Steve’s shorts: The Stalker, Part Two…
The Stalker
Part Two
Copyright 2019, Steven M. Moore
“I turn my heat down to sixty at night,” Mary Lou said after Raul arrived, studied the emails, and reiterated his intentions of sleeping on the rug in front of her door. “Let me get you a blanket. I have some sharp knives. Do you want a weapon?”
He laughed. “Mary Lou, don’t worry.” He jerked a thumb towards the door. “With your door lock and two deadbolts, he’s not getting in here easily. But I’ll have my cellphone ready to dial 9-1-1 if he tries. It’s time to catch this guy.”
Is he courageous or foolish? She took one of her knives from the kitchen and put it on one nightstand, the farthest from the front door and Raul, so he wouldn’t laugh at her paranoia.
During the night, she awoke to see a shadow at her window. He’s on the fire escape! The glass broke and Raul came running. He threw open the window and surveilled the alleyway below.
“He-he was there!”
Raul picked up the brick that had smashed through the window and removed the note attached to it. They both read it:
“I, UberBatman, went a-robbin’ only to find
A pretty Catwoman who’ll soon be mine.
Green eyes will close
For this wild rose
After I’ve sliced and drank
The blood of this skank.”
“That’s awful!” Mary Lou said.
“Some of the emails were worse,” said Raul. “Now he’s writing poetry? Certainly not Keats.”
“What am I going to do?”
“First, we’ll clean up the glass. Then I’ll move your bed to the middle of the room and sleep at its foot. And tomorrow we’ll go see that detective.”
***
Detective Jerry Reid leafed through the emails, but he dwelled on the note associated with the brick. “I’m not a poetry critic, but this poem seems pretty lame. I suppose both of you handled it?” They nodded. “it’s handwritten, which might help a bit. Slants funny too, and it’s almost illegible. He could be a lefty trying to make it look a right-handed person wrote it.”
“Why is that important? And what could be his motivation?”
Reid shrugged and smiled. “His teachers slapped him for being left-handed?” He enjoyed their expressions. “Just kidding. They don’t do that anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Could be anything from playing psych games with Mary Lou here to an obsession with killing her.”
“Those aren’t motivations,” Mary Lou said. “And I’ve never pissed off anyone except my sister.”
“Where does she live?” said Reid.
“Oh, please,” said Raul.
A uniformed cop approached at that moment and whispered in Reid’s ear. He nodded.
“We caught a break,” the detective said. “We need some DNA samples from you two. There was a hair strand stuck in a rough part on the brick. If it’s not yours, it’s the perp’s…and we can check our records. Mind you, that only works if his DNA is on file.”
“He’s probably a repeat offender,” said Raul. “At least for stealing. But even if that DNA is on file for a previous crime, if it wasn’t solved, we have nothing.”
Reid frowned at Raul. “Leave the policing to us, Mr. Rivera.”
“His father was a cop,” Mary Lou said, smiling at Raul.
“Yeah? NYPD? What’s his name?”
“Was. Pablo Rivera.”
Reid shook his head. “Pablo was a great cop. I didn’t know him well, but a lot of other cops did, and only had good things to say about him. Guess he taught you something about solving crimes?”
Raul nodded. “But I want to be a public defender. He always was afraid he’d send someone off to jail who’s innocent.”
Reid nodded. “It happens. That hair might belong to a poor construction worker here for a DWI. You never know.” He showed crossed fingers. “We just hope the justice system minimizes that sort of thing.”
***
The DNA results were inconclusive. Considering his backlog, Reid decided to put the case on the backburner. Raul took Mary Lou out to dinner.
“What am I going to do?” she said to him. “That detective doesn’t want to help, and I can’t live like this.”
He nodded. “I’m sure your stalker intends to make you suffer psychologically. Can you remember anything more about him? I didn’t get a good look. I was more worried about you.”
She thought a moment. “Tattoos. Maybe lots, but I only saw the one above his ankle. It looked like a snake devouring a bird.”
“That’s a start. And I know how to follow that clue.” He showed the eagle on his shoulder; it held a flag in its talons. “A whim. The salon’s right down the street.”
“Raul, my man, you’re back,” said the tattoo artist as they entered. “What ink suits your fancy today, bro?”
“A snake eating a bird,” Mary Lou said.
The tattoo artist smiled at Raul. “You’re the snake and she’s the bird, I suppose? Lucky man. She’s quite the bird.”
Mary Lou blushed.
“Ignore Sammy. He thinks life is all about having a good time.”
“Only one life to live, Raul. Where do you want the tatt?”
“I want to see the graphic first.”
Sammy went to a counter overburdened with design books. After rummaging through a couple, he said, “Here’s one that could work.”
He showed the design to Raul. Mary Lou peered over his shoulder.
“That’s it!”
“Okay, Sammy, do you have a list of customers who’ve received this tattoo.”
“You kiddin’? I don’t keep names. You lookin’ to get some money from him? I remember faces. Describe him to me.”
“Thin, almost anorexic, pale skin, hairy leg except where the tatt was,” said Mary Lou.
Sammy thought a moment. “Yeah, I know a dude like that who got this very tatt.” He rubbed two fingers together. “What’s in it for me?”
Raul offered up a twenty-dollar bill. “All I got on me, bro.”
