Maybe

by John Locke

  “A hundred grand?”

  “No. A hundred dollars.”

  “Make it five hundred,” she says.

  “Fine.”

  I turn the bathroom door handle, open the door.

  Callie Carpenter.

  CALLIE LOVES WORKING with Creed. When the two of them are together, it adds an element of fun to the job. Plus, they’re unstoppable. Whether it’s something simple, like charging a hotel room, or huge, like attacking an enemy stronghold, they have the perfect chemistry for orchestrating lethal violence.

  Callie loves his quirks!

  There’s no one on earth she adores more than Creed, though she’d never admit it. She’s naturally in tune with him and has been, since the day he brought her into the business.

  When he’s around, there’s nothing she’d rather do than tease or torment him.

  Take today, for example. She had all afternoon and evening to think about the best way to fuck with his mind. Being Callie, she managed to come up with five great possibilities. But the one she knew would drive him crazy is if he couldn’t figure out how she managed to pee.

  Why would it cross her mind in the first place?

  Those who follow people for a living, or spend hours staking out homes, hotel rooms, or businesses, know there’s nothing more important than having a plan for using the bathroom. How many times has a person escaped surveillance at the exact moment the investigator left his post to find a place to pee?

  It never fails.

  Creed knows this and knows Callie would never take her eyes off the target. Therefore, he’d expect Callie to have something in her handbag. A large to-go coffee cup with a lid, for example.

  Which is exactly what Callie used twice while maintaining her surveillance on Sam’s hotel room door.

  Knowing Creed would arrive soon, Callie climbed on top of the ice machine, lifted a ceiling tile, and hid her pee cup on top of the adjoining tile. Then she put the first one back in place, dusted the top and sides of the ice machine, to remove any ceiling tile particles that might be visible.

  Callie smiles, thinking about it.

  Most people would say she’s crazy to go to so much trouble to make Creed wonder how she managed to pee while watching a hotel room door. But Callie knows it’s the little things, the unexpected, unexplained details—that get under the skin of a man like Creed, and hold his interest.

  Like the way he thinks she’s a lesbian.

  Creed is fascinated by the whole girl-on-girl dynamic.

  But Callie’s little secret? She’s just as comfortable being with a man. Would actually prefer a man, if she could find one she could respect. The reason she dates women? They’re easier to find, easier to love. While her looks and strong personality are intimidating to men, they’re catnip to women. Cool, sexy, fun women are easy to find because they approach her. And Callie can accept them for who they are. They don’t have to measure up to some ideal standard.

  And they don’t keep score. In other words, if Callie beds both John and Jane Doe, only John will run out and tell all his friends about it. Callie likes to keep her personal life private.

  As for men, being around Creed has spoiled her. Of course she’s met handsome, powerful men in her life. But none measure up to Creed. After hanging around Superman, could Lois Lane ever be happy with Jimmy Olsen or Perry White?

  Of course not!

  But Lois could find any number of fun women to date, and it would never cross her mind to compare them to Superman.

  The million-dollar question is, could Callie ever fall in love with a man like Creed?

  Of course.

  She already loves him!

  Naturally she has no current plans to reveal her feelings. Not until she’s convinced he’s ready to settle down. Since Creed’s still enjoying the company of hookers, he’s not even close to being ready.

  Callie stormed the room low, while Creed went high. Good as she is, she would’ve been nervous diving into a hotel room unarmed. Especially facing a rank amateur like Sam Case, who wouldn’t be where he should be, or doing what he should do.

  Creed took the high position, unarmed.

  God, what a thing of beauty he is! Handsome, confident, willing to put himself in the line of fire to protect her. It was a fraction of a second in real time, but when you do what they do, as long as they’ve done it, time stands still, giving a woman like Callie time to admire the athletic grace of a truly amazing killing machine like Donovan Creed. It’s like watching Mikhail Baryshnikov in his prime. You know you’re seeing something special, a once-in-a-generation talent.

  He took her breath away. As he does whenever they’re together.

  But he’s wrong about Sam.

  Creed says he’s alive, Callie says he’s dead.

  They bet five hundred dollars on the outcome, and now it’s time to find out.

  Creed turns the bathroom door handle, opens the door, steps inside.

  Callie pauses, then cautiously approaches.

  Creed’s hand becomes visible through the door opening.

  He’s holding five hundred dollars.

  Which means Callie wins the bet.

  She plucks the cash from his fingers, stuffs it in the pocket of her jeans, and enters the bathroom.

  Donovan Creed.

  SAM’S DEAD.

  Callie accepts my money with not a hint of joy or satisfaction. One thing about Callie, there will be no “I told you so’s.”

  She understands my disappointment.

  I look at what’s become of Sam Case and know I started this.

  I stole Sam’s wife and ruined his business.

