Yet, before she could even get the door open, Kyle grabbed her arm. “Gen..,” he hesitated. “did that Cirpian, guy, that you slept with last night, do that to your car?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cirpian had been trying for close to an hour to get a hold of Genevieve. The first three times he had called, the phone had rang. Yet, these last few times his calls had gone directly to voice-mail.
Something was wrong.
Yet, he couldn't sense anything deathly wrong with Genevieve.
He could just sense that she was disturbed by something.
Something he did?
He couldn't say.
Possibly he should have taken that spare, to give the impression that he had left her apartment the normal way.
He hadn't, though. He had dissolved into a fog and slipped under her apartment's door.
Before leaving, he had decided, that since he didn't want to totally leave Genevieve, to leave part of himself in her apartment.
The more darker side of himself...
His shadow.
His shadow had been the one to alert him, that Genevieve was having a nightmare of some kind – a nightmare that she was, apparently, having a very hard time waking from. That's why his shadow had set the alarm off earlier than usual.
Usually the alarm clock went off around six-thirty. Yet, he had made it go off at six.
Sure enough, just the sound of the alarm, had done the trick; in waking her.
As he now stood in his kitchen, stretching his working senses – he tried finding Genevieve. Yet, because of the sunlight outside, he found his abilities to be less than they were at night.
If Genevieve was hurt, he would sense her distress, but he wouldn't be able to get to her as quickly as he would if he had the cover of darkness outside.
Sighing, he, gingerly, fingered this silver Celtic cross, that he had laid in a nice wooden carved box; at the feel of his fingertips being singed, he smiled.
The singeing only meant one thing.
That the cross, and whoever wore it; would be protected from his kind.
XXX
The moment those words had come out of Kyle's mouth, Genevieve, whose hand had been lingering on the Mustang's door handle, abruptly withdrew her hand and stared puzzlingly over at Kyle.
It wasn't the question, itself, that had her stumped.
It was the way he had worded it.
How had Kyle known, that she had been sleeping with Cirpian last night?
Unless, he had been outside her apartment last night.
Now that left her with another potential suspect.
Oh, goody.
If she didn't have enough people that she was suspicious of, she was now, mentally, adding her partner to her list.
“Kyle...,” she swallowed. “how d...d...d...” she stammered; pausing for a few minutes, to calm herself down, she finally inquired, “How did you know that I was sleeping with Cirpian...last night?”
“I...” Kyle's own admission was the ever present guilty expression on his face.
She shouldn't have been surprised, she had suspected as much: Kyle, her partner and friend, had been sitting outside, her apartment, last night.
Yet, while he had admitted as much with his ever present guilty expression, she was still shocked...and angry.
“Dammit, Kyle!”
She was just about to yank that door open and hightail it out of there, when Kyle said, “I was worried about you...” as she suspiciously surveyed him, he said, “Amelia and I...”
Before he could finished, she snapped, “Amelia...of course...Amelia needs to live her own life, and stop trying to live it through her own sisters!”
“What's that suppose to mean?”
Sighing, she said, “Come on, Kyle...You know that Amelia's life is fucked up...If she had a fairly decent marriage and more going on in her life, she wouldn't insist on always having to interfere in either my life or Jewels.” for a few awkward moments, they just sat there in silence; weighing over what she had just said.
When Genevieve finally spoke, there was this lace of resentment in her voice, “She's married to a dickhead, that she's lied for years about loving...Really it's an ego thing...her marriage.”
All Kyle could do was stoically stare at Genevieve. He couldn't really argue with her. For everything Genevieve had just said was true.
Amelia had met this guy, Bobby Steleman, a total baby face dick wade in all appearances. The man had no backbone, and, yet, for some reason, Amelia had found him to be appealing. At least that was what it seemed. It turned out that the whole marriage had been a facade. Amelia had married the guy, because her ego couldn't stand to dump a man that was six years younger than herself.
“Gen...” he sighed. “I love you..., that's why when Amelia asked me to check this Cirpian out, I didn't do it right away.” after rubbing his face, he said, “It was after those two bouquets of flowers, and what that one card said...Also, when I found out, that you had, just that day, taken your car in..., then I decided to ask a friend of mine to check him out.”
“Kyle..., how did...?”
“Gen...the guy has no background...”
“What does that mean?”
“He has no record, starting anywhere...It's like he appeared out of thin air.”
“Kyle...,” she took his hand. “I appreciate the concern...” taking his face in her hands, she stared into his concerned hazelnut eyes; it was during this moment, that she made that fleeting decision not to tell Kyle that she was suspicious of Cirpian; it would just give him more ammunition to use.
“Really I do, but I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself...Furthermore, you haven't told me anything that should have me even remotely cautious of him...”
“Really..., what about that damage done to your car?”
Releasing his face, she sat forward in her seat. “Kyle...,” she began. “over the past few years...” she licked her lips. “I'm willing to admit, that I've pissed off my share of men...” when Kyle snickered, she, frowning a him, said, “Who's to say, that one of those dick wades isn't responsible for vandalizing my car?”
