Joey soften his tone. "I'm not mad...I just..." He kissed the top of her left breast.
There was a knock at the door.
Joey jumped back.
Bobby opened the door and stuck his head in. He looked surprised and disappointed. "What's going on, Boss?"
"Nothing." He cleared his throat. "Get back to work, Boobsicles. I'll...look into that problem."
"Thank you, Sir." Rebecca exited.
She hurried to the dressing room, changed into her street clothes, and left the building before Joey or Bobby came out of the office. She needed a shower. A very long, hot shower.
Once Rebecca was two blocks away, she took out her phone and called Gabby to come pick her up. It took him ten minutes to get there, but it seemed like thirty.
"What did you find out?"
"I think Joey is the killer, and that he did it for Kimberly."
"Kimberly Smotherburn? Why? I mean, I can understand her motive. She wants her husband's money and his company—without having to be his wife. But what's Joey's motive?"
"The café. I found a sales contract between Kimberly and Joey for Café Nue. She's selling it to him for $10,000."
"That's practically giving it to him."
"Yeah, and it's postdated for the fifteenth of next month. It's even notarized."
"So, Joey kills Big Bill and frames you for the murder. Ownership of Café Nue passes to Kimberly, and she sells it to Joey for a song."
"Quite a plan, huh? So, I'm moving Joey Ketrousie to the top of our suspect list."
"But if Joey killed Big Bill right there in your office, why hasn't he recognized you?"
"I don't know. He must have hired somebody else to do it."
CHAPTER 24 - Tuesday 7:32 p.m.
Wiley plopped down in his leather recliner and called her again.
"Why do you keep calling me?"
"Because I miss you, Baby. And I want to come over."
"Well, I miss you too, Honey, but you know you can't come here right now. What if somebody were to see you?"
"I don't care," he slurred.
"Are you drunk, Wiley?"
"No. Of course not."
"Because you know how I feel about that."
"I know. I did have a couple of drinks earlier. But I'm not drunk. Definitely not drunk."
"Good."
"I want to come over there and screw your brains out."
"Wiley!"
"I'm sorry. I meant make love to you. You know that's what I meant, Baby."
"I know. I want that too. But we can't."
Wiley sighed.
"But you know what we can do?"
"The Game?"
"Yeah, The Game. It turns me on like crazy, Honey. Please play with me."
"Okay. Let me get it. I'm putting you on speaker." He set his cell phone down on the coffee table.
After a few moments, she said, "Wiley? Are you there?"
"I'm back."
"Good. I'm lying in bed. Let's play."
"Okay. I'm spinning."
"I'm already getting hot."
"Putting it against my head."
"I'm catching on fire, Honey. Keep going."
"I'm pulling the trigger." The revolver clicked.
"I'm almost there, Baby. When you spin, it feels like you're licking me. Oh, God, don't stop!"
"I'm spinning again. Spinning. Spinning."
"Oh, my, I'm gonna explode. Hurry! Pull the trigger, Baby. Pull it!"
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
"Oh, oh, here it comes. Shit! Oh, Baby. I can feel you in me. Oh, God!"
Wiley waited a few moments for her to finish.
"Let's go again, Baby. You want to go again?"
"Sure. But this time, how about I come over there and do it for real?"
"Oh, wait. I'm sorry, Wiley. Somebody is ringing the doorbell. I've got to go."
CHAPTER 25 - Tuesday, 7:38 p.m.
Melvin open the door to his apartment.
Megan walked in. It smelled like old people. Or maybe it was the stacks of newspapers along the wall.
"Have a seat, Young Lady."
"Thanks." There was a couch, covered with a worn and stained quilt. No way. She opted for the wooden rocker. At least the wood looked relatively clean.
"You must be hungry. Let me see what I've got in the fridge."
Megan imagined leftover turnip greens and fried liver. "No, thanks. I'm fine. I had something at the airport."
"How about something to drink? I've got a can of Pepsi."
"Sure. That would be great."
He brought her the can.
She opened it and began to sip. "It's kinda noisy here."
"What do you mean?"
"You know." She pointed to the window. "The cars honking. People yelling."
"You get used to it."
She set her Pepsi on a coaster. "Where's the bathroom?"
"At the end of the hall."
"Thanks." Megan got up and walked into the hall, pulling her carry-on bag behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Melvin looking at her bag, shaking his head. He probably thought a pink bag was silly.
She went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and shut the door. After she had used the toilet and washed her hands, she heard a knock at the apartment door. Megan put an ear to the door and listened from inside the bathroom.
Someone burst into the apartment.
"Where is she?" said the man.
"Who?" said Melvin.
"You know who. Where is she, Old Man?"
Megan panicked. She knew it must be the killer. The bathroom window wasn't very large, but she was sure she could squeeze through it. She released the latch, and pulled the window open. Megan knew the killer would find her bag in the bathroom. But she hoped he wouldn't hurt Melvin for lying.
She climbed up on the counter, and went out through the window, onto the fire escape. She had never stepped foot on a fire escape before, and it scared her. Although, not as much as the killer in Melvin's apartment.
