The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 12

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The meeting among the hoodlums at the hotel finally broke up. Everyone of the central conspirators agreed to continue their efforts without regard for the consequences, and they set a date for their next meeting to be held in New York, as near United Nations headquarters as they dared, and as close to the date of the next general assembly meeting as possible.

Why they selected that location and that time was a mystery to Susan. It didn't matter. She needed to reach Miller who in turn would get to Houston. Susan slipped out quietly and took the elevator downstairs.

Camulos pretended not to notice Susan's departure, but she had been on his mind. The little fairy tale as to why she named her daughter after the man who'd raped her was a joke. They were an item, she and McClellan, but McClellan was going to be dead soon, and he had her signature on documents that could put her away for years, that is if he ever decided to use them. He had other plans. He'd turn her into his personal whore, and her spongy headed kid would become a star in the kiddie porn industry.

Camulos smiled smugly to himself. He looked over at his primary minion, the man Susan referred to as Scarface, "Get over here."

Scarface dutifully responded to his master's command, "Yeah?"

"I want you to take Slattery to her day care. If you see any men, or any women who look too healthy, kill them, kill them."

Scarface looked laconically at Camulos, "The woman and her baby too?"

Camulos answered, "All of them."

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As Susan stepped to the sidewalk to hail a taxi she was grabbed at the elbow by the scar faced man, "Mr. Camulos wants me to take care of you."

Susan was shaken. The man scared her. She didn't want to be near him. Besides her breasts were engorged and had started to leak. She was sure Shawna was out of saved milk and would be wailing to beat the band, "Look, I'm in a hurry. I need to get to my baby?"

"Yeah, I know."

Susan tried to pull free from the man's grip, "I'll be OK. I can get there by myself."

Scarface blandly responded, "No, I'm supposed to take you."

Susan felt his grip, saw his almost reptilian countenance. He gave her the creeps, "OK."

Taking her arm he walked her to a nearby BMW. He opened the passenger side door and held it for her while she got in. He walked around to the driver's side, got in, started the car, and pulled from the curb. He reached in his pocket, pulled out an index card, and handed it to her, "This is the place isn't it?"

Susan saw the address, "Yes."

Scarface looked at Susan's dress and saw a dark spot where she was leaking through. He turned on the windshield wipers to clear away the evening moisture, "It's not far. We won't be long."

Susan squeezed a surreptitious glance at the man. From her seat the scar wasn't visible. The old acne scars were there, but not that pronounced in the dim light. His nose was slightly misshapen; she guessed from some brawl.

She was careful not to be too obvious, but she studied his face. He might have been handsome once. Not anymore, she thought he was ugly; not an evil ugly like Camulos, more like a sad, even pathetic, kind of ugly.

As they drove along she got more brazen, and stared more closely. There wasn't any life there, just a kind of stilted, zombie, robotic behavior. He seemed more dead than alive. She surmised his mind was probably as twisted as his terribly damaged face.

She reflected on the scar. It was long, deep, and jagged. It started above his left eye, partially closing it, and trailed down his cheek under his chin. It wasn't a clean scar like something a sharp knife might have made; it was cruder, more like something a broken bottle might make.

He glanced over at her.

She looked away. He wasn't so much ugly as he was morose; morose and sad in a pathetic dead sort of way, like some near fatal wound had sapped the life out of him leaving only a hollow shell. Thinking like that made her even more afraid; monstrous on the outside, dead inside, there was probably nothing of empathy or compassion left. He could be capable of anything. He and Camulos made a gruesome tandem; a conniving sadist followed by an undead enforcer.

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Back at the hotel Camulos heard the telephone. He picked it up, "Yeah?"

On the other end of the line a richly accented voice could be heard asking the identity of the person on the other end of the receiver, "Is this Oscar Camulos?"

"Yeah", was the reply.

"Thought I'd let you know about your two boys, Myron and Todd." There was a moment of silence.

Camulos spoke, "Yeah?"

The distant voice responded, "They're gone."

"Gone, what do you mean, gone?"

The voice over the phone whispered, "Myron is lying dead in a pool of blood in an alley, and Todd. Well Todd's pretty much knocked out."

Camulos was shaken, "Who is this?"

Kim, the man on the other end, had an answer, an answer he knew Camulos would understand, "Just a friend of Susan's. You remember her!" He hung up.

