1532750838

by Lotta Smith

  Even to me, Rowling’s demand was way over the top, and Ruth responded to him with a snort. “Well, well, well. They say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, but sometimes, I’m afraid this saying turns out to be incorrect.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, fess up.”

  “Even if you say so, I have nothing to confess.” Ruth shrugged. “By the way, could I ask you one thing?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How could you be so certain about your unfounded accusation against me? What do you know about the alleged murders?”

  “M.O. and the motive are what I know.”

  “Okay, so tell me about this alleged M.O.”

  “You used temporarily inactivated tardigrades as the weapon of both murders. To off Ivan Flynn, you handed him a tube of paint laced with tardigrades that were activated with light stimuli. With John, your tactic was a little bit more complicated. You put the ketchup laced with tardigrades in his fridge. I don’t know when you slipped the ketchup, but you had opportunities. To ensure that John would be gone in no time, you called up Bobby’s Movin’ Diner to have a hotdog and French fries delivered. In addition, when John called to thank you, you told him to use ketchup. That was subtle. Oh, by the way, John’s phone was tapped.”

  “Says you.” She chuckled. “Then again, maybe those alleged murders have only happened in your head. I also think it’s impossible to prove, especially when you don’t have the corpses. Besides, leaving ketchup in my boyfriend’s fridge, telling him about how delicious this specialty ketchup makes the food is completely innocent, isn’t it?”

  When she said that, I sensed something evil, which didn’t fit her delicate façade.

  “NYPD is in charge of building a case, and prosecuting is the district attorney’s job. Actually, I don’t really care if they suffer while doing their jobs or not, because it’s none of my business. What I’m concerned about is you.” Rowling looked directly in Ruth’s eyes.

  “Oh, really? Am I supposed to be flattered? Though, isn’t it a little kinky to be involved with the son of my own sister’s lover?”

  “Come on, that’s not what I mean. I have standards.” Now it was Rowling’s turn to snort. “Let me get this straight. I don’t really care if you offed your two loser boyfriends. Still, you seem to be overzealous, and I’ve got to nip your ambition in the bud before you eliminate your sister using the same method and replace her position as Miss Tuesday.”

  Ruth took a deep breath.

  I looked at her, and then at Rowling. Okay, his words made sense. Ruth wasn’t a baby’s breath at all. She would kill to build a successful career at USCAB, and even I could tell sleeping with the CEO would help a lot when it came to climbing up the corporate ladder. Also, considering Rowling’s father was widowed, she could aim for an even higher position, such as Mrs. CEO.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You must be delusional.” Ruth giggled.

  “You know what? Your sister didn’t laugh when I told her my opinion,” Rowling said nonchalantly.

  Ruth’s mouth was still open, but her voice wasn’t audible anymore.

  “Before coming here, I made a call to Beth,” Rowling continued. “Of course, she likes her current position as Miss Tuesday for my old man. Not to mention she has no suicidal ideation either. And guess what? She told me about the package you sent from Cape Verde. Beth was the initial recipient, but you picked it up from her place as soon as you were back in the city. She has her share of curiosity, of course, and she took a peek inside the package. So you told her it was dried plants, but she got nervous when she saw a white powder-like substance. She was concerned, so she took a small sample of the material, just as a precaution. Now it looks like her precaution’s paying off, isn’t it, Ruth? She had already turned in the sample for an assessment.”

  Ruth’s lips quivered, but no words came out.

  CHAPTER 10

  With a weird moan, her whole body shivering, Ruth MacMahon collapsed onto the sofa.

  Considering the floor was made of marble, she was lucky she was already sitting on the sofa when she crumpled. If she were standing, she might have ended up banging her head on the floor.

  “Oh, my God, is she dead?” I gasped.

  She was lying there, totally motionless. One elbow was stiffly bent at a right angle, as if she were turned into stone as the result of looking Medusa in the eye.

  “Try touching her, Mandy. What do you say about taking her pulse?” Rowling said, grinning ear- to- ear.

  “That’s not funny, Rick!” I snapped.

