Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery)

by Thomas L. Scott

  The shorter man shook his head. “Come on, let’s get going, already,” he said. “I don’t want to be here all night.” He then stepped closer and pressed the stun gun against the side of my ribcage and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  The shock of the stun gun locked my body in a ridged arc against the restraints and caused my bowels and bladder to let go, the air rife with the odor of my waste. I felt my heart stammer in my chest and the shock roared through my body like a double header locomotive steaming into an electrical storm in the middle of the night. Both men jumped back away from my incontinence and the short man said, “Ah, Jesus Christ, look at that. Why don’t we just park one in his squash and be done with it?”

  “You know why,” the tall man said. “We’re supposed to do it slow, make it last. He’s supposed to suffer before he get’s it. Now get that hose over by the wall and rinse him down. I ain’t gonna work standing in his shit.”

  My body was numb from the shock they had just given me, so when the water hit me I could not tell if it was hot or cold. The short man sprayed my fecal matter and urine from the floor and off of my legs while the tall man took pictures, the flash of the camera momentarily lighting the darkened corners of the room.

  The short man dropped the hose and turned the valve off to stop the flow of water. He then picked up the mallet and beat me repeatedly across both thighs, my stomach, and my chest. One of the blows struck me square on the shin of my left leg and I heard the bone crack like a dead twig yanked from the branch of a tree. I tried to cry out but the rag held in my mouth by the duct tape prevented all but the smallest of sounds from escaping my throat. The tall man shocked me repeated with the stun gun and I lost all control of my body. My heart beat in an irregular fashion from the electrical charge running through me, and I was unable to draw even the most ragged of breaths through my nose, my nostrils wide as I tried to find my dying purchase of air.

  My body hung limp now, and I was amazed at how much damage had been done in such a short amount of time. My head hung low on my chest, its weight almost more than I could manage. My eyes watered without shame and in my quest for air I had swallowed part of the rag in my mouth and it now blocked my airway.

  The tall man took another picture then ripped the tape from my mouth and pulled out the rag. A mixture of blood and drool ran down my chin and dripped across the flat of my stomach before it hit the floor and I knew I was bleeding on the inside. The pain was unbearable, relentless in its grasp, but with the rag now out of my mouth, I was able to get enough air to remain conscious. I looked at the tall man once again and when I did, I saw something behind him that gave me hope, not just for myself, but for all those things I thought I might never experience.

  * * *

  I gathered what little remaining strength I possessed and lifted my head to speak. “Murton Wheeler is going to square this,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

  “I doubt it. Undercover Fed’s have a way of falling off the map sometimes. We’re going to take care of him just like you. Your time is up here bubba. Like I said, nothing personal, but you went and rattled the wrong cage.”

  I could feel my chest getting heavy and knew I was drowning in my own blood. I spit more blood from my mouth and lifted my head for what I was sure was the last time. “I know where he is,” I said. “Wheeler.”

  The short man had moved over to where the tall man stood and they were now standing side by side, no more than a foot away from me. “Okay, I’ll bite, tough guy. Where is Wheeler?”

  “Right behind you,” Murton said. He then raised his arms in front of him, and I saw he held two chrome plated semi-automatic thumb busters, one in each hand. The light reflected off the .45’s polished finishes and danced around the enclosure like shards from a broken mirror. He pulled the triggers on both guns at the same time and I saw his arms fly high with the recoil of the massive weapons. The two men flew backwards as if they had been tied to a catapult and yanked from my line of sight. Murton ran past me and I saw his lips move, but the gunshots had temporarily deafened me so I could not hear what he said. Then I heard two more shots behind me, one right after the other and when Murt walked back around in front of me I eventually heard what he was saying, but his words seemed to be slow and sluggish, like someone had pulled the power cord to an old LP record player, the music of his voice getting slower and deeper as the record spun to a stop. “Don’t you die on me, Jonesy. I’m gonna get you out of here. Just like before, remember? Hang in there man. Jonesy? God damn it, Jonesy, don’t you die, you hear me? Jonesy?”

  In the distance I thought I heard a siren coming for me, though I do not know if it was real or imaginary. But when Murton cut the ties that held me against the steel beam and lowered me to the floor I was sure I saw my mother. She stood behind him, her face radiant and the room was somehow brighter with her presence. She shadowed Murton’s efforts, her hands over the top of his as she directed his movements and though I tried to reach out to them both I could not move my arms. The effort of it all was too much and once again I slipped away from myself, uncertain of my fate, my body warm in the hands of my past.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jenny Anderson needed something. Trouble was, she just didn’t know what it might be. She was bored. Not just in the moment, the I’ve-got-nothing-to-do-right-now kind of bored, but bored with her life. She had no children to care for, her and her husband Bob found out long ago they would never conceive a child—her anatomy, not his—but it never bothered them enough to look at radical methods of child bearing like having someone carry a child for them. That just didn’t seem right. “Might as well adopt a kid,” Bob had said one evening about ten years ago. So they talked about that—twenty minutes all told—before they decided they didn’t want the fuss and bother of the paperwork, not to mention the expense.

