The Playing Card Killer

by Russell James

  He made a sloppy grab for it in midair. By some combination of luck and divine intervention, he swatted the flying accessory and trapped it against the recliner. He sighed in relief, closed his fingers around it and pulled it back to his chair. Brian wedged it under his leg, tucking it into the woven seat bottom.

  The door to the garage opened and closed. Brian sat down hard in the chair and pushed himself back to what he approximated as his earlier position. Tyler walked in, smiling.

  “All right, bro! The car is ready.” He walked over to the recliner and flipped the sides of the drop cloth up and over Candy’s corpse. “Have to drop her off somewhere. Outside the police station would really rub the cops’ faces in it, but I’d really be happier if they found her later, after we’ve gone. I’ll make sure they still give credit where credit is due. It just might be better if we got that credit later.”

  Brian bit back a wisecrack about how he was the killer in this situation, not we. But antagonizing Tyler wouldn’t help any now. He didn’t say a word.

  Tyler pulled Brian’s chair back from the recliner and slipped two zip ties from his pocket. He knelt and bound Brian’s left hand to the chair at the wrist and cinched it tight. He bent over Brian to do his right hand. Brian needed this one a bit looser, and didn’t want Tyler to notice it. Tyler threaded the zip tie through the chair and around Brian’s wrist. Tyler pushed the tip through the locking eye and then pulled it tight.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Brian practically yelled it in Tyler’s ear.

  Tyler jerked back as he pulled the zip tie tight. Brian moved his wrist a bit up from the chair and gripped the edge of his shorts. The zip tie noose tightened and bit into his wrist, but he held fast to his shorts and managed to leave a quarter-inch gap between his wrist and the chair frame.

  “Shit, bro! You seriously need to chill. I’ve got a spot.” He stood up and patted Brian on the head. “Wish I could take you, but we’re not quite there with the trust thing yet. But don’t worry, you still get to be part of it.”

  Tyler took a deck of cards from his pocket. Brian recognized the design on the back from the news reports. Tyler spread them into a fan, one handed, like some card-trick impresario.

  “Pick a card, any card,” he said.

  He ran the deck across the tip of Brian’s nose and stopped midway. He separated the two halves of the deck a bit and pulled it back. Brian twisted his head away in disgust. Tyler pulled a card from the split in the deck and showed it to Brian. The two of hearts.

  “Bro! Excellent choice. Two brothers use a two for their first strike against the gender who screwed them over. The hearts are a little sappy, but it’s all good anyhow.” He tucked the cards back in his pocket, went behind Brian and grabbed the back of the chair. “Now back to your bedroom while Candy and I go for one last sentimental drive.”

  Tyler wheeled him into the bathroom and backed him over the toilet. He stood in front of him and grabbed the waist of Brian’s shorts. “Don’t want to come home to a mess here.”

  Brian panicked. A vision of his shorts catching the barrette and sending it cartwheeling through the air filled him with terror. Just as Tyler pulled, he managed to use his legs to lever his butt up from the seat a fraction of an inch. Brian’s shorts shot to his knees without touching a thing. But the effort pivoted his crushed foot against the chair leg. He whimpered.

  “Dude, sorry there. Be right back. Sit tight.” He made that snorting laugh Brian found so damn annoying, then closed the bathroom door behind him as he left.

  Brian sighed and slumped in the chair. He heard the rustle of plastic drop cloth and then the open and close of the garage door. He could sense Tyler’s retreating presence, his brother’s darkness receding from across his own soul.

  The plastic edge of the barrette poked into his bare thigh. A flicker of hope made him smile.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  He had one shot at this. Tyler would be gone for a while, so Brian could work faster, unconcerned about making noise. And he’d need to work quickly. Tyler would be back here to gloat as soon as he performed on Candy whatever sick rituals his screwed-up psyche demanded. Plus, the longer Brian waited, the more his muscles would lock up in position. Now was the time to get out of these zip ties and escape.