She followed the stairs down as fast as she could, and took the ladder to the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 26 - Tuesday, 7:49 p.m.
Calvin was under the hood of the GTO, installing a radiator hose, when he heard someone open the side door of his garage. "It's about time." He had been waiting all day for his money.
"Really? You've been expecting me?"
Calvin stood up and turned around. Three young Hispanic-looking men stared at him. Were they gang members or just some kids looking for trouble? "Who are you?"
"My name is Larry. This is my brother, Darryl. And this is my other brother, Darryl." He laughed. The Darryls didn't crack a smile.
"Oh, I get it. The Bob Newhart Show."
"No, Man. Not the Bob Newhart Show. Just the plain Newhart Show. The one where he lived in that Vermont Inn. You're not much of a connoisseur of classic TV, are you, Dude?"
Larry was clearly an American. He spoke English intelligently, and apparently grew up watching the TV Land Network. But the two Darryls didn't appear to know what the hell he was saying. "What can I do for you?"
"Wow, Man. You've got some fine automobiles in here. I love this GTO." The three men walked around it, checking out the interior, the chrome, and the engine. One of the Darryls rubbed his hand across the smooth, shiny front fender.
"Please don't touch," said Calvin. "Do you have a car that needs work?"
"No," said Larry. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, if you don't have work for me, why are you here?"
"Because I'm thinking about buying a '69 Triumph Spitfire."
"I don't work on foreign cars."
"Why not? Are you prejudiced or something?"
"Prejudiced?"
"Yeah. You hate what you don't understand, Man."
"I don't hate people from other countries. Is that what you're saying?"
"Yeah. For example, my two step-brothers here. I'm American. But they're Mexican. You hate them, don't yo
u?"
"Of course not."
"I don't believe you, Man."
"Look, when you have an American car for me to work on, come by and I'll add you to my waiting list."
"Oh, I see. I'm not good enough for your regular list. You'd put me on your stupid waiting list."
"Everybody goes on the waiting list."
"Yeah, I'll bet."
"Okay, I've had enough talk. I've got to get back to work." Calvin began tightening the screw on the hose clamp.
"Okay, Man. I get it. No hard feelings."
One of the Darryls took a set of gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. He picked up a large screwdriver from the workbench and walked up behind Calvin.
Larry said, "So, have a good night, Sir."
Calvin ignored him, hoping they would leave. He never saw the long, sharp screwdriver Darryl was holding above his back. And he had no chance to react when Darryl thrust it downward with both hands, into Calvin's back, through his heart, and out the front of his chest. As he fell forward, his forehead slammed into the edge of the exposed carburetor.
"I really wanted this car." Larry looked at Calvin's lifeless body lying across the front of the car, blood dripping down the radiator and onto the concrete floor. "But not anymore."
CHAPTER 27 - Tuesday, 7:57 p.m.
Gabby studied Rebecca, as they sat in his car eating McDonald's ice cream sundaes and sipping coffee. She looked so vulnerable. He loved it when she let her guard down. To him, she was still the cute, innocent teenage girl he grew up with.
Was that why he had such a strong urge to kiss her cold, wet, ice cream lips? Or was it because of her topless act at Café Nue? Or the excitement of the danger they were in. Whatever the reason, he would resist. Gabby knew they could never be more than friends. And he was okay with that. He was just happy to have his best friend back in his life.
Rebecca's phone rang. She put it on speaker.
"Megan, are you okay?"
"No."
Her voice sounded weak and hoarse, as though she had been crying.
"What's the matter, Honey?"
"We went to Melvin's apartment and some man showed up and started yelling at him. And I think he hit him too. I was in the bathroom."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No. I climbed out the bathroom window. But I don't know what happened to Melvin. Tell Gabby I'm sorry. I hope his uncle is okay."
"I'm sure he's fine. Maybe a little roughed up. Don't worry." She glanced at Gabby.
Gabby was very worried. He wished he hadn't put his uncle's life in jeopardy.
"Where are you right now?"
"I don't know exactly. I'm outside some coffee shop."
"Okay. I'm going to buy you an airline ticket to Dallas. Do you have enough money for a taxi to JFK?"
"Yes."
"Good. Go back to the airport and I will text you with your flight information. You can pick up your ticket at the counter."
"Oh, thank you so much, Rebecca. I feel like such a fool."
"It's going to be okay. But if you have enough money, you might want to buy a hat or windbreaker, or anything that will make you look different."
"You think the killer will come after me?"
"Probably. So be careful."
"Okay. Thank you."
Gabby knew what Rebecca was about to ask. "Yeah, I'll buy the ticket."
"I'll pay you back."
"I know."
Gabby purchased the ticket on his smartphone and sent a text message to Megan with her flight information. "There's something that's been bugging me."
"What?"
"Calvin. We went by his garage this morning at around eleven o'clock. And Carly never made it home last night. So, why didn't Calvin say anything about it? When you asked to talk to her about cosmetics, he said she wasn't home. Shouldn't he have been worried about the fact that his wife had never come home last night? Or, was that something that she sometimes did?"
"No. As far as I know, she always went home. It would usually be after midnight. But she went home."
