The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  Was she a druggie?

  The woman could feel her body break out in goosebumps, elated to see that the perfect life for Miss Perfect had been anything but.

  And it was about to get a great deal worse.

  “Do you know what you’d like to order yet?”

  “I just got here, so I need a few minutes to take this all in. This is one of the legendary establishments in Brooklyn, is it not?”

  The waitress, better known as Karina, rolled her eyes, resting her hand on the top of the chair in front of her. “Yes, that’s what they say.” She sighed heavily. “Sorry for seeming out of it. I’m just very tired. This is my second double shift in two days. I need a break.”

  The woman nodded and set her clutch on the table, then patted it. “Perhaps I have something that can, uh, take the edge off for you.”

  Karina’s recessed eyes came to life.

  “After I have a chance to enjoy my drink, eat some of this great food, perhaps we can take a stroll along the Boardwalk.” A wry smile cracked her face.

  “Certainly. I’ll do anything for, uh...you know. I’ll get your drink right away.”

  As Karina sped off, the woman tried to not get ahead of herself. Her eyes shifted to a table off to the right. Some cheeseball with curly, shoulder-length hair and a mustache the size of a rat wearing a white suit had his arm around a woman with a gold chain that had fallen between her boobs. But it was her dark mustache that caught the woman’s eye.

  “Some women just have no clue on how to groom themselves,” she said, her voice lost in the sounds of the horns and piano.

  A man walked by in a four-button gray suit. His thick mound of hair ate up most of his forehead, nearly affixed to his out-of-control eyebrows.

  He was met by two other guys, one wearing a purple sweater and what appeared to be a permanent scowl, the other in a brown leather jacket and tan scarf. They shook hands, exchanged a few words, and walked toward a larger table of people who matched their appearance.

  Amazing how so much had changed over the years, but in Brighton Beach, everything had stayed frozen in time.

  “Here you go.” Sounding a bit out of breath, Karina had arrived with the drink. She blew a lock of dirty-blond hair out of her face and just stood there, watching the woman twist the stem of the glass.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked, knowing it was condescending.

  “Oh, nothing. Just making sure you have everything you need. Can I get your food now?”

  The server’s previous distinct English enunciation had faded behind her Russian roots. Perhaps her desperation had gotten the best of her.

  “Whatever you want. It will be on the house,” she added.

  “Oh, let’s see. I guess I’ll try your crawfish.”

  “Raki. One of our best. I’ll make sure the chef cooks it to perfection.”

  Karina ran off again. The food arrived in quick order, and the woman thought it quite tasty. Karina continued to serve the woman for the next hour as if she were the only person in the restaurant. The woman admitted that yanking her chain was an unexpected benefit of this mission. But the time had come to take everything to the next level. The last place she wanted to kill time was in Brighton Beach.

  Kill time.

  She brought her hand to her mouth and giggled at her own pun.

  She insisted on paying the bill in full. Karina arrived just as she inserted the cash and closed the leather case.

  “I’m off to my next escapade,” the woman said, scooting out of her booth and standing up to face her waitress.

  “But I thought...” Her eyes became watery, as if the woman had just said that her dog had died.

  “Meet me on the Boardwalk,” the woman said, tapping her clutch, “and I’ll take you to a place you never dreamed of.”

  Five minutes passed and the woman’s shoes banged off wooden planks. She took in a dose of the salty air, as the dark skies off the coast flashed lightning.

  “Do you have the shit?”

  Karina had jogged up next to the woman, her breath heaving a bit.

  “What shit in particular?”

  “What? Are you playing games with me?” Her voice had a hint of anger in it.

  The woman held up a finger and shifted her eyes so that Karina could see her response. “I don’t play games, Karina Leshev.”

  The desperate waitress didn’t appear to notice the mentioning of her name. Maybe she was so lost in her desire for her next fix, she didn’t care.

  “Look, I need a Molly. Please tell me you have one.” She glanced over her shoulder and wrung her hands.

  “Find us a nice quiet place, and we can share a special moment.”

  Karina’s dark eyes locked on the woman’s. She then grabbed her hand and said, “Come with me.”

  They walked briskly, moving off the wooden planks and down the street until they found an alley. Karina pulled up at a door and knocked twice.

  The woman had not anticipated another person being involved.

  “No one’s here. We can be private in here,” Karina said, leading them into a room that held racks of meat.

  Karina found a butcher’s table and climbed on top, her legs dangling off. “It is dangerous if this is taken while standing up. I have learned the hard way.” She pulled back her hair and showed a nasty bruise protruding from her hairline. She then held out her hand.

  “You do know, Karina, that Mollies can kill you?”

  “I only know it gives me the greatest high of my life. It’s an escape from all that my life has become.”

  Her tone had turned somber, her eyes flat, void of emotion.

  “What has been so bad about your life, Karina? Tell me,” the woman said, thumping her own chest.

  “I...I cannot think about it. It’s too depressing,” she said, wiping her face.

  “If you want your Molly, you will tell me.” The woman wanted to hear her pathetic excuse for ruining her own life after she’d ruined the woman’s so many years ago.

