Celia crossed her arms across her chest. Stared at Adams, challenging him to suggest something else she could shoot down. Marty cowered behind his desk, looking very much like a cuckolded wimp getting redressed by his wife for being worthless. Rick felt a little sorry for him. He was getting worked from above by Brewster and from below by Celia. Puppet man polka.
Adams shook his head. “You are too much. All of you. We’ve got a guy killing people and hacking off their body parts and you’re worried about your stupid show’s ratings.” His eyes turned hard. “Do I need to rustle up a court order?”
Marty’s hand was on his phone before Adams had finished his sentence. “I’m calling Stanton.” He started punching in numbers.
“Hang up,” Celia said. Both rows of teeth showed in her mouth.
Marty set the phone back in its cradle, clearly relieved he wouldn’t have to drag Stanton into this mess.
“Detective, would you mind giving us a few minutes to chat alone?” Celia asked.
Adams nodded, looked around. “Sure. I’ll go call the office. Excuse me.”
As soon as Adams shut the door behind him, Celia and Marty started talking at each other. Celia was pumped, saying over and over how good ratings were going to be this week. Marty bemoaned the police department’s involvement, worried about what Brewster and Stanton would say when they found out he’d gone against the wishes of Detective Adams.
Rick watched them deliver their simultaneous monologues, both talking, neither listening. “Shut up ! Shut up for a minute!” He stepped forward and leaned on Marty’s desk. Celia had stopped talking but her mouth hung open. Marty stared at Rick with wide eyes. “You two
are
unbelievable. Adams is right. We should shut the show down for a while. Go on vacation. First Time’s already killed two of us. Who’s going to be next?” Rick pointed across the desk at Marty. “You? What if First Time decides to kill you? Or Celia? Or me, for Christsakes? Are we willing to risk that?”
Marty’s face turned crimson. He glanced nervously at Celia for support, but didn’t say anything in his defense.
Rick didn’t dial back his intensity. “I don’t know about you, but my life is more important than any stupid ratings book. This is just a radio show!”
Celia looked like she’d been socked in the gut. For a moment. Then she regained her icy composure. “I’m not running scared. Think about it. Adams has it wrong. Backwards. First Time’s not going to kill again
because
of us. We’re going to
prevent
him from killing again.”
“Maybe we should run this by Stanton. He’d know how to handle Adams,” Marty said, rising from his chair and moving closer to Celia. Although he was older and a good six inches taller than Celia, there was no question who cut the more imposing figure. This radio station was Celia’s dominion, and Rick realized sleeping with Brewster wasn’t a factor. She’d be running the joint regardless.
“Hello? Marty?” The speakerphone did nothing to diminish the rumbling baritone of Brewster’s voice.
Marty spun around, craning his neck down to the phone on his desk. “Yes. I’m here. With Celia and Rick Jennings.”
“What’s going on there?”
Marty said, “Detective Adams wants us to shut down the
Circus
. Says he’s going to get a court order, so we—”
Celia interrupted. “There isn’t a judge in this country who’ll do that. We’ve got about five amendments on our side. I’d say Adams was bluffing.” She stared at Marty. Rick took a step forward, ready to reprise his argument for Brewster.
Marty started to respond, but was cut off by Celia, who was cut off, in turn, by the speakerphone.
“Quiet! Stop talking!” Brewster sounded like he was addressing two feuding toddlers. “As much as I want to close this satellite deal, I’ve got to think of the long term repercussions of antagonizing a madman. A negative public image will kill us, even if we get great ratings. Who knows, SatRad may suddenly develop a conscience and kill the deal if they think we’re somehow responsible for any more deaths. I’m sure you understand.”
Celia plopped down in a chair.
“Yes, we understand,” Marty said. Rick thought he looked relieved again.
“This is what we’re going to do. Marty, I want you to write up a statement. ‘In the best interests of the community, WTLK has decided to suspend broadcasts of the
Afternoon Circus
indefinitely, blah, blah, blah.’ We can run Best Of shows for a while.”
“You can’t be serious, Brew! Going off the air now will kill us.” Celia looked like she was about to cry. Rick stepped back from the phone. He’d gotten what he wanted. No need to pile on.
