Unleashed (Sydney Rye Series #1)

by Emily Kimelman

  Night Walk

  I did not give Snaffles his evening walk. I paced outside his building and decided the whole thing was too creepy. It was Friday, and Mrs. Saperstein owed me for the week. My other clients had paid--cash in white envelopes with my name on them--so I decided I was justified in waiting until Monday. But looking up at the 20-story building as the sun was just starting to slip down the west side of the world, I worried about Snaffles and his mistress.

  A soft orange glow lit the building's brick facade. Lamplight glowed from several apartments. In others, I could see the eerie blue flicker of the TV. A warm breeze blew my hair around my face. I left, walking toward the subway, feeling sick to my stomach and alone.

  Blue waited for me on the other side of my door. He jumped around, desperate to be petted but too excited to stay still. I rubbed his back and he tapped his feet. I moved down the hall, and he followed, bumping his long snout into my hand. "No, Blue," I said, and lifted my hand out of his reach. He whined, spun in a circle and sat. I laughed and couldn't help but rub his ears. He leaned into me and looked up with eyes so filled with devotion it seemed unreasonable.

  I ordered General Tso's chicken and settled myself on what was left of my couch (I'd duct- taped it together as best as I could). I turned on the TV and watched 30 seconds of Seinfeld, then clicked over to Friends, click, Everybody Loves Raymond, click, Pastor Bill Tells It Like It Is. I watched my stepfather behind his podium, his hair big and full.

  "Life's trials," Bill was saying, "especially poverty, are a result of sin." He licked his lips and slapped the podium in front of him. "Do you hear me, Lord!" His voice quieted. "Can you hear me, Lord? Because, you know, He's speaking to you every day."

  He moved from behind his podium and out onto the stage in front of his attentive choir. His voice rose up again. "The good man brings good things out of the good stored in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart, his mouth speaks. Luke 6:45."

  Bill nodded, and the camera showed an audience of hundreds nodding back at him. As the camera panned the crowd, I could see some of their faces wet with tears. Other people held their arms in the air, their eyes closed.

  "Now, I want you all to make a vow." Bill's voice spoke over the image of all those people undulating, weeping, and shaking for salvation. "A vow to yourselves, to God, to Faith Foundation. A vow that you will not be poor anymore." His voice rose. "That you will not be a sinner anymore. That you will give, from your own pocket, from your sinful earnings, $1,000."

  The camera cut back to him. He was standing at the edge of his stage, sweat sprinkling his face. As he walked along the edge, his tone turned conversational. "Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Bill, that's a lot of money.' But if poverty comes from sin, then how do we free ourselves from poverty?" He paused and looked out at his audience. "We atone. We make a vow. We free ourselves." A phone number and Internet address appeared at the bottom of the screen. I changed the channel, the taste of bile in my mouth.

  The last time I saw my mom she was alone. I had lunch with her near Madison Square Garden where Bill was preaching later that evening. We fought viciously about my lack of direction, churchgoing, and general usefulness to the world. I called her a drunk (which she hasn't been for years), and she called me a sinner (which if you read the Bible, most people are). I left, and neither of us called.

  I picked at my takeout chicken, and in the time it took me to go pee, Blue had scarfed up the rest. I laughed at the sight of him sitting bolt upright on the deflated couch with the cardboard cartons licked to a sparkle, pretending he didn't know what had happened to all that food.

  Laughing, I said, "alright, boy, time for your walk." He bounded off the couch and bolted for the door.

  A white fog hung in the dark sky. The mist dulled the glare of the streetlights. Beads of dew covered the parked cars and sparkled in the soft yellow light. Blue led the way into Prospect Park.

  As soon as I let him off leash, he bounced down the paved path. The gently rolling lawn glowed a silver green. The man-made forest was a wall of blackness. The fog hung low above us. We wandered onto smaller trails and roamed through the trees, up steps to the top of the biggest hill, then down and around the lake that glimmered in the night's light.

