The Keystroke Killer Page 6

  CHAPTER 5

  Here Come the Thompsons

  Dr. Angela placed the receiver down onto its cradle. “That is affirmative.” He tilted his eyes down.

  A mysterious cigar-smoking man sat across from him. The outline of his Homburg hat identified Dr. Angela’s guest. “We must keep the Consortium alive. I have little time left on this earth.”

  “Is that figuratively or literal, sir?”

  “Both. I may die before we get that third spaceship built and launched. You can take that to the bank. Besides, as soon as we can colonize the TRAPPIST system, I’m going into cryo-sleep. Until then, I’ll keep the Consortium alive. We must have young fresh blood. We’re a dying breed. Drax would have ascended to the leadership, but now that’s out of the question since he blasted into space.”

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but Drax will keep the Consortium alive. Just, not here on Earth. Think of us as being universal. Our legacy will continue on Terra Realm, forty light years away. If it weren’t for me and my money, humanity would become extinct in two hundred years. I’ve unselfishly gave humanity a chance. I sacrificed my son to pave the way. Therefore, I will not sit accused of forsaking the Consortium. I’ve done everything possible to make sure humanity survives a goddamn holocaust, a nuclear war, an asteroid or a goddamn alien attack, if need be.”

  “Never looked at it that way. Here on earth we need to groom a future leader.”

  “Agreed. Congressman Tom Thompson is our perfect choice. I met with him yesterday.”

  “Are you willing to put in the money to make it happen?”

  “I am, for a bipartisan tomorrow. There will be no Russian meddling. I fixed that hack possibility in twenty eighteen when I launched D-Global.” Dr. Angela poured himself a shot of whiskey. “He’s what the Consortium needs. Even with his baggage.”

  “Schedule a meeting this afternoon. I’ll vet him myself.”

  “That will have to wait. I sent him to Las Vegas. He had to take care of a private matter. However, there is no need for concern. Everything is going according to my plan.”

  ***

  Janice Bennett, late forties, Caucasian well-kept wealthy woman with blue eyes wore a black business pant suit. Her platinum shoulder length hair showcased her face.

  Congressman Tom Thompson wore a white crisp linen suit, white shirt and a blushing pink tie. They stood in front of the Little White Wedding Chapel on the Las Vegas strip. Janice, who settled for nothing less than perfection or worthy of her upbringing and fortune would not have chosen this venue unless desperation encompassed her dreams. The marquee, once adorned by an enormous statue of Elvis, the King of Rock and Roll, was now a neon blinking sign created by Dimension Global.

  A handsome prince type groom and his fairytale giggling princess bride burst through the chapel’s doors. “Have the drive thru package.” The glowing bride giggled. “The pink Cadillac is worth the price.” She threw her pink rose and baby breath bouquet into Janice’s hands.

  Janice exhaled in disgust. “How convenient.”

  The newlyweds escaped into a pink stretch limousine.

  Janice looked dismayed at the bouquet. “It’s now or never.”

  “I’d say so. Five minutes of freedom left.”

  “Don’t be so gloom and doom. This marriage will work to your advantage too.”

  “The only advantage is it’s your ticket to the White House.”

  “You’re so romantic. Let’s get this over with.”

  “I take it, the Cadillac package is out.”

  Janice’s blue captivating eyes darted in Tom’s direction as the hot breeze blew her platinum shoulder length hair. If looks could kill, her groom would be dead. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  Janice and Tom entered the chapel through the white carved wooden double door. Janice’s eyes widened. “I’m uncertain what is gaudier. The stained glass windows, the fake flowers, the makeshift alter or the filthy red carpet strip in the aisle.”

  Tom frowned. “It’s the wedding music. It belongs in an elevator.”

  “At least the lighting is flattering.”

  The Elvis Presley impersonator pranced into the room and thrust his pelvis.

  Janice gasped. “This is exactly who I always wanted to perform my nuptials.”

  The Elvis impersonator minister strutted toward his future victims of matrimony. “Look at this happy couple.” He thrust his pelvis forward again. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

  A scowl formed on Janice’s brow. “No offense. We need to get in and out as quickly as we can.”

