Brian Freeman - Stripped

“Once upon a time? Sure. But we were all bad boys then. We drank, we partied, we got out of hand. We were colorful, and that’s how people liked us. I used to piss into the fountains at Caesars. I’d egg on pretty boys until they took a swing at me, and then I’d break their jaws. I’d dance on blackjack tables. That was part of the show. When I went too far, they’d throw me in a jail cell until I sobered up, and then I’d have bacon and eggs with the cops in the morning. I knew the first name of every cop in the city, and I went to most of the birthday parties for their kids.”

“So your mean streak was just an act?”

“I’m saying I was what everyone wanted me to be. Look, I could blow up with the best of them. I was a son of a bitch sometimes. But I’m eighty years old, Detective. I’m on my way out. I’m a squealing little pig with his nuts cut off. My devil days, when I had a temper and liked to use it, were a very long time ago. I didn’t marry Tierney for sex, and not even to have a pretty young thing on my arm. Believe it or not, we liked each other. We were friends. I encouraged her to see young men if she wanted to, because I knew she’d have to go back to that life after I was gone. I didn’t ask for details, so I had no idea she had a relationship with MJ or anyone else.”

Stride listened for a false note and didn’t hear one.

“Do you remember Helen Truax?” Stride continued. “Her stage name was Helena Troy.”

“Sure. She was a dancer at the Sheherezade.”

“How well did you know her?”

“Well enough to have a drink now and then,” Moose said, “but that was it. She was Leo Rucci’s gal, so I kept away from her, Where are you going with this?”

“Less than two weeks ago, Helen’s grandson was killed in a hit-and-run” Stride explained. “Then Walker Lane ’s son. Now your wife. We think the same person was responsible for all three murders.”

Moose sat up. “You think this is all connected to the Sheherezade?”

“All three of you were mentioned in the article Rex Terrell did about the murder of Amira Luz. Did you talk to Terrell?”

Moose’s upper lip and eyebrows seemed to curl in disgust at the same time. “Me? Talk to a fucking worm like Rex Terrell? No way.”

“Rex says you, Helen, and others benefited from Amira’s death.”

“I won’t deny I wasn’t too sad to see the little bitch dead and gone,” Moose said. “She played me. Used me to get to Boni and then kicked me in the balls.”

“Helen says you told her Amira was the best lover you ever had,” Stride said.

“That was no secret. We were involved. That Spanish blood, it runs hot. But she was no better than a hooker, using me to make her way up the ladder.”

“Where were you the night Amira was killed?” Amanda asked.

Moose laughed. “Drunk. In jail. Like I said, that happened a lot in those days. As it turns out, it was fortunate that I had an alibi.”

“So you don’t know what happened that night?”

“Just the rumors,” Moose said.

“You mean Walker Lane?” Stride asked.

Moose nodded. “Everyone assumed he did it. That story about a stalker, that was pretty convenient. I figure they wanted a fall guy. Like I said, I’m glad I had an alibi, because I would have made a sweet target.”

“So you believe Walker did it, too.”

“It makes sense,” Moose said. “But it surprised me.”

“Why?”

“I never thought Walker would have the balls for it. He was soft. He liked to dance with the devil, but he was just an L.A. rich kid. Killing Amira, that took guts. I can’t believe he’s still alive after doing that.”

Stride and Amanda looked at each other. “What do you mean?” Stride asked.

“Most people didn’t know. I knew, because I knew Amira. She told me, just to rub my face in it. And Walker would have known. He had to have known. I know he loved her act, went to all her shows. But he would have gotten word from Leo Rucci that the high-roller amenities didn’t extend to Amira.”

Stride’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Moose’s eyebrows did a little dance, like caterpillars wriggling to the music of the Sugar Plum Fairy. “Amira Luz was the sole property of one man and one man only,” he said. “The man you didn’t mess with. Boni Fisso.”

Serena parked in her driveway at home. She didn’t get out of the car. She turned off her cell phone and sat silently in the darkness.

She remembered the first time it happened with Deidre, when she was eighteen. She was in the shower. Deidre knew that she went into little fugues sometimes under the water, letting it pour over her head as the memories came back, hoping it would somehow rise above her mouth and drown her. In Phoenix, she used to take showers after Blue Dog, her mother’s drug dealer, was finished with her. Brown water, lukewarm, then cold.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there that first time. Frozen. Lost. She felt like a quadriplegic, aware of her surroundings but unable to move or react, helpless to stop what was happening to her. Forced to rewind her past and watch it occurring over and over. As if, in the two years since she had escaped from Phoenix, she had not escaped at all but been consumed by a single, silent scream.

Then she felt someone else crawl inside her cocoon. Without a sound, out of nowhere, Deidre was there with her. Behind her, in the shower, naked flesh against naked flesh. Deidre’s lips were by her ear, and she was cooing over and over, “It’s okay, baby.”. Deidre’s hands encircled her stomach and held her gently, nurtured her, saved her. Serena leaned back against her, and something seized inside. A cofferdam of fear and shame began to grow fissures and give way. Serena sobbed. Her whole body trembled, and she was indescribably cold, frigid to her soul, except for the warmth of Deidre behind her. The more the tears fell, the more Deidre held her and soothed her.

It’s okay, baby.

Serena turned around and buried her head in Deidre’s shoulder, and still Deidre held her, letting her cry herself out. She didn’t know how long they stood there, as she climbed out of her flooded cave and back into the light. The water of the shower was still on; it was cold, but they were warm. When Serena finally looked into Deidre’s eyes, she felt free. She stared with exhilaration into Deidre’s damp, beautiful face and felt love and gratitude overwhelming her, morphing into passion. Deidre began, and Serena didn’t stop her. She joined in. Their lips came together. Their slippery bodies seemed to merge. She felt Deidre relishing her touch, and the more Deidre responded, the more Serena strove to give her pleasure. Kissing her. Massaging the hollow of her back. Hearing her whispered pleas to go further. Sliding fingers inside her, everywhere, front and back, deep and probing. Wanting to climb inside her.

In her memory, they seemed to glide, dripping, from the shower to the bed, then to spend hours together as night fell outside, making love to each other over and over in the squeaking twin bed where Serena usually slept alone. When they had sated each other, they fell asleep, exhausted, entwined.

They spent six months as lovers. She knew that Deidre wanted it to stay that way. In the beginning, so did Serena. She was afraid of men and felt safe in Deidre’s arms. She had no mother, and Deidre played that role for her, too. That was enough for a while.

As Serena’s confidence in herself came back, though, she realized that their relationship was built on sand. She loved Deidre, but she didn’t want to be her lover anymore. She wanted to see what she could build for herself, on her own, not leaning on anyone or running to someone to rescue her.