[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  Jerry wrestled with the problem while he lathered and scrubbed his wife’s back. He thought of telling her, but decided the right thing was to keep quiet. They did not have a plan for something like this. He knew she would never have bothered to give it any thought, because she was confident they would never end up in a situation like this. She would be devastated to know she was the one who screwed things up.

  Jerry wished it had been his mistake. Of course he’d have to take a beating for it, but it would save his wife the embarrassment. Should she find out, Jerry feared she might lose her confidence. He couldn’t have that. As a team, they both needed to be strong. A panicked wife creating more problems was the last thing he needed.

  As they toweled each other off, he casually mentioned that she should nap so she would be fresh and ready to continue the fun when he returned.

  “Jerry,” she said with a smile, “you’ve been so attentive all afternoon.”

  Upon hearing that, Jerry dropped to his knees and snuggled his face between her legs. Vicki laughed and tried to push him away, but he held tight and kept his face buried and his tongue moving. It didn’t take long before Vicki succumbed to pleasure once again.

  Jerry continued his husbandly duties on the bed while looking at his watch every few minutes. He intended to leave at the last possible moment, with his wife tired and completely uninterested in moving. When the time came, he kissed her and bolted out the door. Even with all that could go wrong, he still wanted to tour Alcatraz.

  33

  Vicki hadn’t moved, still content to lie in the same revealing position that her husband had left her in. But boredom eventually set in. She rolled over twice to the other side of the king-size bed and fetched the remote off the nightstand. She pushed the power button, and the flat screen powered to life with previews of movies available on the hotel’s on-demand system. She flipped through a few of the channels but didn’t recognize any shows. She clicked the remote once more, turning the television off.

  What to do? It didn’t take her very long to figure that out. She dressed, put on her face and left the comforts of the room. The Carlsons had been staying at the Parc 55 Wyndham on Cyril Magnin Street near the edge of the Tenderloin. She had wanted to book one of the many charming boutique hotels in the lower Nob Hill area, but Jerry had reminded her of her rule that they be as inconspicuous as possible. The large Parc 55 hotel made it easy for them to blend into the sea of faces that other guests, and the hotel staff, saw on a daily basis.

  Union Square, the epicenter of San Francisco shopping, was only a few blocks over, and that was the compromise. Vicki had thoughts of buying new lingerie, something to surprise Jerry. The concierge directed her to the Victoria’s Secret inside Westfield Center, only a two-minute walk in the opposite direction of the square.

  Once there, she spent thirty minutes searching for the perfect outfit. She continually switched back and forth between the classic bra, panty and garter belt ensemble versus the cute, see-through négligée. She came close to buying one of each but, in the end, opted for what she thought her husband would like best: stripper wife.

  Vicki didn’t bother to browse the rest of the shopping center; instead, she hurried over to Union Square. She had wanted to shop at Macy’s ever since they landed in San Francisco. Almost two hours had passed when she received a text from her husband that he had returned and wanted to know why she wasn’t in the room. Vicki had completely lost track of time. It seems like he just left. She texted him back that she had finished shopping and would be home soon. Vicki hurried down the four flights of escalators to the ground floor. She had intended to be lying on the bed in her new outfit when Jerry returned. So much for the big surprise.

  She exited Macy’s at the north doors, facing Union Square. Before she could turn left, in the direction of her hotel, the most beautiful voice caught her ear. Her head turned from side to side as she searched for the owner of that soulful voice. Her ears led her across the street and up the stairs into the square.

  There, a young man sat on a chair, strumming a guitar while he sang into a microphone. It wasn’t a song Vicki had ever heard before, but she loved it. None of the passersby seemed to notice the man as they crisscrossed the wide open space, hurrying from one store to another with large shopping bags in tow.

  His high tenor with its angelic notes easily cut through the city noise. He wore a pork pie hat that allowed his golden locks to peek out. The rest of his outfit consisted of a brown sport coat and jeans with scuffed leather boots.

  His eyes were closed and had been since she first had seen him, while his left foot bounced to keep time. Vicki moved to within five feet of the singer, listening and watching until he finished his song. She clapped, and he thanked her with a warm smile as she removed a five-dollar bill from her purse and placed it in the open guitar case on the ground in front of him. He nodded and smiled once more before strumming the beginnings of another song. Eventually, other people gathered, and Vicki lost her private concert.

  She turned to leave but not before smiling at him one last time. When she was out of his sightline, she removed her phone from her purse and texted Jerry, “You’ll never guess what I found.”

  “What?” he replied.

  “The heart we’ve been looking for.”

  34

  Jerry moved as fast as he could. His heavy backpack slapped against his back with every stride taken. He was thrilled about Vicki’s text message and didn’t want to ruin it by arriving too late. When he got there, a bubbling of perspiration covered his face and the chest area of his brown shirt showed signs of spotting.

  “I power walked here,” he said, bent over and gasping for air.

  Vicki rubbed his shoulder. “Gee, honey, you didn’t have to do that.”

  He looked up at her. “You’re wearing your wig.”

  “Yeah, I know. I kind of like it. Maybe I should grow my hair out.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need it this time.”

