***
Clouds released a light shower as I opened the door and jumped in my car. The rain pinged the hood of my car, muffling all other noise. Images of the jail flashed through my mind, and I realized my eyes had squeezed together, a surge of tension gripping my neck. I replayed my friend’s comments, even his slight movements, and I couldn’t understand it all. None of it made sense. There was a story there, buried inside, and only he knew what had transpired. He seemed troubled, tormented even—the exact cause I couldn’t discern. But seeing Reinaldo’s every movement dictated like he was subhuman, was most disturbing. It showed me how fragile life as we know it can be.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Carol enjoyed her profession, mostly. As a contractor, she worked when she wanted, where, and for whom. She and Tony had worked together previously, completing all projects on time, on budget, and with the desired results, drawing praise and extra cash incentives. In the last week, she’d negotiated the terms and conditions for her latest hands-on project.
“I’m putting on my glitter lipstick as we speak,” Carol said into her cell phone. “I’d rather manage this one alone, if you don’t mind. I’ll call you when it’s over to let you know when the evidence is in hand.”
“Okay. We’ll work it that way, I guess.”
She knew Tony had the option of changing his mind at any time.
Carol felt confident about their plan and completed one last check of the recording devices she and Tony had hidden in her two-star motel room. All five cameras would be activated by motion sensor once she reentered the room. She could tell Tony was proud of his handiwork.
Carol and Tony had done their homework on both of the targeted zoning commission members. Up first was Tom Newhouse, a vice president at a financial planning company. As deacon at the Southern Baptist church, he advocated all members to follow the church’s set of moral values. He was a trusted man in the community and enjoyed the power and recognition associated with being the chairman of the zoning commission. Carol’s experience had shown his type to be the most hypocritical, and the kinkiest.
She knew Tom met a couple of buddies at the pub every Monday night to have a taste of their favorite beers. Since wives were never in attendance, Tom ogled the busty waitresses and anyone else who had boobs and could walk.
In their first “spontaneous” encounter at the pub, Carol had sat alone at her table working on her laptop, sipping a vodka martini. In a role she had used before, Carol was new in town and had recently been promoted to sales manager for a regional apparel company. She wore a blue silk blouse with the top three buttons unfastened, showing just enough of her milky white breasts to invite a second look. Her hair was dark copper red, styled for a professional appearance, but could look sexy if she removed her fashionable hair clip.
Carol walked to the bar to order her second drink, leaning on her bosom, which instantly drew more eyes. She turned and accidentally knocked over Tom’s beer. She insisted on buying him a drink of his choosing. In minutes, she had him sitting at her table, telling her all sorts of details about his professional conquests. An infatuation was born.
At their next chance interaction at the coffee shop, Carol asked Tom for directions, which allowed Tom to display his knowledge of the area. As he handed her a map he’d drawn on a piece of paper, she gave him a napkin with her cell phone number written on it.
“Thank you immensely.” Carol squeezed his scrawny shoulder. “I hope we have a chance to run into each other again. I have so much to learn about how to get things done in this business climate.”
“No problem, Carol.” Tom looked down at the napkin and put it in his pocket. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.”
Carol wished she had the time and resources to create a profiling database, including all the characteristics of her targets. The more experiences she had, the more she could predict behavior from certain types. Tom, she estimated, would call or most likely text her within two days of their last interaction.
Almost on cue, Tom sent a simple text two days later.
Hope 2 c u at the pub 2mrw nite
This wasn’t his typical night at the pub, Carol knew, which meant he’d fabricated some excuse to his wife of fifteen years. Carol arrived first and asked for a quiet table near the back. She positioned herself so the first thing he would see was her legs—long, slender, toned.
When he arrived at the table, she got up and gave him a warm embrace. She didn’t want to move too quickly but wanted Tom to feel like she was smitten by him.
She asked if he wanted the same drink as last time. He accepted, and they were off and running, or rather, talking.
“I’m wondering if you would provide some coaching for me. I have this one sales person, and he thinks he can sell ice to Eskimos. But he hasn’t produced. On top of that, he thinks he should have had my job. I don’t know whether to fire him or give him encouragement.”
Tom cleared his throat. “I think he needs to know where things stand. Be honest with him and let him know what you think of his performance. Then give him his quarterly sales targets and tell him if he doesn’t meet the minimum target by the end of the second quarter, you’ll need to replace him.”
Carol reached out and touched Tom’s hand. “Thank you for the advice. I wouldn’t know where to turn if you hadn’t stepped into my life.”
Tom paused, then swallowed another mouthful of his second martini. He pardoned himself to use the restroom. She knew he was feeling tipsy. Looking around the bar, the few customers were in their own worlds. She opened a capsule and poured white powder into his drink. It dissolved instantly. Tom wouldn’t taste anything strange, and the effect would be gradual. She had fifteen minutes to guide him up to her room.
It took only nine. He tripped over his own feet and staggered to the bed in her motel room. Automatically, the color video cameras started recording and the still cameras began taking a shot every ten seconds. She knew the exact spot on the bed that would provide the most graphic shots.
