He had thought through his straightforward tactics on the long drive back down to Virginia Beach, and again after the short nap he caught on the beach. He had gone through all the motions in his mind, considered what could go wrong and reviewed his exit strategy. He didn’t need back up for this, but it was wise to be prepared and to have his head in the game all the way. Mostly though, he thought about the number of people who would be happier if he were to execute the monster known as Rod Mantooth. Of course he wouldn’t be a killer to please anyone, but if all went as planned, it might be that someone else would take care of the problem soon.
Loud southern rock alternated with hip-hop sounds blasting from Rod’s house. As he mounted the steps to knock on the door, Hannibal could already smell the alcohol. He wondered how well he would fit in tonight. He’d settled for simplicity - tight new jeans and a bright red sleeveless Puma tee shirt that matched his shoes. The shirt was half tucked in because he knew that Huge paid two hundred dollars for the white Helmut Lang belt he was wearing and it seemed sacrilegious to cover it up.
The woman who answered the door had Angelina Jolie’s lips and waterfalls of dark brown hair flowing down around her shoulders. Between the twin cascades he could see a bit of studded black leather at her throat. She glanced only briefly at Hannibal’s face, and quickly lowered her gaze.
“Good evening Sir,” she said. “May I ask your name?”
“They call me Smoke.”
The woman nodded and stepped back, pulling the door open. Hannibal stepped inside, ignoring the woman as he assumed he was supposed to do. The room was dark, the air thick and laced with marijuana smoke. The music boomed from the stereo on Hannibal’s right, the baseline so insistent that he could feel his heart beat falling into synch with it. He removed his glasses and hung them on the front of his shirt. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he saw three men he didn’t recognize, all white, and three women following and fetching for them. The girls varied but were all well proportioned and dressed to display their assets in tight, short skirts and open shirts or plunging necklines. Everyone seemed to be dancing and drinking, which, Hannibal supposed, was what made it a party.
When Rod came toward him the others parted like a human Red Sea in his path. A large, hairy hand thrust forward and Hannibal shook it in a fierce grip.
“Dude,” Hannibal shouted, “This is off the hook. Thanks for the invite. Now where’s the beer?”
Rod let a hearty laugh burst out of him. “There’s a keg in the kitchen.”
Hannibal slipped off in that direction, while Rod returned to his other guests. A blue bulb burned over the sink, allowing Hannibal to find the beer, and others to reach the table that served as a well stocked bar. A second table was groaning under the weight of shrimp on ice, Swedish meatballs, hot wings, chips and dip. Hannibal filled a glass from the keg and was just tipping it to his lips when he felt fingers squeezing his ass. Mariah pressed her breasts into his back and breathed vodka fumes over his shoulder.
“I been thinking about you, G.”
“You been on my mind too, Shorty,” Hannibal said, turning. “You want to dance?”
“I want to fuck,” she said, staring into his eyes. Hers looked like Alaskan Husky eyes in the blue light. “But we’ll have to wait until the initiation starts. I’m on call to Rod until then.”
“Okay,” Hannibal said, slipping an arm around her waist. “Until then, why don’t we go out where the music is and get a groove on?”
With six couples dancing, the front room was just about full. Hannibal knew he wasn’t a good dancer, but none of the other guys were either so it hardly mattered. Partners switched often, but Mariah danced more with Hannibal than anyone else. The way she was cutting through the vodka supply, Hannibal was astonished that Mariah could continue to shake it so hard and remain vertical. The new girl, Missy, looked very happy, getting the lion’s share of Rod’s attention. Derek and Sheryl also looked happy together. She wore her collar with pride, and Hannibal thought that maybe this was what she wanted all along, like a woman who flirts with another man to make her lover jealous enough to propose. In her mind, did the collar equate to an engagement ring?
Then he noticed that the other three women also wore collars or more subtle chokers. Missy’s neck was bare, but so was Mariah’s to Hannibal’s surprise. So she didn’t belong to Rod after all.
