Thrills

by K. T. Tomb

  “Well, I have looked over the charges and I will go with you to the courthouse tomorrow. You are to present yourself there at noon and we’ll hear the charges set against you. From what I can see, now it’s a DUI and disturbance of the peace, which should mean nothing but a fine.”

  “Good.” the agent said.

  “I won’t pay anything,” Justine Lavoie said firmly.

  Storm sighed. He could not help it this time. “Then you will be arrested and it will escalate from there.”

  “I am Justine Lavoie, not some stinking piece of shit. I won’t pay.”

  Storm blinked. “Well, we’ll see each other tomorrow, noon, and we’ll see what happens then. Right now, I have to leave you. I have another engagement.” His only engagement was with Naomh Walsh, who would drop by his loft sometime in the evening, but he could not take much more of this. He knew he had already slipped up, even if it was a slight slip.

  He let Rachel, his secretary, escort them both out of the office and then he gathered his things and stood by the window. It had been a strange day, he reflected, as he stared down into the street. It would be another stressful day tomorrow. Though hopefully, without another horrifically mutilated corpse.

  Storm finally moved away from the window when he saw the limousine pull out of the parking garage. It meant his client by default had gone and he could safely run down to the Jag without encountering her again. That would be too much to stomach, to make polite sociable conversation with that little madam.

  Ten minutes later, the green Jag raced out of the garage toward the Manhattan Bridge to take him safely back to Brooklyn. He drove into his building’s parking lot and swiftly parked his car in the parking bay labeled Apartment 3. He ran upstairs to his gym and threw on some shorts and a top and began his daily training regime. He wanted to complete it as quickly as he could; he didn’t know what time his guest would arrive.

  He had tried to make out to Albert that it was no effort at all to remain slim and trim, but in fact, nothing was further from the truth. He was lucky in not having to worry too much about what and how much he ate, but he did work out and he did pay attention to what he ate. He took care to eat healthy and his exercise regime was designed specifically to let him keep a slim figure and made him look fit, without turning him into one of those guys who looked like they were on steroids.

  And that was the way he did everything, that was how everything went with him. He was the master of moderation. He was suave and sophisticated, but he had long realized that to be too smooth would have an adverse effect on his business and social interactions alike.

  An hour later he was done and he hurried to his third-floor bathroom. Before he stripped, he sent a message to the cook, asking her to prepare food; he was expecting a guest in an hour. He jumped into the shower, then had a thought, stepped out and texted again. He asked his cook to make enough for two, just in case his guest would arrive before dinner, instead of later in the evening.

  When he dried himself, it seemed his instinct had been correct. There was a buzz on his phone. It was from the intercom. He pulled up the video feed and found himself looking at the beautiful olive face and curly dark hair of Naomh Walsh.

  “Good evening, Ms. Walsh.”

  “Good evening, Mister McCoy.” her cheerful voice greeted him.

  “I’ll let you in.” Storm generated an entry code to open the parking lot door for her. She would be there soon and his mind was racing to find out what he could put on in less than 30 seconds. In a corner of his mind, the idea arose that he should perhaps greet her wearing nothing but a towel and then continue getting ready as calmly as possible, but it did not seem the best idea in the end. He quickly ran into his dressing room and threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt. He did not look for shoes, only a belt. He would not bother to style his hair; instead, he kept drying his hair with the towel. He ran down on bare feet and reached the bottom of the stairs just as the doorbell rang.

  Still drying his hair Storm opened the door and gave Naomh Walsh a cheerful greeting. “You’re just in time, Naomh. My cook should have a meal finished in minutes.”

  “Excellent! What’s on the menu?” Naomh’s heels clicked on the stones of the hallway.

  “I have no idea,” Storm smiled as he guided her to his dining room. “I tend to let her do what she wants. I have no allergies, no foods or spices I particularly dislike, and she is an excellent chef.”

  “Wonderful. If she’s really good, I might have to poach her for some of my upcoming events.”

  Storm grinned. “Well, you could. I have no problems cooking my own meals on occasion. Just not every day. I’m far too busy most days and well...” He gestured around. “I have the money to hire a chef.”

  “Funds for the finer things in life,” Naomh remarked.

  “Again, well put. You do have a way with words.” Storm showed her into the small dining room that was next to the kitchen. It was the informal dining room he used when alone. Through the door that connected it to the rest of the house, there was a lavish dining room, used for grand functions.

  Naomh took up a seat with her back to a dresser that covered nearly the entire wall. It was a huge cupboard, far too large for the silverware and porcelain Storm kept there.

  Storm took the other seat, his back to the door that led to a small corridor and four steps that led to the kitchen. It was his usual seat. He was not worried about who might or might not enter the room through that door. He realized that Naomh Walsh was unconsciously nervous about who might come through that door. But of course, she did not know the cupboard behind her was not just a place to store cups and cutlery.

