James Andrus - The Perfect Death

Sitting in the passenger seat of Mazzetti’s immaculate Ford Crown Victoria, issued by the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, Patty Levine imagined she was in a limousine taking her on her first date. She couldn’t explain the feeling she was experiencing, but it was something near pride. The biggest of the seven sins. The one that brought down Lucifer. She didn’t really care. She was sitting in the front seat across from her attractive boyfriend, dressed in an expensive if slightly dusty suit, working in an exciting and interesting job, and she’d just kicked four guys’ asses. The University of Florida could not have prepared her for such an accomplishment. No drug could give her the kind of rush she had felt wading into the construction workers who had threatened her boyfriend. She’d felt her entire body get into each swing of her ASP and hadn’t been afraid to enjoy connecting with the beefy legs and bony arms. The way she felt right now, looking at Tony, she could skip dinner and drag him right to bed. Maybe this was the primal feeling that made men act the way they did around women.

Tony had recognized he’d been in deep shit and had liked having a tough girlfriend who could rescue him. Looking across at him now, Patty wondered how many women hit on him in the course of a normal day. She knew from her long professional association with cops that a certain type of woman was attracted to the excitement and mystery of police. Sometimes it was the uniform. Sometimes it was the plainclothes narcotics agent who could lay down a line of shit. Sometimes it was the romanticized image of the dogged homicide detective. Whatever the reason, there were women who were attracted to police officers. And her boyfriend was an educated, well-spoken, and good-looking police officer. Patty wasn’t prone to jealousy but a thought crossed her mind: maybe they were ready to move to the next level.

The outside of Gi-Gi’s Italian restaurant was ornate and busy. Cars were parked up and down the street as well as jammed into the small parking lot on the west side of the building. There was a circular drive with an overhang where well-dressed people were waiting for their fancy cars to be brought from the valet lot. Tony didn’t hesitate to pull in his county-issued Ford.

When the valet approached him, Tony didn’t pull out his sheriff’s ID. He gave him a good police look and said, “Sorry, pal, I can’t let you drive it, it’s a police car. Let me pull it in where it won’t be in the way.” He slapped five dollars into the valet’s hand and turned to Patty. “You get out and I’ll be back in one minute.”

Patty leaned across, kissed him on the cheek, and slipped out of the car. She watched him pull away slowly to where the valet was pointing at an empty space. Patty turned around and was shocked to see Sergeant Yvonne Zuni in a beautiful dress with her hair down in a much sexier style than she wore to work every day. Even more surprising was seeing the tough sergeant kiss Ronald Bell squarely on the lips. When Sergeant Zuni turned and saw Patty, she immediately whispered something to Bell, who quickly walked inside the restaurant.

Patty said, “Wasn’t that …?” She could read a slight appearance of panic on the sergeant’s face.

“Who was driving the Crown Vic?”

Patty let a slight smile wash across her face and saw the sergeant smile at the same time. They were two women bonded together in a profession dominated by men. Now they had a secret. There was no promise or oath. They each knew the other would keep her mouth shut.

Then she remembered Tony was walking toward them from the valet lot. She nodded good-bye to the sergeant and hustled down the sloped parking lot to intercept Tony Mazzetti before he could see anyone standing near the front door.

Patty grabbed his arm by the elbow and interlocked her own, spinning him back toward the car and walking at a fast pace.

Mazzetti looked at her and said, “What’s wrong?”

Patty only had to think for a minute when she looked into his handsome face. She smiled and said, “I need to fuck you right now.”

She knew no man would ever argue with that statement.

Buddy liked the way Cheryl’s Chrysler handled. He was so used to his van he had forgotten what driving a decent car felt like. The music from the radio speakers filled the car nicely with the sounds of Nirvana. There was just something about “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that got his motor running and his head rocking. He suspected the excitement of the evening added to his feelings of euphoria. The two dead women crammed on the floor of the backseat didn’t put any damper at all on his good mood. The only downside was that he had not moved his work of art forward in any way. In hindsight it was better to take a step back than to force someone who wasn’t worthy of eternity into his dreams. At least he didn’t have to worry about that harpy Cheryl anymore.

The steering wheel felt a little awkward with his heavy canvas work gloves, but it was still better than leaving his fingerprints and DNA all over the car. He had slipped a plastic bag over Mary’s head to catch any blood that seeped out of the deep hole in her face. Cheryl was another story. He didn’t realize a relatively small human body could hold so much blood. He’d used three towels to sop up the bloody kitchen tile. He’d burn them up in his glass furnace later.

He had only a rough plan in his head and liked going with the flow for a change. He intended to leave Cheryl in her car somewhere. It was Mary who was causing him concern. He could take her back to her car at the airport, but someone would notice her and Buddy wanted to take advantage of the fact that she had told people she’d be away on a cruise for a full week. That was a lot of time to distance himself from anything to do with the pretty dental hygienist.

He needed a few minutes to consider his options and pulled into an older, off-brand gas station next to the interstate on Tallulah Avenue. He had often used the convenience store at the station to grab a soda on his jobs the northern part of Jacksonville. A semi truck with an open trailer blocked the northern side of the gas station. Buddy pulled to the rear of the truck, out of sight of everyone, and thought about buying a sixty-four-ounce Sprite. He noticed the burly truck driver hop down from the high cab and waddle into the store. That got Buddy thinking and he slipped out of the Charger and jumped up on the rear bumper to peek into the tractor, under a tarp covering the load. It was some kind of agricultural fertilizer or construction material he wasn’t familiar with. It had a musty smell and was dark green, filling more than half the trailer. Then Buddy had an idea.

As soon as it popped into his head, he knew he had to act. This was a now-or-never move and he didn’t intend to screw it up. He hopped off the trailer and grabbed Mary from the back of the car. She felt like a heavy doll as he lifted her onto his shoulder and hopped up onto the bumper. He saw the driver still inside the store chatting with the clerk at the cash register. Buddy had to be fast.

He slipped the plastic bag off Mary’s head and tossed her into the corner of the trailer. Her body naturally sunk into the soft fertilizer like it was quicksand and he was able to reach down and scoop a little more over her head until she was almost completely covered. He jammed the bloody plastic bag into his pocket. She had no identification and nothing that stood out in her clothing. If he caught a few breaks and the truck headed north, they may not have any clue where she came from.

Buddy hopped down off the trailer, slipped back into the Chrysler, and headed east from the interstate. He slowed a few blocks away and pulled to the side of the street. He intended to wait until he saw the tractor trailer pull onto the highway and, he hoped, drive north on the interstate.