  He slid his leg back and forth against the barrette, trying to move it out of the weave of the seat bottom. It didn’t budge. He’d gotten it in there, so he figured it had to come out.

  A round of anxiety made an unwelcome return. His hands and feet started to tingle, which restarted the throbbing pain in his left foot. The last thing he needed now was an unwelcome visit from Mr. Jitters. What he did need was to get this done.

  He rubbed against the barrette harder, faster. Still no movement. Friction heated up the plastic. Then the clip’s edge ripped a scratch in his thigh. He cursed and paused.

  He took several deep breaths to try and calm his pounding pulse. He imagined blood dripping on the barrette, then drying and gluing it into place. Until Tyler lifted him off the seat at some point and noticed it there. Tyler would have no problem removing it. Brian cringed at the thought of the punishment the discovery of his deceit might bring on.

  Brian recalled how he’d slid it in place, tried to estimate how much pressure he’d used. It hadn’t been much. He shifted his weight left, raised his right thigh a bit. A flash of pain skittered up from his smashed foot and he winced. Then he brushed his thigh up along the barrette.

  It seemed to move. He hoped like hell that wasn’t just his wishful thinking. He executed another soft, painful caress with his thigh. This time the hair clasp definitely moved. Back and forth, he inched the barrette up and nearly out of the wicker weave.

  He paused. If he botched this, and set the barrette free the wrong way, it might slip sideways and drop through the hole in the seat and into the toilet. The sound of that splash would be the sound of his freedom sinking.

  He slid his right hand around in its zip-tie noose. He reached for the barrette and came up short. He tried again, this time pulling as hard as he could against the tie. He still felt nothing but woven wicker. Without seeing, he couldn’t tell exactly how far away it was, but it seemed close. As if it mattered. A millimeter or a mile, he’d still be trapped.

  He reached as far as he could, and dug his fingers into the holes in the wicker. Then he contracted his fingers and pulled. His hand inched forward. The zip tie dug into his wrist. One finger at a time, he popped them from the wicker gaps, and then inserted them into the next set of holes. He pulled again.

  Wicker rubbed against his palm as his hand moved forward. The zip tie’s rough edge crushed muscle against bone. The pain screamed for him to stop. He still couldn’t feel the barrette.

  He pulled his middle finger from the seat-bottom weave. He strained and reached for the next set of holes. His finger came up short. A fingernail barely gripped the rim of the hole. He took a deep breath and pulled.

  The zip tie hacked through his skin like a dull knife. His fingernail bent and threatened to snap. A shrill chorus of agony sang from his fingertips to his shoulder. His hand moved millimeters closer.

  His pinky and ring fingers gripped new holes. He reached forward with his middle finger and prayed. The tip bumped over ribs of wicker.…

  …and touched hard plastic.

  Brian’s heart jumped. The zip tie sawed a deeper groove in his flesh. He gritted his teeth and struggled not to flinch, not to recoil to relieve the pain. He nudged the barrette toward his waiting palm. Progress seemed infinitesimal. The barrette slipped past one finger, than the next. He grabbed it, and then pulled his hand back out of the zip tie’s bite.

  His fingers ached. His wrist felt like it had finished a date with a guillotine. The anxiety-driven part of him shouted to start using the metal half of the hair clip, to saw through the zip tie that just tried to saw through him. The rational
side of him took control with warnings that his numbed fingers weren’t up to the task, and might fumble away the key to his escape.

  Brian took a deep breath and, with his palm firmly on the barrette, began to stretch his fingers for the next phase. Each contraction sent more blood seeping from the slash on his wrist. He didn’t worry. In no time, he’d be free.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  When his dexterity returned, Brian flipped the barrette open and reversed it in his hand. The point of the steel clip faced his wrist. He slid it under the zip tie and began to saw.

  Twenty minutes later, hand nearly cramped from the odd angle he forced it into, he paused. He tucked the barrette between two fingers, then slid his hand down so his index finger could inspect his progress against his plastic captor.

  He ran a fingertip across the tie. He couldn’t find a groove. He looked down. He couldn’t even find a mark. He cursed. The barrette wasn’t sharp enough, or the zip tie was too tough. Or both.

