Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller

by Rebecca Forster

  "No description of the one with the club?"

  Hunter shook his head.

  "He's old. He couldn't even tell if the second person was a man or a woman. We didn't think much of the whole story until we got here. It's not the first time the old guy has cried wolf. As soon as we try to check it out, that one freaked." He indicated the woman in the doorway. "That's when we called for detectives."

  "It would seem Officer Douglas is taking the lazy river, now isn't he?"

  Cori's Texas drawl drew out the words like a smear of butter across a biscuit. Officer Hunter wasn't the swiftest. Before Cori could make her contempt clear, Finn stepped in.

  "Officer Hunter, why haven't you gone in and established the nature of the crime? Or even if one was committed?"

  "Douglas said the situation was hinky. He said we needed to wait." Finn muttered something under his breath, and Officer Hunter took exception.

  "Hey, I'm seven months on the job." Officer Hunter sounded like a five year old whining that none of this was his fault. "If he says wait, I wait."

  Cori snorted and started for Officer Douglas. Finn stopped her.

  "I go, Cori."

  If there was trouble to be had, he wanted to field it first. Cori had no problem with that. They each had their strengths. One of Finn's was testing the waters, and Cori's was to be ever watchful. She knew that a lot of people didn't particularly warm to her partner given his history on the force. After he had taken out one of his brothers in blue, shot him dead, Finn became an outcast. It didn't matter that he fired his weapon in self-defense, it mattered that he had fired it at all.

  The man Finn approached was tall and in good shape. He was equally impressive from the front though he was older than Finn had imagined. Given that Officer Douglas had mileage on him, Finn gave the man the benefit of the doubt. His instincts would be honed, and his call would be informed. Finn stood beside the officer so that he, too, could keep an eye on the woman in the doorway. She had not moved and she looked no more dangerous up close than she had from afar. She was middle aged, distressed, but not hurt.

  "Officer Douglas," he said. "Detective O'Brien. With me is Detective Anderson. Your partner says you've been standing down."

  "The woman says everything is fine, and she wants us to leave," Douglas said.

  Finn admired the baritone. The voice fit the man, but there was something in the words that didn't fit the situation.

  "And your thinking is?" Finn said.

  "My thinking is that I don't want my ass or my rookie partner's in a sling 'till I know what we're walking into. Look at that thing." He gestured toward the building with one hand, the other stayed on his hip. "Three stories, outdoor staircases, rooftop access, the interior isn't linear. We could be walking into an ambush."

  Finn did a double take: a glance at the man, at the building, and back again. Even though the assessment was correct, the inaction seemed cowardly.

  "Am I to understand that you're waiting even though there might be a person in need of medical attention in there?" Finn said. "You signed on to serve and protect, did you not, Officer Douglas?"

  The man turned his head and ran his eyes over Finn. His small smile was not one of camaraderie.

  "In case you haven't noticed, cops have targets on their backs these days. I wasn't going to put my officer or the EMTs at risk." Douglas said. He chucked his chin at the woman in the doorway. "She could be anything. She could be a decoy."

  "And she could have a vest full of dynamite strapped to her, but I'm thinking not," Finn said.

  Douglas shuffled. He took his eyes off the woman in the doorway, and turned slightly to make sure Finn heard hm.

  "I got three years 'till retirement, and I'm going to make it there all in one piece. I'd like to go home to my wife and kids every night for the next three years. Now that I know you caught the call, I think I made the right choice. I'd rather you walk in ahead of me 'cause I sure don't want to be target practice for you either."

  Finn pulled up his bottom lip. He put a hand on Douglas's shoulder. Finn gave him a smile that never reached his eyes.

  "That bit's getting old 'tisn't it, Officer Douglas?"

  The man stiffened, his hand clenched. He wanted a piece of Finn, but he wouldn't try to take it. As the officer said, he would do nothing to jeopardize his retirement. Officer Douglas was disappointed that his slur had not been the gut punch he intended. Before either spoke again, Cori came between them.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  "Officer Douglas has declined to make his way inside that building. He wants assurances no harm will come to him," Finn said.

