Suds and Sam For Hire

by Stella Marie Alden

  “I wasn’t here yet. You should ask the ladies.”

  Billings makes me repeat my story, then cuffs me. Covered in blood, I’m tossed in the back of one cruiser and spot Sam in one down the street, near my SUV. They probably figure they can get her to confess but being the daughter of a police chief, she knows better.

  I’m shivering from the cold by the time Billings returns and drives me to the station. Once there, I’m left alone in a light yellow, cement block room for over three hours. By the time someone shows up, I’m pretty damn annoyed.

  “Lawyer. And a pot to piss in.”

  The detective in charge threatens to lock me up with some hardened criminals but I grin. “You might want to check my credentials before you make a stupid fool of yourself.”

  “What the hell are you doing mixed up with this?” The cop doesn’t blink as he drops into a chair across from mine.

  Neither do I. “Sorry, sir. Lawyer.”

  Reeking of garlic and sweat, the fortyish man leans in, “No, really. Off the record, I need to know.”

  I shrug. “As soon as council arrives, I swear I will tell you everything from the time of my birth until Sam… right this moment.”

  Shit. I almost said until Sam fired the shot.

  About an hour later, a guy in an expensive ensemble appears, introduces himself as my lawyer, and I heave a sigh of relief. “I need to hit the head. Either that, or I can whip it out and use the corner.”

  Mr. Suit, Pat Jacobs, my advocate and new best friend, scowls at the officer in charge. “For God’s sake, let him use the bathroom.”

  Feeling much better, I note the sun has risen as I reenter the bleak room with the buzzing fluorescent lights.

  Pat unhitches the bottom button of his wool jacket and a detective, who has yet to state his name, crosses his arms leaning near the door. “Are you ready now, Mr. Sutcliff?”

  “Yes sir. Fire away.” I don’t care for his attitude or his tone but I’ve been in the service and know a thing or three about assholes like him.

  “Can you explain to me why you and Ms. Russo were in Teaneck?” He looms over the table, no doubt trying to intimidate me which almost makes me laugh.

  After glancing up at Jacobs, I take a deep breath and let it out. “We were following a man we suspected was the Manhattan Slasher. Y’all know who that is, right?”

  An unnamed detective, a large black man with thick hair, big ears, and a beard enters the room.

  I’ve had just about enough of their suburban bullshit. “We should be getting a pat on the back instead of the third degree. Or is that the second degree. Shit. Do any of you guys know? Hell, I always get that mixed up. As I was-”

  “Why didn’t you hand your intel over to the FBI?”

  “Damn fine question. I’m a private detective and my partner is one-in-training. We put out our shingle in Bensonhurst? Seen it yet? It’s right off- ”

  “The FBI, Sutcliff?”

  “Well, hell. They shoulda know’d it was him. The fucking guy called them almost every day of the week. It’s not my fault they didn’t follow up.”

  The large black man puts his elbows on the table. “Exactly when did you begin to suspect he was the serial killer?”

  “That’s mighty hard to say. I suppose it was when Townsend approached us in Vermont. He told us he knew who the slasher was and claimed it was some coworker. However, my partner Samantha investigated and some things didn’t add up. Did she tell you she used to work for the FBI? They want her back but she won’t go because they fired her. Now, she’s under contract, working for Patten Securities. I do too. Have you checked up with Slate, my boss? He’s got one name, not two. Don’t call him Mister Slate because it pisses him off something fierce.”

  I pause, watching a blue vein in the detective’s forehead pulse. “Mr. Sutcliff. Could you please stay on topic?”

  I keep a straight face, yet chuckle internally. If he hadn’t been such a dick, I wouldn’t mess with him. “Yes sir. I do apologize. Let me begin again. You see, me and my partner were in Vermont. We took Lucky, I mean Lochlan, with us. Sam, Samantha that is, got stuck in a snowstorm. I found a snowplow and well, hell, she was almost frozen to death.”

  “What does this have to do with Townsend?”

  “I am getting there. Damn, you sure are impatient.” I turn to my smirking lawyer. “Would you tell him to shut up a moment so I can answer his questions?”