Camulos stared at the dead receiver. That hadn't been McClellan. Who was it then? He slammed the phone down, "Shit!"

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Irene saw Susan get in the BMW with the hoodlum. She followed at a safe distance until their destination was clear. She realized there was no need to hurry. She pulled over. She better call Houston. She punched in the numbers but the line was busy. In frustration she spoke into the dead phone, "How could a Pentagon line be busy?"

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Agent Miller had seen Susan too, and he'd watched the CID agent follow them. That wasn't part of his job. He got on his cell phone and hit the button to get Houston. Someone picked it up right away. Miller knew who it had to be, "Houston this is Agent Miller."

Sam Huston hadn't been home in days. He'd taken a sentinel's post at the Pentagon. He'd just popped a couple pills and felt pretty alert, "What have you got for me?"

Miller replied, "Something seems a little awry. Susan left the meeting, but was taken away in another car by one of Camulos's people. Considering Susan's situation I guess they're headed for the day care."

Houston replied, "Don't worry about that. Tell me what did the man who took Susan look like?"

Miller, tired and put off by the lack of respect he felt he was getting, got sarcastic, "What do you mean? They're all alike, big, mean, ugly, and stupid."

Houston ignored the remark, "Does this one have any distinguishing features, a scar, a limp, anything that might set him apart?"

Miller, having recovered his professional poise, answered, "Yes sir. This is a bad one, a real bad one; he's got a savage scar down the side of his face. He's uglier than hell."

Houston listened intently, "Get out to Susan's day care as fast as you can. Keep an eye out, but don't do anything. The man who's got her has a history. Don't get in his way." He added, "Watch out. This one's dangerous, I mean extremely dangerous, but I think we might be able to get to him. Just stay out of his way."

Houston kept talking, "Miller be very careful. If it's the man I think it is he's like a stick of dynamite. Don't do anything to set him off."

Miller answered, "I understand."

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Scarface took his time driving to Susan's day care. He had his orders, and didn't want to follow through. He'd never killed a child, never killed a baby. It didn't seem right, not that it really mattered.

Susan looked over, "Can I ask you a question?"

He answered, "No."

She asked anyway, "How did you get the scar?"

He replied, "In a fight."

Susan felt like she needed to connect with this man, "It's a bad scar. It's really bad. I'm sorry you got it."

Scarface didn't know whether to hate her or what. He knew he was ugly. He didn't need to be reminded, "I know I'm ugly. So shut up."

Susan was sorry for what she said, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just the scar; I think it changed you in other ways too."

He growled, "I know, ugly on the inside and the outside. So you can shut up OK?" He refocused on his driving.

Scarface gripped the steering wheel tightly. She didn't get it. Since it happened no one even looked at him, let alone spoke. Only a stupid whore, Gretel, but she was dead now anyway, so nothing mattered.

Susan sensed something. Her lawyer's skills were working overtime, "You never had a girlfriend?"

He flushed, "I said you could shut up."

Susan shut up. Even in the dark she could feel the pain from across the car. There had been someone. She wondered if the scar had driven her off. She didn't think he was ugly anymore, only sad, and all torn up inside. It was time for her to give it up. His was a tormented soul, and people suffering like that were capable of anything.

She looked up. They'd reached their destination.

Scarface slowly pulled the car into the small driveway, "Wait here while I get your door. I'd better walk you up."

Susan waited, a little surprised. Was he being a gentleman or just being careful?

Scarface got her door, and walked her up the sidewalk. He felt relieved. He didn't see or sense anything unusual, "Go ahead. Ring the doorbell."

Susan rang the bell and knocked on the door. She heard Shawna crying inside. The door swung open; an older woman stood under the lintel, "Finally you're here! I ran out of stored milk hours ago. She's been driving me crazy."

The older woman noticed Scarface. She paled but quickly recovered, "Who are you?"

Susan caught the facial expression, and the woman's resilient reaction, "This is my friend. He drove me out."

The older woman held out her hand, "Hi, my names Vonja Gomulka."

Scarface looked at Susan incredulously. Dumbfounded he held out his hand to the older woman, "Larry Hrabosky."

The older woman looked past his scar and smiled, "You're Polish!" She stepped back and away, "Come in you two, Susan take care of Shawna. Larry you need a cup of coffee."

