Stark Raving Mad

by Knight, Vanessa

  She pointed to the next door. “My room is right here and yours is here.” Shay opened a door and flicked the light switch—no magic lights in this room, thank goodness.

  The room was nice, warm and clean. Light blue walls held more photos of the Chicago Picasso in Daley Plaza, the Chicago River, and various shots of the city.

  “These are fantastic. Who took these?”

  “Shawn.” Pride rang in his sister’s voice as she dropped the bags on a chair in the corner. “He’s a talented little nip. If you want him to like you, ask him about color saturation and how he gets the shots.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Brook stared at one picture, a sunrise painting the Chicago skyline orange and glinting off the tall buildings. Captured beautifully. She’d love to hear how he did it.

  “There are towels in the tall cabinet in the bathroom, and cups next to the sink in the kitchen. Do you need anything before I head off to bed?”

  “I think I’m okay.” Brook slid a hand across the brown and blue patchwork quilt covering the queen-size bed. “Thank you for…well…”

  “I know, and you’re welcome.” Shay turned around and closed the door, leaving Brook alone.

  Alone. There was comfort knowing Shay was down the hall, but Brook didn’t want to be alone. Alone with her thoughts. With her fears. With herself. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t ready to go to bed. Not that she had a choice. Her mind was too wired to concentrate on work or anything. She set her laptop on the bed and turned it on.

  I Love Lucy reruns. That would keep her mind entertained and awake for hours.

  * * *

  Joe watched the last cop leave the scene. According to Forensics, five of the fingers belonged to Timmons. The other five belonged to Larry Bosk. Brook’s boss. The dipshit duo were trying to find Bosk now. So far, no good.

  He wasn’t home, which apparently wasn’t unusual. Now they were checking with the various women he’d been with over the last week. That was equal to about a baseball team’s worth of women. How he kept them all straight, Joe had no idea.

  Joe checked the doors before locking the front and heading to his car. He sat behind the wheel. Where to? He could head home and do some laundry. No. He could head back to the precinct and work on reports. He knew he wouldn’t do that, either.

  He could do a lot of things, but they weren’t what he wanted to do. He knew what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go. Knew where he couldn’t go. She wouldn’t want to see him.

  Who could blame her?

  A car inched down the block and slowed as it approached Brook’s home, sliding into a spot at the end of the block. A man crept out. He wrapped his red plaid jacket around his shoulders, his hood slipping further over his face. Looking over his shoulder, he ran across the street and up to the darkened house. He turned the knob and nothing happened.

  Of course nothing happened. Joe had made sure he locked the damn door.

  The man looked in the front windows, putting his hands around his eyes to block any glare from the streetlamp.

  Son of a bitch. Joe whipped open the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight. If he opened the car door, the overhead light would blast out a lighted warning. He couldn’t have that. He reversed the flashlight and slammed the butt into the light. Problem solved. If he had thought about it, he could have just hit the switch for it, if he could remember where the damn switch was.

  Once he was out of the car, he knelt and inched around the front bumper. Thirty feet stood between Joe and Stark. Thirty unobstructed feet. Joe needed to get closer. Without noise.

  While Stark moved back to the door and played with the handle, Joe closed the distance. He held the flashlight above the gun in his hand and turned it on. “Police. Stop!”

  The man’s hands flew up over his head, his back to Joe. His jacket rode up. Joe didn’t see a gun in the guy’s black jeans, but that didn’t mean anything.

  “Don’t move!” Joe moved closer, watching the man. His hands didn’t move. His body didn’t move. Good. “Turn around!” Joe yelled, but the man just stood there. Not moving. “I said turn around!” Joe wanted to watch this asshole rot in jail, but he would settle for shooting him. “This is no joke, asshole!”

  The man turned around, fear in his blue-eyed stare. Short black hair hung in his tanned face. Some young pretty boy. Not Stark. Dammit.

  “Who are you?”

  “Todd Panas,” the pretty boy whispered. Todd. The ex. “Why are you here?”

