Return of the Contract Killer Pt. 01

The persuasive Ms. Skye convinced me the only way to catch this guy would be to bait him, and since I refused to let her dye her hair brown, we decided to hire one of the girls— a raven-haired pixie who fit the Ripper's type— to keep eyes open for us with the promise to text the moment anything fishy went down. Cindy found one who fit the bill, and the prostitute gave her name as Chastity, proving even those in her line of work have an affinity for irony.

Cindy and I wasted a good part of a week making ourselves available near our bait's location each night. We drank a lot of coffee and talked until we ran out of things to say, but Sheila didn't come up. I knew better. In any case, I didn't mind spending quality time with Cindy on these half-assed sting operations because we didn't want to be too faraway to be useful when Chastity texted us, and Cindy was always good company. The only downside was this meant hanging out in the type of places where you stuck out like a clean thumb if you weren't a whore, pimp, pusher, junkie, or someone interested in one of those avocations. I could have blended in, but Cynthia was too hot.

You don't want to be too attractive in my line of work. Makes you memorable. If you're attractive, the best thing you can do is find a way to hide it. Walk slumped, go a few too many days without washing your hair, that kind of thing.

On my way out the sixth night, Kandy Karnal started bugging me about not being around, so I gave her the center stage at all the prime times. This seemed to appease her. Ruby wouldn't be too happy about it, but I knew she'd get over it as long as she remained Queen Bee at the club. Ruby knew better to nag me with questions. Later the same night, Cindy and I were drinking bad coffee in a shady café that I had become more and more convinced was a probable front for drug trafficking when Cindy's phone vibrated.

Cindy read the screen and said, "She says she's hooked a creep."

I downed the rest of my coffee and immediately regretted it. With a grimace, I said, "Let's roll."

Chastity and we had prearranged a place for her to take her john, and after her initial text, she'd call (we gave her a disposable phone with Cindy's number), then leave on her phone, hidden in her purse. Chastity would mute it so that they couldn't hear us, but we could hear them. This way, in case there were any unforeseen changes to our original plan, Chastity would be able to clue us in.

It seemed like the plan was working. As we listened in ("I have the perfect place. This way," Chastity cooed through the speaker), Cindy and I made our way to a spot where we'd be able to watch Chastity and her client through a night-vision scope without being spotted by the "creep." When we neared our place, I flicked off the car's headlights, cut the engine, and crept it down a side street which was bisected perpendicularly by the long, dark alleyway where Chastity had led her creep.

"Any chance of police happening upon us or them?" Cindy wondered aloud.

I shook my head. "Probably not. Most likely they keep away and are paid off to do so. I think this area was Dread-controlled."

"Who knows who runs it now," Cindy said.

I thought, Uncle Vic. But there was no way of knowing for sure.

Through the phone, we heard Chastity say, "I want you right here, baby."

The john's voice quivered with either excitement or anxiety, "Here? But? Might someone see..."

Chastity: "Part of the fun, babe. Just pull out that big, hard dick and don't worry about it."

"Looks like she's in position," Cindy said, whispering despite the fact that we were a block and a half away. Skye sounded like we were on some kind of military black-op. She whispered again, "Here." She handed me a slick black cylinder, the night-vision scope.

I put the the scope to my eye, and a moment later, I framed Chastity and the creep within it. Chastity was in position, all right. The girl's head bobbed over the creep's crotch, giving me a clear view of his face. Then Cindy's voice came over my shoulder, asking, "Well?"

I knew that I was no F.B.I. profiler. However, I had met enough killers in my life to be able to tell with a better-than-average degree of certainty if someone had the capability of taking another's life. As with everything, there are exceptions to the rule, but I felt positive my first impression of the creep with Chastity was the right one.

"He's out-of-shape, ugly, and very nervous. He's a creep, but he's not our creep. Guy's not a killer," I said and passed the night-vision scope to Cindy, so she could get her own take on him.

She looked, and by the way disappointment clouded her (incredibly pretty) face, I could tell that Cindy agreed with me. Neither of us were that surprised. The chances of us happening upon the New Jack Ripper in less than a week's time were worse than those of the Browns winning the Super Bowl. Her lips pursed, but then one corner curled in a smirk. "You're right, but it's not a total waste. This girl is sexy. Wow."

