Unleashed

by Jacob Stone

  “You sure you don’t got anything in that backpack that could help me?” Stevie asked, his eyes half-lidded, violence imminent. Duncan showed no indication that he noticed Stevie slipping a switchblade out of his back pants pocket.

  “How about you leave before someone gets hurt?” Duncan suggested.

  That brought a vicious smile from Stevie. “How about you give me that backpack before I hurt you real bad.” The five-inch switchblade was snapped open. Stevie poked it toward Duncan’s stomach, trying to get him to step back into the room. Instead, Duncan turned sideways so that his left shoulder faced Stevie, and in a quick, fluid motion his right hand circled under and around the meth head’s knife hand so that he could grab the wrist. Before Stevie could put up a fight, Duncan had the arm twisted so that the knife pushed into Stevie’s lower back and drew blood.

  “If I push the blade in another three inches you lose a kidney. How’d you like that?”

  “I wouldn’t like that at all,” Stevie admitted in a strained voice.

  Duncan would’ve gotten no satisfaction from killing this pathetic lowlife. And even if he could claim self-defense, all he’d accomplish would be putting himself on the police’s radar. It would be even worse than that if one of them insisted on looking inside his backpack.

  “You better drop the lockpick, then.”

  Stevie did as he was ordered and the lockpick and tension wrench clattered onto the scratched and battered oak floor. Duncan twisted the wrist enough to make Stevie both drop the switchblade and cry out in pain. After kicking the knife into the room, Duncan let go of Stevie’s wrist and smacked him hard enough with his palm to send the man tumbling onto the hallway floor.

  “It would be a good idea if I never see you again,” Duncan warned before closing the door to his room.

  When he had found the six grand earlier, he thought about leaving this skid-row boarding house and checking into a decent hotel, but realized he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to use any credit cards while in LA and allow the police to track him here, and it would be too suspicious if he used cash at a hotel, especially since the authorities would soon be learning that Jill Kincade’s killer stole all that money from the couple’s apartment. Like it or not, he was stuck in this boarding house. He knew that meth head was going to be trouble. The guy was intuitive enough to know there was something of value in Duncan’s backpack. Now he also knew that Duncan was someone he had to be careful with, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying again. Duncan wasn’t too concerned. As far as the predators he’d had to deal with in his life, Stevie would be low guy on the totem pole. If he became too much of a nuisance, Duncan would take care of him. Just not anywhere near this boarding house.

  He fitted the wooden chair under the doorknob, and tested the door to make sure it couldn’t be opened. Satisfied, he sat back on the bed and finished the rest of the turkey and cheddar sandwich.

  Chapter 9

  Dammit! Matt Kammer caught the way his wife was eyeing his plate. He knew what was coming.

  “Your French toast looks so scrumptious,” Hannah said innocently enough. “How about we change plates for a few bites?”

  They were sitting at an outdoor patio table at a Santa Monica restaurant located on the Third Street Promenade. He had ordered brioche French toast in a brandy strawberry sauce and an order of homemade sausage patties, while Hannah chose an arugula salad. No kidding that his brunch looked tastier. A piece of cardboard drenched in maple syrup would’ve looked tastier also. He gave his wife a sour look.

  “I ordered this because I wanted to eat the whole thing,” he complained.

  She smiled sweetly at him, even batted her eyelashes. “Just a few bites. Honest.”

  Ha! She’d end up eating at least half of his brunch! And they both knew it!

  “If you had ordered the brie and bacon omelet instead of a salad I’d be happy to trade bites.”

  “You wouldn’t want me ordering that and getting fat, would you?”

  The logic of that escaped him. Hannah could’ve ordered something equally fattening as the French toast, eaten half of it, and gotten the rest packed away to go, which would’ve left Matt an enjoyable breakfast for tomorrow morning. They also both knew there wasn’t much chance she’d get fat, no matter what she ordered. Hannah had some sort of supercharged metabolism and still possessed the same toned, trim body as when they were married three years ago. God, he loved her body! Every Sunday morning since they’d first moved in together four and a half years earlier, he had shown her just how much he adored her body. And not just Sunday mornings. He was thirty-two and Hannah was twenty-nine and they still made love as often as a pair of randy teenagers. Just thinking of how Hannah had wrapped her slender thighs around his neck after he had stripped off her pajamas that morning made him hard all over again. He handed over his French toast and grudgingly accepted her salad in exchange. What could he say? Hannah could play him like a fiddle and she knew it. And truth be told, he didn’t mind all that much.

  Matt dejectedly picked at a piece of arugula. “If you have more than three bites, I’m ordering dessert,” he threatened.

  “As long as it’s the apple crumble,” she said with an impish smile.

  Hannah ate five healthy bites of the French toast and two good-sized bites of sausage before trading back plates, and Matt ordered the apple crumble pie for dessert, even though he would’ve preferred their dark chocolate crepe with vanilla ice cream. The waiter placed the apple crumble in the middle of the table along with two forks, and Hannah kept pace with Matt as they polished it off.

