by Skyla Madi
“Can I help you with something, Mary?” He sauntered down the length of the counter.
Mary blushed and looked up at him. “No. I—you know me?”
“You work at Hector’s and you almost waited on me and my girlfriend.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember now.”
Mikey smiled. “What brings you in today?”
The chimes over the door jangled and they both turned in the direction of the sound. Cody strode in and parked himself next to her.
“Hey, man. What can I do for you today?” Mikey asked, offering his hand to shake Cody’s. An offering the other man always ignored.
“A tattoo.”
“Figured. What will it be this time? Got some new designs finished, if you'd like to take a look.” Mikey smiled, he was proud of his new creations. Lots of color.
“No. Well maybe she would,” Cody said. Mary swiveled her head toward him, her eyes widening with an expression of no-way. She shook her head.
“I don't think she's interested,” Mikey said.
“She wants one.”
While they argued amongst themselves, Mikey walked away to attend to another walk-in potential client. He glanced at the guy with his slouched knit hat and Abercrombie and Fitch clothing.
The hipster produced a folded-up design. The sketch was rough, but he could work with it. Mikey studied the drawing. “Been inked before?” he asked.
“Nope. I'm a virgin.”
I'll bet.
“What you've drawn here will have to be a lot bigger to get all the detail work to look good. Even with a finer needle.”
“She knows what she wants now,” Cody interrupted.
Mikey closed his eyes and sighed. “Be with you in minute,” he threw over his shoulder.
“As I was saying. The tattoo will have to be larger if you want it to look good. Where you want it?” Mikey disliked how he sounded different at work. His grammar wasn't great to begin with, but in his shop, it got hella worse.
“I was thinking the inside of my arm. Right here.” Hipster showed him the place.
Mikey sensed Cody's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He held up an index finger indicating he needed a minute longer.
“Cool. I'll draw it up. Have to come in tomorrow, though. Got a couple appointments later. How's four PM?”
“All right. Four. Cool.”
“See ya.”
Mikey reluctantly pivoted. Cody was holding hands with Mary, except he looked uncomfortable with the arrangement. Mikey lifted his brows in question. “Did you kids sort it out?”
“Yes. She'd like my name on the inside of her wrist,” Cody said.
Would she?
Mikey thought not.
“Same script as Jennifer,” he said. Mary glared at him. Mikey nodded, ignoring the girl’s reaction. He went to get set up.
Mikey patted the tattooing chair. Mary sat down on the edge. “First time, darlin’?” She nodded. “I'll try to be gentle. But I'll warn you, wrists are sensitive.” He snapped on black latex gloves. “Latex allergy?” He took hold of her wrist and positioned it on the padded arm.
Mary shook her head. “What does it feel like?”
“Most say it's like a bee sting.” She jerked her arm back to her body. “Look, you don't have to do this.”
“She'll do it. Right, Mary?” Cody said warningly.
“Yea, it's fine. I'll…I'll do it.”
Mikey thought about arguing. He sighed instead. He could recommend a good dermatologist later when she came back wanting it removed. He transferred the lettering onto her wrist then reminded her to stay still while he worked. Mary tensed when the buzzing began. “Try and relax. First time is the worst. I think it's just the anticipation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mikey
Cody paced behind Mary while Mikey worked on her wrist. He glanced at the asshole every couple of minutes and shook his head, hoping the he would get the hint to go stand someplace else, like outside. Down the block. To Mary’s credit she didn’t cry or whine. Wrists were one of the more sensitive locations to get tattooed. When Mikey finished the last letter, he had never been more grateful in his entire life.
“Let me clean you off,” Mikey told Mary as he put the tattoo gun down.
“O-okay.”
After wiping Mary's wrist, he looked up. The expression on Cody's face caught his attention for a moment. What was with this guy? Cody was an odd duck for sure, and there was no law against being strange, but this whole name tattoo shit felt off. Mikey focused his attention on smearing antiseptic ointment on her wrist and covering it with Saran-wrap.
“Leave the bandage on for about four hours or so.”
“Is that it?”
“Yep. After that just let it breathe. And here.” Mikey handed her a note with aftercare instructions.
“Thanks,” she said and took the paper with a coy, one-sided smile.
Cody narrowed his gaze on him. Normally, Mikey would walk his clients to the counter to pay, but Cody shoved a fifty-dollar bill at him. The men stared at each other.
“Can I help you with something?” Mikey asked.
Cody didn't respond.
Weirdo.
Another discomforting moment passed between them, and Mikey gave up trying to make sense of it all.
“Um…let's go, okay?” Mary urged her boyfriend.
“Yea,” Cody said without ending the stare down.
Mikey furrowed his brow. The guy's eyes raked over him and he shivered; he felt like tiny spiders had crawled up his spine. Cody gripped Mary's bicep in a possessive hold. He marched them past the new gap-mouthed receptionist, Mandy, and on out of the shop.