  It did not take long for the butler to come through the door with two trays, each containing a large dish covered by a silver cloche. He set down the plates in front of each of them and removed the cloches. The chef had outdone herself. Perhaps she had realized Storm was entertaining someone more interesting than his old college buddies or some associate in his law firm.

  Chapter Five

  Around eight o’clock, they retired to Storm’s smoking room. Naomh Walsh made a beeline for the piano and tested the tuning. Without even asking, she sat down and began playing a rhythm and blues tune.

  Storm hovered by the piano bench and listened for a moment. “In the Mood?” he guessed. He was acutely aware he did not know much about this genre of music.

  Naomh nodded and changed the tune. This one was slower. It sounded familiar as well, but Storm could not place it.

  Instead of guessing, he stopped lingering and went over to the humidor. He selected some cigars and then went over to the bar. “Drink?”

  “Please.”

  “What are you having?”

  “If you have a good Scotch, I’ll have a drop.”

  Storm was surprised to find he was taken aback by her request. For a woman like her, it was only fitting that she liked whiskey as well, but he had never actually met a woman who did.

  He poured two double glasses of Bruichladdich and brought them over to the piano. He sat down in a chair just beside Naomh and picked up his guitar. He began picking the chords he thought she was playing and it actually seemed to harmonize. It brought a big smile to her face to hear it. They entertained each other by jamming and expanding on the original tune.

  And then the lights went out.

  There was a scream. A prolonged scream. Then there was silence. Storm, for once, did not know what to do. What he should have done was move to the safe room, using the door behind the humidor, but he was frozen. It was unthinkable that anyone should or could get through the security of the loft in the first place, but obviously someone had. The cameras and the special gate system had failed and someone had gotten in. He pulled out his phone and looked at it. There was not even a message from the security company. They had not received a message that the perimeter had been breached.

  There was a bang as the door flew open and then a crash as someone barged into something in the hallway. Someone h
ad just entered the house.

  “Naomh?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we should get out of here.” Storm used his phone as a flashlight and found Naomh still frozen to the piano bench. He grabbed her hand and stepped to the humidor. It was a huge structure and he reached behind it and pulled a small lever hidden in a corner at the back of the humidor. It began to swing forward in its entirety. There was a small passage behind it.

  That passage had once been installed by Wild Bill, who had become paranoid about everything toward the end of his life. It served Storm well now. He pulled Naomh with him and they went into the dusty passage. There was a ladder that led down and they made their way through the dust and the cobwebs to a passage that was not shown on the building’s approved drawings. At the end of the passage, there was a large, steel-reinforced door. They went through it and Storm pulled it shut. He flicked a switch and the generator hummed to life, causing the room to flood with light.

  Naomh looked startled and shocked. “What the hell just happened?”

  Storm did not answer her, he just pulled out his phone and called the security company. “Storm McCoy. Someone just entered my property, lights went out and we heard a scream. Someone opened the door and we heard them. Made it to the safe room,” he paused. “Safely. We’ll need someone to get us out of here.”

  It was silent for a while after Storm hung up. Eventually, he broke the silence himself. “Well, that’s a good evening spoiled.”

  Naomh laughed. “Yeah, well. Maybe that was supposed to be the end of the evening.”

  Storm smiled as well. He sat down on the sofa he had hauled down there right after he had the safe room renovated two years ago. It was not the same quality furniture he had upstairs. It was the sofa from the apartment he lived in during his time studying law. He had the matching coffee table down there too. Along the wall, he had set down his old drink cabinet. “Don’t have the quality stuff down here, but if you’d care to join me, we could still have the drink I promised you.”

  Naomh sat down next to him on the sofa and shook her head. “I’d rather find another way to keep ourselves entertained than drinking.”

  “Don’t you have a husband in the world upstairs?” Storm laid his arm on the back of the sofa, behind her shoulders.

  “I do.” She ran the fingers of her right hand, where she wore her wedding band, over the buttons of his shirt. “But he’s not down here.” She came closer and Storm wrapped her up in his arms. Their lips came closer and her hand slowly moved down. “Even if he were, I don’t care.”

  Half an hour later there was a knock on the door and then it promptly flew open. The first person in was Albert, who closed his eyes as Storm quickly pulled up his trousers and Naomh rushed to lower her dress.

  “Fuck sake, Al!” Storm swore. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Security guys found a body. I was specially notified.” Albert looked at them sternly.

  Storm’s eyes opened wide. “Why?”

  “We asked to be given every case like the Denny Lang death.”

  Storm was silent for a moment. “Same thing?”

  “Same thing.”

  It took Storm a while to collect his thoughts and ask the natural question. “Who?”

  “Your janitor.”

  Storm swore. Naomh sat quietly on the sofa. She did not quite know what to do at that moment, even though it was her job to know exactly what to do in a situation like this. But the truth was she solved the same problems over and over, but she had never experienced being caught with her pants down in the more than close proximity of a murder.

  “You two will need to come upstairs with me. I’m going to need to ask you some questions.”

