Culture Shock Part 9

"You're pathetic!" She straightened and shook her head. "Good thing you aren't pregnant. I've always heard that if men were the child bearers, every family would only have one. I don't think you'd live through the first birth. I never realized what a wimp you are."

He raised his head. "I am not a wimp."

"Then get up!" she insisted. "I haven't missed a day of work yet."

"Impossible, I hurt. Why can't you understand? I'm not used to this kind of pain."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She raised her hands. "If you aren't going, then you have to call in sick, and I hope you're very happy making me look bad."

Alex, looking most pathetic because of his bed head, struggled upright, still clenching his stomach. "Being absent one day won't make a difference. Besides, I don't do anything there anyhow."

"The phone number is in my address book." She spoke through clenched teeth. "You'd better tell them you'll be there tomorrow, or else..."

"Or else what?"

"I...I...I'll show up in your locker room wearing a thong."

"Humph!" He curled back into a ball. "Then I'll just have to wear a jock-strap to your office."

"Oh...you...you're...impossible! There*s some pills in the medicine cabinet to help with the pain and bloating...take two." She stormed out of the apartment, dreading another long day having to play macho.

Alex took the pills as Cynthia suggested, slept for a while, and woke feeling much better. Wondering how to spend a free day, he decided this would be a good time to call the super and have the deadbolt replaced. He picked up the phone and waited for an answer.

"This is Cynthia Freitas in Apartment 2E...er...2A. I have a faulty lock on my door. I bought a new one and need it installed right away. Yes, it's the deadbolt. If you could come today that would be very helpful since I'm usually at work. Yes, I'll be home all afternoon. Thank you."

He hung up, smiling at reaching a live body instead of a recording. Hearing the super say he would respond within the hour was a rare event indeed. Alex imagined the call going out for snowplows in h.e.l.l and his smile broadened--especially when he pictured the Devil behind the wheel of one.

Staying home worked out fine for Alex. Maybe surprising Cynthia with a newly-installed deadbolt would lessen her anger at him. Yes, he wasn't doing the actual repair, but he still took care of the problem.

He sat and picked up yesterday's newspaper and scanned the headlines. His hands fisted along the edges of the tabloid. He wanted to be at his own job, doing something productive to help solve the crime. Poor Cynthia surely felt the same. He hoped she could continue to pull off the charade for both their sakes. He grimaced as he caught sight of the feminine hand turning the pages. How could this have happened and how in the h.e.l.l did he fix it?

Tossing the paper aside, he switched on the TV and surfed for something interesting to keep him from feeling so helpless. He found an old Gary Cooper movie and settled down to watch. His mind drifted to his refrigerator full of beer, and his mouth watered. But, what if someone saw him going into his apartment as Cynthia? Drinking had become a bad and growing off-duty habit. Although his predicament didn't provide the perfect opportunity for quitting, he couldn't picture the body he owned at the moment swigging down a six-pack.

Someone knocked on the door.

Alex crossed to the door and paused before opening it. Funny, being a woman made him feel more guarded, especially given the circ.u.mstances. "Who is it?" he asked.

"The super." The voice boomed deep and loud.

Alex adjusted his frilly bathrobe and opened the door. "Come in. Glad you could find time."

"Humph." The unshaven man brushed past him and set his tool chest on the floor. With eyes of stone, he stared at Alex. "You gonna move or what?"

Alex stepped out of the way. "Oh, I'm sorry."

The man's presence made Alex's short hairs stand on end, although he didn't know why. Maybe because he dealt with seedy looking criminals and lacked the trust he once had.

The super knelt before the door and removed the faulty lock.

"I'll bet this building keeps you busy." Alex attempted to make small talk as he handed the new lock to the man.

"Yeah."

"Do you know if the owners plan to update the electrical wiring anytime soon?"

"Nope."

"No, you don't know, or ... no, they aren't going to."

"Don't know."

"My, you're a man of few words, aren't you?" At no response, Alex felt like a spare leg and backed off. "Okay...well then I'll just leave you to your work."

He stole a glance into the man's tool chest. Inside, a wide a.s.sortment of screw drivers, wrenches, rolls of wire, locks, switches, and a very large roll of electrical wire were a.s.sembled in a tidy collection. Given the horrid condition of The Cairns, management probably bought materials by the truckload.

Still trying to use his interrogative skills, Alex stepped over to the tools and picked up the roll of electrical tape. "Boy, bet you use a lot of this stuff."

