The Letter Of The Law

CHAPTER 27

Lipton became suddenly aware of the tension in his face, and he tried consciously to relax each muscle, one at a time. He drove carefully through the streets, checking his rearview mirror for signs of whoever it was who had drawn a gun on him. He doubted a cop would have been in the next room with a hooker and presumed it was just some do-gooder who certainly didn't have the balls to shoot anyone.

A smile crossed his face. Lately, he'd acquired the marvelous sensation that no one could kill him. He felt impervious to the rest of mankind, somehow above them all. He could hunt and kill what he needed and have his whores perform for him. The cycle seemed to be strengthening him.

He felt his face tightening again. It wasn't really the whore he'd been mad at. It was the predicament. He'd used the last remnants of his powder, and as he had feared, it hadn't been enough for him to perform. No, the whore herself was the one he always used, wonderfully docile. She had simpered and begged as submissively as she always did. In fact, since he'd been released after the trial, he'd had an exceptional run of bouts with her to make up for his time in isolation.

But the run was so exceptional that he'd used up every bit of his powerful aphrodisiac. And Casey wasn't going to be an easy victim. The gated community made it difficult to get to her at home. Although he'd scoped it out thoroughly, it would be a risky venture to try to take her from the parking garage; someone could see him and then he'd be trapped. He had abandoned that idea several days ago. He needed to be patient. It would happen in its own time. That much he knew.

He felt her spirit calling to him. All during the trial, her imperious mannerisms had left him dreaming of her at night. She needed him to crush the life from her. She needed him as much as he needed her. She needed to give up her essence to him so he could perform the sexual acts that kept his circle of power intact. It was those acts, he knew after years of experience, that were compounding to generate his invincibility. It was her destiny as much as his.

His own destiny had become clearer and clearer each passing day over the last sixteen years. His first taste of killing hadn't even been something he'd planned. The first had been a student in the audience of his seminar in New York City. She had stared shamelessly at him throughout his talk. Later that night, at the hotel bar in the midst of all his colleagues, she came on to him in a way that no other young woman had before. He'd always heard the stories, and sometimes even seen colleagues who found themselves the amorous objects of nubile young students. And although he suspected there were a number of students who might have given in to his advances, none until then had ever come right out and aggressively pursued him.

Despite his good looks, the girl in New York had been his first experience of a woman actually throwing herself at him. She drank too much, of course, and began to drape herself shamelessly over him, whispering nasty snippets into his ear. Once she'd even brushed her fingertips over his crotch. But back in his hotel room he was unable to perform, despite her unabashed oral attempts at rousing his manhood. And then she mocked him. Her words echoed through the back of his mind to this day. His sexual arousal had always been inconsistent, and his unsatisfying love life had never included a domineering woman. They seemed to affect him more adversely than most. It wasn't just that he'd failed as a lover. It was what she did afterward that put him over the edge. Frustrated and wanting another drink, he decided to go back downstairs. When he arrived, he was acutely aware of the whispering and the smirks on his colleagues' faces. His stomach sank with shame, and he hoped against hope that his fears were unfounded. Then he spotted her, right at the bar where he'd met her.

With a drunken laugh, she pointed at him and shouted for everyone to hear, "Hey, it's Professor Lipton, or I guess I should say professor limp-dick! At least we know there's one lawyer who won't be screwing anyone!"

That night was the most humiliating experience of Lipton's life, and before he'd reached the sanctuary of his room, he knew that he would be back.

Lipton returned to Texas obsessed with revenge. He would show her that he was more of a man than she could ever guess. He painstakingly researched the world's most powerful aphrodisiacs. Most striking to him were the accounts he read about the use of powdered gall bladder taken from the Asian black bear. The sexual essence of that powerful beast, he learned, was contained in the small, bulbous organ. On a subsequent trip to San Francisco, he obtained a small package of the powder. Aphrodisiac in hand, he surreptitiously returned to New York on a plane ticket under a false name that he purchased with cash.

It was a dark, lonely evening in November when he appeared at his first victim's door. She was reluctant to admit him into her small upper-story apartment in SoHo, but he had used all his persuasive powers and finally convinced her. Once inside, he didn't waste any time trying to take her to bed. With disgust, she spurned him, hissing like a cat. It was then that Lipton found his fingers wrapped around her neck, quietly choking the life from her.

When she lost consciousness, he grew afraid. But it wasn't without delight that he stripped her naked, and with a roll of duct tape he'd found in the cupboard above the refrigerator, he bound her tightly. He was in total control. The way her eyes helplessly rolled in panic when she revived stimulated him beyond anything he had ever imagined before. But when he removed his pants and attempted to mount her, she struggled like a roped mustang and the flow of blood to his organ ebbed almost instantly.

In a rage, he yanked a steak knife from the kitchen drawer and split her open from her belt line to her sternum. It was then that he had his epiphany. If the gall bladder from a virile beast could excite sexual prowess, how much more powerful must the effect of that same organ be from a dominant woman? Infinitely so-that was the answer that came to him like a sudden flash of electricity.

So he took it. He took it and he dried it and crushed it into a powder that he could then mix with a drink before performing with a prostitute trained to remain submissive throughout the act. It worked so marvelously that Lipton knew from the very first time that he would do it again and again. And like an addict, his obsession only grew with time and experience. Obtaining his aphrodisiac was only a matter of solving a mental puzzle. Each woman had her own weakness, a time and place that she was isolated, a time and place when he could get to her, subdue her, and take what destiny said belonged to him anyway.

He remembered Casey Jordan from her days as a student. He knew then that she deserved to fill his needs. But back then, he was inexperienced in his method of killing. He went to great lengths to make sure there was never a connection between him and his victims. Now, as he had proved with Marcia Sales, even if he were caught, he would go free. Because the law was his domain, he could commit the perfect crime, making it impossible for a jury to convict him. With his intimate knowledge of the law, he could take the life of another human being without leaving the evidence necessary to prove that he'd done so. More than anything else, almost more than his sexual escapades, Lipton took great delight in his mental brilliance.

There might, however, be one final step before it was Casey's time. Tonight, he believed, was a sign. While his impotence enraged him, he was intelligent enough and calculating enough to realize that he needed to claim one more victim before Casey Jordan got her due. Another easy prey was the next step. Then it would be Casey's turn. The signs were all there. Lipton's manic laughter filled the inside of the van. The thought of Patti Dunleavy delighted him. She was his next victim. He should have known all along that he needed to ingest the essence of the protege before he devoured the master.

He wouldn't waste any time. He would go to his dead aunt's summerhouse, his perfect haven, and rest for the night. Tomorrow he would have her. He already knew she lived alone. During the long days of preparation leading up to his trial, he had slowly but diligently extricated a tremendous amount of information from her. Everything he needed, anyway, to subdue her with very little effort.

It was clearly her destiny as well. She was a bossy little bitch who, he felt certain, took secret pleasure in emasculating him. Oh, he'd seen her grinning when Casey gave him one of her authoritative instructions on how to conduct himself at the trial. Well, Patti Dunleavy was too damn smart and too damn smug for her own good. He would subdue her and take total control. He would bind and dismember her, saving her sexual essence for himself. He would take her gall bladder and slowly bake it until it was crisp and dry. He would crush it into powder, and by Tuesday night, less than forty-eight hours from now, he would have his little whore and drink the powder and…

Lipton felt a remote sensation in his groin. With a smug grin, he turned on the radio and began quietly whistling along with one of his favorite love tunes from the seventies.