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

by Tad S. Torm

  “So you see, Miss. Red Riding Hood, it ain’t so bad! From now on everything depends on what you do; under my genteel direction, of course.”

  Ever since she had landed in Joey’s van, Caro had been fighting with the regulation handcuffs. It had been hard going, not an easy task by any means, but the skills she had picked up while studying in the orphanage, were once more coming in handy, and for the first time she could show a little progress.

  Unbeknownst to Joey, her left cuff was now hanging loose.

  In consequence, she thought it was time to reclaim a more active part in the conversation.

  “May I tell you something if you don’t mind, Joey?”

  “What now?”

  “May I tell you how disappointed I am? Because sadly, I am really, but really disappointed indeed, in you. Are you going to have the guts to tell me that this is really the way they teach you country yokels, bumpkins, and hayseeds how to behave in front of a lady?”

  “First you never take her to a movie.”

  Her right knee came up fast and hard in his groin area, crushing his testicles.

  “After which you don’t even take her to dinner. Not even a pizza? Not even a soft drink?”

  Joey yelled like a butchered pig and stepped away from Caro in a reflex move, lowering at the same time both hands in a hopeless effort to defend what remained of his manhood.

  “No dancing, no prancing … no romancing?”

  Caro was now holding both handcuffs in her right hand. She raised them up and away from her body to gain leverage. Then she swung with a large downward slanting move, crushing Joey’s right temple.

  Joey wavered on his feet, like a knocked out boxer.

  “I will reiterate to you for as many times as it becomes necessary. This is no proper way to treat a lady.”

  She caught his neck in the crook of her right arm and closed the noose, by hooking her left hand to her right wrist. She pushed up her forearm, tightening the noose and cutting down Joey’s air supply.

  Then she dragged his inert body toward the bed while increasing the pressure on his windpipes. She sat down panting, with Joey’s red face turning crimson and his body hanging limp at her feet.

  “With this kind of behavior, dahrling, there is no way in hell are you going to get anywhere near close to first base with a woman.”

  Caro never parted with her cherished dagger, which she kept fondly hidden in a very private area of her anatomy, known only by her intimate self, and which she preserved for this very kind of situations.

  “Now I will show you, Mister Smarty Pants, what I think of your inelegant, boorish manners, which—but this is only my modest opinion, which you should feel free to take or leave—are unworthy of a gentleman.”

  Luckily, for Joey, dazed by the crushing shock to his head combined with the lack of oxygen, he was floating in a happier realm with scattered fluffy blue clouds merrily prancing around in the blue skies while angels were singing Gregorian chants, a zone of happy reminiscence hardly touched by the cruel reality of earthly lament.

  --

  The only thing that Thom had gotten so far out of this whole adventure was excruciating head pains, a strange dizziness that made him feel like he was walking under water, on the bottom of a dirty swimming pool, not to mention two front teeth hanging precariously in their alveoli.

  He poured himself two shots of Tequila, on top of which he sluiced a bottle of beer. His favorite drink was a cocktail made with Pepsi, lemon, and rum, but he’d found neither drink in Joey’s kitchen, otherwise so well furnished with alcoholic beverages and culinary delights.

  Joey had always proven the perfect host, from the time when he was sharing his school lunches with Thom in grammar school. He always thought of the tiniest of details, tried to fulfill every little desire his hosts might have, with the exception of the rum and Pepsi, of course.

  And to think they had known each other for all these years.

  Grego was ravishing a ham sandwich after having opened another bottle of beer.

  He was the type of person that likes himself a little bit too much. Grego never lost his cool and never showed any emotion.

  Thom disliked him with a passion. He could find no trace of warmth or human feelings in Grego, no mammalian traits there; to him, he was more like a dried up stick insect or a cold-blooded reptile.

  Grego was ready to laugh whenever laughter was required, which usually meant whenever Joey made a joke. He was interested in people only to the extent where he thought he might find some use for them, now or in the future; at least, that was what Thom thought.

  Grego, on the other hand, never paid any attention to Thom since he considered him a total loser.

  Thom stepped out on the porch. It was raining cats and dogs. He plopped down into the rocking chair and began swinging slowly back and forth.

  In three days, he will join the army. All his life will change. He will leave the past behind. He will experience exciting and unexpected new adventures. A life of risk and excitement awaited him.

  He thought about the girl. Poor kid, he wouldn’t want to be in her place. Thom considered himself a just and honorable man if a little bit on the sterner side.

  But in these times of trouble. These times that required sacrifices from all of us. Collateral victims are sometimes unavoidable. Of course, his turn will come last as it usually did.

  Poor Thom is always the last, the least considered.

  He thought he heard a dry branch snap near the corner wall of the property. Some cat in heat, probably, or maybe a dog chasing a cat, or a stinking raccoon chasing both dog and cat.

  Who else would be out on a night like this?

  --

  And now the time has come when I need to keep perfectly calm. Mark thought, shivering from every muscle, joint and sinew in his body. He could not ignore the thought that he was probably doing the most important thing he had ever done in his life.

