by Jeff Altabef
He touches his face and tears brim his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Do you think it’s polite to make lewd gestures at a woman? She doesn’t need to deal with your shit. She’s got problems of her own to worry about.”
“I didn’t mean anything. I was just fooling around.”
“Right.” I slap him twice this time. Two hard quick shots to his left cheek. “And what about me? Did you think about me? How do you think that makes me feel that you’re hitting on my friend?”
He shrugs.
“Say something.” I lift my hand to slap him again and he cowers.
“Bad.”
“That’s right, you arrogant, self-entitled twat. Now I’m going to hurt you. You’ve left me no choice. This is on you.”
An energy in my head growls. Not Caesar this time. Something darker and nastier that I can’t name. It wants blood, so I pull the knife from my jacket pocket and lift it toward his face.
“You’re cr-crazy, man.”
“There you go, being rude again. You don’t even know me.” I press the tip of the blade against his cheek and pierce his flesh. “But you’re right this time. I’m nuts. I guess even a worthless, walking vagina like you can be right once in a while. My faith in humanity has been restored.”
I flick the blade against his cheek and the blood trickles down his face and onto his white shirt. For the first time, I’m hoping the blood will be black and sludge-like. If Frosty is a demon, I’ll have no choice but to kill him. It’s red. He’s too much of a creep even for demons.
I yank Frosty by the hair to the toilet. “Can you swim?”
“Su-sure.”
“Good.” I whip his head into the toilet and hold it down. He tries to push himself up, but I have all the leverage. I count to twenty before I let him up.
He shakes his head and gasps for air. His perfect haircut is ruined, toilet water soaking his hair and his suit.
I dunk him again. This time I count to thirty before I pull him up. When I do, I lean close to him and whisper. “Try to take your head from your ass and see people for who they really are. Be a better person, you self-absorbed meathead.”
He blabbers. “Got it. You’re good. I should have known.”
I slap him across the face with the back of my left hand. “Keep up, Frosty. I’m crazy. You got that right originally. It’s probably the only thing you’ve ever gotten right in your miserable little life, but my friend is good.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m going to be watching you, and if you act like an ass again, I’m going to cut off your pecker and stuff it in one of Grandma’s pies. Let’s call it the secret ingredient. It’s probably useless where it is anyway. Understand?”
He nods.
“Good. Ready for one last dunk?”
Frosty holds his breath.
I intend on dunking him one last time, I really do. But when I push his head down, the energy inside me takes over, changes my direction, and I bash his head against the side of the porcelain toilet bowl instead. I lift it and do it again. I let go, and he topples to the side of the toilet and onto the tile floor. He’s got a nasty gash on his forehead and he’s not moving.
Shit. Is he dead?
I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to scare him, but the demon inside took over. I’d have to check his pulse to know if he’s dead or just knocked out, and what’s the point? I don’t want to touch him, and if he’s dead I can’t help him anyway. I note the time on my phone. If I’m not going to check his pulse, I have to assume he’s dead. At least I made it beyond three weeks. I’d like to try for four, although I suspect things are going to get real nasty to get Megan back.
When I shut the bathroom door behind me, the waitress shoots me a quizzical look.
“Some people can’t hold their coffee,” I say. “Caffeine makes them sick.”
“Sure,” she says.
I hand her a fifty-dollar bill. “Better not go into the bathroom anytime soon. And if anyone asks, you’ve never seen us.”
She smiles. “What? Two eighty-year olds. You were such a cute couple, I’m sure to remember you.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Kate stands when I approach the table, a scowl on her face. I drop a twenty next to my plate for the food.
After we leave, she stops me on the sidewalk. “Was that necessary?”
“What?” I say, although I’m sure she’s busted me.
“You know what. Did you have to beat that guy up in the bathroom?”
“The bathroom?” Sometimes it works to play really dumb. I make it sound like I’ve never even heard of a bathroom before, but that doesn’t work on Kate.
“There’s blood on your hand, Steven.”
She’s right. Some of Frosty’s blood must have rubbed off when I slapped him.
“In my defense, not only was he rude, but he had a horrible haircut. Frosted hair on a guy over thirty. Come on. It’s ridiculous.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“Seriously?”
“Maybe 75 percent dead and 25 percent just knocked out. I got a little carried away. I admit it. That’s on me.”
“Great.”
“Either way, I did Vick a favor.”
“Who’s Vick?” she asks.
“Long story.” Getting into my fertile imagination and discussing the fictional trainer named Vick is probably a bad idea at the moment.
“I guess you can’t change.” She rolls her eyes, turns her back on me, and marches to her apartment.
Man, I hate it when she rolls her eyes at me.
I’m not going to apologize for what happened to Mr. Frosty. I may have overreacted a touch, but he’s not blameless. He’s undoubtedly insulted scores of women and treated everyone else like shit. Some people move through life as if their actions don’t have consequences. Fuck that. Someone has to remind guys like Mr. Frosty of the basic moral code. He’s not above common decency. No one is.
