by Paul Bishop
“You’re a regular solid citizen. If you really cared about what happens, AI wouldn’t run the show until after we catch him.”
“Are you crazy?” Tucker asked, appalled. “How could we claim AI cracked the case if we did that?”
Ash suddenly found himself holding a dead phone.
Chapter 61
Kenny had his van up and rolling. It was giggles time. Behind the driver and passenger seat, Kenny had rigged a blanket on a wire to hide the back compartment of the van.
Behind the blanket, the van was almost empty except for a six foot plank with one four foot long two-by-four lashed across the top and another across the bottom. Strong I-bolts had been screwed into the ends of the two-by-fours. Velcro straps were secured to each of the four I-bolts by leather thongs. Beside this contraption was a soft sided half-moon sports bag containing a coil of rope and a roll of silver duct tape. A basketball rolled around freely over everything.
Kenny had freaked out when he saw his photo – the one taken by Butt-Wipe Norman over at Fratelli Pizza – in the evening edition of the Los Angeles Tribune. Given time, he would have to go back and do something about old Butt-Wipe.
Things, though, had got even worse when Kenny went to grab a beer and a burger at snack shack along the coast.
The guy running the snack shack had been watching the news on a portable TV with a piece of tin foil wrapped around the antenna. The same photo of Kenny that had been in the evening paper was all over the screen. A couple of jerky talking heads were spouting stuff about Detective Fey Croaker searching for Kenny as a new suspect in the in the JoJo Cullen case. There was an explanation about Kenny and JoJo’s relationship, and about the disappearance of Kenny’s younger brother and the death of his father. The whole mess was coming out.
There wasn’t anyone else in the snack shack except for Kenny and the guy doing the cooking. Kenny had pulled his baseball cap down low, and stuffed his burger in his mouth whenever the cook turned to look at him.
“What do ya think about that?” The cook had asked. “I knew that JoJo couldn’t do that stuff they said he did.”
That really pissed Kenny off.
He kept watching the TV. Watched as Fey was filmed on the front steps of West Los Angeles Area station making a statement about a warrant being issued for Kenny’s arrest and asking for help from anyone who knew him.
What was this? Kenny felt like screaming. America’s Most Wanted?
The sudden feeling of being hunted dropped on him like a boulder. He threw a couple of bucks on the counter with the remains of his burger, turning away from the insistent eye of the television. He felt as if he was going to puke his cookies any second.
In his van, he’d sat on the rotting carpet covering the floor and spun his basketball on the tip of his left middle finger time and time again until he had centered himself. He couldn’t choke. He just couldn’t choke.
He knew every game had its high points and low points. This was a low point. The other team was ahead, but Kenny knew he could come back if he didn’t choke.
After a while he was better. Maybe he wasn’t far behind after all. He’d really enjoyed making those kids choke. The ones he’d taken after JoJo had finished with them. But he couldn’t do everything he’d wanted because he knew the cops had to find them with JoJo’s goo inside them, not his.
And after JoJo was arrested, Kenny knew there had to be an end to the giggles for a while. More bodies couldn’t turn up once JoJo was in custody.
But it had been a long time since then, and Kenny was beginning to feel the pressure of his sexual desires – pressure that had to be released before he choked.
He had hoped that there would be several more bodies before JoJo was caught. He hadn’t figured on the two cops who checked the beach where Kenny’s phone call had lured JoJo. That was only supposed to be another way of screwing with JoJo’s mind. You had to beat your opponent by making him be the first one to choke. Kenny’s dad had always told him that during their special training sessions.
But while fate may have deprived Kenny of more sexual and mental games, it could not have served his purpose better when it came to making JoJo foul out of the game.
As he had sat in the back of his van, watching the basketball spin on his finger, feeling the sexual urges stirring within him, Kenny began to see that he had no reason to hold back anymore.
