Random Revenge

by William Michaels

She let Taz take a few photos, nothing showing her face, a small price to pay. Taz had reminded Melanie that she owed him more than that, and the champagne was very good, so she let things go a little further than she had intended, a lot further actually, but what the hell, she did owe him, and he might come in handy again. And he hadn’t been half bad in bed.

  Not good enough to wake up with though. While he was still snoring she extricated herself from the sheets, or what was left of them.

  Outside, raining, she slipped on her shades anyway, glad she hadn’t dressed up, she would have looked terrible. She walked quickly to her car, it wouldn’t do to be photographed doing a walk of shame, not with what she had planned. Her career was about to take off.

  She needed coffee.

  Safe in the car, still feeling the champagne, she automatically checked her messages. Voicemails from last night and early that morning. Melanie smiled, the press anxious to talk to her, she must not have heard the phone ring, too hung over.

  Not the press. The most recent call was from Gigi, trying to sound calm, but Melanie knew her sister’s tone, she’d known it since they were kids, she could tell Gigi was scared.

  Melanie forgot the coffee and drove as fast as she could to Gigi’s apartment.

  “You didn’t see anyone? And nothing was missing?”

  “No, I told you already, no.”

  Melanie didn’t doubt her sister that something had happened, although if you looked around the apartment you’d never know, the place in much better shape than when Melanie had left it. Except it wasn’t like Gigi to make up a story.

  Gigi was curled up in the corner of the couch, her legs tucked, her arms wrapped around herself. She was dressed in her work outfit, a cream blouse with a blue skirt.

  Melanie put her arm around her sister. “Come on, you’ll get your clothes all wrinkled. Why are you dressed up, anyway?”

  Gigi, sniffling, sat up straight, smoothing down her skirt. “I have to go to work and I don’t want to be late, but I have to wait for the police.”

  “The police? You called the police?”

  “Yes, when I couldn’t reach you . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it was your fault. But when I saw the blood, I thought someone had—been in bed with me, I called 911.”

  Melanie had been robbed a few times, until the word probably got out on the street that she didn’t have anything worth stealing. It was just a fact of life in a bad neighborhood, shit flowed downhill. She hadn’t even bothered reporting it when her car had been broken into. What were the police going to do, write a report that would get filed away?

  The blood was disconcerting though. Melanie had brought a few guys over here in the past. Gus, a while back. The latest one, Jack, no, John, something like that, a few nights ago, the first night Gigi had been away. He hadn’t been bleeding, as far as she knew. But they had been smoking some weed, and then the wine, shit, was he the type who would come back to rob the place? She didn’t know him all that well, but he was an office guy, that’s why she’d brought him here, her place not nice enough.

  “What did you tell the police?”

  “I didn’t talk to them, just the 911 operator. I didn’t give my name, but I told her I thought someone might have been in bed with me.”

  “Christ, Gigi, do you think you were raped?” Melanie, seeing Gigi cringe, said, “I mean, assaulted?”

  “I don’t know, I was so tired, the sleeping pill. But I felt sore all over, and the beer smell, a man must have been in the bed, oh, Mel, I—”

  “Shh, don’t worry.” Melanie pulled Gigi close, forcing down her own anger, a creep touching her sister, she thought those days were long gone. If the guy she’d brought here had something to do with this, she’d cut off his balls.

  “Gigi, were your clothes, I mean, did you check yourself?”

  “I was in my pajamas, everything was fine.”

  “You said you were sore.”

  “Not down there, no, I meant my back, my neck.”

  Gigi sobbed into Melanie’s shoulder, Melanie stroking her hair, trying to calm her down. If Gigi had been assaulted, something needed to be done, but Gigi would get dragged through the mud. And if she hadn’t been assaulted, any intervention by the police would just be a reminder of the break-in. And the painful memory of the boy who had groped her years ago.

  “Gigi, I’m sorry to do this, but tell me again what you remember. Everything.”

