A Bullet for Carlos (14 page)

She took him in with a glance. “The dedication shows.”

“Thanks,” he said, then, “I’ve got tickets for Brooks and Dunn tomorrow night at the Pavilion. Want to go?”

Her eyes lit up, but then she shook her head. “No thanks. But I appreciate the invite.”

“Why not? I thought you liked them?”

A funny look came to her. She seemed stunned. “How did you know I liked them?”

He realized he had made a mistake, but he recovered smoothly. “I saw you singing to one of their songs at the gym.”

She stood. Gulped. She looked freaked out, but she hid it well. “What time?” she asked, and then, “I don’t even know your name.”

Mr. Perfect paused, but only for a second. “Everybody calls me crazy, but I go by JR.”

She smiled, a fake one, and offered her hand. “Patti.”

“Nice to meet you, Patti. So I’ll see you at eight o’clock?”

“How about we meet at the Starbucks on Market Street? Say seven-thirty.”

“Great. See you then.” With that, he took off, heading back down the trail.

He dreamed of meeting
her all night, and the next day went by in slow motion, the hours coated with molasses. Finally quitting time arrived and he raced home, changed clothes and hurried to the designated spot. Seven-thirty couldn’t come fast enough.

Mr. Perfect paced the sidewalk in front of Starbucks, sipping his latte. He couldn’t believe she was late. He didn’t tolerate tardiness. “Bitch will get hers.” He paced some more. Sipped more. Looked at his watch. Eight o’clock. The concert would be starting any minute, and it was a perfect night for an outdoor event. He looked around, walked back into Starbucks to see if she was there. Checked his cell phone. She didn’t have his number, though, so he didn’t know why he did that. He
never
gave out his cell number.

A few minutes later the first chords of music kicked off the opening act. He looked at his watch again, crushed the cup in his hands, and tossed it into the trash bin. “She
will
regret this.”

Mr. Perfect saw her
at the gym on Monday. “What happened? You missed a great concert.” He made sure to smile, kept his eyes smiling too.

“Oh…damn. I forgot. I mean I didn’t have your number. An emergency came up and I couldn’t make it.” The fake smile came then. “Wish I could have made it.”

He frowned. “Sorry to hear about that. What kind of emergency?”

She stammered, the question taking her by surprise.

“My…uh…grandmother. She was rushed to the hospital.”

“My God. That’s terrible.” He put his hand on her arm. “Does she live nearby?”

“No. Beaumont. She lives in Beaumont.”

“You sure?”

“What?” Indignant now. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Just kidding. You seemed so nervous.” He smiled again. “Anyway. I’ve got to go. Hope your grandmother gets better. See you around.”

See you soon.

Mr. Perfect sat in
the car, fuming. Not only had she embarrassed him, she lied. Time to teach Ms. Almost Perfect a lesson in humility. Time to teach Ms. Almost Perfect some manners.

He drove to her home, careful to park a few blocks away, but where he could still see her with his binoculars. Five minutes after she arrived he put his ear buds in, cranked up his iPod, grabbed his sport bag, checked to make sure the knife and tape were there, then walked toward her apartment. When he got closer he checked her window with the binoculars. She wasn’t in the kitchen and the bedroom door was closed. He had made a copy of her key from the rack at the gym weeks ago while she was working out, and he used that now to open the door and slip inside. The bedroom door was still closed, the shower running. A slight twinge in his right eye caused his head to cock sideways, then his dick throbbed and he reached down to straighten it. After putting gloves on, he put his ear to the bedroom door and listened. Heard the water still running. Turning the knob slowly, he let himself into the room, laid a small cotton cloth on the table, undressed, then pressed against the wall and waited.

A few minutes later the water stopped. She sang while she dried off. Mr. Perfect recognized the song—one from Brooks and Dunn, the same group she stood him up on.

Biggest mistake of her life
.

She came into the bedroom, singing, and naked. As she passed by him, he grabbed her, clamped his hand over her mouth and yanked her back. Then he pressed a knife to her throat.

