Catch & Neutralize (24 page)

Chapter 44

On the way to the garage, Mark found a wadded, handwritten note on the kitchen floor next to the trashcan:

A~

To the woman with the sexiest ass I’ve ever squeezed, We’re booked at our usual penthouse palace. I know you like taking turns paying but not this time, baby. My treat all the way. To celebrate our success, I’ll have dinner brought up at 8 PM. Don’t keep me waiting.

T~

Squeezing the balled message, Mark sighed, grabbed his mug and disappeared into his home office. Work would have to wait.

What douchebag addresses a note like that? An A-class, double douchebag prick, that’s who. T for Tristan in girly script, that’s who.

Angie’s explanation was obviously an elaborate setup so she can continue her affair. And that necklace? How could I be so stupid?

Mark threw the message into the unlit fireplace. He’d sacrifice Angie’s moronic summons tonight or in the morning. Mark rubbed a hand over his forehead scowling, keys jingling melodically.

On second thought, he retrieved the note and dusted away loose ashes. After smoothing it out, he folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket.

He had all day and most of the evening until Angie’s meet up with Tristan. Jumping into his SUV, Mark dialed Laura. He needed to talk, but even more, he needed to utilize her magical talent with theatrical makeup.

“Yeah, come on over after work. Nothing going on here but wine, popcorn, and old black and whites. I’m planning on
Psycho
. You want me to wait for you?” Laura’s voice and good-natured attitude diffused some of his anger.

Mark wanted to tell her yes. He wanted to snuggle up on her fluffy sofa and watch old horror films. Maybe even twirl a soft lock of her hair around a finger or two, but he refused to allow their relationship to go any further than friendship. Even so, tonight would not be a night for fun and friendship. Tonight was the prime opportunity to start a painful ripple in Angie’s future, the first chance he’d had with sufficient notice. Tonight he had both the time and place in writing, as perfect as a hand delivered invitation.

How could I have let Angie trick me? Last night seemed so real.

“Mark? Are you still there?” Concern ran through cellular waves.

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. I’m driving and…just a lot on my mind right now. I can’t stay for a movie, Laura, but thank you for the offer. I need help with the mask you made for me. I know I said there’d be plenty of notice, but…”

“It’s okay,” Laura interrupted. “Really. I’m happy to help you whenever I can. You’ve already paid for it anyway, don’t forget that part. Maybe we can hang together, watch a movie, whatever, another time?”

“Yes, of course. And, thank you. I mean it, Laura. Thank you. I’ll be there around four this afternoon.”

~

Mark trampled up the steps two at a time. The door opened before he had a chance to knock. A stiff wind smacked around the open space, whining and whistling.

“It’s chilly out there. Come in, come in.” Laura’s smile was like a glass of water after a jog in the desert, even if she had funky goop all over her face. She waved him inwards as she spoke. “An interesting development, if you’d like to hear it.”

After shutting out the drone of blustery weather, Laura’s arms engulfed Mark’s frame with warmth. He hugged back briefly, knowing he was fighting an undertow of emotion. A heaping spoon of bitter anger for Angie garnished with a dollop of sweet friendship for Laura.

“Tell me about your development, and I’ll tell you mine.” Mark smiled at Laura’s mask of olive colored clay. “But first, are you budding into an alien?” He circled a palm around his face. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, my unnaturally green friend?”

She laughed barely causing a wave in her unwrinkled skin but enough to crack the clay near her mouth.

“Yep, I’m an alien. Got turned into one by my Martian neighbor, Eric, also known as ‘The Hot Dude Hung Like a Mammoth’ around here. We had a thing, but sadly he had to move to Cali for his Earthman acting career and his Martian mission of impregnating unsuspecting ladies aged 18 to 28.” She rubbed her belly dramatically. “Somebody warn my cousin. Hot Alien Dude Eric says she’s next!”

Mark shook his head, chuckling. “Pure silliness you are.”