  "Isn't that nice, Officer Douglas." Cori smiled at the man and then turned to Finn. "What shall we do about that, Detective O'Brien?"

  "I'm thinking we should leave Officer Douglas here, and call him when it is safe," Finn said.

  Finn and Cori did not wait for agreement from Officer Douglas. They walked away quickly enough that they did not hear the curses muttered by the uniformed man. They only had eyes for the woman who clutched her high-necked, loose dress to her throat. Finn held her gaze hoping she would see that he meant her no harm. The eyes that looked back were not beautiful, but they were expressive: pained, confused, and distrustful. Finn stopped a few feet from her. Cori came up behind him and stood on his left so that she could hear what transpired.

  "Missus, I am Detective O'Brien and this is Detective Anderson. We are responding to a call for assistance. We understand that you have denied our officers access to this building. We cannot leave without looking into the matter. Do you understand that?"

  The woman's head bobbled. Her lips parted, the muscles in her throat contracted, but there was no sound. Finn nodded slowly, hoping she would understand his sympathy and catch his calm.

  "Fine, then. No need to speak. We are here to help you." He extended a hand, palm up. "Please stand away from the door. 'Tis for your own protection."

  Finn waited, but the woman didn't move aside. Her hand twisted the fabric of her smock so tight that it appeared she might strangle herself.

  "This is bull, O'Brien," Cori mumbled. "Those clowns wasted too much time already."

  Finn nodded. He raised his voice so the woman could make no mistake as to what would happen next.

  "We are going to come to you now. Detective Anderson will move you aside. Do you understand?"

  The detectives moved in. The woman's eyes darted between them until the moment Cori took her hand. She held it long enough for Finn to note the wedding ring on her finger. When he nodded, Cori turned the woman to the wall.

  "I'm going to make sure you haven't got any weapons." Cori adjusted the woman's hands and feet, and then ran her own over the woman's head scarf, her smock, and down her legs. She shook her head at Finn. She turned the woman around and asked. "What's your name?"

  The woman's eyes never stopped moving. It was as if she was struggling to understand them. Finn checked out the entrance to the unit. It appeared that this woman was alone. Having a firm hold on her arm, Cori had a line of sight past the corner of the building. There were no unexplained shadows or movement. She gave her partner a thumbs up and asked again:

  "What's your name?"

  "Emi," she said.

  "Okay, Emi. Is this your place?"

  She nodded.

  "Are you under duress?" Cori said, but the woman looked at her blankly. Cori tried again. "Is anyone threatening you?"

  "Please, please don't go inside. It is only a mistake. Please. Go away."

  She pleaded with them. She begged them. She covered Cori's hand with one of her own, looking for understanding. Cori's eyes flicked to Finn, and they exchanged a look over the woman's head.

  "Is your husband upstairs?" Finn asked.

  Her head jerked as if she couldn't decide between a shake or a nod. When she hung it low, he knew it was a sign of defeat and agreement.

  "Where exactly is he?" Cori asked.

  "I don't know now," she said. "H
e was in the big room. The first room."

  "And where is that?" Finn asked.

  She pointed up the short flight of stairs.

  "And above that? Up there?"

  The woman's eyes went up. "Where we work."

  "And the top?" He persisted.

  "Where we work. We work, that is all."

  "Is there anyone else with your husband?" Cori asked as she waved Officer Douglas over.

  He in turn signaled Officer Hunter who came to take the woman. Finn pitied Officer Douglas's wife. She only had three years until he retired. Then he would be ordering her about for the rest of her life.

  "Yes. Eight people I think," the woman said. "Maybe more."

  "Who are they, missus?"

  "Guests. I don't know them." She started to cry.

  "Are they in the first room, too?" Finn asked.

  "I don't know now. Please, please. Don't hurt my husband. He is sick now. He is sick only."