  In order to exact revenge, he befriended my daughter, turned her into a killer, and manipulated her into a sexual relationship. I have no idea what occurred between them that would have led her to do this. It would’ve been fitting and so much more satisfying for Sam and me to end our bitter rivalry in a more personal manner.

  Seeing Sam like this, it’s hard to picture him as the somber genius and worthy adversary I’ve learned to grudgingly respect.

  He’s in the bathtub, naked, tied into a fetal position, looking like some sort of freak show. His arms are tied behind his back, and his wrists and ankles are handcuffed. The scratches on his knees indicate they’d been tied together at some point. She’s put eyeliner and eye shadow on his eyes and lipstick on his lips. A red ball has been stuffed in his mouth, held in place with two elastic straps that encircle his head. A red, rubber tube is hanging out of his ass.

  “The tail’s a nice touch,” Callie says, “but she made a mess of his throat. What’s that about?”

  “She cut his vocal chords so his screams wouldn’t be heard.”

  “She must have knocked him unconscious first, or I would have heard him scream when she started cutting his neck.”

  “That sounds right,” I say. “She probably intended to torture him, but didn’t realize he’d choke to death from the blood.”

  Callie says, “No offense, but she needs more training.”

  I look at her and say, “No one better for that job than you.”

  She starts to respond, then changes her mind.

  I say, “You’ve got to admire the fact she did all this and walked out the door calmly.”

  “No blood on her clothes means she thought ahead,” Callie says. “She must have untied his knees, made him hop to the bathtub, then hit him over the head to make him fall in. Then she removed her clothes, cut his neck, and took a shower to scrub his blood off her body.”

  “I agree. But now we’ve got a problem.”

  “How to dispose of his body?”

  “That, and the fact this room is in my name.”

  “Shit, you’re right.”

  “Any ideas?” I say.

  “We could call Joe Penny and have him bring us a bomb.”

  “A bomb.”

  “That’s right. Nothing destroys a crime scene better than a bomb!”

  “You’d kill all the inno
cent people in the rooms around us?”

  “Of course not, though I doubt they’re all innocent. Joe sets the bomb, and we set off the fire alarm. When the building’s completely empty, Joe blows the room to hell, and no one’s the wiser about Sam.”

  “Or we could just remove his body and clean up the blood.”

  “But the room’s in your name,” Callie says.

  “Right, and I checked into a second room a few minutes ago. Miranda can stay in that one tonight, I’ll stay here, clean this one, and keep the housekeepers out.

  “But the actual body?”

  “Darwin’s retired, but he still has a contact list.”

  “You’re a hundred percent positive Dr. P. is Darwin?”

  “I am. Believe it.”

  She chuckles.

  “What?”

  “Yesterday you were going to kill him. Now you’re going into business with him?”

  “I know. Funny, right?”

  “You’re keeping him alive for the boob jobs.”

  “What?”

  “You hope to meet show girls.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t protest too loudly. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  We stand there a while, looking at what’s become of Sam Case.

  “He was the most brilliant man I ever met,” I say.

  Callie says, “Can I order room service now?”

  CALLIE ORDERS ROOM service, and I call Dr. P.

  “See what I mean?” he says. “You can never get out of this business.”

  “It’s just one last body,” I say.

  “Someone you know?”

  “Sam Case.”

  He pauses. Then says, “You’re certain?”

  “Quite. No one shits rubber tubing like Sam.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Dr. P. says, “but if he found a way out of Area B without me knowing it, he’s managed to defeat my surveillance.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I say. “He’s dead and you’re out of the business.”

  “Which is why I can’t personally call the cleaner.”

  “Good point. Give me the contact info, and I’ll deal with him personally.”

  “Her.”

  “What?”

  “My Las Vegas cleaner’s a woman.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “She’s a former crime scene investigator, fallen on hard times.”

  “But trustworthy?”

  “Completely.”

  He gives me her name and number.

  Nelia Mitchell thanks me profusely for calling.

  “When I heard Darwin passed, I thought I’d never work again!” she says. “Thank God you got my number! You think you can keep me busy for the next few years?”

  I like her attitude.

  “I’ll do my best,” I say.

  “God bless you, Mr. Creed.”

  I do meet some strange people in this business.

  “I’ll need specifics,” she says.

  “Like what?”

  She chuckles. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

  “The cleaning up part? Yes, ma’am. What do you need?”

  “Is the victim a man or woman?”

  “Man.”

  “Height?”

  “Six feet, more or less.”

  “Exact is better.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to wheel him out of there in a suitcase. Be a shame if his head is sticking out.”

  “Say six feet, then.”

  “Weight?”

  “One eighty-five.”

  “How much blood?”

  “Confined to the bathroom floor, the tub, and splash tiles. There’s probably some on the shower floor and in the drains.”

