Chapter 10: Unmasked

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Derek

It’s been a week since Dex’s party, and nothing has changed. It’s driving me crazy. I keep texting Melissa, debriefing her on my days. She continues not responding. I keep digging through these records, looking for any clue as to who’s behind the letters. We continue coming back with nothing. It’s starting to feel pointless, and the strain is wearing on all of us. Patrick’s ready to set a trap, and for the first time since I’ve known him, Stuart agrees with his brother.

I’m turning over the details of their plan when my phone buzzes. One glance, and I’m surprised to see it’s Star. Ever since that night in my condo, I’ve given her a wide berth. I sleep at Stuart’s place and spend most of my time there or here. When we do speak, it’s very basic: the latest on the case, if she needs anything, how Cammie is adjusting.

Snatching up my phone, I slide a finger across the face. “Derek here.”

Panic fills my ear. “It’s over! He knows we’re here! Oh god!”

I’m out of my seat, snatching my blazer off my chair and heading for the door as she’s still speaking. “Calm down. Where’s Cammie?”

“I’m holding her.” Sounds of movement, and the little girl makes a fussy noise.

“Are you in my condo?” Waving at Nikki, I’m out the double-glass doors.

“Yes. We’re in the condo, alone—”

“Go across the hall and stay with Mariska until I get there. Can you do that? Is Mariska home?”

“I-I think so?” Her voice cracks, and I hear the tears coming.

“Star, listen to me.”

A sniff. “Hm?”

“Don’t cry. Think of Cammie. She doesn’t know what’s going on. You need to stay calm.” Fishing in my pocket, I pull out the keys to the Audi.

“Okay...”

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get to Stuart’s place. Go ahead.”

More rustling noises, another little fuss from Cammie. I hear a door opening and closing followed by soft tapping. Mariska’s high voice greets her in the background.

“Are you in?” I’m on the road, making my way through traffic.

“I’m at Stuart’s.” She already sounds calmer. “We’re here together.”

“Good. Ask Mariska to lock the door and don’t let anyone in until I get there. I’m five minutes away.”

“Okay.” She speaks to Mariska, but I cut in.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Derek!” She’s back to panicky.

My stomach tightens. “What is it?”

“I’m just...” Hesitation. “You’ll be right here?”

“Less than five minutes now. Don’t be afraid. Walt’s downstairs.”

“Right.”

“Hanging up now.”

We disconnect, and my teeth clench. This is the break we’ve been waiting for. If this asshole was stupid enough to send mail to my condo, we can track it all the way back to his doorstep. Shit! Snatching up the phone again, I call Star right back.

“What is it!” Her voice is a gasp.

“Everything’s fine,” I say, trying to ease her back down. “Don’t throw away the envelope. Don’t touch it any more than you have to.”

“I left it in your condo!” she cries.

God dammit. Keeping my voice calm. “We’ve got to have that envelope, Star. I’ll stay on the phone with you. Go back across the hall and get it.”

“Hang on... Cammie, stay with Aunt Mare Mare. I’ll be right back.” Door opens, door closes, noise of frantic movement... more frantic movement... I’m gripping the steering wheel as I wait. Finally, a loud exhale of relief. “It’s here! I have it.”

“Pick it up carefully by the edges and put it in a plastic bag.” I’m pulling into the parking garage. “I’m in the building. I’ll be up in less than a minute.”

We disconnect, and my next call is to the office.

* * *

Stuart has the closure flap on the envelope and the stamp in his hands, and frustration lines his brow. “They’re all stickers. None of this requires saliva.”

“So whoever it is knows better than to leave behind traces of DNA.”

We both sit back and stare at the brown envelope and the white sheet of paper. I pick up the letter and read it again.

Ms. Durango,

The time has come, the walrus said, for us to end our game. You’ve done everything exactly as I expected. Give these instructions to the Big Guy:

Meet me at the Palomino Bar, martini room, tonight at nine. I’ll be the one with the Gibson and the gat. If he brings any helpers, my accomplice will turn your photograph, your underwear, and your exact location over to the MSPD.

I look forward to our meeting.

Signed,

A Friend

Tossing the paper back on the table, I exhale and stand. “Fuck it. I’ll meet him tonight, and I’ll go alone. I’m not worried about any of this. I’m ready to unmask this asshole.”

Stuart’s eyes flick to the clock then back to me. “That gives us two hours to work out a Plan B.”

“I don’t need a Plan B. We’ll follow his Plan A. I’ve handled rats like this before. I’m happy to do it again.”

