Without Mercy (22 page)

“Got it?” Jenkins asked.

“What if he wants to meet me in a bar?”

“Insist on some outdoor public place. Tell him you don’t drink. We don’t want to start any hassles in some poor bastard’s bar. This Slasher is a pretty violent guy, you know.”

“I know,” Dorothy said.

“Okay,” Jenkins said. “You can go now, but I want you to report for work here at five o’clock tomorrow. And maybe you’d better bring your gun along in your pocketbook just in case.”

Chapter Nine

Rackman knocked on Francie’s door, and when she opened it he handed her the twelve red roses.

She stared at them dumbfounded. “Are they for me?”

“No, they’re for the girl down the hall.
^,,

“They’re really for me?”

“I told you they’re for the girl down the hall.”

“But ...” She looked at him, then at the roses again. “How come?”

“I thought you might like them. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He stepped over her threshold and smiled, seeing how rattled she was. He’d never brought her flowers before and doubted whether many other guys had either.

She closed the door and bolted it. “I’ll get a vase. There must be a vase around here someplace.”

“An empty milk container might do.”

“I think there’s a vase someplace.”

She went to her kitchen and rattled around in the cupboards. A box of corn flakes fell out and a glass went crashing to the floor.

He stood in the doorway and watched her. “Are you all right or are you going to have to call your psychiatrist?”

She put her hands on her hips and wrinkled her nose, the shards of glass lying around her feet. “What’s this all about, Danny Rackman!” she demanded.

“You mean the flowers?” he asked.

“First you call me and say you want to take me to dinner, and then you bring me flowers. This isn’t the Danny Rackman I’m used to. What are you up to?”

“Who me?”

“Yes you.”

“I’m not up to anything.”

“You must be up to something.”

“Be careful with your feet there.”

He took the broom and dustpan from their hooks on the wall and began to sweep up the glass around her feet. She stepped back and looked down at him.

“This is a new trick,” she said.

“What’s a new trick?”

“All this.”

He emptied the glass into the garbage and hung up the broom and dustpan. “You were looking for a vase, I believe.”

“That’s right too.”

She went into the cupboards again and this time knocked down four bottles of vitamin pills but they were made of plastic and didn’t break. He picked them up and set them on the counter. Finally she found the vase, jade green. She filled it with water, put the roses in, and carried them into the living room, placing them on the coffee table.

“They look very nice there,” he said.

“What are you up to, Danny Rackman?”

“I’m not up to anything, I told you. You haven’t even thanked me for the roses.”

“How can I thank you for the roses if I know you’ve got something up your sleeve.”

He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, showing his forearms. “See?”

She pinched her lips together. “I think we’d better sit down and talk about this,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I thought we were going out.”

“We’re not going out until we settle this.”

“Settle what?”

“Are you drinking bourbon?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sit down and don’t try anything funny while I’m in the kitchen.”

He sat on the sofa and looked at the roses as she went into the kitchen again. Across the room, Ziggy ran on his treadmill. Ziggy lived in his own little world, just like most people. Only most people didn’t realize how small their worlds were.

Francie returned with two drinks. She placed one before Rackman and then sat in a chair on the other side of the room instead of on the sofa beside him. Rackman raised the glass to his lips and took a sip of bourbon. It was eight years old and went down like velvet.

“Now let me get this straight,” Francie said, crossing her legs. She was wearing a long brown dress and brown boots, looking very Bloomingdales. “You call to ask me to dinner, which you haven’t done for years, and then you bring me a dozen roses, which you’ve never done in your life. Now people don’t do things without reasons. Sometimes they may not be aware of the reason, but there is always a reason nonetheless. Are you aware of why you’re being so nice all of a sudden, or are you unconscious as usual?”

“Well,” he replied, passing the glass from hand to hand, “starting tomorrow I’m going to be working every night for awhile, so I thought I’d have a little fun with you tonight before all the work starts.”

