Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (21 page)

I
t felt great to be clean. Leaving the door open, I scrubbed quickly, trying to remove all the skunky scent and idly wondered if the gals had any more douche. I sniffed my skin. Nah, I was good—didn’t need to douche. My phone and my gun were on the counter. Clean in three minutes . . . a new record. I yanked on some black yoga pants, tennis shoes, and a jogging bra, strapped on my holster, and slid my gun in. As I tucked my phone into my bra, a shiver crawled up my spine and I froze. Something was wrong—I could feel it. My brother Mitch called it my Spidey Sense. I called it my stay-alive radar.

Rushing back into the room, I ran to check Shoshanna. The door was closed and locked. I went to bang on it and stopped short when I noticed the monitor. Fuck. Helen was in the room and she was wielding a large sharp knife at a terrified Shoshanna. So much for compassion. Helen was going to die today.

Going to my calm place, I grabbed a file from my bag, cranked up the volume, on the monitor, and went to work. Lock picking was an illegal specialty of mine, and I was good. With my eyes on the lock and my ears glued to the sounds from the monitor, I went to work. Time and silence were of the essence.

“So, whore,” Helen hissed, and sat down in a chair. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m confused, Helen,” Shoshanna said calmly. “What have I done to you?”

Good, Shoshanna . . . stay calm. Keep talking . . .

“What have you done? What have you done?” Helen shrieked. “You ruined my life. That’s what you’ve done.”

I glanced over at the monitor. Shoshanna was cornered by her bed and Helen was in a chair she’d moved between the door to the hallway and the door to my room, making escape impossible for Shoshanna. Son of a bitch, the lock was more complicated than I thought. I considered texting Luke, but my fingers were occupied, time was short, and Helen was insane.

“Tell me how,” Shoshanna said in a quiet voice. “Tell me how so I can help you.”

“You can’t help me,” she snapped, and gave Shoshanna a grin that sent chills through my body. I pulled the monitor closer to the door so I could keep my eye on the situation. Last resort was to shoot the lock out and take her down, but I wasn’t sure if the knife was her only weapon. “You’ve already caused enough damage, so now you have to pay.”

“If you’re going to kill me, I think I have a right to know why.”

“Actually you don’t, but I’m feeling generous at the moment so I’ll tell you.” She laughed and played with the knife. “You broke up my marriage,” she spat.

“But you were already divorced,” Shoshanna said shakily. “I didn’t even know you.”

“Shut up, bitch,” she snapped. “It’s my turn right now. I’m making the rules and what I say goes. Do you understand, slut?”

“Yes,” Shoshanna answered meekly. “Sorry.”

“Not yet, but you will be. So as I was saying, you’re clearly a faggot-loving piece of shit. Which by the way, you’ll burn in hell for.”

Shoshanna sat silently and waited.

Smart. That was smart. Stay quiet. Helen might blow at any moment . . .

“Because you married a filthy homo, he was available to my husband. When Steve lost his way from the path of God, he strayed to the sinners. It’s your fault that Kevin”—she hissed viciously—“tempted my husband to the devil. Your fault,” she screamed, getting up out of her chair and advancing on Shoshanna.

Goddamned fucking lock . . .

“You’re going to get caught, Helen,” Shoshanna told her. “How do you think you’re going to get away with this?”

“Ohhhh, I already have gotten away with it,” she said sweetly, running the blade under Shoshanna’s chin. “You have a little work to do before I kill you. Are you ready?”

Jesus Christ, don’t tell her we already know it’s her . . .

I had pulled my gun and was ready to shoot the lock out, but paused. Shoshanna had more time. Helen wanted something. Wedging the file into the lock, I heard a small click. The lock was layered—I needed to hear at least three more clicks.

“What do you need, Helen?”

“Don’t call me by my name,” she yelled, and paced the floor in small circles. “You don’t deserve to utter the name of a child of God.”

“Sorry, you’re right.”

“Too late to repent,” she said breezily. “I gave you many chances and you failed.”

She pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her pocket—that’s when I noticed she wore thin rubber gloves. No prints . . .

“You’re going to write a suicide note, my dear. You’re going to denounce the disgusting practice of homosexuality. You’re going to say you witnessed Kevin molesting my children and that Steve was aware of it and did nothing. You’re going to apologize to God and let the world know that faggots are evil and should be jailed for sodomy and child molestation. You’re going to ruin his life like you ruined mine and then you’ll die. It’s fairly cut and dry. Did you get all that?”

