BEFORE HE NEEDS

by Blake Pierce

  “And is that still how things work here?”

  “Yes. But it’s not just married couples. We still have singles from time to time, wanting to find answers about their own sexuality.”

  “Your friend said you rarely have visitors,” Mackenzie asked. “Why is that?”

  “The majority of the world does not understand the intent we have here. Some see it as sinful and disgusting. Others sort of understand it but label it as a form of pornography. And what we do here is neither.”

  “He also said you were preparing for an event,” Ellington said. “What did he mean?”

  “We have a gathering later tonight. I like to meditate and prepare my body.”

  “Do you take part in these events?” Mackenzie asked.

  Samuel paused for just a beat before answering. “When I am asked and I feel it is appropriate, yes.”

  Mackenzie felt the conversation taking several strange turns so she did her best to get it back on track.

  “Samuel, we’re here as part of an investigation into a string of murders that involve married couples,” she said. “We’ve recently learned that one of the couples in question were once members here.”

  “Oh my. Might I ask who they were?”

  “Josh and Julie Kurtz. Do you remember them?”

  “I do,” he said, his face slackening. “They did not stay with us long. I believe the wife in particular was not wholly receptive to our practices.”

  “And when they left, was it amicable?” she asked.

  “Oh yes. Anytime anyone wants to leave, they are welcome to. All we ask is that they don’t share specific details about what takes place here.”

  “Did the Kurtzes have any altercations with anyone here?”

  “No, quite the opposite. They were such a lovely couple. Very nice, very sweet.”

  “How many couples do you consider members of Tidal Hills?”

  “Right now, I believe we have fifteen active couples and seven singles.”

  “Is there a fee to join?” Ellington asked.

  “Yes. However, I’m sure you understand that due to privacy, I’d rather not give you any specifics.”

  “Of course,” Ellington responded dryly.

  “Of the couples that are currently members, do you know them all?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Yes, I know them all quite well.”

  “Have you ever had issues with any of them? Anything alarming about them?”

  “No, not currently.”

  “Do you have any way of knowing if any of your current members have dabbled in other clubs or events for swingers?”

  “That I do not know,” Samuel said. “And I make it my business not to know. Any members go through a rigorous interview process with me. But in that process, while I do ask them about their history and their sex lives, I do not ask them anything like that. It is their business where they spend their time and money. I do not cross that line.”

  “So you can’t think of a single person that might have come off as maybe resistant to your ways? Or maybe someone you had to turn away from being a member?”

  Samuel thought about this, looking thoughtfully at one of the dancing candle flames. “You know, there was a young man about a year and a half ago. He made it through the interview process easily enough. Seemed like a fine young man. But when he came to his first event, I think it overwhelmed him. He did not cause a big fuss, but he left that night calling us all names. Called us perverts and said we were going to Hell. He contacted me later, apologizing and asking to rejoin, but I refused.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, he’s phoned me several times and keeps emailing me. He’s come here one time in the last few months, banging on the door. Each time he contacted me, he seemed a bit more hostile.”

  “Do you think he’s a danger?” Mackenzie.

  “I don’t know. He was rejected. Jilted. But in one of his emails, he vowed to get even with me.”

  “Could we have his name?”

  Samuel seemed at odds with the idea but when he let out a defeated sigh, Mackenzie knew that he would give up the information.

  “His name was Chino Castillo. I can give you his number, email address, and physical address—assuming he’s still living in the same place, of course. But this is a breach of privacy. I’d rather you not let him know where you got his information. Although, given the nature of your case, I assume it will be obvious.”

  Funny, Mackenzie thought. So much emphasis on privacy with this guy and Gloria Benitez…not something you’d expect from people that promote open marriages and sex lives.

  “Thank you for your help,” Mackenzie said.

  “Of course,” Samuel said, though it was evident that he was upset by the whole matter. He ushered them toward the door. He followed them out back down the hallway toward the large front room.

  “You know,” he said, “I am well aware of the stigma associated with what we do here. And I even understand it. But there is much more good than bad to come out of this. I welcome either of you to return without badges or guns and take part.”

  Mackenzie wasn’t sure but she thought she heard Ellington stifle back a chuckle.

  “I appreciate the offer,” Mackenzie said, “but I don’t think that would be the best idea. We’re in the midst of a case and, quite frankly, it wouldn’t sit well with our supervisors.”

  “I understand. And I certainly hope you wrap up your case quickly.”

  “Do you truly believe Chino Castillo would be capable of murdering people?”

  “I honestly have no idea,” Samuel said. “I didn’t think he’d be capable of the anger he’s expressed since being kicked out, but there it is anyway. Would it be okay if I text you his information?”

  “Of course,” Mackenzie said. She gave Samuel her number and added: “The sooner, the better.”

  “Oh, I’ll have it to you within ten minutes.”

  Samuel led them back to the front doors, still dressed in only the tight silk boxers. The thin man was in the large room, laying out an assortment of mats on the floor. He gave them a nod and a wave as they passed.