  “I have babies with three different men. All of them are very bad people. But I was young and stupid, and I could only believe their fake promises.”

  Karina released a whimper.

  “I do not have any of my babies anymore. They were taken away from me.” She pounded her fist to the table, but the woman didn’t flinch.

  “Why, Karina? Why were your babies taken from you?”

  “Because I’m an—”

  “An addict. You’re a loser, Karina. Nothing but a cheap whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed. Right, Karina Leshev?”

  The thin waitress dropped her head in her hands, screaming for five seconds straight. Then she jerked her head back up. “How do you know my full name?” Her eyebrows pulled together to form a single line of confusion.

  “Nothing but a whore.”

  Her addiction barreled over any hesitancy. “Give me my Molly, dammit.”

  “You’ve been that way your whole life, haven’t you?”

  Karina stabbed her finger into the metal table and barked, “Men are put on this earth as the so-called stronger sex, and all they do is screw us over. So when I’ve had the opportunity to get things I want, I don’t apologize. I take them.”

  “Yes. Yes you do.”

  The woman hiked up her dress, and she could see Karina lower her eyes.

  “If you want to do some kinky shit, I’ll do it. Anything to get my Molly.”

  The woman pulled the knife from the sheath attached to her upper thigh, and she rotated the grip in her fingers.

  Karina pulled in a gasping breath at the exact moment a spear of light bounced off the serrated blade.

  “Take your eyes off the knife and look at me, Karina Leshev. Do you recognize me?”

  “I...I...” She couldn’t help but shift her stare back to the blade as her chest expanded in quick order. “How do you know my name?”

  “Because we went to school together.” The woman narrowed her eyes, a wicked smile forming on her
lips.

  Karina twisted her head, her mouth ajar. “How...is it really you?”

  “Good to see your brain isn’t complete mush.”

  “We should be a united front. Women against the real enemy in this world. All the men are fascist pigs.”

  “No need to go political on me, Karina.” She continued toying with the knife as her pulse blew past a hundred. She knew she couldn’t contain her elation much longer. “Tell me one thing, Karina.”

  The thin woman started to sniffle. “What do you want to know?” she asked with defiance entering her voice, her eyes still fixated on the blade.

  “Was it worth it?”

  She opened her mouth one last time. Then the woman sliced her until she didn’t say another word.

  Five minutes later, the woman stepped into the alley and glanced at her hands and arms to ensure all the blood had been wiped clean. Nothing visible.

  “And now for the encore,” she said, turning the corner, moving east on Bridgewater.

  ***

  She arrived at Pavlovich’s Liquor, encouraged to see the parking lot empty. It was near closing time. A bell dinged when she entered, and a man’s voice from behind the counter said, “We close in five minutes.”

  It was Mikey.

  Flipping around, she took another look outside. All clear. She twisted the lock on the door ever so carefully. As she moved through the store, she saw him staring at her through the mirror positioned in the corner.

  She picked up a bottle of vodka and eyed the label.

  “We’re known for carrying the best honey pepper vodka in the United States. We’re connected to a special distillery in Kiev. But if there’s any other way I can assist you, please let me know.”

  The woman nodded. Obviously, he’d seen something that he liked. She carried the bottle over to the counter and set it down.

  “Okay, that will be one hundred forty-five dollars and twenty-seven cents.”

  She opened her purse and pretended to be exasperated.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I don’t have enough. I had to pay for the taxi ride to dinner. On top of that, my date made me pay for dinner, and then he took off.” She huffed out a breath.

  “Oh, well, I guess you can come back another day.” He lowered his eyes.

  “Or maybe I can pay you back in a way you’ll never forget.”

  He jumped back a step when he saw she’d already found her way around the junk-filled counter. She kept walking until her entire body pressed against his. “I can tell that you want me.”

  “Well, uh...”

  She noticed a ring on his finger as she slunk down to her knees.

  “Mikeyyyy,” she said as he pushed his glasses higher on his nose while looking down at her.

  She tapped the end of the blade in her opposite hand.

  “What the fuck you doing with a blade, bitch?” he shrieked, slamming his body back until it rammed the counter. Dozens of packs of cigarettes and condom packages fell on top of him and down to the floor.

  She picked up a condom package and lifted to a standing position.

  “Safety comes first.” She smiled as his eyes moved from the blade to her face.

  “You’re one of those bitches into S&M, aren’t you?”

  “Mikey, I’m ashamed you’d think so poorly of me.”

  “Hey, how do you know my name?” He pointed a finger at her nose.

  “You’re actually going to be rude to me when I’m the one holding the knife? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at your stupidity. After all these years, you’re still working at daddy’s store.”

  He set his feet and leaned forward, again pushing his glasses up.

  “That’s right, Mikey. It’s me.”

  His Adam’s apple protruded for a second as he looked back down at the blade.

  She flipped the knife to a power grip and raised it to her shoulder. “Say good night, Mikey.”

  He didn’t have time to respond. It took her about six minutes to complete the task in the manner she’d envisioned.

