by Frank Zafiro
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He smiled.
This wasn’t something he intended. He’d considered that he may have to outduel the police once things started rolling. Some bitches just didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and it was inevitable that law enforcement would get involved.
But the press? This was…unanticipated. And while he hated the current incarnation of his nickname in the media, he knew it would change soon. After he laid the whammo on the next one. More of a whammo than his father ever laid on any bitch, that was certain.
This next one would be almost like the first again, he mused, lifting his drink to his lips. He sipped the cognac (a gentleman’s drink, something else his father would never achieve nor understand), savoring the smooth bite of the alcohol. He’d only meant to have one, but then he got to reading the newspaper article, then the Op Ed and finally the letters to the editor. Especially the one written by V. Rawlings.
He wondered what the ‘V’ stood for.
Valerie? Vanessa? Veronica?
Victoria?
The last was his favorite of the lot, though he imagined that the pedestrian broad who wrote that letter was probably more of a Vicky than a Victoria.
He chuckled.
Vicky the whining bitch. That was probably it.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was afraid of him. He was — how had she put it? Not ruining her life, but destroying her ability to live.
That was very satisfying. Not as good as laying the whammo on those other women, but there was a certain fulfillment to knowing that he was affecting more than just one bitch at a time. They were all sisters, after all.
Just like her.
And now he was making them all feel it. Fear. Apprehension. An unsettling feeling in the pit of every one of their stomachs.
Well, as far as he was concerned, they could just reap it.
Fucking reap it.
And then some, because more was on the way.
He drained the last of his cognac, even though such an act was decidedly ungentlemanly. Three cognacs in, he didn’t really care. Right now, he just wanted to get home and start planning for his next one.
The new first one.
2235 hours
Katie had refused to walk in the rain. When Tower argued with her briefly, she flat out told him that she wasn’t going to catch pneumonia instead of a rapist. Tower relented and the group retreated to Mary’s Cafe to wait out the downpour. They sat and talked idly about everything but police work — sports, movies, vacation plans, along with a little bit of department gossip. Tower noticed that MacLeod was quieter than Sully or Battaglia. She sat, fiddling absently with the fake headphone wires on the mock-up of a walkman that the tech guys had put together for her transmitter. He wondered if something might be wrong with her. Maybe she was stressing over the accidental discharge. Or some personal issue. Then he realized that Chisolm was just as quiet and that it had been Sully and Battaglia who carried most of the conversation. And the two of them could talk non-stop, especially when they were together.
When the rain let up half past ten, Tower laid down enough money on the table to cover everyone’s coffee.
“Let’s get to it,” he told them.
Sully and Battaglia grumbled, but Chisolm nodded his thanks. Katie rose without a word. She adjusted the disguised transmitter as she stood.
“You still want to focus north of Clemons Park?” Chisolm asked.
“Yeah. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
Chisolm shook his head. “No, that’s as good as anywhere. It’s all a shot in the dark, anyway.”
“Glad you’re so optimistic.”
“Just realistic, Cochise.”
Tower smiled at the nickname. He didn’t know Chisolm very well, but he knew he only used terms like that with people he liked. Since he was pretty sure Crawford hated his guts, it was nice to have someone around who liked him.
“You and MacLeod can ride with me,” he said. “We’ll drop her about a block from the target area.”
The group filed out of the diner.
2239 hours
His car warmed up quickly and he started north on Monroe. The arterial ran from downtown all the way north to the city limits, making it a convenient road for him. He only needed to get out of the low valley area surrounding The Looking Glass River, though. The first real hill came just a few blocks before Garland, another main arterial. He lived up above that first rise, on Atlantic just a block south of Garland.
He took a deep breath and let it out. A glimmer of irritation fluttered through him. He could feel the impact of the three cognacs he had at the lounge. While the effect wasn’t unpleasant, the impairment irked him. He couldn’t afford for some overly aggressive patrol officer to pull him over and arrest him for drunk driving.
He kept his car pointed carefully north and drove.
2240 hours
“This is good,” Chisolm suggested.
Tower slowed but didn’t stop. “You sure?”
Chisolm nodded. “We’re right at the base of the hill here.” He pointed. “Look, there’s a minor tree line here for several blocks along Mona Street. Behind that, heavy bushes and some trees all the way up the hillside. No houses. It’s a perfect location for an ambush.”
Katie watched, fascinated with how quickly he evaluated the topography. A small chill went through her, though, when he mentioned the word ‘ambush’.
As if sensing her unease, Chisolm shifted his gaze to her. “Don’t worry. If we post up at opposite ends of this street, we should have good visibility. You’ll have an eye on you the majority of the time.”
“I’m not too comfortable with anything less than one hundred percent surveillance,” Tower said.
“Probably not possible. But you’ve got the transmitter for whenever she’s temporarily out of sight.”
“I’ll be okay,” Katie said. She looked back and forth between the two men. “Really.”
“All right,” Tower said, giving in. He slid the receiver earphone plug into his ear. “Go ahead.”
