by Turner, Lori
Tollin advanced into the outer room but he froze seconds after hearing a sound. He needed a reason to escape from his dreams and when he saw her; for a moment he forgot about his worries.
“Tollin.” Holly stood there in all her beautiful nakedness; backlit by the low lights running along the base of the wall.
“If you won’t come to me—” she crossed the room, swaying her hips sultrily to tempt him.
“…then I’ll come to you.” She finished her sentence.
Holly stopped by the bar, filled two flutes with champagne, then she came to join him in the middle of the room.
“Toast.” she said.
“Holly—the holiday isn’t for another two hours.”
“I know but…” she lifted up on tiptoes. “You haven’t asked me to stay for your New Year’s Day party. And if I’m not being invited to your party—I’d like to be the first to wish you a happy New Year.”
Holly handed Tollin the glass. He watched her sip the bubbly, while her eyes remained trained on him. She’d been fishing when she’d mentioned his party. And, yes, she was correct when she said that he’d not invited her. Tollin never invited the help. He suspected tomorrow he would be busy as most wealthy people like him would be. New Year’s Day parties had become the in thing to do, and these events were as fashionable as couturier designer outfits are essential to the rich. And by default, he refused to host the hordes who sought to regain level prestige. A rye grin twitched his lips because he wondered if she’d ever crossed paths with any of the Samaritans. In his mind, girls like her were down on their luck and could use some help. He imagined the dreary faces belonging to the religious Samaritan’s—this group of people did not celebrate New Year’s Day by observing fixed practices and traditions. Every year, at first daylight, the moral consciences of society would orderly file onto their ferry, arriving in the city like a bloody horde of do-gooders, determined to fix the ills of the world.
Long red colored nails snapped inches from his nose. Tollin twitched. His head jerked unsteadily, angling him off balanced.
He glared at her angrily saying…
“Fuck…don’t do that.” he spat.
He was a pint short three sheets to the wind, and he didn’t need her to remind him that he’d drank to much. If it weren’t against her Madame’s rules, he had a good mind to toss Holly out onto the street. But he couldn’t. From the second he’d called her, he’d known exactly what he’d been in for. Holly was his to deal with until daylight and not one second earlier. If she left his home before sunrise, on a day like this; she could easily be killed by a rowdy partier, or some other foolish drunk shooting the New Year in. He’d heard tell of things like that happening—people finding themselves out on the street, then unintentionally getting caught up in jubilant crossfire. Then he considered that perhaps he was being overly paranoid.
Tollin forced the glass back, causing her to reflexively grasp hold. Fluid splashed, wetting her hand and toes.
“What’s wrong with you? I just thought…”
He abruptly cut her off.
“With all due respect honey—I didn’t pay you to think.”
“Well…” she replied, “If you didn’t want the champagne, a simple no would have sufficed. I know how to take a hint”
A push of changing pressure jostled his inner ear, resulting in an involuntary jerk. He turned his head, as if he were expecting someone to join them. Holly placed her finger on his chin, directing his attention back on her. She whispered saying…
“Honey…it’s nothing. This place is tighter than Fort Knox.”
