Left to Loathe, page 7
Adele bit her lower lip, holding back a foul word. Not that this surprised her. She'd already written Mr. Osloo off as an unlikely candidate. But what did that mean for their next move? The Dutch police had already put out a warning to all the brothels in the Red Light District, specifically warning them about blonde women that fit the description of the killer's victims.
“Call it a night?” John asked, swinging his elbow and causing Adele's to swish back and forth as well. Sometimes the big man acted like a schoolboy, but there was no one who made her feel safer when wandering dark streets in foreign city.
“Maybe...” she paused in the middle of the street, glancing up and down the boulevard. Crowds had dwindled, tourists still lingered but moved quicker from location to location. De Wallen had served the killer well so far. “He struck twice in three days,” Adele said quietly. “Means he might be on the prowl tonight.”
She looked down the street in the other direction, looking as the young men watching the large woman made gestures at the prostitute.
She turned back to John. “What if we stroll around a bit?” she said with a shrug. “John—hey John.”
He blinked, ripping his gaze away from another model in a window on the opposite side of the street. “Yes?” he said quickly. “I'm—umm, what?”
Adele rolled her eyes, yanking John roughly by the elbow and leading him up the street, along the sidewalk. She wasn't quite sure what she expected to find out here in the night. Already, a thick cover of darkness would obscure the less-than-reputable sorts.
But De Wallen wasn't that large. The culture here was so different from anywhere she'd been before; she was still trying to get her bearings.
“Look at that,” John muttered, pointing. The St. Nicolas Basilica's turrets jutted in the night sky, near enough to windows with scantily clad women to strike an odd juxtaposition.
Adele kept tugging insistently at his arm, moving along the streets. A busker crooned softly where he sat perched on a park bench. A few other shops boasted late night service with sex shops located next to Middle-Eastern restaurants.
Adele noted a tall man following a younger woman. She went stiff, staring as the two left a café. But a second later, the man caught up with the woman, and she leaned against him giggling and planting a kiss on his cheek.
Adele sighed, looking away.
“You know,” John said carefully, “you're prettier than all of these women.”
“Thank you, Renee,” Adele said with a snort, patting him on the back of the hand.
“And,” John began slowly, “coming to a new place like this... a new city? Might be nice to explore new things.”
Adele's eyes narrowed and she only afforded Renee a faint “mhmm.”
“I mean, some of these women are quite interesting, no? Not that I'm looking. Of course not. Never.”
“Of course.”
“Just... you know, if you were feeling... experimental...”
Adele turned, looking John dead in the eyes. “A threesome? Really?”
“What? I never—I didn't say—”
“Sure,” Adele said without batting an eyelid. “I'm game.”
John's mouth half unhinged. “I-I... you are?”
“As long as I get to choose the third.”
“Wonderful—yes, of course, of course!”
Adele tapped her chin with a finger, pretending to be lost in thought. “Honestly, John, I'm impressed by your willingness to try new things.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod and a sniff. “I do pride myself on being open-minded.”
“I'm thinking... tall. Muscles. Definitely. I don't mind facial hair. But he has to be well-groomed. What do you think?”
John gaped at her, blinked, swallowed. “I—he has to be?”
Adele kept her expression solemn, though inwardly she felt a wicked, mischievous jolt of delight at his gob smacked expression. “Yes, of course. Like you said, I get to choose our partner. Thank you, John—very, very considerate of you.” She patted him on the arm again.
“W-I didn't... but—Adele...” John stumbled over his words, spluttering as he moved alongside her. “You know what... Maybe it's not such a good idea. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I'm perfectly comfortable John.”
It took him a second to notice the faint curve of her lips. Then, his eyes narrowed. “You're teasing me...”
Adele smirked, displaying a Cheshire grin. “I don't know, am I?” But as she said it, she trailed off, her eyes darting towards a well-lit window across from a café.
A blonde woman was dancing in the window, swaying in time with some unheard music. Long, fake eyelashes fluttered along with the crook of a finger as she beckoned towards Adele and John. But Adele's gaze flitted from the woman towards the man in the alley across the street.
He wasn't like the other tourists. He wasn't pretending not to watch, but he also wasn't up against the glass, ogling. Rather, he stood across the street, in the folds of an alley's shadows, watching the blonde woman.
He wore a newsboy cap angled low over his eyes, his hands jammed in his pockets. When he caught Adele watching him, he pushed off the wall suddenly and began to move quickly up the street, in the opposite direction of the agents.
“John...” Adele murmured.
“It was just a joke, Adele. Yes. I was just joking. I don't—I'm not actually—”
“John! Look. That man, see him?”
John's flustered prattle trailed off. He followed Adele's indicating finger and gave a nod. The two agents hesitated, poised on the sidewalk both peering in the direction of the retreating man. The man in the cap shot a quick look over his shoulder.
Adele glanced away, pretending she'd been admiring the blonde woman in the window as well. “Is he still looking?” Adele whispered.
John grunted. “Turned off down a street. What's wrong?”
“I—he was watching her...” Adele whispered, pointing towards the woman in the window. “Plus... just something off. He was in the alley.”
