Kevin O'Brien Bundle (110 page)

Hannah hugged him again. She held him tightly—until she heard someone on the other side of the counter, chuckling
“Hey, you two, either cut it out or get a room!”

“Oh, Ted, you’re such a pain in the ass,” Scott groaned. “I was just about to get to second base with her, too. Hold on, I’ll take care of you.” Scott went to his register to wait on one of their regulars. He glanced over his shoulder at Hannah. “Don’t forget Britt’s toy for Guy.”

Nodding, Hannah grabbed the cereal toy off the counter, then opened the drawer below the register and reached for her purse. She started to put the toy in her bag, but suddenly froze up. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “No, no, no…”

For a moment, she just stared at the video stashed in her purse. She wondered how and when it had gotten in there. Had someone been following Joyce around at the supermarket this morning when she’d had Hannah’s purse?

After a minute, Hannah felt Scott hovering behind her. “What is that?”

“It’s another ‘special delivery,’” she heard herself say. She took the video out of her bag.

“It’s one of ours,” Scott pointed out. “The store sensor tag is still on it. That’s why you set off the alarm when you walked in here.”

Hannah straightened up, then closed the drawer with her foot. She looked at the label on the cassette. It was Tape B of
Casino
.

“He didn’t give you the box,” Scott muttered. “And only one tape. Just a sec…” Scott hurried around the counter and started toward the back of the store.

Hannah could see that the tape was wound to a certain spot near the end of the spool.

Scott came back with the box for
Casino
. “It was on the shelf like this,” he said, showing her the double-cassette box with only one tape. “I don’t understand how he got the video out of here undetected. You’d think he would have ripped off the sensor tape and made it easier to steal. But he left it on. I wonder why.”

“To show me how clever he is,” Hannah replied numbly. She studied the videocassette. “I haven’t seen
Casino
. What happens near the end?”

Frowning, Scott shrugged uneasily. “It’s really violent, Hannah,” he said. “A lot of people die.”

“Everything’s fine here,” Joyce told her over the phone. “I just put some calamine lotion on Guy’s rash, and he’s playing with the puzzle book we got him this morning. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, put him on, please,” Hannah said. She stood behind the counter at the store. Scott was helping a customer; otherwise they weren’t too busy. Hannah waited for to Guy come on the line.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Hi, honey. How are you? How are your chicken pox?”

“The chicken pox are fine,” he answered. “Joyce put pink stuff on them. It looks like Pencil Bismal.”

“Pepto-Bismol. That’s calamine lotion. It’ll stop the itching. Are you being a good boy?”

“Yes. Here’s Joyce.”

“Well, bye—” Hannah barely got the words out before Joyce was back on the line.

“Not one for long conversations, is he?” Joyce said. “Listen, you got a call a while ago. I let the machine take it. Ben Somebody. He left a number.”

“Do you have that number handy?”

“It’s right in front of me. Ready? 555-3649.”

Hannah scribbled down the number. “Got it. There haven’t been any other calls or hang-ups?”

“He’s the only one.”

“Listen, Joyce, have you noticed anyone hanging around outside or anything?”

“No, honey.”

“You’re on the cordless, right? Could you check outside for a second? And be careful. I just need you to see if there’s anyone out on the balcony—or down in the parking lot.”

“Sure, Hannah. But what the heck is all this about?”

In the background, Hannah could hear the door opening. She bit her lip and waited. Some static came on the line. “Joyce? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, honey. No one on the balcony, and nobody down in the lot either.”

“Okay, don’t forget to lock the door when you step back inside. And that front window needs to be closed and locked.”

“Hannah, what is going on?”

“Um, I’m—still worried about that break-in from a couple of weeks ago. Plus—well, did you notice anyone following you around the store this morning? Did someone bump into you or brush against you by accident?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you have my purse with you in the store?”

“No, I took your wallet and left the purse in my car. But I put a sweater over it and locked the car doors. Why? Was something missing from your bag?”

