Lethal People: A Donovan Creed Crime Novel

She’d been so grateful for the discount, she felt she should do something to repay him. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he’d said, wondering how those words had escaped from his mouth. She’d said, “Hmm. I can’t have dinner, but if you feel like driving to the city tomorrow, I can meet you for lunch.”

Eddie left the bar early to get himself together for the big date that promised to change his life.

The guys kept drinking and talking, and Lucas tried to take bets on whether or not Eddie Ray’s lunch date would show up tomorrow. No one was taking. They decided Eddie Ray had been the victim of a great-looking broad who was playing him for the discount.

They were wrong.

When Eddie Ray got to the restaurant and asked for Monica, he was handed a small envelope by the hostess. Eddie’s knees went weak, and he had a sinking feeling in his heart. It was a classy rejection, he thought, but a rejection just the same. Of course, there was always a chance she’d gotten tied up with something at the last minute. If so, she wouldn’t have known how to contact him.

So there was a glimmer of hope, Eddie decided. He took the note, walked to an empty chair, sat down, and tried to fight the feeling of rejection that had permeated his life since the day his knee blew out.

The note said she’d ordered a private lunch for them in suite 316.

Eddie raced to the elevators and pressed the button. He didn’t care if it seemed too good to be true. He’d seen several movies where the gorgeous party girl wants to get away from her life and winds up humping the pool boy or the maintenance man. Eddie wasn’t kidding himself; he knew this wasn’t going to be the start of a lasting relationship.

He also knew that when a girl asks you to her hotel room, you don’t say no. She was practically promising him sex, probably after a nice lunch and some flirty conversation. As he knocked on the door, he thought, In less than two hours, I could be banging the most beautiful girl on the planet Earth.

Callie had other plans, of course.

“Come in,” she said. “The door is unlocked.”

Eddie entered the parlor area of the suite, noticed the flowers on the table, the champagne bucket, the flute glasses, the fresh-squeezed orange juice, the chocolate-covered strawberries. He could hear soft music coming from the bedroom. Callie stood across the parlor, leaning against the wall, dressed to the nines in a yellow sun dress, hands in her pockets, cutting an angle as practiced as any American model.

Eddie let out a low whistle.

“I gotta hand it to you, Monica. You do know how to set the mood.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering lunch. I hope that’s okay.”

Eddie Ray liked to order his own food, but what the hell, this wasn’t about eating. Still, she was probably some kind of model, skinny as she was, and he didn’t care much for chick food. He looked again at the champagne and the orange juice and the flowers. All this, he thought, and not one beer. What were the chances she’d order him a hamburger and fries, he thought. Zero, right?

Eddie Ray said, “Whatever you’ve chosen will be perfect, I’m sure.”

“I take you for a guy who likes his steak and potatoes,” she said.

Eddie’s face lit up, and he said, “Can I pour you a drink?”

“If you’ll join me,” she said.

They had one, and it was a sissy drink, but it wasn’t that bad. He relaxed on the couch, and she made him another. This one tasted stronger, and he was starting to feel the effects of drinking without eating first. He figured he’d leave this part out tonight when he told the guys at the bar about his big date.

She smiled and said, “When you finish your drink, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“I’ll drink the whole damn bottle if you take off your dress,” he said with a wink, then wished he hadn’t.

“Why, Eddie Ray!” she said, but she said it with a laugh, so he guessed they were still okay.

“I was just kidding,” he said. He gulped down the rest of his drink, and she said, “Now, about that kiss.” Eddie couldn’t believe his luck.

Eddie Ray stood to collect his kiss and got about five feet before making a strange face and grabbing his chest. He took a couple of steps sideways and staggered into the wall.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

He looked at her and said, “I don’t know what’s happening.” He sank to his knees and fell on his side, his face contorted in pain at first, then agony.

Callie pulled a chair next to him and sat. “You don’t have much time,” she said, “so pay attention.”

Eddie had lost all feeling in his feet and hands. “What,” he gasped, “have you done?”

“I’ve poisoned you,” she said.

“But why?”

“I did it for Monica. She wasn’t your girlfriend, by the way. She was five years younger than you. Fifteen, the night you raped her.”

“What are you … talking about?” he said. He was having diffculty speaking, but right now it seemed his voice was the only part of his body that was working.

“You were hosting a keg party at your house,” Callie said. “The party had moved to the front yard. Monica was walking home from a dance class at the high school. You knew her from the neighborhood and called her over. You grabbed her and raped her on your front lawn and threatened to kill her if she told anyone.”

