A Dance with Murder (Kindle Books Mystery and Suspense Crime Thrillers Series Book 2)

by Tad S. Torm

  They had come with high hopes. Dressed to kill. But the rain wouldn’t let up and the bar was now almost empty.

  Was there any reason left to hope?

  Chapter 3: Attack

  Caro dreamt of swimming.

  Her body, made of alabaster and other sundry delicious bits, was gently undulating under the surface of the clear blue water. The drops of mist rising to the top with each stroke were transformed by the rays of the sun into shiny diamonds.

  Through schools of tiny, translucent fish, she gazed at the underwater shore covered by tiny white pebbles and dainty shells resembling antique miniatures.

  A glaring light hit her eyes in the next instant. She thought the moderating influence of the water would soften the blow.

  This light was followed by a shrill, exploding sound, akin to a cosmic deflagration.

  Then, in a rather unusual occurrence in an underwater realm, she heard voices.

  First a woman’s voice said, “May I come out?”

  Then a man’s voice replied, “The coast is clear.”

  Caro jumped up; she was suddenly awake.

  She had gone back to the third-floor stair landing thinking that the service door window gave her a good view to the corridor and she had dozed off.

  When she opened her eyes, the door to lucky number 3#13 was ajar, and the young couple, which had occupied it, was walking out.

  The man, padding one step ahead, turned toward Caro. He missed her by only a fraction of a second.

  The man was dressed casually, he wore jeans and a navy blue blazer with shiny brass buttons. The woman, a tall, lanky blonde accelerating full speed towards her late thirties, an inaccessible shore never to be reached, had thrown a mink stole over her green deep neckline dress. She was wearing her straight blond hair tumbled back.

  The blonde radiated an air of prosperity and high maintenance cost.

  The couple did not long linger in the hallway. Once out the door, they turned left and hurried toward the elevator.

  Caro realized she had missed them again.

  But she did not despair.

  Both her fortune teller and her psychologist agreed that every good thing deserves to be tried in series of three.

  She rushed down the flight of stairs, taking three steps at a time.

  She reached the first floor and ran toward the elevator. The doors were open and the corridor was empty.

  To fail again was utterly unthinkable.

  She tried to reason out her predicament.

  Once they had reached the first floor, the couple was presented with several avenues of escape.

  They had the option to continue straight ahead through the lobby and out into the parking lot. Or they could have turned right and headed toward the restaurant, which was now closed.

  But the bar stayed open until four o’clock in the morning.

  There were two more options, which Caro dismissed offhand: the bathrooms to the left of the elevator, and the emergency exit leading to the rear of the building.

  However, opening the emergency doors would set off the alarm, or Caro had not heard any alarm sounds.

  --

  The ancient jukebox played its tired melody. The four musketeers were ready to call it quits.

  Joey placed the back of his hand over his mouth to hide a discreet yawn. What a sad waste of time! It had taken him four hours to finally, realize he didn’t feel any connection with his former childhood friends. They were pathetic.

  Too late. He could think of a million better things to do.

  Another yawn, too quick, this time, to cover with the palm of his hand.

  The rain had chased away almost all the customers.

  He peeked around the bar with dull eyes; without any hope, whatsoever.

  Time to go, he thought, as his eyes wandered toward the exit area, just as the door started to slowly open.

  From the corner of the eye, he caught a glimpse of a mysterious apparition in the doorway, so bright and alluring that it harkened back to the half-forgotten stories of his childhood.

  This was a dream come true.

  With a seamless move, he jumped up from his chair and, in his hurry, almost pulled the table cover laden with beer mugs, saucers, and ashtrays down onto the ground.

  BOOM! And KABOOM!

  His mind about to explode.

  His life was empty no longer.

  The biblical floodgates broke.

  The megalithic explosion burst.

  The cosmos shook.

  In a painfully sweet overpowering flash of lightning, pushing beyond the limits of endurance, with no chance of return, no possibility of denial, redemption or absolution, without any choice really, his life was forever changed.

  As soon as he’d glimpsed at the divine apparition draped in a red cloak, Joey found himself in the grips of an intense flash of searing love.

  Not to pursue this adventure was a logical impossibility.

  Going back to the status quo had become intolerable.

  He was facing this adorable creature with blond tresses, white marble forehead, with a face unwrinkled by time, a small nose deliciously upturned and a sweet mouth with full pouty lips, promising unworldly pleasures.

  But what made the gift seem fabulous beyond any reasonable expectation was that everything in Caro’s persona, starting with the hooded red cloak, and why not add to it the small dainty boots and the fine handbag of the same color, reminded Joey of the fairy tale characters in the children bed stories his mommy was reading to him when he was a little man of six, tall as a matchbox and thin as a super long cigarette.

  But alas, no sooner had this icon of his childhood returned from some long forgotten Valhalla that she was already getting ready to depart.

  Joey did not hesitate for even one second.

  He jumped up off his chair and reached the door in three leaps worthy of a medium sized spotted leopard.

