really are fun in bed,” I said with a satisfied grin, “although I need to get into better shape ’cause I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.”
“My dad used to say the same thing and then he’d pop a nitroglycerine pill.” I slowly turned my head to be able to look Dawn in the face. “What?” she asked innocently, adjusting her head on the pillow.
“I need to clarify something. When I said you were a fun lover and I felt like I was about to have a heart attack, then you said, ‘My dad used to say the same thing,’ you were talking about having a heart attack, not making love to you, right? Because, you know, that would be a really awkward situation we’d have to further discuss.”
Dawn didn’t immediately react to what I hoped was a funny joke.
“Did I say dad? Sorry, I meant step-brother,” she deadpanned, before we both broke out in laughter, an occurrence that almost always happens before, during, and definitely after a lovemaking session.
“Why do I keep you around?”
I smiled. “I have no idea.”
We arrived 15 minutes early at the tour kiosk where the bus was parked on the street. It was more of a people-mover type vehicle, the kind used by wedding parties to get to and from the church. “Comfortable and equipped with a bar. I like it,” Dawn said. “I hope the walking parts are short distances.”
“From the curb to the front door of a murder scene?” I asked.
“Something like that.”
“Don’t worry, the walking is minimal. I walked the beat for years. I’m too old for that kind of thing now,” a gruff voice declared from behind us.
We turned and were greeted by an extremely fit, silver-haired man, who was the size of a small car.
“Rodney Dutton. Are you here for our tour or to cause trouble?”
“Both, maybe,” Dawn replied as she placed her tiny hand into Rodney’s huge mitt-like grip. “We tend to behave ourselves until we get bored and decide it’s time everyone around us needs to lighten up.”
I offered my hand to our host and calmly said, “My name is Steve Cassidy and I have no idea who this woman is or why she keeps following me around. So far, she hasn’t become violent, but who knows when she might become a stop on your tour.”
Rodney let go of my hand and assessed the petite firecracker in front of him. “I’m thinking along with the other passengers, we can deal with any trouble that comes our way.” He paused and then asked, “Isn’t that right, Miss . . . ”
“Dawn.”
“Miss Dawn and Mr. Cassidy, I believe we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight.”
We nodded in agreement with Dawn lightly hitting my chest with her hand as Rodney left us to attend to new arrivals.
“Are we even now?”
“Even how?” I replied.
“For my insignificant other intro at the stockbrokers’ dysfunctional social gathering last night.”
“That old line? Do I look like someone who holds a grudge until I see the perfect opportunity, like just now, to get my revenge?”
“You totally do.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
“I’m sorry I called you insignificant,” Dawn ‘fessed up.
“Sorry you said it out loud or because it was a complete and bold-faced lie?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it!”
“If you two are done, they said we can board the bus now.”
Dawn and I pivoted toward this new voice that belonged to a kindly-looking woman in her early sixties who wore a wry grin. “I was young and in love once,” she stated grumpily as she walked past and entered the bus.
“Ah, she thinks we’re in love,” Dawn said softly. “What do you think?”
“Two things,” I began, having had this non-starter conversation with Dawn a few times. “One, I think l-o-v-e is a grown up term that should only be used by responsible adults, which obviously excludes us.”
“And two?” Dawn asked as we made our way up the bus stairs.
“Did you catch a whiff of her coat? I firmly believe she said the same exact thing to her 17 cats before leaving the house tonight.”
***
These types of tours attract a very eclectic group of people, from basic mystery fans to serious scholars of true crime, to those bored with what’s playing at the multiplex to lonely widowers, and, of course, a few wanna-be killers looking for pointers. Our group consisted of four university students on a double date, two female friends in their forties, a couple in their fifties who were married (although not necessarily to each other), the cat woman I’d nicknamed Ms. Vittles, and two solo thrill seekers, both in their early thirties. The driver was a kid I assumed to be the son or nephew of tonight’s guide Rodney, who now stood at the front of the bus talking into a microphone.
“The cases you’re going to hear about are real. They all happened during the past 100 years. People died. Their killers were tried and sentenced for their special crime. Most went to prison for very long periods of time, while a few were executed—an eye for an eye and all that. Some escaped to kill again or vanished into thin air, their whereabouts unknown.” For dramatic effect, like a campfire storyteller, Rodney let that fact hang in the air for a moment. “My business partner Lawrence Ingles and I worked together in the Homicide Unit for ten years, personally investigating a few of these files. Unlike the older cases, we can vouch 100% that the right man or woman was convicted.” As if on cue, the bus began to move and we were on our way. “The first stop is several minutes away, which gives us enough time to consume a beverage from the mini-bar. What can I get you?”
“He seems like he knows what he’s talking about,” Dawn said in a low whisper, motioning to Rodney who was in conversation with the married-unmarried couple.
“All Homicide investigators come off like they know what they’re talking about,” I laughed. “It doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that the guys in Vice have superior intelligence.”
Without hesitation I replied, “Who do you think gives the Homicide guys all their facts?”
A short time later, I raised my plastic tumbler of whiskey to Dawn’s small plastic flute of wine. “To a night of murder and mayhem.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Steve,” Rodney proclaimed to everyone present. “Please, let’s raise our glasses. To murder and mayhem and not necessarily in that order. Cheers!”
***
The
