Marty woke up to the sound of crying children coming into his room. No. They weren’t in his room—they were in the hallway. One kid was screaming his guts out. Thankfully, the noise faded as it went down the elevator. Marty checked the clock on the nightstand: 5:55 PM. He was surprised that he had been able to take a nap. Someone could have slipped into his room and stabbed him in the heart. He would have offered little resistance.
But since he was still alive he would have some dinner. He decided to take a shower and change into fresh clothes. That way, he would be nice and clean for the medical examiner. Marty knew Buford had hired someone to kill him, and he knew the killer was near. He could feel it.
**********
The Hard Rock Cafe in Dallas occupies a building that was built in 1904 as the McKinney Avenue Church. In 1986, it was converted into a Hard Rock Café—the fourth in the country. The front of the building still looks like either a church or a courthouse. Lettering chiseled in the stone above the entrance says it all: Supreme Court of Rock and Roll. Maybe that was one of the reasons Buford Bellowin loved it so much.
After a long day in the courtroom, Buford liked to enjoy a few beers, a big dinner, and a beautiful young lady. Never mind that he had a gorgeous 30-year-old wife at home. She had been deeply hurt and outraged the first time she had caught him with another woman. He had told her he was going to have dinner with a colleague that night, without knowing his wife was in town. She had decided it would be fun to surprise him. She knew he would be at his favorite restaurant.
When she found his table, it looked like he was leaning over to kiss the young woman sitting next to him. No, he’s not kissing her, she thought. He’s just whispering something in the ear of a fellow attorney—probably a confidential legal matter. Then she saw Buford’s hand under the table between the woman’s legs. The patrons’ enjoyment of rock music was rudely interrupted by a wild woman screaming and waving her fists. He had been lucky to retain all his body parts on that dreadful night.
But over their seven-year marriage, she had become accustomed to Buford’s antics. She knew what he was doing, but she didn’t care anymore—as long as he didn’t try to divorce her. She’d made it very clear that she would destroy his reputation if he ever tried to dump her. She was determined to hang on, hold her nose, and endure the stench of their marriage. It would be worth it in the end. She was going to ride Buford to the governor’s mansion. Maybe even to the White House some day.
The blonde was late. She should have known better than to keep Buford Bellowin waiting. It was 6:05.
He never tired of the Hard Rock Cafe. It was his favorite restaurant in all of Dallas. Sure, a lot of successful attorneys preferred French wine, with filet mignon or chateaubriand. But Buford was a meat and potatoes Texan—and proud of it. He liked fajitas, or chili, or a big juicy cheeseburger and fries while listening to Madonna, or Elvis, or ZZ Top.
Buford wondered if John X had completed his mission. How had things gone so wrong in Coreyville? He’d been foolish to think he could use Marty to manipulate the jury and get an acquittal. Marty had tried his best, in his own clumsy way, to get what Buford wanted. But his tactics had been heavy handed, and before Buford had realized it, Marty had gone completely out of control. Every time he had run into a problem, he tried to solve it by killing somebody.
Instead of attempting to sway the jury, Buford could have paid off a guard to kill Kantrell Jamison in jail. And that was still a possibility. If the kid had been smart, he would have parked his bike behind the store, and then gone out the back door after killing Sam. It was dark, and Kantrell didn’t see anybody out front, so he thought he’d be okay—but you never know when a car might go by. Arabeth Albertson. Why did that old hag have to drive by just as Kantrell was leaving Sam’s?
And what about Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman? He was sure they were the couple from Coreyville who had called his office. What did they want, and what did they know? He figured they would just be fishing. If they knew anything of significance, they would have gone to the D.A. All he had to do was play dumb. They would never discover the truth. His secret would remain with him. His political career had to go on—for the sake of his future constituents.
He looked up from his thoughts and lost his appetite—for food, that is. She was somewhat scantily dressed for meeting a prominent Dallas attorney. But she looked utterly delicious. Those legs. Those breasts. He did a quick check to see if he was drooling.
He tried to act angry. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Tell you what: let’s just skip dinner and go directly to dessert.”
Buford threw some bills on the table, stood up, put his arm around her bare waist, and headed for the exit. What smooth skin you have, he thought. The better to tempt you with, he imagined her saying.
Tomorrow’s problems could wait until tomorrow. It was time for fun.
25 - DINNER FOR TWO
When Greg and Cynthia had checked in at the hotel, Cynthia had offered her credit card. Greg appreciated the fact that she was willing to pay, but insisted on using his card since she was not supposed to be traveling outside Coreyville, and she could be tracked by her credit card use. Although, he doubted the Coreyville police were that sophisticated. Besides, why would they be tracking her if they had no reason to think she had left town?
Maybe he should have let her pay. Greg used his debit card for everything—he didn’t even have a credit card. And his account balance was getting low.
They were both feeling stressed out. Cynthia had suggested they go to a nice restaurant for a relaxing dinner. Greg said he knew a great place to kick back, have fun, and talk.
They were approaching the entrance when a man in his mid-thirties in an expensive suit walked out with a very young woman. Greg wondered if she was even 18.