  “You could’ve ordered your own dessert,” he grumbled.

  “What would’ve been the fun of doing that?” she said, straight-faced, before a smile cracked her expression. “Besides, one of us has to keep you from getting tubby.”

  He knew there was more than a little truth in what Hannah said. Not that he was at all tubby, but he had put on a few pounds since they got married, and he also went to the gym less often, sometimes only once a week. It’s what happened when you were content and happily married, and despite his sullen act at that moment he couldn’t possibly be happier. He adored her, and he knew the reason she ordered salads instead of what she really wanted was so that he’d eat a little healthier himself after she finagled him to switch plates.

  “Tubby, huh?” he said, making a harrumphing noise as he played up the insult he had just suffered. “I’d like you to know I haven’t completely traded in my six-pack for a keg.”

  She laughed. “Not completely,” she agreed. “But last time I checked, I only counted four abs.”

  He made the mistake then of looking into her gorgeous blue eyes, and he broke out into a grin, forcing him to give up his act of being so egregiously wounded. Even though they’d had a marathon session that morning, he wished right then they were back in their bedroom ripping off each other’s clothing. How many couples together almost five years could still say that? But any further lovemaking would have to wait until tonight. The weather was perfect, and Hannah loved spending time at the pier and walking the boardwalk to Venice, and he didn’t want his own selfish desires to interfere with their plans.

  They lingered over coffee before Matt beckoned their waiter over so he could pay the bill. After that was taken care of and they got out of their chairs, Hannah’s hand found his and her fingers interlaced with his own. Matt wasn’t one for public displays of affection, at least not much more than holding hands. In fact, they made him extremely uncomfortable. But at that moment he was so overcome with affection for Hannah that he reached down and kissed her gently on the lips. She looked quite pleased with herself as he pulled away and the half-smile she showed was enough to tell him that she felt exactly the same.

  They left the restaurant’s patio area without ever noticing Duncan sitting two tables away. He waited until their backs were turned to him before dropping
twenty dollars on the table to cover his bill. After slipping on his backpack (he learned his lesson last night that it wouldn’t be safe to leave it alone in his room) he left the half-eaten breakfast burrito on his plate, walked past Matt and Hannah’s table so he could surreptitiously read the name on the credit card receipt, and then followed the couple.

  Duncan had woken up early that morning, anxious to see whether there were any stories in the LA Times about the home invasion and brutal murder last night in Marina del Rey, but it was too soon for that. He next walked four blocks to the parking garage where he kept his Cadillac so he could turn on the car radio, but nothing was being reported yet, which surprised him. He would’ve thought that Frey would’ve been found by now and that this would be the type of sensationalized story that would dominate the news. He got the car on the road and started toward Marina del Rey, thinking he’d drive by the apartment building to check whether the police were camped out there. Fortunately, he still had enough wits about him to stop once he reached Santa Monica. He couldn’t afford to have a cop outside Frey’s building think he looked suspicious, not with him having the backpack in his car.

  He’d originally planned to find a wedding to crash tonight to see if he could find his next privileged, beautiful, madly-in-love couple, but he had time to kill and he needed to eat, so why not do a little hunting here? When he spotted Matt and Hannah Kammer, he picked up a certain vibe and decided to follow them. The guy was an ordinary-looking schmo with a somewhat doughy face, but the woman was very pretty. She reminded him in a way of the one last night, although not as curvy. Blond, petite, stunning blue eyes, an even more stunning smile, and thin, lovely legs. Even though there were no outward signs they were madly in love with each other, he could see a guy like that being ruined for life, having to watch a woman like that being cruelly tortured and murdered, so there was at least some promise that they could be what he needed. After he watched them get seated at the patio table, he waited ten minutes and then sat down at a nearby table so he could eavesdrop.

  Duncan lost enthusiasm quickly once he heard the couple bicker over inconsequential matters. What guy in his right mind could be married to an adorable, sweet thing like that and get upset because she wanted to taste some of his food? He pretty much gave up on them as being candidates—if anything, he was considering getting the guy alone so he could work him over with the leather sap as a matter of principle—but then he saw them holding hands and caught the look they exchanged after they kissed, and that was enough to put them back into contention. It was also enough to start the rage bubbling once again in his gut. Not a full-out boil—if that were happening, he’d know for sure they were the ones he wanted.

  For now, he’d keep following them and make up his mind later.

  Chapter 10

  Morris was feeling too restless to hang around at home. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t think Rachel’s bombshell from the other day was the cause. While at times it seemed mind-boggling to him that the skinny little seven-year-old girl he had taught to ride a bike was all grown up and engaged to be married, he had mostly reconciled himself to that fact. He knew Doug Gilman would treat Rachel right and, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, the two of them appeared to be a perfect fit for each other, like interconnecting jigsaw-puzzle pieces. But he didn’t need to understand. He trusted his daughter, and he saw the way Rachel lit up when she was with Gilman. No, it wasn’t Rachel’s engagement. There was something else making him feel antsy. Maybe it was just something in the air.

