Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  Claire kept her eyes shut. “C’mon, Black, I’m trying to be stoic and brave with these awful wounds, but you keep hounding me. Take pity. Shut up, already.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing: I’m going to make sure everybody in the country knows that the media almost got you killed. If they hadn’t been chasing you across that street, none of this would’ve happened. You would’ve seen that car coming.”

  “Somebody must’ve alerted them that we were in that store. There were lots of customers in there. I guess somebody recognized me and tipped off the vultures.”

  “Okay, just rest now. I guess the silver lining is that you’re home on time and well enough to eat dinner and decorate the Christmas tree tonight. I’ll cancel my trip to New York tomorrow.”

  Claire opened her eyes. “Don’t be silly. Rico will be disappointed. It’s just a night or two, anyway.”

  “I don’t like going off and leaving you injured and Bud in the hospital.”

  “I know. But it’s okay to go, I promise.”

  Black’s reluctance was not alleviated by her glib reassurances. He bent down, kissed her cheek, and left her lying there alone and drowsy while he walked back down the hall to rejoin his colleagues. Harve would pick up Rico, but school wouldn’t be out for hours. Claire was resting, which he could barely believe she had agreed to do. Probably wouldn’t have, if not for the sedatives. So that was one good thing—the only good thing at the moment, but he would take advantage of anything that actually went well today.

  * * * *

  By the time Rico got home that afternoon, Claire was awake, back on her feet, showered, and dressed in loose sweat pants and a soft red Cedar Bend sweatshirt. Black insisted on checking the head bandage again, so she humored him. The wound really wasn’t half bad, not as her wounds usually went. She climbed back into bed to rest her hip so Black wouldn’t get all bent out of shape. She was damn sore, but not enough to take her off the case. Claire had been thinking things through all afternoon and she didn’t kid herself: Black was right. She could have easily been killed. Bud was nearly killed. Those realizations made her reconsider her evaluation of Oliver Wood. He was still a suspect for sure, but why had he endangered himself to save her? She had been taking him in for questioning; she might have locked him up for all he knew. Who was in that car? Whoever it was, she was convinced he wanted to kill Wood, not her and Bud. She’d go ten to one on that bet.

  When Rico bounded into her bedroom around four-thirty that afternoon, keen to show her his latest drawing of a Star Wars battle droid, he skidded to a stop at the side of the bed and stared at the bandage on her head. His eyes got big and round and frightened. His voice came out in a scared whisper. “Did that woman on the island come back? Is she coming here to get me again?”

  “No, no way, Rico. You know she’s dead now. She’s never coming back. Come here. Look, I’m just fine. See? All good. Just had an accident today. I almost got hit by a car when I was crossing the street.” He still looked wary, so Claire changed the subject. “How was school today?”

  “Okay, but how did that happen? You sure it wasn’t that lady who liked to hurt me? You sure she really died and can’t come back and get me again?”

  Rico was reliving the nightmare in which they’d found him last summer. He had gotten so much better since he’d been with them, first in Hawaii and then here at the lake. Occasionally, though, he’d remember the cruel woman and her family who had held him captive. “Listen, Rico, you know good and well that she’s dead. All of the people that hurt you are dead. I saw them die. They can’t ever hurt you again. You are safe here at Cedar Bend with us. I promise you that. Okay?”

  Huge dark eyes searched her face, sober and fearful. “But you got hurt today. Maybe they told somebody to come here and hurt you, and me and Nick, too. Maybe it was some of their men in that car. They’d do that to you, Claire, you know they would.”

  “No, it wasn’t them, because they are dead, all of them are. This happened because I’m a cop, and I ran into some trouble with a bad guy. This kind of thing happens sometimes when you’re a police officer. But I am right as rain now. I promise.”

  “I don’t want you to die.” Big, fat tears welled up in Rico’s eyes, then oozed over and rolled down his cheeks. That was a rare thing for him, tears. Rico was very brave and resourceful, and about double his years in life-threatening experiences.

