The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (20 page)

“If you do your job properly, he will never learn of your involvement.”

“I don’t know… sounds risky.”

“One hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Fuck… a hundred and fifty thousand. Yeah, I’m in. When do I get the money?”

“I have your address. I will send you the half of the money along with further instructions in the morning. Lose the money and you will suffer most grievously.”

“I get it,” Stanis said. “How long do I have to come up with something?”

“The sooner the better.”

“How do I reach you?”

“You’ll have that information in the morning. Good night, Mr. Stanis.” Mr. Howard hung up the phone, a satisfied smile on his face. “Now onto the psychic.” As he pondered what to do about Alicia Whitmore, the telephone rang.

It was Leslie. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“You could never do that.”

A long silence followed before she spoke again. “Are you still helping the police now that they’ve recovered the body?”

Ryan’s spirit floated into the room. He pointed at his crotch and then at Mr. Howard. Ryan shook his fist and vanished. Mr. Howard sighed. He would need to do something about that bastard and soon. “They might still need my help, but a new psychic is involved in the case.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Fantastic. Now I can concentrate on more important things.”

“Like keeping your job?”

He recalled Jennifer coming to him with news about Van Adams latest effort to get him fired.

I will need to thank her properly one day.

“My job belongs to the university. They can do what they will with it. But I must admit the idea of that skirt-chasing moron forcing me out is…” A sudden idea made Mr. Howard sit up straight.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I am the king of liars, yes. Lucifer holds nothing over me in that department.”

She chuckled. “Well, Lucifer, the reason I’m calling is to see if you can drive me out to the airport on Friday.”

A smile formed on his lips at the possibility of her taking a night flight just to see him one final time. “When would we be leaving?”

“My flight’s at eleven thirty. I’ll take a cab to your house around eight.”

“I can pick you up at your place.”

“No,” she said with a touch of sadness, “my place is empty and cold. Besides, I’ll have made my peace with this by then and don’t want to hang around here any longer than necessary.”

“I understand. I have moved a few times myself and not always under the best of circumstances.” Mr. Howard opened Van Adam’s Facebook page on his computer. He glared at a photograph of the pompous Assistant Dean surrounded by several smiling young women wearing short shorts and T-shirts that showed their midriffs.
The fool is not afraid to reveal his true nature. This will be his undoing.
“I will be delighted to drive you to the airport.”

“You say it as if you’re glad I’m leaving. Are you already making plans to get into Jennifer Tolliver’s pants?”

Her intuitiveness made him chuckle. “I do not believe Dean Tolliver’s pants would fit me.”

“I noticed you checking her out at my farewell party.”

“I believe you were also checking her out,” he said.

“She is a beautiful woman.”

“Yes, she is beautiful like you.”

“Stop trying to cheer me up.”

He tracked a fly that buzzed around the computer monitor. His right hand shot forward and plucked the fly from the air. If Bram Stoker were writing his story, this would be the part where he found someone named Renfield to eat the fly. Instead, he crushed the bug between his thumb and forefinger.

“Have you given anymore thought to moving?”

Mr. Howard wiped what remained of the fly on a tissue. “To Florida?”

“We did discuss it remember?”

“I remember. I am still thinking.”

He wanted to tell her that with everything going on, and the strong possibility he could be arrested for murder, a move to Florida might be in his best interest, but the less a woman knew about a man, the better off they both were. Especially if he wasn’t a man at all.

“Trust me, I have not ruled out a move to Florida. What will I do here if Van Adams succeeds in getting me fired? Become a night watchman?”

“Move to Florida and you can watch over me.”

“You are a sly temptress.”

“I will see you on Friday.”

“Yes, on Friday,” he said.

They hung up and he returned to Van Adam’s online profile. Mr. Howard scrolled through his photo wall, astonished by the number of pictures featuring Van Adams with scantily clad women. Despite his Harvard education, it was obvious which head he reasoned with most of the time. Mr. Howard tapped the screen. “An old legend says that whenever a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. But what about us poor devils? Should we not be rewarded whenever someone screams? I say it is time to find out, my friend. Yes, it is most certainly time.”

