The May Day Murders

by Scott Wittenburg

  Stanley’s teeth were clenched as he recalled that night. Why in the fuck would a beautiful bitch like Cindy Fuller screw around with an obese, ugly slob like that? And to think that she had once thought of himself as no more than a turd floating in a toilet bowl…

  Why in the fuck hadn’t he ever been able to score with this chick for chrissakes! he wondered feebly as he had watched the mayor work on her with relish.

  A smug grin came to Stanley Jenkin’s face and he shot a glance over toward Cindy’s body slouched down in the passenger’s seat. He had finally scored with her after all. It may have taken twenty years and a lot of bullshit but at least he’d finally done her. He’d nailed Cindy Fuller and nailed her but good. He had in fact fucked her to death!

  She had loved it, too. He swore he could almost see it in her eyes as he was putting it to her earlier that night. He could imagine her thinking to herself, “Jesus, I never knew Stanley was so damned cool! And what a great fuck he is!”

  Too late now, Cin, he thought. You should’ve thought about that twenty years ago.

  He was approaching the last turn before the hairpin and he slowed down his speed. As expected, he hadn’t seen a single car out on the road yet. There were only a handful of people who lived around this area and those few were all most likely watching the pre-season football game between the Broncos and Chiefs on TV.

  The incline of the road descended sharply after he made the turn, making it necessary for him to brake hard to keep the car under control against the fast idle speed. Ahead of him, about a hundred yards or so, he could see the hairpin curve. He drove another fifty yards and slowed down to a complete stop. Time was critical now, he knew, so he was going to have to work fast.

  There was no berm to speak of where he had stopped the car-just two lanes of asphalt heading straight for the curve with a drainage ditch on either side. He shifted into neutral and checked the tachometer-the car was idling just under 3,000 rpm, as he had estimated it would. He sat for another moment as he considered the engine’s idling speed and the distance to the guardrail and beyond. Then, figuring in the steepness of the road, he felt confident that the car would indeed have enough gusto to break through the guardrail and continue on to the cliff. This debate was all academic at this stage anyway-he certainly couldn’t risk the extra time it would take to make another idle adjustment anyway.

  Stanley threw the gearshift lever back into drive and set the parking brake, praying the engine wouldn’t die. It didn’t, but the car was lunging forward in a fury and felt like it would die any moment. He got out and quickly ran over to the passenger side, opened the door, and gathered up Cindy’s body into his arms. Her skin was already cool to the touch and he nearly vomited as he carried her around to the driver’s side. He stuffed her into the seat and arranged her feet in an approximate driving position. Suddenly the engine missed, sputtered and bogged down to an anemic, sort of choked, purring sound. Holy fuck, it was going to die on him! he thought. Then all of a sudden the engine regained momentum and was back up to three grand again. Stanley felt a bead of sweat run into his eye that stung like a bee.

  With a cautious gasp of relief, Stanley quickly hopped out and ran to the front of the car, checking to see that the wheels were heading straight forward. Satisfied, he ran back to the driver’s side long enough to place Cindy’s upper body against the steering wheel to help keep the wheels on course.

  Sweat was now literally pouring down Stanley’s face as he glanced up and down the road to be sure there weren’t any oncoming motorists. It was black as pitch in either direction. He again considered with some regret that there would be no skid marks left behind on either the pavement or the berm to indicate that Cindy had hit the brakes before plummeting over the cliff and he was certain that the police would question that. He also knew that they would be speculating a hell of a lot of other things while investigating Cindy Fuller’s fatal car accident, seeing as she was such an important personage in the community. But none of this really bothered him and the reason was quite simple: they would never in a million years be able to pin her death on Stanley Jenkins no matter how extensive their investigation may be.

  Because Stanley Jenkins no longer existed.

  The smug grin returned to his face as he grasped the top edge of the door with his left hand, leaned inside and took hold of the parking brake lever in his right hand. Taking a deep breath and a final glimpse of Cindy Fuller’s pale but still beautiful face, he released the parking brake and jumped back from the car like a cat.

  The Mercedes shot forward like a sprinter from the starting line, the engine roaring and whining in the dark quiet of the mountains. Stanley barely had enough time to run after it and slam the door shut in a sudden panic-stricken afterthought as the car hurtled along toward its destination. By the time the car was half way to the hairpin curve it was doing a good 35 mph. Stanley stood and stared in utter fascination as the phantom runaway car grew smaller in the distance with increasing velocity. Then suddenly the car began veering hard to the right and Stanley held his breath. It was going to plow into the drainage ditch! he thought. With a sickening feeling in the pit of his gut, he realized that he had fucked up royally by not starting this whole death car plot into motion closer to the curve than he had.

  Christ!

  Then miraculously, the car began straightening itself out as it tore onto the grassy area. Stanley crossed his fingers and looked on, praying that the car stayed on course. Only thirty feet to go until impact.

  Twenty feet. The car had to be doing forty-five.

  Only ten feet to go. It was really booking now!

