The Killing League (7 page)

He caught the scent of a woman’s perfume, or it could have been the bougainvillea that skirted some of the mangroves.

The river opened up and Mack slid the boat into Estero Bay. The bay was huge, with hundreds of small inlets and islands. Mack went right and skirted Mound Key, a small island made up almost entirely of shells discarded by the Seminole Indians way back when.

The ice cold beers went down smoothly as Mack navigated his way around the bay. He saw a pod of dolphins cruising near Drowned Man’s Key, and an osprey watched from the bare branches of a towering, dead tree. Eventually Mack made his way back to where the river dumped into the bay. He pointed the nose of the boat upstream, and headed back toward home.

The buzz was on and it felt good, like an old sweater or a favorite pillow after a long day.

Mack cruised back up the river, hanging to the right side as a large party boat cruised past, reggae music floating down from the crowded deck. He recognized the lyrics of a Ziggy Marley song.

It was completely dark on the river by the time Mack made it home. He pointed the skiff toward the boat hoist when his body jerked.

There was someone standing in his yard, between the dock and the house.

Mack couldn’t tell if they were looking out at the river or back toward the house.

What he did know was they were entirely in shadow.

22.

Lady of the Evening

Amanda Dekins sat on the park bench and watched the slow breeze take her cigarette smoke in a lazy wave up toward the magnolia tree currently providing shade from the blistering noon day sun.

The pulsating air was thick and deep, and Dekins’ sweaty hand held the card, causing the thick paper to ripple from the moisture.

They called it America, she thought. Land of the free, right? But there really was no freedom. Never had been, never would be. She hadn’t been free a second in her fuck assed life. From her first breath she was under the control of others, being told what to do, where to go, but most of all, to keep her mouth shut no matter what happened.

And she’d done it most of her life.

At first, she thought life on the streets might be her first taste of freedom. But it had turned out to be just another type of prison. She’d just traded in one set of chains for another.

The only time in her entire life she’d felt truly liberated was when she was watching one of her customers die. Then she felt the stunning glory of being in complete control. Total power. Absolute freedom.

Now, someone was even trying to take that away.

She stared across the parking lot at the heat shimmers and then reviewed the note again.

Dear Lady of the Evening,

Don’t have too many repeat customers as of late, do you? Well, I’m so impressed with your thorough client services, I have selected you as a competitor in The Killing League.

Your travel information is attached. Opting out of the competition will leave me no option but to share your poor service record with the authorities, and maybe even the Better Business Bureau. I look forward to “hooking up” with you.

Sincerely,

The Commissioner

Amanda Dekins separated the card from the airline ticket and put the tip of her cigarette to the card. When it caught and held a flame, she tossed it to the ground.

Her newly found freedom was in jeopardy. Those brief moments of sheer ecstasy when she watched the life sucked from one of her pawing, leech-like johns were now in danger. Even those tiny pleasures were being threatened.

It figured. For the first time in her life, she had joy, passion, and direction in her life. Now, when she woke up, she had a purpose. Something to do. Something to live for.

It just happened to be killing other people.

And now this.

She watched the card’s embers smolder and get a ride from the hot breeze.

Typical, she thought.

Another man thinking he can control her.

23.

Nicole

“So I want to hear all about it,” Tristan said, as they organized themselves on the trail. They always followed the same formation. Tristan on the right, Nicole in the middle, and Sal on Nicole’s left.

“It went far better than I would have ever dreamed,” Nicole said. “But being a bit of a perfectionist—”

“You? No way!” Tristan said with a grin.

“There were a few things I thought we could have done much better,” Nicole said.

“Geez,” Tristan said. “It was the first night, you’re going to have a few kinks to work out, you had to expect that.”

“Absolutely,” Nicole said. “And there were actually far fewer snafus than I was expecting.”

“Okay,” Tristan said. “Why don’t you start with all the things that went right, and save the areas of improvement for the end?”

