Cliff Roberts Thriller Box Set

by Cliff Roberts

  “Is that the woman at the house?” I asked quietly, regretting doing so immediately.

  He looked up and grinned again. That grin was wicked. “Why, yes! It is!” he said with pride. “I let her find out just how bad being eaten by rats could be compared to my sexual desires. There used to be a band of duct tape across her face covering her mouth, but one night the rats chewed it off. I wonder how bad that hurt? I hope a lot,” he added and kept on grinning with satisfaction.

  “Why are you here? If you’re not going to kill me, then why are you here?” I asked because I needed to get to the point. Good or bad, I had to know.

  “I told you. I want to help you; and in return, you can be my friend,” he stated with an air of finality.

  “What if I don’t want any friends?” I asked stupidly.

  “I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble for you. I’ve given you enough money to have a life again. I’ll be solving your biggest problem later tonight. I would think that you would be grateful and want to be friends with the person who was there for you.”

  His face was starting to take on a pissed expression that was visible through the mask, so I blurted out, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be friends. God knows I don’t have any, but I don’t know anything about you. What’s your name?” Yeah, now my mind was in gear, I was thinking fast and furiously.

  “You can call me Will or William,” he said while looking past me at something on the wall.

  “Can I call you Bill?” I asked and followed that with, “It’s so less formal. You know, the way friends are.”

  “Oh, yes. Bill Connelly. That would be just fine. Now what new name do you want?” he asked as if he’d just make a call, and I’d be someone else.

  “What do you mean, ‘who do I want to be’? You know my name. Hell, you’ve been stalking me for years, it sounds like.”

  I sounded a little irate, I guess, because he pointed the gun at me as he stated, “I think I’ll call you Jacob Keys. Jake for short. Yes, that will be your name. Besides, I can’t have you running around using your real name. The police may be trying to find the old you, and I can’t have that happen to my new best friend.”

  “Why would the police be looking for me?” I asked, like I didn’t know anything about stealing the money from him, or the dead woman I didn’t report, or the gun I bought illegally. Yeah, I was an innocent man. I was innocent. Honest.

  “Well, Jake,” he said, smiling this time. “The solution to your problem is a little tricky. You see, I no longer follow what others call the civilized rules of society. I live by the Old Testament rules—an eye for an eye, a bone for a bone, a life for a life. When someone stabs you in the eye, you have to return the favor. It’s God’s law. If you are an adulterer, the punishment is death,” he spoke as that wicked grin crossed his face again.

  “You’re going to kill my ex?” I asked, startled by the admission I thought he was making.

  “What makes you think that? I’m not going to kill her. You are,” he said coldly with a blank expression on his face. “Well, at least the police will think it was you. I figure I’ll have to help you this first time. Then you’ll be able to relax and just be my friend, knowing that neither of us can harm the other without harming ourselves.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute! I’m really pissed at the bitch, but I can’t kill her. Shit! That’s not who I am. I’m not like you. I mean, sure, I’ve thought about doing it, but I wasn’t really serious. Shit! Yeah, my life sucks, but maybe I’ll find another woman; and besides, you told me all about her fucking around and how I’m better off without her!” I wasn’t sure what I was saying, but I knew I couldn’t let him murder her, let alone do it myself.

  “Jake, Jake, Jake!” he repeated sternly as if he were chiding a child. “I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength, here. It’s about creating a bond between us that no one can ever break. I’ve already shown you some of my best kept secrets. I’ve already given you money. You’ve already spent some of the money. You can’t go back on the deal now, buddy. It wouldn’t be very nice.” He finished speaking, stood up and walked to the door.

  “Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll be in touch tomorrow, and we can start our new life together. It’ll be fun.”

  And with that, he was out the door and gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I jumped up and ran around the bed, grabbed my new gun and raced to the door, all the while trying to keep the towel in place. I swung the door open, and I jumped into the hallway. I looked left and then right, only to find the pizza delivery woman standing there with a very surprised look on her face.

  “Don’t shoot!” she yelled loudly.

