Fresh Slices

by New York Tri-State Chapter of Sisters in Crime

  “Congratulations, girl!” Lena, their lead singer, shook Tanya awake. “Boris and Misha held an auction on you!”

  Tanya rubbed her eyes, sat up and peeled the lawyer’s card off her cheek.

  “Who won?” She asked hoarsely.

  “Boris!” Lena chirped excitedly. “Oh, you’re so lucky. You’re going to the penthouse. Wanna drink?”

  The penthouse was a gaudy version of a honeymoon suite, with a mammoth canopy bed and a huge Jacuzzi with a marble mermaid statue next to it. Tanya cursed. She was on the fast track out of Brighton Mermaids, yet not fast enough.

  “I only drink when I have something to celebrate,” she muttered. “This is not my idea of a triumphant evening.”

  “Boris is old,” Lena consoled her. “If you really hate him, get him to pass out from booze.”

  “Thanks,” Tanya mumbled, sticking her feet into a pair of heels. She checked her messages. There were none. Damn, Simon, where the hell are you when I need you?

  Already in the penthouse boudoir, Boris waited for her on the Jacuzzi steps, propped against the marble mermaid and enveloped in clouds of hot steam rising from the bubbling water. He toasted Tanya with a champagne flute and pulled her down next to him, pawing her thighs.

  “I love your legs, gorgeous,” he said drunkenly, as he poured champagne into Tanya’s glass and tucked the Dom Perignon bottle into a corner. He banged on the statue. “See, tails ain’t good. What can a man do if a woman’s got no legs— there ain’t much in between?”

  Tanya watched Boris laugh at his own joke and wondered how much alcohol it would take to knock him out cold. Her nausea surged, but Boris’s foreplay was interrupted by a heavy slam on the door, which Tanya had forgotten to lock. Misha stormed in.

  “Get outta here,” Boris shouted. “I won!”

  “You c-can’t g-get it up, you old c-castrate,” Misha stuttered, dead drunk. “This lady n-needs a r- real m-man!”

  Boris shrieked. “Get out!”

  Misha kicked the door shut and rolled up his sleeves. “L-let’s settle this like m-men!”

  He threw his fist forward, but lost his balance and hit the statue instead.

  “Andrei!” Boris hollered. “Help!”

  Tanya heard a heavy man’s steps outside, and the door burst open once again. Boris assumed an insulted scowl, but it was short-lived.

  In walked Pavel Rublev.

  Tanya dropped her flute. The glass shattered.

  “Out,” Pavel mouthed to the two rivals. He was dripping with sweat, and his right sleeve was torn and bloody. Boris dashed out of the room like a rabbit, but Misha was so drunk his self-preservation instincts failed.

  “You didn’t bid,” he yelled, but Pavel drove his elbow into Misha’s solar plexus, and the man collapsed on the floor. Pavel picked him up like a kitten and threw him into the penthouse’s hallway.

  “I don’t have to bid,” he muttered hoarsely, as if he were a touch drunk, yet his eyes were sharp and sober. He turned to Tanya. “You danced so wonderfully today, I had to see you. Mind if I sit down on the steps?”

  Tanya was frozen in horror. She managed a nod.

  “Champagne.” Pavel brushed away the fragments of broken glass. “I heard you drink only when you have something to celebrate. What are you celebrating?”

  “Nothing,” Tanya whispered.

  “Nothing, just a beautiful night?” Pavel asked with a strange smile, inching over to Tanya. He threw his arm over her shoulder. “Nights are always beautiful at Brighton Mermaids. I’m a romantic, regardless of what people say about me.”

  Tanya shivered, despite the hot steam rising from the Jacuzzi.

  “Why are you trembling?” Pavel asked. His narrow eyes traveled up and down Tanya’s body. “Are you afraid of me? You shouldn’t be . . . unless you have a reason.”

  His fingers dug into her shoulder. “Do you?”

  Tanya stopped breathing. Pavel scrutinized her. Misha moaned in the hallway, but Pavel’s eyes never left Tanya’s face.

  “You can be intimidating,” Tanya managed.

  “Then you must have a reason,” Pavel concluded. His fingers moved to Tanya’s throat. He pulled her chin up so their eyes were level and asked, “Who do you work for?”

  Tanya gasped. “Andrei.”

