This must be karma, he thought. Yes, karma for being unfaithful to his wife. He’d gotten soft in his middle age, and too comfortable with his life. But he wasn’t done making millions yet. He didn’t want to die.
He glanced at Baby. Why wasn’t she running? Why was she hesitating, almost as if she wanted to stay?
It was then Denny noticed she wore a luxurious mink coat, snug and wrapped around her body. If she had been wearing diamond earrings and a necklace as well, he would’ve thought she was dressed up to attend a Hollywood event.
Her pupils were large and dark. She fluttered her eyelashes at Denny, but only for a few seconds before turning her eyes on the doctor. Denny knew he’d lost her when she reached out to the doctor’s arm and patted him with affection.
“Don’t take him personally, Dr. Farkis. He doesn’t mean it.”
“What? Are you insane? Baby, what’s gotten into you?” Denny rushed towards her and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, desperate to wake her up. “Baby, get a grip, please!”
He hated being rough with her. Her head only came up to his shoulders, and she had always been a little bit fragile, like a porcelain doll. After all this time, having the admiration of his beautiful and sexy mistress, despite being thirty years her senior, as well as having a faithful and steadfast wife who was the mother of his children, Denny thought he’d won the lottery. He’d had the best of both worlds.
What a way to lose it all, he thought.
Now, standing in front of him, enveloped in the mink coat, Baby appeared smaller and more fragile than ever before.
“Baby, snap out of it!” Denny snapped his fingers in front of her face several times for emphasis. She didn’t flinch. “What has he done to you?”
“Denny, Denny, calm down!” Farkis grabbed Denny’s shoulder and shoved him away from Baby. Denny was quick to face him, arms up, knees bent, ready to fight if needed. The doctor waved his hand back at him. “No need to get wound up, Denny. It’s not good for your health, you know.”
Denny followed as the doctor backed away. He was getting closer to the piano, still playing its odd tune. Denny thought he knew it, a vague memory of a song he had heard when he’d gone to the circus as a child came to mind. As the piano grew louder, he wondered if someone had a remote controlling the tune, or if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Was he now crazy, like this doctor?
The doctor backed into the piano, causing the canned music to skip like a broken record. The same three notes played over and over until the sounds faded. The piano was finally silenced. Now all Denny heard was the whirring of the Ferris wheel and his own rapid breathing.
“Listen, Denny, we’re all adults here,” the doctor said. “Baby’s decided she wants a new body. Think of the possibilities! Baby gets what she wants. Your girlfriend, beautiful—”
“Don’t you see, Baby?” Denny said, pleading. “You are beautiful! You’re gorgeous!”
Baby stepped closer to Denny, tears in her eyes. “I know what you’re planning, Denny. I’ve known for a long time. You’re leaving me.” The tears overflowed, streaming down Baby’s face. She wiped at them with the sleeve of the borrowed mink coat. “You wouldn’t leave me if you thought I was beautiful.”
“Baby, of course I find you beautiful!”
“I’m fat, Denny,” she said, “the reason you want to leave me.”
“Baby, you can think what you want,” Denny sighed. “You knew coming into this relationship I was married.”
He reached out and caressed Baby’s cheek. He didn’t want to be a complete asshole. He did care for her, and he had loved her once. But, everything had changed. He and Darla were now grandparents. He found he’d always loved his wife after all. He felt older, wiser. Too old to be a sugar-daddy to an insecure thirty-two-year-old woman.
“Baby, honey, you’re young. You’ll find love.” He locked eyes with her, wanting to connect, to feel her desperation. In some respects, he felt guilty and somewhat responsible for what was happening. He rushed on before he lost her. “Baby, please don’t do this. You’re beautiful as you are.”
Baby continued to wipe at her eyes, black streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. She took a deep shuttering breath, glancing at Dr. Farkis. He nodded, giving her the encouragement she needed to continue.
Her face changed in an instant. The twinkling white lights from the Ferris wheel reflected onto her face, but her eyes remained flat and unemotional.
“Denny, I want this.”
