Brian pressed his body against the concrete wall in the alley. At the sound of the Shady Ladies rear exit door opening, he leaned out just far enough to peek around the corner. As he watched Goldie step outside and walk through the parking lot, he spit on the ground.
The bitch had thought she was getting one over on him when she and her friend were drinking his booze and emptying his wallet, but he knew better. The joke had been on her, and soon enough the joke would be on Queen Bee, too. Sure, the blowjob hadn’t been part of the plan, but when she bought his act hook, line, and sinker, he hadn’t been able to resist taking her up on her guilt-ridden offer.
He could smell the traumatic childhood on that one a mile away. Letting her work out her ‘daddy issues’ on his cock had been fine with him. She had sucked him off magnificently and if she’d taken the moment for more than it was, that was on her. He hadn’t planned on delving into the community at Shady Ladies to that degree, but the whole taboo thing had been a fucking turn-on.
But he was through with her now. Goldie had served her purpose. On to bigger and better things: namely, Queen Bee. He was the puppet master and none of them were smart enough to see it. They were all the same: gold diggers. Even Teegan had proven that point when she married a man she barely knew. Women were all about the money. Bitches, every one of them!
He waited until Goldie was out of sight, then he eased back around the corner. He was grateful for the cloudy night sky and the concealment it offered. They really should get security lights back here, he inwardly smirked. He walked through the small alleyway around to the front of the club where Bee had parked her car. Queen Bee’s Cadillac stood out like a beacon that lured him ever closer.
He fingered the knife in his pocket as he nonchalantly strolled over to the vehicle. Nice. Only the best for Terry’s bitch. The best tires money could buy and fancy spokes. Didn’t that bitch know expensive cars like this were the most sought-after vehicles for thieves who supplied the local chop shops?
Hmm. That was a thought: steal the car and make the money back that he’d spent on those gold-digging bitches tonight. Another night, maybe, but right now he was too busy with more pressing matters. The thought of Queen Bee’s blood trickling between his fingers was much more satisfying.
His cock surged to life as he thrust the knife into the first tire. Fear…such a wonderful delicacy to feast upon. Tonight he would be Queen Bee’s knight in shining armor. He continued his work, making the edges jagged and the cuts deep. He was nobody’s fucking fairytale and didn’t plan on being one anytime soon.
He eased back toward the alley that led to the parking lot at the back of the building. His steps quickened in an effort to get back in his car before anyone saw him. He got in, started the engine, and pulled in front of the club. Then he waited.
He was a patient man when it came to personal matters and this was going to be a most personal kill. This time he had a point to make. It would be akin to the proverbial ‘two birds with one stone’: the community would be appalled, but his competition, Black Rose, would be brutally sucker punched. This. Was. Going. To. Be. Fun.
He just wished she’d fucking hurry up. He could hardly wait.
~~~
Queen Bee opened the fishing tackle box she used as her makeup case. It worked out great with the multiple tiers and small compartments that were perfect for holding her arsenal of beauty products. She’d bought it after realizing it was sturdier than the trendy ones the other girls used. When she'd found a pink camouflage one she knew she just had to have it. A sign from the makeup gods, she had laughed to herself the day she bought it. She got more compliments on it than she did for the Michael Kors pink and black Beacon backpack that she carried as a purse. Perhaps the sheer ingenuity of using a fishing tackle box was what prompted so many of the girls at the club to buy one too. She decided that imitation was indeed the sincerest form of flattery.
She picked up a few of her cosmetics from the counter and placed them in their appropriate compartments in her trusty tackle box. She locked it and headed out of the dressing room, swinging it lightly as she walked. She smiled to herself at the thought of imitation and flattery as she said her goodbyes and strolled out the front door into the night.
It’s all good until somebody’s imitation turns into stealing an idea. Fuck being flattered then. More than once she’d seen fights erupt over show ideas and costume pieces being stolen. The drag queens took that shit seriously and there was no room for understanding or forgiveness when toes got stepped on that way. There was a fine line between flattery and theft. The former would get you a friend forever…the latter would get your weave ripped out. Even the straight men had enough sense to get the hell out of the way when two queens got into it.
She’d deliberately parked out front, even though most of the girls used the rear parking lot. In her mind it kept the car safer. Also, she didn’t like the lack of security lights out back. The girls had been after Ross about getting them installed and he’d agreed to do it, but they hadn’t been installed yet. Queen Bee smiled as she pondered mentioning the issue to Terry. He’d have that shit taken care of in no time.
She rushed around to the driver’s side of the Cadillac, unlocking the driver’s side door with her key fob.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath. Flat tire. It was too dark to see what the problem was. Maybe she had run over a nail on the way in that day. She could see enough to know that she wouldn’t be driving her car that night. She tossed her items on the front seat and leaned over as she began digging in the side pocket of her backpack for her phone.
“Need some help?”
She turned around and was relieved to see Brian, the man who had been buying her and Goldie drinks all night. He had come off as an asshole earlier with how he practically ignored Goldie, but he seemed harmless enough now as he sat in his car with the engine idling. He was looking at her earnestly, leaning over toward the passenger window of his car as if her answer was of utmost importance to him.