“That explains why you’re here, but it doesn’t explain the dinner and the flowers.”

He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. “I’ve decided that I haven’t been very nice to you in the past, and that maybe I should change a little.”

A pucker appeared between her eyebrows. “What made you decide that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. This and that.”

“This and what?”

He looked at her, getting annoyed. “Do we have to talk about this? Why can’t we just go out?”

“Because we have to talk about this.”

“Why?”

“So that we know what’s going on. So that we won’t be in the dark about things.”

“You mean so that
you
won’t be in the dark about things.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were more in the dark than I am. You do everything you can so you won’t have to think about things.”

“I think about things.”

“Evidently you have been lately. Tell me what’s going on, Danny. I don’t mind being unhappy, but I don’t like to be confused. What’s the big miracle?”

“It’s no miracle. I was just thinking that I shouldn’t be so rotten to you.”

“It’s finally occurred to you that you’ve been rotten to me?”

“Yes.”

“You admit that?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“My goodness,” she said. “It must be the second coming of Christ.”

“It couldn’t be,” Rackman replied, “because I’m Jewish.”

Chapter Ten

The phone rang for the first time at five o’clock in the afternoon.

“Should I answer it?” asked Dorothy Owens.

“No,” said Jenkins, looking at her over his half-moon reading glasses. “The ad said after six o’clock and I think we should stick to that.”

Rackman came running into the office. “Is that the phone?”

“Yeah,” said Jenkins, “but she’s not answering it until six o’clock like the ad said.”

“What if it’s the Slasher?”

“What if it ain’t? Suppose she answers it and makes a date to meet some other pervert? While she’s out, the Slasher might call. I think we should stick to the six o’clock schedule, because that way at least we won’t miss him if he
calls.”

Rackman looked at his watch. “Mind if I hang out in here.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Jenkins said, “as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Rackman sat on one of the chairs near Dorothy Owens, who was wearing tan slacks and a dark brown jacket. Rackman had on his gray slacks and blue blazer combination with a white shirt and no necktie. He had the copy of the
New York Review of Sex
that had the ad in it, and read the review of a hot movie playing on Forty-ninth Street. Dorothy craned her neck to see over his shoulder, so he angled the page toward her. It showed a photograph of two women going down on a guy, and she made a face. Rackman laughed.

Jenkins looked up. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing.”

“I think you like that paper.”

“It really isn’t that bad.”

The phone rang again. The three of them looked at it. Olivero and Dancy came to the door of the office, curiosity and anticipation on their faces.

“It’s ten minutes to six,” Rackman said.

“Oh what the hell,” Jenkins replied. “Answer it.”

Dorothy picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Is this Kim?” asked the deep voice of a man. They all could hear him through an amplifier in the base of the phone.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m calling about the ad in the paper.”

“Oh?”

“I weigh almost two hundred and fifty pounds—is that enough?”

“How tall are you?” she asked.

“Five foot eight.”

“Sounds fine to me,” she said cheerily, crossing her eyes and making a weird face at Rackman.

The caller breathed deeply a few times; he obviously was a little nervous. “Would you like to get together?”

“Sure.”

“My place or yours?”

“Why don’t we meet outdoors first, so we can kind of get to know each other a little first.”

“Outdoors?” he asked.

“Yes. You won’t mind, would you?”

“I thought you wanted to have sex.”

“I do—I really do, but I’d like to relax with you a little bit first. I just couldn’t take off my clothes and start doing it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d have to feel comfortable with you first, and the only way to do that is to meet someplace and talk for fifteen minutes or so. We should feel sure that we like each other.”

“I feel sure that I like you already,” the man said.

“Well you seem nice too, but I’d like to meet you first.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“I live near Lincoln Center. Could you meet me at the fountain there at seven-thirty?”

“Okay. How will I know you?”

“I’ll be wearing tan slacks and a brown jacket.”

“What color hair you got?”

“I’m a light brunette. How will I know you?”

