Born Bad (12 page)

"Can I…?' But before he could finish his challenge, the intruder was two feet from his face, the gap bridged by a sawed–off shotgun.

"What's the haps, home?" the slim black man whispered, holding the scattergun as casually as a cigarette.

"Ace…"

"You remember me from the 'hood? Good. Let's you and me talk, okay?" The slim black man slid behind the front desk and sat down, slouching so that he was invisible from the front. "Just be calm, brother. Don't be reaching for the piece, okay? You know me, you know what I do. Good news is…it ain't you. Understand?"

"I got it."

"Here's the deal. Real simple. Lady's gonna come in. With another guy. You don't know her. You don't say nothing to her. Just watch the little TVs here, do your job, all right? Some time's gonna pass. You and me, we gonna pass it together, see? Talk about old times. When the lady leaves, I'll be right behind her. That's all she wrote. Nothing's gonna happen. Not to you, not to nobody. Unless you gotta be stupid. You gonna be stupid, brother?"

"No."

"Good. We got a contract. Now grab hold of this." The slim black man handed over a thick white envelope. "It was 303 today. Remember it, bro'…that's your lucky number from now on. You had a dime on it, straight up. With Spanish Phil's bank, South side, do or die. This here's your payoff, case anybody asks you where it come from. Six grand, ain't that sweet?"

"Sure is."

"Okay. Let's chill, now. Nothing more to do. Ain't gonna be no po–leece in this. No reports, no phone calls, no nothing. But listen up, homey: I got a contract of my own. Contract says you don't do nothing. You try it, I got to leave you here, right?"

"I'm not…"

"Right?"

"Right."

"Righteous. Now, which one of these little TV things covers the front door?"

The couple got on the elevator. The man took out a small plastic box about the size of a cigarette pack. He pressed a button on the side of the box and a tiny red light glowed next to his finger.

The man in the alley was holding a similar transmitter. When his own red light blinked, he struck a match and held it to the string dangling from the door. There was a brief spark, then a flash followed by a muffled
whoompf!
as the door popped off its hinges, swinging free.

The man stepped through the door. As he did so, the shadow cast by an enormous dumpster moved with him. The shadow was human. Three hundred and fifty pounds of human, moving with a delicacy and grace that belied its bulk.

Both men huddled in the darkness. "Princess is inside with her now, Rhino. I figure we got a clean shot up on the service elevator. If they open the door, that'll mean I got in from the balcony. You roll in behind Princess. If the door doesn't open from the inside, it means I couldn't reach it like we planned. Let the woman ring the bell, then. The people inside, they'll probably crack the door on the chain. Just take it down, then come get me. Got it?"

"Yeah. If Princess don't jump the gun."

"He's not that stupid, Rhino."

"Yeah he is."

The two men boarded the Service Elevator, pushed the button marked 44. The car engaged smoothly, silently.

"Cross?"

"What?"

"You really think the broad's going through with it?" "We already got paid." Cross shrugged.

The service car stopped on 44. Both men got off. A seamless window was at the end of the corridor. Working quickly, Cross duct–taped the glass, working in an X pattern until it was completely covered. He stepped back. Rhino placed his gigantic hand against the glass, moving it delicately like he was feeling for a pulse. The tip of one finger was missing. The huge man nodded, then he slapped the fiat of his hand against the glass. Again and again. Cross peeled the duct tape toward him, pulling the glass along for the ride. He brushed away shards from the window sill and perched, facing Rhino, who held him around the waist.

Cross took a grappling hook from his coat. The hook was heavily taped except for the very tip, attached to a length of black Perlon climbing line.

"I think we got a shot," he said. "Ready?"

"Go," Rhino said.

Cross leaned completely out the window so his back was parallel to the ground below and heaved the grappling hook in an overhand motion. It caught. Cross pulled on it.

"That'll hold," he said. "I must have snagged it right."

Rhino took the line from Cross. "Let me see," he said, giving a mighty pull. "Yeah," he said.

Cross swung out the window, soles of his boots against the building, pulling himself toward the balcony. Rhino watched, looking up.

"One man screams, everybody dies!" he spat out, sweeping the Uzi in short, menacing circles.

The five men were frozen, mouths open.

"You!" Cross barked, pointing a black gloved finger at the chubby blond man closest to the front door. "Open the door! Now!"

The chubby man got up on shaky legs and did it.

The woman walked in. A sharp intake of breath from the dark–haired man who had been standing when Cross came in. Princess followed, his mask in place, a chrome .44 magnum in his fist. Then Rhino, also masked, turning sideways to get in the door. His hands were empty. He shut the door behind him, gently.

"Everybody on the couch," Cross said, gesturing with the Uzi. The men sat together, hunched, trembling. Cross pointed, and Rhino stepped behind the couch, looming over the seated figures. Princess stood to the left, his feet braced in a shooter's posture. Cross held his place on the right.

The woman stepped into the middle of the v. "You," she whispered, pointing a long, lacquered nail at the man who had been standing. "Look at me. You've been doing it for months–do it now." The man blanched.

Cross nodded at Rhino. The huge man walked out from behind the couch to the other side of the room. He picked up a marble coffee table like it was a book, carried it to a place in front of the couch. Then he picked up a straight–backed chair in each hand, fussily arranged them so that one was on either side of the coffee table. He took his place behind the couch again. The woman took one of the chairs. "Sit," she said to the dark–haired man, pointing at the other. He did.

The woman nodded at Cross.

