In the Nick of Time

by Laveen, Tiana

  ‘Two more white girls went missing’, said the heading above two photos…

  Damn. Still doesn’t sit right with me… And those two girls are not from Brownsville. One of them is really tall for her age. That’s not his type. He might cross over race, he might cross over body type, but he won’t do both… impossible.

  Nick trusted his hunch. Those weren’t the perps and in one case there was the strong possibility of the girl being a mere runaway—yet, the trappings looked clean, connectable. He sucked in air and made his way over to the open door, daring himself to walk inside, but then, he paused right outside of it. His sixth sense screamed that he didn’t know the half of it, and if he could get just five minutes in that room, to gather the intelligence, the truth would somehow be revealed to him. But… there were far too many people around, the coast wasn’t anywhere near clear, and the last thing he needed was a warning or reprimand.

  Think, motherfucker… think…

  “Goddamn it! That’s it!” He turned his back, grabbed his keys off of his desk, and high-tailed it out of there. Clutching his phone, he made a mad dash to his cruiser, hopped inside and dialed.

  “Yeah, we need to have a little talk. I’m coming to see you.”

  “Is this Nick?”

  “You know who the fuck it is… Sit tight; we have some things to discuss, and they can’t wait…”

  He sat there with his jaws full and his puffy hand wrapped around a small blue plastic cup covered in tiny white flowers; such a contrast to the cold, sterile environment. He’d filled out quite a bit since he’d last laid eyes on him and Nick was certain that in this case, it was a good thing. He marched toward him, arms swinging like pendulums. The guy looked up, his brown eyes syrupy and soft as if he’d been crying. Nick pulled out a chair, set it across from the man, and plopped down in it, crossing his arms as he leaned slightly forward.

  “Don, Mr. Oliver… what’s up, man?”

  “Hi Nick,” he said in a mild mannered voice, nothing like the arrogant nemesis that almost got the beating of his life before Frieda sounded the alarm. “You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yeah, I need your opinion about something. I won’t waste any time, just get right into it. Look, I’m working on something, an important case.”

  “Congratulations on being reinstated.” He smiled, showing a missing tooth. “…And you can call me Oliver in here. I’d prefer it, actually.”

  Someone fucked him up in here… Jesus…

  “Thanks… Hey, before we get started.” He looked around the place, trying to peep out the motherfucker that caused him fear. “Uh, is there a problem, man? What’s going on?”

  Oliver’s eyes drifted down to his lap. He clasped his hands together on the table.

  “Just a little disagreement is all,” he said. “Had nothing to do with what was, you know … going on before… I mean Trey.”

  Nick scratched at his pocket, digging his fingers inside to reach for something… so strange.

  I was itching for a cigarette?! What the hell?! I haven’t smoked in months!

  Something about Oliver made his damn skin crawl; nothing had changed. Even time itself couldn’t rub the creepy sensation away. Yet, he felt drawn to the man as he would to an intriguing and terrifying haunted house he’d be compelled to explore. Oliver represented the walking macabre, a scientific study with a smile; hence, the reason he was there in the first place….

  “How’s treatment here been going?”

  “Pretty good. I’m on medication, so don’t mind my attitude… I don’t feel a whole lot right now.”

  Nick sat back and sucked his teeth as he looked the man over.

  They’ve killed his sexual libido while he’s in intensive therapy…

  “Okay, well.” He ran his finger under his left eye, taking care of an itch. “Do you mind if I pick your brain for a minute?”

  “No, please do.” The weirdo’s lips made tiny jerks at the corners.

  “There is someone kidnapping little girls in Brooklyn.”

  “Yeah.” He yawned. “I’ve seen it on the news.”

  “So.” Nick sat back, crossed his legs. “What do you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what do you think he, or even she, wants? The news has already been given too much information. I know things like this interest you, Oliver…”

  I read your journals, remember? You savored news stories like this… remembered every single detail…

  “I think the better question Nick is, what do you think?”

  …There’s the Oliver I know, the one I came here for…

  He grinned and looked up at the television mounted on the wall, showing The Price Is Right, then back at the man.