Thank God it wasn’t a stranger. More than once she’d been harassed on the way to her car after a shift. Some customers thought they deserved to get laid after they’d bought drinks for a girl all night long. It was a pet peeve of hers, but Brian didn’t strike her as that type.
He put the car in park and got out, bending down to examine the tire more closely.
“Looks like you’ve got an enemy, beautiful. Somebody slashed your tire. Wow. Is somebody mad at you?” he asked innocently, giving the distinct impression that he couldn’t imagine her having any enemies.
“You don’t think one of the girls would do this, do you?” she wondered aloud. “Terry bought it for me and I just love it.”
“Sweetheart, you never know what kind of darkness can hide behind a smile. I can’t imagine any of those girls being jealous of your pretty car, but you just never know.” He shook his head like he just couldn’t believe anyone could be so mean for no apparent reason.
If Brian knew how to do anything, it was act. After all, he’d been living a double life for years. Brian Reed was adept at playing whatever part he needed to in order to get a victim to trust him. Hell, that was half the fun.
“Why don’t you let me take you home and I’ll call a wrecker to pick up your car. It’d probably be best since you were drinking earlier this evening. You wouldn’t want to get pulled over or anything.”
Queen Bee frowned as she considered her options. The club was winding down for the night and the staff would soon be busy closing up. She didn’t see the need to pull anyone away from their work because of her car trouble.
When they parted company at the coffee shop, Terry had told her he’d be working late. Her plan was to be at his place waiting for him when he got home. She was wearing the special lingerie he’d given her. If she called him, it would ruin all her plans. She just wanted to get there first so she could light some candles and open a bottle of wine. Of course, she could always get a cab or an Uber, but Brian
was already there and seemed eager to help. He was being nice enough, and it wasn’t like they were going to be friends. She just needed a ride home.
“Well, I could call Terry, but he’s in a late-night meeting and I do hate to interrupt him. Of course there’s always the option of a cab,” she said, testing the waters to see if Brian was serious about helping her out.
“I won’t hear of it. Now, you know Goldie would be so mad at me if I didn’t get you home safely. She’d never forgive me if I let anything happen to her bestie.” They both laughed out loud at the thought and it had the effect of melting away any suspicion or fear she may have had about accepting the ride home.
He reached around her before she could ask him what he was doing. He grabbed her backpack and tackle box while her guard was down, then opened the car door and gently laid the items on the backseat. He straightened and smiled. “There. You’re all set. Now, let’s get you home, beautiful.”
Queen Bee was no different than any other woman; she loved hearing a man tell her she was beautiful and could never hear it enough. Unfortunately for her, the words sounded just as sweet when spoken from the mouth of a killer.
~~~
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Goldie groused as the heel of her Jimmy Choo broke off with a snap. She’d accidently stepped in a small crack on the sidewalk on the way out of the parking lot. There was no way she’d make it home hobbling on a broken heel unless she wanted to risk a sprained ankle or worse. With an impatient sigh, she turned around and hobbled back to Shady Ladies with the heel clutched in her hand.
Ten minutes later she was at the back door of the bar. She pulled on the handle and, of course, it was locked. She beat on the metal door with her fist to no avail. The music must be too loud for them to hear me, she thought despairingly. She was going to have to head around to the front of the building and hobble through the bar to get another pair of shoes.
She stumbled around the corner and down the short alley to go in the front way. She stopped short, not believing what she was seeing. What the hell was Queen Bee doing getting into Brian’s car? Trying to take the high road and leave her knee-jerk jealous reaction behind, she decided to view the situation as a bit of good fortune. Maybe she could get a ride home with them.
She stumbled toward Brian’s car and yelled out, waving her arms to get their attention. For a second, she could have sworn she caught Brian’s eye in the rearview mirror, but in the next moment the car peeled out of the parking lot, far faster than necessary.
When she reached Queen Bee’s car she saw the flat tire. She looked down out of curiosity and noted the gash in the rubber. Someone had slashed the tire. And now Queen Bee was in Brian’s car, heading to parts unknown. Damn it! Could things get any worse? As she turned to head inside, the two thoughts continued to clash in her mind.
Someone slashed Bee’s tire. She was in Brian’s car.
She was reaching for the door handle when the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Someone had slashed Bee’s tire. She was in Brian’s car.
Queen Bee was alone with Brian. In his car. Destination unknown.
And Brian always had a knife or some kind of weapon on him. Was he trying to fuck Bee? It wasn’t that thought that made Goldie’s hackles rise, though. What if Brian hadn’t been just roleplaying the part of a serial killer? What if he’d been stringing her along and then made nice just to cover his tracks after she got away? What if he was really the Mummy Man?
Someone slashed Queen Bee’s tire. She was in Brian’s car. Someone slashed Queen Bee’s tire. She was in Brian’s car.