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d failed.

  Brian let rip a howling, inhuman scream, a throaty release of frustration and fury at the pain that now ravaged his right hand, right wrist, and his mangled left foot. He thrashed against his bindings, consciously aware of the futility but subconsciously needing the physical release. The chair clanged hollowly against the toilet but barely moved. Pounding pain in his foot and the searing agony of the zip tie against his gouged wrist sent him a message to calm down. He listened.

  He was about to toss the useless barrette into the toilet and hope to bury it in shit before his brother returned. He paused.

  He couldn’t cut his way out. The barrette was certainly no saw, but it might be a key. The tail of the zip tie ran through a square eye where a tiny plastic clip held it in place. He’d used small screwdrivers to pry that clip back and release zip ties without cutting them. He might be able to do the same thing with the tip of the barrette.

  He flipped the hair clip around and pinched it between his thumb and two fingers. He bent his wrist to an unholy angle until his entire hand resembled a question mark. The slash across his wrist opened anew, and fresh blood ran warm and wet down his arm. He maneuvered the metal tip into the zip tie’s square eyelet. A perfect fit. He smiled at the win after so many losses.

  Then he lost again. He couldn’t pry the clip open. He had no leverage at the awkward angle, not enough grip to make the metal push and pry the way he needed to. He couldn’t fail now, not after getting so close.

  Inspiration struck. He didn’t need to pry the clip open, he just needed to make the ribbed tail slide by it. He pressed the barrette straight down, as far and as hard as he could. It wedged into the eyelet and stuck. He prayed it had gone deep enough.

  Keeping the pressure on the barrette, he raised his arm. The zip-tie loop held fast. He raised it again. Same thing. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and this time yanked his arm up hard.

  The zip tie dug into his slashed skin and sent a shaft of pain straight to his elbow. But the force pressed the metal tip in deeper. It separated the clip from the zip tie’s tail. The tail slid unrestricted through the eyelet, and his arm flew up past his ear, free.

  “Yeah!” His joyous scream shattered the house’s silence. It was practically unbelievable. After fearing his captivity inescapable, he was about to make it possible. He shivered with happiness, then reached over to release his left arm.

  Outside the bathroom, the garage door rumbled open.

  “Son of a bitch!” Brian made a quick estimate. Undoing three more zip ties and getting out of the bathroom and house before Tyler got inside wasn’t going to happen. And if Tyler came into the bathroom and saw Brian had one hand free, there’d be a beating and a new set of bindings that would ensure a similar opportunity would be impossible in the future.

  He’d have to cover his tracks. He’d opened the zip tie once, he could do it again. He’d make the barrette a lot easier to get to next time.

  He extended his hand down to pick the zip tie up off the floor. He couldn’t reach it. He stretched further, until the zip tie on his left wrist dug in hard and threatened an impromptu amputation.

  Still an inch short.

  The door between the garage and the house opened and slammed shut. Brian’s racing pulse thudded in his ears. A level of panic that would have incapacitated him months ago surged through his body. He kept thinking, searching for a solution.

  The barrette!

  He plucked it out of the wicker chair. With his thumb and two fingers, he held it like a pair of tweezers. He stretched again and clamped the barrette around the zip tie. He lifted, but the slick plastic popped out of the barrette’s grip. It dropped back to the floor.

  “Dearest brother!” Tyler sang from somewhere near the kitchen. “What an event I had with Candy. You won’t believe the fun!”

  Brian stabbed at the zip tie again, this time lower, where his congealing blood coated the glossy black surface. He pressed the barrette pieces together and raised the zip tie slowly off the floor. It stuck to the barrette.

  “I didn’t warn you,” Tyler called again, “but vengeance builds an appetite. I’m always starving after a kill. I’ll bet you are, too.” Cabinets banged in the kitchen.

  “Damn it, the son of a bitch is about to deliver room service,” Brian whispered to himself. He’d go to free Brian’s hands to eat, and the last few hours of agony and anxiety would have been for nothing.

