Done Rubbed Out: Reightman & Bailey Book One

by Jeffery Craig

  “I like big men,” Bill Jones said with a wink.

  The man took a deep breath and gave himself a little shake, not believing the good fortune that had come knocking at his door. “I think I know where there’s a clean one. Hang on just a minute.” The fat man hurried from the room, and returned a few minutes later. “Here,” he offered, thrusting a folded white t-shirt at Bill.

  “Thanks, much appreciated. Hey, I didn’t get your name.”

  “It’s Ben, or Benny, if you like.”

  “Oh, I like, Benny.” Bill shrugged his shoulders and his shirt dropped down, draped on his elbows. He rubbed his stomach. “Could I get a glass of water, Benny? My throat feels really dry, and I need something to…wet it.” He caressed his throat and let his hand travel down his chest until it came to rest at the top of his jeans. When you get back, maybe we can have some fun.”

  Benny licked his lips as he watched the fingers slid under the waistband. “I’ll be right back. I’ll fix us something better than water. Just relax and make yourself comfortable.”

  After he’d scurried away, Bill Jones walked further into the room and knelt down in front the recliner and pulled the revolver from the back of his waistband. He placed it under the front right side. He then stood and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and removed his shirt. He took the white t-shirt and tied it into a knot about the same size as his fist then placed it on the floor to the left of the recliner. He stood and picked up his shirt, holding it loosely in one hand.

  Benny entered the room carrying two highball glasses filled with light red liquid and a few ice cubes. “It’s vodka and cranberry juice,” he said, handing Bill one of the drinks. “I hope you like it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will, Benny.” He took the glass in the same hand that held his folded shirt, carefully to keep his fingers covered. “My hands are all…damp and slippery. I guess I’m nervous or excited, or something. I don’t want the glass to slip.” He took a drink and ran the chilled glass across his neck and chest, leaving a trail of moisture. “Ahhh…that feels good.”

  Benny’s hand shook, rattling the ice in his glass. Bill went to a small table near one of the plastic covered sofas and set down the glass. And then he wiped his hands with the shirt before folding it neatly and placing it on the sofa. He turned back to Benny and ran his hand up and down the open fly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I undid these buttons. You did say I could get comfortable.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and slipped off his shoes and then pulled off his socks. “Benny,” he suggested, “why don’t you put down your drink and get comfortable in that big comfy chair? I’ll join you over there in a minute. Then we’ll have some fun.”

  Benny placed his shaking glass on a coaster his mother had brought back from her last trip to Israel, and walked over to his chair and sat down heavily. He watched as Bill Jones carefully folded his things and then stood.

  “You look comfortable, Benny. Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes,” Benny answered, eying the half-dressed man in his dead mother’s living room.

  “Good, I want you to be comfortable.” Bill Jones took a few items from his pocket and set them on the table. He then turned and pulled the jeans down his hips and lifted out each leg. He folded them and placed them next to the other things on the couch and turned to Benny and framed his crotch in his cupped hands. “You like?”

  “Oh… God….yes…”

  “I’m glad. Now just unzip your fly and lean back in your comfy chair and close your eyes. I have something planned that you’ll remember until your very last breath.” He watched as the man complied, unzipping his pants and leaning back in his chair. Lieberman quivered with anticipation.

  Bill Jones aka Joe Smith aka John Brown picked up the large heavy duty zip ties he had taken out of his pocket and threaded them together making a larger, continuous tie. He pulled on it a few times, tugging it to test its strength.

  “What are you doing, Bill?”

  “Why Benny, I’m making something…longer,” he answered, satisfied with his work. “I’m coming over there to start taking care of you right now.” He walked over to the man lying back in the chair with closed eyes. He placed the augmented zip tie on the floor within hand’s reach and knelt on the floor in front of the chair. He ran his hands up and down Benny’s heavy legs moving from knee to upper thigh. “Lift your hips a little. I can’t do this by myself. You’re such a…big…boy.”

