Genesis of Evil (7 page)

“A laxative,” Virginia said, shaking her head. “It’s enough to make you swear off restaurants for life.”

Gerhart stuffed the last piece of toast into his mouth and decided to go to work early. It would beat the hell out of sitting around listening to Virginia gripe and moan.

By two in the afternoon, Gerhart felt much better. He felt so good, in fact, that he decided to go somewhere for a hamburger. He was three blocks from the station when the dispatcher came on the air and asked for the nearest car to the mall. Gerhart was only a few blocks away and answered the call. One of the mall security guards was standing on the curb when Gerhart drove up. The guard grinned and stuck out a hand when Gerhart climbed from the car.

“Delbert Rollins, Chief. Nice to meet you. You ain’t gonna believe this one.”

“What’s up?” Gerhart asked as he shook the hand.

Rollins continued to grin and motioned for the Chief to follow him. He set out at a brisk walk through the crowd. “You need to see this for yourself. I don’t want to spoil it. It’s great. This should happen more often.”

Gerhart followed curiously, wondering what to expect. Halfway between the mall entry and Bonmark’s, a crowd filled the passage from wall to wall. Rollins pushed his way through to make a path for Gerhart. When he reached a clearing in the center of the crowd, he turned to face Gerhart, snapped his heels together and waved a hand like the ringmaster in a circus. Gerhart stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the two people in the center of the circle of onlookers.

A boy in his late teens lay on his back on the floor. Gerhart guessed his weight at 150 and figured him to stand around six feet tall when he was vertical. The boy’s eyes snapped back and forth, and sweat rolled down his face to puddle on the tile floor. The rest of him wasn’t moving a muscle. It was no wonder.

The tip of an aluminum crutch was jammed against his Adam’s apple so tightly that he had to scrunch his head back in order to swallow, which he did almost constantly. The crutch was held by a woman some five feet four inches tall who couldn’t weigh more than 120 pounds with a brick in each pocket. Her legs were splayed slightly apart as she balanced easily on the other crutch. She seemed prepared to stay in that position all week. Gerhart couldn’t help grinning as he stepped up to her.

“Ma’am, I’m Chief Kable. What can I do for you, as if I don’t already know.”

She swiveled her head in his direction, looked him up and down and then pointed her chin at the kid on the floor. “This twit tried to snatch my purse. It sort of pissed me off, so I whacked him on the head and hollered for somebody to call you guys.”

The crowd laughed and clapped loudly while the would-be purse-snatcher continued to sweat. When the noise died down, he rolled his eyes up at the Chief. He looked like a trapped rabbit.

“Please, sir, could I get up now? I have to go to the bathroom.”

The crowd roared with laughter and Gerhart motioned for the victim to let the boy up. The terrified lad stumbled awkwardly to his feet. Gerhart spun him around and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Okay, buster, you’re mine.” Gerhart turned to the victim. “I assume you want to press charges?”

“Damn right. I didn’t keep this jerk nailed to the floor for ten minutes just to see if he’d evaporate. Should I come down to the station now or later?”

“Whenever you like,” Gerhart said, “but hold on a second.” He turned to the crowd that was beginning to disperse. “Did any of you see this action?”

Five hands shot up.

“How many of you saw it from start to finish?”

All the hands were hesitantly withdrawn except one.

“Come on over here,” Gerhart said to the remaining hand.

The crowd made way for a lady wearing a bright orange tracksuit with black stripes. Her gym shoes were green and her hair was somewhere between gray and blue. The tracksuit was large enough to garage a bass boat and was stretched tighter than a hooker’s jeans. The inhabitant of the suit stepped up to Gerhart and patted the victim on the shoulder.

