* * *
Marino Bros. Bail, Bonds & Bounty was quiet when he entered through the back door. He made his way towards his office and entered the security code to disarm the system. Angela wouldn’t be in for at least an hour. That gave him some time to put in a few calls about those dead girls. After turning on his computer, he put on a pot of coffee white it booted up. It was still early and his friend Mark down at the police station wouldn’t be starting his shift for another thirty minutes. He would catch up on his mail and maybe do a little surfing. Read up on the two murders the cops thought might be linked.
His mail wasn’t extensive and by eight he had already read several articles on line. But none had any more information than what he had heard on the news. Two female victims, both raped and mutilated. One was Hispanic, the other Caucasian. Both in their early twenties. Both college graduates, but not the same universities. He saw no links other than being about the same age after looking at their photos, but the reporter last night said the investigators felt they were possibly linked. He wondered if the killer had left something on the scene to make the police draw that conclusion.
He heard the keys rattling at the front door. Angela, his office manager, was arriving. He called out to her so she wouldn’t be startled.
“Hey, thought you were going to sleep in.” He could see her through the open door, putting her things away.
“You know me.”
“Yup, I do. No moss grows on you.”
“Yup,” came his reply as he heard her start up her computer. He continued to read the article he was perusing.
“Coffee smells good,” he heard her call. Andreas nodded though he knew she couldn’t see him at this angle despite his door being open. “Why don’t you get me some, and then come fill me in on the wedding details?” she suggested.
Andreas shook his head, but got up. She was his office manager, but not his secretary. They got their own coffee around here. He knew better than to order her to get it. She’d have his balls served to him on a platter.
He poured them each a cup, setting her ceramic mug, the one that read “World’s Greatest Office Manager,” down on her desk. Leaning against the counter that separated her from the small waiting area, he took a sip from his own black mug.
“Thanks,” she murmured picking up the cup and blowing on the black brew before she took her first sip. “Sorry, I couldn’t make it. My daughter-in-law is a nervous wreck and thought she was going into labor.”
Andreas smiled. Angela was only in her forties, but looked younger. “Can’t wait to be a grandma, huh?” he teased.
She shot him an evil look. “I can’t actually. But, I prefer nanny.”
Andreas nodded. “The wedding was perfect. Ronnie looked gorgeous. I sent you pictures to your email as requested.”
“Good,” she barked. “Now, why are you here so early today? I thought you would stay home and sulk a bit.”
“Sulk?” Andreas laughed knowing she was about to goad him as usual.
“Yeah, sulk. Brood. Whatever. All the boys are married now. You are the oldest, still a bachelor.”
“And that is perfectly fine by me. You know that.” He took another sip of the coffee still steaming in his hands.
“M-mhm.” Angela set down her cup. “You need to be at the court house today at eleven. Michael Johnson’s bond hearing. Gio coming in?”
“Yes, he and Blaze will be in around nine.”
“Good. Gio needs to check on some of the bonds. I have a list here, and Blaze can go with him. But Blaze has that meeting today at two to renew our license. You’re going to that, right?”
Andreas nodded. “Yes, a formality, but I should be there.”
“Okay, and then don’t forget about checking in with Leon Snyder. He called twice yesterday. His kid’s hearing is tomorrow and he wants you to handle it personally.”
“Will do. He emailed me. Nervous?”
“You could say that.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t get him off the phone for a half an hour yesterday.” Angela skimmed her emails. “Oh yes, I got one from him as well. When does Nikko come back?”
“Ten days. He’ll be back in plenty of time for Thanksgiving.”
“Good. Anything you need me to do today aside from head to the clerk’s office?”
“I’d ask you to drop off my tux at the cleaner’s, but I know better.” He grinned turning back towards his office.
“Damn straight.”
He turned back at her comment, and decided to ask her for a favor. “But there is one thing. You see on the news about the murders of two college girls?”
“Yes, what’s up?” She looked up at him knowing he would be interested in this latest news.
“You want to see if Michael has heard anything about the cases, the investigation? Off the record, of course.” Her son Michael was Tampa PD.
“Yeah, I’ll ask.” She knew the story, knew why he was interested in this case.
“I’m going to call Mark Jennings, but it’s not his precinct that’s handling the case. The detective they mentioned was from Mike’s.”
“Gotcha. I’ll give him a call just as soon as I get back from the clerk’s office.”
“Thanks, Ang. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Not much. But, I’ll make you a list,” she laughed, focusing her attention on her computer screen as Andreas headed back into his office.
Chapter 4
Obsession
Salvatore Mazzelli, er, Darryl James now, shook out the vacuum canister and dropped it into the storage closet unceremoniously. He had lost his passion for his job. He had been caught twice in the last two months by his supervisor on the wrong floor. To make matters worse, the Burbanks were still in residence. The snowbirds usually only stayed in Florida from January to April, but this year they had arrived early for some unknown godforsaken reason. He was tempted to kill them. He hadn’t seen much of Catarina for nearly two months.
His urges had returned.
