Sativa Strain

by Alexi Venice

  After class, she slipped on her sherpa-lined Birkis and wished her instructor well, carrying with her the quiet confidence of a yogi, the unrelenting burden of a prosecutor, and the demons that tortured the corners of her soul.

  Frank was waiting for her at the curb, so she quickly slipped into the back seat, as the rest of the class spilled out of the studio. If some of her classmates hadn’t recognized her during class, their curiosity was surely piqued by her ride.

  “Feel better?” Frank asked.

  “Marginally,” Amanda said, situating herself. She grabbed a water bottle from the backseat cooler. “Can we stop and get some smokes?”

  Frank’s hand froze mid-air as he reached for the gear shift. He found her eyes in the rearview mirror and paused a second before speaking. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll drive straight to our favorite convenience store, and, by the time we get there, if you still really want cigarettes, you can go in and purchase them, but I’m not buying them for you.”

  She smiled at his tough love. “Deal.”

  He threw the car into Drive. “To Jen’s house, I assume?”

  “My place. I have to get some clothes and feed Zumba first.”

  “Ah. You haven’t spoken to your parents today?” he inquired gently.

  “No. Why?”

  “They’re staying at your place, so Zumba is taken care of. Your mom delivered several of your work suits to Jen’s house, so you wouldn’t have to return to Sea Cliff this week.”

  “What the fuck? No one told me this. All my stuff is there.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She packed your toiletries and everything.” He drove down California Street toward Lincoln Park.

  “Fucking invasion of privacy!” Amanda blurted. “Pull over up there. I see a store where I can buy some cigarettes.”

  “Fine. If you say so.” He reluctantly pulled the bullet-proof beast up to the curb in front of a convenience store.

  Amanda reached for the door handle, her wallet in hand. She hesitated, the angels in her lungs sparring with the demon on her shoulder. She looked at the dirty glass door of the convenience store, then a homeless person sitting cross-legged on a tarp nearby, and she had second thoughts. Some fringers came bustling out of the store, casting an angry glance at her car. “Fine. Move along. Let’s go to my standby place.”

  Frank gave her a cautiously optimistic look and quickly accelerated into traffic before she could change her mind. “Believe it or not, the urge should pass in seven minutes.”

  “Ha. I don’t believe you, but I’m willing to try—at least until we make it to my favorite shop. So, Jack and Chloe are moving me out of my house, presumably into my new house. Are they moving into my Sea Cliff house?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you should call them.”

  She rolled her eyes and glowered at the houses and business streaming by. “Not now. I’m afraid I’ll get angry at them for controlling my life, and I don’t want to blow up on the phone. I’m frustrated about this investigation, and I’m hangry.”

  “Understandable,” he said.

  She looked at her phone and realized she’d missed two calls from Jack today. Rather than return them, she texted Jen. Do you have any red wine?

  A few blocks later, Jen replied. Yes. And a lovely dinner waiting for you.

  I need you. Rough day at work.

  I’m here. No worries.

  On my way.

  See u soon.

  Amanda set her phone down and leaned her head back against the seat. “Why do we do this job, Frank?”

  “Because you’d be bored at anything else. In a funk over the case?”

  “Yeah. Tommy and I learned some confidential info today that’s sad and very complicating. We won’t be able to keep it private, so people—children actually—will get hurt. It sucks.”

  “So, that’s what’s eating you up?” he asked.

  “Yes and no. I feel bad about the collateral damage, but the new information just added new motives. There are layers of complexity that I didn’t anticipate, so I won’t be content until I stand in the shoes of each suspect, attempting to view the situation from his or her perspective, to see if I can figure it out.”

  “A good detective is disciplined about that process.”

  “I’m sure Tommy is doing the same thing. He’s obviously the detective on this case, but, as you know, we work together. There’s just something about our partnership that solves cases quicker than either of us could do solo, you know?”

  “I’ve seen it in action. While it’s unconventional for you to be this involved in the investigatory stage, I can see you shaping the case for prosecution, preserving the evidence you’ll need for trial. Very strategic of you.”