“Sorry. As I’ve said, we can’t risk something bad happening and it backfiring on us. That would kill the SatRad deal for sure,” Brewster said. “We have to do it. As of now, the
Circus
is on hiatus.”
F
IRST
T
IME CURLED
his fist around the cold hard knife handle in the pocket of his parka. Sharp, lethal, reassuring. His trusty tool. His razor of revenge. He glanced at his watch. 9:43 p.m. Any minute, his prey would waltz through the doors. He slumped against the wall, trying to appear uninterested in everything. Keeping one eye on the exit.
Almost on cue, the outer mall doors swung open and two women came bursting through, filling the brisk night with their hot air. The blond was wearing the same high-heeled boots she’d worn at the studio, but this time, no bikini. Too cold for that. He waited a moment, then fell in behind them, instinctively pulling the hood of his coat up over his head. Not so much for warmth, but for the shadows it provided. He followed them into the parking lot as they headed for their cars.
First Time had followed Ashlee for four consecutive nights, and it was always the same routine. Tops ’N Bottoms closed at 9:30. They’d shut the store down, and at about quarter to ten, she and her friend would exit the mall chatting, no doubt about all the losers they waited on during their shift. Then they would walk directly to their cars, which were parked in the farthest part of the lot, where he guessed the employees were instructed to park. Each night, he’d followed Ashlee home and she hadn’t gone out again. For someone so hot, it struck First Time odd she was such a homebody. Maybe she saved it all up for the weekends. He didn’t care.
What was, was.
And if tonight went according to plan,
What was, used to be
.
It was the perfect night. He’d already scouted things out. Ashlee had parked farther away than her friend, by about fifteen spaces. He gripped the knife again, caressing the handle through his gloves, feeling his excitement grow as he struggled to maintain a casual gait. Didn’t want to spook her. Despite the cold, sweat soaked his shirt collar.
As Ashlee and her friend approached her friend’s old red Corolla, First Time quickened his pace and angled toward a nearby car, fumbling in his pocket as if he were searching for his keys. Twenty feet to his right he heard Ashlee say, “Bye, Mira. See ya tomorrow.” Then Mira climbed in and started her car while Ashlee walked toward hers, head up, boots clattering on the asphalt.
First Time moved around the side of the Taurus and hustled after her, not quite running. Didn’t want to alarm the few other employees walking to their cars.
He’d closed the gap to about fifteen feet as Ashlee reached her car. He flipped his hood off and called out, “Excuse me.”
Ashlee’s head whipped around, and First Time detected panic in her eyes. He willed himself to remain calm, not wanting to let his glee ruin things. “It’s Ashlee, right?”
Ashlee seemed puzzled, then her eyes darted around frantically, looking for someone to help her. Her mouth opened.
“It’s me, Chris. From the radio station. Remember? At the chicken contest?” First Time had used a fake name when they’d met. Planning was everything.
Her mouth closed as recognition clicked in Ashlee’s memory. The fear drained, letting her pretty face shine. Pretty, but still wary. “Right. Sorry. Took me a minute.”
“I need a favor. My car won’t start,” First Time said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Could you help me out?”
Ashlee glanced around the parking lot. First Time knew she was evaluating the situation. Still a few people milling about and a fair number of parked cars.
“Please?” First Time held his hands out, empty. Pleading. Tilted his head like he’d seen George Clooney do in some movie where he ended up with the hot chick.
Ashlee stared at him for a second, then shrugged. “Sure.” She dug in her purse. “You can use my phone.”
“Oh, thanks. But I think I saw one of the mall security cars go by a couple of minutes ago.” He pointed to his left, around the back corner of the mall. “Why don’t you just run me over there on your way out? It’ll just take a minute, and it will save me a lot of walking.” Without waiting for an answer, First Time rounded the car to the passenger’s side. When he reached the door, Ashlee eyed him over the top of the car. He felt the knife in his pocket and smiled the most innocent, innocuous, ingratiating smile he could muster.
It worked.
“Hop in,” she said. “Let’s go find mall security.”
The smile never failed.
First Time buckled his seat belt. You could never be too careful. “Man, what a coincidence. Bumping into you there. You saved me.”