  Outside, Ellington seemed to be in a hurry to get to the car. When Mackenzie reached the car she found him laughing and shaking his head.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  He looked at her, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s unprofessional. But between Samuel and the Springs couple, I think I’ve seen my fair share of nearly naked strangers today.”

  “It has been a bit much,” she said. “But if seeing an aging bald man in his too-tight boxers is what it takes to get a lead…”

  “Then it was time well spent,” Ellington finished for her.

  They drove away from Tidal Hills, the Miami skyline now cast in shadows as the sun had given up the fight, making way for the moon. To Mackenzie, all it meant was that yet another day had passed without finding the killer—and that the killer seemed farther away than ever, despite the new leads.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The music was blaring. It was some God-awful techno-pop that he could feel in his skull like daggers. He was drinking scotch to dull it but it wasn’t doing any good. In fact, the more he drank, the more he seemed to be able to tolerate the music.

  He knew that he couldn’t drink much more. He’d already had two and he knew that five was his absolute limit. Not only did he need to be able to drive back home, but he also needed to keep his mind clear. He knew why he was here, but he was already pretty sure it was not going to work.

  He wanted to forget about the things he’d done over the last week or so. But beyond that, he wanted to move on. He wanted to stop. And that’s why he was here. He figured he might meet someone. No one special, just someone to spend the night with. Maybe another couple. Maybe he would be able to remember what the whole scene was supposed to be about.

  Of course, this shitty dance club was not why he was here. He was here because he knew what happened in the upstairs
parlor. It was a little-known secret—a secret he had been privy to for about two years now. He’d been twice, not nearly enough so that anyone in the club would recognize his face.

  He sat alone at a small round table across from the club’s secondary bar. He was sitting there because it offered him an unobstructed view to the stairway that led to the upstairs. He had seen three couples head up there within the last half hour. The event, he knew, started in about ten minutes. There was no one standing by the stairs to keep anyone from going up. But he knew there would be a few people in the hallway in front of the parlor that would keep any unwanted people from entering.

  He also knew that you could not go up alone. You had to have at least one other person with you. It was a couples thing—a swingers thing. Sometimes there would be swinger events where singles could show up and get in the mix. Sometimes an extra body was needed, and that was fine.

  But this was not one of those times.

  As the time drew near, he found himself getting excited. He was not aroused, as he usually was. Tonight was not about the prospect of sex or even meeting someone that interested him. No, tonight was all about reconnecting…about remembering why he had ever gotten involved in a scene like this in the first place.

  His hope was that it would help cleanse him. That it would help to get rid of the rage and perhaps even blot out the memories of the murders he had committed.

  He downed his drink and left the table. He quickly settled up his tab with the bartender. The bar was crowded with people in their early twenties. The girls wore very little; there was probably more makeup on their bodies than clothes. He wondered how many of them knew what went on upstairs…and how they might react if they were presented with it.

  He scoped out the scene without being too obvious. He counted five separate clusters of people—distinct groups within the bar. Most of them were paired up, but he did see one table with three people, two women and a man, that kept shooting glances over toward the stairs.

  He checked his watch. The event began in ten minutes. If he was going to give this a shot, he had to do it now.

  He walked over to the table with three people sitting at it and made no pretenses. He smiled as he approached, taking in the trio. The male was good-looking in an Abercrombie sort of way. His hair was slicked back and you could practically see his abs through his shirt. The women were easily no older than thirty and dressed as if they were only eighteen and were out of the house, on their own, for the first time ever. The woman to the right wasn’t wearing a bra, made evident by the fact that her left breast was about to pop out of her top.

  “You guys heading upstairs?” he asked.

  All three of them instantly tensed up. The woman to the left gave the man an eew, what the hell is this sort of look.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been here before. I’ve been upstairs before. My girlfriend changed her mind at the last minute, though. I was looking to pair up with someone and head upstairs.”

  Most of this was true. The one false part was that he had a girlfriend who had bailed. He did not have a girlfriend. All he had was a very disgruntled ex-wife who had been getting laid behind his back for about a year before he found out about it.

  “Nah, man,” the guy said. “We’re set here.”

  Almost as if an afterthought because they felt bad for him, the woman with a mostly exposed left breast nodded her head to the right. “But I think that table over there is looking for a guy.”

  He looked in that direction and bit back a frown. It was two guys and one girl. The girl looked drunk out of her mind (some of them needed that to get into what happened upstairs; he knew this from experience) and two older men. One of them was easily twenty years the girl’s senior.

  It was not an ideal situation; then again, if she was with older men, he doubted she was picky. And it wasn’t like he was trying to hook up with her. He just wanted to be able to get in upstairs.

  He walked over to the table. As he did, he saw movement beneath it. One of the men had his hands up the woman’s skirt and wasn’t being too discreet about it.

