Hunting Delilah

by Anne Baines

“A decent-sized trunk,” he said.

  The car was a dark blue Dodge Infinity. The trunk was plenty big enough to fit Delilah into if it came down to snatching her off the street. Ted tossed in the small duffle bag containing his hunting kit and slammed the door shut.

  Secure that he’d done enough to stay under police radar, Ted drove back to the hotel. He would change his shirt, take another shower, watch a movie, and kill time until midnight.

  The wait was rough on him, but he wandered around the two-room suite, televisions going in both the sitting area and the bedroom, fantasizing about taking on Delilah. Patience. Patience was the virtue of all good hunters. He’d find the family she seemed to care about so much, and, just as she had already, she’d show up, drawn like a moth to his bloody flames.

  At eleven thirty he couldn’t take it anymore. It was close enough to midnight.

  The bar parking lot still had a couple cars in it by the time he arrived and Ted positioned his own car across the street at an angle where he could see the front door as well as the bank of windows in the dining area.

  There was a light on, even after two women, one of them the fat waitress, left the building and got into one of the remaining cars. After a few minutes the lights flickered off and a large man walked out the front door. He closed it behind him and then, as far as Ted could tell, jiggled the handle as though making sure it had locked.

  Ted watched as the man climbed into the last car and drove away. He made himself count to one hundred before pulling on his gloves and getting his hunting kit.

  He crossed the street and tried the front door himself, glancing around for witnesses. A car or two drove past, but going fast enough that Ted doubted they even noticed him.

  He walked around to the back. The Mustang he’d seen parked there earlier in the day was still parked in back. Ted hesitated, wondering if the car was just parked here all the time, or if someone was still inside. After a scant moment he shook his head at his silliness. If someone was still here, he’d deal with them appropriately. The calm of the hunt washed over him and his fingers started to tingle.

  Ted set his bag down and pulled out a pen light. Examining the back door, he found that the covering plate had been sheered off at some point in the door’s past and never replaced. Ted smiled. The universe was still handing him presents, it seemed.

  He pulled out a credit card and pressed his ear to the door. He heard no movement or signs of anyone inside. Holding the pen light between his teeth, he worked the card in slowly until he was able to pull it up and depress the latch.

  The door eased open. The hallway was dark, as was the bar beyond it, but light spilled in from under the office door. Ted turned off the pen light and put it back in his bag, removing the big knife instead.

  He quietly and slowly turned the knob. Then, keeping his grip on the knob with his left hand, he thrust the door open, eyes darting about the room, squinting against the light.

  The office was empty.

  Ted took a deep breath, almost laughing at his own anticipation. Then he heard movement and looked across the small room. There was another door there, its placement leading Ted to guess it led to the kitchen.

  He left the hallway door ajar and crossed the room, scanning the hinges to see which way the door would swing. The handle of the kitchen door turned, and Ted crouched next to where it would open, knife in hand, a wild smile twisting his handsome face.

  Forty-six

  Jake checked the freezers, making sure there was enough of everything to hold until deliveries on Monday. He felt conflicted about even being at the bar, but things weren’t set up to run without him. His father had always liked to be a constant presence, and Jake had never messed with any of the procedures much after he’d taken over.

  Besides, Nancy and Esther were safe for the night, he was sure of that at least. Only his father, Delilah, and Jake himself knew about the little cabin in Neskowin. It was off an old logging road, tucked into the hills. It had a generator, because his dad had always wanted a place off-the-grid, as he put it, in case the whites changed their minds about equality. Tomorrow afternoon they could drive back into Portland so Esther could have her treatment, and then they’d see about how to proceed.

  The plan hadn’t made Nancy happy, but it was the best Jake could do. The bar needed him, too, and cell reception at the cabin was weak at best. He could admit to himself, if not to his wife, that he hoped Delilah might come back that night. Tell him something more, work things out. She’d come once, so she had to care something for their daughter, for him.

