Going Twice

by Sharon Sala

  She was interested—interested in seeing what they could do about being a couple again.

  That might be the best news he’d ever had.

  * * *

  Hershel woke up just after the sun went down and for a few tranquil moments forgot about the storm and his face, and that he was starting all over again. He reached up to scratch his chin and felt the bandages instead, and everything came rushing back.

  He rolled over to the side of the bed, turned on the television, and then headed to the bathroom. When he was finished, he added another piece of tape to one of the bandages and then took another pain pill.

  His anger at what had happened to his face was on the back burner as he went to get dressed. He was taking the tags off a new pair of jeans when he heard the newscaster talking about another round of storms in St. Louis and he raised the volume. No tornadoes were predicted, but it was going to storm, which would give him the cover he needed to put out a little present for the FBI.

  As soon as he was dressed he began checking his weapons. The new Taser was charged, and he had cut one of his new ropes into shorter lengths. He was hungry but wasn’t in the mood to face the stares that would come with eating in a public place, so fast food it would be. He grabbed his new poncho and carried it and his duffel bag out the door. It was time to go hunting.

  * * *

  After a burger and fries from one fast-food place, and an ice-cream sundae from another, Hershel was feeling a little more human. Until he stopped to get some gas.

  When he went inside to pay, the clerk behind the counter openly stared.

  “What’s the matter?” Hershel snapped.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “That’ll be forty bucks even.”

  Being reminded that he looked like a science experiment gone wrong pissed Hershel off. He slapped two twenty-dollar bills on the counter, but when he turned around to walk out he saw his reflection in the glass and flinched. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and once again his mind was in free fall, placing blame everywhere but on himself.

  When he braked for a red light the cup with his leftover drink slid off the dash and into his lap, getting his clean pants wet and sticky.

  “Damn it all to hell!” he yelled, and slapped the steering wheel with both hands.

  Don’t curse, Hershel. It’s unbecoming.

  “Go away, Louise! I’m not in the mood.”

  It wouldn’t have happened if you had cleaned out your truck when you stopped to get gas.

  The light turned green, and he drove through the intersection, screaming, “You are right, you are right, you are always right!”

  He drove without thought, just staying on the move to keep from thinking about his situation, until even he had to admit the trash inside his truck was getting on his nerves. He didn’t know where he was, but there were boarded-up storefronts and half the streetlights were out. He saw an old woman pushing a shopping cart piled high with her worldly goods, and on the next street corner a flashy black car slowed to a stop. He saw someone come out of a building, saw the window roll down. So there was a drug deal going down. It had nothing to do with him, and it was starting to rain.

  The wind was rising when he wheeled into an alley, drove right up to the Dumpster and got out.The moment the wind hit his face, the loose-fitting bandages blew off. He grabbed at them, but it was too late. Whatever, he would put new ones on later. He’d just lifted the lid to toss in his trash when a dark, shapeless figure came out of the shadows, muttering and cursing.

  “You get on out of here,” the man said, waving his hands. “This is my spot. You got no business here.”

  Hershel frowned. The crazy bastard. Someone needed to put him away.

  Lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the alley where the two men stood, and when the man saw Hershel’s face he took a giant step back.

  “Get away from here, freak! You have a disease. I don’t want your disease. Get away! Get away!”

  Rage washed over Hershel so fast it took away his breath, and when the guy began chucking rocks and empty bottles at his head, he lost it.

  He grabbed the Taser from the front seat, spun and fired it at the bum’s face so fast he never saw it coming. The electrodes were stuck in the man’s cheeks, just like the little whiskers from the stitches in Hershel’s face, and all of a sudden his mission was suddenly clear.

  The guy was on the ground, immobilized and twitching. As the lightning flashed again, Hershel saw the fear in the bum’s eyes. He grabbed a rope, yanked the electrodes out of the man’s face and strangled him where he lay. By the time the man’s body went limp, Hershel’s euphoria was peaking.

  “Worthless piece of shit,” he muttered, and quickly tossed his Taser and the rope back in the truck.

  Rain was falling hard and fast, and the wind whipping through the alley was blowing the drops sideways. He tossed the body into the back of his truck and drove away, straight toward the tornado-ravaged area of the city. He passed a police car going in the opposite direction and laughed out loud, then kept on driving until he found what he was looking for. After a quick glance around to make sure he was unobserved, he turned off his lights and dragged the body up into debris and stripped off the bum’s clothes. Lightning flashed again just as he laid out the body. He caught a quick glimpse of the wounds from the electrodes in the bum’s face, and in a fit of rage, he picked up a piece of broken crockery from beside the body and stabbed it over and over into the flesh until the dead man’s features were obliterated.

  He was still shaking from the adrenaline rush as he got back in the truck and drove away. His wounds were wet and stinging, and his hands were bloody, but the pressure in his chest was gone. He felt nothing but relief.

  He drove away from the tornado damage, and then found a street that led to I-44 and drove east. He was outside the city before he took out his phone. It was time for the Stormchaser to welcome the feds to St. Louis.

