Deadliest Intuition

by E. Raye Turonek

  “There’s nothing wrong with my car,” Margaret professed, just as a shooting cloud of steam escaped her radiator.

  “You’re right. That looks perfectly normal.”

  Unable to hold back her emotions, Margaret covered her face, only to sob into the palms of her hands. The part-time librarian didn’t make enough to cover car trouble.

  When she cried, George wanted nothing more than to wash all her worries away. He didn’t even know Margaret, but every fiber of his being told him he wanted to. “I can probably help you out. I know a little bit about cars,” he admitted, hoping to extinguish her worries.

  And that’s how their journey began. Within a year, the two of them were married and expecting the arrival of their baby boy, Ronald.

  * * *

  If only Ronald could give Gertrude a life like his father had given his mother, he pondered. One where they could genuinely be happy. Gertrude certainly believed it so. The way she looked at him made him even more convinced as he allowed himself to become lost in her enchanting stare. Ronald had become so immersed in their conversation that he’d almost missed Cecilia standing there at the end of the mall corridor. He’d caught glimpses of her in the spaces between passing shoppers, something beckoning her in its direction.

  “So, where to next?” Gertrude asked, noticing his attention shift from her to that which lay in the distance. Awaiting his reply, she studied him.

  Her words had fallen on deaf ears. Every sound within his earshot had become inaudible. There was one thing he heard loud and clear. “Follow me, dear brother. I’ll show you the way,” Cecilia coaxed.

  After a few more seconds went by without a word from Ronald, Gertrude took hold of his arm, wrapping hers around it. “Come on. Let’s go.” She ushered him onward at her side, hoping his odd behavior would pass. Maybe this is what my girls were talking about. She tried connecting the dots as they strolled casually down the mall corridor through the crowds of people. Once they picked up their pace, Gertrude realized she was no longer leading.

  Unbeknownst to her, a little pale, dingy fingertip determined the direction of their stride. It was quite possible Gertrude would finally see just how strange Ronald could be. The couple rounded the corner by the Pretzel Stand, and there they were. A host of vandals snatching sneakers, clothing, and jewelry from outside store displays as they passed them by immediately garnered Ronald’s attention.

  He paused but only for a brief second before springing into action as he’d come up with a way to foil their plan. The sports shop was running a special on rubber dodge balls, two for five bucks. Ronald took a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket, handing it over to the store attendant, who’d joined the onlookers in the hall to witness the spectacle unfolding before them.

  Twenty dollars bought him eight balls—eight balls Ronald whipped at the miscreants with great speed and accuracy. Sure, he’d tripped several of them up, even caused a couple of them to tumble over, assisting the mall cops in the capture of four out of six of the fitted baseball cap-wearing hooligans. Even with their combined efforts, four of them managed to make it to the exit at the end of the corridor, then out of the mall doors.

  “Oh my God. Ronald? How did you know? Did you know?” Gertrude inquired, baffled by his seemingly stellar intuition.

  “Of course, I knew. You could hear the raucous noise from around the corner,” he answered nonchalantly, taking note of the escaping thieves’ attire. He thought it odd one of them was wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt, which stood for drug abuse resistance education. To think a D.A.R.E. student would be causing such mayhem didn’t seem right. They had to be imposters.

  Gertrude shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t listening hard enough.” Regardless, she couldn’t help but wonder how the heck he heard anything over the chatter of the other shoppers.

  That aside, he’d shown great courage stepping in to help. It turned her on the way he’d whipped those balls through the air, hitting his target. Soon, the oddities of the situation faded into the background. All that mattered was the tall, handsome, courageous man at her side, hopefully soon to be in her bed. If she had even an ounce of reservation left in her, it had been completely drained after that moment. The squishy feeling between her thick, caramel thighs told her so. Gertrude’s loins yearned for Ronald’s touch more than ever, kicking her mind into overdrive. Right then and there, she began formulating a plan to bed him.

  Chapter 29

  Things Get Complicated

  The top of the door knocked against the bell, alerting the liquor store clerk of his next patron as they came through the door. One donned stonewashed jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt, the other wearing jeans and a black D.A.R.E. T-shirt. Both sported fitted baseball caps, brims low to conceal their profiles somewhat.