  I will pay in full for every mistake I make.

  He picked up his weapons. His hands were shaking when he pulled out the pistol. He nicked a finger while checking his switchblade.

  This needs to be treated like any other case, he told himself. No different from when a surgeon operates on his own child. “I need to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary takes place,” he thought and immediately started to cry.

  --

  He was inside the courtyard with rivulets of rain streaming down his eyebrows and blinding him. The water was getting in his nose and mouth. It was trickling down his suit and had soaked his shirt.

  He had jumped on the wall, using the hole left by a loose brick as a step ladder. Once on top, he had cut through the barbed wire, which was already torn in parts, with his razor sharp blade.

  On his way down, he must have stepped on some twigs because he heard a cracking noise when he touched the ground.

  A cluster of trees separated him from the inner courtyard. He saw lights all throughout the manse. The first floor was fully lit, and as he was trying to get his bearing, he saw a new light turned on the second floor.

  Instinctively, he realized that it was the place where he needed to go.

  He started running.

  A shadow appeared, splayed on a rocking chair on the porch, quietly exhaling spirals of smoke from a cigarette.

  As he passed him by, and only as an afterthought, his switchblade sprang from his hand and traced a thin line of blood under the apparition’s chin while, with his left hand, he was opening the door of the veranda, ready to get into the house.

  At first, Thom did not realize the great change that had taken place in his life, but when he tried to inhale one more smoke, no air entered his lungs.

  The cigarette hung on his lips for awhile and then it fell to the ground.

  Mark was now in the house, and climbing the stairs.

  --

  Mike sat at the kitchen table browsing a glossy magazine. It had been gathering dust on that table for who knows how many years. But
it was still a beautiful magazine with pretty pictures. Grego had absconded inside the fridge. He returned from his excursion with a turkey ham sandwich in hand and took a seat at the table across from Mike.

  “Playboy?” he asked.

  “Yep, from exactly ten years ago.”

  “The advantage of an adult magazine is that it never loses its actuality.”

  “The old ones are still the best.”

  “The same goes for wine and beautiful women.”

  “Beautiful women? What the hell are you trying to say?”

  He was such a pathetic asshole. But that didn’t mean he had to proclaim it from the rooftops for everybody to hear.

  “I meant wine, you know what I mean. Wine gets better with time.”

  “Sure. If you say so,” Grego snickered.

  Grego was feeling more at ease now that Thom had left the kitchen.

  God knew he was not the choosy type. He gladly conversed with Mike, an apprentice mechanic you’d say, but please tell me who’s gonna’ fix your car when it breaks down on the road; good, honest repair work without the exorbitant fees—he definitely could find some use for Mike. What’s more, Mike was a star, be as it may a former one. A celebrity is a celebrity.

  He had been somebody in this town, only a few years ago, a VIP.

  Joey had always been the grand promise. The secret connection ensured that Joey will pull him along on his way up in the world as high as he’ll go himself.

  But Thom? Honest to God now. Thom, as hard as he would try, and he had tried. He had scoured the bottom of the barrel, had done it professionally and with academic detachment for many years. If it were even possible to say something like that about a human being —and it certainly was— then Thom Huntson was good for nothing.

  Now, gazing over the Playboy cover across the table, listening to Mike’s smug idiocies, a revelation happened and he sighed contentedly. And idea had come into his mind, and Grego had finally found a use for Thom.

  Anybody can use a scapegoat.

  This is the moment chosen by fate to shatter cruelly the quiet inside that eye of the storm that was the kitchen, with fridge and sandwiches and bottled beer and old issue Playboys.

  The moment when Joey found it convenient to start yelling like a slaughtered pig.

  Mike sat up suddenly. He shook his head, trying to wake up from a reverie, which was, in reality, the consequence of an old cranial accident.

  “Joey is in danger, help Joey!” Mike yelled without budging.

  In a few seconds, it was Thom’s turn to start his deadly rattle, muffled somewhat by the pattering sounds of the rain flicking the old boards of the veranda.

  “Run up quickly! See what happened to Joey! I’ll take care of Thom. He’s a sensitive soul. He probably saw a cat or a raccoon and got all upset,” Grego said.

  --

  Mike, despite his best judgment, started warily up the stairs. He was sick and tired of being at the beck and call of his so-called best friend.

  He was somebody in this world after all. An Important Person in this town. A very important person in this place. A VIP. A hero, for all these years. They had all wanted to shake his hand. The best football player the school had ever had.

  What was Joey’s claim to fame? Why should he jump when Joey said fetch? He was not a trained dog.

  However, he had acted the part for all these years.

  Of course, Joey was a good friend. A great pal. No doubt about it.

  But some things about Joey had always bothered him. Small things, insignificant details to which he hadn’t paid great attention to before. Words he had said, but especially the way he’d said them. His body language, his whole demeanor, which tended to be different from when he would talk to Thom, for instance.

