"That was fortunate."
"So it wasn't you?"
"Fitz," he covered me in blue eyes, "it wasn't me."
"Who do you suppose it was?"
"No idea but I'm happy they did and if anything changes I'll know."
"You'll know what - and how?"
"Fitz," he sighed, "trust me."
"Okay," I said understanding his growing aggravation. I leaned into his chest. "I'm cold," I complained as a shiver ran through me.
"Well, let's see if we can warm you up," he said.
Walter stretched back in his seat and I heard his jeans unzip.
The ragtop rose.
Overfishing can decimate the population of a species.
With the death of John Henry Kane, rich teenaged white boys fled the city like schools of salmon escaping bears and fishermen. Paul realized they needed to step up their game if they were to have enough fish to fry.
The week that started out with John Henry turned catastrophic when Phillip Jennings went missing Tuesday evening. The pros locked him in a storage cage they had assembled at their hideout. Wednesday morning saw Clifford Bennington III join Phillip. That evening's addition Ryder Gentry Jr. came with a bonus.
When they approached Ryder, the pair was unaware of someone else with him. The friend tried to intervene so Peter grabbed the hooded figure and tossed it in the van with Ryder. That made six, fulfilling their contract in number. Peter and Paul had caught their limit ahead of schedule.
Unfortunately, the extra fish did not meet the standards. The small figure riding beneath the thick red cotton hood was a girl - Miranda Presley.
At the abandoned building, they pulled both out and sat them down. Miranda wiggled to her feet and took off running. She made it about twenty feet before Paul caught her. She spun around and kicked at him. He slapped her hard with the back of his hand. Blood ran from her left nostril. Tape hung from the same side of her mouth.
She spit at him and he slapped her a second time spinning and knocking her to the ground. Reaching between her cuffed arms, Paul pushed his hand beneath her waistband, filled it with denim and lifted her into the air. He carried her back like she was a duffel bag. Miranda kicked and bitched the entire way. He dropped her and she thumped hard against the concrete floor.
Using the hoodie, Paul lifted her to her feet. He spun and pushed her to a steel column. Stepping behind her, he uncuffed a wrist, pulled both hands behind the pole and secured her. Having worked the tape from her mouth, Miranda screamed for help.
Paul grabbed Ryder from Peter and pushed him toward the girl. He drew in close behind the boy as the kid's eyes found one another. Paul retrieved a large polished hunting knife and held it to Ryder's throat. It flashed in Miranda's stare.
"Another sound from you and I will drown you in his blood." Paul tightened the hold of the knife against the boy's neck. A trickle of blood ran.
Miranda's eyes grew wide. "No! No! No," she repeated staring at Ryder.
"Understand?" Paul asked.
"Yes."
Paul stepped beside Ryder and pushed him back to Peter. "The same goes for you." He pointed the knife at Ryder. "I want quiet."
In plain view of Miranda, Peter uncuffed one hand and started stripping Ryder of his clothes. "You two boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked Ryder.
Ryder motioned no with his head.
When Ryder had nothing left but his underwear, Peter turned to Miranda. "Should I keep going?"
Miranda turned her head away.
Peter chuckled. "Had your chance."
Peter walked to a newly constructed workbench. He retrieved a few items and returned to the boy. With one hand, he yanked the gray tape from Ryder's mouth and motioned for him to open up with the other. He placed a ball into the boy's mouth and lifted his chin. A fresh piece of tape replaced the previous. A wide leather strap covered the tape. Peter slid a thick blindfold onto the top of Ryder's head.
"Want to stay for the show?" he nodded toward Miranda.
Ryder's head fell and he again shook his head no.
"You're too young anyway," said Peter. He lowered the blindfold into place, turned the boy around, clicked the loose cuff and led Ryder away. They stopped at the workbench for hearing protection, a bulky pair like employees at the airport wear.
Paul startled Miranda when he approached her from behind.
"Your turn," he said.
He took a position directly in front of her. "Open."
