Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (13 page)

Adrenaline pumps. This is the best part. One quick blow to the temple at extremely close range. That will do it. My best backhand. That will leave her stunned and confused, enough to push her into the trunk already unlocked, open and waiting. Just like the other two. Totally unsuspecting.

At precisely the perfect moment, she turns the corner. She begins walking in my direction, smoking another foul cigarette. A fuzzy sensation washes over me, a ripple of curious satisfaction. Almost sexual. This one will be my best yet!

I imagine the tiny patch of hair hidden between her legs, soft and blonde and light to the touch. Like a feather. I conjure up a fantasy of her shaving for the first time, encouraging seduction, imitating the refined qualities of her genteel Mother. A Southern woman of uncommonly good breeding who’s inherited everything she owns by spreading her legs and positioning herself in a supine position. Those tiny, bleached white panties. They should be red. This one is no virgin. She’s used goods. I know that for a fact. I’ve been following this lamb for weeks. Gathering information. Getting her ready for the slaughter. I picked her specifically for that reason. She’s pregnant. With seed. It was vital. For this particular ritual, the chosen had to be with child. So, I picked a real whore, not some phony imitation. I had to make sure. What better way?

No mistakes…

In fact, I know her boyfriend. One of them, anyway. This one likes being soiled. I actually watched her. What a sick sight that was.

One more block…

She approaches. So unaware. So blindly innocent. I watch as she crosses the street, under the shade of a huge palmetto tree. Sunlight weaves staccato patterns upon her face.

Half a block…

I take a speedy glance around. As hoped for, no one is around. Anywhere. Not a living soul. No excuse to mess up this time. Not a chance. I see my rental, excellently positioned across the street. Waiting. And ready. I remember parking here earlier this morning. How lucky I was in finding the perfect parking space. An omen, again, of good things to come. How jittery I was. Nervous. Excited. The prospects before me.

By habit, she crosses the street. Right by the fire hydrant, directly opposite the front of my car. I step off the curb. My heart is beating wildly. I check in both directions for traffic. Clear. We should intersect approximately… I check my watch… out of habit…

Shit!

The bright red slash across my wrist. The cut is open and bleeding…

Where is the napkin?

Without thinking, I stash my hand back into the bottom of my pocket. I loosen my grip on the weight and search my coat, sifting through the detritus, all the while watching as she draws closer. Closer. I remain calm. Composed. Careful.

Timing… timing…

She passes by me at arm’s length, submerged in her own somber mood. Can I smell her? Should I turn around and come up on her from behind, while she’s unsuspecting? No. Not that way! I like it when they know. I like seeing the stunned expression on their faces. That jolt of terror that comes over them. The confusion in their eyes as they slowly wash away and lose consciousness. She didn’t even smile as she passed by me. She must not have recognized me. Her savior. God. All she did was drop the butt of her cigarette at my feet. How awful. She didn’t even bother to put it out. Thankfully, she didn’t look up.

I’m frantic.

Where’s my napkin?

I turn, just in time to see the Princess’s backpack round the next corner. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Please forgive me.

What’s worse, I’ve lost my bloody napkin.

No mistakes this time… no mistakes!

I turn around and around in circles. I scan the ground. Feel dizzy. I pick up the cigarette butt and place it in my pocket. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. I must remember to throw it away properly in a trash can. I retrace my steps; I check every crevice, each crack of the sidewalk, the street I recently crossed. Nothing.

You can’t afford a second mistake, stupid!

I hate it when plans don’t go as intended. Everything must be perfect. Meticulous.

I return to the Battery. I follow the same progression of streets, careful not to miss a turn or a crossing. Almost eight thirty when I arrive and still no luck. No napkin. More people have flooded into the park. An explosion of pedestrians. They are enjoying the weather, the sun, the day. I see an orange box kite floating in the sky.

I hate it.

Leisurely, I stroll back to the Princess’s house and stand at her front gate. It’s important, not attracting any attention. There, wadded up on the sidewalk is my used napkin, what’s left of it, anyway. Large black crows have gathered. They take turns pecking at the debris as if it might hold a surprise inside.

“Shoo!” I wave the birds away with my good hand and pick up the loose shreds of the red stained paper. They caw and squawk as they hop away on to the street and take flight, angry and frustrated and annoyed. I deposit the napkin and cigarette butt into a trash receptacle.

All that remains of my wasted day.

I’ve lost her.