“H-how do you know all this?”

“She was a bit snooty,” Callie said, “but she was a friend of mine. She had class. Unlike you.”

“Help me,” he said.

“Fat chance. Here’s my best offer. Give me the names of two people who ruined your life the way you ruined Monica’s. If you want justice, this is your chance. But speak quickly, because you’re about to pay for your sins in a permanent way.”

He named his coach and the kid from Woodhaven, the one who took the cheap shot on the football field a full second after the whistle had blown.

Callie wiped down any and all surfaces she might have touched, including the orange juice lid, the bottle, and the champagne bottle. Then she placed the champagne cork and flutes in her duffel, along with the note she’d written that she fished out of his pocket.

Callie stopped for a moment, inspecting the room. Deciding it was sterile, she headed for the door, pausing only long enough to step over Eddie Ray’s shuddering body. She was done here, was tired of being Monica.

CHAPTER 52

Kathy Ellison had nearly finished walking her golden retriever, Wendy, around her neighborhood circle when she saw a hulking man standing beside a parked sedan directly in front of her. It was mid-morning, a beautiful sunny day, and theirs was a gated community in Marietta, Georgia, just outside Atlanta. Crime was virtually nonexistent in neighborhoods such as Kathy’s, where all houses were priced in the million-plus range.

Even so, the man standing in her path was so huge and his face and head so grossly disfigured, she stopped in her tracks some twenty feet away. Wendy noticed him, as well, or had picked up on Kathy’s fear as dogs will sometimes do. The hair on Wendy’s back slowly began to stand on end. She let out a long, low growl. Kathy decided the sensible thing to do would be to turn around and go home the way she’d come.

As she spun around, she heard the man call her by name. Kathy froze in her tracks, stunned, frightened. There was no reason for this monstrous man to know her name.

“Please, ma’am, don’t be afraid,” he said as he approached. “I don’t blame you for being upset. I have that affect on everyone at first. I can’t help the way I look. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Quinn kept talking as he drew closer. “The best thing to do is just not look at me.” By now, he was standing next to her. Wendy, poor thing, was shivering with fear, wetting a puddle into the pavement.

“Kathy, my name is George Purvis, and I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Kathy hadn’t moved from the spot where she froze after hearing him call her name. She also refused to look at the man standing beside her. That way, she wouldn’t be able to identify him, so maybe he wouldn’t have to hurt her.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Purvis,” she said. “I don’t wish to be rude, but you’re frightening my dog and me. I don’t think I want to hear your bad news. Can I just go home?”

Quinn dropped to one knee, held his hand out for Wendy to sniff . She clamped her jaws on his wrist, growling, tearing his flesh apart. Then she started tugging his hand side to side as if she were trying to break the neck of a large rat.

“Oh my God!” shrieked Kathy. “Wendy, no! Stop it!”

Wendy released his hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Purvis. She never behaves this way.”

Quinn just shrugged. “It’s okay, ma’am. I don’t really feel pain the way most people do.” He noticed her staring at his bloody hand. Seeking to remove the distraction, he stuffed it in his pocket.

“Even so,” Kathy said, “I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath, turned to face him, tried hard not to recoil in horror. She looked into his face, and this time saw more than she expected to find. Her eyes watered thinking of his pain, the emotional scarring. “What’s the bad news you wanted to tell me?”

Quinn looked in both directions before answering. Still on one knee, so as not to tower above her, he said, “It’s about your husband, Brad.”

“What about him?”

“He gave me fifty thousand dollars to kill you.”

Kathy started hyperventilating. She felt light-headed. Her ears began ringing. The only reason she didn’t faint was because she didn’t want the monster to touch her—and he surely would. She moved her eyes about, seeking help, trying to decide how best to get away from him.

“Please don’t run. I’m not going to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been watching you for the past couple of days, and I’ve been watching your husband. I’ve come to the conclusion he’s the one who deserves to die, not you.”

Kathy looked into his face to see if he was just playing with her. She could tell nothing from his expression, but then, his face didn’t really seem capable of displaying much beyond horror. She felt, at least for the moment, he was not planning to hurt her. “Why on earth would my husband want to kill me?” she asked.

Quinn said, “Did you ever watch Seinfeld?”

“The television show or the comedian?”

“The show.”

“Sure. All the time.”

“Me, too. Did you ever see the show about Opposite George?”

“Where he starts doing the opposite of everything he’s done before?”

“Right. And everything started working for him, remember?”