Miranda opened her mouth and he filled it with a rubber ball.
"Close."
Her eyes bore into Paul but she did as instructed and like Ryder he taped her mouth and fastened a leather strap over it.
"Much better," he said patting at the leather.
Miranda pushed her head toward Paul and mumbled incoherent words. Her eyes translated the gibberish.
Paul smiled. "Kick your shoes off," he instructed.
She stepped from each sneaker and he kicked them aside.
He stepped close. Her eyes grew wide. A pair of large scissors snapped like hedge trimmers before her face. She pulled her head away. Paul stepped back and the bottom of her hoodie went with him. He lowered the scissors. His eyes never left hers. In a series of swishes, the shears sliced the hoodie open. Using his hands he spread the fabric open.
"Cheap Trick," he said, "I fucking love those guys."
The scissors worked their way across the hoodie then down one arm and again on the other. The heavy cloth fell away. When the scissors disappeared, Miranda shut her eyes.
"Don't you kick me," he said as he lowered himself to one knee before her.
He grabbed the waist of her jeans again.
She wiggled at his closeness.
Paul glared at her. "I swear I will split you open like your hoodie."
He snapped the scissors twice and sat them on the floor. He unbuttoned her jeans. A tear ran down Miranda's cheek. He grabbed the pull tab and worked the slider half way down the length of her zipper, spread the waist open, and yanked the jeans down her legs.
"Step out," he commanded.
Miranda whimpered into a cry.
Paul threw her pants on top of the shoes. He removed each sock and added them to the pile. He ran his hands up the outside of her legs causing her to shimmy and shiver. His hands crossed her panties and stopped just above, encroaching beneath the shirt.
"You wearing a bra?" he asked.
She answered with her head.
"Damn girl, you should be wearing thin tanks not loose tees and hoodies. You are tight." The band's recent single "She's Tight" rocked Paul's head.
Paul pulled at her waist, lifting himself to his feet. His hands dropped and trailed off behind her. He took the cheeks of her ass in his large hands and squeezed . "Killer ass," he said.
Miranda stepped and bounced trying to get free of his hands but he had her.
Paul's hands dropped and he stood before her once more. He took the bottom of her t-shirt in one hand as he reached for the scissors.
"You know what," he said, his head shaking in agreement with a thought, "I can't cut this t-shirt. It's my favorite band." He released the shirt and his hand found her shoulder. "You can keep it - for now."
She blinked at him.
"That's what I'm gunna call you," he said, "my favorite band - Cheap Trick - that's your name."
Paul squeezed her arm and pushed her against the pole.
"Slide down," he said.
His hand guided her. The skin of her butt squeaked as she slid. Sitting on the floor she wiggled at the hips.
"Wedgie?" Paul asked.
She nodded yes.
"Want me to dig it out?"
Her head stated an emphatic no.
"Then sit still."
She quieted herself.
Paul placed a blindfold over her eyes and pulled it tight. He added hearing protection.
Paul needed to speak with Walter about the girl.
Equal opportunity demands equal responsibili
ty.
With Miranda standing for equality, the debutantes of Chicago swam away faster than the boys had. Across the city, rich people held their breath awaiting news of the next dead child. The anticipation terrorized the community. By Thursday morning, the wait continued. The lost boys, and girl, were still that – lost. No new bodies had appeared at Wolf Lake or anywhere else. Paul needed direction.
He started the morning at the 24-1/2 Hour Diner near the hideout. When he arrived, a waitress named Bonnie had a message for him. He had noticed her interest the first day they arrived in Chicago. She was twice his age but dressed and acted like a teenager lobbying to be head cheerleader.
He found her hard up for a strapping young man and he was – hard and young. With previous training, he turned her weakness to his advantage. It took little effort to keep her interest and she seemed willing to do almost anything to keep his.
“Will call at 8:45,” she said, leaning on the counter and filling her cleavage with a breath. His eyes flashed to the clock above her - 7:34. He smiled at her tits, asked for a dozen glazed donuts, two black coffees, and a six-pack of canned sodas to go.