  “I’m not gonna die, Rico. Do I look like I’m gonna die? Come here. Don’t cry, please.”

  Rico got up on the bed and snuggled in along her good side. Claire held him tightly against her. “I’m fine,” she whispered into his soft hair. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty great about now. Know why? Because we’re gonna decorate all our trees tonight and make s’mores in the fireplace. We’ve just been waiting for you to get home so we can get started.”

  That cheered up Rico immensely and put his big smile back into place. “Can we have hot chocolate and marshmallows and maybe some cheeseburgers and French fries, too? From downstairs at the restaurant? They make them the best.”

  “Sure we can. We can order up anything you want. Just name it.”

  “Okay, let’s go find Nick.” He sat up, but then he started looking concerned again. “Does it hurt much where that car hit you?”

  “It didn’t hit me. I jumped out of the way and slammed my hip up against a parked car. I’m fine, I promise. Black’s taking good care of me.”

  “I don’t like it when you get hurt. You’re the best mom in the world.” Then he grinned, his face lit up with love. Claire smiled back; her heart was touched. She wasn’t his mother. He’d seen his mother murdered right in front of his eyes, but he had survived that—and lots of other terrible things. He was just the best little guy in the world, as brave as anybody she’d ever met. A wonderful kid. No wonder Black doted on him. No wonder Claire loved him so much.

  Their evening together turned out to be fun for all of them. They ate cheeseburgers and fries and German chocolate cake, and then they put on a Christmas CD and built up the fire until it snapped and crackled like crazy. After that, they decorated the absolutely huge pine tree that Black and Rico had cut down and dragged out of the woods behind her cabin on the cove. Black lifted up Rico and let him put the star on top. Claire sobered while she watched them, glad it wasn’t an angel, because she couldn’t get the image of Heather Jax up on that bannister out of her head. She tried to shake away the horror of the murder scene, because Rico was making their first Christmas together even more special.

  It was almost as if they really were a little family. Almost as if Zachary had lived long enough to understand what Christmas was all about, had been allowed to grow up to the grand old age of ten, like Rico had. Thoughts of her little toddler always haunted her the most during the Christmas holidays, when she obsessed about all the things he’d missed out on in his short little life. But she couldn’t think about that now. She was happy. She really was. She couldn’t let herself dwell on death, not his or the one she was investigating, not right now, or her own homegrown, deep black depression would settle down over her spirit. So she pushed those dark thoughts away as she had learned to do. Not now. She just couldn’t think about her baby right now.

  Black glanced at her often and asked silent questions with that incredible intuition of his. She just smiled and gritted her teeth when she moved her hip the wrong way or sat down too long. She wasn’t going to ruin their night and the memories they were making. Nope, she could suck it up for Rico and Black. But she was going to find Oliver Wood and make him tell her who had been driving that damn car, and why the driver wanted at least one of them dead.

  Play Time

  After their first stab at Live or Die went so swimmingly, Junior and Lucky both chomped at the bit to find another suitable victim. The chilling but thrilling demise of Rosie the Hooker was dying down some now, but their black souls begged for more spilled blood. Th
e public outcry about the prostitute’s brutal murder had waned considerably as the police floundered about with no leads, no witnesses, and one very cold case. The boys were just so damn good at their murderous game already.

  Even so, they were way too smart not to be extremely careful the next time. They were damn tired of hanging around in Los Angeles anyway, bored with shopping on Rodeo Drive and clubbing at the popular celebrity clubs and drinking and smoking pot and sniffing coke. They craved a new and exciting kill in a new and exciting place. They wanted to go somewhere sunny and fun, with lots of tourists and lots of booze and pretty girls in tiny bikinis on warm tropical beaches. A place where nobody knew who they were or where they’d come from. More importantly, a place where nobody knew them well enough to identify them later.