“I work in the movie industry. Ya know, the fantasy stuff that dreams are made of?” Laura bared teeth and held her hands up like claws before joining in with Mark’s laugh. “Plus, your speaking ability has turned Yoda, it has.” Another giggling fit followed by a pretend-fall into Mark’s arms. “Oh, my dearest Yoda,” she whispered, the back of her hand covering her forehead in old-fashioned performance style, “from the Hot Alien Dude Eric, save us! Alien baby incubators, we must not be.” Pretending to die, her body went limp.

Dr. Mark Carter held Laura’s 21-year-old frame. “There, there,” he kidded. “Okay, you will be, sweet Laura. Hot Alien Dude Eric commands it, he does.” Mark growled hoping it sounded alien-like then pretended to bite her neck, her soft neck that smelled sweet and tasted sweeter. It was fun, a touch erotic until he heard Laura’s moan of pleasure.

Not good
, he thought,
not good at all.

Standing Laura back up, Mark smiled but took a step back. “You’re a funny girl, Laura. I love being around you.”

“But?”

Mark looked away. “But, I need you to make me look like Tristan Bellamy now. I know what’s going on. I need your help so I can fix this problem I’m having with life.” He pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and handed it over. “Read
this
gigantic pile of…” He groaned.

“Okay, but first you need to wash your face. Any dirt and oil you’ve built up throughout the day needs to be gone before your Tristan transformation. Everything you’ll need is in the cabinet beside the sink.” She unfolded the paper as Mark made his way down the hall.

When he returned, Laura handed the note back. “He sounds like a total douche.”

Mark nodded. “Yep, I’ve given him the title: Tristan the Double Douchebag Prick.”

“Sounds appropriate. I think Mr. Double Douchebag Pick needs to be taught a lesson, and you’re the one best qualified to teach it. But that’s just my opinion.” Laura opened her mouth wide causing the clay mask to crack all the way back to her ears. “This stuff is getting itchy. I’m going to rinse it off, then we’ll get busy in the studio.” She raised her eyebrows causing more cracks on her forehead. “Mind pouring us a glass of wine? I’ll only be a minute.”

“Sure, Miss Incredible Hulk. No problem.”

Laura held up both arms flexing and growling before heading to the bathroom. Deep chuckling from Mark filled the room.

His smile continued into the kitchen and lingered as he found wine glasses hanging from a rack with an assortment of bottles stacked underneath. Taking a couple of glasses, he poured Pink Chablis and brought it up for a whiff. Not a wine connoisseur by any means but Mark thought it didn’t smell too bad and probably didn’t taste too bad either. This was confirmed after a sip and a lick of the lips.

“How is it?” Laura asked wrapping her arms around Mark from behind, which both startled and comforted him. “I haven’t tried that one yet. It was given to me as a gift from one of the make-up guys at work.”

Mark pressed back into her before realizing what he was doing, stopping himself was not easy. “Laura?”

She stepped away and Mark thought she might’ve sensed his discomfort. “Sorry if the hug made you uncomfortable. You’re a lot like my dad. Anyway, What’s up?”

Turning, Mark gazed at her freshly washed face. Laura was simply breathtaking. Her skin looked smooth and crisp, lips slightly parted and inviting. A smile played over her features. Mark held back the overwhelming urge to kiss her. His heart ached for Angie.

“Nothing.” He decided. “I was just going to suggest we go to your studio. I’ll need to get going soon.”

“Okay. Come on.” Laura’s eyes danced sideways indicating the way. “So, I haven’t told you my interesting development.”

His boots echoed hollowly against the hardwood while her slippers whispered and soothed.

“I’d love to hear it, Laura. Let it spill.” Mark placed his rump in what Laura called her Revolution Chair.

She clicked her tongue wagging a finger. “Get topless, doctor. You know the drill.”