Chisolm opened the passenger door of the Toyota and slid out. Katie followed him. Once outside, she voice checked her fake walkman transmitter.
“Loud and clear,” Tower reported.
Katie fired him a thumbs up.
“How’s the leg?” Chisolm asked her.
Katie adjusted her fanny pack. “Still sore. But that goop really helped, whatever it was.”
“I told you what it was. Magic juice.”
“Right. Well, it helped. Thanks, Tom.”
Chisolm grinned. “Good hunting,” he told her.
Katie took a deep breath. She hunched her shoulders and looked down at the ground in front of her. Then she began to half-limp, half-shuffle toward Mona Street.
Behind her, she heard the Toyota truck door close. Tower’s voice floated across the wet air to her.
“Magic juice, Tom?”
“Shut up, Tower.”
Katie smiled and limped forward.
2244 hours
At the last minute, he decided to cut over to Post Street. It ran closer to Atlantic. The Garland Theater was at the corner of Monroe and Garland, anyway. This time of night, there’d be a show getting out and he didn’t want to get caught up in that traffic.
He slowed for Cora Street, but refused to turn there. The very sight of the letters on the white street sign sent a surge of rage barreling through his chest and out to his fingers. He didn’t want to think of the name Cora. He didn’t want to hear the name. He certainly didn’t want to drive down a street named for that worthless bitch of a mother.
Looking down, he saw that his knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel. One at a time, he let go and flexed his fingers, trying to work out the angry tension. In the process, he passed by Cora Street and continued north.
The next street was Mona Street.
He turned right.
2245 hours
A pair of headlights washed over her fro
m behind. This time of night, there wasn’t a lot of traffic on this residential side street. This was only the fourth set of headlights to spotlight her like this.
Katie didn’t care for the vulnerable feeling it gave her. As each car approached, she felt at a complete disadvantage. The people in the car could see her clearly. The most she ever saw were shadowy silhouettes as the vehicle passed by.
She sighed, letting that sense of vulnerability flow through her. She hoped that it made her look even weaker to anyone that drove by.
* * *
Look at this.
From behind, he saw the slender form shuffling along, head bowed. No confidence there. And as he drew closer, he spotted the walkman clipped to her waistband. This one would be so easy…
No. It was too easy. And he hadn’t planned for it. Best to stick to the plan. That was how he’d had success so far.
Still…
He cruised past her as slowly as he dared without attracting attention. He angled his head to get a good look at her while pretending to adjust his radio.
She was pretty.
And she looked scared.
He continued onward, his internal debate raging.
* * *
“How about that one?” Tower asked aloud, even though he knew MacLeod couldn’t hear him. The wire was a one-way transmitter.
Even so, she spoke aloud as if anticipating his question. “Nothing there. Silver four door Tempo or Topaz. Guy didn’t even look at me. He was fiddling with his radio.”
Tower cursed. He broadcasted the information to Sully and Battaglia, who answered him with a dismissive click of the mike.
He sighed. It was going to be a long and fruitless night, he could tell.
* * *
He turned onto Post and drove north for a block, his mind racing. The arguments played themselves out in his head, one concern at a time.
There were plenty of trees all along that street. Only a couple of houses over the entire three blocks and all of them were dark.
But she might continue on across Post. Or she might even turn up the steep hill, especially if she’s out for exercise.
She might. But she might turn around and head back along Mona Street. If she did, the site was too perfect to pass up.
There’s too many people.
No. It was almost eleven at night. It’s cold, dark and the tail end of a rainy day. There’s hardly anyone else out.
No. It’s not smart. You’ve got to plan.
He set his jaw. Planning was important, but sometimes opportunities occurred that weren’t part of the plan. A smart man took advantage of these opportunities.
That’s the cognac talking.
No, he decided. It wasn’t.
It wasn’t the cognac at all. It was the new him. And that unlucky bitch just made his new self one lucky man.
He turned onto Glass Street and pulled his car to the curb just around the corner. A half block up the street was one lonely, dark house. Below him lay a tumble of bushes and a few scattered trees before the small thicket of trees that lined Mona Street.
At first, he reached for the glove compartment for his ski mask. Then he stopped. He wouldn’t need that precaution any more, would he? He looked down at his hands, flexing them wide open and back into fists. No, he wasn’t going to have to worry about this one telling tales on him. Not once he laid these hands on her.
He exited the car. The fresh air filled his lungs. He smiled because even the world smelled new to him.
2249 hours
“My fingers are getting cold,” Katie murmured, knowing Tower could hear her on the other end of the transmitter. She imagined him sitting in the truck with Chisolm, the white plug stuck in his ear.
Warm and cozy in that truck, she corrected herself. While she was out here like a worm dangling on a hook, hoping that a shark came along to take a bite.
And on top of that, she had cold fingers.
“I’m going to have to start jogging to keep warm,” she said in to the transmitter.
Of course, that was hardly true. The street took a decidedly uphill swing as she approached Post. The effort she expended climbing up the rise kept her core warm enough. It was just her fingers that didn’t benefit from the exertion.
