Murderous Twins

by Edward Kendrick

  The first thing on the agenda, once they were settled in, was taking care of Lloyd’s strong need to kill again. Blaine was afraid if he didn’t, he’d go off half-cocked and do something stupid. Lloyd could have killed the man he’d told Blaine about a month ago, but they both agreed they should take care of the most pressing business first—finding and moving into the house with all it entailed.

  Chapter 3

  “Someone bought the old Forsberg house,” Steve Cooke said, after giving his husband a welcome home kiss.

  “About time. Have you seen them?” Gary Drake-Cooke asked.

  “Nope, but I did see a moving van leaving when I got home tonight.”

  Gary left the kitchen, walking into the living room to the front window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peer out. “Can’t see a damn thing. I can’t even tell if the lights are on.”

  Steve laughed, going to the kitchen door to say, “I’m supposed to be the nosy one, not you. I doubt you’ll ever be able to see anything other than them coming and going, as high as the fence is.”

  “Them as in a family?” Gary asked, rejoining his husband.

  “Got me. I told you, all I saw was the van leaving and it belonged to a moving company.”

  “I swear. What kind of a detective doesn’t find out what his new neighbors are like?”

  “A private one who only spies on people when he’s paid to. You know that. Anyway, what do you feel like for dinner?”

  “Let’s see what’s available,” Gary replied.

  They decided on chicken stew, since they had all the makings. As they worked putting it together Steve asked, “How was your day?”

  “Frustrating. The Lincolns changed their minds—again. Now they want to go with blues for the dining room.”

  Steve laughed. “Smack them upside the head and tell them each time they change their minds it’s costing them.”

  “Believe me, it’s tempting. I hope your day was better.”

  “Define better. I served a couple of summons, set up surveillance cameras for a regular client at his newest store. The usual. Oh, and picked up a new client whose son is missing.”

  “Meaning you get to troll alleys looking for him?” Gary asked.

  “No. She’s certain he’s with his father, even though the guy’s denying it, she says. The problem is, the kid hasn’t been to school for a couple of days, so I won’t find him there. Ergo, I’m going to stake out his dad’s home later tonight to see if he is staying there, like his mom thinks.”

  “How old?”

  “The kid? Fifteen.” Steve paused to put the chicken he’d been cutting up into the pot with the vegetables and stock Gary had started heating. “He and his mother had a big fight, or so she told me, and he took off.”

  “Makes me glad I’m not a parent,” Gary said. “Too stressful.”

  “Damn, there goes my idea that we should adopt a couple of kids,” Steve replied, looking dead serious.

  “Uh-huh. Kids were not part of the deal when we got married. Besides, I think we’re a bit old to even think about it.”

  Steve grinned. “I was teasing. Although, mid-forties isn’t really that old.”

  “Ain’t that young, either. Before you know it we’ll be checking out men’s hair coloring products at the drug store.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Steve muttered, swatting his husband’s ass. “I intend to grow old gracefully and savor every wrinkle and gray hair because they show I’ve lived—” he hugged Gary, “—and loved a wonderful man.”

  “Don’t go all mushy,” Gary retorted, hugging him back. “You have a stake-out to do tonight.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Steve sighed before beginning to set the kitchen table. “I hope it gets results.”

  “Me, too, for your sake. I know how much you hate doing them.”

  “No kidding. The only thing more boring is…”

  “Watching paint dry,” they said at the same time.

  Gary grinned when Steve gave him the finger. “Your standard response.”

  Steve rolled his eyes, tested a piece of chicken to make certain it was cooked, then announced that dinner was ready.

  * * * *

  “Have you found out anything about the man you were interested in?” Blaine asked Lloyd, the first Saturday morning after they’d moved into their new home.

  “That’s on my agenda for today.” Lloyd clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’ll need to use the car.”

  “Of course. I wish there was a way we could have two of them. It would make life easier.”

  “Yeah, right. That would be hard to explain, since as far as anyone knows there’s only one man living here. Some nosy parker sees one of us drive away, then the other one a while later, they’ll begin to wonder what’s going on.”

  “Not necessarily,” Blaine replied. “The garage is in back, on the alley. Who would be watching?”

  Lloyd shrugged. “Maybe no one, but are you willing to take the chance?”

  “Perhaps. Let’s at least think about it. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Right now, though, I’m going hunting.”

  “You hadn’t better be doing more than checking the guy out,” Blaine replied sternly.

  “That’s the plan. I wonder…”

  “What?”

  “If he takes the bus, maybe he does have a wife, and she get to use their car.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

  “I will.” Lloyd held out his hand. “Wallet, please.”

  Blaine gave him his wallet, which Lloyd would need on the off chance he got stopped by the police. The driver’s license it contained would show that he was Blaine Ayers.

  They kept the car in meticulous shape to be certain they wouldn’t be pulled over for a broken taillight or some such. But they both knew all it would take was some idiot rear ending the car, and then calling the cops about a minor accident, to cause problems. At least problems as far as they were concerned, since except for his job, Lloyd didn’t exist. There, he was Lloyd Thomas, with the ID on file from Illinois that he’d needed to prove who he was when he was hired. Somehow, he’d never bothered to let the company know he had a new address in the city—for obvious reasons.