John nodded slowly and then, his arm still hooked in Adele's, he began to move with long, rolling steps up the street towards the intersection where the man in the cap had disappeared. Adele moved twice as fast to keep up with her partner.
“Careful,” she whispered. “Don't spook him. Not yet.”
The two of them slowed but kept moving as quickly as possible towards the edge of the café. Then, they rounded onto the intersecting street in pursuit of the strange man.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The man had paused again, peering through another brothel's window. Adele and John kept their distance as they slowly followed the man up the street. This had been his second stop in as many minutes, and again, as Adele watched him from where she lingered near a bus-stop, the man's face creased in a sudden bout of rage.
He glared at the woman in the window, his lip curling into a sneer. And again, as he had before, he turned away in disgust, trudging off and muttering darkly beneath his breath.
“Someone's not in a good mood,” John murmured.
Adele didn't say anything, still maintaining a sufficient gap as they followed the man through the district. He paused near another display window and again cursed, slamming a fist into his hand. This time, he even flashed the bird at the woman in the window and spat.
Adele blinked in surprise as spittle flecked the glass. The woman shouted something from inside her protective cage, returning the middle finger. But the man threw his hand up in disgust and dismissal and trudged to the end of the street, turning down it and disappearing behind the side of the nearest brothel.
Adele and John picked up their pace, hurrying to the edge of the street. Adele turned to follow, her reflection chasing her along the many glass windows.
But she suddenly pulled to a halt. Her eyes darted up and down the new street. “Where'd he go?” she said suddenly.
John came to a halt at her side as well, running a hand through his dark hair as he huffed. “Shit... Think he saw us?”
Adele winced, but then frowned. “Unless... unless he saw what he was looking for,” she murmured. She pointed first to one side of the street, then to the next. Two brothels, both facing each other, both with scantily clad women in the window. Perhaps it was just Adele's imagination, but these women seemed to be moving a bit more zealously than previous dancers. Perhaps out of the competition factor of each other—both had a perfect view of one another across the street.
Such a strange place. But Adele wasn't here for the hefty dose of culture shock. She cursed, pointing off to the right. “You take the brunette!” she ordered. “I've got the redhead.”
John blinked, gaping after her.
“The brothel, John!” she snapped. “Look for him—hurry!”
John's mouth closed and he gave a quick nod. He picked up the pace, jogging towards the indicated brothel while Adele hastened across the street.
She paused in the door, once again glancing up and down the street. No sign of the angry man in the hat. Had he hidden down an alley? Had he given them the slip?
She seethed but shook her head. The man had seemed so determined, looking for... for something... someone?
She cursed, pushing elbow first through the swinging glass door, small, speckled fairy lights illuminating her sleeve. She didn't trust the germs on the door handle. As she shouldered through, a big man, built uncomfortably like her father, was standing behind a desk. The man was about the Sergeant's age, had a similar beer belly and strong forearms. Thank heavens he wasn't also wearing a t-shirt with soup stains; Adele wasn't sure her subconscious could've taken it.
Even still, she felt completely uncomfortable standing in front of the bouncer. She wondered what her father might say if he ever saw her in such a place.
Even this consideration, the notion of her old man in a place like this, caused her stomach to churn. Some things were best left deep, deep in the imagination, hidden from the light of thought.
“Umm, sorry,” she stuttered, “I'm looking for a man. Did he come in here?”
The bouncer's eyes narrowed, and he gave a faint shake of his head. “No man,” he muttered.
Adele sighed, ripping her badge from her pocket and flashing it. “Interpol,” she said. “Please, I'm investigating an active case.”
The bouncer glared at her, crossing his arms. Even the hair along his forearms looked like her father’s. Shit. This whole place seemed designed to screw with her mind. Adele decided the next best option was to ignore the man completely. She tried to sidestep him, but he stepped as well.
Muscled and big though he was, he didn't touch her. At least the badge had earned that much.
“No man,” the bouncer repeated.
“Two words at a time,” she muttered. “I'm proud of you.” As she spoke, she tried to peer past the fellow's ample waist, down the hall. She thought she spotted movement on the other side of a dangling, beaded curtain like the fringe of a weeping willow.
“No man!” he insisted, a bit more loudly, moving like a basketball player to block her progress without using his hands.
“Touch me,” she said firmly, “and I'm going to take out some childhood anger, got it?” A part of her felt a strange, vindictive delight at the thought of burying her knee into the big man's belly.
Perhaps her daddy issues weren't as settled as she'd hoped. Still... she didn't hit him right away. That was some progress, wasn't it?
As she tried to sidestep the bouncer, someone suddenly screamed from down the hall.
Adele's eyes widened, the bouncer's followed, after a second, a bit slower on the uptake.
“Sorry,” she said. “That's my cue.” She shoved him, hard, leaning into it, and used the motion to sidestep, rushing down the hall.
“John!” She shouted over her shoulder, though she doubted he'd hear from across the street.
More shouting from down the hall, followed by loud, angry voices. The door at the far end was still open, where Adele had spotted motion. Now, though, a figure in a flat cap was stumbling into the hall, angrily yanking and jerking at the arm of a woman.