Mark obeyed and Laura went on, her eyes roaming his chest: “The interesting development I want to share with you is this,” her eyes stumbled on his, “the guy that lives next door, his name is actually Eric, moved out last weekend. I’ve been over there for some of his parties. Jeez, did that dude know how to throw a party.” She laughed and took a sip of Chablis. “Anyway, Eric upgraded his unit quite a bit. It’s for sale or rent now. You know how condos are. Did you see the sign in the window? It has a number listed for inquiries.”

“I didn’t see it, but I’ll get the number on the way out. It would be great living next to you if I find out Angie really is having an affair. I need proof first. And, don’t worry; I wouldn’t bog you down with random make-up sessions. This time just happened to be a perfect opportunity.”

“I’d love having you as a neighbor, so close. You make me feel safe.” Her right hand spread light skin coloring over his neck while her eyes studied his. “I hope Angie is telling you the truth. I have a feeling she is and everything’s going to be fine with you two.”

Mark felt as if she’d been reading his thoughts. “Thank you for saying that. I hope you’re right, Laura.”

She expelled a heavy sigh. “The things you’ve told me about her make me sick. Seriously, I don’t like her for making you feel this way. And yet, I do like her. I get the feeling she’s a better person than you think.” She pulled the Tristan mask over Mark’s head. “How’s that feel? Comfortable?”

“At least it’ll keep my face warm. And, yes, it’s comfortable enough.”

“All this trouble just to get back at your wife.” Laura paused. “It’s cool. I guess there are worse ways of dealing with her. I can’t wait to hear how this works out. I mean, with the mask and all.” Her focus left Mark’s eyes and honed in on the task at hand. “I hope you think about what you’re doing,
really
think about it. Sometimes things happening are different than they look, and you can’t know for sure what’s going on. You’re going to tell me what happens, aren’t you, a full report?” Her smile shed hope into the discussion.

Mark wanted to believe Laura was right. He thought of Angie, of the invisible knife she was using to cut out his heart.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know as long as the plan goes my way.” He smiled but it didn’t feel real.

“All right, Mr. Double Douchebag Prick, take a look and tell me what you think.” She held up a mirror.

Mark blinked, surprised. Then again it was Laura’s talent, so not really surprising at all. “You are truly gifted. The best, in fact. Thank you, Laura. I look exactly like him.”

Laura shied back, eyes down, compliments visibly uneasy for her. “I’m glad you approve. Although, you are way more attractive as yourself, Dr. Mark Carter.” She turned, pointing at the door. “Now go. Take care of those who cause you pain. Teach them what happens when someone tries to screw you over. I’ll be here drinking wine, eating popcorn, and watching black and whites if you care to join me when you’re finished.”

He felt like a new man, a different man. Mark jumped up and kissed Laura’s cheek, but she pushed him away.

“Don’t ever kiss me disguised as that Double Douchebag Prick, Dr. Carter. It could get real ugly up in here.” She laughed, but her face scrunched in disgust.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Mark said in a deep nasally voice, pretending to de-ash an invisible cigar. “I’ll be back in no time.”

A sound of revulsion traveled up Laura’s windpipe. “Please go, Mark. You’re seriously gross with that mask on. I know it’s you, of course, but I don’t like the way you look at all. It’s weird talking to you.”

He was glad she didn’t find the look of Tristan Bellamy attractive. “I know you’re not my secretary, but would you mind texting me the contact number for the place next door? If things go the way I don’t want them to, I’ll call them for a viewing. Or showing. Whatever it’s called.” Mark made his way out the door. “If I don’t see you tonight, then I’ll call you tomorrow. And, thanks again for your special effects expertise.”

“You got it. Good luck, Dr. Carter.”

With a sound of finality, wind slammed the door behind him.

Chapter 45

It was a quarter to eight and unspent snow lingered in the air. A wind gust pounded through the hotel parking lot, rustling burnt colored leaves and flinging several into a mini twister.

From behind tinted windows, Mark watched Angie’s skirt flutter up and reveal lacy panties that appeared to be in the process of being eaten by her rump. She didn’t attempt to smooth the fabric down. Instead, Angie continued walking without missing a step, head held high and a smile on her lips. The leather overnight bag he’d given for her last birthday hung over one shoulder. Rhinestones sparkled her name like a beacon.

