by John Locke
“Say it.”
“Our friendship ends the day I call you sugar snatch.”
She holds my gaze a full minute. It’s such an uncomfortable minute, I finally say, “I’ll never even think those words again.”
“Yes you will. You’ll think them every time you see me for the rest of our lives.” She looks at Gwen. “Thanks to you.”
Gwen puts her lower lip out, like a child who’s been caught telling a family secret.
Callie looks back at me. “But you won’t say those words out loud.”
“I won’t.”
“Ever.”
“Ever.”
13.
One Week Earlier…
Maybe Taylor.
THE MAN WHO likes to be called Daddy said Professor Jonah Toth could be found teaching civics at Viceroy College in Charleston, South Carolina. Maybe didn’t ask why Daddy wanted him dead. You’re not supposed to ask, he’d told her months ago, shortly after they began their unusual telephone friendship. That was fine with Maybe. It wouldn’t help to be sidetracked by questions or doubt. She would trust Daddy, kill the man, and move forward, toward bigger and more important assignments. Lucrative ones.
This will be Maybe’s first murder for hire. She’s going to receive ten thousand dollars for what will probably amount to a few hours work. She’s already received the down payment, along with the murder weapon, in the handbag wedged under the spare tire in the trunk of her rental car. Maybe doesn’t know how Daddy managed it, nor does she care. What she’s thinking is, this is almost too easy!
The handbag contains five thousand dollars in cash, and a handgun equipped with a silencer. She’s been told she won’t need to remove the gun from the purse, she can just reach in and start shooting. If she’s within ten feet of the target, the bullets will pass through the handbag and into Toth’s body with relative accuracy. Since the gun is small caliber, she should be prepared to take multiple shots.
It’s Wednesday morning.
Maybe locates Toth’s 10:00 a.m. class and monitors it from the back row. Toth is in his forties and dresses as pretentiously as possible, with his tweed jacket, crew neck sweater and designer jeans. He wears his dark brown hair seventies style, and has a short, well-groomed beard. All that’s missing to complete the picture of what a hip professor is supposed to look like is a pipe.
Professor Toth’s class is as boring as most of the classes Maybe attended her freshman and sophomore years. It’s classes like this that made it easy to leave college after her second year. When his lecture finally ends, Maybe’s one of the last students to file out. She lingers fifty feet down the hall, holding her large handbag to her chest. For this occasion she’s wearing a cinnamon-colored wig and non-prescription Sarah Palin glasses.
Maybe’s plan is to follow Professor Toth at a distance and wait until a killing opportunity presents itself. She’s prepared to tail him all day and half the night, if necessary, but she catches an amazing break when Toth exits the classroom and walks into the men’s room directly across the hall!
Don’t professors pee in the teacher’s lounges?
Apparently not always.
Maybe seizes the opportunity, and quietly slips into the bathroom after giving him a twenty second head start. The bathroom is laid out with two sinks on the right wall as you enter, then a divider, and four urinals beyond the divider. On the left, across from the urinals, are two stalls. Maybe can’t believe her good fortune. They’re alone in the men’s room, she’s at the sink, he’s peeing at one of the urinals behind the divider, and neither can see the other. But she can hear him peeing. She removes the gun from her handbag, even though she was told not to. But Maybe’s thinking if they’re interrupted, she can shoot her way out of the bathroom, if necessary. She turns the water on in the sink so Toth will think someone’s washing his hands, and then moves behind him, as if planning to use one of the stall toilets.
Toth never turns his head, content to stare straight ahead at the cement block wall eight inches in front of his face. Probably been taught all his life not to look around in case some other guy thinks you’re checking him out.
It occurs to Maybe that this is one of the great differences between men and women. A woman will always turn her head to see who’s entered the bathroom.
Maybe watches Toth moving his right hand up and down and realizes he’s shaking his penis. How odd, she thinks. She’s never had a penis, and hasn’t seen but a few in her life, but she can’t imagine it requires that much effort to get the last few drops of pee out. When Toth tucks his butt to stuff his mighty sword back in his pants, she walks right up behind him and fires two shots in the back of his head from less than a foot away.
Big mistake.
Maybe’s never shot anyone before, and hasn’t allowed for blood spatter. It’s everywhere, including her face. There’s so much blood she can hardly see out of her glasses.
But she can see enough.
She steps out of the way while Toth falls to the floor. He lands sideways, and rolls onto his back, and...
He’s still alive!
The back of his head is gone, and the man is still alive! His mouth is moving like a baby bird that’s waiting for its mama to drop a worm into it. What a wondrous machine the human body is, Maybe thinks, as she squeezes another shot into the space between his eyes. She goes to the sink, checks herself in the mirror, removes the bloody windbreaker she’d worn to give the impression of being twenty pounds heavier.
