Killer on Call 6 Book Bundle (Books 1-6)

by Gwendolyn Druyor

  “You Nazis like killing people, don’t you?”

  Edward Parker smoothed the sheets over his ample gut. He straightened a uniform shirt collar and slicked back his nearly non-existent hair. Tim looked around the room. It was neat. No pictures on the walls but there were faded squares where frames must have hung until recently. The sheets, pillowcases, and comforter on the bed were crisp hospital issue. More personal, deep blue linens lay folded atop a suitcase on the floor under a window looking out on a clear sky.

  Tim turned his eyes to the octogenarian. “I’m pretty sure we’re Norwegian or something much farther North in Europe. I don’t think my ancestors are particularly known for killing anyone.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor.” Edward belatedly took in Tim’s lab coat and the medical chart in his hand.

  Tim pushed himself to standing. He crossed over to the bed and bent to recover the remote control. “Were you expecting someone else, Mr. Parker?”

  “Death.” The man spat out his answer.

  “She’s busy escorting a fifteen year old kid right now. So I think you’re safe.”

  The old man dropped his attitude. “Who?”

  “An in and out resident named Danny. Bone cancer or something. Just died in the front row of the concert downstairs.”

  “I didn’t. . .” He stopped and turned to look out the window. “This is a hospital. People die.”

  Tim was not surprised a murderer would have such a cavalier attitude towards death. After all Tim had become a killer in hopes of being killed himself and now he could compartmentalize when a death should be grieved and when it could be celebrated. He knew it wasn’t a skill Kissy, for instance, would find admirable. Perhaps it was living around all the death in the hospital that had driven Parker to start killing. As a way of taking some control from fate.

  He glanced through the chart. “Ew. Looks like you’ve got a pretty nasty death in your future.”

  Parker looked him up and down. “Son, are you some kind of psychiatrist?”

  “I am.” Tim nodded. “How does that make you feel?”

  Parker was startled. He looked askance at Tim but didn’t respond.

  Tim set the chart on the rolling table at the foot of his target’s bed. He leaned on the table with both elbows and flipped through the chart. “You threw a shoe at me when you thought I was death coming in the room. But you are going to die. And soon.”

  Tim wondered at the psychology of it all. Was Edward Parker killing everyone else as a kind of justice for his own impending death? His lung X-rays were really quite ugly. He had to be in a lot of pain.

  His continuing silence finally elicited a response from Parker who looked nervously at the door. “Why are you here?”

  Tim strolled over to the door and peeked out into the hall. He turned back to the patient in the bed. “You expecting someone? Other than death?”

  “No.” Parker turned away to look out the window. “Why did they send a psychiatrist?”

  Tim walked slowly back to the chart and flipped a few pages before he answered. “Another patient ratted you out, Mr. Parker.” He quickly turned to the first page of information and pretended to read. “We were told you’ve shown a distinct lack of remorse at the eight deaths this past month.”

  “Seven,” Parker insisted. “Eleanor changed. . . It was only seven.”

  “Danny?” Tim reminded him.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  Tim’s eye was caught by an item on Parker’s vital statistics form. “October twenty-ninth.”

  “Yes?” Parker asked, confused.

  “That’s today.” Tim looked around for a calendar and again noticed there was nothing hanging on the walls.

  “Yes,” Parker agreed.

  Tim looked up. “Happy birthday.”

  “Oh.” Parker avoided Tim’s gaze.

  Tim let that hang in the air for a while, hoping silence would again draw the old man out of his shell. Eventually he took the chart and hung it on a hook at the end of the bed.

  “The staff have some concerns.” He walked to the window and gazed out over the parking lot. “I’m here to assess your mental state.”

  The statement had the benefit of being the truth. He heard Parker take a deep breath to respond. But the man started coughing instead. He hacked and wheezed until Tim thought natural causes were going to do the job for him. So he waited, watching a few cars pull out into the light traffic on Eastlake Drive. After many minutes, the coughing faded to silence.

  Eight

  Kissy picked up her ukulele and set it on her lap as she settled in next to Julia in the front row. They watched the GinNtonix singing.