I watched entranced as Cindy's free hand, fingers wiggling, traveled the cut of her black Arctic Monkeys t-shirt down her neckline, past the tempting swell of her breasts, and across her flat stomach to rest between her legs. I caught a flash of pink dart between her lips, wetting them. Then one of her fingers needled into the top of her jeans.

Still peering through the night-vision scope, Cindy announced, "She's making me hot."

"I know how she feels."

Cindy grinned and handed me the scope. She said, "Take a look while I cool down."

As much as I'd rather have watched Ms. Skye and her rogue hand, I put my eye to the scope and peered through it. Cindy was right about the girl; from what I could see, she was a hottie with a body as well as a pro. I had a profile view of her, and I saw that with pitch-black hair and soft features, she curved in all the right places. Fishnet stockings covered her long legs; a leather skirt hugged her supple bottom; and jacket with a tight-fitting top strained against her full breasts. From what I could see of the manipulations of her mouth and hand, she knew what she was doing.

Along with the sounds of wet slurping, the creep's low moan of pleasure echoed through the cell phone.

Cindy said, "What do you think? The Tiger Woods of blowjobs, right?"

I nodded and focused on the girl's face. Something about it reminded me of The Black Ghost, my rival who had bedded me then left me to die on top of Dread Tower. Like all of my relationships, ours had proved a complicated one. Chastity bore perhaps only a passing resemblance, but it was enough to make me wonder where the mysterious Amunet— if that were even her true name— currently spent her nights.

At this moment, Ms. Skye's hand slipped over the crotch of my pants and gripped the straining hardness it found there, and my thoughts turned elsewhere.

She breathed into my ear. "When I said 'cool off' earlier, I meant 'get off' as in you." Honestly, she may have said something that made a bit more sense than what I've related here, but the blood had rushed from my brain to my erection so quickly, it's hard to recollect. I started to take the night vision scope away from my eye, but Cindy moved one hand to keep it where it was. She said, "No, keep watching."

I felt her hands unbutton and unzip my jeans, but I kept watching Chastity through the scope. In contrast, Chastity's chubby creep (in a superhero sweatshirt, no less) put his hands over his face as though he couldn't take the sight of the beautiful young woman on her knees before him. If he wanted to savor this moment, I couldn't blame him.

Cindy's hands felt cool and smooth as she fished me out of her pants, but then her hot, wet mouth encased me. I want to put my hands over my face, too, or at least close my eyes and just enjoy how Cynthia Skye made me feel.

"That's so good," I managed.

Cindy took a break, her tongue flicking along the underside of my shaft, to say, "You're damn skippy it is."

I wanted to retort that she was too sexy to say "damn skippy," but then she stroked me into her lips. Her head lowered, taking me down to the root, and I lost the ability to speak and see and think and could only caress the back of her neck where a few strands of her hair had escaped a tight, expertly-fixed bob. Cynthia styled herself a perfectionist, but her imperfections most appealed to me, the errant hairs when she put her hair up; the smatter of freckles across the bride of her nose; the shadow of crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

Like the enthusiastic young Chastity on the other end of the night vision scope, Ms. Skye knew what she was doing, and we'd been together enough times that she knew what I liked, and I found it increasingly hard to concentrate as she picked up speed.

Chastity's voice came through the cell phone: "Okay, sweetie, you want to explode over me like this, or do you want to get inside where's it warm?"

The creep's replied, "Oh, god, oh, please..."

"Okay, then, hon," Chastity said, "Just bend me over."

The girl must have come to the same conclusion as Cindy and I. The guy was harmless. I watched as she bent over, placing one hand against a brick wall as she used the other the guide her john where he wanted to go. The guy moaned like he was auditioning for The Walking Dead, and chances were good that he had, in fact, died and gone to heaven, leaving an empty shell behind.

I felt much the same. Cindy used both her hands to stroke me into the wet warmth of her mouth, her tongue sliding along the underside of my shaft to make me dizzy with pleasure. This coupled with the sight of Chastity bent over through the night-vision scope and the sound of the girl's dirty talk through Cindy's cell phone signaled my imminent release.

Then a shadow stepped into frame and whipped something into the side of the creep's throat. The arm of the shadow came back, and I saw a jet of arterial blood spray across the alley. I dropped the scope and got moving.

