ROMANTIC SUSPENSE : DEATH WHISPERED SOFTLY (8 page)

What the hell was I thinking when I decided to come to New York and get mixed up with an unknown dangerous man? ” he chided himself.  A plethora of thoughts went through his tormented mind.

“Should I back the hell out of this? No! I can’t back out now. That’s not an option I have anymore. This was an extremely toxic situation.”

But Steve knew it was too late to back out of it. If he were to pull out now, Ricardo would surely come after him with all he had. And he most certainly had the means, considering he was so close to that demented millionaire Gustav Nilsson.
He would leave no stone unturned until he gets me
, Steve thought bitterly
.  And even if I were to pull this off, I would be a fugitive for the rest of my life, running away from cops, hiding whenever I hear a siren. My heart will stop at the sight of a police officer, and my conscious would sting me every damn day!
What the hell have I got myself into?
If I succeed in killing this, this innocent girl, I will have the cops on my case for the rest of my life. And if they catch me I am cooked and will have to spend the rest of my life in prison, or worse be on death row! And If I back out now and run away, I will surely have Nilsson and Ricardo gunning for me for the rest of my days and they won’t rest till they nail me.
Steve realized that
either way this turned out, he would be a loser!
This realization hit Steve as hard as a champion boxer’s knockout punch. Suddenly he didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to kill an innocent individual even if it meant giving up on his dream of a new life. “Oh what a fool I was to have ever accepted this job!” Steve cried out, livid at himself.

Was there some way I could wiggle out of this
, he thought, even as he feverishly searched for a way out of this mess.  But no solution came to him. And after hours and hours of desperate cogitating he threw his arms up and gave up. With a shock, it dawned on Steve that
there was no solution!
  He felt like a trapped animal. Never before in his life had he felt as stranded and vulnerable as he did now. There was no one he could talk to, not even to his buddy Carlo. Steve knew that whoever he would talk to would surely be dragged into deep peril and he didn’t want to do that.

Why did I give-in to this mad greed? What was I thinking? Damn it!
Steve thought, furious with himself.

He felt trapped, defeated, and desolate. He felt his world crashing in front of his eyes, and there was precious little he could do to stop that from happening.

He looked around his room and found a bottle of scotch he had purchased with Ricardo’s money, on the way back to the Hotel. He was now glad he did. Although he had four large drinks at Ricardo’s grimy office, he needed more, longing for an escape from the tormenting thoughts that consumed his mind.   He opened the cap and poured himself a stiff drink, and drank it straight up. The scotch bit into the back of his throat and made him cough.

But the whiskey had a calming effect on him, and he poured himself another stiff one. The buzzing effect of the scotch brought Steve back into his senses and he could think straight. The remorse and panic had gone and Steve started thinking more coherently and calmly now—his nerves fortified by scotch.
“Ok so I have led myself into a situation where I either commit murder and have  the cops chase me for the rest of my life, or I just run away from here, and not commit the murder, and have two vicious goons chasing me for the rest of my life. 

“This damn situation has no damn solution!” he cried out in a strident voice. “I have no option but to kill this girl, or these goons kill me! But would I be able to live with my conscience for the rest of my days?” he wondered uneasily. Although he did not want to kill the Kingsbury girl, he found that there was precious little he could now do to prevent that from happening. If he spared Grace Kingsbury’s life, he would be placing his own life in jeopardy. 

The thought of killing this innocent girl now crushed him, his chest heavy, his breath laden; he sat down at the edge of his bed and buried his head into his hands. I have to kill her even if I don’t want to—he kept repeating crestfallenly. Then he suddenly looked up, clasped his hands and cried out in a loud voice “Mom, dad help me please! Look what I have landed myself into! Help me… help me please!” And before Steve could check himself he found himself doing something he hadn’t done before --- he started sobbing uncontrollably.  “I don’t want to do this Mom, I don’t want to do this” he kept repeating, as he sobbed like a child in great agony.   

Ironically the surge of emotions helped Steve. His stress was released through the outburst, and a sudden calm came over him and helped him regain his composure. Somehow he felt his parents had interceded and gave him peace. And he felt a rush of love for his parents fill his heart. “Thanks dad and mom, you have given me much needed peace”, he looked up and whispered.

Steve’s thoughts now went back to his parents. To the faint memories, he still had of the special moments they spent together, their laughter, and loving, comforting arms.  Although he was barely seven years old when they had passed away, he had some very vivid memories of them. He remembered they were always kind and patient with him. Even as a child, Steve knew they loved him deeply.  He remembered his parents were very devoted to Christ and the church.  They would take him to the church each Sunday…they were such happy times. Not a day would pass when they would not read their bibles. He remembered his father teaching him “Steve I am but your earthly father; your true father is the one who lives in heaven and who loves you more than I could ever love you my son”. Remember to call on him whenever you need him. He will help you whenever you cry out to him. For he will always be with you, he loves you, my son.

In these moments of strife and torment, Steve wondered if god was the solution. But how can I believe that to be true, if there was a god and if that god ever loved me he wouldn’t have taken away my parents and left me at the mercy of cruel and uncaring foster parents, he thought bitterly.

Ever since his parent’s death, Steve had lost all hope and faith and never returned to a church. His callous foster parents were atheists and didn’t care about god. “It’s all a fantasy you foolish boy!” they would ridicule him, whenever he dared to ask them anything about God.  And that’s exactly how Steve had started viewing God—nothing but a fantasy.

