The Murder Run

by Michael P. King

  “Already knew he was a lech.”

  “Daughter’s a pretty little thing who looks a little like you.”

  “So he’s fucked up. What are we going to do about him?”

  “We’re going to take pictures of him being a bad boy. Then we’re going to send him those pictures, with the promise that his wife and kids and work will see them if he doesn’t give you your stuff and get lost.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “Many times.”

  “And it always works?”

  “Oh yeah. Not only will it work, but after you have your handbag back, we’re going to blackmail him until we get back our out-of-pocket expenses.”

  “I don’t know, Nicole. I’d be happy if he’d just leave me alone.”

  “I thought you liked the thrill of the game.”

  “This stopped being fun a long time ago.”

  She patted Lily’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll have this turned around before you know it.”

  “But how? How do you know how to do this kind of thing? Hackers and blackmail—even joyriding cars. I googled Denison. He’s a rich guy. This is a rich guy’s house. You wear nice clothes, don’t have a job. You’re a rich guy’s girlfriend. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’ve told you before, Lily, I’m not going to explain myself to you. What’s your best option right now? You won’t sleep with Sanders. You won’t have him beat down. You won’t leave town. So you’ve got to push back.”

  “When you put it like that, it seems so obvious. It’s just—I don’t know. I don’t want to get into more trouble. I want to get out.”

  “Call the police.”

  “No way. There’s two of them. I can’t win a he-said she-said.”

  “Then this is how you do it.”

  “But what’s James going to think of all this?”

  “He’s not going to know. Nobody’s going to know. That’s the whole point.”

  Lily looked off across the room, a vacant expression on her face.

  “What’s it going to be?” Nicole asked.

  Lily sighed. “Okay, you’re right. This is my best option. What do we do next?”

  “We’re going to start following Sanders after work.”

  The next afternoon, Nicole and Lily were sitting in a stolen Prius across the street from ACS Associates, an accounting firm located in a new high-rise out in the suburb of Ferndale. Lily was wearing a straw hat and sunglasses, Nicole a blonde wig and dark makeup. “Are you sure we won’t get caught?” Lily asked.

  “Person comes out to their parking spot after work. Their car is gone. They look around, start questioning their memory. Eventually, they call the cops. They make a report. Now it’s an hour later. They go home, cursing their bad luck. The police report filters into the system. Now it’s tomorrow. See how this works?”

  “So no one’s looking for this car yet.”

  “The owner hasn’t even finished work yet. Relax.”

  At 5:00 p.m., cars began to empty out of the parking deck. “Keep an eye out,” Nicole said.

  “There he is.” A pudgy man with a shaved head and a sad mustache drove out onto the street in a blue BMW.

  “That the guy?” Nicole asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And the car?”

  “Definitely.”

  “So you were macking on that guy in a bar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he overpowered you in the parking lot?”

  “There were two of them. And nobody ever hit me before.”

  “I’d forgotten about that. Just another reason to straighten him out.”

  They followed Sanders through the rush-hour traffic south into the residential suburbs. He pulled into a driveway on Ponderosa Avenue. The house was a renovated two-story built after World War II. White with brown trim. The brick steps led up to a small porch. The wooden front door had a round window in it. Nicole checked the address against the information they had. It was his home address. Lily drove around the block and pulled into a spot on the street with a good view of the front. Twenty minutes later, a twelve-year-old boy, tall and thin, his backpack hanging from his shoulder and track cleats in one hand, went up the steps and into the house.

  “Does Sanders go out after dinner?” Nicole asked. “Or is he in for the evening when he comes home? Today is Wednesday. He met you on a Tuesday. Was his wife out of town? Was he entertaining a client, or does he often go out on a weekday night? See how I’m thinking? We’re going to have to stay on him if we’re going to put him in play at the first opportunity.”

  Lily nodded.

  “Good. I’m going home.”

  “What?”

  “I’m meeting James for dinner. This is your mess, girlfriend. You stay here until ten, or you call me and follow him if he leaves.”

  “What do I do with the car?”

  “I’d take it back. Keep the hat and sunglasses on while you’re in the parking deck. Catch a cab a couple of blocks over. Or just leave it somewhere. It’s up to you.”

  Nicole walked away from Sanders’s house to the next major intersection and ordered a rideshare. When she got back to the condo, she took off the wig before she got out of the car and pushed it inside her jacket. She found Denison in the living room.

  “Hey, honey,” she said.

  Denison looked up from his iPad. A glass of red wine sat on the table beside him. “What’s with the makeup?” he asked.

  “Working on Lily’s problem. Did you see my text?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Vietnamese should be here in just a few minutes.”

  “I can’t wait. I’m starving. The bottle’s on the counter.”

  She went back into their bedroom, dropped her handbag on the bed, and went into the bathroom to clean the makeup off her face. She came back into the living room with a glass of wine in her hand.

  “There she is,” he said.

  She sat on the arm of his chair, leaned down, and kissed him. “Busy day?”