"What the fuck?" Cindy's voice came from behind me, but I was already up and out of the car and running. I could make out the creep slumping to the ground, and the shadow wrapping one arm around Chastity while his other came up to hold something to her face.

My mind raced. Was this our guy? What the hell was he doing? Wasn't he supposed to be more careful than this? None of my questions really mattered. All that mattered was getting to the girl before he could kill her. My guess was that he what he held to her face was a rag dosed with chemicals, something to make her easy to handle but probably not knock her out. If she turned to dead weight, he'd have a hard time getting her anywhere without a lot of trouble and more of a chance of being seen.

I neared the shadow. I watched as Chastity's struggles turned limp in his arms. Distracted by her, the shadow hadn't seen me yet. By now, it had taken the shape of a man, but beyond that, I couldn't tell much. He was clothed from head to toe in black and wore a ski mask. He must have been watching the girl from afar just like Cindy and I had been.

But why strike now? Why chance necessary collateral damage by killing Chastity's john?

Something whizzed by my right ear, missed everyone, and hit the brick wall beyond the shadow man. Chips of brick exploded, and the shadow man twisted around to see me coming at him. Apparently, the shadow, Cindy, and I weren't the only people who'd come uninvited to this party. Someone had just fired a silenced weapon and missed. I pushed myself harder, knowing that I was still too far if the asshole made a run for it. Then the asshole made a run for it.

In impotent fury, I gnashed my teeth and grunted. I wondered who the target of the bullet was supposed to be. Me or the New Jack Ripper? Whoever had shot at us would have hell to pay if the Ripper escaped. I couldn't be certain that the shadow was also the Ripper, but the chances had to be good.

The good news was that he left Chastity behind. I glanced at her slumped figure against the wall and at the supine, bloody body of the creep lying beside at her feet. I had no time to check on either, but based on the amount of blood on the cement, the creep wouldn't be playing any more World of Warcraft. I leapt over the corpse and chased the Ripper down the alley.

He cut a sharp left about five yards ahead of me, and I followed suit. When I entered the new alley, I panicked for half a second because I thought I'd lost him. I only saw a row of doorways, a rusty dumpster, and crumpled garbage in a pool of tepid water. Then I noticed an exit door swinging shut, and I caught it before it could shut and lock. The Ripper must have propped it open, or else it would have been locked for him, too. I glanced down, and a piece of duct tape over the latch validated my deduction. That meant wherever the Ripper planned on keeping Chastity must have been within the building or connected to it. He wouldn't have wanted to drag her very far once he'd drugged her.

I noticed a stairway and heard footsteps above me. That was enough. I darted after the sound, wondering if the Ripper would be stupid enough to get himself cornered. After I'd ascended three floors, I realized my dick was still hanging out, and I stuffed it back in my pants. I zipped up as quickly as I could without catching skin.

Thank God I did because the Ripper shot around the next corner with something metallic gleaming in his hand.

I threw myself back and to the left, striking out with my left hand, palm out towards the Ripper's wrist. The tip of something caught my right temple as it passed, and I felt blood well in the cut. In the bleak light of the stairwell lamp, I saw it was an ice pick or a close enough approximation. My deflection nearly made the Ripper lose his grip, and I lunged. I went in low and fast and smashed into the Ripper's lower abdomen, lifting him and knocking him against a cement wall. The Ripper twisted, wriggling like the disgusting worm he was, and I barely kept my grip on him. He grunted and brought a knee up, trying to catch me in the groin or stomach, but I arched out the way. Then he brought his fists down together. The butt of his weapon caught me in the back of the head. I saw stars and tossed him sideways to gain a few seconds.

Somehow I'd managed to hook my thumb in the mouth hole of his ski mask, and it stayed in my hand as the Ripper went down. Now that I'd stopped running, my breath felt like fire in the furnace of my chest, and I couldn't help but wonder if the lack of contracts lately had killed my endurance. The silver lining in our brief pause of hostilities was that it allowed me to regain sight, and as the brain-fog receded, I saw a ghost. Simeon Dread, younger and brown-haired, peered back at me. Perhaps my mouth gaped open in my surprised, for the Ripper, in the form of a youthful Dread clearly full of vim and vigor, attempted to take advantage. One hand already on the stair rail, the Ripper/Dread yanked himself up and thrust his ice pick between my eyes.

