Sugar & Spice (17 page)

And now, sword in hand, the thing that I feared most was not my life, but the taking of theirs. Truth be told, I had lost control. I wanted their heads for what they had done to me. Sweet Jesus, I said within. Please don't let me kill these muthafuckas.

“Y'all think that sword is gonna save y'all?” Tony asked rhetorically.

I remained focused when the three men with the whips came at me—all at the same time. I stepped into the midst of them, ready to take heads. Woo, woo, woo, the whips were coming. I sliced up. I sliced down and around. Clump, clump, clump. All three whips had been disabled, but I was still full of fury—deadly fury.

The men were backing off now that I had the upper hand. I went after Tony and he backed away. He kept backing away until he hit a steel pillar. The fear in his eyes was nothing short of complete and utter horror.

“Help me!” he screamed.

“Fuck that,” the black one said. “You on yo' own, man. I'm outta here. It ain't worth it.”

“Me, too,” said another man. The two men fled.

I drew the sword back to take his good-for-nothing life when I was s uddenly awakened from my crazed fury. The quality of peace I felt at that critical moment was like the meditation that I was experiencing prior to being intruded upon, only deeper. My eyes softened. I lowered the sword and backed away.

Terry and Jerry watched the two men blast through the entrance and run down the street. Stunned by what they were witnessing, they wondered what had happened in such a short amount of time. Surely four able-bodied men could handle one smallish woman, no matter how many self-defense classes she taught.

In their minds, only a few so-called martial artists could actually defend themselves in real combat. Their black belts were bought and paid for. Yes, they studied for three or four years. Some even taught classes, but most were living vicariously by the reputations of movie stars, who may not be able to defend themselves either.

“You know we have to pay them a visit, don't you, Terry?” Jerry asked.

“Yeah, but I'm more concerned with what's going on with the other two.”

***

I put the sword back in its sheath. I would continue the battle, but I would not take their lives. I would hurt them—seriously. But they will live. I turned to face my enemies who, for whatever reason, were still there. Quickly, I walked back into the center of the room, determined to give them a whipping they would never forget. Both men were closing in, ready to take the wind out of my sails.

“Grab her, Billy,” Tony called out.

I let Billy snatch me by the shirt and pull me in. Using my thumb, I twisted his wrist in a direction that it wasn't meant to go in. He yelped in pain. I added more pressure. Then more pressure until I heard his wrist snap like a twig. Quickly, I grabbed the muscular arm with the broken wrist and twisted it until it too was broken. All of this happened in less than three seconds. I let him go and he took off, holding his arm as if it were in a sling.

I walked toward Tony. He backed up. “Be a man and fight,” I said.

He was standing near the picture window that had my image and the words “The Dojo” painted on it. I threw my left hand straight up in the air to distract him. When he cut his eyes to see what I was doing with the hand, I moved in and attacked the lower part of his body with a straight punch. He blocked the punch rather easily, but it was too late. I was already in position to inflict whatever damage I wanted. I reversed the straight punch. He blocked that, too. I pulled his arm down and pounded his face with my fists, which left him dazed and disoriented. I grabbed his hand and started spinning him around until he was running. Then I let him go and he ran face first into a steel pillar. Blood was splattered against the pool and all over his face. While he struggled to regain his equilibrium, I hit him with a full blast thrust kick that caused him to leave his feet, fly through the glass window and land on the hood of Kelly's Stingray, which had just pulled up. I could hear George Duke's “Reach For It” blaring from her car.

I climbed through the shattered glass and pulled him to his feet. Smack! I hit him with a hard right. I drew back and hit him with another right. He tried to fall, but I wouldn't let him. Smack! Another right.

The loud stereo was suddenly silent. Kelly got out of her car. “Is this the Lasher, Phoenix?” she asked in a frenzied tone.

“No. He's just the hired help,” I said. “But you're going to tell us who sent you, aren't you, Tony?” Smack! I hit him again. He fell up against the car. “Now, who sent you?”