  “I had thought so, too,” Pavel said with a frightening smile. His hand touched Tanya’s cheek, brushed across her ear, and grabbed the back of her hair like a pair of pliers. “Until now. I was on my way to a meeting, but instead I walked into a shoot-out. The Bulgarian brothers decided tonight was a good night for a stick-up. How did they find me?”

  “The Bulgarians?” Tanya echoed, vaguely remembering Simon’s description of his attackers, one of whom had met with her porcelain weapon. “I don’t know anything about them.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Pavel snarled. He pushed Tanya’s face down into the Jacuzzi until hot bubbles tickled her skin. “Wanna see if you can breathe under water, my little mermaid?”

  “I’m not lying!” Tanya spat out, but her cry died in the chlorinated stream. Pavel watched her thrash and gurgle.

  “I know the Bulgarians want me dead, but I didn’t expect them to hire you for the trick!” he said, as he brought Tanya out for a breath. He grinned at her gasping, then pulled her head back, exposing her throat. “Maybe this will help you talk.”

  Pavel reached behind his neck and snatched the mic pin from his collar. The mic’s head was smashed. Simon’s crew was no longer taping Pavel. Neither could they trace his whereabouts.

  “Is this the reason you’re trembling?” Pavel questioned, holding the pin to her throat. He pushed it in slightly, and dragged it across, leaving a deep, red cut in Tanya’s skin. “Tell me, what is it?”

  “It’s a pin,” Tanya forced out. “It’s a mi—”

  Pavel smacked her head against the mermaid statue’s tail.

  “It’s a tracker!” he snarled. “The Bulgarians followed me because you stuck a tracker in my jacket! Who do you work for? Answer me!”

  “Simon Doherty, Federal Prosecutor,” Tanya blurted. From the corner of her eye, she saw Misha rise to his knees and pull himself up behind Pavel’s back. Misha was no match for Pavel, but he’d make a good distraction. Tanya looked Pavel in the eye to keep his attention and continued talking.

  “It’s a mic. The Feds got you on tape. Bulgarians have nothing to do with it.”

  “The Feds?” Pavel let out a chilling laugh. “Andrei’s slut is a Fed’s agent? You got a sense of humor, mermaid, but now is not the time.”

  “You can kill me, but I’m telling you the truth,” Tanya insisted. “The Feds are on your back, and I’m under their protection.”

  Misha stood up straight, and let go of the wall. He let out another moan, but Pavel didn’t care to turn his head.

  “Cut the crap. Feds don’t bother us as long as we don’t bother them,” he growled at Tanya. “I can kill you fast or I can kill you slowly. And painfully. The choice is yours. I’m gonna ask one last time. Who sent you?”

  Misha bellowed, and dove onto Pavel with a knife in his hand. Caught by surprise, Pavel let go of Tanya’s hair. He seized Misha’s hand, but the drunk’s momentum carried them forward into the mermaid statue headfirst. The sculpture teetered on the Jacuzzi’s edge, and tumbled down the marble steps, shattering to pieces.

  Tanya rolled away from the fighting men, grabbed the mermaid’s tail, and aimed for Pavel’s head. Pavel swerved, and the marble piece barely scratched his temple. He grasped at Tanya’s ankle and pulled hard. Tanya fell, bringing the rock onto Pavel’s chest. Pavel roared. Still clutching the statue’s tail, Tanya stumbled to her feet, hopping up the Jacuzzi’s steps to gain an advantage in position, but her heavy weapon threw her off balance. She slipped on the wet surface and plunged into the spa, sending a wave across the tub.

  The penthouse door burst open, and Simon stormed in with four police officers in tow. He was drenched in sweat and breathing like a winded horse. Hi
s clothes were torn and smeared with dirt. A bloody gash crossed his left cheek.

  “Tanya!” he shouted, while the cops handcuffed Pavel. “Where are you?”

  Tanya emerged from the whirlpool with the mermaid’s tail in her hands.

  “You lied to me,” she screamed at Simon. “Pavel almost killed me!”

  “We lost him in a shootout!” Simon reached forward to pull her out of the water. “The Bulgarian brothers got trigger-happy and screwed up everything.”

  Tanya swung her rock at him. “You set me up! You didn’t tell me about the Bulgarians!”

  Simon jumped back, avoiding her strike. “You’ve met the brothers,” he objected. “You took Ivanko out with the toilet lid.”

