by Baker, Alex
The two stopped walking, and Roofy pulled a cigarette out of the pack he had carried in his shorts. “Zhdat.” Flicking the lighter, he took a long draw before exhaling. The two resumed walking.
“Guess they figure it out when the, um, the doctors...,” Roofy paused and looked questioningly at Constance.
“The medical staff,” she said, assisting him.
“Yes. They came to ring to help Miguel. He had landed on his back on table. Miguel never walk again.” Roofy paused to take another long drag from the cigarette. “They were very angry with me. I had to have some stitches,” Roofy motioned to his arm as he spoke, “and had some bruises. My, uh, boss – how you say, manager,” he slurred the word as he struggled with the pronunciation, “was yelling at me. He had been like friend when I come here. We never speak again. That was end of Mr. Apocalypse.”
“You act like your life ended.”
The two ceased moving as Roofy, finished smoking, threw the cigarette down on the pavement. Constance ran her fingers through her hair.
Staring up into the sky, Roofy held on to each end of the towel and draped it across the back of his neck. “What have I got now? Dead end life. Bitch of wife. I am not dead. I am just, how you say, wasting away.”
“From power-bomb to pity-bomb.”
Perturbed, Roofy threw his hands into the air, waiving the towel around in one of them. “What in hell!” He wanted to be upset with her, but every time he looked at her smile, he relaxed.
“That's better.” It was not hard to get him back on track, she just countered his self-loathing with a statement she knew would get a reaction. Turning away from Roofy, Constance began walking again. “You still have passion in you.”
Roofy shook his hands in the air and followed her. “Ugh!”
“You just can't be afraid of yourself.”
It only took a few steps for the ex-wrestler to catch back up to her, thanks to his long gait. “It is thing inside of me that makes me afraid.” The loss of control he had experienced in the ring, the night Miguel got hurt, was not the first time it had occurred. It had gotten worse ever since, though. With the black-outs came wild day dreams and nightmares. It was the feeling of being helpless to stop what his body was doing that scared him. Worse, he did not want to hurt anyone else.
“So, you get back out there and face it. You learn to live again.”
The two stopped in front of Roofy's front yard and faced each other.
“I have thought about this,” Roofy confessed softly, “leaving from here. Make new start in new place, like when I first come to this country.”
Suddenly, while Roofy was lost in thought, Constance snatched the towel from his large hand. Caught off guard, it took Roofy a few seconds to react. By the time he turned, Constance was already a few steps away from him.
“My towel?”
Twirling the towel, Constance walked away. “You can pick it up when you stop by to get me,” she paused just long enough to turn and grin at him, “when we walk away from all of this.”
Roofy looked back at the house and struggled with what he should do. He recalled someone once telling him, when he left Russia, that, when it came to decisions, we already knew what we are going to do. We just looked for a way to justify it.
Facing back to the road, he watched Constance disappear into the distance.
8
Chief Epps, a thinly framed, sensibly dressed black man, sat behind a desk in an unassuming office in the Richmond City Police Department. Small plaques dotted the walls, while various types of African art sat on shelves alongside family pictures. His motto had always been that the way a person kept their work space was the same way they performed their job. Things should be organized, make sense, and not be overshadowed by unnecessary personal objects of little meaning.
A cleanly shaved face reflected the calm, reasoned approach he took with his work and life. A small pair of reading glasses sat on the lower portion of his nose; they were a compromise he had made with age, along with his salt and pepper hair. A nameplate on his desk was inscribed with the words, Chief Thaddeus Epps.
Peering up over the top of his glasses, he addressed Detective Laura Stenks, who had just entered his office. “Okay, Detective, what did we find in the bottom of the cereal box today?”
“One Sarah Whent, aka Amazing Woman.” Leaning over the desk to lay out some pictures was Detective Laura Stenks. She was dressed in her customary tight blouse, short skirt, and heels. Hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face as she worked, she leaned over his desk to lay out some picture, causing her ensemble to pull tight against her body. If it were any other man, she would have expected him to glance at her exposed legs or the bulges created by the push-up bra pressing her breasts into her shirt. The Chief was either too much of a gentleman or engrossed in his work to concern himself with things like that, or he didn't care.
Pushing his glasses up closer to his eyes, Chief Epps leaned forward to take a closer look. “Seems someone found her weakness.” He picked up a few of the pictures and began reviewing them, but he had barely started when he heard the sound of something solid being sat on his desk. Peaking over the pictures, he saw an evidence bag containing what appeared to be a purple crystal.
“Yes they did. Crystacide.”
“Say again,” Chief Epps expressed calmly, his eyebrows raising a little.
It was about as much if an emotional reaction as she had come to expect in her years of serving under him. She would not say that they had bonded, but she was sure that he understood the way she worked. More importantly, she knew he trusted her to get things done.
“It’s a crystal from another planet that weakens Amazing Woman's powers,” Laura explained.
He relaxed his hands, so the pictures he had held were lying over more on the desk. He now had his full attention on Laura. “Detective,” the Chief slowly leaned back into his chair, “am I to believe a super villain killed her with some alien rock?”