  Three men sat on a bench. They wore rags and suckled on bottles in brown paper bags. One stood up, unsteady. He opened his mouth to speak, a naughty smile playing in his rummy eyes. Blue stepped out of the shadows, where he had been investigating an interesting smell, and moved to my side, falling in step with me. Fear twisted the man's smirk into a grimace. He stumbled back to his friends, whispering, "Devil." The three men cowered on the bench as Blue and I passed. We walked home with our heads held high, afraid of nothing and nobody.

  The Black Widow Saperstein

  The next morning Blue and I headed to the bodega for a cup of coffee and the paper. I tied Blue up out front (hoping that he would not attack any douche bags while I was inside) and walked through the flaps of plastic that keep the cool air in and the hot air out. "Morning," I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled and waved, her long nails were painted in glitter and shown under the fluorescent lights. Making my way over to the coffee machine, I poured a fresh cup, added two creamers and a packet of sugar, then yawned.

  The headline of the Post: "Black Widow Arrested in Upper East Side Slaying" was a slap in my sleepy face. I grabbed up the paper dumbfounded. There was a photograph of Jacquelyn being escorted by Mulberry out of her building, her eyes down, her hair falling in strings around her face. I could make out a blurry Julen in the background looking, well, he looked fucking broken.

  The Detective's jaw was set in a hard line and he wasn't looking at the camera either. He seemed to be concentrating real hard on where his feet were headed. I paid for the paper, the coffee, and one of the slices of banana bread they keep by the register for suckers like me.

  I read the paper walking down the street. Blue barked, and I looked up to see that I was about to walk gut first into a parking meter. "Good dog," I said and ruffled his ears. I folded the paper under my arm until I got back to my stoop.

  "The Black Widow claims to be innocent but the police refused to be caught up in her web of lies," the Post intoned. A woman matching Mrs. Saperstein's description was seen leaving the scene of the crime during the early hours that the murder occurred. Mrs. Saperstein was the only beneficiary on his life insurance. She did not have an alibi and her husband's infidelity gave her a classic motive. They didn't even mention the possibility of the dead dog. But somehow, some way, I just didn't think she did it. Sick, I thought.

  That's Sexy

  There are two mirrors at my place. Both came with the apartment. One's full-length and can be found in any dollar store throughout the city. The other's in my bathroom; it shows only from my waist up and is very high quality. The full-length mirror's closest light source is an exposed bulb that once had a shade but now just sticks out of the wall. The bathroom mirror is lit by vanity lights all the way around it. I looked completely different in these two mirrors.

  The full length makes my hips look funny, and I often find myself contemplating what not to eat while examining my reflected image. The other makes my face look great, but I constantly wonder if my shoes really match my outfit. Sometimes I try and lift my foot up to my waist to see if they match but it never helps. Before going out, I usually run between these two mirrors attempting to decide whether I am presentable to the world. But I always look great in one and ridiculous in the other. That's exactly what I was doing when James called.

  "Did you see the paper," he asked.

  "Yeah, crazy right?" I walked into my kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.

  "Do you think she did it?"

  "No," I said without hesitation.

  "Really? Because she looks awfully guilty. Did you read the Post?"

  "Come on, you don't believe the P
ost do you?" I said.

  James laughed. "No, I do like fucking with you though. But seriously, why don't you think she did it."

  "I don't know. I get that she looks really guilty, but I just don't think she did it." I finished my water and put the empty glass in the sink.

  "What are you up to tonight?" James asked.

  "I'm going out on a date."

  "Oooh, with who?"

  "That cop, Officer Doyle."

  "Shut up!"

  I walked back into my bedroom and examined my closet. It was a mess. "I know, but I don't have anything to wear."

  "What's his first name?" James asked.

  "Ha, you know what? I don't know."

  "You don't know his first name?"

  "Nope," I said.

  "How mysterious."

  I laughed. "It's pretty funny."

  "Funny and sexy," James said.

  "Shut up."

  "Where are you guys going?"

  "I don't know yet." I pulled a pair of jeans out of my closet, then threw them back because I knew they made my thighs look wide.

