This Is It
I went back to my room and wrote a letter to Jackie. I explained why her husband died and why she was being blamed. I told her about James and what really happened. I wrote that I was sorry and hoped that this letter would do something to ease her pain. I signed it and mailed it.
The boats showed up at 5:30. I’d told the man downstairs that a delivery for room 1864 was coming to the front desk, and he should call me when it did. He had smiled and nodded. When I went to pick them up, he was smiling at me. “Your delivery.” He waved at the four boxes stacked next to the desk.
“Can I borrow a pushcart to take them up?” I asked.
He put a hand on the top box. “We don’t usually accept packages in this manner. I mean for rooms that don’t exist.” I pulled out a fifty and laid it on the desk. He smiled, slid the bill into his pocket, and then went to get me a pushcart. He even helped me bring the stuff to my room. The boxes were heavier than I had anticipated, and I worried that Mulberry and I would have trouble carrying them. Blue could carry one, but that left three. I just hoped that Mulberry could handle two.
I ripped open the boxes and unfolded one of the boats. Made of reinforced rubber, it took seven minutes to blow up with a high-powered pump. The pump had a rugged, all-steel cylinder base with a six-foot hose curling off one end and a power cord off the other. “Speeds deflating too!” I read off the box. Blue sniffed at the boat spread out flat on the floor.
Mulberry showed up around six and stood over the boat with a big nervous smile on his face.
“Can Blue carry one?” he asked. Blue wagged his tail at the sound of his name. It thunked against the air pump.
“That’s what I was thinking,” I said.
“How much weight can they handle?”
“A thousand pounds each.”
Mulberry circled the boat. “What about currents?”
“We should be able to make it.”
“How do we attach them?” I showed him where the end of the boat had thick plastic loops to run rope through, then I showed him the rope we would run through it. “You ever used a boat like this before?”
“No. Have you?”
“No.” We both stood staring down at the boat.
“Do you think you can take two of them with two things of gold, if I take the third boat with the jewelry, the other chest of gold, and Blue?” Mulberry scratched at his stubble-covered chin.
“I should be able to.” We spent some more time looking at the boat.
“I got us life vests,” I told him.
“Great.” I found them in the box with the rope and pulled them out. They were black and sturdy looking. “This is insane,” Mulberry said.
“I know.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
“Alright.”
The Last Walk We Ever Took in New York
Blue’s tail wagged wildly as we walked toward the park. He was carrying one of the boats on his back in a pack I bought for him at Dog’s Camp!, a store for dogs who camp. Mulberry carried a boat, the air pump, rope, and his life vest in his backpack. Mine held one of the boats, a life vest, and extra bullets. The straps hung heavy over my shoulders, pulling me back. Mulberry and I each carried an oar.
My gun was tucked into a holster Mulberry had lent me. He’d taught me how to load the gun and persuaded me to buy an extra clip and fill that with bullets, too. He didn’t like the idea of letting me march into the mayor’s office to blow his brains out, especially since my experience with guns began and ended with when I shot my molding.
But I didn’t care. I knew that I could do it. I had this sick and unnatural confidence in my trigger finger. “Just squeeze it,” Mulberry told me, “don’t pull it.” I repeated this to myself as we walked. Just squeeze it. The night was hot, and sweat pooled between me and my pack. We had the streets to ourselves. Everyone was at home with the air conditioning humming.
Mulberry had trouble getting into the drainage hatch with his bag on, and we shared a moment of suppressed laughter when he got stuck. Blue wagged his tail and barked. Mulberry and I both told him to shut up. Blue smiled at us and thunked his tail through the air.
Once inside, we moved quickly to the room with our booty. I dropped my pack next to Mulberry’s and pulled my gun out. I put the extra clip in my back pocket. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mulberry told me. I opened my eyes and saw him watching me. “Taking the gold and gems is enough.”
“It’ll be OK. Just leave me a boat.” Mulberry nodded, and I turned to go. Blue tried to follow me. “No boy. Stay here.” I closed the door in his face. I heard him whimpering softly as I moved toward the room with the paisley couch.
I was surprised by how fast the memories rushed back at me when I opened the door. The place was a shambles. A splattering of blood arched across the floor from when the mayor had hit me with the sign. I tried not to think about how much I had lost since then. I turned the sprinkler and began to drop.
Lots of people kill other people every day. People get drunk and drive into other people. Men kill their wives; wives kill their husbands. Sons kill their mothers; daughters are killed by their fathers. Strangers kill other strangers for sexual satisfaction. Doctors kill patients because their hands slip. Humans are constantly dying because another human f*cked up, or got angry, or horny, or bored, or drank too much.
