The Demon Pool (12 page)

Bern’s Steak House had a reputation as one of the
finest in Tampa. According to a quote in the local paper, Bern’s was not a
place to come and wolf down a meal in half an hour. It was an event, an
experience. That was what Robert was going to give Kat tonight. An experience.
Hopefully, she would return the favor.

After a short drive from his house to Kat’s
complex, he parked his Lexus sedan in front of her apartment. Although the
Lexus was a couple of years old, Robert kept it looking showroom new. The
freshly polished, amber pearl exterior gave the vehicle a golden richness that
would have been right at home parked in front of one of the five-star clubs in
South Beach.

Robert smiled a self-satisfied smile as he checked
himself in the rearview mirror. Tonight, everything would go right. The right
car, the right restaurant, the right girl, the right moves. For the first time
in his life, Robert had it all together. At least he hoped he did.

***

Kat stood next to the Lexus and tapped the passenger
side window. Robert hit the power door lock and Kat slid into the passenger
seat, bringing both legs in together while keeping her short skirt a
respectable distance between knees and thighs. She was not being modest for
modesty’s sake. She wanted Robert to think goddess, not slut.

The car stereo oozed smooth jazz, and underneath the music,
Kat could hear Robert’s breathing. It reminded her of another Robert. A Robert
more disgusting than Robert Teal. She could almost smell Robert Greer’s foul,
alcohol-tainted breath, feel his weight pushing down on top of her. Kat shoved
the thought out of her mind, ordering her brain to focus
.
Someday she
would find a way to pay back Robert Greer. She would make him suffer one
hundred times over for each indecent act, and there had been dozens of them.
Tonight, however, belonged to the other Robert.

***

As Kat entered the Lexus, Robert found himself
instantly aroused.
Oh my God this woman is hot.

She looked at Robert and her eyes drilled into
his. An eternity passed, or maybe just a few seconds. Robert couldn’t tell.

“I’m hungry, Robert,” she said, reaching for her
seatbelt.

“I hope you like steak,” he replied, his voice
cracking.

Kat smiled. “I like everything, Robert.” She
paused for a second and leaned toward him. She continued in a breathy, almost
Marilyn Monroe voice, “Everything.”

Kat released him from her stare and he shook his
head, as if he were coming out of some trance. His voice almost recovered.

“Yeah, uh, Bern’s Steak House. Great steaks.
Great wine list, too.”

“Well, let’s go. Show me a good time.”

Robert put the Lexus in drive. All he could say
was, “Yeah, I think you’ll like Bern’s.”

Kat crossed her legs, right over left, toward
Robert. He glanced over at her and then back at the road. Something wasn’t
right. He was the boss. He had the power. He should be in control. But at the
moment, he did not feel the least bit in control.
Doesn’t matter. Just stick
to the plan.

Kat did not look like she weighed more than
one-ten, maybe one-fifteen at the most. With her figure, she was probably a
light eater. Couple of bottles of wine, some talk about his newfound power and
influence at AGT, a few carefully implied promises, and the evening would end
exactly where Robert wanted it to — in his bed, lost in the sweet bliss of
Kat-candy. After all, she was little more than a lab assistant who moonlighted
as a topless dancer. What chance did she have against his superior planning and
intellect? Robert smiled.
Back in control.

As soon as they entered Bern’s, Robert discretely
and generously tipped the maître d’. He showed them to an excellent table. The
headwaiter arrived within seconds, followed by the sommelier, and the couple
ordered. Robert chose a nice Eberle Syrah to accompany their steaks. Kat
matched him glass for glass, although she had the smallest filet mignon on the
menu and Robert had the largest porterhouse. When dessert arrived, a luxurious
white chocolate mousse, they switched to a 2000 Vintage Graham’s port. Three
glasses each finished the bottle. Robert found it a little hard to focus.

“I expect I’ll be running AGT now. Nobody else
really understands what we do.”

