Unusual Suspects

1

Beginning

I TURTLE DEEPER INTO MY CHEAP TRENCH COAT AND SQUINT into the rain using Scowl™ #1.

The Scowl™ I’ve chosen, one of my all-time favorites, involves my interpretation of the expression Clint Eastwood makes throughout the movie The Outlaw Josey Wales. It consists of steely-eyed determination mixed with revulsion at the whole gaddurn human race.

The wind is exceptionally cold tonight, colder than I remember it ever being in Manhattan this late into March. As I move along 75th Street toward Broadway, the rain zappas to snow and then to ice; feels like weasels ripping my flesh.

I find my car finally and get in and start it up, staying hunched while the heat takes its gaddurn sweet time to kick in. I keep my hands dug deep into my pockets and my head down, collar up around my ears, breathing into my coat, and wait. My breath is hot and provides an illusion of warmth for the rest of my body.

After a few minutes, the windows clear enough for me to pull out and be on my way. The wipers slap at the windshield, chasing rain drops and sleet. I stare ahead as if it’s all a dream, watching the lights of the city at 3 AM reflect in distorted beams on my windshield.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this bad, this beaten up. I have a sick feeling in my stomach and I have the feeling the feeling isn’t going away anytime soon.

I make Scowl™ #2: Lips puckered à la Officer John McClane as played by the versatile actor Bruce Willis in his Die Hards. Disgust gets in my eyes like smoke; hopelessness fills my heart like bile — heart bile, if there’s such a thing.

2

Timing

(FOUR HOURS EARLIER)

IF YOU LET EVIL SNEAK UP ON you, you have no chance. That’s why I carry a gun, a Puma® Model 92 Bounty Hunter lever action .45 Colt pistol, and she’s seen it all before.

She being Marie. That’s what she calls herself and in a way she’s my alter ego, like Bruce Wayne had Batman. I attract trash, she cleans it up. Three rounds of backup on me at all times. If the shooting starts, I don’t want to be the first to be out of bullets. Who would?

Tonight, Aileen (my girl, not my gun; don’t know why I added those quotes) and I sit in silence in the gloom of a theater, holding each other, engulfed in the warm presence of each other’s love. My arm surrounds her shoulders, like I’m providing a protective wall against harm. Because danger is everywhere. I live and breathe it. The only way to defeat it — no, scratch that — to keep it at bay, is to be always and forever alert. To meet it head-on and well-prepared.

The film blinks in alternating bright and dark flashes as the story unfolds until the credits run. As the show ends, we get up and leave the theater together, out into the cold night. She clasps my bicep between her two small hands and leans her head against my shoulder.

Good show, don’t you think? I say, my voice too naturally gruff, though I try to make it sound gentler. The ending was a surprise.

Yeah, she says with a sigh. Nice.

Nice? The good guy got there too late to save the girl. How’s that nice?

He loved her, she says, a small, sweet smile growing on her face. More than anything. And he tried, that’s all that matters. He was ready to give up his life for hers, do anything to save her. Anyway, I like the way she looked at him so lovingly after she died, from heaven or another dimension or whatever that was supposed to be. Didn’t you think that was sweet?

I gaze down at her with a smile as we walk along and shake my head in disbelief.

Somehow, she chose me: Mr. Unlucky.

We stroll along until we reach the car and I guide her in to the passenger seat, making sure she’s safe and secure. Then I shut the door for her and make my way over to the driver’s side.

But before I get in, I glance around. Studying everyone walking by, in front, and behind. Every car. Every window. Always looking for the threat. I do this with Scowl™ #12: Arnold in Terminator 2 (the second one): Judgment Day. You know, with the stiff jaw and the squinty sideways glances.

Someone across the street: did they pull back into the shadows just now? You oughta know not to stand by the window, somebody see you up there, as the man said. I wait expecting to see some other movement, but nothing happens.

With the sense that everything is, in fact, A-okay, I hop into the driver’s seat at last and start the engine. I give Aileen a reassuring grin and gently place my hand on her bare leg.

She smiles back with a killer dimple and bats her eyes at me a couple of times. It’s murder, I tell you, pure murder.