  “To see Brooklyn Southby.” Todd’s hands stayed above his head. If Joe weren’t such an ass, as Brook liked to remind him, he would have let Todd drop his arms. Joe was an ass, though, and he was getting a kick out of watching this guy suffer. This guy who’d been with Brook. Who’d hurt Brook. “I heard her boss is missing.”

  “How did you hear that?”

  “Megan in Human Resources at Biddle, Bosk and Associates called Sharonda in Accounting. See, Megan was with Larry Bosk during her easy phase last year, so the cops stopped at her house to interview her, but she didn’t know anything. She called Sharonda because they’re friends, and then Sharonda called Steve, but he wasn’t home so she tried to call Brook. But Brook isn’t answering her phone, so, they called me to see if I knew where she was. I didn’t, but said I’d come here—”

  “All right.” Joe’s head was throbbing. Longest damn story in the history of the world. He lowered his gun. “Put your hands down.”

  “Sorry. I’m not normally that talkative, but I’ve never had a gun pointed at my chest before. On a dark deserted street, might I add?” Todd dropped his hands and shook his arms. “I can’t say I’m a huge fan.”

  Join the club. “Sorry. I just needed to know who you were.”

  “Is Brook in danger? Is that why you’re watching her house?”

  “We’re taking precautions.”

  “Are those same precautions why my keys don’t work?” Todd jingled the metal in his hand.

  “Her locks were changed.” That’s right, you gotta knock from now on, lover boy. “And she’s not here.”

  “Is she okay?” Todd jingled those damn keys again, eyebrows drawn together.

  It was hard to hate the guy when he genuinely seemed concerned. “She’s fine. Just taking some time off while we sort this out.” “Fine. Can you tell her I stopped by?”

  “Yeah.” Joe nodded and watched a dejected Todd shuffled back to his car, accompanied by key-music. He got back in his car and drifted away from the curb, creeping away from the house.

  Joe stood guard, waiting for Todd, or better yet, Stark, to return. But no cars turned onto the street, and the road sat silent. He returned to his truck and started it up. Where should he go? He didn’t think about it. He just drove.

  He just had to pick up Bruno, and then he was going to her. He needed to tell her about Bosk and Timmons—and about Todd. She would want to know.

  Yeah, that was why he was going to head into Shay’s neighborhood. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

  An hour later, Joe arrived at Shay’s front door, with Bruno sniffing the flowers along the walk and christening each one. Sometimes Joe thought the dog banked enough water to christen the entire city of Chicago. The Bulldog was like a camel without the humps.

  Joe exhaled, his breath visible in the cool night air. What the hell was he doing? He leaned in, his hand actually leaving his jacket pocket. All he needed to do was tap on the front door. He was just checking to see how things were going. He looked at the watch on his wrist.

  It was a little late to make a social call. The lights had just gone dark on the main floor. It was too late to knock. Shay had a teen and an elderly woman living in the house. Too much noise and he’d wake the whole lot of them.

  Tension vibrated through his body as he watched the unmoving door. He hated leaving Brook here alone. He hated leaving her anywhere alone.

  Granted, she wasn’t alone. She had Shay. But Shay wasn’t him. Not that she’d see a difference. In fact, she prob
ably liked having Shay around more than him at this point. How had things gotten so out of hand?

  Bruno nuzzled Joe’s leg, jowls leaving traces of slobber on the side of his jeans. He leaned over and rubbed his head.

  “You still love me, don’t ya boy?”

  Bruno’s stubby legs bounced, and he flopped over. He wriggled, his back sliding along the cool grass. Joe scratched his fur up and down, the coarse hair rubbing against his fingertips. “Why don’t we take a walk before we sack out in the truck?”

  Joe swore the dog had a smile on his face. At least the pooch was excited about a campout in the SUV. Joe couldn’t seem to gather that much enthusiasm.

  He stood up and walked down the block. Bruno plodded along, sniffing and licking anything that happened to be in his path. And everything was in his path as he zig-zagged the corroding sidewalk. Homes were dark and silent. The only sound was Bruno’s tags whipping back and forth in double-time to Joe’s footsteps.