  “For your information, I’m not trying to be funny. I always wanted to see an evil killer dropping dead in front of me. That’ll save us a whole lot of trouble, you know.”

  I smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Ouch! Hey, I didn’t ask you to whack me,” he protested.

  “You’re still breathing.” I snorted. “Now, it’s official: I’m not the Grim Reaper. If I were, you’d be dead by now. I doubt you’re all pure and innocent.”

  “You don’t understand. Hey, why can’t you see me as an honest-to-God, righteous, and flawless justice in shining armor? Mandy, you really need to have your eyes checked.” He leaned over and touched Ruth’s neck. “Hmm, she’s alive.” Looking bored, Rowling took two pairs of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket.

  “Wow, that’s a relief,” I said, and I meant it.

  “Oh, yeah? It’s just a conversion disorder. Beth told me Ruth manifests this symptom when she’s put under stress.” Leaving Ruth, now with her hands and legs secured in handcuffs, on the sofa, Rowling cocked his head. “Let’s call it a day and leave this place.”

  “Excuse me?” My eyes widened.

  “I said, let’s leave this boring place. I don’t care about all the mumbo jumbo of making arrests, prosecuting, and taking cases to trial. Now that we’ve gotten the situation under control, let’s call it a day and leave the mess for agents covering violent crimes, or the NYPD. I’m way too busy to be bothered by such a minor issue,” Rowling declared and turned on his heels to leave the condo.

  “Excuse me, Rick,” I called to his back.

  “What?” he asked without turning around.

  “We can’t just leave,” I said. Then it suddenly occurred to me that offending my boss furthermore wasn’t in my best interest, so I added, “I’m afraid.”

  “Why not?” He cocked his head. “Mandy, don’t be such a killjoy. The NYPD can work on the boring stuff, such as deciphering the social pathology of crimes and so on, because they have time to kill. On the other hand, I have no time to waste.” He had the audacity to add, “I’ve got a couple of Queen of the Night Brunch Matinee tickets, and I have no intention of wasting them.”

  I felt like smacking him again. I couldn’t believe his audacity. “Okay, so we don’t need to decipher the social pathology of crimes, but we do need to figure out the whereabouts of the human-eating monster, don’t we? Otherwise, we may all end up as lunch or brunch for the monster tardigrades,” I pointed out.

  I wasn’t joking or exaggerating.

  I was talking about a mass of practically imperishable and greedy creatures. Once activated, they could eat up the entire population of New York State, if not the whole world.

  “Imagine it, Rick. If the monster water bears secretly proliferate in the city’s underground, there will be an apocalypse,” I added.

  “Hmm, perhaps. That would make all those military guys deliriously happy. It’d be the first war against the immortals.”

  “Still, there would be lots and lots of casualties.”

  “Mandy, are you implying that would be my fault?” Rowling narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m afraid so. At the very least, you’d be guilty of willful negligence.” Ignoring my boss making unhappy tsk-tsk sounds, I continued. “Hey, didn’t they write about how to get rid of Extremus-tardigrades?”

  “The book recommends throwing them into the crater of an erupting volca
no. Considering there are no such volcanoes in the vicinity, it would be more realistic to torch this place and let the whole building burn down.” He flashed a wicked grin.

  “Wow, that’s amazingly simple,” I said sarcastically. “Wait a minute. A huge candle was found burning at both scenes. Considering no one but those two boys was eaten, maybe a candle will be good enough to kill the tardigrades. Maybe they’re attracted to heat, light, or something like soot.”

  “Then again, we want to be extra-careful. There’s this bacteria called Pseudomonas radiodurans, which can live in nuclear reactor coolant, so there’s no guarantee a candle can effectively kill Extremus-tardigrades. I suggest employing a military flamethrower, which would be the best option.”

  Rowling seemed more than thrilled about burning down this upscale condo, but I had a hunch there should be a better way to deal with this problem.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “So, considering the city’s not yet experiencing an apocalypse, the water bears are still being kept inactive, right?”

  “I suppose so.” He shrugged.

