by Mandy White
I needed to decide what my next move would be. The logical thing to do was get my ass on a plane as soon as possible and get the hell back home where I belonged. Right then, home was the last place I wanted to be. Even though Cammie hadn’t visited in more than two years, I knew it wouldn’t feel like home knowing she was gone.
Things couldn’t have gone any more wrong than this. I had stormed in trying to be the big hero and executed my sister’s rescue with all the grace of a frozen turd.
I watched the darkened window across the alley. Camille was in that room. I imagined her, lying in a pool of blackened, drying blood, stripped of her dignity – and some of her skin – by a psychopath whose wrath I had ignited. Somewhere in this vast city, a violent murderer was walking free while my sister lay cold and as yet undiscovered in a seedy hotel room.
I couldn’t call the cops to report her murder so they could remove her body from that awful bathroom floor because I didn’t know whom I could trust.
I also didn’t want her killer to know anyone else had seen her the day she died. Too many hours had passed not to raise a whole lot of questions. They would want to know who had been in the room and why the murder hadn’t been immediately reported. I didn’t want to reveal myself, partially out of fear of being implicated by the crooked cop who had murdered her and partially because I felt I needed the element of surprise.
A new plan began to form.
As far as I knew, Cammie hadn’t told anyone she had a twin. It might be possible to use that fact to my advantage. I didn’t know how long it would take before she was discovered but maybe I could learn the identity of Camille’s killer by pretending to be her.
I went back into the bathroom and looked at my reflection once again. I hadn’t brushed my hair since my shower, and it hung in a tangled mess around my face. I slowly ran my fingers through my shoulder-length golden locks, carefully working the knots out before brushing my hair smooth and straight.
My hair wasn’t quite as long as Cammie’s. Hers had reached the middle of her back and she preferred bangs while mine was all one length. I started letting mine grow after my father died. Messing around with haircuts suddenly seemed like too much trouble and I found it was easier just to tie it out of the way in a ponytail.
I didn’t have any scissors. Using my hunting knife, I began to create some bangs in my hair. I worked carefully, slicing off one tiny strand at a time to avoid making a mess of it. I figured a mistake would be harder to detect if I cut a little bit at a time.
When I was finished, I was amazed at what a good job I’d done. It was downright eerie. It looked as if Camille had decided to go to the hairdresser and have about six inches of hair cut off the back. Nobody would ever guess I had cut my hair myself.
The only time I’d ever given a haircut in my life was when Camille and I were seven years old. I gave both of us buzz cuts so we could play soldiers. Boy, did I ever catch shit for that one! I gave my head a hard shake to stop the stinging tears that threatened with the memory.
Cammie was gone and now I was trying to look like her. All I was missing was some makeup.
I went into the other room and retrieved Cammie’s purse from the floor beside the bed. I’d seen some makeup in there. I grabbed the magazines for inspiration. I paused for a moment to admire the picture of Lady Gaga on the cover of Vogue magazine. I liked her because she was freaky as well as sexy and it appealed to me, being somewhat of a freak myself. I flipped through the glossy pages, examining the models’ faces and skimming the ads for various cosmetics. It was fascinating how much thought and effort went into all of this. Cammie and I had played dress-up when we were young and I’d allowed her to paint my face on Halloween, but there was a lot more to makeup than I’d ever imagined. It truly was an art. It was time to see what kind of artist I was.
When I was finished, the result was pretty amazing but it wasn’t quite the look Cammie used to have. She was much paler, with dark, smoky eyes. I added more black eyeliner until I achieved the desired result.
I took a step back to see what I’d done and my throat immediately swelled. Tears spurted from my eyes when I saw Cammie staring back at me from the mirror. Within seconds I had ugly black streaks running down my face.
Shit!
I tried to wipe it away with some tissue but just smeared it more until my face looked gray. I scrubbed harder, making red blotches appear behind the charcoal smudges on my cheeks.
Oh for fuck’s sake!
I was pretty sure Camille probably looked better than I did at this point, slit throat and all. Of course, I’d never know for certain because I was never going to see her again. The thought made me cry harder. I gave up on makeup and curled up on the nubby bedspread and sobbed myself to sleep.
I slept until nearly noon. I guessed I must have been more tired than I’d realized, which wasn’t terribly surprising, considering the circumstances. I scrubbed my face clean and decided to give the makeup thing one more try. If my plan was going to succeed, I had better get used to wearing the shit.
I couldn’t bring Camille home and nothing I could do would bring her back.
My mission had changed. I was going after the fucker who had killed her – Diamond Vinnie.
~ Chapter 10 ~
Safari
I was an experienced hunter.
It was simply a matter of applying my knowledge to a new situation. Los Angeles was an unexplored hunting ground with a type of prey I hadn’t hunted before.
It would be like going on an African safari… in California.
I had gone on a safari once, with my father. For my twenty-first birthday, he took me on a hunting trip to Africa. The guided safari was an amazing experience. The deal was, we paid a price to hunt the local wildlife and take home hides and heads as trophies. All meat was donated to the local villages for food. It was one of the most memorable trips I’d ever taken, and the last major hunting trip I took with my father. He died of a stroke eighteen months later.
