The Eternal Engagement (15 page)

CHAPTER 34

Steven

 

 

A
irport Road was almost a straight drive from his house to Davis's home. His speedometer registered twenty-five mph. He stopped at the 7-Eleven, bought a beer to chase his whiskey. Continuing to his destination, a few blocks down he passed the gas station. He was now closer to the airport.

To his left was open field; to his right were single-family dwellings. He drove another mile, then turned right into a fairly new subdivision. The neighborhood was quiet. He parked his truck on the opposite side of the street, about fifty feet from Davis's front door.

He surveyed Davis's house. A room, once dark, suddenly became illuminated. The silhouette dancing on the curtains matched the one he'd seen countless times at Mona's house when he'd spied on her. Her shadow swayed.

He tiptoed across the street and through the alleyway alongside Davis's property. The front room lights were off. Steven ducked, crept below Davis's kitchen window, and headed toward the backyard. A light in a back room was on. Steam covered a small rectangular sliding window.

“Hurry up, Mona! The water is getting cold!” a man shouted, giving Steven his exact whereabouts.

Steven tugged on the ceiling-to-floor sliding glass door. The door was locked. No problem for an expert like him. He dug into his pocket, retrieved a flat metal hook, jimmied the lock, lifted the latch, then slid the door open. Once he was inside Davis's house, Steven didn't care if Davis or Mona saw him. He held his gun at his side, tiptoed into the bedroom, then scanned his surroundings.

Quietly he entered the bathroom. A tall male's shadow was inside the shower. Hands above his head, he leaned against the wall.
That's interesting
. Steven removed the white bath towel from the rack.

“It took you long enough,” he said. “Hurry up before I open my eyes.”

Whoever said “Timing is everything” was right. Unbeknownst to Davis, he'd never open his eyes again.

Steven opened the shower door. In one sweeping motion, he placed the towel over the back of Davis's head, slammed his face against the tiles, held it there, then pulled the trigger.

Davis's body slumped into Steven's arms. Careful not to fire his gun again, he pointed the barrel away from his body. He dragged the body into the living room, lay Davis across the large area rug, sat on the sofa, sat his gun underneath the coffee table beside his foot. Mona's voice resonated from the kitchen happily singing, “Hey boy, I really wanna see if you can go downtown with a girl like me. . . .” Her singing faded into humming.

Steven removed a cigarette from his shirt pocket. It was too wet to light. He sat there wishing he had the bottle of whiskey in his car to wash down his beer.

How fucking long is her ass going to be in the kitchen?
He'd give her a few more minutes. If she didn't come out, he was going in to get her.

CHAPTER 35

Mona

 

 

A
lthough she was craving to hear his voice, this wasn't the best time to call Lincoln, so she replied to his last text message of
When are you coming?
with
I'll book my flight in the morning. OMG, I will be in your arms by eleven a.m.

After retrieving an icy cold bottle of champagne from Davis's refrigerator, Mona got two glasses from his cabinet. This was cause for a celebration of new beginnings. Surely Davis would understand. She'd do her best to let him down easy.

Death and the end of relationships should be celebrated. That way there wouldn't be so many depressed people mourning over the inevitable. Death was the only thing that was unavoidable and final.

The ending of their good relations would be a joyous occasion to acknowledge their fond memories. It was best to disappoint him now.

She spread her fingers. “This sure is the most spectacular ring I've received.” Four, maybe five carats. “Must've cost him six months' salary. I think I'll keep it to show my appreciation.” She smiled. “He did give it to me.”

After slowly peeling the foil from the champagne bottle, she untwisted the metal cap. She wrapped her hand around the cork, cautiously maneuvering it back and forth. The cork began to rise with each motion. The anticipation of the loud noise excited her. She swayed side to side. “Here we go. One, two . . . get ready, Mona Lisa . . . three.”

Pop!
The cork ejected, but the sound she'd heard wasn't that of a cork popping. Or was it? Her mouth caught the overflowing bubbles. Mona swallowed, frowned, then leaned her ear toward the kitchen door. Was that the sound of the shower door slamming?

“You'd better not be getting out!” she shouted.

The constant shushing of the water probably drowned out her demand. She doubted that Davis had heard her. Mona searched the kitchen, found honey. She reached into the refrigerator, got the whipped cream, set the items on a silver platter. She pressed an empty glass against the lever outside the refrigerator door until crushed ice was filled to the rim.

A mouthful of ice while sucking his dick and massaging his shaft with honey and whipped cream would drive Davis insane. She'd make sure to use the whole can and swallow every sticky drop.

She powered off her cell phone, placed it on the tray. Didn't want Davis to accidentally discover her messages from Lincoln.

She filled both flutes halfway. Maybe she'd give him a bubbly blow job. “Here I come,” she called out. “You'd better still be in—”

The tray slipped from her hands. Bubbles poured from the green bottle creating what resembled bubbling red candy apple mix. “What in God's name have you done? Jesus, Steven . . . Noooo!”

