Fatal Exchange

by Russell Blake

  He finished the beer and made a big show of pulling out a cigarette, then walked by the booth carrying the pack in one hand and the cigarette in the other. Sure enough, she drained her drink and pushed her way out of the booth. The killer exited ahead of her and put the cigarette in his mouth; she came out and smiled at him in what he was sure she believed was a coy manner.

  “You got an extra smoke?” Her voice sounded thrashed from years of abuse. Up close, you could tell she’d been cute in her teen years, but a decade of non-stop partying and hard living had burned most of the good out of her, leaving a young lady sliding down the hill towards looking matronly and shell-shocked. He guessed she was no stranger to speed and coke in addition to alcohol and nicotine, which would accelerate the decline.

  “Sure.” He handed her a smoke and lit it for her. She sucked at it greedily, inhaling deeply.

  “How’s it goin’?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know. Having a few laughs.”

  “What’s your name? I’m Michael,” he lied.

  “Sherry. Pleased ta meet you.” She had a slight drawl of some sort, maybe Oklahoma, Arkansas?

  He made small talk as they smoked, complimented her on her eyes, told her she reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. Sherry worked at Arrow Courier, a rival of Red Cap. It was perfect. She wanted to know what he was doing there, and he told her he was a graphic artist who lived a few blocks away, and had decided to have a few drinks, was bored and lonely. He offered her another cigarette, which she accepted, and the next portion of the discussion centered around the awesome weed he’d just scored.

  She was interested, and he offered her a bowl almost as an afterthought. He’d brought a little pipe with him, and they ducked around the corner and sparked it up. She took several huge hits, holding the smoke in her lungs for maximum effect. He took a few hits as well, but exhaled much sooner.

  “Wow. That’s good shit. Thanks for the tokes,” she said.

  “No problem. You should see the coke I get. I got a Peruvian who gets me the weed; his cousin gets coke, and man, it’s from heaven.” He needed to suck her in, get her committed to a rendezvous for tomorrow. If he’d read her right, coke would do the trick.

  “Really. I’d love a taste; it’s been a long time since I had good blow. Most of the coke around here sucks.” Bingo. Fish on the hook.

  “Yeah, I know. Isn’t worth shit.” He didn’t want to play too eager.

  “I love good blow, it makes me horny. Why don’t we get together and get high? It’ll be fun.” She leered at him, the promise of sex obvious.

  “Why not? I’ll be over at Lucy’s tomorrow night if you want to hook up. I’ll get some and bring it with me.” He smiled his best innocent smile.

  “Lucy’s? I been there. On Avenue A. Same place?” She was anxious to close the deal.

  “That’s the one. One of my hangouts. Low-key, not too far from here. I’ll be there at about nine o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there. Better take your vitamins, Michael. I have a feeling you’re gonna need your energy tomorrow night.” She winked at him. Not a lot of finesse to it. “I wish we could get some now.”

  “I’m fried, plus I have to see my guy. Tomorrow sounds cool. I won’t forget. Hey, want a little weed for the road?”

  “Thanks. That’s cool.” She thought she’d gone to heaven. He emptied some of the tobacco out of a cigarette and stuck some marijuana into it, then rolled off the tip and handed it to her.

  “Something to get the party started tomorrow night,” he said.

  She grabbed his crotch and rubbed it clumsily, he supposed as a preview of things to come. “Nine o’clock at Lucy’s. I can’t wait,” she said, and turned and reeled back into the bar. He walked down the block, whistling. That had been simple. She was a disaster, would definitely meet him; she wanted the coke so badly she would have blown him right there just on the promise of getting high.

  He felt dirty from where she’d touched him. The things he had to do.

  Back at his apartment the music was going, and he was wearing Loca’s hair, singing, as was his ritual. He couldn’t wait until the process was complete, and he’d be completely invisible in his current incarnation and visible only as a woman. The magic was real, he could feel it; he just needed to keep going, get enough of the pretties to take him to the next level.

