by John Locke
Bickham turned the van down the dirt road toward the wooded area owned by his grandfather, drove a few hundred yards before stopping, and extinguished the headlights. I passed their turnoff and went a mile further before turning into the dirt road I knew would eventually bring me a quarter mile from Bickham’s preferred banging area.
Bickham put his van in park and cut the engine. He pushed Charlie off of Callie. “Goddamn it, Charlie. Wait your fuckin’ turn!”
“Jesus Christ, Bickham, check out these tits!” he gushed. “She’s a fuckin’ ten, man!”
“No shit,” said Bickham. “Now help me get her in the back before I explode!”
The back of the van had a couple of layers of sleeping bags spread out, so the girls wouldn’t have marks on their backs afterward.
Charlie opened the passenger door, climbed out, and lowered the passenger seat to create easy access to the back of the van. He figured he’d reach under Callie’s arms and drag her back there. But as he leaned toward her, his face exploded.
In that small, enclosed area, the gun shot noise was deafening.
“Jesus!” screamed Bickham. He tried to scramble out the driver’s side, but lacked the clarity of focus.
“I’m so glad your friend liked my tits,” Callie said. “But I saved something really special for you!” She pointed the gun at his face.
Bickham threw his hands in the air, surrendering. “No, ma’am, please! Shit! I didn’t mean nuthin’, I swear! I swear to God I won’t bother you! Please, Jesus, just let me go. You can have the van. Just, oh Jesus, please don’t kill me! Please!”
She looked at his crotch. “Did you just wet yourself?” Christ, Bickham, you’re the guy who was supposed to protect me!
He put his hands in front of his face, turned his head away from her, whimpering. His voice reduced to a squeak, he pleaded again. “Please, ma’am. Please don’t kill me.”
“You know,” Callie said, “it never ceases to amaze me how much damage these pre-fragmented bullets can do at close range.”
She pointed the gun at his crotch, pulled the trigger. He screamed in pain, started convulsing. Callie slid out the open passenger door while Bickham flayed his arms about, sobbing hysterically. The impact of the shot had knocked Charlie’s body back about six feet. She dragged it around to the front of the van and kicked until it was concealed beneath the fender.
The gorgeous blond with the wild tattoo and the dark brown eyes climbed back in the van and watched Bickham’s medical condition deteriorate until she saw headlights approaching from the dirt road behind the van.
“Sorry, lover boy. I’d love to stay and party with you some more, ‘cos really, you’re everything I look for in a man. Especially now that you’ve shit your pants! I can’t speak for the other girls, but that’s a real turn-on for me. Unfortunately, I’ve got to mingle, greet my other guests. You know how it is when you’re the one throwing the surprise party.”
She put a quick one in his left eye and stuffed him as far as she could into the floorboard. She climbed into the back of the van and opened the door about an inch.
The first rule of being a good hostess is knowing how to dress for the occasion. Callie had to decide how much skin to show the boys. George and Robbie were expecting to see her naked, so she had to show something. On the other hand, she was in no mood to show them everything. Her blouse was already torn open, so that was good. She made a mental note to collect the buttons later.
To honor Charlie, she lifted her bra, exposed her breasts in the manner he seemed to favor, and slipped off her jeans. She considered sliding them down to her ankles, but decided that might hinder her ability to move quickly in the event she miscalculated the situation. Anyway, showing boobs and panties ought to be enough for these pups. She lay on her back, knees bent, and spread her legs toward the back door of the van. Her left arm lay lifeless, her eyes half-closed. By her side, her jacket covered the gun in her right hand.
Moments later Robbie brought his car to a stop behind the van. The two boys stubbed out their weed.
George laughed. “Let’s mess with ‘em. Turn your lights back on.” Robbie did, and the boys noticed the back door of the van was ajar. They got out of the car and tentatively approached, trying not to giggle too loudly. Robbie tapped on the door.
“Yoo Hoo!” he said, “anybody home?”
George peeked first. “Oh my God,” he squealed. “Check this out!”
He flung the door wide open so Robbie could see. George was starting to say, “What’s that smell?” when the blond bolted up and fired twice.
George was dead before he hit the ground. Robbie was alive, but his chest wound was going to be a problem.
Callie put her outfit together, collected her belongings, and wiped the interior of the van clean. Then she walked over and sat next to Robbie.
“Wh-what are you d-doing?” he managed to say.
“Sitting here, watching you bleed out,” she said.
“W-why?”
“For the fun of it.”
She turned at the sound behind her.
“Hey Donovan, nice explosion,” she said.
I surveyed the carnage. “Jesus, Callie.”
“I know, I know,” she said. She shrugged. “What can I say? Sometimes it’s personal.”
I walked over to the kid they called Robbie, saw him gasping, eyes bugged out, silently mouthing words no one would ever hear. I placed a round into the boy’s head to end his suffering, and gave Callie a look.
“I owe you,” I said.
“If you really feel that way,” she said, “there’s something I want you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Come to Vegas with me.”
Chapter 15
Excuse me? I thought. Did Callie just ask me to come with her to Vegas?