But not for long…

Friday

10:47 AM

16

Jake had a ritual that annoyed the hell out of Janice. And, being that Jake slept with Janice most of the time (for lack of any other available suitors) and assumed the absentee title (for the time being, anyway) he had no hesitation in making his practice irksomely habitual. Just when Janice was diving into some decent REM sleep patterns, Jake would take it upon himself to stand up on the bed, shake vehemently, sit back down on his haunches, place his paw on her shoulder, stretch his long gray neck down to wherever Janice’s face was and lick her. On the lips. “Lesbian Kisses,” she called them. She thought he did it intentionally, knowing it tormented the hell out of her. Weimaraners. Such needy, divine creatures. They required an inordinate amount of time and attention, and Mr. Jake was no exception to the breed. He ran on his own distinct schedule, oblivious that Janice had just taken her sorry ass to bed, comatose from jumping morning hurdles with copy deadlines.

“All right, already, you silly dog.”

Jake leaped from the bed and tore ass to the front door, nails clicking on the hardwood floor, paws sliding and barreling around the apartment furniture. It was a wonder Janice had anything of value left. Retrieving his leash from the wall hook, Jake high tailed it back to the bed. Now, how could she be upset? Luckily, Janice was saved by her cell phone going off. Jake would have to wait. On Janice’s schedule, for once, for a change.

Her voice was scruffy, scratchy from no sleep and damp midnight air. “Hello?” Jake bowed down before her, paws outstretched in her direction. A playful growl emitted from him as he swiveled his head back and forth with his leash. Playtime.

“You’ve been a busy lady.” Lisette’s voice melted the connection. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

Janice played dumb. Coy. Calm and mysterious. Character traits that never rested easy with her. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen the front page of the P & C? Your name is on it. Right there! On page one.”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been in bed…” She rolled over and consulted the red flashing numbers of her digital clock. “… for exactly… thirty minutes. I was up all night. I’m exhausted.”

“I won’t keep you then. I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you.”

“Proud?” Always the teacher. “You at school?” Janice thought about what Lisette said. Proud.
Proud
. Proud
. She said it silently to herself over and over again, with different intonations, flattered and taken aback at the same time.

“I’m on my lunch break. I was thinking… maybe I could cook for you tonight. Mexican. You into it?”

Into it? Is she crazy?

“
Si
. Of course. Yes. Sounds terrific.” Anything was better than Mickey-D’s. Lisette would be shocked if she were to check out her refrigerator right now. The only thing containing any RFDA nutritional value would be leftover Chinese food. From three nights ago. Gross. Oh, and maybe a Heineken.

Call waiting beeped. “Hold that thought. I have another call.”

“Busy, busy,” Lisette said, as Janice pressed ENTER.

“Yeah?” She reached for some bottled water left by the bedside.

“Mouth, Louis.”

Janice couldn’t believe it. Louis was her Siamese twin throughout the evening and on into the early morning hours. Proofreading, copy editing, securing the right photograph for the piece. She gave Louis full credit for helping her meet deadlines, intravenously dripping coffee into her veins and feeding her one too many glazed doughnuts. Janice’s favorite.

“How’s it look? We did it, didn’t we?”

“Front page, Mouth. Front fucking page. This is big! Real big! The biggest thing to hit Charleston in a long, long time. I need you down here. Like yesterday!”

“Hold on for one second, okay?” Janice reconnected to Lisette. “Hon?”

“I’m here…”

“Gotta go! Leave a message with details for tonight. I can’t wait to catch up.”

“Got it.”

Janice longed to have Lisette beside her, kiss her, make passionate love to her, perform a host of savory and erotic acts on her. All that would have to wait. Instead, she rolled out of bed and pressed her ITunes on. Melissa Ethridge blasted through the apartment breaking sound barriers. Poor Jake. He only wanted to pee. “See you, later.”

Janice heard the click. She imagined Lisette briefly looking at her cell phone and shaking her head. Smiling as she walked back into her classroom. Standing at the chalkboard, teaching, surrounded in her educational element. Multiplication tables and penmanship. English. Janice reconnected to Louis.

“Mouth…”

“I’m dressing. I’ll be right down.”

“Why should that stop you? It never has before.”

“Fuck you, wise guy!” She heard him snickering on the other end.

“Listen, I really have to hand it to you. Thanks for getting me involved.”

“What are you talking about?” She debated taking a shower. “I didn’t really have a choice now, did I?” She tugged at her slacks, pulling them up with one hand to her waist.
Forget the shower.
Jake got a kick out of watching her contortion act and started woofing his “okay, time to play with me, bark.”

“See you soon,” Louis quipped. “Make it snappy!”

Janice hung up on him. “Okay, you big beautiful mutt. Let’s go for a W-A-L-K.” She spelled out the letters, slowly, making Jake go even crazier. He’d figured it out already. He was smarter than that. She snatched the leash away from him, snapped it onto his collar and sprinted for the door. The first item on her agenda? Buy a copy of the
Post and Courier
, of course.

* * *

She entered the newsroom to a fanfare of applause and public display of attention she wasn’t accustomed to.

