“Toby, dude! It ain’t all bad…the pay’s good.”
Every time someone called him “Toby,” he felt like straightening them out with a fist to the throat. What kind of gay name was “Toby Grainger,” anyway? He thought about asking Wyngarden for a different name and a better job. But it wasn’t gonna happen. Not yet, anyway. First he had to show his stuff. Prove himself. Show LMI some of his art.
For his first task, Wyngarden asked Cody to get rid of Owen Gribble. Something he now looked forward to doing. When Gribble punked him, he made it personal. No one punked the Denver Decapitator. Just didn’t happen.
And Cody had a killer idea how to solve the problem.
* * *
Leon entered the offices of MacReady & Associates. Rachel’s vacated desk filled him with relief. Usually her warm greetings brightened his mornings. Today, however, he needed a quiet entry since he was already over thirty minutes late.
As soon as Leon ducked into his cubicle, Matt Scherlinger poked his boxy head over the wall. “Hey, Owen, looks like you lost the football pot again. Time to pay the man.”
“Ouch. Twenty-five bucks down the drain.” Leon loathed playing the weekly football pot; didn’t even consider himself a football fan. But the importance of involving oneself with co-workers couldn’t be overlooked. Not too much and just enough. Spending five minutes online to formulate football picks and blowing twenty-five dollars a week wasn’t too steep a price to pay to maintain his good standing within the eyes of his fellow employees. Quiet people—the ones who never socialize—have suspicious eyes cast upon them. “I guess this means you won again, huh, Matt?”
Matt let out a victory whoop while rowing his arms. “Damn straight. I can pick ‘em!” Leon didn’t dislike Matt, just didn’t really feel anything for him. Another low-level accountant struggling to support his wife and kids. Leon had worked with his type before. Matt probably had higher aspirations at one time and simply accepted his fate to forever be working for people stupider than him. “By the way, Owen…” Matt dramatically cupped his hand over his mouth. “Capshaw’s looking for you.”
As if on cue, Capshaw stepped into Leon’s cubicle with his all-too-familiar glower. “Scherlinger, I’m sure you have better things to do than gloat over your fantasy football winnings.”
“It’s, uh, not fantasy football, Mr. Capshaw. We were… Oh! I’ve got to get back to the Smithson account.” Matt dropped out of sight like a groundhog frightened by its shadow. Leon wished he could do the same thing.
“My office now, Gribble.” Capshaw thrust his fist downward in a futile act of intimidation. As Leon walked behind his fuming boss, he truly wished Capshaw fit his project criteria. And not for the first time. Several months ago, Leon followed Capshaw, thoroughly researched him, hoping he could find evidence of abusive behavior. From all indications, Capshaw appeared to be a henpecked husband, possibly explaining his behavior at work. If Leon added mental office abuse to his list of punishable crimes, his work would never end.
Capshaw slammed his office door for show. It bounced back open as if even the door lacked respect for him. “Sit!” He huffed into his chair and raked his fingernails through his comb-over (which fooled absolutely no one). “Gribble, I said you could take an hour-and-a-half lunch, not two hours.”
“I apologize, Mr. Capshaw. I had an emergency. My cousin’s in the hospital. Car accident.”
“Not an excuse. You have a cell phone. Use it!”
“I will.”
“Don’t let it happen again. You sure you weren’t on a job interview, Gribble?” He narrowed his eyes as if he’d discovered incontrovertible evidence.
“What? No.” Leon had no clue where this line of inquisition came from. He couldn’t call himself exactly happy working for Capshaw, not by a long shot. While over-qualified for the job, it did provide him a nice cover story while he pursued his true interests, though. “As I said, my cousin was rushed to the hospital. Turns out he’ll be fine.”
“I suppose I have to take you at your word.”
“Mr. Capshaw, do you have a problem with my performance?”
“You do good work. I just want you to stay on top of it.”
“I intend to.”
“Get back to work.” He dismissed Leon with an impatient hand flourish, leaving Leon to wonder how this man ever achieved a leadership role.