Not only had her face aged in an instant, but her voice sounded different too.
“Pay for it, Denny,” she went on. “You owe me that much.”
Before Denny could respond, a peculiar noise caused both him and Baby to jump. After the doctor had bumped into the piano, and while Denny and Baby were distracted, Farkis had reached around its back to bring out a gas mask. He had hooked it around his head, and was adjusting the snout snug onto his nose. Denny and Baby only had a few seconds to adjust to the shock of seeing the doctor wearing a gas mask. Hearing the doctor breathing heavy into it, they didn’t notice the spray pumping out from the front of the piano, coming from a canister hidden inside.
***
Farkis’s friend Ted, the veterinarian, called the gas Instant Sedation. Patients were more often than not happy to proceed with this operation. There had been occasions where they’d begin having second thoughts and thus needed an extra nudge to get going.
Didn’t he tell them once they came in, they couldn’t leave? The doctor sighed. Some people didn’t want to listen to the details.
Farkis didn’t want to waste any more of his precious time trying to get to his goal. Yes, what he did was an art, and yes, he was a genius, but when would the world take notice? That was the million-dollar question.
He tapped Denny’s foot to make sure he was out. Baby was a petite woman, so he was sure she was. The gas would last until he could get them both strapped onto operating tables and prepped. Then, IV’s would be inserted, and anesthesia dripped into their bodies.
The doctor rubbed his hands together in glee. Time to get started. Time to get the team in place! Denny and Baby would thank him later, approximately eight weeks from now, after they woke up with brand new bodies. He was seeing his name in lights. He couldn’t help but giggle.
Soon, he told himself. Soon.
Chapter 21
Body Snatcher - Oakland
It was almost midnight. The stars were out and the half-moon illuminated his path; the night was his friend. He was alone, but he liked being alone at times. He relished it. He was a loner and for that reason he excelled over his peers. He knew this place well and felt comfortable as he slid around corners of buildings, dodging under cover when the rare headlights shone his way.
The homeless were predictable. Because he was patient, he knew their habits, their hiding places. And when they were finished with the forty-ouncer, or the contents of a cheap wine bottle, his eyes—dark, unblinking, confident—picked out the healthier ones, the younger ones, the bodies that would be beneficial. Then he’d follow them. Call it instinct, intuition, whatever, but most of the time he was accurate in his assumption they would play into his hands.
Sometimes they’d mumble and stumble but keep walking. He couldn’t follow them if they walked too far, past his own pre-set boundaries. He couldn’t risk taking them if others were too close, either.
At times, he bantered and joked with them, holding his hands out to the flames of the burn barrel. He could fit right in any time he wanted to. They wouldn’t be able to fathom he had a big job to do. A purpose to what he was doing. A calling is what he called it sometimes.
He had a knack of knowing when the time was right. He’d pretend he wanted to show them something, and get them alone. They trusted him. He could talk against the establishment with the best of them, act like he’d been on the streets for years. Down and out, like one of them. After he got them in the shadows, he’d grab them by the hair and hold tight,
his forearm cutting off their air so they’d faint. A quick, quiet affair. Moments later, he’d induce them with a drug that would put them into a coma.
Later, after taking the body into a hidden room next to the Ferris Wheel, he and the doctor would decide what to do. Freeze the body for later? Use it right away? Time was precious in these situations.
In the end, he always had time for a prayer for their soul. He didn’t kill because he was a sociopath, like some of the serial killers he’d heard about in the news. No. On the contrary, he revered life.
He didn’t want to damage their bodies in any way because the doctor needed them. From the neck up, it was okay to damage if he needed to, but he couldn’t crush their windpipe for no reason. No, that wasn’t in his nature. He worshiped the human form. The more he learned about the human anatomy, the more he believed every human being was a miracle.
In the beginning, hunting down the bodies were easy. They didn’t suspect. But, like evolution, they became smarter. They started talking amongst themselves, watching out for each other. Then they started to warn others, to call his name. Echoing his name.
Headbanger.