  “Thanks. I feel like it comes at a price, though. I get so invested…. Hey, aren’t we getting close to my store?”

  “It’s on the next block. Do you still want me to stop?”

  “Yes. I might not need one now, but I don’t want to be caught without them at three in the morning.”

  “I’ll pull over.”

  When they came to a stop out front, Amanda grabbed her wallet and ran inside. She went to the beauty product aisle and searched for what she wanted. Just what I need. She grabbed the plastic shower cap off the shelf and went in search of cigarettes. She was looking for her fallback Marlboro Lights when a red package caught her eye in the international section—Dunhill.

  Dunhills, and I’m not even in a tobacco shop. Holy smokes. Time to try them. Maybe I’ll have an epiphany about Kara while smoking her brand.

  She returned to the car with her shower cap and heaters. Fuck waiting until the middle of the night. I’m trying these cancer sticks now.

  Amanda tore open the shower cap and stuffed her black, curly locks inside its clear confines.

  Frank cast a curious glance in the mirror. “Does this car have a shower back there too?”

  She laughed. “Unfortunately, Jen busts me when she smells smoke on my hair. So, problem solved.”

  “Very haute couture,” he said, “but you know your clothes will stink, right?”

  “I know. I’ll take off my sweaty yoga clothes as soon as I get home.”

  “What shall I tell people when they ask me if you’re eccentric?”

  She quirked a smile while she unwrapped the Dunhills. “Tell them to eat cake.”

  She tapped out a cigarette, the gold stripe visible around the filter, and lit up. On her first inhale, she let the smoke fill the extra space in her lungs that she had created during yoga class. Her lungs became fuller, wider, and taller, accepting the smoke.

  Ahhhhh. Nirvana. What yoga couldn’t do for her, nicotine would—slam her brain with a buzz that softened the nightmare of killing Eddy Valentine. After her second, long drag, she felt a tidal wave of pleasure wash over her, the immediate high almost as good as pot. She cracked the window and greedily pulled at the cigarette, appreciating the intensity, allowing the high to mingle with her innate sense of rebellion. The demons in her soul danced in victory, reveling in the self-destructive pleasure.

  She opened her iPhone and swiped to her music. Pearl Jam. Just Breathe. Eddie Vedder’s low voice reverberated through her soul, singing about practicing our sins, never gonna let me win, under everything, I’m just another human being. And, in that moment, his lyrics resonated deep within her, feeling every syllable he sang. Inserting Jen’s name in the next verse, she sang the lyrics in her mind, God, Jen, I need you. I want you, and I’ll get clean. Someday.

  Amanda didn’t frequently entertain remorse, but eagerly invited escape, which led to regret, then a vow to change, then a need for more escape….

  She lay her head back and took another drag, detecting a flat flavor in the Dunhill compared to her trusty Marlboro Lights. There was only a subtle difference, but it was there. Marlboros tasted fresh in comparison to the stale Dunhill, which left a charred aftertaste in her mouth. As far as I’m concerned, this Dunhill blows. Kara Montiago can have them. Of
course, she smokes Pall Malls too, and those really suck.

  When they rolled into Jen’s neighborhood, Amanda crushed out the cigarette and tore off the shower cap. “Does it smell like smoke in here?”

  “Yep,” Frank said. “You might want to shower before Jen catches a whiff.”

  “Thanks for your advice.”

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Sorry you have to drive all the way from Sea Cliff.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Jack opened the garage in your new house, so my car has been parked there all day. I’ll just return the Jag there and be on my way.”

  “Sweet. That must mean the new house is ready.”

  “You should really call your parents about that,” he said.

  Chapter 32

  North Beach

  Tommy left work in Amanda’s wake, intending to return after he checked on Cy, whose rowhouse was only half a block from Tommy’s. Cy had been shot outside Tommy’s house by the North Koreans in retaliation for Tommy, Amanda and Roxy dismantling the North Korean embezzlement of $50 million from the Federal Reserve Bank. Roxy had saved Cy’s life during the shootout, but just barely.