Willard pulled back from the computer screen and rubbed his eyes. After researching vampires for three hours, he felt no closer to understanding them. Why would Mr. Howard believe he was a vampire? Did he have a blood fetish or perhaps Haematodipsia? Is that the reason Stephanie Coldstone wasn’t raped, the act of drinking her blood satisfied his sexual thirst? The son of a bitch was no psychic, which was why he had to go see Mr. Howard and test his so-called psychic skills. As expected, the professor failed and then offered some psychobabble bullshit about having faith in what cannot be seen.
He can spew that nonsense to the other prisoners while they’re fucking him in the ass. Murdering sack of shit.

Willard tapped his chin while plotting his next step. In the morning, he’d talk with Captain Tate and lay out his entire case. With any luck, they’d be serving a search warrant at Mr. Howard’s house in the afternoon. He considered calling Killgood. Bad idea. Killgood and Mr. Howard had been friends for a number of years, and the risk that Killgood might tip him off was too great.

He forced down his now warm beer. Cheap crap Doris bought for him. Couldn’t she do anything right? Thank God she was already asleep when he arrived; otherwise he’d be forced to listen to her whine about her stressful day. As if running out of Ding Dongs were really a big deal.

“A vampire,” he said to the ceiling, “why in the hell does he think he’s a vampire?” He was struck by an idea. Women had a hankering for vampires now, especially young women who read that crap in books. Did Mr. Howard pretend to be a vampire to lure them to their doom? But if this was the case, why not rape them? The bastard was probably telling the truth about needing Viagra.

I’ll bet he hasn’t had a stiff one in years… no, centuries. He is a vampire after all.

Willard laughed. He often laughed at his own jokes, even when no one else found them funny.

I wonder if a lot of women get off on vampire role playing.

He opened up the Swingers Just Wanna Have Fun website and clicked on women seeking men for casual encounters, followed by the term vampire. His jaw dropped as the screen filled with names.

“Damn. I got a mind to get in on this vampire shit.” He clicked on the top profile, a twenty-something chick from Boulder, nearly as round as Doris. In her photograph she wore a G-string, pasties on her sagging breasts, and pair of black wings. The women in the first six profiles all looked similar.

These are the right women for vampires. A guy would have to be dead to want sex with one of these bimbos.

As he moved down the list, he came across sexier women, thinner, but with curves, the majority shaved and showing off their bat caves. When he opened the profile of Lusty Lady, he choked on his beer. The skinny nude girl staring back at him was his sixteen-year-old neighbor Lorraine.

I should tell her parents about this. Bill and Martha would be pissed. But how could I explain why I was on the website?

He leaned toward the screen for a better look. Lorraine had slim hips and small breasts, not like the other so-called vamps that looked like they’d been beat with an ugly stick. Still there was something about her that made him go, “ah.” Did she undress with her bedroom curtains open? If he was going to investigate the situation properly, he should verify that before contacting Bill and Martha. He closed his eyes and imagined himself inside Lorraine’s bedroom, lifting her nightgown over her head. She moaned like a coyote seduced by the moon. His breathing became rapid as he massaged his crotch. What a great fantasy. It was perfect, just him, Lorraine, and…

“When did you get home?”

Doris. Shit. He sat up straight. “A couple of hours ago. This case is a bitch.”

She shambled into the room wrapped inside a pink fuzzy robe. He groaned.
Now I’m seeing pink elephants.

Doris started behind the desk. He shot forward, fingers pounding on keys to close the website.

“What are you looking at? Nude women?”

“Yeah right.”

“You sure didn’t want me to see whatever it was.”

“I didn’t know you had a thing for dead bodies.”

She blinked several times. “What are you talking about?”

“Crime scene photos, Doris. Murder victims. I’m a cop, remember?”

“How could I forget?” She moved behind him and dug her fat fingers into his shoulders. They stabbed like daggers as she attempted to give him a massage. Unfortunately, she massaged like a Viking woman on steroids.