On his way back, Leon stopped by the lunchroom. As soon as he saw Rachel, he almost turned around. She slumped over the table, massaging her temples in a continuous circle. Never a good sign. “Hey, Rachel.”
Still keeping her head down, she replied, “Hi, Owen.”
Standing at the vending machine, he stole a glance at Rachel. He hesitated, deliberating on whether nor not to say something. His mouth won the battle. “Rachel, are you okay?”
She nodded and looked up briefly, her eyes red and glassy.
“Rachel? What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing… Please just leave me alone.”
Rachel Sturm had been MacReady & Associates’ receptionist since before Leon joined last year. A striking brunette, her dazzling green eyes seemed at odds with her dark features; they glowed with a mixed generation melting pot of mystery. Leon pegged her at thirty-three-years-old. Hard to say. The age lines encroaching around her forehead only appeared in times of extreme emotion. Leon excelled at spotting such small details. Part of his business, after all.
From all indications, she dated a selfish cretin. It was impossible not to overhear her sometimes pleading, sometimes angry phone calls; the cubicle walls had ears. Lately, more often than not, sadness supplanted her typical giddiness.
“Okay, Rachel, if you need to talk, you know where to find me.” The fact Leon made the offer stunned him. Like a misfired bullet, it was too late to retract it.
“Wait, Owen, I’m sorry. It’s just Travis and I…have been going through a rough patch.”
Leon sat down across from her. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks.” Her dark fingers stretched out and fell over Leon’s folded hands. Warm and smooth and totally unexpected, yet Leon didn’t flinch. Suddenly she snatched her hand back as if being burned.
“So, what’s this rough patch you’re going through? How can you dig your way out?”
She smiled her crooked grin, the one Leon found so fascinating. It reminded him of a paralyzing stroke’s after effects, but bucking the odds, it made her more enticing. He’d been studying her for some time.
“It’s just sometimes Travis isn’t very understanding. He accuses me of…stuff.”
“What stuff?”
She lifted up a corner of her mouth, a deep dimple punctuating it perfectly. “He thinks I cheat on him. And he says I don’t care about him and his needs.”
“Rachel, you care about everyone’s needs at the office. You’re the heart of the office.” His words rambled out like a runaway train. Time to derail the train with a little levity. “Your boyfriend must be crazy.”
“He’s not crazy—”
“I’m sure he’s crazy in love with you.”
“I don’t know…”
“He’s crazy to not treat you the way you deserve. Wait, I need to make a call.” Leon feigned punching numbers on his phone. “Hello? Is this 911-CRAZY? Yes, I have a code red for you here. Fellow name of Travis. Apparently, he has a great girlfriend. Doesn’t treat her the way she deserves. It’s a Defcon-two crazy emergency.”
Rachel laughed, swaying in her seat.
Leon put his phone away and said, “Consider your rough patch solved. I hear the Crazy Company does good work.”
“Owen, thanks for the laugh. I needed it.”
“No problem. Seriously, Rachel, if this Travis makes you unhappy, get out. Don’t waste your time. You can do better.”
“Why couldn’t…”
“What?”
She shook her head. “It’s stupid. I just wondered…why Travis couldn’t be more like you.”
&nbs
p; Leon forced a smile, felt his face crack like melting ice. “You’ll do the right thing, Rachel.” Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. His stomach roiled. What in the hell was he doing? The first rule of survival was don’t get involved. With anyone. Ever.
He got up without saying another word.
On his way out, he glanced back at Rachel. When she smiled at him, it suddenly felt like involvement.
* * *
Cody planned to make the best of his day off. A trip to the Barton Mall filled him with anticipation, a sense of sexual tension almost.
Two days ago, while at the mall, Cody noticed the lack of security cameras in the parking lot. A very good thing. Well, for him, at least; maybe not so much his intended victim. Rule of thumb: the older the mall, the worse their security. The Barton Mall had cameras inside. Not a problem. The parking lot would do just fine.