When Kyle didn't respond, she opened the door. Yet, before she could get out, Kyle took her by surprise, when he, pulling her toward him, planted his mouth squarely upon hers.
It took Genevieve only seconds to respond. Yet, it seemed a lot longer than that. Putting her palms on his chest, she roughly pushed him away.
“Kyle...,” she growled, “what the hell do you think you're doing?!”
“Gen...” he shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because we're partners.” she irritably glared at him.
“So.”
“So?!” softening her voice, she said, “Kyle..., I do love you...” before he could reply to her declaration, she rushed on, “Just not in that way.”
It didn't take a genius to know that Kyle was angry, just from the wrath that was flaring up in his eyes; was a clue enough. When Kyle got angry, he had a hard time hiding it. His face became menacing, and his eyes took on a darker shade of hazelnut.
“Well, that's just that...Isn't it?” he angrily scoffed. “Genevieve, I don't need an inconsiderate bitch for a friend...” Genevieve was so stunned by this statement, that she was speechless; her mouth was moving, yet no words were coming out. “Besides..., I have enough friends.”
“Kyle...” her voice crackled with those familiar, bundled, emotions that she was feeling over Kyle's cutting words.
Genevieve had never cried in front of anyone. Even at both her parents' funerals, she hadn't shed a tear. It hadn't been because she hadn't loved either one of her parents. While they both had had their share of faults, she had looked past those faults, to the caring individuals that they had been. The real reason for her not crying, was because there were so many people around. And just the thought of all those people, who hadn't really known either one of her parents, seeing her in such a way; made her sick to her stomach.
Y
et, it was Kyle's harsh words, that had her feeling that sting in her eyes.
“Kyle..” she tried touching his hand, but he yanked it away.
“Get the hell out of my car.”
“Kyle...”
“Get the hell out or...” he licked his lips. “or I'll push you out.”
After she stunningly got out of the car, she closed the door behind her and watched as Kyle peeled out of the parking lot. Long after he had left, she could feel one of those tears successfully come loose from her eyes.
As it rolled down her cheek, she irritably swiped it away.
After she had hastily retrieved her sunglasses, Genevieve quickly put them on and, before a sales person could approach her, she hurried towards a group of cars.
XXX
It didn't take long for her to find the car of her dreams. It was another 2012 Chevy Cruze; except this one was denim blue. She wasn't too happy with the color – her red one had symbolized her own unique style. Yet, now, she was stuck with this bluish denim one.
Yuck.
That was the best way to describe her distaste for that car's color. Yet, it was either that one, are a black one – which she didn't much care for. During the summer, black was more of a heat magnet than any other color.
The real problem with shopping for a car, was that there were those times when you didn't want the constant bother of a sales person; shoving their bull shit down your throat. This time was one of those times, that she would have preferred to just be left alone and given the option to just purchase the car and leave.
Yet, instead of doing this, she was forced into being accommodating to the sales person; who insisted on showing her, every little gadget in her new car.
Ah...duh!
She had already had a car like this one.
And while she desperately wanted to point this out, she couldn't help thinking about what Kyle had said:
“An inconsiderate bitch.”
She had always been outspoken and a little more bitchy towards those who deserved it. Yet, she hadn't thought herself to be inconsiderate.
So, with that inconsiderate bitch remark hanging over her head, she let the sales person do what he wanted to do.
By the time she had left the dealership, with her new car, her headache had decided to work itself all the way from her temple to her neck.
She was in such excruciating pain, that a simple 'good morning' from a fellow cop, coming out of the precinct, had her eyes going cross from the pain that now felt like a sledge hammer in the middle of her forehead.
As she plopped herself down in her chair, she was relieved to see that her idiot partner was not there.
Supposedly, from what someone had told her, he had a personal emergency.
Hopefully he went to get something to cure his jerk itus or possibly something to remedy his asshole fungus. This thought instantly made her smile and picking up the new crisp folder on her desk, she flipped it open.
It was that familiar face, the one that seemed to be extending itself from her professional/personal life, all the way into her dreams; that had her almost choking on her tongue.
The Sandman.
At least that's what his wannabee gangster buddies had referred to him as.
Yet, this file, that was from North Carolina, had him under a different name; a name that she was sure his buddies wouldn't have even known him as—that is, unless, they had heard his full name.
James Sandman Fording.
His parents must have been one of those people, who really loved those oldies songs – especially The Sandman.
Well, at least James was a better name, than referring to him as the Sandman.
As she stared down at her missing stiff's picture, Genevieve was blown away by his sterling gray eyes. It wasn't as if they were appealing. In fact, they were the exact opposite – there was absolutely nothing behind them.
That saying: The eyes are the portals to ones soul, was obviously lost on this guy.
His soulless gaze left her feeling chilled, to the bone.
As Genevieve scanned the rest of the file, she wasn't at all surprised to see how long his rap sheet, in North Carolina, was.
He had committed such crimes from petty larceny to domestic disputes. From what Genevieve could surmise, James was gradually working his way up there to more serious offenses.
More than once the police over there in North Carolina had been called out, over a domestic dispute regarding James and his girlfriend—a Ms. Monica Summers.
