Jim opened the driver’s door and tossed his hat onto the passenger seat. He paused, looking at Pedro over the roof of the Charger.
“It can be, Mr. de la Garza. It certainly can be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jim pulled his patrol car into the parking lot of the Regional Transportation Management Center. An interagency center, it housed both DOT and Motor Carrier Compliance offices. The RTMC actually sat closer to the freeway than Jim’s office. At least when his office wasn’t the Charger.
The complex had a friendly, modern look, more like a contemporized university campus than a government complex. Underneath the white, up-to-date exterior stood a facility designed to withstand a Category 5 hurricane and remain operational.
Exiting the Charger, Jim made his way to the front entrance. The September sun pressed down with an intensity usually reserved for July. It had turned out to be a “ninety-ninety” day — ninety degrees Fahrenheit and ninety percent humidity. No breeze floated in from the Gulf of Mexico. No relief from the hateful heat and humidity-heavy air. Summer lingered on, ignoring the prayers and pleas of the region’s residents. Days like these were an acquired taste.
Jim entered the building and welcomed the cool, dry air inside the RTMC. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the front of the lobby and reception area. Contemporary, plush furniture provided adequate seating for visitors. Transportation magazines littered several small tables. A uniformed security officer stood behind a counter facing the main entrance. A security door beside him led into the bowels of the center.
Approaching the guard, Jim removed his hat and placed it on the counter beside him. “I’m Corporal Demore. I have an appointment with Kevin Williams.”
The security guard nodded before speaking. “Give me a second, Corporal.”
The guard punched a button on his phone. A disembodied voice responded, “Yes?”
“Corporal Demore is here.”
“Send him back.”
The voice on the speaker sounded toneless and uninterested. The guard punched the button again, disconnecting the intercom. He handed Jim a clipboard with a sign-in sheet attached. Jim wrote in the date, his name, and the reason for his visit. Vehicular homicide investigation.
Taking the clipboard back from Jim, the guard handed him a visitor’s badge and hit the buzzer for the door.
“Mr. Williams is in the control room. Follow the hallway straight back.”
“Thanks,” Jim replied.
He clipped the badge to his pocket as he opened the unlocked door. He made his way past several offices where engineers and technicians worked at computers. At the center of the structure, surrounded by a protective layer of offices and conference rooms, sat the main control room. The people who worked there called it “the bunker.” Walking quickly, Jim found himself at the end of the hallway, where a keypad and a phone gripped the wall next to another security door.
Jim picked up the phone’s handset and put it up to his ear. A small video surveillance camera stared down from its perch near the ceiling. Jim heard the electronic door lock click. No one bothered to answer the phone, so Jim put the receiver back in its cradle. He pushed the door open and stepped into a large room that looked like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.
A huge, multiple-screen video display covered one entire wall. A map stretched across it showing the I-75 corridor from Tampa south to Naples. Icons representing cameras and other traffic control devices dotted the map. In the lower left-hand corner, a video overlay displayed the cable weather channel. A woman pointed to a map showing the Gulf Coast region of the United States. Jim saw the symbol for tropical depression superimposed over the Gulf of Mexico, southwest of Florida. He made a mental note of the location. The last hurricane season had been mild. Florida was overdue for a Category 3 or larger.
Jim stood near the door. The control room was empty except for a single operator sitting at the center of the second console. The operator did not look up, acknowledging Jim with only his voice.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Take your time,” Jim replied.
A new video insert appeared in the upper-right corner of the display. A segment of I-75 flashed onto the screen, both sides of the freeway visible. The video zoomed in and out while maintaining focus.
“Are you Kevin Williams?” Jim asked as he made his way toward the back console.
“Yeah.”
Williams’ one-word reply was curt, almost dismissive.
Jim stopped a few paces away as Williams punched some keys on his keyboard and then manipulated a joystick controller. The video on the screen continued to zoom in and out while panning left, and then right. After a moment, Williams sat back and tapped a final key. The video of I-75 disappeared from the display. Williams spun his chair toward Jim with the cool arrogance of a Klingon starship captain.