  He nearly turned around right then and there. But he had to try. He had to make some sort of effort to reconnect…to make himself stop what he had been doing all week.

  “Hey there,” he said, being as friendly as he could as he approached the side of their table. It was mostly obscured by the dim lights of the bar.

  “Hey yourself,” said one of the men—the one who had his hands busy beneath the table.

  “Look…I know it seems fishy, but my girlfriend just texted me. Said she can’t make it. So I’m trying to find a group to latch on to so I can head upstairs.”

  Both men looked instantly appalled. They actually both seemed to scoot in closer to the woman. Meanwhile, she began to smile…a smile that eventually broke out into a laugh.

  “Dude,” she said. “Um…no. That’s fucking creepy. We don’t know you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, trying to bite back his rage. “I understand that. But it’s not like I’m new to this. I’ve been here before. This is not—”

  “Don’t care,” she said. And although she was clearly drunk and her words were coming out without any sort of filter, they still stung. “That’s gross. Don’t act like you know us.” She then kept laughing, slapping at the table and looking at him like he was an idiot.

  “She’s right,” the older man said. “I’m not sure there’s an actual etiquette for things like this, but if there were, things like this would be a violation I’m sure. Now please…step away before this just gets really awkward and weird.”

  Like the scene at your table and what you’re about to do upstairs isn’t awkward and weird, he thought to himself.

  He wanted to hit them. He wished he had his knife. He felt his blood boiling and it took every ounce of restraint within him not to lash out. Especially at the drunk bitch while she was still laughing.

  He sneered and turned around.

  He was disappointed that he would not make it into the parlor upstairs. He was also upset that he had seemed so desperate. The woman had a right to laugh at him (though maybe not so much, given her choice of company). He was an embarrassment, and he had to understand that things would never be the way they had been before.

  More than that, he was ashamed of himself for falling victim to the rage so easily.

  He had truly hoped that he’d be able to exorcise his demons tonight—through sex, through losing himself to a stranger, to being a part of something that had made sense to him once upon a time.

  But no…now all there was to feel was the hatred.

  He knew how to expel it…how to get rid of it for a while. He didn’t want to but he knew that if he didn’t, it would only grow stronger. He had put it off as much as he could for a very long time…and when it had finally snapped…well, he had the images of the Carlsons’ bloodied bodies to remind him of it.

  He was going to have to do it again.

  But how long can I keep it up? he wondered.

  The answer was simple. And it seemed to soothe the rage inside of him.

  For as long as it takes.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mackenzie decided that because it was only 8:05, they’d be okay to pay Chino Castillo a visit. As it turned out, his home was directly on the way back to the precinct, about a thirty-minute drive from Tidal Hills. The city was nearly overtaken by the darkness of night when they reached his street. It was not a rundown section of town but it was far from the luxurious accommodations they’d seen at the Carlsons’ and the Springses’ homes.

  When she parked in front of the address Samuel had given them, they spotted a man perched by the side of the house. He was hunkered down in front of a push lawnmower, scraping at the underside beyond the blade. He was working by the aid of the porch light which had collected a swarm of gnats and other bugs.

  Mackenzie approached him slowly with Ellington behind her. The man looked up to them with a slightly concerned
face.

  “Are you Chino Castillo?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

  Mackenzie went through her introductory act, giving their names and flashing her ID. “Your name was provided by someone we’ve spoken to concerning a case we’re working on. We were hoping you had some time to speak with us.”

  “Sure,” he said, although it was clear he was uneasy with the idea. He put the mower back down on its wheels and peeled off the gloves he had been using to scrape out the underside. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, we’re looking for a suspect that has been involved with Tidal Hills as well as a private club known as DCM. We have it on good authority that you have had dealings with at least one of those places.”

  “That’s right. Tidal Hills.”

  He went quiet then, as if waiting for them to tell him why that mattered. Mackenzie could tell that he was frightened. And while that was not necessarily an indication of guilt, it usually meant there was something in his life worth hiding.

  “We understand that there were some issues,” Mackenzie continued. “Have you been pestering the man who calls himself the guru?”

  Chino scoffed at this as he led Mackenzie and Ellington up onto his porch. “Is that what this is about? Did that prick complain about me?”

  “He did complain about you,” Mackenzie said. “But that was not the point of our visit. We were questioning him about the same case we are asking you about. During our questioning, your name came up.”

  “What a joke,” Chino said.

  “Well, that’s what we’re hoping,” Mackenzie said. “But just to clear up the stories, could you tell us what happened?”

  Chino looked at the boards of his porch as he plopped down in a rickety old lawn chair. “Yeah, but it’s embarrassing in hindsight. See, I had this friend that had heard about what they do at Tidal Hills. Some sort of spiritual junk, but really it’s about sex. Some excuse to have orgies or partner-swapping. And I had been going through a dry spell…had a bad run with getting almost addicted to porn. So I gave it a try. I went down there and Samuel put me through this ridiculously extensive interview process, and I was in.”