Shoshanna was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. She just needed to hold on a little longer. I was two clicks in. Helen was going down. Hard and fast.

“I don’t think I can remember all that,” Shoshanna whispered. I saw her glance toward my door and I prayed she knew I was trying to get to her.

“That’s fine,” Helen said amiably, handing her the paper and pen. “I wouldn’t expect a fag-hag like you to be that smart anyway. Here’s a copy. You can work from that and then sign it.”

Shoshanna sat down and began writing. Her hand shook and she kept wiping tears from her eyes.

Three clicks. One more fucking click . . .

I was sweating and pissed. I decided that texting Luke was a necessary pause. What if I couldn’t get the fourth click? It was not Shoshanna’s day to die.

Helen in Shoshanna’s room.

Has knife.

Locked out. Picking lock.

Proceed with caution.

Send. He would understand. He wouldn’t bust in. He’d come here and check the monitor and we’d figure it out, but my plan was to be in and done by the time backup arrived.

“I don’t have all day,” Helen said in a bored voice. “Hurry up. I have a new man friend waiting for me and I want this done.”

“I’m writing,” Shoshanna said softly, trying to steady her voice. “There’s a lot here.”

“It’s rather brilliant, don’t you think? I mean really. I can’t believe I thought the entire thing up myself. God has watched over me and guided me,” she gushed proudly.

She was fucking crazy.

Shoshanna didn’t utter a word. She kept her head down and continued writing.

“I’m not sure if we should do it in this room. Blood is so very difficult to remove from carpeting. How about the bathroom?”

Not a word from Shoshanna.

“I asked you a question,” she shrieked. “You will answer me or I’ll make it hurt real bad.”

“The bathroom would be fine,” Shoshanna muttered. “This pen doesn’t work. Do you mind if I use mine?”

“Whatever,” Helen snapped.

Motherfucker, why couldn’t I get the lock popped? Oh. My. God. Shoshanna had the laser pen in her hand. Brilliant.

“All right,” she sang. “Time’s up.”

Helen was crazed and excited. This was bad. She paced the room like a caged animal and kept glancing at herself in the mirror.

“He was a fool to have thrown me over for a man,” she hissed.

“He will be so fucking sorry.”

She ran over to the bathroom door and opened it . . . only she fucked up. She opened the door to the hallway, not the bathroom. Should I stay on the lock where I could watch the monitor and see what she was doing or go to the hallway? Would Shoshanna actually use the pen on Helen? I gave myself thirty more seconds on the lock; if it didn’t pop, I was out of here.

“Come on,” she grunted, pulling Shoshanna to her feet and slicing her cheek. And that was when all hell broke loose.

Shoshanna screamed in pain and dropped to the floor. Helen tried to drag a wailing Shoshanna to the bathroom. Shoshanna lifted the pen and shot Helen somewhere in the vicinity of her legs as the door from the hallway to Shoshanna’s room flew open violently. The fourth and final click popped on the lock and I burst into the nightmare of confusion.

My eyes had to adjust to the low light and I heard a grunt and another scream. A body knocked me to the ground and I pulled my gun.

“What the fuck?” a man shouted.

The laser had slowed Helen and the impact of the hallway door flying open had slammed into the back of Helen’s head and sent her flying. Shoshanna was huddled on the floor in a ball holding the pen and, sobbing, and Jim stood there freaked out and confused.

Jim. Jim was coming to work with Shoshanna, heard her scream, and plowed through the door. The body on top of mine was Helen’s. I rolled her off and connected the butt of my gun with the back of her head. Twice.

“What the fuck is happening in here?” Jim bellowed, now on the floor beside Shoshanna. “I mean what the fucking fuck?”

Shoshanna was sobbing incoherently. I kicked the knocked-out Helen and moved to them. “You and Shoshanna just saved Shoshanna’s life,” I panted from exertion and adrenaline.

“What the hell are you?” he demanded.

I realized I was holding my Glock in one hand and a gnarly looking file in the other. No wonder he was freaked. I would have been, too, if I was in his shoes, but it was over. He had saved the day and deserved to know.

“Candace Sanderson. DEA. I was here undercover protecting Shoshanna. You did my job for me, and for that I’m in your debt. Always.”