  “What if we pour liquid mortar into the colony of inactivated Extremus-tardigrades? Once the mortar hardens, they can’t get out of the confinement, and considering mortar isn’t see-through, the creatures will stay inactive, won’t they?”

  Rowling crossed his arms. “Hell,” he muttered. “I was looking forward to seeing this building burn.”

  “You know, it’s not acceptable to burn down inhabited structures,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t like it if your home suddenly became uninhabitable due to arson, would you?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Come on, this building’s a mere show and not worth preserving, and the burning method seems much more exciting than confining the water bears in mortar.”

  “Okay, Rick, get creative and think of something that doesn’t involve demolishing the whole building or annihilating the entire city. Ruth should be hiding a colony of monster water bears somewhere in this condo, right? I’ll go find it.” Leaving my purse on the coffee table, I turned on my heels.

  “Wait a minute.” He grabbed my arm to stop me. “You have no idea where she stored the colony, do you?”

  “For starters, I’ll look in the kitchen to see if she has more than one refrigerator,” I said.

  “Hmm, good point. When shut properly, the inside would be dark and cold.” He ambled toward the dining room and into the kitchen. “Voila,” he said. There was one large freezer-refrigerator and another small freezer.

  “Hey, don’t forget I’m the one who first suggested the fridge,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Shrugging, he opened the freezer space. “TV dinner, TV dinner, and TV dinner. Wow, this kind of dietary habit should make her antsy.”

  “Hey, Rick, look at this!” Peeking inside the small freezer, I let out a victorious shriek. “I think it’s the colony!”

  When I turned back, I was holding a rectangle-shaped Pyrex container. Instead of yummy things, such as lasagna or meatloaf, there was something resembling moss and mold.

  “Are you sure?” Rowling furrowed his brow skeptically. “Let me see.”

  “Sure.”

  When I tried to hand him the container, something went terribly wrong. It slipped out of my hands and flew in the air as if it had its own will. The next thing I knew, the container crashed onto the marble floor, shattering and sprinkling the contents everywhere.

  For a moment, everything stopped moving, as if someone pushed the Stop button of the world.

  “Holy crap!”

  “Holy shit!”

  We screamed in unison.

  “What the hell have you done?” Rowling demanded while taking off his jacket.

  “I-I-I…. Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” I was shrieking in a high-pitched voice like Minnie Mouse.

  “Don’t panic,” he said, as he switched on the gas cooker and torched his jacket. Immediately, the fire alarm started beeping, but he took out a Glock from his shoulder holster and silenced it with a bullet.

  “What are you doing?” Now it was my turn to ask, still sounding like Minnie Mouse on meth.

  “Taking care of this hot mess.” He threw the burning jacket on the floor where the monster microorganisms were scattered. “Good thing this condo doesn’t come with sprinklers. I knew this building’s a mere show.”

  “Hey, I told you not to use—Eek!” I shrieked again. What used to be little spots on the kitchen floor had now grown as large as a handkerchief. In addition, the handkerchief-sized mass was vibrating and eating the suit jacket, where the fire hadn’t spread yet. It seemed official that the Extremus-tardigrades had been activated.

  “Shit, those motherfuckers are eating my wool clothes! Of course! That’s why Ivan’s and John’s clothes were left behind—they were cheap synthetic material, non-organic!” Cussing, Rowling took off his shirt, trousers—everything. He kept throwing burning garments over the growing mass of little monsters. Perhaps he was trying to kill them with burning clothes, but I wasn’t really sure if it was a good idea—his clothes might work as nutrients for the tardigrades.

  I looked away from the greedy creatures and focused on my boss.

  On other occasions, I might have been either shocked, startled, or aroused, for Rick Rowling was au naturel—except for his shoes, which he put on again after removing his pants and trunks. And, man, he had a killer bod! Bulging biceps, triceps, and pectoral muscles! And that six-pack… I really, truly felt remorseful for the world that Rick Rowling’s Greek god-like body was about to vanish like smoke because of me.