One of the unknown couples left, then a second. The men shook hands with Rod, thanked him for the invitation and complimented him on the good time. The women actually knelt and bowed their heads. This was an interesting parting ritual that Hannibal thought would certainly not go over well if Cindy were a guest. He had never seen it before, even in the chat rooms, so he figured it must be one of Rod’s innovations. Before long Hannibal found himself sitting on the sofa with Rod, their heads bobbing in rhythm to the dance grooves. Mariah and Sheryl moved their bodies in a mesmerizing way in the middle of the room, as if locked in some sort of competition to see who could find the most enticing gestures. Rod pulled out a small pipe, lit it, and inhaled deeply before passing it to Hannibal. Hannibal put the stem to his mouth, but then pulled it away as if he had just remembered something.
“Man I got to tell you,” Hannibal said, exaggerating a slur in his voice, “You really know how to par-TAY.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Rod roared over the pulsing music. His irises were almost as big as his eyeballs. “Wait till you see the Rod man in about a month. I am going to open the biggest, hottest club in Washington. Might even give you a job if you want to go back up there.”
Hannibal nodded and handed the pipe off to Derek who was walking past. “I can see you got big plans, man, like you got an ironclad lock on the future. But tell me something. How can you be so sure it’s all going to go your way?”
For a second, Rod looked confused. “It just is. You see, I have a destiny. The big score’s been waiting out there for me for years. It can’t avoid me. It’s…”
“Your destiny. I get it.”
Rod’s reaction to Hannibal’s skepticism was interrupted by the third couple saying their good-byes. The music continued to throb, smoke still filled the air and the lights were still dim, yet some subtle change came over the house as Rod closed the door and the only people present were those who were with Rod the day Hannibal met him. Missy continued to dance like a woman in a rap video, but each move took her a little closer to Rod. Sheryl was dancing toward Derek. Mariah pressed closer and closer to Hannibal, but his eyes stayed on Missy. She reminded him of the women cast as African priestesses in old movies. She appeared to be in an ecstatic trance, her eyes glazed over, and her mouth agape. As she came within Rod’s reach he threw an arm around her. His hand sank into her hair and he pulled smoothly rather than yanking or tugging. Missy gasped, bending backward before her knees buckled and she sank to the floor.
Mariah’s teeth scraped Hannibal’s neck and he turned to face her.
“Let’s go upstairs, lover,” she whispered. “He’ll be busy for quite a while.”
“I’ll go pick us a room,” Hannibal replied. “You get us a couple more drinks.” With a deep nod Mariah headed for the kitchen. Hannibal climbed the steps just ahead of Derek and Sheryl, not wanting to see her face and not wanting to see what Missy was probably doing to Rod in the living room. Hannibal turned into the first room, farthest from Rod’s. Once inside he slipped a tiny plastic bag from his pocket and palmed it. Almost show time, he thought.
Mariah entered the room less than a minute behind Hannibal and closed the door. Her left hand was wrapped around the neck of a half-full vodka bottle. Her right held two glasses. She placed them all on the dresser and turned quickly into Hannibal’s arms. Her kiss was hot and deep, her tongue swollen in his mouth. He gripped her shoulders and with slow, steady pressure he pushed her away. As their lips parted, Mariah stretched forward to nip Hannibal’s shoulder with her teeth. In response Hannibal squeezed her shoulders until she whimpered in pain.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. His stern tone seemed to arouse her even more. She stood staring up into his eyes, panting softly, and he wondered if he caused the same frission of fear she felt from Rod. Looking down into her waiting face he felt, for just a moment, the rush of power that comes from having total control over another human being. It thrilled and sickened him.
“You all sweaty from dancing all night, Shorty. You better get in that bathroom and get yourself real clean if you want to be with me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Mariah said with no hint of irony or sarcasm.
When Mariah stepped out of the room Hannibal poured two drinks. By squeezing the small plastic bag between two fingers he poured its powdered contents into one of the glasses. He had practiced to be able to do this even with someone watching, in case he needed to. The crushed Rohypnol dissolved in seconds. He was swirling the vodka around in the glass when Mariah returned. He pushed the glass toward her.
