by Mia Thompson
All eyes turned to Chastity. She blinked at them from behind her hair, then shrunk down into her seat.
“But it’s only nine,” Sapphire tried. “I’ll take the back cage.”
“I am actually in pain right now because the law prevents me from strangling you,” Giles said. “So please get out of my sight, come back tomorrow, and try, please God try, to…suck less. Can you do that for me? Suck less?”
“Yes.”
After getting heckled by Ginger and encouraged once more toward prostitution by Misty, Sapphire walked out of the Golden Mirage feeling tense.
She could feel John Doe, Jr. craving his next kill. She didn’t see him at the Golden Mirage tonight. She was afraid she’d missed him and that he’d already snatched someone. She even tried to do a head count on the strippers.
Sapphire headed for the garage and made sure not to trip on the homeless man this time.
“You hungry, Herbert?” she asked, digging in her purse for money.
“No, just had a big expensive steak dinner.” Herbert smiled up at her from under his foil hat and long gnarly hair.
Aw, delusion. Sapphire was just about to force the money on him anyway when her phone rang. Her mind went to the only person in the world that could make her feel better.
Of course, it wasn’t him. Aston was probably at home and in bed with his cop girlfriend…using cuffs. The thought made her feel like someone was stabbing her in the chest with a butter knife. It wouldn’t kill her instantly, and she’d suffer longer.
“What’s up, Chrissy?”
“Who’s the best BFF ever?” Chrissy’s tone was an attempt at normal. “My friend Hayley Hasselhoff knows a guy who is cousins with Jennifer Aniston, who was in a movie with Paul Rudd, who is friends with Judd Apatow, whose wife knows Rachel McAdams.”
“And do any of these people know Kevin Bacon?”
“No.”
“Then I think you’ve misunderstood the game.”
“No, Rachel McAdams lives at Skyline. She’s having a party tonight, and I’m totally invited. I got you down as a plus.”
Sapphire smiled. “Chrissy, I could kiss you right now.”
“Don’t. That’s what Lohan said right before I turned her gay.”
“It’s a saying.”
“Not the way I do it.”
Sapphire hung up feeling downright satisfied. Whether he was at the party or not, this was Sapphire’s ticket into the building and into Doe’s lair.
* * * * *
The Skyline was one of the most ridiculous things ever built by man, Aston thought, looking up at the towering monster. Twisting and turning, the structure looked more like an art piece than a place where people live.
“Does this tux make my muscles look too big?” Capelli asked.
“No.”
Capelli looked down at his body, disappointed. “You sure?”
Diana, Capelli’s date, smiled and patted his shoulder. “You look great; let’s go inside. Come on, Ashton.”
Aston shuttered. “It’s As-ton, actually.” He tossed his cigarette and held back a few curse words for Capelli.
Aston should be at the station now that they were so close.
While reviewing the bank’s recording, Aston and Capelli both saw it. The Serial Catcher turned her head upward, just enough for the shoe store’s shiny logo to catch her reflection. They took all the original footage to the Beverly Hills station where the Serial Catcher could never get to it.
The image caught was so unclear that the computer nerds at the station said it could take days or even weeks for it to process into something recognizable. Still, Aston wanted to sit there until the picture got processed. Unfortunately, Capelli’s date was a makeup artist for something or another Adams. She was going to a ridiculous Hollywood party and got three pluses.
Capelli nagged Aston into coming along and leaving Barry on the job instead.
“Hello!”
Aston didn’t have to look to know who it was. Officer Moore’s high heels clacked on the road as she hurried up to them.
“What’s she doing here?” Aston whispered.
“I invited her for you,” Capelli said and slapped Aston’s chest. “You’re welcome, man.”
“Thanks.” Capelli was too busy staring at his date’s ass to notice Aston’s sarcasm.
They went inside, past a doorman, security guards, and forty-seven security cameras.
