First Time Killer (20 page)

“So you’re going to stay here alone. Now why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” Barb asked, vinegar in her voice.

“I’ll move in with Winn.”

Barb seemed to consider that, a door opening, then closing. “Sure, make it easier for First Time. Two birds with one stone,” Barb said. “More like two boobs.”

“Come on. Nothing will happen. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to keep an eye on Winn.”

Barb looked at him, eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t like this. Any of this. Maybe you should get out of radio.”

Rick thought about reminding Barb how she was the one who said he belonged in radio. Said it was in his blood. Who he was. He decided not to pursue that angle. “Uncle Ray will be grateful for the company. And the opportunity to help out.”

“Uncle Ray is a…well.” She raised her eyebrows. Slowly, she got up and went to the fridge. Rooted around in the back.

Uncle Ray wasn’t Rick’s real uncle. More like a cousin six or seven times removed. Rick didn’t know the exact relationship and after all these years, it didn’t much matter anymore. Ray looked out for him and he looked out for Ray. Rick trusted Ray with his life. And, more importantly, with his family.

Barb returned with a Sprite and popped the top. This time, she sat across from Rick.

“Ray’s old school, all right,” Rick said.

“More like no-school.” She shook her head once. “I don’t know. What about a hotel?”

“Expensive. Besides, hotels aren’t as secretive or anonymous as you might think. There are always strangers walking around. You don’t want to be stuffed up in a room. Ray’s a harmless old coot. He’s always been there for me. And he loves Livvy.” A true statement. Everyone loved Livvy.

Barb sipped some soda. “Do you think he’ll mind?” Her tone had softened. Rick knew he’d gotten his way, for now.

He exhaled. “Not at all. Ray will be happy for the company. You’d be doing him a favor. Really.”
Plus, there’d be somebody around during the day when I’m at work, keeping an eye on you.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Sure. This morning, as a matter of fact.”

“And you asked him about this?”

“Hey, it was his idea.” Rick nodded, tried the smile again. This time, Barb smiled back.

Ray’s house seemed freshly painted and the bushes in front appeared recently coiffed. It was smaller then most of the neighboring McMansions, and it was quite a bit older, but it looked a lot more inviting from the outside. Although Ray wasn’t the original owner, he’d been living there for forty years, long before Rick had moved to the area.

Rick carried two suitcases up the flagstone front walk. Barb trailed behind, carrying a few duffel bags and holding one of Livvy’s hands. Livvy’s other hand held Smelly the Skunk in a death grip. It had taken some intense two-on-one persuading to convince Livvy to have a “sleepover” at Uncle Ray’s. To close the deal, they had to promise she’d be sleeping in the same room as Barb.

Before Rick got to the porch, the door opened and Ray stepped out. “Hey there, it’s my favorite relatives. Come along, come along.” He wore baggy gray sweats and fuzzy gray slippers. Short and compact, with perpetual garlic breath. One gap-toothed grin and you knew flossing wasn’t one of his hobbies. Ray never seemed to age. He was bordering on decrepit when Rick had first met him.

“Hey, Uncle Ray. How you doing?” Rick said. He set down the bags and gripped Ray on the shoulder. “Looking good, as usual.”

“Thanks, boy, thanks.” He gazed past Rick at Barb and Livvy, who had pulled up five feet behind Rick. “Come on. I won’t bite. How are my two little dolls?” He bent over and flashed Livvy a Jack-O-Lantern special.

Livvy ducked behind Barb’s flank, poking her head around to make sure Ray wasn’t going to sneak up on her.

“Hi Ray. We’re good. Thanks for letting us stay,” Barb said.

“My pleasure. You can stay here any time. What’s family for, anyhow?”

They toted their bags into the house, and Ray excused himself to finish getting the guest bedroom ready. Livvy dashed off to find the television, leaving Rick and Barb alone in the kitchen.

“I’m always amazed by how clean this place is,” Rick said, swiping his fingertip along one of the cream-colored laminated countertops. “He must spend hours every day cleaning.”

“I feel like we’re barging in on him.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe we should go to a hotel.”

“Ray would be insulted. He doesn’t mind. I’ve known him all my life. Trust me, he’s tickled pink.” Rick opened up a cabinet. All the dishes were neatly stacked on clean shelf-paper. “Wow. This guy would have made someone a nice wife.”

