Hunter's Moon.htm (3 page)

I grabbed her hand, fast but gentle, and got the same reaction as before. Thrills of electricity up my arm that raised all the hair on my skin. It wasn't painful. The sensation was wild. It was scary but intoxicating. Almost addicting. The hand wore a small opal ring in a nice setting. Expensive and elegant but not gaudy. Probably new. The office-length nails were cared for, though not professionally.

I got glimpses of her mind as we touched. Since the change I can sometimes sense what other people are thinking. Only when I touch them, though. My hearing went berserk too. Some days if I stand real still, I can hear the neighbors talking two or three doors down. During the full moon, the humming of the refrigerator hurts my ears. I bought a stock of foam earplugs. Why is he doing this? Is he going to hurt me? Stop. Don't stop. I'm not supposed to like this. What's happening to me?

She glanced at me. It wasn't fear— not exactly. I turned her hand over and looked at the palm. I forced my voice to remain cold and rational. "I won't specify stock or real estate. It's none of the hotel's business. I'll ask at the desk whether you've arrived. Then I'll head to my suite and ask that you be directed to the room when you get there."

She drove silently, listening intently while I traced the lines and the callousing on her palm with my thumb. Her mind couldn't come up with a complete thought. Even in the heat I saw her shiver.

I wanted to raise her hand to my mouth. Kiss the skin, roll the taste of her in my mouth. Shit. This is too weird. I released the hand and she pulled it away slow, like she had just started to enjoy it. I shook my head once to clear it and turned off the music. "When you go into the hotel, ask the desk clerk for Anthony Giodone. That's not my real name so don't bother to remember it. He'll either direct or escort you to Room 935. It's on the top floor. I'll have dinner delivered from room service. How do you like your steak?"

She didn't respond for a moment and I looked at her, waiting for an answer. "That was impressive," she finally said.

"What was?"

"You said all that in one breath. I'm impressed. And I like my steak well done."

I almost laughed but held back. "I'll let room service know."

It was about twenty miles on the freeway to the Plaza Hotel. It's very nice and comfortably furbished. It's also extremely expensive. When it was first built I met with the owner to discuss renting a suite on a permanent basis. It was about five months after the change occurred that I realized I needed somewhere to go for three days that was absolutely safe. I'd tried to lock myself in my house, but I always managed to get out. I would wake up and find a window broken and bloody feathers or fur littering my bed. Any idea what that stuff feels like coming out the other side? Once I found the refrigerator hanging open and groceries scattered through the house. It was a pain in the ass to clean up.

The client suddenly shifted into fifth gear and I once again heard the delicate jingle of metal. It must be a bracelet. I just couldn't see it under the jacket sleeve.

The hotel was in sight. I needed to go shopping soon. I always bring food with me for my visit. Then I lock the door and stay in the room for three days. They leave me alone; no maid service, no calls, no nothing. When I come back to my senses I clean up the mess, or pay for anything I've damaged. It's worked well so far because I've never told anyone I go there.

Except now I was bringing this client to my hideout. Go figure. Weirder still was that I was glad that the room could be ready.

I heard her swallow and noticed the nervous tapping of her fingers on the wheel. She was shifting back and forth in her seat restlessly.

"So, how did you get my number?"

She relaxed back into her seat. The tension drained from her like air from a balloon. She smelled of gratitude. Warm and slightly musty like air from a dryer's vent. "You would not believe how difficult it is to find someone in your profession."

I said nothing. It's not supposed to be easy. That's how we stay out of jail.

"I mean, it's not like you can just look in the phone book." She put her hands on top of the steering wheel, resting her wrists on it and pretended to be flipping pages. "Let's see, here we go, assassins. See hired killers" Amusement edged her voice.

I chuckled. So much for my fear she'd get maudlin.

"I remembered reading a few years ago in that magazine from Colorado… oh, you know the one. I can't remember the name."

"I know it," I responded, "Go on."

"Well, I remember they got into real trouble because they were running ads for mercenaries."

I nodded. "I read about that. The people who put in the advertisements weren't real bright, either."

