(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' (8 page)
She laughed a mirthless laugh inside the SUV, as she remembered the way he had looked at her just a couple of days ago, when she had sat next to him at his favorite restaurant and she could see the speculation in his eyes as he wondered if he could put the make on her or how far he could go with her. And the whole time she was sitting next to him at the counter, her mind was busy thinking about ways to kill the bastard, barely able to control herself as she thought about what the man seating next to her had done so long ago.
At first she had thought of just going to his apartment with some kind of excuse, but realized that would have been foolish. Any noise inside the place and the neighbors would be on the phone and calling the police in seconds. Someone could see her entering the apartment or leaving it. In the end she had decided to take care of him at his favorite watering place and after following him for the best part of a week, she had his routine. Movement by the small alley caught her attention and she saw two people emerge, a man and a woman. In the poor light given by a lamppost, she could barely discern them until they were almost upon her car and she bent down swiftly. Even if drunk, people tend to remember things, and it was better not to give herself away, she told herself. As the couple passed, she raised her head slowly, watching them. Both of them staggered, holding on to each other and she could hear the sound of a woman laughing and the gibberish talk of a drunk as the woman grabbed his ass and squeezed him hard. The man stopped next to a car, fumbling in his pocket for the door key before finding it. After several attempts and more laughs from the woman, he was able to open the door, the woman falling into the seat hard. The man walked around, fumbling with his door, getting in. Several seconds later the car started and slowly the driver moved out, brake lights shining brightly in the night.
She settled into her seat again, willing to wait as long as it was necessary for Moore when suddenly she caught movement with the corner of her eyes again and she swiveled her head like a hunting leopard searching for prey. A man was coming and seconds later the figure took form. She recognized his shape immediately and her heart started beating a painful, wild crescendo against her ribs, adrenalin surging through her, her loins hot and wet with the intensity of her emotions. It was Moore, walking slowly and not too straight toward the back of the lot.
Next to her, on the passenger seat, rested the axe, clean and shiny and her hand reached for it, knowing the moment to kill another one of the bad people was close at hand. Her eyes followed the figure of the man without blinking, all her attention centered on the man staggering slowly toward the back of the bar…and death. She glanced at the clear light on the post, wishing she had the presence of mind to have taken it out earlier, as she had done with the one by Dunbar’s house. Now it was too late to worry about that, she thought fiercely. In the future she had to do better, she told herself, her hand gripping the axe tightly, her heart in her throat at the prospect of killing the ‘other’ man that had fucked up her life. Moore came abreast of her car and she slid down swiftly, almost contemptuously. The man was drunk, that was obvious and he was probably cold and worried about getting in his car, not looking around for anybody. The man stopped a few feet from her car and suddenly a lighter flared in the semidarkness of the parking lot, illuminating the face. The man brought the lighter to his face, cupping his hand to shelter the flame from the wind, blowing a plume of smoke seconds later. The man resumed his stumbling gait, almost reaching his car, hesitating briefly and almost turning around, like a man that had suddenly remembered something important. The next second the man was doubling up, retching, almost falling in his desire to keep vomit from getting on his shoes, stumbling and cursing. A grin flickered briefly on the beautiful face at the man’s predicament and her eyes followed him. She saw him wiping his mouth and then fumbling with the keys, much like the other drunk had, body swaying in the cold wind. She opened the door to the SUV quietly, her hand bringing the axe close to her side. Another foul man was about to die and she could hardly restrain herself. Deep blue eyes, cold and hard, took in her surroundings with a quick glance. Everything was quiet, deserted, just the cold and the whispering wind and a killer. The black clad figure started walking, her long legs closing the distance between her and the man swiftly.
