Imola (19 page)

What are you going to do now? You don’t have a car
.

I told you to shut up. You know I don’t need you.

Lilin walked back to the paved road, then to where the highway was in view. In this direction, the road didn’t continue beyond the two on-ramps. She stayed back from the highway so any passing highway patrol officers wouldn’t see her. She waited, her thumb ready.

It didn’t take long. A powder blue BMW pulled to a stop, and the electric window whined down. A young blonde gave a white-toothed smile. “You going into the city?”

Lilin nodded and circled to the passenger door. The inside of the car reeked of one of the trendy perfumes. Be Delicious, or something like that.

Lilin settled into the soft, beige leather and turned to look at the driver, who stared back.

“You have to buckle your seat belt. If my Dad sees anyone without a buckle, he’ll take my keys for a week. I just got the car. Do you like it?”

Lilin forced a smile. She wanted to ride in silence, not hear testimonials from a Chatty Cathy.

“I’m not kidding. I’m going to sit here until you buckle up.”

Lilin snapped the metal buckle and slipped her hand into her purse. Her fingers fondled the folded razor.

“Thank you. I just couldn’t bear it if he took the caraway. Besides, I have an appointment.” The acceleration squealed the tires. “Where in the city?”

“What?” Lilin wanted to cut her, but she didn’t do women, or a girl in this case. Maybe a Glasgow Smile would serve a higher purpose here, kind of like that chick from Ella’s home. The one who stole from Ella and a few other old ladies. Lilin smiled at the memory of her first woman kill. At least there was a man there as well. A two-for-one.

“Where do you want me to let you off, silly.” The girl’s head bob brought the perfume level back to overpowering.

“Anywhere on Van Ness. Is that okay?”

“Right on my way. Isn’t this great? I can take you right where you want to go.” She pushed on the accelerator, and the car shot up the on-ramp. She merged without looking over her shoulder. “It’s nice to have company.”

Lilin’s fingers twitched on the razor.

The young woman remained silent all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge, until she pulled into the toll plaza. She pushed the window button, and as it whirred down, Lilin felt the cool air, replacing the perfume with the smell of the ocean. She took a deep breath as the scent swirled around her. Wherever she went next, she’d have to stay close to an ocean. She needed this smell.

“It’s okay,” the girl said as she pulled to a stop. “I got it.” She reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a handful of change. “I like to make them count it.” She chuckled.

As they entered San Francisco, Lilin pulled her hand from her purse. She wanted to close her eyes and rest, but she couldn’t let Agnes back in. No telling what she’d say to the girl. And for some reason, Lilin felt no awareness, no memory whenever Agnes was around. It wasn’t like before Imola, when Agnes was in charge. She had been aware of every one of Agnes’s actions back then, even her thoughts.

“So, don’t you want to know?” The girl punched the accelerator again.

“What?” Lilin squinted the girl into focus.

“Back there.” She hooked her thumb back over her shoulder. “I said I have an appointment. Don’t you want to know what for?”

“It’s not really any of my business.”

The girl chuckled again. “That’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it. It just so cool.” She looked over at Lilin and let out another irritating laugh.

Please let her just shut up
. Lilin envisioned the girl’s crimson blood cascading down the beige leather upholstery of the car. Or would it come out blue, the color of the car?

“Okay. I’ll tell. It’s my present from my mom. The Beemer is from my dad. For my graduation. And for getting accepted at St. Mary’s. I don’t really want to go to college yet, but I kinda have to.” She looked over at Lilin, but swung her head around when the car swerved toward the next lane. “So don’t you want to know whatmy mom got me?”

Effervescence was supposed to bubble off with time, wasn’t it?

Maybe if she spilled her information, she’d shut up for five minutes
.

Lilin flinched. She looked at the girl. “What’s the appointment for?”

The girl giggled again, this time with ascending staccato notes. She took a deep breath as if she were about to go under water. “It’s for a consultation.” The last word came out loud, pronounced with a halting emphasis on each syllable. She blew out the remaining air and took another huge gulp. “I’m gonna get a boob job. That’s Mom’s present. Isn’t she just the greatest? Of course, she’s not my real mom. She’s my stepmom.”

BMW from Daddy, boob job from Stepmommy—all for high school graduation. Lilin gritted her teeth. Her hand slid back toward her purse.

You don’t do girls. Remember?

I want to make an exception. The world will be better off. I promise.

No response.

Hit a common note, didn’t I?

She’s pretty busty. She doesn’t need bigger breasts
.

Lilin nodded in agreement. But the girl lived in Sausalito, where extraordinary wasn’t quite good enough. She tried to think of a word that went a step beyond extraordinary. Maybe D-cup.

Lilin looked down at her own cleavage. Women who didn’t know how to use what they were born with had no business thinking artificial enhancement would make their lives any better. They were amateurs in a game that led in only one direction—to unhappiness—for all but the professionals. Shiny tools were no match for the dull, hardened steel of functionality, and functionality came from a self-confidence that was earned the hard way, not purchased from some outpatient surgery center.

The girl started talking again, but to Lilin the words trailed off to a dull hum. The girl was obviously nervous about the procedure, although the end point would surely dull the apprehension. Lilin wondered if the girl’s stepmom was one of those cosmetic surgery addicts. One who felt the fountain of youth sprung from the sharp blade of a scalpel. It was a puzzle piece that didn’t have to be forced into place.

Lilin’s request to be let off anywhere on Van Ness put her only a few blocks from the Tenderloin and within a mile of her destination. She leaned into the car before closing the door. “Good luck with your titties.”

The girl gave one of her patented giggles. “Thank you. Aren’t my parents just way cool?”