“Yes,” she said. “He goes up to the girl in the coffee shop, tells her he’s bald, unemployed, and lives with his parents.”

“Uh huh, and she likes him! Then he has the job interview and does everything wrong and winds up working for the Yankees.”

Kathy said, “Yeah, I love those shows. I still watch the reruns sometimes. But what does this have to do with not wanting to kill me?”

“It’s like Opposite George. All my adult life, I’ve taken these kinds of jobs, never asking questions, never wondering about the motives, never thinking about the people who had to die. What’s it ever gotten me? Nothing but misery. I have to work, and this is all I know. Long story short, your husband called a guy who called a guy.”

“And now you’ve come,” Kathy said.

“Right,” said Quinn. “Only this time, I started thinking, what if I take the money and don’t do the hit? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Kathy didn’t know how to answer that.

“I watched you, and I may be wrong, but I think you’re a nice person.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Purvis.”

“Actually, my name is Quinn.”

“Okay …”

“It’s not your fault that Brad is screwing around on you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping with this young girl who works at Neiman Marcus in Buckhead, at the jewelry counter. Her name is Erica Vargas. I’m thinking that’s why he wants you out of the picture, so he can fuck her all the time instead of just twice a week.”

“Please, Mr. Quinn. Your language. It’s appalling!”

“Oh, sorry. Anyway, I think Brad’s a jerk and you could do better.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Quinn, if that’s indeed what it was. But I’m afraid there’s been a terrible mistake. I find it inconceivable that Brad would take a lover.”

“Happens all the time.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it does, but not to passionless men like Brad. As for him being capable of murder? Impossible.”

Quinn’s hand was suddenly a blur as he snatched Wendy and headed for the sedan. Kathy bolted after him.

“Stop!” she said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking Wendy for a little ride. You can join us if you’d like.”

“Please, Mr. Quinn. You don’t want to do this. Look at her. She’s terrified.”

The giant kept moving toward the car.

“Remember what you said about Opposite George!”

Quinn held the passenger door open. “I’ve already explained my position on that,” he said, “but some things must be seen to be believed. Climb in. If we hurry, we can catch them in the act.”

Kathy looked around. “What has happened to our security guard?”

Quinn waved his injured hand dismissively. “He’s, uh, tending to a family emergency.”

Though Quinn had said it casually, he failed to anticipate the terrifying images that suddenly raced through Kathy’s mind. She began shaking so violently, Quinn feared she might slip into shock.

“Kathy, I promise you, everything’s fine. Think about it: if I wanted you dead, you’d already be halfway to heaven.” He patted the seat. “Now climb in and stop worrying. I’ll have you and Wendy back home in no time.”

Kathy didn’t want to go with the giant. In fact, getting in his car would be dead last on her list of things to experience in her lifetime. But she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Wendy. She took a deep breath and reluctantly climbed into the car and hung her hopes on the idea that perhaps one of her neighbors had seen enough to phone the authorities.

Quinn put the car in gear and handed Wendy to her grateful owner. True to his word, Quinn didn’t hurt either of them and was in fact very conversational during the drive to Buckhead. It was not yet noon and traffic was light, and before long, Kathy felt the car stop. She turned her attention away from Wendy and looked out the window.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“We wait.”

Kathy followed Quinn’s gaze to the café across the street, the charming one that offered a view of cozy furniture through the front window—the cozy furniture upon which Brad sat with a young hottie.

Quinn, Kathy, and Wendy settled into their seats for the duration of the lovers’ meal, then watched Brad and Erica stroll hand-in-hand to the nearby hotel. They waited in the car in silence for about an hour. Then Quinn spotted the lovers exiting the hotel. Brad gave Erica one last embrace.

“Can you drive us home now?” Kathy said.

He did. Before getting out of the car, Kathy said, “You know that thing you were telling me about, the whole Opposite George thing? I think this just might work out for you.”

Quinn wondered what Donovan Creed would have said to keep the conversation going. He came up with, “How so?”

“I’m the one with all the money in this relationship, not Brad, but there is a pot full of insurance and a big inheritance coming Brad’s way if something happens to me.”

Quinn knew where this was going.

Kathy continued. “You can keep the fifty thousand dollars from my husband,” she said, “and I’ll add another fifty thousand to it. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“You want me to kill your husband.”

Kathy laughed. “Heavens no! I’ve got far too much invested in the prick. Plus, I really do love him, and I certainly wouldn’t welcome the close scrutiny the media and police would bring.”