Before that summer I had experienced one death—my father’s. He died of cancer. First, he got so thin you could see his skull in his face and then he died. At his funeral, James held my hand and told me that it would be OK. He told me that our father was in a better place, which after watching the cancer eat him from the inside out was easy to believe, especially for a 7-year-old. Our father was gone. We would never hear his voice again or smell his smell. But he also would never yell at us. He wouldn’t be around to be disappointed in us when we got to be teenagers. He would never tell us he didn’t like our lifestyle or our decision-making. My father remains the father of little children. We never had a fight about curfews or grades. He pushed us on swings and helped us build sand castles. That’s what happens when you die. You stop.
And now I was about to stop someone. Kurt Jessup’s wife would never hold her husband’s hand and feel him squeeze back. His mother was going to be forced to attend the funeral of her child. I was going to do this. I was going to make this happen. I knew that he deserved it, but what I wasn’t so sure about was whether his mother did or his wife or his best friend, whoever that may be. Did he have a sister? Did it matter?
I pushed against the wall in the little room and felt it give. I walked down the long hall to the elevator and pushed the button. I held my gun in my right hand. I checked to make sure my extra clip was in my back pocket. My stomach churned. The elevator doors dinged open. This was it. I stepped inside, the doors closed behind me, and I began to rise.
I raised the gun at the doors that would open into the mayor’s study. The elevator stopped. I heard the bookcases on the other side of the door open, and then the silver doors in front of me parted. The mayor was at his desk, his eyes were open, his mouth slack. I stepped into the room. He didn’t move. I fired.
The first bullet hit his shoulder with a silent, sickening tear. His body twisted with the force, but he did not make a sound. I squeezed again, and this one thunked into a pile of papers on his desk, spitting out shreds into the air. The third shot struck him in the neck. A round, red wound slowly poured blood onto his chest. His eyes looked the same as a freshly caught fish—clear and dead.
I took a step into the room. It was very quiet. I looked at him and saw that there was blood on his left temple. He’d already been shot. The f*cker was dead, but I wasn’t the one that killed him. Shit.
I turned back to the elevator as it began to close. Sticking my foot out, I made it open. I heard voices on the other side of the mayor’s door. I pushed myself up against the side of the elevator, letting it block me from view. The door burst open, I heard yelling, and then someone was firing bullets into the elevator as it closed.
Three bullets smashed into the back wall, leaving deep dimples in the metal. The doors closed, and the lift descended. Racing down the hall toward the small anteroom, I was breathing hard and thinking clearly. I jumped on the couch and climbed into the room above. The sign the mayor had used to mash my face lay on its side waiting to be put to use. I ran it under the couch. It stretched across the platform, and I hoped it would prevent it from lowering.
I barreled through the door of the treasure room. Blue was waiting for me, standing next to the hole in the floor that led to my escape. But there was no boat. I stopped breathing, and the room swam around me. There was no boat. Mulberry, that bastard, had taken all the treasure and all the boats and left.
I heard a loud banging, clicking, and then whirling sound coming from way too close. They were coming for me. They would catch me. They would kill me.
Blue whined and shifted on his paws nervously next to the hole. “F*ck,” I said out loud. I walked over to him and rested my hand on his head. Glancing into the hole I saw my boat, floating on liquid black. In the boat sat three sacks and one oar.
I lowered myself into the hole. Loud banging came from down the hall. My feet hit the boat. It wobbled until I crouched into it. I motioned for Blue to join me, but he just stood at the edge, looking down at me, whining.
“Get in here,” I hissed at him. He didn’t move, so I grabbed his front paws and dragged him down. He fell, all legs, into the boat. I fought with the knot holding us to the building. The lights went out. For a moment all sound stopped. The power was gone. I fumbled in the darkness, trying to free us from Eighty-Eight East End Avenue. The building’s generator whirled, and the bulb above my head flickered back to life. The knot gave, and the current took us. We headed into an impossible blackness. I stayed low, holding onto Blue, trusting that Mulberry was right. That this would end with the river.
We spent an immeasurable amount of time in that damp darkness. Blue whined softly. I listened to the gentle splashing of water against the hull. When I thought that we would drift in the depths of the city’s drainage system forever, I saw a glow. We moved toward it quickly, and in a rush the sky was above us, Queens was to our right, Manhattan to our left. The East River was carrying us through the city, shrouded in darkness. Sirens screamed, and I heard the distant sounds of people yelling and horns honking—the excitement and mayhem of a blackout.