“At least wear my Kevlar.” He heads to the master bedroom, and I wait, turning his instructions over in my mind. An accomplice.

Star has Cammie in the living room, and we decided they should stay with Stuart and Mariska the rest of the night in case it’s a setup.

My partner’s back with his black vest in hand. “The perfect double-cross would be to pretend he’s after you in order to pull us all away from covering her. Or to lead you out in the open alone.”

“You read my mind, partner.” I pull my black sweater over my head and take the vest from him. Once it’s securely fastened, I restore my top layer and add a lightweight grey blazer.

“I’d feel better having you covered.” Stuart hands me a small pistol I slip in my boot. “I don’t need a gun to end this.”

“You never know how he’ll come at you.” He steps to the door and opens it, and I follow him back to the kitchen. “This fucker didn’t give us any time. If Patrick were closer, we’d have at least one more set of eyes.”

“I give our friend credit. He’s bringing you two together in a way I never could.”

“Extra muscle is always helpful in situations like this. Regardless of whether I agree with him.”

Clapping Stuart on the shoulder, I head for the exit. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

* * *

The Palomino bar is adjacent to one of the nicer steak houses in town. The main bar is large and traditional. Wooden booths line the perimeter and a matching bar is located in the center of the room. A layer of tall tables with high chairs ring the space between the two, and it’s all shiny brass and low lighting. Off to the side is the dim-lit martini bar where I’m looking for an asshole with a Gibson. And a gat.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. For a Thursday night, it’s pretty deserted, but it’s early.

A couple sits in one corner leaning close together. The female holds a pink martini, a cosmopolitan, I’d bet. Her date has something with a curled lemon peel slivered in it. Lemon drop. A table of three women is across from them, but again, pink drinks. Finally my eyes land on a patron in the very back, dead center of the room. I can’t make out the face. Whoever it is has leaned out of the light, but on the table directly in front of him or her is a martini glass containing clear alcohol. In the bottom middle of the crystal is a small, white onion on a toothpick. Our “Friend.”

Without hesitation, I walk straight to where he or she is sitting and stop, waiting for the snake to slither into the light. When it finally does, I’m momentarily winded. I have to take a step back.

“Bennett?” Confusion lines my face as I recognize the contract private investigator I’ve worked with for years. I’ve trusted him on several cases, and he’s been my right hand tracking subjects in remote locations. The last time we worked together was... last year. He kept an eye on Sloan for me in Baltimore when I was in Wilmington with Melissa. Anger mixed with betrayal fires in my chest. I’m ready to kill this guy, but for the moment, he has the upper hand.

“Derek Alexander.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and giving me a sick grin.

“Robert.” I pull out the chair across from him and sit. “I confess, I’m surprised. You’re better at your job than I gave you credit for.”

His eyes narrow before they travel over my torso. “Credit is hard to come by in your business, Mr. Alexander.”

“The bird in the hand is always preferable to theories and promises.”

He exhales a short laugh. “You’re so fucking smooth. You with your suit and tie, your fancy car, your ultimate bachelor pad, and sexy-assed fiancée.”

My fist tightens. “A smart guy would keep his thoughts about Melissa to himself.”

“Or what?” He leans back and really laughs. “You’ll kick my ass? She’s not even yours anymore.”

I meet his ice-blue stare. “I’ll break your neck.”

He takes a long sip of the Gibson in front of him. “Your preferred method of disposal.” A pause as he evaluates my response. “Such a rookie mistake, losing control like that. You honestly thought no one would find out? I’m disappointed.”

“The feeling is mutual.” The waitress puts a short glass of scotch in front of me and sashays off again.

Lifting the toothpick, he slips the tiny onion into his mouth. “Even more disappointing. I gave you the perfect setup. That hot piece of ass right in your condo. You never even fucked her, and I hear she gives a hell of a hummer.”

“You’re talking about Star?” My eyes narrow. “Is she in on this?”

He shakes his head and frowns. “I’m no amateur. All she could talk about in Baltimore was how you believed in her. It was pathetic, and I fucking thought after the way she played your partner—”

“You asked her to help you?”

His cold gaze lands on mine. “Of course not. I knew she’d never turn on you. She’s too in love with you.” A disgusted noise, and he takes another sip.

I’ve heard enough. “What do you want, Bennett?”

“My letter was perfectly clear,” he says with a smirk. “I want you, big guy.”

Leaning back, I shove my drink forward. “What the fuck? I’m not gay.”