Kat smiled at him. He reached for his empty wine
glass. Under the table, her foot brushed his ankle sending an electric shock
through his body. His hand bumped the glass, knocking it over. He quickly
righted the glass.

“Sorry.”

Kat reached out and put her hand over his.

“It’s okay. Let’s go someplace quiet where we can
talk.”

Robert glanced toward the lounge. The bar had
emptied. He stood, steadied himself, and nodded toward the bar.

“Looks quiet. After-dinner drinks?”

“Whatever you want, Robert.”

***

Kat pulled down the driver’s-side visor and opened the
lighted mirror. Baalzaric watched her inspect her makeup. Kat was as beautiful
as the Calusa woman he had inhabited hundreds of years ago. He had taken that
woman from virgin to village priestess, and she had given him pleasure and
power for a season. In the hundreds of years that had now passed, Baalzaric had
had power, pleasure, warmth, and in between, decades of cold isolation in the
pool. Now, things were going to be different. Very different.

Kat glanced over at Robert. He had passed out. Baalzaric
knew that as a scientist, Robert was brilliant. Nonetheless, as a man, he was
an idiot — and that was okay. Baalzaric knew, from long experience, that even
idiots could be useful.

Frustration. Bruce felt it in every cell of his body.
Kat had picked him up on Monday, right on time, but then she drove home to her
apartment, made an excuse for not inviting him up, and he had not seen her
since. It was now Thursday and Kat was not answering her phone.
Why is she
doing this to me?

Kat normally worked at the club on Thursday
nights. Bruce looked at his watch. Even his ability to afford expensive toys
gave him no pleasure today. Four o’clock. Another hour and he would head out
the front gate of the base. He picked up his phone and dialed Kat’s cell. It
rang several times and Bruce was ready to hang up when Kat answered.

“Hi, lover.” Kat’s voice was upbeat. “You coming
to the club tonight?”

Caught off guard, Bruce stuttered his reply.
“Ah...yeah. I guess so.”

“I’m starting a little late tonight. I’ll be
there around ten.” Kat’s voice softened. “I’ve been missing you, lover.”

The sweetness in Kat’s voice swept away his
anxiety.

“I was worried. I thought maybe something
happened to you. Or maybe you found someone you liked better.” Bruce recognized
the plaintive whine in his voice and hated it.

 “Baby, don’t worry. Just come to the club
tonight.”

Kat hung up. For a split second, Bruce thought
about staying home. Would he go to the club and sell his self-respect for a
couple of hours of watching Kat show her goodies to a bunch of leering oafs? Of
course he would.

Bruce walked into the club just before eleven
o’clock. He made his way to the VIP section where a table had been reserved for
him. Two-thirds of the seats that surrounded the stage were full, as were most
of the bar stools. Maybe half a dozen tables and booths remained empty. The men
surrounding the stage leered, drank, and waved one, five, and, occasionally,
ten dollar bills at the leggy and topless blonde dancing in front of them.

He looked around, but
he did not see Kat. A waitress wearing a tight halter top and short shorts
appeared at Bruce’s table. Almost as pretty as Kat, she had served him before.
He had often wondered why she worked there. If he had a daughter, he sure as
hell would not want her working at the Midnight Oasis. Not even as a waitress.
The girl smiled sweetly.

“Not working tomorrow, Bruce?”

He always got tongue-tied around the other girls.
Even the waitresses, who were models of modesty compared to the dancers, made
Bruce nervous. If his two ex-wives had been even slightly above average in
appearance, he would have never had the confidence or the courage to approach
them. As it was, Bruce painfully recalled, they both had made the first move.

“Is Kat here?”

“Somewhere, I think.”

The waitress leaned forward, pushing her chest
toward Bruce.

“I saw your new car. Pretty hot.”

A sensation of warmth crept up Bruce’s face. The
waitress pushed in closer. Bruce leaned back and tried to look past her most
prominent attributes.