  She didn’t work. No, Jenny was not a worker. She was a stay at home wife. Yawn. Had nothing against work, really. Work was a tool. You used it to earn income to provide for yourself and your family. The problem with work was, if it wasn’t a career, a real love-what-you-do kind of thing, like a doctor, or lawyer, or in her husband Bob’s case, Air Traffic Controller, what was the point? It’s not like they needed the money. The economy sucked anyway. Let someone else trade their time for cash minus taxes, thanks just the same.

  Friends? Sure, there were a few, but nobody she’d take a bullet for. The truth of the matter was, Jenny was sort of stuck between good ol’ Mr. Rock and Sir Hard Place. She liked her solitude, but it sometimes bored her right out of her god-damned gourd.

  And why in the world had she just knighted Hard Place?

  Jenny walked outside to the pool with only one thing on her mind, the one thing that kept her from losing her mind.

  Sex.

  Yes sir, if there was one thing that got Jenny through her days it was good old fashioned sex. She’d knock one off with Bob before he left to play his video games at the airport, and usually hit him up at night before bed, but Bob was, what? Worn out? No, that wasn’t it. Fact was, it wasn’t about big Bob at all. It was about her. She just couldn’t get enough. She’d had a few guys on the side from time to time—one had even been a co-worker of Bob’s—but that had fizzled like all the rest when they found out how insatiable her desires were. So most days she did what she liked best. Herself. Then, not long ago, she discovered something that killed her boredom like a big ol can of Bore-B-Gone.

  An audience.

  She stuck her big toe in the water of their built-in pool, more of a ritual than a gage of temperature. The gas heater kept the water at a perfect eighty-five degrees throughout the season. A glance at her wrist watch told her the time, and a slow, almost wicked smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She undid the tie that held her robe closed and let it fall open, the front of her naked body exposed to the expanse of the back yard and the tree line beyond. When she was sure he was out there—she’d caught just a hint of movement at the corner of the t
ree line, she let the robe fall to the ground and stood nude, her body his to admire.

  As K.C. and the boys would say, Jenny was puttin’ on her boogie shoes.

  * * *

  The Sids were in place and ready, Junior with the rifle at the edge of the tree line, Senior back near the van, covering the road in case anyone from the Cell company showed up. It was unlikely, but it paid to be thorough. When the woman came out to sunbathe, Junior would take care of business and they’d be out of there.

  Nothing to it.

  * * *

  Jimmy Hamilton had a situation. One of those you’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me situations. His house—okay, his parents house—sat on the other side of the access road from the Anderson’s. A tree line, much thinner than the one on Mrs. Anderson’s (A.K.A. Hot Babe, A.K.A. Trophy Wife) side separated his yard from the narrow gravel road. You could cross the road in two quick steps, nothing to it. He’d done it twice a day for the last month since school let out. Sometimes three. Both his parents worked, so he was alone during the days. Weekends sucked because Mr. Anderson was home, as were his own parents. But the weekdays were his. His and Mrs. Anderson’s.

  Jenny.

  Jimmy was naked from the ankles up, the only clothing that covered anything at all on his body of sixteen years was a pair of New Balance sneakers. He had his back and butt pressed tight against the chain link fence that bordered the cell tower’s base and it was starting to hurt. He cursed himself for the foolish, even perverted bravado he had displayed. His shorts were on the other side of the road, his side, where he’d left them before crossing over and into the thicker trees. He should have kept them with him, but over the last month he grown more and more daring as he looked for ways to increase his level of excitement.

  The first time he’d seen her laying nude by the pool he was just out exploring the area, looking for a nice quiet place to spark a doob. He crossed the access road and ventured into the tree line, sat on a log and lit up. When he heard the music he walked a little deeper into the trees and that’s when he saw her. She was completely naked, just floating around in the pool on a couple of those foam snakes, one under her arms and one under her knees. Jimmy dropped his doobie, then his shorts. It didn’t take much, six or seven tugs tops before he came and when he did, he let out a moan that caused Mrs. Anderson to raise her head and look at the tree line.

  Jimmy froze, an honest to God deer in the headlights freeze. He didn’t know if he should run or not. But then something happened, something that made Jimmy hard again almost immediately. Mrs. Anderson got out of the pool, looked toward the trees, right where he was standing with his Johnson in his hand, and waved at him.

  Jimmy had to hold onto a tree with his free hand to keep from falling over.

  Over the next few weeks he watched Jenny swim, he watched her exercise, he watched her lay in the sun, he watched her masturbate, and once he watched her blow her husband when he came home from work early. That had been the best.

  This was only the third time he had ventured over nude. The last two times he had actually stepped out from the tree line and into her backyard and when he did she immediately started pounding away at herself. When he took a few steps forward toward the pool though, she held up her hand, palm out indicating she wanted him to stop. He guessed it was because of his age.

  He guessed right. The next time he showed up there was a hand written note stuck in the branches of the tree he always leaned on. It wasn’t addressed to him, but it was for him. It simply said: You’re too young. I can’t allow anything more. But please keep visiting me. I love to watch and be watched.