  Emi grabbed Finn's arm as she begged, but the detective set her aside. Officer Hunter took ahold of her. She strained to get out of his grasp. She appealed to Cori, swearing over and over again that her husband was ill.

  "We'll take care, ma'am. Does he have a gun? We need to know that," Cori said. Again the woman signaled the negative. "Do any of them?"

  "Not my husband. No, no one. I don't think there are guns." As Officer Douglas pulled her to him, she focused on Cori. "Let me go in. Let me go. I will tell him you need to speak. He will come out here if I ask him... Please...I am his wife. A woman can do this."

  Cori and Finn weren't listening. Hunter was taking the woman away and her voice was nothing but a cry in the wind. The detectives moved toward one another. Finn reached behind and took out his gun. Cori's hand disappeared under her jacket. Suddenly, they heard Emi's voice raised in a cry of absolute despair.

  "Don't hurt him."

  The detectives ignored her because there was no promise they could give. As Cori and Finn took the first step inside the building, the woman's voice rose again.

  "Enver! Enver!" Finn and Cori looked back to see she was struggling and howling with every step she took away from the building. "You don't understand."

  "I'm thinking it won't be a tea party we find in there," Finn said.

  "You reckon?" Cori answered and gave him a nod.

  They released the safety on their weapons.

  3

  "O'Brien," Cori said.

  "I hear it."

  He took one more step up, and put his back to the wall. Cori took two steps and mirrored him against the opposite one. They were almost at the top of the short flight of metal stairs. It ran through a narrow entrance to the front door of the unit. The door was a work of art. Voluptuous, naked women cavorted on a pale blue background. Brass Art Deco sconces fashioned into graceful, scantily clad women hung on either side of the door. Their faces were raised toward the globes of crackle glass that they held above their heads. The light from the fixtures glowed deep yellow against the grey walls.

  While the concrete was soundproof, the door was not. Through it the detectives heard muffled sounds of rage followed by muted responses of collective terror. Whatever was going on inside was not being played out up against the door, and that was a good break. Still, Cori kept her voice low when she asked:

  "Locked?"

  Finn shook his head. Given the woman's distress when they confronted her, it was unlikely she had stopped to lock the door. Letting go of his gun with one hand, he held up three fingers on his other, and pointed at the door. Cori nodded, but he paused and waited through a sudden stretch of quiet. It was only when they heard the angry sounds again, that Finn started his countdown.

  One finger...

  Two fingers...

  Three...

  In one motion he took hold of the knob and swung the door open. Bursting through first, he went right; Cori, on his heels, went left. Both raised their voices, identifying themselves as officer of the law, only to fall silent in the next instant. They had fallen down a magical rabbit hole into an alternate universe: exotic, erotic, eccentric.

  They were in a giant box of a room that was half the size of a football field. The concrete floor had been shellacked to a high shine. The walls were left rough and met a ceiling that rose a good twelve feet off the ground.

  Where Finn and Cori made their stand was empty space. At the far end of the huge room there seemed to be living quarters, and in the middle sweeping sofas upholstered in silvery grey silk created two halves of a big circle. Deep, high-backed chairs covered in white and black leather were scattered about. A glass coffee table as clear as arctic ice and as big as a skating pond was in the middle of it all. On top of the table, Cori's consciousness noted bowls of fruit, chocolate, and condoms. Wine glasses were tipped over and broken.

  Finn only had eyes for the people scattered throughout the room. Men in tuxedos, women half naked, and everyone masked. It was a macabre collage of faces that looked like golden goats and silver bulls. The women's eyes appeared wicked behind swaths of lace. One naked lady wore a headdress of purple plumes and diamonds. Four men and six women cowered and cried, starting forward as they tried to escape only to scurry back when the raging man in their midst took note.

  The giant of a man cried out in a language Finn had never heard before. He paced right and left, his hands flew to the side of his head, pulling at his long, grey hair. He swooped down and cleared the table with a swipe of his long arm, sending the crystal flying. But it was the next moment when the room spiraled into a hellish cacophony of screams and pleas, that Finn saw what was coming.