Out of nowhere, an unheard bullet whistled past me and entered Tony's skull, which exploded like a dropped watermelon. Tony was
dead. Kelly and I took cover immediately alongside the Stingray. We looked around. Nothing was moving. Not even the insects. I listened for the start of an engine and never heard one.

“What the hell is going on, Phoenix?” Kelly asked.

“I think I may know who's behind the killings,” I said.

The dojo was filled with FBI agents and police officers. Network reporters were on the scene retelling a story that I had lived. McGregor confirmed my suspicions. My attackers were not the men who were terrorizing women in the District of Columbia. The bullwhips were made of cowhide, not kangaroo. But more importantly, I now knew that we were much closer to them than we realized. The killers knew who I was and considered me a threat. Why else would they send four men to brutalize me?

“We found the other three men, Phoenix,” Kortney Malone said when she walked into the office of my dojo. “Some of our guys found them a few blocks away with their heads blown to bits, just like the guy lying out on the concrete.”

“Poor bastards,” Kelly said sarcastically.

“They were sacrificial lambs, Kelly,” I said. “The real killers were going to kill them anyway. They couldn't risk being exposed by four yahoos. They want to continue their mating ritual.”

“Mating ritual?” Kortney questioned.

“I don't know what else to call it at this point,” I said. “We know they rape the women and beat them savagely before dismembering them.”

Kortney frowned. “Yeah, so?”

“Listen, this is just a hunch, but I think we've been spinning our wheels. I think Alexis Connelly hired a pair of serial killers to kill her father's wife
who happened to be one of her best friends.”

Kortney curled her lips. “And you think this because?”

“A couple of weeks ago, Dawn McNeil told us that Connelly was the woman who ran the prison library. We know that Dwight Rappaport was corresponding with someone who had access to the library computer.”

“And?” Kortney folded her arms defiantly.

“And Connelly got out July fifth. A few weeks later, the bodies of Louis and Kathy Perkins were found. The warden's murder had nothing to do with drugs. Alexis is rich. She didn't need the money. That's why the killers didn't take the money and the cocaine.” I paused to let my theory sink in a bit.

“Go on. You've got my attention,” Kortney said, relaxing her arms.

“Not long after that, Malibu PD finds a bloodbath at the Connelly mansion,” I went on.

“Even if she had Perkins killed, why kill her best friend?”

Probably because she married her father,” I said. “If I knew that, I would have come to you two weeks ago. With no motive, we're at a standstill. This case has had so many dead ends that I didn't completely trust the theory myself until a couple of hours ago.”

“You should have said something two weeks ago,” Kortney said forcefully.

“Perhaps I would have if you had shown you were a team player. All you ever talk about is weeding out the tare. Firing and suspending agents. To tell you the truth Kortney, if I hadn't been attacked, I wouldn't have even bothered now.”

Kortney folded her arms again. “Well, why didn't you check it out on your own?”

“I did all I could do. No one has seen Alexis Connelly since she was released.”

“What about her parole officer?”

“She's not on parole. She did her time and hasn't been seen since,” I said. “So what was I supposed to come to you with? Was I supposed to say I think a recently released prisoner with everything to lose and nothing to gain is having people killed?”

Kortney stared at me without blinking for about thirty seconds. “Phoenix, there's no need for the hostile tone. Now, what kind of prisoner was she?”

“Let me put it this way, Kortney, she was the librarian. You don't get in that position without being a model prisoner.”

“Nothing on her record at all?”

“She was in for manslaughter. Killed her mother. It turns out that Alexis and her father were deeply in love. How sick is that? She killed her when she was sixteen. Assuming she's behind it, we have to build a case without her prior coming in. We won't be able to get search warrants or anything based on the manslaughter conviction. So, you see, it isn't as cut and dry as you think.”

“Yes, I see,” Kortney said with resignation. “And we have no idea where she is?”

“None.”

“Tell her the rest, Phoenix,” Kelly interrupted.

I frowned.

“What do you have?” Kortney asked.

“It's a long shot,” I said.