“Jesus,” Aston mumbled, as they passed by a fourth security guard when exiting the elevator. “That much security for a building shaped like a deformed penis?”
Capelli chuckled, then changed his mind and shushed Aston when he saw his date’s disapproving head shake. It was obvious he hadn’t gotten into the makeup artist’s pants yet.
Whipped, Aston thought and laughed out loud.
They entered the lavish party, and his heart stopped when he saw her. Christina Kraft. Which meant one thing: Sapphire Dubois was near.
Whipped, Aston thought again. This time he didn’t laugh.
* * * * *
Okay, maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had.
Sapphire was perched on the skyscraper’s platform, five-hundred feet above racing traffic below.
After scoping security a second time, it was clear she’d be on camera, and maybe even get arrested by one of the security guards if they caught her where she didn’t belong.
Climbing out Rachel McAdams’ bathroom window and scaling the twisted building’s platform was, oddly, the best plan Sapphire could come up with.
She was starting to regret it now that the wind picked up and dizziness kicked in.
Luckily, she had one platform below her feet and one right above her head to hold onto. The hard part was passing by the windows unseen. She crouched down while passing the window of a naked guy playing the harp, a woman crying hysterically to The Bachelor, and a labradoodle cleaning his privates. It was an awkward moment for both of them.
She reached John Doe, Jr.’s bathroom window and grabbed her tools. She’d managed to hide them from security by slipping them into her cherry lip gloss and mascara. The latch gave in, and Sapphire ripped open the window and tossed herself inside.
Based on her visit to Rachel McAdams’ condo, she was pretty sure there were no security cameras inside. Rich and famous people liked their private lives classified. She banked on the serial killer being of the same mind.
Inside, Sapphire looked down at her watch and timed herself. She couldn’t stay too long. She wasn’t worried about Chrissy noticing, more the other complication who had arrived.
They’d strolled into the crowded party, Sapphire searching for John Doe, Jr., Chrissy for the hostess, grabbing a few salmon tartares as the tray passed by. When they found the actress, Chrissy handed her an $800 bottle of Belvedere Vodka and wished her a happy birthday then leaned into Sapphire’s ear. “She’s just an actress; they think this cheap crap is expensive.”
Rachel McAdams frowned, which meant she either heard like a bat or Chrissy wasn’t as good at whispering as she thought she was. Sapphire went all-in on the latter.
Her eyes swept through the crowd and stopped on the man-boy. John Doe, Jr. was standing in the middle of the dance floor, bored to death by two reality stars.
Next to her, Chrissy yanked the open bottle back from the actress and chugged about half before returning the gift.
Sapphire turned to see the other John, her fiancé, enter the party while doing the Daniel Craig. He tossed his jacket to a random guest to go hang and was followed by his posse of Beverly Hills boys.
He saw them, made a face reminiscent of a lobotomy victim, then waved. It was Sapphire’s cue.
“I have to go to the bathroom, I think the tartares were bad,” she whispered to Chrissy.
Rachel McAdams frowned again. She did hear like a bat.
Up in Doe’s apartment Sapphire spent an hour going through closets, cabinets, and drawers. Then she looked behind rows of mundane photograph
s and abstract art pieces. She found nothing.
She sighed, impatient. She’d already been gone too long. She knew John was looking for her and Doe may decide to leave at any minute; he looked like he was falling asleep down there.
She was just about to head back when she stopped at a row of wannabe-artsy photographs. The man-boy wasn’t only into buying art but liked to snap pictures himself.
She ran back to the living room and went through the bookshelf of photo albums until she found one with a small lock on it. She picked the lock and opened it to find a scrapbook of familiar faces.
Page after page featured the girls from the Golden Mirage. Across the photographs words were written with a red marker.
Ginger: Too scary. Misty: Maybe. Chastity: Small, easy kill.
Sapphire stared at the words, disgusted but relieved. She got to him before he got to Chastity. She seemed to be next in line.
“What the hell are you doing in my home?!”