Calmly he said, “You're going to wake up his neighbors. I know you don't want that.”

He flipped his forearm upward, glanced at his wrist. The watch she'd bought him for their first anniversary was covered in blood. He wiped the face, looked at her. “It's past midnight.”

Mona heaved until her insides were out. Davis's lifeless body was faceup on the living room area rug. Vomit spilled into her hands, seeped between her fingers, then splattered onto the floor.

“Why did you have to kill him?” she asked, staring at her cell phone drowning in blood and vomit.

“I don't think he's dead . . . yet. And you didn't see me shoot him, nor do you see me with a weapon. But as I recall, there
was
a gun in your purse with your fingerprints on it.” He picked up his gun, pointed it at her.

“You low-down son of a bitch. Shoot me. I don't care.” She stared at the barrel, wishing it were her lying on the floor. Mona's head drooped; she looked at Davis's chest. There didn't appear to be any up or down movements. Did Mona care enough to check for a pulse? What if Steven was going to shoot her too? “Steven, please. Please don't. You bastard! This is why I hate you so much!”

“Can you keep it down?” he said, placing the gun on the coffee table.

He shoved it toward her. Her gun wasn't the murder weapon, his was. She thought about trying to beat him to his weapon, but it was closer to him. He knew she didn't have the courage to shoot him.

Steven grunted with anger. “I warned you! Make up your mind, Mona. A few hours ago you were shouting to all of Bakersfield, ‘Davis, please fuck me harder,' now you're telling me, ‘Steven, please. Please don't.' What, Mona? What's wrong with you? I'll tell you what your problem is. You're too eager to open your damn mouth and legs at the same time without engaging your fucking brain. You screw every man in this town except your husband? What kind of wife are you?”

That wasn't true. Mona was a wholesome kind of woman with morals and values before she married him. Sure she was a wild child, but her adventures were fun. Her problem was she loved new experiences and she made decisions too fast. Her heart, not her head, opened her legs for Davis just as it had for Steven.

Davis was the only man she'd sexed since leaving Steven. Mona prayed she could catch the first flight to Seattle. Hopefully she could convince Lincoln to be her alibi and that her one-way ticket was okay with him, because there was no way she was going back to Steven or staying in Bakersfield.

“You selfish bitch. You just gon' stand there and let your so-called man die without . . . Aw, hell, no! Is that an engagement ring where my wedding ring should be?”

Mona didn't respond. She headed to the bedroom for her clothes.

Steven rushed toward her, forced her from the hallway to the living room, then flung her to the carpet. “Sit your ass down and don't move. And take that damn ring off. You are my wife!”

“You don't love me, Steven. Admit it. You're scared that I'm going to turn you in. If I were, I would've done so months ago. What woman in her right mind would've done for you the things that I've done? What sane woman would want you?”

A thousand capillaries zigzagged, turning his jaundice-colored eyes beet red. “Bitch, take that damn ring off!”

This was not the time to argue. She had to get out of the house. Sitting in a puddle of blood, Mona remained calm. She removed the ring, sat it on the rug. The ring was one more piece of evidence that could link her to Davis's murder.

“You know what, Mona . . . go. Just leave. Go and get yourself together. We'll work things out later. I'll clean up this mess I've created.”

Killing had become second nature to Steven. That was the reason she'd left him. He could take life as though there were no God. Mona didn't want to see death anymore. Not this way.

For years, Mona had lived under Steven's roof determined to keep him happy. Leaving her mother and father in Selma, she regretted she'd become estranged with her family. Sitting next to a dead body, she realized she hadn't chosen Steven. He'd chosen her. If she'd known Steven was going to kill Calvin McKenny that night, she never would've asked to accompany him.

Keeping her eyes on Steven, Mona stood. Davis's blood streamed down her ass and legs and dripped from her fingers. How was she going to get to her house? The airport was closer. If Davis weren't dead, Steven would definitely finish the job.

Mona went into Davis's bedroom, saw the sliding glass door open. She closed it. At this point evidence didn't matter. There were many of her prints throughout his house.

Mona filled the tub with hot water, added lots of milk and honey bubble bath. “Who am I fooling?” she thought, scrubbing her body in the oversized tub. Mona cried uncontrollably.
If I don't go back to Steven, I'm going to end up in prison.

“Mona, I'm leaving,” Steven said, standing in the doorway. “But I'll be back to get you and you can help me clean up that mess. Everything will be all right,” he said, closing the door.

He spoke as if the carpet were stained with merlot. “Son of a bitch, bastard, motherfucker, I wish you were the one dead,” she whispered.

She was not helping him clean up. This time instead of covering up for Steven, Mona would have to worry about protecting her own ass.

The bathroom door opened again. He stuck his head in, then said, “Don't think about leaving me. I'll kill the next one too if I have to.”