Even sitting there on the ground with her blouse torn and her torso covered in blood spray, Callie was hotter than a habanero. To any other man her invitation would have sounded like a dream come true. But I knew her well enough to know that whatever this was about, it wasn’t about us hooking up. In earlier times I’d taken my best shots to bed her and struck out every time.
Still, a little clarification wouldn’t hurt.
“I’m with Kathleen now,” I said. “I thought you knew.”
Callie laughed and said, “Jesus, Donovan, get a grip!”
“Okay,” I said. “I was just making sure.”
“You have any idea how old you are?”
“I got it, Callie, it’s a platonic trip. I get the picture.”
“Old enough to be my father, you sick degenerate.”
“I’m fourteen years older than you. Period.
“In dog years, maybe.”
I sighed. “When do you want to go?”
“How’s Wednesday sound?”
“I’ve got a meeting in Newark Wednesday morning, eight-thirty. I can meet you at the airport there around ten.”
“Same Fixed Base Operator as last time?”
“Same FBO, different jet.”
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” she said, “with bells on.”
“Try getting bells through civilian security these days,” I said.
“I appreciate it, Donovan.”
I nodded.
She stood and said, “Bickham’s in the driver’s seat, Charlie’s under the front wheel, right side, these two you’ve seen. We done here?”
I handed Callie a small flashlight.
“Can you hold this on the dash for me?” I said.
Through the driver’s window, she focused enough light for me to work. I took a small plastic baggie out of my pocket and leaned into the van through the passenger seat door. I took some fingerprint tape out of the baggie and transferred several partials onto the dashboard and a perfect palm print for the side of the seat that Charlie had lowered. Then I took three strands of blond hair from the bag and put one on the seat, one on the floor, and one on the sleeve of Bickham’s shirt
, near the cuff .
“You left the shells where they landed, right?” I said, going through my mental checklist.
Callie didn’t bother to answer. She was the consummate pro.
I looked around a bit longer, making sure I didn’t miss anything. I put the plastic baggie back in my pocket and took two gallon-sized plastic bags out of my duffel bag.
“Ready for the guns,” I said.
I wiped mine down and placed it carefully into one of the plastic bags and put it in the duffel. Callie handed me hers and I cleaned and packed it with the other one.
“Crime scene’s okay,” I said.
“What about the video camera?”
“Sal didn’t trust Teddy to remove it, so he put a guy in the bar. He won’t leave without it.”
“You think Sal will try to use it against us someday?”
“Nah. Our people can discredit any type of evidence.”
I took a windbreaker out of the duffel and handed it to her.
“Put this on to cover your arm,” I said. “We’ll drive awhile before removing that tattoo.”
“I’ll do it after you drop me off. I’ve got some polish remover that works pretty well, but a job like this will take some time.”
“You still wearing the brown contacts?” I said.
She turned the flashlight onto her face.
“You like? You saw them earlier.”
“Huge difference,” I said. Callie’s natural pale-gray eyes were hypnotic. These were normal.
“I guess we’re ready,” I said. “Still, I’d feel better if we were doing the body double instead of Sal.”
Callie shrugged. “This is Goober Town, Donovan, not Miami CSI.”
Part of the plan was to have Teddy Boy take a picture of Callie at the restaurant with his cell phone camera, from a distance, but making sure he got at least a hazy shot of the outrageous tattoo on her right arm. When the local detectives come to the bar to interview people, Teddy Boy would remember taking the picture.
Sal already had a victim lined up that matched the tattoo, a dancer named Shawna. It was Shawna’s hair that I’d placed in the van. Shawna only vaguely resembled Callie, but Sal didn’t intend for much to be identifiable beyond the hair and tattoo. She was a dancer in one of Sal’s clubs in Cleveland, and had recently committed the unpardonable sin of threatening one of Sal’s lieutenants with exposure. Sal’s guy was preparing to kill her when Sal forced him to hide her instead, and keep her alive until he gave the word. I hoped the angry lieutenant would refrain from killing her until I could get Callie’s gun to Sal, so he could get the dancer’s prints on it. I hadn’t intended to use my gun tonight, but I did, so now I’d have to take it apart and scatter it, piece by piece, over a wide area.
“How long will we be in Vegas?” I asked.
Callie smirked at me. “Gotta check in with the ‘ol ball and chain?”
I shrugged. “When you’re in a committed relationship, there are certain rules of protocol.”
“So you’ll tell her we’re going to Vegas, just you and me?”
“Full disclosure is not one of the rules.”
“One night.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ll be in Vegas one night.”
I assumed she had a tricky freelance killing to do that required a second person. If so, I’d need to know a few details before we left.
“What type of equipment should I bring?” I asked.
“A nice suit.”
“That’s it?”
“We’re just going to a show. At the Bellagio.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right.”
“What’s right?”
“ ‘O’.”
“Oh, what?” I said.
“The show is called ‘O.’”
“In that case,” I said, “who’s on first?”
“Does that work for Kathleen?”
“What, humor?”
She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Not really,” I said.
We sat there a moment, Callie staring straight ahead, thinking of one thing but talking about another.
