The May Day Murders (35 page)

Rest in peace, Pop—you wimpy little son
of a bitch!

Stanley glanced over at Sara Hunt’s
faintly lit window and felt a renewed surge of excitement. He was
really going to enjoy making her pay for what she had done. By the
time he was through with her she was indeed going to wish that
she’d never shit upon Stanley Jenkins all those years ago. And
unlike Cindy Fuller, Sara was gong to suffer some before he did her
in. He’d knock her around a bit, make her feel some real pain in
her fucked up life before she bought the farm. After all, that
bitch had purposely screwed over Stanley Jenkins. Hell, it was not
only premeditated but down right cold-blooded what she had done to
him! Cindy Fuller had been an innocent casualty, in a sense; and
for that reason Stanley had gone easy on her.

But Sara was an entirely different
case. And this time the whole world was going to know who brought
her to justice. No covering his tracks as he’d done with Cindy. The
whole fucking world was going to learn that you don’t fuck around
with Stanley Jenkins and get away with it. And finally, after all
these years, he would get the respect that he by God deserved!
These gorgeous two-faced sluts weren’t going to push Stanley
Jenkins around anymore!

He glimpsed at the luminous dial on his
wristwatch. It was 11:40. Time to split. He wanted to get a good
night’s sleep for the big day tomorrow.

He went over his plans one more time in
his head. He would get up early tomorrow morning—no later than
6:30—eat a light breakfast before taking his shower. Then he’d get
dressed: white polo shirt, gray sport jacket, faded blue jeans and
a pair of loafers. Then he’d pack up his belongings, leave his
hotel key on the dresser, then take the stairs down to the lobby
and slink out of the hotel.

He would take a cab over to Penn
Station and place all his belongings into the locker he’d rented
except for the clipboard and Rolling Stones CD he’d just purchased.
Then he’d hail another cab to Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village
and get out a few blocks from the coffee shop where Sara worked. It
would be around 8:00 by then and much of the breakfast crowd will
have already cleared out.

He would enter the coffee shop and sit
down at one of Sara’s tables. When she came over to take his order
she would notice the Stones CD laying there on the table as well as
the clipboard with the made up script he’d created, which he would
be pretending to read.

Sara’s interest would of course be
aroused when she spotted the Stones CD, not just because the Stones
were her favorite rock and roll band in the world but also because
she didn’t own this particular CD. It was an extremely rare bootleg
copy of a concert they’d played at the Fillmore East back in 1966
(which he had been able to procure with the help of the internet
and a few hundred bucks). It was something that Sara Hunt no doubt
would die for and if luck was on his side, she would promptly
initiate the conversation while salivating over this rarity:
“My
god! I don’t believe it! I’ve been trying to find that recording
for years!”

But he realized that luck may not be on
his side and instead of her getting all excited about seeing the
CD, Sara may simply ignore it and ask what he wanted for
breakfast.

That’s when the clipboard with the mock
screenplay would come into play. If Sara didn’t happen to notice it
the first time around while taking his order, he’d make damn sure
that she did when she returned with his coffee. And once she saw
what was written on the cover page, Sara Hunt would unlikely be
able to remain passive any longer:

The Rolling Stones: The Myth
Behind the Legend

A Three Star Pictures
Production

Screenplay by Hugh
Quincy

Directed by Hugh
Quincy

The questions Sara Hunt would suddenly
be dying to ask him would overwhelm her and why shouldn’t they?
Here she was, a struggling actress waiting tables at a coffee shop,
and there he was, a director/writer sitting there at her table with
a screenplay for an upcoming movie documentary about her most
favorite rock and roll band in the whole fucking world! Could any
aspiring actress as desperate and downtrodden as Sara Hunt be able
to contain herself after this sudden quirk of fate? Especially
after taking into account the fact that this writer/director was
not only in possession of a rare CD that she would die for, but was
also sporting quite a decent looking beard that looked a lot like
the one her ex-boyfriend used to wear.

