Serial Killers Uncut (4 page)

He also made sure that it was easily replicated. Because once the chemist was gone, the operation would be run by people following the chemist's instructions.

At first, the chemist had begged for his life. He told Malloy that he had a wife and daughter back in Panama, that he needed to take care of them. This was true, Malloy knew, but he also knew that the wife and daughter had received well over a hundred thousand dollars from the chemist. In Panama, that would go a long way.

Malloy had met the chemist nearly twenty years ago, and when he was brought over to New York, Malloy trusted him implicitly. The man created drugs because that was all he knew how to do. Just like when people were bankers or lawyers or athletes because that's what they were born to do.

The chemist was not a bad man, and in fact Malloy did not believe he had ever even partaken in his own creations. The drugs paid the bills, so to speak, that was all. Malloy did feel a slight twinge of guilt at taking away the family's only breadwinner, but he knew that the dark-haired woman would make sure the family was taken care of.

The family was still in Panama. Their battle was not in America.

Hers was.

When Malloy rounded the corner, he raised his hand to call a cab only to see the dark-haired woman standing there, staring at him. He did not expect her to be there, but he'd ceased to be surprised by her a long time ago.

Did he fight? she asked.

A little, Malloy responded. Nothing that caused too much trouble. .

That's good. Death hurts more when you fight it. .

He begged first, Malloy said, for his family. .

They'll be compensated, the woman responded. The chemist was dead, and three men were on their way to dispose of the body. Three men he trusted, who'd been with them a long time.

Did he suffer? the woman asked.

Just for a moment, when he realized what was happening. .

She seemed disappointed.

I see no body with you. I assume someone will be taking care of it. .

There's a butcher on the Upper West Side, done us some favors over the years. Two grand and nobody ever sees a body again. .

Good price, the woman said.

We give him good business, Malloy replied. His voice was soft, hesitant.

You don't think we should have killed him, she said.

I just wonder if it was totally necessary. From a business perspective, nothing more. .

We didn't need the chemist any longer, the woman said. At least half a dozen of our employees have been able to duplicate the process without fault. The product we gave Leroy Culvert tonight came from one of those batches and was taken by one employee who, let's just say, enjoyed it. .

Malloy nodded. You don't need to convince me. .

The woman approached Malloy until they were standing barely a foot apart.

We've known each other a long time. .

Yes, we have. .

We've both suffered great tragedies. .

Yes, we have. .

And what we're about to get under way will be the end of what began twenty years ago.

Your brother did not die in vain. .

I know he did not, Malloy said.

Everything that happened in Panama has led up to this. This wheel was set in motion a long time ago. The chemist was no longer needed, and he was a link to what happened in Panama. Nobody here knows who he is. He could have only hurt us from this point forward. A man's ability to create substances is not the same as his ability to witness calamity without sounding the alarm. I worry that the chemist could have come back to haunt us. .

And you may have been right, Malloy said. I understand why this was necessary. .

Trust within the organization had been shaken over the past few days, culminating in the death of Stephen Gaines. They did not see Gaines's defection coming. And that's what this night was about: tying up loose ends. She was right. Malloy knew this. He was still haunted by that day twenty years ago, the battle that had irreparably changed his life. Everything that happened then was leading up to now.

The Asian is next, the woman said.

He's waiting for us at the club, Malloy said.

What did you tell him? .

That he was getting a bump up. Title and salary. .

Was he excited? .

Like a little girl getting a pony. .

The woman smiled. Good. Then let's go. And let's make sure the Asian's body is in the water by the time the morning commute begins. .

Chapter 5.

Amanda Davies jolted upright in bed, her shirt coated in sweat, her shoulders heaving from the nightmare she'd just awoken from. It took her a moment to get her bearings, for the world to take shape. She swung her legs around the side of the bed, then looked back over her shoulder at Henry. He was fast asleep, not quite snoring but making that huuuunk' shhhhhhhh noise that either kept her awake or put her to sleep, depending on her mood.

