Cluster B: Deviant Behaviors, #2

By Adan Ramie

The kids aren't all right in the local youth shelter. They're dropping like flies, and the one person who cares is forbidden from following their bloody trail…

Readers called it "a stunning thriller" and "a complicated, dramatic story".

Harry Thresher has been stripped of her badge and her livelihood pending a formal investigation into the shooting death of a former suspect.

She's furious – and bored as hell.

On the lookout for something to distract her from her misery, she goes to the local youth shelter to take her mind off her misery and stumbles onto something ominous.

When a missing boy comes back with a bloody surprise, Harry knows she must risk losing her badge forever to save the kids — and the woman — she has come to love.

"A great story with many surprises and a must for fans of this genre."

Contains adult content. Reader discretion advised.

Deviant Behaviors Trilogy:
Book #1: Maladaptation
Book #2: Cluster B
Book #3: Eager Observer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atypical Deviance Press
• Release date: Mar 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519977373

Adan Ramie

Adan Ramie lives in a small town in Texas that is not unlike Andy Griffith's Mayberry with her wife and children. You can find her work in anthologies, magazines, and online journals. For updates, free fiction, and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter at: http://www.adanramie.com/newsletter

Book preview

CHAPTER 2

Freshly showered and pressed, Harry pulled up to the quiet shelter at 8 o'clock. She paused at the door, tucking an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and tried to peek through the little window. She saw chairs stacked neatly in a corner, an old TV playing what looked like an afterschool special from the late '90s, and one kid sitting lonely in front of it.

She pulled the door open and walked inside the shelter, having an idea of what to expect, but trying not to let it color her opinion of the place too early on. The kid's head swung around and his eyes narrowed. He was 12, maybe 13, and already he could smell a cop at 50 paces. She offered a smile, but he scowled and turned back around, deeming her not a threat. The unique sound of a woman's heels clip-clopping down a narrow hallway hit her ears just a few beats before she saw her. Harry sucked in a breath.

The woman who walked toward her was short, thin around the middle, but thick on top and bottom. Her red heels drew attention, then cast it up over fleshy, muscular legs that peeked to the knee out of a tight-fitting skirt. A light sweater, V-neck cut to accentuate her lush, dark cleavage, drew the eye from her chest to her face. She jerked to a stop, her face morphing through an array of emotions as she scrutinized Harry. Then, as suddenly as she stopped, she put a smile on and walked toward her. The detective felt a quiver somewhere near her solar plexus.

Steady, she told herself.

Good morning, the woman said, holding out a hand. My name is Sanura Johnson, and I'm the Youth Counselor here. Can I help you?

De—I'm Harry Thresher. She shook the counselor's hand and marveled at how smooth and supple the skin of her hand was. She wanted to grasp it between both of her hands and run her fingertips over its texture, but fought the urge. A month ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated; before Busy, everything was a lot simpler.

Sanura’s lips, painted a deep, lush burgundy, spread wide to show an unapologetic gummy grin that Harry returned. Detective, is it? Or former?

I'm taking some time off. Harry couldn't fight the blush that rose from her chest to burn in her cheeks.

Sanura let out a throaty laugh and squeezed Harry's hand before she let it go. Are you here for something in particular?

To see him, Harry said, and pointed at the mouth of another hallway. Just inside the entryway stood a man who still didn't look a day over 21. Thank you for your time, Miss Johnson. It was nice meeting you.

I'm sure we will see each other again, Sanura said with a smirk, then twisted around and walked away.

Harry watched her fast, clipping walk, the way the muscles worked under the thin material of her skirt, and had to force herself to look away. The heat kicked on in the shelter with a click and a thump, and David looked up from his clipboard. He spotted Harry and his mouth fell open with something like fear. She smiled as she walked over to calm his fears that this meeting would bring the same kind of bad news as their last.

Hey, David.