  “I think it’s a white guy…”

  “Okay, but that’s too easy. Everyone knows the statistics say that more white men than black men commit these sorts of crimes.” He shrugged. “Try harder. What else?”

  He turned back towards the television, still wearing his smirk, and wearing it proudly.

  “I think he’s from Brooklyn. He knows the area too well, can do this shit in broad daylight, and not cause any raised eyebrows. I believe he’s intelligent and likes to collect things, sees children as dolls, if you will, figurines of some sort. I believe he has chosen little black girls not because he finds them particularly appealing, but because he trusts they won’t be missed. He turns them into projects, just like an investor would.”

  “Hmmm, interesting.” Oliver lifted his cup from the table and took a gulp. “Anything else?”

  “He doesn’t like the attention, the media coverage. He doesn’t believe they are being accurate, and accuracy is important to him. He is trustworthy; people look at him and don’t see a kook, an insane man. That means he is probably above average in the looks department, doesn’t look intimidating, and has a naturally calm demeanor. He is soft spoken, but turns very angry quite easily if things don’t go as planned. He has viable employment, too. Collectors need income to support their habit. He’s been doing this for a while; it’s just that now people are beginning to notice.”

  Oliver gave a slow handclap, showcasing a toothy grin… minus the one someone knocked the hell out.

  “Okay, so now you want the rest of the picture, right? You want me to help you?”

  “No.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I drove all the way to Long Island to play a game of chess with you! Why the hell else would I be here, man?!”

  “What do I get in return?” Oliver asked smugly.

  “To keep all the rest of your goddamn teeth…”

  Oliver’s smile quickly faded.

  “Very well.” He cleared his throat, sat a bit higher. “Yes, I’ve been watching the case as we’ve already established. So, I have the background on the events; at least, whatever’s been broadcast by the media. You’ve figured some portions out but, as usual, the police don’t look deep enough in the mind of the perpetrator.” His eyes narrowed, as if he were amongst the company of an idiot. Nick let the shit slide…

  “So, let’s begin where you started, and I’ll work my way through your bullet points. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He took another sip from his cup, then looked austerely into Nick’s eyes.

  “It’s more than likely a man between the ages of thirty and forty. I say that because he isn’t sloppy, is financially stable and is physically capable of overpowering all these girls. The eldest was thirteen I believe, and though she was small, it didn’t mean she wasn’t able to put up a fight.” He nervously cleared his throat. “Secondly, I agree that he is from New York. Not necessarily Brooklyn though, and I’ll tell you why. You see, you mentioned the collector aspect. I’m familiar with such a phenomenon. We don’t normally wish to shop where we drop, if you follow me…” The fiend’s eyes darkened, as he undoubtedly relived his own predatory actions.

  “Yes… I understand.”

  “Because of the collector aspect that you guessed mo
re than likely correctly, you missed an important key.” He leaned in a bit closer. “Collectors don’t like messes. He is less likely to kill his prey unless they cause him trouble. He likes things to be quiet and calm, so… he will do what is necessary to keep things peaceful and relaxed… short of death.”

  “Binding, taping, placing in areas no one would look…”

  “Precisely.”

  “Drugging, too.”

  “Yes, but he would be very careful with drugs, Nick, because some could cause the collector item to defecate on herself, slob, things like that. He’s going to be a tidy freak. Did you notice most of the girls’ faces were void of make-up, even lip-gloss and their hair nicely combed? He wants to do it himself, get them all dolled up, but he needs a good platform. Now, he may be a sexual predator, the chances of that are high, but it may not be his main draw, his reasoning. At least not in the way you suspect.”

  Nick leaned across the table, intrigued.

  “Tell me…”

  “He may not be sexually attracted to his collection in the least, Nick.”

  Nick’s heart began to beat a mile a minute. The notion had never even crossed his mind. The victims were girls, young girls at that.

  “But… why then? What the…” He threw his hands up, speechless.

