The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  Jen giggled. “What are you doing?”

  Frank stared at her. “You carrying anything illegal?”

  She crinkled her eyebrows. “Illegal? What you mean?”

  Frank pushed the pile of items around, searching for anything that didn’t look right. “No drugs of any kind?”

  She let loose an intoxicated laugh, hiccupped, and put her hand over her lips. “Well, excuse me. You told me you didn’t take drugs, Frank. Why do you want some now?” she slurred.

  He exhaled and kept sorting. “I don’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re not holding anything.”

  She laughed and sipped her wine. “What difference does it make?”

  The knock on the door interrupted them.

  Frank’s head snapped toward it. “Because that’s the police.”

  She hiccupped again. “No shit?”

  After satisfying himself that nothing incriminating hid in her stuff, Frank answered the door.

  A young uniformed officer stood on the other side. “Are you Detective Frank Pierce?”

  Frank’s teeth itched with dread. No good could come of this. “Yes, I’m Detective Pierce.”

  The officer shuffled back a couple of steps. “Didn’t realize any police lived here.”

  Frank couldn’t tell if it was an accusation or a statement of surprise. “Well, I live here.”

  From down the hall a familiar garbled voice said, “That’s what I frigging told them.”

  Frank leaned out, and sitting on the floor in the hall was Rob. A second uniformed officer stood nearby and had Rob propped against the wall. Rob’s shirttail was half out, and he listed to starboard a few degrees. When he saw Frank, he waved.

  The expression on Rob’s face was nothing short of goofy. Rob said, “They told me no police could afford this place.” He laughed. Then his eyes pinched and he pointed at Frank, wiggling his finger. “I told them, by God, my partner lives there. By God, that’s what I told them.”

  Frank grimaced and leaned in near the uniform at the door who wore a smirk. “He’s drunk as Cooter Brown,” Frank whispered.

  The officer shrugged. “Yeah, dispatcher sent us to Sarge’s to give an overserved officer a lift home. When we got there, Sarge told us to bring him here.”

  Frank glanced back at Jen a second. She had undone another button on her blouse. “This isn’t his home,” Frank said.

  The officer nodded. “I know, but he lives in Mesquite. We’re already out of our district being uptown. We can’t take him there. Too far.”

  Frank peeked around the corner again and eyed Rob, who had listed further to starboard. Carmen wasn’t in town. Rob had killed a man last night. He was his best friend and partner.

  “Of course, bring him in.” Frank said, swinging the door open.

  As the uniforms half carried, half dragged Rob through the apartment, their eyes stayed on Jen. She sat on the barstool sipping her wine, her short skirt drawing a few lustful glances. And the low-cut silk blouse with the top two buttons undone, barely containing the no-bra monster breasts, didn’t help. Apparently she so enjoyed their reaction that she swung the barstool their way and uncrossed her legs. They almost dropped poor Rob. She giggled, hiccupped, and slurred another “Excuse me” as they passed.

  “Bring him in here,” Frank said, opening the door to the guest room. He pulled back the covers and fluffed a pillow.

  Rob’s eyes were closed, and he was singing under his breath—a country and western song about a love gone bad. The officers laid him on the bed, and Frank escorted them out. The younger one cut his eyes toward Jen. After Frank shut the door, laughter sounded from the hall.

  “Who’s the drunk guy?” Jen asked, pouring another glass.

  “A friend of mine.” Frank marched into the bedroom and examined Rob, who was lying fully clothed on the bed. He couldn’t leave him like this. He slipped off Rob’s boots, shirt, and pants and spread a light blanket over him. “Sleep it off, my friend.”

  Frank lightly closed the door to the guest bedroom and strolled toward the living room. All the lights were turned off. Just the ambient glow of the city showed through the wall of windows. When he rounded the corner, the outline of Jen’s nude body leaned against the balcony rail. Frank paused. Um, guess the Foster flambé will have to wait. Dessert was on the patio.

