Beloved Killer, page 1
Beloved Killer
by Bonnie Dee
Copyright © 2013 by Bonnie Dee
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Chapter One
“First do no harm.” The old man’s voice echoed from his past as J pulled the trigger.
The target’s head jerked back, and the body dropped to the floor in a graceless heap. Red droplets decorated the white wall behind the man, spattering over a Klimt painting.
J hoped the artwork could be cleaned.
After removing the silencer, J put the Ruger away, clicked the case closed, and walked out of the building. He moved quickly through the night streets to where his vehicle waited. As he drove off, he called Kuypers. “It’s done.”
“Good. I have another errand for you tonight.”
It was well past midnight, but J was always on the clock. While he waited for further instructions, he pictured his boss sitting in his favorite leather chair in a cigar-smoke haze, gray eyes peering into the fireplace as if he could divine the future in its flames.
“There’s a bar on the waterfront at 38th and Welver, Mike’s Joint. Mike’s in arrears. Unfortunately, he’s also dead so not likely to pay up any time soon. His daughter, Nicolette Larson, has inherited the bar and her father’s debt. I’m sending a photo so you can identify her and bring her to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
J tapped the incoming message on the dashboard screen. An image of a young woman in her midtwenties appeared. Her very pale skin suggested strawberry blonde was the natural color of her hair. Her eyes were a striking pale green, translucent and…searching, for lack of a better word. But the serious look in her eyes was offset by a smile that curved her lips.
Pretty girl, J thought. “Got it,” he said.
“Bring her to the safe house. I’ll be waiting.”
J located Mike’s Joint on GPS and made a left turn toward the river. He took a sip of the energy drink in the cup holder and gave up on his hopes of stopping for a drink to unwind after the evening’s assignment. Likely he’d be busy till dawn.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to get rough with the girl. If she came along obediently and heeded Kuypers’s demands, she should be all right. He could drop her off at her doorstep in a few hours without a bruise on that porcelain skin. J hoped she’d behave, but if she didn’t, he’d do whatever he had to in order to deliver her to the boss. It was his job.
It was his life.
As for the the priest who’d once preached about acting kindly toward others and never doing harm, he belonged to another life J had once had. And the man was probably long since dead.
****
Nikki swabbed the bar with a rag and watched a couple of minutes of a very old Pacers game on the classic sports channel. The corner TV was no high-def flat screen but the very same clunky model her dad had installed about fifteen years earlier. The slightly wavering image warned her the set was nearly ready to give up the ghost—much like the rest of this run-down joint.
She checked on her final customers of the night. They didn’t seem any closer to leaving than they were an hour ago, the last time they’d ordered drinks. But since it wasn’t near time for last call, she could hardly kick them out.
The man and woman leaned toward each other across the table, deep in conversation. More like an argument, although their voices weren’t raised. Nikki guessed the fate of their relationship hung in the balance. The woman’s heartbroken expression and the man’s soothing murmur were far too familiar—lies, then apologies which hardly mended the shredded heart of someone who’d given her trust.
Nikki felt for them, or at least for the woman. Still, she couldn’t help her annoyance that they continued to linger, forcing her to keep the bar open on the deadest of dead nights.
After rinsing the rag, she considered pouring herself a drink just to pass the time. But she knew it was too easy for a pub owner’s casual drinking to become dependency. Her dad had been a stellar example of how not to run the family business. A raging alcoholic by the end, he’d left her a minefield of debt, which she was still picking her way through.
Nikki checked the time—one fifteen—then moved out from behind the bar and started wiping tables and putting up chairs. As soon as the arguing couple left, she could sweep and mop. With any luck, she’d be in her apartment over the bar by two.
Cleaning near the couple, she overheard the woman ask, “Why? I just don’t understand. How could I have done anything differently? What would it take for you to give us another chance?”
Nikki winced at her begging tone, though she knew from experience how hard it could be to let go of a toxic relationship. Show some backbone, woman! Knock over your chair and storm off. Don’t just take whatever he’s dishing.
Nikki moved away from the couple without asking if they wanted a last drink like she’d intended. Give them their space to do what they had to do.
The bell rang, and a rush of cool air entered the bar along with a new customer. The man who strode in was very tall, dark-haired, and had twin scars cutting across both cheeks which gave him a sinister appearance. Or maybe it was his eyes, which scanned the room with a coldly assessing gaze that made him seem dangerous. Either way, Nikki felt a tickle of chilly fingers on her spine as she returned to her place behind the bar to take his drink order.
“What can I get you?”
He sat on a stool and ordered a draft in a voice so deep it seemed to vibrate in the air with a palpable weight.