  “I…ah…” I stumbled over the words, and I grabbed at my towel as it fell to the floor. Embarrassed, I almost panicked; but in the end I said I was sorry, I wasn’t looking for her. She acted really disappointed by putting a frown on her face, but her eyes were twinkling at me.

  “Nice backup gun you got there!” she quipped, and I quickly slinked back into my room. Before the door closed, she said, “I’ve got your pizza here.”

  “Huh? What pizza? I already had you deliver one earlier. There must be some mistake,” I struggled to get the words out as she stood there smiling and looking me over in my towel.

  “No, it’s got your room number on it, and you paid for it by credit card, Jake. Oh, by the way, I’d like to thank you for the big tip. I can really use it.”

  “I’m not Jake. I’m…” I grabbed my wallet after dropping the gun on the bed, attempting to show her that they had it wrong by showing her my license. I was struck speechless by the fact that somehow Psycho Bill had switched my license and my credit cards. Each one said that I was Jacob R. Keys. Shit.

  “I get off in an hour if you still want to discuss the ordering trouble. I could easily swing by on my way home and help you get adjusted, if you’d like?” she said without a hint of sarcasm and a whole lot of smile.

  ‘I…uh…What’s your name?” I asked after throwing the wallet on the bed and backing up a few feet while adjusting my towel.

  “My name’s Donna, and I’d be glad to stop by after work.” She had a smile that was infectious not to mention sinful. Sinfully beautiful!

  “Donna, I’m not sure you’ve caught me at my best. I think maybe I need to take a rain check tonight, but I might be willing to take you up on, say, a dinner date in a few days. Would you mind?” I felt like an idiot. Here this woman saw naked, fat, wrinkled, old me, and she still wanted to stop by after work and hump my brains out, yet I was saying no. What was wrong with me? What do I mean, ‘I felt like an idiot’? I am an idiot!

  “Well, I guess that would be okay, but you seem to be under a bit of pressure right now, and you should have it relieved…” she said with a straight face behind her beautiful smile. “I guess if you can wait until then, it’ll just make for an even bigger blowout when it does happen.”

  “I…ahhh… yeah, I’ve got a couple of big meetings tomorrow and the next day, and I’ve got to focus. You would be way too big of a distraction, so I’d better wait.” Somehow the lie just exploded from my mouth, and I felt good about saying it. After all, if I’m still alive in three days, I’m going to need some company.

  She wrote her number on the pizza box and reminded me to be sure to call. As she left me standing in the doorway to my room, an older couple walked by looking at me strangely.

  Shit. I was still wearing only a towel. The old woman snickered and her husband (at least I think it was her husband) quipped as they passed, “You’re a fool to send that away.”

  I had to agree with him, but I also had to stop Mr. Psycho Bill from killing my soon-to-be ex. Yeah, she was a bitch, no question, but no one had the right to kill her. What am I saying? Killing her is too good for her. She had spent or wasted our life savings on her supposed business, which she assured me would make us rich if only she hadn’t tried to screw the federal government out of a million dollars (which, by the way, they caugh
t her doing), causing everything to go to hell. Yeah, she deserved to die, but there were laws against that stuff, and I didn’t want to go to jail for the rest of my life. My life sucked enough as it was.

  After fretting over the situation for an hour, I called the house and let the phone ring several times. I was about to hang up, when someone picked up. “Maria, is that you?” I asked. There was silence for several seconds, and then I heard the voice of Mr. Psycho himself—Bill.

  “I knew it would be you. I know it’s hard to deal with the reality of the situation, Jake, but it’s for your own good. Now, hang up and leave me alone, so I can finish doing the favor I promised I’d take care of.” He spoke as if I were a small child, needing to have things gently explained to me.

  “Look, Bill, don’t do this. I don’t want her killed. Hell, let’s just mess with her car and maybe her credit cards. I don’t want to go to jail,” I begged.