  * * *

  Rob had no idea what time it was. The only thing he knew was that he had to take a leak. His head ached, and a deep throbbing behind his eyes reminded him of what he’d done the evening before. He’d made it to Frank’s—he recalled that. The rest of the night was a blank.

  Rob dropped his legs over the bed’s edge and tried standing. A little wobbly, but nothing he couldn’t manage. He felt around the dark door for the handle and swung it open. The hall lights were off, which was disorienting. Which way was the john? Smoke … he smelled smoke. He sniffed again. No, not exactly—candles. What the hell? He staggered down the hall toward the scent. At the end of the corridor, a shaft of light folded around the door.

  Rob steadied himself on the wall and crept forward. A low moan floated into the hall. He froze. Sounds like Frank. Rob peeked through the crack and caught his breath. A dozen candles lit the room. Frank lay nude on his back. A naked woman’s face rested between his legs, her black hair cascading around his stomach and hips. Rob reminded himself he needed air and drew in a slow breath. She raised her head, still holding Frank’s manhood with one hand. She was gorgeous—about twenty-five, maybe a little younger. She raked the other hand through her hair.

  Rob gaped. My God, the rumors are true—Frank’s hung like a bull moose. That thing could cripple a woman. Rob’s hand drifted to his shorts. He was hung like a hamster compared to Frank. The woman rose to her knees and positioned herself over Frank, easing down to a seated position. A short squeal of delight escaped her lips as he entered her. She arched her back and braced herself with her hands on Frank’s shins. The hard breathing and moaning was more than Rob could stand. His desire to pee had been replaced by another. A feeling of guilt swept over him. What the hell was he doing? Spying on his friend with a hot woman? Shame and disgust flooded Rob’s conscience. He pulled his eyes from the door, hesitated for a second, and had one last look before heading to the john.

  Rob had a lot of trouble getting back to sleep. The vision from Frank’s bedroom had been seared into his mind. Several hours later, he rolled over and sunlight slipped around the edges of the blinds. He yawned and ran a hand down his face. Had he dreamed what had happened last night? Had he seen what he thought he’d seen? Rob had no recollection of there being a woman when he’d been carried in. Had there been a woman? His mouth had that too-much-beer taste. He smacked a couple of times—thirsty. Rob sat up and pain shot across his temples. Swearing he’d never drink again, he got out of bed and gazed into the mirror on the door. Disheveled hair, boxers, and a V-neck T-shirt. Nope, not a good look.

  Rob cracked open the door and listened. No one stirred. He slipped down the hall toward the kitchen. The aroma of fresh coffee hurried his pace. As a moan drifted from the living room, he froze and plastered himself against the wall. Rob took a slow glance around the corner. Bright sunlight flooded the living room, and Frank was doing one of his yoga stretches. With his heels together, he bent from the waist and, making a triangle with his thumbs and index fingers, rested his palms on the floor. Frank slowly rose and, keeping his hands in the same position, leaned backward as he released another moan.

  Rob scratched his head and kept watching. He had definitely dreamed the lovemaking thing. There was no woman in sight.

  A throat clearing from behind caused Rob’s heart to flutter as he turned around. And there she was, the girl from the dream. The thong panties and see-through top left nothing to the imagination. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.

  She grinned and peeked around the corner where Frank held center stage. “He’s really something, isn’t he?”

  Rob tried keeping his eyes on her face. “
Oh, yeah. He’s something.”

  She held up a mug. “Going to get a refill. Want a cup?”

  “Sure do.”

  She whispered, “Frank hates being disturbed until he finishes his routine—takes about half an hour.” She winked. “I’ll sneak us a couple.”

  So much ran through Rob’s mind that he couldn’t think straight. She tiptoed into the kitchen without making a sound, her little bubble butt wiggling with each step. How many happily married police officers did he know who would consider leaving their families for a woman like that? He was still in his underwear, so he slipped back into the bedroom. When she traipsed down the hall, he stuck his head out and accepted the coffee.

  “Thanks, I really needed this,” Rob whispered.

  She grinned. “You tied one on last night.”

  He sipped the coffee. “Yeah, well … you know.”