Williams had tied back his long, black hair into a ponytail. His thin face sported a Fu Manchu moustache and a wispy beard. He had small, mean eyes and a high forehead that rolled into an early-receding hairline. His nose was long and thin. The only thing missing was the fierce, bony ridges that decorated the foreheads of Star Trek’s tough and vicious Klingon warriors. But unlike television’s Klingons, Williams looked too skinny, too puny, to be much of a threat to anyone who weighed more than a hundred pounds.
“So, what can we do for the illustrious Highway Patrol?”
Jim fought to maintain his professional demeanor. It was almost as if someone had decided to play a joke on him. Only the seriousness of the investigation itself kept Jim from laughing aloud. He knew if he started laughing, they would have to haul him out in a white jacket with sleeves that buckled in the back. Probably not a professional look.
“I need to see some I-75 video. From last week.”
“I’d like to help you, officer, but you might be out of luck.” Williams stood. He was a full head shorter than Jim. The littlest and ugliest Klingon in the Empire.
“We had two people decapitated in an accident, north of Naples, Wednesday night. We’re reasonably sure racing was involved, so we need any video you have from Tampa all the way to Naples. One of the deceased apparently had a close relationship with the governor.”
Williams looked at Jim with indifferent eyes.
“Well, officer, you are out of luck. We lost a couple of our video servers. The failure wiped everything recorded during the last week. It happened before we could back up any of those drives. Sorry, but there’s not much I can do.” William’s voice reflected the indifference in his eyes.
The little Klingon no longer amused Jim. Nonetheless, maybe Jim could do something with the servers. The State of Florida had other resources that went far beyond the computer systems available to the Department of Transportation. If any data remained, he would have it recovered. Either through the state’s forensic computer lab, or, if necessary, through the FBI or some other federal agency. Whatever it took, Jim would find and identify that second car.
“Are those servers still here?” Jim asked
Williams tilted his head toward the video wall. “In the back, behind the wall.”
“Get whoever’s permission you need and meet me out at my car with the servers.”
With just his voice, Jim busted the little Klingon from starship captain to Department of Transportation gopher.
“Whatever you want, man.”
***
Williams walked stiffly past the command consoles toward the door adjacent to the video wall. He decided he did not like Trooper Jim Demore. Not in the least. Nope, not at all.
Kevin Williams knew how to make bad things happen to people he did not like. Even if they wore a gun and a pretty uniform.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kat woke slowly. She stretched. It was a long, sensuous movement that allowed the cool sheets to caress her nude body and arouse her. She smiled.
She felt more erotic and more powerful than she could ever remember. As the sheets made love to
her skin, she closed her eyes and let her hand drift down her body, feeling for that secret, private, dirty place that her mother told her it was sinful to touch. Kat did not worry about sin anymore.
In the cool softness of the sheets, she drifted, floating across a sea of self-induced pleasure. Soft strokes quickened into frantic rubbing. Ripples of sensuality became waves that emanated from the center of her body, growing in size and power until they broke over her mind, crashing down on the pleasure center of her brain. Wave after wave after wave. Kat shook and trembled violently until finally relaxing into quiet rest, needing to catch her breath, to separate herself from the overwhelming pleasure she had experienced.
Kat opened her eyes. She stretched again, more cautiously this time, a bit more reserved. Another orgasm like the one she just had and she might not even be able to walk. She spent a moment reflecting on recent events. Something new had entered her world. Had apparently entered her. A transforming spirit. The spirit of magick creating a new Kat. A powerful, erotic Kat who would finally have everything she wanted.
It had to be the influence of the magick working inside her — in her body, in her mind, and in her spirit — something breathing new life into her dog-eat-dog existence, and she welcomed it. She closed her eyes again. A voice from deep within her mind whispered dark secrets. She listened carefully.