But in these moments of anguish and despair, Steve was reminded of what his father had counseled, he wondered if god could somehow get him out of this mess. If he really existed and if he really cared, he would somehow prevent this from happening. This is what his parents had assured him of so unfailingly. But it would be utterly unwise to rely on something that was unknown, untried, and unseen. The only prudent thing, he felt, he could do
now
was to do exactly as he promised Ricardo—carry out the plan to perfection, collect his money and then beat it!  Yes this was the solution to all of this. “Execute the plan so well that the cops would have no chance of pinning the murder on me. I won’t give them a dog’s chance of doing that” he promised himself.  In less than a week from now this hellish thing will be over and I will be thousands of miles away from here with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in my pocket, he reassured himself. I would lie low until it all blows over; and start a new life by establishing my restaurant in California—with Ricardo’s money.  Steve suddenly discovered with a shock he had no desire to start a restaurant anymore, not under these circumstances!

“How ironic! I came here to murder someone to establish my restaurant and accomplish my dream, and here I am committed to murdering an innocent girl and there is
no desire
left to use that blood money for my dream! Steve thought wistfully. “
What do I do now? If only this killing could be evaded; but how?”
He had no clue how!

Then Steve did something he hadn’t done since after his parents’ death. He went down on his knees and prayed.

CHAPTER Xll
 

    The next few days went by rather quickly for Steve. In these few days he had reconciled himself to the fact that there was no way out—he
had to do
the job. He was no longer tormented by the fact that he was going to kill an innocent person to accomplish his dreams. “If there at all is a creator, then it is
him
who must take the onus and responsibility of this crime. Had he been kind to me this wouldn’t be happening, he reassured himself. Having shifted the responsibility and the blame on god, Steve was prepared to do his job on Tuesday night.

He would get up each day and after showering, he would, in the comfort and privacy of his hotel room, practice his entry into the café and rehearse the words he had to utter. After initial fumbles and hard practice Steve found that from the fourth day onwards the words he had to speak came smoothly. He was also growing in confidence, and so was his stubble.

On the eventful day, Steve got up late on purpose, at around 11 am. He knew it was going to be a long day and he had to rest as much as he could. He spent thirty minutes in the shower, where he almost shaved his stubble off – unknowingly!  Steve had the peculiar habit of shaving under a warm shower.

He was so habituated to this routine that his hand unconsciously drifted to the shaver lying near the bath tub, and it was only at the last instant that he remembered and violently threw the shaver across the room. 
“What the heck are you doing, you idiot!”
he hissed at himself. “This stubble is your security, your mask, which will hide your identity from the cops!” he shouted violently.

Then he gingerly ran his hand over his jaw and was enormously relieved to discover that his cover, his week old stubble, was still intact.  He turned around and faced the mirror. What he saw in the mirror put his fears to rest. His week old stubble had become coarse and shabby and it was covering almost his entire face. He could hardly recognize his own self.

And with the hoodie covering his head and the thick glasses on, it would be hugely challenging—if not impossible— for someone to recognize him, even if that someone knew Steve intimately. With his disguise in place, Steve was reassured that it was virtually impossible to recognize him.  This calmed Steve’s nerves considerably and he felt confident that he would be able to successfully implement Gustav Nilsson’s’ deadly plan.

During the stay in his room, Steve had taken every pre-caution to ensure he did not attract any attention or suspicion. He never played the TV loud, lest anyone complain of the noise and cause attention to him and possibly blows his cover. Steve had been as quiet, discreet, and unknown as possible.

The torment of waiting was now over and Steve was anxious to complete this task smoothly and successfully, and get the hell out of this nightmare he had gotten himself into.

Steve had used Ricardo’s money to buy the things he needed to carry out the plan
—a heavy black hoodie, a pair of thick horn rimmed glasses, a pair of tight fitting gloves,  and a pair of shoes with concealed heels which gave him an inch and a half of extra height.

    His walk to the café had seemed like an eternity, every step was laden, and it was a little past midnight when Steve reached the café, wearing the hoodie. Steve had not come to the café before.  He had purposely stayed away from the café on Ricardo’s advice.

As Ricardo had informed him, the café had a huge glass window pane which overlooked the parking lot. Through the window one could easily see patrons and activities going on inside. Steve glanced inside the Café through the huge window pane. He saw a girl sitting at the piano. She seemed to be so deeply immersed in her piano and thoughts that her face looked as if she were in a trance. He also saw a waiter standing behind the serving counter and Steve was relieved to see the waiter was all alone. There appeared to be no one in the café except for these two.

Steve had in the past seven weeks practiced hard what he had to do and he was now feeling pretty confident that he could pull this off. Although deep within Steve was queasy, even guilty, at the thought of murdering an innocent person, he kept reminding himself there was now no other option, but to carry out the plan with precision perfection.

In the past week, when he would go over the plan in his head his conscience would scream loudly at him, he would manage to shake it off by jogging his memory that it was he who was wronged first having to live his tormented life.  Had he not lost his parents in that terrible plane crash or had his foster parents not been so cruel and callous, it would have been a different story and his fate may have been different. If he was now standing in front of a café about to murder an innocent girl, it was his fate and god—if there was one—who was to blame, and certainly not him.  “I cannot be held culpable for what’s about to happen” he would remind himself.  “I am just giving back what life has given me” he would convince himself.

Steve had gulped down two large shots of scotch just before leaving his hotel. The scotch was doing exactly what he expected it to do. And by the time he had arrived at the café, he was feeling slightly high, a little calmer and a bit reckless. 

Fifteen minutes or so before leaving his hotel, he had made the call that would set the plan in motion, he had called up Ricardo on his cell phone to confirm if he had taken his position in his car a block away so that they could make a clean and fast getaway—after the job had been done. It was exceedingly essential for Steve that he find Ricardo in the car a block away waiting, positioned and ready, after he had shot the Kingsbury girl and rapidly exited the café. It was vital that all the pieces
were in place, because it would only be a matter of minutes before the café was swarming with cops. And Steve knew he had to make good his escape
in those few vital minutes.