by Brett Baker
“Ms. Mathis, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you sure you’ve got the right guy? I don’t recall seeing anyone die, and I’m sure that’s not something I’d forget.”
I tilted my head and directed a heavy amount of side-eye in Oswalt’s direction. “Is this how you’re going to play it?” I asked. “Just pretend you don’t know what’s going on?”
“I don’t pretend, Ms. Mathis. If I knew Mr. Ospina, I’d tell you. And, believe me, if I saw him die, I’d tell you that, too. It’s not something people forget, I would imagine.”
“Is this your way of protecting yourself?” I asked. “A layer of insulation between yourself and law enforcement? Plausible deniability doesn’t work, Oswalt. Not when you’re a primary party to the crime. No one believes you.”
“Who says I’m a party to any crime?” he asked. “Quite bold of you to let me welcome you into my home and then accuse me of a crime. Not just bold. Hostile. Unappreciative. I don’t like it.” He stood up and walked toward the door, held on to the door handle with one hand and waved the other toward the door as if to remind me how to exit. “You can leave now, Ms. Mathis. I won’t be insulted in my home.”
“I don’t blame you, Oswalt. If I had a business relationship with one of the foremost drug felons in the Americas, I think I’d deny it, also. Especially if I’d built my whole reputation on public service and philanthropy in the community. You’re lucky though. You made a clean escape, so the only people who know you saw Ospina die are in this room right now. It’s our secret, Dirk. Buddy. And, I’ll let you in on another little secret.” I stood up, and walked toward Oswalt on my tiptoes. I looked around as I walked, as if I worried someone in the house might hear. “I’m going to keep this a secret. I don’t want to tell anyone. If you’re worried about the FBI or the police or whatever, don’t. They’re not going to find out. They thought Ospina was already dead, so when they discover that he’s one of the jamokes at the campsite they’re going to be surprised. Their investigation will go in circles just trying to figure out how a dead guy died again. Talk to me, Dirk. How did you get involved with Ospina?”
Dirk looked at me for fifteen seconds without moving. “Who’s Ospina?” he said.
I chuckled, and walked away from him, back toward the desk. I didn’t expect him to admit knowing Ospina after his initial denial. More than anything I wanted him to understand that I didn’t work for law enforcement. A man trying to escape capture by one entity is under enough pressure, but knowing that I presented a different kind of challenge intensified the pressure and might cause him to make a mistake. Letting him know that I didn’t plan to divulge his part in the events from the night before served to prove my separation from law enforcement. He knew I’d killed his partners, so admitting it to him didn’t compromise anything.
“I admire your dimwitted persistence in the face of all evidence to the contrary. But there’s one thing that I have to make clear. Despite your denials today, I’m going to make you face the facts one day. And I can’t be responsible for the consequences that result from those facts. I hoped confronting you with the facts would make things easier for both of us. Especially considering what we’ve been through the past few days. But that’s obviously not going to happen. Which leaves me no choice but to pursue this until the end. And it’s not over until I’m satisfied.”
I walked toward the door, passing him without saying a word. As I reached the front door of the house, I stopped and said, “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 27
I left Oswalt’s house, turned west on to highway 19, and left Cross City. Ninety minutes later I entered the outskirts of Tallahassee. I’d spent a few days in Tallahassee five years before on another mission. My training with The Summit taught me to always pay attention to my surroundings both because the line of work carried with it a constant risk of attack, but also because recalling your surroundings might help in the future. Even though I hadn’t been in Tallahassee for half a decade, I hoped that my experience there might help.
As I passed through the intersection of the road that circles Tallahassee, I saw the familiar red and white stripes. Four feet wide, and extending from the ground, up each wall to the roof, and then coming down the opposite wall, the stripes gave the building a circus tent effect. Most businesses wouldn’t have been so bold to conduct business out of such an eye-catching location, but the questionable taste of the exterior of the building matched the questionable taste of the business conducted inside the building as far as many of the area’s residents were concerned. Although targeted for legal challenges and endless efforts to shut it down, a dozen cars in the parking lot implied that little had changed, other than a fresh coat of paint on the stripes.
I pulled into the parking lot, away from the other cars, and walked along the front of the building with its painted-over windows. As I approached the door, a man walked out, and did a double-take when he saw me. Most people who pass in and out of the building try not to make eye contact with other patrons, and few of the customers are women, so I must have surprised the man. He held the door for me, and gave a sort of half-hearted smile and his eyes darted away when I looked in his direction. I thanked him, and he made a noise that sounded like a cross between “You’re welcome” and a groan of resignation before letting go of the door.
Inside the door a dark vestibule served as an intermediate passage between the bright Florida sun and the bright artificial light inside. Painted windows alongside each wall of the vestibule prevented any light from entering, so I opened the inside door of the building as soon as I could to get out of the darkness.
As soon as I walked in I knew I’d made the right choice. Although I’d never been in the building, I’d heard stories before. Back at Oswalt’s house, as I walked across his driveway to my car, the plan came together in my head. When I realized what had to be done, I thought of this circus tent of a place, and hoped they’d have what I needed.