John Doe, Jr. stood over her, staring down at his precious scrapbook with fear.
“Oh,” Sapphire said, mystified. “Is this…not okay?”
Doe held his hands out at her preposterous question. “No!”
“Duly noted,” Sapphire said and kicked him in the groin.
He grabbed his crotch and fell forward, a scream stuck in his throat. She moved out of the way and let him hit the ground. She climbed on top of his back and let her legs encircle each of his arms before she leaned backward, pulling him with her.
Panicked by his imprisoned arms, John Doe, Jr. kicked as she positioned her arm around his throat in a 90-degree angle and forced his head forward, squeezing his Adam’s apple.
“Sleep tight,” she whispered, as he closed his eyes.
Sapphire felt proud; this was her first choke-out, and it had been successful. It was her old martial arts instructor who taught her that move. Had the bastard not turned out to be a serial killer himself, she may have sent him a thank you note.
Sapphire released the pressure and glanced down at John Doe Jr. taking his nap.
Finally, she had her killer.
* * * * *
Paul Butler watched the girls fight from his corner.
It reminded him of a dream he once had, except there was less of them slicing at each other with knives and more pulling of the hair.
Ginger, the fiery redhead, had a problem with Misty, the Russian, who had stuck up for the new girl, Sapphire, the one who couldn’t dance. It wasn’t very entertaining so it helped that he imagined them covered in each other’s blood. Like a mud wrestling match but more amusing.
Misty caught Ginger about to cut up one of Sapphire’s uniforms and had taken the scissors away from her.
“I’ll cut you, bitch!” Ginger screamed.
The moment the words left her lips a switch flipped in his mind. He’d only had a candle-wick-sized flame of interest before. Now he was consumed.
Oh no, bitch. I’ll be the one cutting you. The mood had hit him.
He would cut her open and gut her like a pig. He would take his time until she gave up her dominance and allowed him all the power. He would make her admit that he was stronger and that she was a nobody. If there was one thing Paul loved, it was to break a controlling and confident woman. There was no sweeter kill than a lioness turned kitten.
Yes, now Ginger would die.
A strong vibration came from the phone in his pocket and he didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Perhaps he could ignore it. Just once. Perhaps, this one time, his victim could come first.
Who was he kidding?
Paul sighed, disappointed.
“Yes, Mother?”
Chapter 12
“I told you, I’ve never killed anyone!”
Sapphire stared down at Joseph Young, the 19-year-old co-founder of a trending software program; the next Mark Zuckerberg, he had called himself. It was the first thing he’d told her after he woke up all frazzled, as if his status would save him.
She didn’t believe him, not for one second. It didn’t add up. Even if she took away the scrapbook, there was the odd behavior, and she’d seen it in his eyes. He was a killer. She knew it as much as she knew her name was Sapphire Dubois. Er…Green.
Joseph squirmed, uncomfortable—might’ve been the yard of duct tape she’d wrapped around him or the art deco chair, meant to be looked at and not sat in. Surely, he was regretting that purchase right now.
He whined again and looked at Sapphire, searching for compassion. She felt none. He shouldn’t be such a baby; it could be worse. She hung George Rath over a meat grinder for Pete’s sake.
“Okay.” She held her finger over the state-of-the-art answering machine. “This is the last time, and then I swear to you, I will lose my patience.” She pushed the button, and the machine was ready to receive his message.
Because of security, she wasn’t able to bring a tape recorder, which she had planned on incase anything like this should happen. Although the photographs were probably evidence enough, she didn’t want to leave the police with anything that wasn’t rock solid. The answering machine was the next best thing.
“I did not kill anyone! I keep telling you!”
“Oh yeah?” Sapphire tapped the album. “Then what’s this? Personally I call, ‘small, easy kill’ evidence, but maybe that’s just me.”
“So sue me. I like to take photographs of hot girls and write funny things. Why are you even stalking me? I told you I didn’t want a private dance!”