“What would you like, Bruce. Anything special?”

“He’d like you to get those things out of his
face.”

The girl jumped as Kat reached out and pinched
the small muffin top of bare skin that bulged out between the waitress’s
short-shorts and her top. Attractive but curvy, she did not have Kat’s trim,
fit body. Kat moved in close and slid her right arm about the waitress’s waist.
The girl winced and Bruce noted Kat’s vice grip pinching the girl’s skin. Kat
had positioned herself where it would be unlikely for anyone but Bruce to
notice.

“I’m sorry, Kat.” The girl’s voice was sobbingly
apologetic. “You’re hurting me.”

Her eyes welled up with tears and she attempted
to pull away from Kat. Kat let up on the muffin top death grip just a bit.

“Stick to serving drinks, sweetie. Understand?”

The waitress nodded. Kat stopped pinching her,
but did not let her go.

“Bring us a bottle of champagne. The good stuff.
Tell the bartender I’m paying.”

“Sure, Kat.”

Fear stared through moist eyes.

“Let me go, OK?”

Kat withdrew her arm and the girl quickly made
her way back to the bar, rubbing her waist where Kat had grabbed her. Bruce
gaped wide-eyed at Kat. She looked him dead in the eyes.

“Do you like her, Bruce?”

Bruce’s answer was a shake of his head. Kat slid
into the booth beside him. “She’s not bad. Kind of soft and curvy.” Kat pressed
herself up against Bruce. “But, I’m better. Right Bruce?”

Kat reached down and gave his side a pinch. He
jumped as if she had shot him. The waitress returned with a magnum of champagne
and two glasses.  She filled them, managing to stay out of Kat’s reach.

Kat picked up her glass, clicked it against
Bruce’s and sipped the champagne. Bruce gulped his down in one long pull. He
looked at Kat and found himself captured by her hypnotic gaze. Something inside
Bruce tore loose, as if Kat had peeled away the layers of his psyche with just
her stare. Her eyes sucked him in. Possessed him without touching him. It was
surreal. Soul-sucking surreal.

“Give me your wallet, lover.”

Bruce’s brain told him he was floating, which was
weird since he could still feel the seat touching his butt.
Maybe the whole
room is floating?

Kat’s lips moved, but he did not hear the words,
and yet he knew what she wanted.
I thought she said she was paying for the
champagne.

Without further thought, he surrendered the
wallet and watched as she removed a hundred-dollar bill. She handed his wallet
back and he put it away, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. Even when she
turned away, toward the waitress, Bruce stared at the side of her head.
Why
am I just sitting here like an idiot?

Kat rested her elbow on the table with the bill
casually pointed toward the waitress, who had moved an arm’s length away to
Bruce’s side of the table. Kat suddenly held Bruce by the chin with her other
hand as if he were a little boy who needed to learn a lesson.

“Come over here, honey,” Kat said to the waitress.

The waitress hesitated.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

The waitress shuffled back around to Kat’s side.
Without looking, Kat tucked the bill into the waistband of the waitress’s
shorts. Bruce heard a tiny voice, more of a squeak actually, say “Thank you.”

Kat’s fingers held on to the waitress’s
waistband. Kat turned slowly away from Bruce and locked onto the waitress’s
eyes. She released her grip on the girl’s waistband and slid her hand up and
down the waitress’s side. The waitress froze in place. Kat smiled at her.

“You can go now.”

The waitress shuddered, as if waking up from a
trance, or a nightmare.

“Yeah...OK...Thanks.”

Bruce watched her turn away and walk hastily
toward the bar, pulling the bill out of her waistband, and tucking it into a
front pocket. Kat’s attention returned to Bruce. Her hand still held his chin.
She gave the side of his face a pat, almost hard enough to be a slap. Bruce
shook his head and his eyes came back into focus.

“That place you took me to? In the woods. Let’s
go back there again,” Kat asked.

“Yeah...OK...When?”

