In the Nick of Time (88 page)

“Name it.” Nick smirked.

“Go to Tit-For-Tat, okay? They’ve got real good apple fritters.”

“I thought you were on a diet? Don’t you want some bagels and lox? Maybe an egg white omelet… some shit like that,” Nick teased.

“No, you son of a bitch, I want the shit packed with calories and sugar and then I want a big ass cup of Starbucks coffee, too… I’ve been up all night!”

“I don’t have time to stop at Starbucks, man! Drink the fuckin’ Folgers! What? You think you’re special or something? Folgers too good for you?”

“Do you want these rental car records or not?”

“You got me over a fuckin’ barrel…” He grimaced. “Alright, deal, you greedy bastard.”

“And get
four
coffees, not just one ’cause I gotta pull three other guys to help me. You owe us all… this will be damn near impossible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m calling back in fifteen minutes exactly and if you don’t have the information, all you’re getting is a kick in the teeth.” And then he disconnected the call…

Nick stood outside
the single-family home at Ozone Park in Queens, New York. The white house with wine-colored awnings looked inconspicuous, the kind of residence no one would give a second glance to. There was nothing particularly interesting or off-putting about the place. Rather, it appeared nondescript and mundane with the white fence surrounding the house, protecting it from the outside world. The faded green lawn had been cut evenly, flat topped, as if done with a magical pair of sheers. The scene didn’t look much like a showcase area, a place to create a display.

…But I bet he likes to stay low-key…

A Mr. Christopher Allen lived there…

The suspect had rented a silver Impala several times in the last few months, as well as other cars he switched between. His license was valid, his record squeaky clean like a damn rubber ducky. The man now rented a white Nissan, which was parked in the skinny serving of driveway leading to his place.

Nick sniffed the air; the scent of car exhaust imbued the area. He moved an arm instinctively to his leg, feeling the slight pressure from his .40 caliber. A television satellite dish was mounted onto the roof, and the white shingles appeared worn from harsh weather. As he stepped a bit closer, he took note of the window treatments. Snow white, bulky, possibly costly. All curtains were drawn shut, with the exception of two that were open enough to afford a glance within—as if just beyond them lay a display worthy of being peeked at, and inviting a person close enough to see… Still, he stood too far away to make it all out.

Outside is nothing magical, right? The outside is where all the filth stays. Inside is where the party happens, huh? Chris, are you the King, baby? Collecting brown dolls from my stomping grounds? Are you stealing from my hood?

He kept his eyes on the action or lack thereof. Then, pulling out his phone from his pants pocket, he dialed.

“Nick, what are you doing? You told me you were just going to go into work this morning but would call me when you got there… Of course, I didn’t hear back from you.”

“Warrior Flower,” he greeted her. “I’ll be at your fashion show tonight, okay?”

“Mmmm hmmmm.” She didn’t hide her disbelief.

“Look, something important is kinda going on, okay? I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yeah?” He could hear the smile in her tone.

“Did you like dolls as a little girl?”

“Nick,
what
? I don’t have time for this! I have all this stuff to do for the show tonight!”

“Just answer the question, baby, and I’ll be outta your hair.”

“Oh, you got jokes?”

He burst out laughing. “Come on, Taryn!”

“Why? What are you doing? You’ve been acting so strange… I thought you’d be happy to see me back in town but all you did was make love to me, got on your computers, and then you kept mumbling and talking to yourself all night!”

“Baby, I just need an answer.” He grimaced as he looked both ways and pushed on the fence gate, letting himself in for a closer inspection.

“They were okay, I guess. Believe it or not, that wasn’t really my thing, but yeah, I had some.”

“Did you collect any?”

“I had a few that I liked and wanted… Barbie dolls mostly.”

“Uh huh…” He moved a bit closer, squinting, trying to make out items just inside the windows that seemed partially covered with salt debris and dirt from the rough winter that had recently passed.

“Did you have a doll house?”

“Yeah, but I was more into their clothes. The dollhouse didn’t matter much to me.”

Figures.

“Mmmm, in your doll house, would you place the dolls all over or in just one area of it?”

“Nick! Are you going to tell me what’s going on? All these strange questions!”

They could be anywhere in there!

“Taryn, please! Just humor me…ugh…” He grunted, straining to get a better look through one window that was caked with so much outside dirt, nothing could be seen. He walked to the side of the place and stepped on a rock trying to see inside another window, this one offering more promise.