I’d made the decision to kill Diamond Vinnie. I owed Camille that much. I made a vow to her and to myself that I would not leave LA until it was done.
The first thing I needed to do was find more suitable accommodations. I didn’t think Camille’s body had been discovered yet, but I didn’t want to be nearby when it happened. It was best if I got out of that particular neighborhood, where Camille might be recognized. Police would be asking questions and I didn’t want anyone looking in my direction.
Rather than checking into a place like the Hilton or the Marriott as I normally would have, I found a clean but modest motel called the Palms not far from the airport. I chose the place because I preferred the privacy of a room with its own entrance that didn’t require me to go past a desk clerk every time I went in and out. There were various stores and restaurants nearby, so I’d have access to whatever I needed. I still had plenty of cash on me. I always made a point of traveling well prepared. I would refrain from using credit cards and ATMs until absolutely necessary to avoid leaving a paper trail.
I considered the option of renting a car at first but decided against it, partly because of the paper trail it would leave and also because I didn’t think it would be very useful. Since I didn’t know my way around Los Angeles I’d spend more time getting lost than I would accomplishing what I’d set out to do. One of the advantages of being near the airport was plenty of travelers frequented the motel, which had a taxi stand. There was almost always a car ready and waiting for a fare.
Once I was settled in my new accommodations, I went for lunch at a nearby restaurant. My insides still felt raw but I understood the importance of staying strong and fit for the task ahead of me. I picked up a copy of the LA Times to read while I ate. It was important to keep an eye on the news because if Camille’s body was discovered the press would most likely hear about it.
I turned to the police section and there it was, right on the first page: Gruesome murder in local motel room. I read the article.
; It wasn’t Camille!
The victim was found in a room at the White Surf Motel. They didn’t divulge any details except that the male victim, a guest of the motel, had died from multiple stab wounds. The police spokesman refused to confirm whether it was the work of the notorious serial killer known as The Feeder. The spokesman, one Detective Barton, assured the public the matter was under investigation but stated that he could not divulge any further details at that time.
The article didn’t say what room the victim was in but I knew it was room 102. I also had a pretty solid hunch the victim’s throat had been slashed and he may or may not have been mutilated in some horrible way. I wondered if the guy’s nipples were still attached.
It was my fault. I had just killed another innocent person. I was the one who sent Diamond Vinnie to room 102 of the White Surf Motel in a murderous rage.
This psycho needed to be stopped.
I set about forming my strategy. I didn’t know where Diamond Vinnie was because Camille hadn’t left enough clues in her journal. I only vaguely knew what he looked like and which neighborhood he seemed to favor. I was pretty sure he was a cop, but when I called the LAPD looking for an officer named Vincent Dimone they didn’t have one. Either he wasn’t on active duty or he belonged to a different police department.
I didn’t know how to find Diamond Vinnie but I had an idea who might know. It was time to pay Camille’s old agent/boyfriend Louie a visit.
I rummaged through Camille’s suitcase, looking for something suitable to wear for her reunion with her old flame.
~ Chapter 11 ~
Bluie Louie
Blue Moon Casting was easy to find. When I arrived at 9530 Egasuas Avenue, the address listed in the phone book, I discovered that the address listed as Blue Moon’s office was actually a high-rise apartment building. It was also the same address shown on Camille’s fake driver’s license. Blue Moon’s office was apartment 946 – the uppermost penthouse suite. I took a deep breath.
Well, here goes nothing.
I buzzed the suite and a male voice answered. I was flying by the seat of my pants at that point but had nothing to lose.
“Louie,” I said, doing a perfect imitation of Camille. I looked down at my feet so the security camera wouldn’t have a clear shot of my face.
There was a pause before he spoke.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me. We need to talk.”
“Aurora?”
“Yes.” Aurora Snow was Camille’s stage name. She’d always had a thing for fairy tale princesses.
The door buzzed and I was in. Just like that. I checked myself in the mirror while I waited for the elevator. I was getting used to seeing Camille every time I looked in the mirror but I still found it unnerving.
I’d had a tough time deciding what to wear, since Camille had mostly dresses in her suitcase. I preferred not to wear any of the dresses because they made me feel vulnerable; they were too tight and restricted my movements. She also had a fetish for lingerie. Everything she owned was either frilly and lacy or black with laces. Laces were good because they were adjustable. I had settled on a pair of black leather shorts that laced up the sides, slipped on over a pair of stockings with garter belt and a corset-style tank top. The stockings felt weird but I wanted to hide my unshaven legs. I didn’t know if knee-high stiletto boots went with stockings or not, but I wore them anyway. They were stable and more comfortable than Camille’s other pairs of shoes, which looked tight and teetery-high – impossible to walk in.
Camille had a thigh-length black raincoat in shiny patent-leather-look vinyl. It was the ideal thing to cover myself up so I wouldn’t feel so naked. It also concealed the knife sheath I wore on a belt around my waist with the knife resting in the small of my back. I doubted I would need the knife but it made me feel secure. I could reach the knife in an instant if the need to defend myself arose. I didn’t expect my visit to result in a violent confrontation. I just needed to ask Louie a few questions.
