by Brian Meeks
“Are you going to tell his wife?”
“I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose I’ll have to tell her something. I’d rather not, though. She’s a nice woman, Catherine, and this will break her already broken heart.”
“I’d want to know,” Luna said and went quiet. It almost sounded accusatory, and she hadn’t meant for the tone to slip out.
“I may just wait. Who knows? I might get killed by my client’s assassins before I can give them the message. Seems like a great reason to procrastinate.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It isn’t, but somehow it seems like it should be.”
Henry looked out of the front window. There were the same cars he expected to see. A woman he’d seen before was with a dog he had not. It must be new. There were bikes leaning against stairs and a jump rope lying on the ground. He didn’t see any sign of killers lurking in the shadows or any shadows for that matter. It was a bright and sunny day. All appeared right in the world.
“How’s your head feeling?”
“I think I need some water.”
Luna saw an opportunity to be helpful and jumped at the chance. Henry didn’t like being waited on, but he knew she needed to take care of him, so he let her. He wondered if he should have been less open about the whole Enclave business, to keep her from worrying. He knew the answer was no. She was too clever not to figure it out on her own. At least she could talk about the pending doom. It seemed like a small consolation.
Henry drank the water and continued to look out the window. Luna brought him some aspirin, which he took without argument. He was still exhausted.
When the neighborhood lost its appeal, Henry sat on the couch and Luna plopped down next to him. They talked a little, but eventually he drifted off again.
“Henry, wake up.”
The groan didn’t affirm compliance with the request.
Luna felt bad about waking him, but the call was important. “Henry, it’s the captain. There has been another murder.”
Henry was still groggy, and he threw an arm over his eyes to block out the late afternoon light. He asked with a rough voice, “Does he think it’s the tile guy?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. You need to take the call.”
He shuffled to the phone in the hall and picked up the receiver. “Henry here.”
“It seems that our serial killer doesn’t like you being hidden away.”
“How do you know it was our guy?”
“He left a note and a tile.”
“I’m on my way.”
Henry hung up the phone and asked, “Where’s Mike?”
“He’s at work.”
“Have you checked the closet today?”
“I wasn’t sure if you...”
“Luna, it’s okay. Could you go see if there is anything that might help us? I’m hopping in the shower.”
CHAPTER 73
His lust for ruining Henry’s life had little bearing on how he felt about killing an innocent person. It was a necessary part of the process. He washed his hands in the sink, the fading evening light creeping through the bathroom door. It was the third time he’d washed them since arriving home.
It had gone just as he imagined. He chose the Daily News Building at 220 East 42nd Street. He walked around the entire block once and, upon passing the main entry a second time, spotted the victim.
The man wore a wool suit, seemed to be in his late 60’s, carried an expensive briefcase, and walked in a way that offended the major’s senses. More importantly, the man walked alone among the denizens of New York City.
The distance between them closed rapidly. The major put a stiff shoulder into the wool suit and apologized but not for the collision. One, barely audible pop, and the man collapsed into his arms. In a single motion, the major rolled him to the ground and slid the envelope and gun inside his suit coat and stood and walked away. He heard the screams begin, but he was already across the street and entering a cab by then.
The cabbie took him to a restaurant where the major waited a few moments before walking two blocks to a second cab stand and taking another cab home.
Brenda, his little waitress/cleaning girl friend was waiting to report. He had tired of her after the first night, but, in his present mood, he wasn’t going to turn her out. He knew she didn’t understand the sort of game they were playing and was smart enough to not ask. The major was good at spotting that trait in people. He had a sense for who was clever enough to get involved but not so curious as to be nosy.
Brenda still had her uniform on. It was tight fitting and she thought her boss might like to help her take it off. He looked at his hands and tried to think of some small talk. “You did a good job today.”
“But I didn’t see Henry all day.”
“Sometimes inaction is the hardest job to perform.”
She smiled at the compliment and stretched. “You hungry?”
He wasn’t, but he guessed from the look in her eye that she didn’t mean food. Brenda eased herself off the bed, spun around, and made a weak attempt to reach the zipper. It would be a welcome diversion.
* * *
The crime scene still had people milling about. The press had left. All that remained was some human shaped chalk, painted red. It wasn’t dark yet, but there were enough long shadows that Henry wondered if his assassins might be among them. He saw Mike coming out of the building and waited.
“Henry, glad you made it.”
“What happened?”
“One shot in the chest from close range.”
“Close range? And nobody did anything?”
“A few people say they saw the man collapse into the arms of a guy, but nobody can remember what he looked like.”
“You think it’s related to the others?”
Mike motioned for Henry to follow. They went into the Daily News Building, passed a woman crying onto the shoulder of another, and entered a small conference room. The table was dark mahogany and well polished. There were six chairs. Four were pushed under the table. The other two were occupied by the captain and a man Henry didn’t know.