* * * *
Officer Pete Moore walked slowly toward his car, his alcohol soaked brain almost incapacitated. He burped noisily, tasting the sourness in his mouth and a grin flickered briefly on the weathered face, remembering the whore inside the bar. She had tried her best to get him to buy her drinks, tried to get him to take her home with him. Like he needed a stupid whore to go anywhere with him. Besides, Gloria was all fucked up with the damn cocaine and he had just about enough of her. He had slapped the hell out of her and then some Joe in the bar had taken her out and away from him. ‘Good riddance…bitch”, he mumbled, as his hand reached for a cigarette and the lighter, his feet going sideways when he wanted to go straight. ‘Damn, but I’m drunk”, he thought sourly, wishing he had not had that last drink. He lit the cigarette, cupping his hands around the lighter against the damn wind, his body swaying back and forth in an effort to stay upright. He took a long drag of the cigarette, his eyes glancing around the almost empty parking lot. That was when his eyes took in the exhaust coming from the tail pipe of the parked SUV on the corner of the lot. He blew smoke from his mouth, trying his best to discern if there was someone inside the shadows of the car. His befuddled, alcohol soaked brain tried to think, wondering if he knew anyone who owned a vehicle like that. It was new and looked quite expensive, too damn expensive for the neighborhood, he thought. He didn’t know anybody that owned a car like that, no one, that was for sure, he told himself. Even if drunk, Moore was a cop, an experienced one and the fact that there was a strange vehicle parked on a corner of Mickey’s Bar at this time of the morning started him thinking. Dunbar’s killing, his long time friend and partner, was still fresh in his mind. He was about to turn, going back to the vehicle to see if anyone was inside, when his stomach heaved on him and he felt the nausea welling in his throat.
“Oh…shit”, he mumbled as the hot vomit came. He retched several times, trying his best to keep the damn vomit from getting on his shoes, cursing under his breath. Blinding pain hit him and he closed his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He spit several times, tasting the sourness in his mouth, the SUV all but forgotten now as he fumbled with the car keys, the foul taste of bile deep in his throat. He cursed long and hard, mumbling as he shivered with the cold wind on his back, trying to find the damned, swimming key hole in front of him. He shook his head, blinking eyes full of tears now, his temples pounding with the headache, breathing deeply of the cold air to clear the cobwebs in his brain. Something was trying to push to the forefront and for a second he stopped his efforts to open the car door, his forehead frowning like a man in deep thought. Bu his brain refused to think and he was too damn cold standing in the middle of the parking lot. He shrugged his shoulders deeper into his coat, resuming the search for the elusive lock. The key finally found the hole in the lock and he jerked the door open, cursing still.
As he opened the door of the car, something intruded in his alcohol soaked brain and the cold hand of death touched him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he turned around, his right hand searching for his pistol, his left hand going up. ‘The damn SUV’, he told himself, as his bleary eyes centered on the dark figure looming over him, catching sight of a silver streak coming up and then down, toward him. His left hand went up in front of his face as his mouth choked down a scream and then the shiny head of the axe was slicing through skin, muscle and bone just below his elbow, blood spurting from the severed limb. The axe, even if slightly deflected, continued its flight upwards, hitting him a glancing blow to his forehead. A primordial scream, full of pain and rage reverberated in the confines of the parking lot and Moore sank to his knees, his back resting on the hard surface of his car, his eyes taking in the circling, moving figure above him. The axe turned in midair, coming at him from right to left in a blur of incredible speed and he shrieked like a small child, feeling his anus and bladder let loose, the overpowering smell of feces engulfing him. For one tenth of a second, his alcohol dazed brain cursed the moment he took that last drink and then blinding pain like he had never felt before surged through him, making him nauseas, the bile raising in his throat With a scream that was more like a sob, he dropped the pistol, clattering on the hard pavement as he grabbed at his severed limb with his right hand, tears of pain and frustration rolling down his cheeks.
“Who…who…?” he started, never finishing, a wave of nausea coming up again, choking him, listening to the diabolical laugh coming from the angel of death hovering above him. The axe bit deep on his exposed neck, slicing all the way through sinew, bone and muscle, the head rolling, thudding on the ground, eyes open. For a moment longer, the body jerked, finally stopping, blood spurting from the severed neck as the heart pumped ever more slowly.
