Bitter Nights
© 2014 RE de Jauregui
Chapter 1
Barely visible under the flickering streetlights, a shadow appeared in the garden. A second and third shadow pulled darkness from the corners of the garden, materializing like black smoke and solidifying just as a lumbering figure crossed over the property line. Hissing gasps produced a foul stench, forming a colorless but deadly cloud that kept the ever-present mosquitoes away as he clumsily searched through the bushes. Slowly, more shadows slipped past the windows and under the door, gathering on the porch until a dark cloud concealed the chubby old cat hiding under a vintage rattan chair.
A clear, piercing whistle cut through the night as the screen door opened and the cat leaped across the porch and inside to safety.
Bitter stepped out, muffled in a dark bathrobe and slippers, with a .45 Glock in her hand.
"You!" Her voice rang out clearly in the quiet midtown neighborhood. "What are you doing in my yard again?"
No one answered.
The black and white cruising by slowed and pulled up to the neatly tended walk. The bright white spotlight disbursed the shadows gathered between the porch and the hunched figure.
"Bitter?"
It was a familiar voice, "O'Malley?"
"Got a problem?"
"Same one. He won't stay out of my garden. He's trying to catch my cat."
A loud sigh emerged from the squad car, followed by O'Malley's long legs and scowl.
"Jean. You canna go in her yard. Get out here to the street where I can see you."
"Mine."
"Jean, if I have to come over here one more time and take you out of Ms. Bitter's garden, I'm going to arrest you."
O'Malley glanced up toward Bitter and hesitated. The shadows behind her grew darker and more threatening. He shook his head before he looked back toward the garden. His voice sharpened, "Out, Jean. NOW." Reluctantly, the man scuttled out of the yard, but not without a last lingering look under the bushes.
"Jean, do not go in her garden again. Do not bother her cat. Do you understand me?"
"Mine."
Bitter stood on the porch for several long minutes after the trollish figure disappeared down the street. "Any suggestions?" she said dryly.
"Put a lock on the gate. Call your cat in before dark." O'Malley looked again at the shadows gathering protectively around Bitter, as she stood silhouetted against the porch light, her long, curly hair floating in the light summer breeze. "And plant something that's strong and sweet smelling, something night blooming, here by the gate. The stench out here is terrible."
As Bitter turned and went back inside, the cloud of shadows followed her into the tidy bungalow. O'Malley pursed his lips and considered the ghosts as they faded from sight. A familiar shadow, the last one, looked back at him and nodded before slipping in behind Bitter.
O'Malley nodded back grimly. His grandmother told him to always be polite to ghosts. Especially the ones he knew…
----------
Bitter quickly brushed her hair up into a bun and grimaced. It's my day off, I don't have to do this. She looked in the mirror again and shook her hair loose. It was longer than she expected after she applied the hair gel "guaranteed to hold every curl under control" and braided it into one long braid. A few brushes of blush and eyeliner, a bit of mascara and a touch of lipstick and she was ready to go. She'd already packed up the lumpia and sweet chili sauce so there were no more excuses.
She clipped her badge to her purse and slipped her carry gun into the holster tucked into the small of her back. It filled that loose spot in her jeans' waistband nicely. She turned once more, examining herself in the full length mirror. "Ayyyy, Mamá, I got your bootie and Papá's curly hair," she sighed as she adjusted the soft folds of the silk blouse to cover the automatic.
No more delaying. Time to go.
She looked at herself one more time. The turquoise silk suited her coloring. She added her mother's favorite hoop earrings and her grandmother's silver and turquoise crucifix before she was finally satisfied.
Careful of her knees and the insulated carrier, Bitter slowly went down the bungalow's steps. She paused at the bottom and looked across her lawn. "Jean Petit" she said sternly to the slumping man lurking by the fence, "Do NOT go in my yard after the cat. She is my cat and I will hurt you if you try to take her."
He straightened and turned toward her, his pasty face swollen in the late morning sun.
"Mine." He slurred.
"No. Mine." She spoke clearly and firmly, "And if you go into my yard, I will have the police go to Granny's house and take you to jail for stealing my cat. You have already been told to stay away from my house." She glared at him until he slowly stumbled down the sidewalk toward the corner house that belonged to the old woman who kept him.
Bitter held her breath as she stepped through the gate and locked it behind her. The air still stank foully of an unclean body and something dead and rotting. Maybe I should ask O'Malley to do a welfare check on the old woman. Jean's stench is getting worse every day.
----------
Sapp's broad smile lit up his face when he saw Bitter arriving with the insulated carrier, "We were wondering if you were coming." He sniffed the air as he held the door open, "What did you bring this time? Homemade tamales, fried chicken, sarmi?" He asked hopefully.
