Evil Ways (24 page)

Fenton and Colleen listened to doors slamming again, and soon a shackled Vincent Israel was brought into the interrogation room.

Colleen glanced toward the surveillance camera mounted high on one wall. The little red light that had glowed during their last visit was out. The camera, as requested, has been turned off.

Once the guard had left the room, Israel gave them the ratty grin again. "So, you guys decide that you're gonna get me a piece of ass? Dine in or carry out, either one works for me."

"That's a ridiculous demand, and you fucking know it," Fenton said. "We came back to see if you decided to be more reasonable, and ask for something we can actually provide."

Israel gave them raised eyebrows. "That all? Too bad you wasted your time. Didn't waste mine, though. Me, I got all the time in the world."

He stood up, and turned toward the door through which he'd just entered.

"Sit the fuck down!" Fenton snapped. "I'll tell you when it's time for you to leave."

Israel looked at Fenton for a moment, then plopped back down in the cheap plastic chair. He stared from one of them to the other, back and forth a couple of times. "So?"

Fenton turned to Colleen, his face impassive. After a second's hesitation, she nodded. Without another word, Fenton stood up and left the room, closing the iron door behind him.

Israel looked at Colleen, and a grin, much more genuine than the usual smirk, spread across his face. "I sure hope this means what I think it means."

"You told us you know the name of the rich guy that hired Pardee shortly before you got busted," she said, her voice a little husky.

"That's right, honey." The happy grin was still in place. "I know his name, and a guy with that much cash, he shouldn't be hard for you feds to track down. Hell, just ask the IRS
—he's probably their biggest customer. Either that, or they're trying to put him inside, for not paying all the taxes he owes."

"And you'll give me that name, if I fuck you."

The latter part of that sentence seemed to hang in the air, and Israel relished it, like a wine snob sniffing a nice Bordeaux. "You got it, sweet buns." The grin was, if possible, even wider now. "And no blowjobs
—I can get that in here for a carton of smokes. Just close my eyes and pretend it's Angelina Jolie." Israel shook his head a couple of times. "Uh-uh. Gotta be the real deal." He tilted his head a little to the side as he devoured her with his eyes. "You
are
serious about this?"

Colleen stood, and took a step back from the table. "I'll show you how serious I am." The huskiness in her voice was stronger now. She reached down, grasped a fistful of her full skirt with each hand. Then she slowly raised the garment, until the hem was above her crotch.

The grin on Israel's face was gone, replaced by a look of longing that might have been pathetic under other circumstances. "My God, look at that beautiful thing," he said, softly. "And you even shaved it for me. That's nice. That's real nice."

Colleen let the skirt drop back in place. Trying hard for a flirtatious tone, she asked, "Like what you saw?"

The grin was back in place now. "Like it?" Israel looked down at the crotch of his prison-issue jeans. "Honey, that boner I just got didn't appear on its own. Yeah, I guess you could say I like it."

"All right, then," Colleen made herself say. "It's yours
—one time."

Israel licked his lips. "Okay, first thing," he said, "let's get these shackles off me. I wanna feel you all over, baby."

"Uh-uh," Colleen said. "The shackles stay on. We'll just have to manage, somehow." She took in and exhaled a deep breath, staring hard into the man's eyes. In the most seductive voice she could manage, she said, "If I do this, if I let you stick your big, hard cock inside my wet pussy, and fuck me 'til I come real hard, over and over, you'll give me the name of Pardee's boss."

Israel's voice was a little husky now, too. "That's right, baby. I'll shout it from the fuckin' rooftops, that's what you want."

Then Colleen said, putting as much
push
into the words as she could, "You go first. Tell me his name,
now.'"

Israel opened his mouth, then quickly closed it again. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, like a wet dog shaking water off itself. Then he opened his eyes and stared at Colleen. "What the fuck was
that?
Some kind of hypnotism?"

Colleen was silent, not letting her disappointment show. She'd thought she had a good chance, using a strong
push
on Israel, to get the name out of him when he was so excited. If it had worked, she would, with no regret whatever, have declined to keep her part of the bargain. Deals with the devil allow cheating on both sides
—that was the way Colleen looked at it.

But a
push
did not work on everyone, as Colleen knew from both training and experience. Some people were very suggestible, some moderately so, and others not at all.

