Thriller, page 9
Damn her. And damn those brown eyes that never sparkled for me. That sparkled for some other man . . . a drifter . . . a crook! I murdered and mutilated for my flag. Why couldn’t she see I was the better man?
I plunged my knife into her eyes and carved them out from her sockets.
When a light flickered on from a nearby apartment building, I came to my senses. This was no battlefield, and I was a soldier. I wasn’t about to get caught, arrested, and imprisoned—all for doing what soldiers are trained to do.
Moving quickly, I rolled the horrible whore toward the river, waded in with the body until I was waist deep. I shoved her underwater and held her there. I might have held on forever had I not heard a stir from across the river which jolted me again to my senses. I released my grip. The current began to turn the body face up. And as her corpse swept past me, hair splayed out behind her head, I saw that it was not the face of my Paisley. But of a stranger.
I slapped my face with the dank river water and emerged under the cover of night up, disappearing into the city.
I laid tracks back to Belnap, arriving just before daylight and coasting the car into my father’s foundry. The third shifters were slinking away from the factory to disappear into the street . . . some to their houses . . . some to the pubs . . . some to the river where the bootleggers lay in wait to pawn off their jugs of third-rate batch for nickels and dimes.
I made my way to one of the molten steel vats. And took my knife from my pocket.
When it had been swallowed up by the liquid metal, I rolled a hundred-pound steel coil down to the river. I attached a rope around it, then secured the other end around my waist . . . and dragged it in with me until my feet no longer touched the riverbed.
Dr. Forrest Jessup
Office of Coroner
City of Chicago
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this man before in his morgue. If he had to guess, he was most likely tied to Capone’s men, probably a lower-level minion. Although this stiff was not one of Capone’s jobs. For a change.
“Her body was discovered floating up the Chicago River, by a couple of stockyard workers. Based on the stage of decomposition of the corpse, she was killed between last Thursday and Monday. One stab wound clean through the torso. She would have been conscious for a few minutes until she finally passed out from the loss of blood.”
I don’t mean to be so casual, but I’m getting a little hardened to this kind of event. Unfortunately, these girls are a dime a dozen. Lots of them coming to the big city from Iowa, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Pennsylvania. Even as far as the East Coast. They come here single. Alone. Vulnerable. No plan other than to “find a job.” What does that mean? How does that look? Most haven’t a clue. They’ve never had to do that before. Trouble soon seeks them out. And before they know it, they’re in the wrong place with the wrong people. I’m sure they were good girls back home. But you get desperate here. You get tempted. You think you’re invincible. And you’re hungry.
The cut isn’t clean. The flesh is jagged and torn. An in and out job. My guess, an eight- or nine-inch serrated blade. Would have been painful going in. Worse coming out. This girl suffered. No doubt about that.
“So? She one of yours?”
“Yeah, the girl is mine.”
“What’s her name?”
“What’s it matter.”
“For my report.”
“Forget your report. No one cares.”
“Her family might. What do you want me to do with her?”
“I don’t want her.”
“Send for the family.”
“They’re not on speaking terms.”
“Then we bury her in the city cemetery. That’s where all the John and Jane Does go.”
“But she’s not a Jane Doe.”
“She is if you’re not gonna take her.”
“Who hated her so much?”
“Why does it have to be hate?”
“She deserves a proper burial.”
“With what money?”
“Your boss has money. I know that. And his boss has money.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that it’s getting old cleaning up your messes.”
“She ain’t my mess.”
“She ain’t mine either.”
“How much to leave her?”
“A thousand.”
“You crook.”
“She’s already been stinking up my shop for days.”
“Five hundred.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Everything is for sale.”
“Not me. So, what’ll it be?”
“I’ll call Calumet & Sons. Have her out of here by end of day.”
Viv
I have big lungs. Huge inflatable singer lungs.
And after Pa gave me a good and proper shove into the river, I used those lungs to capture and hold all my breath as I dove deep down underwater, fighting my way to the Y.
Here, the Chicago River diverges, one branch feeding from the north, and one from the south. I took the northbound branch, swimming until I was sure I would be out of Pa’s sight. But then, just in case, when I finally surfaced for air, I kept my face flush with the water line, floating on my back, body sunk below the surface, until I got far, far up past the bend to Goose Island. Here I stroked my way to shore, drug myself out, and zigzagged my way through the city back to my apartment.
Viper was there waiting for me with a long face and bottle of whiskey half gone. He jumped up when he saw me and threw his arms around me. Eventually, he peeled himself from me and touched my draggled, damp hair.
“Where’s the preacher?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s not coming round again.”
“Baby, what happened?”
“Not now.”
I went to the bedroom and exchanged my wet clothes for a bathrobe. Viper followed, wanting an answer.
“I’m starving.”
“I gotta tell you something. I got called down to the morgue. Jossie . . .”
“No . . . please . . . how did she . . . ?”