Lilin slammed the car door before she was tempted to extend the girl’s ride to forever.

You want to go the other way
.

Shut up. I’m not going back to that mangy hotel. Not now anyway.

Later, she’d make a brief stop back there to pick up her belongings. It was moving day. And moving day meant it was probably a day for something else. A little business and a little fun.

What are you going to do?

Shut up.

A block from the destination, she saw it. It was in the front line but to the side. The owner of the small used car lot wanted to lure customers in with the lower-priced cars. The GTO was visible, but its price tag wasn’t. It wasn’t displayed at all. An interested party would have to ask. Lilin intended to ask.

It was a 1970 two-door. Bright red. She’d seen only a couple flaws when she’d checked it out earlier. The biggest in the lot, it had an automatic transmission. That’s probably why it was still on the lot. That and the price, whatever it was. She laughed. The price didn’t bother her.

Lilin unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse and pushed her breasts upward so they bulged from the top of her already uplifting bra. She undid the bottom two buttons and tied the shirttails into a knot high enough to expose her tummy. Who needed implants? Shesmoothed her hair with her hands.

A stout man, presumably the owner of the lot, met her at the door of the small shack-like office. He oozed salesman stereotype, and he made no attempt to raise his eyes from her cleavage.

She wanted to slap the grin from his face. “I want the GTO.”

“Would you like a test drive? It drives like a honey. Has the big engine. You’ll need rear tires every ten thousand miles if you aren’t careful.”

He had a tittering laugh. It pissed her off. “No. I want to buy it.”

“Well, I can let you have it for—”

“Don’t bullshit me. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you middle Blue Book because it’s an automatic, and it’s been in a wreck. The frame needs some straightening, and you don’t have the equipment for it. And the odometer has probably been rolled back. I’ll take it as is. Cash okay?”

“It’s worth more than—”

“Here’s my one-time offer.” She stepped close. “Middle Blue Book. Cash. If you say yes right now, I’ll take you in the office and let you fuck me in lieu of a handshake. You have ten seconds to decide. Ten … nine … eight …”

The man pirouetted on his right heel. “Deal.” His jacket was off before he reached the door. He kicked his shoes off in the three steps it took to navigate around the front desk, and his pants hit the floor two steps later, inthe doorway of the rear office. By the time Lilin cleared the door, he was in his boxers, the infuriating grin expanded to show coffee-stained teeth. They were alone in the shack.

Don’t do this
.

Lilin’s grin matched his as she slipped off the blouse and released the bra. She reached in her purse. “You’ll have to wear protection.”

“Everything here comes with a warranty.” He blurted his tittering laugh, apparently pleased with his attempt at humor.

She stepped close.

He reached for her breasts, but before the first touch, the stun gun made contact with his side. He fell on the floor, jerking. The rise in his boxers deflated like a punctured tire.

Take the keys. You don’t have to do this
.

Lilin admired the stun gun. It was her first time. She’d used a taser before, but she was tired of the expensive reloads and replacements. This one could be recharged and used over and over.

Just take the keys
.

Shut up. This one is for you. You’re going to stay with me through the whole thing this time. You’re going to see how good it feels. Your first orgasm. You and me. We’re going to do it together.

Please. Just take the keys
.

Lilin pulled the straight razor from her purse andlooked around. She went back to the doorway, pulled the man’s pants into the office, and closed the door.

Watch and learn.

No. You do it yourself
.

Not this time. Here’s the best way. You have to have something ready so the blood doesn’t squirt all over. She poised the razor, with the pants in the other hand, right behind it.

Come on. Your hand is on it, too. We’re doing it together.

The razor swiped.

Now, you just hold the cloth here for a few minutes.

The man twitched and went still.

Wasn’t that easy? Now for the good part.

You don’t have to
.

This is the best part.

She lowered his boxers to his ankles and lifted his flaccid member.

This is the male’s weapon. He uses it to hurt. We are at war. We have to disarm our foe.

Don’t
.

Her breathing was quick, panting, like a dog. A wrist flick and she let out a whimper. Her knees shook. She stood up and wiped the razor on the man’s shirt, which dangled from the edge of a desk. She folded the blade and put the razor back in her purse.

Now for the best part. In case you didn’t notice, wejust had a little one. Now we get the big one—one you’ll never forget.

I am No One
.

Don’t pull that crap on me. You’re right here, right now. You see everything I see. You feel everything I feel. Your hands were on the razor right with mine. Now, enjoy the spoils with me.

She pushed her pants and panties to her ankles and lowered the foe’s disarmed weapon for the victory dance.

Detective Art Bransome hurried down the disinfectant-scented hallway of the Mendocino Police Station and burst into the detective’s workroom. Agnes Hahn was on the loose, his most experienced officer was dead, and the replacement officer the state had sent was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie from Sonoma County, barely three months out of the academy.

Within minutes, Officer Andy Pfeffer pushed through the door and quietly walked toward Bransome. “My assignment, sir?”

Under different circumstances, Bransome would have welcomed the rookie into the investigation, even taken on the role of mentor as well as boss. But Agnes’s escape, and the subsequent murders, represented such a dose of lip-puckering bitterness that playing teacher wasbeyond his current patience threshold.

He had lived and breathed Agnes Hahn for way too long to have this happen all over again. How the hell could they let her get out? Before, the way they caught her was a fluke. Jason had stumbled upon the storage garage behind Agnes’s house on a blind hunch, a long shot to gain further information. He had no idea Agnes, or Lilin, or whoever, was hiding in there. And now she was loose again, in San Francisco, and seeking a new identity. If it took a fluke to find her before, what would it take this time? What was less probable than a fluke? Maybe divine intervention?