  Jake sighed. He also wanted to let Nancy cool off. He’d have heard worse already if there hadn’t been so many people around that afternoon. Like this was his fault. Once again, Delilah had shown up and fucked him over, putting everyone around her in danger.

  Being stuck in a one room cabin with Nancy at the moment didn’t sound good. This way, she could sleep off some of her anger, and he hoped by the time he arrived she’d be asleep or too tired to yell.

  He would get things fixed up at work so they could do without him for a couple days and then drive to the coast to be with his wife and child. Besides, he had needed to stay in town to hire a couple guys to watch his family and the bar.

  His justifications sounded thin in his mind, but Jake shook it off.

  Moose had just left. He’d agreed to pick up a friend who worked with him sometimes and meet Jake at the Neskowin cabin. Jake had printed directions for him, so hopefully he’d be able to find the place.

  The police said they’d issue a bulletin on the car and check with police departments in Florida to see if this story of Delilah’s, what little she’d told Jake anyway, held up at all. He should expect a follow-up call from a detective in the morning. Good thing he’d hired on Moose and his friends, since the police had left without even offering so much as an escort home for Nancy and Esther.

  Jake stood in the dimly lit kitchen and folded his arms. Delilah, he was sure, could have helped this. He knew her claustrophobia, her fear of jail. Hell of a profession she’d chosen. But no, she’d done what she always did when things got rough. Run away.

  But she’d always gravitated back to him. Jake wasn’t sure she would this time. Not after the thing with the cops. He’d been so damn scared and angry, plus there was no way he could have stopped Nancy from calling the police anyway.

  “Keep telling yourself you’re doing what you have to,” he muttered.

  He paced around the kitchen for a long moment, making sure the ovens were shut off, the dishes clean and in their racks, and that everything was ready for prep in the morning. Everything was in order. No more reason to be here. Only thing to do was to shut down the computer, turn out the lights, and get on the road. He just had to pray that he could smooth things over with his wife.

  Jake walked through the kitchen and opened the door into his office.

  Forty-seven

  The door swung open and Ted had a split second to recognize the dark figure above him before he struck. The sharp knife caught for a moment on Jake’s pants, then cut deep into the back of his ankle as Ted slashed with practiced efficiency.

  The thin black man tumbled to his knees with a high-pitched scream. Ted thrust the knife into Jake’s side. Jake tried to put his hands up, but Ted rose from the crouch and slashed again and again, slicing deep gashes into his biceps and across his palms.

  Jake stopped trying to fight back at all, curling into a ball, bleeding arms up to protect his head.

  Ted chuckled at the pathetic shape and kicked the little man until he retreated against one wall. Jake’s terrified eyes met Ted’s gaze. He was clearly waiting for the end.

  Too bad for poor Jake. Ted wasn’t even close to finished with the bastard. He stepped back, leaning against the desk, and contemplated his whimpering victim.

  Jake edged to one side, toward the filing cabinets.

  “Something you want? Or are you just looking for somewhere to hide?” Ted looked around the sm
all office. The computer was on and the fans hummed. There were some papers on the desk and one of the filing cabinet drawers was partly open. Ted leaned over and pulled it open more.

  A gun. A six-shot revolver with a nice ivory grip. Ted lifted the gun from the drawer and grinned at Jake, who deflated like a garbage bag when the wind is done toying with it.

  “What,” Jake said, then licked his lips. His face was a study in suffering and Ted knew the man wasn’t going to make it much longer. “What do you want?” Jake tried again, this time getting the words out more or less coherently.

  “What do I want?” Ted repeated. “You to suffer and die, but that’s easy enough. We’re already headed there, aren’t we? At least, to the suffering part. But first you are going to tell me where your little brat is.” He fingered the gun and twirled it around on the desk, watching Jake with narrowed eyes.

  “No.” Jake started shivering. Shock was clearly setting in.

  “Wrong.” Ted left the gun on the desk and bent over his victim. He took the knife and trailed it over Jake’s belly.