The wind blew steadily, and the waves carried us up and down. Water splashed against the boat, spraying over its sides, coating us in a fine, briny mist. The moon reflected against the black water, and we were gone. Into the night. Into the future.
Sydney Rye
The sun flirted with the horizon, reflecting off the clear blue Sea of Cortez. I dug my feet into the sand past the warmed top layer down into the moist, heavy stuff. A plate of oysters and an unmarked bottle of tequila sat on the table next to me. Blue slept under the table, his nose and tail sticking out of either end
"How’ve you been?" asked a voice behind me. Blue lifted his head to turn and look. I kept watching the sea. I knew the voice, and I knew there was nothing to hurry about. The sun was getting ready to make a plunge, and I didn’t want to miss it.
“Have a seat,” I motioned to a chair. Mulberry sat. His weight pushed the plastic legs deep into the sand. “You’ve gained weight.” He laughed, his round belly shaking softly.
“I know. I know.” We sat for a while, in silence, watching the sun splash the clouds with gold and pink and purple. The ocean changed too. The sky’s personal mirror reflected the sun’s work, distorting it only slightly to make it more dramatic. The dark blue crept up behind us and started over our heads, invading the sky, forcing the sun to retreat. I turned to my oysters, splashed one with tequila and sucked it into my mouth.
“You want one?” I asked Mulberry, looking him in the eyes. He looked happy, I thought.
“You look like shit. Something haunting you?” Mulberry asked. I soaked another oyster and slid it down my throat before answering him.
“No.”
He laughed again. It was filled with ease and comfort.
“You’re right where I left you, wasting away down here.” I didn’t answer him. “What’s your plan—sit on this beach for the rest of your life, eat oysters from a dirty f*cking shack?” He waved at the shack behind us where I’d bought my oysters from a slow-moving man named Ramone. I still didn’t answer him. I had nothing to say. He sat back in his chair. “I want you to come work for me. I’ve got a business I set up with some people. I could use you.”
“I’m happily unemployed.” I skipped the oyster this time, going straight for tequila.
Mulberry was smiling. I spent every day nauseous and afraid and every night sweating and hoping it would just stop. and Mulberry was smiling at me.
“You’re down here making yourself miserable for no reason.” He picked up one of my oysters, and splashed some tequila on it.
“I’m fine.”
“The only problem is your name.”
I turned back to the sea. Thanks to Jacqueline Saperstein, Mayor Kurt Jessup was exposed for the killer he was. Jackie took my letter and ran with it. She kept pushing until the city was forced to acknowledge the truth. Jackie called me a hero. Others called me a cold-blooded killer. The police call me wanted. I considered myself a failure.
I hadn’t told anyone that Kurt was dead when I got there. And no one mentioned that there was more than one type of bullet imbedded in the corpse. Recently promoted Detective Declan Doyle named me the killer, and only I was the wiser. Declan did tell me that Kurt would reap what he sowed. Karma is what he’d called it. Murder is what most people would.
I guessed my Karma would come around someday soon. It turned out the mayor was right about one thing: He owed people, and they came a calling. I was still testing his theory about treasure making you free.
Mulberry laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s guilt about James.” The name stabbed me in the gut, and Mulberry saw it. “Jesus, you think that’s what he wants? You think he wants his only sister down here moping away into the sunset because a psycho killed him?”
“He would have never died if it hadn’t been for me.” Mulberry laughed and threw his hands in the air.
“Of course he would have died. Everyone dies.”
“I mean not so soon.”
“Not so soon. Who cares when it happened? It happened. He’s dead, and guess what? You’re not. No matter how much you try and make out like you are, you’re not. So what do you say? Join me?” He was smiling at me, all confidence. I turned back to the sun. It sat on the horizon, wavering between sky and sea, glowing gold and gorgeous.
“I’m a fugitive,” I said.
Mulberry pulled out a passport, as dark blue as the sky creeping up on us, and threw it onto the table.
“What’s that?”
“Open it.” Inside was a picture of me, the new me with the scars, next to the name Sydney Rye. I looked at Mulberry. He was smiling. “Sydney, you’ve got talent.”
“Talent?” I hissed. “I got my brother killed, myself exiled—what are you talking about, talent?” I spit the word at him. He just smiled, so relaxed and unwound.
“Join me.”
“I can’t.” I put the passport down and stared back out at the darkening sky. Mulberry sighed.