In spite of herself, Bitter cracked a smile at his enthusiasm. "No. Papá's favorite, lumpia with sweet chile sauce, just the way Lola made it."
Sapp rolled his eyes in ecstasy. "No! You make lumpia too?"
"Aye, yes she does," said O'Malley from the break room door. "And you'd best get out of the way before the stampede."
Bitter picked her way through the crowd of blues, taking a tray out of the carrier and setting it on the middle table with the rest of the potluck favorites. Behind her, she could still hear Sapp joshing with O'Malley about traditional foods.
"What, you don't have any traditional Irish foods?"
"None that you'd want to eat," growled O'Malley as he stared past the overloaded table into a shadowy corner.
Bitter paused and shrugged. O'Malley was always seeing ghosts in the shadows.
Laden with a large silver coffeemaker, one of the receptionists staggered into the room. Bitter couldn't remember her name. Maybe it was Candy. The high heels, flowing white dress and overdone makeup made her think of a perky young woman named Candy anyway. "Hey, hey, let me get that," someone said swiftly and several of the younger officers jumped to help her.
"Thank you," she said as they put the pot next to the industrial-sized coffeepot.
"What is it?"
"Oh," she smiled brightly, "It's chaga tea. You'll have to check it out, it tastes sorta like coffee. And it's organic." She finished perkily.
Turning away so Candy couldn't see his expression, Sapp gave O'Malley a quick side-eye, then sent an expressive eye roll in Bitter's direction. Just then, a huge platter of stuffed mushrooms arrived and Sapp started making a space on the main table.
"No, no, no, over there," Bitter pointed at the side table.
"What?"
"Allergy-producing foods go on that table. Peanuts, shellfish, mangos and mushrooms go over there."
"Mushrooms? Who's allergic to mushrooms?" Sapp asked curiously.
She looked at him grimly. "Me."
Sapp sobered. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
Sapp looked down at her in sympathy, remembering that her ex-husband poisoned her once with shrooms, but didn't say anything more. He knew better.
Bitter looked at the potluck line and sat down at one of the long tables. The uniformed officers went first, since they had to hurry and get back on patrol. Behind them, a long line of off-duty cops and staff waited. O'Malley and Sapp sat down across the table from her, still bantering about food. Neither was on duty, and they all worked nights anyway. There was no hurry.
"Ah man, the lumpia will be all gone by the time we get there," groused Sapp as a blue went by balancing a fully loaded plate with at least a half dozen lumpia teetering on the top of his food.
O'Malley just smiled.
"What are you smiling at?" Sapp demanded.
"You're talking about Bitter here. Do you really think she put it all out at once?" O'Malley countered smugly.
Sapp turned to her, eyes filled with hope, and Bitter couldn't help herself. She laughed.
Behind her, the room grew still in shock. Bitter hadn't laughed in a long time. Years. But before the silence grew too long, Candy popped up next to Bitter with a steaming mug in her hand.
"I wanted you to taste this chaga tea." Her voice was too high, more toward the annoying little girl pitch than the breathy Monroe image that she was trying a little too hard to emulate.
Bitter politely took the steaming mug. Candy's hand lingered a moment too long, until Bitter gently pulled the cup away. "Thank you." Candy was still hovering, so Bitter gave her a brief smile and a nod. She sniffed at the slightly bitter scent rising from the brew, "It smells — interesting." A quick sip and a grimace sent her to the coffee urns looking for sugar and creamer, while Candy retreated to her entourage of admiring blues.
"Whew, this is strong even for a cop brew." She commented to Sapp as she sat back down, with the tea properly sweetened and lightened.
"What is it again?" asked O'Malley.
"Some organic tea stuff." Bitter replied, taking a swallow. "It's not bad once you add sugar and cream to it. Sort of a cross between tea and coffee. A little bitter."
Bitter took another sip and began fanning herself with a napkin. The room suddenly felt stuffy.
"Is it warm in here?" Her words slurred as she started gasping for air.
Sapp stood, "Are you OK, Bitter? You don't look good."
He was reaching across the table, too late, as Bitter fell to the floor, the tea splattering across the worn linoleum. Voices rose and fell, fading in and out of the fog that surrounded her as she struggled to breathe.
"Call the paramedics."
"What was she drinking?"
A shrill scream echoed through the room.
Sapp's voice rose above the babble, "Oh Lord. What was that tea called again?" His voice was frantic and something in the back of her mind paused to wonder at it, even as a wave of darkness approached.
Sapp was shouting, "I need an EpiPen. Here. NOW!"
The last thing Bitter felt was a sharp pain in her thigh as she slipped into a black sea of nothingness.