  “To collect… there are some people who collect trains, others that collect rare coins. If he is taking young girls, wants to dress them up, own them so to speak, what is he collecting, Nick?”

  “…Dolls. He’s collecting dolls.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You were correct earlier when you implied such. Now, there is an awful stereotype that all homosexual boys play with dolls. Many did not… some did. I did not.” He pursed his lips in annoyance, as if the mere mention of it caused him distress. “However, if I were a doll collector, I would have in fact played with them in the past, when I was a child. So, this would not be new behavior for me. In fact, I may simply want to be the doll. So, this person may have even had a mannequin fetish; it is not out of the question. Now, I agree that he is meticulous, and looks unsuspecting.

  “I also agree that he is more than likely deemed attractive. He also struggles with his sexuality, pretty much as I have. Thus, he takes the girls, thinking in some way it proves his virility when in fact the sexual attraction to them is either fleeting or nonexistent.”

  “So, who am I looking for, Oliver? Give me the CliffsNotes on this twisted motherfucker.”

  “White, male, attractive, lives near Brownsville but not in Brownsville. Lower middle class. Lives alone. Is not in the limelight but doesn’t shy away from it. Prefers attention from afar. Stiff, stern, violent when expectations are violated. Will hide and hide very well if he suspects anyone is on to him. Nick, that point is imperative. You have only ONE chance with a man like this, and each minute that passes, he gets farther away from you instead of closer. He gets better over time, less sloppy. He has a chance to perfect his approach. He will not easily break…keeps his cool under pressure with anyone but the ‘dolls’, should they disappoint.’”

  “You know.” Nick’s heart beat a bit faster. “Little girls grow into women. He can’t keep them doll-like forever. What happens, Oliver? What does he do with them after they’ve grown out of their ‘cuteness’?”

  “Well,” Oliver said, rubbing his cheek up and down. “I don’t believe he’s gotten that far yet. He doesn’t have much experience in this, but enough. Should he reach a level of infinite expertise, I believe you know what he’d do to them, Nick. I think you know quite well.”

  “Has he killed anyone yet, Oliver?”

  The man took a while to respond, losing himself for some time in the television screen. “Perhaps. I would be surprised if he hasn’t, actually. He doesn’t enjoy it, though. It can get messy, ruin the collection, too. Therefore, he doesn’t make it a practice.”

  Nick closed his eyes in pre-emptive frustration. He had to have patience with the likes of a fucker such as this, but having too much patience would cause more and more girls to disappear.

  If I push, he’ll pull back, making it even harder for me to find him… but that’s what I do best.

  He smirked, remembering who the hell he was.

  I’m the king of hide-and-seek… Time is on my side…

  “Oliver, thanks for your time.” He slowly rose from his seat and pushed the chair back in. “I’ve been checking in on your progress. Seems you’re doing really well.”

  Oliver nodded, crossed his ankles and looked at the television, a sad smile on his face.

  “You do know that I’ll be here for probably the rest of my life, correct?” he said.

  “Yes, I know that.” Nick sighed and pushed his hands in his pockets.

  “Do you know what’s worse than being caged away and never trusted, Officer Vitale?”

  “What’s worse, Oliver?” He slid his card across the table towards the man, grabbed his keys from his pocket and traced a ‘Big Apple’ key chain with the tip of his fingernail.

  “Knowing that you’d better stay put, even if you had the chance to leave, because it’s tragically true. You can’t be trusted; you know the nature of your internal animal. You’re a horrible person, and no amount of education, therapy, and even your cock being cut off can make it stop!” He looked pitifully at him, his face angry and strangely human.

  “And you know what else?” His voice trembled as tears collected in his eyes. “You love and hate the cop that placed you here, because you just realized not too long ago that if you ever got out, you’d go and ‘collect’ again…” He let his voice trail away, his tone ominous. “Hurry up and find him, Officer Vitale. The clock is ticking…”

  “I miss the fuck outta you,” she slurred, sleepiness taking over her high notes and replacing them with something silly and off-key. The woman had music playing, and he recognized the song: ‘Purple Kisses’ by The Dream.

