The Cherry Pages

by Gary Ruffin

  “You’re quite right, Mr. Hammond. There is no reason whatsoever for me to try and get to know you.” She took her hands from her pockets, placed them in her lap, and said, “Get on with what you came to do. Kill me, and get it over with. I’ll certainly not give you the satisfaction of seeing me beg.”

  Snorting a laugh, Hammond said, “I don’t give a shit if you beg or not, Miss Page. In fact, I prefer you let me lead you to slaughter like the proverbial lamb. That’s been the plan all along,” he said, as he polished the knife blade on his pants. “No more talk. Just keep your mouth shut, and take off the robe.”

  When Cherry made no move to obey his command, Hammond said, “You know, at first, I just wanted to get even with you for turning me down at the foundation dinner in London. And then—when I got the hacker in London to break in to your computer—by the way, he was the first to die—I wonder if they found him. Anyway, when I learned all about you from your computer files—and I do mean all—my plans changed dramatically.”

  Cherry continued to stare silently. It was clear he wanted to tell her his plan, so she waited for him to continue. The longer he talked, the better her chances.

  Hammond moved back, put his hand on the table, and said, “I bet you people have been wondering about whether or not I’m a true believer in Baal, or if that was all just a crazy gimmick I was using to make myself seem insane, or whatever.”

  Cherry said nothing.

  “Well, let me assure you, Baal is very real, and he’s the reason I must have you in particular as a sacrifice.” He turned one of the dining chairs around, and sat down facing Cherry. “Since we have quite awhile before your idiot bodyguard returns, let me tell you why you must die.”

  Cherry broke eye contact, and looked at the floor. Hammond bristled, and said, “Look at me!” Cherry complied, and he continued: “When I cashed in my business, I toured Europe for the first time. Paris, Rome, Madrid, sort of a grand tour. When I saw London, I knew I was going to live there for the rest of my life. Funny how things work out; if I had wanted to settle in Paris or Rome, you’d be alive today.” He smiled at his gaffe, and said, “I mean, you’d be alive after today.”

  Hammond’s smile faded as Cherry’s gaze moved to the window. He continued, “Fifteen years ago, my business was floundering. I had the big ideas, but I was going nowhere. There were many months of struggle financially, and otherwise. And then I met a woman who changed my life forever. She showed me a world I didn’t know existed. A world of worship, and true belief, and an amazing force that I could bring into my life simply by asking. She showed me how to follow the path that she’d found. That path—and it’s one of incredible force—is Baal worship.”

  Cherry looked back at him, unsure of how to react. The look of rapture on Hammond’s face as he spoke of his worship of a dumb idol would have been laughable had he not been serious. But one look into the maniac’s eyes told her he was dead serious.

  He went on, “As soon as I became a follower of the one true god, my life changed radically, almost overnight. The more dedication I showed, the greater the reward. My business took off like a rocket, coinciding with the boom in dot-com stocks so perfectly that within six months I was a millionaire many times over. Now, mind you, I had to do some things that seemed wrong at first, but the results spoke for themselves.” He put the knife on the table, and continued, “These things seemed wrong, but I had to ask myself: are you really a believer? Or are you one of those small minds who jump from one New Age fakery to another? Well, I found out soon enough I was a true believer, and all it took was a sacrifice.”

  Hammond paused, and Cherry wanted to ask if by sacrifice he meant tightening his belt business-wise, or taking on another job, but said nothing.

  He went on, “I ask you, Miss Page. What’s a single human life worth in the overall scheme of things? Especially if it means untold wealth and power to the one strong enough to take that life, and give it to Baal?”

  Cherry tried not to change her expression as she realized what he meant. It took all her skill as an actor to remain calm, and Hammond detected nothing in her face. He said, “You see, it has proven to be worth it. That young girl had no future anyway, and the power I got from her dying, it’s indescribable. To watch her take her last breath on Earth, to see the blood run, to hold her warm little body in my arms afterwards. Pure exhilaration.”

