Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  The pill hung from my lips, nearly burnt to the filter, when her voice brought me back to the real world, “Are you Gavin?”

  I was expecting Claire, who should have been at least vaguely familiar, but when I opened my eyes, I found a young woman who I had never met before. She was blonde—from a bottle, but she wore it well, tall enough that she came just to my chin, and I could see all the curves of her petite body beneath the pale green evening gown she wore.

  Wowza! I didn’t know who she was, but I didn't want to be rude, “Guilty as charged,” I laughed and held out my hand. “I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if we've met or if this is just my lucky night.”

  She laughed, a light, high tinkle of a laugh, and took my hand. “David told me you were a flirt. I'm Beth.”

  That lucky bastard. “Beth! It's so nice to meet you finally. David never told me you were so beautiful.”

  She smiled and everything seemed to get warmer. “Thank you, that's very nice of you to say. Davy's parking the car down the street.”

  “Is he still afraid a valet is gonna steal his Michael Bolton CDs?”

  “Oh jeez, I'm glad he didn't make me listen to that on the way here!” she laughed again.

  “I was starting to think you were a figment of his imagination. It didn't seem like he ever wanted to let me meet you.”

  “That's because I didn't want you trying to steal her away,” chuckled David as he walked up from behind Beth and put his arm around her shoulder. “You can let go of her hand now, Gav.”

  I looked down, saw that I still had her hand in mine, quickly let go with a laugh, and felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I was blushing. I couldn't believe it, I hadn't been flustered like this by a girl since my freshman year in high school.

  I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off, hoping the night was dark enough that no one noticed my skin flushing. “So, who's ready for a drink?”

  “Claire is probably inside already,” said David as he and Beth followed me to the entrance. “She wanted to make sure we got a decent table.”

  A young woman in a floral dress opened the door as we approached and the sound of a jazz piano wafted out to meet the evening quiet.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, dramatically waving us into the waiting room while her lips stayed tight, like she was holding in a fart. “If you'll have a seat, the maître d' will be right with you.”

  “Actually, I believe we have a member of our party already inside waiting for us,” replied David as the door closed out the night behind us.

  “Ahh, what was the name?” she asked, pulling a tiny black book from an invisible pocket in her pants.

  “It should be under Reeves.”

  She scanned the first page, her tight lips forming a tiny frown, flipped it over and scanned the next. Flipped again, “Ahh, yes it looks like she is already inside. We have your table prepared, please follow me.”

  She had a cute ass, but a snooty attitude, and I thought the little frown she wore might be etched in stone. Too bad.

  “David!” squealed Claire from a table in the center of the room. Her voice was way too loud for a classy joint like that, and I couldn't help but laugh as everyone on the room jumped and turned their nonplussed glares right at her. She didn't seem to notice, “Over here, guys! I'm so glad you came,” she said as she waved us over with both hands.

  Her calling out to Dave like a maniac was a dead giveaway, but as we walked over I realized I recognized her. She was as attractive as I remembered—short, wavy auburn hair that framed her round face pleasantly, a snug red dress that rode her ample curves like a Lamborghini, and wide, brown eyes that shimmered as the light moved across them. When we got to the table she popped up on her toes in a way that displayed her panty line nicely and wrapped David in a hug at least three steps past friendly.

  I hazarded a glance at David's date for the night, and saw that somehow Beth was still sporting a patient smile, though her gaze may have wandered somewhere off in the corner.

  Once the... friends finally broke apart, David started with the introductions, “Claire,” he said, stepping back and taking Beth's hand into his, “this is my girlfriend, Beth.”

  The girls exchanged pleasantries; there were several jokes about David and they each swore that they were so excited to meet. If I was a complete moron, like David, I might have even believed it. However much the ladies smiled at one another, I could only see venom in their eyes. Better him than me.

  At some point we all sat down, and David pointed to me, “And this is Gavin. I think you two have met before.”