  As soon as he passed the doors of the restaurant and reached the deserted corridor, he slipped his right hand into the deep pocket of his grey overcoat and made sure that the taser secretly borrowed from his father was fully charged.

  His eyes followed the solitary shadow moving briskly towards the lobby. There was no time to lose. He started to run as if his life depended on it.

  Caro heard the muffled steps on the thick carpeted floor and turned at the very instant when Joey who had opened his coat and grabbed the taser, pointed and discharged it in her direction. Two sharp barbs hooked into her cloak and she received a charge of 60,000 volts directly into her solar plexus.

  The shock was overwhelming. She dropped down barely conscious.

  Luckily, Joey, always the perfect gentleman, caught her by the waist at the last moment, propped her up and led her gallantly and with loving care toward the exit.

  “My wife, she had a little too much to drink,” Joey confessed to the concierge. “She’s not used to alcohol.”

  “Does she need any help, sir?” the concierge asked warily. The last thing the hotel needed was a suit for monetary damages.

  “It’s alright, I’ll manage. Don’t worry! My car is parked nearby. I can handle it.”

  He shocked her two more times for the good order, an extra dose of caution and the heck of it. Then he threw her on the back bench of the van, pulled her arms down her back, joined them at the wrists, and didn’t forget to decorate them with a pair of shiny, brand new regulation handcuffs.

  “You’ll forgive me if I’m leaving you alone for one second,” he reassured her soothingly. “I will be back in a jiffy, dear little girl, too-too-loo!”

  --

  It was raining hard.

  Mark had brought the black Volvo into the main parking lot, with a direct view to both the hotel and restaurant exits.

  He stayed in the car. Mark was used to waiting. His main purpose now was to observe, not to be seen.

  Tonight, for no apparent reason, he was feeling restless.

  Despite his total trust in Caro and
her book of rules, he always felt guilty after letting her go alone on a dangerous mission. He had to agree that things usually worked out all right.

  But tonight, for no apparent reason, it felt different.

  Mark was not one to believe in premonitions.

  Except tonight.

  So he kept repeating in his mind all the possible reasons why he should keep calm and quiet.

  Except he couldn’t.

  She is right.

  Mostly because she could never be wrong.

  Mark pondered in his mind all the logical reasons that had compelled Caro to go at it alone.

  It made a lot of sense, after all, to let a single girl go alone on a dangerous mission at night.

  He couldn’t really straighten this up in his head.

  But he gave it a try.

  To be seen together at the scene of the crime would not be a good idea, Mark totally agreed with the thought.

  They had not come here to advertise their work after all. Theirs was a stealthy profession.

  He could just see the story spread on the first page of the local newspaper.

  The caption: Mysterious young couple seen at the scene of the crime around time of the murder.

  It came with a color photograph attached.

  Just think of the consequences.

  And from there it would surely move onto the on-line edition of the paper, where it will be viewed by millions of people. Nowadays you couldn’t take any chances.

  Then, of course, you have to take into account the rules of the game, the critical aspects of safely getting in and getting out, and most importantly of all, the essential time spent in between.

  When she’s right, she’s right.

  Furthermore, another one of Caro’s theories was the rule of proportionality. To state it simply: that you don’t need to use more force than proportionally necessary.

  Obviously right again.

  Now, the idea of the red cloak was different, so he had to give her some extra credit for it.

  When you stop to think about it, the idea of the red cloak: here you were not talking about intelligence, a mix of inventiveness and analytical method. This was purely and simply genius. Any hypothetical witnesses would testify that what they had seen at the scene of the crime was none other than Red Riding Hood.

  Not Caro. Are you kidding me?

  Of course, it made perfect sense. Of course, she was right as she always was.

  But all these justifications seemed to be getting flimsier by the minute. Over forty-five minutes had passed since she had left him, and there was still no sign of Caro.

  Mark was starting to panic.

  Any minute now. She’ll show up any minute now.

  If there was one thing he truly disliked in a life that he otherwise found completely satisfying, it was these excruciating moments when Caro was facing danger all by herself.

  He did not really understand why Caro should expose herself to these risks when he was more than capable, more than willing to perform the most dangerous jobs.

  He understood the reasoning behind the system. Witnesses who would see Caro alone, dressed in a bizarre outfit, were unlikely to recognize her when dressed normally in Mark’s company. And, in the case of an emergency, Mark could provide for a fast escape.

  On the other hand, even mighty Caro might not be right all the time.

  Maybe in the thick of the action, taking into account all the unknown factors, all the variables that cannot be computed. In sum, all the hidden complexity that exists in the most elementary of circumstances, then and there, in that moment of clarity, in the eye of the storm, two pairs of hands, two brains surely, surely are better than one.

  But in this case, Caro had considered that the mission posed little risk. No argument could sway her, and no entreaty made her budge. She had been adamant: the original plan will not be changed. Mark was not to accompany her.