“I think you need a taste before we party.”
Hannibal sipped from his own glass. Mariah swallowed the contents of hers like it was water.
“Now lose the shoes and get up on the bed,” Hannibal ordered. Mariah pulled off her heels and stretched out on the comforter, grinning like a child in line at Disneyworld.
“Not like that,” Hannibal said, still standing by the door. “Get your ass up.” Despite her confused expression, Mariah leaped to her feet in front of the bed. “I want to see you dance,” Hannibal said. “Up on the bed. I think I’d like a nice, slow, striptease.”
Mariah’s eyes lighted and she gave a docile nod before stretching to the radio on the headboard. Once she managed to find some slow, smoky music, she stepped up on the bed.
“I hope you find me pleasing, Sir. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you and get punished for it,” she said. Her eyes said just the opposite. But Hannibal noticed that her words were a little slurred and as her hips began to sway her balance was shaky. The liquor? The drugs? Maybe both. In any case, he watched her move through a sultry and seductive dance and spend nearly five minutes teasing with her blouse before finally taking it off. While trying to unhook her bra she stumbled in the comforter and dropped to her knees. Hannibal rushed forward, concerned that she might bang her head on the headboard. Mariah raised an arm to protect her face from an anticipated attack.
“I am so sorry, Sir,” Mariah said. “I don’t know what happened to me. Didn’t drink that much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hannibal said, putting an arm behind her for support. “We’ll skip the rest of the dance. You look like you’re ready to party now.”
Mariah shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. “But I wanted to be clear for this one. You are so hot. This feels…” She looked deep into Hannibal’s face and her caramel colored eyes focused with absolute clarity for a second. “This feels like when he gives me…”
Her mouth was trying to form the letter “R” as Hannibal lowered her back onto the bed. She would sleep through the rest of the night while he executed his scheme. Silently wishing her sweet dreams, he threw back the rest of his drink and eased out of the room. Muffled sounds from down the hall told him that the other two couples were fully involved. He slipped down the stairs with more stealth than was necessary. In the living room he unlocked the three locks that secured the front door. Then he went to the telephone and memorized the number on its face. A soft squeal from upstairs caught his attention. He had no way to know which room it had come from, and decided it didn’t matter. He moved into the computer room and pushed the door as close to closed as possible without letting the latch click.
It was almost show time. In the darkened room Hannibal loosened his belt and pulled the CD case from inside the front of his pants. While his left hand casually tossed his decoy CD Rom on the floor, his right pulled out his cell phone and pushed a preset number. The phone’s glowing face cut into the darkness of the room. It rang only once before his call was answered.
“Hey,” Hannibal whispered. “Your turn. You sure you’re up to this?”
“I want to,” Marquita replied. “I need to do this.”
“Okay.” Hannibal gave her the number, then stepped into the computer room’s closet and slipped out of his shoes. He left them behind and returned to the living room, all the while listening to the clicks and buzzes as Marquita made the connections for a three-way call. On the way he reflected on the courage Anita showed when she damaged Rod’s car and freed herself from his emotional grasp. Now he hoped that Marquita would free herself, and her act of defiance could well require an even greater degree of courage.
Crouched beside the front door, Hannibal listened to the phones ring out of synch in the room and on his cell phone. Four. Five. Six. How many times would Rod let it ring? Would he just ignore it? That was one way Hannibal’s simple plan could fail.
After eleven rings Rod picked up the phone upstairs and snarled, “What?” Now, Hannibal knew, Marquita had to get his attention right away and hold it.
“This is Marquita LaPage. You remember me?”
There was a pause during which Hannibal could hear a young girl trying to stifle a whimper. Rod said, “Sure I remember you. I stayed at your place and you served me while I made connections. You were a nice bit, but I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I need to tell you how I’m going to take it all away from you.”