The cops knew who he was. They were running a full court press, and Kenny realized he couldn’t avoid them forever. He’d learned other things playing b-ball besides choking, and one of them was that the best defense was a good offense.
Kenny was thinking about the transcript in the paper of the recording of Detective Croaker and her shrink. There was some interesting stuff in there. Not just the stuff about why Croaker thought JoJo was innocent, but other stuff. Stuff about Croaker’s relationship with her brother.
What had struck Kenny the first time he’d read the article was that he knew Tommy Croaker. Moving in the circles he did, Kenny knew all about the rave scene. He’d even picked up the kid Rush from one of the raves that Kenny knew was staged by Tommy Croaker.
The more Kenny thought about it the more he liked it. He had savored making JoJo sweat. It had made the giggles with those kids even better.
Now, Kenny figured he had a way to make Detective Croaker sweat.
All he had to do was find where Tommy Croaker was staging his latest rave. Tommy was a puny little guy. Kenny wouldn’t have any problem manhandling him. He’d probably even be easier than the kids he’d done before.
Kenny had put down his basketball and climbed into the van’s driving seat. He’d need to put a giggles kit together, but that wouldn’t take him long. And then he’d go hunting for his new target.
It was time for tip-off.
Let the giggles begin.
Chapter 62
Fey sat her desk in the West Los Angeles Area squad room as the clock ticked near midnight. Ash sat nearby at Monk Lawson’s desk. His eyes were closed with his chin resting on his chest. In repose, Fey could see that he looked exhausted.
Her twenty-four hours was dwindling down. She thought that they had their break with the Fratelli Pizza angle, but it had failed to pan out. Zelman Tucker had forced their hand when it came to the search for Kenny Kingston, and since there was no stopping the American Inquirer from putting on their show, then it was best for Fey to do a press conference and try to achieve some measure of damage control.
Given a choice, Fey would not have held the impromptu press conference. She had the gut feeling Kingston was somewhere close – all of the murders had occurred in the immediate area - and would have preferred to sneak up on their quarry.
As soon as Kingston got wind the police were on to him, he could disappear anywhere. For that reason, Fey had not made public the information about the blue van. She’d shared the information with selected patrol, uniformed CRASH, and Special Problems Units, hoping that Kenny would still feel comfortable using the van and somebody would spot him.
At least one good point came from the press conference. It made Lieutenant Cahill and the other brass happy because it looked as if progress was being made – an arrest imminent. That statement was as much smoke and mirrors as a Devon Wyatt defense.
In reality, the press conference had turned out to be anticlimactic. There had been a number of crank calls pertaining to Kenny, but nothing that had panned out as a solid lead.
And then there had been nothing.
No clues. No leads.
Nothing.
The rest of Fey’s crew had gone home an hour ago for a short break. Fey knew time was ticking away for her, but instead of continuing to pick up speed, the case seemed to have ground to a halt.
Fey was fresh out of ideas, but something had to give and give soon.
Midnight-thirty. The Homicide Unit line rang.
Fey picked it up.
“Homicide.”
“Hey, boss. It’s Hammer. Nails and I are just to
uching base to see if there is anything popping.”
“All quiet,” Fey told him.
The cell phone in Fey’s purse chirped.
“Hang on,” she told Hammer.
She set the receiver for the inside line down and answered the cell phone.
“Croaker.”
“This is Kenny,” a voice said. “I understand you’re looking for me.”
“Who is this?” Fey asked. “How did you get this number?” She clicked her fingers and Ash snapped to instant awareness.
“Don’t jack around,” Kenny said. “I just thought I’d call you and let you know how much I enjoyed the recording of the tape you made with your shrink. You must be a right little basket case.”
“Look, Kenny. If this call is for real why don’t you come down to the station and let’s talk.”
“Man, you really are crazy,” Kenny said. “Or do you think I am?”
“If you don’t want to come down to the station then meet me somewhere,” Fey said. “Anywhere. You name it.”
“How about hell, Detective Croaker? How about hell?”