The captain said, “This is Jeff Whitman. He’s the senior managing editor for the Daily News.”
Henry pulled out a chair and said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Jeff Whitman was tall with dark hair and a strong jaw. He was wearing a dark suit. Henry judged him to be in his mid-fifties. His face was ashen, and his hand trembled slightly when he shook Henry’s. Henry looked into his eyes. They looked back, wanting answers. “Did you know...” Henry trailed off.
Jeff started to speak, paused, then said, “He was a senior copy editor. We’d worked together for the last 28 years. He hired me,” he said. His voice trembled, “I was in the meeting planning his retirement party. Next week was his last.” His jaw quivered.
The room was silent for a while. Jeff brought his anguish under control, shook the captain’s hand, and said, “I’ve got to go work on tomorrow’s edition.”
The captain asked, “You’ll leave out the bit about the tile?”
“I will, but the murder is going to be front page, and we’re mentioning the other two murders as well.”
The captain maintained an even voice, but it was strained as he said, “If you do that and people start saying ‘serial killer,’ we’ll have a full-fledged panic on our hands.”
“You can stop the panic by catching the bastard or, better yet, shooting him on sight.” He slammed the door as he left.
CHAPTER 74
Associate 2 groaned a little.
A woman wearing nothing but a slip rolled over and threw her arm across her chest “Hey, tiger, you were something.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Where’s the little girl’s room?”
He pointed. “It’s down the hall, second door on the right.”
She giggled. “Thanks, lover.”
2 watched her slink out of bed and down the hall. His reflexes checked for any guns, knives, or clubs underneath h
er pillow. He only found her panties. The clock looked like it might be 6:30, or maybe one of the hands had gone missing, he wasn’t sure, nothing seemed to be in focus. A blurry shape appeared at the door.
3 whispered, “Do you remember how we got home last night?”
“No, do you know the name of the woman I woke up with?”
“I’ve got a nameless blonde snoring like a lumberjack in my bed.”
2 was quiet for a moment, then laughed. He could hear her.
3 said, “Well, nobody killed us last night.”
“Speak for yourself.”
The toilet flushing made them stop talking. The woman in the slip padded back down the hallway towards them. “There’s the gorgeous man. How’s it going, Matthew, baby?”
3 didn’t react to the name since it wasn’t his. He realized he must have made it up. “I’m a little rough. You gals sure know how to have a good time.”
“You think so?” she said, flattered.
“It was quite a night, not one I’ll soon forget...as soon as I remember it.”
She laughed and snorted, “Don’t say Delores and Dorothy don’t know how to show a man a good time, especially when he is buying the good stuff. We ain’t been out with a couple of big spenders since we had that flight into Cleveland and met up with the guys from the convention.”
The door to 3’s bedroom opened up, and a woman walked out holding a bed sheet to her chest with one hand and a cigarette with the other. “What’s a gal have to do to get some breakfast around this joint?”
The woman in the slip, either Delores or Dorothy, they weren’t sure, said, “You got anything in the ice box? I make the best breakfast this side of the Mississippi.”
2 waved his hand, “Sure, help yourselves.”
The two women disappeared down the hall.
2 said, “I don’t know about you, but we gotta run the broads off, or I’ll call our location in to the Enclave myself.”
3 nodded. “But after breakfast, right?”
2 shrugged. “Right.”
* * *
The Lieutenant found it easy to slip in and out of crazed interludes. The last few days, sitting alone in his cell, enveloped in quiet, he had found a measure of peace. His typical restless sleep with night sweats and battles raging in his dreams had been nowhere to be seen.
He awoke slowly this morning and just lay there remembering the dream. He could see the tree line around the lake and hear the birds. The water surface was calm and was only barely disturbed by the bobber at the end of his fishing line. The morning mist hung around for a bit and burned off as the sun crept over the tops of the pines. A girl in a gingham dress waved to him from the shore. She said that breakfast would be ready shortly and that the fish would still be there when he was done. He rowed to shore and realized the girl was Kim, the girl he had dated in high school. Her auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail. She smiled as she put a plate of eggs in front of him. They talked for a long time. Eventually, he realized he was dreaming. He asked her about it. She said it probably was a dream, but she missed him, so it was nice anyway.
He had been so focused on remembering the dream that he hadn’t noticed the orderly bringing in his breakfast. Just before he closed the door, the lieutenant said, “Hey, one second.”
The orderly stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”
“I think I might have hurt someone the other day. Is she okay?”
“She was rattled, but that is all.”
“I’m sorry. Please tell her. Oh, and thanks for the food.”
“I’ll tell her, and you’re welcome, but...it isn’t very good.”
“It smells like eggs.”
“It is. Scrambled.”
The lieutenant pulled off the cover and saw the eggs, some toast, a carton of milk, and an apple. It was exactly what Kim had set out for him in the dream. He broke down a little and a tear rolled down his face. “It’s perfect.”
