Total Immersion, page 18
He wanted to see Kim, to smell her, to touch her, to hear her sweet voice, but he feared what her reaction would be to all the madness that had gone on in the past few weeks.
He had ignored her, and that might have been the biggest mistake of all. Kim hated to be ignored. He thought about her smooth lips, and beautiful eyes, and his cock swelled as that warm, sensual rush of love and lust poured into his body. He needed her. He wanted her. Travis was hooked.
He slipped the disc into its waiting port, locked himself into his powerful machine, and the AI system took over.
Seconds later, those twin laser beams smashed into his eyes, and before he knew it, he was home.
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Travis looked his usual fantastic self, holding a dozen long-stemmed pink roses. Kim’s favorite. He nervously stood in the stately elevator as it shot up towards Kim’s penthouse apartment. He took several deep breaths and felt sweat drip from inside his armpits. He tried to lick his lips, but it was like sandpaper against sandpaper.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, and as the doors opened, Travis pasted on a fake smile.
The smell of pine and vanilla from still-burning candles eased his worried heart as he stepped out of the elevator directly into the magnificent foyer.
“Sweetie?” he barely spit out, a lump forming in his throat.
There was no response.
Don’t panic, he thought, maybe she’s not home. Maybe she’s out buying some clothes or perfume or food.
Maybe.
“Honey?” he called out, exiting the foyer.
“Pumpkin?”
Entering the lavish living room, he came to a dead stop, the flowers dropping to his side.
Kim sat stoically in a black leather chair, wearing a frumpy old house robe and pink slippers. She wore no makeup, and her hair was in a tangled bun. Her arms folded tightly across her chest. Add an angry scowl, and dammit, she still looked beautiful, but Travis knew he was in deep shit.
“You look terrific,” he said.
She shot an icy stare in return.
Travis took a deep gulp and slid his tongue around his upper teeth. “I brought you some flowers. Your favorite, long stems. Pink.”
Kim stood, walked up to Travis, grabbed the flowers, and proceeded to hurl them out the window. Within five seconds, she was back in her chair, her arms folded, the scowl even more menacing.
Travis cleared his throat and nervously scratched his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a barely audible whisper.
“What?” Kim responded curtly. “What? I didn’t hear that.”
Travis had the sudden urge to leave, but knew it was best to deal with this here and now.
“I’m sorry about what happened with Billings. I moved too quickly. I was impatient, but he suffered, Kim. He suffered worse than the others. I swear to God, he suffered like a pig.”
Kim leaned forward, and her powerful eyes drilled into him. “I’m not angry about Joseph Billings, Travis. You did what had to be done, and that fat fuck deserved everything he had coming to him.”
A small smile inched across his face. Relief eased his tense body as Kim stood and approached him. “But I’m beyond fucking furious about Carl Tyler.”
The acids in Travis’ stomach leaped into his throat. He felt sick all over, like a flu had abruptly kicked in. He grimaced and glanced down at the floor.
“Don’t you dare look away from me when I’m talking to you,” Kim said in a low, haunting tone.
Travis glanced back up, and said in the frightened voice of a child, “You don’t have to worry, Kim. Really, you don’t. They think it was a suicide. They have no idea I was involved.”
“I don’t give a fuck what the police think. I know you were involved, Travis. You had no right to hurt that man. WAS HE ON OUR LIST?!” Kim screamed. “WAS HE? ANSWER ME!”
Travis’ body shook as little moans and popping sounds escaped his mouth and nose, and he started to cry. “I didn’t mean it, Kim!”
“I hate you right now. I hate you, Travis! I fucking hate you!”
Kim circled him as he lifted a shaking hand to his face and wiped away the nervous perspiration.
“Did I order you to destroy that man?” she asked in a monotone voice.
“No,” he whispered.
“Was that man on our list?”
“No.”
“Then why the fuck would you do such an awful thing?!”
“I don’t know!” Travis walked over and flopped down on a small, wooden bench.
“Are we a team?”
“Yes.”
“And how many times have we discussed that you do absolutely nothing without my specific instructions first . . . Those are the rules, are they not?”
“Yes.”
“Then what possibly possessed you to kill that man?!”
Travis had thought long and hard about that question himself, and the answer was complicated. “I was jealous, I guess.”
“Jealous?! Jealous of what?!”
Travis shook his head as the images of Kim and Carl rushed back. “Of seeing you with him. Laughing with him. Touching him . . . What—what were you doing with him?” he asked in a painful whisper.
“Do I pry into your business when we’re not together?
“No.”
“Do you know why I don’t?”
“Because you trust me?”
“That’s right. I trust you. I trust that when we’re not together, you aren’t out fucking some whore behind my back. I trust you completely, Travis, with all my heart and soul. Without trust, we have nothing. It’s over. Both sides must have absolute trust with one another. One hundred percent.”
“Yes,” Travis said, understanding. “I do trust you, Kim. I don’t know what came over me. I just saw you with him, and I lost it. I was hurt. I was so confused. I’m so confused.”
Kim’s face softened as she knelt next to him. “Did you actually believe I would fool around on you with that little queen?”