Laura still leaned on one hand on the desk, but she now had the other pointed down at the crystal. “Actually, sir, glass dyed and cut to resemble the alien rock.”
The Chief had picked the pictures back up and scrutinized them. “Bound S&M style. Beaten. Then killed.”
“Her cat received similar treatment. Sucked completely dry. Not a drop of blood found.” She found this aspect of the case very peculiar. Not only had they not been able to figure out what happened to the cat's blood, there was no historical data that she could recall that connected this type of activity with murdering someone. Unless it was a dog guarding its owner, there was no practical reason for a suspect to kill the house pet.
The Chief asked from behind the pictures, “Are you saying the guy drank the cat's blood?”
“Not at all. I think it just lends to what we could be dealing with.”
“No sexual assault? On the woman, that is.” The jibe was quick and dry. The Chief prided himself on his one liners, even when his subordinates were reluctant to laugh at them due to his rank.
“Just with the alien rock, sir.”
He lowered the pictures some. “Beautiful woman.”
“Sir?” Laura asked. The Chief has spoken in such a soft tone that she was not sure if he meant for her to hear or was talking to himself. She was inclined to believe the latter, given his melancholy expression.
“Well, it's a terrible shame, Detective,” Chief Epps stated as he laid the pictures down on the desk, while removing his glasses with the other hand, “but it's still just murder, like we deal with daily. I'm not following why you've brought this to me.” He knew the explanation was coming, though. As a matter of fact, he counted on it. Laura did not make a move without a reason, which was one of the main attributes that had prompted him to promote her so quickly.
Laura responded confidently. “Because, I don't think it's normal at all.” She picked up the bag with the faux crystal in it. “Our perp made this with the sole intent of killing a female in an
Amazing Woman outfit.” Laura sat the bag down and went back to leaning forward, with one hand on the desk. Full head of steam now, she tapped the pointing finger of her other hand on the desk. “This was thought out. This was planned. This is part of something larger.”
The Chief leaned forward on his elbows with his hands clasped together. “I know better than to doubt that look. Let's get out in front of this.”
Pictures and evidence in hand, Laura turned and headed out the door, giving a quick wave as she went. “I'm on it, Chief. I'll let you know what forensics comes back with.”
9
Roofy stood at the post end of his weight bench, in his garage, grunting from strain as he completed another lift of the heavily weighted bar. The sound of footsteps alerted him that Kate was coming down the short set of steps leading up into the house, but he did not halt his workout.
Kate stopped and stood off to his side with her arms crossed, exemplifying her confrontational personality. “What the shit is this I hear about you spending time with some tramp in our neighborhood?”
Roofy grunted as he curled the bar again. He had spent so long bowing to her when she came at him. He had blinded himself to how bad it was until he found himself so deep in the hole that he felt there was no way out. Today was different. He felt invigorated by the hint of strength that had crept back in.
Frustrated, she pointed at him. “So help me God, if you are screwing some little bitch, I will cut off your balls!”
Roofy grunted as he curled the bar again, continuing to ignore Kate's verbal assault.
The intensity in her voice grew. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!”
Roofy continued curling the bar, his grunts punctuating his effort. He was amazed at little he had to do to gain control over her.
Kate moved her hands to her hips. “Fine. I'll just go kick your little girlfriend's ass.”
Roofy stopped curling the bar and stood for a moment holding it. Threatening him was one thing, but he would not tolerate Kate doing to Constance what she had done to him. Slowly, he sat it into the holders at the top of the posts. The bar settled into place with a clank. He did not turn to look at Kate, who pointed at him again. Instead, he tensed as his new found confidence devolved into anger and contempt.
“Knock her pretty little head off.”
Roofy braced himself. Not realizing it until it was too late, the fires of hate he was feeling had grown out of control. Quickly it built up; until he was sure he would snap. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, the evil desire was overtaking him. Reaching down, he methodically removed the knob holding the weights in place. One by one, he slid them off, and each one fell to the floor with a resounding clang.
Kate jerked back in surprise.
Roofy began sweeping the weights off the other end of the bar. They fell to the floor, almost landing on Kate's feet, causing her to jump. All except for one large weight, which he secured into place on the bar with the other locking mechanism. Roofy's conveyed nothing but bad intentions. “Maybe,” Roofy hesitated as he turned to face Kate, who looked like she was struggling to keep control. “I knock.” Kate shuffled uneasily, as she raised her hands in a defensive posture. The feeble attempt at defending herself only infuriated him more. “Your head off!”
Roofy swung the barbell like a mace, with all the force his large frame could muster. Like a baseball player trying to hit a home run, the weighted end of the barbell connected with Kate's head, causing a large spray of blood and brain material. Her body slumped to the floor, blood pouring out from the open head wound into a large pool on the concrete.
Roofy moved into a triumphant stance over the body, which twitched on the concrete. Gloriously, he raised the gore covered barbell in one hand.
The sound of Kate's voice interrupted his celebration.
“Roo...Roofy, I mean it. Stop!”
