The small gesture made Stacey open up.
“At the gallery opening for this young up and coming artist at the ZuCot,” Stacey said. “I was still smoking at the time, sneaking one here and there so Wyatt wouldn’t smell the smoke on me. I was out back of the gallery in the alley to take a drag when I heard the cry. I followed the sound to find the noise. Fluffernutter, that’s the cat’s name. She was under a dumpster, so I got down on my hands and knees to get her out, and that’s when I saw him hurting the helpless girl.”
Jeffrí touched Stacey’s hand, asking, “Hurting Fluffernutter?”
“No, the woman,” Stacey said, her eyes growing distant again. “The woman was crying, begging for help. I saw her eyes when he stabbed her, and I screamed.”
Wyatt jumped to his feet, but Tom, pulled him back down in the seat. Jeffrí continued to press on, focusing on the cat and not the act Stacey had witnessed. If she kept Stacey’s focus on Fluffernutter, the rest became background noise to the motion picture replaying in her head.
“You and Fluffernutter must have been terrified,” Jeffrí said. “Did the man see you and the kitty?”
“Yes,” Stacey said with her bottom lip trembling. “Fluffernutter began caterwauling like nobody’s business, and it scared the man off because other people started coming into the alley. I wasn’t sure if he could see all of me. I clung to the kitty and brought her home. She saved my life.”
“Fluffernutter is lucky to have you as a cat mommy, Stacey,” Jeffrí said softly. “I’ll bet you were scared the bad man was going to come after you and your baby. Did he see your face?”
“It was dark, but if he came to find me or Flutternutter, we were going to be ready,” she said. “I got Fluffernutter a friend. Then another and another. Finally, I had enough friends that if he did find me, he would have to go through my protectors first. You know Egyptians believed cats were the Guardians of the Dead.”
Jeffrí patted her hand. “That legend was only in the movies. In actual Egypt, the traits of the cats, which killed snakes, were held in high regard by the Pharaohs. The cats were actually buried with some of the rulers to protect them in the afterlife as well. You should consider going and maybe visiting the temple of Bastet, but first you really need a shower.”
Stacey bent her head and sniffed at her armpits. “You might be right. I thought it was all the cats. These little fuckers can be stinky.”
“Imagine how your friend Catherine feels. She gave you a place to stay while you figured out your next steps, and now her house smells like cat shit. You’re lucky she hasn’t put you out,” Jeffrí said offering her another soft smile. “Here’s a thought, and it’s just a thought. If you find homes for some of Fluffernutter’s brothers and sisters, you could travel a bit. Get out of the house, maybe find your own place.”
“I would love to travel,” Stacey said, “but I’m so scared. That bad man is still out there. He’s probably still hurting women.”
“Being afraid is not an answer. Hiding in the house is not an answer,” Jeffrí said touching the scar on her cheek. “The first time the bandages came off my face, I screamed. I was too afraid to leave the house, and for six months, I had my groceries delivered because going out and having people look at me terrified the life out of me. Dating was off the menu and I hid. Hiding isn’t living, Stacey.”
“I’m tired of living here,” she said softly, looking at Catherine.
“Then get up, wash all the filthy thoughts away, get dressed, and get to living,” Jeffrí said. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t need anyone’s permission to rehome 19 cats and keep one in a simple two-bedroom apartment.”
“I like you,” Stacey said, passing her a black cat. “You can take this one.”
Jeffrí smiled at her, passing the cat back, “Honey, I can’t keep plants alive, so the last thing you ever want to do is give me a live mammal and expect me to care for it. The thing will be dead in less than a week.”
“Good. I bequeath you Wyatt,” Stacey said with a wry smile. Jeffrí and she both turned to look at him. He didn’t seem to find her joke humorous at all, frowning at Stacey.
“Funny, but what’s next for you?” Jeffrí asked.
“Shower, call my Mom, and then see what I can do to get moving again,” she said. “I guess hiding here won’t keep me safe.”
“It can keep you safe if you stay, but staying will also keep you a prisoner,” Jeffrí said. “No one wants to be imprisoned, not in their own minds or in a house where they were invited for shelter but wore out their welcome.”
“I guess the cats are a bit much, huh?”
“Yeah, Catherine’s a really good friend. I would’ve kicked you out a long time ago,” Jeffrí said to Stacey.
“Thanks. That’s the most upfront anyone has been with me in the past six years. Everyone is always talking to me as if I’m somebody to be pitied. I just couldn’t say what I saw,” she told her. “It would have been like putting a target on my back. How’d you know?”
Jeffrí weighed her words carefully before speaking. “I knew because after my injury, everyone treated me with kid’s gloves as if I were going to break down,” she replied. “What made it worse was that I let their pity hold me hostage, and I sat in it for three years, licking my wounds and afraid that someone would recoil at seeing my face. One day, when my bank account said get your ass out of this house, I took my scar as a badge of honor. I’m still very self-conscious about it, but plastic surgery will only make it worse. You can see the keloids around the edges of the skin graft?”