"So, why did he act like everything was fine? Why did he casually say she wasn't home. He should have been saying that he didn't know where the hell she was. Or at least appear to be worried about her. How do you explain his behavior?"
"I just chalked it up to him not caring what happened to her. Maybe he thought she fell asleep at the hotel after screwing her last john."
"Is it possible that Calvin murdered Carly?"
"No, I don't think—"
"—what if somebody offered him enough money to buy that car he was drooling over, for example? You know—the one in the brochure."
"Who would pay him money to kill his own wife?" She thought for a moment. "Joey."
"That's what I'm thinking."
"But it looked as though Carly had been killed by some type of electrical device."
"Right. And Calvin has all kinds of electrical testers and gadgets in his shop."
"Like a battery charger or something?"
"Yeah. We should go back there."
"Wait." Rebecca reached into her pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and clicked on the dome light. "I copied a phone number from Joey's desk and wrote it on this bill. It had the letters CC next to it. I wonder if it could be Calvin Cinaway's number?"
"Try it."
Rebecca called the number. It went to voice mail: You have reached Calvin's Auto Shop. Our hours are eight to six. Please leave a message. Rebecca hung up. "I think we're on to something. Let's get over there."
Gabby pulled out of the McDonald's parking lot, and drove them to the spot where they had parked that morning—around the corner from Calvin's house. "Any chance the police could be there waiting for us?"
"There's always a chance. I'll bet nobody's even discovered Big Bill's body yet. But I'm sure they're investigating Carly's death by now. And if Carly was carrying my business card in her purse—"
"—the police will be wanting to talk to you."
"By tomorrow, it's going to be much harder to get around this city anonymously. We've got to figured out who killed who, and we've got to do it tonight."
They stepped out of the car and took the sidewalk around to Calvin's garage. The doors were closed, but the lights were on. The only car in Calvin's driveway was his Buick. There were no cars in front of his house.
Rebecca pointed, and led the way to the side door, which faced the side of the house. She knocked.
They listened for a response. But the only thing they could hear inside was the giant fan.
"Maybe he didn't hear," said Gabby.
Rebecca knocked louder.
Still no response.
She opened the door. "Mr. Cinaway?"
At first, Gabby thought Calvin had fallen fell asleep under the hood of the car—until he saw the screwdriver handle. "Oh, shit." He hoped it was a stubby screwdriver. Their blades are only a couple of inches long—made for tight spaces. But stubby screwdrivers had stubby handles. This handle was six inches long. Then he spotted the pool of blood under the car.
They rushed over for a closer look.
Rebecca leaned in under the hood for a side view. "It went all the way through his body. We've got to get out of here."
On the way out, Rebecca used the tail of her blouse to wipe her fingerprints off the doorknob.
CHAPTER 28 - Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.
The last stop of Mandibul's security rounds was the lab. He poked his head into Phillipa's office. "Feeling horny tonight?"
Phillipa stood up from her desk. "Come in, Honey. I need to talk to you."
"Sounds serious."
"It is." She led him to the couch and they sat down. "You know how I feel about you, Manny. And I think you feel the same way. We're hoping to have a future together, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"Well, the thing is...I have a problem."
"How can I help? Tell me what I can do."
"Okay. You know about how I'm supposed to
make a lot of money from the project I'm working on?"
"Yeah."
"Well, there's a man who wants to take that away from me. And that would destroy our future. We need that money."
"So, you want me to go talk some sense into the bastard?"
"No. I'm afraid talking won't work."
"How about I rough him up? That'll change his mind."
"No. What I need...is for him to die."
Mandibul hesitated. "You want me to...kill him?"
"It's the only way."
CHAPTER 29 - Tuesday, 9:14 p.m.
Cam was taller than your typical supermodel. At 6-foot-4, she was every man's larger-than-life dream Barbie. Some guys were bothered by her angular features. Others were oblivious to the fact that they were being turned on by a transvestite. She would never do anything to burst their bubble. She lived for the fantasy.
But her dreams of a modeling career were history. Cam had become a realist. She was serious about her new work. After her brother, Tony, had failed, Poppa had told him to hand the job over to Cam. She was finally getting chance to prove herself.
And it was going to be so easy.
She had no trouble recognizing Megan. The seat across from the seventeen year-old was available, so she took it. When Cam crossed her legs, Megan noticed her bright red high heels.
"I love your shoes."
"Thanks."
"You must be a model. Or an actress."
Cam smiled. "Both, actually. I'm flying to Dallas for a local commercial shoot."
"So, you live here in New York?"
"Yes. Most of my work is here. But I was free for this thing, so I figured, why not? It might lead to an acting career."
Megan's face lit up. "Wow. That's so cool."
"Now, judging by your accent, I'd say you're a Texan."
"Is it that obvious? Damn, I've got lose this accent somehow."
"You dang sure better, Missy," said Cam, in her best Texas twang.
Megan's jaw dropped. "That's amazing."
Cam laughed.
"How did you learn to sound like a Texan?"
"You pick it up. It's not that hard. But you've got to be careful where you use it."
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