Travis glanced up and was relieved to see her crack a smile.
“That’s right. He’s gay, Travis. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but trust me, women are not what turns him on.”
“He’s a homosexual?” Travis asked, cracking a smile.
“Well, he was a homosexual.”
“You didn’t have any feelings for him? None at all?”
Kim reached up and gently pushed several bangs of wet hair off his forehead. “Of course not, but that still doesn’t account for what you did. He was a nice man, a decent man who didn’t deserve to die that way.”
Travis had suppressed a phenomenal amount of guilt about what had happened. Building excuse after excuse. Rationale after rationale. The way all good killers do.
“I didn’t kill ’im,” Travis declared. “He panicked and ran onto the fire escape. I was just going to walk away, go home, when I heard him scream.”
“The papers said it was a suicide.”
“They have no idea I was even there. That’s what I was trying to tell you. It won’t affect our plans at all. It was a lucky break. He killed himself. It was an accident. A terrible accident. I swear to God, Kim, I didn’t kill ’im!”
Travis Taylor was a mighty sword. A killing machine. And he had to be handled with great care.
Travis continued, “There was just a little article in the way back, that’s all. Not even a mention of that detective. There’s no way they can trace it back to us.”
Kim smiled. “Detective Sam Knight. He may eventually prove to be a problem.”
“Why?”
“Remember how I told you they would have to put on a show every now and then?”
Travis nodded his head.
“Well, this detective is part of the show, but he’s very good. He’s very smart. We have to be even more careful now.”
“Why would he try to stop us?”
“It’s his job, and like I said, he’s very good at it.”
The worst is over, Travis thought. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he had anticipated, but he felt awful about what happened to the homosexual.
Kim sat close to him on the bench and said, “I want you to know that I love you more than anything in the world, and I would never, ever do anything to hurt you.”
It was only Nicole and Kim who had ever made him feel loved and cared for . . . or even human.
Kim put her arms around him, and a tremendous feeling of warmth poured into his soul. The smell of her skin and hair enveloped his senses, and brought that wonderful tranquility that only Kim could bring.
“I feel terrible about what I did,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m so sorry.”
Kim pulled away as a tear streamed down his face. “And Travis . . .”
“Yes?”
“Don’t avoid me if we’re having problems, okay? Communication is just as important as trust. Maybe even more important. Carl Tyler’s dead because we weren’t communicating. An innocent man died for nothing, and I place a lot of that blame on myself. That’s not what we’re about.”
Travis grimaced at the “innocent man” comment as Kim reached out, took his hand, and kissed it. Her soft lips felt good against his fingers
“Now,” Kim said. “Tell me about Joseph Billings. Did he suffer?” She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it off, and rubbed her hands over his chest.
“Yes, he suffered terribly. By far the worst,” Travis said with a slight moan as Kim gently kissed his nipples.
Kim pulled her robe open to reveal her breasts and trim, blonde pubic hair.
“Did he weep?”
“Yes, he cried like a baby,” Travis said.
Kim reached down and removed his belt. “Did he say anything? Beg for his life?” she asked, stripping off his pants.
“He begged and pleaded with me to stop. He said he was innocent.”
“I read that you took his leg.”
Kim stroked his erection through his silk briefs. He closed his eyes as his entire body shivered in pleasure.
“I took his leg, and then his head.”
Kim pulled down his briefs. “When hands are tightly clasped, ’mid struggling sighs,” she said, and took him into her mouth.
“And streaming tears, those whispered accents rise . . .” he whispered back, a quiver in his voice.
Kim moved up his body, straddling him. “Leaving to God the objects of our care . . .” she said in a sensual whisper as he entered her.
“In that short, simple prayer . . .” he moaned as Kim moved up and down, up and down, up and down.
“Adieu!” Kim screamed. “Ohh, fuck me. Fuck me! I love you, Travis. I love you. I love you. I love you! I love you! I love you!”
Travis said nothing as he stared up at this incredible, perfect creature making love to him, screaming out those three beautiful words.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
thirty
Sam sat alone in his den, drinking from a glass of Evan Williams hundred proof bourbon whiskey: his father’s favorite. Laurel laid asleep to his right, and Hardy sat purring to his left. The long nights were the hardest to get through. He dreaded the terrible sense of loneliness that only the dark could bring. When Jenny was alive, he hated the stakeouts and late-night busts, but now, he craved them. They kept his mind clean of the losses that had haunted his entire existence.
He stopped asking the “Why me?” questions long ago.
They only lead to suicide, a therapist once told him. “Everybody is given a certain amount of pain in their lives . . . some more than others.”
Sam fell in the latter category, and probably worse off than that.
He once met an old man in a coffee shop whose entire family had been wiped out in a plane crash. By some sick miracle, the old man—at the time a young man—was pulled out, his body torched with third-degree burns from head to toe. When Sam asked how he coped with the pain and anguish and loss, the old man turned with his lifeless eyes and said, “I don’t. I died on that plane. My body just doesn’t want to believe it.”
