John Locke - Lethal People

She smiled and said, “When you finish your drink, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“I’ll drink the whole damn bottle if you take off your dress,” he said with a wink, then wished he hadn’t.

“Why, Eddie Ray!” she said, but she said it with a laugh, so he guessed they were still okay.

“I was just kidding,” he said. He gulped down the rest of his drink, and she said, “Now, about that kiss.” Eddie couldn’t believe his luck.

Eddie Ray stood to collect his kiss and got about five feet before making a strange face and grabbing his chest. He took a couple of steps sideways and staggered into the wall.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

He looked at her and said, “I don’t know what’s happening.” He sank to his knees and fell on his side, his face contorted in pain at first, then agony.

Callie pulled a chair next to him and sat. “You don’t have much time,” she said, “so pay attention.”

Eddie had lost all feeling in his feet and hands. “What,” he gasped, “have you done?”

“I’ve poisoned you,” she said.

“But why?”

“I did it for Monica. She wasn’t your girlfriend, by the way. She was five years younger than you. Fifteen, the night you raped her.”

“What are you … talking about?” he said. He was having diffculty speaking, but right now it seemed his voice was the only part of his body that was working.

“You were hosting a keg party at your house,” Callie said. “The party had moved to the front yard. Monica was walking home from a dance class at the high school. You knew her from the neighborhood and called her over. You grabbed her and raped her on your front lawn and threatened to kill her if she told anyone.”

“H-how do you know all this?”

“She was a bit snooty,” Callie said, “but she was a friend of mine. She had class. Unlike you.”

“Help me,” he said.

“Fat chance. Here’s my best offer. Give me the names of two people who ruined your life the way you ruined Monica’s. If you want justice, this is your chance. But speak quickly, because you’re about to pay for your sins in a permanent way.”

He named his coach and the kid from Woodhaven, the one who took the cheap shot on the football field a full second after the whistle had blown.

Callie wiped down any and all surfaces she might have touched, including the orange juice lid, the bottle, and the champagne bottle. Then she placed the champagne cork and flutes in her duffel, along with the note she’d written that she fished out of his pocket.

Callie stopped for a moment, inspecting the room. Deciding it was sterile, she headed for the door, pausing only long enough to step over Eddie Ray’s shuddering body. She was done here, was tired of being Monica.

CHAPTER 52

Kathy Ellison had nearly finished walking her golden retriever, Wendy, around her neighborhood circle when she saw a hulking man standing beside a parked sedan directly in front of her. It was mid-morning, a beautiful sunny day, and theirs was a gated community in Marietta, Georgia, just outside Atlanta. Crime was virtually nonexistent in neighborhoods such as Kathy’s, where all houses were priced in the million-plus range.

Even so, the man standing in her path was so huge and his face and head so grossly disfigured, she stopped in her tracks some twenty feet away. Wendy noticed him, as well, or had picked up on Kathy’s fear as dogs will sometimes do. The hair on Wendy’s back slowly began to stand on end. She let out a long, low growl. Kathy decided the sensible thing to do would be to turn around and go home the way she’d come.

As she spun around, she heard the man call her by name. Kathy froze in her tracks, stunned, frightened. There was no reason for this monstrous man to know her name.

“Please, ma’am, don’t be afraid,” he said as he approached. “I don’t blame you for being upset. I have that affect on everyone at first. I can’t help the way I look. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Quinn kept talking as he drew closer. “The best thing to do is just not look at me.” By now, he was standing next to her. Wendy, poor thing, was shivering with fear, wetting a puddle into the pavement.

“Kathy, my name is George Purvis, and I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Kathy hadn’t moved from the spot where she froze after hearing him call her name. She also refused to look at the man standing beside her. That way, she wouldn’t be able to identify him, so maybe he wouldn’t have to hurt her.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Purvis,” she said. “I don’t wish to be rude, but you’re frightening my dog and me. I don’t think I want to hear your bad news. Can I just go home?”

Quinn dropped to one knee, held his hand out for Wendy to sniff . She clamped her jaws on his wrist, growling, tearing his flesh apart. Then she started tugging his hand side to side as if she were trying to break the neck of a large rat.

“Oh my God!” shrieked Kathy. “Wendy, no! Stop it!”

Wendy released his hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Purvis. She never behaves this way.”

Quinn just shrugged. “It’s okay, ma’am. I don’t really feel pain the way most people do.” He noticed her staring at his bloody hand. Seeking to remove the distraction, he stuffed it in his pocket.

“Even so,” Kathy said, “I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath, turned to face him, tried hard not to recoil in horror. She looked into his face, and this time saw more than she expected to find. Her eyes watered thinking of his pain, the emotional scarring. “What’s the bad news you wanted to tell me?”

Quinn looked in both directions before answering. Still on one knee, so as not to tower above her, he said, “It’s about your husband, Brad.”

“What about him?”

“He gave me fifty thousand dollars to kill you.”

Kathy started hyperventilating. She felt light-headed. Her ears began ringing. The only reason she didn’t faint was because she didn’t want the monster to touch her—and he surely would. She moved her eyes about, seeking help, trying to decide how best to get away from him.

“Please don’t run. I’m not going to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been watching you for the past couple of days, and I’ve been watching your husband. I’ve come to the conclusion he’s the one who deserves to die, not you.”

Kathy looked into his face to see if he was just playing with her. She could tell nothing from his expression, but then, his face didn’t really seem capable of displaying much beyond horror. She felt, at least for the moment, he was not planning to hurt her. “Why on earth would my husband want to kill me?” she asked.

Quinn said, “Did you ever watch Seinfeld ?”

“The television show or the comedian?”

“The show.”

“Sure. All the time.”

“Me, too. Did you ever see the show about Opposite George?”

“Where he starts doing the opposite of everything he’s done before?”

“Right. And everything started working for him, remember?”

“Yes,” she said. “He goes up to the girl in the coffee shop, tells her he’s bald, unemployed, and lives with his parents.”

“Uh huh, and she likes him! Then he has the job interview and does everything wrong and winds up working for the Yankees.”

Kathy said, “Yeah, I love those shows. I still watch the reruns sometimes. But what does this have to do with not wanting to kill me?”

“It’s like Opposite George. All my adult life, I’ve taken these kinds of jobs, never asking questions, never wondering about the motives, never thinking about the people who had to die. What’s it ever gotten me? Nothing but misery. I have to work, and this is all I know. Long story short, your husband called a guy who called a guy.”