It was now clear that Vincent Israel was in the third category.
Fuck!

Israel looked at her speculatively. "Is that what you had in mind, honey? Get me all worked up, then try some kind of hypnotic
mojo
on me? There's a guy in here, kind of a buddy of mine. Before they caught him fucking his baby daughter, he used to do a mentalist act with some carny. Knows a lot about hypnotism. He tells me I'm a lousy subject for it." The grin was back in place. "Guess you'll really have to come across, now."

She stood looking at him, her face expressionless, for the space of a slow count to ten. Then she reached for her bag, rummaged inside for a moment, and tossed something onto the table: a foil-wrapped Durex condom.

Colleen O'Donnell reached behind her, unzipped her skirt with one quick motion, and let it fall to the floor.

Eleanor Robb was in her kitchen, heating up a saucepan of canned soup for lunch, when the phone rang.

"Ellie? It's Rachel Harvey."

"Hi, Rachel." Ellie Robb hesitated. "I can tell from your voice that you're not bearing good news."

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. Almost everyone in the Circle is, as they say, either present or accounted for."

"And?"

"Eight of our sisters have died in the last six weeks, Ellie. All either by murder, or a damned suspicious accident."

"Mother of Mercy!"

"And there are three more gone missing. But since they didn't respond to repeated summonses from me, I think we have to assume the worst."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. We must count them as lost to us, as well." Ellie sounded weary.

"Everyone else is all right, and taking all possible precautions. Interestingly, there have been no attempts made upon anyone within the last four days."

"Hmmm. I wonder if that means that our defenses, now that they've been alerted, are keeping them away, or"
—Ellie's voice was suddenly bitter—"if they've simply had enough of our blood to sate them."

"I wish I knew which it was, Ellie. I really do."

"Well, maybe some of the sisters will have useful information to share when the Circle comes together tonight. Uh, Rachel?"

"What?"

"Is Libby Chastain among the dead or missing?"

"No, she accepted the automatic writing. She was alive, as of this morning."

"All right, good. The lives of all our sisters are valuable, and dear to me. But Libby has some interesting contacts outside the Sisterhood who may be useful in trying to solve this… mystery."

"That man Morris she sometimes works with."

"Him, and others. We can discuss this with Libby tonight. Oh, and one more thing."

"Uh-huh?"

"I know I don't have to tell you this, but indulge me. Please be sure your physical form is secure and protected while your essence is with the Circle tonight."

"Yes, mother."

Ellie managed to produce the smallest of laughs. "All right, Rachel, I'll see you tonight. And thanks for all your efforts."

"I live but to serve," Rachel said. "Later, then."

"Bye."

Eleanor Robb turned the heat off under her soup. Her appetite for lunch was gone. She sat down at her kitchen table, buried her head in her folded arms, and wept for the dead.

Colleen Bridget O'Donnell, Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and a white witch of no small ability, lay half on her back on a stained and battered prison interview table, her legs wrapped around Vincent Israel's waist, and let him fuck her.

Although between boyfriends currently, Colleen had what most people would describe as a healthy sex life. Thanks to help from some of her Sisters, and years spent seeing a good therapist, Colleen was able to enjoy consensual, passionate, loving, orgasmic sex, when she chose to.

But she also knew how to just lie there and let a man fuck her. Her father had taught her that, both early and well.

Colleen had not lied to Fenton about her ability to disassociate. Both her ugly personal history and the magical training she'd received from the Sisterhood had taught her how to send her mind off to a Good Place, no matter what was being done to her body. And she wished she could go there right now, but she had a job to do, and it had little to do with Vincent Israel's thrusting and grunting. Sexual intercourse is the most intimate thing that two people can do, physically. It creates a connection while it is occurring, and the connection goes beyond genital friction, no matter what the circumstances. And some individuals know how to tap into that connection. Colleen O'Donnell was one of them.

Objectively, Colleen was lying half naked on her back while a shackled criminal rammed his penis into her. But she transcended that. With all the skill that her Sisters had patiently taught her, she carefully reached out to Vincent Israel's mind.

It took about three minutes, all told, before Israel's breathing began to quicken into short gasps that came faster and faster, until he groaned like a man in pain and thrust into Colleen harder than ever. Then, mercifully, it was over.