“Come on, Kenny.” Fey said. “Let’s be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” Kenny said. “Serious as a heart attack.” There were some muffled noises. “Hold on, I want you to listen to something.”
There were some more unintelligible sounds, as if Kenny had the mouthpiece of the phone receiver covered, and then another voice could be heard shouting from a distance.
“Fey! This guy is nuts! He’s got me tied to a bunch of boards in the back of a van –”
“Do you know who that is?” Kenny’s voice came back on the line full blast.
Fey felt as if she’d been stabbed by an icicle.
“That’s your little brother, Detective Croaker,” Kenny said. “He can’t talk to you anymore ‘cause he’s a bit tied up. Pretty soon he’s going to be real tied up. And unless you can figure out where to look, he’ll be pushing up daises before morning. I’m talking worm food here. Of course, there’s a lot of giggles I’m going to share with him before then.”
Fey’s breathing had turned ragged. She was beyond speech.
“Let’s see how good you are under pressure, detective. Let’s see which one of us chokes first.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 63
Kenny hung up the pay phone. Inside his chest, he could feel his heart banging around between his ribs like a gorilla trying to escape from a cage. He realized he had an erection. Not just any erection, but an iron erection. He felt good.
Kenny had chosen this particular phone because it was isolated along Pacific Coast Highway and he could back the rear doors of his van right up to it. That was important because he had wanted the detective to hear her brother yelling. It was all part of the game.
Picking up Tommy had been easier than Kenny had imagined. Word on the street was that Tommy Croaker’s party crew had another rave planned. Tommy’s functions were apparently still the flavor of the month with the kids and he was taking advantage of that by putting on as many as he could.
Talking to some of the head-bangers trying to score along the Venice boardwalk, Kenny had easily learned that the rave was set to take place in an auto wrecking yard.
Late in the evening, Kenny had parked near the auto yard. It was located in a heavily industrial area, virtually deserted at this time of night. From his van, he watched as Tommy and his crew set up the makeshift stage and bar. Cases of liquor were carried into the yard from a rusted pick-up truck that looked as if it should be left behind when the happening was over.
Kenny knew who Tommy was. He’d been to raves before, getting drunk and high. It was there that he had first heard the kid named Rush bragging about being punked by JoJo. Those statements had been the stimulus for Kenny’s thinking when it came to getting back at JoJo.
It was funny, Kenny thought as he sat and watched, how things in life are circular. He’d started at a rave and now he was back again for what was possibly the end.
Kenny knew he wanted to get to Tommy before things started really popping. When he saw Tommy walking out to the rusted pick-up truck alone, Kenny made his move without hesitation.
Pulling the blue van next to the pick-up, Kenny moved back though the interior of the van and opened the rear doors from the inside. Tommy, who was now standing by the pick-up, had turned – startled by the van’s sudden appearance.
“Hey, man,” Kenny said with a smile. “What’s happening?”
Tommy took the intruder to be somebody turning up too early for the party. He turned back to pick up another case of beer from the bed of the pick-up.
“You’re too early, man,” Tommy said. “Party won’t start for another couple of hours. The band isn’t even here.” Kenny didn’t look like the normal raver, but it took all kinds. Tommy knew that for a fact. In his mind he dismissed Kenny and turned his thoughts back to the logistics of setting up in the open air.
When Tommy turned his back, Kenny reacted immediately and punched the much smaller man in the back of the head. Kenny hit him hard, just behind the left ear. Tommy groaned and slumped over the side of the pick-up.
With a quick check to make sure nobody could see what was happening, Kenny bodily lifted Tommy up and threw him into the van. Seconds later Kenny was driving sedately away from the scene.
Nobody from the rest of Tommy’s party crew noticed anything.
When he was a few blocks away, Kenny pulled over to the curb. Adrenaline was pumping through him in massive spurts. He loved this stuff.