The old man was alive, but barely. His voice void of emotion. He felt nothing. Not pain or joy. He was, for all practical purposes, the true embodiment of the living dead.
Sam had left the diner, and once inside his car, he cried. He cried for the old man, and he cried for himself. Two tortured souls without the capacity to kill themselves.
Both unable to escape their past and unwilling to let it go.
Hardy bumped his head into Sam’s arm. “Okay, you fat bastard,” Sam said, lifting the cat onto his lap. “I’ll pet you for five minutes, but not a second more.”
Hardy rolled onto his back. Sam rubbed his hefty belly, and the fat cat purred in ecstasy. Sam smiled and gazed down at his coffee table.
It was cluttered with Chinese take-out boxes, and papers and photos from the case. A close-up of Kevin Fields stared back at him. That frozen expression of terror locked on his face for eternity. Kevin Fields deserved to die, Sam thought. At least The Revenger had the guts to do what Sam only fantasized about in Total Immersion.
The thought of burning the file entered his mind when he glanced over to a picture of Joe Billings. Sam researched his case. A case that had its share of major problems, and major mistakes. A case that was hung ten-to-two for acquittal. There was more than a fighting chance Joe Billings was innocent.
Sam glanced away from the photo and up to the digital clock that hung above his flatscreen; 11:25 p.m. beamed in neon red.
His eyes shifted back to a photo of Jenny, which sat on a side table next to the couch. It was one of his favorite pictures. He took it the afternoon she told him she was pregnant. She stood in the kitchen holding her stomach and glancing up to the camera with a big smile. Nobody smiled like Jenny, Sam thought, and painfully turned away from her frozen image.
Hardy had fallen into a deep sleep. Sam lifted him off his lap and gently laid him down next to Laurel. He stood and stretched his legs. He wasn’t tired, and he didn’t feel like revisiting one of Buzz’s programs or old videos of his long-dead wife. The night was young, and the thought of walking from room to room in a lonely daze didn’t sound like much of a way to spend a Friday evening. Determined not to let the silence of the night overwhelm him, Sam grabbed his overcoat and made his way out of the house.
thirty—one
“In the mood for some company?” Sam asked with a sheepish grin, standing in the hallway with his overcoat wrapped around his arm.
Kathy stood in the doorway, a robe thrown on over her pajamas.
Her eyes lit up. “You betcha.”
The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever” filled Kathy’s comfortable two-bedroom apartment. Sam glanced around the living room, which was filled with Kathy’s photographic work. Wall after wall of horrifying crime scene photos: gunshot victims, deep stab wounds, men and women bludgeoned to death with everything from a baseball bat to the fender of an old Mustang. There was a sick artistry to her photos, many blown up to abnormal size.
“Every time I come here, I have the worst nightmares the next night.”
“That’s what everyone says!” Kathy leaned in and gave him a kiss. “I find my unique decorating skills to be innovative and highly original,” she continued playfully, grabbing his jacket and making her way to the entry closet. Sam knew that was Kathy’s way of signaling an all-nighter.
“I wouldn’t count on Home and Garden calling anytime soon,” Sam said, and flopped down on the couch.
Kathy cuddled up next to him. “I’ve missed you,” she purred.
“Have you?” he mumbled uncomfortably, and put his arm around her.
“Haven’t you missed me, even a little?”
“Of course. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” she said, snuggling closer to him.
Kathy understood she would never have Sam to herself. Jenny Knight would always be in the picture, and Kathy was never going to take her place. She’d fallen deeply in love and was willing to wait for his feelings to strengthen for her, or his feelings for his long-dead wife to fade with time.
Kathy’s soft skin felt good, and Sam liked feeling her warm breath against his neck. He felt guilty about their on-and-off-again relationship, knowing Kathy’s feelings for him were much stronger than his feelings for her. After Jenny, he vowed to keep a certain distance between himself and the people he cared for. Everything he ever loved had been ripped away, and the fear of that occurring again was too much to bear.
His mounting friendship with Tommy was a first in years. Maybe he was finally moving past the pain. Maybe, in time, his wounds would heal, and he would be open to someone like Kathy.
Things change, he thought as he reached up and gently rubbed her neck.
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Kathy opened her freezer and pulled out a pint of vanilla ice cream and a pint of Rocky Road. “Don’t be so depressed about this case, Sam,” she called out. “That guy is doing all of us a big favor.”
Sam smiled at the response as he strolled around the living room, sipping from a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. “I think Joe Billings might have been innocent,” he said, staring at a framed photo of an Asian gang member with two bullet holes in his forehead.
Kathy pulled open the ice cream lids and reached for a spoon. “Maybe, but I guarantee you he was guilty of something. Vanilla or Rocky Road?”
“Rocky Road,” Sam called out, and meandered into the dining room.
“What?” Kathy asked. She took a spoonful of vanilla and popped it into her mouth.
“Rocky Road,” Sam repeated, taking a seat at the dining table. He glanced down at Kathy’s tablet. He touched the screen. It came to life inside a file marked: #24LD678-1325 N. KENNER AVENUE.