Hannah cracked an ironic smile. “No, nothing was missing, Joyce.” She sighed. “Anyway, thanks. Listen, give me a call if anything—”

“Call you if anything happens, yeah, honey, I’ll call,” Joyce cut in. “We’re fine. What’s that expression? Take a chill pill? Relax. We’re all locked up, and I have the pepper spray in my bag. We’ll be fine. First sign of trouble, you’ll hear from me.”

“Thanks, Joyce.”

Hannah hung up the phone. She glanced at Scott, who met her gaze, then eyed the
Casino
tape on the back counter. “Are you going to look at it?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I pulled up the last rental record,” he said. “It was checked out and returned three days ago. So he must have ripped it off within the last couple of days.”

For all she knew, Hannah might have been in the store when her “secret admirer” stole the tape.

She took the cassette and went into the break room. Scott followed her. She switched on the TV and inserted the cassette.

Scott stood behind her, at the break room door.

The sound and picture came up on the little TV screen. “The House of the Rising Sun” churned over the soundtrack while a drugged, zombie-like Sharon Stone stumbled down the hallway of some seedy motel. Every few steps, she stopped and rested her blond head against the wall. Hannah recognized Robert De Niro in the grim voice-over, explaining that Stone’s character, Ginger, had been given a “hot dose.” He said they never found out who gave Ginger the drugs that killed her.

“So explain to me again,” she heard Scott say. He sounded a bit scared. “Why would this guy want you to see this particular scene?”

“He’s telling me that he’s ready to kill again.” Hannah nodded at the screen, at the dazed, depleted Sharon Stone, staggering though that barren corridor. “And this is how the next one will die.”

“Hannah, can I call you right back?” Britt asked, on the other end of the line. “I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call in two minutes, I promise.”

“All right,” Hannah said.

“Okay, bye.” Britt replied; then she hung up.

Sitting at the desk in the break room, Hannah replaced the receiver on its cradle.

Scott was behind the counter, minding the store. He and Hannah had tried to figure out whose death the
Casino
scene forecast. If the pattern stayed consistent, the next victim would be a woman—like the victim in the video.

“It sounds crazy,” Scott had said. “But I keep thinking of Britt. She’s a sweetie pie, and I love her dearly. But Britt has a drug problem, and she’s just dumb enough to end up dead from an overdose in some fleabag hotel.”

Hannah could almost picture Britt repeating Sharon Stone’s
Casino
death scene in a hotel corridor. She suddenly realized how her stalker worked.

He had to be watching her constantly. No doubt, he saw or heard those confrontations with Cindy Finkelston and Lester Hall. As much as he stalked her, he must have kept surveillance on his intended victims, too. He must have decided to push Cindy Finkelston out of that fifth-floor window when he saw she lived in a tall apartment building. The killer was a film buff. He sent Hannah a sneak preview of Cindy’s murder with the
Rosemary’s Baby
tape cued on the scene with the fallen corpse splattered on the pavement. He had to know about Lester Hall’s massages before he furnished her with that murder-on-the-massage-table scene from
The Godfather
. And how long had he been following around Ronald Craig before deciding to mow him down with a stolen car in the fashion of that scene in
Wait Until Dark
?

His next victim would be a woman with a drug habit, most likely someone from the store, someone
just dumb enough to end up dead from an overdose in some fleabag hotel.

When the phone rang, Hannah grabbed it. “Hello?” Then she realized it could be a customer. “Um, Emerald City Video. Thanks for calling.”

“Hannah? It’s me, Britt. Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. I was in the middle of something. What’s going on?”

“Well, remember I told you how someone was giving me these videos?” Hannah said. “They were cued to just the spot when a murder takes place.”

“Oh, yeah. Did you ever find out who was doing that?”

“No,” Hannah said. “But the thing is, after I got each video, someone was killed a couple of days later in the same way the characters in each of the movies died.”

“I don’t get it,” Britt admitted.

Hannah tried to explain it again, but she could tell Britt wasn’t grasping the seriousness of the situation. She sounded a bit foggy in her responses. Hannah figured Britt must have been getting high when she’d called her a few minutes ago.

“Anyway, the video I just got was
Casino
,” Hannah continued, a bit exasperated. “It was set to a scene with Sharon Stone in this crummy hotel, and she’s dying of a drug overdose, or a ‘hot dose.’”

