Mark scrambled for something to say as Havoc came up to the driver’s side door. The man had a mop of dark hair and a Tom Selleck mustache, his well-developed musculature obvious beneath a dark polo emblazoned with the name of his business. His face was wide and flat with a small, flattened nose. Dark cold eyes peered out from beneath heavy eyebrows. Displeasure radiated off of him, as he leaned down like an angry carhop.
“You following me for a reason?” Havoc asked, his middle-European accent less than pronounced but more than apparent.
“Sorry, I thought you were somebody else,” Mark managed with a nervous laugh. “Friend of mine.” Lamely, he held up his cell phone. “I tried to call but when he didn’t answer, I assumed it was ’cause he was driving.”
Havoc let out a long breath and his displeasure seemed to go with it. “Your buddy has an Escalade, huh? Seems like everybody does these days.”
“Or an Equinox,” Mark said, with a strained smile.
Nodding at the detective’s blue vehicle, Havoc grinned. “Yeah, I see these everywhere.”
Was he playing with Mark?
As the two men exchanged shrugs and pleasant expressions, Mark wondered: was this the beast that killed Jordan Rivera’s family? The Elkinses? The Sullys? A knot in Mark’s gut tightened itself.
“I was starting to think my buddy was leading me on a wild goose chase,” Mark said, thinking about the Sully home. “Ya don’t mind my saying, kind of a roundabout route to get here.”
The big man nodded, the breeze ruffling his dead-looking hair. “Brunswick exit might be easier, but with all that damn construction on the interstate? Makes it one lane most of the way. I hate getting stuck in traffic. And there’s always traffic.”
I-71 did have its share of construction and frequent traffic jams. “I don’t know if I was ever on Cypress Avenue before,” Mark said with a grin.
“It’s a quiet part of town.”
Was this guy messing with him?
Jerking a thumb toward the restaurant, Havoc asked, “You know Apollonia’s?”
Mark shook his head.
“It’s damn good,” Havoc said. “You should try it. Osso buco to die for.”
He gave Mark a little wave and nod, then turned and headed to the restaurant.
Was he letting a killer walk away?
Yet what else could he do? Mark had no evidence to speak of, and he had just come close to giving himself away. If Kelley knew about this botched-up episode, all the ground Mark had gained with the captain would be lost.
He thought about going in that restaurant and ordering a meal, and sitting where Havoc could see him, and maybe getting under the skin of this monster. Give the guy something to think about, something to worry about.
Then he drove home.
My love for Italian food is, I’m afraid, one vice I just can’t resist. I’m afraid I tend to lose control, eating too much and too quickly, and while gluttony is, perhaps, a minor sin, it is still a sin.
So this evening, this very special evening, I force myself to eat slowly, to savor every bite of a single delectable portion. I will savor tonight’s task, as well. After a satisfying repast, there is nothing quite like doing God’s work to boost the metabolism. My deed for tonight is doubly delicious. Not only will I be doing His work, passing His judgment down on another unrepentant sinner, but I will be sending (rather graciously, if it’s not ungracious of me to say so) a gift to my reward, my prize, my Jordan.
Now that she’s back in the world, my world, it’s time I reintroduced myself to her, to let her know that I’ve been waiting for her, for such a very long and lonely time.
I have just the thing to welcome her back. I’ve been keeping track of a sinner who has an apartment at Archwood and 32nd Place. I could have dealt with her at any time, but there are too many sinners for me to address each and every one — I am but one simple man, after all. Once I started studying her, however, He showed me The Way. First, she bears a striking resemblance to my Jordan — the same long, black hair, same facial structure, same body type. One who didn’t know better might suspect them of being sisters.
This sinner is a fornicator. Fornication has its place, in the repopulation of God’s green earth. But this fornicator seeks only pleasure and self-gratification and, most of all, is an unrepentant, even casual killer. Do I exaggerate? She killed her own child by having it aborted. It is hard to imagine such brutality.
Or such shameless sinning. Mere weeks after committing the abomination of killing one of God’s children, she has lain with men who are not her husband. This woman (her name is Clare Deems) I have come to think of as the anti-Jordan. Please understand that any resemblance between this sinner and God’s Reward to Me Whose Name is Jordan is physical only. Clare is harlot-like whereas Jordan is pure, filth where Jordan is purity. Still, in a symbolic sense, Clare might be seen to represent the old Jordan. The Jordan before I came into her life to rescue her from a sinning world. (In Jordan’s defense, this was the world she was born into, and she did her best navigating it, and let us not forget she delivered herself to me as a virgin.) So Clare represents the past, and must be eliminated so that the new, the purified Jordan can take her rightful place.
At my side.
I’ve been watching this sinner for a while now. She is one of many that I check on from time to time, knowing they won’t change their wicked ways, knowing that sooner or later I may be called upon to visit them as a manifestation of the metaphorical Grim Reaper, to mete out His will for them. I can’t be everywhere. I can’t do everything. I have a lot on my plate, especially now that Jordan is back in this sinful place. Suppose she were corrupted before we could come back together? But no, such thoughts must not deter me. Keeping her close is a priority, but not my only responsibility. I am still busy with God’s work. After all, who was it that said, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”? It’s not in the Bible, although Matthew 12:43–45 comes rather close.
Tonight, I’m standing in the shadows at the north end of the half-block-long apartment building where Clare Deems lives. I am in a raincoat, though there is no sign of rain. An inveterate sinner, Clare must be commended for her work ethic and regularity of habit. When her shift ends at ten, she will pull into the parking lot before ten thirty. The restaurant where she works stops serving at nine and, even if she picks up one of the male customers for purposes of fornication, she will manage to get home by ten thirty. It’s actually very impressive, but a well-organized sinner is still a sinner.
I check the lighted time on my cell phone — ten twenty. Any minute now. I glance east, looking for headlights, but nothing yet.
He will provide. I have faith. I have stood here several nights and kept vigil for Clare and every night, without fail, she has arrived on time. Now, it’s just patience that is required of me. And it doesn’t take long before I am rewarded. The headlights of her Kia Soul appear in the drive and I watch as she swings through the lot to her usual parking place.
As soon as she puts the car in park, I’m moving fast, but not running. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times in the theater of my mind. She will turn off the lights next. There, good girl. She’ll open the door and when she gets out, her back will be to me. It will be the only mistake she needs to make. The last she ever will make...