Crime Stories: Volume 1
Five Short Stories By
Mark Sled
Published by Dark Elms Press
Crime Stories: Volume 1
Copyright © 2012 by Mark Sled
Left for Dead Copyright © 2011 by Mark Sled
Rock & Hammer Copyright © 2011 by Mark Sled
The Wiles of Maggie Finn Copyright © 2011 by Mark Sled
A Thorn in Her Conscience Copyright © 2011 by Mark Sled
Decision Moment Copyright © 2012 by Mark Sled
Author Notes Copyright © 2012 by Mark Sled
Published by Dark Elms Press
Cover and Layout Copyright © 2012 by Dark Elms Press
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
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When the phone rang, Kate Post was shaving. She set the razor on the tub's edge and grabbed her iPhone off the toilet lid.
Vic Hardaway said, "I'll be there at ten sharp."
After Kate hung up, she checked the phone's clock. She had a little less than two hours.
She finished shaving and wiped the thin lines of white cream off her legs with a towel. She slipped into some blue jeans and shrugged into a plain black t-shirt. She considered a moment, then put on her snakeskin cowboy boots, the ones with the pointy toes. She ran a comb through her brown hair and headed to the kitchen where she ate a bagel smeared with cream cheese and drank black coffee while she watched Good Morning Texas. It was going to be another hot summer day across the DFW metroplex.
When she finished her breakfast, she called Mitch Davis. "He's gonna be here at ten."
"We'll be there by nine thirty.
"Remember to park the van down the street. And come around back, I'll leave the garage door open."
Kate tried to sip her coffee, but her hand shook so hard it sloshed over the rim. She looked at the television but couldn't focus; blurry images spoke gibberish. She pressed her trembling hands hard onto the table, swallowed. She felt like vomiting.
I gotta get outta here.
She went out the garage so she wouldn't have to see Vic Hardaway's house.
Outside, thick humidity filled the August morning. She walked to the end of the alley—her boot heels clocking on the cement—turned, and came back to her house. Sweat trickled down her neck.
It was quarter after nine. Kate rinsed off her plate and butter knife, dropped them into the dishwasher. She finished off her coffee, held the mug under the faucet for a minute, and placed it upside-down in the rack.
She went to the foyer and looked out the narrow window next to the front door. Vic Hardaway's house filled the view. His black Ford pick-up truck sat in the driveway.
Kate went back to the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the table. The clock read: 9:21. She bounced her knees and focused on breathing until she heard the back door open.
Mitch Davis appeared in the living room carrying a shovel. Behind him Javier Sanchez, a broad-shouldered Mexican with close-cropped hair, carried a large tarp and some rope.
Kate looked at the two guys, and they looked back at her. No one spoke.
The three had been best friends in high school, but they hadn't seen too much each other since graduation a year earlier. Their rock band kept Mitch and Javier busy. Kate lived at home with her mother and succeeded in flunking out of community college. When she finally decided to do something about her troubles with Vic, she didn't know who else to call. She cried when the agreed to help with her insane plan.
Mitch led Javier to the foyer. He pointed out the window. Javier nodded. The two disappeared down the hallway.
Kate didn't get up from the table until five minutes before ten. She went to the foyer and looked out the narrow window. Vic Haradway's truck wasn't in his driveway. He'd be here any minute.
"You need to lead him to the bedroom," Mitch said. "There's no good place for us to hide out here."
She moved away from the window into the hall. "Is it going to work?"
He put a hand on her shoulder, and Kate sucked in a breath, but resisted the urge to pull away. "Yeah, it'll work."
"You're not just saying that to make me feel better. You really believe it's going to work. You really—"
Someone pounded on the backdoor.
Kate's throat tightened. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, tried to catch her breath. She hadn't been this nervous since the second or third time Vic Hardaway had come to her.
"It'll work," Mitch said. "I promise." He hurried to her bedroom.
He pounded on the door again. That was Vic Hardaway for you, as impatient as a child.
She went to the door, opened it.
Vic Hardaway stepped inside. As soon as he got a look at her, he grabbed her arms, dug his fingers into her flesh, and shook her. Intense pain ran up her arm. She let out a small cry.