  Together, they decided Junior should get to kill his plumber as soon as they switched cities. They spent one evening on Google, searching ritzy beach resorts, avoiding the most famous and trendy ones, figuring there’d be lots of paparazzi hanging around looking for celebrities sunbathing in the nude and actors staggering drunk around their hotels with somebody else’s wife. Those photographers also took random crowd shots, which could place them at the scene of the murder. They had to be unbelievably careful, especially if they chose to go to a foreign country. They’d have to use their heads and be even cleverer.

  Still, they were both pretty damn savvy at this killing game they’d created. Junior was finding that Lucky was almost as intelligent as he was in many ways, that he also had the street smarts they needed for this kind of job. He wasn’t any kind of dummy, that was for certain. He just hadn’t cared about school enough to try to earn high grades. Lucky’s favorite saying was, “It’s better to be smart and lucky than just smart.” Junior decided he was probably right about that.

  Junior wasn’t a lucky guy—never had been. He was talented, though, and brilliant. That meant a lot in life. But he did so love to kill people, loved the bright red color of their blood and the starburst designs flying blood made on hard surfaces. It actually turned him on physically. He was almost embarrassed to admit that. He should’ve been a police blood expert like Dexter Morgan on that TV show about murdering serial killers. He guessed they’d soon be serial killers, too. The idea appealed to him. It was exotic and intoxicating, so he was willing to let Lucky make a lot of the strategic decisions and calculations. His partner had a head for logistics in a way that Junior didn’t. Just as long as Junior got to kill somebody, and watch them bleed out some, he was fine with whatever.

  Junior now realized that he was afflicted with a malady called bloodlust, big time and over the top, too. He had become crazy about it, in fact, with an out-of-control need that needed to be fulfilled regularly. That’s all there was to it. But that was okay; Lucky said he liked to be around crazy.

  In the end, they chose Acapulco, a city way down on the southern Mexican coast. They liked the weather down there, and they liked the beaches and they liked the girls wearing almost nothing as they strode across the sand in front of them. The girls usually went for Lucky first, of course. He was super handsome and cool and buff from all that working out he did. More so than Junior, but that stood to reason. Junior always ended up with Lucky’s leftovers, but those women were pretty damn hot, too. What the ladies liked the most about Junior was his endless stream of cash. He bought them expensive dinners and clothes and jewelry, and they tagged along after him two or three at a time, like little baby lambs. There were even two or three in bed, now that he’d slept with so many girls. Yes, sir, Junior and Lucky were living the good life.

  After about a week of exploring the city and getting smashed and stoned every night with their small and loyal harem, they began their search for a suitably hefty plumber. There were lots of plumbers in the phone book, so they drove from one address to the next, finally settling on a man who looked about forty years old. He lived in an apartment over his small plumbing shop—alone, which was a good thing. They decided they should break in and surprise him in the middle of the night while he was sleeping. Then they would string him up and watch him choke to death on a hangman’s noose. It had been a long time since their last kill, and they were antsy from sheer lack of good fun. Killing was their obsession now. It was an addiction that they loved more than all their other vices put together. It was simply sublime to exert power over life and death. Over another human being. Their choice whether he would live or die. They were like gods of the underworld, rising up to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting innocent. Beautiful and rich gods of death.

  One night when they were following the plumber, he walked into a smoky saloon that the locals frequented and then came out three hours later, stinking drunk. Junior laughed out loud at his good fortune. Lucky scowled and said it wasn’t a fair game, not unless his victim got to be drunk, too. Junior waxed magnanimous and told Lucky that okay, his next victim could be drunk, too. After all, fair was fair.

  So they followed the stumbling, inebriated man home and watched him stagger around the side of his building to the alley alongside his shop and attempt to climb the steep steps that led up to his apartment. He fell twice along the way, he was so drunk. Then he went inside but left his door standing wide open. Man alive, Junior was getting off damn easy this time.

  “You ready?” Junior said, glancing over at Lucky.

  “This is not fair. You’ve got it easy tonight.”