  Natalie was planning to spend the day looking for a place to hold the engagement party, so when he suggested taking Parker somewhere so she could focus on that task (his actual words: to get the two of them out of her hair) she told him that would be a splendid idea. He didn’t need to be told twice. He whistled for Parker, and the bull terrier flipped himself on to his feet and trotted along after him. Once they were in the car, Morris mentioned a few places they could go for a hike, and the dog responded by yawning so fully that he almost unhinged his jaw.

  “I hear you, buddy,” Morris said. “Today seems more like a day for strolling than hiking.”

  Parker let out a grunt, his tail thumping on the passenger seat. Morris pulled the car out of the driveway and headed to Santa Monica. Traffic on I-10 West from West Hollywood was surprisingly light and in just under thirty-six minutes he had the car parked in one of the downtown garages and was walking Parker toward the pier. The bull terrier let out an excited, pig-like grunt once he realized where they were going and what would be waiting for them.

  “You’re making an assumption there,” Morris said. “I could surprise you.”

  If Parker was worried about that, he didn’t show it, and he had good reason not to be worried. Morris was a creature of habit. Whenever he went out for Chinese food, he’d always go to the same restaurant and order his favorite dishes. The same with deli, Italian food, Indian, and all other varieties of food. He saw no reason to venture out of his comfort zone and risk a less-than-satisfactory meal.

  When they got to the pier, Morris did what he always did when he brought Parker there, and that was buy two hot dogs, slathering his with mustard and leaving Parker’s free from any condiments. Like every other time he had ordered hot dogs at this pier restaurant, he first struggled over the idea of ordering the bacon and cheese dogs, and like those other times, decided they’d be too gluttonous. He could stand to lose ten pounds from around his middle and he was trying to be more careful with what he fed Parker. Parker, though, was more than fine with a plain hot dog, and the bull terrier’s attention was laser-focused on the paper bag holding the food while they walked further down the pier and sat on one of the benches overlooking the water. He broke Parker’s hot dog into three pieces and fed them to his dog as he ate his own.

  Morris said, “I didn’t disappoint you, huh?”

  Parker seldom barked, but he did then to show his appreciation.

  A woman’s voice asked, “Would it be okay if I pet him?”

  Morris turned to see that the request came from a very pretty blonde in her late twenties. He noticed the wedding and engagement rings and also the man standing next to her, who was looking somewhat uncomfortable. This man must’ve been her husband, and Morris felt an immediate rapport with him. While the man wasn’t necessarily funny-looking, he had a similar beauty-and-the-beast thing going on that Morris had with Natalie.

  “Most people ask whether he’s friendly,” Morris said.

  The woman showed him a brilliant smile. “I can already see he’s a sweetheart,” she said.

  That was true, at least as long as the person wasn’t a serial killer trying to do Morris bodily harm. In those cases, the bull terrier would turn ferocious.

  “He’s certainly that,” he agreed. “And of course, go ahead. Parker will enjoy the attention.”

  “Parker?” the husband asked with one eyebrow arched. “Like the criminal from the Richard Stark books?”

  “Very good. Most people think he’s named after that fictional Boston PI. Or the wine critic.”

  The wife didn’t just pet Parker on top of his head, but instead got down on one knee and petted the bull terrier vigorously behind his ears. Morris found himself strongly liking this woman. Parker, for his part, acted shier than he usually did, but by the end he was licking her face. The woman laughed at that while her husband watched on with an embarrassed grimace.

  “I love this breed of dog,” she told Morris. She turned to her husband. “One day…” she threatened.

  “Maybe a cat,” he said with little enthusiasm.

  The woman rolled her eyes, but chose not to argue the matter. If Parker felt any insult, he kept it to himself. The woman got to her feet, thanked Morris for indulging her, then she and her husband continued on toward the end of the pier. Morris watched them for a moment before turning back to look out over the ocean. After several minutes of qui
et contemplation, he got off the bench. Parker had gotten comfortable lying in the sun, but he let out an old-man groan and got back onto his feet.

  Morris was still deep in thought when he almost lost his balance as Parker strained suddenly against the leash. The bull terrier’s head was down and a deep-throated growl rumbled out of him. The source of Parker’s agitation was a man about Rachel’s age. Medium height with a wiry build, the man was clean-cut and dressed in a sports jacket, button-down shirt, slacks, and boat shoes. Nothing overly suspicious about his appearance, but something about the dead-eyed look he gave Parker and his thin, bloodless smile made Morris wonder about him and also about the backpack the man wore. What was in it? Drugs? The man had no visible tattoos or piercings, but what did a drug dealer look like these days? While Morris and the other investigators who worked for him at MBI had all been deputized by the mayor and could be hired by the city as needed, he had no probable cause to look inside the man’s backpack no matter how much Parker was growling.

  Morris shortened his hold on the leash until he had Parker almost by the collar. He got down on one knee and used his free hand to clamp Parker’s muzzle shut to quiet the growling.

  “He’s making me a liar,” Morris said with an apologetic smile. “Only a few minutes ago I told a young woman that he’s usually friendly.”