by John Locke
My condition’s getting worse. What’s really scary, I’m developing a death wish.
This time it wasn’t enough to break into Chris Fowler’s house and pretend I’m him. This time I found myself in a biker bar, buying premium drinks for a primitive redneck named Bobby Mitchell, who told me all about his beautiful girlfriend who gives lap dances at a strip joint downtown on Barmeade. He said his girlfriend, Willow, has only been with one man in the world, and I was looking at him. Said if Willow ever decides to stray, he’ll hunt down the bastard that did her, cut his dick off, and sew it into Willow’s mouth.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I killed a guy,” he said, winking, and I believed him.
At that moment the only important thing in my world was Willow.
I had to meet her, had to have her!
It was a case of fuck Willow or go insane.
Now that I’ve made my conquest and cheated Bobby Mitchell out of killing me for fucking his girlfriend, I’m recharged, rejuvenated, and ready to head back to Manhattan to save some more lives.
I fire up the rental car and wonder how many of the kids I save will grow up to be like Shelby, and how many will grow up to be Willows or Camerons? How many will grow up to be Bobby Mitchells, Chuckies, or Dr. Gideon Boxes, for that matter? As long as the kids I save turn out better than me, I’m earning my keep.
I fish the two thick envelopes from the side pocket of my suit jacket and look at them. Each envelope contains sixty hundreds. My plane isn’t scheduled to leave for hours, so I’ll swing by the strip club and leave these envelopes for Willow and Cameron. It should more than cover what I owe, including the blow I forgot to flush down the toilet.
The club looks twice as filthy by day, and there are two cars parked by the front door. I go inside and hear a vacuum cleaner running, but it’s so dark I can’t see who’s operating it. I stand in the doorway and wait for my eyes to adjust.
The vacuum cleaner stops.
From across the room a woman’s voice hollers, “Sir? We don’t open till four.”
“Is the manager in?” I yell.
“Hang on a sec,” she says.
By the time the manager comes out, my eyes are working again.
“What can I do for you?” he says.
“If I give you something to hold for two of your dancers, will they get it?”
He sizes me up.
“You’re the guy from last night.”
I don’t respond.
He says, “Willow and Cameron.”
I shrug.
He says, “You can’t see the girls outside the club.”
“I know. I’m leaving town and wanted to give them a gift.”
He holds his hand out. “Give it to me, I’ll see they get it.”
Something in his manner tells me the girls will never see the money, and something in his look makes me very uncomfortable. I hear the roar of a motorcycle outside, and realize I’m standing in a strip club holding two envelopes containing twelve thousand in cash, and no one on earth knows I’m here.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll give it to them next time.”
“You sure about that?”
As I turn to leave, the door opens and Bobby Mitchell walks in.
Knowing it’ll take a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, I shield my face and try to work my way around him.
Maybe it’s the lifestyle, but Bobby’s eyes have no problem adjusting to the light.
“Whoa,” he says, putting an arm out to stop me. You’re the guy from last night.”
“Nice to see you again,” I say, noting my voice sounds like I’m twelve years old again, in the shower with Joe and his piss buddies.
Bobby says, “What the fuck’re you doing here?”
“You mentioned the place last night, thought I’d check it out.”
“In the middle of the morning?”
“I wanted to get the feel of the place. Maybe come back tonight.”
Bobby looks at the manager. “Does that make sense to you, Gary?”
Gary says, “He came in last night. Bought a dozen lap dances from two of the girls.”
“A dozen each?”
“All together.”
“Which two?”
My eyes search the immediate area for any type of weapon I can use against this beastly man, but nothing looks remotely possible.
“Ask him,” Gary says.
Bobby moves closer. He’s practically on top of me. There’s no way out of this.
“Which two girls?” Bobby says.
“Uh, Cameron?” I say.
“Cameron?”
“I might not have her name right.”
Bobby glances at Gary. “Was Stringbean one of them?”
He nods.
Bobby turns back to me. So you bought a dozen lap dances from Cameron and another girl?”
I nod.
He says, “Which other girl?”
10
Willow and Cameron.
Friday, 1:15 p.m.
Willow and Cameron pay no attention to the dark Lexus till it turns into Chris Fowler’s driveway.
As the garage door opens, the girls snap to attention.
“Wrong car!” Willow says.
“Are you sure he was driving a Mercedes?”
“Positive.”
“We did a couple of lines, remember.”
“True. And it was dark.” She frowns. “It was definitely a luxury sedan.”
Cameron says, “I think you’re right about the Mercedes. Could they own three cars?”
The Lexus enters the garage, and they watch the door close behind it.
“They’re pretty rich,” Willow says. “The house has to be at least seven-fifty. And they’ve got a three-car garage. It’s possible.”
“So Chris isn’t here?”
“Unless she picked him up.”
“Maybe we should just forget it,” Cameron says.