I turned sideways and slapped his hand away. The pick stung my brow. Then I squared on him and took my own shot right between the Ripper's eyes. Instead of an ice pick, I used my forehead. Our two heads met, clashing like a pair of angry bulls. Expecting it, I stayed standing. The Ripper didn't. He stumbled backwards and lost his footing. The ice pick clattered out of his hands and went down the crook of the stairwell. I heard it land a second later, probably a few flights down and out of our reach. I also heard footsteps coming up. Probably the guy who'd taken the shot at us.

I had the Ripper, but I also had a new shadow, this one on my heels. I'd have to turn and take care of it, or the Ripper might slip away. I couldn't let that h—

The bullet almost took off my nose as it buzzed past my face. The idiot below had fired blind, not caring who he (or she) hit. I staggered backward, and as I did, the Ripper made his move. He didn't go for me but went up. Toward the roof. Toward escape.

I caught movement coming up the stairs below me, but I didn't stay to say hello. I went after the Ripper. My legs ached by the time I neared the roof, but I'd managed to gain a step or two. I caught the roof door before it could swing closed behind him. I stepped into the black, humid warmth of the night.

Even with the luminescent glow of the city lights, darkness bathed the rooftop. It lay in the shadow of a much taller building beside it, and the roof boasted no artificial light of its own— as far that I could tell. My eyes would adjust if given time, but I had no time. Every passing second gave the Ripper more opportunity to slip away, especially since I had a feeling that I stood on his home turf. Ductwork crisscrossed the area in front of me; a row of air conditioning units hummed past it. I crept forward. I'd disarmed the Ripper of his ice pick, but that didn't mean he didn't have something just as nasty or worse up his sleeve. Literally.

Something moved, or at least, I thought it did. It was impossible to tell through the maze of poorly planned machinery cluttering the rooftop. Grit crunched under a foot. My ears pricked. I stopped. Tensed.

A whisper came from the opposite direction where I looked. It said, "I know your face."

I spun, and then the rooftop door banged open. I heard a muffled shot and saw the distinct flash of the gun muzzle. I dove to my right. A spark flared as the bullet ricocheted off an A/C unit. Again, our pursuer had fired without knowing at whom he was shooting. I took this to mean that he neither cared about the Ripper nor me. He'd be happy with either dead. I saw him framed in the doorway, backlit by the stairwell light, and I had no doubt it was a man, big and broad-shouldered, with short hair.

I couldn't be sure, but his shape struck a familiar chord.

I rolled behind another unit and knelt behind it. I wanted to curse, scream, throw a tantrum, any and all of it, but I couldn't give up my position to this second shadow. I knew that the first, the Ripper, would undoubtedly use the distraction to escape. Two consolation prizes: I knew what the Ripper looked like, and I knew he had at least to planned to operate (in more ways than one) out of this building. The Ripper knew this area and building well or he wouldn't have made his way to the roof. He wouldn't have dared kill Chastity and especially her creepy john someplace where the Ripper didn't feel totally safe. He knew the lay of the land and knew all of the escape routes. Why else would he have led me here to the roof? Also, the two men couldn't be working together, or the Ripper wouldn't have fled after the initial shot in the alley. Or so I assumed. Very little made sense at the moment. The object was to survive and logic my way through the labyrinthine puzzle at a later time and place, preferably one with less psychopaths, ice picks, and sound-suppressed weapons.

The gun-wielder's eyes would have to adjust the same as mine when I'd first stepped on the roof. Most likely, he had seen me in silhouette and fired without knowing who I was. He might have seen my dive but little else and maybe not even that. I listened for him. His footsteps sounded heavy but were spaced far apart. He was coming, slowly, probably holding his weapon ahead of him.

When the barrel of a silenced gun nosed around the corner, it proved me right. With as much speed as I could muster, I swiveled and caught the mystery shooter's wrists with my upper arm, pinning his wrists between my torso and bicep. The gun went off, firing harmlessly into the rooftop. Thinking that I'd have a hell of a knot on my forehead but at least no one could accuse me of never using my head, I gave the shooter the same treatment as the Ripper: a righteous head butt. I heard his nose crunch with a satisfying sound, one not unlike taking a hammer to a wooden pencil.