  All these small, inconsequential bits and crumbs of behavior had made him reach the conclusion, not in the beginning, it is true, but more in the later part of their friendship, that in Joey’s eyes he was not an equal, but some kind of a … servant.

  It was just not right for the most famous athlete of the county to be treated in this way.

  He remembered the day when the cops had come after him. They had stopped him on his way home from training. One of them had asked for permission to search his car.

  “Go ahead! I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  They had discovered a few grams of hash. He didn’t have the slightest idea where it came from. He had always blamed another player, Joel, his eternal backup, who had formed in his head the crazy idea that he could replace him in the team. Joel the backbencher, forever waiting for an accident in the game or out of the game. In his mind, he had been the most likely suspect.

  He was not so sure any longer. Joey’s father was the town sheriff. The orders to pick him up must have directly come from him.

  For so many years, he had lived a lie.

  They had indicted him. A conviction would have meant years in prison, the end of his career, all his dreams shattered. He had spent three days of hell on earth.

  Then, on a Sunday morning, he remembered like it was yesterday, Sheriff Dermont had paid him a visit. He had brought a parcel from his mom. He had been very nice, the sheriff, very polite, very understanding, very helpful. They had a long talk, the sheriff and him. The following day they let him go. The indictment had just evaporated as if it had never existed.

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it all had been a crooked, dirty setup. Joey’s crooked, dirty game. They must have had a good laugh behind his back, Joey, and his dad.

  Afterward he had become Joey’s de facto bodyguard. He had asked for the honor himself. He had subordinated himself, body and soul, to satisfy Joey’s every whim. He, Mike Maxter, the town’s hero forced to aid and abet in Joey’s dirty, loathsome criminal activities.

  He kicked the door open.

  He was not prepared for what he was about to see.

  Joey’s head was impaled on top of the highest bedpost. The head was grinning and a limp cigar was hanging between its lips.

  “So this is how it all ends. This piece of filthy crap. This dastardly, revolting and repulsive godless spectacle!” Joey’s sadomasochistic tendencies were well known to him, but never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated he would go that far.

  Joey’s smile. His tormenter’s hellish smile.

  He failed to pay any attention to the petite, innocent-looking girl, sitting on the bed, with an enigmatic smile on her face. He was totally absorbed by Joey’s mocking physiognomy.

  He was Mike, the golden shoe. You can’t treat a living legend this way. He tensed his muscles. He gathered his strength.

  He charged.

  --

  “Geronimo,” the fat monster yelled, suddenly emerging from the doorway. Caro saw the 350 pounds of flesh, muscles and flab rushing towards her. She threw her sapphire encrusted dagger straight into Mike’s heart but the behemoth kept coming.

  For a second Mike towered over her then crashed and crumbled like an imploding building falling brick by brick on top of her. She was suddenly buried under a huge, inert mass of organic matter. She couldn’t breathe. Unless something happened … soon, Caro realized, she was going to die.

  --

  Mark had reached the second-floor landing when he saw the strip of light under the door. He sprinted to the right to avoid a shot through the door. The silence of the house worried him. He had counted four men in the car. He had cleaned one. How come everything seemed so quiet and deserted all of a sudden?

  He broke down the door with a kick and peeked inside. He saw Joey’s head impaled on the bed post and counted down one more.

  Then he saw the heap on the bed. At first, he could not make any sense of it. But it didn’t take him long to get the idea. He rushed into the room and started pulling Mikey’s huge carcass away from Caro.

  “What took you so long?” He heard her ironic voice and he felt again at peace with the world.

  He took Caro in his arms, holding h
er very gently, like a very fragile object, ready to disintegrate at the first mild breath of air. He kissed her, and for a fleeting moment, he understood that’s how she truly was. But then he forgot because the thought of her death was too scary to comprehend.

  “Are you O.K?”

  “O.K. is hardly the word I’d use to describe my condition,” she said. “I guess I’ll live. It’s enough for now.”

  “We were lucky, you know?” Mark said and then frowned. “There were four gentlemen in the car.” He counted on his fingers. “Only three are accounted for. So maybe we’re not as lucky as I first figured out.”

  He looked out the window.

  Grego was already on top of the wall, ready to jump and make his escape.

  Mark pulled out the Walther and aimed through the open window.

  “Twenty-five, thirty yards. What do you say are the odds? Four out of six?”

  “You have a reasonable chance. You better not miss it! Otherwise, your plans for a fish dinner are put on hold. We might end up spending the whole night trying to find the hayseed in a haystack.”

  He inhaled deeply, let a second pass to think of the beauty of geometry. Then he stopped thinking and pulled the trigger.

  .

  Chapter 6: Contract- the consideration

  They were driving back to town.

  “Tonight I learned an important lesson,” Caro said.

  Through the car’s back window, you could see the receding hulk of a house on fire. Undoubtedly the crime of a pyromaniac.

  “And what is the important lesson that you learned tonight?” Mark asked.

  “You cannot fight against the laws of physics.”