Taking the cue, Samantha inquired, “This legacy you mentioned . . . how long was James Seymour working on it for you?”
Calithea replied, “Only about a week. As I said, my sisters and I have only just . . . returned to the city after an extended time away.”
Peter smiled and said, “Welcome back.”
“Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve walked the streets of Philadelphia, a very long time.” Calithea returned his smile. “I, as well as my sisters, am looking forward to becoming acquainted once again with this city of brotherly love. We are very much looking forward to it.”
“How long have you been away?” Samantha asked.
“Oh, longer than I, or my sisters, care to remember.” Calithea smiled. “My sisters have done nothing but gorge themselves on the . . . delicacies of the city since our return. I, myself, am more of a discriminating connoisseur. Unlike my sisters, I’m more about quality than quantity. But such is the impetuousness of youth.”
_______________
As the doors closed and the elevator began its slow downward plummet, Samantha, infuriated, stood silently next to her partner. Her head was pounding as she gritted her teeth in anger. Samantha could feel her temples throbbing, and fought to hold back an onslaught of fury. Throughout the entire interview with Calithea Panagakos the detective had an overwhelming desire to punch her partner in the face. Samantha wasn’t normally prone to violence, but watching her partner toss aside all of his professionalism and self-respect simply enraged her. As the elevator passed floor eleven, she could hold back no more.
“What the hell was that all about?” she exclaimed.
Peter, taken aback by her sudden outburst, stared at her wide-eyed. “What?”
“What? What do you mean what? I’m talking about that dog and pony show you just put on back there!” Samantha responded.
As Peter stared at her dumbfounded, she continued her tirade. “Really? You don’t remember telling her how exotic her accent was? Or how her smile makes empty spaces feel welcoming? Oh, and I love this one! How about the way you interrupted me every thirty seconds! Not only did you make an utter fool of yourself, but also you completely disgraced your badge! What the hell were you playing at?”
Peter shook his head as if confused. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”
Samantha looked astonished by his response. “You don’t know what happened? That’s your excuse for your behavior? I’ll keep that in mind for the next time the captain asks why I shot a suspect! ‘Gosh, I don’t know!’ That’d go down well with Internal Affairs!”
The doors of the elevator opened and Samantha didn’t hesitate to storm out into the building’s lobby, and then out the front doors. She walked at a rapid pace, neither looking to the right or the left. Peter, with his hands in his overcoat’s pockets, followed a few feet behind. Samantha pulled open the passenger door of the Dodge Charger, and slid into the seat. She took two deep breaths, trying to calm herself before her partner entered the car. The more she dug into this case, the more that she hated it. There were too many questions and, up to now, she hadn’t found any answers. Samantha couldn’t understand why this case was causing her so much grief. She had always been able to keep a cool head with any murder case. Even with the Society Hill Serial Killer, she had been calm and collected during the entire investigation. She would only break down in the privacy of her own home. But this case was getting to her in ways that no other case had before. And it frightened her. At least this killer isn’t leaving messages with each victim for the police, she thought.
She heard the car door open, and Peter slid quietly into the driver’s seat. She said nothing to him. Samantha had said all that she had wanted to say back in the elevator. She wondered if she might have said too much.
“Samantha. I’m truly sorry. I’ve no excuse for what happened back there. I can’t explain it, and I’m not going to try,” Peter finally said.
Without looking at him, she retorted, “Don’t ever let it happen again.”
Chapter Ten
From his vantage point high above the dance floor, Jack saw the bartenders stocking the shelves behind their respective bars with bottles of every kind of alcohol imaginable. That was one thing that Pulsar prided itself on, its selection of alcoholic beverages. Behind each bar were long shelves lined with whiskeys, rums, wines, vodkas, and other kinds of alcohol by almost every major manufacturer. Pulsar also maintained twenty different beers on tap and another thirty varieties in bottles, including a few of the larger local Philadelphia microbrews.
