by Julie Hyzy
“At nine o’ clock, you’re going to show up, and I’m going to sneak you into his room. I’ll let him know he’s got a surprise waiting for him…” Donny smiled at his choice of words, before continuing, “… and then I’ll introduce you to him as his very special birthday present from me.”
Susan held the water bottle. She gave a short nod.
“You’re going to give him a glass of sherry. The idiot drinks sherry, of all things. Anyways, you’re going to have this sherry that he keeps next to his bed and you’re going to put a little of this into the glass before he drinks it.”
Donny pulled a small vial out from his jacket pocket. He held it in his palm, shielding it from view of anyone who might be looking their direction.
“What is it?”
“Concentrated dose of rohypnol.”
“Roofie.” Susan lifted one eyebrow, as though impressed. “Go on,” she said.
“This’ll take effect pretty quick. Maybe ten minutes or so. That’s why you can’t give it to him right away. It’ll be too suspicious if he keels over right after you get there. You’re going to have to … you know… keep him happy for a while. Once he’s out, you slip a plastic bag over his head, he suffocates, and it’ll look like he died from a heart attack.”
She didn’t say a word.
“You get me, right?”
She ignored the question. “And you don’t think they’re going to look for drugs in his system when they do the autopsy?”
Donny had thought of that. “This stuff’s pretty undetectable. Anyway, he’s under doctor’s care for some heart troubles—no way anyone’s going to ask for an autopsy.”
Licking his lips, Donny finished, “You just slip him the mickey and you keep him quiet till it’s done. Then you come out and find me and I’ll take it from there.”
She appeared to be waiting for him to say more.
Donny spread out his hands, eager—frustrated. “You understand the instructions, right?”
“And how do I get out of there?”
“The kid, Mark, is going to sneak you out the back stairway and to a car around the front. My guy Bobby will drive you anywhere you want to go.”
“Your uncle doesn’t have any bodyguards? Anyone who watches his back?” The look she shot him said, “amateur,” and that got Donny’s back up.
“Uncle Fred’s goon squad will be there, but they always hang outside. He doesn’t like them mingling with the family,” he said. “And inside, Fred has me to cover his back.” He barked a laugh.
She didn’t respond. “And the money?”
“In the car, in a duffel bag. Just like in the movies.”
Susan let her gaze drift upward—pursed her lips. “I want half up front.”
“Yeah, I thought you might.” He watched out over the balcony for a minute, his eyes taking in all the happy drinkers, carousing like they were perfectly hilarious. Raucous conversations and the clanking of glassware accompanied the movement of the waitresses through the smoky room. The background music had switched from Sinatra and was now playing an upbeat Dean Martin tune. Donny let his eyes skim the area several times before they rested on Bobby, who acknowledged Donny’s gaze with a lift of his chin.
A minute later, Mark was at the table, carrying a shopping bag from Victoria’s Secret. Donny checked Susan’s expression as she caught sight of the distinctive pink-striped package. “Half is in there,” Donny said, “along with the address, the stuff you’ll need,” he placed the rohypnol in a small padded envelope and reached over, adding it to the bag, “and a little something I thought you might want to wear when you work on the old man.”
Taking the bag from Mark with a nod, she set it on the seat next to her.
“Don’t you want to look?” Donny heard the disappointment in his voice and he hated knowing she could probably hear it too. He’d taken care to pick the lingerie item out himself and he thought it was a sweet little piece. It should make even this cold fish’s eyes light up. She didn’t seem to care one way or another. “I mean, don’t you want to see if you like it? Count the money?”
She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll look at it later.” She paused, as if waiting for him to argue, before continuing. “This is a job and I’ll wear what I want. And,” she said leaning her face near the table, “if the money isn’t right, I’m out of here.” She smiled. “So I figure you’re not about to mess with me.”
With that, she stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and grabbing the pink bag. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
Donny watched her go, left with the lingering wonder whether that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach was annoyance or relief.
