Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) (14 page)

“Seems kind of open to the world, doesn’t it?” I wouldn’t have expected the level of detail. I felt enough paranoia to cover my screen. “Is this safe?”

Nerd fixed me with an amused look. And it wasn’t the usual eye-rolling “nerd teaching girl how to format a spreadsheet” look; there was some surprise in it. “You’re catching on. Caution is best,” he said. “But these are safe. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have them.”

“You’re sure?” I repeated, concern in my tone.

“I’m sure,” he said. This time I got Nerd’s condescending and slightly irritated look. “Don’t forget, none of what you see there is indexed. Your average user won’t just accidentally come upon any of these links. I did some extra work so my program would filter what I think you’re looking for. ‘Curate’ sounds even better.”

“But the level of detail?” I added. I was beyond impressed but eager to get started.

“I guess criminals want to know what they’re buying too,” he laughed. “How about that one? I saw it last night before leaving. And it’s local.” I moved the cursor down to Nerd’s finger and clicked on the post.

Ax to grind—Want to finish the job?

“Looks like this one was posted last week,” I said, having no idea what constituted an old post in this criminal world. “Only one person interested?”

“The original post is real enough,” he replied, seeming not to take undue notice as he busied himself on his own screen.

“Ax to grind . . .” I mumbled. “But maybe I’ll keep shopping. Sounds too messy.” I scrolled down the page, tiring quickly of seeing the same type of announcements:
Some like it dead
.
Kill my boss. Got a beef?

“That one is new,” Nerd said, glancing at the screen. I stopped scrolling and highlighted a post titled:
A little bit of justice
.

“And sounds like it might fit with our company’s mission statement,” he said, winking.

The details of the post offered a contract on one Todd Wilts. Price: five figures, exact amount to be negotiated. Seems that Todd Wilts had been the fortunate benefactor of a court system fuck-up and had been released on a technicality.

“Given a twenty-year sentence, released after serving less than a year. That doesn’t sound right.”

“No, that doesn’t sound right,” Nerd said, repeating my sentiment. “That sounds fucked up.”

I thought of the pedophile who had been released on a technicality Steve had told me about. I could still hear Steve’s voice in my head: “I can only imagine what that fat bastard is doing. Laughing at us, for one thing.” I thought for a moment the post was for the same pedophile, but the name didn’t ring a bell. Technicality or not, same name or not, I licked my lips, hungry. I stared at the post, unwrapping it with my eyes like it was a gift. Something leaped up inside me then—a dark sense of caution. I yanked my hand back involuntarily, as if the mouse were buzzing with dangerous radiation.

“I don’t want to sound stupid, but how do we know the police aren’t looking at this too?” I thought back to what I had seen in Steve’s case files and desperately searched my memory for anything similar to what was on my screen. Empty. I found nothing. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a division that spent its days doing exactly what we were doing now.

“Part of the risk, I suppose,” Nerd replied with uncertainty and lifted his shoulders, shrugging. “I’ll be honest, this is outside of my realm. These aren’t the type of jobs that I pick up. I guess that is why the prices are so high.”

I pushed my concerns away, deciding I’d try to find out more from Steve—indirectly, of course. He’d mentioned a recent move to a “new system.” He hated the week of training that came with it, saying he could have done more in that one week than months with the new system. All I could think of while he talked was having access to all those cases, in one place. The old and new. The solved and unsolved. Goose bumps sprang up on my legs and arms.

What if Nerd had access?
I wondered.
Buttons? Could he find out if the police had my buttons?

“Amelia?” I heard Nerd say. “Amelia?” I looked at him curiously, but then remembered Amelia was the name I’d told him to use.

“Can we find out more?” I asked. “You know . . .”

“Will the world miss him?” Nerd answered for me. “Give me a minute.”

The possibility of what might come of this sparked the familiar anticipation that grew into a small flame. The possibility of taking on my first “case” was suddenly real, and I wanted to know more. I opened a browser and began to type a search in for Todd Wilts.

“Whoa!” Nerd said, pulling the keyboard from beneath my fingers. “Listen, don’t forget where you are. Or what browser you’re searching with.” He closed the window and fixed me with a firm look, rocking his head back and forth. Embarrassment rushed through me.