  Jimmy couldn’t believe it. Sure, he was disappointed that he couldn’t have her, she was hot, hot, hot. Fucking-A perfect, in fact. But the please keep visiting me part? He’d take that in a heartbeat. For now anyway. If he could keep her going for another two years, really only a year and a half, he would be old enough to cross the backyard and go all the way.

  But right now, today, he had a problem. A genuine OMFG, shriveled up nutsack sort of problem. He had no sooner begun to cross the road, naked as a Jaybird as his grandma would have said, when he saw the white van creeping along through the turn. He just managed to duck behind the cell tower’s shack—there wasn’t enough time to turn around and dart to his side—as the van came around the bend in the road and made a U-turn right in front of the tower’s perimeter fence. He couldn’t go back and he couldn’t go forward. For the moment, he was trapped.

  Naked.

  With a boner.

  * * *

  Junior was close enough she could hear the naked bitch moaning someone’s name. Johnny, or Joey, or something. Couldn’t quite make it out. Not that it mattered. Jesus, she thought as she watched the woman masturbate. What was it with people these days? Bunch of God-damned nuts. She thought about parking one right in her biscuit.

  Needed a death shot, though.

  Took it, too.

  * * *

  Jimmy couldn’t take it anymore. He was just about to say fuck it and make a run for his side of the fence when he heard a rustle in the trees to his left. He saw someone moving through, just a shape in the shadows. Then, when she came out of the trees, he peaked around the corner of the fencing and saw her. A woman. A good looking woman at that, and an older man. Not real old though. His dad’s age, maybe. Fiftyish. The woman was carrying a rifle. When they got in the van and drove away, Jimmy realized he’d been holding his breath. He memorized the plate on the back of the van and wondered why the woman had held a rifle? Was it hunting season? Jimmy didn’t know anything about hunting laws, but surely no one would hunt in the suburbs, even ones as secluded as this.

  What Jimmy did know about was nature’s law. With his boner still long and strong, Jimmy headed for the edge of the Anderson’s property line. And why not? The van and its strange occupants were gone.

  Plus, he hadn’t heard a shot, so what was the problemo? Jimmy thought he’d spray some DNA and be on his way. He was aching for it.

  The problemo was, when Jimmy saw Jenny’s dead body and the puddle of blood that leaked from the hole in her head and into the pool, Jimmy sprayed some DNA alright, just not the kind he had hoped. He vomited all over his New Balance sneakers, which coincidentally, did not live up to their name. He lay on the ground for a few seconds, and tried to convince himself what he saw wasn’t real. When he finally managed to stand, covered in puke and leaves and dirt, he started toward is own house. He walked at first, then he started to run. Kept repeating the plate number of the van over and over in his head.

  * * *

  Sid, Sr. drove them out of the suburbs and into town. Junior looked out the window and thought about her lover, Amanda. They had one more shot to take…this was the big one, and then it would be over. Her and Amanda could be together at last. They already had their place picked out down in the Keys. With the money Amanda had siphoned off over the last few years, they’d be able to live comfortably, though not extravagantly. But that was alright. Anything to be together and out of fucking Indiana.

  “Are you listening to me?” Senior said. “How are we doing on time?”

  The Governor was holding a press conference to announce his intentions to run for reelection. The media would be there in droves and the entire thing would be captured on television.

  “We’re doing good,” Junior said.

  “Keep your fucking head in the game. We’re almost through.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Junior said.

  “Don’t get all mystical on me now. This is it. After we pop fly boy we’re outta here.”

  “You never did tell me where you’re going.”

  Senior laughed a wicked little laugh. “I’m going to hell, darling. But I’ll be going via Mexico. You and that crazy cunt still going to the Keys?”

  Junior wished she’d never told him where they were going, but she had, so… “Yeah. Leaving tonight. And don’t call her that. We’re in love.”

  “Th
at right? Well, that was something about Sermon Sam, though, huh?”

  No shit, Junior thought. “Fuck Sermon Sam. Pedophile motherfucker.” Then a minute or so later. “Maybe you’ll see him there. In hell.”

  “No maybe about it,” Senior said. “No maybe at all.”

  * * *

  The Governor’s press conference was being held at the USS Indianapolis Memorial, near downtown, on the east side of the canal walk. The Sid’s parked their van at the back of the lot just north of a medical education building which gave them a clear shot of the podium where the Governor would give his speech. The plan was simple. Take the shot, burn the van, then walk away. They had a getaway car parked in the lot, and Senior had the keys in his pocket. They turned into the lot and drove to the back.

  They were right on time.

  * * *

  Indianapolis Metro Patrol Officer Jonathon Cauliffer drove along Roanoke street and turned his cruiser onto West North street and then hung a left on Walnut. He was in the area where the Governor was going to give his speech and if he took Walnut to the end, right where it met Ellsworth, he could sit in his squad car, eat his sandwich and watch the big guy give his speech. Another day on the job.

  Except the traffic was heavy, and there was no real place to park, so Cauliffer turned around and hooked a left and went back north toward the parking lot adjacent to the education building. He’d be able to see just as well. Either way, he’d have his lunch.