More shouting in Dutch. Adele wasn't sure what was being said but could tell by the enraged expressions on both the man and the prostitute that it wasn't anything nice.
The bouncer, seemingly deciding the real threat wasn't the cop, hurried behind Adele, rushing down the hall as well. The bouncer bumped into Adele, but then flung himself into a lurching grasp.
The man in the cap stopped mid-shout. He turned, eyes widening beneath his cap. And the bouncer slammed into him, bringing both of them down in a loud thump!
The girl stared down, horrified, her mouth forming a circle, and then she screamed, beating at the bouncer with a small, black purse with a golden clasp.
The man on the ground was protesting, kicking. The bouncer's head lifted, a grim look of satisfaction across his features. He posed almost heroically on top of the man he tackled. But the look of heroism only lasted until the black purse struck him on the nose.
“No!” the prostitute was shouting. She continued yelling, beating at the bouncer.
He blinked, raising a hand to protect his face and then deciding this new threat, armed with a purse, was a priority, he shoved off the man he'd tackled and grabbed the woman's wrist, restraining her.
Adele already had cuffs in her hand and dropped to her knee by the side of the man in the cap who pushed up, blinking blearily, and shaking his head, muttering beneath his breath. Sweat trickled down his face. He had features like a banker beneath the cap. Neat hair, glasses, and silver sideburns. The red flush, the sweat, and the wheezing sound he made as he rubbed his ribs somewhat ruined the “distinguished” look he was going for.
Adele pulled at the man, twisting at his arm, clicking the cuffs into place as she dragged him to his feet.
She heard the loud sound of thumping footsteps and the voice of John Renee behind her. “Adele! Are you okay!”
“Fine,” she gasped, clicking the cuffs completely into place and then pulling at the man's collar to lead him away from where the woman was still trying to bludgeon the bouncer. “I think he might need some help,” she said, breathing heavily.
John gave one look at the purse-wielding woman. He clicked his tongue. “She a suspect?”
Adele shook her head.
“Then I think he's got it handled,” John said, wincing as the golden clasp of the purse struck the bouncer's nose again.
Adele rolled her eyes. “John...” she said.
“Fine,” he muttered. And the big Frenchman marched towards the purse-wielding hooker to intervene.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He twisted the plastic straw, stirring it through the glass and trying to pick out the pleasant tinkle of ice against glass over the noise of the club. How people abided places like this never much made sense to him. Too much noise. Too much body heat. Sweat, drugs, drink... And inevitably the odor of vomit and urine in the bathrooms where the charming denizens missed their targets.
Still... he'd been patient.
And now his patience was rewarded.
There she was, pushing through one of the back doors now, coming from upstairs. A man accompanied her, smiling profusely and patting her arm. The tall woman smiled politely, gave the man a final kiss on the cheek, and then sent him off with a little push. The man was reluctant to leave, but with a heavy sigh finally retreated, moving away from the leggy woman.
She glanced around the room, adjusting her dress and tapping a finger to an ear to disentangle one of her earrings. Her eyes flitted towards where the man sat, his hand still resting on his glass of ice water.
As she looked his way, his heart hammered, and he forced a smile and a little wave. She noticed the motion of his hand and returned the smile and began strolling in his direction.
The man cleared his throat, quickly dabbing a napkin across his forehead, making sure to wipe the sweat free. He pushed to his feet, doing everything he could not to look in the direction of the other man who'd descended the stairs with his love.
A white-hot bolt of rage jolted through him. Even that little kiss, the faint push... All reminders of what the two of them had likely been doing upstairs. The FKK clubs weren't like normal dance clubs. They came with perks attached.
One such perk was strolling towards him as if she had all the time in the world and was making her way down a catwalk. She looked as good as he remembered her. Clear skin, sky blue eyes, blonde hair, smooth legs for days.
As he straightened, he adjusted his glasses, smiling nervously.
He moved around the table, approaching her as she neared. Ten feet. Five... He blinked, feeling a sudden jolt. Three. Two. They stood within a foot of each other. She was still smiling, but his own expression had slipped.
A faint flicker of horror twisted his stomach.
“No... no, no...” he whispered beneath his breath.
“Pardon me?” she asked, leaning in and placing a delicate hand to her ear so she could hear over the noise. Her earring, a little diamond heart, swished.
“You're—you're not who I thought you were,” he said, his voice strained. She looked so similar. He'd done his research, hadn't he? A Belgian girl, just like him. He knew she'd been—but no. No, standing there, staring at her, he'd made a mistake.
How hard was it going to be to find her? How many more hours, days, weeks?
He let out a weary sigh, turning to leave.
But her fingers trailed against his arm. She leaned in close, and he felt the warmth of her body radiating against his skin. “Let me help you,” she whispered in his ear. “I can be whoever you'd like me to be.”
He turned back, staring at her. Those eyes... so familiar yet so different. Why did she have to be such a tease? Why did they all?
A pretense... a con. They were trying to play with his heart.
He felt his blood boiling again. That same rage from earlier returned, faster now. But he kept his expression impassive, his eyes blinking behind his spectacles. He cleared his throat and forced a polite smile.
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