  He laid the zip tie on the chair beside him, then tucked the barrette under his thigh. It jabbed the raw spot he’d made earlier, but panic overrode any pain at this point. He threaded the zip tie through the arm of the chair and tucked the tail through the eyelet.

  It didn’t catch.

  “Oh, shit.” He’d damaged the clip when he jammed the barrette into it. That’s why it was so easy to pull free. Now it wouldn’t close. He was screwed.

  “Brother, the two of hearts was a perfect choice.” Tyler was right outside the door. “Looked so good sticking out of her mouth.”

  Brian tucked the tail of the zip tie under his thigh and jammed his hand through the loop. It was much bigger than before. Way too big to fool Tyler.

  The door opened. A beaming Tyler stepped in, carrying a bag of corn chips and two frosty bottles of soda. “We are definitely picking skinnier ones next time, my back is—”

  “Get out of here!” Brian screamed. “I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to see you, you murderous bastard!”

  The outburst caught Tyler off guard. He recoiled in the doorway. “Hey, bro. What the hell?”

  “I don’t want to even see you, sick son of a bitch. Get the hell out of here!”

  The confusion in Tyler’s eyes snapped over to rage. Exactly as Brian knew it would. Brian gripped the side of the chair with both hands.

  Tyler charged into the bathroom, face red, lips pulled back in a snarl. He backhanded Brian across the face, then hit him again in the opposite direction. Then he grabbed him at his shirt collar.

  “I’m helping you! You’ll be better, stronger, when I’m finished. You don’t see it now, but you will. And until you do, you need to act with respect. I’d hate to think you’re a lost cause.” He shoved Brian back against the chair. “Well, you just smart-assed yourself out of dinner, and ruined my mood and our celebration. See how the rest of the night in the dark works for you.”

  Tyler stormed out of the room. On the way he slapped the light switch off. Then he slammed the door.

  Brian sighed with relief in the dark, and relaxed. His face felt like it had been beaten with a two-by-four on both sides. He could taste warm copper and a molar in his left jaw was definitely loose.

  But he was alone. And his right hand was free.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Brian waited. Water drips in the sink were four seconds apart. He counted a thousand after he heard th
e last noises from outside the bathroom. Enough time for Tyler to fall asleep. He hoped.

  He slid his right hand out of the loose zip-tie loop, picked up the barrette, and went to work on the binding around his left wrist. Even in the dark, doing it by feel alone, the task was much easier with a free hand. The tie was off in a second. He bent over to undo his right foot. His long-immobile back screamed as muscles stretched for the first time in days. It took several rounds of slow, forward bobbing before he could reach his ankle. He removed the zip tie.

  One remained, and then he’d be out the door to freedom. He shifted right and released the final zip tie. His left foot slid to the floor. As soon as it touched the tile, a lightning bolt of pain surged up to his hip.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. It took all his self-control and fear of discovery to keep from screaming.

  He gave it another try. Even the lightest touch set loose a wave of agony. He wasn’t getting anywhere on this foot. This would be one ridiculous, screwed-up escape, him hopping through the subdivision like a human pogo stick.

  Then he played out the rest of the scenario in his head. What if he just crawled to a neighbor’s house and banged on the door? Whoever answered would see the face of the most wanted man in Tampa Bay, the Playing Card Killer. If that didn’t get Brian shot on sight, it would earn a nine-one-one call and a phalanx of screaming police cars. That would tip off Tyler, he’d escape, and Brian would be back in jail, with Sidney’s murder, and probably Candy’s, added to his list of crimes. Any evidence in this house could more easily be interpreted as left by Brian than by an unknown, long-lost brother. Being back in jail would be better than being a tortured prisoner, but not by much.

  His stomach sank as an even worse scenario came to mind. If Tyler was asleep, he’d be able to see through Brian’s eyes. Once Tyler got a glimpse of anything but this bathroom, he’d bolt out of bed and drag Brian back inside before he even got his hand around the front door knob.