  She touched his nose with her finger and formed her lips into a kissing face. “I know, sweetie. Have to get a shower. See you later.”

  She sashayed down the hall. After a few minutes, Rob went for a coffee refill. Frank wasn’t doing yoga anymore, so Rob didn’t worry about making noise. On the balcony, Frank sat staring at the sunrise. Rob paced to the door and knocked.

  Frank motioned him out. He wore a short beige robe over the gym shorts. Frank pointed to a chair. “Join me.”

  Rob grabbed a seat. “About last night. I—”

  Frank waved his hand. “No apologies necessary. I can’t believe Sarge let you get so drunk.”

  Rob lowered his eyes. “Well, Sarge wasn’t there. His son-in-law and daughter ran the place last night. Sarge dropped by and found me three sheets to the wind.”

  A grin cracked Frank’s lips. “And knowing Sarge, he found a safe place to store your truck.”

  Rob’s head snapped up. “My truck. I forgot about that.”

  “No problem. We’ll have breakfast and find it.”

  From the corner of his eye, Rob watched the young woman stroll through the living room to the kitchen. She wore a short brown skirt and tight low-cut blouse. My God, she’s beautiful.

  Frank must have noticed him staring and said, “Understand you met Jen this morning?”

  Rob sighed. “Where do you find women like that?”

  Frank finished off his coffee. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Try me.”

  Frank grinned a few seconds before setting his cup on an end table. “Okay, she’s a high-end call girl.”

  Rob laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  Frank kept a straight face. “Knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Rob’s laugh died away and he studied Frank. “You’re not serious?”

  “Very serious.” Frank lounged in the chair and propped his feet on a stool.

  Rob looked toward the woman in the kitchen. “Why are you paying for what you can get for free? There are more women in Dallas than a single guy can handle.”

  Frank yawned and said, “I don’t want a long-term commitment. Besides I don’t pay women like Jen.”

  “You mean there are others?”

  Frank shrugged. “I only date high-end call girls.”

  “When you say you don’t pay them, what exactly does that mean?”

  Frank chuckled. “Remember the other day I told you women like to be fussed over? That I fix them dinner and give them a massage?”

  Rob leaned closer. “Yeah.”

  “Well, high-end call girls are women too. Everyone likes to be thought of as special—have someone fuss over them. Treat them like a regular person.”

  Rob opened his mouth but thought better of it. Frank had drifted into his perverse logic again. There was no use arguing with him. “When you say high-end … how high?”

  Frank pursed his lips and stared at the horizon. “She won’t show up for less than a grand. She’ll stay the night for five.”

  Rob shifted a little closer. “Do you see any conflict of interest here?”

  “No. I don’t work Vice anymore, and I don’t pay her. Where’s the conflict?” Frank asked.

  Rob shook his head; perverse logic was a hard thing to argue against.

  Jen eased the patio door open and slinked over to Frank. Squatting by his chair, she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “I have to go, baby. Got a flight to Vegas in a couple of hours. Have to work tonight.”

  He leaned in her direction and she softly kissed him. “Okay, give me a call when you’re back in town,” Frank said.

  Jen giggled. “Always do.” She winked at Rob on her way out.

  Rob clasped his hands together. “Just one last question.”

  “Shoot.” Frank stood and grabbed his empty cup.

  Rob also rose. “How many Jens are there?”

  Frank opened the balcony door. “Not that many. Ten or twelve.”

  18

  The last thirty-six hours for Katrina had been nerve-racking. After she soiled the Freak, they left her naked and bound to the urine-soaked bed until the next morning. When Sisters Judy and Ruth appeared, they had changed. The once-sweet pair were now surly and rude. They released Katrina without a word and left a tray with breakfast on the table. Katrina also didn’t speak. Those two were as bad as anybody there. Why continue the charade?

  Katrina showered and checked the breakfast. Same stuff as the day before. Was it drugged? She flushed it down the toilet. She’d been thinking half the night about her next move, and now she had a new plan. When they came to clean the room, she approached Sister Judy.