Anger coursed through Mark’s being with a force almost enough make his head explode. He was a patient man, not a forgiving one.

Anger never got the best of Dr. Mark Carter unless Angie was involved. Without her, he was a pro at the art of emotion hiding. He had no problem waiting for the perfect opportunity, no problem conjuring whatever sentiment was correct for the situation. Making his way through the career tunnel, Mark impressed the unimpressionable and befriended those considered off limits. He always said the right things, had a way of outshining those around him. It was not a game, not at all, but Mark knew how to play it well.

He waited in his vehicle for ample time to pass. Snow fell now, dusting the dark parking lot with its coldness. Strategically placed lights cast a yellow glow over all underneath, like a full moon weak and pale from illness.

Grabbing a briefcase from the passenger seat, Mark left the car unlocked. His boots crunched into snow gathering over pavement. He wasted no time getting inside from the chill, the case easy to handle with gloved hands.

“Mr. Bellamy, good evening, sir. I hadn’t seen you leave.”

The desk attendant was a gentleman somewhere in his sixties, Mark guessed, clean shaven with a halo of red and white speckled hair. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested at the end of his globular nose, a nose splattered with broken blood vessels and nostrils adorned with bushels of protruding hair. He wore a nametag with Mr. Daniels etched in block letters. Mark wondered offhandedly if his first name was Jack.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Bellamy?” The attendant’s eyelids drooped giving the appearance of boredom or poor sleeping habits, maybe both.

Mark gave a hint of a smile before answering. “Extend my stay, Mr. Daniels, for two days. And, I’ve left my key inside the room. I’ll need another.”

“Of course, sir.” Mr. Daniels clicked on a keyboard hidden beneath the high top counter. He looked up without expression and handed it over. “Here you are, Mr. Bellamy. Let us know if you require additional services. Enjoy your stay, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Daniels. I will.” Flashing another half-smile, half-smirk, Mark slipped the key into his jacket pocket and headed for the cocktail bar. He planned to sit facing the hotel exit so he’d know when Angie left. Tonight Mark’s business was with James Dean Pilfer aka Tristan Bellamy.

The bar was closing when Angie finally came into sight. Her hair sloppily tied in a ponytail, and her short skirt and spiky heels traded for jeans and slip-ons. Braless breasts bounced before her, leading the way. She wore a man’s oxford button-up, baby blue, untucked and hanging almost to her knees. More than likely, it belonged to Tristan or Pilfer or whatever the hell his name is. Mark’s anger bubbled to the top but didn’t spill over. He would simply never allow that to happen. The upcoming hours would require cool confidence, patience, and focus.

Mark grabbed his briefcase, paid for his drinks, and stopped to take a piss. Inside the elevator, he slid his keycard into the slot and pressed
P
for penthouse.

A grin projected from behind his mask.

This night would be remembered.

Elevator doors slid open with a ding. Mark used the keycard again and was treated with a night sky filled with Albuquerque lights and the Sandia Mountains. The entire back wall of the penthouse had floor to ceiling windows. A stone fireplace popped warmth into the air. A jazzy tune played softly behind sounds of shower spray.

Taking a look around the living quarters, vast even for hotel penthouse standards, it was more luxurious than he’d imagined. Angie was definitely living a fantasy life when she went on “assignment.” Mark wondered if Angie had been telling the truth about working for a secret society or if she was, in fact, simply having an affair.

Angie didn’t do things, anything, she didn’t want to do. And, he needed to consider that compact mirror she’d showed him this morning. Just strange enough to make that secret society situation believable.

Things sometimes aren’t clear when loving a person so much—more than anything—and finding out that person’s return love might be nothing more than an elaborate lie. Maybe Angie was having an affair, or maybe she was an underground soldier. Either way, she’d been lying to him for three years. What if she was a soldier and he was nothing more than one of her assignments?

