Cherry Bomb

CHAPTER 20

ALEX PUSHES THE PATROL CAR up past 120, sirens screaming and lights flashing, flying over the state line. It’s a rush. She can see what drew Jack to a career in law enforcement. No wonder so many cops are dicks. How easy it is to power trip when you have a car, a badge, and a gun.

Unfortunately, she can’t keep it. The car will be reported missing, if it hasn’t been already, and it probably has a GPS locator in it somewhere. The sooner she can ditch it, the better.

Luckily, getting another vehicle is as easy as pulling one over.

Alex chooses a Hyundai, dark blue, which is having some trouble staying in a single lane. Alex parks behind it and approaches the driver. He’s older, a gray beard, looking guilty and confused and pretty plowed.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” he slurs.

Alex orders him out of his car, over to a ditch by the side of the road, and puts two in his head. Twenty bucks in his wallet. More goddamn SEE ID credit cards-why were people so damn paranoid? And a silver flask in his jacket. Alex unscrews the cap. Gin. Not her favorite, but it will serve her purpose.

She rips off the man’s shirt, then hikes back to the squad car. Sprinkling alcohol on the cloth, she spends a few minutes wiping down the door handles, wheel, radio handset, and anything else she might have touched. Then she grabs what she needs and climbs into her new Hyundai, already focusing on her next victim.

Her original plan involved a time bomb, perhaps some plastic explosive wedged inside an orifice. Alex has killed a lot of people in a lot of different ways, but that would be a new one. Jack would enjoy a close-up pic of that, especially since it is someone she knows so well.

But a quick search of the police car had revealed something even better. An AED. Alex will have a great deal of fun with that. The role-playing possibilities are limitless.

The Hyundai conveniently has a GPS, which directs her off the expressway and into town. She reaches her target twenty minutes later.

It’s a nice area, single-family homes each with neatly trimmed trees in their fenced-in backyards. Quiet, peaceful, but the streetlights are bright enough to read a book under. Probably a very low crime rate.

“Until now,” Alex says, half her face curling into a grin.

She finds the right address and pulls up to the correct driveway. The house is completely dark, no lights inside or out. Sleeping? Possibly. It’s not a stretch that he forgot to turn on the exterior lights. Or maybe there’s no one home.

Alex pulls past, thinking it out. She can call, confirm if he’s home. That might also let her know if anyone else is in the house too. But all she has is her cell phone, and she didn’t bring her laptop along so she can’t spoof the caller ID. A pay phone is a possibility, but there aren’t many of those left, and Alex doesn’t know where to look for one.

Better to just knock on the door. She should be able to assess and secure the situation easily. Especially in her new uniform. That’s why she went through all the trouble to get it in the first place.

Alex drives out of the development, then finds a nice, dark stretch of road. She parks and quickly dresses in Officer Stark’s discarded clothing. It’s a little loose in the rear, and tight across the chest, but a good length. She fingers the badge on the leather jacket and buckles the utility belt. Alex can’t find a band for her hair, so she tucks it under her collar for a more professional look. The cap fits fine. Then it’s back in the car, and back to the house.

When Alex walks up the driveway, she does it with a swagger.

Wearing the uniform is an even bigger kick than driving the car. The stun gun is in her jacket pocket, the Maglite in her left hand, Stark’s pistol on her belt. She presses the doorbell.

Twenty seconds pass. No sounds from inside the house. She presses it again.

Nothing.

There’s a chance Jack knew she’d pick this target, and warned him away. A good chance. But if he went away, where would he go?

No way to know, standing out here.

Alex examines the door. It’s heavy, painted aluminum, a dead bolt. She grabs the knob and tugs. The jamb is solid, the lock tight. She searches around the door for any signs or stickers warning of a burglar alarm. There aren’t any.

Alex walks across the lawn, around the side of the house, over to the gate for the backyard. It’s open. Unlike the street side, the back of the house is dark, so she flips on the Maglite. If a nosy neighbor sees her, they’ll see a cop. It’s doubtful they’ll call the police when the police are already here.

She automatically searches the backyard for bones, poop, toys, bowls, or anything else that would indicate a dog. There wasn’t any barking when Alex knocked, but a well-trained mutt might keep silent. She finds nothing.

First Alex tries the sliding glass patio door. Locked. She knocks again, waits, then switches her grip on the Maglite and hits the door with everything she has.

As expected, the window splinters but doesn’t fall to pieces. Safety glass, like an auto windshield. Alex strikes it three more times in the same spot, breaking through the plastic coating, until she can stick her hand into the hole and unlock the door.

She steps inside, sweeping the flashlight beam across a sofa and a TV. It’s the living room. Alex locates a wall switch, flips on the lights.

In a perfect world, there would be a vacation brochure sitting on the table, or an open phone book with a hotel name circled. Alex finds neither, but isn’t discouraged. She sees a cordless phone next to the sofa and hits redial.

“Marino’s Pizza.”

Alex hesitates, thinks about ordering some food, then dismisses the idea and hangs up. A quick search of the living room provides no clues as to where he went. If he even went anywhere. Maybe Jack didn’t warn him, and he just stepped out to get a six-pack.

Alex heads into the kitchen. She begins to search for a calendar, address book, Day-Timer, anything that might list friends, family, schedule. There’s another phone, and she presses redial while rifling through a junk drawer.

“Thank you for calling the Holiday Inn. Press one for reservations.”

Alex presses one, gets the front desk.

“Can I leave a message for a guest?”

“What’s the guest’s name?”

“Alan Daniels.”

“Just a moment.”

Alex gets put on hold, music comes on. She recognizes the tune as MC Ice Koffee. What the hell is wrong with the world when someone like that is pop u lar?

“Would you like me to connect you?”

“Actually, I think I’ll just drop by. What room is he in?”

“We can’t give out that information, ma’am.”

“No problem. Can you connect me to the restaurant?”

“Just a moment.”

Alex endures more hip-hop before a woman answers.

“I believe you had a guest there to night, single man, in his forties, blond hair. His name is Alan Daniels. Can I speak to his server?”

“That’s me. I waited on him.”

“I promised to buy him dinner. Can you check to see if he put it on my room number?”

“Let me check. Here’s his ticket. He charged it to room 212.”

“Thank you.” Alex disconnects. “Thank you very much.”