  Smash! The Mercedes crashed through the guardrail like it was made of matchsticks and kept right on going. (Just like the Energizer bunny, Stanley thought with a smile.)

  A few seconds later, the car dipped out of sight. He heard the engine race to a throaty whine as the wheels left the ground and became airborne. A few moments later, an eerie deathlike silence fell over the mountain as the car continued to sail through the air and out of hearing range.

  Then he suddenly heard a tree-crunching thud, followed by a rustling sound like a wild bear on a rampage. Finally, the entire Rocky Mountain sky was lit up like the Fourth of July as the Mercedes exploded and caught fire somewhere down near the base of the mountain.

  What a Rocky Mountain High! he thought.

  “Time to book,” Stanley breathed to himself.

  The temptation to run over and look down at the scene was nearly overwhelming but he knew he couldn’t afford himself that luxury. It wouldn’t be long before the whole county would be up here investigating.

  He reached inside his coat pocket and took out a flashlight, switched it on then began searching for the path. He spotted it about twenty yards back up the road to the left and hastened toward it. The path was narrow and overgrown but he knew that it was accessible and where it led. He entered the path and began scaling the hillside at a brisk gait. He had only gone forty yards or so when he heard the sirens.

  The path ascended a steep hill for several hundred feet before terminating onto a dirt road. When he reached the road, Stanley stopped long enough to gaze down through a clearing in the trees at the scene below. He wasn’t able to actually spot any of the emergency vehicles but he could see the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the sides of the mountain, their eerie staccato flashes slicing into the yellow-orange glow of Cindy’s burning Mercedes. He was pleased with himself-he hadn’t been able to foretell whether the car would actually catch fire when it hit and this had been one of the few calculated risks he’d taken on this mission. He had debated on whether or not to install an explosive device that would have ensured that Cindy’s body would end up in cinders but had decided not to take any unnecessary risk. The authorities might well find the device during their investigation and that would have bungled the whole thing. Some details simply had to be left to fate.

  Stanley turned and began jogging east on the road. He felt good-in f
act he felt excellent. His body was in peak physical condition and at one with the road, the air was crisp and the adrenalin was pumping. Right this moment, he felt like he could take on the whole fucking world and win. In a sense, he was doing just that. With each mission he undertook, the world was getting much closer to discovering the truth: that Stanley Jenkins was not going to be pushed around any more. He was a force to be reckoned with-not the innocuous egghead that everyone thought him to be. Nope, he was a fucking cool dude-just like James Bond. And just like his idol, Stanley Jenkins was leaving behind droves of gorgeous babes in his wake as he encountered his missions-every one of them with broken hearts filled with regret that they hadn’t known sooner that Stanley was not only a cool dude and a master spy, but a super stud as well.

  But even James Bond had to retire some day. Bond had in fact retired the day that Ian Fleming, his creator, had died. The reincarnations of Bond since then had only been cheap imitations of the real thing. Sort of the same way that Cindy Fuller had been a cheap imitation of the real thing…

  The image of her, the real thing, as a teenage girl flashed through Stanley’s mind for a fleeting moment and he felt his pulse quicken even more. The prospect of returning to his roots and settling down with her in the not too far future heightened his euphoria. She was going to be his light at the end of the tunnel, the one who would appreciate everything he had accomplished. She would be able to see what Stanley Jenkins was all about without having to be told or shown. Because this babe had class-always had and always would. That’s what set her apart from all the rest. He’d known it from the very first time he’d followed her home from school and saw the way she’d strutted her sweet little ass ever so gracefully-with confidence and poise. She didn’t have to flaunt her obvious attributes; they were just there. She knew it and the rest of the world knew it.

  But the rest of the world would never know her as Stanley Jenkins did. He knew her intimately-her likes and dislikes, her habits, her routines. He’d watched her many times as she lay in bed at night, her homework swept off to the side, staring at the ceiling and fantasizing about the man of her dreams suddenly coming along and sweeping her off her feet. He had read her diary once, and she’d written that someday she would meet someone who truly understood her and knew all the things to do and say that made her happy. And once she found him, she would do anything in the world for him and never let him go.

  Little had she known that she would have to wait this long to realize her dreams. But how could she have known back then that he had already been there for her? It hadn’t been her fault.

  It had been his own.

  He’d not waited patiently for just the right moment to tell her He’d let that fucking bimbo blow the whole operation.

  Stanley Jenkins’ blood began to boil and it took everything he had to compose himself. Patience, he thought. In the not so distant future, there would be no one left to stand in his way.

  He spotted the rental car up ahead and a smile returned to his face. We reached the car, unlocked the door and got in, flung the nylon bag of the passenger seat and started the engine. In ten minutes he’d be on the main road and in another fifteen minutes would be on the interstate heading north to Denver. After a late supper and a couple of drinks, he’d crash out at his hotel and be up early the next morning to drive to the airport to catch his flight. By the time he landed at New York’s La Guardia Airport, he would have a good four or five hours to spend sightseeing and taking in all those wonderful things that made New York City such a hip city. That would be his own little treat to himself, by God. On the following day, it would be time to get back to work.