Time for Mark to find out the truth.

He turned and found himself face-to-face with Tristan Bellamy. Mark pulled back a fist to pound the douchebag right in his girly-man throat. But, before striking, Mark realized he was looking at his own masked reflection.

Shaking his head with a nervous chuckle, Mark grabbed one of the more comfortable looking chairs, one with cushy pillows, and turned it towards the closed door emitting light beneath.

The shower turned off.

Mark rolled the security codes on his briefcase, unlocking it. This confrontation was going to be interesting to say the least, no doubt about it.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a puff of steam. Water splashing followed by the scrubbing sounds of teeth brushing. Mark stared unblinking, waiting for his enemy to emerge. He pulled a small handgun from its case and released the safety. Sounds of gargling followed by spitting.

The bathroom light went dark. The fire had burned to embers, its glow barely illuminating the room. Tristan walked past Mark without seeing him and continued down a short hallway. Mark heard a click and soft light spilled down the hall from a bedroom.

Time to get this show started. Mark reached over and knocked down the thing closest: a statue of nude women holding hands and dancing around some kind of beast, a wolf maybe. It shattered against the floor with the sound of hollow plaster. The fact that it wasn’t expensive, say, made of marble, delighted Mark. He looked up and saw Tristan timidly peeking from the doorway.

“Who’s there?” Tristan’s voice was manlier than expected, but he still cowered behind the door.

“You are.” Mark mimicked what he considered an old money from New York accent. “Why don’t we get to know each other better, Mr. Bellamy?” He stood, thumping his boots slowly closer to his objective. He held the gun low, pointed in that direction.

The bedroom door slammed closed.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Bellamy.” Mark tapped a knuckle lightly on the door. “You’re the kind of guy people want to meet. Don’t you want to meet yourself?”

After no response, Mark tapped again. “Open up, Tristan. Let’s make this meeting as easy as possible.”

The door opened and Mark was greeted with a .45 aimed at his gut.

Shock and fleeting loss of control caused Tristan’s gun to clunk to the floor. He hadn’t expected to see himself on the other side of the door. From his expression, Tristan was afraid,
really
scared. He opened his mouth to say something, apparently, but only an unrecognizable sound slipped out. Stepping backward unsteadily, the back of Tristan’s legs hit the edge of the rumpled bed and he fell onto it. He held his hands out protectively and muttered, “What the fuck?” Then shouted, “What the fuck?”

Mark picked up Tristan’s gun and slipped it into a pocket, boots thumping forward. His gun still aimed, briefcase in the other hand. “The fuck is: I’m here to fix things. That’s what I do, Mr. Bellamy, discover and fix.”

Tristan sat up, his face crumpling in confusion. “Fix what?” Running a hand through dirty blonde, he asked, “Why are you here?”

Mark set his case on the dresser closest and pulled out a pair of red panties. He tossed them at Tristan. The crimson silk smacked against his chest, landing in his lap.

One of Tristan’s eyebrows rose, changing the topography of his face. He picked up the panties, holding them out with two fingers as if they might be venomous.

“Look at them, Mr. Bellamy. Look closely.”

Upon further inspection, realization registered. “These are Angie’s. I bought these for Angie. Why do you have them? What did you do to her?”

With gun leveled at Tristan’s chest, Mark ignored the question. “Take off your towel and put on the panties.”

“What?” Tristan’s face scrunched unattractively, comically. “Are you fucking serious?”

The gun rose and Mark took a step closer. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Tristan, still sitting, bent and slipped one foot at a time into the lacy leg holes. His towel remained in place as though he were too modest to be nude in front of a replica of himself.

“Let’s go, asshole.” The gun now lined up and down Tristan’s frame. “Get moving.”

Standing, Tristan’s towel slid to the floor, his limp penis flopping. As the panties were drawn up, he mumbled something.

A sigh of annoyance from Mark then, “What’d you say, dumbass?”

