Read Online The Frenzy Way by Gregory Lamberson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregory Lamberson
Tags: Horror
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scene yet.”
“According to Diega, they’re just setting up now. Patty’s making a list of all the uniforms who saw the writing on the wall.”
“Forget about that. It could have been the landlady or another tenant.”
“What do you want them to do?”
“Have them bring those witnesses into the squad room. Maybe they’ll tell you what they really saw—if they really saw
anything
—when they’re sitting in an interview room.”
“Copy that.”
“I’ll be in before shift change. No one signs out. I’m authorizing the OT.” As Mace shut off his cell phone, he heard a creak behind him.
Turning, he saw Cheryl standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in her robe.
“This is going to be a bad one, isn’t it?”
“It already is.”
CHAPTER TEN
Exhausted after a twelve-hour day, Peter Danior drove his unlicensed gypsy cab over the Queens Bridge to Long Island City at around 5:00 AM . He had earned three hundred dollars for the day, better than usual. Once he deducted his gas money, food expenses, and coffee tab, he had just over two hundred dollars left in his pocket. Aishe would be pleased, though he doubted she’d show it.
His beautiful wife still had too much of the old country in her blood. While Peter had lived in the United States since he was twelve, Aishe had arrived only two years earlier, her marriage to him arranged by their parents a decade earlier. They were Gitanos: Roma people. Gypsies. Peter’s family lived in Spain, Aishe’s in France. Peter had been thrilled to learn Aishe would be his bride, but marriage had proven difficult. Money preoccupied his wife, who made as much telling fortunes part-time as he did driving his cab full-time. They constantly bickered about financial matters.
Aishe refused to take an American name, as he had, and insisted on calling him
Pitti
rather than Peter. She hated New York City and wanted to own a house in what she called “the real suburbs.” Peter hadlived in Queens most of his adult life and had no desire to leave. But if moving would bring peace to his marriage, he was willing to work hard to buy her a home wherever she desired. He wanted a son and hoped he’d grow up in a stable, loving environment.
Peter drove through his neighborhood, which had become crowded and noisy over the years. Beyond the elevated train tracks, Manhattan gleamed beneath a full moon. He pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. Getting out, he faced the white siding on his little house and sauntered from side to side as he mounted the concrete steps leading to the front door.
Aishe had turned on the kitchen light, and he heard bacon sizzling in a frying pan. Unzipping his green army jacket, he hung it on a coat hook and walked through the dark hallway to the kitchen. Aishe moved into his vision, her back to him, dressed in a baize robe. Her long, curly black hair hung down to the middle of her back, and he admired the shape of her ass. Feeling himself growing hard, he appreciated their life together when they weren’t fighting.
“Aishe?”
She looked over her shoulder, a startled expression on her face. “Oh, Pitti, you frightened me! I didn’t hear you come in.” She spoke in a heavy French accent.
He stared past her at the frying pan. “You’re cooking for me.”
“Is that so unusual?”
Yes
, he thought. She never got up early to feed him, so he usually cooked for himself. Pulling a chair across the linoleum, he sat at the table. She had laid the early morning edition of the
New York Post
on the table for him.
What’s gotten into her? She must want something. But what? She had her own money.
Aishe served him a cup of black coffee, then returned to the stove.
Peter sipped the bitter liquid and set the cup back down on its saucer. Taking the tabloid in both hands, he gazed at the headline:“Werewolf” Stalks City! A photo of a smiling blonde woman faced him from beneath the lurid headline. The image blurred and he felt light-headed. As he
“According to Diega, they’re just setting up now. Patty’s making a list of all the uniforms who saw the writing on the wall.”
“Forget about that. It could have been the landlady or another tenant.”
“What do you want them to do?”
“Have them bring those witnesses into the squad room. Maybe they’ll tell you what they really saw—if they really saw
anything
—when they’re sitting in an interview room.”
“Copy that.”
“I’ll be in before shift change. No one signs out. I’m authorizing the OT.” As Mace shut off his cell phone, he heard a creak behind him.
Turning, he saw Cheryl standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in her robe.
“This is going to be a bad one, isn’t it?”
“It already is.”
CHAPTER TEN
Exhausted after a twelve-hour day, Peter Danior drove his unlicensed gypsy cab over the Queens Bridge to Long Island City at around 5:00 AM . He had earned three hundred dollars for the day, better than usual. Once he deducted his gas money, food expenses, and coffee tab, he had just over two hundred dollars left in his pocket. Aishe would be pleased, though he doubted she’d show it.
His beautiful wife still had too much of the old country in her blood. While Peter had lived in the United States since he was twelve, Aishe had arrived only two years earlier, her marriage to him arranged by their parents a decade earlier. They were Gitanos: Roma people. Gypsies. Peter’s family lived in Spain, Aishe’s in France. Peter had been thrilled to learn Aishe would be his bride, but marriage had proven difficult. Money preoccupied his wife, who made as much telling fortunes part-time as he did driving his cab full-time. They constantly bickered about financial matters.
Aishe refused to take an American name, as he had, and insisted on calling him
Pitti
rather than Peter. She hated New York City and wanted to own a house in what she called “the real suburbs.” Peter hadlived in Queens most of his adult life and had no desire to leave. But if moving would bring peace to his marriage, he was willing to work hard to buy her a home wherever she desired. He wanted a son and hoped he’d grow up in a stable, loving environment.
Peter drove through his neighborhood, which had become crowded and noisy over the years. Beyond the elevated train tracks, Manhattan gleamed beneath a full moon. He pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. Getting out, he faced the white siding on his little house and sauntered from side to side as he mounted the concrete steps leading to the front door.
Aishe had turned on the kitchen light, and he heard bacon sizzling in a frying pan. Unzipping his green army jacket, he hung it on a coat hook and walked through the dark hallway to the kitchen. Aishe moved into his vision, her back to him, dressed in a baize robe. Her long, curly black hair hung down to the middle of her back, and he admired the shape of her ass. Feeling himself growing hard, he appreciated their life together when they weren’t fighting.
“Aishe?”
She looked over her shoulder, a startled expression on her face. “Oh, Pitti, you frightened me! I didn’t hear you come in.” She spoke in a heavy French accent.
He stared past her at the frying pan. “You’re cooking for me.”
“Is that so unusual?”
Yes
, he thought. She never got up early to feed him, so he usually cooked for himself. Pulling a chair across the linoleum, he sat at the table. She had laid the early morning edition of the
New York Post
on the table for him.
What’s gotten into her? She must want something. But what? She had her own money.
Aishe served him a cup of black coffee, then returned to the stove.
Peter sipped the bitter liquid and set the cup back down on its saucer. Taking the tabloid in both hands, he gazed at the headline:“Werewolf” Stalks City! A photo of a smiling blonde woman faced him from beneath the lurid headline. The image blurred and he felt light-headed. As he
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