Chapter 22
The Odd Couple - Oakland
Mobydick dipped another chip into the bowl of salsa before stuffing it into his mouth. He hummed in apparent food ecstasy as he grabbed a napkin to wipe the excess salsa dripping down his chin. Even though he was a mobster, he was proud of his respectable table manners. His momma had given him quick slaps to the side of his young head when he wasn’t respectful during family dinnertime. Receiving a slap was a motivator to improve on one’s table manners. He chuckled at the memory and took a drink of his dark beer before continuing the conversation.
“So, senator, how are the guns we provided you? Any problems? Need any more?”
Mobydick and the senator had only met here twice before, at this very same table. Mobydick had his men check out the restaurant before each rendezvous, searching the restrooms and the kitchen to be sure it was clear. Sure, Mobydick had many friends, but he had also made enemies. He told everyone his enemies were jealous of his success.
Yeah, that, and lootin’, stealin’, and lovin’ their girlfriends. He chuckled to himself again. He didn’t have time to worry about this petty stuff. Which was why he’d hired the meanest bodyguards in the East Bay area.
“Great, thanks.” The senator’s eyes darted around the dining room. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about such things in public, but how was he going to tell Mobydick that? Tattoos and a leather jacket… a damn mean biker dude.
He reminded himself to go with the flow and remember his goal was to kiss Mobydick’s ass for the benefits he needed. Certain benefits only he and his goonies could provide without any red tape… like guns and votes. There was a certain ridiculousness to it, but their relationship had worked thus far. Almost like living with a coiled snake. Don’t play with it, feed it a few mice, and it’ll leave you alone.
“How’s the warehouse?” The senator decided to avoid the question by changing the subject.
“Great. Love the location. No neighbors, just how we like it. It’s amazing the cops have stayed away.”
“Why do you think we organized the Occupy Oakland protests and the Car Side Shows?” Senator Evans took a drink of his rum and coke and crossed his legs. He knew this position might be perceived as a defensive position, but he felt it brought comfort to Mobydick and his goonies. They relaxed, thinking the senator was stupid. Being a senator gave him insights, and whatever Mobydick and his boy scouts wanted to think about him was welcomed. This languid thinking eased his way and got him what he wanted. The senator shrugged in a nonchalant way. “It keeps the cops busy.”
“That was you?” Mobydick sniggered as he leaned forward to fist-bump Evans. “Way to go, Senator!”
The senator chuckled. Keeping it cool with the mobster was the game plan. If Mobydick wanted to fist-bump, he’d reciprocate until his knuckles were bloody. He covered Mobydick and his gang’s backs with little effort, and he, in turn, got what he wanted. Wasn’t that how the game was played?
“Occupy Oakland has a huge presence on Facebook and Twitter. People are sheep and desire to follow something or someone they think is in charge.” Senator Evans leaned forward, bringing his hands up so his fingertips touched. His eyebrows furrowed. “Although lately this has been a free-for-all, with random acts of vandalism in the name of Occupy Oakland. The police will have enough to do with these small-time tree-huggers. But, rest assured, you’ll have all the freedom you need there.”
Evans reminded himself to postpone the meeting with the Oakland Mayor. Using more patrol cars during the protests was not an option. He’d been using all the men he could right now, and he didn’t want to draw attention to all the overtime. He didn’t want someone to pay attention and bring this relationship to a halt.
“How can you be so sure this will work?” Mobydick wondered. “Have you tried something like this before?”
“Don’t worry, the pay is under market and the unemployment high in a city like this, as we all know.”
Mobydick fidgeted and appeared agitated. The senator remembered when he had his aide research Jimmy “Mobydick” Cazones, the report was at least ten pages long. He had read Mobydick had grown up in East Oakland, and was featured in a documentary about local gangs. At the time the movie was made, Mobydick was a twelve-year-old gangbanger. The senator cringed when he pictured a twelve-year-old with street smarts and a gun, roaming the streets of Oakland without supervision or a moral compass. He was quick to move on to defuse the tense moment before Mobydick’s mood escalated.