Nicole laughed and filled Tristan in on all of the wonderful things said about Thicque’s entrance into the Los Angeles dining scene. She talked about the abundance of enthusiastic comments on the food, the ambience, the service, and the wine list. The restaurant had gotten rave reviews from nearly every food critic who’d dined at Thicque.

Nicole talked about the teamwork apparent in her staff, how everyone worked well together and maintained an efficient, positive atmosphere throughout the course of the night.

“Any word from the Review Nazis?” Tristan asked.

Nicole knew her friend was referring to the legendary power of one or two restaurant critics in the Los Angeles area. One in particular from the L.A. Times, who had yet to publish her review Thicque.

“Not yet,” Nicole said. “But Jay spoke briefly with a couple of his connections and it sounded like there would be at least one positive review coming, possibly from you know who at the Times.”

Nicole felt Sal jerk slightly on the leash, and she glanced down at him. His ears were up and pointed forward.

“As long as the bulk of the reviews are positive, as they have been, you’re golden,” Tristan said. “Then if you ever do get something negative, people will just ignore it and assume the reviewer has poor taste. And then I’ll hunt them down and shoot them,” she said.

Nicole loved her friend’s loyalty even though she knew she was kidding. She glanced down at Sal. His ears were back in their normal position and Nicole patted him on the head.

“So, where are you meeting Kimberley for drinks?” Nicole said. She sometimes lived vicariously through Tristan and Kimberley — they frequently went to the hottest clubs in L.A., the fringe places that attracted the hipsters and celebrities. They were the kind of places that Nicole never went to.

“Kimberley found this place—”

A deep growl emanated from Sal’s chest and Nicole stopped abruptly.

“What—” Tristan started to say.

“Sal…” Nicole said.

Occasionally, they would meet other people on the trail, but Sal usually never growled.

Nicole and Tristan came to an abrupt stop and stood in silence, listening. Sal’s ears were pointed, and he was turned slightly to the left, looking behind them.

Through the leash, Nicole felt the energy vibrating off the big dog.

Nicole heard a whisper of movement as Sal took a cautious step further to the left. And back.

Nicole’s body tensed.

She had definitely heard something.

And whatever it was, it was behind them.

24.

Family Man

Brent Tucker sat down at his computer and fired up the screen. His cubicle was impeccable. Stacks of papers, manuals, charts and catalogues all sat in their proper places, edges neat and aligned.

The shelves held books; dictionaries, thesauruses, AP style guides, the Elements of Style. Everything else held pictures. Photos of his children. His wife. The family on vacation. Sports photos. Birthday cards made by his kids for him.

He was the ultimate family man.

Brent Tucker was also a technical writer for a company that specialized in computer peripherals. He neither liked nor disliked his job. It was simply his job, no more, no less. He received his assignments from the new products group, downloaded all of the information regarding the latest routers and cables and motherboards, and assimilated that information, formatted it, and turned it into a logical flow of description that the end user could understand.

It was a job he did well. His documents were always error-free, properly formatted, and never late. His superiors loved him. His coworkers respected him. But no one really knew him.

As his computer screen blinked on, he thought about his lack of passion for the job. Love and passion, he thought, interesting concepts. Yes, he did his job well. It wasn’t important whether or not he liked it. He just did it. End of story. Every day. Every week. Every month. Every year now for almost twenty years.

His real love, his real passion, well, that was something no one else knew about.

At least, that’s what he thought until he saw the message pop up in corner of his screen. It was a simple statement: “Check your top drawer.”

And then the message was gone.

Someone from IT, maybe? Sometimes they monitored people’s computers and would control them remotely if they wanted to install software updates.

But he felt a surge of anger as he reached for the top drawer and began to pull it open. He had a mailbox — why wouldn’t they put the message there? Or in an interoffice envelope? This was an invasion of privacy. And if there was one thing in the world Brent Tucker loved with a deep passion, it was his privacy.