Scarface, now Larry Hrabosky answered, "No."

The older woman knew this was a dangerous man, but ignored his curt response, "You take cream in your coffee?"

Hrabosky didn't know how to react, "No just a little sugar." He gave no hint of emotion, but internally he was joyous. Nobody had to die tonight.

"Good, I'll be right back." The older woman scurried into the kitchen.

Susan had lifted her breast out for Shawna who took it greedily. She looked over at the man she'd only known as Scarface. He was watching her. For a split second, while she started to nurse her baby, she detected a glimmer of emotion. Was it warmth? It disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. She leaned her baby forward for him to see, "This is my baby."

Hrabosky looked at the baby, and then at Susan, "I know. I saw her the other day." He got up and started for the door, "I have to go." Without another comment he disappeared out the door. She heard the car start and watched the headlights as he pulled away.

The elderly woman came in carrying a cup of coffee, "Where did Mr. Hrabosky go?"

"He had to leave." Susan didn't look up. Somehow she thought something important had happened. She just didn't know what it was.

The elderly woman commented, "He's one of those killers you've gotten hooked up with isn't he?"

Susan answered, "After Camulos, he's the worst of the bunch. Absolutely merciless."

The elderly woman half speaking to Susan half to herself, "Anyone can see why."

For the next few minutes neither said anything. They both sat quietly listening to the soft gurgling and humming of a baby enjoying a good meal. Susan started singing a soft lullaby, "Playmate, come out and play with me..."

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Up in New York Kim found Shawn and told him about the recently removed stalkers. Together they decided to take a plane south to see what was going on with Susan. On their way to the airport Shawn's cell phone chirped. It was Houston.

Shawn wondered if that man ever slept, "Hello, what do you need?"

Houston didn't waste any time, "You're still in New York, right?"

Shawn answered, "Actually a friend and I are on our way to La Guardia to take a flight south."

Houston cut him off. He gruffly asserted, "Tell your friend Kim you and he are to stay in New York. I don't want you down here."

Shawn interrupted, "No I want to see Susan. I think she might need me."

Houston followed sharply, "Look stupid! You stay in New York. Stay out of the way, and keep your ROK buddy up there too. Everything's moving forward as planned. You come down here you'll be in the way. I need you up there. That's not negotiable!"

A much humbler Shawn answered, "Yes sir." He turned to Kim, "We have to stay in New York."

Kim gave him the usual noncommittal shrug, "OK."

Houston closed his cell and looked back at his computer screen. He pulled up old documents, old pictures, and old orders. He checked and rechecked everything. He wasn't a religious man, but he believed in an active intervening God. He shrugged away some tears. He started jabbering to himself, "Jesus H. Christ! Who would have believed it?"

It was truly an amazing turn of events. A few years earlier Camulos had paid McClellan for the murder of a worthless whore. Houston had seen who her connections were, and always overly sentimental anyway, he intervened and ordered Shawn not to kill her. Now, thanks to that, the lives of countless millions of people might be saved; all because once he'd ordered Shawn not to kill some little Polish hooker.

He retrieved his cell phone. He had to reach Agent Miller. Gleefully he thought; time was running out for Oscar Camulos.

The Eve of Armageddon:

Susan got another call from Camulos. He had required her presence every single day since the big meeting. He had little for her to do. He only wanted her around so he could look at her.

Since that first meeting when she'd acceded to his interest with the tarty look she'd gone back to her old wardrobe; softer colors, conservative business suits, white or pale blue blouses, cable stitched wool sweaters, dark nylons, and more comfortable lower heeled shoes. She felt better, and she thought he was more careful around her maybe it was because she'd refused to knuckle under.

Mr. Hrabosky seemed to have changed too. He asked about her baby every day. He even smiled once.

For her part Susan forced herself to look past the scar; she forced herself to try to find the man hidden behind that deadened stare.

She thought about the past year. It was amazing; it had only been a year since Shawn had kidnapped and carted her off. He'd been unnecessarily cruel at first; raping her, threatening her with disfigurement, controlling everything she did. She'd tried to escape by running away, but he and his henchmen, now her friends Kim and Kia, had gotten her back. Then he'd let her go. He'd bought her life for $100,000.00.

