Smoke and Mirrors (10 page)

“Oh,” she said as she tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear.

Suddenly, remembering she was on a date (a first date – obviously) she straightened her shoulders and delicately rested her little bottom in the chair and waited for Mr. Brody to sit again.

But he was disgusting, nothing short of revolting – heavily scarred, limping, with missing fingers.
Yuck!

The rest of the date didn’t go too well, but Mr. Brody already expected that. He could feel how the blonde retreated in herself and only answered his questions with single-word answers.

Jessie gave Mr. Brody and his companion enough time to inspect the menu before she came over, becoming the most professional waitress she could be.

Jessie didn’t like that Mr. Brody always looked so sad. She knew he’d suffered great losses and was just trying to find someone to make his life less lonely. He was considerably older than her, maybe about fifteen years.

Jessie had worked in this restaurant, owned by her family, ever since she could remember. Now, a rather ordinary twenty-four year old, she worked here every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night instead of going out with her friends.

Really, she didn’t have many friends. She preferred to bury her nose in a good book, or watch an extremely violent action movie on DVD. She wasn’t a drinker or a party animal; she was simply… well…ordinary.

She wasn’t leggy, and she wasn’t blonde. As a matter of fact, she wore glasses because she was unable to see without them. Her hair was mousy brown and she certainly had hips and boobs. Hourglass, that’s how her figure could be described.

Mr. Brody was nearing forty and he had faced great losses over the years, physically, mentally and emotionally.

But through it all, he picked himself up and kept on going through life. He knew
she
wouldn’t have wanted him to stop just because…well, just because she was no longer with him.

The blonde excused herself with a fake, plastic smile and walked quickly to the bathroom, clutch in hand. Maybe she was going to make the “escape call” to a friend, or maybe she’d try to squeeze out the window. Mr. Brody chuckled to himself at the image of that plastic woman trying to hoist herself out the restroom’s small window.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mr. Brody?” Jessie asked gently.

He simply shrugged his shoulders and twisted his water glass, avoiding her intense brown eyes.

“She’s clearly not the person you want.” Jessie paused, took a quick breath and added, “But maybe she’s exactly the type you expect.”

“Maybe I’m not the person
she
wants either,” he replied, almost in a self-deprecating way. “And I doubt I’m what she expected.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Jessie said, her voice small, warm and caring.

Mr. Brody’s eyes snapped up to look at Jessie. Her face was reddening and she looked so shy.

Was she hitting on him? Introverted little Jessie?

Mr. Brody’s gaze wandered over her body. She was wearing plain clothes, just a crisp white shirt and black pants, the same as all the other waitresses in the place.

“Well, I’m not exactly a handsome man,” he said in his deep, velvety voice.

“You may not be a male model, but you’re certainly not horrific either,” she retorted, now injecting some confidence into her voice.

Mr. Brody sat back in his chair and smiled.
She’s certainly a firecracker
, he thought.

“Is that so?” he teased, smiling at her.

“Yeah. You’re alright.” Jessie smiled at him.

Mr. Brody cheekily allowed his eyes to roam once again over Jessie’s body.

Just then, the blonde returned to the table, looking a good deal more relaxed than she was just moments earlier.

She sat in her seat, adjusted her short dress and picked up the menu, beginning to peruse it once again.

“Would you like another moment?’ Jessie asked, though Mr. Brody could tell her tone was slightly hostile.

As if on cue, the leggy blonde’s phone rang.

Right on time
. Both Mr. Brody and Jessie thought simultaneously.

The blonde made a show of looking down at the display on the phone she’d retrieved from her clutch and frowning. “Oh, I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Mr. Brody looked at Jessie, and Jessie returned his gaze trying to refrain from smiling. Instead, they both burst into laughter, knowing exactly what was about to be said.

The blonde looked at them both, knowing she’d been caught in her little ruse. Her embarrassment showed itself as annoyance.

“I’m sorry, but you’re most certainly not at all the sort of person I want.” This was the first time she’d been honest since she’d met Mr. Brody.

“That’s fine,” he said.

The leggy blonde got up and left, Mr. Brody and Jessie watching her fine ass walk out of the restaurant.

“So Jessie, would you care to have dinner with me?”

“Are you for real?” Jessie folded her arms across her chest and cocked one hip, frowning. “She shoots you down and I’m supposed to stand in as your ‘just in case’ girl? That’s not going to happen. If you want to ask me out on a date, then do so, but don’t you dare think I’ll be a last-minute substitute because of your poor choice for a date. I’m not one of
them
.” She emphasized the word ‘them’ with a sarcastic tone.

Whoa – hello fireball!
Jessie’s reaction made Mr. Brody seriously hard. She had ripped him a new one right there and then, and he loved it.

Maybe, just maybe, she might be up for the other activities he loved to partake in.

Hmmm, I wonder?!
Mr. Brody thought to himself.

“I’m sorry, Jessie.”

“Good. You should be.” Jessie stood with her hand on her hip, towering over an amused Mr. Brody.

“Tomorrow night, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

Jessie looked hard at Mr. Brody. She bit on her bottom lip, thinking about his offer.

“That all depends,” she said as he lifted his glass of water to take a sip.

“On what?” he said, just before his lips met the tumbler.

Jessie leaned right into Mr. Brody, her mouth ghosting past the shell of his ear, her warm breath caressing the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Do we get to kill the blonde?” she whispered.

Mr. Brody’s heart stopped. The blood in his veins turned icy as his movements ceased completely.