He stared at her, refusing to shield his annoyance. He’d grown tired her mock terms of endearment. Honey this…love that. He recoiled at her touch, so he slapped her hand away. His reaction had been as autonomic as his breathing, and he supposed that her experience had been the same. Rejection; that’s what she looked like and at an moment the tears would follow; there was no doubt in his mind. Dear lord, he thought to himself. What else would this woman demand of him. Tollin raised a brow, then he eased one hand along the small of her back. With a gentle tug, he pulled her close, until their bodies pressed firmly one on the other. It didn’t take much to entice her. Tollin lowered his head, beguiling her with his light brown eyes. She returned the favor, arching her shoulders until her breast practically acknowledged him with a pointed salute. Holly lifted up on the ball of her feet, then she teased his lips to part with one stroke of her wet tongue. Tollin opened his mouth, then hungrily, he caressed the inner softness of her cheeks. He kissed her passionately, coaxing an array of moans and whimpers from her. He got a sadistic thrill, listening to the turnabout of play. He could have kept this up longer—strung her along, until they ended up back in bed; but that wasn’t what he wanted. Actually—the lower half of his body didn’t stir one iota. With his mind made up, he stopped kissing her; just as abruptly as their foreplay had begun. When Tollin broke free, his sudden change startled Holly. Her forehead creased in question, then she stared at him curiously, taking in every facet of his handsomeness. When she’d agreed to spend the evening with Tollin, she would have done so, free of cost. She didn’t want his money—she’d come because it was the man that had interested her. She’d wanted to meet the infamous Tollin Pettier. In spite of her fascination; if space was what he wanted—she would give it to him; after all, she was the guest and this was his home. Without fanfare, she did an about-face, giving Tollin a full view of her backside. She walked with a natural erotic sway and she knew that he would enjoy the view. And she’d been right. If sex had been something that he wanted, watching her might have aroused him. As it was, he was doing his best to remain civil and he couldn’t wholly blame her for his foul mood. Tollin stared at her until she was out of sight. She’d gone in the direction of the kitchen. Maybe to pour herself some of that cucumber water she’d mentioned earlier. Good, he’d thought because he’d decided that he wanted to pass the remaining hours alone. He’d had his full of sex—and Holly for that matter.
“Shutters down, fifty percent.” He spoke to the smart-house computer.
Tollin crossed the floor, taking up his old position. He started by looking at the park. His eyes scanned the area but immediately something appeared out of place. He squinted, but straining his eyes didn’t change the view and he didn’t see any evident movement. Everything looked all right but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He couldn’t explain this nondescript sensation, but it was there all the same. Tollin started again, convinced that he could solve this conundrum. He knew this view and all its details. He pressed his hands against the glass, leaning into the window, then without warning, a noise in his penthouse captured his attention.
Tollin turned abruptly, not fully understanding his skittishness. His eyes scanned left, then right, then straight ahead. His penthouse took up two levels and there were three entrances; all of which had been locked after Holly arrived. His forehead wrinkled—he was certain he’d heard the sound of a closing door.
“Shutters close.”
Tollin moved away from the window, looking in the area where Holly had gone. He wanted to believe that she’d made the noise; telling himself this would assuage his fear but he couldn’t kid himself. The entry doors to his penthouse were all constructed of heavy impenetrable metal and when these doors were opened or closed they each made a distinct sound—and he was certain he’d heard that sound. But had he?
Tollin slowed his pace and he was amazed how sobering fear could be. He was thinking clearly and methodically. He approached the long hallway that led to the rear of his home. He edged to the turn, inching along while intently listening. He took a step or two back, until he finally decided to step into the open area. His eyes traced up then down both halls. He didn’t see or hear anything and he wanted to persuade himself that he’d been wrong, but at that very instant, Tollin heard another sound. He froze, listening, then he thought about his most recent investment. The Panic Room. Tollin’s tho
ught was interrupted when he heard a clack, however due to the high ceilings, he couldn’t rightly discern exactly where the sound had originated. In spite of this he was certain that the noise was metal hitting metal and this caused him to worry. Now he heard a repeating noise—and the pattern sounded like footsteps. Tollin stood still, willing his body not to move. He had to be sure that the noise wasn’t coming from Holly in the kitchen. On the inside, his eardrums boomed from the sound of his pounding heartbeat. The room was silent, except for the padding of feet—and this time, he was certain that the noise had come from the rear entryway. The sound moved across the marble floor. The rear entry was the only foyer where the walls and floor were constructed with imported marble. Without thinking Tollin knew exactly what to do. He moved swiftly crossing the open hallway, and that’s when he saw him. A tall man dressed in head to toe black. He was carrying heavy weapons strapped across his chest. When their eyes momentarily met, the man aimed a weapon at Tollin. Heavy pounding bounded down the hall, in pursuit of him. On the other side of him Tollin heard a scream then a glass hit the floor shattering into hundreds of pieces. He didn’t waste time looking because he already knew who the screamer was. Poor Holly.