When they were gone Mikey turned to the latest receptionist. “Okay, that was bizarre. Cody paced during the whole session. Drove me nuts.”
“Yeah, that guy is a serious douche.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Harry
Harry hated this part of town. Although impressive when newly built, most of the houses had dilapidated, caved in roofs and broken windows covered with plastic. Some had been converted into boarding houses then later reverted back to single family dwellings after World War II. Now the streets were lined with vacant homes and lots, occupied by people too poor to move on to better neighborhoods, and Cedric.
The state government had settled out of court for the mishandling of his murder trial and subsequent unlawful incarceration. Cedric could afford to leave but chose to stay in his mother's old house. Being the only one with the brains in the family, she had moved out. Harry pulled up to the curb in front of the nicest house on the block. The front door was shut and a barred screen door was always kept locked. He knocked.
Harry heard a woman’s laughter then the door swung open. The woman leaned against the jamb. Her eyes met his and the smile slipped from her face. “There's a cop at the door,” she called over her shoulder.
“What's he look like? Is he wearing a cheap suit?”
The woman in fake leather leggings and midriff top looked Harry up and down. “Yeah. And ugly shoes.”
Booming laughter came around the corner from the living room. There were sounds of a cane stabbing the bare wood floor and a shuffling of feet then Cedric appeared. “Hey, Harry.” Cedric waved him in. “Veronica’s leaving.”
The woman Harry guessed was a hooker by the way she knew he was a cop waited with her hand out. Cedric handed her two twenties. “That’s it?”
“Woman, you already stole from me.”
“Whatever.” She spun on her heel and walked toward the door.
“See you next week,” he called after her.
Veronica ignored him.
“Tuesday.”
“Whatever, Cedric,” she said and slammed the door behind her.
Harry grinned at the exchange.
“Bitches steal, man. I have to lock everything up.” Cedric threw a hand up and shuffled back to the couch.
Hunter settled into the chair
opposite him. The right thing would be for him to be concerned about the criminal activity, except he’d ignored it too long to say anything about it now. He waited for his friend to make his usual denial.
“She isn't one of them prostitutes,” Cedric told him.
“Of course not.” Harry swirled the no longer even warm coffee around the bottom of the disposable cup. He downed the last of it and stared at the empty cup. “Ced…” Harry paused and his friend knew why.
“Why don't you arrest him?”
“Can't.” Harry looked skyward.
“What if you're wrong and he did kill those women?” Cedric countered.
“What if he didn't?” Harry looked up at Cedric then down at his hands curled around the empty cup. “I wanna be sure.”
“Maybe you don't get sure? I thought you'd gotten over this shit, the past. Guess I was wrong.” Cedric eased his back on the couch and rubbed his jawline. “It's because you know him.”
Harry nodded. “I think it's clouding my judgment.”
Cedric pursed his lips. “Maybe you ought to have someone else interview him.”
“Maybe,” Harry said after a few moments of reflection.
His old friend rolled his eyes. “Don't tell me you're that broken up about just this?”
Harry shrugged.
“How's Grace?”
“Fuck you.”
“Thought so.”
Laughter filled the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mikey
“Detective Hunter asked me to have a chat with you.”
“I know. That's why I'm being questioned again. You said that already.” Mikey sighed heavily. “I don't have anything new to add, by the way.”
“Let us determine that,” Detective Brown said. “Are you waiving your right to an attorney?”
Mikey considered two things. One, he'd been questioned twice regarding the murders and now there was about to be a third time. The second thing was he really didn't know what his rights were and it was probably in his best interests to have a lawyer present. The police had already ransacked his house, searched his car. He was lucky they hadn't impounded his Escape. Either there had been an oversight or it had been a gift.
“No. I want to have an attorney here.”
“All right.”
Mikey hid a smirk behind a grimace. He really hadn't been too worried before but now that Hunter asked another detective to question him, there was more reason for concern. Mikey tapped his foot under the table in the interrogation room, smoothing his sweaty palms on his thighs. As he waited for the attorney to show up he thought again about where he knew Harry from and came up with nothing. The only attorney he could get on such short notice, Maxwell Harvey, showed up and the interview resumed.
“Mr. Hardin, can you tell us where you were the night of May 20, 2016?”
His attorney indicated he answer the question.
“At work. I stayed late working on some new designs. I get requests from time to time for specific things, so when I get enough clients asking for the same…” He trailed off because of the look on Brown's face.
“You indicated before that you were alone. Is that correct?”
“Yes. The other artists set their own schedules, so when they’re done for the night, they take off.”
“So no one can verify how late you worked?”
“No, I sent Suzie home around nine-thirty, nine-forty-five-ish. Sometime around then.”
“This Suzie, she's the receptionist?”
“Yep. Was.” Mikey was aware that his former employee had told police what time she left. He didn't know what she'd said but figured that the time was close to what he thought. His foot began to settle until Brown didn't say anything for a long moment.