“Open your mind to me,” it said.
The voice commanded, Kat obeyed. Kat gave in to it, allowed it to flow into the deepest regions of her psyche, to penetrate and probe her subconscious. It offered irresistible seduction. Her hands busied themselves again and the waves rose up once more.
Exhausted and drained, Kat drifted back to sleep and she dreamt. Old dreams. Dark dreams. Someone else’s dreams. A phone rang, thrusting hard reality into the chimera of her nightmarish visions. It did not make sense. Phones did not exist where Kat’s dreams had taken her. The ringing continued and she drifted away from the dreams, finally yielding to conscious reality.
She opened her eyes. The ringing was coming from somewhere off to the side. She rolled over to her right and located the phone where it sat on the antique table next to the bed. She reached for it, half-crawling toward the bed’s edge. She fumbled with the handset, finally dragging it to her ear, her voice unusually soft as she answered.
“Hello?”
“Kat, it’s Bruce.”
“Hey, baby. You heading down here soon? I could use you right now.”
The briefest pause. Then Bruce spoke again.
“I can’t, damn it. They’re keeping us here over the weekend.”
Bruce’s anguish told Kat that his whole weekend had turned to total crap. Poor Bruce.
“I can’t get back until Monday. This sucks.”
The little-boy whine saturated Bruce’s voice. Kat wondered if there had ever been a time in Bruce’s life when he had been a real man. Probably not.
“Can you pick me up at the airport on Monday? My plane arrives at 9:53 in the morning.”
Kat stretched again. She purred.
“That’s awful early, baby. Don’t they have taxis?”
Kat’s body relished the luxurious feel of the king bed. If she went back to Tampa Saturday afternoon, she could spend the morning on the beach and work at the club Saturday and Sunday nights. She could have two paydays this weekend and still enjoy a couple days in Naples. She would check out of the hotel by phone on Sunday, letting Bruce pay for the entire weekend. What Bruce doesn’t know can’t hurt me.
Although she would never trade sex for cash, Kat had given Bruce what he wanted at the pool. They had a relationship. No one could call it prostitution. However, now, she would take what she wanted. Bruce was saying something about needing his car all day on Monday. Kat cut in.
“Baby, it’s ok. I’ll drive back to Tampa on Sunday. I’m just sorry you can’t be here with me.”
Another slight hesitation before Bruce replied.
“Are you sure you want to stay down there all alone?”
Bruce would be unhappy about paying for a good time that he was going to miss. Too bad, Bruce. No refunds, no returns.
“Baby, I’ve already called in and they already scheduled one of the other girls to cover my shifts. I’ll be OK and I promise to spend the whole weekend thinking about nothing but you.” Yeah, right.
Resignation supplemented Bruce’s whine.
“Alright, I guess you deserve a little time off. You stay in Naples until Sunday. Get some sun. Just don’t be late picking me up on Monday.” Bruce paused. “I miss you, Kat.” Another pause. “I love you.”
Kat smiled a wry smile that, fortunately, Bruce could not see. Her voice stayed soft.
“I know, baby. I’ll pick you up Monday, on time.” Then I start sucking you dry.
“Okay.” Bruce squeaked. “I love you.”
He sounded pathetic.
“See you soon, baby. Bye.”
Kat hung up, not waiting for Bruce’s reply. She stretched again and let her hands run along her tight, hard body. Kat had never felt so sensual, so aware of herself. Her hands took on a life of their own, and, again, she surrendered to them. Someone had once told her that good things always came in threes.
***
Pleasure. Warmth and pleasure.
Baalzaric guided Kat’s hands a third time until, once again, she lost herself in the erotic joy of her own body. Soon Baalzaric would guide Kat to the next phase of his plan. But, for the moment, he found himself content with warmth and pleasure.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The weakness, unwarranted pride, and general selfishness of human beings had always amazed Baalzaric. God could not possibly have created a more inferior product. No wonder Lucifer and a host of lesser angels had rebelled.