Henry was splayed on his stomach, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting boxers.

There was a hole in the right leg large enough for her to put her fist through. She'd pleaded with Henry to throw out any and all underwear that had any fabric detachments, but she could tell from his absent nod that he would do no such thing. It didn't bother her much, and truth be told, her scolding had much more in common with flirting than nagging. Their fights were few and far between, and any time temperatures seemed about to rise, a well-timed kiss or an I love you quashed it.

Amanda preferred it that way.

Her head pounded, and she quietly went into the kitchen to find a drink. The Brita pitcher was empty, and she didn't feel like waiting for warm, filtered water. Instead, she pulled out a large container of fruit punch Gatorade and took a healthy pull. She wiped her mouth and took another. Then she put it back in the fridge, closed the door gently and sat down on the living-room couch.

She flicked on the television and muted it. A few reruns, some horrific looking jewelry being hawked on QVC, some late-night soft core porn, and a movie or two that she'd seen before and liked. Then she shut the TV off. She wasn't really in the mood to watch, but she didn't want to get back into bed while her heart was still beating fast.

She couldn't remember the dream. Strange. She used to keep lengthy journals of just about everything that took place in her until-then boring life. Chronicling everyone she met, everything she experienced, and making an amateur go at deciphering her dreams.

At some point in the past few years, the dreams had stopped leaving imprints. She would recall having dreams, but for the life of her, she rarely remembered what happened in them.

She wasn't sure if that was because she was more at peace now, but part of her wished she could remember what her subconscious might have been trying to say.

For some reason, right now, despite waking up in the middle of the night, Amanda did not feel tired. And she didn't know how Henry could sleep, considering what he'd been through the past week. She supposed it might have been pure exhaustion, that his body just couldn't take any more anxiety or stress without totally shutting down. She was glad for that, because when Jack O'Donnell showed up unexpectedly, Amanda knew this was only the beginning.

Jack had been gone for a long time, and his disappearance had weighed on Henry.

Amanda had never felt let down like that, at least not in a professional sense. She'd been alone most her life, starting with the death of her parents when she was very young, and then shuttled between orphanages and foster care until finally settling in with Lawrence and Harriet Stein in St. Louis.

Death was different. Death left you feeling empty, not betrayed. And while he never said it, Amanda knew that was how Henry felt when Jack left.

She never wanted to worry about Henry, never wanted to be the kind of girl who waited up at night and screamed Where were you? when her boyfriend came in the door bone-tired.

Amanda knew where Henry was, or at least knew where he was not. Henry's only mistress was his work. She trusted him, and he trusted her. Cheating was not in their DNA, and for all their faults that was one weight that thankfully would never press down very hard.

She had begun to wonder, however, what the future held for them. Love was not the issue. She believed Henry when he said he loved her, and knew he believed her when she said the same. But being young and nearly broke in New York City was a tough way to maintain a relationship. Settling down was something so out there they might as well have talked about buying a mansion.

Amanda wanted to get married. At some point. She wasn't like most girls she knew, dreaming of the perfect wedding, waiting their whole life for one day that went by in the blink of an eye. Those girls missed the bigger picture, that a wedding was worthless if what it represented wasn't pure. Marriage was not a celebration of that day, it was a celebration of what was yet to come. Amanda did not question her future happiness with Henry' but she couldn't help but feel a little girly sometimes. And that wasn't a bad thing.

Once the sports drink had settled her stomach and eased her headache, Amanda tiptoed back into the bedroom and snuggled in next to Henry. Moonlight streamed in through the venetian blinds, casting slits of light on the bed. Henry stirred a little, then turned over so he was facing her. Their bodies were still warm from the lovemaking earlier, and it made Amanda feel safe to have him so close.

Then Henry opened his eyes. Smiled.

Hey you, he said.

Hey, Amanda whispered.

Feeling all right? .

Yeah, just woke up. Bad dream. .

Here, Henry said. Let me help. .