“Sh. Don’t scream. Don’t even talk.”

Ms. Almost Perfect nodded. Her body tensed.

“I’m going to take my hand away. If you make a noise I
will
kill you. Understand?”

Again she nodded.

He took his hand away, grabbed the cloth and stuffed it in her mouth. Then he covered her mouth with tape. “You can turn around now.”

Slowly, she turned. Her eyes went wide when she saw him standing there. Naked. She shook her head vigorously. Stepped back. Reached for the tape.

Mr. Perfect hit her hard. She fell back, stumbled into a chair. He yanked her up, threw her onto the bed.

Her nose bled and she sobbed, but she lay still. Frightened, like a baby animal. He’d seen enough of those to know. He remembered cutting snakes and pouring salt in the wounds, then he’d watch them wiggle and squirm. He always wondered if they were crying. Several times he put his ears close to hear, but never could tell. It didn’t stop him from trying though.

Mr. Perfect stood above her, his dick stiff and ready. “You should have come to the concert.”

Her eyes bulged.

“I know you regret it now, but I’ll show you what you missed.”

He took hold of her ankles, dragged her to the edge of the bed and stood between her legs. He put on a condom, then spread her legs apart. She scooted back, kicked him in the balls then rolled off the bed. As soon as she hit the floor she scrambled up and ran for the door. Before she took two steps, he grabbed her hair and jerked her back. Some of the hair came out, bloody roots and all.

“Don’t try that again.”

She cried more.

Soon he was inside her. His eyes closed, and he smiled. “Have you changed your mind yet?”

She nodded, though the tears remained.

He stopped. Looked closer at her. “No. Not yet you haven’t, but you will.”

He continued, his thrusts more brutal. “Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how much you want me.”

She mumbled.

“Tell me I’m the best.”

More mumbling.

“Perfect, right? I
am
perfect, aren’t I?”

As he hammered away at her, thoughts of the other one popped into his head. Mr. Perfect gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. And then he pounded her. Her face. Her chest. Her stomach and ribs. As he punched her tits, he came, an explosion that left him exhausted.

He took a few seconds to breathe, then he checked her. She was still alive.
Thank God.

Mr. Perfect got his knife from the table and returned to the bed. She was non-responsive, but he would wake her. The steel blade tickled her nose before coming to a rest at the top of her lip. Using his full weight he pressed down, slicing all the way through to the teeth. She tried getting up, eyes bulging and muscles taut. He twisted the blade to the left and again to the right, separating her top lip from her face. Blood went everywhere. Only the tape kept her lip from falling off.

With three more slices, he cut off the bottom lip too, then he removed the tape and put both of the pieces on the table next to his things. She convulsed on the bed, body heaving up and down. He stood above her. “You won’t be telling any more lies, will you?” He shook his head. “No, not with those lips you won’t.” He leaned over her, delivered two stabs to the heart, finishing her, then began cleaning. He washed off using the kitchen sink, then cleaned out the drain and dumped food and then ice cubes in before turning on the garbage disposal. Before leaving he scrubbed everything with bleach to spoil random DNA.

The towel got packed into a sport bag, along with the things he brought. And her lips. He wiped everything down, put the clothes in the bag, then vacuumed. Carefully. Meticulously. He vacuumed the floor, under the bed, the bathroom, and everywhere he had been in the apartment. Then he vacuumed the girl, and under the girl. Afterwards, he dressed in the uniform of a repairman, placed the evidence in a large plastic garbage bag, and took both that and the vacuum with him.

Mr. Perfect put the ear buds and iPod on before opening the door, grabbed the sport bag, the vacuum, and the plastic garbage bag, then went to where his car was parked. He stopped at the dumpster of a restaurant by the mall on the way home, depositing the bags and the vacuum, and the lips. Only a sick person would keep things like that. When he got home he ran for half a mile, no more. Tomorrow was leg day and he didn’t want to be sore.