“Oh, Sharon Stone was so good in that movie,” Britt said.

“That’s not the point, Britt,” Hannah replied, an edge creeping into her tone. “I’m worried about you. I’m worried you’ll end up dead from a bad dose of some drug. It might not be your fault. You might not know.”

“Oh, Hannah,” Britt said with a little laugh. “You act like I’m this major addict or something. I just get high once in a while. God, stop worrying about me. I’m fine. In fact, I’m great. I have the next two days off. I’ll be with Webb practically the whole time, so I’ll be safe. We’re just gonna kick back. So don’t sweat it.”

“Listen, Britt. Will you promise me something? Will you call me if you find yourself alone for a while? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Sure, but like I said, Webb will be with me,” she replied.

“And promise to be careful, okay? I know you’ll probably want to get high, but please don’t take any chances. I don’t want you to end up with a bad dose. Do you understand?”

Britt laughed. “Sure, whatever you say, Hannah. Listen, I gotta go. Webb’s here, and we’re headed out.”

“Okay,” Hannah said. “But promise me you won’t take any chances.”

“All right already,” Britt replied, giggling again. “God. Hannah, I’m not Sharon Stone in
Casino
. I wished I looked like her, but I’m not her. Listen, I need to motor. I’ll call you later, okay? And hey, mellow out. Remember, it’s only a movie.”

Hannah heard the click on the other end of the line.

She figured her coworkers hated her right about now. After coming to the store nearly four hours late this morning, she’d spent most of the afternoon in the break room. She’d been tapping into the computer for rental histories on
Wait Until Dark
and
Casino
. But she wasn’t coming up with any names that matched.

Hannah began looking for patterns elsewhere. She charted out a timetable of the events since all of this started:

3rd Week September (approx)—Video dropped off at store.

Wed-10/9—Run-in w/Cindy F. Took GOODBAR video Home. Break-in.

Thurs-10/10—2nd break-in. ROSEMARY’S BABY tape left in VCR.

Sun-10/13—Cindy Finkelston killed.

Tues-10/15 (or Mon?) Run-in w/Lester Hall.

Sat-10/19—GODFATHER video left in shopping cart.

Tues-10/22—Lester Hall is killed.

Wed-10/23—Found WAIT UNTIL DARK tape in public restroom. Craig killed.

Today-10/24—CASINO video in purse.

There was no consistency in the time lapse between her receiving a video and the subsequent murder. The first two victims were each killed three days after she got the videos forecasting their deaths. But Craig had been mowed down within hours of her finding the
Wait Until Dark
video in that lavatory. She couldn’t hope to predict when the
Casino
-style murder would take place.

Hannah felt like she was banging her head against a wall. The only pattern she saw was the obvious one: someone was making her a reluctant, silent accomplice in a series of murders. He slipped her videos of Hollywood death scenes as a preview of his lethal handiwork.

The homemade
Goodbar
tape was the exception. That was no preview. It was a real murder, caught on tape; she had no doubt about it now. Had the other deaths been captured on videotape as well? Did he have an accomplice filming Cindy Finkelston’s fall? Was someone else lurking in the parking lot last night, and did he have a video camera to shoot the
Wait Until Dark
reenactment? How had they filmed Lester Hall’s death?

On that first night, October 9th, she’d thought she saw someone videotaping her from an alley.

She kept coming back to Paul Gulletti, with his knowledge of film and his unhealthy interest in her. When she’d first met him, he’d claimed he was planning to direct his own movie. Was it the
Goodbar
homage?

She’d been selected to see that video. The cassette hadn’t been dropped off at the store by accident. Someone knew she would take it home and look at it.

Hannah remembered her first day in Paul’s class last semester. Each student had to stand up, introduce themselves, and talk about their interest in film. Hannah mentioned working in a video store. Paul got a laugh when he jokingly asked if anyone ever dropped off their homemade sex tapes at the store by accident.

“Well, I haven’t seen any,” Hannah had replied. “And I’m the only one who ever takes home the wrong-returns and looks at them. No one else cares. Guess I’m just curious.”