“This is one tough lady, Your Honor,” she said, beaming up at them. “I was walking right behind her and saw the whole thing. This dummy,” she thumbed in the direction of the criminal, “ran up behind her and tried to grab her purse. But she had a good grip on it. When he yanked on the strap, she just leaned a little bit forward and smacked him upside his head with one of those crutches. Then, while he was staggering around, she whacked him in the leg and knocked him down. When he hit the floor, she whacked him on the ear again, and when he rolled over onto his back she stuck that crutch on his neck and said, ‘Keep still, uhm, A-hole, or I’ll poke a hole in your neck and spit in it.’” She looked around at the crowd that had stopped to hear more. “Right?”

“Right!” they thundered with one voice.

Gerhart burst out laughing. “Okay,” he said when he caught his breath. “Thanks a lot, ma’am.”

Delbert Rollins, the mall guard, grinned at Gerhart. “What did I tell you, Chief? I’ll bet you’re glad you took this call.”

“Matter of fact, I am. Thanks, Delbert.” He shook hands with the guard once more then turned and led the would-be purse-snatcher toward the entry. The victim went with them. Gerhart watched her move as they made their way through the shoppers. She swung along with a supple shuffle, swinging first the crutches forward, then both legs together. It looked awkward, but she moved with surprising grace and speed for one with such an obvious handicap.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Roberta Valentine. What’s yours?”

“Gerhart Kable. Do you live in Trinidad? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“I’ve been here about a year. Moved down from Indiana.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a headhunter. I run my own agency.”

“Chief,” the boy interrupted with a whine, “I’ve really got to pee.”

“Shut up,” Gerhart said. He pushed open the mall door and held it for Roberta. “You know where the Police Station is?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you there, if that’s all right.”

Gerhart nodded. She smiled, flipped a hand in the air and swung across to a remarkably clean ‘59 Plymouth convertible. Gerhart noted with surprise that it wasn’t parked in a handicap space. She opened the door and reached down to do something to the seat. It swung around to face her. She dropped into the bucket seat, lifted her legs into the car, swung the seat back under the steering wheel and pulled the door closed.

“Damn,” the kid said. “She’s sure got nice legs, even if she can’t use ‘em very good.”

“Get in the car, shithead,” Gerhart said. He opened the back door of the Ford and shoved the kid inside. Then he straightened up and watched Roberta Valentine drive off across the lot.

He had to admit the kid was right. And the rest of her looked as good as her legs.

Gerhart let the kid go to the bathroom when they arrived at the station. Then he took the young perp to the interrogation room. Roberta Valentine arrived a few minutes later and they all sat around a long table. Gerhart told the kid to empty his pockets.

He produced a brown leather wallet, a stainless steel pocketknife with a three-inch blade, eighty-seven cents in change, a dirty handkerchief, a ring of keys, a pack of Winston Lights and a disposable lighter.

Gerhart reached across the table, retrieved the wallet and opened it. He flipped clear plastic panels until he found a driver’s license, stared at it for a moment and raised his eyebrows.

“You’re Wesley Richards?” he asked.

The kid rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

“Don’t tell me your father is Manning Richards.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

Gerhart tossed the wallet back into the pile. “Don’t get smart. Is Manning Richards your father?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why does that name ring a bell?” Roberta asked.

“He’s the mayor,” Gerhart said.

It was Roberta’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “The mayor’s kid tried to rip off my purse? Oh, boy. I suppose you’re going to turn him loose.”

Gerhart looked at her with amazement. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“It’s a small town.” She shrugged. “You work for the mayor.”

“I don’t operate that way,” he said. “If this was hizzonor, himself, sitting here, I’d bust him anyway.”

“Shit,” the kid said. “I ain’t got a chance.”

“No, you don’t,” Gerhart said. “Suppose you tell me what possessed you to grab this lady’s purse in the first place. I know you don’t need the money. You got a habit?”

The kid slumped down in his chair like a whipped puppy. “Honest to God, Chief, I can’t explain it. I was going down to Reno’s Sports to get a pair of shorts. This lady was going along in front of me. All of a sudden, I had this…like…urge, I guess, to grab the purse. It was like somebody was telling me to do it. I felt almost like I was in this fog, or something. So I made a grab for it and the next thing I know, I’m, like, flat on my back and she’s got this crutch stuck in my neck. I thought she was gonna kill me. You know, for a minute I didn’t know why she was doing that to me. But then I remembered grabbing the purse.”
 