  “Hell, Albert, you don’t think....” Storm began.

  Albert interrupted him. “Don’t know. Don’t think so. But you know the way it works.”

  Storm nodded.

  “So let’s get this out of the way: so alibi, the whole shebang.” Albert continued. “When you’re ready.”

  Albert walked up the stairs and left Storm and Naomh Walsh to the care of the security man who was resetting the lock on the safe room.

  Storm just swore; there was nothing else to do. So he just swore under his breath, repeatedly, for about thirty seconds straight.

  Chapter Six

  Albert took Storm and Naomh to see the body of the janitor. Naomh retched the moment she saw what had been done to the man. Storm took her inside and made her drink the whiskey they had left behind in the smoking room.

  It took her a while, but eventually she managed a sort of grimace that was meant to be a smile. “Well, that was a mood killer,” she joked. Storm forced a laugh. There was no quick rejoinder here. There could not be. They sat in silence until Albert came into the smoking room.

  “Right,” Albert said, pulling out a notebook and sitting down on his usual chair opposite the musical instruments. “Storm, you know the rap. Begin from the beginning.”

  Storm sighed. He ran his hand through his hair and blinked as he tried to gather his thoughts. “We had dinner and then we came in here. We played some music, Ms. Walsh was on the piano, I was sitting here playing the guitar. I poured us some drinks from the cabinet over there, never left the room. We were just jamming for about an hour. Then the lights went out and we heard a scream. Right after, we heard a sound at the front door. That’s when I decided to head for the safe room. We went through the humidor passage and locked ourselves in. Then I called the security company. They had not received an alert, no breach of the parameter. So we... entertained ourselves? Until you came to let us out.” Storm was careful and concise in his version of events. He had learned over the years as an FBI agent and as an attorney that he should always make observations, never conclusions. It sounded better and it was a way of speaking that evoked fewer questions.

  Albert looked at Naomh. “You agree with his version of events, Ms. Walsh?”

  She just nodded, still shaken by the shock of seeing the mutilated janitor.

  Albert got up. “Can I have a word with you, Storm?” He walked out of the smoking room.

  Storm followed him into the passage. “What is it, Al?”

  Albert eyed him up and down.

  “Denny Lang was connected to you, albeit distantly. This is connected to you. Is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

  Storm frowned. “For fuck sake, Albert. Fucking hell. You’re not telling me you think I have anything to do with this?”

  “Of course not. But this seems to have something to do with you.”

  “If it does, I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Where did you hear the Langs were after you?”

  “What the fuck does that matter?” Storm felt as though his old partner, someone he trusted beyond anyone else, was trying to set him up for something.

  “Because, if this is connected to you, then that might be a key.”

  “I heard it from someone on the streets,” Storm replied gruffly.

  “Storm, I’m not messing with you. This could be important.” Albert sighed. “You’ve got to tell me.”

  Storm sighed. He thought for a moment. He did not want to say it; he always made a point of protecting his sources. He heard things from various people in all layers of society in the area. From drug dealers to businessmen and Upper East Siders to aspiring musicians trying to make it on Broadway. He had better connections than most gossip TV-reporters. But finally, he made up his mind. “This does not go on record, understood?” he demanded from Albert.

  Albert nodded.

  “Frankie Saunders.”

  “Frankie Saunders?” Albert sounded skeptical. “The socialite?”

  Storm nodded. “I wouldn’t go so far as to categorize her as a socialite, she’s more like an exceptionally high-end, whore-slash-drug dealer. Won’t tell you what she gets up to or who she’s involved with. But, she told me that I should watch my back.”

  “Even if it won’
t go on record, I’ll have to interview her,” Albert said tentatively.

  Storm shook his head. “I’ll have to have a word with her. If you go after her for anything, she’ll deny everything anyway. Plus, she can’t afford to be seen talking to an FBI agent.”

  “As long as you tell me what you find out,” Albert agreed. He was sensible enough not to challenge Storm on this one. He walked past him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as he passed.

  Storm was left alone when Naomh Walsh left half an hour later. Whatever might have been in the cards that evening, the sight of Juan’s opened rib cage had taken away any carnal desires he originally set out with. He made his way to his regular bedroom and lay on the bed for a long time. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, only to wake up too early to call it morning.

  He drove his SUV to the office; a head foggy from lack of sleep was not a condition he was willing to impose on the Jag. The commute from Brooklyn across the bridge into Manhattan took twenty-plus minutes, and he was thankful it was over when it was. He walked up the stairs from the parking lot without his usual gusto; he was still exhausted from the previous night. He sat down at his desk. He yawned and tried to focus on the endless list of messages in his inbox. It was no use. The only message that registered was a dinner invitation for that evening by Gregoris Sedakis.

  He pulled out his phone and pushed seven digits. A soft female voice answered. “Frankie.”

  “Frankie, it’s Storm.”

  “Oh hi, what’s up?”

  “Got time to meet me today?”