  Gigi nuzzled into Melanie’s chest. “I got home, I was just so glad to be back after the long trip, when I got in the place was all messy—”

  “Sorry about that. I left you a note, I was going to come over and clean, but a whole bunch of stuff happened.”

  “I saw the note, did you get a role?”

  “I’ll tell you about it later, it’s all good. What happened after you got home?”

  “I was mad at you. I cleaned up, it took a while. My back was killing me, I think I pulled it again, so I took a muscle relaxer. I got wired up cleaning. I didn’t think I was going to fall asleep, so I took one of those pills you had left me.”

  “You took a sleeping pill on top of a muscle relaxer?”

  “Yes, why, is that bad?”

  “Not bad, but it will knock you out. You said nothing was wrong with the window before you went to bed?”

  “Everything was fine. But the place smelled like smoke, I opened them all. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it was your fault, but you know I hate the smell of smoke.”

  “Asshole,” said Melanie.

  “What?”

  “Not you, sorry.” Melanie was thinking about John, he’d brought the weed, they’d smoked out the window, but he’d lit a cigarette after, Melanie too wasted to remember to stop him. “Keep going.”

  “That’s all I remember, the sleeping pill hit me so fast, I fell asleep. I had some wicked dreams.”

  “What kind of dreams?”

  “Some man was talking to me, it was all dark, or he had very dark skin, it’s confusing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wasn’t making sense. Something about being surprised. Then he—.”

  “He what?”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Come on, Gigi, it’s me.”

  “He—kissed me. I thought it was one of—those dreams, you know?”

  Melanie shook her head, her inexperienced baby sister. “I know, it’s all right.”

  “Then he said something like when he saw me again, we’d do it for real.”

  “For real? Was this someone you knew?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You said he had dark skin?”

  “I don’t know. His face was black, but it was dark. I couldn’t even see his eyes.”

  Melanie lay her head back on the sofa. The last guy she had brought over had been white, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a black friend. “Anything else you remember?”

  “Wait, the beer smell, did I mention that? And the blood. I put everything in the wash, I thought you had—anyway, I came out into the living room and saw the screen on the floor. I wouldn’t have called 911 if I hadn’t seen the blood on the windowsill, that’s when I thought someone had been in here.” Gigi sucked in a breath. “I can’t let them find out about this at work, the police are going to ask about the sleeping pills, that wasn’t my prescription. What if they tell my boss?”

  “What, that you took one of my sleeping pills?” Melanie wasn’t worried about that, but Gigi, sweet Gigi, was missing the big picture. If this made the news—and everything made the news in Marburg, as Melanie could certainly attest—then Gigi’s name would certainly come out. Even a hint of some kind of sexual incident, even as a victim, would put Gigi in a bad light.

  No fucking way Melanie would let that happen to Gigi. The police would be useless, all the evidence gone anyway, the sheets in the laundry, Gigi’s obsessive cleanup, even the morning rain washing off the outside wall. And maybe nothing really had happened, just a bad set of co
incidences, the thought of an assault put in motion by a bad dream brought on by sleep inducing drugs.

  But the police would be here soon, and they’d want to know what had happened, they’d want to file their useless report. Whether she wanted it or not, the attention would be on poor Gigi.

  Melanie absentmindedly stroked Gigi’s hair. Just when things seemed to be getting on track for her own career, just when she was about to get her well deserved chance, this happened. Not only this, but the call from Jason, threatening her chances for a big break.

  Jason.

  Another asshole to deal with. She had to fix this fast so she could get back to dealing with Jason, and focus on her career.

  Jason in her head, Gigi in her arms, their faces and bodies melding. Suddenly it all came together, a way to protect her sister, and keep Jason at bay.

  Knowing she should think it through, but not having the time, Melanie grasped at the idea. All she needed to do was shift the focus away from Gigi, just as she had shifted the focus from Lisa Vista. Shift the focus onto herself.