Nikki poured from the tap and watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to decide if he’d still seem as creepy without those scars. He was one of those tall people who hunched a little as if to compensate for their height, shoulders rising, head dipped down as if he’d be invisible if he could.
She placed the beer in front of him and glanced at the couple finally rising to leave. Great! They’d chosen now to go, leaving her alone with Lurch.
“Drive safe,” she called after them, but the man and woman ignored her, still entangled in their breakup as they walked out the door.
Nikki headed toward the back room. Maybe if she started sweeping, this guy would take the hint and make his drink a quick one. She grabbed a broom from the janitor closet, but before she could return to the bar, her creepy customer suddenly loomed in front of her.
“Nicolette Larson. My employer, Mr. Kuypers, wants to talk to you. Your father owed him money. Will you come with me, please?”
Her heart pounded painfully at his unexpected appearance. She could barely draw in a ragged breath to speak. “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about a Mr. Kuypers, and I’m certainly not about to go off with a stranger in the middle of the night.”
“He needs to talk to you about repaying the debt,” the man said calmly.
“Then he should call me and arrange an appointment like my dad’s other creditors. If his claim is valid, I’ll work out a payment schedule.”
He stared at her with eyes so dark she couldn’t tell pupil from iris. “Mr. Kuypers wants to see you tonight, and he doesn’t go to clients. They go to him. I’ll take you to the meeting place and bring you back here after. If you’ll just come with me, please…”
His voice was so low and soothing, so Morgan Freemanish, that Nikki almost felt compelled to obey. But she considered what he was saying. A debt to some unknown person whose name he seemed to expect her to recognize? It wasn’t likely to be anything legal. If she allowed this henchman to take her, she might not live to see another day.
Reacting instinctively, Nikki swung the broom handle at the man’s head. But fast as she was, his reflexes were faster. His hand shot up to deflect the blow. He snatched the broom out of her hands and flung it to land on the floor with a clatter. Then his hands gripped her wrists like manacles.
Nikki opened her mouth to scream, and a hand slapped across her mouth. Jesus. How many extra hands did this guy have? In seconds, he’d transferred both her wrists to one large hand, freeing the other to mute her cries for help.
“If you come along without any trouble, I won’t hurt you,” he said in that same patient, unruffled tone.
She could barely hear him above the pulse pounding in her ears and her own muffled yells. His palm was flat over her mouth so she couldn’t bite it.
“No screams, please.” He uncovered her mouth long enough to pull her arms behind her back, manipulating her body as effortlessly as if she were a doll.
This was going to be the end of her, kidnapped by criminals and forced to pay for her father’s mistakes. The sins of the fucking father visited on the child, wasn’t that always the way? Nikki twisted in her captor’s grip and delivered a sharp kick to his shin.
She was rewarded by a grunt of pain, but it didn’t stop the man from cinching what felt like a plastic tie around her wrists and then tying a gag over her mouth.
“Sorry. It’s just business,” he muttered.
The room went dark as he put a cloth bag that smelled of mildew over her head.
Still murmuring nonsense about there not being any need for her to be afraid, the man hustled her out the back of the bar. She heard the door open and close, felt cool night air on her skin, and smelled the Dumpster. He steered her down the alley, she could almost feel the walls on either side, and then a car door opened. A hand cupped her head, forcing it to bend forward while he maneuvered her inside. The door closed, and she was floating alone in darkness in the backseat of a kidnapper’s car.
Nikki tested her restraint. The thin plastic band cut into her wrists. She scooted across the seat, feeling for the door handle. But she couldn’t find one and knew, if she did, it would be locked.
Tears pricked her eyes, then rolled in hot streaks down her cheeks. The indignity of not even being able to wipe them away only made her cry harder, sniffling until snot ran from her nose. Furious at her lack of self-control, she tried to work the gag out of her mouth, pushing at the bit of fabric with her tongue until she’d spit it out. She drew in a breath of stifling, mildewed air and exhaled slowly, collecting her wits and preparing to face whoever this goon was taking her to see.
The engine purred and the tires bumped over a rough spot in the road. Nikki tumbled onto her side every time the vehicle turned. She should keep track of the lefts and rights. That was what kidnapping victims in movies did so they could tell the police later and lead them to the bad guy’s hideout. She began to picture a scenario in which all of this ended in cop cars and villains behind bars.
“We’re almost there,” came the driver’s rumbling voice. “I’m sorry about this.”
Did he think she might forgive him for kidnapping her if he continued to be polite and apologize? Nikki clenched her fists, though the movement made the zip tie press harder into her flesh. And now she dreamed about taking control and punching her captor until he lay unconscious on the ground.