  Benny quickly obeyed, straining to lift his big hips off of the recliner. Bill Jones grabbed the waistband and pulled the pants past the buttocks and then down the legs to just above the ankles. He held his body completely still as Benny ran a large, white, damp hand down his lower ribs to his hip. As the hand started to quest further, Bill stepped back. “Not yet, Benny. I’ve still got work to do.” He knelt at the foot of the chair again, and picked up the zip tie and knotted t-shirt in one hand and the revolver with another. He worked his way up the fat man’s body, grazing his skin along Benny’s flesh. He placed his knees on each of the recliner’s armrests, trapping Benny’s arms. He braced one hand on the side of the chair next to Benny’s head. He lifted his body up, rubbing his flesh against Benny’s chin. He leaned in slightly and softly whispered, “Open your mouth, Benny. I have something special for you.”

  Benny groaned and opened his mouth wide. With one smooth, fast movement, Bill Jones shoved the knotted cloth into the gaping mouth and lowered his body, setting all of his weight down on his knees and butt. He placed the gun against Benny’s temple and clicked off the safety. Benny’s eyes opened wide in shock. “I told you I had something special for you, Benny. You need to be very still and not move. Understand?”

  Benny tried to spit out the wad of cloth in his mouth but it was wedged too far back into his mouth. He tried to talk, but couldn’t do anything but make weak, grunting sounds.

  “Nod if you understand,” Bill Jones instructed as he put more pressure on the temple with the silencer end.

  Benny nodded quickly with wide fear filled eyes.

  “Good job,” Bill told him approvingly. “Now, I’m going to remove my knees from the chair and you are going to remain completely still. You wouldn’t want the gun to go off accidently.”

  The man nodded quickly and Bill removed his legs from the chair one at a time. “Benny, I want you to lean forward and put your arms behind your back. Do it slowly,” he instructed, holding the gun steady. Benny moved his arms behind him, struggling to do so. Sweat poured down his face and he was fighting to breathe through his nose. Bill used the zip tie to secure Benny’s wrists and then stepped away. Benny followed the gun with his eyes as Bill held it slightly away from his head. “Stand up.”

  The sweating man tried to find his balance as he stood. He attempted to move away, but his legs caught in his lowered pants and he wobbled and fell. Bill quickly adjusted the arms behind Benny’s back and tugged the tie tighter. He left him beached on the floor and quickly dressed in his discarded clothes. He ignored the whimpering man and pulled on a pair of tight black leather gloves. He went into the bedroom, where he found Benny’s bag and removed some cash. He spotted Benny’s cellphone and slid it into his pockets, figuring someone might find it handy. Then he went to the kitchen where he located Lieberman’s laptop, sitting opened on the table. He leaned over and opened a blank document and quickly typed a few lines. He saved the file and left it open on the computer. He fetched the open bottle of vodka, added a little something to make the job easier, and set it on the table.

  He returned to the living room, put his backpack on one shoulder, and knelt at Benny’s feet. He used both hands to tug the trousers up the legs. When he got to the hips, he instructed, “Lift up, Benny.” The terrified man complied and Bill pulled the pants up to his waist. He then rolled the man over on his back and fastened the pants. “I’m going to help you stand up. Don’t do anything stupid. Remember, I have the gun.”

  He heaved the man to his feet. “We’re going to the kitchen, Benny. I’ll b
ring your drink.” He picked up the man’s drink and placed the gun in the middle of his back. “Lead the way.”

  Benny walked slowly to the kitchen. Tears rolled down his fat quivering cheeks and a small drip of snot hung from his nose. Once in the kitchen, Bill directed him to a chair. “Take a seat.” When Benny was settled, Bill fished another couple of zip ties out of his backpack and fastened them around the man’s ankles, restraining him to the sturdy chair legs.

  “You want your drink, Benny?”

  The man nodded weakly.

