evening at home.”

  When the phone rang yet again, she wasn’t even remotely surprised. This time she looked at the caller ID. The fact that it was her mother again was even less of a shocker.

  Jacks wanted to scream.

  “Mom. I was just about to call you. Charri and her friend, Jess, you remember her, right? They are going to sleep over here tonight and tomorrow, she will call you. I promise. Then, you, me, Charri, and Dad are going to sit down and talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you guys and work it out. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you again, Catherine.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. Look. I have to go. I’ve got a dinner date in, like twenty minutes.” She winced, regretting the words even as she spoke them. She could feel her mother’s disapproving stare through the phone line.

  “You’re going out on a date now?” Mavis said it as though she couldn’t believe anyone, let alone her own daughter, could be so insensitive.

  “Yes, Mom. I am,” she answered. She wanted to cut off the guilt trip before it could get good and started. If there was one thing Mavis excelled at, guilt was it. It was one of the things that made her such an excellent fundraising coordinator, but it did nothing to smooth over mother/daughter relations. Sometimes Jacks wondered how her father put up with it, but he somehow found a way.

  “I will talk to you tomorrow, Mom.”

  “But I…”

  “Goodnight, Mother.”

  As she gently laid the phone on the counter, Jacks sighed.

  “I’ve got to stop answering that damn phone?”

  seven

  Washington DC

  Saturday

  Samantha Patterson had never been so happy to be home.