  “This was supposed to be only for a week, max. You’ve been gone for two…” He reached over and sniffed her pillow. Crisp, white, cold. No coconut oil smell lingered upon it from the hair oil she liked to use. No creams, perfumes or powders… And no long, shapely brown legs wrapped around his own. Where was the little black satin scarf he liked her to wear when he fucked her? The one she always wore to bed to protect her hair that always slipped off no matter what she did?

  He missed the way she’d bunny hop to the restroom in the middle of the night. It used to irk his nerves, but now he’d do almost anything to hear it.

  “I need my baby, my Warrior Princess…” he hissed as he stretched, sat up a bit. “Goddamn it, Taryn… this is crazy. I want you back home.”

  “I’ll be home, soon. I promise.”

  “Is he hittin’ on you? I’ll rip him to pieces, Taryn. I promise you that.” His anger giving him new alertness.

  “Come on, Nick,” she said with a light laugh. “You know I can handle this and no, he isn’t being disrespectful in the least.”

  “Yeah.” He rolled his eyes and slid his arm under his pillow as he looked up at the ceiling. “I bet that bastard is on his best damn behavior… Tell me anything, right?” He chuckled listlessly.

  “I’m serious.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “So, enough about me. How’s work been? Good?”

  “Yeah, just trying to figure some things out, but good.”

  “Does your boss know that you’ve been moonlighting as a homicide detective? You went on and promoted yourself behind their backs. Nice touch.” She chuckled.

  He closed his eyes briefly while he massaged his scalp, just as she used to do on his behalf.

  “Of course he doesn’t know, but I can’t be worried about that. They are no closer to getting this guy… and children are missing.”

  “Yes, I’d have to agree with you there. Well, honey.” She yawned. “I’ve pulled another all-nighter. I have to check out these models they sent in for the online catalog. We are planning a big fashion show in Manhattan soon, too. Anyway
, they’re going to take some photos for the booklets, and of course I will be there every step of the way.”

  “That’s because you’re a control freak,” he teased. “If you weren’t, you’d be back home by now!”

  “It’s true, you’re right. Look, I love you, miss you so much… Call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “You better. Love you too, baby…and hey?”

  “What, baby?”

  “I’m so damn proud of you. You’re amazing. Don’t let my possessiveness make you think otherwise… I just…doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “Just know that I’m proud of you and I’ve got your back, okay?”

  “I know you do, Nick. I know you real well.”

  “Good, ’cause it’s nothing against you. I just know what I’ve got, and I know if others are around you, they’ll see it and know how good you are, too… and I trust you, I do. You’re my woman, my baby… you inspire me. Anyway, I know you’re tired. Goodnight.” He took a deep breath as his heart pounded faster within him. The damn thing wept, wanted her beside him as soon as possible.

  “Goodnight, baby!” She blew him a kiss from the other end, then, the call was over.

  He lay there for a good while, loosely holding the phone in one hand and looking off into the distance. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the darkness of the night through the sheer curtains of their bedroom. Running his fingertips down the center of his chest, he caught the dark, silky hairs in his grasp. Closing his eyes, he continued to touch himself, imagining her hands on him, all over him…

  “Shit… baby… Taryn, proud of you baby… but hurry home to me… I need you so damn bad… want to feel you… kiss you… I miss your body pressed under mine.” He swallowed deeply, clamped his eyes closed as he dipped his hands deeper and deeper until he’d reached his pubic hair. He skimmed them over his inner thigh, then the side of his left nut and, after that, he gripped his shaft.

  It’s not the same… can’t even rub one out the same! She’s got me all fucked up! Shit!”

  He snatched his hand away in frustration, held his forehead and sighed, wanting to almost sob in her memory.

  Want to be inside you… so deep inside you, baby… Never missed somebody so damn bad! Maybe Frieda was right. Maybe I’ve replaced one addiction with another. My new one isn’t Hennessey, it’s Taryn, and I’m not going to rehab for it. I like being high off her love; I wouldn’t have it any other way… just waiting for my next fix…