Arriving after Labor Day, unbeknownst to him, he had entered their apartment at his usual time for his rendezvous with Catarina when he heard the unmistakable sounds of the old man’s snoring. He immediately backed out of the apartment and descended the stairs to the floor he was supposed to be on. That had been two months ago. He had spent several afternoons hanging out in a café outside the building reading a paper and was lucky enough to catch the Burbanks departing for an afternoon appointment. The old lady was easy enough to chat up outside while her husband retrieved the car from the parking garage.
A simple comment on the weather got her chatting. She explained her husband’s allergies had been bad and provoked their earlier departure for Florida. She did not mind the heat as long as her husband felt better.
When she waved to an approaching car, he made his excuses and hastily departed, leaving her to her errand. Inside he fumed. How was he going to get access to Catarina now?
Walking down the block to catch a bus to take him home, blackness and despair began to settle in his soul. He had not wanted to think about their return. He thought he had plenty of time to see and be near Catarina. But he did not know when he would get the chance to see her again. He had not been able to ask those kinds of questions of Mrs. Burbank when her husband arrived in his large sedan.
Getting on the city bus, he made his way to the rear of the bus which was relatively empty for the early afternoon. He lowered his ball cap to cover his face and settle in. He held in his frustration and tried to think things through. What could he do?
He could try to find access to Catarina in other ways. He had only seen her one time outside of her apartment. Walking through the parking garage toward the bank of elevators designated for employees, he caught a glimpse of her heading towards the ones earmarked for those who lived in the building. He had been working there as Darryl James for six months, using his new fake identity after his old identity had been compromised. He met the man at a truck stop in Miami where
he had been working at the time doing dishes. The middle aged man came in often and was always alone. They talked on occasion. The man had no family, no relatives nearby and worked as a janitor at a local high school in the evenings. It had been fortuitous for him, but not so for Darryl.
While bussing some tables that evening, Darryl chatted him up a bit. Told him he had just left his job and was planning on moving to California. He hated the cold, but had heard it was less humid in Cali. He left a big tip and walked out the door forgetting his wallet on the table.
Sal followed him out to give it to him. He liked the guy, one of the few people he had even spoken to in the past year despite the other employees who worked the night shift with him.
Out in the parking lot, luck had struck. An eighteen wheeler came careening into the lot, the driver asleep at the wheel and after first hitting Darryl proceeded to hit the gas pumps. The explosion knocked him backwards onto his ass. Quickly scrambling backwards, Darryl James’ wallet still clutched in his hands, Sal immediately thought of an idea. He scanned the parking lot for a car. He spotted the one he recognized as Darryl’s and made a dash for it. He just slipped inside as the first of the night shift employees made their way outside.
Sal quickly popped open the glove box, and sure enough the car registration lay before him. Darryl’s’ car. The noise of the fires and the screams of Becky telling everyone to get back inside penetrated his brain. He chanced a glance out the window. His three co-workers watched the burning inferno before them and were not looking his way at all. This was his chance. He would have an identity. He had to take that opportunity.
He heard sirens approaching. He knew he had to leave before any of the emergency vehicles arrived. He quickly pulled two wires out from under the steering column, and then crossed them and then rubbed them together to create the friction and spark needed to get the car running. The old continental sputtered to life.
He backed up and steered the car behind the restaurant. Still no one saw. He drove off. He was on the road once more. But with the best possible identity of his life. Thank you, Darryl. Goodbye, Fred.
It was fate. He got the job at Trump Towers, had seen Catarina again, and now she had been ripped away from him once more. He needed her like air.
* * *
Sal palmed the key ring. He pulled his keys out when he got off the bus. Flicking them, making them jingle and then catching them once more, he walked the two blocks to his apartment. The same one he rented when he came to Tampa the day after the explosion. He had caught the news at another truck stop after the five hour drive. The reporters were saying an employee on a smoke break had been killed when the driver careened into the lot. He had smiled as he sipped his coffee and ordered his breakfast. It was what he hoped the police would have assumed. The report went on to claim that the driver had been killed as well.
He opened the door to his small bachelor pad, and flicked on the light switch that illuminated the apartment. It was just three rooms. The kitchen – living room combo was cramped, and had room for just a sofa and a table with two chairs. His small television sat on the counter next to his toaster. Dishes were piled high in the sink. He was beat. He had spent another fruitless afternoon at the coffee shop hoping to get a glimpse of Catarina. She rarely went out in the afternoons.
He walked past the mess into his bedroom. Small too. It had one single bed, a dresser, and a bathroom the size of a closet. A stand up shower and toilet. There wasn’t even a sink. He shaved in the kitchen using a hand held mirror he had taped to the wall. It was all he needed.
Almost all. He needed her. Catarina. To notice him.
She had smiled at him once. Had laughed with him.
The only one.
He had practically given up that dream until he saw her in the parking garage and then it was like fate had spoken to him. She was supposed to be his. And for four months he had her back. Until the Burbanks had come home. Early.
Those four months, when he was able to be near her, made him feel alive once more. He had not felt that way since Rosedale. When he killed those girls. For her.