All of this would no doubt be making
her heart do flip-flops. He could almost hear her now: “Excuse me
sir, but I couldn’t help but notice the movie script that you’re
reading there and I just wanted to let you know that I’m an
actress—just in case by some chance you’re looking for a cast for
your movie. I’m even willing to be an extra if you need…”

At this point Stanley would smile,
introduce himself, then offhandedly tell her that as a matter of
fact he was in need of a few more players for his movie and that
one of those roles actually had a speaking part. He would go on to
explain that he’d flown in from L.A. the day before to do some
background research for a scene he would be filming and hadn’t yet
found a competent actress who could effectively play the role of an
over-enthusiastic groupie who ends up going to bed with Mick Jagger
after a concert during their first American tour.

Sara Hunt would then go absolutely
bonkers. “Oh please, Mr. Quincy, please give me an audition for
that part!”

At this point, Sara Hunt would be putty
in his hands.

Stanley would be sure not to act overly
zealous about auditioning Sara (in true Hollywood big shot style)
and mention to her that he unfortunately didn’t have a great deal
of time to spend in New York—he had to return to L.A. the following
morning. Then he would rather hesitantly offer to fit her in later
that evening if she was going to be free, after which Sara would of
course assure him that she would indeed be available. At that
juncture, Stanley would appear to warm up to her
suddenly.

“
You know, Sara,” he would
announce with a winning smile, “The more I think about it, the more
convinced I am that you just might be perfect for that part. I
don’t suppose by any chance you can dance as well?”

Sara Hunt’s eyes would bug out of their
sockets. “Are you kidding? I dance to the Rolling Stones all the
time!”

Stanley would reply, “That’s wonderful,
because there’s a scene where the character in the movie gyrates
all over the place while she’s in the audience at a Stones concert.
Mick notices her and struts over to the edge of the stage and
whispers in her ear, (Here, he would suddenly evoke his finest
English accent with just the right Mick Jagger inflection)
‘Meet
me backstage after the show, luv?’
Mick then hands her a
backstage pass. And of course that’s how Mick ends up taking her to
bed.”

Sara would nearly faint after hearing
all of this. “I don’t believe it! Oh Mr. Quincy, you have simply
got
to give me that part!”

“
Please Sara—call me Hugh,”
he would demand warmly. “I’ll tell you what. If you can prove to me
that you can dance—and I mean really dance—then I’d say you’re as
good as in.”

“
Oh Hugh, that’s terrific!”
Sara would gush.

Then his expression would become
somewhat grave. “There’s only one problem, though. In this
particular scene, the character dances to
Honky Tonk Woman
while engaged in dialogue with Mick. I would prefer everything to
be as realistic as possible but I’m afraid I don’t have enough time
to set up a soundstage on such short notice—”

“
I’ve got it, Hugh! Why
don’t you just come to my apartment and audition me there? If it
wouldn’t be too much bother, that is.”

His eyes would suddenly light up just
enough. “That’s a wonderful idea, Sara…”

Then they would set up a time for this
impromptu audition—no doubt early evening after Sara got off work
and had time to clean up for the big moment. Stanley would copy
down her address and phone number, finish his breakfast, leave her
a fat tip, and give her a reassuring wink just before he left the
coffee shop.

Stanley smiled sardonically as he
visualized the whole scenario. There was no doubt in his mind that
the plan would work, especially when taking into account Sara
Hunt’s more than apparent weaknesses and overall naiveté. The only
shaky part would be the risk of his being seen by nosey neighbors
either while entering or exiting her apartment building. The
building had a total of 48 units and the odds of this happening
were of course considerably high. But the odds of any of the
neighbors seeing him actually enter her flat were much less likely
and the reason for this was simple: the building’s front door lock
was broken and had been ever since he’d first gotten into town.
This would give him the opportunity to enter the building at his
leisure without having to be buzzed in by Sara.