Suddenly her mind was flooded with the memory of how he had been so ugly to her and twisted her arm, then how abruptly he’d gone all sweet and wounded when she’d doubted him. And how he had demanded that she introduce him to Queen Bee. Had it all been an act? Had he bought them drinks all night just to build Bee’s trust in him so he could slash her tire and then come to her rescue by giving her a ride home?
Goldie knew Queen Bee was a sucker for a knight in shining armor. This was bad, very bad. Goldie pulled her shoes off and rushed through the bar to get back to her dressing room locker and find her sneakers. There was only one way to find out what Brian was up to. She only hoped like hell she’d be able to find them.
She dropped her purse onto the long vanity table that ran the length of the wall. She dug for her phone, calling Bee’s cell phone but it went straight to voicemail. In a panic, she tried calling the number Bee had given her for Terry’s cell phone and it went straight to voicemail, too.
She plopped down in a chair in an effort to regroup. She tried to shake off the premonition that was causing her stomach to heave. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Bee, if he had managed to deceive them both just to get Bee alone so he could kill her. She shuddered as she imagined Queen Bee waking up in his creepy hellhole just like she had, hanging from a hook in the ceiling, at his mercy.
She pushed herself up out of the chair and walked to her locker. She pulled out the athletic shoes she kept there and sat back down to put them on. Her expression grim, she returned to the locker and moved some clothing aside that hid something she never thought she’d have to use: a gun.
Chapter Fifty Two
Agent Turner stood facing the latest array of photographs affixed to the large whiteboard in his office. Like countless previous FBI crime investigations, the details of the Mummy Man case were laid out like a storyboard. Photos and cards with only one or two words printed on them were arranged in groups representing persons of interest and the facts of the case.
During the course of an investigation, theories would be put forward to be either proven or debunked entirely. As information was gleaned from witnesses and forensic analysis, he and Rene would move the images, names, dates, and other facts around on the board until the case was solved. Then another would take its place.
After the case was solved, the contents of the white board would go into storage with the rest of the case evidence. Eventually, the evidence would be sent to the legal eagles preparing the case for trial, or to a nondescript, long-term storage facility that housed the ghosts of crimes past.
Rene worked quietly at her desk. Every now and then she would look at her partner, as if willing him to make the connection that seemed so close and yet so far away. Every case was different and, ironically enough, the same.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
That got her full attention. Her head jerked up and she straightened in her chair. “What?”
“All of the victims were married. Every single one of them.”
“Which leads me to ask why he didn’t just take their wedding rings as trophies?”
“Because he’s smart enough to know we’d catch it.”
“And yet he didn’t care about us noticing that all the killings were done mummy-style.”
“That’s a compulsion that he finds necessary in order for him to experience the gratification he yearns for. Now, taking personal items is different. The items he takes may represent some personal vendetta from his past. Serial killers are no different than average citizens; our past shapes us.”
“Kinda makes you wonder how he picks the trophies,” she said, more to herself than him. “Maybe he’s like a fuckin’ rat, and the shiniest trinket gets his attention.”
“He doesn’t seem at all concerned with the race, social class or sexual preference of his victims. Marriage is the one thing they all have in common, though.”
“Think he has something against holy matrimony?” she chuckled.
“Always the profiler, aren’t you? You’ll get your chance to interrogate him after we catch him.”
She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Not if he’s…unavailable. You’ve lined up resources for some discreet surveillance, right? And information is power.”
That got his attention. He strode over to her desk and lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her to look h
im in the eye. Regarding her through narrowed eyes, he warned, “Be careful, Rene.”
She met his grim gaze with her best poker face. “You know me. I always am.”
He stared down into the face he loved so much, then leaned down and kissed her softly. “I know you are.”
He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the GPS app, turning the phone toward Rene so they could both look at the map on the screen. He frowned as he watched the small dot moving toward the outskirts of town. “Well, this is interesting.”
Chapter Fifty Three
“Fuck, you’re so damn hot. I can’t get enough of you.”
Thomas was kissing his wife’s neck and stroking her inner thigh, well on his way to distracting her as she sat on the bed trying valiantly to work on her laptop. It wasn’t just the soft brush of his fingers trailing up her inner thigh that caused her heart to race, though; it was the look in his eyes.
It was as if he could see everything she’d worked so hard to keep hidden from the rest of the world. She didn’t doubt for a moment that it was true; he was consumed by the need to know everything about her. He was interested in every detail about his wife: her thoughts, her beliefs, her life before she met him, and every inch of her physical form. Sometimes it was unnerving to her, but even that was exciting in its own way. She didn’t think she was all that interesting, really, but that didn’t stop him from studying her every move.
She’d never been around a man as intense as Thomas. She knew that no one could ever measure up to him. She shuddered at the thought of losing him to death or prison. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he hadn’t missed the subtle sign of her distress. When his phone rang, she was grateful for the interruption.
Thomas picked up his phone and quickly put it on speaker as soon as he saw who it was. The voice on the other end of the line was frantic. “Thomas, listen, I’m in trouble. I’ve done something…well, I’ve done something awful and I don’t know what to do. I thought about getting in touch with your parents but your father terrifies me or I’d have called your mother.”
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