  “Quit bellyaching. I already said your victim can be drunk, too. You’re such a big crybaby sometimes.”

  Hell yes, Junior had gotten lucky. To be safe, they waited half an hour before they went in, wanting the plumber to be in a complete stupor. Or passed out—that would be even better. The light upstairs never went off, and the alley below remained shadowy and deserted. The plumber lived on a side street, with only a few businesses and no residences, so all remained calm and quiet. Nobody stirred. Just like the night before Christmas. They’d have to prevent the man from screaming, but they could do that with a rag stuffed into his mouth. After all, there were two of them. The last thing they wanted was to get thrown into some filthy, nasty Mexican prison for the rest of their lives. But the coast looked clear. They got out of the car they’d rented with fake driver’s licenses, met at the front, and walked across the intersection and down through the alley. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, they listened for sounds of life above them. Nothing. They slowly inched up the steps together.

  It turned out to be as easy as pie. The plumber had passed out all right, sprawled out on the floor right inside the front door. Triumphant, Junior and Lucky looked at each other. The time had come. All systems on go. Junior shut the door. They stood there a moment longer, listening to the plumber’s low snores. Then Lucky walked through the small, messy apartment and found no one was there to get in their way. Wouldn’t have mattered—they would’ve just killed him, too.

  “Nobody home. Game on, my friend.”

  Waves of excitement shook through Junior. For a few seconds, he didn’t move. This was his kill. His first solo flight. Finally, he was going to show Lucky just how badass he could be. Inhaling a bracing breath, he jerked off his backpack and pulled out the coil of heavy rope. He tested the tight knots of the noose, although he’d done it a dozen times prior. The apartment had rafters, as if hell had provided for him. He tossed the end of the rope over the highest point, and then he set the noose around the unconscious man’s neck. Then he hesitated. He actually had a fit of conscience. What had this man done to him and Lucky? Nothing. They didn’t even know him, or anything about him. He swallowed down the hard lump at the back of his throat.

  “Well, what? You losin’ your nerve, Junior? I figured you would. Chicken, huh?”

  Lucky made the sound of a chicken clucking.

  That did it for Junior. He jerked the rope as hard as he could, but wasn’t strong enough to get the guy all the way up into the air. Lucky grabbed on, too, and together they hoisted their vi
ctim up high. The plumber didn’t even fight—he was just too drunk. They secured the rope around the bathroom door and knotted it tightly. Then the man just hung there, limp and loose-limbed, breath slowly cut off until his heart stopped. Junior watched for a moment, but found he didn’t want to look at his murderous handiwork. The truth was he was having a twinge of guilt—he didn’t take to coldblooded killing quite like Lucky did, not when it got right down to it. He had hated his mom, of course; she had deserved to die. And the hooker, that had just seemed like some kind of weird dream. But this man, he had just been minding his own business, living his life as best he could, fixing toilets and clogged sinks. He hadn’t done anything to anybody.

  Lucky outstretched his hand, and Junior took hold of it. They shook, right beside the plumber’s swinging body. “So how do you feel, Junior? Feels damn good, don’t it?”

  “Oh, yeah, just like I thought I would. This is awesome.” But that was a lie. As he followed Lucky down the steps and back to the car, he wondered if he might like it better next time. Maybe he only liked it when he got to see blood all over the place. Yeah, that must be the problem this time.

  Chapter 15

  By the time Black and Rico had finished packing for their quick jaunt to New York City, Claire was halfway regretting her decision to work homicide through the holidays. Yes, she wanted to go with them, but she’d made a commitment, and she was going to keep it. Charlie was already shorthanded at the station and now Bud was out, too. Besides, she was mad now. Whoever had run down Bud was going down, too. Count on it.

  “Sure you won’t change your mind?” Black said, pulling her close for a goodbye hug.

  “No can do. Sorry, wish I could. You know why.”

  “And you feel all right? Still having pain?”

  “Only when I move a certain way.”