by David Banner
YOU CAN RUN
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DAVID BANNER
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SAVAGE SAVANNAH: BOOK ONE
Published by Golden Pineapple Publishing.
Copyright 2017 by David Banner.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance or similarity to any person, place, or event is purely coincidental. While I try my best to keep the geography of the beautiful state of Georgia correct, some of the places in this work are fictional. No part of this book may be reproduced without author consent.
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Chapter One
MONDAY, 9 PM
CONNIE
Two hours before she ended their lives, the forty-something woman watched the young couple talk sweetly at the bar. How foolish they are, she thought to herself. How foolish to be young and careless when danger lurked nearby. Connie was foolish once, maybe. But that was long ago and in another life. That was before she found what truly made her blood flow. Before she discovered the sweet nectar of revenge.
“They’re perfect.” Her husband licked her neck, nibbling at her earlobe.
Michael and Connie had been married for over half their lives. In the beginning, it was easy and lustful, but that was before the troubles and long before the games. Things were better now. They’d found a connection, something true and deep, something written in blood.
The two had even managed to be happy at one time. With a beautiful house and promising careers, they were like everyone else. They were ordinary.
Only a short time after arriving, the young couple at the bar, full of wine and ready for something else, made their way into the elevator. This was her cue, the moment she’d been waiting for. Soon, Connie Miller would have her glory, her victory over them. Soon, she would see the light in their eyes fade as she felt their hearts, heavy with fear, come to a slow halt.
“The girl who was sitting at the bar . . .” Connie smiled at the young receptionist. “My sister . . . what room is she in?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t give that information.”
“The guy, he’s going to propose, and he left the ring. He has this whole thing planned and it will be ruined if I don’t get it to him.”
It’s funny, really, what a simple lie can do when it comes from a trustworthy face, especially in the great state of Georgia. Why, not trusting someone would be simply unSouthern, most people thought.
“I love you,” Michael said to her as they stepped into the elevator.
They’d taken this walk before, always to the same end. This was their signature now. This was what kept them together and made them who they were. She flowed behind her husband just as she always did, tracing his footsteps, her eyes focused on his dark hair. This was her place. She belonged by his side. She belonged at his back. Together, they were ready to send a message.
“Ready?” he looked at her, pressing the keycard against the door.
A low click sounded as the handle flashed green. They were in and soon, they would be done.
“On the ground!” he shouted, his wife at his back. “On the ground! Now!”
The young couple, barely clothed and shivering in fear, knelt. She was beautiful, with long red hair that caught the moonlight as it shone through the window. With big blue eyes and fair skin, she looked at the couple who would soon end her life.
“Please,” the young man cried out. “Please . . . my wallet. Take it, take anything. Please!”
“Quiet!” he said. “We don’t want your money. This isn’t about you!”
“Please . . . just don’t hurt us!”
He had to be sure in that moment that his cries would fall on deaf ears. He had to know the couple standing in front of him wouldn’t leave peacefully, she mused to herself.
As Connie held her gun in the air, she wondered for a moment what it must be like to be on the other side. She wondered what it must feel like to die.
“I beg you. Have mercy. Please!” the nearly naked young man begged.
“Mercy . . .” Michael scoffed. “Mercy . . . that’s what you’re asking for? Why would I show mercy? None was shown to me. Why would I spare you when my family wasn’t spared? Tell me, why? So Maynor could have his good time. So he could waste everything I worked for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried. “I beg you. I haven’t done anything. I’m a good per—”
A loud and thunderous shot rang out, silencing the young man.
“No!” the girl yelled. “No! Barry. Oh, my God—”
A second bullet tore through his chest. He slumped backward and fell to the ground. He was dead, the life in his eyes nothing more than a memory, nothing more than the past. Still, though, he would need one final marker, one final bullet. His body was now a signature line that needed inking with a third and final bullet.
“Why?” the young woman cried, her body slumping to the floor. “Why us? Please . . .”
They always begged.
“You’re dying because of who you loved, little lady. You’re dying for the mistakes of your husband’s family.” She aimed her gun, firing three rounds directly into the young woman’s chest.
“Husband . . .” She looked up, trying her best to speak through the gurgling blood.
“Oh . . .” The man with the gun pulled a ring from his victim’s jacket pocket. “He was going to propose. The whole family approves.”
“Please . . . I swear, I—”
And it was done, at least for tonight.
The man who’d wronged Connie Miller’s family would soon wake to find his son and the young fiancée he loved gone, ripped from the world. It would be painful, yes. But it was a message that needed sending. Time was running out, and soon, more blood would spill.
Chapter Two
MONDAY, 10 PM
VIRGINIA
Something about the cold metal was therapeutic to her. The way it felt in her hands as her finger wrapped and then slowly squeezed the trigger. The sound, sudden and violent, was a universal call to action, telling those around to pay attention, to try and stay alive. She was comfortable in this role, finding the truth hidden in the lies. Unraveling patterns of deceit and doubt just came naturally to her.