“They’ll get followers without having to think about it, and the protestors will keep everyone busy. The organizers won’t even have time to scratch their balls.” The senator took a breath, long enough to finish his steak and gulp a shot of vodka for dessert. He lifted his hand to the waiting bartender for another. He’d lie to his doctor again about how much he’d been drinking. Drinking was what kept him sane in this job. “We’ll allow the protestors certain hours to protest and you won’t have to worry about interruptions. The city owns the property, and we’re not going to do anything with them for years to come.”
“Tight!” Mobydick responded, nodding. His sausage-like fingers made the shot glass appear the size of a thimble, the tattoo between his thumb and pointer finger colorful and prominent. The senator felt sorry for the poor bastard who had the unfortunate chance to peer at the tattoo up close.
Evans refocused. “I’ll put a bug in someone’s ear and they’ll start the rumor the Raiders football stadium may be going up in that spot. Soon there’ll be arguments and meetings. It’s guaranteed to be in limbo for years, so you’re good to go. I’ll let you know when you’ll have to move.”
“Sweet!” Mobydick’s toothy grin turned to a scowl in a blink of an eye. “Just be sure you keep the Raiders in Oakland, Senator, or sumbody’s going to have to pay.” His lips lifted on one side in a lopsided scowl, resembling a generic photo of a crazy man on an FBI wanted poster. He turned to his men, who stood behind him and fist-bumped them. They all chanted “Raider Nation!” in unison.
The bonding fist-bump and frat chant calmed Mobydick. The senator noticed the man’s squad had the same tattoo on their hands as he did. Must have been yet another sweet bonding event between them, he thought.
The bartender brought over two more shots of vodka, setting the drinks down in front of the two men. Mobydick chose one and lifted the shot glass eye level. His grinned. “Here’s to doing business with you, Senator.”
The senator tapped his glass with the mobster’s and they both downed their drinks. “Bring over the bottle,” the senator said to one of his bodyguards standing next to him. The man nodded and walked to the bar, coming back with the vodka bottle. He poured a refill for both men.
“How’s the Voter Campaign going?” The Senator glanced around the restaurant again to make sure he wasn’t being taped or spied on
. He had bodyguards, of course, but he’d been taking care of himself way too long to trust anybody. Although the restaurant was empty until dinner service, he still wanted to know where everyone was and what they were doing. He was paranoid, but not as paranoid as the gangster. At least his men didn’t have bathroom detail check like Mobydick’s men did.
They all jumped when a busboy dropped a glass at one of the tables near the window. Several of Mobydick’s bodyguards pulled their weapons. After realizing the breaking glass wasn’t a threat, the mobster turned towards his bodyguards and gestured with a wave of his hand. They complied with his silent command by putting their guns away, but they were still watchful. They got paid, and paid well, so they were always on alert for their boss.
Mobydick, on the other hand, was comfortable with his surroundings, and gave a carefree laugh. He continued with the conversation.
“We’re getting the voters registered. Your money will be ready by next week.”
“Good, good.” The senator said, wanting to be discreet. “Our voters won’t be talking, I hope.”
“No, Senator.” Mobydick chuckled and refilled their shot glasses. “We register whoever’s around the burn barrels, giving them five hundred, and encourage them to donate four seventy-five back to your cause. Twenty-five bucks buys a whole lot of cheap wine. Four seventy-five back into your campaign, they’re happy, we’re happy, no worries. Cash turned into checks for your note-worthy campaign.” Mobydick shrugged. “Everyone’s happy.”
“Even you, dear Mr. Mobster.”
Mobydick’s eyes narrowed, and the Senator thought he saw a shadow flit through them. He recalled the stories he’d heard about Mobydick. How he didn’t like to be referred to as a “mobster” out in public. That’s how he’d gotten his name, in fact. Someone had made that mistake once, and they found the missing body stuffed in a beached whale on a popular section of Sonoma County coastline. Whether the rumor was true or not, Mobydick was proud of the nickname it’d earned him. The whale groups were outraged for months.
Heads Will Roll Page 9