  “Well, now it’s your turn!” Tanya roared as she stepped out of the water and followed Simon around, swinging the tail. The officers started closing in on her.

  “Don’t touch her!” Simon shouted, dodging Tanya’s blows. “Hold your weapons. Guns, lids, tails . . . . Ouch! Damn!”

  Simon stumbled over the marble fragments on the floor and fell. Tanya raised the rock over his head. “I want to know the whole story. Everything about you, the Bulgarians, and Pavel.”

  “All right,” Simon yelled, looking up from the floor, his hands raised in a defensive position. “The Bulgarian brothers hired me as a hit man, to take Pavel out. They saved me months of work by supplying his schedule and hangout places— like Mermaids. But I took a long time to do the job. The brothers ran out of patience and gave me a black eye the night you and I met.”

  “I’ll give you another one!” Tanya promised. Simon seized the moment and grabbed Tanya’s arms from below so that she couldn’t maneuver the marble.

  “After that, the Bulgarians swore blood,” he continued, as he got up slowly, firmly holding Tanya’s hands while her fingers still clutched the tail. “Mine and Pavel’s, both. They followed me tonight, wrecked our van, wreaked havoc, and screwed up the entire operation. We shut them down, but lost Pavel. Pavel didn’t realize there was a third party to the shootout, and blamed it on the brothers. He found the mic that he mistook for a tracker and returned to settle matters with you. Got it?”

  Tanya unclenched her fingers, and the marble rock fell on Simon’s toes. He bellowed and hopped among the pieces of ruined statue. He stumbled, and backed up the steps to the Jacuzzi to avoid another fall. Tanya grabbed the tail and raised it again. Simon hopped a step higher. Tanya summoned all her strength and thrust the heavy tail upward. Simon leaped back again, not realizing he was on the top step, and landed in the hot bubbles, sending splashes to the ceiling. Tanya’s hands buckled at the last second. The tail fell on the floor.

  Drenched and angry, Tanya felt taller than she was. Her long blonde hair was plastered to her face, her wet dress clung to her like a second skin, and the water streamed down her body making a puddle around her feet.

  Simon rose from the tub, soaked clean, with a peace proposition. “Now that we’re even, wet, and done, let’s go rescue your passport from Andrei’s safe.”

  “Let’s,” Tanya said, as she kicked at the tail, venting the last of her fury. The tail rocked back and forth, and settled at her toes.

  “You look just like a mermaid— wet, beautiful, and mysterious,” Simon told her, while he stepped down onto the floor and picked up the Dom Perignon that had miraculously survived the cataclysms. “Can I get you a drink? Today you sure have something to celebrate.”

  JUSTICE FOR ALL

  Catherine Maiorisi

  WOW. Seeing was believing. People really did live on boats in Manhattan. Fantastic. But no time to gawk at the picturesque scene— yachts and houseboats and sailboats bobbing in the blue-green Hudson River at the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin. I clipped on my shield, waited for an opening in the stream of bicycles, joggers, dogs, and baby strollers, then dashed across the path to the uniformed officer stationed at the gate. She logged me in and pointed to the knot of humanity gathered on the boardwalk to the left. I paused to get the big picture before diving in, so to speak, and saw Detective John Quinn, the primary, standing with his back to the scene, staring across the river at New Jersey.

  As I approached Quinn, the boardwalk undulated in the wake of a passing ferry, carrying early-to-work New Jersey residents to their jobs on Wall Street. The walkways moaned and screeched with each wave. My stomach lurched.

  “What do we have?” I asked.

  “Body of a girl pulled out of the water at dawn this morning.” Quinn avoided looking at me. Nothing new. He wasn’t happy partnering with a woman, especially an African-American, but anyone with a choice avoided working with him, so he was stuck with me. It was a toss-up as to which of us would celebrate more when he retired six months from now.

  He tilted his head toward the body. “Get the details.”

  The medical examiner looked up. “Ah, Jones, saddled with Quinn again, I see.”

  I focused on the battered body of the young Asian woman lying on the blood-soaked boardwalk in front of me. Her pearly skin and blunt-cut, black hair a sharp contrast against the red-stained wood; her gaily-printed halter dress bunched around her waist, one breast exposed; no panties. I fought the urge to cover her. Looking away, I took a minute to wrap my professional heart around my sad and caring heart, so I could concentrate on the business of finding whoever did this.