Stalking supplied him with the most thrills anyway: finding a potential victim, determining her parental status. Sometimes Cody followed them home, so he could take his time, enjoy it more. Sometimes he couldn’t wait. But he never hit the same mall twice in a row. Too dangerous, strictly amateur time.
He’d have to hurry today, though. With the clock ticking, he’d have to do a parking lot grab and go, something a bit more risky. But, hey, LMI wanted results.
Last night Wyngarden said to do whatever it takes to get rid of Gribble. “Within reason of course,” he added in his girlish voice. Cody asked him what he meant. Wyngarden replied, “Mr. Spangler, you are not to be caught, and Like-Minded Individuals must maintain their privacy.”
Okay, message received. Wyngarden didn’t want his precious society outed. As long as Gribble goes down. “Whatever it takes.”
Cody couldn’t wait to do whatever it takes.
He idled around the packed parking lot, searching for an advantageous spot. Every time someone left, another person immediately zoomed into the space. Damn, greedy Christmas shoppers. He needed a good spot more than they did. Timing counted in his work. Cody kicked ass with timing. His track record in Denver didn’t lie.
At last he scored a space in the third row, backed in, and killed the engine. He cranked down the window to let a breeze in and studied the lay of the land. His land.
Look at all these dumbasses, he thought. Going about their business, buying presents just because they think they have to, not out of love or anything. And they have no goddamn idea what’s about to hit their stupid little city.
A dark blue minivan ambled by. Behind the wheel sat a woman, cell phone glued to her ear. So damned self-important she has to—what do you call it?—“multi-task” while driving.
Cody read her bumper stickers as she passed, always a good clue about the driver’s potential. Ask Me About My Honor Student and Soccer Moms Unite! Perfect.
Once she parked in the row behind him, Cody jumped out and raced around to the back of the van. Feigning a phone conversation, he unlatched the back door handle. And waited.
The woman wore a business suit, the kind that screamed big money. She tied her hair back in a bun, tightening her already bitchy face. Obviously she liked showing off her long, muscular legs, her skirt barely covering her ass. Kinda’ hot, really. She probably never paid any attention to her kids at all. In her world, country clubs, gyms, and the entire rich, spoiled housewife shit were her priority.
As she strutted by him, Cody called out, “Excuse me, ma’am?” He shot a quick glance around the parking lot, checking for spectators. As usual, good luck kept him company.
The woman spun around. Her blood red lips twitched before she responded. “Yes?”
“I think you dropped this.” Cody waved a twenty-dollar bill into the air, his carrot to the horse. The ploy always worked. Even though the rich bitches knew it wasn’t their dropped cash, they could never get enough money.
“Hang on a minute, Dot,” she said into her phone. She walked toward him with an outstretched, gloved hand. “Thank you so much. I just don’t know where my head is today.”
Cody knew where it would soon be. Quickly, he exchanged his phone with a hunting knife. Snagging the woman’s wrist, he yanked her close. He slipped the knife between her jacket flaps, lightly pressing the tip against her stomach. “Get in the van,” he said quietly.
“Just take my purse!”
“Shut up.” Cody pocketed the knife and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Just…shut up.” The van doors opened with a rusty crunch. A forceful shove and she fell inside on her hands and knees. Cody hopped in, took one last look outside before enclosing them within the van. The woman’s sunglasses dangled from one ear. Her hair fell from the bun and draped across her pale face like varicose veins. The industrial strength plastic Cody laid out earlier crinkled and snapped as she scrambled back. And her eyes! Big as casino chips, freaked out, just beautiful.
“Denise? Denise? Are you okay?” The small, tinny voice piped out of the phone lying beside her.
Shit! The bitch put it on speaker phone!
“Dot, help me,” the woman screamed. “Call 911! He’s—”
Cody snatched the phone, smashed it into pieces with his knife. “Don’t try no shit with me, yo!”
“What do you want?”
Straddling her, he bound her hands with rope. He gave the knots a few good tugs, maybe a little too hard, not that it mattered. “You can scream all you want, yo. My van’s sound proof. Ain’t nobody gonna’ hear you.” When he grabbed for her ankles, she kicked, landing a lucky blow to his upper arm. “Dammit, stop it!” He removed her heels, threw them aside, and finished tying her legs.