“However you want it.” He pushed on the table to help himself stand. It wobbled under his weight. He stood over me. “You’re never going to be happy here. You’re never going to be happy again until you get off your ass and do something right.” I looked up. His eyes were locked onto mine, and I recognized him as the man I’d plotted with in New York. “Dammit, Joy.” He slammed his fist down on the table, knocking over the bottle of tequila and making the oysters quiver in their shells.
“What do you want from me?” I yelled back at him.
“I want you to work for me. I want you to get off your ass and do what’s right. I want you to be Sydney Rye.”
“I don’t think I can.” I felt my face grow hot and tears well in my eyes. Mulberry grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me out of my seat. Blue stood up from under the table and growled.
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” I pulled at his hand, but although his belly had softened, his arms were still made of boulders. “You know what you are. There’s nothing else you can be. Do you get that? You don’t have a choice. You’re stuck, as stuck as me.” I looked up at him and realized he was right. “You’re a detective, God help you. You’re Sydney Rye, private investigator now, and you better stop crying and start thanking me for saving your sorry ass.” He dropped me back into my chair, turned, and started to walk up the beach. I sat for a moment, regaining my breath. He was right, I thought. I wasn’t Joy anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time. Somewhere between the beginning of this story and the end, without even trying or knowing or wanting to, I became Sydney mother-f*cking Rye.
The last glint of the sun dropped into the sea leaving the sky streaked with violet, soft-pink, and pale baby blue. I looked at Mulberry’s retreating figure and yelled, “Wait!” Mulberry didn’t turn. “Wait!” I hauled my sorry ass out of that chair and ran down the beach after him, Blue on my heel.
* * *
The next Sydney Rye Mystery, DEATH IN THE DARK, comes out December 2012
Read the following excerpt for a taste
DEATH IN THE DARK (A Sydney Rye novella, #2) Excerpt
The pain preceded consciousness. Blinking my eyelids sent ripples of hurt across my face, around the back of my head, and down my neck into my shoulders. I heard myself groan.
Forcing my eyes open I tried to focus them. My chin was resting on my chest and I was looking down at my wrinkled linen shirt. Slowly I was able to make out the fabric’s grain. The splotches of blood dripping from my nose made me feel the itch of dried blood on my cheeks.
With a Herculean effort I lifted my head and tried to take in my surroundings. It appeared I was alone in a large, empty room with a high ceiling. There was a doorway in front of me pockmarked with holes and standing slightly ajar. Moonlight streamed through the opening’s landing onto a dusty, uneven wooden floor. There were two windows on either side of the door coated in dirt so thick I couldn’t see through them. I sat on a wooden chair with my wrists bound behind me.
I looked over my shoulder and saw I was wearing handcuffs. Looking down I saw that my ankles were chained to the chair legs. I took a deep breath and silently thanked Merl for all the times I’d woken up pinned to my bed. I gritted my teeth prepping for the excruciating and awkward pain. I struggled not to cry out as I slammed my thumb against the chair.
My hands free, I leaned over to inspect the chains that bound my ankles. These guys were either amateurs or had severely underestimated me. I stood up, my head spinning, and sat back down.
Reaching up, I found the source of all that blood on my shirt and the dizzy spell. A clotted mass of hair and an open wound was at the base of my skull. When I touched it I almost threw up. I took a minute and a few breaths before trying to stand again.
The chains tinkled as I attempted to rise. They were wrapped around my ankles and in-between the legs of the chair. All I had to do was pick up the chair and shake off the chains to be free. Granted, my ankles were still chained to each other but at least I wasn’t stuck with the chair.
With my new freedom, I walked over to the windows on the far wall. Peering through a broken pane, I saw another building and an alley lined with tall grass and trash. Hearing a scrape behind me, I wheeled around.
Merl was standing there, leaning casually against the decrepit wall. Blue charged toward me and after sitting at my feet, leaned against me. I crouched down and embraced him. Merl’s three dogs flanked him, their eyes reflecting green in the darkness. “One thing we didn’t go over was how to not fall into a trap,” Merl said. “Obviously, you still have some things to learn.”
I smiled at him. “I am really happy to see you.”
Merl pushed off the wall and crossed the room. He approached the window and peered through its grimy pane. “Did you really think I was going to let you get yourself killed?” he asked without looking at me.
“I’m fine. But thank you for coming.”
“You’re not fine. You’re holed up in an abandoned building hunting mass murderers. Alone.” He craned his neck to get a better look the base of my skull. “With a head wound.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to help.”
