Business as Usual (17 page)

“It’s
not your hair so why are you worried about it?”

Mother
sighed. “You look like a boy.”

“Good!
Maybe people will shut up about me finding a boyfriend and leave me alone for
once.”

 “What
kind of man is going to want a skinny, knock-kneed, bald headed girl? You need
to marry a nice Dominican boy and start acting like a grown up. Your father and
I can’t pay your bills forever.”

“If
you want me to move I’ll move.”

Mom
swung her petite body around my bed and dumped the pillows from out of my
pillow cases and tossed them into her laundry basket.

“You
don’t make enough money.”

“I’ll
move in with Dana,” I taunted.

“With
Dana?” mother asked, turning her head to the side to look directly at me. “I’m
starting to wonder about the two of you.”

…and
I was starting to worry about
her
. Mama had the nerve to complain about
me living at home but hated the idea of me moving out.

“Wonder
what?” I snapped.

I
slipped my feet into a pair of tennis shoes and rolled the bottom of my skinny
jeans.

“About
you and Dana hanging around so much.
The only person you want to be with is
her
.
Why don’t you find a nice young man and settle down.”

“You
sound like a broken record.”

Mama
rolled her eyes as she collected the dirty t-shirts and socks littering the floor. 

“Is
that all you think about?”

“Somebody
has to! It’s been a year and a half since the accident, Victoria. It’s time to
move on.”

Mother
looked up at me, sadness in her eyes. “I worry about you…that’s all.”

“I’m
twenty-four years old. I can take care of myself, OK?”

“I
gave birth to you. I know how old you are!”

“Ugh.
Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

Mama
dropped the dirty linen in a laundry basket and frowned as she picked it up and
propped it on her hip.

“Victoria
Taisha
Lawford
? You never
answered my question.”

“We’re
not lovers! It’s just a stupid haircut. A pixie cut. In fact, it’s not short
enough to qualify as a
‘pixie’,
I can still put it in
a pony tail. Women wear haircuts like mine all the time.”

“I
spent fifteen years of my life growing your hair out and you go and chop it all
off in one swoop! You’re so ungrateful.”

“Dana
said it was cute.”

“Who
cares what Dana thinks? And what kind of girl runs off and joins the police
force anyway? She acts like a boy, too. ”

“Normal
girls.
Like Dana.
Gawd
you’re so old school. She joined the
force four years ago. She’s a detective now. Get used to it.”

“I
don’t know how you stand her. Her mouth is too big for me.” 

I grabbed
my army jacket and draped an over sized messenger bag containing my laptop over
my shoulders.

“That’s
why she’s my friend and not yours. I’m taking my bike. I’ll be back tonight.”

Meeting
Dana was just the excuse I needed to get out of the house. I would have walked
downtown to get away from my mother’s irksome old fashioned ways.

“At
this hour?
And for goodness sake! Can you please keep your room clean? Last time I checked
the word ‘maid’ wasn’t stamped on my forehead.
This look like
the Hilton to you?”

“Whatever.
Dana’s waiting for me. That greasy little diner on 3
^rd
street burned
down. The cops think it was another arson job. Say what you want about Dana but
at least she's helping me. I’m going downtown to freelance another article for the
Journal.”

“Well!
Good luck with that.” 

Mama
shrugged like she was bored and walked out.

I
didn’t expect her to take an interest in my career choice anyway. The only
thing mother ever cared about was finding a man and keeping him. Never worked a
day in her life and refused education beyond high school. Despite this, she was
well read. She had to be to hook the kind of man she wanted. By the time she
met my father she had already gone through a string of wealthy men. My parents
married when she was in her thirties. She had me at forty-three. 

The
only man mother ever truly loved was my father. He wasn’t rich, like the
others. He was a struggling real estate agent when they first met. Somehow, he
managed to win her heart and they’ve been happily married ever since.

It
was the one good thing she’d ever done.

A
crackle of thunder made my bedroom window rattle as a burst of rain poured down
in sheets. I left the house a few minutes later, hopped on my bike, and pedaled
like a maniac all the way downtown. We lived a few beats outside of the city
where highway met country road. Our house was the two story four bedroom,
country home with the wraparound porch out in the middle of nowhere. A
half-mile away from the water tower, yards away from the blue windmill in a big
grassy field not far from an ancient willow tree overlooking a pond with baby
ducks waddling in it.  I pedaled as fast as I could down the gravel path
from our house until I hit the bike trail leading to Madison Heights, just off
road.

I
was nervous biking out there alone… the route I took was dark and dreary, like
something out of a horror movie.  Dilapidated warehouses and abandoned
buildings accounted for most of the scenery. But after the accident I vowed I
would never drive again.
In fact, driving scared me far more
than the thought of Freddie Krueger lurking out there in the bushes.