Saturday night, Donny had his arm around his wife’s waist. She was talking to his cousin Benny and Benny’s wife, telling them the story of the past week home with two kids having summer colds and being miserable in front of the TV. He’d been hearing her tell it all night, and his arm tightened around her so as to keep himself grounded while his mind drifted away from the conversation. He looked around for Bobby.
Uncle Fred’s house had the feel of comfortable money, Donny thought, as he spied Bobby and Mark near the front door. And soon all of it would be his. He caught Bobby’s eye and shrugged as the big guy made a pantomime of checking his watch. Just closing in on nine. He would have expected this Susan to be on time.
Uncle Fred, the target of tonight’s plans, wandered through the celebratory collection of family, a fresh Manhattan in one hand, a half-smoked stogie in the other. Hard drinking, hard living, his being alive and active at seventy refuted all the conventional wisdom about exercise and eating right. Fred moved through the small clusters of cousins, friends, and business associates with the presence of a monarch, reigning supreme over his little fiefdom.
The guy never lifted a finger except to issue orders, yet there he was, mingling, his fat cheeks wobbling and red—his head full with silver-glinted white hair. Smiling that warm, encompassing grin at the guests who all wanted a moment with the man. Smiling like he was really the grandfather-type and not the cold-blooded killer of Donny’s drug supplier.
Right now that bright white hair was catching the light from the recessed bulbs overhead, and Uncle Fred leaned in to listen to something his young great-niece Rebecca had to say. As the little girl reached up on tiptoe to whisper, Fred’s face fixed in a somber look, as though what she had to say was of the utmost importance. In a moment, he threw his head back and laughed, pulling the blonde-curled baby close into the crook of his cigar arm.
Sure, everybody thought Fred was god around here. Just wait. They all depended on the old guy for their meager handouts. Just wait. Everyone would forget the tightfisted geezer in a heartbeat once Donny took control.
Mark tapped Donny’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, simply twisted his head toward the back end of the home. Donny broke away from his wife, who’d now lapsed into a discussion of children’s bowel movements with Benny’s wife. Benny flung Donny an exasperated look of boredom and the two men went separate directions.
Donny checked his watch as he made his way to the back. “In here,” Bobby said, in front of the rear study’s oak double doors.
Nine o’clock on the nose. Donny grinned as he walked in. His time had come.
He suppressed a low whistle when he caught sight of Susan. While she’d been beautiful the other night, she’d been so in an almost wholesome way. Her face had been clear of heavy makeup and her whole demeanor that of a free spirit, girl-next-door. Tonight, however, she’d gone all out to fit the role she needed to play. She was wearing a low-cut yellow teddy-top—lacy and sheer with the skimpiest of spaghetti straps holding it up—over an ultra-short black leather skirt. A tiny purse swung near her hips. She’d arranged the rich brown hair into curly waves that rested on nearly bare shoulders. Her three-inch black stiletto heels showcased shapely legs, and she approached him, licking her lips.
“I’m ready,” she said, breathing the words into Donny’s right ear.
“Are you?”
Reflexively, yet not, Donny’s arm reached around, trapping her tiny waist. He then slid his hand down over the supple leather to grab her back side and pull her close.
She arched away from him in a move of coy refusal that made him start to get hard.
“Not now, big boy,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest and easing herself out from his hold. “Your time comes later.”
Donny blew out a high-octane breath of frustration. Delayed gratification. He could deal with that. Waiting always made it more fun anyway, he reasoned. With a nod of acquiescence, he led Susan to Uncle Fred’s room upstairs.
Though he was prepared for its sumptuousness, having been in Uncle Fred’s private sanctuary many times before, Donny still reacted to the high-ceilinged space with awe. As large as the ballroom two floors below, this was more an apartment than a bedroom. Surrounding the custom-made four-pillar canopy bed were individually lighted paintings and handcrafted furniture pieces, each commissioned work by a real artist. Everything that inhabited this room was one-of-a-kind and irreplaceable.