“Oh, having a party are we? Sorry I wasn’t invited,” she drooled.
“Going fishing,” he said. Paul paid cash, recharged her batteries with a wink and left.
He returned at 8:30 and sat at the counter. Bonnie smiled a “just couldn’t stay away now could you” smile. They both knew why he was there but he allowed her harmless fantasy. He sipped another black coffee waiting. At 8:45, the phone rang. Bonnie answered and carried it to the counter. She handed the receiver to Paul.
“Hello.”
“I hear you had an issue," said Walter.
"We caught one with eggs.”
"Did you now?"
“Yeah, yeah we did. A feisty thing too, it put up one hell of a fight.”
“Really? Interesting.”
“Should we cook it?”
“I’d say throw it back if you can but I'll leave it to you,” he said.
"Roger."
"If it were me, I’d put it in another pond so it doesn’t come right back.”
“Copy that.”
"No trophy piece yet?"
"Going back out today."
“Well I hope you catch a huge fish.”
“Me too.”
“Don’t forget there could be another fish swimming around close but it’s a trash fish, nothing you want to tangle with.”
“Yeah, we’re collecting a special lure then heading out.”
“Good luck.”
Paul hung up, flipped a fiver on the counter, winked at Bonnie, and walked out.
At the hideout, he spoke briefly with Peter then watched as each captive ate, drank and went to the bathroom one at a time. When Miranda finished using the bathroom, she burst through the door in a full sprint.
"Damnit," Paul hollered as he took off in pursuit.
Passing a heavy plastic chair he collected it in one hand while still running. Trailing behind, he slung the chair at the flash of t-shirt and panties. It caught her in the small of the back and she collapsed against the concrete. The chair bounced and slid past her.
Paul grabbed a handful of hair and lifted her to her feet. She turned toward Paul, blood streamed down the left side of her forehead. Miranda sucked in a deep breath and kicked Paul hard between the legs. She reloaded and got a second blow in before he bent in two coughing. He still had her by the hair.
"Fuuck!" he struggled into a red-faced scream.
He shook her hard, and then shook her more. Paul shook her as if he were trying to shake the hair from a cheap plastic doll. She cried out in pain. He grabbed her left wrist and twisted her arm behind and up her back. Miranda went onto her tiptoes trying to relieve the pain. He pushed her back to her pole. Paul worked the cuffs onto her wrists as they walked.
"Get one," Paul said to Peter, pointing at the holding cage.
Peter collected Phillip Jennings, still deaf, dumb and blind by apparatus.
The two brought the boy and girl together facing one another. Phillip was unaware of her attempted escape. Naked and bound, Phillip and Ryder appeared quite similar. Paul locked his arm into Miranda's and grabbed a fresh clump of hair. His head moved alongside hers.
"This is your doing."
Paul nodded to Peter.
"You watching Cheap Trick?"
Peter yanked the boy upright and wrapped his arm around his slender neck. The boy coughed past the leather strap. His nostrils gasped for air.
"Are you getting this?" Paul pushed the girl closer. She cried. Her eyes examined the figure of the boy as if trying to identify him.
Peter let Phillip begin to catch his breath then squeezed again. The boy's face flushed a deep red. His nose ran like a child with a bad cold. Snot dripped everywhere, tears snuck from beneath the blindfold.
Miranda shied away. "Oh no darling this is all for you." Paul released her hair and wrapped his arm around her locking her head in place.
Peter repeated the process, teasing her with Phillip's pain.
Miranda bawled and stomped watching the boy endure a long painful death because of her.
Peter took the boy to the brink of death multiple times. His nostrils flared each time Peter lessened his grip. Blood mixed with snot.
Miranda choked on cries of Ryder's name.
Phillip stopped moving. His skin turned pale and blotchy.
Miranda shook her head in denial.
A dark red-black blood leaked from his nose. Peter released the boy and his body collapsed to the floor. The ear protection and blindfold had come off.