"Well, I hoped that maybe even though they got busted they might still be doing it."

I raised my eyebrows. "And were they?"

"Sort of," she conceded. "There weren't any actual ads but when I called the magazine and talked to the classified department the clerk had a list of people who couldn't put ads in."

A back door approach. I like it. I grinned.

"It must have been a private list. He started to tell me but I guess his boss came in 'cause he hung up. I tried to call back later but he wouldn't take my call."

"So what did you do?"

"I went to the library and looked up some back issues. The ones that did have the ads in them."

"Attagirl."

She blushed and smiled. She was bright. It won her a few more points. It almost made up for the '60s spy movie get-up. Smart, with black humor. And hey, she wasn't bad-looking. I looked her up and down. Decent figure, great hair under the wig, nice smile. Not bad at all. Yeah, I could do her. Happily, if that little taste earlier was accurate. She glanced at me and must've seen something of what I was thinking. Her eyes widened and her head snapped forward again. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. I smelled the sharpness of her sudden fear and the musky heat of desire.

"So, anyway," Her voice, now, was just a little shaky, "I called two of the numbers I found but they were both on 'extended leave of absence'. I presumed that meant they were in jail."

"Or on the run."

"Either or," she agreed. "But one woman gave me a number of someone that she said was good. That her 'man', as she phrased it, respected."

"And that's how you called me?"

She shook her head. "No. I got the number of another person. That was the weirdest meeting I've ever had in my life." She shivered. "I got a message to meet him at this little video arcade that has a lunchroom. I sat down at the table that I was told to, and up comes this kid wearing baggy blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. Dark blonde hair cut long on the front so it covered his eyes and shaved in the back. You know, typical teenager."

Ah. Him. I nodded, unable to suppress a smile.

"Anyway, I figured that the kid was going to try to sponge money. So I ignored him, hoping he'd go away. I mean," she looked at me somewhat pathetically, "I was supposed to meet someone."

"Not realizing that he was who you were coming to meet?"

She looked at me, shocked. "You mean you know him!?!"

"Go on."

"Well, apparently, he was who I was coming to meet." Her brows were buried under the bangs of the wig, as if she was still startled. "He sat down at the table and asked if I was Sue. He was very professional. Very business-like. It was incredibly unnerving."

"Scotty has that effect on people," I agreed.

She looked at me again, newly surprised. "You really do know him."

I nodded.

"He's a baby!!"

I laughed out loud. "Lady, Scotty wasn't a baby when he was born!" She smelled sour-sharp with disapproval but at the same time oozed wet, fog-bank sorrow.

"He can't be more than, what, twelve?" She gestured with her fingers while controlling the wheel with the heels of her palms. She was agitated enough about the kid that she couldn't sit still.

"I mean, he's only a few years older than my nephew who still plays video games and is shy around girls."

I nodded agreement. "He just turned thirteen. He's already had two strikes so he'll have to keep his head down. Next time, they'll charge him as an adult. And he does still play video games and is shy around girls."

"You mean he's been caught before? Killing people? Then why is he still out and… "

"Talking to people like you?" I asked with a smirk. "Because he's a minor. He got the maximum five years in juvie hall for the first one. They had to drop the case on the second one. Witnesses kept disappearing."

She glanced at me in horror. "But if he was in juvenile hall for five years, then… "

I completed the thought, "He did his first job, sloppily, at the tender age of six."

Her eyes went wide. "The poor baby!"

I shook my head. "Don't feel real sorry for him. He's the way he wants to be. I checked him out. There's no history of abuse. The kid's just a psychopath. He doesn't look like anything other than a normal kid. It's his trademark. Nobody expects him, so he can sneak up on people." I thought I knew but asked anyway. "Why'd he turn you down?"

She shook her head with a small laugh. "He said that it wouldn't be any fun to 'do me', because I'd know he was coming. He said he does 'close in' work, whatever that means and he couldn't sneak up on me."

"That's with a knife or other arm's length weapon. A blade, a golf club, whatever. For Scotty, it's a visceral pleasure for him to watch a person die. He actually gets a physical high. Maybe even a sexual high." I shrugged. "To each his own."