“Oh my God. How stupid,” I said, grimacing. My cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t fatal,” he answered glumly. “Not this time, anyway. You can search, but use the tools on the flash drive. No traces.”

I nodded, understanding, but I still felt rattled by the stupidity of my mistake. “Did you find anything?” I asked, deciding to leave the deeper searches to Nerd.

“In fact, I did,” he answered as he turned his monitor in my direction. “What we’ve got here in Todd Wilts is a rapist who prefers the younger teenage girls. Convicted on multiple charges of assault and raping a fifteen-year-old. He claimed it was consensual on account of having met her in a bar, but the DA made a case and got the conviction.”

“And the young girl?” I asked, but immediately wished I hadn’t. This wasn’t about her. It was about him, and that was who I needed to focus on.

Nerd fidgeted a little in his chair, having become restless with the questions. He cleared his throat and scrolled down the page. “Okay, so the young victim was found across from where the attack took place. She was naked, viciously beaten, raped, and—”

“Never mind,” I said, cutting him off, regretting that I’d asked. “We don’t need to know any more.”

“A young girl like that, I’m surprised that he survived in prison even that long. I thought they would have eaten him up.”

“Is the job search going well?” I heard from behind the computers. There was the librarian, lights glinting off her glasses like a cat’s eye shine. She was craning her neck, trying to glance at our screens.

“It’s going wonderfully,” I answered, offering an enthusiastic smile.

“That’s great to hear,” she answered, retreating and moving on. “Won’t be long, now. You’ll see.”

“That was close,” I told Nerd.

“Nah,” Nerd said, waving a hand toward her. “Wouldn’t know what she was looking at, anyway.”

“Who’s the post from?” I asked, letting the thrill finally reach my voice. Todd Wilts could be our first mark, our first paying gig. “Wait, wait—that was a stupid question. Never mind about who. Just tell me what to do if we want to make a move on this one.”

“We won’t know who. We should
never
know. That’s the beauty of it,” he added. Nerd leaned against his chair and ran his fingers through a thatched mess of black hair. “Protects all parties.”

“I understand,” I said, agreeing. “I’m voting we take the job.”

He turned his monitor back around and rapidly tapped on the keyboard, popping up screen after screen—all of them were unfamiliar to me. “So we’re going to do this? I mean, we’re actually going to take this one?”

I fingered the screen, “Is that me?” Nerd had brought up a reply cursor; he was waiting for me to narrate a response. But what I noticed was my profile picture: a faceless, gray-filled, and oval-round, unisex being with the name Candy Cane beneath it. I cringed. “Candy Cane?”

“Seemed a festive name,” Nerd said and snorted a short laugh. “I mean, given the time of year we’re coming into. Don’t worry, these profile names never stay around for more than a few weeks.”

“I hate that name,” I told him, “A few weeks is all?”

“We’re not looking to make friends, you know,” he said in a sharp tone. “Just business. And we’ll never meet anyone. That’d be the beginning of the end of this if we did.”

“Except for . . . well, you know . . . the mark,” I added. “So, what do we say?”

Nerd turned back and tapped the keyboard with one finger. He spelled one word:
I
nterested.

“Done,” he answered. “And now we wait.”

“That’s it?” The rush I’d experienced quickly dissipated, like a sudden bedroom interruption. “Seems a bit casual, a bit platonic. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, well, that’s it,” he repeated. “I don’t know about platonic, but there’s nothing
casual
about it. If I had to guess, we’ve just broken a dozen laws, maybe more. And at least a few of them are enough to put us away for a while. Orange jumpsuits and all. Do you like orange?”

I shook my head and assured him, “We’re careful.” The words felt right, but the enormity of the risk made my face flush like with a fever. “How long do you think?” I asked, staring at our reply. It was there alone, listed as one of one, and showed just beneath the original posting.

Would there be competition? Was that how this worked? A bidding war?

“Shouldn’t be long. Gives us some time to get things started.”

“Time to get started?” I asked impatiently. I stared at the post, expecting to see an immediate response. After all, we’d put ourselves out there. We’d stuck our necks on the line. I’d never felt more vulnerable. I hadn’t realized it at first, but I was getting off on the risk. I was high, running on a rush. Just the idea of the police barging through the library’s heavy doors at any moment left me squirming in my chair.