She stuffs the jacket in her purse, along with the glasses, and quickly scrubs her hands and face with soap, water, and paper towels. Then she stuffs the towels in her purse and heads out the bathroom door at a brisk pace.
14.
“HI DADDY,” MAYBE says to the voice mailbox. “I kissed a professor!”
Five minutes later her cell phone rings.
“Already?” he says.
“Yup.”
“Tell me about it.”
She does.
Then he says, “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“There were no witnesses.”
“You were lucky.”
“I was good.”
“You were good,” he says. “Now tell me about Dr. Scott.”
Maybe smiles. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
“No!” she says. “Tell me it’s not true!”
“Talk to me, Maybe.”
“I like it when you use my name.”
“It’s not your name. It’s the name you chose.”
“Still, you usually call me Baby.”
“Tell me about Dr. Scott.”
“What is there to tell?”
“I thought the therapy was working.”
“You thought wrong.”
“How’d you do it?”
“What do your sources say?”
“I don’t have sources. I’m a hacker. I find things out the hard way. The reports are inconclusive.”
“Inconclusive is good.”
“Apparently, you’ve come up with a way to kill people that’s undetectable, at least till toxicology comes back.”
“Are you impressed?”
“Mildly. But they found the injection site, so it won’t take long. What might they find?”
“They might find a high concentration of nutmeg in his system.”
“Nice. Did you distill it yourself?”
“You’re starting to sound impressed.”
“I am impressed. It’s a poison that can be found in anyone’s spice cabinet. They’ll never be able to trace it back to you.”
“What else did the report say?”
“Dr. Scott was found dead in his office lying face down on the floor.”
“Anything else?”
“His pants were pulled down to his knees and a giant dildo had been pounded into his rectum.”
“You should’ve heard him scream.”
“Why would they use the term ‘pounded?’”
“There was a toolkit in his supply closet. With a large rubber mallet.”
“You should’ve told me you killed him.”
“Why?”
“To warn me.”
“You’re either good enough to take precautions, or you’re not,” Maybe says, indignantly.
“I took the necessary precautions.”
“Such as?”
“I used a fake name and a different bank for every check. Sent them from different places, disguised my voice. Used throwaway cell phones for each call. I don’t make mistakes.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is trust. You could’ve burned me.”
“I trusted you to be prepared. Was I wrong?”
Daddy says nothing.
Maybe says, “Look. I killed him because he deserved to die. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see how good you were. Why would I want to deal with someone who can’t protect himself?”
“And now you know I can.”
“So far.”
“You’re as much as telling me I can’t trust you.”
“What do you expect from me? I’m a homicidal maniac!”
“You’re a precious young lady.”
“Seriously? You’re the one who’s turning me into a cold-blooded killer. How do you hope to trust me?”
“By having a special relationship with you.”
“You know what I think, Daddy?”
“What’s that?”
“I think you want to fuck me.”
He pauses a long time. Then says, “I do. Is that so wrong?”
“It is if you make me call you Daddy.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“I know. It’s called manipulation.”
“Yes.”
“When are you going to show yourself.”
“In time.”
“What are you, disfigured or something? Twice my age? You don’t sound twice my age.”
“I’m fifteen years and six days older than you.”
Maybe pauses. That’s the most personal information he’s ever given her. She says, “If you’re thirty-five, I’m going to call you Ralph.”
“Ralph?”
“You sound like a Ralph.”
He sighs. “You think you’re ready?”
“For what?”
“The big time?”
“Lay it on me, Ralph.”
15.
Present Day…
Donovan Creed.
“HELLO, FATHER.”
“Kimberly! Hi!”
First time in what seems like forever my daughter Kimberly has actually taken my phone call. I wonder why now, and not the last dozen times over the past three months.
I start with what I hope is a safe topic. “How’s college life?”
“My biology teacher’s a dick.”
“That should make for an interesting year-book picture.”
“Tip-tip, pshhh!” she says, making a sound like a drummer hitting two rim shots and a cymbal.
“You must be dating again,” I say. “I haven’t heard from you in awhile.”
“That’s a nice way of saying I haven’t answered or returned your calls.”
“I try not to take it personally.”
“Good. Yes, I’m dating. But you wouldn’t approve.”
“Why not?”
“Fathers never approve of the men in their daughters’ lives.”
“I can try.”
“Right. Where are you this time?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Winning much?”
“It’s not that type of trip. What’s his name?”
“My boyfriend? You can’t possibly think I’d tell you that!”
“Why not?”
“Every time I tell you a boyfriend’s name, he turns up dead.”