“How’d you do it..? Where’d you get the tip..? Was it Donny..?”

She hurried down the hallway to Louis’s office. She felt overwhelmed, giddy and completely uncomfortable with all this newfound admiration. She would prefer to stay just Janice Porter. Remember her? She used to work here, with you, yesterday. Before
The Syndicated Press
picked up her piece and jettisoned it out to every other National newspaper. Charleston was finally hitting the big leagues!

Louis greeted her with open arms, ushered her into his eclectic office and slammed the door. Staff gathered around outside sniffing out leads. Shadows lurked behind frosted glass, hoping for a scoop, a spin-off, a late night edition piece. Everybody wanted in on the action. Competitive to the max. Janice couldn’t blame them.

“We’ve added some more reporters.”

Janice made herself comfortable in Louis’s brown leather armchair, torn but cozy. The room smelled of sweet tobacco and mildew. “I’m not surprised. I expected it. If this is what I think it…”

Louis didn’t let her finish. He lit up a cigarette, a menthol with an old-fashioned metal lighter. He closed it by flicking the cover, the routine practiced and precise. She imagined the legion of cigarettes smoked in order to achieve such level of precision. The price he would eventually pay. She shrugged it off as Louis deposited the lighter back into the front pocket of his white crinkled shirt. Just like Janice’s father used to do. “Cigarette?”

“No thanks. The one bad habit I
don’t
binge on.”

Yellow, half moons outlined Louis’s underarm. He hacked a smoker’s cough. Deep. Dark. Disgusting.

“Had a chest X-ray lately? That sounds ugly.”

“I’m getting a cold. That’s what this job will do to you.”

Louis hadn’t showered yet, either. Janice wondered if he’d gotten any sleep.

Deja vu.

Dad. He had one of those lighters. Now she remembered. The obnoxious smell of butane and lighter fluid. Tobacco. False teeth. She remembered it well. Too well. Too close, for comfort.

Louis interrupted her mental crossfire. “They’ve called in the FBI.”

“What?” Janice straightened up in her chair.

Story of a lifetime…

Might even get a book deal out of it.

“They think it’s a serial, don’t they?” Janice looked around the room searching for a coffee machine. “You got any coffee?” Not that she hadn’t had enough already. Her body was functioning solely on hypersensitive nerves, jacked up adrenaline and caffeine. Coffee and, of course, Lisette. Her upcoming fantasy evening with Lisette was already percolating in her deviant imagination.

“Not saying at this point.” Louis walked to the door, opened it and watched on as people scurried away like cockroaches. He called out to his secretary. “How ‘bout some coffee in here.” Turning, he asked, “You take it black, right?”

“Right.”

He screamed out, “Black! And make sure it’s fresh. Not like the last shit you gave me.”

Janice finished off another cuticle as Louis slammed the door. “They don’t want to cause any unnecessary terror. I can’t blame ‘em. We’ve already received a call from the Mayor’s office this morning. Everybody’s concerned.”

The Mayor’s office. Janice felt as if she were being swept away and deposited smack dab in the middle of some low budget, B-level horror flick. Right on cue, a petite, gaunt woman with straw looking hair entered into the office with a mug of steaming coffee. She offered it to Louis.

“It’s for her.” He scoffed, pointing in Janice’s direction.

Janice stood up and reached for the coffee. “Thank you, darling.” She responded kindly, smiled and left.

“Personally, Mouth, I got a gut on this and it’s gonna be big.”

“Big… as in… what else do you want from me?” Her job, she felt, was already completed. “I do feel pressed to say one thing, though, Louis…”

“What’s that?” He took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled a long chain of cloudy smoke. He aggressively put out the cigarette in an ashtray shaped like the state of Puerto Rico, Louis’s home turf, his stomping grounds. Dead butts and airy cylinders of ash overflowed onto his desk.

“I sure wouldn’t want to be that girl when she wakes up.”

Louis withdrew for a moment. He faced the window. “Me either. Poor thing.” Midday sun cast shadows on his unshaved, sallow face.

In Janice’s line of work, it was important to bring the people back to the real story. The real issue. In this case, she felt it was her duty. Not necessarily for her, but for the girl. For Angie. And, for the first time, ever, she felt it as an obligation. She realized Louis’s desperation. How badly he needed this story as well. Almost as much as she did.

“Maybe there is something we can do, Mouth.” Louis, always thinking.

“What’s that?”

“The attending physician. You get the name of the doctor who administered treatment that first night?” Louis stretched. He rubbed his eyes and sat back down behind his desk. One big, sleepy gorilla.

“I wrote it down somewhere.” She began rooting through pages in her pad. “… Gordenson, Garrison… why?”

“You think he’d be willing to give us a piece?”