Men of Mayhem (17 page)

True.

She continued. “He told me he could get me out of the witness program. Told me he and I could have a life together. So where the fuck is he, huh?”

Her fists clenched and I thought she might follow my lead in punching the wall. Instead she raised her fists to her forehead and they slid open. She began rubbing her eyes, inhaling and exhaling heavily.

I wanted to cut to the core issue. “Betty, Hadley might be dead.”

She removed her hands from her face, expression neutral, but she said nothing. Her mascara had been spread out in every direction from her eyes, giving them a crazed, cracked-out look.

I stepped toward her. “You have no idea what he was really after. Maybe he did try and get you the best drugs, or maybe he wanted to use your good-faith info to make a big bust, or…”

“Or what?”

“Maybe he sold you out.”

The shock evident by her body language and expression were enough to prove this thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Why would he do that?”

I tilted my head, almost too dumbstruck to respond. Almost. “Do you realize how high the bounty is on our heads? That amount of money, hell, offer just a third of it and plenty of good people would commit to doing bad things.”

Betty crossed her arms and shook her head. “Well, not Agent Hadley.”

“If you believe that,” I said, knowing I’d regret these words, “then you’re a clueless bitch who deserves what’s coming.”

Her eyes grew wide. She reached for something to throw as she screamed, “Don’t you dare talk to me that way, Delvin!”

I ducked into the hall, yelling, “It’s Frank, damn it!” and made my way toward the clothes I’d stashed earlier. Enough of this wedded bliss bullshit. I had a beautiful woman waiting for me. As I slipped on my hoodie, I heard Betty sobbing in the bedroom.

I paused, considering whether or not to comfort her. After a brief moment, which I spent reminding myself how crazy I’d be to stand up the jogger, I pushed the ankle tracker disruptor into place, verified the small light stayed green, and then slipped out the back door.

Quad Angles Park, here I come.

The first step in my nighttime escapade was simple. I hustled down three houses worth of backyards before cutting up toward the street. Ducking behind a bush, I watched the FBI van for any movement. When five minutes passed, I knew that either my ankle disruptor worked properly or the agents were too preoccupied with the big game to notice my escape.

I lifted my pant leg, saw the light was still green, and then darted down the sidewalk toward the park.

Throughout adulthood I had always lived right downtown, part of the action. Having been stuck out in the ‘burbs’ for months now, I still wasn’t adapted to extreme quiet after dark, but tonight I appreciated it. I turned left off my street and onto the curvy and hilly street that dead-ended with an entrance to the park.

Over the years I developed a strategy that, no matter how late I would arrive, I make it a point to never rush into any situation. As attractive as my jogger was, I didn’t know her at all. She could be terrible at sneaking out, and the last thing I wanted was to jog into the park to find some angry husband waiting for me.

Reaching the park entrance, I slowed my pace, advancing under the deep shadows created by the tall trees lining each side of the path. Just up ahead was my work shed, full of tools, rakes, sheers, and paint supplies to freshen up benches and other surfaces showing wear and tear.

I paused under thick tree cover to scan the area. A creaking bench caught my attention. The noise didn’t originate from the playground, or from over by the gazebo, either. There, about thirty feet away, my jogger stretched across the bench I sometimes sat on to toss my sandwich crusts to birds. It offered a great view of the lake, but with one of her hands slipping under the waist of her pants, I don’t think the view was tops on her mind.

Every cell in my body screamed, “Run to her, before she changes her mind,” but I held back.

It wasn’t nerves exactly. I mean, my only hesitation was her significant other catching us. I can’t imagine any man seeing this sight could stop himself from confronting her immediately, and yet I waited, and watched.

My jogger allowed herself to relax, even in the public park. Her loose-fitting jogging shorts and hooded sweatshirt obstructed my view, but her soft moans carried on the crisp fall breeze.

One moment I was cool, calm, and hidden in the shrubbery. The next moment, I found myself walking toward my jogger, my stagger befitting a mindless zombie in search of his next meal rather than a prideful, calculating man dead-set on making a strong first impression. Judge all you want, but you didn’t hear her soft moans or see her earnest eyes glazing toward overload. I just couldn’t resist anymore.

I forced myself to maintain a slow pace and to get my body under control. Here was a chance to reclaim a bit of my old life from those fuckers in the mob and the holier-than-thou government a-holes. For months I’d played Frank, the suburban husband doing good for his community, but for one night, ol’ Delvin Crowe needed to take something for himself.

Just a dozen or so paces away, I decided to reveal myself. I kicked a branch full of multi-colored dead leaves. The crunch reverberated around the deserted park and my jogger stopped.

Her eyes flashed back open. She didn’t appear panicked or guilty. No, my jogger just flashed a devilish, knowing grin. I waved as she tracked my approach.

She winked. “Well, hello there.”

“I got your message.”

My jogger straightened. “A few minutes later and you’d have been out of luck, pal.”

It hurt to hear her admit she could’ve found pleasure just fine without my arrival. My self-confidence dropped from a bull on parade to, well, just a really horny bull with a positive outlook on himself.

I paused just a few feet away, puffing out my chest a little further than was comfortable. “These last few weeks, waiting to meet you, have been almost unbearable. You. Are. Gorgeous.”