  “We have an angry killer. I count ten stab wounds so far,” the M.E. said. “Call me later for details.”

  I flashed a grateful smile. He knew Quinn gave me all the scutwork, but didn’t share anything that might help me do my job. And his.

  I opened my notebook, wrote the date, time, weather, and place, sketched the scene, and jotted down the names of the nearby boats: Road to Life, Dream Boat, Sweet Sal’s Gal, Tide Ride, Justice for All . . .

  “Speak to you later,” I said.

  The M.E. lifted his hand, but his eyes stayed with the woman.

  Quinn seemed mesmerized by New Jersey. I didn’t see the attraction, myself. I edged around him to talk face-to-face, but he pivoted north, looking toward the George Washington Bridge. “We have a witness, a Mr. Carter, on the Justice for All,” he said, throwing an arm in the direction of a large houseboat behind him. “Take the lead. You need the experience.”

  I climbed aboard the Justice for All and knocked. “Detectives Jones and Quinn to speak to Mr. Carter,” I said to the woman who opened the door.

  As we stepped into the room, the woman reclining in the lounge spoke.

  “It’s Ms., Detective. Ms. Carter Stanhope.”

  Oh, my. Not just Ms. Carter Stanhope, but Detective Carter Stanhope. I straightened and fought the impulse to salute. My hero. The cop I aspired to be— honest, dedicated, successful. Stanhope had lost weight, and her face was all sharp points and shadows, but her voice was strong and throaty. A metal walker stood near her chair, and a wheelchair with a crocheted throw draped over the back lurked in the corner. How long since Stanhope was raped and brutally beaten? A month? Six weeks?

  “Detective Stanhope, I’m Cappy Jones. Sorry. I was told . . . I had no idea.” How are you feeling, I wanted to know, but I kept it professional. “We’d like a few minutes of your time.”

  A smile played at her lips. “And hello, Quinn. Still at it, I see.”

  “Stanhope,” he said. His voice made it clear that he wasn’t thrilled to see her.

  The place was all teak and windows and vibrant colors. Nice. I took the seat she offered, facing her. Quinn ignored her and walked to the window.

  Stanhope’s eyes bored into me like gold-pointed lasers. I swallowed and hoped my voice wouldn’t betray me. “What happened this morning?”

  “I was on the deck with my morning coffee, watching the dawn break, when I heard moaning,” she said. “I went to the railing and saw a woman clinging to the boardwalk, clearly in trouble, so I pulled her out.”

  She caught my glance at the walker and smiled. “I went down on my rear end.”

  “How did
you manage with the casts?”

  She shrugged. “They made it harder, but she’s small.”

  “Did she say anything before she died?”

  “She only lived a few minutes, but I think she said ‘ma’ and ‘free.’”

  “Did you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Any theories about how or why she ended up at your, um, gangplank?”

  “If you’re asking whether it was related to the attack on me, I’d say no.”

  Quinn coughed. I froze, expecting an inappropriate remark, but he controlled himself.

  Carter confirmed that she usually had coffee on her deck around dawn, that she hadn’t heard the woman go in the water, and the only person she saw, beside the victim, was the neighbor who helped her pull the woman out. I stood. “Thank you, Detective Stanhope.”

  The woman placed the walker in front of her, but made no move to help, so I curbed my impulse to dash to the rescue. Carter pulled herself up and hobbled to the door. I remembered that in addition to her broken arm and leg, her pelvis was fractured. If she was in pain, she hid it well. I gave her my card. “You know the drill, Detective.”

  Quinn mumbled something and slipped past us.

  “Still has problems with women, I see. How did you get stuck?”

  “Low detective on the totem pole.”

  “Leave him behind when you come back.”

  Repressing the urge to whoop, I followed Quinn off the boat.

  The body was gone, but the techs were still working. Men and women, some in suits carrying briefcases, streamed toward the gate.

  “People are leaving for work. If we hurry, we might catch some at home.”

  “Good idea. Get started. I have things to do.” With that, Quinn headed for the gate.

  After the dockmaster assured me that the dead woman didn’t live in the boat basin, I spent several hours climbing aboard boats, questioning anybody who answered my knock. But no luck. And I was starving. On my way to the gate, I spotted people sitting under umbrellas on a terrace overlooking the boat basin. An outdoor restaurant. Perfect.