“You’re so brave,” Stacey said reaching over to touch the bruised skin. Surprisingly, Jeffrí allowed the woman the liberty which she didn’t permit her own family to do.
“No, I’m a survivor and so are you,” Jeffrí said, getting to her feet. “I would hug you, but you’re kind of stinky.”
“Oh yeah, that. Shower. Cats. Get on with my life,” Stacey said.
“Find a tether to guide you back,” Jeffrí said.
“Is Wyatt your tether?’
Jeffrí smiled at her. “No, Wyatt is my friend.”
STACEY DISAPPEARED down the hall, followed by at least 10 cats, which prompted Wyatt to make a comment about the smell of tuna, which got him smacked by Catherine.
“Why’d you hit me? Cats are following her down the hall. The woman needs to wash her kitty,” he said with bugged out eyes.
She ignored the taunt but focused on what brought them over to her home. She knew it wasn’t to talk about cat care. “You two, what are you up to?” Catherine said.
“I found a pattern in the Jane Doe files,” Jeffrí said. “It’s too soon to make any assumptions at this point, but Stacey may have been the only person to see the man who could be killing women in the downtown area. Once a month, three women, third weekend of the month.”
“Wow, three days on the job and you discover a potential serial killer in Atlanta?” Catherine said. “You need to be on the news desk.”
“No, she needs to write her memoirs of her time in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Wyatt said.
“Or I could start my own website and break the stories I want to break,” Jeffrí said. “I would need a lot of stories to get it up and running and staying ahead of the news cycle.”
Tom, who had said very little, looked up from his mug of coffee. “You could start a serial killer website. Work hand-in-hand with the FBI to create a website of the non-famous ones? The killer next-door type,” he said.
“Now you may be on to something there,” Jeffrí said smiling at him. “Thank you both for letting us barge in on your Saturday morning.”
“No, thank you for getting her to shower,” Catherine said. “And I’m sorry. I misjudged you both. Forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive,” Wyatt said, shaking both their hands and escorting Jeffrí out the door. His mind was pinging with ideas for Jeffrí’s book, a potential website on serial killers and the beauty of the vibe between them. “What next, Ms. Investigator
?”
“I’m thinking of making Halloween come early,” she said, with a wink.
“What?”
“I’m Halloween, and candy corn is my middle name,” Jeffrí added with a laugh.
“Lady, I like you more and more by the minute,” Wyatt offered. “My place or yours?”
“Yours since my car is still at your place, plus your tub can hold two people,” Jeffrí said. “I also like your bed. I didn’t have a night terror last night.”
“It because we were cuddling,” he said. “I like to cuddle. A lot.”
For Jeffrí, all of it was happening too fast. The sex was phenomenal, she had a great night of sleep, and he actually liked to cook. She was tempted to quit the job but not dumb enough to walk away from the man, “What does this mean, Wyatt?”
“It can mean whatever you want,” he said. “Move in. Marry me, be my plus one, your call. If you don’t want to get married, we can just play it by ear.”
The offer was tempting, especially after living alone for three years, she chuffed out her response, “Yeah right. I still have a mortgage.”
“Rent your place, live at mine, pocket the difference, write your book, and develop your website. You decide,” he said. “I don’t care as long as I can come home to you.”
“It would mean that I would have to quit my temp job as your sub. Are you willing to let me go?”
“I’m never letting you go, just trading the blue sweater for one better,” he said. “You were amazing with Stacey. All the years, and in one sitting you got it out of her. I feel like I failed her, and now I’m asking you to move in with me.”
“I’m not Stacey and I’ll need to think about my next steps. This weekend, I want to just enjoy the company and companionship,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind going to see a movie later today.”
“I can do that,” Wyatt said.
“You’re going to have to do that because a sister is broke as hell,” she said, chuckling. “I had this cool temp job at a local paper, but my boss kept sticking his dick in me, so it’s all awkward now.”
“You must have been a rather yummy sub for him to risk his career to do such a dis-dickable thing,” Wyatt replied.
“Man, you don’t even know the half,” she said, fastening her seat belt.
SIX MONTHS LATER
Jeffrí Jones had become hot news. A reporter working in the Obituary Section of the Atlanta Herald and built a website on homeless victims who became residents of the Atlanta-Fulton County Morgue. The whole angle with the serial killer in Atlanta had been a bust, but good fodder for the Mayor to address the homeless crisis in the city. The phones rang off the hook in the basement offices of the paper, reporters wanting an interview with the former Field Journalist who had disappeared after the tragic accident that left her disfigured. Job offers poured in, wanting to put her back on the news.
Politely, she refused them all.
Her belly had begun to get slightly round from the pregnancy of her first child and the last thing she wanted or needed was the stress of deadlines. Besides, she loved her job researching the Jane Does. So much so, she’d created an online database of the unclaimed loved ones complete with photos, in case anyone was looking for a lost family member. Advertisers poured in as well as advocates for the homeless, providing a much-needed revenue stream.