Sammy stared at it. Mary Lou slapped down a twenty and a ten.
“Now we’re talkin’. But I only know his first name. It’s Simon.”
Raul took the money back and handed Mary Lou her portion. “Not good enough.”
“But I know where he lives.”
They put the bills back on the counter.
***
The old, rundown apartment building wasn’t far from the tattoo parlor. There was no doorman, of course, but at least one needed to be rung in.
“We’ll wait until someone comes out,” said Raul.
“I hope that happens soon. I have to pee.”
“Nerves?”
“More likely the iced tea I had at dinner. You men can just look for an alley or bush.”
“Let’s not debate advantages and disadvantages of personal or public plumbing. Someone’s coming now.”
The tenant stopped at the bottom of stairs and examined them through the glass door. “Whatcha want?” she said.
“We’re looking for Simon,” Raul said. “I forgot his number. I’ve only been here once before.”
She opened the door. “3C. One of the back rentals.”
There was no elevator, so they climbed the stairs. Raul knocked on the door.
An old man answered.
“We’re looking for Simon,” said Raul.
The old man eyed them with suspicion. “Not me, I’m guessing. He’s my son. You cops? What’s he done now?”
“He stole my purse,” Mary Lou said.
“And you’re a cop? Don’t look like one. Ese chico was born stupid and stayed that way. You won’t find your purse inside. He takes everything out he wants and then tosses the purse. Seen him do it a few times. Mi’jo nunca apprende. Doesn’t learn. Say, you know, you look like my daughter a bit. She looked like her mom. They both hightailed it when I lost my job. Sure like to find them.”
“Can we come in?” said Raul. “We’re not cops.”
“Place is a mess. Papa bear and hijo bear’s den barely functions now without the women. But come on in.”
Simon the elder pushed two piles of magazines and newspapers off the kitchen chairs that complemented the old sofa in the living room. “I’ll sit on the sofa if you don’t mind. Old bones, you know.” After they were seated, Simon continued. “Hijo’s been getting worse the last two years. Sorry about your purse. He means well. It’s his way of contributing financially to the home finances. We don’t need it, but he wants extra things, you know. Can’t believe that’s all you came for. Why don’t the police handle it? Purse snatchings occur all the time. Worse things happen in this city. Not as many as others might think, considering the population.”
“Like stalking?” said Raul.
Simon’s chin dropped. He studied Mary Lou. “Mi’jo’s stalking you?”
“Threatening emails. Says he wants to see my blood flow. Even poetry to that effect.”
“Mi’jo’s lost his mind then. That’s bad.” He thought a moment. “He needs help. Help me get him some. His sister Jasmine nearly killed me. She’s a wild one too. Even wilder than Simon. Me and the missus fought over that. When I told my wife Jasmine should be in reform school, she slapped me, and Jasmine pushed her aside and stabbed me.”
“Geez,” Mary Lou said. “That’s awful. And I look like Jasmine?”
“Porcelain doll, like my wife too.” He winked at Raul. “We started good, like you two, but I lost my job. Got a good one now, over at the police station. Janitorial work with benefits. Can’t rein in mi hijo, though. He snapped when his mother and sister left us.”
“We’re not a couple,” said Mary Lou.
“Yet,” said Raul, smiling at her.
***
They talked some more…until the door burst open, interrupting a question Mary Lou had about the younger Simon.
“Mierda!” he said, turning to run after seeing Mary Lou.
Raul tackled him. Sprawled on top of him, Raul said, “Listen to me, Simon. You’re going away for a little while. Your stalking days are over. Mary Lou is not your sister!”
“Raul!”
He looked up to see the older Simon covering him with a gun.
“Can’t let you turn him in,” said the old man. “He’s my son.”
Raul saw Mary Lou make her move out of the corner of his eye. It was only a shove, but the old man lost his balance. The gun went off.
Raul realized that the younger Simon wasn’t struggling any longer. He got up enough to kneel beside the victim of the gunshot. There was no pulse in the neck.
“Simon!” The old man went to his knees. “Dios mio! What have I done?”
***
“I don’t know whether to praise you two or chew you out,” Detective Reid said as three uniformed cops left the apartment with the older Simon in handcuffs. The younger one was already on his way to the morgue. “We’ll need full statements.”
“Anything you say, detective,” said Mary Lou. “Do you need them now?”
“Tomorrow. At your convenience.”
“No charges against us?” said Raul.
“No, but only because I can’t charge you for stupidity. Then again, sure you don’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps? We could use more good detectives.”
Raul smiled and looked at Mary Lou. She shrugged.
“We’ll think about it. Good night, detective.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
Rembrandt’s Angel. “’You’re an elitist.’ ‘And you’re a killer. I prefer to be an elitist.’ While you’re eagerly awaiting the sequel, Son of Thunder, read the first book in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series. In it, Scotland Yard Inspector Esther Brookstone obsesses with recovering a Rembrandt that Nazis stole in World War II. Interpol agent Basitann van Coevorden tries to control that obsession and help her. The search for the painting leads them to a conspiracy that threatens Europe. Follow their adventures in this mystery/thriller from Penmore Press. Available in print and ebook format from Amazon or the publisher, or in ebook format from Smashwords and its affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc.). Also available at your favorite local bookstore (if they don’t have it, ask for it).
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