  Claire looked at me, unsure, as we shook hands. “I'm sorry, I don't really remember.”

  Ouch. “No worries, it's nice to see you dressed... Err, I mean, I like your dress.”

  David shot a quick and hateful glare at me, which got even more hateful when I grinned. Beth was so focused on the wine list I guessed maybe she didn't notice, and Claire just looked confused.

  “Umm, thanks?”

  We shared three and a half bottles of a Cabernet from Napa Valley, and twice as much superficial conversation over dinner. It quickly became clear that I had no shot with Claire, because she was obviously hungry for whatever genie David kept in his pants these days. Beth trooped on through, though. She always had a full glass, kept laughing and smiling at all of his lame jokes, ignoring the way Claire touched him. Touching his shoulder, his cheek, his hair.

  Really, if she reached out and slapped the bitch, I don't think anyone could have blamed her. But she didn't. Like I said, she was a trooper.

  By the time dinner ended, I had finished most of two bottles of wine on my own, and my head swam warmly in fermented grapes. I decided I would end my night with an Uber and a cold shower.

  “Ahh, come on, Gav!” shouted my drunk former partner as we exited the restaurant. “Let's take these beautiful ladies out for some dancing. Or, we could go to Tahoe and get a suite and order room service and maybe go on that big boat thing and go see a concert and go jump in the water!” He had an arm around each girl, and his head wobbled like it was on a spring while he spoke.

  Jesus, I hope I don't look that stupid when I'm drunk.

  “Right. No, Dave. I'm gonna call it a night. You three have fun, though.”

  Either I passed out for a while, or the ride home was the fastest Uber ride in the universe's history. Either way, I thanked the driver, gave him a ridiculous cash tip, somehow found my way to my bed, and passed right the hell out.******

  Beth was glad when David's friend caught a cab. He seemed nice, and from what David had told her about Gavin English, she may not have had enough Rohypnol to put all three of them under, so if he had stayed she probably would have had to kill him. Not a huge loss, but unnecessary.

  Only one person needed to die tonight.

  Once everyone started drinking, convincing the rest of the party that she was drunk as well came easy. People always want to believe that everyone else feels as uninhibited as they do, Beth thought, so they don't have to feel bad about their actions later on.

  Truthfully, Beth had only had two or three sips of wine the entire evening, and when David and Claire sloppily climbed into the cab behind her, she knew exactly how the night would go. It wasn't difficult to change the subject from Tahoe and convince David and his friend that they could have more fun bar hopping in town.

  Claire pointed their cab driver to a country western dance club she remembered downtown, and within fifteen minutes they were ordering drinks from a girl wearing a tied-off flannel shirt.

  “Beer! Lots of beer!” David ordered, laughing as Claire ran her hand through his hair for the hundredth time that night.

  “What about shots, Davy?” Beth leaned close to whisper, letting her lips brush his ear.

  “Yes!” shouted David as he pulled her close for a kiss. His breath was rank with alcohol, and he was nearly slobbering, but she kissed him right back, pressing her body tight against his. When she felt his manhood pressing against
her thigh, she yelled, “Bring us three shots of Patron! Please!”

  The cocktail waitress smiled and nodded, not even trying to speak over the sounds of the club.

  “There are lots of cute guys here, Claire,” Beth said, pointing to a group of college-aged boys in the corner. “We should try to get you hooked up.”

  “I don't know,” the woman replied, almost shouting. “I'm not really a hook up kind of girl.” As she said the last, she ran her fingers along the back of David's arm. Beth bit back her rage by kissing David again, full and wet, happy to let Claire watch.

  Then the waitress was back, with a tray full of shots and mugs and a pitcher of piss-yellow beer. “Want me to open you up a tab?” she asked as she set the tray on the small circular table they were standing around.

  “Hell yes!”

  The waitress smiled and nodded to David, then turned and disappeared back into the crowded room.

