The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story (6 page)

“We
know about the money.”
 
English scanned
the case file.

“You
were part of this,” Taylor said.
 
“I
can’t believe you lied to us.”

Not
wanting to make eye contact, I examined my hands.
 
I thought of the blood that had been on them,
but it was just an idle thought.
 
I
stopped listening to Taylor.

“Facts
are building up against you, Mark,” English said soothingly.
 
“Why don’t you tell me something that will
help?”

I
hemmed and hawed, wringing my hands together.
 
It was all good theater.
 
I’m
wasted in the corporate world.

“Okay,”
I said finally.

Taylor
sat and English smiled.

“I
gave Lance five grand.”

“What
for?” Taylor demanded.

“He
didn’t tell me.
 
He asked me for five
thousand dollars and not to ask any questions, so I didn’t.”

“C’mon.”
 
Taylor threw his hands in the air.
 
“You expect us to swallow that?”

I
turned on Taylor, jabbing a finger in his face.
 
“I don’t know how you are with your friends, Taylor, if you’ve got any,
but I stand by my pals and I do as they ask.”

“Okay,
okay,” English said, sitting up.
 
“Things
are getting a little too heated.
 
Let’s
chill for a second.
 
Okay?”

I
nodded and Taylor exhaled.

“Good.
 
Everyone’s cool.”
 
English waited for agreement.
 
“Let’s try this again.
 
Mark, when Lance asked for the cash, you just
gave it to him, no questions asked?”

“No.
 
I asked him what it was for.
 
Of course I did.
 
He told me it wasn’t in my best interests to
ask.”

“And
you let it go at that,” English said.

I
nodded.

“Did
you have any ideas why he wanted the money?” English asked.

I
looked away.
 
It was impressive
stuff.
 
I couldn’t believe how easy I was
finding it to lie, and at the same time believe in the lie.
 
At that moment, I could have passed a
polygraph I was so convinced of what I was saying.

“C’mon,
Mark,” English said all buddy-buddy.
 
“Tell us.
 
You know you want to.”

“I
did have an idea.”

“And
what was that?” Taylor said in a normal manner, not being an asshole for a
change.

“I
thought he might have had something to do with that transgender that got
killed.”

“Why
did you think that?” English asked, not making any effort to hide his interest.

“My
bachelor party was the night of the murder.
 
Lance wanted to get me a hooker.
 
He pushed and shoved, but I didn’t want any of it.
 
We cruised Delaware, made total assholes of
ourselves, and got nowhere.
 
I thought
that was the end of it, but Lance was dead set on getting me some action.
 
I got pissed at him and said no.
 
He dumped me on the roadside and I got a bus
home.”

English
shrugged.
 
“How does that link Lance to
the murder?”

“He
was all bruised up the following day.
 
My
wife was pissed that he looked such an eyesore at the wedding.”

English
and Taylor glanced at each other and exchanged some cop telepathy.
 
English noted something in the case
file.
 
I wondered if I was pushing the
connection too far, but I didn’t think so.

“Okay,
you had an inkling that Lance was involved,” English said.
 
“Did you confront him?”

“No.”

“Why
didn’t you come to us?” Taylor accused.
 
“We had appeals out for information.”

“Oh,
c’mon,” I said.
 
“You really expect me to
turn my friend in, on a feeling?”

“He
might not be dead right now, if you had.”
 

I
didn’t want a ride on Taylor’s guilt trip and let it go, knowing it only made
me look more convincing.
 

“But
why didn’t you do anything when he came to you asking for money and telling you
not to ask any questions?” English said.
 
“That must have reinforced your fears.”

“It
did.”
 
Abruptly, I stood, shooting my
chair back at the wall.
 
The cops tensed,
but I instantly diffused the situation by pacing back and forth.
 
“Okay, okay, you’re right.
 
I should have come to you guys, but I didn’t
want to believe it.
 
And if the cash was
going to solve things, then so be it.
 
No
one had to know and life would go on.”

“But
it didn’t,” English remarked.

I
slumped against the wall.
 
“No.”

“Did
you think we wouldn’t catch up with you?”

I
shook my head.
 
“No.
 
I just hoped you wouldn’t.”

“Take
a seat, Mark.”
 
English indicated at my
chair skewed against the wall.

I
plopped into the chair.

“Let’s
take a few minutes,” English suggested.

“Am
I in trouble?”

***

I wasn’t in trouble, of course.
 
English and Taylor put me to one side while
they had a tête-à-tête.
 
Afterwards, they
walked me around the precinct and we chatted about marriage and sports then we
resumed the questioning, although there wasn’t any.
 
They gave me a slap on the wrist for not
doing the right thing, but at the end of the day, there was precious little I
could have done to prevent things turning out the way they did…
yadda
,
yadda
,
yadda
,
so on and so forth.

I
thought they were going to let something slip about the case, maybe drop
Blade’s name into the conversation or let slip that Blade and Hope were pimp
and whore, but they didn’t.
 
That worried
me some.
 
I wasn’t sure if it was because
they didn’t believe me or whether it was a cop thing and they didn’t let that
sort of info slip to civilians.
 
When
Taylor showed me the door, shaking my hand and explaining that he and English
needed to check a few more things, I wasn’t sure where I stood.