“In spite of what you think, I am a team player,” Kortney assured me. “Just tell me what you have. Theory or otherwise. If it's sound, we roll with it.”

“Okay, but hear me out before you fly off the handle,” I said, preparing her for an outlandish theory.

She nodded.

“Well, it's a collage of things, Kortney. Small, almost insignificant things. Everything began to click when I was meditating. I was thinking about the case and the evidence we'd collected. Then images started to flow together for some reason. I remembered Dwight Rappaport's hairless body. At first, I didn't think anything of it until the image of the woman in the
Sugar and Spice
video came to mind. The woman had no pubic hair. And she was being whipped by two women.”

“So? What are you saying?”

“I'm saying we're looking for women, not men.”

“But the victims were raped.”

“That they were. Dwight Rappaport was a dealer in sex toys. We found a replica strap-on of his penis in his closet. Both Heather Connelly and Taylor Hoffman had all kinds of sex toys in their homes. Therefore, it isn't much of a reach to say that the sexual tastes of these women were a little exotic. According to Detective Thompson, the Malibu coroner
found vaginal fluid in Heather Connelly's mouth. It came from Sandra Rhodes who was also murdered that night at the mansion.”

“So we're talking about lesbian murderers?”

“Maybe. Could be bisexual.

It's California. Who the hell knows out there?”

“Is there any more?” Kortney asked.

“Yes. The common link in all of this is the receipts; another overlooked item. Sarah Lawford and Season Chambers had both been to the Pennsylvania Avenue post office the day they were killed. I called the evidence room to confirm this. They had all been customers of a postal clerk named Geraldine. When we were looking for an address for Dwight Rappaport, she seemed nervous. She had a difficult customer just as we walked in. At the time, I assumed that was why she was agitated. I'm convinced she knows something. She had means and opportunity.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“First off, Geraldine had access to Dwight Rappaport's box. She could have ordered the bullwhips and collected them when they came in. Rappaport wouldn't have even known about it. Who knows, she probably picked him when she saw what kind of mail he was getting and to cover her own tracks. Second, remember the video I mentioned?
Sugar and Spice?
They're a team. And I would wager that her partner in crime is in an equally unassuming position. A position where they have access to addresses. Maybe the DMV, or something like that.”

“So you really believe they're public servants?”

“How else do you explain the receipts? Assume for a second that Geraldine is in on it. If her partner is working for the DMV, she can get their driver's license numbers when her customers write a check. The other woman looks them up on the computer.”

“I gotta be honest with you, Phoenix,” Kortney began. “That's flimsy as hell. But pull the clerk in for questioning. Maybe you can rattle her cage.”

“Something just occurred to me,” I said in a distant voice. “My daughter was in a fight a couple of weeks ago. She was defending a little boy in the neighborhood. I'll never forget her answer when I asked her how many boys she'd fought with. She said, ‘They were girls.'”

Catherine Spalding had gone to the Pennsylvania Avenue post office and given Geraldine Temperton one tongue-lashing too many. Catherine Spalding had always paid cash, but when the credit card system was down a couple of weeks ago, she was forced to write a check because she didn't have enough cash to cover the cost of the packages she wanted to ship.

Geraldine had patiently waited for that day to come. She knew it would sooner or later. That very evening, when she closed out her drawer, she carefully went through each and every check she took in that day, looking diligently for the check she'd received from her longtime agitator. Normally, Jerry, Geraldine Temperton; and Terry, Theresa Temperton, wouldn't bother with an old biddy like Catherine Spalding, but this was personal. It was indeed her turn to feel the sting of the lash.

The twins had picked their women from among the cream of the crop. In order to be chosen, Jerry had to actually serve a selected beauty that had come to her counter at the Pennsylvania Avenue post office. The same restrictions applied to the women that Terry served at the library where she worked. When a beautiful woman came to Terry's counter to check out an item, the computer automatically pulled up a screen that showed the woman's home address. Terry had chosen Phoenix when she served her and Savannah; before she learned that Phoenix was an FBI agent. That fact saved her from the twins.