This next one would be almost like the first again, he mused, lifting his drink to his lips. He sipped the cognac (a gentleman’s drink, something else his father would never achieve nor understand), savoring the smooth bite of the alcohol. He’d only meant to have one, but then he got to reading the newspaper article, then the Op Ed and finally the letters to the editor. Especially the one written by V. Rawlings.
He wondered what the ‘V’ stood for.
Valerie? Vanessa? Veronica?
Victoria?
The last was his favorite of the lot, though he imagined that the pedestrian broad who wrote that letter was probably more of a Vicky than a Victoria.
He chuckled.
Vicky the whining bitch. That was probably it.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was afraid of him. He was — how had she put it? Not ruining her life, but destroying her ability to live.
That was very satisfying. Not as good as laying the whammo on those other women, but there was a certain fulfillment to knowing that he was affecting more than just one bitch at a time. They were all sisters, after all.
Just like her.
And now he was making them all feel it. Fear. Apprehension. An unsettling feeling in the pit of every one of their stomachs.
Well, as far as he was concerned, they could just reap it.
Fucking reap it.
And then some, because more was on the way.
He drained the last of his cognac, even though such an act was decidedly ungentlemanly. Three cognacs in, he didn’t really care. Right now, he just wanted to get home and start planning for his next one.
The new first one.
2235 hours
Katie had refused to walk in the rain. When Tower argued with her briefly, she flat out told him that she wasn’t going to catch pneumonia instead of a rapist. Tower relented and the group retreated to Mary’s Cafe to wait out the downpour. They sat and talked idly about everything but police work — sports, movies, vacation plans, along with a little bit of department gossip. Tower noticed that MacLeod was quieter than Sully or Battaglia. She sat, fiddling absently with the fake headphone wires on the mock-up of a walkman that the tech guys had put together for her transmitter. He wondered if something might be wrong with her. Maybe she was stressing over the accidental discharge. Or some personal issue. Then he realized that Chisolm was just as quiet and that it had been Sully and Battaglia who carried most of the conversation. And the two of them could talk non-stop, especially when they were together.
When the rain let up half past ten, Tower laid down enough money on the table to cover everyone’s coffee.
“Let’s get to it,” he told them.
Sully and Battaglia grumbled, but Chisolm nodded his thanks. Katie rose without a word. She adjusted the disguised transmitter as she stood.
“You still want to focus north of Clemons Park?” Chisolm asked.
“Yeah. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
Chisolm shook his head. “No, that’s as good as anywhere. It’s all a shot in the dark, anyway.”
“Glad you’re so optimistic.”
“Just realistic, Cochise.”
Tower smiled at the nickname. He didn’t know Chisolm very well, but he knew he only used terms like that with people he liked. Since he was pretty sure Crawford hated his guts, it was nice to have someone around who liked him.
“You and MacLeod can ride with me,” he said. “We’ll drop her about a block from the target area.”
The group filed out of the diner.
2239 hours
His car warmed up quickly and he started north on Monroe. The arterial ran from downtown all the way north to the city limits, making it a convenient road for him. He only needed to get out of the low valley area surrounding The Looking Glass River, though. The first real hill came just a few blocks before Garland, another main arterial. He lived up above that first rise, on Atlantic just a block south of Garland.
He took a deep breath and let it out. A glimmer of irritation fluttered through him. He could feel the impact of the three cognacs he had at the lounge. While the effect wasn’t unpleasant, the impairment irked him. He couldn’t afford for some overly aggressive patrol officer to pull him over and arrest him for drunk driving.
He kept his car pointed carefully north and drove.
2240 hours
“This is good,” Chisolm suggested.
Tower slowed but didn’t stop. “You sure?”
Chisolm nodded. “We’re right at the base of the hill here.” He pointed. “Look, there’s a minor tree line here for several blocks along Mona Street. Behind that, heavy bushes and some trees all the way up the hillside. No houses. It’s a perfect location for an ambush.”
Katie watched, fascinated with how quickly he evaluated the topography. A small chill went through her, though, when he mentioned the word ‘ambush’.
As if sensing her unease, Chisolm shifted his gaze to her. “Don’t worry. If we post up at opposite ends of this street, we should have good visibility. You’ll have an eye on you the majority of the time.”
“I’m not too comfortable with anything less than one hundred percent surveillance,” Tower said.
“Probably not possible. But you’ve got the transmitter for whenever she’s temporarily out of sight.”
“I’ll be okay,” Katie said. She looked back and forth between the two men. “Really.”
“All right,” Tower said, giving in. He slid the receiver earphone plug into his ear. “Go ahead.”
Chisolm opened the passenger door of the Toyota and slid out. Katie followed him. Once outside, she voice checked her fake walkman transmitter.
“Loud and clear,” Tower reported.
Katie fired him a thumbs up.
“How’s the leg?” Chisolm asked her.
Katie adjusted her fanny pack. “Still sore. But that goop really helped, whatever it was.”
“I told you what it was. Magic juice.”
“Right. Well, it helped. Thanks, Tom.”
Chisolm grinned. “Good hunting,” he told her.
Katie took a deep breath. She hunched her shoulders and looked down at the ground in front of her. Then she began to half-limp, half-shuffle toward Mona Street.
Behind her, she heard the Toyota truck door close. Tower’s voice floated across the wet air to her.
“Magic juice, Tom?”
“Shut up, Tower.”
Katie smiled and limped forward.
2244 hours
At the last minute, he decided to cut over to Post Street. It ran closer to Atlantic. The Garland Theater was at the corner of Monroe and Garland, anyway. This time of night, there’d be a show getting out and he didn’t want to get caught up in that traffic.
He slowed for Cora Street, but refused to turn there. The very sight of the letters on the white street sign sent a surge of rage barreling through his chest and out to his fingers. He didn’t want to think of the name Cora. He didn’t want to hear the name. He certainly didn’t want to drive down a street named for that worthless bitch of a mother.
Looking down, he saw that his knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel. One at a time, he let go and flexed his fingers, trying to work out the angry tension. In the process, he passed by Cora Street and continued north.
The next street was Mona Street.
He turned right.
2245 hours
A pair of headlights washed over her from behind. This time of night, there wasn’t a lot of traffic on this residential side street. This was only the fourth set of headlights to spotlight her like this.
Katie didn’t care for the vulnerable feeling it gave her. As each car approached, she felt at a complete disadvantage. The people in the car could see her clearly. The most she ever saw were shadowy silhouettes as the vehicle passed by.
She sighed, letting that sense of vulnerability flow through her. She hoped that it made her look even weaker to anyone that drove by.