He had gotten too close to the flame and had to flee. Killing those girls made him feel powerful. They were sluts. Nobodies. Not like Catarina. She had been forced to do what she did. She had been a victim. Like him.
But when he went to New York after she disappeared, he found his own path. He was dating a girl. His first girlfriend. She was plain, but nice. She didn’t mind his hair lip. Like Catarina, she had seen beyond it. So he married her. But he always thought of Catarina as his one true love.
When that prostitute approached him, he got excited. She had dark hair like his Catarina. He imagined it was Catarina while she blew him, but then after she stood and asked for her money, he became enraged. So he strangled her in an alley after she sucked his cock on her knees on the pavement. Seeing her lifeless eyes staring at him from the pavement changed him. He pulled out his pocket knife and cut her eyes out and then stepped on them. Then he cut her face. He didn’t know why he did it. But she wasn’t Catarina. Those had been his thoughts. He carved the words, “Not B” meaning to write not beautiful, but a noise down the alley scared him off.
He went home to his wife. Plain Jane. She told him she was pregnant. He acted happy. He went to take a shower. She saw blood on his hand. He told her he tripped and scraped it.
In the shower he relived the whole event and thought about Catarina. He got hard and took care of himself as the water washed the blood down the drain. Only thoughts of her made him hard. Sex with Jane was not the same.
But Jane was gone too now. And his son. That had been a decade ago.
Sighing, Sal pulled the blinds down in his room and without undressing crawled on top of his messy bed. He needed to sleep. He had to work that night. He might, he prayed, see Catarina. The urges were back. If he didn’t see her soon, more sluts would need to die.
If he didn’t see her again soon, he might need to go out once more. One more time.
He had already been out twice.
Chapter 5
Another Day
“Maryellen, Ned.” Cat waved as she used her key to open the door to her apartment.
“Hello, Catarina.” Maryellen returned the greeting. “We are just back from shopping. We’re stocking up for Thanksgiving. Our kids are coming this year. This will be our first Thanksgiving here in Florida.” Maryellen was breathless as she set her bag of groceries down. Ned was carrying two bags and pulling a cart on wheels with what looked like several more bags of groceries crammed inside.
“But Thanksgiving is still weeks away.” Cat laughed pausing by her open door.
“Oh, but they are bringing the grandkids too. We will have a houseful. We need to stock up. I’m glad we have a three bedroom apartment. Jake is bringing his wife and their two kids. They can share a room. Then Molly is coming with her husband.”
“That will be nice for you,” Cat replied walking down the hall to help the Burbanks carry their groceries inside.
“Thank you dear,” Ned spoke the words as Cat reached behind him to hold the door open while he pulled the cart inside.
“You can join us dear, if you would like.”
“Oh, no, please. But thank you. I do have plans,” Cat replied. Maryellen’s eyes looked at her suspiciously, but she nodded all the same as she passed into her apartment with Cat picking up the bag she had left on the floor. Their apartment, a mirror image of her own, had a wide open formal living room that faced the ocean and a wall of glass that left no view obstructed. Cat carried the bag over to the marble island counter in the kitchen and sat on a barstool as the Burbanks put their groceries away. Her neighbors for five years, ever since she moved in, had become friendly with her. He a retired firefighter, and she a former school teacher from Michigan, were extremely outgoing.
“I should go.” Cat made her excuses. “I need to get some work done.”
“Okay doll. It must be nice to work from home. The Internet has c
hanged the way people do things today. But dear, you should get out more.” Maryellen called out to her as she gave the couple a final wave closing their apartment door behind her.
Walking back to her apartment, Cat thought of what it must be like to have a large family. Family. She had never had that, really. Only for a while. She had some fond memories of her Nanna Sophie Rose Stone and Poppa. Her great grandparents had raised her until she was nine. Orphaned at three, she did not remember her mother at all. Had never known her father. Her mother’s mother had died as well in a car accident with an aunt. Then she had been on her own. In Amsterdam. She made her way on the streets of the city, panhandling, running errands, and eventually the red light district lured her in.
Shrugging her shoulders and setting her purse on the credenza, she walked to one of her bedrooms that served as her office. She did have work to do. The holidays were busy times in her line of work. Lots of people wanted company this time of year, and she arranged that. It was a lucrative business, and she was doing well.
Her first piece of business though was to read the online papers. These two killings worried her. They had both been her girls at one time. The report last night that the police thought they might be related twisted her gut. She was careful. Her clients screened. Her girls trained. But both Crystal and Fatima had stopped working for her, Crystal just a few months ago, and Fatima last year. They had graduated university and proceeded to make their own way in the world. It pained her that they had been killed just when they could begin to live. Both, she had gotten off the streets, and she had helped them to achieve their dreams.
She saw nothing in the papers that was not already said on last night’s news report. Call the police if you know anything ended each article she read. She wouldn’t be doing that. She didn’t know anything. She just had a feeling.
The Bounty Hunters: The Marino Bros.: Box Set Page 73