CHAPTER 36

Steven

 

T
he bloody mess wasn't what he anticipated having to clean up. His adult life wasn't what he'd envisioned at all. Perhaps the problem was he had no vision for his future. He was simply existing as opposed to living. So deep into the mayhem, he couldn't quit killing unless they fired him. The job he'd just done was out of jealousy, rage, and of his own free will. No check was on the way.

Steven sat in the living room waiting for Mona to finish bathing. Davis's body was lifeless. Should he leave the body where it was and burn down the house? No. Arson created more evidence than it destroyed, especially if what he intended to go up in flames survived the fire. Should he wrap the body in the rug, then dump it deep in the grass field across the street? He had a better idea.

Mona would definitely be questioned about the murder. She might have to serve time, but that was okay. He'd divorce her, put money on her books. She should take the wrap for him. That was the least she could do for cheating on him. Better for him to get another wife than for him to become somebody's bitch behind bars.

Steven relaxed, believing he wouldn't be linked unless Mona exposed him. Obviously Davis thought Mona was a single woman. He hoped Mona hadn't told Davis, his friends, or his family that she had a husband. One less connection to him. But he couldn't believe that his wife accepted another man's engagement ring.

What was she thinking?

Mona entered the living room. Her wet and stringy hair clung to her neck, soaking her T-shirt. “My decision is the same. I'm not going to your house, Steven,” she boldly said, holding a half-full garbage bag in one hand, her purse in the other.

“What's that? All the shit you had over here?”

Picking up her blood-drenched cell phone and the engagement ring, she placed them in a large Ziploc plastic bag, then put the bag in her purse. “What difference does that make? All you need to know I just told you. But in case your comprehension is still all fucked up, I'll say it again. I'm not going to your house, Steven. Good-bye.”

He picked up his gun, stood, snatched her biceps, then pushed her onto the front porch. He locked the front door from the inside, then closed it. Steven opened the passenger door of his SUV.

“Get in,” he said, shoving Mona onto the seat. He threw her bag and purse on the floor, slammed her door, got in the car. He put his gun in a black plastic bag, placed the bag in the compartment on the driver's side, then drove off.

Cruising along Airport, he stared at Mona. “What's your damn problem?”

Silence surrounded them. He focused on the road until he got to his house. “Get out,” he demanded, picking up his black bag.

“There is no pleasing you, Steven!” she yelled. “That's why I left you. Now take me to my house before I call the police and tell them everything!”

Slap!
His backhand landed across Mona's cheek. She'd screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and he smacked her hard enough to shut her ass up. Her face slammed into the leather headrest. That was the first time she'd made him hit her.

“Now say something else.” He stared at her. “Get the fuck out!”

Mona held her face, got her bag and purse.

If he had to kill Mona, so be it. He was tired of her ass too.

She got out of his SUV. He followed so close behind her, if she stopped, he'd step on her heel. She looked over at Ms. Velma's house. The living room light came on. Quickly he pushed Mona in their house, then locked the door.

He shoved his keys into his pocket, put the black plastic bag on the coffee table, pushed her into the recliner. The bottle of whiskey fell over. “Nah, I don't trust you.” He snatched her from the seat, pulled her with him into the garage, got a roll of duct tape. He dragged both Mona and a dining room chair into the center of the living room, then shoved her in the seat. “Hold out your wrists.”

“You don't have to do this. Steven, please. I'm not going to leave.”

“I'm not going to ask you to stay and I'm not going to ask you again. We've done things your way for the last six months. Your time is up. Now we can do this my way or we can do this my way . . . got it?”

Extending her arms, Mona Lisa cried.

“Something's wrong with you. Shut up,” he said, wrapping the duct tape around her wrists three times. Then he did the same to her ankles and ended with one wide strip around her body.

He frowned. Taping her up was too easy. Mona didn't say a word. She didn't fight back. Her smart ass was plotting something brilliant, no doubt. He'd have to hurry back.

“Don't leave me like this!” she yelled to his back. “Take me with you. You know you need my help.”

Nah, taking her with him was what she wanted. Mona brought this shit on herself. Steven slapped a strip of tape over Mona's mouth, slammed his front door, got back in his truck.

“Hey, Steven!” Ms. Velma shouted from her porch. “I thought I heard you come in. You going back out already? Everything okay?”

The sun would rise soon. He had to finish the job. “Hi, Ms. Velma,” he said, concealing his disgust with Mona.

“You can have Thanksgiving dinner at my house tonight. Steven, you left . . .” Her words trailed off.

Steven didn't have time to listen to Ms. Velma. He had to bury Davis's body in a place where no one would find the remains unless he wanted them to. With countless boarded-up abandoned buildings on Mona's side of town, a vacant house on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard might be the perfect hiding place for Davis's body.

Getting Mona Lisa to do as he said, that was his greatest challenge.