Quinn was wrong. He had no idea where this was going and told her so.

“Don’t you see?” asked Kathy. “I want you to kill Erica.”

Quinn nodded absently. “I know a guy who says we all have at least two people in our lives who we wish had never been born. These two people changed the course of our lives for the worse, and we never got over what they did.”

Kathy said, “Your friend is probably right about that.”

Quinn said, “Apart from Erica, was there anyone else in your life who you wish had never been born?”

“Oh heavens,” said Kathy. “What a horrible question to ask!”

“Just hypothetically.”

“Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead,” she said, “but did you see that media circus about Monica Childers a few weeks ago?”

Quinn nodded. “Did you know her?”

“She was my step-daughter. She made my life a living hell.”

After helping Kathy achieve a peaceful demise, Quinn placed her into a shallow grave in the North Georgia woods, went back to the mall, and waited for Erica to leave her station. The store wasn’t busy, but there were people milling around. Quinn waited until the area around the jewelry counter was vacant. He placed a small package by the cash register and walked out of the store.

Erica finished up in the bathroom, walked back to her station, and checked the area to make sure the fill-in girl hadn’t left any paperwork for her. Satisfied, she turned her attention to the small gift-wrapped package with her name on it. There was a note: “Please accept this with all my love. I’m filing for divorce today. Love, Brad.”

Erica let out a squeal of delight. This was her dream come true, what she’d been working for all these months. Working the jewelry counter at Neiman’s, she was tired of watching other women casually make purchases that eclipsed her annual salary. Her friends chided her for always dating married men. She couldn’t wait to show them the fruits of her labor!

She carefully unwrapped the package, slowly lifted the lid.

And days later, cleanup crews were still finding remnants of her flesh in the strangest places.

CHAPTER 53

I woke up first, so I went into the kitchen and set the oven to four hundred. While it preheated, I filled a blender with milk, flour, eggs, butter, salt, and vanilla and almond extract. I let that churn on high a full minute, found Kathleen’s muffin pan, and sprayed it with nonfat cooking spray. I poured the batter into the muffin slots, popped them in the oven, and set the timer for twenty-seven minutes. Th en I placed some butter on a plate to soften and headed back to Kathleen’s bedroom, where I belonged.

“What was all that racket?” she asked.

“I’m making us popovers for breakfast.”

“You can’t make popovers at home. They always fall before you take them out,” she said.

“Not mine.”

“Only fancy restaurants can make popovers that stay puffed up.”

“Only fancy restaurants and me,” I said.

“If you’re wrong and I’m right, will you take me somewhere fancy for breakfast sometime?”

“Do you have a place in mind?” I said.

“I’d like to have breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she said.

“Actually, I think Tiffany’s is a jewelry store, not a restaurant.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’ve never seen the movie. I just always assumed …”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “My popovers won’t fall. We won’t have to eat somewhere fancy.”

“Darn,” she said.

Somebody famous once said that you can kiss your friends and family good-bye and put a lot of miles between you, but you’ll always be with them because you’re not just a part of the world; the world is a part of you.

Or something like that.

The point is, I never missed anyone the way I missed Kathleen this last trip. When I found my way back to her modest duplex with the faded green siding, half attic, and half basement, and she jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around me and squealed with joy—well, I knew this must be what all the poets make such a fuss about.

“How long do we have before the popovers fall?” she asked.

“Forever, because they never will. I have it down to a science.”

“So what you’re saying, you’re a chef scientist.”

“We all have a specialty,” I said.

“My specialty is math,” she said.

“Math?”

She gave me a sly smile. “That’s right. As in, how many times can one thing … go into another.” She arched an eyebrow seductively.

“Before a cooking timer goes off ?” I asked.

“Hypothetically,” she said.

“I’m not certain, but I’m willing to expend a great deal of effort toward helping you solve that equation.”

And so we did.

The bell interrupted our research, and we agreed to continue the experiment after breakfast. Kathleen took a blanket ff the bed, wrapped it around her, followed me into the kitchen, and watched me take a pan of perfectly formed popovers from the oven. We filled them with softened butter.

“Oh … my … God!” she squealed. “I’ve always wanted a man who could cook, and now I’ve got something even better: a man who can bake!”

We each ate two, and afterward, Kathleen looked as though she wanted to say something.

“What?” I said.

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to run you off.”

“You won’t run me off. Unless you’ve got another lab partner.”

She took a deep breath and said, “I want to adopt Addie.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “Really.”

