Red Sunset Drive, page 17
He and Victor had visited a couple of whorehouses the previous weekend. He had thought he liked rough sex, but Victor was really rough—enough to give him pause. Randall shook his head on remembering the kinky shit the man did to one of the whores. Victor carried a bag filled with all kinds of whips, nipple clamps, and other torture devices.
In a way, he was in awe of Victor. The man was relentless when it came to rough sex and getting pleasure. He was an amateur compared to Victor.
Almost by coincidence, his phone rang.
“Hey Victor, what’s up?”
“Good evening, Detective. I’m going to have a little soiree this evening. I have something I think you will like.”
Randall gripped the phone tighter. “Soiree? Count me in. What time?”
“Oh, after nine will work.”
“Do you need me to bring anything? Liquor?”
Victor laughed. “Thank you, but no. Just bring your usual appetite.”
He rubbed himself. “A blonde?”
“Detective, you will just have to see for yourself.”
“Victor, I owe you. See you later.”
As he sped out of the parking lot, excitement coursed through him.
Right on time, Randall pulled onto Red Sunset Drive. The winding road led up to Victor’s house. Rolling black clouds obscured the half moon. Tree branches waved back and forth as if whipped by an angry wind.
He shivered as he walked toward the front door. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted several cars lining the driveway.
Before he could ring the bell, the door eased open. Victor framed the door, tuxedo and all.
“Detective Randall. Prompt as usual. Come in and I will introduce you.”
Randall winced, taking in his own faded blue jeans and worn leather shoes. Why didn’t Victor tell me it was a formal event? “Maybe I should go home and change into something more formal?”
Victor clapped an arm over his shoulder, drawing him close. “You’re fine. Who needs clothes for the type of entertainment we enjoy, right?
He nodded. Yeah, I don’t plan on staying dressed long.
Victor led him to a large entertainment area. A low fire in the fireplace cast a golden hue across the room. Numerous candles lit the area. It seemed odd to him that they didn’t just turn on the lamps about the room.
Five men rose in tandem from the sofa. Randall inwardly groaned on seeing they were also dressed in tuxes. The first thing he noticed was that the men were similar in appearance. They were all at least six foot three, with dark hair, stormy eyes, and chiseled facial features. Each one of them looked like a fashion model. He wouldn’t have a chance of getting a decent-looking woman tonight with them here.
He sucked in his stomach and straightened his back.
“This is Detective Randall, my honored guest. Anything he wants is to be his.”
One by one, the men nodded in strangely robotic fashion.
Motioning to a chair, Victor handed Randall a drink. “Sit. Our entertainment shall arrive shortly.”
Randall took the glass before sitting.
“Excuse me for a moment. There is a matter I need to take care of. If you need anything, one of my men will help you.”
Slowly sipping his drink, he tried to ignore the five pair of eyes watching him. He felt like a mouse surrounded by five hungry cats. After taking a breath, he forced himself to lean back and pretend to enjoy the drink.
Logs crackled and popped in the fireplace. Eerie shadows danced on the walls. He jerked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The man nearest to him snorted. “Nervous, Detective?”
“No. I thought I saw something.” He forced a smile. “Who are you guys, anyway? Models? Security?”
The man’s gaze hardened. “Our names and what we do are unimportant.”
Jeez! Talk about being sensitive. The guy looked agitated, so Randall wisely decided against any small talk.
Everyone’s attention jerked toward the front door when the doorbell rang. Randall saw Victor walk toward the door.
Laughter and high-pitched giggles echoed down the hallway. Randall set his drink aside as Victor reentered the room with several women. The scantily clothed ladies wore tall, spiked heels and heavy doses of makeup. Randall counted seven women—one for each of them. He smiled.
One of Victor’s men pulled a tall, busty brunette toward him.
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “No! Our guest has first choice.”
The man dropped the woman’s arm and stepped back into the shadows.
“He can have her,” Randall said. “I actually prefer the blonde.”
All eyes turned toward a young blonde hiding behind one of the women. She looked very young. Her blue eyes rose to meet Randall’s. She bit her trembling lip. It looked as if it were her first time.
Victor looked questioningly at him. “She doesn’t appear to be much of a challenge. Would you prefer another?”
Randall swung toward Victor. Can he read my mind? A tremor shook his body. He thought about leaving but quickly quashed that idea when he looked at the blonde girl. For some reason, Randall felt a twinge of sympathy for her. “No, I’ll break her in.”
Each man wrapped an arm about a woman and led her down the hallway.
“First door on the right is open,” Victor offered.
“That will work for me,” said Randall. “C’mon, honey; let’s go make some magic.”
Randall opened the door and shoved the young woman ahead of him. A large bed monopolized the room. Ropes were attached to the headboard. A strap and whip lay on the bed. He smiled. Victor knew his preferences.
The woman stood woodenly in the corner. Her wide eyes focused on the bed.
Randall knew he’d come to regret picking her. He must be getting soft in his old age.