Brown opened a brown folder and placed four photos of Felicia Potts out on the table side by side. The first was a high-school yearbook photo of her, the next two were of her at the crime scene, and the last was a picture taken of her during the autopsy. Mikey turned his head. His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily then he coughed.
“Mr. Hardin? Have you seen this woman before?”
“Yeah. I dated her a few times, but I hadn't seen her for about six months.” He glanced around the room trying to keep his eyes off the table. Looking the detective in the face would probably be a good idea, however, that would require him to get a vomit-inducing eyeful of the photos. The cop noted his reaction.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing,” Mikey breathed. He faced Maxwell, who looked confused. “Can't stand to look at those.”
“What can you tell me about the victim?”
“What do you want to know?” Mikey moaned.
“Detective Brown,” his attorney cut in, “my client—”
Mikey waved his attorney off. “It's all right. I've been asked to tell you everything I know before and I already answered. I don't know anything more than the last time. We dated a few times. I moved on. Period. I feel worse than you could ever believe. How scared she must have been. How her family must feel not being able to see her again. I have a kid of my own. I can't even imagine someone hurting him. It's disgusting how someone could do that to another person.”
Brown put the set of photos away and opened another folder.
“Oh Jesus!” Mikey said when a second set of photos were laid out one by one.
“What about Jennifer Swanson? Did you know her?”
“You know I did. She worked at the restaurant I eat at regularly.”
“My client's alibi checked out for the time of death, Detective Brown,” Maxwell said.
“Did you kill her?”
“I'm going to advise my client not to answer the question he's already answered without an attorney present.”
“It's all right, Harvey,” Mikey said. “I didn't kill her or anyone else.”
Brown sat back in his metal chair and eyed his suspect. Then he shuffled papers and put the photos back inside the folder.
“Are you charging my client?” Maxwell asked.
Brown shook his head. Mikey didn’t smile, nor did he feel relieved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Grace
“Oh shoot.” Grace tapped her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie asked.
“I forgot I needed to go to the bank. There’s a Bank of America up the street from the gallery. Do you mind?”
“No problem. I’ll stop. I have to get gas anyway.” Natalie pulled into the bank’s parking lot and Grace got out of the car. “Hey listen…mind if I head to the gas station on the corner while you do your thing?”
Grace looked over the roof of the sedan. An empty car, as far as she could tell, sat in the strip mall parking lot across the street. Most of the businesses were specialty shops and closed early on the weekends. Although the street was dim the ATM vestibule was lit up, as was the corner gas station. “Go ahead. I’ll be a few minutes anyway.”
Natalie’s older model sedan pulled into the gas station at the corner less than a hundred yards away. Inside the ATM enclosure, Grace readied her deposit. She swiped her card through the reader and entered her pin number. The machine showed an advertisement for home loan financing options. “Nope. I do not want to see your options,” she said aloud as she pressed ‘No, thank you’ on the screen. After a few more questions, the mouth to insert money opened up and swallowed her paycheck.
Headlights shined into the vestibule, lighting the small space. Grace glanced behind her. The car she had seen parked across the street pulled alongside the curb in front of the ATM.
A shadow of a body cast over the atrium. “Just a minute,” she called loudly over her shoulder so she could be heard on the outside. She hurriedly shoved her wallet back into her purse and turned around. A man adjusted the brim of his baseball cap low over his eyes, keeping his head down, shielding most of his face under the hat. He opened the door and stood inside blocking her escape.
Grace gasped. “C-Cody?”
“Don't you know there's a killer on the loose?” He narrowed his stared on her and licked his lips. She didn’t think he was sexually attracted to her so the gesture was a surprise.
“Yeah…I-I know that.”
“Do you?”
She remained in the same spot, frozen to the tile. “Are you going to let me pass?”
“What do you think?”
She groped around inside her purse and found the canister of pepper spray her overprotective father insisted she carry with her at all times. His eyes never left her face.
“Excuse me, my friend will be back any—”
Cody surged forward and snatched her around the waist.
“Noooo!” she screamed and dropped her purse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Grace
Grace concealed her pepper spray in her fist with a finger on the trigger. Cody tried to push them through the door. When he lifted her, she brought her feet up and slammed them into either side the heavy glass door, halting his forward motion. She pushed off the door-jamb as hard as she could and forced both of them backward. He made a guttural sound when his back hit the ATM machine behind him. His grip loosened and she wriggled her hand with the mace free. She kicked back with her heeled boot into his shin.
“Bitch!”
She wrenched out of his hold with a twist of her body. Turning around, she brought the canister up and depressed the trigger.
Cody grunted. The smell burned her eyes and the mist poisoned her lungs. He staggered back and hit a glass wall.
Fleeing with both hands out in front, she slammed the door open. The fresh air was a relief from the choking fumes. She screamed; her throat stinging. She wasn’t sure if her heart worked anymore because she certainly wasn’t breathing. Tears streamed down her face. Blurry eyed, she sprinted up the street toward the safety of the gas station.