Detective Thresher. What can I do for you? He dropped his clipboard to his side. I assume you’re here to ask about another murder. One eye twitched as he said the word, and his Adam’s apple bobbed furiously under his bad shaving job.

Hearing her title was bittersweet, and it punched her in the gut every time. It had been what kept Harry inside her apartment for the past weeks, and she wondered again at why she had fought her reluctance and dove back out into the world. She tried to keep her smile genuine.

No, no murders. I'm here as a civilian, she answered. I was wondering how everyone was doing here. I got the e-mail you sent out about the fundraiser, and thought maybe you could use some help.

The fundraiser? He seemed surprised. Harry waited while he composed himself, glanced down at his clipboard, then looked up at her again with a sheepish smile. Yes, of course.

He pulled the clipboard up and leafed through until he found the page he needed, then turned it around and handed it to her. It was heavy in her hands, and she wondered how long it would be before this poor man and his shelter went digital. The paper he had flipped to was a sign-up sheet, and there were only two names on the list.

We usually don't get a lot of volunteers, he explained. He tucked his hands under his arms and looked her over. Are you sure you have the time? I was under the assumption that a detective's work is never done. He laughed. It sounded about as real as the smile that had fallen from Harry’s face.

She nodded, signed her name on line number three, and checked the box that would sign her up for bringing supplies. On second glance, she saw that the other two had only checked supplies or monetary donation, and begrudgingly checked the next box. What exactly does 'hands on' entail? she asked, and handed him back the clipboard.

His eyes widened at her choice, then he held out his open hand to shake. Detective, there's so much to do, and there are only a few of us here to do it. He laughed, the sound bordering on hysteria. Well, the two of us. Three on a good day, so anything you can help us with would be great. We need volunteers to oversee the production of the art and music, especially with the rowdier youth, and to set it up when the fundraiser begins. There's also food preparation, and security.

Security? In her mind, a scene from her nightmare repeated: a willowy orphan standing before a riverbed, then lifeless, lying in the reddening pool with shallow water lapping over a fish-pale face. She shook it out of her head.

David reddened under his acne scars, and his eyes shifted to the few stragglers from the night before. Unfortunately, I'm usually not enough to wrangle them all for the big events. They get overexcited. Some of them look at it as their chance to lift the wallets of the people who would come and buy their art for a large donation. Not only does the youth get in trouble, but the shelter loses that donor forever, and I need some help keeping an eye on a few of them.

I can definitely do that. Put me on that list, she said, and glanced over at the folding chair in front of the television. The kid who had eyed her when she walked in scraped his chair back and stood. He walked over to them with a determined step and a chip on his shoulder that Harry could see in his face. Good morning, she said.

You're a cop, the boy announced through a scowl. The expression on his face said he could smell authority on her, and it didn't suit his palate. He turned to David. What do you need a cop here for?

David opened his mouth to answer, but Harry shot back before he could get a chance. I'm not a cop. I was once, but right now, I'm just here trying to help.

Why the hell would you do that? the boy asked.

David gave him a disapproving frown, but the boy ignored it.

What's your name, kid? Harry asked.

He looked at her like she had grown another head. What does it matter to you?

Harry shrugged and shifted on her feet to throw him off guard. He felt the shift, but didn't know how to compensate, and wrapped his arms across his chest.

I just wondered how to address you, she finally answered. I want to help because I know what it's like. When I was a kid, I didn’t have a lot of family to turn to. Those that took me were too old, and they didn’t live to see me even get to your age.

So? he asked, but he didn't sound as convinced as he had before.

David cleared his throat. Detec-... Er, Miss Thresher...

Harry, she corrected him, and held out a hand for the boy to shake. You can call me Harry. I spent some time in shelters, so I know what it's like.

The boy shook her hand uncertainly and glanced from Harry to David and back again. His dark eyes were troubled. There'll be kids on the street 'cause they don't want to stay at a place where there's a cop.

I'm not a cop, she said, showing him where her badge should have been. I lost my badge trying to protect a couple of girls who made really shitty choices.

