John Locke - Lethal Experiment
She made a half-hearted effort to swat his hand away, but seemed to lack the coordination. Charlie cupped her breast with his hand and murmured, “God, you’re beautiful!”
Callie’s eyes were half shut, her breathing labored. “Get your hands off me!” she was trying to say, but her voice came out as slow and lazy as ketchup from a bottle. As far as they knew, she was barely conscious.
Bickham moved his hand to her crotch, tried to feel her through her jeans. Charlie, out of control, ripped her blouse open, lifted her bra, exposing her breasts. He stuffed one in his mouth while rubbing the nipple of the other with his thumb.
“Quit that shit!” yelled Bickham. “You know the rules! Goddamn it Charlie, relax!”
Bickham wasn’t kidding about the rules. They were as important as the plan itself. Charlie had been a huge help in formulating them, thanks to years of experience watching his father prepare for criminal defense trials.
In all, there were seven rules in Fuck Club, as Charlie called their group, and the four friends had agreed to follow all seven faithfully, on pain of death.
The first rule is you never talk about the plan, even to each other, because you never know who might overhear you. When your friends ask how was your weekend you always tell them the same thing: you struck out again. What do you care if your friends think you can’t get laid?
The second rule is you wait until she’s unconscious before removing her clothes. The last thing you want is to have to explain why she’s screaming if the sex is consensual.
The third rule is, undress her completely but carefully, paying attention to which buttons were buttoned and what was tucked in, and how. If she’s a little heavy and doesn’t button the top button of her jeans, she’ll know if someone else did. She might not remember if she had too much to drink and got in your van, but she will remember she had some tissue stuffing her bra that isn’t there when she gets undressed at home afterward.
Then you fold her clothes or lay them out to avoid wrinkles or stains. “Always remember,” Charlie had said, “without the dress stain, Monica was a liar, a slut, and a stalker. With it, she nearly brought down the President!” Afterward, you dress her carefully, replacing every item as it had been before you unwrapped the package.
The fourth rule is, use a condom. You don’t want any fluids turning up later. DNA evidence is hard to overcome if you’re on record denying you had sex with her. Of course, later on you can always just say you were trying to protect her reputation, or yours, and that the sex was consensual. But in that case you’re arguing after the fact, trying to play make-up. You’ve lost a measure of credibility and created doubt. It’s better not to be in this position in the first place.
The fifth rule is you remain calm at all times. Do her gently to avoid marks or abrasions typically associated with sexual assault. You never attempt oral or anal. Oral could choke her to death because the drug constricts her breathing, and anal is something she would figure out later on.
The sixth rule is you take no pictures, videos, souvenirs or evidence of any kind. Speaking of evidence, you leave none. This means, curb the saliva. No hickies, love bites or marks of any kind. No sense giving the cops or prosecuting attorney a gift-wrapped conviction.
The final rule is you never admit to anything. If the police bring all four of you into the station and isolate you in separate interrogation rooms, you never admit anything. If the cops threaten you or tell Charlie that Bickham is cutting a deal, Charlie knows it’s a lie because of rule number seven. Under no circumstances do you break rule number seven. As Charlie says, “Put your trust in the American system of justice and you’ll be fine, because the rules of evidence are flawed when it comes to date rape. If no one breaks any of the seven rules, none of us will ever be convicted.”
Also, as long as Charlie’s involved, you inherit his highpowered father as your legal safety net.
Of course, if anyone was likely to violate the rules it would be Charlie himself—and he’d already proved it tonight by ripping Callie’s blouse and getting his saliva all over her breast.
Bickham turned the van down the dirt road toward the wooded area owned by his grandfather, drove a few hundred yards before stopping, and extinguished the headlights. I passed their turnoff and went a mile further before turning into the dirt road I knew would eventually bring me a quarter mile from Bickham’s preferred banging area.
Bickham put his van in park and cut the engine. He pushed Charlie off of Callie. “Goddamn it, Charlie. Wait your fuckin’ turn!”
“Jesus Christ, Bickham, check out these tits!” he gushed. “She’s a fuckin’ ten, man!”
“No shit,” said Bickham. “Now help me get her in the back before I explode!”
The back of the van had a couple of layers of sleeping bags spread out, so the girls wouldn’t have marks on their backs afterward.