“HA!” He says loudly, leaning forward in mock laughter. “Your ego is only outsized by your stupidity.” Straightening, all traces of his smile disappear. “I want you taking a dose of your own medicine.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Let’s see... You’re Mister Alexander, fucking American hero, fucking top in your field, fucking paragon of truth and virtue. Am I right? Or do I exaggerate?”

“You exaggerate.”

“Maybe, but you do blaze in like the scales of justice ready to put anyone away, ruin his life, without a shred of mercy.”

Studying his face, I remember the last letter. Revenge is a dish best served cold. “You said you wanted revenge. What have I ever done to you?”

He’s collected again, running his finger around the lip of his now-empty martini glass. “Do you happen to remember a young man named Shane?”

Filtering through my memory, I come back with nothing. “No.”

His head moves slowly side to side. “You wouldn’t. You only knew him as Slayer. Slayer Bennett.”

Lightning flashes behind my eyes, but I remain cool. “You’re related to Slayde?

“You might say that.” He exhales a chuckle and signals the waitress. “You might say I’m the reason he exists.”

Another Gibson is placed in front of him, and we both wait until the young, tattooed lady is gone again.

More than any other, that court case is etched in my memory. I remember what they said about Slayde’s father.

“Are you pretending to care?” I evaluate the fucker sitting before me. “The court psychiatrist said you beat him regularly within an inch of his life.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Staring into the drink, his voice drops, and for the first time, he doesn’t come off as a raving fucking lunatic. “Shane doesn’t know I’m his real dad.” Bennett’s eyes slide closed. “His mother was the most beautiful woman...”

“So you abandoned him.” My empathy for this guy evaporates as quickly as it tried to appear.

“It wasn’t like that. Mary pushed me away.” He shakes his head. “When she got sick, she said it was God’s judgment for violating her marriage bed.”

“Sounds like Slayde’s had a lot of crazy to overcome in his life.” I take a long drink of scotch.

“But you knew the hell he survived. You had all the evidence. The psychiatrist said he had intermittent explosive disorder. They tried to reduce his sentence. But you wouldn’t let them. You had no mercy.”

Glancing away, I can’t help admitting I still have a problem with that diagnosis. At the same time, I can relate to a father’s concern for his son. I have Dex, after all. “So what? You want revenge because I did my job?”

His crazy returns with his rage. “You wouldn’t stop until you finished him. He was destined to be a boxing legend, and you took it all away.” His voice is a breathy growl. “Look at you. You’re no better than him. You fucking hypocrite.”

Quiet settles over the table. I think about his words, that case. “I was a lot harder then. I’d just lost Allison—”

“Save the sob story. It’s time for payback, and you know the saying. She’s a bitch.”

“You want money?”

“Fuck no!” A spate of real laughter erupts from him now. “I want you to lose everything. I want your ass in prison, rotting away just like my kid’s.”

My brow lines. “You know he’s out, right?”

“He’s a fucking janitor. A nobody living in a shit town.”

With an exhale, I lean back. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was the right thing to do at the time. Slayde’s paid his debt, and from what I understand, he’s happy now.”

“What the fuck do you know about his happiness?” Bennett shoves his glass forward. “I’ve been watching, waiting for the great Derek Alexander to slip up, and boy, did you ever.”

“You want me to go to prison.” I nod, looking at my glass. “What’s your plan for making that happen?”

“Easy. You have two choices. The whore goes to prison or you do.” He leans back, a calm smile crossing his lips. “What’s it going to be, hero?”

Ice settles in my stomach. He’s prepared for this. He’s crazy like a fox, and he’s left me no options. “That will satisfy you?”

“Watching you clean shit off of fucking toilets just like my boy had to? You bet your ass.” He leans forward and his voice becomes a hiss. “I’ll be fucking jerking all over your fucking photograph.”

The image forces a grimace. “Turn myself in.”

“You’ve got twenty-four hours, Big Guy.” The smile on his face is testing my ability to not snap him like a toothpick. “I know that look. You touch me, you seal her fate. My accomplice has everything she needs to put Star away for life should anything happen to me.”

Standing, he shoves his chair in. “I’m listening to the wire. By this time tomorrow, your ass had better be in a cell.”

Sitting back, I watch him walk out of the bar. For the moment, it appears my former PI has the upper hand. I’m not sure how we’re going to resolve this, but I have to talk with Stuart and Patrick. Then I have to call the Maryland State Police Department.