“Are you kidding me? I’m already in deep shit with Bobby. If I don’t bring home nine hundred-sixty bucks, he’ll kill me.”
Cameron shakes her head. “You’re so pretty. And smart. You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.”
“Tell Bobby, okay?”
“He’s abusive.”
“Ya think?”
They’re quiet a moment.
Willow says, “Let’s bring this thing to a head.”
“What do you mean?”
“Follow my lead.”
They get out of the car, walk to the front door, ring the bell.
A woman opens the door and says, “May I help you?”
Willow says, “You’re Kathy? Chris Fowler’s wife?”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“Is Chris here?”
She looks them over. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Willow Breeland, and this is Cameron Mason.”
“And how do you know my husband?”
Willow and Cameron exchange a look, then notice the concern in Kathy’s face.
“I think you should leave,” Kathy says.
She starts to close the door, but Willow wedges her foot inside the frame, pulls Bobby’s 9 millimeter from her purse and sticks it in Kathy’s face.
Kathy says, “Oh, God!” and backs into her living room.
Willow and Cameron follow her in, and Cameron locks the door.
“Jesus, Willow!” Cameron says.
“Please,” Kathy says. “Take whatever you want.”
“You told her our names!” Cameron says.
Willow sighs. “I know. Shit!”
Kathy says, “We’ve got a safe in the bedroom closet.”
“Shut up!” Willow says. “I need to think.”
Kathy backs up to the couch and sits down. She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering.
Cameron says, “Show us the safe.”
They head back to the bedroom, but when they reach the hall, Willow says “Shhh!” and makes them stop.
To Kathy she whispers, “Who’s back there?”
“N-no one.”
“Then why do I hear water running?”
“I was running water for my bath. I’ve been out of town and-”
“I’ll check it out,” Cameron says. “If I scream, shoot Kathy. Then come get me.”
Willow’s eyes get big, but not as big as Kathy’s.
“Want to change your story about running water for the bath?” Cameron says.
Kathy shakes her head no.
Cameron disappears into the bedroom.
“Please,” Kathy whispers. “You’re not like her. I can feel it.”
“Please be quiet,” Willow says.
“Don’t let her kill me!” Kathy says.
“We’re not going to kill you. We just want what’s ours.”
“What does that mean?” Kathy says.
Before Willow can answer, Cameron comes back in the hallway and says, “She was telling the truth.”
“You didn’t turn off the water?” Willow says.
“We’ll turn it off in a minute. First, let’s see how much money they’ve got.”
It takes three tries, but Kathy finally gets the safe open, and Willow counts out fifteen hundred in fifties and twenties.
“That’s it?” she says.
“There are some gold coins in the back,” Kathy says. “And jewelry.”
“Too risky,” Cameron says.
Willow looks at the cash, then at Cameron. Her lip quivers, thinking about the beating she’s going to get. She’s about to cry.
“You can have my half,” Cameron says.
“No. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“You can pay me back later. There’s enough here to pay Bobby and still put five hundred into our secret fund.”
“You’re the best, Cameron.”
“You too.”
They look at Kathy.
Cameron says, “She knows our names.”
“I know. I’m sorry!”
“Please,” Kathy says. “There’s no need to hurt me. I won’t say a word.”
Willow frowns. “That is such bullshit!”
She turns to her friend. “Talk to me, Cam.”
Cameron says, “Give me the gun.”
Willow says, “You can’t just shoot her.”
“No. But I can make her walk into the bathroom.”
Kathy says, “You don’t need the gun. I’ll go in the bathroom.”
The three women enter the bathroom where two of them showered ten hours ago. Willow notices a different facecloth on the shower bench, which means Chris probably cleaned up before leaving. Cameron points at the large whirlpool tub on the far side of the room and says, “Get on your hands and knees, and lean your head over the edge of the tub.”
Kathy pauses.
“Hand me the gun, Willow,” Cameron says.
She does, then turns off the water.
“Please,” Kathy says. “I’m begging you. Don’t shoot me!”
“I’m not going to shoot you.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“We’re going to tie your hands behind your back and you’re going to give us two full hours before calling anyone.”
“I won’t tell a soul about this. Not even Chris.”
Willow says, “It’s Chris’s fault this happened in the first place!”
Kathy’s confused, but she lowers herself to the floor and gets on her hands and knees. She positions her neck over the side of the tub and puts her hands behind her back.
“What can we tie her with?” Willow says.
“They’ve got phones in the bedroom and kitchen. Remove the phone cords while I keep an eye on Kathy,” Cameron says. “But hurry!”
“Okay.”
When Willow leaves the room, Cameron smashes the side of Kathy’s head with the gun butt.
Kathy’s arms start to jerk. She tries to raise up. Cameron puts her mouth next to Kathy’s ear and whispers, “Do you have any idea what your husband did to us? It’s payback time, bitch!”