Cynthia was certain the girl was a hooker. Why else would she be dressed like that?
Buford was so busy rubbing up against his new blonde that he didn’t even notice Greg and Cynthia. He had never met either of them, but he had seen plenty of pictures. Marty had sent him some sexy shots of Cynthia, taken through a slight opening between her bathroom curtains. Buford would have definitely noticed, and recognized her. Especially if she had come to the restaurant wearing only underwear. At least Marty had done something that pleased Buford.
The last time Greg had been to the Hard Rock Cafe in Dallas, he was still married to his ex. The marriage had been all but over. So, he had not been able to fully enjoy the experience. This time he would—if he could just forget about a few things for an hour or so. The hope of keeping his church job and retaining his private music students was fading fast. He and Cynthia could be murdered at any time. And Cynthia might even be a murderer. But if he could keep all of that out of his mind for a while, maybe he could enjoy the dining experience.
Greg could not help but wonder what the waitress thought when she was taking their order. What was this woman of supermodel beauty doing with this below-average-looking guy? He must be just a friend, or brother, or a business associate. This couldn’t be a date.
Cynthia ordered the Tuscan Chicken salad. Greg opted for the bacon cheeseburger and onion rings. He had been trying to watch his diet—but not tonight.
“You know what? I changed my mind. Give me exactly the same thing he’s having.”
After the waitress had walked away, Cynthia said, “I don’t usually pig-out, Greg.”
“That goes without saying. Look at you.”
His muscles began to relax to the sound of Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode. Then Cynthia brought him back to the present when she said, “You don’t think the killer followed us over here, do you?”
“No, I doubt it,” he said while looking around the room.
“Good. Let’s not talk about that for a while, okay? I want to know more about you. How did you end up in Coreyville?”
“Well, let’s see…I’d been serving as full-time minister of music at Bethany B
aptist Church in Longview for three years, and had developed a nice sized music program. We had choirs for children, youth, college students, adults, and even senior adults. And we had several handbell choirs and a small orchestra.
“When I started, they only had four choirs and no instrumental groups at all. I had put in long hours for those three years. And I’m sure that contributed to the failure of my marriage.
“But she never complained much about the lack of attention. And somewhere along the way, she began to browse the web, looking for something to occupy her time. I’m sure it was all quite innocent at first—until she started meeting men online.”
“That’s too bad. Sounds like y’all just needed to talk things out.”
“I guess. But by the time we sat down and seriously talked about our feelings—it was just too late. She had started seeing a man she met online and had fallen in love with him. He’s an okay guy, I guess. I don’t blame him for the divorce.”
“That’s awfully big of you. But he shouldn’t have been getting involved with a married woman.”
“Well, he didn’t know she was married.”
“Oh.”
“At least, not at first. By the time he found out, he had already fallen for her, and that made everything okay, as far as he was concerned. In his mind, I was the bad guy—the one who’d been ignoring the devoted wife until she had no choice but to look elsewhere.”
“I could never have done that. No matter how loveless my marriage was, or how abusive Troy became—I could never have cheated on him. It’s just not right.”
“But, you needed to get out of that situation. You needed to divorce him.”
“I know. And I would have found a way out—eventually. But I still wouldn’t have cheated on him. I made a promise before God that I would stay committed to him. And that’s what I did. But I didn’t love him anymore. He literally beat the love out of me.”
“Yeah. You can’t make yourself keep loving someone.”
“No. But you can make yourself stay faithful.”
“Cynthia, you are an amazing woman.” Obviously, she had not killed Troy. How could he have even thought such a terrible thing about her?
“So, what was it that made you move from Longview to Coreyville?”
“Well, the divorce forced me to resign my position at the church. Their charter states that ministers of the church must have only one wife—which means you can’t be on the church staff if you’re divorced. Even if you remarry. So, I knew my days as a full-time music minister were over.
“I opened a private music studio in Longview. Fortunately many of the students I had taught for free at the church were willing to pay for lessons. Within in a few months, I was making enough money to get by on.”
“That worked out pretty well for you.”
“Yeah, it did. But before long, I was in a rut. Every time I thought I was finally ready to get out there and start dating, I would run into one of her relatives or a church member. It seemed like everybody blamed me for the divorce. And even though I knew it was only partially my fault, the guilt was eating at me.
“After four years of that, I needed to get away from there. Then a music director friend told me he had given my name to First Baptist Church in Coreyville. He said they were looking for a part-time music director, and the salary was not bad. I felt like a heavy load had been lifted from my shoulders when I moved to Coreyville. It’s a wonderful little town. Or, at least I thought so.”
**********
As Marty stepped into the elevator, joining the people from a floor above, he looked out of place—but not in the way he usually looked out of place. A mom and dad, and two young children were dressed in their swimsuits, apparently on their way to the pool. Marty wore a dark blue suit, a white, starched shirt, and a maroon silk tie. He was ready. Tonight would be the night.
He strode through the lobby and out the main entrance, into the July East Texas night. He felt like a sitting duck, as he followed the sidewalk to the Denny’s Restaurant. It wouldn’t take much of a sharpshooter to knock him off right now, he thought.