  Julia whispered, “Where’s my brother?”

  “Uh, the bathroom I think.” Kissy whispered back. “He has the bladder of a girl.”

  “Did he find what he was looking for?”

  “What?” Kissy had thought Tim was keeping his killing a secret from his sister.

  Julia smirked at Kissy’s reaction. “Food. He didn’t eat before we left.”

  “Yeah,” Kissy began. She’d been ready to say he never eats before a job but Julia couldn’t know he was on a job. “I mean, no. He hasn’t found any food yet.”

  A quiet but insistent beeping drew everyone’s attention away from the stage. Professionals in white rushed to a middle-aged woman slumped over on a couch near the back of the small audience. Working together they lifted the woman and carried her from the room, rolling her monitors behind.

  The quintet finished their song and Kissy applauded along with the rest of the subdued crowd still looking over their shoulders at the doorway. Kevin, the percussionist stepped up.

  “We’re going to have to insist on that short intermission we tried to take twenty minutes ago. There will be plenty more songs when we come back. For now, you should use the restroom and maybe call your loved ones and remind them they’re your loved ones.” He bowed at the applause and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Hitting a button he held it to his ear and as the audience dispersed he said, “Hi Mom” and walked away towards the glass wall at the back of the room.

  Avi came over to Kissy and Julia and gathered them both in a bear hug. When he released them, Kissy pulled him aside.

  “Tim’s on a job.”

  “What?” All the grief fled Avi’s face. “Where is he?”

  Kissy held onto his arms. “Wait. His target is a mercy killer.”

  “Who was around Danny right before he died?” Avi asked, reading Kissy’s mind.

  “Julia was right there, sitting with his dad.” Kissy pointed to where Julia was still sitting, chatting with a girl with casts on both legs.

  Avi reviewed the obvious suspects. “His mother was giving out caramel apples. Was his doctor there?”

  “No. His doctor is a good guy. It’s not him. Wait.” Kissy looked around the lounge. “That nurse with the clown nose. He was kneeling by Danny right before his mom screamed.”

  “But it was the doctor who took his vitals. Why didn’t the nurse do it?”

  “Do you remember seeing the guy after Carol screamed?” Kissy asked.

  Avi thought about it, looking around the room himself. “No. I don’t.”

  Suddenly a gasp broke through the tension in the room. They both turned to see a woman in a white lab coat crumple to the floor.

  Avi grabbed Kissy’s hand in a fierce grip and led her toward the doors. “We need to find Danny’s doctor and we need to stop Tim.”

  Kissy hissed as they rushed through the small crowd racing for the fallen doctor, “If Tim kills the angel, the angel stops killing.”

  “The killer might be able to tell us how to save everyone,” Avi pointed out.

  Kissy responded quickly, “I’m sure Tim’s thought of that.”

  “Are you?” Avi stopped and looked her in the eyes.

  Kissy didn’t quite shake her head. “He’s in room 323. Let’s get to him first.”

  They were blocked in the doorway by the rubber mask
ed witch maneuvering the old woman in the purple wheel chair out.

  Instead of shoving his way past, Avi asked, “Can I help you with that?” and lifted the corner of the chair that was trapped against the frame.

  The witch tilted her head far back to see Avi’s face through the droopy eye holes. Kissy saw her do a small double take and then adjust the mask for a better look. Avi had that effect on women.

  “Thank you, Officer Kee,” she croaked out in a tired voice, pushing the wheelchair into the hall. “I have so much to do. Ella fell asleep and I want to get her back to her room but I also have to distribute all the candy. Could you help me with the necklaces? Everybody is supposed to get one. It’s what Danny wanted.”

  Avi hesitated.

  Kissy jumped in. “You go, Avi. I can help her. And then I’ll go find out if clown nose really works here.”

  The witch looked back and forth from Avi to Kissy. “Even better.”

  Avi leaned down and kissed his tiny girlfriend. Then he ran for the stairwell door. Kissy took the handles of the wheelchair and followed as the witch led her a little farther down the hall.