  Sometimes he could feel waves of it, in everyday life, where he knew he was almost invisible; people couldn’t even sense his presence. He could stand in a club with his eyes closed and his head back, and no one would bump into him, like he had a force field around him, protecting him.

  He’d been aware of his calling, of his imminent transcendence, for years. He’d tried other things, but he knew at some basic level that this time, in this way, he’d make it to the other side and his transformation would be complete.

  The drugs helped him stay focused, gave him a preview of what it would be like. Acid or shrooms were his favorite, ecstasy a good all-around mood enhancer for the nighttime. He was so close. He danced and twirled, spun in the candlelight, keening the song over and over in a high falsetto.

  “Don’t you want me, baby…”

  Chapter 28

  Tess awoke to yelling in the bedroom. Even with the door closed, she could clearly make out the argument between Duff and Shaneese. The gist of it seemed to be that Shaneese was upset that Duff had taken time off to help Tess.

  “What the hell is going on here, Lamar? You know we need every cent to make ends meet. Now you’re flaking on your job, not going in, so you can run around town with your new girlfriend?” Shaneese yelled.

  “Baby, you know I love you and Brandy more than anything. I need to help Tess out. She’s in bad trouble, her people have all been killed. She needs me,” Duff argued.

  “Needs you? Needs you? What about your family? We need you. You got some white bitch dragging you around by the nose, you just too dumb to see it. Now you missing work. What’s next—you gonna start slangin’ again?”

  “That’s not what it is. She’s a friend, that’s all. She almost got killed, she’s all alone; what you ’spect me to do? What if it was Brandy when she was grown, what if she needed help?” Duff asked.

  “You do what you need to do. But I want her gone. She need to find her own people. That’s all I got to say.” Shaneese had laid down the law.

  Brandy looked up at Tess from the futon, awakened by the ruckus, holding Bunny.

  “She isn’t always like that,” Brandy said.

  “I know, honey. This has been hard for everyone. Your Daddy’s a good man.”

  “He’s the best man in the whole world,” Brandy said with complete seriousness.

  Duff came out of the bedroom, looking sheepish.

  “Shaneese had a long shift, a lot of stuff going on. She thinks maybe it’s not a good idea to have you stay any more.” Duff was trying to put a brave face on it. “I’m really sorry, Tess.”

  “No problem, Duff. I’m grateful for the night. Besides, if things go well today, maybe it won’t be as big a problem,” Tess said.

  “Yeah, well, I just wanted you to know it isn’t my choice. I have to keep the peace, know what I’m saying?”

  “I do. What’s on the agenda?”

  “I talked to my homie Rufi last night, and he said come on by and lay it all out for him. Said he could probably help you—for a price, you know?” Duff said.

  “Well, whenever you’re ready. Is it okay if I take a shower?” Tess asked.

  Duff thought about it. “Let me talk to Shaneese for a second.” He went back into the bedroom, and there was a muted discussion. He returned.

  “Maybe it isn’t such a good idea. I’m sorry, Tess. Lemme grab my gear, and we can hit it.”

  “It’s all right, Duff. I can understand where Shaneese is coming from. I’d have a hard time too.” Tess wanted to soften the blow as much as possible. She realized Duff was going out on some precarious limbs for her, and she wanted him to know she appreciated
it.

  She walked over to the little sink in the kitchen and using some dish soap and a paper towel did an impromptu cleanup. She’d been exposed to worse—it wouldn’t kill her. Finished, she asked Duff if she could at least use the bathroom. He said no problem, and she tiptoed into the darkened bedroom and locked the door to the restroom, changed into new panties, and ran her fingers through her hair. She was more or less drip-dry, not a lot of primping required, so not being able to take a shower hadn’t thrown her psyche out of kilter. But Shaneese wanted the white chick gone, so that was that.