“Murdered. Someone stabbed her good and plenty. Even took her eyes out.”
The news dropped me to the floor. Viper moved me to the sofa. Pours me glass.
“Who did this? Was she in trouble with Clive?”
“No. I dunno. Who knows?”
The whiskey went down quick.
“Last I knew, she was staying at Rico’s place. They were a thing. Did he tell you?”
Viper nodded.
“She’s spent a lot of time with Rico—”
“It wasn’t Rico. He was out on a job with me.”
“Cops gonna do anything?”
“Not reporting it. Paid off the coroner.”
The cops wouldn’t have lifted a finger for someone like Jossie anyhow.
“I’ll write to her family.”
Their address was most likely on the unopened letters she stashed in a shoe box in the corner of the closet. I should send those back. Or maybe not. Why rub salt in a wound?
“I gotta ask you something, Viv.”
I handed him my empty glass and he poured another.
“You shouldn’t be drinking in your condition.”
“How you know about that?”
“I don’t mind. I’ve always wanted a family.”
“It’s not yours.”
“I know.”
“Will you care for this child?”
“Of course. Like it’s my own.”
“Even though he won’t look like you.”
“He’s part of you. Do you love Julius?”
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?”
“No. But I need to know.”
“Julius betrayed me.”
“He’s gonna be heated you ran off with his baby.”
“No child of mine is going to know a rat like that for a father.”
“I asked if you love him?”
“I love what he gave me.”
“It’s gonna be hard. I mean, the color.”
“So what? We’re all a bunch of mutts here.”
“Who told you that?”
“My ma used to say it. You know the funny thing about mutts?”
“What’s that?”
“They love you just as much as the purebreds.”
The Viper laughed at that. I think I might be the only one in the world who gets to hear him laugh. Then, he came to my side and kissed me. It was the most tender kiss I’ve ever felt.
“I love you, Viv.”
I searched those green eyes planted on mine.
“Did you hear me? I love you, Viv.”
“Yeah. I heard you.”
I thought about how beautiful it would be for my baby to have an emerald-eyed sibling someday.
And I thought about how Pa had me dangled over the bridge, spewing out his vengeance. And how joy flushed through me as his vice grip released. Sweet freedom! I disappeared under the murky river waters, diving deep; carried away with the upstream current.
I knew, now, his real saving could begin.
“I love you, too, Marion.”
I grabbed my suitcase and gathered my dresses. Then, I went into Jossie’s closet for the shoebox and her gowns.
“Whadda ya doin’, Babydoll?”
“Let’s go West,” I said. “Chicago’s gettin’ crusty.”
THRILLER
HEATHER GRAHAM
“Don’t you look at me like that!” Riley Jordan told Rocket, Ethan Warner’s rottweiler.
The dog wouldn’t hurt her—she was pretty sure. He seemed to understand that she was coming daily to let him—and Ethan’s other three dogs—out to run around for a while, have their food bowls filled, and last, but hardly least, pick up the poop in the house that they couldn’t hold in until she arrived.
She wasn’t sure that a dog could shrug, but if so, Rocket shrugged and went off to run in the yard, then turned back to look at her.
“Hey, a dog is supposed to be man’s best friend!” she said, shaking her head as the dog continued to study her. Judging her, sizing her up.
“Man, you know, as in humankind, man, woman. And you know what? There are people who think that dogs are just best all around, better than people.”
The dog kept staring.
Did dogs think? Was he weighing her up? Did they know right from wrong? Sure, at the very least—they learned they were supposed to do their business outside.
Penny, Percy, and Petunia, the three small fluffy mutt pups who completed her friend’s dog family, liked to woof, and run around her, longing for pets and attention—as well as treats. They’d had their treats—she gave them all some attention and then looked up for the big guy again.
Rocket gave up his survey of her and had run to the front of the yard where he stopped and stood by the fence, staring at the car.
Not her car, but the car that had been parked in front of Ethan’s house the last three days, the days she had been coming every evening to take care of the pets while he was out of town.
The sedan hadn’t moved once, obvious because it was parked right in front of a cypress tree, keeping her from parking directly in front of Ethan’s place, as she would have liked. It wasn’t the same person parking daily—the car had not moved.
It got dark during the time she was here each evening. And leaving the place—with the dogs locked up again—made her nervous. Her fault. Truly and sadly, she was a chicken.
She let out a sigh of frustration. She had no problem doing a favor for a friend—even if it meant driving across town every day to make sure that her friend’s pets were fed and let out for a few minutes on the days Ethan was gone.
But Ethan lived in Coconut Grove and parking wasn’t always easy. He had just come down to the area a few months ago when he’d taken on his new job. And it wasn’t that she didn’t love Coconut Grove; she did. But the very beauty of the abundance of trees and bushes here also made it scary as hell at night. Ethan lived in a small duplex, so the space in front of the house wasn’t large, and, granted, it wasn’t private parking, but . . .