Smiling, he climbed between the bucket seats and fired up the engine. Things were going his way. Even Kansas had its upside, better than he expected.
“My friend’s going to call the police. She knows something’s wrong!”
“All she knows is you were at the mall. Can’t trace the phone now. It’s dead.” Cody cautiously pulled out onto Shawnee Mission Parkway, obeying every speed limit, traffic sign, and rule of good driving courtesy.
“I have money. Lots of money!”
“Yeah, don’t really care.” Always their first line of defense, thinking they could buy him off. They didn’t know jack.
“I have kids!”
“I know you do. That’s why you’re here.” While stopped at a light, he turned back and glared at her. “And quit screaming. All you’re doin’ is giving me a headache, yo! I told you my van is soundproofed.”
Cody had insisted LMI supply him with a fully sound proofed van. One of his conditions if they wanted him so badly. A thick sheet of sound absorbing foam was bonded to all sides, a wooden layer adhered over it. It looked crappy and reduced his work space by five inches, but it got the job done. His art studio. “Let me axe you something. You love your kids?”
“Yes. Please, please let me go! I won’t say anything. I swear to God!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I swear to God I won’t tell anyone!”
“That part you got right. You won’t be able to tell anyone.” Cody chuckled. All of these women were alike, going through the same stages. “I just don’t believe you love your kids.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You don’t love your kids.” Cody pulled onto Merriam Lane, keeping a steady eye on the rearview mirror.
“You’re…crazy! I love my kids more than anything!”
So predictable. So tiring. He’d heard the “crazy” accusations before. Right. Crazy like a fucking fox, maybe.
He entered a narrow, weed-overgrown road. Gravel crunched beneath his tires.
When Cody first hit Kansas, he scoped out good dumping areas. He found several. This particular one seemed damn near tailor made for him.
Trees edged in on him as he drove down the slight slope. Even though the trees had shed their leaves, their bountiful number provided coverage from the highway one mile to the north. Two miles to the south, a dog food factory’s chimneys coughed out large clouds of
dark smoke. The putrid smell drifting upwind made him gag. Best not to think about the stories he’d heard about dog food plants.
To his right lay a circular clearing in the wooded area, large enough for a car to turn around. Rusted ovens and other indistinguishable metallic parts littered the ground. Long abandoned railroad tracks ran through the woods on a course to nowhere. Broken booze bottles, cardboard boxes, and rotting blankets suggested the homeless had once lived here, but they had flocked elsewhere, nobody home. Yellowed weeds springing up between the rails provided the only sign of life. A pity Cody couldn’t use the grounds more than once.
Sheerly out of habit, like a dog before it lay down, Cody circled the clearing once and parked. Reaching into the glove compartment, he grabbed a tool—the first tool of several, actually. He swiveled in his chair to face the woman. “You don’t love your children. None of you do. You’re all selfish, and you suck!”
“It’s…not true.”
With a sigh, Cody pulled the tranquillizer gun trigger. Phut. Her eyes widened as she stared at the dart sagging from her chest. Cody liked watching the process quite a bit. Soon, she’d be frothing at the mouth, making retching sounds. He could live without the noise. But if the drug was supposedly humane enough for animals, why not use it on women like her? The M-99 tranquilizer only took a few minutes to kill, better than she deserved.
She thrashed about on the plastic like a crazed puppet. Her bound legs raised and kicked down onto the flooring, a manic drum solo. She gargled on the lava erupting from her mouth. Finally, she stopped moving. Always kinda’ cool to watch. Sometimes he could see the life force leave their bodies. Like the sun coming out after a nasty storm.
He slipped into his coveralls, mask, and hat, complimentary of his shitty new job. Like a loyal friend, the power saw fired up on the first tug. He gave it a good buzzing, testing the battery’s charge. The next step took a lot of muscle and time. It wasn’t as easy as they made it look in the movies.
Cody sliced through her neck. His very favorite part.
Secret Society Page 3