As Genevieve read on, she learned that her stiff, from the morgue, had roughed up his girlfriend pretty bad the last time the police were called out. Which, incidentally, was the last straw for the girlfriend.
Ms. Summers, had been two months pregnant when she was thrown down a flight of stairs. After her miscarriage, she made the smart decision, to not just dump her boyfriend, but press charges against her soon to be ex-boyfriend. Yet, a week after getting out of the hospital, when her boyfriend was supposed to be brought up on attempted murder charges, she disappeared – without a trace.
Before Ms. Summers disappearance, she had shown no apparent sign of just packing up and leaving. Her disappearance had, of course, looked very suspicious to not just her family and friends, but to the authorities, who already had a perfect suspect lined up.
The ex-boyfriend: James Sandman Fording.
The only problem was, they didn't have any evidence to back this suspicion. And with no apparent body or crime scene, there was no way to charge James Fording with killing his girlfriend. Also, the case against him, for attempted murder, was thrown out—due to there not being sufficient amount of evidence or even a witness to back up this allegation.
Throwing the folder down, Genevieve sat back in her chair. As she sat there, letting all this information, regarding her missing stiff, sink in; she found herself, feeling less and less sympathetic for her supposed murdered victim. Again, she was stumped over whether or not James' death was an actual homicide; because Albert had failed to do an autopsy, before the body disappeared, she hadn't a clue what her stiff had died from or even if someone had murdered him.
It was as she continued sitting there, staring unseeingly at that closed North Carolina folder on her desk, that she felt eyes upon her. Swiveling around in her chair, she stared directly into the searching gaze of Detective Malcolm.
All and all, Detective Jeffrey Malcolm was pretty decent looking. He was dark skinned, with dark brown eyes, was five-five –an inch shorter than herself—in height, and had a physique that was between muscular and lean. Supposedly, from the way Detective Malcolm told it, he came from a hard, working, middle class family in Louisiana. Yet, from the way he behaved, some, like Genevieve, would have thought that he came from English royalty; money to him was nothing hard to get – he acted as if he wiped his ass and blew his nose with the stuff.
Amelia hadn't been wrong, to say that Detective Malcolm had inherited money.
She was right.
Yet, because he had no amount of sense, he had blown threw it so fast that every cop in the precinct had known about it.
Genevieve, among other cops, had driven up to see his Porsche being repossess. Afterwords, his first wife, Evelyn, had left him, because of the IRS auditing them.
When everyone had thought the man was going to lose it all, in his divorce and to the IRS, that's when things took a turn for the better for him – he came into more money.
That was luck for you.
Yet, it was more man made luck than actual lady luck.
The day that Detective Malcolm come into his lucky flow of cash, incidentally, was the day that a large supply – approximately six kilos—of cocaine, disappeared from the evidence locker.
Everyone had suspected, including internal affairs, that he had taken this cocaine, but IA hadn't the proof to prove anything. They also couldn't get his current partner to snitch on him.
When he suddenly got up from his chair, Genevieve was so surprised by this
, that at first she didn't really know how to react. The moment he started sauntering over to her, she felt herself instantly bristle.
From the very first time, Genevieve had met Detective Malcolm; she hadn't liked him—he was a prick. He was the kind of person, that thought the law as only a beneficial tool, when he could bend it to fit his own fucked up needs– typical criminal behavior.
As it just so happened, Malcolm had been Genevieve's first partner. And from that very first moment together, her already growing dislike for him, went from that, to becoming down right unbearable. She had seen him on numerous occasions all buddy, buddy, with a number of criminals – like prostitutes, pimps, gang bangers, and etc.
As she got to know him better, she became even more acquainted with his criminal behavior.
The last straw for her, had been, when she had witnessed one of these prostitutes go down on him in a back alleyway.
After that experience, she had known that nothing good would come from being his partner.
When that cocaine had disappeared from the evidence locker, Genevieve had been very much relieved that Kyle had been her partner at that time; her Captain had finally gotten sick and tired of her bitching and complaining – actually the last straw, for her Captain, had been when she locked Malcolm out of her car and drove off and left him in a bad neighborhood.
“So, where's butt-head...?” Malcolm leaned against her desk.
Bristling even more, Genevieve glared up at Detective Malcolm. While she was still angry with Kyle, the dumbass, she still loved him and felt that same dutiful obligation to protect him.
Hopefully in time, Kyle would come to realize that she had done him a favor in telling him that she had no intention, what so ever, in destroying their friendship; just to pursue a romantic relationship.
Why lie about there being anything more than just that?
People who lied about their feelings for one another, usually ended up in miserable situations. Amelia, was a fine example of this. She was in her early forties and married to a man that she had absolutely nothing in common with nor did she even love him; she constantly lied to herself and others about her true feelings for him. In the early stages of this relationship, Amelia, herself, had pointed out Bobby's flaws. He was a user, that had paid for absolutely nothing the whole time that they had dated; he had expected her to pay for everything. Yet, instead of seeing this as an incentive in dumping the fuckhead, Amelia had instead married him.
The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning Page 21
