The Creep (34 page)

Anita was doing a grand job filling in while Jai was on vacation.
She knew intimately all the ins and outs of electronic transfers, various off-shore accounts,
systems
to check and how to organize
the thousands of figures that Max had sent down for Harvey's information, from headquarters in Springfield.

On her fourth day in the office, she and Harvey were talking about the various electronic transfers and financial arrangements Anita was putting into place for him, having money whizzed all over the world into off-shore accounts -something he'd been meaning to do for years. All of a sudden he got a whiff of Anita's perfume,
Serendipity
, and felt the blood rush to his cock.

He had her sit on his lap and he started stroking her sheer stockinged thighs; he ran his hand over her pubic mound and he could feel the moisture seeping through her panties. He eased off her pantihose and they had a knee trembler, right there, standing in the middle of the floor of the conference room. It was heaven.

They were both startled at the same time. They heard someone in the reception room. With all the excitement of the quickie, they had forgotten that the outer office was unattended.

Anita pulled down her skirt and went out to see who it was. Harvey quickly grabbed her pantihose and stuffed it into his desk drawer, then quickly grabbed her panties from the floor and stuffed them into his pocket.

Just in the nick of time, too. Anita was already waltzing in two smart-looking guys who had come to talk to Harvey about word processors. Harvey had forgotte
n to look in the day-book. Quickies
were more important.

The two salesmen sat themselves down. Typical salesmen, they wanted to talk. But they
didn't want to listen to Harvey's particular and unique requirements. They blathered on and on and on. Between the two of them they nearly hypnotized Harvey.

Harvey got quite flustered and simultaneously had the urge to blow his nose and mop his forehead. You should have seen the look on the faces of those two salesmen when Harvey pulled out the frilliest, prettiest pair of black
lace, crotchless panties that you ever did see. They didn't get the order, either.

During Bishman's hundreds of hours of hypnotic regressions he told Harvey literally thousands of stories - like when he was still a kid, Bishman's neighbor bought a brand new car. A lot of people in the neighborhood were envious. Young Bishman and company decided to teach him a lesson.

Every night Bishman and a few other drunken yahoos would
siphon
off gasoline from parked
autos around the town and at about three in the morning they'd top the guy's tank up with gas.

For weeks he went around bragging that his new car was doing three or four hundred miles to the gallon, it nearly drove him nuts trying to puzzle it out.

Back in Bishman's early, heavy boozing, pill-popping days, he associated with all the town drunks. They'd regularly go on binges together.

One of the alkies, Doogie Helming, was a right asshole. He'd get drunk too quickly, he'd run out of money too quickly, he'd throw up too quickly, he'd attract the heat too quickly, he'd get everyone into trouble too quickly. He was a regular pain in the butt. He was plain bad news. Bishman and company decided to teach him a lesson.

Late one night, they were all as drunk as skunks, but as usual Helming was off the wall. They pulled up in their various cars at a coffee joint and started eating burgers and hotdogs.

Helming wanted to take a piss but was so far gone, he needed help. The gang saw their opportunity. Helming needed someone to unzip his fly and get his dick out. Bishman volunteered. Bishman fiddled around with Helming's zip, but he didn't undo it, instead he took a sausage from a hot dog and put Helming's hand around it. "OK big buddy, there ya' go, you can take your piss now," Bishman told him.

When Helming had finished pissing, he shrieked out: "Shit! Hey, you guys, my fuckin'
cock's
come off in my fuckin' hand and I can feel the warm blood trickling down the inside of my leg!" With that he passed out.

M
ax,
it's
Bill. I just had to talk someone. I'm
at my wits' end,
I really don't know what to do
...
I'm worried sick about Anita." Harvey's knuckles turned white as he gripped the telephone.

"You sound in a right panic, old buddy, slow down and tell me what the problem is," said Max in his most reassuring voice.

Harvey croaked: "It's Anita. She never turned up to work this week. She hasn't answered any of my calls. I've left hundreds of messages on her answering machine and I've driven over to Venice countless times - there's no sign of her or her Mercedes. I don't know whether I should call the police or what. She seems such a sensible girl, you know streetwise, that kind of thing, I can't imagine her getting into trouble. I'm sure she can take care of herself
...
but
..."