The house wasn’t near shops or the night life that Coconut Grove offered and since it was part of a duplex, Riley didn’t like parking in front of the offending car because she didn’t want to take the space that someone else might need. Of course, she’d only be there thirty minutes or so, but still, Ethan’s relationship with his neighbor wasn’t great. The neighbor didn’t like dogs or Ethan.
“Hey guys, what’s not to like about your human, huh?” she asked the three little dogs milling around her feet for attention. Ethan was great. Six three, in great physical shape, blue-eyed, and with a sweep of pitch-dark hair that fell provocatively over his forehead. Right now, they were friends. Riley hoped that one day, they would be more. He teased and flirted with her when they were alone in the elevator at Suarez and Vincente, the advertising agency where he was an accounting executive and she worked as a concept artist. He liked to comment on her hair, calling her carrot-top even though her shade was a dark auburn, but then grinning and telling her that her eyes were a more beautiful green than any emerald. He also called her his, “Pretty young thing,” and sometimes, his “Pretty young, sweet, little thing.”
She was young, just twenty-three. But she was five eight. Not a giant, but hardly petite.
Ethan was good at his job, and he could be charming to clients and coworkers alike. But he was no doormat. She’d heard him lay it on the line to those who didn’t comply with company rules. He could be hard—but only when necessary.
She smiled, remembering when he had hedged when she asked what was wrong, and he told her, “I need to be gone a few days. And I hate, hate, hate, having to send my dogs to the vet or the kennel.” He’d grimaced. “Dog guy, here.”
That, of course, just made him more perfect. She wondered sometimes if he knew how attractive he was, how . . . seductive. Then again, she knew that he appreciated her. But where did they take it from there?
Maybe he did just appreciate a really good friend. And she could be a good friend.
“Um, well, I couldn’t just hang around at your place,” she said, grinning, “but I could go feed them and let them out for you.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he’d said quietly.
“You’re not asking me. I’m offering,” she’d assured him.
“Wow. Well, you are something, my friend.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Still . . . hey, okay, think of it for you. What a thriller of a day! Driving extra and adding on to long work hours. It will be great!”
And she had laughed and assured him again. “You bet! A thriller! And, honestly, I don’t mind.”
That night, she’d come over to meet the dogs. And he’d watched her with admiration and respect and . . . more, she thought. They’d almost touched, almost kissed, and then . . . she’d left for the night, both suddenly a bit shy and maybe needing to get to the point where he wasn’t going out of town and they’d have some time. Because if there was going to be something, it wasn’t going to be a “thank you” for a favor or something that was just convenient. It was going to mean something.
“You are amazing,” he had told her.
And the look he gave her told her that he found her amazing in many ways. And it was nice, allowing a nice excitement for the future.
Of course, it was true, she was an animal lover herself, so whether friendship grew into something more or not, she didn’t mind watching the dogs. She just minded the car that kept her from parking directly in front of the gate—and hopped quickly in her car when it was time to leave.
This area was far from the little malls on the highway or the dozens of restaurants, bars, and shops that stretched through the center of Coconut Grove. She wasn’t the bravest soul around. And while this area wasn’t particularly noted for crime, it was a part of Miami and Miami-Dade County, and a city that size was never without its fair share of crime. Down by the bay, there were multi-million-dollar mansions and yacht clubs and more—but not far away, there were crack houses, too. A true mix of . . . just about everything!
“Okay, guys,” Riley said, “I know, you like company and you like being outside, but I’ve got to get going now.” As if she understood perfectly, Penny whined. She petted the dog’s head. “Hey, I need to get some dinner, do laundry, and . . . well, hey. Hmm. Look at my sketches. I’ve done great drawings of you guys and just might do something more with them!”
Sitting there, trying to give the dogs time to run around before the darkness and the amount of foliage on the street made her too nervous, she started sketching. She had—if she did think so herself—some great puppy pictures. The three little ones posed together, Penny in a leap up into the air, and then her favorite, a sketch of Rocket, standing, staring out at the street, as if prepared to take on any unwanted visitor. Rocket was, beyond a doubt, a handsome dog—if not a warm and cuddly one.
“Okay, guys, in!” she said. Rocket usually listened to her command to return to the house.
Not that day. He was still staring at the car.
Riley walked over to the dog, setting her hand on his head. “Rocket, sorry, buddy, but I can’t stay. Another two days and your master will be home and you can run around forever if you like.”
The dog remained dead still, and Riley realized that he was sniffing the air.
Then she smelled it herself. There was an awful odor in the air.
Creepy. And she wanted to get away.
“All right, sorry!” she said firmly. She caught him by the collar. He didn’t try to nip at her, but he struggled against her hold. Finally, she got him back to the house. The little pups ran on in—they knew there would be treats in their food bowls.
Rocket resisted another minute. But then he gave in.