  “We can leave Ella here a moment while we collect more necklaces.” The witch opened the door to a small office that was draped with drop cloths as though it were in the middle of a renovation.

  Kissy glanced at the unconscious Ella and around at the bustling hallway. There were medical professionals all around. She followed the witch into the office and let the door shut behind her.

  “They’re in that box just behind the desk. Take as many as you can carry and then just give them out to everyone.” The witch babbled on as Kissy stepped behind the desk.

  Kissy knelt by the cardboard box and reached for the puckered flap. Suddenly the witch was on her back. She reached around and clasped something soft but stinky over Kissy’s face. Kissy reached up and grabbed at the hand. She tried to stand but she was off balance and fell forward over the box of candy gems. They jammed into her chest but she ignored the pain and flailed back and forth trying to break free from the woman. Using her nails as god intended, she ripped the hand from her face and rolled away.

  She’d almost gotten to her knees when the witch punched her in the gut. Kissy fell back, hitting her head on the hard corner of a desk drawer that had come open in the fight. The witch leaped at the opportunity and scrambled over to straddle Kissy. She held her down with choking hand on Kissy’s throat. Kissy grabbed at the wrist, struggling to breath, her head pounding. But for a moment her eyes drifted up and she saw that the witch’s awful rubber mask had come off.

  Kissy choked out, “Vanessa!”

  The witch was the drug dealer who’d escaped after blowing up her own rave.

  “I was going to use the old woman to blow up Officer Kee but this is even better.”

  Vanessa, still choking her, bent down and bit Kissy’s lower lip before kissing her. Then she replaced her mouth with the chloroform cloth and Kissy passed out watching the witch laugh.

  Nine

  When the coughing stopped, Tim almost turned away from the window to see if the old man was still moving. Then he heard a slow susurration as the water cup was drawn gingerly from the side table. There were a few more spluttering coughs as the still living Parker slurped from the plastic.

  When he’d gotten the fit under control, he rasped out, “You just stand there and listen to an old man dying and you’re asking me about compassion!”

  Tim turned, slowly. “There, there. Do you feel better now?”

  Edward Parker glowered at him.

  “You’re coughing yourself to death. What can I do to help you?”

  “You could show you cared that I was dying,” Parker retorted. “That you’re a little sad.

  “It would be nice to have someone who cares at your deathbed.”

  “Yes, it would be,” Parker agreed.

  “Are you sad?” Tim asked.

  “That you’re a dick?”

  Tim actually smiled at that. He crossed to the bed and took the empty water glass from Parker’s weak hands. He refilled the glass in the nearby bathroom and returned it to the old man, then watched as he sipped it carefully, resentfully. Tim decided as he watched the pitiful old guy. He believed the man had killed all those other people. He believed the man deserved to die. He’d use his personal concoction of Fugu juice. Fast acting, but not so quick that Parker wouldn’t suffer a little.

  Tim slipped a pair of blue latex gloves from his satchel and pulled them on. “They say you aren’t sad all these people in the Hospice Wing have died.”

  “I’m sad they ever had to be in such pain.”

  “You think they deserved to die? Were they all bad people?”

  “No, they were not, sir. And it’s slander to say so.” Parker reached for the nurse call button hanging on the head rail of his hospital bed.

  Tim got to it first and moved it out of Edward Parker’s reach. “You have an interesting moral code, Eddie.”

  Fear showed in Parker’s eyes. “You’re not a doctor.”

  “They don’t let non-doctors walk around with medicine, do they Eddie?” Tim perched on the side of the bed and pulled a diabetic’s kit out of his bag. He unzipped it and pulled out one small vial and a syringe. He wiped the needle with an alcohol swab for the look of it and began drawing poison from the vial.

  “What is that?” Parker asked, cringing away.

  “This is me helping you, like you asked,” Tim told him. “We’re gonna take care of that cough.”

  “What is it?”

  Tim looked up from his work. “Are you a doctor, Eddie?”

  He reached up and rubbed the crisp point of his collar. “I am a Marine.”

  “Did you see a lot of people die in the service?”

  “I was in the bomb squad. What do you think?”

