The Case of the Lipstick Killer

A woman in a nail shop two doors from my office noticed what was going on and grabbed a pen and paper to write down the van's license plate number, and then she immediately dialed 911 to report the abduction.

IN THE KIDNAPPERS' VAN

March 30, 10:10 a.m.

While one of the abductors drove the van down Grand Avenue and took the onramp onto Highway 580 headed east, the two other thugs zip-tied all of our wrists and put black hoods over our heads.

"Listen up, y'all," said the driver. "We taking our masks off. We'll blow your brains out if any of you try to look at our faces. In other words, don't."

Jessie and Nora were freaking out and were trying not to pee their pants. Max and I were somewhat more pragmatic about the situation. We were trying to figure out how we could get out of the Zip Ties and gouge the eyes out of these bastards.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Max.

"Stop talkin'. That's top secret, and you don't have clearance," said the driver, causing the other two men with him to bust out laughing.

"Dog, you bad-ass," said one of the other men.

The van exited the 580 freeway at 98th Avenue and drove towards Elmhurst Avenue, where the driver lived. It wasn't that long ago that the three men interrupted Danny and Dooley when they were in the process of repoing Dominic's 2022 black Dodge Challenger SRT.

ELMHURST AVENUE, OAKLAND

March 30, 10:50 a.m.

The van turned right onto Elmhurst Avenue and pulled into Dominic's driveway, where his Challenger used to be parked. The bank eventually repossessed it. At the far end of the driveway was an old garage. Dominic pulled into the garage, and the other two men dragged the four women out of the van and into the house.

It was an old craftsman house that was common in this area. Dominic had kept it up reasonably well, and he tried his best not to trash it too much. He grew up in this house, and when his mom died, she left it to him. None of his other friends got shit from their parents.

The three street-wise thugs were deep into drugs and small-time robberies, but now they were up to their necks in the kidnapping of four women, a federal crime that carries 20 years or more penalty. This was terrible news for the boys but worse news for the ladies. Murder wouldn't add that much to their punishment, so they had nothing to lose.

The four of us were tossed onto a couch in the front room, with Jessie and Nora still freaking, and Max and I still working things out.

"You bitches keep quiet, or you'll win a trip upstairs with me," said Big Mo, who just loved to force himself on women. That was his idea of romance.

Dominic finally decided to take the hoods off of the women. They wouldn't be able to figure out where they were. When their eyes acclimated to the light, the four ladies still couldn't see the three men well enough to identify them because they were now wearing bandanas around the bottom halves of their faces.

Dominic and Bobby had gone out to the garage to sanitize the van, while Big Mo stayed in the house to keep an eye on the women. He was standing in the kitchen, heating something in the microwave, but he still had a straight line of sight to me and my crew sitting on the couch.

"Hey, baby," Max whispered to me. "I need you to trust me and do just what I do. There's a little secret to getting out of these Zip Ties that I saw on Youtube. You raise your hands up and then snap them down and out quickly, and the ties just snap off."

"What the hell do we do then?" I asked.

"We rush that motherfucker in the kitchen who's paying more attention to what he's heating in the microwave than to us. You tackle him low, and I'll bury my thumbs in his eyes and try to smash his head down onto the cheap-ass Formica countertop. If that plastic shit doesn't just totally crush his skull, I don't know what will," said Max with a sense of sarcasm that came through even in a whispered voice.

"You are one crazy lady," I said. "But I'm game. I don't think these guys plan on letting us go so we can go play show and tell with the OPD."

"Okay, sweetie, follow my lead."

Max jumped up, raised her hands above her head, and thrust her hands downward, flaring them out to the sides towards the bottom. The Zip Ties did as Max hoped and snapped off and flew across the room. I did my best to mimic Max's movement. Max said, "Oh, fuck, it worked." I said, "Oh, fuck, that didn't work." I raised my hands high and tried a second time. This time the Zip Tie snapped off just like Max's.

"Holy shit, Max, it worked."

"Let's go, baby," said Max.

Max and I were on a mission. We assumed our lives relied on our success. We charged into the kitchen and zeroed in on Big Mo with laser focus and evil intention.