“I don’t remember, Nick. Like I said, I was more into what they were wearing but I imagine they’d be all over the house.”

“Okay… yeah. As a girl, a woman, if you were into dolls and doll houses and you wanted to hide your collection from someone, like a friend of yours, where would you put them so she couldn’t see them? Like, if you had to actually hide them inside of the doll house.”

“Well, in a regular house, the attic or basement, but doll houses don’t have attics or basements usually… so, I’d put them under something I suppose.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bed or couch. Somewhere closed off, hidden, you know?”

“Mmm hmmm, thanks baby…” He abruptly ended the call and slicked it back in his pocket, certain he’d be hearing about his impossible rudeness later that evening.

There’s no movement, no activity in there… but I know he’s inside… I can almost smell him.

He looked up and took notice of a cylinder, the thing spray-painted white to blend in just so with the wall behind it. It hung right by the front door, a small camera pointed in the opposite direction under the awning…

A camera? Why do you have a camera, King Christopher? Do you have something to hide? Cameras lie…

He turned his attention back towards the window. Leaning in close, he squinted, adjusted his eyesight—and there it all was. Just as he suspected, the place was pristine. Nice, clean, light tan couch, puce-colored throw rugs with silky fringes, a glossy dark wooden coffee table with a lavender runner across the length of it, and a silver tea set atop it, placed just as if drinks would be soon served.

I bet he’ll be leaving for work soon…

He checked the time, looked about, and hissed.

Shit! Work!

Stomping back to his car, he quickly got inside and watched the house from a short distance. He’d fallen under the spell, engulfed by the rush of adrenaline, and lost track of time.

“Hey, let Captain know I’ll be a few minutes late… got something to take care of.”

“Where’s my damn coffee, Nick? It’s almost seven o’clock! I’m dyin’ here!”

“I’ll have it soon!” He disconnected the call, growing weary of this talk of hot drinks and pastries. Tossing Mike’s demands out of his mind, he waited, bided his time, and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he sank deep into the moment, his excitement growing.

After a few minutes, the iron wrought front door opened, revealing a man wearing a lightweight beige jacket, loose dark brown pants, and possibly tan loafers. He sported short, dark brown hair, cut perfectly in a school-boy sort of way, the side parting straighter than a ruler. The guy turned and locked his front door, tugged on it a time or two, his shoulders slumped, to ensure it was bolted to his satisfaction before he walked to the Nissan and slid inside the driver’s seat. After a short while, during which he seemed to be arranging some items on the passenger’s seat, he started the car and drove away down the street, not the least bit aware that a monster lurked only a mere few feet away…

And the monster was ready to go inside the dollhouse and play…

T
hat should do
it… He sighed as he plopped two more batteries in an inside jacket pocket.

Nick canvassed the house, looking for people,
any
sign of life, only to find himself right back on the first floor with nothing to show for it. He smirked, not surprised that things would become rather complicated, pose another layer to the game. His first line of defense consisted of disabling the remote peepers…

He inspected the usual spots people tend to hide and mount the things in—behind plants, beside pictures, in the corners, high and low—and after discovering a rather disturbing number of camera hookups, he took action. This wasn’t the work of a technically savvy person, yet not that of a lackluster, wannabe professional, either. Despite the somewhat sloppy job, it made his inspection go quicker. The wiring was crude, the mounting fragile, so he managed to cut right through it, disabling it just so without a hitch. At last, he found the antiquated VCR hooked up in a first floor half bath. He grabbed the tape, hoping to see a clue or two, and cover his own damn tracks just in case.

He’d had harder jobs as a teen thief racing between tall buildings in a single, thugged out bound and entering apartment dwelling after apartment dwelling, hoping no one pulled a gun out on him, but kind of hoping someone did. This was a piece of cake… yes, cake…

A chocolate cake set under a crystal clear glass dome. It set atop the dining room table, sliced strawberries all around the frosting, the delicious, vibrant red fruit glistening as if dipped in melted sugar. The entire house smelled like a bakery, in addition to a strong floral aroma. Nick slid the two black bobby pins back in his back pocket as he continued his investigative journey, pleased that he still recalled how to pop a lock, and in record time. The man didn’t have an active alarm system; most likely, he didn’t want the police coming to his damn house in case it was accidentally tripped.