“I’ll be wearing a black raincoat and one of those big apple caps—you know those big apple caps?”

“Yes. What color is it?”

“Black and white checks.”

“What’s your name?”

“What’cha wanna know my name for?”

“You mean we’re going to have sex together and you won’t even tell me your name?”

“Carl.”

“Okay Carl. See you at seven-thirty.”

“I’m real clean,” Carl said.

“Good for you.”

“The ad said that you’re clean.”

“I am.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll see you at seven-thirty, Carl. Okay?”

“Okay Kim.”

The caller hung up, and so did Dorothy. “I can’t believe that phone call,” she said.

Jenkins scratched his head. “It takes all kinds to make a world.”

Rackman chortled. “But only one kind to make a phone call like that.”

“You’re a helluva one to talk. You’ve had your nose in those sex magazines all week.”

The phone rang again. Dorothy picked it up. “Hello?”

“Kim please,” said a man.

“This is Kim speaking.”

“Are you the Kim who put the ad in the
New York Review of Sex?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady,” the man said in a strident voice. “You’re going to burn in hell for the terrible things you do if you don’t accept the teachings of our Lord Jesus. It’s still not too late, you still can—”

Dorothy interrupted him. “I guess you don’t want to meet me.”

“Meet you?” the man asked, taken aback.

“Yes, meet me.”

“You dirty Jezebel!” he cried. “You cruel sinner! How can you suggest such a thing to a man like me!”

Dorothy hung up the phone and shook her head.

“The weirdoes are coming out of the woodwork,” she said. “Anybody got a cigarette?”

Rackman held out his pack of Luckies. “Hang in there, kid.”

Jenkins grunted. “You should’ve tried to make a date with that last joker.”

“Are you serious?” Dorothy asked.

“He’s just the type of sick son of a bitch
who might
kill somebody.”

“I did try, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think you tried hard enough. Don’t get salty with these guys. Just make dates with them.”

“Sorry,” Dorothy said.

The phone rang again. She puffed the Lucky and picked it up.

“Hello?” she said.

“Are you Kim?” asked a man.

“Uh huh.”

“Well listen, I read your ad in the
New York Review of Sex,
and I’m not a fat guy but I got an eight-inch cock and I know I could show you a good time.”

Dorothy looked at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, but I specified fat guys and that’s what I want.”

“Aw, come on, baby. I’ll even go down on you.”

“Sorry,” she sang.

“Aw shit,” the man grumbled.

Dorothy hung up, and almost immediately the phone rang again. She brought it to her face.

“Hello?”

“Larry please?” said a man.

“Larry?” she said.

“I think I got the wrong number.” The man hung up.

Dorothy returned the phone to the cradle. “What time is it?”

“Five after six,” said Rackman. “The calls really should start coming in now.”

The phone rang, and Dorothy picked it up. “Hello?”

“Kim?” asked a man.

“Speaking.”

“Is your ad for real?”

“Yep.”

“You can’t be very pretty if you’re advertising in the paper.”

“You might be surprised if you saw me.”

“Pleasantly surprised?”

“Uh huh. How much do you weigh, honey?”

“Three hundred and five.”

“Oh, you sound like a nice one.”

“How much do you weigh?” he asked.

“A hundred and ten.”

“I’ll crush your bones, kid.”

“Oh no you won’t.”

“Where are you now?”

“Home.”

“Where’s that?”

“I live near Central Park on the West Side. You want to meet me?”

“Why not?”

“How about in front of the Coliseum. We can have a cup of coffee in one of the little restaurants in the neighborhood.”

“Why don’t you just come over to my place? I got tons of coffee over here.”

“I’d rather get to know you in neutral territory first.”

“I can dig that. What time?”

“How about seven-thirty tonight?”

“You’re on. By the way, my name’s Walter.”

“Hi Walter. What’ll you be wearing?” “A blue business suit. I’ll go to the Coliseum directly from my office.” “See you then, Walter.” “Bye-bye, baby.”