She took off her hoodie, revealing a silky sky-blue top. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Instinct told me to watch for any passersby, but only a fool would look away now.

My jogger spread her legs apart and arched her back, pushing hardened nipples against her silk top. She curled her index finger at me in a beckoning gesture.

I regretted my choice of form-fitting tailored jeans, as there was no give and I needed room. I took a few steps closer. “What’s your name?”

Her eyes gave me a once over. “You can call me Missy. So, it appears you work out, but your poor choice in shirts is blocking my view. Why don’t you take it off?”

Doing as she asked, I gripped my shirt and flexed my abs, hoping to impress her. I pulled my shirt up over my face, and as I did so, I heard the bench creak again.

Tossing aside my shirt, I noticed Missy had stood. She was taller than I pictured. Also, in the dozen or so times per day that I fantasized about meeting her, she never held a gun.

I tensed. “What the hell is that for?”

“You pissed off the wrong people, Delvin.”

“Shit.” Realization hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Yeah,” she said, her light-hearted tone betraying how much she was enjoying herself. “They only call me for special jobs. Though now that we’re face to face, you don’t look like you’re worth my fee.”

Peering down at my shirtless chest, I suddenly felt vulnerable, an emotion foreign to me. “If this is about—”

“I don’t know what it’s about,” Missy interrupted. “And I don’t care. I get paid when the job is done.”

A chill ran up my spine. “So you’re just going to shoot me in the park?”

“No, my instructions are clear. You’re to be used as a message to scare off any other fool who thinks they can turn on the mob.”

Before I responded, Missy added, “I’ve been doing this for a decade, so please don’t try to bribe or threaten me. And for the love of God, have the decency to die like a man. I hate seeing powerful men sob. If you can follow those three steps, I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can. Once I see tears falling or you start praying, or, hell, this one time a guy started calling out for his mommy, no lie—”

“I get it,” I spat out.

Her annoyance at my interruption was obvious by her flushed cheeks, but I think she respected me for still possessing a backbone.

After a few seconds of silence, she nodded. “All right then. Strip.”

I furrowed my brow. “Come again?”

She thrust the gun closer to my face. “Did I stutter? Take off your clothes. You got anything in your pockets?”

I shook my head, but then remembered. “Mints. Oh, and a cellphone.”

She waved her free hand dismissively. “Whatever. Have a couple mints if you want, but throw me your pants with the phone still in the pocket.”

I unbuckled my jeans and slid them off, over my shoes. I straightened, wearing just briefs, socks, and shoes, my lingering excitement at the thought of a late night tryst with a strange woman now peeking out and over my underwear’s elastic band.

Missy’s gaze hung at my waist for a few moments.

Though nervous, I managed to inject some confidence in my tone. “We still have time.”

This caused a raucous fit of barking laughter that didn’t help my confidence one bit.

Missy pointed her gun at my feet. “Take off the shoes, leave the socks on if you want, and your undies need to go as well. Can you climb?”

Once again confused by her question, I knelt down to untie my shoes and asked, “What on earth will I be climbing?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Where do you want to be found? I’m bored with benches and closets and all the usual places. Let’s get creative tonight.”

I peered around the park, hoping to find an escape or something I could brandish as a weapon to defend myself. But besides the tools in the shed, there were only dead leaves and the occasional bit of litter. I considered booking it, but if the mob hired her, it was safe to assume she would have no problem gunning me down.

“Delvin, we don’t have all night. Get those God-damned shoes off already.”

I removed them and stood. Without prompting, I removed my underwear as well. The crisp breeze actually felt good against the burning inside.

Missy stepped forward and circled me. “So, what did you do anyway, Delvin?”

“Small talk, seriously?”

A cold leather glove grabbed my ballsack and twisted. “Okay, have it your way. By now, most of my marks are blubbering idiots, begging for mercy, so I admit, I’m curious to see if your pride swells as big as your balls.”

She let go and once again circled behind me. “How much do you weigh?”

“Two-twenty, why?”

She cocked her gun and placed it against the back of my head. “Because I can probably just shoot you right here and then stage you up on top of the gazebo or the monkey bars or wherever after you’re dead.”

“I thought you weren’t going to shoot me? I thought I was to be tortured so I could be made an example of?”

This time Missy’s gloved hand reached from behind me, caressed my lower belly, and worked its way up to my pecs. She gave the left one a solid smack. Then her hand retreated back and down until she was able to squeeze my butt cheek.

After a few moments, she stopped and said, “Well, your voice has a slight tremble, but you’re not shaking enough to betray all-out panic or fear. You see, some people crave power, some desire love or money or material possessions, but I get off on the screams of pure terror and the helplessness shining in my victims’ eyes. You’re scared, yes. And you don’t want to die, but when I touch you, I sense you’re enjoying it.”

She giggled. “I don’t want to think that I had something to do with you feeling any sort of pleasure, so no, for you it’ll be a simple bullet through the brain. Who knows, though? After you’re dead, if that little stiffie sticks around, maybe I’ll have some fun.”

“You need help.”

Once again Missy buried the gun into the back of my head. “And now’s your last chance to scream for some help of your own.”

She paused, but I forced myself to stay quiet. There was no way I’d let her win now. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut, not ready, but with hope draining fast.