Culture Shock (16 page)

"Alex. Where are you?"

He walked into the living room. "Here. Trying to do something with your hair. Got any suggestions?"

"Combing it might be nice."

"I did."

"With what, the toilet brush?" The sarcasm that had become commonplace tinged her voice.

"Don't be rude. Just show me what to do. I now understand why women say, 'I just washed my hair and can't do a thing with it.'"

She took his hand, led him back into the bathroom and pointed at the commode. "Sit."

Using a rounded brush and the hair dryer, she worked her magic.

When he stood and surveyed the results, he was astounded. "How did you do that?"

"It takes practice," she said, tucking a stray strand into place. "You saw what I did. It's an acquired talent, hopefully one you won't have time to learn."

How strange to look at himself but think of her. He couldn't help himself, her personality shone through no matter the circumstance. In his mind, she was still that cute, little blonde who charmed him…well, at least most of the time.

She looked at his bulky wristwatch. "I have to go, and so do you. Don't be late."

Like a child, Alex waited until she was out the door then made a face. "Don't be late, comb your hair, don't make messes," he mimicked her demands.

The side she'd shown definitely wasn't the charming and attractive one he preferred, but he understood her frustration. He slung her purse over his shoulder and hiked up his panty hose. "I hate these damn things,” he mumbled.  The exited the apartment, pulled the door closed and locked it.  Pausing in the hallway, he smoothed his skirt. If he had to play the role, he might as well look his best. God forbid someone tell Cynthia they noticed she’d lost some of her fashion sense.

On the first floor landing, Alex caught site of the building superintendent atop a stepstool, replacing a light bulb in the hallway. Surveying the maintenance man with a policeman's eye, Alex immediately noticed the blue towel hanging from the super’s back pocket. Alex held his breath until he reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. So, the guy had a tattoo and carried the same colored cloth the
perp left behind. Alex carried a purse and wore panty hose. The facts didn't prove he was a woman. Still, his thoughts did little to still the niggling fear that there was something fishy about the man.

As the super finished and disappeared down the hallway, another figure popped through an open door. Alex recognized Thomas Carpenter and quickly ducked out the front entrance. Given his options, he would just as soon be hit by a bus than have that creep ogle him again.

All the way downtown on the train, Alex tossed thoughts about the super back and forth. There were too many coincidences to ignore: blue towels, tattoo, and, until this very minute, Alex hadn't realized that the man's appearance at The Cairns coincided with the first kidnapping. Stepping onto the BART platform, Alex vowed to pay closer attention to the new, not so handyman.

Chapter Twelve

Alex lay in bed and stared into the darkness, watching an occasional reflection of passing car lights stretch across the ceiling. He wasn't sure of the time, but he sensed it was very late, and he couldn't get comfortable. Although a week and a half had passed since he and Cynthia switched bodies, it seemed much longer.

Strange thoughts ran through his mind. Little things, like lying with his hands behind his head as he once had just didn't feel right anymore, or sleeping on his stomach. Her breasts made that position uncomfortable, too.

He fumbled for a comfortable position. Crossing his arms on his chest reminded him too much of the corpses he'd seen in the morgue. And, if he hugged her small frame, his hands either grasped the side of her breasts or disappeared under her armpits.

He may have her body, but he still had his thoughts. He fondled her breasts, but the sensation was beyond weird. A man's hands should be bigger than her dainty ones. He stretched his arms out at his sides and sighed.

Did Cynthia explore his body like he did hers? When she showered, did she enjoy washing his penis or was it just a bothersome chore? He wished he knew so he didn't feel like the only creep. The last time he'd been this curious about body parts, he'd been five-years-old and his mother yelled at him for playing with himself in the living room.

What would Cynthia think if she knew he fondled her boobs and buttocks in the shower?  He quickly fisted his hands, aroused at the idea. How could he have sexual fantasies about the body he inhabited? He certainly had no intention of discussing it or his actions with her. Rolling to his side, he finally found a comfortable niche in the too-hard mattress and closed his bleary eyes. The last image he pictured: His own face yelling at him for taking such liberties.

***

Alex sat in Cynthia's office and pretended to be working on the project Cynthia had completed at home the night before. He doodled on a notepad while his mind wandered. The seconds dragged on, but thank goodness, Friday had arrived at last.

For two whole days he'd be free from her prison walls. He glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the time: Noon

A head poked in the doorway. "Hey,
Cyn, wanna go to lunch?"

Startled, and unprepared to face one of Cynthia's co-workers, Alex swallowed hard. "Uh…no thanks. I have a deadline to meet. But have a nice time and thanks for asking." He wiggled his fingers in an attempted feminine wave. Besides, he'd already eaten a sandwich he brought from home, devoured a candy bar, drank two sodas and enjoyed a bag of chips from the vending machine.

After the door closed, Alex pushed away from the desk and leaned back in the chair. He almost locked his fingers behind his head, but remembered that wasn't how ladies sat. He straightened and drummed his fingers on the desktop. Would this day never end?

A flash of red caught his eye, and he gasped. His gaze sprung to her fingertips, where one nail had a jagged end and looked markedly conspicuous amongst the others. Now he'd done it. He'd screwed up her manicure. This was bound to be her undoing.

***

His train ran behind schedule and Alex arrived at home later than usual. Cynthia was already there when he walked into her apartment." Alex!" She practically pounced on him the minute he entered. "They found another body!"

Telling her about the broken nail seemed unimportant. "Shit. We have to catch this guy. Where did they find this victim?" He dropped his purse and plopped down on the sofa.

"About a mile from here, in an alley." She sat in the chair across from him.