With an hour to go before the club opened, Jack had already completed the programming of his first two hours of music in the computer, and had time to relax. Brad Colburn, on the other hand, was feverishly typing away at his keyboard, frantically trying to program the lighting effects for that evening. Jack smiled at the young man, whose brow was beginning to glisten with a faint layer of sweat. Brad, who normally arrived three hours before opening, had just walked in the door fifteen minutes prior, cursing about traffic on interstate 95 being backed up for miles. The angry young man vividly detailed his inch-by-inch crawl past a serious accident in the right-hand lane involving a jackknifed tractor-trailer and a Chrysler minivan. Now, Brad was rushing to make up for the two hours he had lost.
Jack, once again, gazed out over the dance floor below, lost in thought. It had been another slow week of rising in the evening, working the overnight, and sleeping during the day. He felt like his week had simply been a repeat of the week before . . . and the week before that . . . and the week before that, like he was stuck in some endless cycle. On Wednesday, Jack had toyed with the idea of sending out a few résumés to see if any stations might bite. But Thursday morning he had read in Friday Morning Quarterback, a radio trade magazine, about another Top Forty personality being fired from a Los Angeles station for saying the word “cock” on the air. Jack decided not to send out his résumé.
Feeling that his life was reaching a point of utter banality, Jack began to wonder if it was, as far as his broadcasting career was concerned, simply time to call it quits. At thirty-seven, he wondered if he was just too old to get back into high-paced Top Forty radio. Jack had realized that he was no longer in the age demographic that Top Forty radio was trying to reach, and wondered if that actually made him less appealing to radio stations than his on-air slip of the tongue. Maybe it was just time to move on, he had thought on Thursday evening. But what would he do? Radio was his only talent. It was all he ever knew.
When he considered his current circumstance, Jack had to admit that he was getting paid a decent amount of money to allow him to live comfortably. But he still felt terribly unhappy with his present situation. It took a tremendous amount of effort for him to rise in the evening and spend eight hours a night in the WPLX studios. There were many occasions when, after rising at his customary seven o’clock, he simply sat on the edge of his bed, daring himself to not go to work that night. Jack often wondered what would happen if he simply stopped showing up. Would anyone from the station come and check on him? Would anyone at the station even care? Probably not, he thought. After all, he didn’t give a damn about them, so why should they give a damn about him?
It never failed that whenever Jack contemplated his career, he started to wonder about other things in his life. Why did his relationships never seem to last for more than a few months? Why had he never married? Why did he never visit his parents up in New York? All three questions had a single common answer. He instinctively reached for the wallet in his back pocket, but then thought twice and stopped himself. He really needed to stop thinking about her as often as he did. He couldn’t change what had happened, no one could. Jack knew he had been stupid, and now had to live with the consequences. He found it odd that he couldn’t even remember the other girl’s name. But he would never forget the look on Emma’s face when he told her.
Jack’s brooding
was interrupted by a shout from the dance floor below. He looked out and saw Harry Griffith gazing up from the center of the floor. Even if the dance floor had been full of people, it would have been hard to miss Harry. The bouncer’s three hundred pound girth along with his broad shoulders, thick neck, and cleanly shaved head made for an unusual sight among the usual crowd of patrons at Pulsar. When the bouncer stood at the center of the dance floor by himself, Jack couldn’t help but be amazed at how much Harry looked like a Mr. Potato Head in a black suit.
“Jack!” shouted Harry, in a deep, baritone voice.
“What’s up, Harry?”
“A guy at the front door claims to know ya. Jason Spanbaker?”
Jack laughed. “Spinacker! He’s a friend. Send him up.”
A few minutes later, Jason, wearing acid washed jeans, a pink untucked polo, and an unstructured navy blue jacket, stepped into the booth. Brad glanced up and nodded at Jason, who gave the young man a slap on the back as he passed.