  Change is painful, but justice is like water. It eventually finds its own level.

  He smiled as he hit Send, and then turned off the phone, found an exit and drove back into the city. Even if they tracked the call to the nearest cell tower, it wouldn’t lead them to where he was.

  It took him almost an hour to find his motel, and he made a mental note to get a map of the city if he decided to stay. The rain was beginning to let up by the time he got to his room. He turned on the lights, dropped his wet clothes by the door and walked naked to the bathroom. His hands were scratched from holding the broken crockery, but they didn’t really hurt. He patiently cleaned his wounds with alcohol, then poured some on his hands as well, cursing softly beneath his breath as the burn made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He finished up with a fresh dose of medicine on his face, left off putting on new bandages and popped a couple of antibiotics before he went to bed. This time when he closed his eyes, it was with a feeling of satisfaction for a job well-done.

  * * *

  Wade woke up before daylight, bathed in sweat despite the air-conditioned room, and sick to his stomach with fear. It took him a few moments to realize he’d been dreaming, and that everything he’d dreamed was three years come and gone.

  “God Almighty,” he whispered, and staggered to the bathroom, trying to keep quiet and not wake Cameron, who was still asleep in the other bed.

  One cold shower later, he’d washed the bloody memory down the drain and was remembering Jo’s parting words. She was interested. So was he. They just had to find a way to work through everything they’d done wrong.

  As he returned to the room, Cameron was rolling out of bed.

  “Morning,” Cameron muttered. “I smell coffee. Don’t drink it all before I get there.” Then he stumbled into the bathroom.

  Wade sat down to check his messages and spent a few minutes answering the most pressing ones, then w
ent to get dressed.

  Cameron was out of the bathroom by then and dressing quickly.

  “I hope Tate already ordered breakfast, because I’m hungry,” he said.

  Wade grinned. “That sounds like my line.”

  * * *

  Jo’s rest was fitful, and by the time the sun was up, so was she. She dressed for work and went across the hall before 6:00 a.m. as if she was going to the office, guessing she would be the first one up. She found the coffeepot and started it brewing, and then made an executive decision and ordered food. She’d fed these men enough when she and Wade were still together to know their likes and dislikes, and she ordered enough extra that every man could have what he wanted. Next she booted up her laptop and got to work. She was trying to find out how Inman was funding his killing sprees. He had to have money stashed somewhere under another name. If she could find it, it might be the key to catching him.

  She’d been working for almost an hour when there was a knock at the door. That should be breakfast. After a quick glance through the peephole, she opened the door to a smiling waiter and a cart full of food.

  “Just put it all on the table,” she said, and stood aside as he unloaded their meal. After she signed for the food, she locked the door behind him and then poked around until she found the bacon and scrambled eggs she’d ordered for herself, chose a bagel over a sweet roll, and topped off her coffee, leaving the fresh pot from the cart for them.

  She was sitting down with her feet up, watching the morning news while she ate, when she heard someone moving around in another room. She’d finished her eggs and gotten up for some fruit when Wade and Cameron came in.

  “Smells like you’ve been cooking up something good,” Cameron said. “I hope you ordered plenty.”

  “I’ve fed all of you before. I think I ordered enough to soothe the savage beasts,” she said, and slid a couple of slices of melon onto her plate.

  Cameron laughed as he started removing the food covers to see what was on offer.

  Wade was already downing a piece of bacon as he checked out the rest of the choices, but instead of digging in as he usually did, he stopped.

  “Hey, Jo, thanks for the French toast,” he said.

  “No problem,” she said, but she was secretly pleased that he’d noticed she’d chosen one of his favorite breakfast foods.

  They were still eating when Tate came out, and they could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong.

  Wade swallowed the bite in his mouth. “What?”

  “We got a text,” Tate said.

  “Well, hell,” Cameron muttered. “I was half hoping the little bastard had blown away in the storm.”

  “We couldn’t be that lucky,” Tate said. “Listen to this. ‘Change is painful, but justice is like water. It eventually finds its own level.’”

  Jo frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can guarantee he left a body somewhere.”

  “I never get used to how crazy people can be,” Jo said, and put aside the fruit. Her appetite was definitely gone.

  Tate saw the food and smiled at her. “Thank you for this.”

  “No problem. I’m still trying to track down Inman’s funding. I had a couple of ideas and wanted to see where they went, so I was up a little early.”

  “It’s just as well,” Tate said. “I need to call the chief. I won’t be long, and then I’ll be back for my eggs and bacon.”

  Eight

  This was the first time the team had been able to see a crime scene before the body was removed, but their purpose here wasn’t to ascertain who’d done it. That was a given. What they didn’t expect was the nature of the victim or the condition of the body.

  “What the hell?” Wade said as they walked up on the scene.

  Tate stared.

  Cameron shook his head in disbelief.

  “Is this what he meant by a painful change?” Jo asked.