  Tess emerged from the bathroom and tiptoed back out, closing the door softly behind her. Duff was talking to Brandy, telling her he needed to go out, and to keep quiet so Mommy could sleep. Brandy looked up at her.

  “Are you going too?” she asked.

  “Yes, honey, I have some stuff to do. Take care of Bunny, okay? Make sure she has the very best day ever.”

  She appeared to consider the request seriously. “I will. I’ll take care of Bunny. She’ll be okay.”

  Tess hoped the same could be said for her. Duff grabbed his keys and gestured for her to follow him. They exited the apartment; it was already sweltering in the hallway, and she was relieved when they emerged onto the street. Most of the rough crowd was still asleep from the night’s partying, and there were only a few random thugs loitering around waiting for customers.

  They walked several blocks and approached a brownstone with boarded-up windows. A teenager sitting on the stoop nodded at Duff, gave him a high five and shot the shit with him for a minute or two. The young man reached into his pocket and extracted a two-way radio/phone, and muttered something into it. He apparently got an okay, because he gestured with his head for them to proceed up the stairs.

  The door opened and another teenager with a submachine gun greeted them while his associate patted them down. Satisfied they weren’t wired or packing, they were directed up another flight of stairs to the second floor. They ascended, and walked into a construction zone—the floors were stripped and the walls were bare brick. The room was barren except for a desk with a phone and a laptop computer on it, along with another two-way and a police scanner. Behind the desk sat a wiry chocolate-complexioned man wearing a brown jogging suit and a bandanna tied around his head. He gestured to several chairs in front of his desk.

  “Sit.”

  Duff started right in. “Yo, Rufi, like I said last night, we got us a situation. We need some soldias to take care of it. There’s some gooks trying to off Tess here; they took out her dad and her uncle and boyfriend, and it’s gotta stop.”

  Rufi appeared to consider the idea. “How you want to deal with them?”

  Duff laid out the plan they’d come up with the prior night. Rufi said nothing. Instead, he got up and went to a wall, touching the brick.

  “These places are a gold mine. I’ve been buying them for five hundred G’s; I gut ’em, do up the interiors, and they’re worth a million three and up. They were built a hundred years ago, but they’re still standing and still worth the trouble. I own almost a whole block now.” He looked at Duff and Tess. “Thirty grand will get you enough homeboys to fuck them up, send them back to wherever they came from in a cigar box. The plan sounds good. When can I get the money?”

  Duff spoke up. “I’ll vouch for Tess. You’ll have it within twenty-four hours. She has it, I’m good for it. We go back, Rufi.”

  “Fine. When do you want to do this? I figure six or eight of my crew should take care of things.” Rufi was all about business.

  “I’ll let you know. Sooner the better. Next day or two, at the latest.”

  “That’s cool. I’ll pull some homies together and tell them what’s going down. You just let me know.”

  * * *

  Ron gathered his task force together and handed out assignments for the day. The best way he’d come up with to prevent another girl at Red Cap from being butchered was to put a surveillance team in place to watch every female messenger. He’d considered following the men too, but the logistics of tracking almost fifty possible perps were far beyond their capabilities.

  Now that Candy and Loca were out of the mix and Tess was safely in hiding, they could concentrate their resources on the remaining ten female messengers, which was manageable. Since this serial was nocturnal, they could do their investigations during the day and then get in position to watch the targets at night.

  Ron wanted someone to go through Turbo’s background more closely, based on his behavior and the presence of the number on Candy’s pad. There was something going on with him, something shady. He was jittery and scattered enough to be a serial, and the missing piece in his history made Ron suspicious. Turbo’s military records also needed to get sorted through to see if he had a history of liking the killing part of the job too much, or if he was unusually brutal—something that would point them in a firmer direction.