Virginia took a slow breath, steadying her arms and letting a peaceful determination fill her body. She was at her center here, alone in the cool, dim room, staring down a long hallway with only one thing on her mind. Find and hit the target. Plain and simple. This place, this feeling . . . she was her truest self.
Virginia Nixon always held a keen respect for the truth, always knowing truth could set her free. Bodies aren’t the most pleasant thing in the world to look at, especially when it rests on your shoulders to find how it was that body had gotten there in the first place. From the moment she was presented with a crime thoughts and images of that person or persons stayed with her, haunting her like a ghost she couldn’t shake. That is, until she finally solved the case. But not all cases were meant to be solved, leaving the Southern girl to carry more than a few ghosts with her into the night.
Virginia Nixon had been a Savannah homicide detective for the past five years, and in that time, she’d seen all she thought she could and much more than she thought she needed to. It was a lesson learned early on during her second assignment with the force.
His name was Jude Metcalf, a bright young college student with a promising medical future. He’d been found naked in the shower, his chest a mess of stab wounds and slashes. A distraught roommate called the police, leaving Virginia to respond. It took a while, and the investigation wasn’t without its missteps, but she’d found the man responsible.
Jealousy is a strong motivator, especially when it comes to love. She pictured his face as she squeezed the trigger, firi
ng off another round. Ronald West had known his best friend, Jude, for the better part of their lives, and they’d always shared everything. And it seemed that was the problem. Men rarely share the women they love, and once those women begin to pose a problem, well . . .
It wasn’t so much the blood or the deep lacerations that sat with her. It was the distrust, the thought that friendships could be so easily brought to ruination, that the people you trust most can be dangerous. It was common, though, more than she would have liked, and in the Deep South where everybody knows everybody, it can be hard not recognize the face of your killer.
Jude was just one of a multitude of victims, though. There’d been seventy-two so far. Seventy-two cases in which she’d hunted a killer through the dark, grimy streets of a city known for pirates and mystical legends.
In all of those cases, however, one thing remained true. Virginia Nixon never forgot a victim. There seemed to be something vulgar about the thought of seeing someone as they’ve been left, then finding those responsible, only to forget them once again. Death deserved respect, no matter the circumstances.
“Vee,” she heard him call out from behind the door, “you’re spending too much time here. You should be out with people, not hiding away in a firing range. You’re a pretty girl.”
Jacob Hindle was a tall, lumbering kind of man with thick black hair on the sides of his head surrounding noting but a shiny bald top. He’d been on the Savannah scene for the better part of his career since moving down from Charlotte during his early twenties.
Virginia respected him for the most part, though the two failed to always see eye to eye. Living life by the books was a great thing, but in Virginia’s opinion, it just wasn’t always an option. Justice was justice, no matter how it was served. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself from time to time, even if she knew she wouldn’t be able to sell her superior on that particular truth.
“Thanks for the compliment, Boss. I think I’ll stick around, though.”
“No.” He held a small envelope in the air. “You won’t.”
“New case?”
“Double homicide.” He tossed the folder down. “Young couple. Each one with three bullets to the chest.”
“Three bullets?” The phrase caught her attention.
“Yeah. Second time this month.”
“Are we treating it as a pattern?” she asked.
“Not yet.” He sighed. “Hopefully, we don’t have to. Happened at the Chelsea House Hotel over near River Street. The team is on its way. Head over there and call me when you know something.”
“You go it,” she said, then turned back and fired off her remaining rounds.
“Hey . . .” He stopped her. “How’d your date go last night?”
“How did you—”
“I hear things, Vee,” he answered.
“It didn’t go,” she said, packing her bag. “I didn’t go. I bailed.”
“You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he said. “You can’t buy the cow if the farm isn’t open. Know what I’m saying?”
“I’m not sure I want to.” She brushed past him. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Chapter Three
MONDAY, 10:30 PM
VIRGINIA
It was only a short drive to The Chelsea House Hotel, but it was enough time to let Virginia’s mind begin to wander. Three bullets to the chest. She just couldn’t get it out of her mind. It had to be more than coincidence. Almost nothing is ever coincidence.
“Black,” she stated, pulling her car to a stop in the drive-thru window of a small coffee house. She’d never understood the need to add cream or sugar to the drink. Coffee was meant to be enjoyed black. It was as simple as that.
“Yes, ma’am,” the barista replied and began to pour.
“Fresh,” she said, raising a single eyebrow. “In what century was that pot brewed?”
“It’s company policy that we can’t keep it longer than forty-five minutes, ma’am. This is fresh—”
“Coffee shouldn’t be served after more than five minutes. Brew it fresh, if you don’t mind.”