  “Okay. I’m going to remove the cloth from your mouth. If you make a sound I’ll shoot you right in the gut.” Bill said pleasantly. “You know how much that will hurt, don’t you? Being a doctor and all…”

  Benny’s eyes widened in shock that the man knew his profession.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Bill pulled out the wet cloth and laid it on the table. Benny gasped for air and Bill let him recover for a sec or two. “Ready for a drink?” Bill asked, lifting the glass. When the man nodded, Bill held the glass to the moist lips and tipped it. Some dribbled out the side of Benny’s mouth. Bill waited until he swallowed, then slowly poured the drink into Lieberman. He reached for the vodka bottle and poured a large amount into the empty glass.

  “I know your nerves are pretty shaky, so I want you to drink everything in this glass. We’ll take it slow and you will feel a lot better when you’ve finished it off.” He lifted the glass and raised it to the lips. Benny turned his head away slightly. Bill removed the glass. “Benny, don’t make me mad. You won’t like me mad.” He put the glass up to the lips again, “Open up,” he instructed. He fed vodka to the man, waiting for him to swallow. Finally the glass was empty. He sat it next to the vodka bottle and waited about twenty minutes.

  “Benny, we’re going to play a game now. I am going to let you ask me one question – just one. I plan to answer it truthfully. If I like the question, I might let you ask another. Speak softly and don’t make any loud noises. If you do, I promise I’ll shoot you.”

  Benny looked up at him with drugged eyes. He swayed slightly in the chair. “W-w-why?”

  “Benny, I’m disappointed in you. That’s such an average question. But, I’ll answer it. You became a problem – a problem to be solved. That’s what I do. I’m a problem solver.”

  Benny dropped his head on his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m going to ask you a question now, and then I’ll let you ask another, even though your first one wasn’t very original.” Tears ran down Benny’s cheeks and his eyes were still closed. He did, however, nod. “I appreciate that, Benny. Here’s my question. Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

  “Left.” His voice was so quiet his answer could barely be heard.

  “That’s so cool, Benny. Many talented and creative people are left handed. I used to be primarily left handed, but I taught myself to use both hands equally. It gives me more options.” He walked behind the man’s chair and pulled it back from the table about two feet. He then leaned him slightly forward in the chair and tied just the right arm to the chair back, threading the zip tie between the already bound hands. “Since you were so cooperative and answered my question, I’ll let you have another go.” When Benny didn’t respond, he slapped the man lightly on the cheeks. “You must have another question. Come on, ask. I’ll answer it.”

  Benny’s words were slurred. “Why… thish way?”

  “That’s a much better question! You see, the person who hired me suggested something like this, but I added my own special touches just for you. Based on what I was told, you like your boyfriends naked, willing and eager to please. We wanted to make sure you were getting exactly what you like, and at the same time, getting everything you deserve. Did you enjoy it, Benny?” Bill crooned the question into his ear. “Wasn’t I willing to please? I even got naked for you. I figured you deserved a little treat before I finished you off. Did I make it good for you?”

  Benny sobbed silently, his rounded shoulders shaking with each breath. Terrified and helpless, his bladder and bowels loosened. “Poor Benny, you messed your britches.” Bill pushed his head gently and it wobbled side to side, slack and listless. “Don’t worry about it – it happens all the time. I think you’re just drunk. In fact, you’re about to pass out.”

  Bill pulled an army knife from his pocket and used it to cut the arms free. Then he refastened Benny’s right arm to the chair back. The left arm hung free, motionless at the man’s side. Bill surveyed the man for a moment or two and then suddenly remembered the other glass in the living room. “Good thing you remembered! Everything has to be perfect.”

  When he left the room, the man in the chair marshalled his last bit of strength and painfully reached his left arm out and over as far as he was able. Reaching the keyboard, he was only able to type two small letters into the open document. His reserves depleted, and overcome by the alcohol and sedatives that he had been fed, he collapsed back into the chair with his left arm hanging limply at his side.

  Bill walked back into the kitchen and looked Benny over to determine what progress the booze and drugs had made. Satisfied, he went to the table and used the wet cloth from Benny’s mouth to wipe the gun down carefully. He then stood behind the man and lifted the left arm. He positioned the hand exactly as he needed and wrapped the plump, pliable fingers around the handle and raised the gun to the man’s left temple. Using his own gloved hand, he guided the chubby fingers just so, and pressed the end of the silencer firmly to Benny’s head. With firm steady pressure, he caused the man to squeeze the trigger.