Ashlee started the engine. “Hey, don’t mention it. Just glad I can help.” She backed out of the space and drove to the end of the row. “You said he was to the left?” A quick glance at First Time.
“Yep. Shouldn’t be too far.” He turned in his seat to face Ashlee. “I loved your appearance on the show. You really gave it to First Time. You’re quite the poet.”
Ashlee waited to turn left as a steady stream of cars rolled by. In ten minutes, the lots would be deserted. “First Time is a scumbag, plain and simple. He should be castrated and then made to eat his balls.”
First Time had to give her credit—she had spunk. But she was a bitch nonetheless. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?” He patted his coat pocket. Still there. Waiting to come out and play. To meet Ashlee face-to-face.
“Harsh? He fucking killed someone. What a limp dick.” Ashlee hit the gas, shooting the gap in traffic perfectly. They were now on the service road that circled the entire mall.
First Time swallowed. “I thought maybe it was all just an act. So you could win the money.”
Ashlee laughed, raw and honest. The sound burned First Time’s ears. “Oh, I wanted to win. That was my skimpiest bikini. But I meant every word I said. I’d bite off that prick’s prick, if I could.” Defiant and challenging. She stopped talking abruptly and slowed down, head working back and forth as she scanned the parking lot for the mall security car.
First Time’s anger intensified. What had started out as excitement was morphing into something darker, more sinister. Who was she to pass judgment? What did she know about him? About his past? About his future? His breathing became more rapid, and his nose twitched. Her perfume—reminiscent of lilacs—had triggered some bad memories. She was ruining his night.
“Up ahead. There. To the right.” First Time pointed.
Ashlee leaned forward, trying to see what First Time saw. “Where?”
“Over there. See? Oh, drat. He just went around the corner.” First Time pointed again. “Make your next right.”
She did as she was told and turned right onto a narrow access road serving a small office building, one of a half dozen such buildings surrounding the mall.
“I don’t see him.” The sharp, confident edge had eroded from Ashlee’s tone. The rear of the office building was on their right, a small copse of woods stood on their left. A narrow, but deep, rock-covered ravine cut through the trees. The ravine was hidden in the dark, but First Time had done a thorough job with his advance scouting. Their car cruised up the lane, slowly approaching two large green Dumpsters. No other cars were visible.
“He must have just turned off. He was right there.” First Time unbuckled his seat belt and leaned forward, peering into the night. A single security lamp illuminated the Dumpsters, reflecting some light into the car.
Ashlee braked to a stop. “Look. Why don’t we call someone, like AAA or something?” First Time detected a note of uncertainty in her voice. He could smell her fear festering. He was an expert in such things. “I’ll drive you back to your car.” Now her voice quavered.
She reached for the gearshift, but First Time beat her to it. Forced the car into Park and grabbed a big handful of blond hair. Faster than he looked. Ashlee fought back, then ceased when First Time brought his knife out with his free hand and brandished it in front of her face. The meager light glinted off the silvery steel blade. He tightened his hold on her hair and yanked until she whimpered. “As quiet as a mouse,
Ashlee
.” He spat out the words. “If you scream or try to fight me, I’ll slash your tender throat.” She was a wisp of a girl and he was a hefty brute, but she did have that spunk. “Unbuckle your seat belt.”
First Time felt Ashlee trembling as she complied. Then the sobbing began. He opened his door and pulled Ashlee across the center console, gripping her hair tightly through his thin glove. “Shhh. Shhh. Don’t say a word.” Once she was standing, he turned her around slightly to face him, making sure to position her face in as much light as possible. He wanted—needed—to see the expression on her perfect Barbie-doll face.
First Time grinned. “By the way, my name isn’t really Chris.” He paused, reveling as Ashlee’s face contorted. First into confusion, then into understanding. Then into terror. “My name is First Time.”
Ashlee started to scream and flail, but he pulled back on her hair and brought the knife up to her neck. She tensed, but remained quiet.
First Time motioned toward the woods. “Everything will be all right. Don’t worry. We’re going to visit my
arboreal abattoir
.” He suppressed a smile, thinking she wasn’t the only one with poetic aptitude. Not that he really considered limericks poetry.
As he dragged Ashlee down into the ravine, he wondered what his collaborator would think of his latest handiwork.