  Quiet. It wasn’t a good thing. It gave one time to think, time to think about what an ass one might have been this morning. No might have about it—she spent the night comforting him, and he ran out the door.

  He was a new definition of ass.

  Why couldn’t he get his shit together when it came to women? What was wrong with him?

  Joe walked back to the truck and opened the back door for Bruno. The dog jumped in and walked a circle before landing in the center of the blankets lining the right side of the back seat. Joe slid in the front seat and reclined back, his head even with Bruno.

  Well, this wasn’t great, but it wasn’t so bad. He inched down and settled in.

  Closed his eyes.

  A paw landed on his chest, followed by another as Bruno plopped down on half of Joe’s torso. Big oaf. Bruno’s back and front paws stuck straight out the side of his body. He looked like a damn bearskin rug.

  Joe looked into deep brown eyes. “You can’t be comfortable.”

  Bruno’s butt wagged and a tongue slurped up Joe’s chin, leaving a trail of drool. That damn smile lining his dog-breath mouth was back as he laid his head on Joe’s chest.

  “Okay. I can’t be comfortable.” He thought about moving the big guy, but he couldn’t do it. Bruno’s chest rose and fell.

  Bruno snored and gurgled and—who the hell knew what he was doing? Joe shook his head and settled in for a long night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shay tiptoed downstairs early the next morning. She just wanted a cup of coffee before all hell broke loose, a little bit of quiet before she headed into the precinct with Brook. Today was not going to be easy for either of them. Joe had texted her last night about the boxed body parts of Timmons and Bosk.

  Timmons wasn’t a surprise, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Having his body parts sent all over the city was several degrees of awful. No one deserved to go out like that. It was one aspect of the job she never got used to, the thing she hoped she never got used to. Losing good men and women. Losing friends.

  Gran shuffled her slipper-socked feet along the green tiles of the kitchen floor. “Morning, Gran. Did you take your meds this morning?”

  “I knew I forgot something.” She turned her eighty-six year-old self around and headed for to her room, coming back with the day’s plastic cup of medication.

  “Be quick this morning,” Shay told her as she poured her gran a cup of water. “We need to head to the senior center early.”

  “Early? I don’t want to go at all.” Gran dumped the contents of the pill cup onto the wooden countertop. Her crooked fingers shook as she fought to line the pills into one uniform line. Each and every pill had to be in the row before she’d take even one. And if that didn’t take enough time, every once in a while she’d pick up one of the pills and look at it as if she’d never seen it before, and then slowly put it back in line. When all the meds were laid out, she pinched the first gel cap between her fingers. She slid it onto her tongue and slurped back a gulp of water.

  Shay slid a coffee cup under the Keurig and waited for water to heat. “Why don’t you want to go? You like the senior center.”

  “Fridays are when Greta and that snobby older daughter of hers come to visit. She brings cookies and homemade candies. Trying to buy the old coot a few friends. But she ain’t got no friends ’cause she’s meaner than a snake, that one. The younger daughter is nice, but she only comes once in a while. She don’t like the old biddy, neither.”

  “Is she the one who gave you two cookies last month?”

  “Two sugar cookies, and marzipan shaped like a teddy bear with a purple bow.”

  “That, you remember. Purple bows on a piece of candy. But you can’t remember to take your pills every day.”

  “Priorities.” Gran tossed another pill in her mouth and took a drink of water. Eighteen pills every day, taken one at a time. A daily task that should take seconds took five minutes because the elderly woman clucked her tongue in between each pill, making sure each one went down.

  “Why are you up so early?” Gran picked up another pill and tilted back her glass of water. “Aren’t you getting enough sleep? The doctors say you need to have sex regularly, and then you won’t have trouble sleeping. When was the last time you had sex?”

  Cluck, slurp. Cluck, slurp. Cluck, slurp.

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “Why? It’s for scientific purposes only.”

  “Practice your science somewhere else.” Shay sighed and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to fight first thing in the morning, but once Gran started in on that horrible show she watched, it was impossible not to. “It’s too early to talk sex, Gran.”