Big Mo had been focusing his attention on the microwave, so he wasn't looking specifically at the women on the couch. When he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned back towards the sofa just in time to be met with the true ferociousness of pissed off womanhood. I wrapped my arms around Big Mo's knees, and Max placed her hands on the sides of his face and dug her thumbs into his eyes as hard as she could. He screamed in pain, but his scream stopped as quickly as it started when Max slammed the side of his head viciously down onto the Formica countertop.

Big Mo went silent and slumped to the kitchen floor in a hot mess of unconsciousness. Max and I wasted no time standing around celebrating our victory. We turned and ran back to the couch, grabbed Jessie and Nora by their Zip-Tied wrists, yanked them up to a standing position, and pulled them towards the front door.

The four of us burst through the front door and were met with Danny and Dooley, both holding.45 ACP military-issue pistols in their hands and running up towards the front porch.

"I see you got my message, guys," I said. "What took you so long?"

"We had to stop for dinner," replied Danny. "You wouldn't expect us to fight on an empty stomach, would you?"

"You're a real jerk, Danny," I said, "but I love you anyway."

"Just kidding. We came as soon as we got your message," he replied. "After we heard the message, we knew what was going on and where we'd find you."

"Where are those bastards at?" yelled Dooley.

"One of them is in the house. Max and I gang-rushed him and knocked his ass out," I replied. "I think the other two are in the garage at the end of the driveway."

"What say we do some hunting, Danny?" said Dooley.

"I thought you'd never ask. It's payback time," said Danny.

Just as the military vet and the MMA fighter were turning to head down the driveway and exact some payback, they heard multiple sirens racing down Elmhurst from 98th. Four OPD police cruisers and a SWAT van came screeching to a stop in front of Dominic's house, and the scene morphed into what looked like a police officers' tactical convention.

Four SWAT members immediately surrounded Danny and Dooley, with their MP5/10 submachine guns at the ready.

"Drop your guns and get on the ground now!" said the SWAT leader.

Danny and Dooley knew when to throw in the cards and stop betting. They complied with the order.

"They're the good guys," yelled Max. "They came to rescue us from these assholes. There's one in the house and two back there in the garage."

It didn't take long for SWAT to apprehend the three kidnappers and bring them into custody. They will have plenty of time to contemplate the error of their ways. They made a wrong turn when they decided to branch out from their penny-ante crimes to the big leagues. Federal crimes don't come with parole down the line. An inmate might be able to shorten their sentence a little bit with good behavior, but that's it.

Max gave the three kidnappers her most perverse smile. "Bye-bye, boys. Thanks for the fun time."

If looks could kill, the police would be calling the coroner right about now.

Me, Max, Jessie, and Nora spent the next several hours at the Oakland Police Department, giving our statements, which would be crucial to making sure the three kidnappers were tried and convicted for their crimes. It took a little doing, but we were able to convince Detective Wheeler to intervene on Danny and Dooley's behalf and prevent them from being charged with military weapons.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

March 30, 4:30 p.m.

It had been a terrifying and exhausting day. After finishing with their interviews at the OPD about the kidnapping, Jessie went with Nora to her apartment to drink a lot of wine and spend the evening embracing each other, being thankful that they are still around to do so.

Max and I had similar plans, but we had to go back to the office and lock it up for the night. I was crossing my fingers that someone didn't take advantage of an unlocked and unoccupied office and steal everything of any value from inside. Max and I both breathed sighs of relief when we saw the nail shop owner from two doors down, Carli, was sitting at Nora's desk holding a paperback she had been reading. She had been guarding our office.

"Oh, my God, Carli. How long have you been here?" I asked.

"When I saw three men wearing ski masks throwing you guys into that van, I wrote down the license plate number and called the police. Then I knew your office was unattended, so I left my salon and sat here all day. A couple of other girls were working at my place for the day. I even answered your phone when it rang, which was about eight times. I wrote down messages and told all the callers that the office was closed because of a family emergency."

"I don't know how to thank you, Carli," I said. "But I'll think of something. You went way above and beyond what most people would have done. Someone could have come in here and wiped us out. Bless you."

"No problem. I know you would have done the same for me. I'm just glad the police found you in time. You're all safe, right?"

"Yeah, we all made it. I'll tell you about it over lunch sometime. You wouldn't believe the shit we went through. So you need to go home to your family. And thank you so much," I said.

Max and I both gave Carli big hugs. She saved our asses.