Barb shook her head. “Tell me again why you’re not staying here, too?”

“For your safety. What if First Time follows me here?” On the way over, Rick had driven in circles and taken side roads. “I’m probably being paranoid, I know. I’ll call you every chance I get. You and Livvy are my world. If anything were to happen to you, I’d die. Do this for me, okay?”

Barb shook her head again, like she was trying to shake herself from a bad dream. “What am I going to do here?”

Rick cocked his head.

“When Livvy’s at school. What am I going to do? Play Parcheesi with Ray? Watch him sleep? I know. Maybe we could have a dust-off. Whoever dusts the credenza off quickest wins.”

“Cut the poor guy some slack,” Rick said, with a little grin. “He’s a veteran, you know.”

“Did he fight for the North or the South?”

Rick didn’t take the bait. “Nam, actually. Listen. Just do what you’d normally do. Ray won’t be expecting you to entertain him. Really. Go shopping. Read books. Take long baths.”

“Watch my stories and eat bon-bons? You have no idea what I do when you’re at work, do you?”

“I’m just saying, do whatever you want. Ray will go with the flow. Same for Livvy. Maybe she’ll make some new friends.” Rick reduced his voice to a whisper. “With any luck, they’ll catch this guy in a few days and you can move home. Then we can pretend it never happened.”

“I hate you, Rick Jennings.” A smile slowly grew on Barb’s lips.

“Look on the bright side,” Rick said.

“What’s that?”

“Maybe you can pick up some recipe tips. Ray’s a fantastic cook.”

T
HE OFFICE
T
IN
Man and Tubby shared would have made a broom closet look like the Presidential Suite. Two desks, no windows. A small TV in the corner with an Xbox plugged in. A couple of Springsteen posters on the wall. A red plastic milk crate full of
Maxim
and old
FHM
magazines Tubby liked to research. All in all, Tin Man thought, a depressing, isolated existence. Not one befitting a shock jock on his way up.

He swiveled his chair around and glanced at his partner. Tubby’s desk faced the back wall, and Tin Man could make out the beginning of a bald spot as his partner leaned back in his chair. Tubby had his Nikes up on his desk, working on a crossword puzzle. Not a
New York Times
puzzle, or even one from the
Post
. He was struggling through one in
TV Guide
.

Enough farting around, they had a show to do. Tin Man flung a pencil at Tubby, hitting him squarely in the back of the head. “Hey dipshit. Let’s talk about our show.”

Tubby caught himself before he tipped over backward in his chair. “Okay. Take it easy.” He set the magazine down on his desk and turned around. “What about it?”

Tin Man took a deep breath. “Listen. I think you need to step it up some. Show a little more spunk. I’m the headliner, but I need a stronger number two man. Think Robin Quivers. Or Ed McMahon, before he kicked. You know, they inject some personality into the show without crowding the star. That’s what I’m looking for.”

Tubby looked hurt. “I’m trying, man. I really am. I just…”

“I know you’re trying. But you’ve got to try harder.”

“It’s just that you’re so funny, sometimes I find myself listening to you, rather than thinking of something to say.” The look on Tubby’s face reminded Tin Man of a chocolate lab he once owned.

“Okay, okay. You just need to concentrate more. Don’t be so tense, either. Just let it flow,” Tin Man said. Maybe he’d do better without a partner. Or maybe he should think about asking Marie the Psychic to join him. He’d have to talk to Celia about that.

“I’ll try harder.” His eyes shifted, focusing on something over Tin Man’s shoulder. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about a few skits that might work well.”

Skits? Jesus Christ, what was with this guy? Did he want to bring back Amos ’N Andy? “Well, it’s good you’re thinking. We can discuss those ideas another day. Right now, I don’t have to tell you how important ratings are. We’re neck and neck with Rick Jennings. And we’ve got to kick his ass.” Tin Man took a sip of coffee from his Giants mug. Lukewarm.

Tubby nodded. “How?”

“First Time. He’s the key. Our listeners are lapping him up. All we have to do is keep it coming.”

“Uh, I don’t think First Time is very happy about all of this,” Tubby said, face taking on an ashen cast. “He killed Danzler. He killed Garth. Do you think we could be next?”