Another pause. Then Rod asked, “How’d you get this number?”
“I know all about you now,” Marquita said. “I learned a lot after I met Anita Cooper. She told me what you stole from her.” Hannibal could hear the tremble in Marquita’s voice, but he was betting Rod could not. He was accustomed to women being intimidated when they spoke to him.
“You silly bitch. Anita doesn’t even know what I took.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Marquita said. “We know. And I wanted to hear your voice when the thief we hired took it away from you and left you with nothing.”
“You ain’t got the guts for that kind of action,” Rod said. But Hannibal could hear a doorknob turning. He reasoned that the phone upstairs must be wireless and Rod was about to check on his treasure. Marquita’s call had done the trick. He was just rattled enough.
Hannibal yanked the front door open. The high-pitched alarm drove daggers into his ears as he scrambled toward the computer room. A roar almost as loud came from upstairs. Rod thumped down the narrow flight of stairs shouting unintelligible curses. Before Rod reached the first floor Hannibal was in the computer room closet working to slow his own breathing. He held the closet door open less than half an inch, just enough for one eye to see through. He crouched immobile on his haunches, tracking Rod’s movements by sound and trying to ignore the sweat sliding down his forehead. He heard Rod slam the front door shut, and push buttons until the alarm stopped sounding. The door swung open again, and Rod must have stepped outside, trying to see whoever had left. More feet pattered on the stairs. Derek’s voice asked, “What’s up?” Rod told him to stay there and watch the door.
As Hannibal had predicted, Rod’s next move was to storm into the computer room and slam that door as well. When he clicked on the light his eyes zeroed in on the CD-ROM lying on the floor. He stood in gym shorts only, his broad feet splayed below him, blonde hair swirling around his legs.
In the closet, Hannibal drew his aura in as his instructors had taught him to do in the secret service. He was still as a stone and just as silent. If Rod had looked right at him he might not have seen him. In the silence he watched Rod pause for three long seconds. In his mind he was shouting, Don’t think it through, just react.
A delighted smirk twisted Rod’s lip and he said, “Asshole had it and dropped it trying to get out.” He scooped up the disc, not looking too closely at it. Instead he glanced back at the room’s
door to make sure it was closed and Derek couldn’t see him. Then he shoved his wheeled chair away from the computer, dropped to one hairy knee, and thumped his fist lightly on the floor where he usually sat. A square of tile popped up no more than an eighth of an inch. It was just enough for Rod’s fingertips to grip. He pulled and the tile lifted out of the floor. Rod dropped the disc inside, clearly believing that he was returning his own disc to his hiding place. After pressing the tile back into place with a foot he returned the room to darkness and left.
Time shifted into a glacial pace while Hannibal forced himself to breathe and strained to hear whatever sound leaked through the walls from the living room. He heard Rod brush off questions from Derek and say something about unfinished business upstairs. He heard the locks clicked into place. He heard the random tones of the security system being armed. He heard Derek’s frantic movements around the room, like a half-grown puppy bouncing around its master.
Just as his knees began to ache, Hannibal heard the two sets of footsteps moving up the staircase. Doors opened and closed upstairs. Still he waited. Would Rod think to visit Mariah? Had he noted Smoke’s absence, or was he too fixed on what he was doing with Missy? After two more minutes with no detectable activity above, Hannibal slipped his shoes back on and left the closet. He planned to turn the computer on but when he touched the mouse the monitor lit. Apparently Rod never turned the machine off. Good. By the monitor’s eerie light Hannibal opened the floor’s trap door and reached inside. He had half expected to find a hardcover notebook there, but now realized that Rod must have destroyed it. If it contained the handwritten notes that generated Cooper’s anti-addiction formula, it would be gibberish to Rod but a danger to him if it fell into the hands of a chemist.
By touch Hannibal identified his fake disc by an “X” scratched into the back of the case. He located the only other item in the small space, another CD-ROM case. Having seized his prize he closed the trap door, leaving his imitation disc behind.
Damaged Goods Page 23