Miranda went soft. She hung in Paul's arm like a ragdoll. He worked her to the floor, her legs beneath her. She sat still, searching for any sign of life but found none. Phillip was dead.
Peter and Paul walked away leaving her with what she had caused.
Ten minutes later Paul walked over and bent down. "You know the people we work for left your fate with me - us."
Miranda's head rose to meet his. Her eyes questioned. She spoke pensive and weak. "Why didn't you just kill me?"
"I was thinking about dropping you off in the middle of nowhere."
"Was?" She frowned.
"Before all this." Paul's hand motioned to Phillip.
"S-So what are you thinking now?"
"Actually, I'm thinking neither."
"Neither?" She squinted at Paul trying to understand through the fog of terror. "How can you do neither? I'm either dead or alive?"
He pulled her to her feet. "Well now Cheap Trick, I guess you don't know everything." Paul stepped close. "You got balls, I'll give you that but one more thing, just one, and I promise you will choke to death on them." He pushed closer. The tip of his nose touched hers. His eyes grew huge. He whispered, "One thing."
Paul bound and sat her at the base of her pole. She sat quiet.
Human capital depreciates faster than any other asset.
Peter and Paul required the services of two depreciated assets. The pros locked up and headed for a suburb southwest of the city. Walter had told them of a rehab facility owned by the Fitzgerald family where they could do some shopping. Paul had scoped out a pair of older guys several times around the facility.
One stood tall and skinny the other short and fat. Paul had watched them walk between the building, an apartment they shared, and a gas station to get smokes and snacks. He once made contact while following in a yellow custom van with porthole windows and graphic stripes.
When they arrived in the area, the old men were walking toward the gas station. Paul slowed the van to a crawl, matching their pace.
"Hey, Clint isn't it?" he hollered through the passenger window.
The tall skinny man stooped and leaned in the window. He waved a flat hand that resembled a prosthetic. "Hey fella, I know you." He pointed.
Paul motioned him over and slowed to a stop. Clint walked up and stuck his head in the window.
"How you guys to
day?" Paul asked.
"Oh, you know, I got bad knees and Terry, he's got a bad back." He chuckled.
Paul laughed along.
"But hey we’re still kicking right?"
"Right. You guys going to the gas station?"
"Yeah, yeah. Where you headed?"
"Jump in. I'll run you there and save you the shoe leather."
"You sure?"
"Oh yeah, there's stuff here." He pointed to the passenger seat. "But you can jump in the back."
Clint called Terry over. He pulled on the door handle and dragged it open.
Terry climbed in first and Clint followed.
"Hello," Terry said surprised to find Peter sitting in the back.
Clint pulled the door closed.
"How you doin? I'm Clint and this here's Terry."
"Peter."
"Peter?"
"Peter."
Clint leaned over and tapped Terry. He thumbed at the new man. "Peter," he said. "And Paul." He pointed at the driver's seat.
Terry bounced into a laugh, he slapped Peters leg, "Where's Mary?"
Clint and Terry laughed at their collaborative joke.
Peter had no clue. He slid from between the pair and crawled forward. He took something from Paul, turned back and sat on the floor.
Clint and Terry's eyes grew. Peter had a gun and he was pointing it at them.
Through the porthole window, Clint watched the gas station speed past. He gulped hard.
"Look, we're sorry about the joke," Clint said.
"We just fooling - didn't mean nothin' by it," added Terry.
"Certainly didn't intend on hurting your feelings."
Peter shouted, "Shut up!" He took a breath and spoke in a normal tone, "This isn't about a joke. Okay."
"Okay Mister."
"We need your help with something."
"I'd like to help and all but I can't be around guns or people with guns," Terry said.
"Why's that? You on parole Terry."
"So what if'n I am, what of it? I had a crap lawyer who talked me into a fucking plea. The only one who got fucked was me."
Peter laughed. "What'd you go to jail for?"
"I told you a crappy lawyer."
"Terry."
"They said it was inappropriate behavior."
The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1) Page 14