Chapter 17

Tip and Connie

I
followed directions toward downtown, parked the convertible, and walked into the Harris County Sheriff’s Office. The day was warm, and there were plenty of people, but the city seemed empty compared to New York. Nerves made my stomach churn as I walked into the building and quickly sought out the desk sergeant. Desk sergeants seemed to be the same everywhere. This one was a big Irish-looking guy with a practiced smile.

“Afternoon, Sergeant. I’m here to see Lieutenant Renkin.”

He glanced at me, but that was about it. “He expecting you?” The question rolled off his tongue as if he had asked it a thousand times, and the way he continued writing on a report or a duty roster, convinced me all the more.

“Yes, he’s expecting me.” I offered my hand to shake. “Connie Gianelli—Brooklyn Homicide.”

“Brooklyn, as in New York?” He shook my hand quickly, but his eyes barely left his work.

“That’s the one.”

He picked up the phone and spoke to someone, then finally looked at me. “Laura will be down in a minute. Have a seat.” Before I turned, he asked, almost an afterthought. “Want a drink?”

“I’m good.” I plopped in a chair, picked up a magazine and waited. It had already been a long day. I hoped it didn’t stretch much further.

Five or ten minutes later a long-legged lady in a too-tight skirt came down the steps, teetering on four-inch heels. Fake blonde hair was tied in a bun and her glasses could have doubled for saucers. The smile started as soon as she hit the first floor, growing wider as she crossed the room, hand extended as if she just
had
to shake someone’s hand.

“You must be Ms. Gianelli. I’m Laura Mertz. Did I say your name right?”

I shook hands and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Laura. And, yes, you did fine with my name.”

“That’s good, but if I didn’t you’ll have to excuse me. I always have a hard time with those “eye-talian” names.”

Laura had a lilting Southern accent that I thought existed only in movies. I followed her up the steps, wondering where it was I had crossed universes. At the same time I reminded myself that I was the guest. These people would probably have the same difficulty if they came to Brooklyn.
Hell, people from Jersey have trouble with Brooklyn.

“Nice weather you’ve got,” I said.

“It’s a little chilly, but yes, it’s been nice.”

Laura led me down a hall where a middle-aged woman sat at a large desk guarding the door. A name plate identified her as Susie.

“Hi, Susie. This is Ms. Gin…” Laura blushed and turned to me. “I’m not going to try and get it right again. You tell her.”

“Gianelli.”

Susie smiled. “Thanks, Laura.” She stood and shook hands. “Susie Morgan. We spoke on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I remember. Great to be here.”

Susie walked around her desk, heading to a corner office and tapped on the door. She cracked it open, peered inside, and waved me on. “The lieutenant is waiting.”

I blushed when my stomach growled, but I followed Susie in and headed straight for the desk. “Lieutenant Renkin, I’m Connie Gianelli. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Renkin stood to greet me. He was big man, maybe eight to ten inches above my five foot six, and probably twice my weight. He was charcoal black with warm eyes, a genuine smile, and a welcoming voice.

“Have a nice flight?”

“I did, sir. Thanks.”

I’d seen a lot of smiles like his since I’d been in Texas. Quite a difference from New York. “The flight gave me time to think and get ready for this case.” I sat in the chair and got comfortable. “I’m looking forward to working on this.”

“And we’re glad to have you, Detective, but I want to hear you tell me that again after you meet your new partner.”

Confusion and a warning settled on me. “I thought you told me he was your best man?”

“I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell you he could sometimes be an ass.”

My eyebrows raised and my forehead wrinkled. “In what way?”

“He can’t keep his mouth shut. Not about anything.” Renkin shook his head. “I said that wrong. He’d never leak a case file; in fact, he’s a little fanatical about that, something you need to know. What I meant was how he can’t shut up when given an order he doesn’t like. And he tends to be a wise ass when it comes to women, although I’m slowly breaking him of that habit.”