I pull away and navigate toward home, the sky clear, a bright moon to guide the way. I’m checking traffic, I’m watching road conditions, I’m in control.

3

Driving

(NOW)

MY PHONE RINGS AS I HEAD UPTOWN THROUGH THE sleet, the road slick with rain, reflecting the bright downtown lights. I push a button on the wheel.

Vavides, I say into thin air, my phone connected by Bluetooth.

Sal? Claeg. How’re you doing?

What do you think?

Right. Dumb question. We’re at your apartment. You’re not in it.

No, I’m not.

Can I ask why, considering I told you to do nothing but wait for me?

It’s Aileen, for gadsakes, Claeg. I involuntarily pull out Scowl™ #8, which is basically my ‘Really? Are you really this stupid?’ face.

I understand, Sal, Claeg goes on. Just the same, we need to work as a team.

I get that, I say, mumbling into the ether.

What you don’t do is run off on your own. Where are you, by the way?

Uptown.

How far uptown?

Harlem.

Why Harlem?

Look at the note on the door.

We did. Got it bagged for prints.

No, look at it real closely. Her printing is on it, too. He had her write down the address. Wants me to be there.

Why, for chrissake?

To witness. To watch him kill her.

There’s no sound on the other end.

Finally: Ferk.

I know what you’re thinking, I say. She’s already dead.

More silence.

Or that there’s only minutes to spare. I know that. I just don’t want to think either one of those scenarios.

Okay, Sal, slow up. Don’t do this alone. We’ll catch up with you. We’re leaving now. Pull over and wait for us. We’ll arrive at the location together, in force.

I don’t feel the need to say anything. Ridiculous request. I’m at least fifteen minutes ahead of him. Scowl™ #14: You ferkin’ kidding me?! It involves the mouth pulled back, one side curled up; brows knitted. He continues: Hold on. Hold on. The note here says 1348 West 128th Street. I know that location. It’s a park and tennis courts now.

Well, that’s where he’s got her, then.

Doesn’t make sense. You know, wait a minute, let me check . . . He’s silent for a minute. Yeah, there’s another location with that same address. But it’s not in Harlem. It’s Marble Hill.

I consider this for a second, shaken. No-man’s land. I look at my watch. That adds at least ten more minutes. Well, I misinterpreted the address, Claeg. Thanks for setting me straight. Catch up to me as soon as you can.

Sal, don’t be a hero.

I hang up. Icy raindrops on the windshield make it harder to see, make the blades nearly useless. Or maybe it’s tears misting my eyes. Only I’m not a tears-get-in-your-eyes kind of guy.

Scowl™ #43 installs itself on my face without warning: Disgust at signs of weakness. It’s the face you make when you smell something rotten.

4

Loving

(THREE HOURS EARLIER)

OUR APARTMENT ON WEST 75TH STREET IS nothing too assuming, nor is it anything to shake a stick at. After just ten years on the force, I’m finally earning enough to live in a manner in which I’m unaccustomed. That, and Aileen’s more substantial salary lets us live in what I consider luxury. But then, I’ve never been the fussy type.

I slide the keycard across the slot, wait for the ping and the click, and push the door aside as we enter.

The view of New York City from the 8th floor (it’s not much, just a slice of view, but it’s still NYC) can still take my breath away, even if it’s just for one fleeting second.

We hang our coats in the closet by the door, while we make small talk. Aileen continues on in while I remove my heavy shoes in the front hall. As I do so, I study her.

Silky black hair in a blunt cut that stops a couple of inches above her shoulders. Small neck displaying a thin gold necklace that says HOPE at the end, accented with a tiny diamond. She also wears a long string of pearls tonight, which plays off her jet black hair just right. The skin on her cheeks smooth as marble, with just the perfect amount of freckles.

She wears a tight skirt, short but somehow demure at the same time. Long legs that flow into towering heels, which she kicks off as I gaze at her. She steps down to the rug, one foot at a time.

I snap off the hall light like a sentry ending his watch, and walk quietly to her. I hug her from behind, covering her body almost completely, she’s so small, and pull her against me. We sway as one silently. She leans back and we kiss, soft kisses of affection at first. Then hard, passionate kisses of desire as she turns to face me.