“Nice to see you, four eyes,” said Jason.
“Piss off, bean counter!” replied Brad.
Grasping Jack’s hand tightly and giving it a hard shake, Jason said, “I’ve got a feeling tonight’s going to be my lucky night.”
Jack smiled. “Really?”
“Of course! It’s Friday night. I made a killing in the markets this week. And my friend, Jack Allyn, is supplying the mood music as I hunt for this evening’s willing partner.”
Without looking up from the keyboard, Brad said, “Don’t you mean victim?”
“Funny guy!” retorted Jason, raising his hand toward Brad and flipping up his middle finger.
“Should have a packed house tonight. The place has been overflowing since they found that body,” said Jack. “Harry’s had to shoo a few people away who were back in the alley taking selfies.”
“What a bunch of sick bastards!” exclaimed Jason.
Brad looked up from his feverish typing, and added, “Some people get their rocks off to that kind of stuff.”
Jack laughed, and said, “They need their heads examined.”
“Have you been back there yet to see what all the hubbub’s about?” Jason asked.
Jack shook his head. “Nope. It’s nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.”
_______________
Two hours later, the dance floor of Pulsar was packed from edge to edge with bodies as people once again gyrated to the beat that resounded throughout the club. Jack was feeling exceptionally good about how the night had gone. Brad’s lighting schemes had worked perfectly with the music that Jack had chosen. And, without trying to sound overly egotistical, Jack had even impressed himself with his own musical mix that evening. Sometimes, there were nights when Jack felt that everything, from the music, to the lights, and even the crowd, all came together to create that perfect atmosphere that Pulsar had become famous for. This was one of those nights. Word had drifted up to the booth that they were turning people away from the club at the front doors. The faint scent of alcohol and human perspiration intermixed in the air to form a unique odor all too well known to Jack’s olfactory senses.
Jason Spinacker had remained in the booth with Jack throughout the first few hours of the evening. He would lean over the edge, and peer down at the crowd below, searching for a woman who he felt would be worthy of his attention. Jack, finding Jason’s behavior hilarious to watch, would often goad Jason further by steering his friend’s attention to those women who would never meet Jason’s high standards.
“What about her?” Jack would ask, pointing down onto the dance floor.
Jason would often respond with a running commentary on the flaws in Jack’s choice. “The one in the black leather skirt? Are you kidding me? Her nose is bigger than her tits! Plus, she’d be too easy of a lay. That skirt is screaming she’ll sleep with the first guy who asks her to dance. I may not have much, but I do have some self-respect. I want to at least feel like I had to do more than just smile to get her panties off.”
The banter between Jack and Jason continued well into the nine o’clock hour, with short breaks to allow Jack to program the next hour’s music. Brad Colburn would interject his own suggestions, only to have them severely criticized by Jason. At nine fifteen, as Jason’s eyes were roaming the dance floor, Jack gazed in the direction of the club entrance. His eyes locked on the two figures that entered slowly into the foray of the crowded club. One of the two women looked familiar to Jack, with her golden blonde hair being too hard to forget. Even from a distance, Jack would have sworn that every strand of her hair had been made from pure gold. It swayed gently from side to side as she took each step. Her beautiful face was just as radiant as it had been the last time her saw her in Pulsar. The trim, curvy frame of her body once again turned the heads of every man she passed. Jack noticed that she was wearing the same skin-tight red Lycra dress from before.
Her companion was a fiery redhead, with shoulder length hair that curved in under her chin. Her face was just as beautiful as the other woman’s, and seemed to radiate a level of sensualism that could easily make her a superstar model. Although slightly shorter than her blonde companion, the redhead had a similar body structure. The tight, strapless black dress she was wearing seemed to defy gravity by clinging to every supple contour of her perfectly shaped figure. Although not certain because of his angle above the dance floor, Jack could have sworn that the sides of the dress were translucent like a chemise. Her legs were muscular, and perfectly toned, without a trace of imperfection. Jack could barely take his eyes away from the two women, and nudged Jason with his elbow.