Louie’s penthouse suite occupied the entire floor. He opened the door as I stepped off the elevator.
Louie looked like a stereotypical California surfer dude in his late thirties. His face was deeply lined and tanned like well-aged leather. His salon-streaked blonde hair was moussed and styled into an intentional tousle – a flimsy attempt to conceal the advancement of male pattern baldness. He wore a colorful pair of board shorts and a floral print Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a well-bronzed hairy chest and the beginning bulge of a middle-aged belly. He held a tumbler of what looked like Scotch on the rocks in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.
He looked shocked to see me, and even a bit afraid.
“Hi,” he said.
“Helloo,” I cooed, stalking past him into the apartment. I did my best to look unimpressed.
Nice fucking digs, for a pimping scumbag.
“It’s been a while.” Louie sounded awkward, shaky.
“Yes, it has. How long, exactly? I can’t even remember,” I challenged, flinging a seductive glance over my shoulder. I hid behind my hair a bit because I didn’t feel quite confident enough in my role as Camille to face him head on. Surely he would know I wasn’t her once he got a better look at me.
“I… I don’t know,” Louie stammered. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking a cigarette from the pack on the glass coffee table. “Just give me my usual.”
I didn’t smoke but Camille had, so I wanted to complete the illusion. I lit the cigarette with a silver Zippo lighter I found on the table beside the cigarette pack. I examined the lighter for a moment as I puffed the cigarette, only pretending to inhale so I wouldn’t choke.
Nice.
It was engraved with the initials C.L.B. I wondered if Louie was his middle name and what the C stood for.
Louie handed me a tumbler full of clear liquid. I gave it a sniff. Gin and tonic.
Barf! That was Cammie’s usual?
Gin was the one type of liquor I couldn’t stand to drink, and tonic made it even worse. To me, the aftertaste of the drink tasted exactly like I’d just finished vomiting. I faked a sip, then took a puff of the cigarette to cover the flavor. I didn’t know which tasted more disgusting, since I indulged in neither.
Louie fidgeted, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He downed his drink in a few gulps and then set the glass on the bar. He looked back at the bar, as if undecided about whether to mix another one. Finally he spoke.
“So… what brings you here?”
“Well, Louie dear,” I began, after crushing out the cigarette and setting the drink on the table, “we have some things to discuss. I have some questions, and you have the answers.” I turned to face him finally. Here was the moment of truth. Would he realize I wasn’t Camille?
He didn’t. “Like what?” he asked.
“Where can I find Diamond Vinnie?”
“What?” Louie looked dumbfounded that I would ask such a question.
“You fucking heard me.”
“What are you asking me for? You know where to find him.”
My voice deepened to a sinister growl.
“Where is that murdering fuck, Diamond Vinnie?”
My cover was blown. I could tell by his reaction he knew I wasn’t Camille. Louie’s face turned a sickly white despite his caramel California tan.
“A-Aurora? What’s wrong with you?”
Hol-ee shit!
The fucktard still thought I was Camille!
Laughing heartily, I planted my feet on the floor in a confident stance, put my hands on my hips and flung the raincoat behind me to give him a good look at my body.
I waited for his reaction. He still didn’t show any sign of realizing I wasn’t Camille.
Time to have some fun with this little puke.
“I’ve never felt better, baby! Aside from the fact that I’m now the undead, of course. I’m a vampire and I’ve come to drain your fucking blood!”
> Louie might even have believed me, from the way he reacted. All that Hollywood shit must have gone to his head. He backed slowly away from me, moving toward the bar.
I took a step toward him, reaching behind my back to caress the handle of the knife. It calmed me, knowing the weapon was there even if I had no intention of using it.
I monitored Louie’s actions with a well-trained eye. A good hunter knows to always watch the body language of the prey. A cornered animal, no matter how terrified, will often lash out at its attacker in a gallant last-ditch effort to save its own life.
Louie edged behind the bar. I sensed there was something back there that he wanted. He reached but wasn’t fast enough. He was a soft, wimpy Hollywood leech and I was a skilled hunter; lean, fit and prepared. In one fluid motion I closed the distance between us, drawing my knife from its sheath as I went.
When he lunged toward me I reacted without thinking, opening his face with a single diagonal stroke of steel. He howled and clawed at his face, stumbling backward into the glass shelving behind the bar and bringing a rain of crystal shards down upon his head.
I stepped behind the bar and saw on the counter the pistol he had been trying to reach. I smiled.
Well, howdy there, good-lookin!
I stuffed the gun in the back of my waistband before advancing on Louie with my newly christened blade. I didn’t need a gun to deal with this asshole but I was sure it would come in handy later.
He cowered against the wall, trying to hold his gushing face together. I admired the impressive work I’d done with just one swipe of the knife. I had taken out one of his eyes and the flesh on the side of his face hung loosely, neatly flayed from his cheekbone. The slash continued across his nose and split the corner of his mouth opposite the missing eye.
“And now,” I said, standing before him, “I’ll ask you again. Where the fuck is Diamond Vinnie?”
“Y-you already know!” His breathed in short, shallow gasps and his hands shook like an epileptic with Parkinson’s.