I pluck at her buttons and unzip her skirt. She wriggles out of it and lets it fall to the floor. She tosses her blouse to the couch as we leave the living room.

In the bedroom, the only illumination comes from outside, as if the moon and stars watch over our small piece of heaven. By the light of the silvery moon, we make love both tender and dirty. I kiss her over and over, and she kisses me back. The sensation of being naked together is so good, I don’t want the night to end. Neither does she, I suspect. But it does, at last, and we doze off, wrapped in each other’s arms. Safe in our castle, and so completely free from harm.

5

Timing 2

(NOW, AGAIN)

THE RAIN INCREASES IN SAVAGERY THE FURTHER ALONG I drive. As does my imagination’s output of what might be happening to Aileen. I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white and my palms sweat.

At last, I’m near. I can’t read most of the building numbers, but I know I’m close. I pull over.

I get out and lock the car, patting my weapon, Maria, unobtrusively as I do so.

I look about, as I’m trained to do, as my instincts tell me to do. I’ve been observing everything the whole way here, despite my distracted mind.

The block is abandoned. Cold rain and the fact the night is pretty much over has cleared the streets.

I move, watching for numbers on the properties as I do so. Empty warehouses, abandoned tenements.

I listen to every sound, scrutinize every shadow. Even so, I notice nothing that alerts me. A cat passes me, heading south on the opposite sidewalk. It stares at me and hisses, as if to say, You don’t belong here. A counter with Scowl™ #22: Tell me something I don’t know. A dead tree I walk under creaks its warning, you have lost everything, it seems to say. I tense and keep listening, even though every message I seem to receive is bad news.

Then I catch it through the beating of the rain and the rolling thunder. It’s faint, but it’s there: a muffled scream.

The next building right ahead is dark, a medieval castle of a structure rising up out of the mist. Plywood boards cover the first floor windows and doors. They are rotten, gray, and moldy and the layers of plywood peal at the corners. Graffiti covers some of the panels. Others are partially torn away from the side of the building.

Your basic abandoned building. Your standard firetrap. Your classic  druggy hideout.

I pull my weapon — you know, Marie — and run as fast as I can on the ice-slick sidewalk.

I hear another scream, this one louder.

I sprint from the front to the side, looking for any sign of an opening. Nothing.

Another cry, this one horrible, blood-curdling. I’ve never heard Aileen scream, but somehow I recognize it’s her.

I dash around to the back of the building, down a narrow alley.

A set of cracked concrete steps heads down to a lower landing filled with filth in the shadows and the dark. I take my flashlight out and shine the light into the pit.

The garbage is old and has no doubt been rotting here for months, years.

I navigate the mess as I make my way down the slimy stairs.

I can make out an indent mark in the soggy cardboard up against the rusty metal door as I get closer.

The door has been used. Recently.

I hurry down. Urine and musty mold. The sweet smell of varnish mixed with kerosene and motor oil. There are a few beer bottles and cans scattered around.

I try the door. Locked.

Outside, someone kicks a can. Off in the distance a dog barks. The wind whistles in the wires above the street.

One more scream comes from somewhere far beyond the steel door.

I pound on the door with all my might, beating at it, kicking it.

I step back and fire a shot at the door lock, then another, and another.

Then I move back to the door and tug at it. It shakes free and creaks open in my hands.

I yank it hard, pulling against the door’s weight while the pressure created by piles of garbage compressing between the wall and the door pushes back.

I jump inside as soon as there is the least possible amount of room for me to fit through. It’s black and stinks of animal piss. I creep into the hallway and peer out into the dark corridor. There’s no sound, so signs of movement.

I’m tempted for a second to wait for backup, like Claeg requested, but in a single second I play every horrible scenario in my mind and decide waiting’s too risky. I shake my head and draw a long breath.

I shine my flashlight down the hall to the left and across to the right. There’s only one path, leading to the right, and I take it, running fast in the dark. As I run, I think of how I will kill him. Pray that Aileen will stay safe, that everything will go