He slid open the drawer and saw the card sitting peacefully on top of a neat collection of Post-It notes, paper clips and push pins.

The cover said, “Family Man.”

He opened it.

Dear Family Man,

It is my honor and privilege to welcome you to another family. You have been selected as a competitor in the Killing League. I have marveled at your ability to hide your secret life under the screen of such a wonderful facade: you are Ward Cleaver incarnate! Please find your travel information and tickets enclosed. Can’t wait to welcome you to your new family! Please join us, we would hate to have to turn in a family member to the police!

Sincerely,

The Commissioner

Tucker slammed the drawer shut and carried the card over to the company shredder.

His hands shook as he fed the document into the machine. When it was over, he went into the bathroom, found a stall, closed the door and sat down.

And wept.

25.

Mack

He pulled the boat into the boat hoist and hit the button to raise it from the water. Mack peered into the darkness but the shadow he had seen before wasn’t there.

He hoisted the cooler up onto the deck and looked at the house. On the second floor lanai, he could see Adelia reading to Janice. If the figure had been Adelia, there was no way she could have gotten back to—

“Mack!” a voice boomed from the shadows.

Mack jumped and nearly cracked his skull on the boat hoist’s steel beam.

A face emerged from the shadows. And with it, a big body and frame belonging to Oscar Williams.

Mack breathed a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”

Oscar laughed, his brilliant white teeth glowing against his black skin.

“Sorry, once you get used to making as little noise as possible, it’s second nature.”

He held out his hand and Mack grasped it. The big man hoisted Mack up onto the deck.

Mack knew that Oscar Williams was a Marine sniper and that he had been due back any day from Afghanistan. It definitely looked like he was back.

“Let’s go have a beer,” Mack said. “As long as Janice is in her room.” Even though Janice had no longer any concept of alcohol or what it was, he didn’t drink in front of her, nor would he let anyone else partake in her presence.

Oscar took one end of the cooler and they went in through the lower lanai area, then climbed the steps to the second floor. Mack peeked inside. Adelia saw him and joined them on the back deck.

“Is Janice in her room?” Mack said.

“She’s retired for the night,” Adelia said, and accepted a beer from Mack. He twisted the cap off another and gave it to Oscar, then got one for himself.

“Cheers,” Mack said as they all raised their beers.

“Hope you don’t mind if I borrow my lady here for a couple of days. I have to fly back out of here on Monday.”

“Not at all,” Mack said. “I’ll have to teach myself how to cook, but I’ve always got the microwave.”

“Don’t believe it, Mack’s a good cook. Especially with the grill,” Adelia said. “Man knows how to grill fish, he can cook just about anything.”

Mack winked at Adelia. “Don’t believe her. I just burn everything and call it Cajun.”

They chatted until the beers were gone and then Mack walked them down to Oscar’s SUV.

He shook hands with Oscar and hugged Adelia.

“Good luck, Mack,” she said. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” She paused. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something seems a little different.”

“You mean with Janice?” he said.

She shrugged her ample shoulders. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m not sure what I mean.”

Mack watched them until the SUV’s taillights disappeared in the darkness.

He walked back to the house, shut and locked all the doors, then set the alarm.

He sat down at the table overlooking the river. He couldn’t see it in the pitch black darkness, but he could hear the current running against the mangroves.

Adelia seemed to want to tell him something but had changed her mind.

It didn’t matter. Whatever she was feeling, he had felt it too.

He just didn’t know why.

26.

Blue Blood

Douglas Hampton’s mouth tasted like his fifth and last martini. He stood just outside the swanky restaurant where he’d treated himself to a nice two and a half hour lunch. The food was average, as always, but the wait staff was hot. That was really the only reason he went to the place. The waitresses were all young, slim and attractive. They wore white, long-sleeve dress shirts and tight black pants. It was a non-stop beautiful ass parade.