The other potential risk would be
Sara’s roommate, Tonya Spellman. Stanley already knew that Tonya
was scheduled to work tomorrow evening and shouldn’t pose any real
threat but there was always a slim possibility that she may skip
work for some reason or another. If this were the case, the mission
would have to be nixed and another one implemented. Stanley however
had his doubts that Tonya would stay at the apartment even if she
decided to skip work. It was fairly evident that Sara Hunt and her
roommate lived pretty much independently of one another and it was
his hunch that if Sara anticipated that Tonya might be planning on
being at the apartment tomorrow evening she would most likely tell
her roommate that she was expecting some company and would prefer
that she not be around. Tonya would most likely oblige her
wishes.

Stanley felt his pulse quicken as he
turned and began making his way though the darkness toward the
door. The anticipation of tomorrow’s mission nearly overwhelmed him
as he pictured Sara Hunt dancing nude to
Honky Tonk Woman
as
he snapped off a few quick shots of her with his camera. She would
give him the best show she’d ever given anyone, all full of
enthusiasm and trying her damnedest to please him so she could have
the part that would launch her into movie stardom. He would wait
until the song was over, applaud her animated performance and
beautiful body, and then let her know that she had made Stanley
Jenkins one happy camper.

Then, before Sara had the chance to get
over the shock of what a complete naive fool she’d been, Stanley
would proceed to fuck the living daylights out of her and make her
regret the day that she had shit all over Stanley Jenkins all those
years ago.

Then he would make her suffer for a
while.

And then he would finally murder
her.

CHAPTER 21

Sam eased up on the accelerator when he
glanced at the speedometer and saw that he was doing almost
seventy-five mph. All he needed now was to get pulled over for
speeding by one of southern Ohio’s notoriously efficient highway
patrolmen to add to the mounting anxiety he was now experiencing.
He watched the needle and waited until the Jeep had coasted down to
an even sixty as he continued his journey west on Route
52.

It was a crisp sunny Saturday afternoon
and he couldn’t help but gaze at the vibrant fall colors of the
foothills skirting the Ohio River from time to time as he made his
way west back to Smithtown. For a moment he wished that he was
still with Shelley—it would have been a perfect day to got out into
the woods somewhere and take in the beautiful autumn foliage. By
next weekend, he knew that the all too brief majesty of fall in
southern Ohio would be history—the trees would be all but bare and
what few leaves remained would have turned from brilliant red,
orange or yellow to a withered dull brown.

The urge to turn around and go back to
Shelley’s apartment entered his mind again for the umpteenth time
but he knew he couldn’t do it no matter how tempting it was. He’d
learned long ago that once something started nagging at him as much
as this was that he wouldn’t be able to function at all until he
had the matter resolved. Shelley Hatcher was just gong to have to
be put on hold for now.

He wasn’t sure now exactly when it had
first hit him. It was one of those lingering thoughts in the back
of your mind that begins eating at you and won’t let up until you
finally acknowledge its presence. Sam realized now that it started
to bug him at the debate last night, but at the time he’d been too
busy jotting down the questionable highlights of the damn thing to
give it any real thought.

When the debate was finally over and he
had snapped a few quick shots of the candidates, he had hastily
headed for the Jeep and drove across the Ohio River to
Kentucky—bound for Ashland in heavy anticipation of a stiff drink
and Shelley Hatcher’s companionship for the rest of the night.
Throughout the fifteen-minute drive, the nagging thought was still
there, but had apparently been overshadowed by his desire to be
with Shelley, his attempt to forget the boring debate he’d just
endured, and the rift he’d had with Ann earlier that
evening.

Once he’d finally arrived at Shelley’s
small but cozy and clean apartment, he had immediately proceeded to
dive head first into the booze. As they drank, they watched a video
that Shelley had rented—a “B” movie thriller that he still couldn’t
even remember the name of. Then they had gotten naked and rolled
around for a while until they both passed out in her bed. They
slept until noon and Shelley had fixed a nice breakfast that had
helped ward off the relentless hangover he’d been
experiencing.