The White Angel Murder

41

Hunter Royal watched himself in a mirror over the bed as his climaxed, the young brunette bent over in front of him groaning with pleasure, their bodies glistening with sweat under the red lighting. When they were done he collapsed next to her on the bed and looked his body over in the mirror. He was about twenty pounds overweight. Not that that mattered with women when you had money, but still. It was something he would have to work on. His body was hairless from waxing and it looked good, he thought, not model good but good. But he’d always had a problem with his nipples. He thought they were too big considering that he had a slender chest. There was no doubt he would pay a visit to his plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills to get them done, but it was a matter of timing. He would be bandaged for at least two weeks and he was hitting the pool right now at least four times a week. Maybe in the cooler months.

“Are you spending the night?” the girl said.

“No. I got work to do early tomorrow.”

She pulled a joint out of the nightstand next to her and lit it. The smoke was sweet smelling and it quickly overtook the scent of sweat and sex. They passed it back and forth quietly for a few minutes before he rose and found his boxers and jeans.

“You could go to work from here tomorrow,” she said, “if you wanted.”

“Nah, you know I like sleeping in my own bed.” When he had slipped his shirt on and found his sandals he leaned down and kissed her, running his tongue over her lips. “I’ll call you.”

“No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t. You call me.”

He left the house and stood on the front porch awhile, enjoying the evening air. The garden next to the porch was well tended and the lawn was freshly mowed. He watched the sun climbing down into the earth and painting the sky a light pink.

Though nineteen, the girl still lived at home. Her parents were out of town right now. Royal got a big kick out of fucking her in her parents’ bed. Maybe he would send a note to her father a little later letting him know? He only wished he could see his face as he read it.

Royal walked down to his car. As he was about to insert his key into the lock, he felt pressure on his arms and his neck snapped back as someone had him by the throat. He tried to make a sound but his airway was blocked and he began to fight.

He was lifted off his feet and dragged down the sidewalk to a car and thrown in the back.

“What the fuck!” he shouted.

Two men climbed into the backseat with him. One stuck a gun into his side and Royal froze. He felt the warm trickle of urine down his pants.

“Listen, guys. I’m rich. I can get-”

“Shut the fuck up you piece of shit. I don’t want your money.”

Royal looked to the passenger seat and saw a man leaning back, absently tapping a ring against his teeth.

Harlow turned around and looked at him.

“Mike? Are you shitting me? You can’t-” One of the men sitting next to him elbowed him in the face, causing his nose to crack and start bleeding. “Fuck!”

“I need something from you. We’re both gonna get out of it so it’s a good deal. But I need a yes or no now.”

“This how you ask all your friends for favors?”

“You’re not my friend you fucking parasite and don’t you forget it.”

Royal pressed his fingers to his nose. The blood was gushing now and he tilted his head back, letting it go down his throat rather than down his shirt.

“Don’t tilt your head back,” Harlow said. “It’ll make you vomit if you get too much blood.”

Royal straightened up. “What’dya want?”

“Before we talk deal, how’s that little philly you were fucking in there?”

“She’s fine.”

“How old is she?”

“Nineteen.”

Harlow threw a piece of paper onto his lap. He flipped on the interior light so Royal could see it well. It was a copy of the girl’s high school ID.

“Fuck me,” Royal said.

“That’s right asshole. She’s fifteen. You’re smarter than that. You should always check ID. Although she may have a fake one she would’ve showed you. Under the law, doesn’t make a difference. How messed up is that?”

“What’dya want, Mike?”

“Now that you’re in more of dealing mood, we can talk. Noah Sherman. I got him released into my custody.”

“Why?”

“He’s helping with a cold case.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“That’s not your concern. Here’s what your concern is: you can’t write about it. Don’t snoop around, don’t ask questions, don’t call any of your boys. You leave this alone. I don’t want the public to know about this.”

“I’m not the only reporter in town.”

“No, but for some reason I think you’re the only one that would find out. You got the deepest contacts and I’ve seen how you operate. You wait until the crowd’s gone and then come over and ask your questions and get what you want. You’re a perverted little scumbag weasel, but you’re a good reporter.”

Despite the blood pouring over his hand, Royal felt a small gleam of pride. Legitimacy was something he had coveted since his days writing five hundred word op/eds for a porno magazine in Los Angeles.

“So I don’t report on it and you don’t arrest me?”

“And when I catch the cocksucker I want to catch, you can break the story and get exclusive interviews with me and Noah. I won’t give it to any other reporters.”

“Shit, count me in.”

“You know, Hunter, that’s what I’ve always liked about you. You know when you’re outmatched. Now get the fuck outta my car. And no more teenagers.”

Royal was thrown out and fell to the pavement. He stood up and flipped Harlow off as the car sped away.