"What the hell are you wearing? Didn't I tell you I want you in a thong and a leather bra? Damn it, Kate! I'm tired—"
"I'm sorry, Vic. I had to run a few errands, and I just got home. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
His hands tightened, and her eyelids fluttered and her body trembled. If Vic hadn't held her so tight she would've crumbled to the floor, a bag of bones.
He held her a second longer, glaring hard at her through cold eyes, let go. She remained standing. A miracle.
"You know what would've happened if you weren't here, don't you?"
As much as she hated to do it, she forced herself to go to him and wrap her arms around his neck. It made the marrow in her bones freeze.
Time to put on an act.
"Let me make it up to you." She ran her tongue across her top lip. "I know what you like. Let me give you what you like, Vic, and let's call it even?"
Vic put his hands on her hips, pulled her closer. "What game are you playing, Kate?"
She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his. He'd shaved that morning, and she smelled his cologne. "Just the game you want me to play," she whispered into his ear.
"This isn't like you, Kate. You're always trying to do something—"
"I'm tired of fighting, Vic. That's all. Tired of fighting."
His body shook as he chuckled. "Well, it took you long enough. As I said when all this started, if you just did what I wanted, it'd all go a lot better for you."
"I never was a very good student. Now, come on."
She took Vic's hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom. Her heart cracked against her chest.
Please let this work. Please let Mitch and Javier get it done quickly.
At her bedroom door, he pulled her back to him, slipped his arm around her, cupped her breast, pinched her nipple. Pressing his face into her brown hair, he inhaled.
She resisted the urge to bring up her foot and crack her heel into his groin; resisted the urge to slam her elbow into his ribs.
Gotta play the part just a little longer
"You sure smell good today, Kate."
He moved his hand from her breast down her side, slipped it under her t-shirt. His rough, sandpaper-like palm slid across her bare belly. Her skin crawled.
He unbuttoned her pants and slipped his fingers under her underwear.
She couldn't help herself. She stepped away from him.
"What the hell?" he said. "I thought you were playing my game. And today, my game begins out here." He pointed to the floor.
"The bed's more comfortable."
"Maybe I don't wanna screw you on a bed. Maybe I wanna screw you right here on the floor."
She took his hand, pulled him into the bedroom. "But what I have planned for you today requires the bedroom."
He didn't move.
"Come on. Trust me, Vic. Trust me."
She tugged his hand again.
He cracked a smile, let her pull him.
As she backed into the bedroom, her eyes flicked to Mitch standing behind the door. He held the shovel upright with both hands like a medieval knight standing at attention with his sword. Lines of anger and clenched teeth marred his face. His fingers flexed, unflexed, flexed.
She looked back at Vic, let her tongue touched her upper lip again. "I can't wait to show you what I have planned today."
"It better be good, because I wanna screw you on the floor. I had it all worked out, too."
She tugged his hand. "You won't ever want to do that again, once you see what I have planned."
His eyes filled with desire. "Really?"
She glanced sideways. Mitch gestured with his head for her to move.
"Now come here, Vic, and let me show you."
She grabbed one of his wrists with both hands and jerked him as hard as she could.
He wasn't ready for it, and staggered a bit.
Kate jumped out the way. "NOW!"
Mitch lurched forward, brought the shovel down on Vic Hardaway's head. It sounded like an old church bell. Vic's body crumbled to the floor.
"The bastard!" Mitch growled. He lifted the shovel over his head like an ax.
"No!" Kate screamed. "Don't! Not here!"
His eyes, wild with anger, rolled around inside his head. "Why not, Kate, just why the hell not? The damn bastard deserves it. He deserves to be sent straight to hell. He deserves it, and more."
"I know! God, oh God, how I know." It came out as a sob. She looked down at Vic's still body and put a hand over her mouth as she gasped for air.
"Let me just kill the sonofabitch now and get it over and done with."
"No!"
Behind Mitch, Javier reached up and took the shovel. "Not here, man. Not now."
Mitch didn't let go.
Kate wiped away tears. "Trust me, Mitch. I have a plan, I told you about it, remember? Trust me, okay."
Mitch nodded and let Javier take the shovel.
Kate released a breath she'd been holding. She looked down at Vic. Red streaks stained his blonde hair. She snatched the newspapers off her desk she'd set there the night before in preparation for today's events, grabbed a handful of Vic's hair, lifted his head, threw the papers underneath, let his head drop.