  Tiny also warranted attention. Ron had requested the results of the psychiatric evaluation that was done while he was behind bars, but it still hadn’t shown up. The system was so goddamned slow sometimes. Tiny exuded an air of drugged menace, and his truculence in the interview had been palpable. Maybe he just had a bad taste in his mouth from being inside, but Ron didn’t like his attitude, and could easily see him doing bad things to people.

  He assigned an agent to each one of the more obvious suspects, and they were chartered with finding out as much as they could. This was where a task force came in handy; the workload could be shared and results generated faster.

  The chief’s deputy stuck his head in and asked for an update, which bugged Ron given that there wasn’t much to discuss. That was the negative side of having a task force; you had all the top brass watching over your shoulder, expecting results in hours.

  He selected ten officers for the night shift and gave them the afternoon off, as they’d be working till midnight or later. He wanted them alert and able to get a team there in minutes at the first sign of anything funny. They would all be armed, but it was better to have them wait and get a squad to tackle the perp when he showed up if at all possible. Hopefully he wouldn’t anticipate all the activity and change his cycle.

  * * *

  The killer was preparing his kit, making sure everything was in it, as he did before each hunting session. He methodically inventoried his store of latex gloves, the garbage and ziplock bags, the syringe with the epinephrine and the potassium chloride. One had to be careful and systematic so as not to make foolish mistakes. And he hadn’t made any. Of course, one could well argue that choosing to hunt only within his employer’s pool of available young ladies was a mistake, but he was sure he could handle it.

  He’d need to find someone to lay the blame on for the current crop of victims; he understood once there was enough pressure on the city to convene a task force and look into every employee of Red Cap, this particular episode of his evolution was drawing to a close.

  If tonight’s collection didn’t achieve the transformation, he’d have to lay low for a while and begin again, altering the items he collected. He’d been sure the hair, eyes and breasts had been the correct combination, but if the magic didn’t occur tonight, perhaps he’d miscalculated and would need to rethink the items he was taking.

  He knew from experience that sometimes there were bumps on the road to becoming; the hurdles were there to keep the unworthy from achieving that which was reserved for the special, the chosen. He didn’t think he’d gotten it wrong this time, but one never knew—he’d been wrong about things before. One thing he was sure about was that he had to plan the next phase carefully to ensure he remained free and clear, allowing someone else to take the heat for the latest adventure.

  If he had to start over, he could make it look like a copycat—add some additional twists to the killings that would convince everyone it was a different perpetrator, some nut trying to emulate the original. He’d add some genital mutilation and maybe clip their ears off. That would send everyon
e on a wild goose chase.

  And he’d have to lay off bike messengers.

  Maybe actresses or models next time, something with a bit more glamour.

  But Tess would stay on his agenda. She was stunning enough to be a model or an actress, anyway. She’d just have to wait a little while. Then again, tonight’s pretty could very well be the one that did it for him. Either way, it was time to put this round’s end-game into play. He’d calculated all the angles.

  His mother had always told him he was a smart boy.

  * * *

  Finished with the task force, Ron was back at his desk looking over what they had so far, which other than the pathology reports and the crime scene documentation didn’t amount to much. He reread his notes from the interviews with the messengers, and nothing jumped out.

  He scanned his wire inbox, which looked like a bag person had been collecting crazy paper for weeks, and saw a package with the distinctive FBI seal on it. He wondered what that was all about until he remembered his request on the Pennsylvania punk rock killings. He opened the oversized envelope and pulled out the old files, browsed them quickly. Three street girls who hung out in the punk rock scene had been murdered, their eyes removed and breasts cut off. No scalping. Those killings had been on a three-week cycle, and stopped as suddenly as they had started after the third girl.

  They had hypothesized there might have been more victims, but it was hard to tell with street kids—if you didn’t find a body, you had to assume you’d located all the casualties, as street people didn’t file missing persons reports.

  That case was still considered open; they’d never found the killer. But there were too few similarities to make it a good fit. Pity, as they’d collected some good evidence on the punk rock murders.