  “Jake, my friend, I hate to see you struggle with this so much, but if you’ll just trust me, it’ll be over before you know it. How’s the second pizza?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Pizza?” I hesitated for moment. “Why did you order me a pizza?” I asked, falling so easily for his joke away from our real conversation.

  “Well, for one, you needed an alibi, which you now have. Two, you needed to find another woman, and if I’ve guessed right, you’ve done that, too!” he stated authoritatively. I knew he was grinning at me again. Shit.

  “I’m calling the cops!” I blurted out.

  “Okay. It’s your funeral,” he stated flatly.

  “What? My funeral? What the hell are you saying?” I asked as my voice cracked, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

  “I told you. Your old life is over. I’m framing you for the murder of your ex, and then tomorrow, we’ll dump your car out in the Glades and leave a suicide note in a plastic bag on the dashboard. The cops will think you killed her and then killed yourself. There won’t be a body because they will assume that the gators have eaten you. It’s a perfect plan! Relax! Now, good night, Jake. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Before I could say anything, the Psycho hung up on me. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I didn’t sleep that night. I sat up, drinking from my bottle of Jim Beam and worrying about what would happen tomorrow. Somehow, I’d let myself get trapped in this mess, and I had to figure a way out of it. He couldn’t have really killed her, could he? But then again, he was in the house. He answered the house phone, for Christ’s sake. I tried to convince myself that she wasn’t home, and he had broken in only to wait for me to call. Yeah, that had to be it. She stayed out all night again, and he was just trying to scare me. I called the house three more times before nine a.m., but the phone just rang. No answer.

  I looked at my wallet again and found I couldn’t tell the difference between this new license and my old one. At least, how I remembered it. It was gone, along with my credit cards, all of which were expired or about to be anyway and all overdrawn. My library card was gone, too, as well as every bit of those little personal papers that everyone stuffs in their wallets. Nothing in this wallet could connect me to my old life. Nothing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I checked out just after nine a.m. using the in-room checkout system on the TV. Once I reached my car, I started looking in the glove box for the registration, which I finally found and saw that it still had my old information on it. I thought he had missed it; but then I thought about what he said last night and how we were going to dump the car in the Everglades. It made sense. They would probably need something to ID the nonexistent body. Damn, he was smart. Way smarter than I was. How was I going to get away from him?

  While looking through the glove box, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the visor above the driver’s side. I knew it was a note from him. I pulled it out and found it was a map. It showed me the way into a part of the Glades I’d never even been close to before, and it had a time written on it: 3:00 p.m. I assumed that was the time I was to meet him there. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I drove by the neighborhood where my house was and found the street blocked by a police car. Oh, no. He really did it. I drove down the next street and saw from between the houses that there were several police officers walking around the exterior of my house. Oh, shit! He’d really done it. He killed her! Shit. What else did he say? Oh, yeah, that he was framing me for it. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I drove off as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself. I jumped on the Interstate and drove north at close to a hundred miles an hour, until I realized that I didn’t know where I was going and that the last thing I needed was to be pulled over. I slowed down and got off the Interstate, driving out into an area that appeared to be open fields with some woods nearby. I followed a pair of tire ruts I’d found, leading from the main road into the woods. Once I’d found my way to a secluded spot, I stopped and cried like a baby.

  I didn’t understand why I was crying to begin with. Hell, it wasn’t like there were any feelings left in me for The Bitch, and yet, here I was, bawling my eyes out. She’d cheated on me, ruined our lives financially and then kicked me to the curb, just when I needed her most. I remembered when I told her that if we married, it was until death do us part. Didn’t we take the wedding vows twice, stating that we’d stick together in sickness and in health? For richer or for poorer? I did nothing wrong. She was the problem, not me. Then my pea brain started up again and cranked out the real reason I was crying. I was scared shitless.