“Tollin…wait…” she wailed with pleading in her voice. Tollin crossed a threshold, entering a seemingly inconspicuous alcove. A sensor switched on, detecting his presence. Tollin turned, facing the outer hallway. He could see Holly, racing to follow him. Her stride was like a graceful gazelle and her breast bounced in sync with her rhythm. She was fluid in motion—but it really didn’t matter. No amount of effort would help her now. Tollin heard the door closing, then the computer said…
“System engaged. Locking mechanism set in place.”
Holly’s voice had been silenced the second the door sealed him into the Panic Room. If only the door would have closed a few seconds earlier but it hadn’t and Tollin had witnessed it. The man that had pursued him—he’d turned his gun on Holly. He heard the muffled pops and Holly jerked with every hit. Blood squirted out of the holes, and he’d watched as she fell to the floor. She didn’t deserve to die but it was either him or her.
Tollin lowered his head, grateful to be alive. He stumbled back but he paused when he heard a ‘click’. Then everything made sense. He understood what had puzzled him earlier. It wasn’t that his view of the park had changed—it was the absence of the two men, pacing on the roof across the street. These men were currently inside of his penthouse. And one of those men had been out in the hall and was responsible for killing Holly. Then there had been that pop in his ears; the pressure had been caused by the opening and closing of his front door. While he’d been kissing Holly, trying not to hurt her feelings…that action had diverted his attention and he had not investigated the cause for the shift in pressure. Tollin turned, and as he suspected, a large gun was aimed directly at his head.
“Oh fuck” he muttered. I’m screwed was his forgone conclusion.
“Do you want to know?” That was the question. The man wearing the black mask was quizzing him. Seconds flew by and Tollin wondered; did he want to know? The question pertained to who had paid these men to kill him. Tollin leveled a cool gaze, purposely choosing not to give this man satisfaction, especially since he’d been sent to kill him.
The man repeated…
“I was told to tell you if you wanted to know.”
When Tollin still didn’t respond, the masked man acknowledged his silent response with a nod of his head. Since this man was wearing a mask, Tollin couldn’t see his facial expression…but he could see his eyes, and his gaze was blue and cold; lacking any expression.
Tollin saw no since in dragging this out; because begging wouldn’t save his life. He barked out…
“If you’re going to kill me—just get on with it!”
Karma was a bitch and now he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. His year had started off with so much promise, then after six year old Amy Randolph had died; everything had gone to shit. Shortly after that, Tollin had loss the love of his life and after that, he’d thought that he’d reached rockbottom. But he’d been wrong, because in his wildest dreams, he would never have imagined a reality in which men would break into his home, with the intent to kill him.
The barrel of the gun was pressed on Tollin’s forehead but he wasn’t ready to die yet. Not with so many unanswered questions. Like—how did they get in the house and why did they kill Holly.
“Are you a religious man?” the masked man asked.
Tollin shook his head.
“To bad…but I hear, it’s never too late.”
Tollin frowned when he said…
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
The masked man said…
“All piss and vinegar. You’ll feel different when you’re standing face to face with your maker.” He shook his head, before saying… “Your funeral. ”
The next set of events occurred so fast, Tollin didn’t perceive the hit. After that, the intruder pressed one gloved hand against Tollin’s nose and mouth. He’d been drugged and it was all lights out. Tollin’s body slumped to the ground. Joplin stood over him, positioning his body, just so; before placing the gun in Tollin’s hand. He knew exactly what to do, then—a muffled sound bounced off the walls, ricocheting waves on sensor panels. The rebounding vibrations triggered the security system, causing the computer to say…
“Initiating systems check…”
Tollin’s body slumped to the ground. The close shot to the head made him unrecognizable. Half of his skull was splattered on the opposite wall. Joplin studied the blood spray, before resuming his work, creating a scene that would look like suicide, instead of a murder. The final touch was a copy of the letter sent from Gloria Wilcox-Randolph’s attorney. The one that had stated, the plaintiff’s in the Amy Randolph case have declined the settlement and had decided to pursue civil litigation.
