Murder on a Saturday Night

by K. C. Sivils

  “C’mon, Blondie, you have to tell me how your date went.”

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” Blondie murmured. “Everything was okay.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Umm, sort of. I’m not sure he’s really my type.”

  Amy frowned. “Nice guys are your type now. You have to stay away from the kind of guys you used to date, the kind of men who were your customers.”

  Blondie opened her eyes and looked up at her friend.

  "You're right. But Kyle was so boring. I found myself wishing he was a client who was just shy, then at least I knew something would happen at the end of the date."

  “Take it back,” Amy ordered.

  “No. Kyle was boring.”

  “It’s me you’re talking to. I have to learn to like nice, boring guys too.”

  Blondie closed her eyes and stretched, yawning at the same time.

  "I suppose. Kyle's nice enough, and the restaurant he took me to was pretty upscale. It's just that I was bored. Kyle doesn't know how to talk to a girl."

  “Maybe you don’t know how to talk to a nice guy unless he’s going to pay you to have sex with him.”

  Offended, Blondie sat straight up, glaring at her roommate. “Like you have any room to talk.”

  “I know,” Amy snapped. “I was worried about you. I know how easy it is to fall back into bad habits.”

  “Bad habits? Give me an example.”

  “You need to quit encouraging Elijah.”

  “Boucher?” Blondie laughed. “Now there is a guy who has to be fun.”

  “There is a guy who will break your heart and get you into trouble, Blondie. He’s a player, big time. What’s more, you’ll make Heat mad.

  “Like Heat would care,” Blondie replied, her tone snippy.

  “Heat would care. Have you already forgotten who got you off the street, got you cleaned up, gave you a job, and is paying for school?”

  "I would have gotten clean and off the streets," Blondie protested. "As for a job, it's part-time, and he pays peanuts, and tuition at a community college is cheap."

  Amy stood up, frowning from concern.

  “Heat doesn’t have to help you.”

  “Yeah,” Blondie fired back, getting irritated with Amy’s prying. “He didn’t have to help you either, Amy. But then I bet you slip him some every once in a while, and it’s enough for Heat to keep you around and paying the bills.”

  There was no hesitation. Amy slapped Blondie as hard as she could, leaving a bright red mark on her friend’s face.

  Her brow furrowed in anger; Amy growled through gritted teeth. “Heat has never touched me like that, and I have never offered.”

  Amy's face displayed the disgust she felt over Blondie's attitude. As she turned to leave the room, Amy paused to fire a final parting shot. "It's those kinds of thoughts that will get you in trouble again, Blondie. You need to spend some time taking a long hard look at who you are and comparing that to who you want to be. Cause if you can't see a different you in a year or so, you'll be back on the street, turning tricks and using again."

  Slamming the bedroom door behind her, Amy slowed down only to grab her purse as she headed for the front door. Blondie jumped at the sound of the second door being slammed shut. She sat up on her bed, putting her feet on the floor. Amy's angry words of accusation rang in her ears, leaving Blondie confused, not knowing who to be mad with, Amy or herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jim Johnson was a mostly patient man who tried to find the good in every person. He was far from naïve, being fully aware that every member of the human race was capable of unspeakable evil given the right set of circumstances. Some people didn't even need the right circumstances. Jim simply found it more productive to see the good in people. It made for more positive relationships, interactions with others and made other people view him in a positive light.

  It was one of the reasons Jim was successful as a salesman. People genuinely liked and trusted him. The fact that he was honest helped matters tremendously as well. His customers knew he wanted to solve their problem for them, whatever that might be. If he couldn't, Jim always knew a company who could and wouldn't hesitate to tell his customer who to contact. It was a practice that might cost him a sale now and then, but it earned him the lasting loyalty of his customers, something that was growing rarer and rarer in the business environment, loyal customers.

  On this particular Sunday evening, though, Jim was not feeling particularly magnanimous to his fellow man, in large part because of one Nick Devereaux.

  “I understand Anna is going through a hard stretch, Paula, but she’s got to resolve this. As much as I like Adam and Becca, they aren’t our kids. They need to be at home, with their parents, on a Sunday evening.”

  “You can be a right proper, uncaring beast sometimes,” Paula informed Jim. “You’re just jealous, that’s all.”

  Jim scowled at his wife from the safety of his seat on the couch. “Jealous of what?”

  “Jealous of the time I spend with her kids,” Paula snapped defensively.

  “You mean am I jealous of the fact Anna has a rotten husband and an equally bad way of dealing with her situation? I don’t think so. It’s time she set Nick down and get somethings straight. He needs to either get his act together and toe the line or let Anna and the kids go.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Paula replied, plopping down on the couch next to her husband and leaning on his shoulder. “Don’t talk so loud, your voice carries, and I don't want Becca and Adam to hear you saying things like that.”

  “I like Becca and Adam,” Jim explained. “I like Anna, too. But Nick?” Jim shook his head. “He’s no good.”