  Wilson Moral looked up, then back down at his paper, paying the young adults no mind. Much of the time, he tried his best to mind his business. He’d taken on the part-time job to fill the time during his lonesome days. His grandchildren certainly appreciated the impromptu gifts it allowed him to award them. He intended to put in no more than six hours a day, four days per week. That’s it. Ring up a few customers and go home.

  So far, the night had been slow on a normally high-traffic evening. Saturday was when everyone headed to the liquor stores to stock up for their get-togethers, celebrations, and whatnot. The way Wilson saw it, the fewer customers, the better. He didn’t want any trouble, which was something he unfortunately encountered regularly. The clock struck 10:23 p.m. His shift had gone smoothly the entire four hours he’d been there. There were a few times Peggy crossed his mind. Where was she? And why’d she stand up the gang like that? Both questions would go unanswered. For the rest of the night, at least.

  His customers were busy filling their book bags with energy drinks, sodas, and malt liquors in the back near the coolers. They’d already hit up the toiletry aisle, snagging tissue, lotion, toothpaste, and a few other essentials.

  Ding-a-ling. The bell rang once more, and in walked Ronald cloaked in a navy-blue jogging suit. He kept the hood of his sweatshirt up, letting his loose braids hang down in front of his shoulders. The aroma of rotisserie smoked Red sausage and beef hot dogs hit him when he crossed the threshold. Fortunately, Ronald had already eaten dinner; otherwise, he would feel inclined to partake in the rolled concoction of spare animal parts. His lack of vanilla cream soda, a drink that paired perfectly with his apple pie, brought him there that night. Ronald was big on desserts. It was a dish his mother prepared after every dinner. Even if they ordered out, which was rare, Margaret made sure she had something at their humble abode to satisfy one’s sweet tooth.

  It’d become a habit for Ronald to take in his surroundings. He always had to be ready for the evil in men. Cecilia had proved that to him time and time again. The man behind the counter holding the Ebony magazine open in front of his face was clearly uninterested in the fact that a customer had just walked through the door. Ronald shifted his attention to the large round mirrors attached to the wall along the ceiling. That’s when he saw the pair looting the refreshments. He remembered their distinct clothing and hats. Ronald couldn’t tell whether they were male or female. Frankly, it didn’t matter. They were the same ones wreaking havoc at Eastland Mall. Now, they were getting their rocks off at a corner store. Ronald assumed they were a bunch of excitement junkies—a bunch of punks, really. Choosing to carry out the melee in such a public forum had to be solely for attention.

  They got away with it before, but Ronald vowed they wouldn’t a second time. With a smirk plastered upon his face, he emerged from behind the Better Made chip stand just as the stranger in the D.A.R.E. shirt lathered their hands with the stolen lotion. The other stood choosing between two types of malt liquor in search of their alcohol content.

  The moment they saw him with that smug expression on his face, they knew they’d been found out. Both took off down the aisles, separating unintentionally. Ronald gave chase, dodging can goods, macaroni boxes, and vegetabl
e oil along with any other groceries the D.A.R.E. misfit decided to launch at him.

  Ding-a-ling. The guy in the tie-dyed shirt was out the door first. He waited for a second across the street behind the cover of the big blue mailbox.

  Shit, what have I done? This is all my fault. I should never have gotten her into this. His worry compounded as he willed his companion in crime to come out that door.

  Ding-a-ling. She came sprinting out the doors. She was going so fast that her baseball cap flew off, sending her long, wrapped hair flying free.

  It’s a girl. Taken by surprise, Ronald slowed his speed just a little. With the force at which he barreled toward her, he was liable to mow her down. I can’t hurt this girl. He fought with his morals. Every fiber of his being told him not to hurt her. But there was another part of him that refused to be silenced. The part of him that said she deserved to be punished spoke to him right on time.

  “Make her pay, dear brother. Make her pay.” A seething Cecilia hovered nearby, imploring him to do his duty.