Chapter Two
J didn’t know why he felt compelled to reassure the girl. Maybe if she’d come with him compliantly, he might have chatted with her, explained the situation a bit more, but not when she’d kicked him in the shins and forced him to truss her like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Who was he kidding? He never explained anything to the people he dealt with, only carried out his duties silently and efficiently. It wasn’t in his nature to make small talk.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at the woman and wished he hadn’t placed a hood over her head. He’d like to see her face. But she would only scowl at him, and if she knew the way to Kuypers’s safe house, she might become a liability. Better to have her bound, gagged, and blind for her own safety.
J pulled in behind the condemned house where Kuypers would be waiting for them. His boss never met clients in public places, preferring the anonymity of an abandoned building that couldn’t be connected to him. Tonight it was this former crack den, now empty and scheduled for demolition.
J parked the vehicle and went to get Nicolette Larson from the backseat. He had her halfway out of the car when she kicked out at him with both legs. One of her heels caught him in the balls, sending a wave of pain rushing through him and making his vision blur.
Avoiding her thrashing legs, J grabbed her arm and dragged her upright on the pavement beside him. When he could breathe again, he said, “You aren’t in any danger. Please calm down.”
Holding her arm tightly, J guided her through the back door of the derelict house and down a hall toward what had probably once been a beautiful dining room. Crown molding enhanced the height of the room. A hole in the ceiling suggested a chandelier had once hung there to cast a glow over some family’s dinner table. Now there was only a folding table in the middle of the room, and seated behind it, Simon Kuypers. A portable LED light harshly lit the man’s hawkish features, all sharp angles and keen eyes. His hands might be casually folded, but they could become a predator’s talons at a moment’s notice. Yet his calm demeanor wasn’t an act. Kuypers was calculating and logical in all his dealings. To him, life was one big business transaction.
“Passion is the enemy of balance,” he’d once told J shortly after they’d met. “Don’t ever let it get a grip on you. View all things with detachment, and life will run much more smoothly for you.”
Although this Zen attitude sounded reasonable, even as a youth J had doubted that breaking bones was what the Buddha had intended.
He steered his prisoner to a stop in front of the card table and removed the bag from her head. Fine strands of coppery blonde hair crackled with electricity and stood up wildly. He resisted the urge to smooth them.
Larson had worked the gag from her mouth, and J was surprised she hadn’t cried for help when he’d taken her from the car. He considered loosening the zip tie that bound her wrists, but Kuypers took the decision from him.
“What in the world, J? I didn’t tell you to take her prisoner. Untie her!”
J pulled his knife and cut the binding. Larson shook off the bit of plastic and brought her hands around front to rub the red lines on her wrists.
J stepped away but remained ready to grab her if she tried to run.
“I’m sorry for J’s incompetence. Apparently he didn’t understand my instructions. Please, sit down, Miss Larson.” Kuypers gestured to the folding chair across from his.
She glanced at J, pale green eyes focusing on him like searchlights, before she took a seat, still rubbing the welt on her wrist.
“I understand my father owed you money.” She addressed Kuypers, and if she was frightened, there wasn’t so much as a tremble in her voice. “How much, and for what? I have no record of this agreement. How do I know it’s real?”
Kuypers gave a chuckle intended to put his adversary at ease. J had heard that laugh many times over the years. There was no real humor or warmth behind it.
“To the point. I like that. You’re not at all what I expected, Miss Larson.”
“Well, I didn’t expect you at all. Mr. Kuypers, is it? Since my father died last month, I’ve been sorting out his financial situation and starting to pay off his creditors. Why did it take you this long to come forward? Where’s your proof of the loan?” She glanced around the decrepit room. “And why drag me here in the middle of the night? You could’ve come to the pub to discuss this.”
“No. I couldn’t. The nature of my business precludes me from interacting with my clients in the normal way.”
Nicolette nodded slowly. “So how much was my dad in for?”
Kuypers pushed a document across the table toward her. “Over twenty thousand dollars. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I can’t let any of my borrowers default, or where would my reputation be?”
“Doesn’t sound like much,” she repeated quietly as she picked up the paper and studied it.
“You agree that is your father’s signature?”
Nicolette’s throat moved as she swallowed. “What was his monthly payment?”
“As you see there.” Kuypers pointed. “Unfortunately, your father had gotten quite behind, and interest accumulates. It could take a long time for you to shed his debt. After learning of his death, I waited what I consider an appropriate amount of time to allow for your bereavement, but now I really must collect.”
The woman folded her arms and crossed her legs in a defensive posture. She glared at Kuypers with an intensity that would’ve flayed the hide off a less thick-skinned man. “And if I don’t make those payments?”
The boss cocked his head to one side, more hawklike than ever as he studied the brave little mouse. “There are things you could do that might convince me to forgive part or all of the debt.”
Larson pressed back into her chair. Her body tensed even more.