“What did you say?” he asked breathlessly, stunned almost speechless.

“I know what you do. I know who you are,” Jessie murmured into his ear.

A long, intimate moment passed between the two. Jessie’s hand now toyed with the back of Mr. Brody’s hairline, softly fondling the cool, yet clammy skin.

How could Mr. Brody not have known Jessie was a stalker? A woman who followed him and watched what he did.

The women he invited to these dinners were all carefully chosen. They were all there for a reason.

They were nothing more than monsters who abused their children, physically, mentally, or sexually. He watched them, learned their behaviors, befriended them online, and lured them out on a fake date to see if they were truly as horrible as his research had shown him.

His wife, who had passed away in the dreadful accident which left him disfigured, had come up with the idea when they couldn’t conceive children of their own. She told her husband, a Mafia hit man, that she was sick and tired of women who had children and abused them. She said those women scarred their children to the point that they grew up not fitting into society. She blamed their later crimes on the horrible abuse they’d suffered at the hands of their mothers and on growing up in destructive homes.

Mr. Brody’s mind worked in mysterious and complicated ways. He took his years of training, and decided it was time someone stepped up and did something, seeing as the law didn’t usually do much to punish the women his wife was talking about.

Together, they refined their goals to just the elite – the women who got away with it because they had an infinite amount of money, giving them access to the best attorneys and sometimes, making secret, under-the-table bribes possible.

Yes, Mr. Brody was a killer. He made those women suffer, and now he was excited he’d found himself a new partner.

A partner in killing…and a partner in life.

He was sure his late wife would approve.

“You’re fucking useless.”

Another night of drinking, but tonight it had started the moment the doctor came home. The moment the good doctor walked through the door, the verbal abuse started.

“I’ve been gone for eleven hours and you’ve done fucking nothing around here,” Alex snarled, looking around the immaculate home.

Based on the early appearance of alcohol this evening, Rory knew what was going to happen, and could guess what was going to be said.

And Rory knew full well what it meant for their evening.

Shut up,
Rory thought.
Don’t say anything. Maybe a drink will improve the foul mood.

But Rory knew better, and understood when Alex came home like this, the insults would be followed quickly by a push, a shove, then (if it got really bad) a fist.

But since little Ari was born, Rory did everything possible just to keep the peace. The abuse had started virtually the minute baby Ari arrived on this earth.

Blessed with a beautiful little brown-eyed girl, the good doctor felt resentment toward Rory, and on some days it seemed Alex felt total, utter hate for the entire world.

The target of that hate would vary, although Alex had never raised an angry hand toward little Ari. It was always Rory that suffered the abuse.

In fact, Alex had become so spiteful, so arrogant, and so mean, that Rory was even required to use the professional address of “Doctor”, even in their home.

The abuse first began as small, short, cruel remarks…“You look horrible. Do something to improve your appearance. I can’t be seen in public with you looking like that.” A hand would wave from head to toe and the look of sheer disgust would be just as clear as the words spoken.

Next, it was the isolation. Alex started to control who would be allowed to see Ari, restricting Rory’s contacts all around.

Then came the numerous phone calls every day, checking up on Rory. “Who did you talk to today?” Quickly followed by an unreasonable suspicion of infidelity, “Are you trying to leave me? I’ll fuck you over if you try to take Ari and leave. I’m a doctor. I have respect in this town. No one will believe you if you tell them what happens here.” But after these bouts of insanity, Alex always followed with, “I’m so sorry, baby. I promise it won’t happen again.” Yet, it did.

Restricting, isolating – manipulating.

These behaviors went on for approximately a year. The set-up was perfect. Who would believe a top cardiologist was abusing their spouse? Who in their right mind would think a renowned and sought-after doctor had isolated their partner from all their friends and family members? There was no rational reason Alex had confiscated Rory’s cell phone, and had installed recording devices and cameras throughout the family home to hear conversations and see what was happening.

Completely unreasonable.

Alex was a very well respected member of society, chairing several charity boards, donating to children who had survived sexual abuse, even running a shelter for battered women – an irony not lost on Rory – and was a highly-admired guest speaker at the universities, training students planning to enter the field of cardiology.

The good doctor was
very
good – especially at deceit.

But today…well, this was going to be a bad day.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. Can I get you a drink?” Rory asked nervously.

“I want my fucking house spotless. I want my fucking dinner on the table and I want our child in bed when I get home. How hard is that? Are you retarded? An idiot? Maybe you want me to get you a fucking maid! Is that it? You
are
fucking useless,” Alex spat.

There it is, the degradation. Always making it my fault.

“Dinner’s ready and on the table. Ari’s in bed but not asleep because she’s been running a bit of a fever.”

“A fever? How bad is it?”

“100.9.”

“Hmmm, just low-grade. Let it play out.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing. But Ari’s in bed, as you wanted.”

“Did I tell you to talk?” Alex barked so angrily Rory almost flinched.

They’d been through this so many times before. And tonight was no different. The good doctor was in a mood, a foul mood.

Maybe something happened at work?

“Here you go. A glass of scotch with two ice cubes, just as you like it.”

Alex kicked off the shoes that had been rubbing uncomfortably at the heel, and sat in the plush chair in the family room, reclining it to its most convenient position to sip the scotch.

“What did you do today?” Alex snapped, voice filled with venom, eyes filled with disgust.

Rory sighed. “I looked after Ari most of the day, but I did end up going into town to do the errands you left me.”