Beautiful No More

by MJ Nightingale

  Getting on the city bus, he made his way to the rear of the bus which was relatively empty for the early afternoon. He lowered his ball cap to cover his face and settle in. He held in his frustration and tried to think things through. What could he do?

  He could try to find access to Catarina in other ways. He had only seen her one time outside of her apartment. Walking through the parking garage toward the bank of elevators designated for employees, he caught a glimpse of her heading towards the ones earmarked for those who lived in the building. He had been working there as Darryl James for six months, using his new fake identity after his old identity had been compromised. He met the man at a truck stop in Miami where he had been working at the time doing dishes. The middle aged man came in often and was always alone. They talked on occasion. The man had no family, no relatives nearby and worked as a janitor at a local high school in the evenings. It had been fortuitous for him, but not so for Darryl.

  While bussing some tables that evening, Darryl chatted him up a bit. Told him he had just left his job and was planning on moving to California. He hated the cold, but had heard it was less humid in Cali. He left a big tip and walked out the door forgetting his wallet on the table.

  Sal followed him out to give it to him. He liked the guy, one of the few people he had even spoken to in the past year despite the other employees who worked the night shift with him.

  Out in the parking lot, luck had struck. An eighteen wheeler came careening into the lot, the driver asleep at the wheel and after first hitting Darryl proceeded to hit the gas pumps. The explosion knocked him backwards onto his ass. Quickly scrambling backwards, Darryl James’ wallet still clutched in his hands, Sal immediately thought of an idea. He scanned the parking lot for a car. He spotted the one he recognized as Darryl’s and made a dash for it. He just slipped inside as the first of the night shift employees made their way outside.

  Sal quickly popped open the glove box, and sure enough the car registration lay before him. Darryl’s’ car. The noise of the fires and the screams of Becky telling everyone to get back inside penetrated his brain. He chanced a glance out the window. His three co-workers watched the burning inferno before them and were not looking his way at all. This was his chance. He would have an identity. He had to take that opportunity.

  He heard sirens approaching. He knew he had to leave before any of the emergency vehicles arrived. He quickly pulled two wires out from under the steering column, and then crossed them and then rubbed them together to create the friction and spark needed to get the car running. The old continental sputtered to life.

  He backed up and steered the car behind the restaurant. Still no one saw. He drove off. He was on the road once more. But with the best possible identity of his life. Thank you, Darryl. Goodbye, Fred.

  It was fate. He got the job at Trump Towers, had seen Catarina again, and now she had been ripped away from him once more. He needed her like air.

  * * *

  Sal palmed the key ring. He pulled his keys out when he got off the bus. Flicking them, making them jingle and then catching them once more, he walked the two blocks to his apartment. The same one he rented when he came to Tampa the day after the explosion. He had caught the news at another truck stop after the five hour drive. The reporters were saying an employee on a smoke break had been killed when the driver careened into the lot. He had smiled as he sipped his coffee and ordered his breakfast. It was what he hoped the police would have assumed. The report went on to claim that the driver had been killed as well.

  He opened the door to his small bachelor pad, and flicked on the light switch that illuminated the apartment. It was just three rooms. The kitchen – living room combo was cramped, and had room for just a sofa and a table with two chairs. His small television sat on the counter next to his toaster. Dishes were piled high in the sink. He was beat. He had spent another fruitless afternoon at the coffee shop hoping to get a glimpse of Catarina. She rarely went out in the afternoons.

  He walked past the mess into his bedroom. Small too. It had one single bed, a dresser, and a bathroom the size of a closet. A stand up shower and toilet. There wasn’t even a sink. He shaved in the kitchen using a hand held mirror he had taped to the wall. It was all he needed.

  Almost all. He needed her. Catarina. To notice him.

  She had smiled at him once. Had laughed with him.

  The only one.

  He had practically given up that dream until he saw her in the parking garage and then it was like fate had spoken to him. She was supposed to be his. And for four months he had her back. Until the Burbanks had come home. Early.

  Those four months, when he was able to be near her, made him feel alive once more. He had not felt that way since Rosedale. When he killed those girls. For her.

  He had gotten too close to the flame and had to flee. Killing those girls made him feel powerful. They were sluts. Nobodies. Not like Catarina. She had been forced to do what she did. She had been a victim. Like him.

  But when he went to New York after she disappeared, he found his own path. He was dating a girl. His first girlfriend. She was plain, but nice. She didn’t mind his hair lip. Like Catarina, she had seen beyond it. So he married her. But he always thought of Catarina as his one true love.

  When that prostitute approached him, he got excited. She had dark hair like his Catarina. He imagined it was Catarina while she blew him, but then after she stood and asked for her money, he became enraged. So he strangled her in an alley after she sucked his cock on her knees on the pavement. Seeing her lifeless eyes staring at him from the pavement changed him. He pulled out his pocket knife and cut her eyes out and then stepped on them. Then he cut her face. He didn’t know why he did it. But she wasn’t Catarina. Those had been his thoughts. He carved the words, “Not B” meaning to write not beautiful, but a noise down the alley scared him off.