* * * *
She had seen the man stopped close to his car, had seen the hesitation and then the man getting sick and she took that as her opportunity to close in and put an end to him. She exited the vehicle quickly, smoothly, taking care not to make any noise, making her way to her prey in long, quick strides. She reached him as he turned for some reason and the axe flickered in her hand, the shiny blade searching for the man’s neck. She saw the face up close, as the terror and fear gripped him, the left hand coming up to ward off the attack, but it was too late. The sharp edge of the axe cut through sinew and bone as if it were nothing, but his defensive move deflected the axe enough that she had to reverse her cut and move her grip. Even with that, the blow intended for the neck went up after slicing the hand, giving Moore a blow to the forehead. She saw the man go down hard on his knees, heard the scream full of pain and rage and she laughed hard, feeling the rush of adrenalin surging through her, her blood molten lava and her loins incredibly wet. Everything was crystal clear and sharp and for a fleeting instance, she thought that she had never been so alive. She laughed again as she took a step to the left, the axe coming from on high, right to left, and this time there was nothing in the way to deflect it. The axe caught the man on the neck, biting deeply and like Dunbar, slicing all the way through. A fountain of blood spurted from the neck and she had to jump back to avoid the splatter. Her nostrils flared at the sharp smell of ammonia and human feces as the man’s muscles let go.
“Just like a fucking…pig”, she said to herself. She stood still, her chest falling and raising rapidly with the strength of her emotions and she felt the moistness in her loins again as she moaned softly. She allowed herself a few precious seconds to enjoy the death off the miserable human being that lay at her feet, her beautiful face a mask of pure evil, the hard, taut body swaying slowly to the rhythm of her inner emotions.
“Rot in…hell”, she said softly, a grin flickering briefly on the face now. She glanced around quickly, making sure she was still alone. Carefully, she approached the body, working fast now, her hands reaching for his back pocket, searching, moving quickly to the pockets in the overcoat when she didn’t find his wallet there. Her fingers closed on the wallet inside an inner pocket of the coat, pulling it out, searching for the badge. She found it and it was matter of seconds to disengage the clip, dropping the wallet in place. That done, she hefted the axe, turning around and walking rapidly toward the SUV. Moments later, the parking lot was empty, silent, except for the grisly scene of a dead man and the cold wind that whispered softly around it.
Chicago January 27, 1995
04:00 a.m.
Lt. Turner bent his head, his eyes taking in the naked body of the black man laying on the cold, stainless steel table of the morgue. The man’s face was unrecognizable, nothing but a mass of bruises and contusions, dried blood covering the eyes and most of the ruined face. The lips had been split and one ear was almost cut in two. Holt was at his side, his hands moving expertly over the dead man, probing, pushing, and looking for anything that would give them clues about this new killing. It was late and he was exhausted, feeling the weariness seeping into his body slowly, welcoming the heat inside the building. He shook his head, forcing himself to wake up, his eyes rough and red rimmed from lack of sleep, feeling like he had sandpaper in them. He stifled yawn, thinking about some coffee, turning the idea down as soon as he thought about it. The last thing he needed now was more coffee.
Two weeks had passed since Dunbar’s murder and they were still on square one. Nothing, absolutely nothing: no suspects, no weapon, and no motive from any one that was close or had known Dunbar. The man had no girlfriends outside his marriage and so there were no other men angry with Dunbar over a woman and wanting revenge. The other murders in Chicago continued as they always do, Turner thought, part of his mind following Holt’s small talk while the rest of it was centered on Dunbar’s case. It pissed the hell of him when he couldn’t solve a murder or at least work on it ‘right’, concentrating on one case at a time, but murders didn’t wait and they kept piling up, one after the other. Just like the one lying on the table now. The man had been beaten to death in a drunken brawl, so at least the cause of death for this one seemed to be pretty clear. They had witnesses and a suspect and even now Thompson was working on him at the station.
“This one is pretty much…over with”, Holt said, stopping for a moment to snatch a cigarette from the pack laying on a table. He walked a few steps away from the body on the stainless steel table and lighted the cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply, eyes taking the naked figure of the dead man. The autopsy was completed and the obvious cause of death was several blows to the head and face with a blunt object.