"Here it is," Cross told the men. "We got paid to do a job. The job is, you all sit quiet. The lady wants to play a game. We got paid to make sure she gets to play it. We were going to kill you, we wouldn't be wearing the masks. You let the lady play her game, then we all leave. That's it. No violence, no robbery. You do something real wrong, you're going to get dead."

The woman took a deep, harsh breath. It was the only sound in the room.

"So this is the Stalkers' Club," she said. "How long have you been doing it?"

Nobody answered.

"Take the one on the end and break his arm," Cross said to Rhino.

"Two years." the one on the end squeaked. "Two years, this June."

"Don't you talk again," the woman said. "You"–pointing at the dark–haired man–"you do all the talking, understand?"

"Yes," the man said.

"You take pictures?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Video too?"

"Yes."

"You use the computers? Get information from the data banks on the women you stalk?"

"Yes."

"It's all in fun, right?"

"It
is.
We never…"

"You're a rapist, aren't you?"

"No!"

"You have me, don't you? All of you? Captured on your dirty little pictures. It's no fun after a while…unless they
know,
yes? I could
feel
you on me after a while. You like that, don't you?"

"It doesn't hurt…"

"Yes it does. And you know it. And you
like
it."

"I never…"

"Sex, it's all in the mind, isn't it? You have me in your minds."

"No!"

"Yes. I can prove it. Here's the game we're going to play. I bet I can make you come. In ten minutes. Without touching you. Just touching your mind. I'll bet a hundred thousand dollars I can do that. You want to bet?"

"What if I don't?" A trace of sulkiness in his reedy voice.

"Then these men take off their masks, understand?"

"Yes."

"You want to bet?"

"Yes."

The woman nodded at Princess. He walked over to the coffee table, opened the attaché case. It was full of money, banded bills, clean and new. He carefully stacked the cash on a corner of the table, stepped back.

"There's my stake. One hundred thousand. You ready to play?"

"I don't have that kind of money…."

"You want to put up something else' Like your right hand–the one you use on me when you're alone with your dirty pictures?"

"Are you crazy! I won't…"

"Stop lying," the woman said. "I don't have time. You have a safe here. Go and get it."

The dark–haired man got to his feet. Cross stepped next to him, the Uzi between them. They left the room.

They were back in two minutes. Cross dropped a double handful of wealth on the coffee table. Unmounted jewels, cash, gold coins, bearer certificates.

"There's more than a hundred…" the man said.

"Shut up, liar. What's there is what you're playing for. You ready?"

Princess shifted his weight. "Yes," the man said.

The woman stood up. Took off her coat. Under it she wore black fishnet stockings anchored by thick bands around the top of each perfect thigh. Her long legs ended in black spike heels. She turned slowly. A black silk thong divided her buttocks. She was nude from the waist up. The woman turned again, one full turn. Then she sat down on the straight–backed chair, nodded to Princess again. The bodybuilder holstered his huge pistol, took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and cuffed the woman's hands behind her. Then he wrapped a pair of thin black leather straps across her chest, separating her breasts bandolier style. He pulled the straps under the chair and around her thighs, securing her in place. Princess knelt, quickly wrapping two more straps around the woman's ankles. She squirmed against the bonds, unable to move.

"Ten minutes," the woman said. "Start counting."

Princess held another leather strap. The woman licked her lips, opened her mouth. Princess fitted the gag, tied it at the back of her head. The woman's eyes bored into the man facing her. Then Princess fitted the black blindfold in place.

Breathing was the only sound. The woman writhed under the bonds, an oily sheen popping out across her ivory–cream skin.

Dots of white flowered on the dark–haired man's cheeks.

Cross walked over to the computer, tapped a couple of keys. He inserted a floppy disk, hit the Return key. The screen went crazy. The hard disk whirred.

Nobody's eyes left the woman.

Cross prowled the apartment until he found the video library. He pulled a glass bottle from his coat, poured the clear contents over the stacked videotapes. A faint hissing sound filled the small room as the acid went to work. He stepped back inside. The woman's head was back, a throaty moan bubbling past her lips–her sweat mingled with a heavy perfume, choking the room.

The dark–haired man hadn't moved his eyes. His hands were clenched into fists at his side.

A tiny beep sounded from Cross's watch. "Time," he said.

Princess untied the woman. She put on her coat. Stood over the man, hands in her pockets.

"You get one answer," she said. "Did I prove my point? Did you come ?"

"Yes," the man said. Not looking at her.

The woman stepped around the coffee table, holding the man with her eyes. She took a cork–tipped ice pick from the folds of her coat. He was rooted. She snapped the cork tip off the ice pick with a fingernail.

"You can rape with your eyes, can't you?" she whispered.

"I…"

"Can't
you?" Her voice was a whipcrack.

"Yes," he mumbled, not looking up.

"And you never know who's watching–don't forget," she said. The woman nodded to Princess. He scooped everything on the table into the attaché case, popping the sides so it expanded to hold it all. Then he handed her something that looked like a fiat disk with elastic straps. She slipped it over her nose and mouth as Rhino sprayed a canister of some greenish gas over the seated men. They all went down, swooning.

Princess opened the door. They all stepped out into the elevator, pulling off the ski masks to reveal the same kind of disk the woman wore underneath.

At the nod from Cross, the disks came off. He pressed a button on a transmitter.

The elevator opened in the lobby. As they walked across the carpet, Ace stepped from behind the security desk and joined them.

The anonymous gray car was waiting at the curb, its motor idling undetectably. Princess climbed in the front, Cross and the woman in the back. Rhino and Ace disappeared into the night.

The car pulled away. Cross opened the attaché case, rifled through the contents.

"There's something like a quarter mil here, everything included. It's 50–50 over the hundred grand, like we said?"