  "What about that seafood place you love?"

  "I'm waiting to see if he has any ideas." I looked in the full-length mirror at me wearing a T-Shirt and my underwear. "Will you come over and help me pick out an outfit."

  James laughed. "I'd love to, but I've got to get work done."

  "But it's Saturday," I whined.

  "I know that. Hugh is out to brunch with Pat and Chris, and here I am surrounded by moving boxes, trying to figure out how to convince people to buy more shit."

  "When will you be done?"

  "Never."

  "Come on, I need your help. I hate all my clothes." I pulled out a pair of shorts I hadn't worn since the early oughts. "I should really throw some of this stuff away."

  "What time is your date?"

  "I don't know yet, but I'm guessing around seven." I picked up a black shirt. It was covered in Blue's hair. "Shit."

  "What?"

  "This damn dog has covered everything I own in hair." I looked over at Blue snoring on my bed.

  "Welcome to the wonderful world of animal companionship."

  "Come over."

  "I'll try to get there by six."

  "But--"

  "Have several outfits ready, so I just have to choose. I am not rooting through your closet. That is your job."

  "Fine." I hung up the phone and returned to the disaster I lovingly called my wardrobe.

  Doyle texted that he'd pick me up at 7:15. At 6:15 James showed up. He took one look at the outfits I'd laid out on the bed and sighed. "Will you never learn," he muttered and then headed to the closet. He pulled out a blue and white sundress that made me look just sweet as pie. "Put this on," he said.

  "You don't think it's too cutesy for a first date?"

  James rolled his eyes. "No such thing."

  He was right. The dress looked perfect; it pushed up my boobs and stayed tight to my waist, where it flared out into a full and bouncy skirt. And it was covered in little white flowers. Who doesn't like small white flowers? By the time we managed to duct tape all of Blue's hair off me and do my hair and makeup, we had 15 minutes to spare.

  "OK, you have to leave now," I said to James. "Before he gets here."

  James laughed. "The only reason I agreed to come over was to meet this cute cop."

  "But I don't want him to think that--"

  "What is he going to think?"

  "That you're here to check him out."

  "That is why I'm here. You got anything to drink?" James asked moving toward the kitchen. Blue hopped off the bed and followed him.

  "I'm not giving you a drink. I want you to leave," I said following them.

  James found a half bottle of wine on the counter. "How old is this?"

  "Too old. You don't want it. Now leave."

  He pulled out the cork and smelled it. "Oh, this is fine. Joy, you should not lie." He clucked his tongue and pulled two glasses out of the cabinet. I gave up and accepted the glass of wine he offered me. "To your date," James said, then clinked his glass against mine. I took a sip, and the doorbell rang. I jumped and spilled wine on the floor as Blue started barking and scampered out of the kitchen. "I'll get it," James said and dashed into the hall before I had a chance to recover.

  "Hi, I'm Joy's brother, James," I heard him yell over the barking. "Shut up Blue."

  "Declan Doyle. That's a big dog."

  I took a deep breath and came out from the kitchen. James was bent over using his free hand to hold Blue back. Doyle was looking down at my dog, concern resting above his eyebrows. Blue was no longer barking, but a deep rumble was emanating through his closed mouth. A mouth that it appeared James was holding shut.

  "Hi," I said.

  Doyle looked up and smiled. "You look gorgeous," he said. His big warm eyes were making me melt just a little bit.

  "Please come in," James said, moving aside and dragging Blue with him. Declan didn't move as he watched Blue's hackles raise.

  "We should really go," I said.

  "Well, if you must," James said, struggling to keep his wine from spilling and at the same time look casual holding Blue's muzzle shut. I grabbed my purse off the hall table and moved past them.

  "Don't worry, I'll take care of him," James said motioning toward Blue.

  "Thanks," I said. James mouthed "He is super cute," as the door closed. I turned to Declan and we both smiled.