  Cherry was stunned, but kept her face blank. She put out of her mind the fact that this man was totally delusional, and tried to stay in the moment. She wanted to ask how all this insanity related to her, and Hammond spoke as if he had read her mind.

  “You know, when I first hacked—well, better said—when that poor fool O’Neill first hacked into your computer—I only wanted revenge. I intended to simply wreak havoc on your credit. Maybe charge a bunch of things to you online, that sort of thing. Maybe even screw up your bank accounts, clean them out or whatever. Just stuff to make your life a little hellish, you know? But then I discovered something from reading your e-mails that changed everything.”

  He looked at her smugly, expecting her to ask what he had discovered. Again, Cherry wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Irritated, Hammond said, “You see, Miss Page, lately my business endeavors have begun to take a downward turn. It seemed that everything I tried—investments, takeovers, new ventures—turned to shit, and my bank account has shrunk considerably. And then it hit me. You are the answer to all my problems. Baal showed me the way back to power once again.”

  Cherry felt another shiver, and unconsciously tightened the robe in a vain attempt to protect herself from the creature sitting only a few feet away.

  Hammond said, “The way it came together was pure magic. I was in a bind again, I needed guidance again, and I had already chosen a victim for the sacrifice. But then Baal showed me an even more powerful way.” He paused for effect, and then said, “I found out from one of your e-mails that you were the perfect sacrifice.”

  When Cherry merely stared, he said, “Don’t you see? You are the perfect sacrifice because you’re—a virgin.”

  Cherry opened her mouth to speak, but Hammond interrupted. “I still think it would be best if you didn’t say another word—Cherry,” he said in a tone that made her skin crawl. “As I said earlier, I want to lead the lamb to slaughter without so much as a bleat. If you speak, I swear by Baal I’ll kill you without the ritual.” He added with a smirk, “Not only unblemished, but silent, too.”

  Resigned, Cherry made no attempt to talk her way out of what was surely coming, but calmly looked Hammond in the eye, and waited for her chance to reunite with Poppy.

  He stood and said, “Take off the robe, and get on your knees here in the middle of the room. Down on all fours, my perfect little lamb. Baal waits for you to come to him. Once he has you he’ll grant me the power I need.”

  I walked in the front door of the Ritz and was greeted again by the employees and guests who happened to be in the lobby, and I signed a couple more autographs. I even posed for a picture with an elderly couple from Germany.

  I was glad my time in the spotlight was coming to an end, and I whistled happily to myself once I was on the elevator headed back up to the suite. Humming and whistling, that was me on that fine Sunday afternoon. The tune I selected to whistle was “Whistle While You Work,” because I had done such a good job at finding the perfect souvenir for Cherry.

  As I got off the elevator and turned the corner, I felt another little twinge of sadness as I realized again that unless I made a sea change in my lifestyle and decided to remain with Cherry, my remaining time at the Ritz could be measured in minutes. Even though I still hadn’t come to a decision, the twinge became stronger as I stood in front of the door to room 521, and placed the key-card in the slot.

  I entered the suite, called Cherry’s name, and froze as I saw her naked body.

  79

  CHERRY WAS ON ALL FOURS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PARLOR, AND A NAKED man stood over her, holding a huge hun
ting knife. They both stared at me, and I don’t know who was more shocked, but I’m pretty sure it was me. The man roughly pulled Cherry to her feet, and backed her over in front of the closed curtains, his left arm across her breasts. He held the knife to her throat with his right hand, and pulled her face to his, cheek-to-cheek, lessening my chance at a head shot.

  He growled, “Don’t make a sound, Chief, or make a move towards the phone, or I’ll cut her throat right where she stands.”

  Now, I’ll admit, I have no training in hostage negotiation, but I’ve played poker for years. I quickly assessed the situation, and decided what my first move should be: I went into pressure mode, and raised the stakes.

