Lust Demented

{IV}

LIGHTS FLASHING, A BLACK UNMARKED Ford Explorer stopped short on Irving Place with all its windows down. Chaotic radio breaka breaka filled the air.

“Long time no see Farrow.” Sgt. Bethany Powers squeezed the pulp out of the wheel.

“The pleasure is mine.”

“Anderson, you didn’t tell him yet!”

“I didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Guy’s our number one suspect and he’s nodding out in rush hour.”

“Tell me what?” I figured I was being arrested. I’d be cuffed at the wrists and ankles, tossed around ragdoll, and dragged from sweaty cell to sweatier cell.

“Farrow they found Missy’s body.” Detective Anderson spoke slowly in a windy cemetery voice, laying his hands on me with the conman chi of a Reiki healer. My body slumped over… head curling into chest… lava skin… liquid pain… bones molting. Detective Anderson opened the back door of the squad car for me limo driver style. I could hear the engine’s purr and nothing else. It was more soothing than distracting. Sgt. Bethany Powers hit the sirens. Peeling out, she took a wild left onto 18^th street. Memories bombarded me…

Missy showed up in full evening wear ready for confrontation. Featherton was at her side with his hand extended, waiting for me to shake it. Missy had a glowing, almost blinding smile, proud of her accomplishments. I turned my back on them both without saying a word.

“Fucking caldron.” Detective Anderson’s accent shifted guttural as his body twitched in preparation.

“Temperature’s rising.” Sgt. Bethany Powers’ eyes drilled inward as we weaved in and out of downtown traffic.

I could hear Missy’s heels clicking on marble museum floors. We were surrounded by valuable art. Then the sound of her heels disappeared. Then the art disappeared.

No more than another set of wheels click-clacking across the river: That’s all we were. The Brooklyn Bridge echoed with taunts. What the hell was Missy doing on the other side of the river in the first place? She always complained about the boroughs, the subways, the stoops, and anything New York that wasn’t Manhattan. Maybe she had some premonition that Brooklyn would be her final resting place.

Missy didn’t know I was choking on her perfume. It was the first time I followed anyone. Let alone a lover. The moment was romantically cinematic, except for the spy behind the invisible curtains. I didn’t have to hide. They couldn’t see me even if they wanted to. They couldn’t see anybody, but each other. When he kissed her, the flavor of his lips filled my mouth. It tasted like saying hello again to a dead relative at a wake.

A final tear rolled down my cheek. There was a commotion on Coffey Street. I always envisioned the confrontation with Missy differently. I would see her from across the room, slowly gravitating towards her, melting every step of the way in her incendiary gaze until I was a pool of truth at her feet and she would bathe in me… drink me, until we were one again.

This city keeps its cops busy. Sgt. Powers and Det. Anderson left me in the car while they mingled on the miniature lawn similar to a couple at an East Hampton benefit dinner. Something about the casualness of their gestures offended me. Both officers appeared to know everybody on the scene. From the backseat the sounds of their voices were distorted, struggling futilely to be heard over the rest.

“We need you to identify the body.” Det. Anderson offered up a polite invitation to the gore and emptiness waiting inside.