He squinted at her, as if he could see what lurked in her mind if he stared hard enough at her skull. He let his hand drop. Keaton.

Good to meet you, Keaton.

He turned to David. You gonna explain that story to every kid who walks in here? A lot of 'em will turn tail as soon as they see her. He sniffed. She even smells like a cop.

What does a cop smell like? Harry asked.

Like hand sanitizer, starch, and gunpowder. He stuck out his tongue. It's a gross combination.

She grinned at him, and sized him up. He was a little small for his age, but not much; in his formative years, he had been fed well. His clothes were worn but not ragged, and under his fingernails were clean. How long have you been on the streets, Keaton?

Long enough. He turned abruptly around and walked back to his folding chair and television. He tossed a glance over his shoulder when he got there to make sure she was still watching him. She raised her eyebrows and he turned back.

Cute kid, she said.

David nodded. From what I can gather, he's only been homeless for a few weeks. He's a voluntary case, and pretty low risk as far as I’m concerned. Single father, multiple siblings; you do the math.

Spoiled?

He snorted. He had it better than I did, that's for sure.

Harry knew the type, and she always wondered what it would have been like to grow up with choices. I guess he's right, though, she said.

David looked at her with a sympathetic smile. They'll know you're a cop, but I don't think as many will run out as he thinks. The youth are high-risk for drugs, prostitution, and worse, but they know where they get a good night's sleep. And they know me. He gestured at the boy in front of the television. At least, the regulars do. Keaton is new. He's still healthy enough to be mad at his parents. Mad at his mother for leaving, and his father for not being able to do what she used to do.

I don't want to make it worse on them. She lovingly ran her fingers over the cigarette pack in her pocket. She wanted one again already. Talking so openly about having her badge taken had reopened the fresh wounds and brought up feelings she had been working hard to repress. I just wanted to help.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and she excused herself to take the call. Outside in front of the building, she lit a cigarette and sucked in the first puff slowly, savoring the flavor. Thresher.

Man, you know you shouldn't be smoking, Cal said in lieu of a greeting. I thought you were quit. I thought you cared about your health.

I don't need a lecture today, Gafferty.

Former detective Calvin Gafferty had been her partner for a year, long enough for him to learn about and harass her out of most of her bad habits. It was also long enough for her to drag him down and have his badge taken, too.

All right. Listen, I know you don't do this kind of thing, but Little Bear wants to know if you'll come to dinner. She tried to interrupt, but kept talking over her. It's no big deal. Just Little Bear, me, and Baby Bear.

I don't do dinner, she said. She blew a smoke ring and glanced around her. A couple of kids lingered at the end of the building, watching her. She walked a few feet away in hopes that they would sneak inside while she wasn't looking. I'm not domesticated.

Neither was I, until the baby was born, he shot back. She could hear the irritation in his voice. In over a year of knowing each other, she had only once met a member of his family, his sister, who he called Little Bear. The meeting had been unintentional. Come on, Thresher. Be a real person for once.

She groaned and stubbed out her cigarette on a metal trash can in the alley beside the shelter. She tossed it into the trash can, then hovered over it to make sure it didn't catch fire. She glanced over her shoulder to find that the kids had gone. She swore under her breath.

Fine, but don't expect me to be guest of the year. I'll make my appearance, have a few bites, then be unavoidably called out.

Silence answered her, and for a second, she thought Cal had hung up. Finally, with a sigh, he grunted his agreement.

You owe me one, she told him, not meaning it. They both knew she already owed him so big that she would never be able to pay him back.

I know, he answered. Six o'clock.

She repeated the time to him, they said their goodbyes, and hung up. She walked back to the door, then paused with her fingertips just brushing the handle. What was wrong with her? Volunteering, and now going to dinner with Cal and his brood? She shook her head and pulled open the door. Sure enough, a couple of extra kids were inside, and as she walked in, their eyes glowed with recognition like deer caught in traffic.