He pawed at her like a hormonal teenager. She guided him to ensure the cameras picked up every sleazy act.
Carol finished the job, and so did he, so to speak. She left Tom in the alley behind the pub, minus his underwear, knowing he’d have to provide an explanation to his wife.
She also knew he would soon receive an email with his two options.
She dialed her cell phone. “Phase one of the first project is complete. It was a rousing success.” Carol giggled at her own pun. “The images are ready for pickup.”
***
Tony yawned at the playback. He’d already seen the entire performance, since he’d positioned himself in the motel room closet and observed the escapade through the slotted door, sneaking away when Carol left to dump Tom in the alley.
The fact that Tony enjoyed watching was something he kept to himself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I pulled into our driveway and walked through the door as the clock chimed ten. Marisa stood in front of her bathroom vanity brushing her teeth. The lighting outlined the curve of her breasts under her transparent nightgown. Normally, such an image would take me out of the worst humor, leading us to an intimate moment. Tonight, as soon as she looked into my eyes, she put down her toothbrush, gave me a tight hug, and rubbed the back of my neck.
I leaned against the counter and described the scene and conversation at the police department.
“Reinaldo didn’t have much to say. When I mentioned Karina’s name, though, he became more engaged.” I untied my shoes and tossed them in the closet. “I asked Reinaldo if there was anything he needed from me, anything else he wanted to say. He paused, like he was thinking about what he wanted to tell me…or should tell me.”
“Did he say anything insightful?”
“He said he was no saint, but he had never wanted to hurt anyone.” I turned on warm water and began washing my hands and face.
“Do you think he was talking about Tiffany?”
“Hard to know who he was thinking about…Karina, the kids, Tiffany. He started gushing tears. It was hard to watch. He said he deserved whatever was given to him.”
We paused, absorbing what I’d just said.
“That last comment sounds like something a guilty man would say,” Marisa said, raising an eyebrow.
I buried my face in a hand towel, then looked at Marisa through the reflection of our mirror. “Or something a man would say who felt guilt. You can feel guilty about a lot of things you do in life, but it doesn’t have to be tied to murdering an innocent person.”
Marisa nodded.
“There I go again,” I said.
“What?”
“I’ve been describing Tiffany as this innocent victim. Whatever she did would never justify cold-blooded murder, but who says she was pure and innocent? I just can’t see Reinaldo killing someone for no reason—if he actually killed her.”
“Innocence in this situation might be hard to define.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, with Reinaldo playing his best impression of a mime right now, I’m curious if Tiffany’s actions are being investigated. It might lead to something.” I wondered if the police had looked at suspects beyond Reinaldo.
I pulled off my shirt and asked Marisa how Karina was holding up when she left her.
“It seems like she has so much on her mind, it’s difficult to get her to focus. She’s living moment to moment right now.” Marisa used her finger to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “She brought up work momentarily. Apparently, we’re the only ones expressing our opinion on the coverage of the murder.”
People become so complacent when it doesn’t affect them directly. They brushed off murder like it was a traffic ticket.
“I asked her if she thought about taking a leave of absence. She said she had worked so hard to get her job, she didn’t want to show she was weak,” Marisa said.
“Frankly, I’m surprised her publisher hasn’t jumped in,” I said. “He could take the pressure off Karina by pulling her off this story.”
“Good idea. How would you go about suggesting that?”
“I could write a letter as a concerned friend and hope it doesn’t get thrown in file thirteen. Or I could search out Mr. Publisher and try the direct approach.”
Marisa leaned against my bare chest and kissed my cheek. “I think we both know which approach you’re more comfortable with.” She gave me a playful smile. “I love the way your mind works. It turns me on.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Staring across the moonlit lawn through a broad array of beveled bay windows in the breakfast nook, Harrison grazed on one of those holiday mixes, deep in thought as his hand shoveled in the late-night snack. His body clock had been off ever since his family had hosted the J&W holiday party.
Christmas was only days away, but he was in a foul disposition. He knew he lived a privileged life, his mid-management position at J&W basically given to him. But he’d learned a great deal from his colleagues, especially from Paula.
He’d heard the rampant rumors at work—he would eventually inherit the general manager position, pushing Paula to the street. Most would be surprised to know a Taylor-made master plan didn’t exist, at least not one to which he was privy. The elder Taylor generation didn’t include him in on any long-term strategies, including the shocking sale of the company.
Now, he wondered how much trust existed amongst the family members. He couldn’t stop replaying the partial conversation he’d overheard from Aunt Victoria the night of the party:
“I’ll have more work on my end dealing with my naïve brothers. But don’t forget I conceived this idea. I brought all of us together. I’m fully capable of fulfilling my role.”
Calling his dad and uncle, her brothers, naïve hit a nerve, especially the way she said it. Like most sons, Harrison had typical generation-gap issues with his dad but once he graduated from college, that had faded. William wasn’t overly compassionate or loving, but he wasn’t an abusive father either.. As for Uncle Jeffrey, he always had time to wrestle on the floor or play make-believe when Harrison was young. But Uncle Jeffrey became more distant and less connected to the family over time.