“So I suppose it’s just a coincidence that you have pictures of all the dead girls from the Golden Mirage?”
“I don’t.”
Sapphire opened her mouth to toss out a snappy reply—her favorite kind—then flipped through the album.
Crap! He was right. The girls who were dead weren’t in there.
“Well, obviously you took them out, once you took them out,” Sapphire tried, hopeful.
“Listen to me: I am very, very powerful, and I can have my lawyers put you in jail for this.”
He wasn’t as powerful as he thought he was. He was what the people at the country club liked to call New Money, and New Money wasn’t Old Money.
Sapphire sat down on the couch opposite Joseph and pinched her lips together, thinking.
“I guess there’s only one thing I can do,” she said, trying to sound concerned. It wasn’t hard; she was concerned at this point.
“Let me go?”
“Close. Kill you.”
“How is that close?” Joseph shrieked.
“Do you prefer stainless steel to the throat, or are you more of a plummet-out-the-window type of guy?” She got up and grabbed a knife from his kitchen drawer. She waved it around, pretending to be on the crazy side.
“No,” Joseph pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can dance for me! I’d love it, see?” He tried to smile and nod to prove his point, but fell short.
“Too late Joseph, you should have wanted to kill me when you had the chance.” She brought the knife closer to his throat, watching his eyes grow wider with her every move.
“What was it?” she asked. “Was I too tall? Too short? Too skinny? Too fat? Too…brunette?”
“Please don’t! I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Don’t tell lies, Joseph.”
The blade touched his throat and Sapphire held it for as long as she could before she had to start digging in. She sawed lightly, allowing the knife to break skin.
“You were fine!” Joseph shouted. “I already had too many choices!”
“What?” Sapphire pulled back but kept the knife pointed at him.
“I hadn’t picked anyone yet. I was trying to, but I hadn’t. You just started there and I didn’t need more options.”
“You didn’t kill any of the dancers?”
“I’ve had the fantasy for years, and then this guy started to kill off the strippers at the Golden Mirage, and I thought, great, I’ll just do it once, and it will get pe
gged as one of his. They’d never suspect a second killer.”
Sapphire lowered the knife, put out. “So you’re like a lamer version of a copycat?”
“I don’t know…” Joseph was on the verge of tears. “I just thought I’d do it once and get it out of my system. You don’t understand what it’s like to have these…thoughts and fantasies! They never go away. No matter how hard you try.” It seemed like he was relieved to get it all off his chest.
Sapphire sat back down on the couch, deflated. Three things went through her mind. One: She had a serial killer on her hands who hadn’t killed—hard to nail someone for victims who weren’t dead yet. Two: She was glad she caught him before he did kill someone. Three: The Stripper Slayer was still out there, and Sapphire was back to square one.
Joseph Young sobbed. His tears ran down his chin, streaking his Cavalli shirt.
“I got rich when I was sixteen,” he bawled, choking on his tears. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have everything. You want more. Something to make your heart pump and your adrenaline shoot through the roof. You just don’t understa-ha-haaand.”
Well…
Sapphire discreetly pushed the answering machine behind her.
“I understand that it’s wrong,” Joseph continued. “But it feels like it should be right! I want to kill. Girls especially. I just want them dead. Does that make me such a bad person?”
Sapphire pushed the button behind her. “Well, yes, Joseph. Yes, it does.”
The machine beeped and played back Joseph Young’s new greeting. His eyes became engorged with shock.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Sapphire said. In a way, she felt sorry for the deranged little rich fellow. “You will see a shrink and pop pills for the rest of your life so that you’ll stay away from murdering innocent women. I will always…always be watching you.”
One lonely tear trickled down Joseph’s cheek, and he looked about eleven years old.
“And if you so much as look at the Golden Mirage or hunt for a kill, I will send your confession to the police along with your name, and that will be it. You’ll be nailed for murders you may or may not have committed.”