  "Knife!" Finn called and pushed off from his crouch.

  He crab-walked, keeping his back to the wall, arms extended, the crazed man in his sights. Cori did the same on her side of the room. But the angry man, the insane man, had no care for anything or anyone. Before either detective could get a clear shot, he grabbed a woman off the couch by her hair and threw her to the ground. In that split second, the people in the room went from fear to panic. The men stumbled over the furniture, saving themselves in the face of danger. The barely dressed ladies fled leaving the woman on the floor to her fate.

  "Hands up! Drop it!"

  Finn locked on to his target, but each time he thought he had a clean shot the man moved. Finn was aware of the other people in the room, but saw them only as blurs of flesh and feathers, golden masks and black jackets. He holstered his weapon, knowing he could not afford to make a mistake by firing and hitting someone who made an unexpected move. He had barely positioned himself for the attack, when the big man fell to his knees, raised the knife above his head, brought it down, and gutted the woman on the floor.

  A naked woman screamed and covered her mouth with her hands. Two more flung themselves into one another's arms. Someone came out of a room in the back only to duck away again. Finn saw everything and nothing as he launched himself over the couch, and hit the big man with the full force of his body.

  Finn felt a jolt in his shoulder as sharp as if he had hit a rock wall. While the man had an advantage in height, Finn had the element of surprise and the leverage of a rational man. They rolled, grappling on the floor. Finn's advantage almost evaporated as the man fought back, but it was the detective who had the training and the will to bring this to a proper end. Finally Finn got him down, put his knee between the man's shoulder blades, yanked the man's right arm behind his back, took the knife, and threw it aside. The man's head rose up as he tried to buck the detective off. Finn pushed the man's face hard onto the concrete floor even knowing that the man would look beaten after this was all over, and he might be called to account.

  "Stay down. Down! Down," Finn cried.

  "Back. Everybody back!" Cori ordered, stalking a half circle to herd the scattering people.

  Satisfied their fear and the paralysis of shock would keep them in place. Cori holstered her weapon, and fell to her knees beside the victim. No one spoke; no one seemed to breathe. All eyes were on her.
All ears were primed for a call for a doctor or a wail of pain, but there was only an eerie silence. Cori's shoulders slumped. Her head dropped, her long blonde hair fell over one shoulder shielding her face. With both hands, Cori rolled the woman over. Slowly her head waggled back and forth.

  "Detective Anderson?" Finn said, and then louder: "Detective."

  Cori started. She raised a hand to him, and it took Finn a moment to understand why she would do such a thing. Then he realized that Cori's hand was not bloody. Finn swung his eyes to the knife on the floor. The blade was clean. Cori shook back her hair and got to her feet. With a grunt, she dragged the woman up and plopped her on the couch. The body slumped sideways. Cori turned toward Finn and held up something that looked like a rib cage.

  "It's plastic," she said and then patted the woman's head. "She's just a big doll."

  4

  It didn't matter to Finn that the man on the floor had his hands cuffed behind him. It didn't matter that Finn might have pressed a bit too hard on the man's head as he subdued him. He had no care for this person. Mutilating a doll was not a crime. Threatening people in the room was one easily dealt with. What mattered was that the man was bloodied. Finn flipped him over like a side of beef, and ran his hands over the man's chest and down his legs looking for weapons or wounds. He found neither.

  "Whose blood is this?" Finn barked. "Whose blood?"

  The man shook his head. Finn yanked him into a sitting position, threw him against the wall, splayed his own legs, leaned over, and put his face close to the man's. The vein on the detective's neck bulged, the color in his cheeks was high, and his right hand was on the butt of his gun. He gave the man one more chance.

  "You're not hurt. Who is it that's hurt?"

  The man said nothing. Finn took him by the collar, intending to shake the information out of him when he heard Cori snap.