  The Truth Comes Out

  We went to a bar named Sun-deck, a short walk from my apartment. It does not have a sundeck, but it has a backyard and excellent Sangria. Declan opened the door for me and ordered a pitcher of white sangria (without asking my opinion), then lead me to a quite table in the garden.

  As we walked through the room women swiveled their heads to look at the man walking with me. It wasn't that he was so good looking; there was just something about the way that he moved. It was almost like watching a tiger or some other large creature with no natural enemies walk through his stomping grounds.

  Declan paid no mind to his admirers. He kept his eyes on me and his hand in the small of my back, steering me through the space. When we sat down, he pulled out my chair for me. I could not help but smile. This guy was not normal.

  The yard was strung with colorful lanterns. Declan's creamy white shirt glowed softly against his tan skin. The waitress arrived with our pitcher and filled our glasses, smiling at Declan the whole time. When he took his glass from her, I saw a beautiful gold watch peek out from under his cuff.

  When I looked at his face, he was smiling at me. The waitress left and Declan pulled up his sleeve to show me the watch. "It was my great-grandfather's."

  "It's beautiful," I said, then sipped my drink. The sangria was delicate and not too sweet. I could just make out the flavor of brandy.

  "Thanks," he smiled sweetly. "He was a bootlegger."

  "Really?" I laughed. "How did he feel about you becoming a cop?"

  "He was fine with it. I have enough brothers and cousins to run the family business."

  "They're still bootleggers?" I joked.

  "Close we have liquor stores all over the region."

  "Sounds like a fun family."

  Declan laughed. "I guess we know how to have a good time."

  "So how did you become a cop?"

  Declan smiled. "How'd you become a dog walker?"

  "Ah, I see, it's my turn." He bit his lip and nodded. "A friend of a friend knew of a friend with a dog-walking business for sale."

  "It's that simple?"

  "I guess," I shrugged. "Walking dogs is something I'm naturally good at. You should see me walk Blue. I'm excellent."

  Declan laughed. He bit his lip again but didn't say anything. He was dead sexy, which raised alarm bells. Nice boys are not this sexy. "What about you? Coppery your life's passion?"

  He laughed, a deep rumble. "Coppery, I like that."

  "I like making up words."

&n
bsp; "I bet. I'm very passionate about my work," he said, lowering his voice. "I absolutely love what I do."

  "Wow. I don't know anyone who loves what they do." I leaned toward him, interested.

  He leaned toward me closing the gap between us to about six inches. "It started out that I really wanted to help people. You know, step between the abusive husband and his poor wife, stop the burglary in progress. I pictured returning purses to pretty young ladies like you all day." He laughed softly and reached his hand out casually taking mine in his. He played with my fingers as he continued. "But, as you might suspect, there is a lot more paperwork than that." I laughed. "Now, what I love about it is working with my brothers and sisters in blue--the camaraderie, the collective will to do good. I really like working in that environment."

  "Even working with guys like Mulberry?" I asked remembering what Marcia had told me about his rumored violent behavior.

  "Girl, you're going to get me in trouble."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "You really are gorgeous." He reached out and pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear and then left his hand resting on my cheek.

  "Trying to change the subject," I teased.

  He sat back laughing and picked up his drink. I took a slug of mine too. It was cold but did little to cool me off. "Mulberry and I were partners," he said.

  "Really?"

  "Until the incident." He raised his eyebrows.

  "I've heard rumors," I said.

  "This was years ago, when I first joined the force. Mulberry was my senior officer. We shared a car. His father is a decorated officer, you know. He died a hero. A lot of people in the department give Mulberry leeway because of his Dad. But I regret to say the son is nothing like the father."

  "Did you know his Dad?"

  "Everyone did. He was one of my instructors at the academy, and he stayed involved with his students once they entered the force. He helped get me hooked up with his son. I was really excited to be working with him. But it didn't take long for me to see that Mulberry was crooked."

  "Crooked? How?"

  Declan leaned toward me and quieted his voice. "I never saw him take money from anyone, but the guy had a lot nicer things than his salary would afford."