© 2014 RE de Jauregui
Chapter 1
Barely visible under the flickering streetlights, a shadow appeared in the garden. A second and third shadow pulled darkness from the corners of the garden, materializing like black smoke and solidifying just as a lumbering figure crossed over the property line. Hissing gasps produced a foul stench, forming a colorless but deadly cloud that kept the ever-present mosquitoes away as he clumsily searched through the bushes. Slowly, more shadows slipped past the windows and under the door, gathering on the porch until a dark cloud concealed the chubby old cat hiding under a vintage rattan chair.
A clear, piercing whistle cut through the night as the screen door opened and the cat leaped across the porch and inside to safety.
Bitter stepped out, muffled in a dark bathrobe and slippers, with a .45 Glock in her hand.
"You!" Her voice rang out clearly in the quiet midtown neighborhood. "What are you doing in my yard again?"
No one answered.
The black and white cruising by slowed and pulled up to the neatly tended walk. The bright white spotlight disbursed the shadows gathered between the porch and the hunched figure.
"Bitter?"
It was a familiar voice, "O'Malley?"
"Got a problem?"
"Same one. He won't stay out of my garden. He's trying to catch my cat."
A loud sigh emerged from the squad car, followed by O'Malley's long legs and scowl.
"Jean. You canna go in her yard. Get out here to the street where I can see you."
"Mine."
"Jean, if I have to come over here one more time and take you out of Ms. Bitter's garden, I'm going to arrest you."
O'Malley glanced up toward Bitter and hesitated. The shadows behind her grew darker and more threatening. He shook his head before he looked back toward the garden. His voice sharpened, "Out, Jean. NOW." Reluctantly, the man scuttled out of the yard, but not without a last lingering look under the bushes.
"Jean, do not go in her garden again. Do not bother her cat. Do you understand me?"
"Mine."
Bitter stood on the porch for several long minutes after the trollish figure disappeared down the street. "Any suggestions?" she said dryly.
"Put a lock on the gate. Call your cat in before dark." O'Malley looked again at the shadows gathering protectively around Bitter, as she stood silhouetted against the porch light, her long, curly hair floating in the light summer breeze. "And plant something that's strong and sweet smelling, something night blooming, here by the gate. The stench out here is terrible."
As Bitter turned and went back inside, the cloud of shadows followed her into the tidy bungalow. O'Malley pursed his lips and considered the ghosts as they faded from sight. A familiar shadow, the last one, looked back at him and nodded before slipping in behind Bitter.
O'Malley nodded back grimly. His grandmother told him to always be polite to ghosts. Especially the ones he knew…
----------
Bitter quickly brushed her hair up into a bun and grimaced. It's my day off, I don't have to do this. She looked in the mirror again and shook her hair loose. It was longer than she expected after she applied the hair gel "guaranteed to hold every curl under control" and braided it into one long braid. A few brushes of blush and eyeliner, a bit of mascara and a touch of lipstick and she was ready to go. She'd already packed up the lumpia and sweet chili sauce so there were no more excuses.
She clipped her badge to her purse and slipped her carry gun into the holster tucked into the small of her back. It filled that loose spot in her jeans' waistband nicely. She turned once more, examining herself in the full length mirror. "Ayyyy, Mamá, I got your bootie and Papá's curly hair," she sighed as she adjusted the soft folds of the silk blouse to cover the automatic.
No more delaying. Time to go.
She looked at herself one more time. The turquoise silk suited her coloring. She added her mother's favorite hoop earrings and her grandmother's silver and turquoise crucifix before she was finally satisfied.
Careful of her knees and the insulated carrier, Bitter slowly went down the bungalow's steps. She paused at the bottom and looked across her lawn. "Jean Petit" she said sternly to the slumping man lurking by the fence, "Do NOT go in my yard after the cat. She is my cat and I will hurt you if you try to take her."
He straightened and turned toward her, his pasty face swollen in the late morning sun.
"Mine." He slurred.
"No. Mine." She spoke clearly and firmly, "And if you go into my yard, I will have the police go to Granny's house and take you to jail for stealing my cat. You have already been told to stay away from my house." She glared at him until he slowly stumbled down the sidewalk toward the corner house that belonged to the old woman who kept him.
Bitter held her breath as she stepped through the gate and locked it behind her. The air still stank foully of an unclean body and something dead and rotting. Maybe I should ask O'Malley to do a welfare check on the old woman. Jean's stench is getting worse every day.
----------
Sapp's broad smile lit up his face when he saw Bitter arriving with the insulated carrier, "We were wondering if you were coming." He sniffed the air as he held the door open, "What did you bring this time? Homemade tamales, fried chicken, sarmi?" He asked hopefully.