Two mannequins stood just inside the door. Both blonde, one wore red, strapless lingerie that revealed significant cleavage, and was cut so high around the inner thigh that it revealed the metallic line of its leg joint. The other wore white lingerie that had been designed with holes to let the breasts fall free, providing an unobstructed view of its chipped right nipple. A thin lace pattern covered the stomach, and became even more thin as it reached lower on the mannequin, until practically no fabric existed by the time it fell between its black-high-heel-wearing legs.
But I didn’t come to see the mannequins. Although an adult superstore, and possessive of more square footage than necessary, the store didn’t feel giant. Many people are already intimidated when they enter such a store, so part of the trick of merchandising is to make sure it remains inviting. Despite the harsh lighting, and stark lack of conversational noise, the building somehow avoided the sort of 1920s sanitarium feel I’d expected. As I passed the mannequins, I peered toward the back wall where I saw the reason I made the ninety-mile drive.
Along the back wall, resting on metal hangers that supported them under their arms, and between their legs, a dozen different women offered themselves for display. I looked at the first one, and marveled at its skin tone, stylish chin-length hair cut, and healthy, fit physique. I’d already turned my attention toward the second one, when a voice interrupted me.
“You can touch them if you want to,” he said. I turned to see a man who appeared to be in his early thirties, and had long ago forgotten how to shave, standing next to me, his hand stroking the woman’s ankle, while his gaze fixed on me. Ted Bundy murdered young women in Tallahassee, and this man seemed to have the same madness. “Amazing how real they look, isn’t it? Sometimes near the end of my shift I’ll close one eye and stare at one of them and I can’t tell the difference. They look real. It’s easy to fool the brain.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, looking at his hand on the doll’s ankle as it squeezed, let go, and then rubbed, as if showing playful affection.
“Ca
n I help you with one?” Bundy asked. “Did you have one in mind? We’ve got a catalog with more to choose from, if you’d like.”
“A catalog?” I asked.
“Well, an online catalog. An online store, I guess. But if you order here rather than online you can have her shipped here, which will save you almost two hundred bucks.” I nodded, not knowing how else to respond. Bundy continued, “If you order her online you can customize her. Lips, eyes, hair, breasts, legs, stomach. It’s all customizable. Even her chin. So if you don’t see one you like here, don’t settle. She’s not inexpensive, so you might as well get what you like.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” I said.
“Ah, so you don’t have a type?” he asked, letting go of the doll’s ankle and clasping his hands behind his back, like an old man looking at an interesting museum piece.
“Well,” I said, but before I could say anything else he interrupted.
“I’m sorry, it’s probably not for you, is it?”
“Actually, yes, it is,” I said. I’d encountered hundreds of men who wanted to kill me during my time with The Summit, but I’d had few conversations more uncomfortable than this one. “But it really doesn’t matter what she looks like. I mean, it sort of matters, but not much. Are they all the same price?”
“Mostly,” Bundy said. “A few of them come with options that make them a bit more expensive, but why don’t you find one you like and then just ask me about it?”
“This one will work just fine,” I said, pointing at the one whose ankle he’d been grabbing. It looked about the same size as me, and had the same hair color. Other than those two items nothing else about its appearance mattered for my purposes. I thought about changing my mind so I could choose one that Bundy hadn’t already fondled, but every one of them had probably been manhandled at some point, albeit by someone not so reminiscent of a serial killer.
“Do you want this particular one, or do you want me to see if we have the same one in our warehouse? It’ll take about twenty minutes or so for them to deliver it, but at least it’ll be pristine. I know that’s important for some of our customers.”
“No, this one is just fine,” I said.
“Would you like us to box her up for you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said.
“I don’t blame you. When I got mine I wanted her to ride in the front seat next to me. Be prepared to get some looks though.”
I nodded. “I can imagine.”
“She’s so beautiful that people can’t help but stare. You’re probably used to that though. I’m sure you get plenty of attention, too.”
I had no interest in discussing my experiences of men gawking at me with a man who seemed to have just experienced a thrill rubbing a doll’s ankle, not to mention that he thought the doll’s beauty attracted attention, rather than its existence.
“I’ll just pay for her and be on my way,” I said, trying to extricate myself from the conversation and the store.
“Of course,” he said. “Let me get someone to help carry her out. She’s heavier than you think she’ll be.”
“That’s okay. I can carry her,” I said.
“We should get someone to help you,” he said, looking me up and down.
“That’s really not necessary. I’m stronger than you think I’ll be.”
“Most men can’t even carry her out of the store,” he said. “That’s why they have her delivered.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t you worry,” I said, trying to sound as condescending as possible.
Bundy shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the counter with the cash register. “Do you want to get an outfit for her? We can find her size and then you can choose something. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Does she come with whatever she’s wearing?” I asked, forgoing an attempt to describe the patchwork of laced cloth that covered most of her.
“She does. But that’s just your basic lingerie. We’ve got a wide selection to choose from,” he said, stepping out of the way and waving his hand to the racks of lingerie on the other side of the store. “I don’t know what you like, but I bet you can find it over there.”