But
I needn’t have worried, because Jane saved me.
 
They quizzed her informally.
 
Actually, I’d been hoping for this.
 
She was perfect for my plan.
 
She
had an outsider’s perspective.
 
Her
account helped misconstrue everything.
 
She confirmed that I had a bachelor party, that I wasn’t myself at our wedding,
that Lance had a black eye, that Lance seemed weird after we got back from our
honeymoon and that we did have some secret meeting on the night Lance
died.
 
So, English and Taylor went away
with two and two adding up to four, but the four I wanted them to believe.
 
They spoke to me again, but I sensed they
weren’t talking to me to tie up loose ends and I felt their grip dissolve.
 
I slid over home plate and the ump cried “SAFE!”

***

A month later, Lance, Hope, and
Blade were faded newspaper.
 
The case was
consigned to an archive somewhere.
 
The
cops were satisfied with the scenario I’d manufactured.
 
And I was free and clear.

Until the shit storm hit.

I
was in line at the police station to pay a parking ticket.
 
While I was waiting, a uniform led a cuffed
black kid through to processing.
 
The kid
and I locked glances.
 
I recognized him
instantly.
 
It was the kid Lance and I
had scared off in the park.
 
If I thought
I was lucky and the kid hadn’t recognized me, I was dead wrong.
 
The kid leered.
 
It was obvious he thought he had a get out of
jail free card.
 
And, I was in the shit.

***

I lost it for a while, several hours
in fact.
 
I panicked.
 
I thought I had hours before English and
Taylor swooped in on me.
 
The kid might
have been a piece of shit, but the cops would check his story out and
eventually it would lead to me.
 
I jumped
out of the line.
 

I
didn’t go back to work.
 
Instead, I raced
to the bank and cashed out my savings.
 
Returning home, I stuffed clothes and other bare essentials into a bag.
 
My paranoia convinced me that airport
security was just waiting to scoop me up the moment I checked in, but I took my
passport anyway.
 
My plan was simple,
drive and keep driving, use cash and don’t go anywhere where they wanted
ID.
 
My life jettisoned, I was on the
freeway before I came to my senses.

I
didn’t have to run…not yet, anyway.
 
What
did the kid know?
 
He knew I was with
Lance when we went to meet with Blade.
 
He could describe me, but he didn’t know me.
 
It would be some time before the detectives
were informed of the breakthrough and could tie the identification back to
me.
 
Time was still on my side and I
turned the car around at the next exit.

I
parked in the parking lot of a small ACE Hardware opposite the police station
and I waited.
 
My little loss of mental
stability had lasted just over two hours.
 
The kid wouldn’t be out of police custody for several hours to come.

I
glanced at my watch.
 
It was a quarter
after three.
 
The little punk would be
running his mouth off right about now.
 
They’d probably just be starting to believe that the dirt bag had useful
information and that he wasn’t mouthing off to save his precious skin from an
ass fucking at a boys’ ranch somewhere.
 
I hoped it wouldn’t be long before they released him.

In
cop time, it wasn’t long, but for me, time leaked by like water dripping from a
cracked pipe.
 
But I had no option, I had
to wait.
  
As much as the kid didn’t know
about me, I didn’t know anything about him, not his name or his address.
 
It was dark, close to eight o’clock, when he
stepped out of the precinct.

I
had the engine running before he was out of the station.
 
When he went, I wanted to be right behind,
and I was.
 
I knew he was on his way out
when I saw his little bitch getting out of a battered Honda to pick him
up.
 

I’d
been hoping they would go home, but they didn’t.
 
They parked in the shadows of a recently
closed down Kmart.
 
The abandoned lot
lacked other vehicles, so I parked on the street, between two cars.

After
a couple of minutes, the Honda started rocking on its springs.
 
Those kids really needed a room to
themselves.

Sitting
there, watching the kid make a home run between his girl’s thighs and knowing
what I would have to do to them, I wondered how the hell I’d gotten myself into
this position.
 
I wasn’t an angel, but I
wasn’t an amoral killer.
 
I was a good
guy with a college degree, a stable job, a wife, a home and a pension that
would see me all right when I got old.
 
But I’d killed two people, one my best friend, and I was going to kill
two more.
 
On life’s resume, I hadn’t
expected to list murderer as a past achievement.
 
A chill rocked me and I shivered.

Had
all this carnage stemmed from a transgender giving me a blowjob I didn’t
want?
 
It was hard to believe, but it was
true.
 
It was all Lance’s fault.
 
It was his
idea,
his
pressuring that got us into this mess.
 
But he was dead and out of it.
 
Me, I was still in it and digging deeper.
 
I thought about Lance and the sorry state he
was in the moment before I killed him.
 
I
did him a favor as much as I did one for me.
 
As much as I wanted, I couldn’t really blame him for what had
happened.
 
I could have intervened at any
time and changed the outcome.
 
But I
didn’t for the simple fact that I didn’t want to go to jail.
 
I’d killed Hope and it didn’t matter how
legal spins could be used as a defense, I had murdered someone and that meant
jail time.
 
As the windows steamed up and
the cold seeped into the car, it was that exact moment that I knew and accepted
there was no going back.
 
As crazy as it sounds,
I knew I was doing the right thing.