“I love her, Donovan, and she loves me. I’ve always wanted a child of my own, but Ken beat that physical possibility out of me years ago. Anyway, it’s like I’d be choosing her over all the other children in the world, you know? And she needs me.”

“What about Aunt Hazel?” I asked.

She lowered her eyes. “That’s the problem,” she said. “Hazel doesn’t want her, but she doesn’t want me to have her.”

“Why not?”

“She thinks I can’t provide for Addie. She thinks Addie should be turned over to an adoption agency where she can be placed with a proper family.”

“You mean like a husband and wife?”

She nodded. “And enough money to adequately care for her needs.”

“What did you say?”

Kathleen took my hand in hers. “I told her the chances of a perfect family adopting Addie were slim and that I might not have a husband or money, but I can give her all the things a little girl needs.”

“Well said.”

“But she still won’t sign off on me, even though Addie begged her to.”

“You want me to have a talk with Aunt Hazel?”

Kathleen said, “Would you mind terribly?”

“I’ll do it today,” I said.

We sat there in silence awhile. Then Kathleen said, “Donovan?”

“Uh huh?”

“Will you still see me if I adopt Addie?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“A lot of men would rather date gorgeous, young, big-boobed women that aren’t single mothers.”

“Yuck,” I said. “Not me!”

On my way to Aunt Hazel’s, I reflected on the enormity of the accounts I’d seized from Joe DeMeo. He was far wealthier than I’d anticipated, and in fact, money was still pouring in at a healthy clip. I supposed the contributors hadn’t yet heard the news of DeMeo’s fall. After paying all costs of the campaign, I had enough left over to give a million dollars each to Lou, Kimberly, and Janet. Janet seemed quite pleased to get a share, I thought, even though she said it was a drop in the bucket compared to what I’d cost her in misery.

I thought about Garrett Unger and how he was scheduled to be arrested this morning. I hadn’t said anything about it to Kathleen, and I hadn’t mentioned the million dollars that would be wired into her personal account by 2:00 pm today, or the trust I was setting up for Addie that would be funded with the initial ten million I’d clipped from DeMeo. These were all surprises that were sure to make breakfast at Tiffany’s seem pale by comparison. Not to mention the biggest surprise of all—when Kathleen finds out I’m not just a baker, but an accomplished cook as well.

Traffc was moving, but slowly. I looked out the window and saw the small piles of black snow, the only visible remnants of a brutal winter. We plodded our way under a bridge, and I noticed several bums huddled together under blankets, trying to sleep. I wondered what had happened in their lives that brought them to this bridge on this day.

I had my driver pull over. I got out of the car and approached the bums. “I’ve got something for you,” I said.

It took a minute, but the three men roused themselves to sitting positions. There was no way to tell how old or young they were, but they were equally filthy. I handed each of them a hundred dollar bill, and they all said “God bless you, sir.”

The first guy held up a small bottle of blackberry brandy. There was maybe a sip left in it. “You want to sit and have a drink?” he asked.

“Another time,” I said, but I didn’t leave.

“That’s mighty generous of you mister,” one of the guys said. “Mighty generous, indeed.”

Another one said, “Know what I’m gonna do with my hunnerd?”

“What’s that?” I said.

“I’m gonna go to a fancy bar and get drunk on the finest whiskey money can buy.”

I nodded.

The second guy said, “I’m gonna get me some pussy. Been a long time since I’ve had pussy.”

I handed all three of them another hundred dollars and said, “Now all three of you can get drunk and get some pussy.”

The third one said, “I’m a woman, you dumb shit.”

One of the others said, “Mm hmm, you right, Agnes. He is a dumb shit.”

I was about to apologize, but my cell phone rang. I waved goodbye to my new friends and climbed back in the car to take the call.

“Mr. Creed … I’ve got … some … good news … and some … bad news.”

“Hi, Victor,” I said. “Bad news first.”

“The social … experi … ment has … run its … course,” he said.

“I’m okay with that,” I said. I’d known it was just a matter of time before we got to a bunch of leads that were already dead. “What’s the good news?”

“I’ve got … another … idea … that is … in … credi … ble and … I want … you to … partici … pate.”

“Is there money in it for me?”

“Lots.”

“Will this interfere with your plans for world conquest?”

“It might … delay … them some … but it … will be … fasci … nating. In fact … it is … the most … amazing … thing … you will … ever hear … in your … life!”

“I’m listening,” I said.

He told me.

And when I heard it, I had to agree.

Table of Contents

Lethal People