  The doorbell jingled as she closed it behind her, and she said out loud, “The encore is always better than the regular show.”

  7

  Rolling layers of gray clouds hovered just above the lights that outlined the US Penitentiary in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania. Leaning forward in my midget rental car, I spotted the two guards in the front tower, one holding a phone to his ear, the other holding a rifle.

  Life at a high-security prison. The current home of J. L. Cobb, also known as the Ring Killer. My husband’s killer.

  The passenger door opened, and Nick slipped back in, rubbing his hands together.

  “Guard said he has no record of our scheduled visit.”

  “What the—”

  “Hold on. He knows we’re FBI. I gave him Jerry’s number, and he said it’s just a matter of the warden reaching out to Jerry. And—”

  I grabbed his forearm. “We don’t have time to deal with red tape. We’re talking about the investigation of two different murders.”

  “Alex, hey.” Nick unpeeled my grip, placing his hand on top of mine. “I knew this would be tough on you. It’s not too late to back out. You can go hang out at a local diner, and I’ll interview Cobb.”

  Tough didn’t begin to describe the jarring swing of emotions. Nick didn’t know it—and I wasn’t about to share the information—but I’d already tossed up my breakfast in the Williamsport Airport just after we’d landed an hour earlier.

  I was the one who’d made the decision that we should interview Cobb one more time. I was the one who’d convinced Jerry to get the necessary approvals up his food chain to allow me to interview my husband’s killer. Why? Not because I was trying to collect evidence on the ring killer murders. Cobb’s murder case was now owned by the US Attorney’s Office, and trial had been set for six months down the line.

  But I also knew my argument for interviewing Cobb hadn’t been completely transparent. To find out if he had any knowledge of someone who might want to pick up the killings where he left off, it meant reopening the discussion on his killings. Mark’s included.

  “Alex?” Nick lowered his head.

  “Sorry. Just thinking if I gave Ezzy all the instructions about the kids’ after-school events today. Erin has some type of cheerleading competition, while Luke is working on a project at a friend’s house, then he’s going to basketball practice. Lots to keep up with.”

  “I get it. You have a lot swirling around in that mind of yours,” he said, patting my hand then releasing it. “You don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  Before I could retort, I heard a knock on my window. We were ushered through the gate and asked to check in our weapons. On our way to the interview room, we were taken to see the warden, who offered us some insight into Cobb’s well-being.

  “He’s not right.” A man whose earlobes nearly touched his shoulder plopped down his pen and sat in his high-back chair.

  “What exactly are you referring to?” I asked.

  “He’s just not there. In a daze, out to lunch, however you want to put it. At other times, he’s more than any one guard can handle.”

  I inched forward in my seat to where my hand could touch his desk. “You are aware that the prisoner has some type of condition, and with that, a person can be rather volatile.”

  It felt odd to be defending the man who’d murdered Mark. What the hell was I doing? Why did I give a shit?

  “Special Agent Troutt, I assure you that our staff, including our on-site psychiatrist, has dealt with every personality type in the spectrum. Cobb’s been diagnosed as Bipolar.”

  That one caught me off-guard. But I knew something was off with him, outside of the murdering part. I took a hard swallow. “I see.”

  “As a courtesy to you and your investigation, I thought I’d give you a warning.”

  I nodded, lifted from my chair, and walked to the door with Nick on my heels.

  “One more thing,
Troutt. I understand your husband was one of Cobb’s victims.”

  I glanced at Nick, and I could feel my neck on fire. I decided not to perpetuate the secrecy. “Yes, he murdered my husband, but our investigation concerns another murder. Just need to pick his brain.”

  “Very well,” he said, leaning an elbow on his desk while writing a few notes in a portfolio.

  I turned to leave, then flipped back around, nearly running into our escort. “By the way, how did you know? Did my boss tell you?”

  “What? No. Cobb told me. When he’s not going through one of his episodes, he’s bragging to everyone who will listen about who he killed, especially your husband.”

  I pressed a stubby nail into the palm of my hand. “Thanks for the insight, Warden.”

  I pushed out a slow breath as we walked down the empty hallway, just Nick, the guard, and me. The guard would punch in a code and show his ID to a camera at each of the five stops divided by barred gates, controlled electronically by someone we could only hear through the speaker system.

  “You can have a seat,” our guard told us as he opened the door to a room that was completely gray—the walls, floor, desk, chairs, even the ceiling. “The prisoner will be escorted to this room and handcuffed to the bar on the wall. We will have two guards in the room at all times.”

  “That’s not really necessary. My partner and I can take care of the prisoner and ourselves. We kind of do it for a living.”

  The guard took a step into the room. “No disrespect, but those are the rules. If you don’t want to follow them, you can leave without interviewing the prisoner.”

  I gave him a monotone response. “I’m good. We’re good. Let’s just get on with it.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, we’ve learned the hard way on these rules. At one time we used to allow exceptions. But I’ve seen a prisoner take his handcuffs and break the neck of his own lawyer. Another prisoner waited until he had a free moment with his wife, then he pulled out a blade and sliced up her tits until—”

  “We get the picture,” Nick said.