  “We’ll take care of the drains.”

  “We?”

  “I’m an old lady. I can’t do all this by myself.”

  “Let’s be clear. I deal with you, you deal with the crew.”

  “No one sees you but me,” she says.

  “When can you be here?”

  “Vega Rouge? Give me two hours.”

  “Thanks, Nelia.”

  “Don’t thank me, pay me.”

  “How much?”

  “For this job? Eight grand.”

  “That sounds high.”

  “How much would you pay a lawyer to keep you out of jail?”

  “Good point.”

  “Cash, honey.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “In advance.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  MY NEXT CALL is to my daughter, Kimberly.

  “Maybe Taylor,” she says.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m in a hotel room with a dead guy.”

  “That’s got to be more fun than you’re making it sound.”

  I try to keep the smile out of my voice as I ask, “Where are you?”

  “Out drinking. But don’t worry, I’m not driving. I’ve got a hotel room upstairs.”

  “Not the room where I’m standing, I hope.”

  “Nope. I’m down the street.”

  “You’re drinking you say?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Got troubles?”

  “I broke up with my boyfriend tonight.”

  “Yeah. That’s sort of why I called.”

  “I know.”

  “You want some company?”

  “Tomorrow? Sure. But not tonight.”

  “But you’ll be okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Because?”

  “I’ve got a great job, working with my dad.”

  “Your dad sounds very handsome.”

  She giggles. “He is.”

  We’re quiet a while.

  Then I ask, “Anything you want to say to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Don’t tell Mom what I did, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  ME, TALKING TO Callie: “Room service was a great idea.”

  “I agree,” she says, “I’m totally starving.”

  “You know how I knew that? The four pounds of food you ordered.”

  She flips me the finger.

  Undeterred, I say, “Sam’s tucked away in the bathroom.”

  “So?”

  “The room service guy saw us here together, cool, calm, collected. We let him take his time setting the table and so forth.”

  She cuts into her tenderloin and says, “You mean it establishes we didn’t kill a man, hack his vocal chords out of his neck with a pocket knife, or stick a tube up his ass.”

  “Exactly.”

  When Callie takes a bite of her steak I’m reminded how much I love watching her eat. She’s truly stunning. Crazy as it sounds, the way she moves her mouth when eating is something I’d pay money to see. Of course, I’d pay more to see what’s going on under those jeans. My mind suddenly shifts to Callie in the cubby with the ice machine, pulling her pants down enough to pee.

  “Will I get to meet Miranda this trip?” she says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Miranda. Do you have plans to introduce us?”

  “You want me to?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then I will.”

  I think about it a minute, then say, “What made you ask that?”

  “About Miranda? You were staring at me.”

  “I was?”

  “At my lap, if we’re being precise.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “It’s a chick thing. We know when you glance, we know when you stare. You weren’t glancing.”

  She takes a bite and adds, “You stared at my face, then my boobs, then my crotch. With extreme lust.”

  “Extreme?”

  “Again, a chick thing. There are degrees of lustful stares. Yours was extreme.”

  “Can you blame me?”

 
; She swallows her steak, cuts another wedge. “Blame you? Explain.”

  “Christ, Callie, you’re gorgeous. Your body makes me crazy! You’re literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve told you that a million times.”

  “And I’m always pleased to hear it. But your problem with women?”

  “Do tell.”

  “You’re lazy.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Gorgeous women require extra effort. In a choice between a gorgeous woman, and a willing one, you’ll settle for willing every time.”

  “Well hell, what man wouldn’t?”

  “What man indeed.”

  I say, “Miranda is not only willing, she’s beautiful and brilliant.”

  “What’re you saying? She might be the one?”

  “No, of course not. But can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you being so catty tonight? I’m far more selective than you’re making it sound. Surely you can imagine how hard it is to find women who’ll accept my lifestyle.”

  She pauses, then says, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I had no idea Miranda was that important to you.”

  “Well, she is.”

  “You really care for this lady?”

  “I do. Very much. And thanks for not calling her a hooker.”

  “You’re welcome. But…if she’s here, and she’s so special to you, why were you staring at me just now?”

  “Because you’re Callie Carpenter!”

  “This is a compliment, yes?”

  “Definitely. You’re one of a kind. I’d give anything to have you.”

  “As a man who employs hookers, is this the point where you make me an offer?”

  I look at her, looking at me. If there’s one woman in the world who could get me to settle down, it’s this one. Not only is her beauty unsurpassed, she’s everything I seek in a woman. Callie’s the total package. She completes me.

  In short, we’re perfect together.

  We work well, enjoy the same things. Like making money, shopping, killing bad guys, watching movies, going to theater, sleeping with beautiful women, and millions of other things, like…

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Meeting Miranda,” she says. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  I frown. “Fine. I’ll introduce you now.”