“Soon, Bruce,” Kat told him. “Real soon.”

Jim closed his cell phone, then closed his eyes. Rarely
did an investigation of a serious crime involve a straight-line process leading
directly to an arrest. Even though he knew this to be the truth, this knowledge
did little to reduce his frustration.

It turned out that something had wiped the I-75
video so clean that the State lab felt it would be a waste of time and money to
send the server to another agency. Jim opened his eyes. He must be missing
something. Some little detail that would jump-start the investigation. He was
looking for an expensive sports car driven by a woman.
Did she have some
personal connection to Briggs, or was it a random event?

His intuition leaned away from a random event.
His experience told him that women simply did not race on the freeway. Sure,
women speeders were well-represented among Florida’s drivers, but racers? A
freeway Danica Patrick? Not likely.

He checked his watch and then put the Charger
into drive. Even with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning on, Jim
heard the deep growl of the Charger’s engine as he accelerated off the median
and merged into the northbound fast lane. Moderate traffic flowed in both
directions.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead while his mind
worked on the investigation. The pressure to close the case, to rule it an
accident, came fast. Much faster than he had expected.
What am I missing?

South Florida had hundreds, maybe even thousands,
of expensive sports cars. Virtually every make and model.
Like a Porsche,
but different. Probably not a Camaro. They were fast, but most people would not
confuse a Camaro with a Porsche. Maybe a Dodge Stealth? No, not that much
different than a Camaro. The Japanese 3000GT was fast, but it was also in the
Stealth/Camaro category. What the hell is like a Porsche, but different?

He ran a mental slideshow of American sports cars
through his mind. The answer came in a flash of revelation.
Dodge Viper.
Fast like a Porsche, real fast, but definitely different. Outside the strip
mall in Ft. Myers!
Holy crap.

It was one of those moments that could make an
atheist consider the possibility of Divine Revelation. He only had a glimpse,
but now that he thought about it, he knew it was a Viper, a red Viper.
Red,
or red and black? Not sure.

A woman and a man stood next to it.
Something
familiar about the man. Double crap. The little Klingon. Kevin Williams.

Jim hit his lightbar switch. The vehicles ahead
moved to the right. At the next turnaround, Jim pushed hard on the brake pedal
and whipped the Charger around. Completing the U-turn, the Charger flew south,
back toward Ft. Myers.

Jim pulled up at the Regional Traffic Management
Center a minute before five. He killed the lightbar as he drove alongside the
slatted fencing that prevented casual observers from seeing into the employee
parking area. He reached the open gate. Employees exited the building and
strolled toward their vehicles. The side door of the building opened and closed
in a staccato rhythm.

At the far end of the parked vehicles, a custom,
lifted, Ford Excursion backed slowly from its stall. An Urban Assault Vehicle.
All it lacked was a gun turret. A piece-of-crap, full-size van sat two spaces
down from where the monster SUV had parked.

Jim only got a glimpse of the van in front of the
strip mall, but he now thought it probably belonged to the little Klingon. His
suspicions were confirmed when Kevin Williams exited the building and walked
down the row of vehicles toward the van. Jim waited for the Excursion to clear
the gate and then slowly drove the Charger into the employee parking lot.
Employees stopped, watched Jim drive past, and then continued with their
business. Williams was unlocking the van when Jim pulled up behind him.

Jim killed the Charger’s engine, opened the
driver’s door, and stepped out. He placed his Smokey Bear hat on his head and
closed the door. He walked toward Williams, stopping short of the little Klingon.

“I have a few questions for you, Mr. Williams.”

Williams pulled the key out of the driver’s side
door lock and stared hard at Jim. William’s black, little eyes seemed empty of
every emotion except hate.

“I’m on my own time. Come back in the morning,”
he said.

Williams shoved the key back into the driver’s
door lock.