  The black man curled into a tighter ball, but it was clear his arms and legs weren’t responding well. Ted easily kicked the man’s knees apart and brought the knife down, resting the tip on Jake’s crotch.

  “You fucked her. Was it good? Is she a tight little bitch? Does she like it rough?”

  Jake kept shaking his head and trying to lift his arms. Ted easily batted them back down with one hand. He pressed the tip of the knife in, sliding it through the jeans a bit to the side of the zipper where the material thinned. His eyes on Jake’s brown, terrified eyes, Ted saw the exact moment the knife hit flesh and felt a little rush of excitement.

  Apparently killing a man could be interesting, after all.

  “Tell me where they are.”

  “Delilah, she’s… gone.” Jake gurgled, his pitch rising into a scream as Ted pressed the knife in deeper.

  “I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Ted mocked him; imitating Jake’s pained, halting speech. “The sick brat. Where’s little Esther?”

  Jake’s eyes flicked beyond Ted, toward the desk, and then back. He shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Ted stood up, pulling the knife up and then out as he rose and watched Jake curl up again. He turned and looked again at the desk. Did Jake want the gun? Was that it? Or was it something else?

  Setting his boot against Jake’s now bleeding crotch, Ted leaned his weight forward.

  “Give me your full attention, asshole. You’re going to die. Slow, fast. Doesn’t matter to me.” Though it did, but lying to victims to give them some hope never hurt. “But your wife doesn’t have to. Pretty woman. I can leave her alone. Maybe even the little girl. I just want Delilah, and she’ll come after her kid just like she did today. So you be a good boy and tell me where they are, and I’ll see what I can do about letting your family live. I’m going to find them one way or another.”

  Jake convulsed, his whole body shuddering now, and a growing pool of blood smeared the floor around him. “You’ll never… find.” But his eyes flicked again to the desk and his eyebrows creased with worry that showed through his agony.

  “Is it something on the desk?” Ted looked down at the papers. One was an employment application. Others were delivery orders and random business papers. Not much help there. The computer was on and the monitor displayed a desktop with an oak tree on a hill. “Is it the computer?”

  Jake closed his eyes again but the fear that flashed over his dark face gave him away.

  Ted moved around the desk and leaned over the computer. There were a few windows minimized in the taskbar. One was Google Maps.

  Bingo. Ted clicked it open and found driving directions from Portland out to some place in the coastal range near a town called Neskowin. Probably one of those Indian names, he guessed. The directions didn’t seem to go anywhere, ending where Google said there wasn’t a road or anything.

  “That’s where I’d keep someone, too, all nice and tucked away.” Ted hit print and the printer on top of the filing cabinet queued up the page, printing slowly.

  Ted turned to get the papers, distracted for a moment.

  Jake, with more strength than Ted had given him credit for, lunged for the gun. Ted turned, slamming his fist into Jake’s face as the man half-rose from the floor. Jake’s injured leg, the Achilles tendon severed, wouldn’t hold his weight. Ted forced him back down with another blow, coming around the desk. Then he drove the knife point down into the hollow of Jake’s collar bone.

  Blood spurted and Jake fell away.

  “That was stupid. And you got blood all over me. I hope you feel like you accomplished something.” Ted kicked him. “You did, in fact. I’m going to kill your wife, but not before I teach her how a real man treats women. She’ll understand many things before I finish with her. She’s going to beg for the end. And then maybe I’ll do your little girl. She’s what? Five? Never killed a child before. Esther and I can lose our virginities to each other.”

  “Fuck… you.” Jake pressed his hands to his neck, but the blood sluggishly flowed between his fingers.

  “You shouldn’t have fought me, and you really shouldn’t have fucked my Delilah.” Ted hit the power button on the computer and then unplugged the office phone cord. “You’ll die soon enough. Keep pressure on that wound and draw it out for me, will you?”

  He picked up the gun and walked around Jake to the kitchen. Jake was still shivering and bleeding when he came back a minute later with the worst of the blood wiped off his hands and pants.