Tristan’s smooth cheeks turned red. “This is gross. They’ve not been washed since…”

“Since when?” Mark lifted the gun, pointing it at Tristan’s face. “Since when haven’t they been washed, asswipe? Tell me.”

Tristan hesitated before pulling the panties all the way up. The thin elastic slapped against his lower belly. A tuft of light brown protruded over the lace scalloped top. “Since I gave them to her. They’re,” he hesitated, “not clean.”

“Yep. That’s the point of you wearing them. I didn’t realize you’d be so appalled. Bonus.” Mark nodded at the jumbled mess of white sheets. “Now, get on the bed.” Sweat beaded underneath his mask, tickling and itchy.

The threat of being shot worked exactly as Mark anticipated. Tristan did as he was told without a fight.

“You can stop pretending you’re me. I know you’re wearing a mask. A really good one, but only a mask. You had me fooled at first. Thought maybe I had a stalker lookalike or some plastic surgery crazed lunatic wanting to be me, but now your face is melting or something. It’s crooked. Why don’t you take it off?”

“Shut up.” Mark pulled a pill bottle from his briefcase and tossed it at Tristan. It bounced and rattled onto the bed between his legs. “Open the bottle and take six. It’s Xanax, a mild anti-anxiety pill. It’ll help you relax. You can use wine to wash them down.” He face pointed at the opened bottle of merlot on the nightstand. “We can have a nice chat while we wait for them to kick in.”

“I don’t really have anything to say, except ask what the fuck you plan to do to me and why the fuck you’re doing it. Seriously, I have money. I can pay.”

Calm and cool. Mark exuded both as he spoke. “I don’t want your money. I have plenty of my own. I’m taking revenge for my wife. I think you know my wife, Angie? The woman you’ve been banging for the last several months? Too bad for her, for both of you. It won’t matter after tonight. The important thing is that you
pay
for your part in all this. Tonight your bill has come due.” He smiled, his mask rumpling around the mouth area. “I’m here to collect that payment, Mr. Bellamy. Or should I say Mr. Pilfer? Nice hair bleaching job, by the way.”

Understanding crept over Tristan, his eyes widening and voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not banging Angie, I swear. We’re just business partners.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m here for revenge. This will include many things, unpleasant things for you.” Mark took a deep breath and shrugged. “Incidentally, in case you were unaware, Angie says she’s with the CAN Institute.”

Tristan froze, his body tightening, jaw clenched.

“You’ve heard of them?” Mark chuckled. “Good to know. I thought that whole thing was a joke. Plus, I found out last night I have a twin. Information, crazy piles of it like this, tends to put a man on edge. Understand? In any case, that doesn’t matter for you. You’re going to learn a very valuable lesson tonight. You seem to be a revenge target for many.” Mark spread his arms, indicating the hotel penthouse, before returning to the position of gunman. “And, here we are.”

Tristan’s body twitched and relaxed, eyes drooping. The pills were starting their first shift. Mark poked Tristan’s belly and mimicked the Pillsbury Doughboy giggle. “How’re you feeling? I must say, you look pretty dopey.”

“Tired.” Tristan blinked slowly, heavily. “Don’t do it. Don’t kill me. I…”

“You what? You want to live so you can continue making money by hurting people? Cutting heads off people?” Mark’s voice rose, spittle flew from his mouth. “And what about my wife? What about Angie? You want to live so you can send her lacy panties and expensive jewelry?”

Tristan’s voice slurred. “No, man. I…I’ll stop. She’s just a friend, really. I…,” He sucked in a breath and let it go lazily. Returning to a mumble, “I’m engaged to Lilly.” His eyes closed as he spoke.

“Too bad for Lilly. I’d say I feel sorry for her, but no. I’m actually doing Lilly a favor by saving her from your pathetic, murderous, cheating ass.” Mark aimed at Tristan’s torso with one hand and pulled a roll of duct tape from his case with the other, unrolling it with his teeth. “Arms out and up, grip the bed frame.”