Kate and I have been in this place before. When we were a couple, crap like this would happen all the time. Some guy would hit on her (she’s gorgeous and way out of my league) and I’d react. I’d break the guy’s nose or bash in his teeth. I killed two brothers who pulled knives on me. They flashed the blades but didn’t really know how to use them. A stupid mistake.
Afterward, Kate would yell at me, and I’d apologize, but not this time. Mr. Frosty knew what he was doing, and he should have known that in a decent society someone would eventually kick his ass.
It takes two and a half blocks for Kate to cool down, which isn’t bad. In the past it would have taken an entire day, but Megan’s kidnapping changes everything. Time has morphed into the enemy. Every minute for her has become a what-if filled eternity.
When we cross a street and head for her apartment building, she asks, “So, you said you had a plan to get to Drudge?”
“Working on one. Mary sent me Drudge’s address. He’s moved to a Klendall apartment. They’re a new outfit that specializes in high security for their tenants. I guess scumbags that sell young kids to kidnappers can’t be too careful these days. I’d like to spend some time alone with him in his apartment. We’ll have some privacy, and that’s the best place to get him to talk.”
“But his apartment has all that security,” says Kate. “What did you call it, a Klondike?”
“A Klendall, but there’s always a way to get at a target. We have to think outside the box. How do you feel about online dating?”
“I’m more of a traditional girl. Get drunk, find what seems like a decent guy in a bar, suck face, and regret everything the next morning. Rinse and repeat four months later.”
“What about all those doctors at the hospital? Aren’t they pestering you?”
“Only the married ones. The single ones look down on a girl from District 12.”
“That’s disappointing. I’d like to think more of our medical professionals.”
�
�Doctors are mostly dicks. I’d date a nurse or a PA over a doctor every time.”
“Good to know. We can try to snatch Brad on his way home, but that’s complicated. There are too many variables for a carjacking, and now that he has a flat, he’ll call a car service to fix it. We can stake out his place, but we don’t have time. He might stay in tonight and then we’ve lost an entire night. That leaves us with two options. Either I break in, which is hard, but possible and probably messy, or he lets us in. And—”
“And you saw those notes on the Eros online dating site in his car,” she says.
“Right. Looks like he’s just joined. His username is Sam Steele. From my initial look on the website, the company boasts about hooking up ‘successful’ men with high quality women from lower districts.”
“So, it’s a prostitution ring?”
“Not that I can tell. I think women from lower districts try to hook up with guys in the upper districts. Maybe they hope to get married or something like that.”
“Sounds shitty,” she says as we reach the stoop of her apartment building. “Deal me in. I’m your girl.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
We trudge up the stairs, and Kate unlocks the door to her apartment.
Tina, Kate’s oldest and best friend, rushes forward and swallows her in a full body embrace. Words gush from her mouth, toppling over a linguistic waterfall, “I can’t believe this. We’re going to get Megan back. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll get her back.”
I shut the door and curse my rotten luck. Tina. Couldn’t she get hit by a bus or die from the plague or something?
Tina disentangles from Kate and makes a show of sniffing the air. “I smell cow shit.” She looks up and glares at me. “Oh, Steven. I should have recognized the stink. I heard you crawled out from underneath a rock.”
“Nice to see you too, Tina.”
She ignores me and focuses on Kate. “Any word yet?”
“We have a lead,” Kate explains what we know about Brad Drudge and the other missing kids.
Tina’s short, just over five feet tall, pretty in a haphazard way. Long, curly, chestnut hair falls to her shoulders, and her well-developed chest looks like it might break free from her white blouse at any moment. She’s mostly tucked the blouse into a pair of jeans with a rip on one knee.
Tina loves Kate and hates me. Officially, she’s always said I was bad for Kate, and she has plenty of proof to back that up. But unofficially, I suspect she doesn’t just love Kate, but is in love with her. She probably hated Ethan too.
It’s been sixteen years since I last saw her. That’s a long time to hold onto those types of feelings and keep them secret. I wonder if she’s ever told Kate how she really feels.
She looks at me as if she’s just smelled rotten meat. “I’d say you look good, but that would be a lie. The beard is awful. You look like cow shit that’s been baked in the sun.”
Welcome to Tina World.
I use Kate’s tablet to look up Eros and study the dating site in more detail. “It costs $500 for women to join and there’s a per hookup fee of fifty. Oh, and there’s a premium membership. I guess there’s always a premium membership these days. Everyone wants to be treated better than the other guy.
“The premium membership costs $2,000 and guarantees date requests go to the head of the line,” I say. “Guys have to pay $5,000 to join, and there’s no fee for dates.”
Tina whistles. “That’s a lot of dough for a dating site. The ones I use are free.”
“This one is discriminating.”
“Hey, eat monkey-shit pie, Steven. I could join that site. They’d be lucky to have me.”
“I’m sure. We’ll get a premium membership. What name do you want to use? We can’t use your real one in case Brad recognizes it from school.”
“Something sexy,” says Tina. “How about Emanuel Estrange?”
“I don’t want a hooker name. How about Emma Sykes?”
“Emma Sykes it is,” I say. “Now what about your occupation?”
“What’s wrong with nursing?” Kate says.
“It sounds a little dull,” says Tina. “Let’s do dancer.”