“Hey, what’s your name?”
“Abby,” she whispered.
“Have you done this before?”
She nodded. Good. At least he didn’t have to break in a virgin.
“Abby, take off your clothes and get in bed.”
Her eyes widened. A surge of excitement coursed through him. She was frightened—just how he liked it.
“Hurry up,” he ordered as he whipped off his belt. He rubbed himself as he hardened.
She stood watching him.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you have some of this.”
She turned her back to him and slipped out of her dress before hopping into the bed and pulling up the sheet. Her lean athletic build wasn’t his preference. Her breasts were small and perky. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like a cheerleader instead of a whore.
He walked to the edge of the bed and ripped the hair tie from her hair. That’s better. He picked up a strap, smacking it against his palm.
“Lie on your stomach and spread your arms and legs.”
She looked up at him. Tears filled her eyes. When she was in position, he struck her bare bottom with the strap. Her body jerked upward. A red welt marred her skin. She muffled a scream into the mattress.
Randall swung the strap three additional times. By the time her bottom was red and swollen, moisture dotted his face. His breath came in short pants. Suddenly he dropped his arm to the side. Her boyish body had negatively impacted his desire. Even his dick lost interest.
He cursed under his breath as he shook her shoulder. “Hey, get dressed.”
She rolled over, wiping the tears from her face. “What? Don’t you want to do it?”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“I bet. Get dressed before I change my mind.”
He turned as she dressed. He was turning maudlin in his old age.
She gasped as a scream echoed from down the hall. Someone is having fun, he thought. It was just his luck that the only blonde was a dud.
“Abby, I suggest you get out of here. Don’t come back. Got it?”
She nodded. “Thank you for not … you know.”
He grunted. “I suggest you get some new friends. Next time you might not be so lucky.”
He walked her to the door and watched as she took off running down the street. After closing the door, he walked back to the room where he had left his drink. He quickly drained it, grabbed a bottle from the bar, and poured a liberal shot of vodka.
More screams and moans came from down the hallway. A loud thump drew his attention. Maybe I should go check? No, it’s none of my business. He sunk down into the sofa, nursing his drink. He needed to go home. He already regretted his decision to let Abby leave. It was late, and he wasn’t getting lucky. Besides, he was tired. How Victor kept these late hours he didn’t know. Maybe he was getting old. Decision made, he rose and set the glass on the bar. He didn’t want to go wandering down the hall, peeking in rooms, looking for Victor. He’d call him tomorrow.
He was walking past the hall toward the foyer when a sound startled him. He turned and staggered backward.
A brunette was leaning against the wall, naked and holding her neck. Blood trickled down the valley between her breasts. She spotted him and tried walking toward him but stumbled to the floor.
What the hell is going on? He ran forward, reaching down to help her to her feet. Her head lolled to the side.
“Hey, wake up.” The hand on her neck fell forward when he shook her body. The puncture wound oozed blood.
Something about the wound looked familiar. He slipped to his knees to closer examine her body. His heart pounded. No, it can’t be. His body was numb. It looked similar to the wounds on the murdered women. He staggered to his feet and fell against the wall. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.
He turned to the door. He had to leave now. The car keys slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. His hands trembled. He glanced down the hall. He expected Victor or one of his goons to come out any second. He had to get out of here. Somewhere to think.
Gasping for breath, he ran toward the front door and pulled it open. His feet slid on the frozen ground, and he nearly fell on the sidewalk. Once inside his car, he struggled to take a breath.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, attempting to put the key in the ignition. He fumbled with the keys, and they dropped to the car floor. Nothing was going right. His gaze darted toward the house. No one had noticed he was gone yet; he still had a chance. He bent over, frantically searching for the keys. He knew he couldn’t turn on the dome light, as it would draw attention to him. Just as he was about to give up, his hand curled around the keys.
He jerked upright and stuck in the key. One last gaze toward the house was a mistake. His heart stopped. Victor and all five of the men stood directly in front of the car. Six pairs of glaring red eyes zeroed in on him.
Victor calmly walked to the car door and opened it. He held out an arm, motioning for him to exit the vehicle.
“Going somewhere, Detective Randall?”
32
It was nearly dark. This late in the season, it was completely dark by 6:30 p.m. Brett strapped on an ankle holster, thinking, One can never have enough guns. This was their first night working as a team. The women weren’t too happy about being excluded, but no way was he dragging them along. Chief Anders would suspend him in a flash if he did so.
A crisp November wind tore through his jacket as he unlocked the car. He honked the horn.
Where is everyone? We need to get going.
The front door opened. Dragos stood in the doorway, Candy’s arms wrapped around his neck. The two were locked in a kiss that went on forever.
He leaned out the car window. “Do you want to get a room or go to work?”
Dragos flipped him off.
Whoa! Where did he pick that up from?
Brett jerked as Michael’s laughter sounded in his ear.
Brett frowned at Michael. “Grow up, will ya?”