  Tim flicked the needle with his fingers a few times. No point in going to all the trouble to boil down the fugu juice just to have an air bubble kill Parker quickly.

  “I think you’re gonna feel better in no time, Mr. Parker.” He carefully slid the needle into the flabby muscle on his target’s upper arm and emptied the syringe. “I think you shouldn’t have killed all those people. And I think this is gonna be an easier death for you than you deserve. But not too easy.”

  Edward Parker lurched at Tim who stepped backwards. But Parker was an old man and the poison began affecting him quickly. Tim watched as he fell back on the bed. His eyes had been fierce when he attacked but he seemed to have resigned himself to his imminent death in record time. He waited until the man’s attention was focused on trying to pull air into his lungs, then Tim stepped up again and resumed his seat on the edge of the bed. He would stay and watch this old soldier die.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d attended someone’s deathbed.

  Ten

  Lights tracked in a flash along the motel room walls as a car turned around in the parking lot outside. Tim glanced out the window as the wheels spun on the wet cement for a moment before getting purchase and peeling out. He took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp smell of the cool fall rain. It was a nice room. Tim hadn’t stayed in one place this long since he’d left home. The motel was new, with all the superficial amenities that looked good in a brochure. They’d advertised having a variety of pillows for the discerning sleeper and Tim had gotten one of each in the first days they’d been here. Finn had eventually settled on a semi-firm hypoallergenic Restless Sleeper with neck support. The rejects were strewn around the room, stray kittens sleeping on three of them.

  Finn had a soft spot for stray cats. It was just her karma that they’d found a litter of stray kittens the night after they’d checked into this place. Two of the kittens lay on the bed with her. A sleek black six toed girl had curled up in the curve of Finn’s neck and had her tail draped over the old woman’s shoulder. The other, a tiny tabby who was likely the runt, was nestled under the covers somewhere. Every time Tim sat on the edge of the bed, he had to feel aro
und to be sure he wouldn’t crush him.

  Tim’s bed was perfectly made with hospital corners. He had slept in it over the last two weeks, but not often. The motel’s sheets were folded neatly on the shelf in the closet. Tim had bought two sets of bed linens from a garage sale just a few days after they’d checked in. His sheets were covered in yellow daisies. They reminded him of Julia’s girly room in high school. Finn’s sheets were blue with a delicate pattern in darker blue on the edges that matched the comforter that had come with it. He’d had to sew up some spots where the baffling was coming through but Finn had loved that the comforter was so well worn. He’d known she would.

  Finn liked families. And Tim was all she’d had since hers had been killed.

  “Tim.” Finn’s quiet voice pulled his attention back to her bed.

  She’d been having trouble speaking. Sometimes she would move her mouth and nothing would come out. Sometimes she’d speak in garbled nonsense, confused when he couldn’t understand her. She had a brain tumor. She’d been given six months to live when it was diagnosed. That was twenty-three years ago.

  “Tim. Repeat what I say.” Finn spoke slowly, considering each word, maybe searching for them in her scrambled up mind.

  “Tim. Repeat what I say,” he dutifully echoed.

  She would not let him bring her to a doctor. She would not let a doctor come to her. She’d not seen a doctor since she’d left the hospital where she’d been diagnosed following the car crash that had been misfiled as an accident.

  Tim had gotten into the hobby of killing bad guys because he wanted to die. Finn had created a business of killing bad guys because she knew she was dying.

  Tim’s eyes drifted away from her emaciated face to the two small black bags neatly packed between their beds. All of her worldly possessions would now be his. He’d whittle it down until it all fit again into only his black travel bag and the brown satchel he always wore strung over his shoulder. He’d dump the little heat sealer and Polaroid camera sitting on the desk in the corner as soon as he left this town. But the craft knife would go back into its easily accessible pouch in the satchel. And the seven sets of identification documents he’d just altered with his own picture would go into secret compartments in the satchel, his coat, and his black go-bag. The fourteen little square pictures of Finn with red hair and green eyes, with blue eyes and a dozen earrings, with librarian eyeglasses, with a scar, with a veil, and an entire range of skin tones would all have to be burnt.