  “Good night, Jake. You’ll see your family very soon.”

  Smiling, feeling better and better with each passing moment, Ted left the bar through the back door, Jake’s final words lost behind him.

  Forty-eight

  Sam drove through the quiet neighborhood, amazed that this city seemed to shut down so early. Maybe it was different on weekends. He doubted the bar would still be open and as he approached the place looked dark except for the illuminated sign sticking out from the corner in neon purple. There was a small digital sign that read “Closed” in the window and Sam slowed to read it.

  Good thing, too. He nearly hit a pedestrian jaywalking right in front of him. The guy wore dark clothes and carried a small duffle bag. He froze for a moment in Sam’s headlights as though he’d expected to be seen, or else not even noticed the approaching car.

  For a brief moment, Sam saw him clearly and thought he was going insane. The guy looked just like the man in the photo on the seat beside him. Dead ringer. Sam remembered to breathe and then the moment was gone, the man crossing in front of him and walking toward a parked car.

  That was Theodore Whitechapel. It had to be. Sam had spent too many hours on the plane staring at his face. He wasn’t imagining it. Whitechapel here, at the bar. Had he found Delilah already? Done something to her?

  Torn between going and investigating the bar and following the alleged serial killer, Sam turned left and swung around. He pulled up to the stop sign and watched as Whitechapel pulled away from the curb.

  Sam mentally flipped a quarter but made up his mind before the figment could land heads or tails.

  The bar was closed. This guy was right here, and clearly headed somewhere. Sam had to stay on him, at least until he could notify the police. If Sam was lucky, Whitechapel might lead him right to Delilah.

  He turned out and followed the dark blue sedan, keeping back enough on the nearly empty road to be casual. His phone was still in the cup holder on the center console next to him. Sam fumbled with one hand and picked it up. He had an earpiece for it for hands-free use, but hadn’t taken it with him.

  The screen was dark. Sam glanced down quickly, not wanting to lose sight of the car ahead. Using a phone while driving was dangerous and possibly even illegal in this state, but he figured this was one of those exceptional circumstances.

  The phone turned on, then beeped, and turned right back off. No battery.

&
nbsp; “Fucking kidding me.” He had a car charger thingy. In his now cleaner car, back in Jacksonville. He couldn’t even remember the last time he charged his phone up. Monday maybe? He’d been so busy all day with travel and driving that he hadn’t even thought about it.

  Tossing the useless device into the seat, Sam focused on the sedan ahead of him. He’d just have to follow Whitechapel and then figure out how to notify the authorities from there.

  A comforting and indulgent fantasy of taking the bastard out himself danced around Sam’s mind. Ronnie had sounded so upset, shaken even, about the crime scene at the Whitechapel house. Whatever this bastard had done to the DA’s daughter, it was bad if it could rock a homicide lieutenant with Ronnie’s experience.

  Of course, Whitechapel might be armed and Sam didn’t have so much as a pen knife on him. He sighed. He’d stick with the plan he’d come up with. Tail and then report.

  Unless Whitechapel put someone else’s life in danger. Sam’s mouth set in a grim line. There’d be no more killing, not if he could help it.

  Whitechapel’s car took a quick right and Sam tapped the breaks, then followed, swinging wide into the intersection.

  Forty-nine

  Jake lay in his own blood and listened as the back door closed. The pain was too much for his body and his mind shut it away. Blood seeped through his fingers, slower now as his pulse weakened.

  Esther. He remembered the first time her tiny hand had grabbed his finger, her bright blue newborn eyes staring at her daddy. They got ice cream every Sunday and then he’d carry her to the top of Mt. Tabor and tell her about volcanoes and dinosaurs or whatever her interest was that week.

  Bubblegum ice cream, pink and blue with little flecks of candy in it. She’d open her little mouth and stick a blue tongue out and say, “See-food, daddy.”

  And he’d always left work and gone to the hospital while she got her transfusions. Read to her. She still requested Good Night, Moon most of the time.