  Jen had shared with Tommy that she found it difficult to visit Tommy’s house, the trauma of running from gunshots, carrying Kristin in her arms, still very fresh. If it weren’t for Roxy, however, Jen and Kristin would have been killed that harrowing day. Tommy would always be grateful to Roxy for saving the lives of his family.

  Tommy found a spot on the street in front of Cy’s house and parked. When Tommy knocked on the door, Cy hollered from within.

  At least he’s still alive, Tommy thought.

  “Tommy, is that you?” Cy swung open the door.

  “Heya, Pops. How are you doin’ tonight?”

  “Hungry. Did you bring food?”

  “No. I didn’t know you wanted me to. Do you wanna go to Tina’s for dinner?”

  “Yeah. If you didn’t bring anything.”

  “I didn’t bring anything. Get your rain jacket. There’s a light drizzle.”

  Cy grabbed his jacket off the hook in the foyer. He shrugged into it but couldn’t reach the arm hole with his right hand. Tommy grabbed the jacket by the shoulder and brought the arm to Cy’s hand, so he could push through to the cuff.

  “Lookin’ good,” Tommy said, making a mental note that Cy was stiff as hell.

  “I’m starved,” Cy said.

  “Me, too.”

  They walked down the street, Tommy keeping the pace slow to accommodate Cy’s recovering stride. Tommy could hear Cy straining for breath as they traveled the short distance to Tina’s restaurant, a popular neighborhood haunt named Mama Mia’s. Tommy and Cy were regulars, allowing them to keep up with Tina and her family.

  Tommy opened the side door and led the way through the warm smells and noisy kitchen into the dining room where Tina immediately spied them.

  “Hi Pops. Hiya Tommy.” She gave them each a kiss and hug.

  “Do you have a table for us?” Cy asked.

  “Of course. You know I reserve your favorite booth.” She pointed to a wooden booth with red vinyl cushions that shared a wall with the kitchen.

  “Can you join us?” Cy asked.

  “Only for a few minutes. We’re busy tonight,” she said.

  Tommy helped Cy into the booth and swung around to the opposite side.

  “Beer?” Tina asked.

  “Yeah. Anchor Steam, please,” Tommy said.

  “You’ll get what you get, Sasquatch.” She winked and left. Tommy glared after her until she returned with two Anchor Steams and a glass of water for herself.

  “You don’t like my beard?” he asked Tina.

  “What? You don’t like your beer?” Cy asked. “It’s Anchor Steam for Christ sake.”

  “No. Tina doesn’t like my beard.” Tommy pointed to his face.

  “Oh. Nobody does. Shave that dead cat off your face.” Cy sipped his beer.

  Tina laughed. “It’s fine. I was just giving you a hard time.”

  “I’m a little self-conscious because of the grey, but I kinda like it,” Tommy said, running his hand over it.

  “Whatever,” Tina said. “I have more important things to think about than your facial hair.”

  “I see business is good for a Monday night.” Tommy drained half his beer.

  “Monday is one of our busiest nights—probably because so many other restaurants are closed,” she said. “How are things?”

  “Okay. Workin’ a high profile case, so I’m kind of pre-occupied this week. Might need some help checking on Pops during the day.”

  “I can do that. I’ll stop by at noon and fix him some lunch,” Tina said.

  “Thanks. I got groceries yesterday, so he’s well stocked.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Cy said.

  “Just when we think he can’t hear a word we’re saying, he chimes in,” Tommy said.

  “I heard that,” Cy said.

  “Of course you did, Pops,” Tina said, patting his arm. “What can I get you two for dinner?”

  “Chicken parm for me,” Tommy said.

  “Just a bowl of angel hair,” Cy said.

  “With two meatballs,” Tina said.

  “That’s too much. I don’t need the meat.”

  “I’m giving you the meatballs, and you’re going to eat them.”

  “Bah. What do I need meatballs for?”

  Tina widened her eyes at Tommy, imploring him for support.