Tommy was groaning in the back of the van. He tried to sit up. Kenny moved back and grabbed Tommy’s right hand. Yanking it hard, he slammed it down of the top two-by-four and secured one of the Velcro straps around it.
“Ouch!” Tommy said. He was still groggy. “What are you doing?”
Kenny didn’t answer. Instead, he moved quickly to secure Tommy’s other wrist and both ankles with the Velcro straps attached to the I-bolts screwed into the two-by-fours. When Kenny was finished, Tommy was on his back, spread-eagled to the two-by-fours. The wider plank, to which the two-by-fours were lashed, ran underneath Tommy.
Starting to come out of his stupor, Tommy was beginning to panic.
“Hey! Hey!”
Kenny took a strip of duct tape and slapped it across Tommy’s mouth. Then he brought out a fish gutting knife and slit Tommy’s clothes from his body like an ER nurse preparing a trauma patient.
Tommy’s eyes were enormous. One second he’d been fat, dumb and happy, and the next moment he was tied up naked in the back of a van with a knife wielding maniac.
Kenny riffled through the pockets of Tommy’s shredded clothing. He opened Tommy’s wallet and thumbed through the cards in there. One in particular caught his eye. It was one of Fey’s police business cards with her cell phone number added in pen. She had given it to Tommy the night she and Ash had spoken to him during the rave at the warehouse. Kenny tossed the rest of the items on the van floor, but held onto the card.
“We’re going to have a lot of giggles together,” Kenny told Tommy conversationally. “But first, there’s somebody we have to call.”
After hanging up on Fey, Kenny reentered the van through the back doors, closing them behind him. He slapped the side of Tommy’s naked ass. There were small amounts of blood running down Tommy’s sides from where Kenny hadn’t been too gentle cutting clothes off.
“Please don’t kill me, man.” Tommy said.
Kenny took a Polaroid camera out of the sports bag along with a small cassette recorder.
“How unoriginal,” Kenny said. “Do you know how many times that has been said to me?”
Tommy was feeling faint. He twisted around in on the I-shaped frame his tormentor had constructed. “Please, man,” he begged.
“Pathetic,” said Kenny. “You’ll never hold up to the special training sessions.” He turned the recorder on and then took a photograph of Tommy’s helpless position.
Kenny had plans for Tommy. And when he was done with Tommy, he had plans for Fey Croaker. He wanted her to squirm first, though, and the tape and photos of Tommy should take care of that problem.
And after he was done with Fey Croaker, Kenny had thought of a whole list of other people who he needed to teach about choking.
But first things first. Kenny was getting very excited. He reached down and groped himself.
“How long can you hold your breath without choking?” He asked Tommy. Without waiting for an answer, he slapped another piece of duct tape over Tommy’s mouth.
Kenny smiled at the terrified man attached to the two-by-fours. “Let’s start out with a minute.” Kenny checked his watch and then jammed duct tape over Tommy’s nostrils.
Chapter 64
Fey was stunned. How did this guy get to Tommy? Worse yet, what was he going to do with Tommy? Fey thought of Ricky Long’s body being uncovered in Will Roger’s State Park. He’d been hog-tied and buried alive after being sexually violated. Her stomach flip-flopped and nausea swept through her body. Sweat broke out on her forehead.
“Fey?” Ash was suddenly wide awake. “What is it?”
“Kenny Kingston has got Tommy.”
“What?”
Fey jumped out of her chair. “The rat bastard has kidnapped my brother! He’s got him somewhere, doing who knows what.”
“How can you be sure? Maybe Kingston is just messing with you.”
Fey turned blazing eyes on Ash. “I know the fear in my brother’s voice. I hear it in all my nightmares. It’s the voice he used when our father would hold a knife to Tommy’s penis in order to make me do the disgusting things he wanted. It’s the voice I’ve spent my whole life protecting!”
Fey snatched the metal file separator on her desk and slammed it down with a vengeance.
“Easy,” Ash said, reaching for her.