The super cast a piercing glare at him then wordlessly continued with his work.

Realizing there was no use in trying to engage the weirdo, Alex dropped the tape back in place. He returned to his seat, and the Gary Cooper movie still showing on TV, but shot an occasional uneasy glance at the super. Something about the man niggled at Alex. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

"Hey, lady," the super's voice barked. "Do me a favor, would ya? I don't wanna let go of the mechanism, so get me a smaller screwdriver."

Sure, wait until the movie got interesting and then decide to talk. Alex rose and searched through the tools, his attention equally divided between the screen and the metal box. Gary Cooper, boots thudding on the wooden walkway, strode out onto the dusty western street at high noon.

Alex gritted his teeth at being pulled away at the most pivotal moment. He seized the right-sized driver and, half sitting, half standing tossed it. "Here, catch." His gaze returned to the screen.

The sound of a yelp and screws scattering on the tile floor drew his attention. The super ma.s.saged his bicep and pointed to the screwdriver on the ground a few inches away. "You crazy or something?" His eyes turned beadier, his scowl marks deepened.

Alex covered his mouth. "Gee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you."

The super raised his sleeve and inspected his arm. An angry red blotch marred the middle of a huge tattoo of a Viking holding a beer stein. "Not very smart throwing a screwdriver," he growled. "It coulda been my eye."

"I'm really sorry." Alex didn't like the man, but he didn't intend to injure him.

Mumbling obscenities, the super crawled around on the floor searching for the screws. He found them, finished up his work, then tested the lock. After picking up his toolbox, he left without a word.

Alex went to the door and checked the new installation. It locked perfectly, although dirty handprints marred the door jamb. If Cynthia came home to that, she'd be on the warpath. While Alex cleaned up the mess, he shook his head, thinking about the super. The man definitely needed to hone his social skills, but that couldn't be the thing that ate at Alex. There was something else; he just couldn't nail it down.

Chapter Ten.

Cynthia, still angry over Alex missing work, tugged open his locker. She couldn't believe he'd succ.u.mbed to cramps. She'd had them for years. They were uncomfortable, but not intolerable. He acted like a baby and she wasn't going to let him forget it. Arguing had almost made her late for his job.

By the time she arrived, the locker-room had been almost deserted, and she didn't have to contend with the usual s.e.xist remarks she often overheard. She always wondered what men talked about amongst themselves, and now she knew. It wasn't pretty. They had a way of making something s.e.xual out of even the most innocent of subjects. Pigs...men were truly pigs. She finished donning his uniform and hurried off to roll call.

At the very back of the roll call room, she took a moment to run the toes of Alex's boots against the back of his pant legs before she slid into a chair. She had heard that the Captain often tried to make an example of anyone slacking off on their appearance. That wasn't the person she wanted to be. The lower her profile, the better. As she straightened her tie, the Captain stepped up to the podium, and the murmuring of voices silenced.

She leaned on her elbow and listened to the daily updates. Mike, sitting right in front of her, glanced over his shoulder. "I wondered if you were going to make it," he whispered.

"Shhh. I want to hear this." She didn't want to miss out on any vital information.

Mike flashed a sneer and turned back around.

After roll call, she met him in the hallway. Mike eyed her suspiciously. "Are you all right? Before you shushed me in there I was just-"

"Sorry about that. I guess I'm just jumpy...with...everything that's happening."

"I get it." He looked past her and pointed toward two approaching men clad in suits. "There they are."

"There...who are?" Lord, she hoped she wasn't supposed to know.

"The two d.i.c.ks we've been a.s.signed to help. We met them briefly a few weeks back, don't you remember? G.o.d, you must be getting senile, Alex. Come on, I'll reintroduce you."

Perp, d.i.c.ks ... where did they get such words? Thank goodness for all the cop shows on TV or she'd be totally lost. She pretended to remember the detectives as they exchanged handshakes and Mike revealed their names.

The balding, plainclothes detective pulled a small notebook from his pocket and thumbed through it. "One of the victims was found alive yesterday, although just barely. Mike, you and Alex head over to the hospital. If the victim regains consciousness, I want you to be there to ask some questions. We have a uniform stationed outside her door just in case. Make sure she isn't left unguarded. We haven't let it be known that she survived, but she may be our only chance to catch the perp and finding the other two women alive."

"You mean he nabbed another one?" Mike's eyes went wide.