Except for Uncle Fred, of course.
Donny smiled at his private joke.
He waited in the doorway, and let her pass. “You like?” he asked, sweeping out his had expansively.
Susan’s eyebrows raised as she stepped slowly into the room, her eyes scanning the gold brocade-papered walls, the fireplace with two easy chairs set before it, and the thick maroon Oriental rug at her feet. Keeping an unhurried pace, she wandered across the room, to the closed door near the corner. Grasping the gold handle, she opened it. Through the dark opening, Donny could see the flickers of candlelight reflecting on the marble bathroom’s walls. Good, he thought. The maid had set the mood, just like he’d ordered.
Susan closed the door again, stopping briefly at Fred’s nightstand where she ran a finger over the decanter of sherry standing there and sent Donny a pointed look. “Very nice,” she said, reacting in her understated way. Donny grimaced. Just wait till he had her alone, later. He’d find ways to make her react, all right.
He’d been about to go over the plan with her one more time, when Bobby interrupted. “Boss?” he said.
Donny turned to see Uncle Fred clearing the uppermost landing with a huff of effort, his hand gripping the banister. His bigger-than-life voice boomed his presence, like it always did. “What’s the big secret, Donny-boy?” Fred’s smile was wide and as he passed beneath the overhead lamps toward his bedroom doors, Donny was struck again by the halo-like effect of the light on the man’s silver hair.
“Got a…” Donny stopped, cleared his throat, started again. “I got a birthday present for you, Uncle Fred. A special surprise, from me to you.”
“Oh?” the older man’s tone spoke of pleasured curiosity as he drew closer. “Should I close my eyes?”
“Not now,” Donny said, with a wink. “But you might want to, later.” He answered the older man’s grin with one of this own and stood in the open doorway, holding a hand out Susan’s direction, as though making introductions.
“Hello,” Susan said in that husky voice as Uncle Fred cleared the threshold. She crossed the room in three leisurely strides, then lifted her index finger to caress Fred’s five o’clock shadow. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Donny searched the old man’s eyes for some look of recognition, some measure of wariness, but all he saw there was instant enthusiasm. “Oh,” Fred said, dragging the exclamation out in a slow release of breath. His arm encircled her waist and she molded herself against him. “Hello.”
Donny tamped down the rush of excitement that shot hot prickly tingles through his brain. Keep calm, he told himself. Not much longer now. “Well then,” he said, striving to maintain a composed outward appearance. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
At ten-forty-five, carrying on an insipid conversation about golf games with fat cousin Craig, Donny thought his lips would crack from the stupid smile he’d pasted on. How long was she going to take up there? Maybe she lost her nerve.
Craig leaned close. “Don? You listening?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Donny said, lifting his scotch and soda to his lips. “Long day.”
“I bet,” Craig said, his plump lips twisting into a sausage-y smile against pale freckled skin. “You’re Fred’s right-hand man. You gotta have a lot on your mind every minute, eh?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Donny said with a snort.
What could be more perfect? A sultry, sexy hitwoman. Nobody would suspect she was anything more than a high-priced hooker. She’d do her thing, Uncle Fred would be dead—apparently from sexual exertion—and Donny, suitably grief-stricken, would move in to take over, just as soon as the body was cold. But it all depended on this Susan coming through for him. And she was taking her sweet time about it.
“So can you?” Craig asked, in a conspiratorial whisper. He’d been blathering incessantly for the past minute and Donny had tuned him out again. Craig sidled closer, his eyes roving the room. Donny didn’t have to have heard the earlier part of the conversation to know that Craig was pushing for another drug buy. He had a hundred Craigs out there all waiting for him to come through. And he wouldn’t be able to keep any of them happy until Uncle Fred was out of the picture.
“Next week.”
“Next week?” Craig’s voice was plaintive, too loud.
“Keep it down,” Donny said. “I’ll get you what you need, but you have to wait till next week. I lost my contact.”
