BLOOD ON THE MOON
197
They betrayed you and ripped you,
Buried in dread;
I avenged your heartache by killing them dead;
Then you betrayed me with
Badge one-one-one-four You let him hurt me and make you his whore; I cannot blame you—but tonight you must choose;
With your eyes sewn open you will watch
him lose;
I will always love—love . . . love . . .”
The soft voice receded back into a sigh. Kathleen contorted her eyebrows and felt the stitches at the corners of her eyelids loosen. I am going to kill him before he kills me.
The tape recorder clicked off. Kathleen’s chair was hoisted into the air and spun around in a perfect circle. She screamed and heard the faintest vibration of her own voice, then looked up at Teddy Verplanck in a skin-tight black jumpsuit. She formed words to keep from screaming and ripping the tape from her mouth prematurely. He has become so handsome. Why are cruel-looking men always the most handsome?
Teddy put a piece of paper in front of Kathleen’s eyes. Biting down on her tongue, she read the block printed script: “I cannot speak to you yet. I am going to take out a knife and mark myself. I will not hurt you with the knife.”
Kathleen nodded up and down, probing the tape with the tip of her tongue. Feeling was returning to her feet, and she could tell that she was wearing her blunt-toed wingtip flats. Good kicking shoes. Teddy smiled at her nodding acquiescence and turned the paper over. The reverse side was covered with faded newspaper clippings. Kathleen’s gaze zeroed in on them. When she saw that the clippings detailed accounts of women’s murders she stifled a dry sob by biting her cheeks and methodically reading every word on the page. Her terror turned to rage and she bit down hard, until blood and spittle filled her mouth. She breathed deeply through her nose and thought: I am going to maim him. Teddy threw the paper to the floor and unzipped the top of his jumpsuit, letting it fall to his waist. Kathleen looked at the most perfect male torso she had ever seen, transfixed by the rock-hard perfection until Teddy reached behind his back and drew out a penknife. He held the blade in 198
L.A. NOIR
front of his chest and twirled it like a baton, then pointed the blade at the area above his heart. When the tip drew blood, Kathleen twisted her hands on the arms of her chair, pushing out with her elbows, feeling her right hand bonds give way completely. Now. Now. Now. Please God let me do it now. Now. Now.
Teddy wiped his torso and squatted in front of Kathleen, holding his chest at her eye level. He whispered, “It’s 10:30. We have to go soon. You were so beautiful with your eyes rolled back.” He wiped his chest a second time. Kathleen saw that he had carved “K Mc” beside his left nipple. She gagged, but held on. Now.
Teddy squatted lower and smiled. Kathleen spat in his face and kicked out with both her legs, catching him in the groin, jerking her right hand free and pushing forward, toppling her chair just as Teddy crashed to the floor. She screamed and kicked again, her legs glancing off Teddy’s stomach. Teddy dropped his knife and shrieked, wiping bloody spittle from his eyes. Kathleen lunged with her whole body and got her free hand on the knife, hooking her right leg around Teddy to draw her within stabbing range. Teddy twisted and flailed blindly with his arms. Kathleen brought the knife down in a swooping roundhouse at his abdomen. Teddy jerked backward and the blade cut air. Kathleen stabbed again, the knife snagging into the carpet. Teddy got to his knees and wrapped his fists into a hammer and swung down. Kathleen bared her teeth to bite as the blow arced toward her. She screamed and tasted blood when the hammer made contact. Then there was a throbbing red darkness.
*
*
*
Dutch watched the muster-room clock strike eleven. He shifted his gaze out the door to the front desk. The desk officer looked up from his telephone and called out, “Nothing yet, skipper. I’ve made contact with twenty-three out of the thirty-one. The rest are no answers or recorded messages. Nothing even remotely suspicious.”
Nodding curtly in answer, Dutch said, “Keep trying” and walked out to the parking lot. He looked up at the black sky and saw the crisscrossed beacons of the helicopter patrols light up low cloud formations and the tops of Hollywood skyscrapers. Save for a skeletal station contingent, every Hollywood Division officer was on the street, on foot, in the air or in a black-andwhite, armed to the teeth and pumped up for glory. Rolling imaginary dice, Dutch calculated the odds on accidental shootings by overeager cops at ten to one, rookies and promotion happy hot dogs the most likely blood spillers.