  “We’re still getting static from the neighbors about our new building. Everybody’s in favor of helping the homeless unless the building’s on their street.”

  “That’s a drag.”

  “We’ll get the permits. It’s just going to take longer than we want.” He sipped his wine. “What about you?”

  “Don’t want to tell you about things you might need to deny. Let’s just say I’m being very careful.”

  “Okay. You thought about the career counseling?”

  “As soon as I have the time.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Finally,” Nicole said. “It must be the food.”

  On Thursday, it was more of the same. Sanders drove home, and Lily sat on the street in a new stolen car. But on Friday, Sanders walked out the front of the building with three men. “There’s the other guy,” Lily said. “The tall guy with the bad comb-over. I don’t know the two young guys.”

  They got into a Lincoln MKT that was waiting at the curb. Nicole and Lily followed the Lincoln to the Cross Winds brewpub and pulled into a spot at the back of the parking lot. “What are we doing?” Lily asked.

  “We’re letting them settle. Then I’m going to do a walk-through to see what they’re up to.”

  Twenty minutes later, Nicole pushed her way through the throng in the entry to the brewpub. Happy hour was in full swing. The horseshoe-shaped bar was crowded, and the tables were full. She moved through the space as if she were the latecomer to a party, scanning the faces as she went along. There they were in the corner, eating chicken wings and drinking beer. Comb-over had set his watch on the table next to his smartphone. One of the young guys finished speaking, and everyone laughed. Nicole turned into the women’s restroom and washed her hands. They were going to be a while. She wove her way back through the crowd in the entry. The people waiting for tables seemed glad to see her, or anyone, leave.

  “So?” Lily asked.

  “They’re here for suppe
r.”

  “Is it worth waiting? The young guys don’t look like they fit in.”

  “What do bad players look like? It’s Friday night. Time for blowing off steam and misbehaving. We’re going to wait them out. There’s a Mexican place across the street. Go get us some takeout.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Whatever you’re having. And a Diet Coke.”

  Lily got out of the car. Nicole watched her cross the street. She felt the tingling in her back teeth that told her something was going to happen tonight. She hoped she was right. She got out her phone and called Denison. “Baby, it’s me. How’s your day?”

  “For me, good. But I got an email from Bell. She’s not happy. Skip’s wife wants their daughter to be the flower girl, and Bell thinks she’s too young.”

  “Well, maybe this will be the worst of it.”

  “I’m not holding my breath. Where are you?”

  “I won’t be home for dinner. I ordered you some food from that farm-to-table place you like. They should be delivering in about a half hour.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know. I just wanted to make sure you got a good meal. You would have eaten those old leftovers out of the fridge.”

  “When will you get home?”

  “I don’t know. Hoping to clear up Lily’s problem. Don’t wait up.”

  “Be careful.”

  “It’s my new name. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  An hour later, Nicole and Lily were still lounging in the car, takeout trash scattered around them, when Sanders and his friends came out of the brewpub and shook hands on the sidewalk. The two young guys went off in different directions. Sanders and Comb-over got into another rideshare, this time an Audi.

  “They aren’t driving,” Lily said.

  “Maybe they decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”

  Nicole set her Diet Coke into a cupholder and put the car in gear. They followed the Audi out of the prosperous suburbs and into an old neighborhood surrounding a closed industrial plant. “I can’t believe it,” Lily said. “They’re going back to Lucky Joe’s.”

  The Audi let them out in front of the bar. A large man wearing a leather vest sat on a stool by the door. He nodded them in. Nicole pulled into a spot on the street. “This is not good for us,” she said. “The parking lot is too open. We won’t be able to take any video without being seen.”

  “So are we done for the night?”

  “It’s still early. Let’s see what happens.”

  They sat in the car, watching people come and go from the bar, the county top forty blasting from the building. The parking lot was soon full. Cars were circling the block looking for a parking place. Nicole and Lily sat low in their seats to avoid being seen. “How long?” Lily asked.

  “I’ll do a walk-through in a little while.”

  “You know, I really don’t get you. When we first met, I thought you were just like me, a little older maybe, but just a girl looking to trade conversation for some free drinks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then when we crashed the wedding and you dared me to take the car keys, I thought, ‘Okay, walk on the wild side’—I mean, I’ve returned a dress after I’ve worn it to a party. I know how to take a dare. But that was like I was just caught up in the moment. I didn’t give it a second thought.”

  “Sure.”

  “But then when I tried to do it on my own and those guys had me in the parking lot—I’ve never been so scared.”

  “It’s always scary the first time.”

  “Exactly. That’s what you would say. Because those guys wouldn’t have had a chance with you. You would have owned them then just like you’re planning to own them now. We’re here on this stakeout, planning to screw them up. My hands are sweaty, I don’t know if my deodorant will hold up, and you’re as calm as always. You live in an expensive condo. You don’t need the money. You could buy your own drinks. I can’t figure you out. It’s like you’re a government agent or something.”