"How long is it since you saw her last?" said Max, trying to coax and comfort at the same time.

"A week ago
...
I thought because you were old buddies she might have phoned you to
say there was a problem between us, and she wanted time out from our relationship or something."

"Bill, sh
e hasn't phoned here. The last t
ime I spoke to her was way back when, at the party at Pinewood, and then it was only briefly. When you say she didn't turn up at work, is that your place or the bank?"

"No, the bank; she only had to do a week here, to fill in for Jai. She did
a brilliant
job, transferred money for me, set up off-shore accounts - you know, all the stuff I went over with you. That was her first week off from the bank in eight years. Then she went back to the bank, was there for one week and no-one's seen her since." Harvey paused, then continued: "And there's
another strange thing. When I asked Anita to help me out in the office I was only half
joking.
I expected her to maybe help me in the evenings and at weekends, but she jumped at the chance when I mentioned Jai was taking a week off."

"In these cases it's always so hard to
advise
. She's a grown woman, quite entitled to take time out and piss off out of town for a few days, we've all done it. But then again
there's
so many whackos and wierdos in Los Angeles, I don't know what to think. You know what they say about L.A, don't you? When God made the world he shook it on the last day and all the loose bits fell into Los Angeles, ha ha ha." Max laughed. Harvey didn't.

"Well
...
I do have another problem. I've never really put two and two together until now, but Bishman has missed his last two appointments
as well. He's never done that before - he was going like clockwork."

"What! .
..
Shit!!
...
You don't suppose
..."

Harvey cut him short. "Fuck me, mate, I hope not
...
I don't know, but I gotta tell you: on a number of occasions I've dropped Anita off in Venice, sometimes at three, four, five o'clock in the morning, gone for a walk along the beach on my own and who should appear? You got it in one
...
Bishman!
...
Outta' nowhere!"

It was hot and muggy and there had already been the usual smog warnings. Los Angeles was suffering one of its hottest summers for over a decade. It was stifling. LAPD Headquarters had already dealt with the usual suspicious persons, flashers, drunks, domestic disputes, muggings, murders, rapes, hit and runs, shootings, a freeway crash, and a SWAT team was just about to
take out a guy who was holding three women hostage - and it wasn't quite eleven in the morning.

"Hernandez, you drive these two British police officers over to Pasadena, San Miguel Avenue. They have to ask a guy some questions. They know he always goes to this office address every Wednesday morning. They may bring him back for us to baby-sit, or if he doesn't object you can take them straight back to the airport. See what happens. And make sure all the paperwork is in order, no matter what you do." He handed Hernandez an untidy pile of documents.

"Yes, Sergeant."
Hernandez took the Brits out to his car, a shabby Pontiac Bonneville. They were dressed in suits. They didn't really look like police officers - in a crowd, you'd never know.

One of the guys jumped in the front with Hernandez and the other clambered in the back, moving over some maps, magazines and empty soda and beer cans.

"San Miguel Avenue, Pasadena, right? We'll be there in under an hour, traffic permitting. Is this your first trip to the States?" The officers replied that it was, simultaneously, and they laughed. They introduced themselves and lit cigarettes.

"Who's this guy ya gotta pick up - pretty bad shit? I'm told.
Anything exciting?"
Hernandez looked in the rear mirror to draw Martinson into the conversation as well. It worked.

"Yeah, quite tasty.
We reckon this fellow's been up to some pretty bad stuff.
Right nasty bastard if you ask me.
We've got to ask him some questions and tie up a few loose ends, but we're pretty sure it's him. If it is, we have an arrest warrant and we can take him back, providing he doesn't object. If he objects you guys get to retain him until we get an extradition order.

"We hope the bastard will come back with us. On the other hand if he doesn't, we get to spend some time in California, which isn't such a bad idea. Mind you, I don't know how you guys put up with this fuckin' heat." Martinson sat back and loosened his jacket. Then he took it off completely.

"Yeah, it's hot and the air conditioning in here's not working too
good
. If you roll your window up it may come on a bit better." Hernandez messed around with the control lever.

"Well, what kinda mess
has this guy
got himself into. Serial killer or something, isn't he? We've got plenty of those bastards here. I worked on the Charles Manson and the Hillside Strangler cases, way back when."