He turned toward me. “I don’t.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
He smiled. “You didn’t leave me any choice.”
I bit my lip. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”
Thunder, who’d stayed by the entrance, gave a low growl of warning. Merl crossed the room without a sound and looked out into the night. “The young one is getting something out of the SUV.” I heard the thunk of a car door slamming. “He’s headed back inside.”
“What did he get out of the truck,” I asked.
“A chainsaw.”
“Jesus,” I said.
Merl leaned against the wall and rested his hand on Thunder’s head. Clouds shifted and the pale light of the moon was blocked. A cool breeze blew through the open door stirring up the smell of sawdust.
“Did you have a plan?” Merl asked.
I smiled. “Plans are God’s favorite joke.”
Merl smiled. “Okay, well, what’s the joke of the evening, then?”
“Not sure. I just woke up and managed to free myself.”
Merl looked down at my ankles. “You’re not that free.”
“I don’t have a chainsaw,” I smiled.
Merl chuckled.
“What’s the deal, where are they?” I asked.
“There are three of them. They are holding Malina there.” He pointed across an expanse of cracked pavement and weeds at a large building. It appeared deserted with broken windows and patches missing from its roof. But a light burned inside, bright in the dark desert.
“They took my gun,” I said “I don’t see how we can get close enough to these guys for hand-to-hand combat.”
Merl smiled, showing off his big-gapped teeth. “I brought my throwing stars.” He opened up his trench coat to reveal a vest lined with multi-sided blades. “Quiet, accurate, deadly. More than I can say for your pistol.”
I realized my mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. “That is seriously awesome.”
Merl nodded. “I know.”
“Will you teach me-”
He held up a hand to stop me. “Let’s see how we do here. If we survive, I’ll think about it.”
“Right. If we survive.”
“I did bring you a weapon, though.” Merl reached under his coat and pulled out a long knife. A strong wind blew across the desert and whipped around the building pulling dust with it. The door banged on its hinges and Blue growled at the sudden movement. The bluster passed as quickly as it arrived and an eerie silence fell over the compound. “Now or never,” Merl said, handing me the blade. It felt heavy in my hand and I looked down at my bound ankles. “Just remember to take tiny steps,” Merl advised, following my gaze. I nodded.
Merl tapped his hip and headed out of the door. His three dogs lined up behind him. I followed them, shuffling, trying to contain the clinking I made. Blue stayed close behind me. Merl moved across the broken pavement of the parking lot barely making a sound. The whirl of a chainsaw broke the silence, followed by a woman’s scream.
Merl sped up and hunkered under one of the building’s dirty windows. He motioned me down and I crouched by his side. Sliding up the side of the building, Merl looked through the window.
“I see two of them,” he said just loud enough for me to hear over Malina’s terrified screams. Merl lowered himself back down. “Take a look.”
I rose up until I could see into the room. It was large and lit by fluorescent fixtures that stretched the length of the space. The one closest to the door flickered, casting a light of unreality onto the whole scene. Malina was tied to a chair, she had swelling around her mouth and her dress was ripped open exposing one of her breasts. Malina’s rich hazel eyes were glued to the whirling blade of the chainsaw which Adolfo held in front of her. His back was to the door but I suspected he wore the same stony expression as at the cockfight.
Benito was pacing behind Malina. He was saying something I couldn’t hear. Not far out of Benito’s reach was a small table covered in tools and I spied my pistol. Scanning the rest of the room, I didn’t see Frito.
“Here is what we are going to do,” Merl said. I tore myself away from the horrific scene inside and concentrated on Merl’s plan. “What we’ve got is the element of surprise, you, me and four dogs.”
About the Author:
Emily Kimelman lives on a boat in the Hudson Valley with her husband, Sean and their dog Kinsey (named after Sue Grafton's Kinsey Millhone). Kimelman has a passion for traveling and spends as much time as possible in the pursuit of adventure.
Her Sydney Rye series feature a strong female protagonist and her canine best friend. It is recommended for the 18+ who enjoy some violence, don't mind dirty language, and are up for a dash of sex. Not to mention an awesome, rollicking good mystery!
The first book, UNLEASHED, was released in October, 2011. DEATH IN THE DARK, a novella length Sydney Rye mystery came out in December 2012. The third installment in the series INSATIABLE, is due January 1, 2013
If you've read Emily's work and want to get in contact with her she can be reached via email [email protected], on Twitter @ejkimelman, on Facebook, and at her website www.emilykimelman.com. Sign up for Emily's newsletter to stay in touch.
A Note from the Author:
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