  “Who found the body?” Tate asked.

  The officer standing guard pointed to a teenager sitting on the curb across the street next to a ten-speed bicycle. The boy was obviously very shaken up.

  “Hell of a thing for a kid to see,” Tate said. “Do you have an ID on the vic?”

  The officer shook his head. “No, but I’d guess he’s homeless. The clothes lying beside the body are in rags.”

  “Then what was he doing all the way out here? Have you been having problems with the homeless trying to scavenge for food or clothes?” Wade asked.

  “No. They usually stick to the poorer neighborhoods. My guess is this guy would have been holed up somewhere taking shelter from the rain, not out prowling miles from his usual route,” the officer said.

  “What’s the kid’s name?” Tate asked.

  “Bryce Lewis.”

  “Wade, you and Jo go talk to him,” Tate said.

  Jo followed Wade across the street, leaving the other two at the scene. They stopped in front of the boy and flashed their badges.

  “Bryce Lewis?” Wade asked.

  The boy looked up. “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re from the FBI. We need to ask you some questions, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bryce said, and stood up, quickly wiping his face and nose with the tail of his shirt.

  “So what time did you find the body?” Wade asked.

  “A little after seven,” Bryce said.

  “Why were you out here so early in the morning?”

  Tears ran down the boy’s face as he pointed across the street.

  “That’s where my house used to be, and I was looking for Mutt.”

  “Is Mutt your dog?” Jo asked.

  He nodded. “We weren’t home when the tornado happened. My mom and I got a call from my older brother about what happened, and we just got into town this morning. We’re staying at his place, so I borrowed his bike and rode over first thing to see if I could find her. That’s when I found the body.”

  “Did you see anybody else around?” Wade asked.

  “No, sir. I called the police first, and then I called my mom, but she and my brother are at the hospital with my dad.”

  “Your dad was in the house?” Wade asked.

  “Yes. He couldn’t get time off of work, so he stayed behind. He has head injuries and isn’t awake yet,” the boy said.

  Jo could hear the fear in his voice.

  “Did you recognize the victim?” Wade asked.

  The boy shuddered. “No, sir. I just want to go back to my brother’s house. Can I leave now?”

  Wade patted the boy’s shoulder and glanced at Jo. “Get his personal information and then let him leave.”

  Jo began taking down the info on her iPad as Wade left. The boy was a trooper, trying to pull himself together and answer like a man, but she could tell he was shaken.

  She soon finished her questions, but she hated to send him off with something so brutal on his mind.

  “So you have a dog named Mutt. What kind of a dog is he?”

  “She’s not any one breed. It’s why we named her Mutt. We got her from the pound over four years ago. She sleeps with me at night.”

  “Do you have a picture?” Jo asked.

  He pulled out his phone and then scanned his photos until he found one to show her.

  “This is Mutt last Christmas. I always take a picture of her with a Christmas bow on her head. Mom says we should have named her Queenie because she wears that thing like a crown until it falls off.”

  Jo smiled. “That’s a great little dog. She looks like she’s part Yorkie.”

  “Could be, ma’am,” Bryce said.

  “So, are you going to be okay to bike back to your brother’s house on your own?”

  He
nodded.

  “I hope your father gets well really soon,” she said.

  “So do I,” he said, and got on the bike and rode away.

  She walked back across the street, dodging patrol cars and officers as well as the crime scene techs who were still there.

  The day was getting hotter by the hour. Coupled with the humidity from the rain the night before, it would be miserable outside until the sun went down. She unbuttoned another button on her tailored shirt for circulation and tossed her jacket in their SUV as she walked past. When she saw movement from the corner of her eye and realized it was another news crew, she slipped on her sunglasses. They weren’t much to hide behind, but she had no intention of becoming fodder for the media just because she was Wade Luckett’s ex.

  “Did you get everything?” Tate asked as she walked up.

  “Yes.” She eyed the body bag on the stretcher. “Do we have a time of death?”

  “Best guess was sometime around midnight, but we’ll have a more thorough report soon enough.”

  “So he’s no longer using a Taser?” Jo asked.

  “No, we think he is,” Wade said. “The M.E. saw what looked like burn marks on his cheeks where the electrodes would have hit.”

  Jo thought back. “He started using the Taser when he kidnapped Nola, right?”

  Tate nodded.

  “And he’s continued using one. It means he has to be closer to the victim, but it also means he can disable them instantly,” Jo said.

  “I’m leaning toward the theory that something has physically changed for him, and that he needs that edge to take them down. He could have been injured more severely in that boat explosion than we first thought,” Tate said.

  “But this is the first time he’s mutilated the face. Why do you think he did that?” she asked.

  “I have theories, but at this point they’d just be conjecture,” Tate said.

  “One thing is obvious,” Wade said as he walked up. “This was personal. Inman might not have known the guy, but he was mad at him. What he did to that homeless guy came from pure rage. Maybe something to do with his own facial scars.”