"Are you sure it was the same
perp?"

"Blue towel and all," she answered. "God, Alex, I'm so scared. I saw her, and she could be my sister. It's not safe out there for petite women with blonde hair. I'm almost happy to be in your body right now."

He stood, thinking about the beer he'd stocked in the fridge.  He needed a shot of courage about now. "Don't get too used to this body switch thing. I plan on using mine again, soon. And, by the way..." He wiggled his left hand in the air. "I broke a nail. What kind of medical emergency did I create?"

She grabbed his hand and snared his ring finger. "How did you do that?"

"Boredom did it." He pulled his hand loose and went to retrieve a beer.

"What?" She shrugged. "Oh, never mind. Come here and sit down. I'll get the nail file and polish.  I can fix it."

While Cynthia repaired her damaged nail, Alex, using his free hand, took a swallow of beer. Damn, another victim down and he felt as useless as dental floss belonging to a toothless man. "Were there any witnesses?" he asked. "Did he leave behind any clues? Was this one strangled with electrical wire like the rest?"

"
Geez, let me answer one question at a time." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head.

"This has to be a strange looking picture. You as the manicurist and me as the beer-swigging bimbo."

She went back to filing. "As far as we know, there were no witnesses. The Crime Scene Team scoured the area, but there was nothing helpful. Too many cigarette butts and trash. I think he picks alleys on purpose. And yes on the electrical wire."

He stroked his chin as he usually did when he was deep in thought. "I have an idea that probably won't lead anywhere, but we have to look at all the angles. I want you to run a check on the building super, but first I'll have to find out his name."

"Why the building super?"

"Well, he has a tattoo on his upper left arm, and today I noticed that he uses the same type of towel our
perp leaves on the victims."

She shivered. "It can't be him. God! I've had him in my apartment."

"You had him in your apartment recently, as a matter of fact. He fixed the lock. But, like I said, it probably won't pan out, but it won't hurt to check out his background."

"What about the lock? Do you suppose he has a key?"

"I'm pretty sure he has keys to all the apartments, but you're safe. He'd never bother me, well, the me he thinks is me."

Cynthia waggled the emery board at him. "Hey, the tenant's names are posted on the mailboxes in the lobby. You can get his name there. He's in Apartment 1D, I believe."

"No, you go get it," Alex argued. "I don't want to run into your slobbering admirer again."

"What admirer?" she asked, her brow arched.

"Thomas Carpenter, of course. It's high time you two met."

"Very funny, but it's not likely he's going to make a pass at me looking like you, but since you're such a chicken, I'll be right back."

Cynthia clattered down the stairs in record time. Having Alex's long legs did have some advantage, but she'd give anything to have her own back. She cringed at the thought of how hairy they must be by now. As much as she hated admitting it, some things were beyond her control.

When she reached the foyer, she stood in front of the bank of mailboxes and scanned for the super's name. "John Cratski," she read under her breath. Funny, she would have figured him for a Ricardo or a Julio because of his dark hair and skin.

She stepped back inside and paused on the first floor landing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the notorious, Thomas Carpenter, but the corridor was empty. Climbing two steps at a time, she returned to her apartment.

***

Already Sunday night, Alex bemoaned returning to Cynthia's office tomorrow. The two had made absolutely no progress in either the case or remedying the body situation. He sat in the easy chair while Cynthia draped her newly acquired frame across the worn sofa. The silence was broken by his sigh.

She turned his gaze to him. "That said it all. I know just how you feel."

Alex gave a weak smile. "Aren't weekends supposed to be for rest and relaxation? I feel like I've worked an entire week in two days."

"Me, too, and I hate that nothing panned out. We aren't any closer to finding the culprit than we are to getting ourselves back into our own skin." She turned to her side and propped her head on her palm. "I thought if we lurked in the shadows while watching our mystery man, we might get a new lead. He never came out of his apartment, at least not while I was around. Did you ever see him?"

"No. I think he was gone all weekend." Alex displayed a grimace. "I did, however, spend a lot of time dodging good ol' Thomas Carpenter. God, that man is a letch. How do you women stand guys like that?"

"I wish I could tell you, but I haven't had the problem. I guess if I have to find something good about this entire situation, it's that you're the lucky recipient of his unwanted affection."

Alex stuck his tongue out at her then smiled. "Well, aren't I the fortunate one? If for no other reason than ridding myself of him, I will find a way to get my own body back."

Cynthia rolled to over and stared at the ceiling. "Well, if you have any ideas on how you plan to do that, I'd be more than happy to entertain them."

"Entertain?" he asked with a grin. "Strange choice of words, but look at us. Under different circumstances we'd be viewed as a couple sharing a relaxing evening. We've been so busy, half the time I barely remember I’m not myself."

She flashed him a disbelieving look. “Care to share how you forget?”

“Okay, so maybe I don’t, but I just want you to know that I still enjoy being with you."

She smiled. "Thanks, I feel the same. I just wish …well, never mind. If wishes could be
converted to money, I'd be rich."

"Don't give up." Alex covered a big yawn. "As much as I love spending time with you, I hope you don't think me rude if I suggest that you go home. I'm tired and we have to work tomorrow."

***

Cynthia sat in front of the computer workstation trying to figure out, from the menu, which screen to use to run a check on wants and warrants. Finally, she found it and entered the super's name. She pushed the search button, and waited. Within a few minutes, the screen filled with information. She scrolled through, anxiously reading. "John Cratski, arrested petty theft; second arrest - burglary; third arrest - rape and sodomy sentenced 5-10 years. Wow, this guy has run the gamut." She scrolled down. "Paroled: September 15, 2001."