Jim stepped closer, reached out, and grabbed
Williams’ wrist, stopping him from turning the key in the lock. Williams
struggled for a moment, trying to unlock the door. He surprised Jim. Williams
was a lot stronger than he looked, but Jim managed to pull the little monster’s
hand away.

“We’ll talk now, Mr. Williams.”

Jim let go of his hand. Williams rubbed his
wrist, turning the key back and forth in the air, but he kept the key away from
the lock.

“I’m investigating a vehicular homicide, Mr.
Williams.”

Jim looked at Williams’ eyes from behind a pair
of Oakley Ducati X-Squared sunglasses — one of Jim’s few indulgences. The
Oakley’s made him feel good, and that usually translated to a good attitude
with the public. Williams being the immediate exception.

The empty blackness of the little man’s pupils
looked unnatural. Jim towered over Williams, bigger and, presumably, stronger,
and yet, he had no desire to remove his sunglasses and make his usual, alpha
male eye contact with the freak. Something about Williams unsettled him. Call
it instinct. Call it cop-sense. When he looked at Williams, the words “deviant”
and “dangerous” flashed into his mind. Jim kept his concern out of his voice.

“We can take care of this now, or I can take you
in for obstruction of justice. As a State employee, you might find that a
little awkward to explain to your boss. Your choice, Mr. Williams.”

The hatred in Williams’ eyes was almost palpable.
Jim could have sworn the temperature around them climbed ten more degrees. He
realized that he had a death grip on the top of the holster holding his pistol.
He forced himself to relax. Williams had the look of an evil, malevolent elf.

“What do you need to know?” Williams asked. His
keys still trying to unlock the air.

“A couple of days ago, I was responding to a call
and I saw your van parked in front of a strip mall, not far from the
interstate.”

Williams shrugged.

“So?”

Despite his laissez-faire answer, concern
suddenly shared space with the hate in his eyes.

“You were with a woman. A Dodge Viper sat parked
next to your van. A red Dodge Viper.”

“I wasn’t with anyone. Some woman asked me for
directions,” Williams replied.

Jim removed his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes,
partly because of the sun, mostly because of his dislike for Williams.

“It’s a first-degree misdemeanor to lie to a law
enforcement officer conducting an investigation, Mr. Williams. That would look
just about as bad on your résumé as an arrest for obstruction. You sure she was
just asking for directions?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. She said she was visiting from
Atlanta. I told her how to get back to the freeway.”

Jim considered Williams’ answer.
Little
bastard’s lying through his teeth.

He put his sunglasses back on. “If I have any
more questions, I’ll be back to see you.”

Jim did not wait for an answer. He turned away and
returned to his car.

***

Fury welled up inside Kevin Williams. Demore got back
into the patrol car, backed around, and drove out of the parking area. It was
obvious Trooper Golden Boy didn’t believe him about Kat Connors. Inside Kevin’s
head, a voice spoke. Not just one of the voices —
the
voice.  The voice
Kevin always found himself obeying.

Kill him. Soon.

There were two other voices that spoke to him,
that egged him on or yelled at him if he did not do everything right, like a
couple of necromantic cheerleaders. But this voice actually told him what to do
and how to do it. Kevin had not heard the voice in a while. Not since he took
that last tourist girl out in the boat.

Around Ft. Myers, faded posters still stuck to
traffic light boxes and other public surfaces offering a reward for any
information about her disappearance. Ten-thousand dollars. Kevin had even
considered “accidently” discovering the girl’s skull while fishing near Demere
Key — the special place where Kevin had first heard the voice.

Demere Key had been a holy place for the fierce
and violent natives, the Calusa, who had inhabited the area when the Spanish
arrived. Kevin had read about them in Florida History class. He had admired
their brutality. Some historians believed they were the ones responsible for
the eventual death of Ponce de León. Although he had died in Cuba, his wound
had come in a battle with the Calusa.

Kevin was glad the voice was back. The voice did
not visit him often, but when it did, his life got interesting.