  He went home to his wife. Plain Jane. She told him she was pregnant. He acted happy. He went to take a shower. She saw blood on his hand. He told her he tripped and scraped it.

  In the shower he relived the whole event and thought about Catarina. He got hard and took care of himself as the water washed the blood down the drain. Only thoughts of her made him hard. Sex with Jane was not the same.

  But Jane was gone too now. And his son. That had been a decade ago.

  Sighing, Sal pulled the blinds down in his room and without undressing crawled on top of his messy bed. He needed to sleep. He had to work that night. He might, he prayed, see Catarina. The urges were back. If he didn’t see her soon, more sluts would need to die.

  If he didn’t see her again soon, he might need to go out once more. One more time.

  He had already been out twice.

  Chapter 5

  Another Day

  “Maryellen, Ned.” Cat waved as she used her key to open the door to her apartment.

  “Hello, Catarina.” Maryellen returned the greeting. “We are just back from shopping. We’re stocking up for Thanksgiving. Our kids are coming this year. This will be our first Thanksgiving here in Florida.” Maryellen was breathless as she set her bag of groceries down. Ned was carrying two bags and pulling a cart on wheels with what looked like several more bags of groceries crammed inside.

  “But Thanksgiving is still weeks away.” Cat laughed pausing by her open door.

  “Oh, but they are bringing the grandkids too. We will have a houseful. We need to stock up. I’m glad we have a three bedroom apartment. Jake is bringing his wife and their two kids. They can share a room. Then Molly is coming with her husband.”

  “That will be nice for you,” Cat replied walking down the hall to help the Burbanks carry their groceries inside.

  “Thank you dear,” Ned spoke the words as Cat reached behind him to hold the door open while he pulled the cart inside.

  “You can join us dear, if you would like.”

  “Oh, no, please. But thank you. I do have plans,” Cat replied. Maryellen’s eyes looked at her suspiciou
sly, but she nodded all the same as she passed into her apartment with Cat picking up the bag she had left on the floor. Their apartment, a mirror image of her own, had a wide open formal living room that faced the ocean and a wall of glass that left no view obstructed. Cat carried the bag over to the marble island counter in the kitchen and sat on a barstool as the Burbanks put their groceries away. Her neighbors for five years, ever since she moved in, had become friendly with her. He a retired firefighter, and she a former school teacher from Michigan, were extremely outgoing.

  “I should go.” Cat made her excuses. “I need to get some work done.”

  “Okay doll. It must be nice to work from home. The Internet has changed the way people do things today. But dear, you should get out more.” Maryellen called out to her as she gave the couple a final wave closing their apartment door behind her.

  Walking back to her apartment, Cat thought of what it must be like to have a large family. Family. She had never had that, really. Only for a while. She had some fond memories of her Nanna Sophie Rose Stone and Poppa. Her great grandparents had raised her until she was nine. Orphaned at three, she did not remember her mother at all. Had never known her father. Her mother’s mother had died as well in a car accident with an aunt. Then she had been on her own. In Amsterdam. She made her way on the streets of the city, panhandling, running errands, and eventually the red light district lured her in.

  Shrugging her shoulders and setting her purse on the credenza, she walked to one of her bedrooms that served as her office. She did have work to do. The holidays were busy times in her line of work. Lots of people wanted company this time of year, and she arranged that. It was a lucrative business, and she was doing well.

  Her first piece of business though was to read the online papers. These two killings worried her. They had both been her girls at one time. The report last night that the police thought they might be related twisted her gut. She was careful. Her clients screened. Her girls trained. But both Crystal and Fatima had stopped working for her, Crystal just a few months ago, and Fatima last year. They had graduated university and proceeded to make their own way in the world. It pained her that they had been killed just when they could begin to live. Both, she had gotten off the streets, and she had helped them to achieve their dreams.

  She saw nothing in the papers that was not already said on last night’s news report. Call the police if you know anything ended each article she read. She wouldn’t be doing that. She didn’t know anything. She just had a feeling.

  But a niggling of guilt filled her. She needed to let her girls know. She had six working for her now. Dozens that retired after graduating college. Some had done well, others had not. She had lunch with Crystal just last month, days before she had been killed. She had a job at a law office and was doing well. Fatima had not done so well. She had gone off on her own with a business degree, but continued in the same line of work. Catarina could not fault her for those choices. She was, after all, still in the business too. But her arrangement with her girls was firm. She would help them until they graduated from school. They must go to school and get off the streets. She arranged “dates” that would pave the way and pay the bills, but they had to go to school and make a better life for themselves. If there was another killing, she would need to get help. But she definitely needed to warn the girls. Just in case.

  Closing her web browser, Catarina opened up her calendar. All six girls were nearly booked solid for the next six weeks. She still needed to fill several appointments. She may have to go out as well. She rearranged some dates, and chose to attend the General’s party at the base in December. He was a kind gentlemen, and never pushy. She would also take the two dates with the retired politician, Franklin Pierce. He needed a companion for a fundraiser and a play before Christmas. She switched with Paula and gave her the young executive. Perfect. She began to look over the wait list for New Year’s and beyond, plugging in her girls where their abilities and talents would be best suited. She would email them tonight with their “dates” for the following week as was her usual. She also needed to send out the reminders via text for those going out tonight.