BAXTER APARTMENTS

4901 Broadway, Oakland March 30, 5:45 p.m.

Max and I decided to change things up and go to Max's apartment to hang out for the rest of the night. Our stomachs were still roiling over the day's events, so we weren't ready to eat yet, so we dove headfirst into a couple of bottles of red wine to guide us through the evening.

We ended up having a pizza delivered at about 7:30, and for some reason, that hit the spot.

At around 10:30, we curled up with each other in Max's king-sized bed and fell asleep in each other's arms and didn't wake up until we were blown out of bed at 7 a.m.

by Max's blaring alarm clock.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

Monday, April 3, 8:30 a.m.

Due to the horrific events of last Thursday, I kept the office closed on Friday to give my employees Friday and the weekend to decompress. Max and I hung out at Max's apartment on Friday. On Saturday, we decided to relocate to my place in Alameda and spent the weekend binge-watching silly Hallmark movies on Netflix. I can't believe I actually like this sappy stuff. Fucking hormones. On Sunday, we ventured outside and took in the Farmers Market at Jack London Square in Oakland.

Jessie and Nora stayed with each other over the weekend to catch up on intimate time and sustain themselves with pizza and Chinese take-out. They also took advantage of Nora's oversized bathtub and took a few hour-long bubble baths. Nora decided to put on a fashion show for Jessie modeling some of her sexy lingerie. The most exciting part of the show was when Jessie slowly peel off each outfit between changes.

The things girls think of to do when they have extra time on their hands.

Max and I had arrived at the office first. We walked around and did a quick assessment of every square inch of the office to make sure nothing was missing. Nothing was.

"Looks like we're back in business," I announced.

Nora and Jessie walked in at 9 o'clock, per my instructions.

"Everything still here, Boss?" asked Jessie.

"Looks like it," I replied. "Okay. Get your lazy asses back to work. Vacation is over," I added with an I'm kidding expression plastered across my face.

It was about this time that Barton walked into the office.

"Jesus, Nikki. Detective Wheeler told me what happened when she personally came to the jail to release me. I can't believe that Amanda shot some guy that was supposed to be her boyfriend. What the hell was that all about. I thought I was her boyfriend. That shows you how gullible I am. Good riddance.

"And you guys got kidnapped by some thugs that someone had shot in the legs and butt, and the police think Danny and Dooley are behind it?"

The cops have a strong suspicion that Dooley did it, but they can't prove it. "Jeez. That's some pretty scary stuff. There's never a dull moment around here, right?"

"Looks that way," I replied. "Maybe we can just get back to the regular chaos we seem always to have lurking about here."

"Sounds like a plan," said Barton.

April 3, 2:35 p.m.

Nora wasn't sure what to make of the two men in black suits, short military-like haircuts, and spit-shined wingtip shoes. They marched like soldiers up to my first line of defense in the office--Nora.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" asked Nora.

"We would like to speak with Nikki Fontaine, please," said the man in black on the left.

"One moment, please."

Nora decided to forego using the intercom, stood up, walked over to my office, and knocked on my door.

"Yes?"

Nora opened the door and peeked in.

"There are two men here to see you, Nikki. They seem strange, just to give you a heads up."

"Okay, Nora. Why don't you bring them back to my office?"

"Right away," replied Nora.

I stood up but stayed behind my desk as two men walked into my office.

"Please have a seat. How can I help you?" I asked.

"Miss Fontaine, I'm FBI Special Agent Mark Reynoso, and this is Special Agent Jeffrey Fahe. We are both on the FBI Organized Crime Task Force, and we wanted to talk to you about Frank Romano, who, as you know, was shot and killed by Amanda Winsor in a Casper's Hot Dogs parking lot four nights ago."

"Yes, I remember that well. I was there. That's not something that you see every day. It's a horrible memory permanently imprinted on my brain. So, what do you need from me?" I asked.

"We understand that Frank Romano had hired you to help him locate a Vinnie De Luca, who had stolen a large sum of money from the Genna Crime Family in Chicago and disappeared to parts unknown," said Agent Reynoso.

Jesus. Enough about Vinnie De Luca already, I thought to myself.

"Okay. I already know all of that. Please continue. There must be something after that last period," I said.

"Yes, there is. You are now working for the FBI," Miss Fontaine.