I
made it to Dana's crime scene forty minutes later. There, fire trucks, squad
cars, errant fire hoses, and police officers littered the street.

The
wheels of my bike rotated slowly as I pedaled into an area that had been
sectioned off by yellow police tape as I looked for my friend Dana.

She
was a tall woman, tough with a lean build and crystal clear eyes that sparkled
like green ice. She wore her auburn colored shoulder length hair pulled into a
ponytail. I followed the sound of her voice until I had a visual. I could hear
her barking orders from across the street.

The
two of us made an odd pair, and it was amazing how we'd managed to stay friends
over the years. I was the aimless artsy one; she was focused and professional.
It was her drive that led her to make detective in four years. Though some of
the guys in her district would suggest she’d been pushed ahead of the pack
because she was a woman, Dana worked hard to prove herself.

“Hey,
what we got here?” I asked, far more cheerful than someone entering a crime
scene needed to be. A police officer gave me an irritated look.

“Get
your ass behind the line, Tai. You’re messing up my crime scene,” Dana yelled.

Dana
was lead arson detective on the arson case. This was the third fire in six
weeks.
Mostly restaurants.
Sometimes
a barn here or there in the middle of nowhere.
The modus operandi was
always the same.

I
backed off. “What crawled up your ass and died?” I asked.

“Your
mother.
She called looking for you. I told her I was in the middle of something and she
chewed my damn ear off.”

“My
bad.
What’s the scoop?”

“Same
guy.
Same M.O.”

Dana
grabbed a piece of debris and held it in her hand, smoke still rising from it.

“Looks
like he used an accelerant.
Probably took less than an hour to burn this place to the ground.”

Dana
chucked the debris aside. A man wearing a CSI jacket picked it up and placed it
in a baggie marked “evidence”.

“And
how do you know this?”

“Our
dog sniffed it out. Judging by the char marks near what used to be a window, I
would say the fire burned there first, spreading across the dining area to the
kitchen. My forensic team is analyzing paint chips and pieces of wall.”

I
pulled my notebook out and took notes, wondering why anybody would want set
this place on fire. The diner was just a tiny storefront on a busy two-way
street, owned by a sweet hard working old couple. I’d eaten burger in there
once. 

“What
about the other restaurants? Any chance he'll come back?”

 “It’s
inevitable, Tai.
Unless we catch him first.
He’s
picking them off one by one.”

I followed
Dana to a window where she kicked broken glass into the restaurant and looked
inside.

“I’m
taking bets. Will it be the Japanese restaurant across the street…or The
Pancake Shack on 5
^th
?” 

“Anything’s
possible at this point. We’ll keep our eyes on both.”

I
scribbled some more. A uniformed officer gave Dana a chart. She gave it a
cursory read, took a pen out of her jacket and signed the document.

“
Wanna
get some lunch tomorrow?” I asked.

“Let’s
do that.
Across the street?”

I
looked up. “Why?”

“I
told you I’m keeping an eye on the place. The suspect might come back to have a
look at his handy work. They always come back.”

“Cool.
We’ll catch up.”

“How’d
you get out here?”

“I
rode my bike.”

“This
time of night?
I’ll give you a ride home. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Dana
snapped her fingers and a young officer with a dog pushed his way through the
crowd toward us.

“Nah,
I’m good. I’m
gonna
grab some coffee and hammer away
on my laptop for a while.”

“You
sure?
It’s
raining pretty badly out here.”

Thunder
crackled again as if to emphasize her point.

“I
like rain. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” I said, hopping on my bike again.

I
rode across the street, dodging a fireman as he rolled a large white fire hose
back onto a fire truck. He gave me a nasty look and spat on the ground, wiping
a smudge of black soot across his cheek with the back of his hand as he dried
his mouth.

I
continued across the street and parked on the sidewalk in front of Satsuki
Japanese restaurant, my back facing its large red sign as I took in the
devastation unfolding across the street. The air smelled like barbecued pieces
of wood and melted plastic. 

Overpowered
by the fumes, and realizing my laptop was probably wet, I went into the restaurant
to see if I could salvage the damned thing. I sat down, taking a window seat. I
did a double-take when I saw my reflection in the glass. My hair looked mangy
and wet, mascara running down my mocha complexioned cheeks leaving a trail of
ink colored tears in its wake.

The
laptop beeped. I stared at the blank white screen of my word processor and
hammered out a title. As I typed, a young Japanese waitress wandered out of the
kitchen to my table. The restaurant was empty, the chaos across the street driving
customers away for the night.

“Excuse
me, may I take your order?” the waitress asked. She held a tiny notebook in her
hand.