  Still working it out, she said, “Gigi, I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell the police you got assaulted.”

  Gigi looked up, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because you aren’t sure what happened. They’ll ask all kinds of questions, did you have men here, about the sleeping pills. You’re right, your boss will probably find out, the police will go to your office.”

  “But what if whoever broke it did something to me? I don’t want him to get away.”

  Melanie pulled Gigi into a tight embrace. “Don’t worry, they won’t. It will be like when we were in school, remember how I always protected you from the boys? If anyone touched you, they’ll get what they deserve.”

  After a long silence, Gigi said, “So what should I tell the police?”

  “You don’t have to tell them anything, I will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Melanie, making it up as she went along, thinking it would work, she could pull this off, it was just acting. “I’ll tell them it was me who called. And . . .” Melanie looked around the apartment. Gigi had washed up the blood, but who knows what else might have been left behind. “I’ll tell them that all this happened at my place, not here.”

  “That won’t work, the 911 operator knew the address.”

  “I’ll say I was upset, I came over here to see you.”

  “That’s just wrong. We have to tell the truth.”

  Melanie’s voice hardened. “Did that boy who touched you in school tell the truth?”

  “That was different.”

  “No, it’s the same. Fucking men, all liars, out for themselves. You think if they catch the man who broke in here he’s going to admit getting in bed with you? They’re all the same, and we’ll deal with it the same way. I’ll deal with it. This is something I know all about. You don’t have to learn. I don’t want you to learn.”

  “I can’t lie, you know how bad a liar I am.”

  “You don’t have to lie, just don’t say anything. In fact, go to work right now. Who knows when the cops will show up.”

  “I don’t know.”

  But Melanie could hear it in Gigi’s voice, the relief, the faith in her big sister, who would make it all go away.

  “You don’t have to know anything. Trust me, have I ever let you down?” Melanie, already thinking through the next act of this film, seeing it in her head, the cops showing up, Melanie looking much more than Gigi like she just had sex, because of course she had. Just needing to sound a little groggy, a little messed up, which wouldn’t be hard.

  Waiting for the inevitable question from the police. Do you know anyone who might have done this?

  Hesitating, then claiming it was all a mistake, or might be, just the fog of too many drinks, the sleeping pill. Officer, did I mention that I was with my friend Jason? Jason Ayers? I just can’t remember everything that happened . . .

  Leaving it open, nothing happened, something happened, then telling Jason that her memory might clear up suddenly if he bothered her, if he tried to derail her dreams.

  She gently helped Gigi to her feet, her arms around her sister protectively. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” Melanie held her like that until Gigi’s body relaxed. “Come on, let’s get your makeup cleaned up.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Detective Stan Brooker spiraled the nondescript Ford sedan up the sinuous turn of the airport parking garage. The car, in ownership limbo between the impound lot and the auction block, had been confiscated from a drug dealer who got away on the drug charge but not the tax avoidance. The sedan, not what Brooker would have expected even a half assed dealer to own, squealed in protest.

  Forced against the door by the hard turns, Brooker’s passenger muttered, “I hate these fucking parking lots.”

  Brooker shrugged, not an easy thing to do when making a ton and a half of automobile go in a direction the forces of nature didn’t want it to go. “Because of the turns?”

  “Because I get lost in them.”

  That remark made Brooker glance sideways at his partner, Robert Winter. Just a quick glance, otherwise they were going to end up against a wall, which wouldn’t bode well for their undercover stakeout. Brooker didn’t recall Winter ever getting lost, anywhere; Winter had an unerring sense of direction.

  Brooker thought about bringing it up, it was the second time in the last month Winter had said something which made him wonder if Winter was okay. Brooker was forced to let it go, because just then a man came out of the stairway off to their left, innocuous, unless you noticed that he didn’t have any luggage.