  The detective sighs and his eyes narrow. “I apologize. So, this man approached you out of the blue in Vermont. Why don’t you start from there?”

  “At the time, I did believe he was harmless even though he pissed me off the way he looked at my woman. Do you know the type? They can’t keep their eyes above the neck? Y’hear what I’m sayin’? I might well have punched his lights… ”

  “Mr. Sutcliff. Stop. What made you suspect him?”

  I feign looking hurt and use the tone of a kid reprimanded. “He said he knew who the killer was, which was a bit of a stretch for a coincidence, in my book.”

  “Why not inform the FBI, the police, anyone?” Sitting now, the dark man thinks it’s three strikes but I throw him a curve ball.

  “We did tell them. Ask the FBI, the NYPD. And, I got a whole trail of emails to prove it. If y’all would give me back my cell-”

  “Frankly, Mr. Sutcliff, I’m having a hard time believing your story.”

  I’m about to give a smart ass retort but Pat gives me a look saying I better shut the fuck up so I do.

  After about twelve hours of exhaustive questioning, I give up. “Okay, because y’all don’t seem to believe me. Let me try again.”

  Keeping one eye on my lawyer to make sure I don’t misstep, I begin. “I met Samantha Russo in DC. She was working for the FBI at the time. This was before she got canned, mostly because of my tendency to ramble on and not get down to the matter at hand which I don’t understand in the least. I was drinking beer and she had one too. She wanted a job, I wanted her. We both wanted each other. I suppose you get the picture. She’s a beautiful, intelligent, gifted woman. She left an asshat of a boyfriend. Did I mention she was engaged? Well she broke up with him and took up with me. Just like that. We hit if off real well. Then, well, she went back home to Brooklyn. Do you know her father? Police Chief Russo? He don’t like me much.” My lawyer raises his eyebrows so I change the subject.

  “So. Ah…She lives with Mia, Rose, and Joey, all cousins in Bensonhurst. She’s got an Uncle Vinny. There’s Count Catula, but he don’t matter on account of he belongs to Frankie. Y’all don’t want to mess with him. Sam also works at a hair salon. She says it’s how she gets her news. She’s trying to get her PI license. I already got mine but I suppose you know that. I showed you, right?” I reach into my pocket, pull out a card, and hand it to the officer sitting across from me.

  “We got a real nice space, right near the D train. We’re painting the office colonial white and still waiting for the city to hook up the electrical. They promise soon but I figure…”

  The detective stifles a yawn and turns to Pat. “Can you pleeeaase ask your client to stay on topic?”

  “You asked me to start at the beginning so I am. Damn. Y’all need to make up your mind.”

  He leans over the table looking as if he’d like to strangle me. “Like in what happened tonight.”

  “Well sure. Like I already told you, for the last few nights, we’ve parked outside Jeremy’s apartment. Anyhow, we was sitting there. I had a calzone because it’s a hell of a lot less messy than pizza. Did I tell you about Pete? He makes the best Italian food in the five boroughs. He tried to date Sam but-”

  “Mr. Sutcliff!”

  “Yeah?”

  “The apartment?”

  “Let me back up a little. We had to stop to get some food because we was having a stakeout. A body can get real hungry-like with nothin’ to eat.”

  After about another hour of my messing with him, the detective flings his hands up in the air and yells at m
y lawyer. “Shut him the fuck up.”

  He throws a piece of paper at me. “Write down your statement.”

  I smirk, pleased as punch with my victory. “Damn, I’m gonna need more than this. You got a pad with maybe a hundred sheets? And a couple of pens. I wouldn’t want to run out of ink.”

  “Get him the hell out of here!”

  A small twitch appears near in lawyer’s right smile line. “I’ll work with him and have something on your desk by tomorrow.”

  Outside, Pat removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his watering eyes as he lets out a loud guffaw.

  Slate, sitting in a small folding chair stands. He shakes my hand, takes me into a man hug, and slaps me on the back. “Nice job.”

  My heart thumps when I realize someone real important is missing. “Where’s Sam?”