"Yep, last night right off the BART platform. We questioned a few people who were there, but no one remembers seeing anything unusual. At least we'll have a good lead...if she lives."

A lump grew in Cynthia's throat. "W-where did they find her?"

His lips thinned. "Off Arguello Street. In an alley, just like the other two. Luckily, he didn't pull the electrical wiring quite tight enough to kill her. Same M.O., though. He left a friggin' doll again ...wrapped in a blue cloth. I wish to h.e.l.l I knew what it meant."

Her brain whirred. M.O....modus operandi. She nodded. "Alex," she almost slipped, "I mean...I wish I knew, too. Clearly the doll has a special meaning and figuring that out is key to the case."

Cynthia fidgeted in the pa.s.senger seat as Mike drove to the hospital. She stole a glance at him and wondered if he thought it strange when she insisted he take a turn behind the wheel. She had no idea where the hospital was located, and hoped her excuse about having blurred vision because of "allergy" eyes would buy her some time. She continued to amaze herself with creative white lies.

Turning onto Hyde Street, Mike pulled into the parking lot behind Saint Francis Memorial. She tagged alongside him as they entered the building and stood quietly as he asked for directions to the appropriate floor.

They had no idea if the victim had regained consciousness or not, but their instructions were to remain with her until she did.

Cynthia's heart raced with excitement and fear as they entered the elevator. Her panic muted Mike's casual conversation about his weekend outing with his wife. Nerves frayed, she forced herself to take slow and even breaths. Once they reached the victim's side, she'd focus on her partner's conduct and mimic him. Visiting and questioning a real victim of the serial killer was nothing she ever pictured herself doing. Following Mike's lead was her best bet.

When the elevator doors opened, she followed Mike down the hall and past the nurse's station, stopping in front of a row of cubicles. Cynthia peered through the gla.s.s separating her and Mike from the victim's intensive care room, and her stomach roiled. A uniformed officer sat in a chair across the way, and nodded. His face was familiar but his name escaped her. She returned his nod and focused her attention back on the victim.

A paralyzing s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through Cynthia. She might be sporting a macho body, but her nerves were her own, and the similarity between the patient and Cynthia was remarkable, at least when Cyn had her own body. She could only imagine the fear the woman had felt, staring death in the face.

Without realizing, Cynthia heaved a loud sigh.

Mike glanced over at her. "What?"

"Nothing really." She rubbed Alex's whiskered chin. "I just can't believe what this poor creature has been through."

"I know. Turns my stomach to think the creep is still out there. He must be one sick son of a b.i.t.c.h." A line of tension ran along his jaw.

Cynthia spied Alex's reflection in the gla.s.s. For the moment, seeing his manly face staring back at her gave her some security. She looked at Mike and swallowed her fear. "It doesn't look like she's going to wake up anytime soon. I'll go check at the nurse's station and see if I can get an update on her condition."

"Good. While you do that, I'll get us some coffee," he volunteered.

Cynthia waited until Mike was out of sight, then hurried down the long corridor and found a secluded hallway. Reaching for Alex's cell phone, she dialed her home number. No signal. "d.a.m.n!"

She turned the phone off and walked back into the main hallway in search of a payphone, inserted a coin and dialed.

"h.e.l.lo?" Alex answered.

"Hi, it's me, Cyn. They found another victim."

"Dead?"

"No. Not yet anyhow. I'm here at the hospital with Mike. We're waiting to see if she regains consciousness."

"Have you talked to the doctor? Do they think she's going to make it?" His voice showed true concern.

"They aren't sure..." Her emotion choked off Alex's voice. "S-she was strangled like the others, but he didn't quite finish the job this time."

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"I hate this, Alex. I want my own body back. I don't like being you."

"I know, I know. I'm not crazy about your cramps either." He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "We'll think of something. Just hang in there."

"Okay. I'll try." She squared her shoulders. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. I downed a couple of those pills you have and took a nap."

"Good, because tomorrow you're going to work, or else."

"Are we going to start the threats again?" His chuckle was real and eased the tension between them. She hung up and returned to her appointed station.

Cynthia placed two chairs against the wall outside victim's room and took a seat.

Mike handed her a cup of steaming coffee. "Did you talk to the nurse?"

Her mind was still on Alex and how he would handle the questioning. "What?" She tilted her head and looked up at him.

"The nurse...did you ask them how long we might have to wait?"