It was just a simple thing, a pet peeve to some, but for Virginia Nixon, coffee was an important thing. Since her first day as a detective, she’d never entered a crime scene without a cup of fresh hot coffee and she wasn’t about to lower her standards now.
“Be about five minutes,” the young woman answered.
“I’ll wait.” Virginia rolled up her window.
Cooler air was well on its way, which for the detective meant large coats, wet roads, and slightly lower crime rates. Still, though, she preferred the warm days of summer and fall. There was just something wrong about seeing ice in Georgia, something almost criminal.
“What do we have?” Virginia asked, ducking under the caution tape and making her way into the hotel room.
It was a nice place near one of Savannah’s swankier shopping malls with a large flat-panel television and a minibar off to the side. She’d recognized the hotel almost as soon as she arrived. While she’d never actually had a reason to rent a room there, she had stopped by the bar once or twice during the holiday chaos when she needed a break.
For the most part, it was a pretty safe neighborhood with a low crime rate—well . . . low for Savannah, anyway. Nice houses lined the streets and expensive boutiques sat tucked away in the small corners near the larger shopping areas. She’d also noticed more than a few luxury SUVs in the parking lot as she drove up. It may have not been the most expensive part of the city, but most people checking into that particular hotel were pretty well off and it didn’t take a genius to see it.
“Double homicide.” The officer cleared his throat. “Each one shot at point-blank range.”
“Three bullets, right?”
“Right,” he replied as another man zipped a body bag.
Blood covered the floor, having pooled up under the two victims for what looked like at least an hour before someone actually arrived. There were no other signs of a struggle, she noted, looking around the room. Everything seemed to be in its place, nothing broken or tipped over. Whatever happened there must have happened quickly.
“Anyone see anything?”
“No,” The officer replied. “There was a guy next door. Said he heard voices and then he heard the shots.”
“Was he the one who reported it?”
“Yeah . . .” he answered. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“Said he thought it was the television at first, but then later, when he realized he hadn’t heard anyone moving around, he called the front desk. They checked it out and found them here like this.”
“Where is he now?”
“Gone. Left a few minutes ago.” He handed Virginia a piece of paper. “Name, address, and number.”
“Thanks.” She glanced down before folding the paper and sliding it into her pocket. “What’s his story?”
“Journalist.” The officer sighed as Virginia took a slow sip of her fresh, hot coffee.
To a detective, the word journalist tasted about as good as sour milk. They were the worst kind of people, always looking, always digging, trying to spread the misfortunes of others like disease. So far, though, Virginia had managed to steer pretty clear of the media, but something told that wasn’t going to last. Not if her suspicions were correct, not if another murder had taken place in this city that fit this same pattern.
“What’s her name?” she asked, looking down at the female body.
“Kelly Evans. The two were dating. They were seen down at the bar laughing and smiling just a little while before the shots were heard.”
“Anyone notice anything else?”
“Nothing. Most of the folks around here are pretty focused on themselves,” he replied, his voice colored with a mix of disgust and frustration.
“You from around here?” she asked, taking note if his name. Billy Ryan. He was new to the force and quite a fe
w years younger than Virginia. His sandy brown hair and big button eyes emoted the kind of easiness you only get from being young and untainted by the cruelties of the world.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I lived around here for a while. But then I moved up above River Street. People are a little friendlier the further out you get. At least, in my experience.”
“Was the journalist guy the only witness?”
“There wasn’t really anyone else on the floor. Most of the rooms are vacant. It’s a Tuesday night.” Billy shrugged. “Forensics got here a few minutes before you, but it’s early still, and honestly, I don’t see much in the way of evidence. The place looks pretty clean.”
“He’s done this before,” she said, pulling the folded paper back out from her pocket and reading the address. “This is pretty nearby. Did he say why he was staying in a hotel?”
“Not really. There was a lady with him, though. Looked like they’d been having a good time.”
“Maybe I’ll pay him a visit,” Virginia answered.
Chapter Four
MONDAY, 10:30 PM
CONNIE
She could tell he was still reeling from the kill. His blood surged hot and fast throughout his body. His heart pounded against his chest, threatening to beat through. There’d been a time when this hour would have seen him lying in bed next to her, his hand gently stroking her hair as they talked about the future and their plans.
But life is full of twists and turns, some better than others, some more dangerous than anything a person could see coming. There was a time when she would have seen danger as driving too high above the speed limit or walking alone at night. Now, though, all of that seemed like a distant memory, almost as though she were living another life.
And maybe it was true. Maybe this journey she’d found herself on was her rebirth. Gone was the former Connie, and in her place stood a woman hell-bent on revenge, on setting the record straight and making them all pay. She was a new person now, a darker and more complicated woman. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.