  “Well, he’s already seen me in it so…”

  Jerry stood up but still rested both hands on his hips. He twisted his neck, searching for the singer. “Where is he?”

  “There,” Vicki said. She gripped his shoulders and faced him in the right direction. The two watched the singer from a distance, enjoying his melodic tones.

  “He’s pretty good.”

  Vicki smiled and snuggled her husband’s arm. They watched for a few more minutes before Jerry spoke again. “We can’t take care of business around here. It’s too public of a place.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “When he’s done, we’ll follow him and see where that leads us. I brought our equipment.”

  A crowd had begun to form around the young man, allowing the Carlsons to move closer and still remain faceless. When he finished singing, Vicki and Jerry cleared out with the rest of the impromptu audience and took separate seats at a coffee shop about a hundred feet away. There, they waited patiently. An hour later the singer packed up his equipment and headed off.

  The Carlsons split up, as they always did in those situations, and followed at a good distance behind their target. The singer walked up Powell Street until he reached the bus stop on Sutter. Jerry texted his wife that he would move in closer to the young man since he wouldn’t be recognized.

  Vicki continued in the opposite direction on Sutter for fifty yards before crossing the street and doubling back to hide around the corner from them.

  A short wait and the number two bus arrived. The singer entered through the front doors with Jerry right behind. Vicki entered through the rear doors with her head down and a hat on and took a seat next to an elderly lady. The singer walked right by her without even a cursory glance and sat at the rear of the bus. Jerry sat two seats forward from him.

  There the three remained until the bus reached Larkin Street, where the singer exited with Jerry close behind and Vicki trailing. The man stopped at a building right before the next street and headed in
side. Jerry caught the gate before it slammed shut and thanked the singer even though he hadn’t held it open. Together, they rode the elevator—the singer to the fifth floor, Jerry to the fourth. When Jerry exited, he quietly made his way up the stairwell to the fifth floor. There he saw four doors. Not bad. I can deal with those odds.

  Vicki waited for Jerry’s text in an alleyway next to the building, under the shadow of scaffolding. They were both in the zone at that point. There would be no confusion or hesitation. When they were this close to what they loved doing most, nothing could deter them—not even the presence of the police car that drove by.

  Two minutes passed, and Vicki received a text from Jerry to meet him at the entrance in thirty seconds. The two moved quickly up the stairs, neither speaking a word. Jerry had already determined which apartment the singer lived in. If he hadn’t, he never would have texted. When they reached the fifth floor, Jerry held up a hand with one finger, then his other hand with five fingers, signaling apartment number sixteen.

  He helped her remove her sweater and the spaghetti strap top underneath before unclasping the black bra that kept her full 34Cs from jiggling. She slipped her top back on. The flimsy material stretched thin, displaying the location of her large areolas while the chilly air kept her nipples pointed. She fixed her hair, freshened her lipstick and dabbed her neck and wrists with a perfume sampler. Jerry then kissed his wife and handed her the blade, which she slipped into the back pocket of her jeans.

  From the stairs, he watched his wife walk confidently down the carpeted hall until she reached the musician’s door, the last one on the left. She rang the doorbell and put on a smile. A few seconds later, she waved at the peephole. Come on; open the door, Jerry thought. A second later, the seal of the door cracked.

  He watched his wife bat her eyelashes as she squeezed her arms together. She said something to the singer and began to playfully walk her fingers down his chest as she backed him into his apartment. That was Jerry’s cue. He moved out of his hiding spot and down the narrow hallway, ready to play his part.

  When he arrived, Vicki had already stuck her blade directly into the singer’s voice box, disabling it. Jerry closed the door behind him and revealed his favorite carving knife. The man stumbled backward at the sight of Jerry. His eyes stretched wide. His mouth dropped open. His left hand still had a grasp around his neck, but it could not contain the bloody leak. The singer shook his head no. His watery eyes pleaded for mercy. Jerry nodded yes. His darkened eyes promised no such thing.

  35

  It was six a.m. and chilly. The fog had rolled in thick that Friday and settled across the entrance to the Bay and most of the city. When I arrived at Union Square, visibility was better. It was unusual to see it slither so far south. I spotted a couple of black and whites parked near the northwest corner of the square and made the walk.

  The taped-off area looked smaller than usual and piqued my interest right away. I flashed my credentials to the uniform on perimeter duty, and he let me through with a nod. It wasn’t hard to spot Kang amongst the crowd of law enforcement and forensic personnel.

  “Abby. Thanks for coming so quickly. I had the team hold off on processing the scene so you could get a look at it in its original state.”

  I looked around for a body but didn’t see a sheet. I finally had to ask.

  “There isn’t one. There’s only a heart.” Kang motioned for me to follow. “Every year, these large heart-shaped sculptures are painted by different artists and installed around the city. The CowParade exhibit inspired San Francisco to do the same but with painted hearts to play off the song ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco.’”

  I thought Kang was pulling my leg until I saw the bloody organ sitting on top of the installation. It was housed inside a small, acrylic box as if it were on display. It was.

  “They glued the box to the installation. We’ll probably damage it when we pry the box off.” Kang shook his head in disappointment.