  “I have no intention of calling anyone,” I said, then turned, and stepped over to the closet. I reached up under the spare blanket on the top shelf, took my gun out of its holster, made sure the safety was off, and aimed it at the man’s head. “But I also have no intention of letting you get away, whether you kill Miss Page or not.”

  This caused Cherry to look at me as if I was out of my mind.

  The guy said, “I’m serious. I’ll slice her neck from ear to ear if you make a move.”

  I walked slowly over to the sofa, still aiming the Glock at his head, sat on the sofa’s arm, and replied, “I don’t think you understand. Like I said, you’re not going anywhere, no matter what you do.”

  We were now about ten feet apart. He kept Cherry’s face next to his, but loosened his grip on her slightly, and I felt I had made the right decision by putting the pressure on him. My heart was in my throat, and beating erratically like it does when I’m under extreme stress, but I gave him my best poker face.

  He asked, “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  I willed my voice to stay even, and said, “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. I mean, I know you’re obviously the—you’re the—sorry, I just can’t bring myself to use that idiotic name. Let’s just say I know you’re the man we’ve been hunting, how’s that? As for your name, no, I don’t know that.”

  He said, “Then let me introduce myself. Again. My name is Kenneth Hammond. We met at the charity ball last Monday night, remember?”

  I recognized him at that moment; the blond curls gave him away. He was one of the dudes who had tried to put the moves on Cherry. The cowboy Tingle crossed my mind. They had both been at the charity event. That was probably how they had met. The Feds had it wrong, but their blunder didn’t matter at that point.

  I said, “Oh, yeah, now I remember. You were one of the guys that tried to get a date with Miss Page, right?’’

  “Right,” he said, his lip turning up in a sneer. “Just another damn fool she rejected.”

  Cherry smiled slightly, and it hit me that she was amazingly calm under the circumstances. It also hit me that my arm was getting tired from holding the gun out, so I slowly let it drop to my hip, still aimed in the general direction of Hammond’s face.

  He said, “It looks like we have a standoff here.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because neither of us can do anything except wait.”

  I laughed what I hoped was a derisive laugh, and said, “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, Kenny.”

  “Kenneth!”

  “Oh. Sorry. Kenneth. As I was sayin’, you’ve got it all wrong. This is no standoff. This is my lucky day.”

  He smirked, and asked, “How can this possibly be your lucky day?”

  “Because I’m going to get five hundred grand for information leading to your arrest. My job is done here.”

  He smiled as if I was a child who didn’t understand big people’s business, and said, “Your job is to protect Cherry Page, and at the moment, you’re not doing your job very well.”

  I replied, “That’s where you’re wrong, Kenneth. My job isn’t to protect Miss Page. My job is to kill you.”

  That stopped him cold. As he struggled with the proposition that he had no bargaining power, I stretched lazily as if I didn’t have a care in the world, my gun pointed at the ceiling. Turned out I was pretty good at hostage negotiating after all.

  As he pondered this turn of events, I went into the only thing I actually know about hostage situations, Hostage Negotiations 101: Keep them talking. I’ve used the tactic before, last year as a matter of fact.

  “So, Kenneth, where you from?”

  He looked at me warily for a moment, then said, “Not that it matters, but I was born and raised in Atlanta.”

  I said, “And you work here?”

  He looked distracted as Cherry squirmed slightly. He tightened his grip on her and said, “Yeah, my main office was here.”

  I nodded slowly, rolled my neck and shoulders, and said, “Kenneth, just one more question. Are you a homo?”

  He snapped back to attention. “What?”

  “I was wondering, because your first victim was a gay female impersonator. Did you have sex with him before you killed him? Is that why you’re after Miss Page? Because you wanna be her?”

  It was his turn to laugh derisively, and I have to admit, his laugh was much better than mine. In fact, it was downright evil. It actually gave me goose bumps. Say what you will about psychopaths, but one thing is certain: they really know how to do the derisive laugh.