  Winter noticed right away, which also gave Brooker pause about questioning his health. “Could have just dropped someone off.” Winter turned in his seat, craning his neck to keep the guy in sight.

  “Can’t stop now, too obvious,” said Brooker. “I’ll go up to the next level and park, we can come down the stairs.”

  “He slipped back into the stairway. Might have spooked him. Stop here.”

  Brooker didn’t question Winter, hitting the brakes even though they were in the middle of the ramp. “You going down?”

  “Yeah, on the ramp. Go all the way up to the top floor, just in case, work your way down the stairs.”

  “Hispanic, mid thirties, goatee, five six, denim jacket?”

  Winter peered back into the car. “Not bad, for an old man who was supposed to be concentrating on the driving.”

  From Winter, that was a compliment. “Only three years older than you.”

  “We’re both fucked then,” said Winter, his eyes on the stairwell door. “More like five eight. Black jeans, dark work boots.” Winter took off at a jog back down the spiral ramp.

  Brooker continued on up. Old only in cop years at fifty three, Brooker was a little on the heavy side. He was glad he’d be walking down the stairs instead of up.

  Before Winter had started forgetting where he parked in garages, he had actually liked them for stakeouts. Generally there were only two ways in and out, the ramp and the stairwell. A larger garage could have two sets of stairs, but even then the entire lot could be covered by only six cops. Just four were needed in a garage like this one, the eight decker shared by the Boston Regional Airport and a sprawling office complex.

  Only he and Brooker today, though. There wasn’t enough evidence to suggest that a real criminal would be here, at least the one they were after. Winter was sure that there was some kind of criminal in or around this lot, there were criminals everywhere. Right now his focus was on finding who was committing a series of seemingly random muggings. The fact that the captain believed they were random meant he wasn’t keen on letting Winter and Brooker spend much time on them. That the muggings hadn’t even happened at this garage, or even at the airport, killed any chance for a second team to help with the stakeout.

  To Winter, there were few truly random crimes. Maybe theoretically, but once you fell into the trap of thinking a c
rime was random, once you gave up looking for the connection that explained the motive, the opportunity, the how and why of the crossing paths of the victim and perpetrator, the easier it would be to assume that all crime was cosmic chance, a butterfly buffeted by the wind. Even the flittering direction of a butterfly could be figured out, if you knew the connection.

  A car coming up the ramp forced Winter against the wall at the last turn. Unconsciously Winter checked out the driver, a middle aged woman, oblivious, chatting on a cell phone, his cop mind instantly classifying her as a civilian, which in his ex military mind didn’t mean she was a non government worker, but that she wasn’t a threat. The idea of randomness still in his thoughts; if she’d run over him, no one might have made the connection if she had actually been a hired killer out to get him. Even a good detective might not figure it out.

  Winter slowed to a walk, checking the aisles in case the Hispanic man had beat him downstairs. Feeling good, this particular guy they had spotted might be just here for a flight, but Winter was moving, doing something. His eyes on the stairwell door, Winter casually walked through the garage, a world with its unique atmosphere of exhaust, burnt oil, and Doppler echoes. The muggings weren’t about airports, they seemed to have no real connection, which is why he and Brooker were here after their shift was over. Technically the muggings were their case, but the last one had been a month ago, the victim couldn’t describe the attacker, and hadn’t been hurt. All of that, and the seemingly random nature, meant the case dropped lower and lower on the priority list.

  Winter had mused over it, as he always did with these seemingly random crimes, and had come up with one idea. The only connection he could find between most of the victims was that they had recently had a chance at some kind of windfall. One man had returned from Vegas, one couple had flown to New York for an appraisal of an antique vase left to them in a will. A CPA had qualified for a poker tournament. That the Vegas man hadn’t won the jackpot, the vase was worth nothing, and the CPA had lost in the first round didn’t matter, it was the fact that all of their stories had been covered on the news beforehand. Could the mugger be stalking people who might be coming into money? Even those not in the news?