“Nurses are hot,” I say, and not just because it pulls a small smile from Kate. “Brad just signed up. He might not be ready to start dating exotic dancers just yet. He might want to start out a little slower.”
“We’ll compromise then,” says Tina. “Part-time nurse and part-time dance instructor. That way we cover all the bases.”
“Done,” Kate says.
“I’ll fill in the rest of the information, but we’ll need some photos.”
Tina grabs Kate’s hand. “We’re on it. That douchebag won’t be able to resist her.” She pulls Kate to the bedroom. “I know the exact dress we should use.”
I’m sure Tina’s got an outfit in mind. Hopefully, Brad has the same taste as Tina. I’m a little worried Kate will come out dressed in leather, riding whip in hand.
I list Kate as thirty-one instead of thirty-five, and list her hobbies as reading, watching movies, and eating out. My goal, to attract a somewhat shy new user. If I knew Brad, I could tailor this thing to make sure he’d bite, but I’ve only uncovered a few things about him online. He’s flabby and likes fancy restaurants. Undoubtedly, there’s more to him than that, but he’s not a prolific social media poster. Either he doesn’t feel the need to show off, or he doesn’t have anything to show off. I’d bet on the latter.
The rest of the touches on Kate’s fake profile doesn’t take long. I’m done when she comes out of the bedroom, and my heart stops cold as if it’s submerged in ice and quick-frozen. She’s wearing a short, sleeveless, black cocktail dress with a low, swooping V-neck. She’s braless, but the outfit’s still tasteful.
She’s a complete knockout. Even more attractive than when she was twenty and, until this second, I thought the twenty-year-old Kate was as close to perfection as I’ve ever seen.
Her cheeks turn pink. “Well, what do you think?”
“Oh, Steven’s a fan. His tongue is practically on the ground,” says Tina. “Get a grip caveman, we’ve got work to do.”
I ignore Tina, although she’s right. My tongue has hit the floor and flops around on the tiles like a fish out of water. “You look fabulous.”
“Really?” she asks, her voice velvety soft.
“Who cares what Neanderthal man thinks?” asks Tina. “We need to snare ourselves a different shitweasel.”
“He’ll be interested.” I use my phone to snap a few photos of Kate in different poses and add them to her profile. A few seconds later, I buy the premium package and we’re ready.
I access Sam Steele’s profile. He’s edited his picture to make himself look younger and thinner and, under occupation, he’s listed educator and talent scout.
“Talent scout,” grumbles Kate. “I’d like to...”
No doubt her imagination goes so dark she’s embarrassed to use the words. Not to worry. My imagination is way darker than hers, and I don’t need words. When I get my hands on this guy, he’ll regret his mother ever met his father.
“Let’s focus,” says Tina. “We need to send him a message. Something that will pique his interest right away.”
Kate says, “Why don’t we be straightforward and ask if he wants a date tonight?’”
“Oh, honey, that’s lame,” says Tina. “No wonder you suck at dating. How about, ‘I see you’re an educator, I’m a willing student?’”
“We don’t want him to take out a restraining order on us,” I say. “We need something a little more provocative and less forward.”
“What does he list as his hobbies?” Kate asks.
“Reading, traveling, cooking, and deep-sea diving.” I huff. “Deep-sea diving, my ass! I bet he’s never even been to the deep end of a pool.”
“I’ve got it. Ask if he’s read Secrets in the Darkness,” says Tina.
We both shoot her a look.
“What
, I read?”
“Was it good?” I ask.
“It’s way better than you, Stevo.”
“You’ll never find out.”
“Thank God. I’d rather screw a zombie and have his dick fall off half-way through.”
At least Tina World is colorful.
Kate steps between us, “Do you think this will work, Tina?”
“Definitely. It’s all the rage in literary circles. He probably hasn’t read it, but at least he can search it online. Trust me.”
Kate nods at me, and I send the message.
“How long do you think it’ll take for him to reply?” asks Kate.
I shrug. “He’s working so...”
Kate’s tablet pings, and I almost jump. Brad’s opened up our invite to chat and seen our message already.
Ten minutes drags past and no response yet. I look at Tina.
“He’ll respond. You’ll see. Trust me.”
I stand and stretch, starting with my legs. By the time I get to my neck, the tablet pings again.
Tina reads the response triumphantly. “‘Rebecca Scarlet is one my favorite authors also.’ The assclown added a smiley face afterward. Who puts a smiley face in a message like that?” She hands the tablet to Kate and says, “Okay, at least we’ve got him on the hook. Now we just need to reel him in.”
Kate hands her back the tablet, and Tina types the next message. “How about we get together and discuss the book? An intimate book club…”
The response takes half as long this time, and Tina reads it for us. “Sounds fun. How about dinner on Saturday? I know a place near my apartment.”
Kate groans.
“We need to see him tonight in his apartment,” I say. “We can’t wait until Saturday.”
Tina grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve got him wriggling on the hook now. Watch and learn, Stevo.” She types and talks at the same time. “How about tonight instead? I’m teaching a tango class tomorrow night and can’t meet then.”
The response, “Tonight works. How about we meet at Carlucci’s restaurant at 9:00?”