  ---

  Boucher stood beneath the nozzle of his shower and let the lukewarm water run over him. He’d had fun at the football game, but the weekend had been less than stellar due to Heat’s cramping his style. It was the last time Boucher would skimp and save money by sharing a room with Heat. Instead, his mind turned to the carnal pleasures he was sure he'd missed out on with Darla, a young Cajun queen if ever there was one, eager and willing to try the Boucher experience as he liked to think of it.

  Heat did have a point, and Boucher was begrudgingly well aware of it. His affairs of the heart were many in number and his career as a heartbreaker, while exceedingly fun, caused him a great deal of trouble. He didn't grin as he mulled the thought that Heat was mistaken. There wasn't one judge who would like to lock him up but two. There were a few husbands who'd like to have a one-sided talk with him, involving their fists. Even worse, it was growing increasingly difficult to keep track of the number of attractive young women whose hearts he'd toyed with so he could avoid them.

  Boucher frowned at the memory of the recent incident in which he'd walked into one of his favorite watering holes after a long day of dealing with scum and other lowlifes. Waiting for him was a pair of cuties who'd just discovered they shared in common a broken heart. A heart broken by none other than one Elijah Boucher, who happened to be innocently standing at the bar trying in vain to get the bartender's attention.

  The pair, a cute redhead named Missy and a sexy brunette named Brandi, had set aside their differences, united by their female desire for revenge on the source of their heartbreak. One female was enough trouble when angry. Two was downright scary, as he'd found out. Thankful to have survived the experience, Boucher found that he missed the bar, it being both his favorite watering hole and most productive hunting ground.

  Maybe Heat had a point, Boucher finally admitted to himself. It couldn’t hurt to cut back on his drinking a little. He’d taken all the aspirin it was safe to take, and his head was still pounding from the headache from when he'd awakened that morning.

  To top matters, it had been made blatantly clear that he was to stay away from Heat's latest project, the blond bombshell who was Amy's new roommate. But, of course, the first warning was from Amy herself, in her none too subtle way, ignoring Boucher when he a
sked about Blondie and giving him her patented "snake eye" in the process.

  Then Heat had taken the last half hour of their drive home to repeatedly drive home the point Blondie was off-limits. As a former sex slave, she had a lot to overcome to adjust and transition to a normal life. She had a lot of issues ranging from guilt and shame to staying sober. To add insult to injury, Heat had promised Boucher a beating if he didn't heed Heat's instructions to leave Blondie alone.

  Heat was getting as bad as Garcia was about hounding Boucher to stop his womanizing. But, of course, giving up chasing skirts was not on Boucher's current agenda. If the events of late proved nothing else, they proved that society was changing. Women weren't tolerating men like Boucher particularly well of late.

  Boucher turned the water up to hot and counted three minutes on his watch, letting the hot water warm his still sore muscles before using cold water for another three minutes. Upon exiting the shower this time, Boucher felt recharged and ready to act again.

  "They will see," Boucher mumbled. Momma Boucher was pressing for a grandchild from her only son. If there was ever something Elijah Boucher did not want to do for his mother, it was to settle down and become a family man. With that frightening thought floating around in his mind, Boucher stood before his mirror and looked at his bloodshot eyes.

  "Elijah, it might be wise to lay off the booze for a bit," he told himself. "Might even leave the ladies alone for a while as well.

  ---

  He couldn't believe it. Things like this happened in movies or television shows. Nick Devereaux didn't read books, but his mind considered that stuff like this might happen in books too. Things like this might happen to people in real life, but never to him.

  Yet, it was undeniable. Nick was duct-taped to a metal chair. His legs were firmly taped to the chair's front legs with tape around his ankles and just below his knees. Likewise, his wrists and elbows were taped to the arms of the chair. His feet and ankles were swollen and throbbed painfully as the tape around his wrists and ankles restricted the blood flow. The front of his shirt was drenched in blood, his blood.

  After the initial beating, his captors had taken several pictures of him, sending several of them to his wife, Anna. He'd readily provided her number to his captors after they hit Nick several times. Nick Devereaux was all about having fun and a good time, not experiencing needless pain. He told himself his captors would have beaten him until he gave up Anna's phone number. Giving up the desired information had not been weakness, just a matter of being pragmatic. Why should he take a beating knowing, in the end, he would give up Anna's number?

  The man who’d brought him to the place where he was held captive had killed Charlie. The recent memory of his lifelong companion and friend lying face down under an oak tree, dead, made Nick feel quite cooperative. But, despite the need to stay calm and keep his wits about him, Nick couldn't help himself. From inside, he felt a growing sense of anger and rage, the wholly understandable reaction to being taken to an unknown location, his friend being murdered, being kidnapped, and being held by men who neither knew him nor understood him.

  All because Anna wouldn’t pay off some debts he owed.

  A con artist by nature, Nick's mind began to think of ways to gain control of his situation. If Anna didn't pay up, he would have to convince his captors he wasn't a flight risk and release him from the chair. Then it would be a simple matter to find an opportunity to escape.

  One thing Nick was sure of as he sat and pondered his predicament. Anna, his pretty little Anna, was going to get a few bruises for putting him through this.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Anna's stomach plummeted at Heat's reaction. It was apparent Heat had been relaxing in his chair, what with his feet up on the desk and hands clasped behind his head as he leaned back.