Gerhart leaned back in his chair and looked at Roberta. “This guy should write fiction.”

“I swear, Chief, that’s exactly what happened. It don’t make much sense to me, either, like, but it’s the truth.” The youth took a deep breath and wiped a hand across his face. “Oh, shit. Dad’s gonna kill me.”

“He probably will,” Gerhart said. “And if he does I won’t arrest him. I’ve got to give him a call.” He stood up.

“Please, Chief, don’t tell him. I’ll do anything.”

“Sorry. You’re a minor. That’s how it works.”

As he turned toward the door, Roberta laid a hand on his arm. “Chief, maybe you won’t have to.”

“Sure I…what do you mean?”

Roberta shrugged. “If I don’t press charges, there won’t be a problem, will there?”

“No, but I can’t believe you’re going to let him get away with this, especially after the way you nailed him to the floor.”

The kid jumped up. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you! I…”

“Sit down and shut up,” Gerhart said. “We haven’t decided yet.”

Roberta glanced from one to the other, thinking. Finally she pointed a finger at the boy. “Look, kid, if I ease off, will you keep your nose clean?”

“Oh, yes! I promise! I’ll never do anything like this again!” He turned to Gerhart. “Please, Chief.”

Gerhart looked back and forth between Roberta and the repentant youth for a moment, then he threw his hands up. “Get out of here, before I change my mind. If I catch you at it again, I’ll lock you up so far back we’ll have to send your lunch by UPS.”

Roberta looked on sternly as the kid stuffed his belongings into his pockets and ran out. “You know,” she said, “strange as it seems, I believe the kid. You probably think I’m nuts.”

“It must be an epidemic.” He smiled. “I believe him, too. Would you like a cup of our world famous coffee? It’s guaranteed to cure your ulcer by the simple expedient of burning out the lining of your stomach.”

“Why not?” she said. “It can’t be as bad as what I make at home.”

Chapter Eight

September 21, 2004

The captain of the Privateer named the
Sea Serpent
licked his chops and cast an evil leer upon the naked girl tied hand and foot to the bed.

“Now, me lass,” he snarled, “we’ll see if you’ll have Captain Blacketer or not.”

He drew the cutlass from his waistband and slashed at the air above his head as the girl looked on in horror. Then he bent over her and placed the tip of the cutlass against her throat.

“Please, Captain,” she said in a trembling voice, “don’t hurt me. I…I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do whatever you want.”

She gyrated slowly back and forth on the mattress and licked her lips. The captain slipped his cutlass back through the waistband of his pantaloons and stepped closer to the bed. “Anything I want, lass? Don’t lie to me. I won’t tolerate no wench as lies to me.”

“Oh, no, Captain. I promise. Please, don’t hurt me. Please!” The girl batted her eyelashes and tried a tentative smile.

He glared down at her for a moment, then bent and slid a hand between her legs. He noted with pleasure that she was already damp. He straightened up and pulled off his singlet and pantaloons. As he revealed more and more of his corpulent person, the girl on the bed increased her thrashing and moaning. Totally naked now, he leaped astride her and drove his rigid member deep between her thighs.

“Oh, yes! Deeper! Deeper!” she cried as she bucked and tossed beneath him.

As he thrust ever more fiercely into her he felt as though he was floating backward away from her and watching from afar. Then the urgency of his lust diminished and he squinted his eyes as he looked down at her.

This bitch,
he thought,
they’re all the same. All they want is a stiff dick and lots of money. Or maybe money and then the dick. Or just the money. They don’t give a shit about the man on top of them. Whores! The lot of them are nothing but whores. Wives, girlfriends, no matter. They’re all alike.