Everyone in the family knew the story of Aunt Victoria. After her husband, his Uncle Teddy, died on the golf course, she moved back into the mansion and took charge of the estate operations. From what Harrison could tell, it kept her busy and out of her brothers’ business—or so he thought, until the night of the party.
He wondered what compelled Aunt Victoria to call her brothers naïve, and he couldn’t imagine what idea she’d conceived.
The main lights flicked on. “Harrison, good Lord, son, what are you doing up so late?” Victoria glided into the kitchen, her face shining from the application of her regular pre-sleep facial.
Harrison’s heart skipped a beat, worried Victoria could read the perplexing thoughts racing through his mind. “Just having a late snack.”
In seconds, Harrison caught a waft of his aunt’s familiar, pungent perfume.
She poured a small glass of guava juice, then left the kitchen without further conversation.
***
Victoria ambled up the stairs, and her right knee clicked every third step, reminding her that she was north of sixty years of age. It had been another full day, and her cluttered mind was ready for its nightly respite. Victoria prided herself for working tirelessly on any project that drew her attention, whether it was a fundraiser for Help for the Homeless or designing this new initiative that would maintain her family’s prosperity for generations. She hoped the family would never unearth all the details, especially the more sordid ones, but if they did, she was certain they’d understand. Her brothers surely didn’t have the balls to pull this off. If she didn’t step up and take control of the family’s destiny, their wealth would dry up and their influence would fade like a stained door after years of neglect and battering from Texas thunderstorms.
Her phone vibrated as she entered her bedroom suite.
“We’ve completed the first phase with our initial zoning commission target,” Chuck Hagard said without introduction.
Victoria sat on her midnight-blue chaise lounge, crossed her legs, then placed her glass of guava juice on the marble bedside table. “Thank you for the timely update. I left our team meeting without hearing the names of our favorite zoning commission members.”
She heard a deep breath on the other end of the line.
“I know you understand the privacy we need to maintain with this operation,” Chuck said. “But, because of the success we had with the initial phase, I’ll let you know our first target was Tom Newhouse. I believe Tom is doing some soul searching about now.”
Ah, Mr. Newhouse. Victoria knew his reputation quite well—the good, Southern Baptist family man who spoke about the need for public officials to demonstrate strong moral values. As the chairman of the zoning commission, Tom displayed all the qualities to be the perfect target for their operation.
It was apparent the players in this game were not wide-eyed rookies, and that brought a smile to Victoria’s face.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tony employed a variety of methods to succeed in his job. He’d become proficient in the latest technology, and against every natural urge in his body, he’d learned to be politically correct in public settings. But when all other measures failed, he utilized his physical stature to intimidate and to force his will on those who wouldn’t follow instructions.
Over the last several years, Tony had witnessed American society, and its values, turn upside down. Minorities and their special interest groups had poked holes in every constitutional amendment, and their rising power ate away at the fabric of the country.
Initially, Bill Clinton introduced the ridiculous policy of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell to protect the gays in the military. As a proud member of the Marines, Tony couldn’t imagine fighting the towel heads in the Gulf War with some faggot next
to him. He’d insisted all of the men in his outfit prove they were honorable, heterosexual Marines.
In January, 2009 Tony had watched with disbelief as a Negro raised his right hand and swore to lead the land of the brave and the home of the free. He had nothing against the average black man, but couldn’t believe how anyone in this country or any of our allies could respect a black president. Watching him and his family prance around the White House like a normal, white, Christian family made Tony sick to his stomach. He had heard the chatter from some of his old retired military buddies. Given the president’s name, he was a mole put in that position by an unknown terrorist group, which, over time, would work to dismantle any security our country still maintained.
What’s next? he wondered. Taking guns out of our hands so we can’t keep the damn spics and non-Americans out of our country? Maintaining our security by owning and using any type of gun we desired is our God-given right! Fuckin’ commies.
He refocused his attention on the glowing computer screen to review the next target’s material.
Experience over the years proved that research and preparation were essential keys to a successful operation. Tony had hacked into his second target’s home computer and installed a spyware application. It provided ample ammunition.
Raymond, known by all who knew him as a proud black man, was very much into the online porn scene. The two-term zoning commission member spent hours on the porn sites during the week in which Tony monitored his web habits. Raymond even had his own online chat-room moniker, BBS, which apparently stood for Big Black Stud.
On his most recent “business” trip monitored closely by an old military friend of Tony’s, Raymond visited a strip club—not just any strip club, but one of the seedy clubs in south Atlanta. He became exceedingly friendly with every dancer and waitress who would let him touch their merchandise, tossing around one hundred-dollar bills like he’d just won the daily double at the horse track. But Raymond couldn’t control his libido, and he had been thrown out of the club for jumping on the main stage and stripping alongside the headline performer.
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