“First Time’s a psycho, but he’s not going to try anything here. Didn’t you notice the Rent-a-Goon in the lobby Marty hired? Take precautions, but don’t wuss out. Just be sure you’re not alone away from work. Or do what I did. Check into a motel somewhere using a fake name. Feel free to use Rush Limbaugh.”

Tubby didn’t crack a smile. “Maybe it would be safer if we ignored him. Ran some other wild contest that had nothing to do with him. Get the show back to normal.”

“Normal?” Tin Man couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You really are a dumbshit. We need to swing for the fences here. Hit one out of the ballpark. We need the ratings to get the satellite deal and make millions. Once we’re on satellite, everyone in the country will have the chance to hear us. We’ll be fucking famous. If you’re too scared to go for that, then you are in the wrong business.”

He paused, waited a moment for Tubby to reply. When he didn’t, Tin Man pounded on his desk. “We’re shock jocks. What could be more shocking than having an on-going dialogue with a killer? This is what we fucking live for. And I’ll be fucking fucked if I’m going to let my one chance to be a radio icon slip through my fucking fingers.”

L
ATER THAT DAY
, Rick received a summons to a meeting in Marty’s office. When he entered, everyone stopped talking and stared at him. Marty sat behind his large cherry desk fiddling with a pen, forehead shiny from a light sheen of perspiration. Celia leaned casually against a matching wall unit, arms crossed. The tendons in her forearms stood out. She reminded Rick of a sleeping jaguar, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

Detective Adams perched on the corner of Marty’s gleaming desk, one long leg stretching down to the floor while the other dangled a bit. Judging from Marty’s expression as he looked at Adams, he didn’t seem pleased by the seating arrangement.

Tin Man wasn’t there. Probably sleeping or harassing coeds at the community college. Something useful to his career.

“Come in, come in.” Marty waved Rick in. “You know Detective Adams?”

Rick nodded and Adams nodded back with crinkled eyes. Rick didn’t like the whole dynamic, but he was powerless to change anything.

“Good. Well, Brewster had to fly to Palo Alto to address an investor group, but he’s going to try to join us in a couple of minutes by conference call,” Marty said, looking from Adams to Celia to Rick. When no one spoke, Marty cleared his throat. “So, Detective. You called this meeting. What can we do for you?”

Adams adjusted his jacket. Waited a moment to get everyone’s attention. “We want you to shut down the
Afternoon Circus
. At least—”

Both Celia and Marty interrupted, but Marty ceded to Celia’s louder voice. “What are you talking about, Detective? No way are we going to be pressured into folding. Haven’t we already been through this? Don’t you realize he wins, if we shut down? First Time wins.” She smiled smugly, certain she’d made her point.

“I’d rather First Time win than kill,” Adams said. “You can play Best Ofs or spin records or do whatever other radio stations do. Give the
Afternoon Circus
a vacation. Just until we catch this guy.”

It was Marty’s turn to speak. “Listen, Adams—”

“Detective Adams.”

Marty’s face flushed. He glanced at Celia, then back at Adams. “Sorry.
Detective
Adams. We have a business to run here. Our advertisers pay good money to be on our show. They expect results. They expect listeners. And our listeners expect to hear current, topical shows. First Time happens to be the hot topic,” Marty said. Rick felt the beginning of a headache forming.

“He’s killing people. Not just any people. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s killing people from your station. If he continues, there might not be anyone left,” Adams said. “Then what would your listeners listen to?” He eased himself off Marty’s desk. “Do what’s best—for you, for your show, for your listeners. For the general public. Forget First Time. Talk about midgets or supermodels or people having affairs with their wives’ sisters. See who can belch the loudest while eating cat food. But leave him alone. You’re just liable to infuriate him further. And we know what happens when he gets mad.” Adams abruptly turned to Rick, who’d been content to neither be seen nor heard during the discussion. “What’s your take?”

“Well—” Rick shrugged.

“He feels like we do. The show must go on,” Celia said, cheeks rosy. Rick knew she thrived on conflict and argument. If she won, that is.

“Why don’t you let him answer for himself?” Adams glared at her.

“We stick together. We all do what’s best for each other, and the show. Right, Rick?” Celia arched an eyebrow at him.

Celia had spoken. Going against her would only spell trouble. “Detective. What I believe has little relevance here. I’ve got a job to do, and I’ll do it the best I can. With or without anyone’s blessings.” Rick prided himself on his ability to give an answer that would tick
everyone
off.