  Is that what this is all about—making them pay? What did she do? Steal some petty items? Cause a ruckus? Does this warrant her death? Ronald fought with his duty to enforce Cecilia’s will as he chased the female on to an I-75 overpass. He intended to grab her and make her see that what she’d done was wrong. He hoped to convince her never to do it again. That’s when it all changed. The scene around him shifted from an overpass to a dark alley. A rabid dog suddenly appeared at their heels and seemed to want nothing more than to rip the woman Ronald was chasing to shreds. The bloodthirsty hound caught up to Ronald disregarding him as he ran at his side. It was the girl he wanted.

  The frightened girl kept up her speed but glanced back once she heard them within arm’s-reach of her. Ronald threw his arm into the air, blocking the canine’s bite as it leaped toward her. The woman’s foot caught the edge of some lifted concrete, catapulting her through the air, then to the ground. Just that quick, his mission turned from capturing her to saving her life. Ronald grabbed the snarling beast by the collar, flinging him back through the air. Push back from the weight of the animal knocked Ronald to the cement. He reacted without hesitation, forcing the girl back against the dumpster behind him as he attempted to subdue the wild animal that had charged back in their direction. They were nose to snout, Ronald and the canine. He fought mercilessly, taking bites to the forearm and hands. The girl’s body pushed back, attempting to give him the leverage he needed to fight from their position.

  Then she shrieked, nearly rupturing Ronald’s eardrums. The effects being a loud ringing that refused to subside. That’s when the scene shifted to reflect the reality of their situation. They weren’t in an alley at all, nor was there a vicious dog attacking them. Ronald’s arms were free of bite marks. No scuffs or scrapes covered his hands. It was as if he’d imagined it all. He sat up on the edge of the concrete curb along the overpass, letting out a deep sigh. What’s happening to me? He had begun to question his sanity.

  “Help me!” she screamed.

  Ronald sprang up at the sound of her cries. “Where are you?” He looked around for any signs of her.

  “Please, don’t let me die,” Tiffany begged as she hung from the side of the bridge.

  Ronald leaned over the edge, gripping the metal railing as he peered into her sorrowful, dark brown eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. They were just groceries. Please,” she stated her final plea.

  It was then that the lotion she’d applied to her hands in the store did its job. The slip was slow and painful for Tiffany, knowing the entire time she was doomed to plummet to her death. There was no way Ronald could reach her, even if he were willing to. Besides, it was him who had pushed her off the bridge in a crazed panic. Cecelia made sure, one way or another, he would fulfill his duty.

  From that day on, Ronald would have to bear the brunt of killing one of Gertrude’s dear friends. Not only did he have to worry about the murder, he couldn’t help but wonder who’d witnessed the frenzy between him and the shoplifting couple.

  Just then, he heard it . . . Tiffany’s partner in crime calling out for her in the distance.

  “Tiffany, where are you?” he cried out as he made his way over the bridge.

  “If she’s bad, he’s got to be much worse, dear brother. Wouldn’t you agree?” Cecilia’s narrow, crusted, purple lips whispered at the base of her brother’s ear.

  “Tiffany, can you hear me?” the voice echoed as it drew nearer.

  His breaths escaped hard and deep. Sweat marked the pits of his tie-dyed T-shirt. Smack, smack, smack. He hit the side of his face, trying to slap some sense into himself. But he was a moment too late.

  “My God. Tiffany! Tell me where you are,” he cried out.

  That’s when an arm coiled around the five-foot-nothing man’s head, squeezing firmly on his neck.

  “Let me go. What are you doing?” he whimpered, attempting to tussle against the six-foot-four frame his back crashed against.

  Those were the last words Ronald allowed to leave his lips. Tightening his grip, he dragged the man across the concrete. One of his black sneakers came off as it scraped against the curb. Ronald did have enough heart to choke him into a dead sleep before he flung his body over the bridge and down onto the train tracks, next to Tiffany’s corpse.

  He’d gotten it over with as fast as he could. It wasn’t that he wanted the man to suffer. Ronald’s decision was more out of survival. The last thing he wanted to do was go to jail. Once Tiffany was dead, he had no other option than to kill her companion.