  “I’ll see you later,” Lloyd said after pocketing the wallet. Other than when he was driving—using Blaine’s ID—he carried a wallet only to hold the cash he’d need for any purchases he made. Neither of them had credit cards or checks. They worked on a cash-only basis except for paying bills, which Blaine did online from his bank account, because everything was in his name—the condo first and now the house.

  As he drove to his target’s home, Lloyd thought back as he sometimes did to how he and his twin had decided to become killers.

  * * * *

  Three years previously

  “That woman,” Blaine said, pointing to a middle-aged female, anger in his words. They were in downtown Chicago, heading back to the apartment.

  “What about her?” Lloyd said. The woman in question looked like half the ones on the street. Well dressed in business attire, chatting with another woman as they walked.

  “She’s exactly like the ones Dad used to bring home. Snotty females whose only objective was to add to their…their bucket list, by finding themselves a husband.”

  Lloyd glanced at him, seeing rage in his expression, which passed almost as soon as it had come. Murderous rage, if he didn’t miss his guess. It gave him pause, not because it bothered him, but because he felt the same thing when he saw a man who resembled the photos Blaine had shown him of their father. A man he would gladly have killed, as a proxy for the now dead bastard who had dropped him off at the Safe Haven fire department as if he were a piece of trash.

  He didn’t say anything then, but when they were home, and had eaten dinner, he broached the subject.

  “You hate women like the one you pointed out this afternoon, don’t you?” Lloyd said.

  “You better believe I do,” Blaine snarled in reply. “The
predators looking for someone to keep them in the style they want. Someone to prove they can catch a husband, even at their age. The ones Dad would hook-up with, for a month or a year, who treated me like I didn’t exist while taking all of his attention for themselves.”

  “You know,” Lloyd replied softly, “you should do something about them.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “Why can’t you?” Lloyd looked slyly at his twin. “How hard would it be to eliminate them? You know you want to. The same way I’d love to kill our father, except that isn’t possible anymore.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Blaine replied, studying him. “That I attack a strange woman in some…some dark alley that they’d never go into in the first place?”

  “Would it make you feel better if you could?”

  “I…” Blaine frowned for a long moment then nodded slowly. “Bitches like them deserve whatever I could do to them. Slice their sagging bodies. Destroy their Botoxed faces. Turn them into what they really are. Worthless pieces of shit.” With each word, Blaine’s expression grew more ecstatic. “I can almost feel the rush I’d get when I’ve finished and look down at what I’ve done. Created dead meat only fit for dog food.”

  Lloyd tapped his fingers together, his smile turning wicked. “Do it.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As serious as a heart attack.”

  Leaning back, Blaine gazed at him. “Only if you find a man, or men, who remind you of our bastard father and take them out.”

  “They might only look like him. They might not be like him.”

  “Does it matter? It’s not them you’d be killing. Well, it would be them, but it would be Dad, too, each time you did. Just like I’d be killing his bitches.”

  Lloyd took a deep breath. “Can we do this?”

  “We can damned well try. If we fail, we haven’t lost anything.”

  “We need to plan every step, especially our alibis.”

  “Lloyd, we are our alibis. While I’m busy doing it, you’re off somewhere very public, being me, and vice versa. ‘But, detective, it couldn’t have been me the witness thinks they saw. I was at the club with a dozen other people. They’ll all swear to it.’”

  “They’ll all swear you have a twin brother, you mean.”

  Blaine puffed out a breath. “Good point. So we do it somewhere other than here in the city, to see if we have the guts to go through with it. We, well one of us, can rent a motel room. Whichever one of us it is, we find our target and get rid of them, while the other one is very visible somewhere else.” He looked dead at his twin. “Are you game?”

  “It was my idea to begin with.”

  They’d done as Blaine suggested. Blaine admitted, later, that he’d almost frozen when it came down to torturing and killing the woman—until he pictured her as one of their father’s live-in girlfriends. “That’s all it took. The feeling? Damn, Lloyd. Why haven’t I done this long before now? It was better than the best sex.”

  Lloyd had found out what his twin meant when they went to another town so he could practice, as he thought of it at the time.

  Then Blaine had gotten the job offer from an insurance firm in Denver. After a great deal of thought, and planning how they would set up there, he’d accepted it.

  * * * *

  The present

  And it worked. Lloyd smiled to himself as he drove around the block where his intended victim lived.

  If Mr. Waters has kids, apparently they know better than to leave stuff outside. Or they’re older. Teens, maybe. Probably, given his age. He had found out the man’s name easily enough, thanks to a reverse address search online. From there, he’d discovered that Waters worked as a chef for one of the more prestigious downtown restaurants.

  He drove down the alley behind the house. As he’d told Blaine, the backyard was surrounded by a picket fence. He saw why when a small dog charged it, yipping at him. Early warning system? Good thing I’m not planning on dealing with the guy on his home turf.