  Caro was the leader of the team, there was no doubt about that. Mark was two years younger. When they had met in the orphanage, such a long time ago, two years had seemed an eternity. And although fully aware of his personal worth, he recognized, nay, he admired the leadership of the lanky, blond girl.

  This did not mean that he could not show initiative.

  He checked again the time: the hour hand was slowly sliding toward midnight.

  It had become evident that something must have happened.

  So Mark did what he’d rarely done before.

  He disobeyed Caro.

  Mark left the keys under the back seat, in a place known to both of them before leaving the car and started retracing Caro’s steps.

  He entered the hotel through the service door. Room No. 3#13 was now empty. The people who had occupied it only one hour before were nowhere to be seen. The two had disappeared without a trace. This was not promising.

  He extended his search to the lobby, the bathrooms, the bar, but did not uncover any trace of Caro. He went back to the car, hoping that she had returned and was waiting for him. Then he moved the car closer to the entrance, to gain a better view of the hotel lobby.

  Crazy ideas were mulling through his head.

  Did Caro fall into a trap?

  He wondered whether the contract had been poisoned.

  But in that case, people would surely have come after him as well. They would have come after him first.

  You don’t want to leave Mark alone in the world without Caro. His attention span might be short, but his fuse was shorter still. No sane organization would willingly set off their own Apocalypse.

  To Mark, the most likely hypothesis was that the occupants of the room had been warned and had taken countermeasures.

  Still, what had happened to Caro?

  Could she still be in the hotel, hiding or hidden somewhere. Outside, he hadn’t noticed any unusual activity. No car had left from the parking lot since his return so that it seemed unlikely that Caro had been spirited away.

  Things seemed much simpler now. He needed to get hold of whoever was in charge: be it the manager, the hotel detective, or the bellboy.

  He had to find out if they knew anything because somebody somewhere knew something. He would start at the top and then proceed methodically.

  He saw four men coming out of the Blue Royal Bar. They padded briskly toward a red van, parked two rows ahead of his car.

  At first, Mark cast only a passing glance at the group. He didn’t think they warranted much attention; however, the way they moved, their determined stride, their hurry to reach their vehicle, seemed unusual.

  You don’t expect four party goers to move so purposefully and with such alacrity after hours of drinking and merry-making. People coming out of a Pub, or after dining in a restaurant setting, usually acted a lot more relaxed and didn't advance in a military formation.

  He was scanning their party out of habit; however, he continued to follow them from a corner of the eye.

  He checked his tools: the Walther, his favorite, a switchblade tucked in his left sleeve. A smaller 22 mm pistol attached to his ankle inside the right boot.

  The van started slowly toward the exit.

  Suddenly a red shape seemed to rise and billow behind the van’s back window, like a balloon, raising and growing for a fraction of a second, only to crumple, fall and disappear from view.

  This was a chance he did not want to take. The odds of Caro being in the van were tiny. He still believed she had been hidden inside the hotel.

  But his gut was telling him to go.

  A certain Red Riding Hood color compelled him to start the car and follow them.

  Chapter 4: At the farm

  “I paid the bill. Let’s get going, guys. Nothing to keep us here. Time to vamoose.” Joey said.

  “We got plenty of time, Joey,” Thom pouted. “The night is young … what? I think I want another beer.”

  “You’ll have as much beer as you want at the Farm. I got a present for you.”

  “A present. Let’s see
!” Mike cried excitedly.

  “A present,” Grego whispered darkly. “Where is it? You wouldn’t keep the present in your car, would you?”

  “Yeap, it’s in the car.”

  “Is it prudent, you think?”

  “So why don’t you tell me, Grego, on your death bed, what will be the things in your life you will cherish most fondly? What will your most precious memories be on your death bed, Grego? Will you be glad to remember that you’ve always led a prudent life? Happy that you never skirted danger? That you never, for even one mere instance, felt the thrill, the excitement of adventure in your veins?” Joey intoned in a voice modulated to convey both his regret and his contempt.

  “After all, it’s your decision. I’m not trying to influence you in any way. You do what you want to do. Come with us if you want to, or don’t come at all, that’s your business.”

  Joey was pretty sure of himself. Too many secrets bound them together.

  “One for all and all for one,” Mike whooped.

  “Methinks it’d be a she-one the man is talking about,” quipped almost inaudibly Grego.

  The rain was falling hard when they got out into the parking lot. The wind buffeted them towards their van with dark hissings.

  The parking lot was deserted, except for a lit cigarette a few rows behind their van.

  This seemed like a perfect setup for a ‘the weather made me do it’ defense.

  They hurried toward the car. Mike took the driver’s seat, with Grego at his right. Joey and Thom went in the back.

  “I brought some friends, I hope you don’t mind,” Joey said in a cheerful voice when he saw Caro. “They’re great company, you’ll see. I’m sure you’ll enjoy each and every one of them.”

  Caro had not entirely recovered from the shock of the taser.

  She knew that the car was a deadly trap. She also knew that her only chance to break free was to take advantage of the state of flux brought about by the arrival of the four low lifers.