  Chapter 30

  The Call

  Moments later, the call came over Barnes’s dashboard CB radio. He sat parked in front of Peggy’s residence, filling out his missing person’s report. She’d yet to surface, leaving her front door still wide open. Because her vehicle, keys, and purse were there at her residence, Barnes opted not to shut her front door. Instead, he hung around, hoping she would soon resurface.

  “Barnes, do you copy?”

  “This is Barnes. Go ahead,” he replied, snatching up the handheld speaker.

  “We received an anonymous call in your area regarding a man chasing a woman across the bridge on Mt. Elliott near Mound. Are you still in the area?”

  “I’m actually right around the corner.” Barnes shifted his squad car into drive, then sped off to assess the scene. “Have Hamtramck police been notified? I don’t have time to argue about turf.”

  “Sir, just like the one you’re at, they gave it up. I believe it’s too close to the border for them,” the female officer on the other end responded.

  “Well, I’m almost there. Over and out.”

  Ronald’s conversion van passed by Barnes on his left just as he turned on to Harold Street. The two briefly locked eyes, furnishing each other a nod. Up ahead, streetlamps sporadically lining the edges of the bridge illuminated as he rounded the corner onto Mt. Elliot. Barnes flipped on his own spotlight affixed to his driver’s-side window to get a good glimpse of what might be lying there in the darkness. It had been an otherwise peaceful night. Not a soul on the bridge in either direction. He took his time inching his way up the bridge. That’s when the small bottle of travel-size lotion in the middle of the street caught his eye. Barnes stopped the cruiser, threw it into park, then hopped out with his Maglite, leaving the driver’s-side door ajar.

  He crossed over into the beaming rays of his headlights to look it over. It wasn’t until he lifted his head in contemplation that he saw the black sneaker nestled there next to the curb, not six feet from where he stood. About six more feet sat the edge of the bridge.

  Barnes clicked on his light, shining it in that direction. The only logical thing for him to do would be to look over the edge, but first, he had to make sure there was no one around threatening to push him over once he’d gotten there. He did a 360-degree turn, illuminating the area around him, finding nothing—just the sound of crickets competing with the buzzing street lamps
and an occasional barking dog.

  He took his time looking on the other side of the overpass, scanning the scene behind him one last time before he finally glanced over, shining his flashlight below. There was nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway. Just the train yard and a few abandoned cabooses.

  Barnes huffed, even more perplexed by the shoe and lotion bottle. Even though no crime looked to have been committed, he gathered up the shoe and lotion as evidence, just in case.

  * * *

  The sun rose, glistening against the dew, revitalizing the grass Sunday morning. Barnes lay reclined back in his seat. A black cat leaped onto the hood of his cruiser, waking him from a deep slumber. He groaned, lifting his seat upright to find Peggy Avarice’s front door ajar.

  He let out a long sigh. The cases were piling up. He was used to it. I mean, it was the inner city, but whenever a case involved someone elderly, it hit a soft spot for him. His mother passed away, suffering from dementia. In the end, she forgot how even to feed herself. A feeding tube provided her the only nourishment at the time of her death. He hoped Peggy didn’t suffer the same illness. Barnes feared she’d wandered off and gotten lost. The city was vast. Finding her would be like finding a needle in a haystack. He got out and shut the front door to her house before leaving the scene.

  * * *

  “Where is she? I can’t believe she’s not home yet,” May complained as she spied Barnes’s cruiser pulling off from Peggy’s residence.

  “Aunt May, what are you doing up so early? I don’t smell any coffee brewing.”

  “Do I look like a barista to you?” Aunt May snapped at Gertrude out of frustration of her gal pal being missing.

  Even without an explanation, Gertrude could see the worry overtaking her aunt. Whenever she wasn’t watching talk shows or soap operas, she had her eyes glued on mysteries, which often contributed to Aunt May fearing the worst.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt May. You know I didn’t mean it like that. Would you like me to make the coffee? As a matter of fact, I am making the coffee. You just relax,” Gertrude replied as she rushed off to brew the pot of joe. The sound of her house slippers sliding across the wood floors worked more than a few of Aunt May’s nerves.