  “That’s what he said.” The impersonator smirked.

  Janice gave the impersonator an unrelenting look. “Get this over with.”

  “I agree.” Tom stepped forward. “Don’t make this any less dignifying.”

  The impressionist stomped his foot in defiance. He held out his left hand cladded by Liberace flare costume rhinestones rings on each finger. “Your dignified license please.”

  Not amused, Tom handed the impersonator the wedding document as Janice stepped to the left of her Ken doll groom.

  The minister looked at Janice’s attire, from head to toe. “No!” He pointed to Janice’s black suit. “This. Whatever this is, won’t do.” He gave her a double look of discernment. “Could I interest you in a wedding dress?”

  Janice darted her eyes at the minister, inhaled and exhaled exasperated.

  “Guess not.” He puckered his lips in a trout mouth mimic. “It’s your big day. You can dress like you want.” He paused giving Janice the opportunity to change her mind. “Do you Janice Katherine Bennett take Thomas Jason Thompson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “Do I get to keep my last name?”

  “Ms. Bennett is that a yes or a no?”

  Janice glanced at Tom. He placed his index finger gently on her lips. “That is a yes.” His tone irascible shot through Janice. “She will be the first lady of our state and become the first lady living in the White House. You can keep your last name. Just say yes.”

  “Yes, I will be your wife.” Her tone defiant and unsure left a bad taste in her groom’s mouth. “Get on with it.”

  The wedding ceremony continued although the bride’s thoughts strayed to the only one person she loved as Tom read his personalized vows.

  ***

  “Hillary.” Janice gazed deeply into her lesbian lover’s eyes. “Yes, I love you. You must understand why I can’t marry you.”

  “You don’t love him. I remember you telling me you despise him.”

  “Despise? I can’t make love to him. He prefers boy toys; but we share one thing in common. He wants the White House as much as I do. It’s a marriage of convenience.”

  ***

  Tom placed his hand on Janice’s stiff shoulder and brought her back to reality. Janice responded by giving a stone glare.

  “You may now kiss the happy bride, or whatever she is.”

  Tom kissed his bride on the top of her platinum hair. He grasped her hand and escorted his bride down the aisle.

  Janice and Tom bolted out of the chapel. “Let go of my hand.” Janice yanked hers from his. “No time to waste. We must return to New Orleans and announce your intentions to run for Congress.”

  “I’m already a Congressman.”

  “Excuse me. The Governor appointed you to fill a vacancy that expires in six months. We have to strike while it’s hot.”

  “You’re not wasting anytime. Just get in the limousine.”

  The ride to the airport convened in silence and not the public display of affection one would expect from newlyweds. Janice busied herself by answering her D-Mail while Tom gazed out the tinted windows. The shy well-mannered driver broke the ice. “Congratulations on your wedding. Your newlyweds, right?”

  Janice exhaled air with enough force to inflate a balloon. “Just drive. We’re not here to tell you a story about us.”

  Tom’s face flushed pink; it matched his tie. “Please excus
e her, she’s a very focused and driven woman.”

  “Put on some damn music and drive.” Janice stared expressionless out the window.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Invisible Foe

  “Earth to Blaze, come in.” Mag pursed her lips. “Blaze.”

  Blaze stared at the Hawking Psychology building at Loyola University in complete bewilderment.

  Mag tapped Blaze’s shoulder. “Earth to Blaze.”

  “Sorry. It’s final. I going to write my term paper on homeless vets.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Off the top of my mind, there’s no better topic that would get under my father’s skin. Hell, he’ll cringe thinking his baby girl went to Tent City. I can hear him now. That’s not becoming of an Angela.”

  Jenni burrowed her brow. “Aren’t you afraid of those people?”

  “Don’t be silly. They aren’t serial killers. They’re veterans who served and protected our country. This is a true case of social injustice. It’s final.”

  “There’s a serial killer out there. It could be one of them.”

  Blaze’s eyes bulged as she gulped. “That’s like saying the serial killer is a classmate. I’ll be fine.”

  Mag squared her shoulders. “Famous last words.”

  “There’s safety in numbers. Why don’t both of you come with me?”

