Page 9 of Praying Mantis

“She made her bangers, but enough chit-chat, your mother and father are probably wondering where you are.”

As John steps aside, I go ahead of him and take the hallway to the obnoxiously large dining room. I can hear talking coming from where my father’s office is. “Níl sé ag iarraidh a áit a ghlacadh sa teaghlach, agus táim níos toilteanaí ansin dul isteach.” It sounds like my father’s right-hand man, Colin O’Sullivan. That man rubs me the wrong way, and why is he questioning my place in the family?

“An bhfuil mo bhreithiúnas á cheistiú agat?” I hear my father’s rather harsh rebuttal. The last thing you do is question him or his judgment, idiot. I clear my throat and call out.

“Anyone home?” I’m waiting to hear my father lecture me again on shouting inside, even though I barely raised my voice.

“My son is home. Oh, how my heart is full.” My mom’s voice fills the foyer with a squeal of delight, even though we were together earlier today.

My father steps out of his office. “Must you raise your voice inside my home, buachaill? Also, Cara, stop babying him, he’s a grown man.” He knows that calling me boy pisses me off, but I will not let my anger show.

“Patrick, I know he’s a grown man, but he’s my child.” Usually, my mother doesn’t talk back to my father. She must have had a couple of nips of whiskey. I make my way over to my mother and bend over to kiss her on the cheek.

“Máthair.” She may be obsessed with my father's and my relationship, but she has a heart of gold.

Colin steps out of the office.

“Colin.” I dip my head not out of respect for him, but as someone who was taught at an early age to do this to your elders.

“Sean. How’s the FBI?” His tone is always so damn condescending. I roll my eyes internally because my dad will have words with me even though I am thirty-two years old. My dad is all about my respect.

“Keeping me pretty busy.” I shove my hands into my dark jean front pockets. Colin always has a way of making me feel like I’m an eight-year-old boy who got caught stealing a candy bar from the local convenience store. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, business with your dad.” I nod. “I’ll see myself out. Have a good night, everyone.” He walks out.

“Dinner is ready,” John announces. I hold my arm out for my mom to take so I can walk her into the formal dining room where all meals are served. I hold out her chair for her. She thanks me by pinching my cheek.

Maeve’s staff brings out the dishes after Dad and I are seated. Everything smells delicious and I pile food onto my plate. I stuff my plate, hoping we can make it through the dinner without a lecture about me quitting my job.

“Sean, we need to talk about some things.” My dad sets his bourbon glass on the table. I swallow my food and take a drink from my glass of water. When I come here, I never drink because I need to keep my senses about myself.

“If it’s about the FBI, we’ve been over it. Colin is a great second and would do great when you decide to retire. I fully support it.” I sigh, finishing my plate and placing my maroon cloth napkin on the table next to me.

“I don’t want him to take over. It always goes to the firstborn son. It always has and always will. How can you walk away from it? This is your legacy!” His voice grows louder and Mom winces at his tone. I pinch the bridge of my nose. As I open my mouth to speak, my phone rings.

“Sean, you know my rule. No cell phones at the table.” My mom scolds me.

“I’m always on call. There’s a big case right now. Let me see who it is.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket and sigh heavily at seeing my partner’s name. “Tony?”

“Hey man, sorry to call you during family dinner. They struck again.”

“Fuck! Where?”

“Vermont. Pick me up at my place since you’re already out. You can drive me.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” I stand from my chair. “I’m sorry. My serial killer struck again. Dad, please respect my wishes. I love you but I don’t want to follow in your steps. If it makes me a failure in your eyes, then I failed you.” I walk over to kiss my mother’s cheek. “I’ll call you this week or next.”

“We’re not done discussing this,” my dad yells at my retreating back. I’ve never been so happy about a case as I am right now.

Louisa

The drive to Vermont didn’t take long at all, and having my tunes is always a plus. I love doing car karaoke. My voice sounds like cats in heat while trying to bathe them, but I sing for myself because it relaxes me. The GPS lets me know I have reached my destination. I recheck my file on what car Darren drives so I can set up my murder bag, do the kill, and bolt out of the small town.

“Where’s the gold Chevy Equinox license plate DGR8TE?” I get out and walk around the street when I spot the car. “Please don’t have it locked,” I mutter to myself. I use the bottom of my shirt to try the door handle and it opens. “Score!” I whisper loudly. I lay out the plastic liner to protect myself more than because I really don’t want to drive home covered in blood. Once I set everything up, I head into the bar. I step into the dive bar and my OCD makes my eye twitch a little. There’s dirt everywhere on the floor like they have not swept this place in months. The place smells of stale beer and sex. I shiver at the thought of people actually having sex in here. The music is terrible eighties rock, the one where no one knows the words to, so there is no singing or dancing. I shake my head before walking in further to scan the bar, looking for my prey.

The file says Darren is thirty-five years old, a blond balding man, about six foot two, and about three hundred pounds. I check my phone for the driver’s license picture. I spot my target at the back of the bar in a booth with a line of shots. This is benefiting me. I walk to the bar to order a couple of shots of tequila and a rum and Coke. Darren waves to get the bartender’s attention, holding up his shot glass. I lean on the bar trying to get him to notice me and I down a shot while he leers at me. I wink at him and he licks his lips. I push the long red hair of my wig off my shoulder to flirt with him. I know how to flirt through the phone but to meet face to face with nothing between us makes me nervous. He waves me over. I down my other shot of tequila, pocketing my two shot glasses into my purse before grabbing my rum and Coke.

“You’re new here,” he slurs.

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