In spite of herself, Bitter cracked a smile at his enthusiasm. "No. Papá's favorite, lumpia with sweet chile sauce, just the way Lola made it."
Sapp rolled his eyes in ecstasy. "No! You make lumpia too?"
"Aye, yes she does," said O'Malley from the break room door. "And you'd best get out of the way before the stampede."
Bitter picked her way through the crowd of blues, taking a tray out of the carrier and setting it on the middle table with the rest of the potluck favorites. Behind her, she could still hear Sapp joshing with O'Malley about traditional foods.
"What, you don't have any traditional Irish foods?"
"None that you'd want to eat," growled O'Malley as he stared past the overloaded table into a shadowy corner.
Bitter paused and shrugged. O'Malley was always seeing ghosts in the shadows.
Laden with a large silver coffeemaker, one of the receptionists staggered into the room. Bitter couldn't remember her name. Maybe it was Candy. The high heels, flowing white dress and overdone makeup made her think of a perky young woman named Candy anyway. "Hey, hey, let me get that," someone said swiftly and several of the younger officers jumped to help her.
"Thank you," she said as they put the pot next to the industrial-sized coffeepot.
"What is it?"
"Oh," she smiled brightly, "It's chaga tea. You'll have to check it out, it tastes sorta like coffee. And it's organic." She finished perkily.
Turning away so Candy couldn't see his expression, Sapp gave O'Malley a quick side-eye, then sent an expressive eye roll in Bitter's direction. Just then, a huge platter of stuffed mushrooms arrived and Sapp started making a space on the main table.
"No, no, no, over there," Bitter pointed at the side table.
"What?"
"Allergy-producing foods go on that table. Peanuts, shellfish, mangos and mushrooms go over there."
"Mushrooms? Who's allergic to mushrooms?" Sapp asked curiously.
She looked at him grimly. "Me."
Sapp sobered. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
Sapp looked down at her in sympathy, remembering that her ex-husband poisoned her once with shrooms, but didn't say anything more. He knew better.
Bitter looked at the potluck line and sat down at one of the long tables. The uniformed officers went first, since they had to hurry and get back on patrol. Behind them, a long line of off-duty cops and staff waited. O'Malley and Sapp sat down across the table from her, still bantering about food. Neither was on duty, and they all worked nights anyway. There was no hurry.
"Ah man, the lumpia will be all gone by the time we get there," groused Sapp as a blue went by balancing a fully loaded plate with at least a half dozen lumpia teetering on the top of his food.
O'Malley just smiled.
"What are you smiling at?" Sapp demanded.
"You're talking about Bitter here. Do you really think she put it all out at once?" O'Malley countered smugly.
Sapp turned to her, eyes filled with hope, and Bitter couldn't help herself. She laughed.
Behind her, the room grew still in shock. Bitter hadn't laughed in a long time. Years. But before the silence grew too long, Candy popped up next to Bitter with a steaming mug in her hand.
"I wanted you to taste this chaga tea." Her voice was too high, more toward the annoying little girl pitch than the breathy Monroe image that she was trying a little too hard to emulate.
Bitter politely took the steaming mug. Candy's hand lingered a moment too long, until Bitter gently pulled the cup away. "Thank you." Candy was still hovering, so Bitter gave her a brief smile and a nod. She sniffed at the slightly bitter scent rising from the brew, "It smells — interesting." A quick sip and a grimace sent her to the coffee urns looking for sugar and creamer, while Candy retreated to her entourage of admiring blues.
"Whew, this is strong even for a cop brew." She commented to Sapp as she sat back down, with the tea properly sweetened and lightened.
"What is it again?" asked O'Malley.
"Some organic tea stuff." Bitter replied, taking a swallow. "It's not bad once you add sugar and cream to it. Sort of a cross between tea and coffee. A little bitter."
Bitter took another sip and began fanning herself with a napkin. The room suddenly felt stuffy.
"Is it warm in here?" Her words slurred as she started gasping for air.
Sapp stood, "Are you OK, Bitter? You don't look good."
He was reaching across the table, too late, as Bitter fell to the floor, the tea splattering across the worn linoleum. Voices rose and fell, fading in and out of the fog that surrounded her as she struggled to breathe.
"Call the paramedics."
"What was she drinking?"
A shrill scream echoed through the room.
Sapp's voice rose above the babble, "Oh Lord. What was that tea called again?" His voice was frantic and something in the back of her mind paused to wonder at it, even as a wave of darkness approached.
Sapp was shouting, "I need an EpiPen. Here. NOW!"
The last thing Bitter felt was a sharp pain in her thigh as she slipped into a black sea of nothingness.