He untangled himself from the sheets and wrapped his arms around Amanda. His body was warm, toned yet soft, and she felt herself melting into his arms.

I could fall asleep like this every night, she said.

Why don't you? he replied.

Hey, don't offer if it's not going to happen. .

I wouldn't. Consider this your parking space. Reserved for Amanda Davies. .

What's the monthly rate? she said.

You already paid it. Earlier tonight. .

They both laughed, and she felt herself falling back to sleep.

Are you excited to work with Jack tomorrow? she asked, her eyes beginning to close.

Excited, a little nervous. He's never seen me in action. .

You'll be great, she said.

Yeah, I think there's still a great story out there. Hopefully the old man can help me find it. He gave her one squeeze, and she gripped his arms. Good night baby, he said.

Henry? .

Yeah? .

I don't need you to tell me to be careful, do I? Amanda said.

Come on, Amanda, Henry said. What would I need to be careful of? .

Chapter 6.

The first swing of the crowbar shattered Kenneth Tsang's kneecap. The second nearly dislodged it completely, ripping it away from the tendons that held it in place, rendering the entire leg practically useless.

Kenneth Tsang was lying in the basement of the nightclub where he'd spent so much time over the past few months. Tsang had made himself well into six figures working for Malloy, and had begun to trust the man completely. Which was why when Malloy asked him to be there at four in the morning, dressed to the nines, Tsang did not even ask why. He simply showed up, was ushered inside and subsequently had his right leg shattered beyond recognition.

Tsang lay on the floor, writhing in pain. At first he screamed as loud as anyone Malloy had ever heard, and Malloy worried for just a brief moment that the soundproof walls might just not hold up for a guy this sissified. After the second blow, however, the screams turned into a pathetic whimpering, and now Tsang lay there on the floor, still wearing his three-thousand-dollar suit, with one pant leg torn to shreds.

A small puddle of drool began to accumulate under Tsang's head. He'd thrown up on himself. Not surprising. Pain and fear would do that to you. He was trying to crawl away, crawl anywhere. Sad, really. The door was locked. A blind man with no legs could get around faster than Tsang with that busted wheel. But he still crawled and blubbered and begged for mercy.

P-p-please, Tsang blurted, thick spittle flying out with every syllable. D-d-don't' .

Malloy just stood there holding the crowbar. Then the door opened and the dark-haired woman strode in. Tsang looked at her, confused, then he looked back at Malloy. For a moment, his eyes relaxed. Malloy knew exactly what he was thinking.

She's a girl. She's here to save me. The brutality is over.

If only he knew who this woman was.

Hello, Kenneth, the woman said. She knelt down by his crippled form. He tried to raise his head, but was too weak. Without hesitating, she grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head backward until his eyes met hers.

How are you feeling? .

P-p-please, Tsang repeated. Let me go. I' I swear' I won't tell anyone. .

The woman looked over her shoulder at Malloy.

What do you think? she said. Should we let him go? .

Malloy said nothing. Just shrugged.

The woman released Tsang's hair. His face splatted against the floor, leaving another drool mark.

Do you know why you're here? the woman asked Tsang.

N-n-no, he gasped. I' I need to go' .

I know this isn't exactly fair to you, the woman said. In the past, we've only made examples out of employees who've stolen from us. Lied to us. Betrayed us like Stephen Gaines. .

I n-n-never betrayed you, Tsang said.

I know you haven't, Ken, I know you haven't. But Gaines is dead, shot to death. A little too professional for my tastes. Being shot in the head sucks, but it doesn't convey the same fear as, say, well' .

She pointed at Tsang's mutilated leg.

That leg, that sends a message. .

Tsang spat out, Then' then let me go. .

The woman clicked her tongue against the side of her mouth and shook her head.

It's not just the leg, Ken. It's what they see when they find you. Or find your body. I'm not a big fan of talking to people before I kill them, but you've been a pretty loyal guy and I think you deserve an explanation. .