  “I just started—could use some tampons,” she said in an apologetic voice.

  Sister Judy cut her eyes to Sister Ruth. She nodded but appeared disinterested. “I’ll see about it.”

  By lunch, Katrina was starving. All the nervous fear had subsided during the night and morning. She hadn’t been molested, and the Freak hadn’t shown back up. But after missing two meals, she looked forward to whatever they served. She had to eat sooner or later, drugs or no drugs. She’d planted the idea that perhaps she wasn’t as clean as before. That might hold off the Freak for a few days. Anyway, she expected her period soon. She scarfed down the lunch and waited. If she began feeling drowsy, she’d been outmaneuvered. After about twenty minutes, the only thing she felt was hungry again. By the evening meal, she believed she might be safe from attack. She ate the baked fish and green peas without fear. Later that evening, Sister Ruth came down.

  “You’re being moved upstairs tomorrow,” she said before taking the tray away.

  Katrina slept well that night, but the thought of what awaited her upstairs filled her with dread. One thing was for sure: if she ever expected to escape, it would have to be from someplace other than this hole.

  When Sister Judy brought breakfast the next morning, she had an attitude. “What you did the other night was sacrilege.”

  Katrina quickly realized the trap. If she admitted to pissing in the guy’s face, she’d also be admitting to doing it on purpose. She had no idea what the hell Sister Judy meant about sacrilege, but this was a setup. Katrina scowled and pointed at her.

  “What are you talking about? Why did I wake up strapped down naked in a bed someone pissed in? Did you put drugs in my food?” Her rapid-fire questions had the desired effect.

  Sister Judy’s jaw went slack. “I have no idea what you mean.” She backed away toward the staircase.

  “I think you do,” Katrina screamed, advancing on her. “Tell those sickos upstairs to go screw themselves.”

  Sister Judy’s face twisted and her mouth gaped. She stumbled as she retreated. “You’re being moved today. Get your things together,” she stammered before rushing up the steps.

  Katrina felt a hundred percent better. She hadn’t intended to go ballistic, but the pent-up stress had needed a release. She might be a prisoner and they might control her body, but she’d control her mind. She must at least appear to stay strong. But why had they taken her? Did anyone realize she’d n
ot made it home Sunday night? Had an Amber Alert or something already been issued? What she wouldn’t give to be sitting in that big house in Dallas right now and listening to her mom and dad complain about the latest thing she’d done that had pissed them off. But she wasn’t there—she was here. These fools that had grabbed her had just made the biggest mistake of their lives. Before she was through with these wackos, she’d make “The Ransom of Red Chief” look like a picnic.

  19

  After breakfast, Rob made a couple of calls and discovered his truck was in the police employee parking lot, keys under the passenger floor mat. Frank gave him a lift there.

  After pulling up beside the truck, Frank killed the engine. Rob gazed around, his head still throbbing from last night’s bad behavior. It was a weekend, so the headquarters parking lot was deserted.

  Frank sat back in the seat. “I cruised the area Eddie told us about—the place the house used to be.”

  “Oh, yeah. Find anything?” Rob asked.

  Frank shrugged. “Nope. Nothing left. Need to check the property and tax records.”

  “Give Brandy a call at the tax office. Tell her I said hi.” Rob grinned. “I think she has the hots for me.”

  “Okay.”

  Rob stared out the window for a moment before asking, “Is this Wormwood thing a real clue, or just a red herring?”

  Frank grimaced, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t know. What do you think?”

  “It’s the only connection to Trina’s disappearance we have.”

  “Yup.”

  Rob exhaled, changing the subject. “Say, about Friday night…”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” Frank said.

  Rob shifted in the seat so that he faced his partner. “When I made detective, I knew it would be the pinnacle of my working career.” He chuckled. “As a high school graduate with a few years in the Marines, a detective job was about the best I could hope for. But you—you haven’t reached your potential yet. You’re smarter than the rest of us. Everyone knows you’re the brain and I’m the muscle of this team. With your background and an IQ off the charts, you could be the head of security for any Fortune 500 company.”