  “Close your mouth James,” Anna ordered, surprised to hear the command come from her mouth.

  “Excuse me if I’m a bit surprised,” Heat snapped, his bitter words heavy with sarcasm. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen you since the day of my engagement party.” Heat leaned forward in his chair, putting his feet down and his hands on his desk in the process. “Oh, wait, that was your engagement party too.”

  “I’m not here to fight with you, James,” Anna answered, trying to control her emotions and maintain an emotionally neutral expression.

  "Well, maybe I want to fight with you," Heat half-shouted. "You didn't call! You didn't even send a stupid text message! I had to find out from your sister that you'd skipped town to go to Hollywood!"

  “It’s not like I didn’t suffer too,” Anna snapped.

  "Yeah, well, you seem to have gotten over me just fine," Heat shouted.

  Anna flinched at the sound of Heat's voice. His pent-up anger and bitterness slammed into her like a blow to her midsection. "Don't shout at me," Anna begged with a quivering voice.

  Heat’s expression changed from rage to disbelief. “Don’t shout at you? You just left me all those years ago. No explanation, you just up and left me there, waiting for you with all of our friends and your family.” Heat jumped up from his chair, causing Anna to flinch and step towards the door in fear.

  Two quick steps brought Heat to within inches of Anna’s face. A good half-foot or more taller than her, Heat towered over her, forcing Anna to lean backward. She could feel her knees begin to buckle, and her face tingled from the rush of blood to her cheeks. Heat's eyes bulged in their sockets while the muscles in his cheeks worked on grinding his teeth.

  “Not even a letter after a few years to explain why,” he hissed at Anna. “It would have made a difference to me.” Heat turned away and crossed the room to stand by the window in the corner of his office. Anna swallowed the acid in her mouth and began fishing for the bottle of antacid in her purse. “It would have let me know what I did wrong,” Heat told her softly. “Or it would have let me know why you did it. Either way, I could have tried to work it out in my mind.”

  Heat turned to watch Anna pop two tablets in her mouth and chew them, causing him to wonder if she was sick. Despite the years that had passed and the birth of two children, Anna was still a gorgeous woman. A woman Heat had always believed was out of his league.

  Nobody had been more surprised than Heat when he'd proposed to Anna, and she had said yes. In his eyes, Anna was perfect, and he loved her for more than just her looks. She was sweet, intelligent, easy to be with, and an amazingly talented individual. And she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen; a fact Heat could never get past.

  How could a woman that gorgeous give a man like him the time of day, let alone say yes to his spur-of-the-moment decision to ask her for a date?

  Theirs had not been a whirlwind romance either. They had dated for their last two years in college, where Anna majored in dance and theater. Heat had always known Anna planned to leave Baton Rouge for New York or Hollywood. He just thought he would be going with her when she did.

  They had set a date for early June, just two weeks after graduation that May. After a honeymoon, they had planned to pick a city and move. His buddies, among them one Elijah Boucher, had organized an engagement party. To Heat's surprise, it had been Boucher who insisted the party be tame enough Anna's family could attend. Of course, Heat knew this could only mean Boucher was planning the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties to make up for it.

  What was meant to be the best evening in his life turned into the worst day of his life. Frantic to find Anna once it was apparent she wasn't going to show up, Heat had called her professors, the police, and the few friends of theirs who had not been able to come to the party.

  Only then had Anna's younger sister finally pulled Heat aside and, with tears in her eyes, told him Anna had left for Hollywood. Heat didn't know who was more embarrassed, him or Anna's parents, who had been just as in the dark as Heat. Anna's mother had taken pity on Heat and made the announcement that Anna would not be coming and everyone should go home.

  That evening would be t
he last time Heat ever spoke to Anna’s sister or her parents. His texts and phone calls were never returned, making him wonder what he had done to offend them, to hurt Anna so badly she ran away from him without even trying to talk about it.

  His buddies, mainly Boucher, had hated on Anna from that night forward. Every chance they got, they would tell Heat she wasn't good enough for him. That Anna was no good. The end result of it all was for Heat to end his friendship with most of them, not wanting to listen to them put Anna down.

  It was all Heat could do to pass his last exams and graduate on time. The weeks passed and turned into months, and before long, a year had passed. Not knowing why his life had been turned upside down ate away at Heat's soul. In time his love for Anna turned sour, leaving him bitter and resentful, not just towards Anna, but towards the idea of romance and marriage.

  Heat's expression became one of confusion, and Anna sensed a lull in the rage of the man she'd once planned to marry. Realizing the moment might be the only chance for her to reach Heat, Anna reminded herself to be humble, to do or say whatever was necessary to get Heat to help her. It’s just a role, Anna. What matters is that you get Heat to do what you want.

  “I was scared, Heat.”

  Heat's eyebrows shot up at Anna's words. She felt odd saying them. It was as if she was disembodied and watching the scene play out like a director.

  Heat’s reply was curt. “You could have talked to me.”

  “I had a chance to get cast in a tv series. It was so sudden, and I knew if I hesitated, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t go.”