He grunted and winced as pain shot down his spine. “Damn, Doris,” he said, wiggling out of her grasp, “you got a mind to kill me?”

Her bottom lip protruded and quivered. “Everything I do for you is wrong. But I’m trying, damn it!” A tear rolled onto her cheek.

For a moment he felt sorry for her. Somewhere beneath that whale blubber was the woman he’d fallen in love with. But he would never want to be with her again. Her body had become too strange, too odd to hold his interest. He wanted a woman he could make love to without feeling like he was fucking a bean-bag chair.

Her tears rained harder now and glistened on her swollen cheeks. He longed to find someplace nice and safe for Doris to live. Ah, ha, the zoo! It would be perfect. She could even take the kids with her. He’d save a fortune in lawyer fees and groceries with them gone. On weekends he could visit and toss pork chops into their cage. “I think you’re trying too hard.”

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Meaning what? Are you going to divorce me?”

“What?” He stammered as if the notion had never crossed his mind. “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t love me,” she whined, the word me stretching out forever. “You think I’m fat.”

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror recently? Does more than half your body even fit inside the mirror?”

The sad, child-like expression on her face vanished, replaced by a fierce mask that would frighten the bravest of souls. Her face became bright red and her eyes held a predator’s hunger. Her right hand balled into a fist, and for a moment, he feared she would unleash her wrath with a roundhouse punch requiring him to respond with deadly force.

“If I didn’t love you, I’d probably—”

“Why do you love me?” he asked.

“God, I hate you.” She turned and stomped away like an angry dinosaur.

“But you said you loved me,” he called to mock her. The door slammed and he let out a breath. “Crazy bitch doesn’t know what she wants.” A smile curled his lips.

That’s not right, she knows what she wants. Doris wants to cast a spell and turn me into a giant Ding Dong. She’d have an orgasm as she sucked down the cream.

A chuckle rose from his chest as he checked his emails. His laughter died when he saw an email from the woman on the swinger’s website. Nervous energy raced through his veins as he clicked on the message.

Jesus H. Christ, she wants to get together right away.

He continued to read.

Holy shit, I’ve never done this before. Is it possible?

At the bottom of the message, she’d pasted in a nude photograph of herself. He leaned toward the screen, eyes bulging like a space alien. She was small, firm, someone he could actually wrap his arms around. He forgot about everything going on in his life: his problems with Doris, his kids, Stephanie Coldstone, and Mr. Howard. A calendar popped up inside his mind. He worked through the dates. Saturday, he could meet her on Saturday. Shit, he’d promised to take Margo to the mall with her friends. To Hell with that. He’d end up at the food court for hours watching the little hogs stuff their faces.

He quickly typed in a reply with a time for Saturday and the address of his secret love shack. After hitting the send button, he sat back, hands interlaced behind his head, and a big smile on his lips. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

The sound of Doris wailing carried through the closed office door. He closed his eyes and listened, her suffering sweet music to his ears.

Willard slammed the door behind him and tramped over to the desk. He plopped onto his chair and let out a sigh. The meeting with Captain Tate had been a disaster. Tate sat quietly with his arms folded over his chest, listening as he laid out his case against Mr. Howard. When he finished, Tate informed him that the case now belonged to the FBI, and he was to stop investigating Mr. Howard immediately.

Goddamn it, he didn’t listen to a single thing I said about Mr. Howard. Why won’t anyone believe me? We’ve got the bastard by the short hairs and nobody’s going to do a damn thing about it.

The office door squeaked open.

“Willard.” Detective Sanderson stood in the doorway with a look of distress on his face.

“What is it?”

“Your wife’s been taken to Riverside Hospital with chest pains. Sorry.” Sanderson turned and walked away.

***

As he drove to the hospital, his mind replayed the fiasco inside Captain Tate’s office. He knew he should be worried about Doris, but after spending the last fifteen years in a nightmare she created, he found it difficult.