Arms folded across his chest, Michael snorted. “Tried it. Didn’t like it. Besides, it’s much more fun to scare you.”
Brett stared at Dragos when he hopped into the front seat.
“What’s wrong with you? I was just kissing Candy good-bye.” Dragos swung around toward the backseat. “Michael. I didn’t know that you had arrived.”
“He arrived, all right. If you two are finally ready, can we leave now?” Brett complained.
Brett pulled onto the street and drove toward the downtown area. They would check out the places north of the loop first. As they drove west on Grand Avenue, they found themselves surrounded by vehicles full of teenagers. Windows were rolled down, and kids hollered back and forth at each other. Friday night was always a good party night. When he was a teenager, he scooped the loop just like these kids.
Brett slowed to a stop at a light that changed from green to yellow. Moments later, a green Mustang roared through the now red light.
“Shit!” Brett exclaimed.
Michael leaned forward, sticking his head between him and Dragos. “Hey! I recognize that car.” He punched Brett’s shoulder. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Brett sighed. He didn’t want to deal with that idiot again. Since it was still early, there wouldn’t be much going on at the whorehouses.
“I’m on it,” he growled.
Sticking the lights on the dash, he tore down the street and came up behind the Mustang. He’d had several run-ins with this guy the year before. The young man had crashed the car the last time they met. Daddy must have fixed it up or gotten him a new one.
After he tailed the car for two blocks, it finally pulled off in an empty parking lot.
Brett walked up to the parked car. He tapped on the window, indicating for the driver to open it.
The young driver’s smile faded as he looked up and saw Brett smiling.
“Officer O’Shea?”
“In the flesh, though it’s now Detective O’Shea.”
The driver glanced back at Brett’s car. “I didn’t think detectives could pull people over.”
He chuckled, enjoying the obvious discomfort of the young driver. “Well, you learned something new today. You whizzed through the red light, so I decided that you and I needed to catch up and visit.”
The young man groaned. “Sir, it was yellow.”
Brett shook his head. “No. I stopped on the yellow light. You decided to run a red light.”
Someone tapped his shoulder. Brett looked up and saw Michael standing next to him.
“Give him a ticket.”
Brett caught himself before he began arguing with Michael. Instead he leaned down and looked in the car.
“Where are you going? Party?”
The driver’s long blonde hair fell into his face. He hurriedly pushed it back with one hand. “No … no, I’m not.”
Brett bit back a smile. I shouldn’t enjoy tormenting the poor kid.
“Well then, where you headed?”
“Why? I didn’t know you could ask that.”
“License and proof of insurance, please.” He held out his hand.
The driver fumbled in the glove compartment and finally handed him the insurance paper and his license.
Brett took the license back to the car to run the plates.
Dragos yawned, covering his mouth. “Excuse me. Is this part of your official duties? I’m not sure why you pulled him to a stop. Surely he realizes his mistake. Let the poor man go.”
Michael popped into the backseat. “No, don’t let him go! The kid needs a ticket. He ran a red light—could have killed someone.”
“Would you two quit your bickering? I’m trying to concentrate.”
The driver was clean. No outstanding warrants. No recent tickets.
He walked back to the young man.
“Consider this your lucky day. I see that you’ve avoided trouble for the past year, so you can go.”
The driver collapsed back in his seat. “Whew! Thank you. My dad said that if I get one more ticket, he’s taking the car.”
Brett rested his hand on the top of the car and bent over. “I don’t want to see you in the loop again. Got it?”
“Ever?” Looking at Brett’s face, the young man suddenly nodded. “No problem, sir.”
“Keep your head out of your ass and pay attention to your driving. Now get out of here.”
The driver gave a half wave and inched out of the lot.
“You were too easy on the lad,” Michael growled.
Brett got back in the car and flipped on the heater, ignoring Michael.
“Hey, sonny! Are you listening?”
“Yeah, what choice do I have?” he bit out.
Dragos turned to face him, a big smile on his face. “You two are an odd pair. I do admit enjoying your repertoire of insults to one another.”
“Careful, bloodsucker. I’ve seen several Dracula movies on TV. I know how to stake you.” Michael snorted and leaned back, glaring at both men in the front seat.
“Enough! We don’t have time for this shit.” Brett jerked the car into gear and continued their westward drive.
They pulled up in front of a large two-story house, where Brett shut off the car and got out. As he knocked on the front door, Dragos rushed to join him and leaned in close. “Who lives here?”
“Charlene Moore. She reported the first body.”
The porch light popped on just before door opened. Charlene’s eyes widened when she saw the two men on her porch.
“Detective O’Shea, what’s going on?” She ran short, stubby fingers through her tousled hair. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted from the house.
“May we come in for a minute? I won’t keep you long.”
She waved them in. “Honey, you can keep me as long as you like,” she murmured.
Brett felt his cheeks heat up. Dragos’s husky laughter filled the hallway.
Once they were seated on the tired-looking sofa, Brett whipped out a pen and small pad of paper.