  “Wait!” Beth said as she slapped the man's hand away from the shot glasses. This was her moment, she had to be absolutely perfect or it wouldn't work. “That stupid girl didn't bring us any lime. How can we do shots without lime?”

  “Shit.” replied David as she ran her fingers from his earlobe to his collarbone. “I'll go grab some from the bar. Be right back.”

  As he prepared to step away, Claire hopped up and grabbed the collar of his shirt, “I want to see if I can buy a pack of cigarettes. I'll go too.” With that, they both slipped away from the table and out of sight.

  Beth pulled the folded white paper from her purse. Hours ago, she had taken several of the sedatives and crushed them into a fine powder. Unfolding one corner of the paper, she pulled two of the shot glasses forward. In the first shot glass, she poured out what she thought to be about one dose of the powder for David. Just enough. In the second, she poured almost three times as much, emptying the makeshift pouch.

  She stirred both shots quickly with her finger, hoping that her companions were too drunk to notice, because she didn’t know how long the stuff took to dissolve. She watched as the white powder swirled around, shrinking and looking almost golden as the low lights of the club mixed with the clear liquid.

  Then the pair were back at the table, laughing and chatting, Claire clinging to David's arm for balance. He dropped a handful of lime slices on the table and gave her a dopey smile. “Got some limes!”

  Beth clapped and laughed, and handed them each a shot glass, “To limes!” she shouted, holding up her shooter.

  The next half-hour went by in a blur of dancing and talking and drinking and flirting. Mostly between Claire and David. Beth drank her shot, and two beers, and joined in the fun when they were paying attention. Soon, Claire flopped heavily onto the table, eyes glazed and skin blotchy.

  “Woah,” said David, grabbing the girl's shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Claire shook her head, the tiniest bit of drool sitting at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were swimming and her skin was paper white.

  “Uh-oh,” said Beth as she wrapped her arm around Claire's shoulder. “I think we might need to visit the porcelain goddess.”

  David nodded and chuckled, his eyes glistening blankly now. “Okay. I'll just stay riiightch her,” he said, flopping down onto the bench seat across the table from her.

  Beth led Claire through the crowd, the girl leaning more heavily on her with each passing step. Several times her head fell all the way to her chest before she could lift it again. They passed the group of college boys they saw earlier, and one of the many drink stations scattered around the room before they made it to the bathroom.

  Once inside, she dragged Claire into a stall in the men's room, and locked the flimsy door behind them. The girl was unconscious as Beth sat her on the toilet seat, letting her head and shoulders fall hard against the wall of the stall.

  “I wanted to try, you know. I wanted to be good, wanted to be your friend to make him happy.”

  Beth smashed her fist against the left side of Claire's jaw, bouncing her head off the plastic toilet paper casing with a satisfying CRACK. The unconscious girl didn't notice.

  “This is your fault. Claire,” she said, massaging her knuckles with her left hand. “You had to come here and rub your slutty bullshit in my face. Now, it's too late. Now, I have to get rid of you. David and I will be happy.”

  She wrapped her long, slender fingers around Claire's throat and applied pressure slowly until she could feel the fading pulse hammering against her hands.

  “And there is nothing you can do about it. We belong together.”

  Ten seconds went by. Thirty. Claire's eyes opened, pupils thick and terrified, but still glazed and watery from the Rohypnol. Her arms twitched and flopped in protest, but there was no strength or focus behind it. Beth squeezed until she could feel the contracting muscles and tendons, fighting for life beneath Claire's flesh. The girl didn't move or speak. The sedative had done its work perfectly.

  “Your fault.”

  Another minute went by before the heart stopped beating; Beth didn't let go.

  Chapter 11: The Morning After

  My head throbbed along with the angry metal band blasting from the speakers in my phone as it vibrated on my nightstand. At first, this confused me; I couldn’t figure out whether the sounds were a part of a fractured dream. When the song cut off, all that remained was the pounding in my skull. Clearly, an angry, tap dancing demon had taken up residence in there and he enjoyed smashing my brains into the furniture.