“That’s okay. I like her how she is.” Sarcasm doesn’t work on someone who has escaped reality, so I figured it best to minimize conversation and get out.
“Me too,” he said. He looked toward the back wall and seemed like he might close an eye and try to pretend she was real.
“How much?” I asked, interrupting his moment of longing.
He pressed a few buttons on the cash register, and told me the total. Just under five thousand dollars. I refrained from voicing my exclamation of disbelief, swiped my credit card, and ignored the prompt to add a tip. Perhaps some of the employees at the store did something to deserve a tip, but I preferred not to know what.
“Let me see if I can find the companion book and accessories that come with her,” he said, stepping away from the counter.
“It’s okay, really,” I said. “I don’t need anything else.” He looked at me with concern, and before he could say anything I interrupted. “I just need her.”
“All right. I guess that’s fine. But let me at least give you the lubricant they recommend for her. You don’t want to use the wrong stuff. It’ll totally ruin her look and feel.”
“Thanks, but I won’t need it.” I winked at him, as if implying some sort of secret that I expected him to know.
He yelled, “Ha!” and nodded, as if he understood. I couldn’t imagine the explanation running through his mind.
I went to the back wall, and stood in front of the creepiest looking doll I’d ever seen. Perhaps if I closed one eye, and turned off the lights, and drank six beers I’d begin to see whatever Bundy saw, but until that happened all I’d see is a life-size doll that somehow looked entirely real and entirely fake at the same time. With no idea how to get her off the rack, I decided to try to sling her over my shoulders. I squatted in front of her, put my right arm on the inside of her left thigh and lifted her until she came off the hooks. I stood up, pulled her toward me, and let her chest rest on my shoulders, like a fireman rescuing someone from a building. I turned around to see Bundy staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar. His heart raced with excitement, or so I imagined, which creeped me out to no end.
As I passed the counter on the way out of the store, he smiled at me and said, “You are stronger than I’d think. She’s a good match for you. So delicate.”
I looked at him, but didn’t say a word.
“I hope you enjoy her.”
I left the store, and refused to hold the door for a man on his way in. He looked at me as if he’d never seen a woman carry a life-size sex doll on her shoulders. I tried to imagine what the passing cars thought as I walked along the front of the building. From such a distance, and with no view of the doll’s face, she might have looked real.
Despite Bundy’s suggestion, I decided against letting the doll ride in the passenger seat. She fit fine in the backseat, flat on her back, although I had to move her legs into awkward positions to avoid closing the door on her. If anyone saw me doing that they might have called the police, but I think I escaped undetected.
With my passenger dumped in the backseat, I left the giant circus tent, and headed back toward Cross City.
Chapter 28
Forty-five minutes outside of Cross City I pulled off into a forested area and moved the doll from the backseat to the trunk. I didn’t want anyone in Cross City to know that I had her. Not because of any shame, or because I valued their opinion, but rather because if anyone knew that she existed it might foil my plan.
I arrived at the El Hombre late in the afternoon and parked in front of my motel room. After checking my room for visitors, I decided to take a nap. The next step in my plan had to take place at night, so I had nothing to do but to wait for the sun to go down.
After dark I backed my car as close to the door of my room as possible, lifted the doll out of the tru
nk, and brought her into my room. With the trunk lid up anyone watching from a distance would think that I carried luggage. I parked my car in its regular spot, and then went back into my room.
The doll’s lingerie looked quite uncomfortable, especially after spending an hour in the backseat, and a good portion of the day in the trunk. My plan called for her to wear one of my t-shirts, and for a second, I considered taking the lingerie off of her and putting the t-shirt on, and then I remembered she couldn’t be uncomfortable because she’s a doll. A pretend person, not a real person, and pretend people don’t feel things like discomfort. So I put the t-shirt on over her lingerie.
I pulled back the blankets on the bed, and hoisted the doll into the bed in the exact spot where I had slept since I arrived. By putting her in the bed I essentially forfeited my claim to it, as I had no intention of sleeping in a bed occupied by a doll that had been felt up by Bundy. But turning over occupancy of the bed to a pile of silicone was part of the plan. I turned her onto her side, scissored her legs so she looked spread out, and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, leaving one shoulder exposed, the flesh of the arm visible, but the structure mostly hidden. I turned off the light, and walked to the door of the room. From there the doll took on a reality that Bundy experienced, without the sexual overtones. Under those blankets she had the same shape and size that I did, and from carrying her I knew that if anyone got on top of her she’d feel the same way I did beneath them. I put a sleep mask over her eyes so if anyone came in they couldn’t see her creepiest feature without putting forth some effort.
With the doll secure in bed, and the potential for a long night ahead of me, I got down on the floor and scooted under the bed. The frame provided enough clearance for me to get to the middle of the bed, and move my head back and forth so I could see to my left and my right. My feet didn’t reach the bottom of the bed, and were small enough that I had plenty of room to move them around, too. With nothing else to do besides wait, I let myself drift off.