  Locating and casing out Sara Hunt’s apartment would be a cinch, but it was going to take a master spy to devise a way of making a date with her that she would truly never be able to forget for the rest of her little life…

  CHAPTER 19

  As Ann slipped on her shoes, she could still hear Sam‘s self-righteous remark: “I think your newfound independence is going to your head. The world isn’t by any means any safer that it used to be but you seem to think it is.”

  She tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Who the hell did he think he was anyway-implying that she had suddenly became some sort of irresponsible, wild woman and didn’t know how to look out for herself? And he was pissed off because it was finally beginning to sink in that he’s not around anymore to call the shots and that was a big blow to his male ego. Not to mention the fact that she was seeing another man. She could already sense that Sam was insanely jealous of Jerry Rankin and wished he didn’t exist in her life.

  That’s the breaks Sam, she thought to herself with a smug grin. You should have thought about all this before you started fooling around with Shelley The Slut. I have no sympathy for you whatsoever-you’ve brought this all upon yourself.

  Ann went over to the mirror to look herself over again. For once, her hair was doing what it was supposed to do. Her makeup didn’t look half bad, either. She eyed her outfit and wondered if perhaps she had gone a little too overboard. She’d boldly chosen to go with the olive green skin tight knit top that she’d purchased at the mall on her way home from the office along with a pair of faded Lee jeans that clung to her legs and hips as if they were painted on. A little too casual for Jerry’s tastes? she wondered. She noticed how the shape of her ample breasts were clearly visible beneath the thin fabric and debated whether or not to put on a bra then promptly decided against it. What the hell, she thought. Even Karen had once told her, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, and she was in just the right kind of mood tonight to do just that.

  She was not sure why she felt so lousy all of a sudden, but she did. Maybe it was because Amy was going out of her first real date with a boy tonight and it seemed like only yesterday that she was reading her bedtime stories until she drifted off to sleep. Or maybe it was the fact that Sam was now going out with a woman half his age and it bothered her now just as much as it had the first time she’d caught him red handed screwing around with the bitch. Whatever the case, the feeling was there and the cold reality of her age was beginning to catch up with her. Here she was, nearly 40 years old, divorced, and getting older and less attractive by the day. It wouldn’t be long before she’d lose her figure and no longer be desirable to men. She had never really given it much thought until now, and the reason for that was simple. Until now she had been married and hadn’t had to give a big shit about how she looked to other men.

  Ann looked herself over again decided that Jerry would most likely approve of her attire. In fact, his eyes would probably pop out of their sockets when he saw her, she mused. And the funny thing was that she didn’t care if he gawked at her tonight-she was tired of dressing conservatively all of the time just because she was afraid Jerry might get all worked up and start putting the moves on her. Karen was right-she really was being sort of a prude. She had the post divorce jitters and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Karen had probably been right about something else. If she kept stalling and putting things off for too long, she might well let Jerry Rankin slip right through her fingers.

  His suggestion to go bowling tonight had thrown Ann for a loop but she had to admit she was looking forward to it. She still fell a little apprehensive about his being here to see Amy and her date off to the dance, though. When she had informed Amy that Jerry would be here at the house before her date arrived, the expression on her face had told Ann that her daughter wasn’t too crazy about the idea at all. But surprise of surprises-she hadn’t objected. Ann realized that this was probably because Amy was excited about the dance and hadn’t wanted to put a damper on anything by getting into an argument with her mother.

  Ann checked the time-it was almost 6:30. Jerry would be here any minute. She knew that Amy was still in the bathroom and wondered if she realized how late it was getting. She decided to go downstairs to let her know.

  Just as Ann turned around and started for the door, she heard a scuffle a
nd voices out in the backyard. She ran over to the bedroom window and peered down. It was too dark to see anything because she hadn’t yet turned on the backyard lights. Then she realized that she had indeed turned on the lights. She had done it just after getting off the phone from Sam. So why were they off now?

  She heard voices again. It sounded like two men arguing, and one of the voices sounded like Jerry’s. In an instant, she ran out of the bedroom and fled down the stairs. She stopped and glanced out of the living room window and saw Jerry’s car parked in the driveway, She ran through the kitchen and laundry room to the back door. There was a knock at the front door just as she started to open the back door.

  Ann ran back into the living room and peaked through the curtains. She saw Jerry Rankin and another man standing on the porch. The other man’s back was to her. Ann couldn’t see very clearly, but it looked as though Jerry was holding the other man’s arm-as if to keep him from escaping. Ann opened the door and let out a gasp.

  There stood Jerry Rankin gripping the arm of a young man who looked to be around the same age as Amy. The boy had a welt over his right eye and there was a trickle of blood oozing out from a cut on his lower lip.

  “Jerry! What happened?” Ann exclaimed.

  Jerry’s expression was a mixture of concern and rage. “I caught this little bastard peeping through your bathroom window!”