  “Up Wahugga fugga,” I tell whoever might be around to hear. Which, no surprise, is no one. Wine does it to me every time. My mouth was dry enough to grow its own dirt, and yet somehow still tasted like a grape smasher's unwashed feet.

  I reached out to find a smoke, but knocked the phone off the nightstand and smacked my wrist against the lamp. I had no idea where my cigarettes were and I still didn’t know if I woke up in my own place, so I opened my eyes enough to see that it was morning.

  Safe and sound, without some crazy sex-maniac in the room with me.

  Damn it.

  Light burned through the windows soft and gray, and everything smelled of rain. I took a big whiff to clear the hangover funk—the scent of rain in the city has always been cleansing for me. This is probably because I grew up in a place where the rain, and everything else for that matter, smelled like dirt.

  A good stretch and another couple healthy doses of that Spring magic later, I fished through the pile of blankets and sheets next to my bed until I found a pack of cigarettes. They were the horrible, toxic devils that you always find sold behind bars, but the nicotine goblins in my blood still rejoiced as I lit up and took my first drag.

  Sometime during that first smoke I realized I was naked, aside from a sliver of sheet that hadn't found its way to the floor yet. I'm not sure when I took my clothes off, or why, and while I dug in to my corroded memories of the night before to find a reason for it, my phone started blaring and hopping around on the nightstand again.

  I may not have finished grumbling hateful curses before I slid the green answer bar, “What?”

  “Hey, Gav,” replied David, with far too much perk in his voice.

  “What?” I repeated eloquently, because he had apparently not heard me the first time.

  “Jesus, what's up your ass?”

  “To start, I'm hungover like your mom after ladies' night,” I replied. “And unlike some pricks I know, I didn't get any dirty three-way action last night to help me sweat out the toxins. So, tell me what you want so I can go take a shower. Hell, now that I'm thinking of your mom, I'll probably rub one out in there.”

  Dave laughed, “You're such an asshole. And I'll have you know, Claire didn't go home with us so there was no dirty three-way. Actually, I was so torqued last night, Beth had to drag my ass to bed so I got no action whatsoever.”

  “That's what you get for making me think I had a shot with that girl.”

  “How is it my fault you've got no game? What happened to th
e Gavin English who never spent a weekend alone?”

  I couldn’t think of a response. Goddamn it, I hate that.

  “Huh? Huuuhhh?” David said, probably fighting not to blow a raspberry into the phone.

  “Shut up.”

  “Ha!”

  I lit up another smoke and swung my legs off the bed. Sadly, I knew I had shit to do. “I can't believe Beth didn't kick both your asses last night.”

  “I know. At first, I worried about it every time she looked at me. Claire was being damn aggressive, like Beth wasn't even there. Eventually, after a few drinks, I figured if she had a problem with it, she'd say something.”

  “I was totally prepared to take Beth home and pleasure her through the pain of your break-up. Just so you know.”

  “What a friend you are, always willing to do the hard, emotional work.”

  “Hard is right,” I chuckled as I made my way to the bedroom window, phone locked between my head and shoulder like a high school girl. The sky rippled with dark clouds and the rain poured down in fat, slanted drops that splattered on the glass like tiny water balloons.

  “What happened to Claire if she didn't go with you?”

  “No idea. Beth said she ralphed a couple times, then rallied and hooked up with one of those college guys.”

  Maybe I really was losing my mojo, first Kara shot me down, now I get passed over for some neck-tattooed jock-itch. I decided not to think about it.

  I slid the window open and let the cool rain spritz me through the screen. It was refreshing as hell, especially on my junk. “Whatever,” I said. “I need to drop a grumpy and take a shower. Coffee in like forty-five?”

  “Sure. See you then,” answered David, then the line went silent.