She'd gone back to work, or tried anyway. He dropped out of sight. Then Camulos had her kidnapped a second time. Shawn reappeared, the second time with $400,000.00 to buy back her life. Then he disappeared again only to reappear after months in Africa. Her life had been turned upside down. Her career had been ruined, she was head over heels in debt, tricked into signing shady papers, and she was pregnant.

That's when things started to turn around again. Shawn resurfaced. They fell back in love. He had to go to New York. She had to stay in the south to help save the world. Houston, his boss, now hers too, had made it clear, they were approaching the end game. Time was running out for the evil doers, and her role was going to be important. The clock was ticking.

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Houston was already in New York as were Irene and Miller. Miller had the main job. When the shit hit the fan he'd close in with the FBI. Irene would go along for the ride. Susan would be on the inside. If things worked the way Sam planned she just might turn out to be the safest one in the group.

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Meanwhile, the whole crew, Susan, Shawna, Irene's mother, Hrabosky, Camulos, and two other hoodlums had taken a flight out of National Airport from D.C. to New York. Once in the Big Apple, there was to be an afternoon respite, then a big dinner, followed by the final meeting. Camulos was so confident he was even going to let Shawna stay back at the hotel rather than be forced along as a kind of pseudo-hostage.

Susan had noticed a subtle change in the way Camulos had treated her. He still watched her like he wanted to tear her clothes off, but his demeanor had changed. If she didn't know better, he behaved like he was just a little afraid of her. Had something happened she didn't know about?

Showdown!

Dinner was set for 7:00 p.m., early by most New York standards. Susan had everything she needed, her cell phone with all the ancillaries, and her evening attire.

Tonight she had decided on a pale blue cashmere V-necked sweater over a brilliantly white silk blouse. The blouse had a gently ruffled peter-pan collar and full length sleeves with tight white cuffs. She left the two top buttons of the collar open for effect. She slipped on a knee length tan skirt that had a discreet slit that traveled just a few inches up the left side.

She carried her personals in a small clutch, and wore a pair of dark brown high heeled shoes. For jewelry she sported a diamond tennis bracelet, diamond ear studs, and her treasured little pendant.

Make up, as usual, was minimal, just a hint of eye shadow, a smidgen of pale pink lip gloss, a tad of mascara, and a wisp of pink on the cheeks. The look was a far cry from the one she sported the last time this group had convened. She kept her hair in its typical tight bun; no trailing strands or ribbon tonight, just straight Susan the gorgeous.

Camulos sent Harbosky to fetch her. Was it was a significant stroke of luck, or maybe Divine Intervention?

Hrabosky stood at the door in a black suit, like he was dressed to carry a casket. He didn't know it yet, but figuratively that might be his role this night. In his inimitable deadpan he said, "I'm here to take you downstairs."

Susan gave him her most radiant smile, "I'm glad Oscar sent you rather than come himself. I have something for you."

Hrabosky looked a little put off, "It'll have to wait?"

Susan insisted, "No it can't. You must come inside."

Hrabosky walked in and stood woodenly by the door, "OK, what?"

Susan reached over and touched his hand, "What I'm gong to share with you right now must stay between us. Understand?"

Hraboisky looked at his watch, "Yeah sure."

It was time, "Did you ever know a girl named Gretel Walinsky?"

His eyed widened, "Yeah, so what?"

"You love her don't you?"

For the first time Susan saw real pain in the countenance of the man she'd known as Scarface, "She's dead. Come on." He turned and made for the door.

Susan tugged at his sleeve, "She's not dead." She watched as his face flashed from surprise, to pain, to anger.

"What's with you?" he asked.

"Will you sit down please? Larry, what I have to tell you will hurt at first, but I think it will change things for you in ways you can't imagine."

Hrabosky had loved a girl named Gretel Walinsky. She was nothing but a cheap whore. She'd started out in child pornography, an insidious racket if there was one, and had graduated to grown up prostitution. She'd even contracted Herpes. He'd loved her though, and for some reason he couldn't fathom she'd loved him, or at least she said she did. Someone said she had run off with some guy. Others said she'd been murdered. All he knew was that she had disappeared. For the first time since he could remember his stomach was in knots. He sat down, "OK, I'm sitting. Make it quick."

Susan started again, "You've got to listen, and then you've got to promise not to do anything, OK?"

He sat there, white knuckled, "I'm listening."