"That," she said with a shiver, "is just so… bizarre! He really scared me."

I looked at her with a questioning smirk. "And I don't?"

She paused. "Not in the same way," she said thoughtfully. "He gets his kick out of pain. You can see it in his eyes. You look like you'll do it, but it's just business."

Not at the full moon. I nodded in agreement anyway. I stared hard at the side of her face for a minute and abruptly decided she needed a dose of reality. I admire the kid's work. He's talented. I wouldn't want her to go all socially conscious on him and turn him in "for his own good."

"You know, you should be happy that he does this for a living."

"Why in God's name would you say that?" Her eyebrows climbed high on her forehead. She spared a horrified glance before returning her attention to the freeway traffic.

"Because as long as he does it for a living, it satisfies the need and he doesn't do it for fun." She glanced at me, stunned. "Understand? A lot less dead people. Scotty's damn smart. He won't get caught easy. He'll be a serial killer if he ever stops being an assassin."

A sign whizzed past. The next exit was ours. She flipped on her turn signal and changed lanes. Her eyes blinked in time with the sound. "I guess."

I rested my elbow on the car windowsill. "You still haven't said. How'd you find me?"

Silence for a little while, then she took a deep breath. She shook her head and straightened in her seat. "From him. He wouldn't do the job but he gave me your number. Said you were the best, if I could afford you."

Huh. Didn't know the little bastard even had my number. Maybe I'd return the favor on the next blade job.

As instructed, she stopped the car about a block from the hotel and parked at the curb. All the reasons why this was a bad idea came rushing back to me. I had never invited another soul to the suite. Too late now. I was actually enjoying talking to her— looking at her. That worried me. My voice was harsher than I had intended when I steered the conversation back to business.

"Before we go any further— a thousand up front. Remember?"

"Oh!" It seemed like she had truly forgotten and wasn't just trying to burn me. She opened the clutch purse. My eyes opened wide. Inside the little black bag was a huge wad of cash! That explained her death grip on the purse.

She pulled the roll of currency out of the bag, in full view of whoever was walking by and counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. I shook my head wearily as I accepted the money. I carry around a lot of cash, but get real! She was a robbery waiting to happen.

"I wouldn't flash that wad of money around, if I were you," I warned. "You've already got a target painted on your back from the car. No need to advertise."

She looked mortified and hurriedly stuffed the money back in the bag. "I wasn't sure how much you would charge but I figured you would want cash."

I smiled. "You wouldn't have enough there. Not unless those are thousand dollar bills. My base price is fifty grand and goes up from there."

She cleared her throat. "Fifty. I see. I've only got ten here."

"Like I said, not nearly enough. But it would have been enough to show good faith. I would have accompanied you to the bank for the rest. If I had agreed to the job."

She looked at me slyly. "You haven't actually refused, you know."

"Close enough." I pocketed the money and got out of the car.

As I walked to the hotel, I heard the rhythmic beat of soft-soled shoes behind me. Seconds later, a jogger passed me by, headphones drowning out the world. The muscles in my legs instantly tensed to run— to start the chase. I forced myself to keep walking. I could hear the pounding of the man's heart over the music feeding into his ears. The light dew of sweat on his forehead and trickling down his back from the heat was like some intoxicating perfume that turned my blood to fire. I fought down the desire to snarl and take off after the runner; to bring him down. To quench the hunger.

I have this problem a lot. It makes jogging in the park tricky. People seem to resent it when you chase them. Go figure. And I have to run. I have to chase. It's part of me now. It gets harder and harder to control the closer it gets to the full moon.

When I reached the hotel, the doorman quickly moved to open the door for me. "Afternoon, Mike," I said cordially. He'd worked here since the place opened.

"G'day, Mr. Giodone," he responded with a grin. Mike is Aussie, right off the boat. He always smells like eucalyptus and mint and the citrus smell of happiness, penetrating and bright as his smile. The smell cleared out the musk from the client and the prey-smell of the jogger. I slipped him his usual tip. A crisp twenty keeps his smile genuine.