Of course, humanity’s negative traits were the main characteristics that had allowed Baalzaric to succeed and flourish over the centuries since the great rain. Yet, for all their weaknesses, mankind’s flesh was a source of physical pleasure, and for a disembodied spirit, flesh was the one thing that made humans marginally worthwhile.
Baalzaric lived for the physical pleasures of a flesh and bone body. The mind, body, and spirit of Kat Connors manifested those pleasures perfectly. As God himself had said at the beginning of creation, it was very good.
***
Kat drove the Viper north toward Ft. Myers. Her two days on the beach in Naples had been exquisite. Men literally tripped and fell down watching her stroll along the sand in her new South Beach bikini. She had chosen a gold strapless bandeau top and a skimpy, tie-side bottom that accentuated her fit and firm figure. She had also purchased a mesh wrap, new sandals, and a complete second outfit — another bikini, wrap, and sandals — in case she got bored with the first one.
Kat charged the purchase to her room at the Colony House. The sales girl at the trendy shop was more than happy to accommodate her, especially as her total purchase exceeded five hundred dollars. If Bruce really loves me, he won’t say shit when he sees the bill.
She had also spent two nights — scorching erotic nights — in the hottest clubs in Naples, mingling, drinking, and dancing with the pretty people, both young locals and well-heeled tourists. However, early each morning, she chose to go back to the Colony House alone. She had offers, from both men and women, and a strong feeling deep inside her psyche urged her to give in to her sexual desires, but she was able to resist, at least this time. She knew the risks of anonymous, impersonal sex. Doing Bruce in the grass next to the pool had been an anomaly. So, each night, she made the wise choice to return to the hotel and settled for taking care of her needs herself. Now that the party had ended in Naples, Kat’s most pressing need was for candle magick supplies.
The Viper got her to Ft. Myers quickly. A goth-rock station and her inner musings about her experience with magick had shortened the drive to what seemed like mere minutes.
She had entertained doubts about magick at first. Doubts about the common sense of trying to use something that most
people probably thought of as hocus-pocus. After all, she was more than just a drug-and-alcohol-addled dancer. She had earned an associate’s degree in biological sciences, and worked full-time as a laboratory technician in one of Florida’s top genetic research facilities. Was it even rational to believe in magick?
She left I-75 and followed the busy surface streets to The Candle and Wind Wicca and Witchcraft store, which sat in a rundown strip mall anchored by a tattoo studio, Sinister Markings, and mom-and-pop tourist traps.
According to her fellow dancer, The Candle and Wind carried the most varied stock of magick candles and supplies in Florida, making it worth the drive to Ft. Myers. In a breathless voice that resembled some kind of worship, the woman shared with Kat that the owner had a reputation of being some kind of super-witch. Not that it mattered to Kat. Worshiping someone or something did not interest her. Being worshiped, however, was in intriguing prospect.
Kat pulled into the parking lot. She passed two custom, v-twin choppers and a beat-to-shit hippie van straight out of 1968. Stickers promoting anarchy, political and environmental messages, and hard rock radio stations plastered the van’s rear doors. The vanity license plate attached to the van read STRSHP69. She parked next to the van.
The custom choppers, the beat-to-shit van and the Viper were the only vehicles parked in front of the strip mall. That left the Viper somewhat exposed to vehicles driving by, but Kat was sure no one around Ft. Myers would attach any significance to it. It was not unusual to see the expensive cars of Florida’s nouveau riche Technorati parked between the working class vehicles of the common Floridian and the conservative luxury cars of the retired geriatrics.
On the night of the accident, Kat had blown by the old construction truck, lumbering ahead of Briggs’ Corvette so fast, she was sure no one in the truck would have had time to identify the Viper. Turning off the engine, Kat checked her makeup in the driver’s side visor mirror. Satisfied, she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and exited the Viper.
The Demon Pool Page 9