  “Pops, the surgeon said you had to get lots of protein to recover from the surgery,” Tommy said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I was there. You were still coming out of anesthesia, but he was very clear about eating meat to get your system healthy again,” Tommy lied.

  “You’re full of boloney,” Cy said.

  “Give him the meatballs,” Tommy said. “I’ll make sure he eats them.”

  Tina patted Cy’s hand and exited the booth for the kitchen.

  “You know, you’ll never make Assistant Chief if you have that beard. Nobody trusts a leader with a beard.”

  “Who said I wanted to be Assistant Chief?” Tommy asked.

  “I just figured you’d help out Ryan in his role as Chief. He hasn’t asked you yet?”

  “What are you talking about?” Tommy drank more beer.

  “I told Ryan to ask you to be Assistant.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Pops. I don’t even want that job.”

  “Why not?” Cy asked. “That was always my dream, from the day you boys joined the force, for both of you to lead it. But you need to shave the beard and wear a suit and tie—like Ryan.”

  Tommy could feel the vein in his forehead throb and his body break out in a sweat. Ryan. Goddamn Ryan! Always the Golden Boy. If you only knew, Pops. “That isn’t my dream, Pops, so you need to let it go. I like being a detective.”

  “Suit yourself. What are you working on?” Cy asked.

  “A murder where the killer is attempting to frame his wife, so gathering the evidence is interesting.”

  Cy held up his hand for Tommy to stop. “Wait. Let me guess. He killed his mistress, and he’s trying to pin it on his wife. I had a case like that.”

  “Close. He killed his wife’s lover and is trying to pin it on his wife.”

  “What on earth would be her motive?” Cy asked.

  “Good question. Her lover was accusing her of sexual assault. Even made a complaint down at the Hall.”

  Cy took a drink of his beer and stared at Tommy, his sharp brown eyes moving over Tommy’s face while he considered the angles. “Sexual assault by a woman against a man? What kind of pussy was this guy?”

  “We don’t use that word, Pops.”

  “Whatever. He sounds like a real wimp to me. I’m not buying it. There has to be more.”

  “There is, but I can’t reveal it.” If Tommy told Cy the entire story, the old man might figure out who was involved, and all hell would break lo
ose in the family.

  “Let me guess, the cheating wife told the husband about the sexual assault charges, and he got all protective and killed the lover.”

  “But made it look like she did by planting some evidence at the scene.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “A cigarette butt in the driveway with lipstick on it.”

  “Oh. Nice touch,” Cy said. “I read recently that a guy stuck a cigarette in a dead man’s mouth to get his saliva on it, then left it at the scene of a murder, so the dead guy would take the fall. Not that the dead cared, but the real killer was hoping to go free.”

  Tommy considered Cy’s comment. “Here, the wife isn’t dead, so the husband would have had to stick it in her mouth while she’s alive.”

  “Maybe he did it while she was sleeping.”

  “We don’t have the DNA test result back on whose saliva is on the cigarette butt, but I’ll take your idea into consideration if the saliva is hers.”

  Tina appeared at their table with two steaming bowls: chicken parm for Tommy and angel hair pasta with meatballs for Cy. “Enjoy your dinners, guys. I have to get back in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, Sis,” Tommy said.

  As they ate, Tommy pictured Carlos Montiago sticking the half-smoked cigarette in Kara’s sleeping mouth, so he could drop it at Carlisle’s house. Tommy doubted whether someone like her would sleep through that. She seemed nervous and edgy both times he had spoken to her.

  When they were halfway through their meals, Tommy felt the presence of someone hovering by their table. He turned. “Well hello, Melanie.” In contrast to the tight bun she wore at the office, her brunette hair fell over her shoulders.

  “Hi Tommy. I thought it was you over here, so I had to come say hi.” Behind her large, brown glasses, Tommy saw warm, doe-like eyes.

  “Let me introduce you to my father. Pops, this is Melanie, Amanda’s new assistant. Mel, this is my dad, Cy.”