Even then, Colleen's work wasn't finished. She had to remove the condom from Israel's rapidly shrinking penis and, with no small amount of disgust, tie a knot in it, wrap it in some tissue, and stash it in her purse for disposal later. Having someone find it in this room's trash could raise the wrong kind of questions.

It took Colleen only a few seconds to get her skirt back on and zipped. But Israel was hampered by the shackles, and she had to help pull up his dirty undershorts and jeans, which had been pooled around his ankles. She left him to do the zipping and buttoning himself.

When Israel looked more or less the way he had when he was brought in (barring the flush on his face and the shit-eating grin), Colleen said briskly, "We shouldn't have to sit down again. All I need is a name. Who does Pardee work for?"

"Can I ask you something, first?"

"Make it quick."

"Was it good for you, too?" The giggle that followed was almost enough to make Colleen vomit, even though she had deliberately skipped breakfast.

"No," she said flatly. "Now answer mine. Pardee's employer."

Israel said, "You know, it was right on the tip of my tongue when I came in, but I just can't seem to remember it now. It'll come to me though, don't you worry." The smirk he wore was the kind you want to wipe off, preferably with a chainsaw.

"Why don't you come on back tomorrow, but this time leave your nigger boyfriend behind. And, uh, wear the same outfit. You never know what might jar my memory."

Colleen just stared at him. Finally, she said in a soft, emotionless voice, "Pardee would be proud of you."

"You think?" More of the giggle.

"Absolutely. And so would his boss, Walter Grobius."

Israel gaped at her, but Colleen just turned away and walked out of the room, ignoring the shouted "Hey! Wait!" from behind her.

Fenton was a little way down the hall, making chit-chat with the guard who had brought Israel in, while managing to stand between the man and the door of the interrogation room. As soon as Colleen opened the door, Fenton and the guard both looked her way. Colleen walked up to them and said to the guard, "I've finished questioning the prisoner, officer. You can bring him back to his cell now, if you would."

The guard said, "Yes, ma'am, thank you," nodded amicably to Fenton, and went into the room Colleen had just left.

"Let's go," she said to Fenton. As they walked side by side down the corridor, Fenton kept sneaking glances at her. Finally, he said, "Are you all right, Colleen? Can I do… I mean is there anything… Aw, fuck, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

She gave him a small but affectionate smile. "It's okay, Dale. I know." She gave his arm a quick squeeze. "Well, there are three pieces of good news."

"Yeah? Let's hear 'em."

"One, it's over. Two, I'm okay, so try to relax a little. And three, it paid off."

"He told you? The motherfucker gave you the name."

"Yes, he did, and I'd bet my next three paychecks that he was telling the truth. Pardee works for, or at least used to work for, one Walter Grobius."

"That name rings some kind of bell, but faintly," Fenton said. "The phrase that popped into my head when you said it was
shit rich."

"I read a magazine article that mentioned Grobius, a while back. If I remember it right,
shit rich
is something of an understatement."

"Sounds like somebody who can afford to have this bastard Pardee on the payroll. Speaking of which, I've got a weird coincidence for you."

"I'm all ears," she said.

"While you were, uh, you know, in there, I got a text message from our friend Morris."

"We haven't heard a lot out of him, so far. I hope he's putting some effort into his end of the investigation."

"Well, the text I got would suggest that he is."

"You've milked it for suspense enough, Dale. What did it say?"

"It said, quote, 'Need all info you can find on Lewis Pardee, ASAP.'"

"Well, well." Colleen did not slow her pace. "We can call him and see what he's got, but first we are going to drive back to the hotel at the maximum safe and legal speed, so that I can take off these clothes, which I may burn later, and get in the shower, where I plan to spend quite some time."

"Don't blame you for that. Hell, I'll even turn on the siren for you."

"That's sweet, Dale, thank you. But let's not call a lot of attention to ourselves today."

"Okay fine. Uh, Colleen?"

"If you're going to keep asking me if I'm all right
—"

"No, that wasn't it. I was just curious about something, but if you don't want to talk about it, that's cool."

"Try me."

"Well, that bastard Israel could've just told you to fuck off, or maybe said that Pardee's an elf, works for that criminal mastermind, Santa Claus, some shit like that. Once he'd already… you know… how'd you get him to tell you?"

"It was easy, Dale. I just made him an offer he couldn't refuse."