I knelt down and took a trembling Shoshanna in my arms. “It’s over,” I told her. “You’re okay. No one can hurt you now.” I removed the pen from her hand and checked the cut on her cheek. It was bleeding a lot. She would need stitches. I pulled the sheet from her bed and pressed it against the wound.

“You’re not Mandy Dandermanschmidt?”

“Nope.”

“And I’m going to hazard a guess that your buddy isn’t Duke LeHump, the famous cover model?”

“Correct again.” I smiled at Jim and rocked Shoshanna like a baby. “His name is Luke Blakely and he’s DEA too.”

Jim grinned and shook his head. “This is some kind of fucked up. Is Shoshanna going to be all right?” He reached over and ran his hand gently over her head.

“She’ll need some stitches, but she’ll be okay.”

“Jim,” she sniffed. “You’re a good boy and I love you.”

“I love you too.” He chuckled. “I’m glad I was a little early for our session. I was so stoked to work together, I couldn’t wait.”

“Thank sweet baby Jesus in a boob tube you didn’t,” she said, and laughed weakly.

She was still hanging in there. My eyes filled with tears and I knew she would be okay. Sometimes trauma could change people. Make them half of who they were before—sad, closed off, and afraid. Wait . . . was that who I was? Was that what had happened to me?

Luke, Mrs. C, and Edith had snuck quietly into the room with weapons pulled. It was alarming to me and must have been downright terrifying to Jim. Luke took one look at the situation and quickly cuffed Helen, who was still out cold.

“Talk,” he said to me as he squatted down and examined Shoshanna’s face.

“She got in and locked the doors between the rooms,” I started.

“I thought it was Jim,” Shoshanna said, starting to tear up again. “I was asleep and someone knocked at the door and I thought it was Jim, so I opened it.”

“Where were you?” he asked me.

“Bathroom. I screwed up.”

He nodded curtly. He wasn’t pleased. Hell, neither was I. Shoshanna could have died because I’d been unhappy with how I smelled.

“Excuse me,” Edith cut in. “Would anyone mind if I shot the piece of trash on the floor?”

Everyone silently contemplated her question for a moment.

“You can’t just shoot her,” Jim gasped.

“Sure I can,” Edith grunted. “And who the hell are you?”

“Um, Jim. I’m Jim Jameson.”

“Love your whiskey,” she told him. “So what’s the feeling about a little shot in the ass or somewhere like the hand or foot? I promise I won’t hit a major artery and I’ll do my damnedest not to actually kill her,” she lied unconvincingly.

“No,” Shoshanna said. “Don’t shoot her. She needs help and she needs to be put away. Her kids will be screwed up enough; they don’t need to be motherless on top of it all.”

Luke and I eyed each other. Neither of us condoned shooting Helen, but neither of us thought her children would be better off with her alive.

“Where’s the weapon?” Mrs. C asked. “And I’m still not clear on what happened here.”

“Helen got in. Shoshanna tased her. Jim knocked her out and saved the day,” I said. It was short and correct and I had no desire to rehash the whole thing yet.

“Shoshanna, you have the guts of a lesbian,” Edith yelled proudly, and saluted her.

“Good fucking work, Jim. What branch are you?” Mrs. C asked, reluctantly putting her Uzi away.

“I’m . . . um, a writer.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she shouted, and held out her hand for Jim to shake. “You’ve got some goddamned big testicles for a writer.”

“Um . . . thanks?” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she bellowed. “Now where is the piece of shit’s weapon?”

“Oh wow.” Jim paled and his voice sounded odd. “I think I found it.”

He certainly had. It was sticking out of his thigh. Somehow, Helen must have stabbed him before she went flying across the room. Edith insisted we not remove the knife. She decided she liked Jim and wasn’t in the mood for him to bleed out and die. Jim, God love him, thanked her and tried not to pass out. All of the excitement and shock had masked his pain, but he was feeling it now.

“Huge fucking balls, I tell you,” Mrs. C shouted, completely impressed. “That boy has balls!”

The police came, took statements, and removed Helen. After medical attention, she would be transported back to Minneapolis for processing. She was in a world of trouble. The footage of her showdown with Shoshanna had already been sent to Steve. I worried how he would feel when he saw it. He had loved her at one point in his life . . .