The Crucifix Killer

Forty-Five

Friday night at the Vanguard Club produced a lively mix of people, but tonight the place was busier than usual. Tonight the club was hosting the only Los Angeles appearance of the renowned Dutch DJ – Tiësto.

The club was full to capacity and the main show was due to start at midnight, but everyone was already having a great time. It was a perfect place for what he had in mind. The more people around, the less anyone would notice him.

He’d been growing his beard for six days, just enough to make him look different. He completed his disguise by wearing a trendy cotton baseball cap, a professional-quality wig of pitch-black hair, together with a very colorful designer shirt. His youngish-looking outfit was a far cry from his usual businessman attire with his Italian designer suit and his leather briefcase. But tonight he was no businessman.

Tonight he had only one thing in mind, he had to deliver something. He’d had it for six days and for six days he’d been debating what he should do with it. Businessmen are not best known for being honest, and God only knew he hadn’t been the most honest of businessmen, but some things are just plain wrong, even for him. He had to do something about it.

He stood in a corner on the opposite side of the VIP area observing the vibrant crowd, his eyes sailing the dance floor, searching for anyone that could recognize him – he saw no one. He placed his hand inside his trouser pocket and ran his fingers over the object inside. Immediately a cold tingle started at the base of his back and ran up through his spine all the way to the back of his neck. He quickly moved his hand away.

‘Hey, man, do you need something?’

A young, dark-haired kid, no older than twenty-three, stood in front of him. He squinted his eyes as if trying to see better. ‘What?’

‘You know, man, it’s a rave… are you looking for a trip?’

‘Oh no, I’m good,’ he replied, finally understanding what the kid meant.

‘You better get it now, man, before the show starts,’ the kid said, flicking his head towards the stage, his dark hair flipping around just like in a shampoo commercial.

‘No… really, I’m fine.’

‘If you change your mind, I’ll be around.’ The kid made a small circular movement with his finger before moving away.

He had another sip of his Jack Daniel’s and Coke and scratched his itchy beard.

The music came to a halt and the lights and lasers went into overdrive on the dance floor. Gusts of smoke coming from the high ceiling filled the place up with a colorful haze. The crowd jumped and screamed and applauded. They were ready to welcome tonight’s special guest.

This was his chance. Everyone’s attention would be on the stage, no one would notice a person dropping a small packet over at the bar. He left his drink behind and quickly squeezed his way through the thirsty customers to position himself against the wall on the far right end of the nearest bar. Even the barmen had stopped serving for a few seconds.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is what you’ve been waiting for. Get your dancing shoes on and prepare to party. The Vanguard Club is proud to present, on his only appearance in Los Angeles, one of the biggest names in house music in the world… Tiësto.’

The crowd went berserk. The colored lasers switched their aim towards the stage.

He quickly pulled the small squared packet out of his pocket, leaned forward and dropped it. As the packet hit the floor, he rapidly moved away glad to have finally disposed of it. He was sure no one had seen him do it.

Fifteen minutes later, the second barman finally came across the package. As he rushed to one end of the bar to serve a very loud customer he felt something uneven under his feet. Looking down he noticed the square wrap. He bent over and picked it up.

‘Yo, Pietro!’ the barman called.

Pietro finished serving two attractive young girls and walked over to the other end of the bar.

‘Is this yours?’

Pietro took the small packet from Todd’s hands and stared at it with intrigued eyes. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I found it on the floor, just there.’ He pointed to a spot at the far end of the bar.

‘Did you see who dropped it?’

‘No, man. It could’ve been there for a while. I only saw it because I stepped on it.’

Pietro analyzed the tightly wrapped pack in his hand. He couldn’t tell what it was, but the inscription on it left no doubt who the owner should be – ‘TO D-KING.’