“Time for you to figure out
how
,” Nerd answered, and it came to me then that I’d only just crossed the bridge into an entirely new world. “Just don’t forget to use the tools.”

“Oh, I won’t,” I answered, tilting my head back and winking at him. “I think I’m going to be here awhile.”

“You search on the how, and I’ll work on the where and when.”

“The logistics,” I added.

“The logistics,” Nerd repeated.

W
HILE WE WAITED
for a reply—Nerd had given no estimated time beyond “not long”—it was my turn to figure out the how. And the answer was hidden somewhere behind one of those yellow links. An open market was the only way to describe what I saw on the screen. According to Nerd, everything and anything illegal was up for grabs. I only needed to make a decision and click a button to buy my “wares.” As to how we would pay for my first murder weapon? Well, that detail I left up to Nerd. I suspected these sites wouldn’t have the kind of digital shopping cart I was used to.

Nerd fed me specifics about our potential mark. I took mental notes, repeating what he said in a whisper, all the while wishing I could draw up a Killing Katie–type design. I needed something to help me think it through. Within moments, I was lost in the computer’s equivalent of pencil and paper, listing a few notable items to help spur a plan.

The first link I clicked was all about metal: pure metal. From guns to knives to metal-forged weaponry I didn’t recognize or have the first idea how to use.

“Too complicated,” I said, closing the window. I wasn’t planning on going to war, and had no interest in anything messy. I’d had enough of messy already.

Another window brought me to a list of bomb-making instructions and kitchen recipes, showing me how to mix up a batch of what looked like a doughy gray block of Play-Doh.

“Too loud,” I complained. “Wouldn’t use
that
with the Play-Doh Fun Factory!” While the idea of a car bomb intrigued me enough to make me glance over the designs, the thought of the explosion and destruction felt obnoxious. “Not for me.”

What I wanted had to be quiet, had to be sexy, sneaky—the kind of attack that my mark would never see coming. And better yet, that would make sure nobody ever knew I had been there. I raised my chin, searching the library’s ceiling for an idea. When my gaze settled on some intricate designs in the plaster, I had an epiphany. I needed a quiet killer, a cancer. No smell or touch, but 100 percent effective.

“That’s it!” I chirped, jumping high enough in my seat to turn Nerd’s head. I’d found our strategy. Our market differentiator—to coin one of those terms I’d learned in college.

“Did you find something?”

“Not quite,” I answered. “But I found the approach. In fact, I found the strategy we’ll use for
all
of them.” In the entire history of assassins, I’m sure the idea of a quiet approach wasn’t exactly new or profound. But it was new to me and was how I’d go about my Killing Katie design for Todd Wilts.

“Whatever you’re cooking up, it’s gotta be big,” Nerd added.

“Big?” I asked, confused. “Why? What have you found?” I settled back into my seat and looked at his monitor to see what he was concerned about.

“The man is enormous!” he exclaimed.

His words fell silent then as we both stared at the image he had found—my mouth gaped open as I considered how I was going to kill a monster. My thoughts then went to the fifteen-year-old he’d attacked. What monsters did
she
still see at night?

“You’re going to need a canon for a gun.”

“Might be that my new strategy is the best way to do this,” I muttered.

“Stealth?” Nerd replied, sniggering.

“Poison,” I said solemnly, stiffening my voice.

“Poison . . .” Nerd considered.

“The yellows,” I began. “Do you know how to buy from the links?” Nerd cocked his head and sneered as though I’d just insulted him.

“Of course I do. I’ve got enough Bitcoin to buy just about anything in the yellow!” he exclaimed. I was confused by some of his jargon, but trusted that Nerd could deliver. He shifted in his seat, his head wobbling. “Maybe not
anything
, but plenty that’s out there. Tell me what to get. I can have it in a few days.”

“A few days?” I asked, trying not to show my surprise. “I’ve just got one item in mind.”

Nerd’s eyebrows stitched together, listening. “Just one?” he asked.

“We need a poison that is fast acting—and, considering his size, it has to be strong in a small dose. Got that?”