C-Mo, her famous friend the actress, was in town working on two new movie projects. She was the perfect person to rent Jeffrí’s home which she happily handed her the keys. The photos of Jeffrí’s journalistic life which graced the walls were taken down, and moved to her new home office at Wyatt’s place. Although he’d proposed, Jeffrí had yet to accept his offer, but decided instead to play it by ear. It worked out well for all involved.
Wyatt appeared at her office door, tapping lightly on the frame. “Ms. Jones, I’m headed out for the evening. Dinner is at seven.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good night,” she replied.
Somehow, and Catherine was pleased, the two had managed to keep a professional relationship at work, and no one was the wiser about their association. She was even more pleased that Jeffrí had taken the fulltime position in the Obits Section, filling the empty position and bringing attention to the work done in the Department.
More than anything, she loved the contentment she saw in Wyatt. She’d never seen him happier. In her estimation, at the end of the day, the real story always started at home, a home she was happy to reach each evening since it no longer was loaded with cats. Stacey, in full-blown therapy, had taken a part time job at an art gallery in Kennesaw and renting a new apartment that allowed her to keep her favorite two cats.
In a few months, Catherine would be a godmother to Wyatt and Jeffrí’s little boy and she took pride in the responsibility. She also took pride in monthly dinners with the two, offering balance back to her life as well. A friendship she never expected to have with two people she grew to respect a great deal.
Wyatt didn’t waste any time claiming Jeffrí Jones as his own in which Catherine had also become grateful, realizing her life too had become stale and unmoving flowing in one direction without variation. Each week, they rotated homes to share lively dinner conversations, littered with bits of history, discussion on art, and even literature. The discussion went to movies one evening, and Catherine’s husband Tom enjoyed the conversations immensely and nearly fell over in his seat when Jeffrí surprised them all and brought her friend C-Mo to dinner, along with her co-star, the very handsome international movie icon Henri Gouveia.
Wyatt commented, “He’s handsome, suave and all international. Would you have ever dated that kind of man?”
“Am I sensing a bit of jealously in your tone Wyatt?” She asked caressing his arm. “I mean, there’s no need for any of that considering my belly being swollen with your child.”
“Oh yeah, there is that little matter,” he replied touching her stomach. “Jeffrí, I can’t even tell you how much our life together means to me. I love you with every vowel in my soul.”
“Yes, and you loved me enough to clean up your mouth in bed,” she said, leaning in for a kiss.
Wyatt embraced her fully, wrapping his arms around her waist as far as his limbs could reach in her current condition. In her ear he whispered the nastiest, most ungentlemanly thing to say to a pregnant woman as he slipped three kernels of candy corn into her hands. He stepped back and waggled his brows.
For the oddest reason, she couldn’t figure out why his raunchy words excited her so much, but she was ready for the guests to go home so she could be alone with the man. A man of many words, in just the right order, to elicit the perfect reaction from his lady.
“Damn, I love you Wyatt,” she mumbled, itching to get out of her clothing and play his new favorite game, find the candy corn.
“Right back at you Jeffrí,” he said, as he escorted their guest to the door. Satisfied everyone was out of earshot, he looked about for Jeffrí, who’d taken off to the bedroom with her three kernels, hiding them somewhere on her body. It was their newest favorite game, and he knew the perfect three spots on her body to search. “Ready or not, here I cum!”
- The End -
Messy Mandy Presents the Lunchtime Chronicles
Red Light Special
Lunchtime Chronicles Issue 8
November 20, 2019
By Reana Malori
Red Light Special © copyright 2019 Reana Malori
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Chapter 1
Mercy
STANDING OUTSIDE HER car, Mercy looked at the large cabin in front of her. Her mouth opened in awe and a large smile slowly came over her features. “This place is fucking amazing,” she whispered into the cool, brisk air. Slapping her hands together, to ward off the fall chill, she opened the back door to her red Crossover™ and pulled out her suitcases. Reaching back inside, she grabbed the bags of groceries, filling her arms, as she turned to the large cabin that would be her hideaway.
Two weeks. All by herself. Relaxation. Reading. Recuperation.
After working her ass off for two years without a break, she’d put in for a well-deserved vacation. Finally. Making her way to the front porch, she climbed the stairs carrying the bags of food. She’d grab her luggage once she got the door open. Following the instructions given to her by Kane Hansen, her best friend’s new man, she went to the potted plant on the front porch and picked it up. There was a hidden compartment in the bottom of the pot, which held the keys to the house.
When he’d offered her the use of a cabin he sometimes used for weekend getaways, she’d been leery about accepting. At the time he offered, he’d been dating her friend Joy for only a few months. Even Kane and Joy hadn’t known how things were going to play out for them, but they’d gotten lucky. Now, months later, her best friend and her fine ass boyfriend were fucking like rabbits every day, head over heels in love with each other. They even worked together now that Kane and his best friend Bobby Cooke had started their own law firm. Of course, Joy was right there by his side, running shit along with them.
Lunchtime Chronicles: A Yummy Sub Page 7