**********
John X was busy scoping out the hotel. He had already developed a completely different plan of attack. He would have had a clean shot at Marty as he walked to Denny’s, but John X had something better in mind. It was a scenario he had never tried before. He would take one shot—and that shot had to be perfect. Then, he would have adequate time to escape through the rear exit.
His only regret was that he would not be able to get a video of the kill. Oh, it was going to be so beautiful. He had taped some of his executions, and enjoyed watching them over and over, while gorging on popcorn, Hershey bars, and Dr. Pepper. But this would be the coolest kill yet.
Sometimes his job was better than sex.
26 - AMBUSHED
John X had watched as Marty walked out of the Holiday Inn, across the sidewalk and into Denny’s. He figured he had at least thirty minutes before Marty returned to the hotel. His wireless network camera had been well worth the expense. The tiny camera was capable of transmitting video across the internet. With his iPhone, he could browse the web and pick up the video images.
He positioned the camera on the inside window ledge next to the lobby entrance. He would wait near the big screen TV, which was across from the two elevators, and would be able to see Marty on his iPhone as he approached the entrance to the lobby. John X loved using the latest gadgetry.
He would hide on the left side of the huge projection-type TV, behind some large potted plants. After Marty had stepped into an elevator and pressed the button, John X would shoot him just as the doors were closing. The sound of his silenced pistol would blend in with the pop of balls being hit by tennis pros on the TV.
Marty would be carried to the second floor, the door would open and somebody would discover his body. Or maybe nobody would be waiting for an elevator, and he wouldn’t be found for several minutes. Either way, John X would be at least a couple of miles away in his stolen pickup by the time anyone was searching for the killer.
**********
It didn’t take long for Buford to strip and get impatient with his young blonde hooker. “What’s taking you so long? You mustn’t keep daddy waiting.”
The hotel room was menial by Buford’s standards. But it was only $285 a night, and he would only be there for a couple of hours.
“Am I gonna have to come in there and get you?” That might be fun, he thought.
Before Buford had a chance to walk toward the bathroom door, she walked out, wearing a sexy ensemble consisting of a Victoria’s Secret bra and panties, made of a little bit of red silk—and a lot of nothing. He reached for her, but she had other ideas.
“No, no. Let’s try something different than what you’re used to.”
“Like what?”
“Okay. You lie on the bed face down, and I will give you a massage.”
“Honey, I’ve had plenty of massages.”
“Not like this one. Just trust me. You don’t have any heart trouble, do you?”
“No. Why?”
“‘Cause this is gonna get your heart pumping hard. Real hard.”
Buford leaped onto the bed.
She climbed on top of him and began to rub his back.
“Yeah, that feels good. But I’m ready for your special stuff. Lay it on me, Baby!”
“You sure you can handle it?” She reached behind her back and retrieved the hypodermic needle that was under her bra strap.
“Oh, yeah, I can handle it.”
“Okay, here goes.” She slowly scratched his back with one hand while she inserted the needle with the other. Then she quickly pressed the plunger all the way down.
“Hey—what was that? It felt like you pinched me.”
“That was from Marty.”
“From Marty?” Buford panicked.
“Yeah. Marty wants you to know that no matter what you do, or where you go, he can get to you. And if you try to kill h
im—you’re a dead man.”
Buford tried to get up, tried to knock her off his back. But he was already feeling weak, sick. “What did you do to me?”
“You have nothing worry about as long as you leave Marty alone. The shot I gave you will knock you out for a few hours. Sweet dreams.”
He wondered if she was telling the truth. He was feeling drowsy. But was he falling asleep—or was he dying? No, you can’t kill me, he thought. I’m gonna be governor of Texas! He wouldn’t give in to it. He would fight…
His mind faded to black.
**********
Marty ordered the Country Fried Steak, with an extra side of gravy, a loaded baked potato, and onion rings. He liked Denny’s menu choices, and ate there often. He was particularly impressed with the Coreyville Denny’s because the onion rings were really fresh and hot—not greasy. He loved great onion rings.
How had he stayed so thin? Maybe it was the three-pack-a-day smoking habit. His body was probably eaten up with cancer. It didn’t matter much now. There was a good chance he would be dead by sunrise. Maybe he should have ordered even more gravy and onion rings.
He wished he could have seen the reaction on Buford’s face when Carla drugged him and gave him Marty’s warning. Carla had been more than happy to do it for him.
Marty had met her right after getting out on parole. He had not been with a woman in eight years, and although he had thought she looked a little young, she was offering her services, and he was more than willing to pay. But as soon as he started kissing her, she began to cry. He knew he was ugly and had bad breath, but if she wanted to earn the money, she would do what it took without complaining.
She said she was sorry, but that she couldn’t go through with it. She explained that it was her first day on the job. She was 16 years old and had run away from her mean, drug-abusing mother.
The girl had only been on the streets a couple of days when she ran into Andrew. He was a smooth-talking young man who seemed nice. He offered her a good-paying job and place to live. Then he raped her repeatedly, and set her up as one of his hookers. She was scared to death of him.
Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set Page 9