  Maybe it was true why everybody called me the Grim Reaper. Because of me, we were going to die. Considering Rick Rowling seemed like the only person with expertise and resources to take care of this mess, the monsters would proliferate and keep eating until there was nothing left on the surface of the Earth.

  Oh, my God, I’ll be responsible for the world’s end! I froze at the dreaded thought. Despite the existence of fire, the colony of the monster tardigrades didn’t seem to shrink at all.

  “Yours looks like polyester.” While I was frozen from guilt and disappointment, Rowling ripped my blouse off.

  “Yes, it’s polyester.” I sniffed, suddenly devastated. I was totally tempted to break down and cry. The saddest part was, I was dying in cheap, crappy apparel, not something nice from Bergdorf Goodman!

  “Don’t even think about crying, Mandy. Extra humidity will only make them more active,” he warned, giving light slaps on my cheeks. His hands moved to my back, unhooking my bra.

  “Okay, I won’t.” I nodded. “I’m going to look for something flammable, like alcohol.”

  “That’ll be nice.” He was already throwing my blouse and bra into the flame.

  I made a quick move and looked for hard liquor. Fortunately, there were bottles of rum, vodka, tequila, whiskey, and many others. I grabbed everything I could put my hands on.

  Rowling took one of the tequila bottles from me, smashed the neck on the granite countertop, and poured the liquid on the burning clothes. Immediately, the flame shot up as high as six feet.

  “Mandy.” He turned to me.

  “Yes?” Our eyes met. I noticed the orange flame flattered his intense emerald eyes and his sharp yet strong jawline. I knew it was the worst possible time, but I couldn’t help thinking about how gorgeous he was.

  “Take off your skirt, stockings, and panties,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” I gasped. I had serious regrets about having feelings for him, even for a brief moment.

  “We have to burn everything, including undergarments. We don’t want to risk bringing stray water bears out of the kitchen and getting eaten up by a newly proliferated colony, do we? Considering the container was literally smashed on the floor, we can’t ignore the possibility of remnants on our clothes.”

  “Okay.” I took off my skirt reluctantly, and then removed my stockings and panties. Though, considering I was already looking like someone on a lo
sing streak during a strip poker game, taking off everything didn’t seem like such a big deal. “What about our shoes?”

  “We’ll take them off by the threshold and toss them into the fire from outside. Let’s get out of here.”

  Then he took my hand, and we ran toward the kitchen entrance.

  When we were out of the kitchen, Rowling threw in the one remaining liquor bottle with our shoes and shut the door. I caught the muffled sounds of an explosion. I had never appreciated a kitchen door as much as that moment.

  * * *

  After that, things wrapped up very fast.

  Using my phone, which I’d left on the coffee table in the living room, Rowling made calls: first to USCAB for backup—or rather, for sorting the mess out—and then to Detective Fender at the 34th.

  Ruth MacMahon was still passed out on the sofa. I wasn’t keen on admitting I was the Grim Reaper, but I was tempted to touch her, or strangle her. At this time, the only thing I liked about her was that she lived in a condo featuring full-marble floors and fireproof kitchen door. Otherwise, my new boss and I would have been burnt to a crisp, as in literally. I truly despised her.

  Despite being naked, Rick Rowling was behaving as confidently as ever. I used to regard naked men sitting cross-legged on a chaise lounge as unsophisticated cavemen, but I was wrong. He was elegant, fashionable even, in spite of the situation. Every part of his body was perfectly stunning, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he appeared on the front cover of Cosmopolitan magazine.

  Then again, I wasn’t confident at all. I didn’t have a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition-worthy body, and I was desperate to cover myself. Indeed, I had attempted to look for something like bath towels; however, I was restrained in Rowling’s death grip, and he wouldn’t let me go.

  “Rick, I’d really appreciate it if you’d release my arm,” I said sheepishly. I was sitting on the same chaise as him, trying my best to keep as much distance as possible between us.

  “No.” Putting the phone down on the table, he shook his head. “You’re accident-prone. I don’t want to run the risk of creating more havoc.”