  “I’m glad for the vote of confidence. But Lily, this is nothing. These aren’t criminal masterminds. They’re just assholes who are used to treating women like trash. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The bouncer smiled when she approached the door. “Hey, girl, don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

  “I just moved into town.”

  He opened the door for her. The band was set up in the back corner. The lead singer, a woman in a short dress and a cowgirl hat, was belting out a classic about lost love. Nicole couldn’t quite remember the name of the song. She squeezed up to the bar, smiled at the guy to her right, a younger guy with his steady date, and ordered a vodka tonic. Sanders and Comb-over were down the bar near the band, chatting up two age-appropriate women wearing tight dresses and a lot of rings. The women were holding up their end of the conversation, but they weren’t touching or making the fluttery eye contact that indicated real interest. It was all so sad and obvious. She went back out the door.

  “Leaving so soon?” the bouncer said.

  “Need to get some cigarettes.”

  She crossed the street and got back in the car. “Looks like the boys are going to strike out.”

  “It’s almost eleven.”

  “It’s still too early to quit.”

  A Ford Fusion pulled up in front of Lucky Joe’s. Sanders and Comb-over came out of the bar and climbed in. Nicole and Lily followed the Ford deeper into the old city until they were in a broken-down neighborhood that sported the first few signs of redevelopment. The Ford stopped in front of The Lion’s Den, a seedy bar across the street from a new coffee shop and an organic grocery. Today’s Urban Hits were blasting out onto the street. Drug dealers stood out in the open on the nearest street corner. Nicole pulled to the curb across the street from the bar.

  “This neighborhood is shit,” Lily said.

  “And there’s no parking lot,” Nicole said. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a Glock. “You ever use one of these?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “It’s very simple. It’s all set to go. Point and pull the trigger.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “I’m going to leave you in the car.”

  “Leave me in the car? What are you going to do?”

  “See if there’s an alley.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She shook her head. “We can’t risk losing the car. I’m going to leave this gun on the seat. Lock the doors. Don’t open them for any reason. This street is like an ad for a rape crisis center.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got another gun.”

  Nicole adjusted her blonde wig before she stepped out of the car. She sauntered across the street to the bar. The bouncer grinned through silver teeth. Sanders and Comb-over really were slumming it. A long bar ran down one side of the space, a double row of tables down the other side. The place was dark and loud and crowded with desperation and privilege. Every woman who was by herself appeared to be working or hoping to work. Some of them were too broken down to put on much of a show. They were hovering like vultures, waiting for the booze or the drugs to have their effect on their potential customers. She saw Sanders and Comb-over crowded up to the bar. She dug her hand into her bag to grip her Glock, meandered through to the back, and went out the door by the bathrooms. The alley was narrow and filthy. Boxes were stacked next to the full dumpster. Two ragged men huddled together at the corner watched her with animal interest.

  “Hey, sugarpie,” one of them said. “How about a little action on the house?”

  She waited until they were almost on top of her, pulled her Glock, and shoved it into the first man’s throat. “Touch me.”

  Their hands went up. The other guy said, “Whoa, lady, no disrespect.”

  They started backward. She moved with them, keeping the gun in the first man’s throat until they reached the corner. “Find ano
ther alley.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They scurried off to the right. She turned left and came out on the corner behind their car. Nothing had changed. Music blasted out of the front of The Lion’s Den, and the corner boys were calmly alert. She climbed back into the car.

  Lily looked at her expectantly.

  “Not the best setup. Can’t watch the front and back at the same time. And we stand out too much inside.”

  “Wait for another time?”

  “No. Let me think.” Nicole looked at the front of the bar, the bouncer, the dealers on the far corner. Her mind worked back through the bar, thinking about the men and the women, how they presented, where the bartender seemed to call home base, out the back, the alley around the dumpster. “Either they’re going to snag a working girl, or they’re going somewhere else.” She spoke more to herself than to Lily. “Maybe she’ll do them in the john.” She was quiet for a moment. “I’m going back in. You’re going to turn this car around, drive down the side street behind us, park where you can look down the alley. Lock the car doors. By ready to film. I’ll call you when they move.”

  “You sure? What if they spot you?”

  “Lily, they don’t know who I am.”

  “What do we do if they go in the restroom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nicole sauntered back across the street into the bar. “I didn’t even see you slip out,” the bouncer said.

  Nicole squeezed in at the end of the bar, flagged the bartender, and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. It was watery. She kept her head down and her arms in close, giving every signal that she wanted to be left alone. Sanders and Comb-over, halfway down the bar, were expansive and exuberant. They were tourists, they knew everyone knew it, and they saw no reason to hide. Nicole sipped her drink. The man beside her—he looked like a blaxploitation movie star circa 1977—offered to buy her a drink. She smiled but shook her head. Sanders and Comb-over were visibly drunk. They ordered another round. Comb-over stumbled back toward the men’s room. A woman in a tight yellow dress stood up from a table, pushed up her boobs, and started after him. As they got to the restrooms, she put her arm through his and led him into the ladies’ room.