Charlie opened the passenger door, climbed out, and lowered the passenger seat to create easy access to the back of the van. He figured he’d reach under Callie’s arms and drag her back there. But as he leaned toward her, his face exploded.
In that small, enclosed area, the gun shot noise was deafening.
“Jesus!” screamed Bickham. He tried to scramble out the driver’s side, but lacked the clarity of focus.
“I’m so glad your friend liked my tits,” Callie said. “But I saved something really special for you!” She pointed the gun at his face.
Bickham threw his hands in the air, surrendering. “No, ma’am, please! Shit! I didn’t mean nuthin’, I swear! I swear to God I won’t bother you! Please, Jesus, just let me go. You can have the van. Just, oh Jesus, please don’t kill me! Please!”
She looked at his crotch. “Did you just wet yourself?” Christ, Bickham, you’re the guy who was supposed to protect me!
He put his hands in front of his face, turned his head away from her, whimpering. His voice reduced to a squeak, he pleaded again. “Please, ma’am. Please don’t kill me.”
“You know,” Callie said, “it never ceases to amaze me how much damage these pre-fragmented bullets can do at close range.”
She pointed the gun at his crotch, pulled the trigger. He screamed in pain, started convulsing. Callie slid out the open passenger door while Bickham flayed his arms about, sobbing hysterically. The impact of the shot had knocked Charlie’s body back about six feet. She dragged it around to the front of the van and kicked until it was concealed beneath the fender.
The gorgeous blond with the wild tattoo and the dark brown eyes climbed back in the van and watched Bickham’s medical condition deteriorate until she saw headlights approaching from the dirt road behind the van.
“Sorry, lover boy. I’d love to stay and party with you some more, ‘cos really, you’re everything I look for in a man. Especially now that you’ve shit your pants! I can’t speak for the other girls, but that’s a real turn-on for me. Unfortunately, I’ve got to mingle, greet my other guests. You know how it is when you’re the one throwing the surprise party.”
She put a quick one in his left eye and stuffed him as far as she could into the floorboard. She climbed into the back of the van and opened the door about an inch.
The first rule of being a good hostess is knowing how to dress for the occasion. Callie had to decide how much skin to show the boys. George and Robbie were expecting to see her naked, so she had to show something. On the other hand, she was in no mood to show them everything. Her blouse was already torn open, so that was good. She made a mental note to collect the buttons later.
To honor Charlie, she lifted her bra, exposed her breasts in the manner he seemed to favor, and slipped off her jeans. She considered sliding them down to her ankles, but decided that might hinder her ability to move quickly in the event she miscalculated the situation. Anyway, showing boobs and panties ought to be enough for these pups. She lay on her back, knees bent, and spread her legs toward the back door of the van. Her left arm lay lifeless, her eyes half-closed. By her side, her jacket covered the gun in her right hand.
Moments later Robbie brought his car to a stop behind the van. The two boys stubbed out their weed.
George laughed. “Let’s mess with ‘em. Turn your lights back on.” Robbie did, and the boys noticed the back door of the van was ajar. They got out of the car and tentatively approached, trying not to giggle too loudly. Robbie tapped on the door.
“Yoo Hoo!” he said, “anybody home?”
George peeked first. “Oh my God,” he squealed. “Check this out!”
He flung the door wide open so Robbie could see. George was starting to say, “What’s that smell?” when the blond bolted up and fired twice.
George was dead before he hit the ground. Robbie was alive, but his chest wound was going to be a problem.
Callie put her outfit together, collected her belongings, and wiped the interior of the van clean. Then she walked over and sat next to Robbie.
“Wh-what are you d-doing?” he managed to say.
“Sitting here, watching you bleed out,” she said.
“W-why?”
“For the fun of it.”
She turned at the sound behind her.
“Hey Donovan, nice explosion,” she said.
I surveyed the carnage. “Jesus, Callie.”
“I know, I know,” she said. She shrugged. “What can I say? Sometimes it’s personal.”
I walked over to the kid they called Robbie, saw him gasping, eyes bugged out, silently mouthing words no one would ever hear. I placed a round into the boy’s head to end his suffering, and gave Callie a look.
“I owe you,” I said.
“If you really feel that way,” she said, “there’s something I want you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Come to Vegas with me.”
Chapter 15
Excuse me? I thought. Did Callie just ask me to come with her to Vegas?