“She probably thinks you’re funny,” Callie said. “It’s early in the relationship.”
“That’ll change soon, though, huh Dr. Phil?”
“You’re probably wondering why I want you to see this particular show this particular week,” she said.
“Hey, I’m honored. The reason doesn’t matter.”
“It might, later on.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because after the show you’re going to have to make a life and death decision.”
“My life and death?”
“No,” she said. “Mine.”
Chapter 16
Sunday morning. I was heading to Kathleen’s house when my cell phone rang. I checked the display, saw my daughter was calling, and had my driver raise the privacy partition. Before I clicked on, I reminded myself to start off cheerfully.
“Hi Kitten, what’s up?”
“Oh my God, Daddy, someone’s killed Charlie!”
“What? Who’s been killed?” I said.
“Charlie! My boyfriend! Oh, my God! Someone’s killed Charlie!” Kimberly started sobbing. “Oh, my God!” she screamed.
With each sob I felt a stab of guilt. But also relief. Th at son-of-a-bitch might be hurting her in death, but he would have hurt her far worse by living.
“Kimberly, try to calm down. Tell me what happened.”
“They found a van this morning, in a field. Four boys were shot. One of them is Charley. Oh, God, Daddy!” She started sobbing again. “How can this have happened? Who could possibly want to hurt Charley? He was the greatest guy ever.”
“Are you absolutely sure it was Charlie? Has anyone identified the body?”
She was having trouble catching her breath.
“It’s him, Dad. All four boys were killed.”
“I’m so sorry, Kitten,” I said. “I’m so very sorry.”
We went on like that awhile. Somewhere in there she said, “I wish you could have met him. You would have liked him.”
“I know I would have,” I lied.
She cried some more and I remained on the phone until she was all cried out. I asked if there was anything I could do.
She said, “Is there any way you’d consider coming to the funeral?”
“Of course I will,” I said. “Just tell me when and where.”
I wasn’t worried about being recognized as Callie’s date from the Grantline Bar & Grill the night before. For one thing, all eyes were on Callie. For another, I’d worn elevator shoes that added three inches to my height, a brown wig, glasses and a full beard. The beard covered the scar on my face, and the clothes I wore are long gone. The guns were cleaned and currently in Sal’s possession. There was nothing to tie me to the scene.
Kathleen and I spent the day quietly, commiserating about Kimberly. I had to bite my lip a dozen times as Kathleen kept asking the same questions Kimberly had posed about poor, sweet, wonderful Charlie. It pissed me off that Kathleen assumed the kid she’d never met had been a choir boy. I mean, when four boys are murdered gangland style, wouldn’t you naturally assume there might be something amiss? I kept reminding myself that Kathleen was a civilian. She had no instincts or training that would lead her to suspect that Charlie had murdered one woman and raped a dozen others. I remained neutral on the subject of Charlie, knowing that in the days to come most of the sordid details would be revealed in the news. But I knew I could never tell Kathleen about my involvement in his death, despite the fact that by killing Charlie, Callie and I had saved Kimberly and countless other women. No matter how deep Kathleen and my relationship grew, this would be yet another terrible secret I’d have to keep from her.
“Donovan, is there anything you can do?” she said.
“You mean like trying to find out who did it?”
“Or at least get some updated information for Kimberly
. I’m sure it would make her feel better.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ll put Lou Kelly on it.”
Lou is my right-hand man, the guy that heads up my support team for Sensory Resources. Lou’s geek squad would be able to provide me with up-to-the-minute information from the sheriff's department.
All afternoon the calls went back and forth between Lou and me. By eight p.m. the investigation had made enough progress to give Kimberly a credible report.
“I know you’re hurting honey, but I called in some favors and did some checking. You can’t tell anyone about this, because it’s privileged, but I’ve got some information about the shooting.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She sounded painfully subdued.
“I’ve got to warn you, you’re probably not going to like what I have to say.”
“Then it’s probably a pack of lies.”
Well, at least there was still a spark there. “It might be, honey, but the evidence they’ve gathered is pretty strong against the boys.”
She was quiet, bristling a little.
“It’s up to you, Kimberly.”
“I want to hear it,” she said. “I’ll find out eventually, so I may as well know now.”
“All right, then. I’ll start talking, and if it gets to be too much, just tell me and I’ll stop. Here goes: all four of the boys were from Darnell. Two of them were shot execution style with a single shot between the eyes. Charlie was one of them, the other was a boy named George Rawlins.”
I paused to let her finish crying.
“Go ahead, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“I know, baby. It’s hard. Maybe this isn’t the best time.”
“No Dad, really. I want to hear.”
“Okay. I’m reading from a memorandum now: ‘The other two, Bickham Wright and Robbie Milford, were wounded first; then finished off with head shots. The driver of the van, Bickham Wright, was shot in the groin. Robbie Milford was shot in the lower chest. Police on the scene speculated the shootings may have been gang related, and likely involved drugs; a conclusion they reached in an effort to tie the crime to the recent disappearance of Bickham Wright’s cousin, Ned Denhollen, also from Darnell.’”