Page 24 of Just Friends

“Put the knife down, babe.”

He was looking at the chef’s knife in her hand. “Oh, yeah.” She set it down on the counter and backed away. “Sorry.”

Two uniformed officers entered and Weasel lifted the clown to his feet, and handed him over. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” They escorted the clown from the kitchen in silence.

He studied Rebecca. “Well hell. If I’d known that’s what it would take to get you to look at me like I’m breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d have taken down a clown a long time ago.”

She scoffed. “You made him cry.”

“You were trying to stab him,” he tilted his head. “You’re smiling.”

Rebecca felt her cheeks and sure enough, a wide smile. She coughed out a rough laugh, her hands trembled, and her legs turned to jelly. Then letting out a sob, Weasel caught her before she hit the ceramic tile. He helped her to the couch in the employee break room. He gave her the opportunity to rest a few minutes and brought her a cup of hot tea before asking her to recount what happened for his report.

“I’m not going to press charges,” she added, after she’d told him what had transpired that morning. He’d taken notes for the police report. Weasel studied her like she’d lost her mind. She reached over and set a palm on his arm. “We know who did this,” she continued. “The only other person who knows about my fear. And we can also conclude that the business has a privacy policy where they won’t tell you who hired them. It’ll be a pain in the butt to get a court order. And for what? Is it illegal?”

“He needs to suffer the consequences.”

“You’re angry,” she replied, letting her hand slip into his. “The bigger deal that’s made, it’ll confirm that he got to me. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, so scare the clown all you want, but I’m not coming into the station.” They lingered in silence for a moment. His warm hands holding hers, protective and comforting. He stared at her lips, and she looked at his mouth. They leaned toward each other. She’d let him kiss her.

“Detective Anderson.” A uniformed officer entered.

Rebecca pulled away, and Weasel emitted a low growl then turned. “Yeah.”

“We’re heading out with the clown who refuses to give us his real name. He has no identification on him.”

He sighed. “I’ve gotta go. Consider going home and resting.”

“I have a lunch shift.”

He nodded. “Eat something. Adrenaline let down will zap your energy.” With that, he kissed her lips so quickly that she almost didn’t realize it happened. He disappeared out the exit and left her sitting there. She touched her fingers to her tingling lips.

???

The man, still dressed in clown clothes, flinched when Weasel walked into the interrogation room. It pleased him. He preferred it when suspects feared him. They had washed the makeup from his face revealing an unremarkable, average looking young male, maybe twenty. Short dark hair replaced the bright red, curly wig. So far, he’d given no other information other than what they knew. He worked for a company hired to prank Rebecca by having a clown standing in different places and follow her throughout October. That morning’s stunt of pursuing her into her work through the back door was the culmination of the contract. It almost had him knifed by a pissed off woman.

“Good, you remember me,” Weasel said leaning forward with his hands flat on the table. The guy didn’t respond or even look at him. “What’s your name?” Again, nothing from him. “Were you the only one following her?” he paused, and the suspect remained motionless. “So, why won’t you talk?” Weasel dragged out the chair and sat across from him. “If we run your prints, what are we gonna find? That you’re a shit bag stalker?”

The clown’s eyes shot up at this and glared at Weasel. “I’m not a stalker. You can take it up with my employer.”

“He’ll throw you under the bus.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. You think he’ll walk in here and admit to hiring you to do the stalking? That’s bad press for his business.”

“He wouldn’t do that. It’s a legit company, he told me so…and we’re pranking not stalking.”

“Semantics there and you know it. You followed the victim at the Harvest Festival, outside her job, and her home…a judge will see it the same way.” The guy’s mouth dropped wide. Weasel leaned forward. “Now, how about you help me out here, and we’ll go easy on you.”

“Easy, huh?”

“How did pissin’ me off work out for you?”

He sighed. “I don’t have a record. I’ve never even been in a police station before…. All right, I’m a college student taking odd jobs to make money, and this could ruin my life.”

“I suggest you get to talking, ‘cause one way or another we’ll find out who you are.”

“I’m Jeremy Davidson. My boss is Lincoln Murphy.”

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