“Wow!” exclaimed Jason.
Jack watched as the blonde and redhead paused and surveyed the interior of the club. As the blonde seemed to scan the crowd on the dance floor, the redhead glanced up toward the booth. Her eyes locked on Jack and Jason for a long moment, before she gave them both a wide smile, which was overflowing with sexual undertones.
“That’s her!” Jason exclaimed. “She’s the one! Come hell or high water, I’m taking her home tonight!”
The two women glanced at each other, smiled, and then parted; each going to a separate bar close to the dance floor. Jason gave Jack a slap on the back and said, “Wish me luck.” With that, he dashed from the booth and headed down toward the dance floor.
_______________
Jack spent the next two hours watching two bizarre mating rituals unfold before his eyes. The blonde had mingled throughout the club, seeming to aimlessly wander through the crowds. To those in among the crowd, the woman’s path seemed random, but to Jack, who had a view from above, it was anything but. As she drew closer to her intended partner, Jack could see that she had once again predatorily circled around the man she intended to meet. Once they were face-to-face, the man, who was tall, thin, with short black hair, smiled, indicating that the attraction was mutual. They drifted onto the dance floor and began to rhythmically move to the musical beat in a form of synchronized sexual frenzy bordering on the obscene.
On the other side of Pulsar, the redhead and Jason Spinacker began a quite different form of ritual, starting with drinks at the bar. There had been no predatory stalking; it had simply started with Jason buying her a drink. They talked for an hour by the bar, almost as if they were completely alone in the club. Jack noticed that his friend’s gaze seemed transfixed on the woman, and he appeared to be deeply engrossed in his conversation with her. The behavior was perplexing since it was far from Jason’s usual approach. Jack’s friend had never been known as an engrossing conversationalist. He was much better at getting his intended partner on the dance floor, and wooing her with his smooth moves. For Jason to sit at the bar for an hour-long conversation was way out of character.
Jason and the redhead eventually made their way to the dance floor. Their dancing was far more subdued than that of their counterparts on the opposite side of the dance floor, who at
that point were drawing stares from dancers around them who had become irritated by the couple’s uninhibited gyrations. If it had not been for the fact that they were still wearing clothing, one might have easily mistaken them for having tantric sex on the dance floor.
Glancing over toward Jerry Rickett, Jack could tell that the couple’s moves had attracted the attention of the club owner. As much as Rickett wanted every patron to have an enjoyable experience at his club, there were limits to the kind of behavior he would tolerate. Jack watched as Jerry passed word to the nearby bartender, who in turn picked up a small hand radio from under his bar. Jack knew what would happen next. Harry Griffith would come in from watching the front door, wade through the throng of dancers and quietly escort the couple from the club. It would be quick, quiet, and efficient. That was what Harry was good at. There were few people who were prepared to cause a fuss when being stared down by Harry’s girth. Any regular patron knew that to be ejected from Pulsar meant a lifetime ban at the club, at least as long as Harry worked the front door. That was the other thing Harry was good at. He had a tremendously good memory for faces.
As Jack waited for Harry to appear, he saw the sexually charged couple suddenly rush from the dance floor, the man leading with the woman’s hand in his own. He followed them as they made their way through the crowds toward the door. Jack could only guess that they had both grown tired of playing at sex, and were ready for the real thing. After they disappeared out the door, Jack turned his attention back to Jason and the redhead. But, as he scanned the crowds, he couldn’t find them anywhere. Jack realized that he had been so engrossed in watching the other couple that he had neglected to keep tabs on his friend. He shrugged, figuring that Jason had used some of his smooth lines with the redhead, and they had slipped out to, as Jason would say, make a little sheet music. Jack smiled, and began tapping at his keyboard, programming the next hour of music for Pulsar.
Sirens in the Night Page 9