  He said, “Is this your way of trying to get under my skin, Chief? Or do you want to keep me talking till you can figure out what makes me tick?—the better to negotiate a peaceful resolution to our little hostage situation.”

  Okay. He was on to me. I forged ahead, “Yeah, I want a peaceful resolution, but I really am curious about your motives. And, I would like answers to some questions I have.”

  “Ask away,” he said.

  “Okay, thanks. What’s your beef with Cherry?”

  He said, “I thought I made my position clear in all my messages, Chief, but obviously I was wrong. Let me make it simple for you. Miss Page is the perfect sacrifice I need to give to Baal.”

  Now, that surprised me. “You mean to tell me this Baal business is real? You weren’t just puttin’ us on?”

  His whole countenance changed. He looked like a brainwashed cult member as he replied, “I never joke about the power of Baal.”

  Cherry nodded slightly, as if to say, “He’s serious.”

  I didn’t know what to say, but Hammond did. He asked, “Why are you back so early, Chief?”

  Now he had me off guard. I took a moment, then asked, “How would you know if I’m back early?”

  He smiled and said, “I’ve been staying here at the Ritz since the Friday before you two arrived, Chief.” He giggled a weird, high-pitched giggle at my expression, which now most definitely wasn’t poker-faced, and continued, “How do you think I was able to spray that stupid bitch’s room with all those fire extinguishers after I sliced her?”

  I recalled the eerie sight of the poor woman from Minnesota covered in foam. “So you’ve been here all along. That makes sense. But how did you know how long I would be out today?”

  “Because, Chief, I was out front with the news cretins and saw you leave. Then I called Miss Page and pretended to be Agent Carver. I had the flowers in my room, ready to go, and the cap and uniform jacket from the dead flower-boy drag queen, and, well—it all just fell into place with the almighty help of you-know-who.”

  I have to admit, the bastard had done a good job. It was my turn to do the same. My heartbeat had slowed to a manageable rate, and I was ready to start talking again. But before I could speak, he said, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here now?”

  I pulled the gun closer to me, and replied, “Oh. Well, I forgot my wallet. It’s in those tux pants in the bottom of the closet. I was shopping and when I went to pay for—something over at Phipps Plaza, I found I was without funds. So, I had to come back.”

  “I see.” He looked like he was deep in thought, his eyes focused on my gun. I said nothing, letting him take the lead. After a moment he came back to the situation at han
d, and said, “Well, we still have a standoff here.”

  Ball in my court.

  “Kenneth, I want some more answers, if you don’t mind. I may not get a chance to talk to you anymore after—I mean, you might be dead in a few minutes. So, tell me about Mr. Nakamura, and how it all went down in his cabin.”

  Hammond sighed as if I was the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever come across, and said, “Nakamura worked for me in my Atlanta office up until about six months ago. I had to let him go when I started having financial difficulties. He was just another cog in a machine set in motion by—”

  “Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “Our old pal, Baal.” He looked miffed, but didn’t react the way I wanted him to, just went back to his story.

  “I knew about Nakamura’s cabin, and it was easy enough to manipulate the scene. I had met up with Tingle again at a gun show Friday afternoon, and after I, shall we say, secured his cooperation, and spent the night at his house, I took him out there and broke into the cabin Saturday morning. Nakamura lives in a high-rise on Peachtree Street, and hardly ever uses the cabin, so I thought it was a good bet that it would be empty, and again, I was right. I called and told him I was a cop, that someone had broken into his cabin, and he was needed there immediately. I’m quite good on the phone.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you are,” I said.

  “Anyway, when Nakamura came to the cabin, I waited till he was inside, killed him with the knife I left for the cops to find, and—this is the good part—put the gun in his hand and shot the cowboy moron at close range. I also fired a round into the wall for good measure. I must say, it was a job well done.” He smiled at the memory, and said, “Can we get back to business here?”

  “Just one more thing. How did you keep Tingle under control all that time?”