The orderly didn’t say anything else but closed the door. He watched through the window for a little while. The lieutenant hadn’t been given any silverware, so he shoveled the eggs onto the toast and ate.
Just as he finished another face appeared at the window, one he didn’t know. The lieutenant, more out of reflex than anything, popped to his feet and stood at attention. The bespectacled man was wearing a white coat and entered the room with a leather-bound journal. “Hello. How are we feeling today?” he asked.
“Sir, much better, sir.”
The orderly stood in the hall. When the door closed, he watched through the window.
“At ease, soldier.”
“Thank you.” The lieutenant sat on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped.
“Do you know where you are, son?”
“I don’t know the name of the place, but it’s some sort of hospital.”
“That’s correct. Do you know your name?”
“Yes, it is First Lieutenant,” he said and paused. “No, that’s not true, not anymore. I used to be in the army and was a First Lieutenant, but that was a while ago. Now, I’m just Randolph.”
“Randolph, I’m Dr. Joel Silverstein.”
“Are you a psychiatrist?”
“Yes, Randolph, I am.”
“Are you my doctor?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Should I call you doctor or Joel or Mr. Silverstein?”
“Whatever you want, Randolph.”
“I’m not usually this clear headed. Sometimes I may be hard to talk to. I’m worried that...”
The doctor remained quiet and let him gather his thoughts.
“It’s just...I didn’t want to hurt anybody or maybe I did, but not the nurse. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“I told the man at the window to tell her I’m sorry. I hope he does.”
“I’ll make sure she knows.”
“Sometimes, I think I’m not here.”
“Where do you think you are?”
“Back in the dirt.”
“In the war?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask a favor?”
“I can’t make any promises, but go ahead.”
“When the demons start up in my head, I usually feel it coming on. It’s like the moments before a sneeze. I can’t stop it. I’m not sure what I might do when they’re shouting in my head. I’m tired of hurting people.”
“That’s good, Randolph. I’m glad to hear it. What was the favor?”
“If I tell you that the demons are coming, get help or get out and lock the door.”
The doctor wrote some notes in his journal and looked up. “Randolph, I appreciate your concern. That’s a very good sign. I’m going to leave you now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk again this afternoon. Would that be okay?”
“I’d like that.”
The doctor stopped before leaving and asked, “How was the breakfast?”
“It was good, thanks.”
The doctor left, and the orderly came in and gathered the tray.
CHAPTER 75
Henry looked out of the window and checked sight lines. Was someone waiting, biding their time until he returned? He didn’t see anything but closed the blinds anyway. If they were going to get him, it would have to be face-to-face.
Luna entered his office with a pitcher of water. She said, “I’ve watered the plants. Coffee is on its way.”
“Thanks, I’m sure they needed it.”
“So what do we do next?”
“We wait.”
“To be killed or for the next letter from our impatient serial killer?”
“That’s the beauty of being between a rock and a nutcase - one never knows. It could go either way.”
“Maybe I should have a gun?”
“Maybe I should do most of the baking from here on out?”
Luna stuck out her tongue and set the pitcher down. “I don’t have to tell you I’m frightened. I’m sure you can tell, but I want you to know I’m confiden
t we can win this game.”
“You just sounded a little like Lauren Bacall there. Must have been table 30?”
Luna batted her eyes. “You sound nothing like Humphrey Bogart.”
“But I’ve got the same rugged good looks?”
“Oh, the coffee is coming along nicely.”
Henry liked the banter. He walked to the outer office, saying, “I think we’ll leave the front door open today. It will let us see them coming.” Henry wedged an envelope under the door to prop it open. He looked down the hall, expecting to see Bobby’s door pop open and the little, round man come scampering down the hall. Where did they go? he asked himself.
“What are you looking at?”
“Just thinking.”
“So, you want me to be your secretary today?”
“Sure. I’m used to taking orders from Celine, so if you think you can muster bossing me around some, keeping the coffee fresh, and looking at me disapprovingly as I read the sports page, then I think you’ll do fine.”
“I think I’ll move the desk a little to the left to get out of the line of fire.”
“Not a terrible idea. Where is Mike anyway?”
“Remember? He said he was going to bring over a copy of the letter found at the crime scene yesterday.”
“Oh, yes, the one where I’m scolded for not playing his game the way he wants.” Henry realized how cavalier his words sounded and that a man had had to die to make the point. “I’m sorry. That was crass. We need to stop this guy.”
“What if the assassins get you first?”
Henry sort of chuckled. “You know, that would serve the SOB sending us Scrabble tiles right. I somehow think that the ‘forfeit’ would really piss him off. Much as I’d like that, I think I’m going to pass on the death thing for now.”
“Good choice, boss.”
“I don’t let Celine call me that,” Henry said and then let his shoulders fall and added, “but, of course, she doesn’t listen to me, either. Is the coffee ready?”