Katie raised her hands to her mouth and blew on them. When she reached Post, she paused and looked around. It took her several moments to spot Tower’s Toyota truck. He’d picked a good spot, nestled between two other parked cars on the side of the street. From there, she figured they had a good view of her for most of her route along Mona Street. The only blind spot might be the area she’d just trekked up, but Sully and Batts would be able to see her from their end.
“One more pass,” she said quietly. “Then we’re going for some more coffee.”
Tower flashed his headlights, indicating he’d heard her transmission.
Katie turned and started back west on Mona Street.
2250 hours
Walking through the bushes soaked his clothing with a freezing wetness, causing him to shiver. He ignored the sensation and pressed on. The cognac kept him warm inside. He’d be taking a hot shower soon enough, anyway.
He spotted her coming back westbound from crest of the rise to Post Street. A thrill shot through his limbs, causing a sudden erection.
He’d been right.
He crept past a leafy bush and stepped behind a wide pine tree near the base of the small rise.
He crouched and watched her shuffle toward him.
He waited.
2251 hours
Katie breathed onto her frigid fingers again. She decided that she didn’t want coffee, after all. On a night like tonight, some hot cocoa was in order. She’d forgo any marshmallows or whipped cream in the interests of not appearing too girlish in the presence of her platoon mates, but secretly she was glad that she could do girl things like that on occasion.
Right now, she marveled at the absolute reverse chivalry at work in this operation. All four men were sitting in dry, warm cars while the sole woman on the team was trudging back and forth on wet pavement in the cold.
Well, Katie thought, we wanted equality. If this is how it feels, then I guess this is how it feels.
As she shuffled down the rise, she leaned back slightly to slow her descent. Her bruised quadriceps protested with small yelps of soreness.
There’s another point for equality, she thought. That Russian hadn’t even hesitated before blasting her in the leg. Even the criminals had left chivalry by the wayside in favor of equality.
Katie caught her toe in a crack in the asphalt, causing her to stumble. She windmilled her arms and regained her balance before she fell to the ground. She winced as the sudden movement put all of her weight momentarily on her injured leg.
She stopped and took a moment to catch her breath. Flexing and stretching her left leg, she thought about asking Chisolm for another dose of his magic juice.
* * *
Why was she stopping?
He watched her intently from twenty yards away. His body pressed against the tree in front of him. The odor of wet bark filled his nostrils, but he was already imagining the smell of her fear.
She’d stumbled and almost fell. Now she stood in the street, working her left leg as if testing the muscle. He admired her athletic form, resenting it at the same time. She probably thought she was something special, this one. She definitely needed to be knocked down a notch or two.
Still, what about the leg? Did she pull something when she tripped? It didn’t look like that bad of a stumble, but you never knew.
A weak leg meant a weak runner.
This was going to be easier than he thought.
* * *
“That didn’t sound good,” Tower said.
“What did it sound like?”
“Like she fell down or something,” Tower said. He raised the field glasses to his eyes and scanned the dark street in front of him. “I can’t see her, either.”
“Those are
n’t worth much of a damn at night,” Chisolm told him.
“I don’t care if all I see is a shadow, as long as I know it’s her.” Tower lowered the glasses and shook his head. “I’m not seeing anything.”
“Check with the others.”
Tower raised the radio to his mouth. “Ida-409 to Adam-122.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have a visual on MacLeod?”
“Affirm. She’s near the base of the rise that leads up to Post.”
Tower copied, looked over at Chisolm and shrugged. “Sorry. Paranoid, I guess.”
Chisolm grinned. “Don’t be. A healthy dose of paranoia is the reason I’m sitting here and not in some military cemetery.”
2252 hours
He hesitated.
While she’d been stretching, her athleticism first irritated him. Then it set him thinking. Athletic people tended to be more confident than their sedentary counterparts. And she looked like she was in too good of shape to employ walking as a means of fitness.
When she finished stretching and resumed walking, he smiled to himself. Her shoulders slumped. He eyes fell. Even her walk was an insecure shuffle.
Maybe she hurt her knee. Maybe this was how she was rehabbing it. That would explain why the small trip worried her so much.
That made sense. And just because she was in good shape didn’t mean she wasn’t weak. The way she moved, it was obvious that something had happened to her in her past. Maybe she’d been some sort of victim before. If that were so, he was certain that she’d be more scared in the next five minutes than any other time in her pitiful, waste of a life. At least she’d have the opportunity to take part in his new beginning. At least she’d accomplish something in the brief moments left to her in this world.
He took in a deep breath. Things were falling into place nicely.
* * *
Katie focused on the small pools of water collected in puddles along the roadway as she shuffled slowly along. She drew her cold fingers into her middle and allowed herself to think about how good that hot cocoa was going to taste in about twenty minutes.
She wondered who would pony up and pay for the cocoa. She figured it would be a dead heat between Tower and Chisolm. Battaglia was too self-centered and Sully would be too conscious of the fact that they were both single. He wouldn’t want to send mixed messages. It was an unfortunate by-product of all the sexual harassment training that officers went through. A cup of coffee sometimes just can’t be a cup of coffee.