  She decided to fix herself a light dinner, then maybe go swim in the indoor pool to get her laps in, and call it a day. She wanted to compose a letter for her girls though letting them know of the two girls who were killed. She would send these by courier tomorrow. This she did not want to go out via email. The Patriot Act was something she always worried about. The police and government had ways of reading people emails. She had thirty girls she wanted to caution, but she also did not want them to panic.

  She saved her adjusted calendar, sent her emails, and then powered down her laptop. Standing, she stretched.

  Dinner. Swim. Letter. Another day done.

  Chapter 6

  They Burned

  Andreas filed away the new permits. Angela made all the copies necessary and sent them to all the agencies they did business with. She also framed the new license and hung it up in the waiting area/reception room as he switched focus to his computer and began checking his email and calendar. He had another bond hearing this afternoon. Both Blaze and Gio were out of the office doing field work, but Nikko, back from his honeymoon last night, was due in soon.

  With that thought going through his head, he heard the front door opening and Angela greeting the latest arrival. “Please have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a second.”

  Andreas focused in on his current reply to the district attorney for documentation as to the whereabouts of one of his clients. Along with the request came a reminder that his client needed to be in court in the morning. He sent the documentation and the assurances. This client was charged with embezzling. His family, local, and Andreas was confidant the man wasn’t going anywhere. He would do his time and get out on parole in a few years and resume his life, albeit with a conviction on his record and never be able to handle money as an accountant again.

  Andreas heard the front door once more. This time Angela’s greeting wasn’t as professional.

  “Oh, Nikko. So glad you’re back,” she shrieked. “Andreas is in the office. I’ll be in there in a minute. I want to hear all about the honeymoon, but I need to greet a new client.”

  He heard his brother laughing. “It’s great to be back. It was fabulous. See you in a bit, Ang.”

  “Okay, doll.”

  Nikko was at the door, and grinned at his frowning brother who didn’t even look up from his desk. “What? No welcome home, or how was the honeymoon. No asking for details.”

  “I’d ask, but I’m afraid you’d give them to me.” Andreas returned, giving his brother a once over. Tanned and vibrant, his baby brother looked happy. For that he was glad.

  Nikko laughed heartily. He knew he would too. He slumped onto the sofa underneath the television that played softly in the background. As per usual it was on Bay New 9, the local news station.

  “Well, then since I’m not getting special treatment. What’s up for me?” he asked.

  Andreas gave his brother a crooked smile. “Lots, and welcome home. How’s Ronnie?” he asked.

  “Great. Tired, sore. But good.” Nikko returned the crooked grin and winked when his brother made a face.

  “See, I knew you would go there. You didn’t need my prodding. But, I do need you to get up early tomorrow and make sure Johnson goes to court. Easy, but it is a big bond.” Nikko nodded and waited for Andreas to continue. He knew he would. “Today, go get your license renewed. It expires at the end of the month. We all did ours while you were away, but Angela has everything set. Just formality and signature stuff downtown.” Again Nikko nodded waiting.

  But he noticed he had lost Andreas attention. His eyes were glued on the television above him. Nikko turned around as the volume level was raised.

  The reporter, Al Reuchel, was speaking. “This is the third victim in what police now consider a related crime. Amber Lee’s body was found yesterday in her apartment in Clearwater. The c
ollege student and former roommate of another victim, Crystal Smythe, leaves no doubt in investigators minds that the crimes are related. Like the other two victims, the girls were raped and mutilated after being strangled. Bloody scrawls left in each case suggest the perpetrator is the same culprit. Police will hold a conference this evening to warn the public at large, but they do have a suspect. A tip was sent in, and the police believe the tipster is a person of interest. Further details will be forthcoming when the police commissioner makes his statement at 4PM today. They will not allow questions, as they just want to warn the public, young females in particular, to monitor their behavior and to be vigilant until the suspect is caught.”

  “What?” Nikko murmured, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew why Andreas had raised the volume. The bloody scrawl comment had his mind reliving the past, finding his parent’s bodies.

  “Shh,” Andreas hushed him as the reporter continued. The three victims pictures flashed on the screen and the reporter recounted the story of their deaths and discovery. No mention was made of what the scrawl said.

  Andreas’ eyes were glued to the set. “Police have stated this morning, that someone came forward and revealed the connection between all the victims. As of yet, her name is being withheld. Police do not know if this person is involved in the crime, but she is a person of interest. The information,” he looked down at his notes, “the female gave to the police clearly connected the crimes. The woman who came forward employed all three of the woman, who were high priced call girls. Police are attempting to get any records the Madame may have, client lists, but they are also interested in her. All of the girls were former employees. One of the girls left her employment on less than good terms.” The reporter’s eyes rose sharply as he glanced down at his notes. “The women were all escorts. Paid escorts. The police are unsure if the informant was involved in the crimes. The investigation is ongoing. We here at the studio are using the name the Tampa Madame until further details are released. Stay tuned for more information and breaking news.”