  “It’s never too early to talk sex. Maybe you need a fellatio.” Gran laid a hand on hers. “I hear they’re very relaxing. Is it like a massage?”

  Sort of. Fellatio? Really? Gran had obviously been watching that damn TV show, Intimate Chatter, again. The show was a nightmare with the ideas it put in her elderly head. The questions—oh yeah, the questions—would come next.

  “Hmmm…What is a fellatio?”

  There it is. “Gran, I am not talking about this.”

  “Is that why Daryn left you? Didn’t he do good fellatio? Oooh, or maybe he wanted a fellatio once in a while.”

  For the love of…he got plenty of fellatio “No. Daryn left because he’s a lying, cheating man-whore who found a desperate, easy teenage girl looking for a daddy stand-in.”

  “I bet the teen would tell me all about the fellatios.”

  “Please stop saying that word and feel free to give her a call.” Shay sighed. The bitch relieved her of her husband—maybe she’d take her Gran, too. It was way too early for blowjob talk.

  “I just want to know ’cause the doctors said it helps you release endocrines. They make you happy.” Gran filled her glass with water. “Happy people can sleep for eight hours, at least.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind about the endorphins.” Shay lifted her finished cup of coffee from the machine and raised it to her lips. Silence. Finally. Glorious silence. Gran sat at the table, staring at the sunshine-yellow walls of the kitchen, clucking the last of her pills down.

  “So, Shay, are you gonna explain fellatio?” Shawn walked into the kitchen, his backpack hanging from his shoulder.

  “Aren’t you late for the bus?”

  “Cindy’s picking me up.” He grabbed a granola bar and a soda, and leaned down to give Gran a kiss on the cheek.

  “Don’t you have to leave?”

  “I want to hear what they are. Curious minds want to know.”

  “Get out.” Shay pointed at the front door with one hand and tossed an apple to Shawn with the other. “You need more than a bar for breakfast. And put on a jacket. It’s still too cold for just a sweatshirt.” He tossed his bag on the floor and stomped up the stairs.

  “Does gelatin have corn syrup in it?” Gran had moved to the pantry and was pawing through their current food stash. She stared at a full box of pudding cup
s.

  “Probably.”

  Gran tossed the box into the trash can and said, “Corn syrup causes yeast infections.”

  “That’s not gelatin, that’s pudding—and where did you hear that?” Shay wrapped her hands around the mug in her hands. Breathe. Her gran was old, and unfortunately impressionable. Anyone claiming to be a doctor on TV was her messiah.

  Gran stared inside the open garbage can. “Eh, close enough. The doctors on TV were talking about the secret killer.”

  “Corn syrup or gelatin?”

  Shawn flew down the stairs, pulling on a windbreaker over his sweatshirt. He looped his bag over his shoulder, bounding through the kitchen as a car horn sounded out front.

  Shay shook her head as she walked into the living room to get a closer look. She had a hard time keeping track of his girlfriends and part of her hoped the pretty blonde behind the wheel of the SUV was a new one. He was too young to get serious about any one girl. But then again, the boy was way too popular with the female population. A football star with an adorable face and silver tongue. He was every girl’s dream and every father’s nightmare. Shay seemed to share that hypothetical father’s view—she didn’t want Shawn jeopardizing his future by doing something stupid.

  She watched the SUV drive away and noticed the dark green SUV that had been parked behind it.

  “Shay, you didn’t answer my question,” Gran said from behind the pantry door. At least Shay assumed she was still in the pantry. Her muffled words were hard to hear over the banging of boxes against the garbage can.

  That was Joe’s truck with the light-brown bulldog head visible in the front window. Did Joe stay here all night? Only one way to find out.

  “I’ll be right back, Gran.” Shay walked toward the front door accompanied by the sound of perfectly good unopened food hitting the plastic bag in the garbage can. Another morning spent fishing for groceries from the trash.

  She slid outside and knocked on the SUV’s door. Bruno ran to the partially opened window, drool sliding down the glass. She slid her fingers through the opening and rubbed his wrinkly head. “How’re you doing buddy? Is your dad awake?”