  Chapter 28

  Sam

  I shot someone.

  It wasn’t like I had time to think about the moral consequence before pulling the trigger. Jeremy Townsend was about to slit someone’s throat so I fired. It’s so simple and yet so damn complex.

  While a detective talks, I stare at the drop ceiling and don’t say boo. Unlike the police stations in the city, this building is pretty new. The paint is one of those fifty shades of white I was trying to decide upon only a few days ago.

  Finally, what must be hours later, my lawyer arrives. She’s a fiftyish year old woman with a Mona Lisa smirk, jet black hair, and a no nonsense navy suit.

  Allowed to speak for the first time, I try to emulate Suds and realize it’s a lot harder than I thought.

  The younger of two detectives who’s been grilling me for hours, shoots me a warm smile. “Ms. Russo, can I call you Sam?”

  I nod with one eye glued to my lawyer.

  “Can you explain how you happened to shoot Mr. Townsend?”

  I channel my inner-Suds but instead of his laid-back, southern-fried style, out comes my Brooklyn girl. “You guyz are kiddin’ me right? Townsend’s a fuckin’ serial killer and youz wants to hear my motivation. What is dis? The New York Film Academy? Jesus H. Christ. You wanna know? I was trying to keep that sweet young kid from getting killed. I think you’ve been out here in the burbs too long. I read it’s in your water. Not your fault. It’s got too many chemicals and destroys your brain cells. Our waddah? It’s real good. It comes from upstate, not from small reservoirs near chemical dumps. Maybe it’s why you can’t think so good. I mean-”

  “Ms. Russo. Sam? Could you explain what happened this evening?”

  “What’s up wid you? Huh? I wuz tryin’ to answer the question you axed me.” Shit. My last bit sounded a little more like Staten Island but I don’t think the detective noticed.

  The left corner of my lawyer’s eyebrow raises a millimeter. Other than that, she lets me go. Suddenly, I understand Suds a whole lot better.

  For all its silliness, not answering their questions directly while trying to appear helpful is almost fun. If it wasn’t for the fact I could be charged with murder, I might be enjoying this little charade.

  I picture Sebastian somewhere in this building, driving people nuts when Mr. Bad Cop reenters the room. “Your father is here. He wants to talk some sense into you.”

  I shake my head at my lawyer who frowns at the officer. “My client is over twenty-one. She doesn’t need a parent present to continue with her statement. And, if you don’t plan on arresting her anytime soon, I must insist you release her.”

  “She hasn’t said anything useful.” The younger guy almost whines.

  “On the contrary, she’s answered all your questions. Try making them more concise. It may help.” She purses her lips at the man, somewhat similar to my second grade teacher, Sister Anne-Marie.

  Good Cop steps back and the older one, with a peppered gray buzz cut sits down across from me. “Tell me how you shot Townsend.”

  “With my gun.”

  “Don’t be a wise ass.”

  “Okaaaay... Through the back window, resting on my abs, toes off the deck. It was not easy and to be honest, when my bullet hit him in the chest, I was shocked. He fell back, dropped his knife, and looked up as if to say, what the fuck? At that point, Suds rushed in and tried to stop the bleeding while I called nine-one-one.

  “Did Townsend say anything?”

  “Uh-huh. He asked the same thing you guys keep asking… How did I know?”

  “How did you?” Good cop leans in, and nods encouragingly, expecting me to confess to pre-meditated murder.

  Heaving a heavy sigh, I lean back in my chair and rub my neck to ease the tension and lessen my headache. “In college, I took a course in unconscious thought theory and for the last fifteen years have studied it quite thoroughly.”

  I glance up at the mirror and wonder how many people behind it are listening. “Youz with me?”

  Bad cop nods. “Go on.”

  “So, our brains take in so much data, we can’t possibly move it all front and center. We’d go nuts. However, when in danger, the brain will send out subliminal signals. People generally call this having a premonition. In truth, this is your unconscious mind signaling your conscious mind to take action. Most people ignore this. I do not.”