“Lost, how?”
Donny ignored him, letting his gaze wander toward the doors again. He wanted to know, right now, what was going on upstairs. He took another look at the Rolex on his left arm.
“What’s wrong?” Craig asked, putting a brotherly hand on Don’s shoulder.
Donny shook it away. “Nothing,” he said in a voice too sharp. “I’m expecting … a phone call, okay?” He twisted away from his cloying cousin, and stormed out of the room, letting the music, conversation, and birthday party sounds fade behind him as he made his way to the quiet back staircase of the home, where Bobby stood.
“What is taking so long?” he asked in a tight whisper.
Bobby’s big face paled as his eyes widened. “Beats me. I been sending Mark up there every so often just to see if he can hear anything going on in there.”
“And?”
“He says he can’t hear nothing.”
As if summoned, Mark appeared next to Bobby. Silent, he shook his head, underscoring Bobby’s words.
Bobby shrugged. “Should we go up there and check?”
Donny wanted to slap the big man’s stupid face. “What are you, an idiot?” He gazed off down the long corridor that led back to the busy family festivities. “We’ll give it another—” He stopped himself short when he heard fast footfalls approaching from above. A half-second later Susan appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down at the threesome with wide blue eyes. Barefoot, she wore only a man’s shirt, open, the tails skimming the tops of her tanned thighs. She gestured frantically.
“Hurry,” she said. “Please.”
Donny froze, looked all directions at once. Maintain control, he told himself. Don’t panic. “What happened?” he asked, taking the stairs two at a time.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and fled up the remaining flight and scurried into the master bedroom before Donny could get another word out.
“What?” Donny said, breathless as the three of them came through the door. “What is it? Is he here? Did he recognize you?”
She shook her tousled head and bit her lip. “Shut the door,” she whispered. “We’ve got a problem.”
Donny ordered Bobby and Mark to stand outside. “Don’t let anyone in,” he told them.
As soon as they were alone she grabbed Donny’s sleeve, tugging him deeper into the room. “Listen,” she shot a terrified look at the slightly ajar bathroom door. “He wanted his sherry in there. I tried to keep him d
istracted, I tried to put it off, but he said he needed it to relax.”
Donny made a move toward the bathroom. He’d had enough waiting; he needed to know what happened. Susan grabbed him again, this time with a strength that surprised him, holding him back. “Is he dead?” Donny asked, forgetting to keep his voice low.
“It didn’t go down the way you wanted. He wanted us to get into the Jacuzzi together,” she said. One hand rose to her forehead, and she stroked an eyebrow, her face tightening as she spoke. “But that roofie took effect too fast. He slid under the water,” she said, finally. “I think he drowned. This is going to screw up your plans isn’t it?”
Donny broke away from her long-fingered grasp. He shook his head, grabbing both her shoulders, shaking her. “Now they’re going to do an investigation and they’re going to point the finger at me.” He stopped shaking, then worked to settle his mind—to gather his wits, pacing. “We need damage control here. I have to figure this out.” Donny clenched and flexed his fits as he reasoned it all out. “I’ll have to make it look like I came up to check on the old man and found him in the tub.”
Donny glared at Susan again. “And you,” he said, nearly spitting, “don’t expect another penny from me. You screwed this one up royally.”
“Hey,” she said, starting to put her clothes back on, “You wanted your Uncle Fred killed, right? You owe me the rest of it.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Donny said, poking her chest.
“Sure you don’t.”
“Look,” Donny said between clenched teeth. “I paid you to make it look like a heart attack. I told you I wanted this done my way. You got sloppy. You ought to give me back the cash I already gave you.”
Susan finished pulling her skirt on. “Not so fast,” she said.
The panicked terror she’d displayed moments ago had been replaced by cool confidence once again. Nice try, Donny thought, but I’m not falling for that “I’m-in- control-crap.” If she thought she was going to weasel the rest of the cash from him, she had a big surprise in store for her.