Snapped back to reality, Roofy found himself standing in his original position, with the mace-like barbell in his hand. Looking around, he watched as the frightened Kate ran up the steps and back into the house. She slammed the door shut behind her.
He dropped the weighted bar to the floor and rubbed the back of his head. He was not sure what terrified him more, the disturbing hallucination or how much he enjoyed the thought of seeing it through.
“Hmph.
10
Other Self, a costume and novelty shop, was a long running local favorite, doing business in a row of unique buildings situated in the city’s historic Cary Town district. The store enjoyed brisk, year around support, thanks in part to the dedicated shoppers who frequented the unique area. It also came in very handy for those seeking a last-minute costume at time periods other than Halloween.
Detective Laura Stenks, waiting impatiently at the check-out counter, fit that description. The trip had served a dual purpose. She needed information on all purchases made for UWA Claw masks, and she needed a special outfit for the night's venture.
“Here you go.” A rail thin, young man with lamb chop sideburns and a handlebar mustache sat a bag unceremoniously on the counter in front of Laura. “One Amazing Woman costume.”
Mind occupied with the conquest at hand, Laura took the bag and walked out. She went over the details in her head of the night to come, making sure she had every possibility covered.
“Yeah, you have a nice day too, lady.”
Laura was out of earshot, though, making her way to the car like a woman on a mission. A short and hurried drive took her to The Tobacco Factory, a popular local bar, where she set up shop. In the time it took for her to down two mixed drinks, the place had filled. Positioned on a stool, back against the bar, Laura scanned the crowd like an expert buyer judging cattle. Gone were her badge, firearm, and duty belt, leaving just her signature short skirt and tight blouse, with the top most buttons undone. Bait on display, she knew it would not take long for a fish to bite.
This particular species of fish came in the form of a man in his late twenties, athletically built, and smartly dressed. Laura watched him take the hook and swim in close. Physically, he fit the bill, but it did not take her years of law enforcement training in reading a suspect to deduce he was timid on the draw.
“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” Squeezing awkwardly in beside her, the man put the on thing he relied on to get lucky: his looks.
Laura's eyes stayed fixated on the crowd, not paying him any attention. She was not worried with him swimming away; a brush of her fingers along her breast, just inside of her blouse, ensured the hook was set. He was hers to cut loose or take home, but she wanted to make sure there was not a more enticing catch first.
“You come here a lot?” the man asked insecurely.
Laura settled her mind on it, deciding that a little too timid translated to easier to control. Besides, all the fish brought the same fins. Spinning around on her stool to stare him in the face, Laura reeled him in. “Look, why don't we skip the bullshit and get to business.”
The man glanced around, unsure of what to say.
It was obvious by the quick side-to-side darting of his blue eyes and fumbled lack of response that he had already conceded that she was in charge. The slightest of intimidating smiles crossed Laura's face. “It's someone's lucky night. I hope you're man enough for it.”
11
Laura led her male companion into a room at the Home Inn Hotel. The room had typical hotel accommodations, complete with small den, containing a sofa, office desk, television, and mini-fridge, and separate bedroom. It was nothing spectacular, but then, it did not have to be to serve her purpose.
Laura tossed her coat onto the couch and walked off toward the bedroom, leaving the man to stand looking around. “Wait here while I get ready,” she ordered.
Entering the bedroom, she closed the door almost shut behind her. Spread out on the bed were the forensic photos of the Sarah Whent murder. The bag from the costume store sat nearby, along with the evidence folder for the pictures. She scanned the pictures of the woman ti
ed and bound in the Amazing Woman costume. The rope was tight around her neck and wrists. The uniform was torn. The life drained from her body.
It was not the first murder she had ever investigated, and it was not the first time she had engaged in hardcore domination. Like any good drug, though, the effects had worn off long before the addiction. Now, she stood ready to take a stab from a new needle. When she saw Sarah Whent in the Amazing Woman costume, Laura knew what she needed to do to keep control. How ironic and appropriate, since it all began while she watched Amazing Woman. This was the piece of the puzzle she was sure she had missed. This would fill the void. It had to.
She gathered up the pictures, shuffled them back into the folder, and tossed it under the bed. She then removed the uniform from the bag and began getting undressed.
In the den, her male guest sat on the couch, looking through a travel brochure that had been left next to the lamp on an end table. The opening of the bedroom door told him it was time for action.
“You're going to need to do exactly what I say,” Laura stated seductively, posing just outside the bedroom. The costume covered her like a second layer of skin, accenting every curve. She had foregone the boots, considering them an expendable accessory.
Aroused, the man slowly stood up from the couch, dropping the brochure. “Is that an Amazing Woman costume?”
Laura strode across the room and grabbed the mesmerized man by the front of the shirt. She pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door.
“What are those for?” He asked skeptically, referring to the objects laid out on the bed. They included an authentic Amazing Woman rope and a police issue baton, fully extended.
“We doing this or not?” Laura requested sharply. She wanted his focus concentrated on her and the matter at hand. If she allowed him to waver too much then she risked him backing out all together. Like any wheel, once it got rolling fast enough in a direction, momentum would carry it.