  I hope the police buy what I’m selling, otherwise, I’m going to jail. “That being said, after I met Jeremy Townsend, I knew he was not who he claimed to be. Mr. Sutcliff, a trained SEAL, agreed the man was lying. So, we kept an eye on him even though we had no concrete evidence to bring to the authorities. I did voice all my concerns to Special Agent Kessler at the FBI. I also told my police chief father. However, they did not agree with my assessment.”

  “That’s it? You had a feeling?”

  Mona Lisa stands. “Do you have any further questions?”

  “Let’s go over this again.”

  After twelve relentless hours, my voice is hoarse and my eyelids droop but my lawyer sits like she’s got a metal spine and refuses to let the police be anything but polite.

  At her insistence. I get some coffee, donuts, and a bathroom break. After a while, they leave me alone with my lawyer but I know this ploy, too. They’re hoping I’ll say something they can use while they listen in.

  Tired, I start singing the first song to come into my head. “The wheels on the bus go round and round…”

  I lean back in my chair, neck resting on the top, eyes on the drop ceiling. “Round and round.”

  My lids lower. “Round and…”

  I sleep some and when they return, my lawyer is pissed and threatens the officer questioning me. “You either release her or I’ll press charges of my own.”

  “We’ve done nothing illegal.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She smiles in a way da Vinci would’ve loved to put on canvas.

  Then, the police open the door to the small room which has been my prison for hours. In the hall, Suds is waiting with open arms. His warm body soothes me and his kisses bring me back to life. My dad and my mom are there, too. Reluctantly, I let go of my man so I can hug them, too.

  As we walk into the bright morning sun, my partner puts his arm around my waist and holds me tight. “You hungry?”

  “Starving.” Reaching up, I pull his ear to my lips. “And not for food.”

  Chapter 29

  Suds

  As much as Sam and I need alone time, her father insists on taking us out to breakfast.

  “Can we talk for a moment, son?” He motions me to a narrow hall in front of the men’s room door.

  Despite the tone, I follow but only because he’s the father of the woman I love. I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep and if he wants an argument, I’ll give him one.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You almost got her killed.” He crosses his arms with fists clenched as I lean back against the wall and lower my lids.

  I’m pretty damn tired of defending myself to this man. “Sir, you got this all wrong. I was keeping her safe.”

  “Is that what you call it? Tell
me, how is it she fired off a shot before you?”

  The same thought has been nagging at me all night making my defense sound weak. “I told her to stay put.”

  “And how well did that work?” When his gray brows raise, Sam stands in the other room, but I motion her to sit.

  I got this. “Good thing she did or a sixteen year old girl would be dead. By the way, your daughter has a mind of her own, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Which is why you should insist she take the offer to go back to DC.”

  “Not my decision, sir.”

  “The hell it’s not. All you need to do is tear up your PI license, drop the lease, and she’ll have to go.”

  Suddenly, what he’s saying makes a whole lot of sense and my chest gets tight. “She’ll never allow it and no way will I be the one to squash her dreams.”

  “Who wears the pants in your relationship, huh? How about you leave so she doesn’t end up dead? You need to decide how much you really love her.”

  Thank God, Slate sees something is off. He yawns, stands, and wanders over. “Everything all right over here?”

  “Never better.” I glare at Sam’s dad mostly because he’s right on the money.

  “Good. I need to be off. Want a ride to retrieve your car?” When my boss raises his brows, I know it’s not a request and yet welcome his rescue.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Ignoring Police Chief Russo, I help Sam into her coat and kiss her mom’s cheek goodbye. Slate drops us off in front of the crime scene where we climb into my car and I turn the key.

  “Home or hotel?”

  “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand. I’ve had my fill of Jersey.”

  “What exit? Sorry. Too soon?”

  “Not funny.” She drops her seat back and stares at the roof. “Damn, I don’t ever remember being so tired. Rambling is hard work.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Yeah, but I did my own Brooklyn version. Not quite as good as yours but it worked.”

  I take my eyes off the road and study her. “Are you really okay? About shooting someone, I mean.”

  “Strangely, yes. If we’d been a few seconds later, Townsend surely would have killed that girl.”