Everyone, I want to introduce you to Harry. David didn't miss a beat. Harry tried to put on a convincing smile, but wasn't sure if she managed. She's not a cop. She's a volunteer.

He didn’t sound as confident as he looked, and his eyes kept darting at her warily. She understood his reluctance. A shelter’s job is to shelter, and if the kids wouldn’t stay under the same roof as someone who looked like they owned a badge and a gun...

Looks like a cop, one teen piped in.

The other, a teenage girl with short hair who hid her body under heavy clothes, only stared suspiciously at her. Harry remembered being that girl. Once upon a time, Harry had been unsure, abused, downtrodden, exploited, and let down by the system sworn to protect her. She gave the girl a nod. The teen's eyebrows furrowed deeper as she shoved her fists into her pockets.

You don't remember me, do you, Detective?

CHAPTER 3

Harry stood in stunned silence. Did she know the girl? She studied her face, her lank blonde hair, her glittering, angry brown eyes. This girl knew and despised her. Harry had injured her somehow; whether it was to help her or hurt her, she didn't know. The teen walked toward her slowly, one foot deliberately placed in front of the other. She had the confidence of someone who didn't care anymore. Someone who had seen too much too soon, and instead of breaking, they solidified—they turned to stone.

I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you, Harry admitted.

The girl smirked, and tossed a glance back at the tomboy behind her. Imagine that. This bitch doesn't even know who I am. She turned back to Harry as she reached her, and stood too close. Harry could smell the stench of young, unwashed flesh, hormones churning through a body unprepared for their wrath, and hair dampened by rain and dried in the dankness of some abandoned building. You ruined my life.

Hey, now. Maybe you need to go talk to Counselor Johnson, David said, stepping forward, but Harry held out a hand to stop him.

She didn't move away from the girl, but stared down at her instead, and her face was so close they might have bounced off each other like bumper cars at the state fair. She studied the upturned nose, a spray of freckles across its bridge, and the scar above her left eye.

You really don't know who I am, do you? Not a clue, the teen accused.

No.

The girl slid back and laughed, her hands high in the air at her sides as if she had stumbled upon a revelation. Well, it must be easy to forget. I guess you ruin the lives of lots of little girls, right?

Who are you? Harry asked. She refused to be baited by a child, and wouldn't let the girl raise her hackles. Not today. Not in this place.

Does the name Johnny Dale Barbeaux mean anything to you?

Harry was stunned. This girl couldn't remember her, not after so long. The Barbeaux case was eight years prior. There was no way a kid could recognize the young detective on the case after almost a decade. She stared at the girl with her mouth half-open for what seemed like a century before she closed her jaw.

Johnny Dale Barbeaux was a pedophile who liked to steal little girls and boys from improperly supervised playgrounds in small towns all over Texas and Louisiana. He made them have sex with each other while he shot video on a camera better suited to family vacations and birthday parties. He sold the videos to other pedophiles in the area. They always seemed to have been copied and sent all over the country without the use of the internet. What he did with the children after that...

Oh, you remember now, don't you? the girl teased. The other teen stalked up behind her fast, pale, cracked hands balled in fists at her sides. Posturing hard, Johnny Dale Barbeaux's daughter stepped close again. You remember leaving me without a daddy, pig?

Harry stretched the tense muscles of her neck as if she weren't aware of the young girl so close to her face. She sucked in a deep breath through flared nostrils, then met the girl's eyes.

I remember, she finally answered, her voice almost a whisper, so the gathering children had to be quiet to hear her. I remember putting a murderous pedophile behind bars. I remember having to watch the videos that sick piece of shit you call Daddy made of those poor little kids. Kids the same age as you and your brother were at the time.

The girl had started shaking her head, and backed up a step, but Harry kept going, taking a step forward.

"I remember your mother denying it was him, hiding him in your bedroom while we searched the house. I remember how scared you looked