Even sitting there on the ground with her blouse torn and her torso covered in blood spray, Callie was hotter than a habanero. To any other man her invitation would have sounded like a dream come true. But I knew her well enough to know that whatever this was about, it wasn’t about us hooking up. In earlier times I’d taken my best shots to bed her and struck out every time.
Still, a little clarification wouldn’t hurt.
“I’m with Kathleen now,” I said. “I thought you knew.”
Callie laughed and said, “Jesus, Donovan, get a grip!”
“Okay,” I said. “I was just making sure.”
“You have any idea how old you are?”
“I got it, Callie, it’s a platonic trip. I get the picture.”
“Old enough to be my father, you sick degenerate.”
“I’m fourteen years older than you. Period.
“In dog years, maybe.”
I sighed. “When do you want to go?”
“How’s Wednesday sound?”
“I’ve got a meeting in Newark Wednesday morning, eight-thirty. I can meet you at the airport there around ten.”
“Same Fixed Base Operator as last time?”
“Same FBO, different jet.”
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” she said, “with bells on.”
“Try getting bells through civilian security these days,” I said.
“I appreciate it, Donovan.”
I nodded.
She stood and said, “Bickham’s in the driver’s seat, Charlie’s under the front wheel, right side, these two you’ve seen. We done here?”
I handed Callie a small flashlight.
“Can you hold this on the dash for me?” I said.
Through the driver’s window, she focused enough light for me to work. I took a small plastic baggie out of my pocket and leaned into the van through the passenger seat door. I took some fingerprint tape out of the baggie and transferred several partials onto the dashboard and a perfect palm print for the side of the seat that Charlie had lowered. Then I took three strands of blond hair from the bag and put one on the seat, one on the floor, and one on the sleeve of Bickham’s shirt, near the cuff .
“You left the shells where they landed, right?” I said, going through my mental checklist.
Callie didn’t bother to answer. She was the consummate pro.
I looked around a bit longer, making sure I didn’t miss anything. I put the plastic baggie back in my pocket and took two gallon-sized plastic bags out of my duffel bag.
“Ready for the guns,” I said.
I wiped mine down and placed it carefully into one of the plastic bags and put it in the duffel. Callie handed me hers and I cleaned and packed it with the other one.
“Crime scene’s okay,” I said.
“What about the video camera?”
“Sal didn’t trust Teddy to remove it, so he put a guy in the bar. He won’t leave without it.”
“You think Sal will try to use it against us someday?”
“Nah. Our people can discredit any type of evidence.”
I took a windbreaker out of the duffel and handed it to her.
“Put this on to cover your arm,” I said. “We’ll drive awhile before removing that tattoo.”
“I’ll do it after you drop me off. I’ve got some polish remover that works pretty well, but a job like this will take some time.”
“You still wearing the brown contacts?” I said.
She turned the flashlight onto her face.
“You like? You saw them earlier.”
“Huge difference,” I said. Callie’s natural pale-gray eyes were hypnotic. These were normal.
“I guess we’re ready,” I said. “Still, I’d feel better if we were doing the body double instead of Sal.”
Callie shrugged. “This is Goober Town, Donovan, not Miami CSI.”
Part of the plan was to have Teddy Boy take a picture of Callie at the restaurant with his cell phone camera, from a distance, but making sure he got at least a hazy shot of the outrageous tattoo on her right arm. When the local detectives come to the bar to interview people, Teddy Boy would remember taking the picture.
Sal already had a victim lined up that matched the tattoo, a dancer named Shawna. It was Shawna’s hair that I’d placed in the van. Shawna only vaguely resembled Callie, but Sal didn’t intend for much to be identifiable beyond the hair and tattoo. She was a dancer in one of Sal’s clubs in Cleveland, and had recently committed the unpardonable sin of threatening one of Sal’s lieutenants with exposure. Sal’s guy was preparing to kill her when Sal forced him to hide her instead, and keep her alive until he gave the word. I hoped the angry lieutenant would refrain from killing her until I could get Callie’s gun to Sal, so he could get the dancer’s prints on it. I hadn’t intended to use my gun tonight, but I did, so now I’d have to take it apart and scatter it, piece by piece, over a wide area.
“How long will we be in Vegas?” I asked.
Callie smirked at me. “Gotta check in with the ‘ol ball and chain?”