  Back in front of the house, Lloyd found a place to park three doors down where he could see if anyone came or left. People were out and about, it being Saturday morning, but none of them paid any particular attention to him. Since he seemed to be talking on his phone, they probably thought he’d parked because driving while using a phone was illegal.

  His wait was rewarded ten minutes later when the man left the house, accompanied by a woman Lloyd presumed was his wife, who was holding onto Waters’ arm. They went into the garage and moments later a car pulled out, with the woman driving.

  So I was right. She gets the car, while he busses it to work. Schmuck. Grow a pair.

  Lloyd followed them at a discreet distance—first to the grocery store, then to a liquor shop. After that, they returned home. From the amount of groceries they’d bought, he figured it was only the two of them. So I won’t be depriving any kids of their loving father. Not that he gave a damn one way or the other. His only objective was to kill the man who in many ways resembled his father.

  * * * *

  Lloyd did two more surveillances of the man, to learn his habits. Then, he was ready to proceed with his plan; and none too soon. His need to kill again had become almost unbearable.

  “Enjoy the game ballgame tonight,” he told his twin Thursday morning before Blaine left for work. “Maybe you’ll end up TV.”

  “That would be amusing, wouldn’t it?” Blaine replied. “But I think I’ll pass. Publicity like that is not something we want if we can help it.”

  “No kidding,” Lloyd agreed.

  “Be careful. You’re wound tighter than a drum,” Blaine cautioned as he started for the door.

  Lloyd smiled viciously as he replied, “I won’t be, by the time I get home.”

  * * * *

  It was a few minutes after ten in the evening and Lloyd was waiting across the street from the restaurant where Mr. Waters worked. Through the large front window, he could see the waitresses and busboys doing their closing chores. He was also able to see the hallway leading to the rear door. If Waters left that way, Lloyd could be at the alley within two minutes. He actually hoped the man would do that. It would make things easier. Ten minutes after he’d settled in the entryway of the large building facing the restaurant, he saw that his wish had been granted.

  He walked quickly to the corner, then up the side street to the entrance of the alley. He knew Waters would come that way because the bus stop he needed was right across the street. It was where the man had gotten on, the evening Lloyd had first seen him. If I hadn’t had to work late, he’d be alive tomorrow. I guess someone was watching over me—but not him.

  Lloyd saw Waters coming toward him and stepped into the dark alley. The man came to a dead stop, looking at him. Then he relaxed somewhat, probably because Lloyd was well dressed in slacks and a light-weight overcoat.

  “Do I know you?” Waters asked, cocking his head. “You look familiar.”

  “We take the same bus,” Lloyd replied as he closed the distance between them. He gestured toward the bus stop.

  It seemed as if Waters was going to say something more. Lloyd didn’t give him a chance. He pulled his hand from his overcoat pocket, hitting Waters hard in the stomach with the brass knuckles wrapped around his fingers. The man doubled over, gasping for breath. Lloyd caught him and dragged him into the dark area between two dumpsters a few feet up the alley.

  “You bastard,” Lloyd said, anger infusing his voice as he hit Waters again—this time on his chest. “You threw me away like a piece of trash.”

  “I…” Waters gasped. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

  “You know damned well who I am, Father.” Lloyd slammed the knuckles against Waters’ shoulder so hard he heard bone crack. “How could you do that to your own flesh and blood?”

  Waters opened his mouth and Lloyd knew he was going to scream for help. He didn’t get the chance. Lloyd broke his jaw with one well-placed hit.

  Se
eing red, Lloyd spat out, “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before abandoning your kid, you bastard,” as he continued his assault on Waters’ head and body. Soon Waters shirt was soaked in blood and his face had been beaten almost to a pulp. Only then did Lloyd quit, panting in exhaustion. He straightened, looking down at the body, a sense of euphoria flooding him. “You got what you deserved, Father,” he said under his breath.

  He pulled the brass knuckles off his hand, wiping them on the overcoat before he removed it, turning it inside-out and tossing it over his shoulder as he walked down the alley to the far end, away from the bus stop. He’d just crossed the street to the next alley when he heard a shout. A quick glance back let him know someone had already found Waters’ body. He smiled as he continued walking. Three alleys later, he balled the coat up, stuffing it deep down into a garbage-filled dumpster. The brass knuckles would go home with him, of course. He’d need them for the next time. He knew there would be a next time. There always was, when the rapture he got from a kill wore off, and the need to feel it again resurfaced.

  Chapter 4

  “Damn,” Gary muttered, setting the cup he was holding on the coffee table. He and Steve had finished breakfast and were, as they always did on Sundays, sitting on the sofa in the living room, reading the paper.

  Steve looked up from the book review section of the Post that he was perusing. “What’s wrong?”

  Gary handed him a section of the paper, folded to the third page. “I knew him,” he said.

  It took Steve a second to realize his husband meant the subject of a story about a murdered man who had been found in a downtown alley late the previous evening. “How?” he asked.

  “I did a redecorating job for him and his wife about six months ago, on their living room. They were good people.” He shook his head in obvious dismay. “Who would have done something like that to him?”