  The gun made a sudden muffled noise, much like an air compressor shutting off. Blood and brains spattered out the right side of the man’s head, splattering the walls and the lace curtains hanging over the mini-blinds.

  Bill Jones, aka John Brown, critically regarded his work. He made a slight adjustment to the computer and then lowered the screen half way. He cut the zip ties securing legs and arm to the chair and pocketed the pieces, and briskly rubbed the wrist and ankles to manipulate and puff the skin, removing most, if not all of the marks made by the bindings. After one last sweep of the kitchen and the living room, he put on his hat and dug the clipboard out of his backpack.

  He opened the front door and adjusted the locking mechanism. He walked through the door and pulled it shut after him. Standing on the small front porch he took off the leather gloves and put them into the backpack. Whistling softly, he walked down the sidewalk and continued until he was two houses down. He walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. “Good evening, sir. I’m with Citizen’s Action for Better Local Government. Could I ask you a few questions? Your answers will help to make our city and state government more effective.”

  He stopped at five more houses before he went back to his vehicle. One nice, grandmotherly lady invited him in and gave him a glass of sweet tea. He thanked her graciously before he left.

  He got into the SUV and removed the hat and stowed it in the glovebox. He unzipped the backpack and stowed the clipboard inside then placed it on the passenger seat. He opened the console between the seats and pulled out his phone. He typed a short message: PROBLEM SOLVED

  He sent the message and put the phone in his back pocket.

  John Brown started the SUV and drove out of quiet middle-class neighborhood. “This is a pretty nice area,” he mused, “there probably isn’t a lot of crime.” He thought about his day. “It was a hard job, but you did good work today, John Brown,” he congratulated himself. “You should be very proud.”

  ♦♦♦

  On Wednesday morning, Reightman went into work early, intending to go over all of the crime scene evidence yet one more time. She and Sam had been through them a couple of times already, but it couldn’t hurt. There just wasn’t much else she could do at this point. Until Lieberman was found, it looked like things were coming to a standstill.

  On the way to her desk, she spotted a sad looking plant and stopped to investigate. It was yel
lowed, and the few remaining leaves had brown, dried edges. “Perfect!” She picked it up the pot, hoping Sam wasn’t in yet. When she reached her desk, she looked around then shrugged off her purse and snatched up the healthy looking plant from beside his desk and replaced it with the sick and dying substitute. She stashed the healthy plant a few desks away. She hurried to the break room and rinsed her hands under the sink. After filling a mug with hot water she strolled back leisurely. Her day was off to a terrific start. She booted up her computer and dropped a tea bag into the mug to brew. She’d worked through the first electronic file of crime scene photos by the time Sam arrived.

  “Good morning, Reightman. How’s things?” he asked, as he took off his jacket and hung his jacket over the chair.

  “Morning, Jackson. Things are good. Just going through the crime scene photos again.”

  “Again?” he asked as he started up his own computer. “We’ve been through them about a dozen times already. What are you thinking you’ll find this time?”

  “I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to give them another pass. I got a good night’s sleep last night so maybe my fresh, rested eyes will spot something new.”

  “I’m glad you got some rest. I tossed and turned all night. Must have been something I ate.”

  “You never know about food…or drink these days, Jackson.” She carefully didn’t look at him. “You can’t be too careful.” She felt his eyes on her as she moved to the next set of photos.

  “I’m going to get a cup of coffee,” he said rising from his chair.

  “You want me to get it for you? I’m almost ready for another cup of tea.”

  “No!” he answered emphatically. “I’ll get it. You keep working on those files. You want me to bring you back some hot water?”

  “No thanks,” she smiled up at him, "I’ll get some in a little while. I’ll need a stretch anyway after I get through a few more of these.” She turned back to her monitor. Reightman flipped through a few more pictures, making an occasional note. She stopped on a photo of the break room. “Hmmm, I don’t remember that door.”