“That happened one time! And you know very well the police said a woman did the shooting. A woman your boyfriend picked up at a bar and tried to rape!”
“He’s an atheist.”
“What? Who?”
“The guy I’m dating.”
“An atheist?”
“Are you going to be judgmental about it?” she says. “Because if you are, I can hang up.”
“Relax.” I sigh. “Is that what defines him?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is that how he introduces himself? ‘Hi, Kimberly, I’m Chuck, the atheist!’”
She laughs. “Chuck?”
“Well, you won’t tell me his name.”
“You can call him Chuck. I like that. He’s quite successful, by the way.”
“Then, Chuck it is. Where’d you meet him?”
“At church.”
“Excuse me?”
She laughs. “It’s his job. He sells only to religious people.”
I remove the phone from my ear and look at it. Sometimes a deliberate action like this proves I’m not dreaming. I put the phone back to my ear and say, “Please tell me why religious people buy products from an atheist.”
“He’s a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”
I say nothing.
“Father? Hello-o? Are you still there?”
“Sorry. I thought you said he was a pre-Rapture pet salesman.”
“You don’t approve. I knew it!”
“I don’t even know what it means.”
She sighs. “You’ve heard of the Rapture, yes?”
“I have.”
“Pets can’t go.”
“Where?”
“To heaven.”
“They can’t?”
“According to these people, they cannot.”
“So?”
“So Chuck tells the church people he’s not qualified to be part of the Rapture because he’s an atheist, but he’ll take care of their pets when they get called to heaven. For a fee.”
“And they trust him?”
“He’s a good salesman. Plus, he’s the only game in town.”
“And you’re dating this guy?”
“We’re not getting married, or anything. It’s just sex right now.”
“Thanks for sharing that.”
“I figured you’d get around to asking, eventually.”
“Have I ever asked about your sex life?”
“Not in so many words.”
We’re both quiet a moment. Then I say, “But school is good?”
Kimberly laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your ability to communicate with me leaves a lot to be desired!”
“Why is that, do you suppose?”
“I think you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing and I’ll hang up. As usual.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I say, “because I do, and always have.”
“I believe you. Even if you hate my boyfriend.”
“Hate him? I don’t even know him!”
“That’s the point. But if we’re being honest, what’s your first impression?”
I pause. Then say, “He sounds like a flake.”
“They’re all flakes to you,” she says. “And that’s why I don’t take your calls sometimes.”
She hangs up, and I stare at my phone again before clicking it off.
Then I call Lou Kelly.
16.
“HOW’D THE BOARD meeting go?” Lou says.
“You did a good job with the information. They’re probably scrambling to figure out a way to block Gwen.”
“You don’t really expect them to put her on the board, though, right?”
“No. But I expect they’ll approach me to buy her out at a discount.”
“Will she go for that?”
“She needs to. The company’s about to go under. Anything she gets now is a plus. I’ll work it all out.”
“I’m sure you will. What’s up?”
“My daughter, Kimberly.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Do you know how to find the guy we used
to have following her?”
“That was more than a year ago.”
“Right. But he did a good job for us.”
“Want me to track him down? Pay him whatever he wants?”
“Yeah. What’s his name?”
“Jimmy T.”
“Right. Good, solid guy. Let’s get him back on the job. And also, I’ve got a funny feeling about her school.”
“What about it?”
“Can you send me a copy of her grades for the past few semesters?”
“You think she quit?”
“I hope not, but it wouldn’t shock me. She’s quite a bullshitter, my daughter.”
“Wonder where she inherited that skill?”
“Right. Problem is, I never know if she’s making fun of me or being sincere. But she’s dating another flake, and I’d feel better knowing Jimmy’s keeping an eye on her. From a distance, of course.”
“Last time we did that—”
“Yeah, I know. But still.”
“In my experience with daughters—”
“I know. But I just spoke to her. Something’s not right.”
“You think she’s in danger? We could kill the kid like last time.”
“I just want our guy to keep an eye on her, maybe track this guy down, check him out.”
We go quiet a few seconds. Then Lou says, “She still at Mabry Community College? Jacksonville?”
“That’s what she claims.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I’m not sure what to believe. She’s got this attitude lately. I don’t respond to it very well.”
“She’s found your buttons. Starting to push them.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, I’m on it.”
“Thanks, Lou.”
I hang up, think about something, call him back.
“Forget something?” Lou says.
“Quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“You know anything about the Rapture?”
“The rap group? The book? The movie? The Bible?”
“The Bible.”
“Like what?”
“You know if pets can go?”
“Where?”
“Heaven.”
He pauses. “I’ll check it out.”
“Wait. You’re not going to ask why I want to know?”
Lou laughs. “Nothing you could say would help me understand.”