Looking over his shoulder to survey the scene, Joplin Paddox slipped two fingers in his inner jacket pocket; he turned back to face the door, because he was satisfied with his work. He withdrew a card containing a series of numbers and letters. The Panic Room Security System was bio-activated but as a backup, a key panel had been installed. He walked over to the sealed door, then he pressed an area that looked like a light switch. Actually, it was a functioning light switch but it also disguised the key panel. When he pushed it, the panel revealed itself. Joplin entered the code…the computer said…
“System disengaged. Locking mechanism deactivated.”
Then the solid door slid open.
“What took you so long?”
Dashiell was cleaning his weapon. Joplin also noted crumbs in the creases of his mouth. Stupid idiot. He’d been eating on the job. Joplin stepped over Holly, then he said…
“She wasn’t a part of the contract.
“Oh well.”
Joplin showed little emotion when he said…
“You could have knocked her out—then I could have drugged her.”
“Collateral damage.” Dashiell said and he looked too happy given that he’d just killed an innocent bystander.
Dashiell was backtracking, retracing his route, while looking over his shoulder when he said…
“Come on mate…we’re done. If we leave now, we’ll have just enough time to shower and change before this nights all over and the New Year begins.”
Dashiell swayed, pretending to dance, while saying…
“There’s a pretty little lady waiting for me—and I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s got an invite to the Gustafson’s party. Lately, she and Fawn Gustafson’s have become pretty chummy.”
Joplin couldn’t picture Dashiell fitting in at a Gustafson’s party. In his estimation, the Gustafson’s were an enigma best left unsolved but he’d be the last person to say that out loud. Especially to young, impressionable Dashiell.
“First things first Dash…”
“All right—first things first.” he sighed.
Joplin and Dashiell had made one reprisal kill and one kill that wasn’t a part of their contract. They could justify her murder, or they could remove her body. When the decision had been made, Joplin went to work. This wasn’t his first unsanctioned kill and he knew better than Dashiell how to fool the local authorities as well as places to dispose of bodies. As for Tollin—thanks to Joplin’s handy work, based on the scene, the police would think that Tollin had committed suicide. The death of Amy Randolph had been big news, and the court case had been widely televised. It wasn’t a stretch to suggest that Tollin had been under tremendous stress; especially after his breakup with Eliza Pendleton. But if the cops didn’t buy his ruse, there wasn’t a shortage of suspects. Over the years, Tollin had stepped on more than a few toes, and Joplin was surprised that a hit had not been put out on the man sooner than now. In other words, he and his accomplice were in the clear. As for the woman—unfortunately, due to her line of work, more than likely, her murder would be found in a dead case file, for years to come, because after Joplin was finished with her; how and why she died would remain a mystery.
They were walking down the back stairwell, after dumping Holly in the disposal. In his line of work, the end of the year meant many things; and settling scores was one of the dangers.
“Twenty minutes until Midnight. Do you wanna wait it out here? I mean…I ain’t got no enemies on this side of town…but what about you?”
Dashiell had raised the question. Joplin wasn’t sure how to answer because he killed for a living and by definition, that should make him a target. On the other hand, only a few people knew about this side of his life. As a matter of fact, most of the year, he worked for a security firm, installing Panic Rooms—just like the room in Tollin’s penthouse. In fact—two months ago, he’d sold Tollin on the Deluxe Series Sentinel System. He sighed because—this business of killing was getting to easy. Joplin considered their choices, then he thought about the party Dashiell had planned to attend to celebrate New Year’s Day. He raised his watch, then glided his finger over the timepiece, programming it to alarm when twenty minutes had expired.