She slams the butt of the gun against Kathy’s head again, and her body goes slack. Cameron locks her arm under Kathy’s left armpit and tries to hoist her up over the edge of the tub into the water.
But she’s too heavy.
Knowing Willow will be back any minute, Cameron gets on the floor and works her shoulders under Kathy’s legs and pushes upward. Of course this action requires Cameron’s face to be pressed into Kathy’s butt, and she thinks if Willow walks in at this precise moment she’ll wonder what the hell Cameron’s doing to the lady of the manor.
It’s not pleasant, but it’s the only way she can raise Kathy high enough to get her head under water.
It works.
Kathy’s waist is on the edge of the tub, her face in the water.
Cameron scrambles to her feet and pushes Kathy’s head in deeper and holds it there. Moments later Willow enters the room with the phone cords in her hand and screams, “Omigod! You killed her!”
“I had to!”
“No! Jesus, Cam! Let her up!”
Willow turns off the water.
Cameron says, “She tried to kill me!”
“What? How?”
“She pushed her body against me, tried to knock me down.”
“Omigod! I shouldn’t have left you here alone.”
“It’s okay. I hit her with the gun.”
Willow looks around. “There’s not much blood.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Jesus, Cam.”
“I panicked.”
“You drowned her?”
“It started off like self-defense. But I was so scared! I just kept pushing her head down to keep her from getting to me.”
“Omigod! You poor thing!”
Willow notices Cameron is still holding Kathy’s head under water.
“Is she-”
Cameron starts crying.
Willow says, “You had to do it. If she’d gotten hold of the gun she could’ve killed you.”
“I killed someone!” Cameron says, between sobs.
“It’s my fault. You didn’t even want to be here. It’s my fault she’s dead.”
“My life’s over,” Cameron says.
“No. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure something out.”
“If they catch us, you’ll tell.”
“No.”
Willow sits on the side of the tub and says, “Let go of her, Cam.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“It’s okay. I’ll hold her under.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my friend,” Willow says. “And we’re in this together.”
Cameron releases her grip, and Kathy’s head bobs to the surface. But her face remains submerged.
“She’s already dead,” Cameron says.
“You never know.”
“Yes you do.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Willow takes over and pushes Kathy’s face deeper into the water and holds it there for five minutes. Then both girls stand and hug each other and cry.
Cameron finally says, “You never touched the safe, right?”
“Right.”
“Or anything else?”
“Just the tub and faucet handles. And the phone cords.”
“And I touched the inside door knob and the lock.”
“There’s blood on the tub, but not the bathroom floor,” Willow says.
“Guess I got her over the tub so fast she didn’t have time to bleed on the floor.”
“That’s good.”
“ Shit!” Cameron says.
“What?”
“We showered last night, and fucked her husband on the bed. And both of us were on the chair. You think he flushed the condoms?”
They go back in the bedroom and look around.
The bed is made, the room neat, the gun back in the drawer with the remaining unwrapped condoms.
“Let’s not ta
ke any chances,” Cameron says.
“What do you mean?”
“We should strip the bed and wipe down all the surfaces, vacuum the chair and floor, and clean the shower.”
“What about the vacuum cleaner?”
“Good point. We’ll need to take it with us.”
“We’ll also need to wipe your prints off the front door.”
“And yours off the telephones and the cords. After we put them back like they were.”
“You look for the vacuum cleaner,” Willow says. “I’ll find a trash bag for the sheets, spread, and pillow cases.”
“First, flush all the toilets.”
“Why?”
“To make sure the condoms haven’t stopped them up.”
“Good idea.”
Twenty minutes later Willow exits the front door, carrying the trash bag. Cameron’s right behind her, carrying the vacuum cleaner, closing the door. Willow looks around to see if any neighbors are about, but sees no one. She walks ten feet before realizing Cameron hasn’t caught up to her. She turns to see what’s taking her friend so long to get her butt in gear and sees Cameron standing on the front porch, staring directly into the security camera.
11
“We’re screwed,” Cameron says.
Willow rushes back to Cameron’s side.
“No problem,” she says.
“No problem? Are you shitting me?”
She points to the camera.
Willow says, “We’ll go inside, find the surveillance tape, and pull it out of the machine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I just locked the front door.”
“We could break in the back,” Willow says. “It won’t be that hard. There’s a sliding glass door and-”
The suddenness of Willow’s pause makes Cameron turn to look at her. Willow’s staring at the camera, smiling.
“We’re screwed, and you’re standing here making a fucking movie?”
“It’s a fake camera,” Willow says.
“Are you crazy? ”
“Bobby used to sell and install security systems, remember?”
“So?”
“Half the cameras he installed were fakes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Most customers were too cheap to spring for the full system. And nine out of ten burglars don’t know the difference between real and fake cameras.”
“Is that true?”
“Probably not. But it’s what Bobby told the clients.”