Lynne Heitman - First Class Killing

“Monica Russeau. What did you tell Angel?”

The elusive one emerges. Of all the people I might have expected to hear from, she might have been the last. “What do you want, Monica?”

“Whatdid youtell her, you goddamned bitch? I need to know now.”

I checked the hallway and the top of the stairs. There was no one around to listen, but I still felt vaguely dirty taking this call in Jamie’s house while his kids were upstairs listening to bedtime stories. I wandered into an unfurnished room, where the only light came from a streetlamp shining through a bay window.

“I didn’t tell her anything about you, although I guess there is a lot to tell.”

“Then why is she trying to kill me? Huh? Why is she trying to kill me?” I could just see her pacing wherever she was, going back and forth with her palm to her forehead. That’s how she sounded, anyway.

“The last I checked, a lot of people were after you. I met some of them personally.”

“Artie doesn’t want me dead. Besides, he told me that was taken care of.”

Taken care of by me, thank you very much, and what was she doing talking to the man she’d been trying to blackmail? “That’s nice for Artie, but what about all the other men?”

“What other men? Did you tell her there were others? Goddamn you. What did I ever do to you? Is that what you told her?”

“Where are you, Monica?”

“Quit…will youquit answering my questions with questions and just tell me what she knows so I can decide what to do? She’s coming to kill me. Do you get that, you stupid, fucking, lying bitch?”

This was getting old fast. When I had needed Monica, she was nowhere to be found. I didn’t much feel like taking her abuse. “Monica, if Angel found out what you were doing, it wasn’t from me. If she is after you, you need to go to the police and get help.”

“She told me.”

“Told you what?”

“She sent me a message saying she was going to kill me, and it was because of you.”

More Angel games, no doubt. “It’s not because of me, and if you have a message like that, print it off, and take it to the police. If you tell me where you are, I’ll send someone over to help you.”

She was silent for a few seconds. All I could hear was the static, and I thought she might accept my offer. “I hope you die of cancer,” she hissed. Nope. Not accepting. “I hope you get AIDS. I hope someone cuts off your-”

“It’s for you, Za.” I spun around to find Jamie lurking behind me, cordless phone in hand. “It sounds like a party going on somewhere. Do you want to call her back?”

I took the cordless from him, held it to my other ear, and listened. He was right. There was some kind of an organized ruckus going on at the other end.

She must have heard me breathing.

“Is that you, sugar?” Angel’s voice was like an ice cube dropped in my ear. “Did you hear the news?”

“Hold on.” I turned to see if Jamie was still there. He wasn’t. I put the cordless under my arm, covering the mouthpiece, and got back to Monica. “Are you still there?”

“Who is that? Is that her? You’re tracing this call, aren’t you?”

“Monica, I’ll try to find out what’s going on, but you have to tell me how to get in touch with you.”

She hung up.

I dropped the cell on the floor and grabbed the cordless. “What do you want, Angel?”

“That’s no way to greet a friend. Especially since I’m calling with news. I was taken out of service. But you already knew that. You knew it before it happened, didn’t you?”

She had called my brother’s home phone, hoping, I was sure, to rattle me. She had. I went to the window and stared out at the street. Even in the dark, the neighborhood looked cozy and peaceful.

“What are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t too hard to realize who the fox was in my henhouse. But don’t you worry. We’re having a little party to celebrate our reinstatement.”

“Reinstatement?”

“We were back before we were even gone. I told you before I’d be ready, didn’t I?”

She paused for a response, but if what she was saying were true, there weren’t any words that came close to what I was feeling.

“Are you there? I know you’re there.”

“What do you want with Monica?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Was that your brother who answered? I’ll bet he’s a cutie. Cute little brother with a cute little family and a-”

“Angel, why are you calling me?”

“I wanted to tell you myself that we have not finished our business just yet. Not by a long shot. Keep a close eye on your e-mail. You’ll be hearing from me in case you haven’t already.”

“We have nothing left to say to each other.”

“There are still a few things I can teach you. Here’s a good lesson to always keep in mind. When you poke at a hornet’s nest, you’re not the only one who’s likely to get stung. Buzz, buzz, doll.”

JAMIE’S OFFICE WAS YET ANOTHER SPACIOUS room in the mansion, this one tucked toward the back of the house. It had warm cherry paneling, abundant overhead lighting, and wall outlets of all varieties. So far, there was only a desk in the middle of the hardwood floor. Temporary, he’d said, until he could find the one he really wanted. The framed picture of his family with Mickey Mouse down in Orlando was one I also had at home. The heavy clay paperweight that looked to be some kind of hedgehog was from Sean. It said so right on the bottom. “To Daddy from Sean.” Only then was really tiny because he’d run out of space.

I had checked it all out while my laptop made its scratchy way to the Internet. I was in now and checking the unread messages in my box. It was mostly spam. One had a blank space where the address should have been, which usually meant spam, but it also had a subject heading that could be from only one person.

all men are pigs

When I saw that a video file was attached, my mouth went dry. I clicked on the download icon, and my jaw started to quiver, but nothing else happened. My clicker finger, stiff and jerky with adrenaline, would not work right. I concentrated, tried again, and got it started.

It was a big file, so I had plenty of time to sit and wonder what Angel would send me and why. She had a reason for everything she did, and as the seconds ticked away and the file loaded, I found that I couldn’t stay in my seat. It was taking a long time, but there was no speeding it up. I watched the progress monitor as the file built. Ten percent. Twenty-five. It seemed to stick for a while around forty percent. When it got to ninety-eight percent loaded, I took my seat. When it was all finally there, I scanned for viruses, pulled up the media player, and waited again. I could barely stand all the waiting. But then I started to dread what was coming, and by the time the image hit the screen, I was almost afraid to watch.

Something bad was coming.

The picture was high-resolution and in color. There was no doubt about what was on the screen: a man and a woman, naked on a bed, having sex. The woman was on top doing all the work. I didn’t have to see her face to know it was Angel. Besides her bleach job and her wide, muscular shoulders, I could have recognized her from the way she devoured her partner.

Angel was a hooker. This was what she did, which meant she was showing me the man. But all I could see of him were his fingers splayed across her butt. His gold wedding band gleamed against the pale pillows of flesh, and a sick, shaky premonition wormed up through my gut and tried to find a place to break through.

The two of them ground out the familiar rhythm, complete with a guttural sound track of maximum sexual exertion. He tilted his knees slightly, the better to thrust. She leaned forward and braced her hands, palms down, on either side of him, and they started chugging, faster and faster, muscle on muscle, flesh slapping flesh-as they climbed toward the pinnacle of mutual carnal satisfaction. I couldn’t turn away for any reason, and I couldn’t bear to watch, because I knew it was coming, this thing that was bad.