  I leaned in for a closer look. It still looked fresh. “Any idea how long it’s been here?”

  “Green’s office hasn’t had a chance to give an official ruling, but I’m guessing no more than a few hours. The area is heavily trafficked except for a narrow window in the early morning.”

  I looked at Kang, and we both knew what the other thought. “I can’t believe we missed this one,” I said. The song was iconic San Francisco. And the killer took it literally. “I wonder where the owner is.”

  “Who knows?” Kang blurted.

  I watched him flip his jacket collar up and pull it tight around his neck. “I have my men interviewing the people around here and knocking on the doors of the shops in the area, though I’m not hopeful. Most of these stores don’t open until ten in the morning. Even so, a couple of drops of super glue, a firm press to the installation—the killer could have done that without even stopping.”

  Kang looked around before turning back to me. The lines in his forehead had deepened. “You still think the killer is your mystery woman?”

  “She’s the best lead I have.”

  “What about my cases?”

  “She’s also the best lead on your cases, because you have none. Why the awesome mood this morning?”

  Kang didn’t answer me and avoided my eyes by constantly looking around. This was a different side of him, one I hadn’t seen before. Where’s the playful Kang I know? I had thought we worked well together and were on our way to becoming friends. Maybe he’s a grouch in the early morning, I thought, though he should know he wasn’t the only one who had to drag his butt out of bed early.

  I did another walk around the crime scene; there wasn’t much to take in. I circled the work of art and did a larger, ten-foot perimeter. Nothing caught my eye. I also agreed with Kang about the area businesses not being open when the heart was placed on the installation; maybe the Starbucks a block up the street, but that’s about it.

  I gave Kang a pat on the back. “Come on; let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “For coffee and answers.”

  36

  The night before, the Carlsons had checked out of the Parc 55 and into a charming bungalow on Russian Hill. Vicki couldn’t understand why they had to move from the suite she had grown comfortable with. But when she saw night views of the San Francisco Bay from the private wraparound balcony of the house they had just rented, she forgot all about the Parc 55. The only explanation Jerry gave Vicki for the move was that a change of scenery would be nice and much more private. She figured she had obliged him with the faceless hotel, and he was trying to do the same with a place packed with personality. Their new abode had all the character of an old home, which she craved, yet it was completely modernized to suit their needs.

  Of course, the real reason for the move was that Jerry’s nerves had worsened over the last few days. The kill the night before, while executed flawlessly, had made it worse. Anxiety was a rare emotion for him. Vicki was usually the nervous one who wanted precautions and every move planned. But lately, Jerry had found the roles reversing. He couldn’t quite understand why. He’d never cared about the details in the past. The kill was what mattered the most, not the how, who or where.

  From the moment the two met on a night years earlier in a dive bar, Vicki had brought structure into his life. It had been hard in the beginning, but she stuck with him, and he had learned, or at least accepted, that this was a better way to continue what he loved doing most.

  Both had been single back then, but spending time in that bar hadn’t had anything to do with meeting someone of the opposite sex and had everything to do with filling their macabre desires. Jerry didn’t care who he killed. He had been simply waiting for someone to exit through the back door. After hours without an opportunity, Jerry’s patience had run its course. He had decided to head out back and walk the alley behind the bar in hopes of coming across someone—anyone.

  A young man in a mullet and a sweat stained T-shirt with the sleeves cut off had p
resented the loudest mouth in the bar that night, and he’d been spreading his putrid body odor, all while his chest remained artificially inflated thanks to the beer muscles he acquired over the night. Vicki had trained her eye on the man. She had watched him carefully after he stood in front of her, babbling and trying to drag her onto the dance floor. She had nearly vomited in her mouth while he tugged on her arm.

  Vicki had decided to take matters into her own hands. She had walked over to the loudmouth and whispered in his ear before heading out the back door as well. A few seconds later, the man had followed.

  Jerry had heard the door open and the click-clack of heels on the pavement. Finally, he had thought as he’d ducked into the shadows. In one pocket he had possessed wire. In the other, a knife. He fondled both, unsure of which to use. He needed to see the person before deciding whether to deliver a close and personal kill or an angry torrent of slashing. He hadn’t been able to hear the heels any longer, and he worried that he might have missed his chance. He took a risk and leaned out of his hiding spot. He saw no one. But before his anger could rise, the back door flew open, and out walked the man he had noticed earlier. Perfect.

  Jerry removed the knife and readied himself. He could hear the scraping of boots against the asphalt as each step came closer to him. But suddenly, Jerry heard the heels again. They were fast and coming his way. Two? Could it be my lucky night?

  Jerry relished the opportunity and made his move. He stepped out from his position in the dark, hand raised, knife poised to strike, only to find a strange woman standing behind the man. She had placed one hand across his mouth, holding him tightly against her. Her other hand had brandished a knife that had been driven deep into her mark, slicing through muscle and sinew. The man gurgled and grasped at his neck. Jerry still stood in the same pose, from which he had exited his hiding spot. The only change had been the mask of confusion that had spread across his face as he watched some other killer poach his victim.