  I was afraid that I’d be arrested for her murder. That I’d be charged with stealing two million dollars, and they would probably throw in the illegal gun purchase just for shits and giggles. I was crying for me—the dumb sucker who got caught up in Mr. Psycho’s stupid mind game and was going to get totally screwed in the end. Shit. I had the gun now. I’d be better off blowing my brains out than having to live on death row for ten years before they shot me full of poison. I thought about the gun. I even got it out of the bag and held it. I checked the clip to make sure it was loaded and held it to my head. I cocked the trigger and closed my eyes. After a minute, I lowered the gun. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t end my misery. I wasn’t brave enough. Shit. I was totally and completely screwed.

  I turned on the radio and listened to the all-news station. I heard my name, my old name, mentioned as a person of interest in a murder that occurred last night in the Fort Myers Shores neighborhood of Fort Myers. A man and a woman were found brutally murdered in a home on the fifteen hundred block of Fifth Street. No suspects have been named, but the woman’s estranged husband was being sought for questioning. Police were asking anyone who may have information as to the whereabouts of this person to call Crime Stoppers. Shit, that confirmed it. He’d done it. He’d killed her and left some sort of evidence behind that said I’d done it. I was a wanted man now.

  By noon, even with the air conditioning turned all the way up, I was miserable. The temperature inside the car was a good ninety-five degrees. I looked at the map again, and this time, my little pea brain sputtered and made a few little popping sounds (which were probably blood vessels blowing out), then it fired up with an idea about how I might get out of this. I had two million dollars! I had new ID saying I was someone else, complete with credit cards and an address somewhere in Naples, Florida. I didn’t have an ex-wife anymore. Hell, I didn’t have any wife. I was completely free. I could go anywhere.

  My new friend, Mr. Psycho, wanted to help me. He had contacts who knew how to get things like fake IDs and credit cards. I wondered if he could get fake passports. I would find out. I’d go ahead and meet with the guy this afternoon. I would let him help me do away with my old self; then, I’d let him help me get a new passport. Once I had the passport, I was free to go anywhere in the world. Anywhere was just a short plane fight away. I would go somewhere where no one knew me. I didn’t even have to leave the States. I could go to L.A. or Portland, maybe even Chicago.

  I could buy a new car and drive off to Char
lotte or Atlanta. I could move to England or even Australia or New Zealand. I thought all these things and didn’t speak a word. I remembered I was bugged, and I didn’t want him to have a heads up. I was sure if he didn’t see it coming, I would get away with it.

  I followed the map and found myself alone in the Everglades, somewhere south of Alligator Alley but north of Monroe County. It was hot, and I was very uncomfortable. The little spot of dry land I was on was really a small island that someone had taken the time to fill in the space between it and another small island, creating an access to the island for vehicles. I was parked, looking, I think, east, but I wasn’t sure. The route to get here was so twisted, I doubted I could find my way back out.

  I looked around and wondered where my new best friend was. It was almost three, and he wasn’t here yet. I started to wonder if I was being set up by Psycho Bill and at three this afternoon, a bunch of police would materialize out the swamp and arrest me. Or maybe he was sitting somewhere close by, waiting to shoot me; but he wouldn’t kill me. Oh, no, only wound me. Then he would just sit back and watch the gators stop by for a snack, eating me alive.

  My mind wandered back to the woman in the old house, and I felt a chill run down my spine. He had said she was his old girlfriend and that their relationship had ended very badly, so he fed her to the rats. Shit. Mr. Psycho was one sick puppy. He could have just shot her; but no, he had to hang her up like a piece of meat and let the rats slowly eat her.

  It also crossed my mind that I should ask who the skeleton was. After all, how many people slept with a skeleton under their bed? It was then I remembered that I had puked there—puked twice, in fact. I’d also been on the floor in the bedroom and on the foyer floor at the bottom of the stairs. Oh, yeah, there was the back door, too. I’d left fingerprints everywhere and on the damn back door, too. I had to get rid of that stuff somehow. If the police found my prints there, that would be another crime I would be wanted for. Damn. My little pea brain popped up and let me know that I had been set up from the start. He wanted me to go there, to see the dead woman, to get down on the floor, to get the bag of money. He had left the back door locked on purpose, knowing he could spook me enough to make me run that way. Shit! Shit! Shit!