"What are you talking about, Agent Reynoso?" I asked.

"Our task force has been looking into the Genna Crime Family for several years. We've been trying to build a RICO case against the family's patriarch and his three sons, but we keep coming up short as far as evidence. No one talks. We know that Vinnie De Luca was their primary accountant, and he knows how they launder their money and where it's hidden. If we can get Vinnie and convince him to testify against the Gennas, we can take them down.

"We're willing to offer full immunity to Vinnie if he helps us nail these guys. So if you find out anything about De Luca's whereabouts or anything else that might help us find him, we want you to let us know.

"We're not going to pay you a retainer, but if something comes up and you have to expend any money to try and locate him or follow up on any leads, let us know, and we'll make sure you get reimbursed. Oh, and this isn't a request. We just drafted you."

"I thought our government did away with the draft, and service was voluntary," I quipped.

"Hilarious, Miss Fontaine," said Agent Fahe. "Make no mistake; you now work for the FBI. We will check in with you from time to time. We're not sure that De Luca ever even made it to California or has any intentions of coming here at any point in the future. Just make sure you let us know if you come across any useful information. Here are our cards. Please don't lose them."

"Have a great rest of your day, Miss Fontaine," said Agent Reynoso as the two men in black suits rose from their seats and walked out.

"Wow. I must be losing my shtick. Those two clones didn't even give me a once-over when they left," moaned Nora in dramatic style. "They must be fucking gay."

"Don't worry, Nora. You've still got your shtick, trust me," I said.

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

April 3, 10:15 a.m.

"Oh, no," exclaimed Detective Wheeler as she hung up her phone. "Oh, shit. I can't believe it."

The detective and her partner, Detective D'Agosta, were spending the morning working at their desks, trying to finish their paperwork on some of their closed cases.

"What the hell happened?" asked D'Agosta.

"It's Officer Arguello. She's dead. Her sister just found her in her apartment. Shit. Come on. We need to get over there."

"Damn. I thought Arguello and Gwen were on good terms. Something must have happened," said D'Agosta.

"I was hoping The Lipstick Killer would stay dormant until we could get enough evidence to arrest her. Yes, I believe it is a woman, and I still think Melissa Stein is good for this."

"Okay. Where are we going?" asked D'Agosta.

"Arguello lives in an apartment in Emeryville. Let's go."

THE BRIDGECOURT APARTMENTS

EMERYVILLE, CALIFORNIA

April 3, 11:45 a.m.

The OPD crime scene crew from the Criminalist Division were already at the scene gathering evidence. Wheeler and D'Agosta put on their foot booties, snapped on their latex gloves, and entered the house to inspect another brutal homicide scene.

"Well, let's take a quick look at the kitchen to see if it's the same as the other ones," said Wheeler.

The two detectives entered the kitchen and found the familiar partially filled wine bottle, wine glasses, plastic pill bottle, and several Valiums spilled on the counter.

When they moved on to the bedroom, they found 26-year-old Alexia Arguello lying face up on her bed with a large butcher knife impaled into her chest in the location of her heart. Officer Arguello was lying in a pool of blood, and her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling.

"What a terrible waste," said Detective D'Agosta.

"I liked this kid," replied Wheeler. "She was a shining star. I think she would have done some great things. Damn."

Wheeler carefully turned Alexia's head to one side to reveal the ubiquitous lipstick kiss.

"This confirms it. Officer Arguello just became The Lipstick Killer's fifth victim. We're gonna get that bitch."

"I think we need to go talk with Melissa Stein," said Detective D'Agosta.

"You were reading my mind. Let's go," said Wheeler.

MELISSA STEIN'S HOME

1987 MAGELLAN DRIVE, MONTCLAIR (OAKLAND), CALIFORNIA

April 3, 1:20 p.m.

Detective D'Agosta pulled their unmarked car to the curb in front of Melissa Stein's home in Montclair, and the two detectives walked up the cement path, up the three steps to the porch, and knocked on the door. Melissa opened the door just enough to peek out to see who was there.

"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw the detectives. "What do you want?" "May we come in, please, Melissa?" asked Wheeler.

Melissa paused, and then she opened the door to let the detectives inside. Melissa sat down on an overstuffed chair in her living room and motioned for Wheeler and D'Agosta to sit on the sofa.