Game and match.
Three flashing vehicles do a U-turn and when six cops exit with guns drawn, I shoot my arms high in the air. “Patten Securities. Gun in holster. Wallet in back pocket.”
Once the niceties are done with, we amble across the street. Now, generally, this is the point I’d call a lawyer but this here case is cut and dried. I haven’t had a chance to practice my rambling for months. Trying not to grin, I shake with excitement when they put me in a dimly lit room table with a grade-schooler size chair and table.
About an hour later, a guy with a beer belly busting out of his uniform sits down in front of me and wakes me from my nap.
Yawning, I stretch, wink, and check the time on my phone. “Good Lawd, I needed that. Just flew in this mornin’ from California. Damned if there wasn’t this woman who talked, talked, talked all night long. You ever take the red-eye? It can be hell. And the three-hour difference don’t usually bother me but- “
“Are you Sebastian Sutcliff?” I guess, out here in the boonies, they don’t know my reputation. Won’t they be surprised?
“Yes, sir. Most my friends call me Suds. My given name, apparently, has too many syllables. I remember the first time someone called me that. It was in SEAL training. People think the nickname is because of beer but actually, it was the foamy sea. It almost done me in. I tripped in the-”
“Mr. Sutcliff.” The officer frowns and crosses his thick, hairy arms over his ample stomach.
Hoping not to get him too mad too soon, I don my sincerest smile and tone my voice to be as earnest as humanly possible. “Call me Suds, please.”
“Enough. Why did those two men attack you?” When his dark brows furrow and one eyes tics, I let loose.
“Hell, if I know. You’d have to ask them. I was jes’ here askin’ questions about renting Georgie’s Bed and Breakfast but they up and sold-”
“They’re both unconscious in the hospital.” The detective circles the table and mutters under his breath about hating the south which I take as a personal affront.
“As my momma was fond of sayin’, actions have consequences. Why I remember when I was about five years old, I was ridin’ my bike down this hill and…”
“Mr. Sutcliff, if you could, remain on topic.”
“Yes, sir. I am mighty sorry. Sometimes I’ve been told I can be wordy in my descriptions but things need to be said to be sorted out. For instance, take those two fellows who punched me for absolutely no reason in front of my vehicle. I was simply strollin’ along, minding my own business and boom.” I take a much-needed breath.
“You’ve never seen those two before?”
“No sir and that’s the God’s honest truth.” I raise my right hand and put my left hand on the table, as if it were the holy bible. “By the way, you got an ice pack? My jaw’s gonna swell and my wife is not going to be happy. Her maiden name is Russo, as in the New York City Police Chief? I told her I was just takin’ a drive to-”
“Sutcliffe!” The man rasps a hand over a day’s growth of chin hair. “I’ll be right back.”
I’d grin but my jaw is beginning to hurt. I suppose I should wrap this up. Even though this is a whole lot of fun, Sam will be worried and I’m supposed to be reducing her stress, not adding to it.
I’ll have a little more funnin’ and call it a day. After, me and my little darlin’ are going to have a serious talk about her cousin Joey.
Chapter 10
Sam
Over the moon in love with my husband and sore from fucking, I float to work. The minute I walk into the salon, both cousins raise their brows.
“And?” The two ask in unison and when I nod, they squeal. Rose reaches me first, hugs me tight, and Mia does the same.
“Dibs on godmother.” Voice lowered, my saintly cousin steps in front of her Virgin Mary statue nestled between the hair gel and a jar of blue disinfectant.
Rose snickers under her breath, grasps my elbow, and leaning her dark head toward mine, walks me to the back. “Maybe Joey can be the godfather?”
I roll my eyes. “He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since his First Communion. Even then, he left early. Remember? He didn’t want his picture taken with the bishop. He said it would tarnish his reputation.”
“Some things never change. Do you know why those two goombahs came looking for him yesterday?” She looks in my mirror, snatches a can of hairspray, and creates a fog worthy of Stephen King.
Coughing, I wave away the fumes. “Don’t say anything but he lost a package.”
“Fuck. Does Uncle Vinny know?” She pales while I grab a stack of towels and start folding.