"The blood," Javier said, "it's all over your carpet."
"Don't worry. You two get this bastard into the van while I clean it up. And Javier, out in the garage there's a green duffle bag. Put it in the van too, will ya?"
~ ~ ~
Thirty minutes later, they were on the road. Mitch drove, Kate sat next to him, and Javier rode in the bucket seat behind Mitch.
In the back lay Vic Hardaway. They'd wrapped and tied him in a tarp Javier had stolen from the house-painting company he worked for. His head stuck out the top so he could breathe, but they'd duct taped his mouth shut so he'd stay quiet.
The traffic was light, but the sun was hot, and sweat rolled down Kate's temples despite the van's AC blasting in her face.
"Where exactly are we going?" Mitch asked.
"Just go north on Preston," Kate said. "That's all you need to know right now."
"How far north?"
"Past 380."
"Are you serious?"
"Just drive, all right?"
"I just think you owe us more than that," Mitch said. "I just think—"
Javier leaned forward and punched Mitch in the arm. "Just shut the hell up, will ya, and give Kate some peace."
Mitch shot an angry glance over his shoulder, but said nothing.
Kate stared out the window and watched the houses and buildings grow bigger and more expensive as they drove west across North Dallas's suburbs, from Wylie through Plano. Some days after school—this was before she flunked out—she drove through the rich communities and dreamed she lived in a giant two-story house with a manicured lawn. She dreamed she drove a BMW or a Mercedes and not the piece of crap Toyota Corolla that had come off the assembly line back when George H.W. Bush was president. She dreamed of family dinners and Christmas mornings. She dreamed of being married to a man who loved her, who was devoted to her, who cherished her.
Or she used to.
Vic Hardaway had tainted those dreams the way urine taints water. She didn't think she could ever let a man touch her again.
Kate closed her eyes, tightened her lips. I'm not going to cry, damn it, I'm not going to cry.
She probably should've done something about Vic Hardaway sooner, when it began. But his cruelty scared her, and his threats paralyzed her.
Damn him.
Damn me.
She sniffed, opened her eyes. Mitch turned north on Preston Road.
She wasn't going to let Vic Hardaway take anything else from her. Or from anyone else. She wasn't going to let him violate her again. Or anyone else.
What she'd gone through would never happen again.
And the bastard would pay, and pay dearly.
She was going to make sure of it.
Kate looked over her left shoulder at Javier. "He still out?"
Javier turned and glanced behind the van's backseat, nodded.
Mitch, looking at Javier in the rearview mirror, asked, "Is he still alive?"
"Can't tell without touching him," Javier said.
What would she do if he were dead? It'd all be for nothing. God, don't let him be dead. Let him be alive.
Aloud, she said: "Just leave him alone. Just leave the bastard alone."
~ ~ ~
Vic Hardaway woke fifteen minutes after they turned north on Preston Road. First a groan. Then a muffled cry. Then he started thumping around, and though Kate couldn't see him, she remembered seeing a fish flopping at the end of a line, gasping for air and for freedom, and thought that's how Vic might look.
"Javier," Kate said, "tell him to shut up."
Javier relayed the message. In response, Vic let loose a muffled scream.
Javier leaned over the back seat. His arm pumped up and down like a piston. Vic thrashed violently and shouted something incomprehensible.
"Stop it, Javier!" Kate ordered. "For Christ's sake, stop it!"
Javier stopped pounding the man. He flopped back in the bucket seat, looked out the window. His curled back lips showed clenched teeth, and his nostrils flared, he was breathing so hard.
Kate didn't know what to think. Part of her was grateful she had a friend like Javier, and part of her was sickened by what had happened and what was going to happen.
Vic's groans filled the van.
"Shut up!" Kate screamed. "Just shut the hell up!"
Mitch leaned forward and turned on the radio. The heavy sounds of Korn filled the van, but Kate couldn't hear Vic.
They drove north on Preston Road through the rich Dallas suburbs of Plano, Frisco, and Prosper. After Prosper, the scenery changed. The buildings and houses weren't bunched up in nice suburban packages, and the traffic thinned out to where the van had some breathing space around it. Hills with tall grass yellowed from the summer heat spread out to the east and west. The sky became a blue expanse looming over them.