  Mag and Jenni locked eyes. Mag widened hers. “Not happening. I try to stay away from weirdos. They give me the creeps.”

  Roth briskly approached the group. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  Blaze looked sweetly at Roth. “Back at you, Roth. Let me get your opinion on something.”

  Mag and Jenni darted their eyes confused. Before that moment, Blaze barely acknowledged Roth, much less spoke one kind word.

  “Sure. What about?”

  “I want to interview homeless veterans for my assignment on social impact and go to Tent City. My two friends don’t think it’s a very good idea and won’t go with me. What’s your opinion?”

  “It’s a fabulous idea. Sam and I’ll go with you and keep you safe.”

  “You have a date.”

  Stunned, Mag and Jenni dropped their jaws.

  ***

  Halo, a fifty-year-old silver haired weathered veteran, slept on the blanket in front of a weathered memorial for the Third Global War.

  Suicide, early thirties, sat Indian style beside him. “No, that’s not right.” His leather skin and sunken eyes told the story of the war torture he and his fellow soldiers experienced. He drank cheap vodka as he rocked back and forth to a tune in his own mind looking more like a morphine or meth addict than a war hero. His perseveration increased.

  Bunker slumped against the base of the memorial. He rubbed his burn scar on his face. “Suicide, you’re not right. Get your head in the game.”

  Fiona Marques, a fiery Hispanic brunette hovered over Suicide.

  Suicide counted the number of homeless men and women around him. “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine. No. No. There should be forty-one.” His perseveration increased.

  Privateer, a skinny homeless war vet, kicked a rusty empty can of red kidney beans toward Halo. “It’s time.” He listened to the nearby church bell ring.

  Fiona shoved Privateer on his shoulder. “It’s never time.”

  Privateer kicked the rusty kidney bean can again toward Halo. Suicide lunged to protect him as the can passed through Halo as if he were a ghost. It slammed into the statue.

  “You idiot.” Suicide clenched his fists and pressed them against his thighs as he shook violently. “You could have knocked his eyes out.”

  Privateer looked puzzled. “Man. Knocked whose eyes out?”

  “Halo’s.”

  “Get a hold of yourself. Halo is dead, man.”

  “No! He’s right there, asleep.” Suicide pointed to Halo.

  The homeless crowd laughed at Suicide’s fantasy. Privateer moved to where Suicide had pointed, bent and pretended to stir Halo.

  “Get out of here.” Suicide lunged toward Privateer and hurled him against the statue. “No one touches Halo.”

  “You’re crazy. Asshole, Halo died in combat.”

  “He’s right there.” Suicide fell to his knees and rocked. “Halo’s alive. Halo’s alive. Halo is alive.”

  Fiona watched Suicide’s movements. She moved closer to Privateer. “He’s screwed up, isn’t he? What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s got the crazies in a big way. Hadn’t been the same since he and Captain got captured in North Korea. He believes he saved him. Suicide always volunteered for one way missions. That’s how he got his name always leading the charge with his gun blazing. Being a prisoner of war didn’t make him crazy. He was that way before the war.”

  “Fair enough.” She understood more about Suicide’s torment. “Have you seen Buckets?”

  Suicide popped up and aimed an imaginary AK47 at an invisible enemy reliving the Battle of Rungrando in North Korea. “Buckets take cover. Get down! Incoming! Buckets! Rat-a-tat-tat. Tat. Tat. Tat.” Suicide mimicked his fantasy warfare aiming his bogus AK47. “Die you sons of bitches. Die! Privateer drag Buckets out of here. I’ll cover you.”

  Privateer and several of the other homeless vets jumped and restrained Suicide as he continued his ballistic war fantasy rampage. He struggled to escape the hold the others had on him. In Suicide’s mind, it was the war zone captured prisoner Hell he experienced. “You won’t capture me alive. I’ll kill all of you! I’ll skin you like you do us!”

  “It’s over.” Fiona touched Suicide’s tight shoulders.

  Suicide flinched and came within three inches of striking Fiona, but she blocked his punch using her combat skills.

  Suicide looked back at Halo. Halo bolted from his sleep and aided Suicide. “Suicide! Suicide! We’re in Nawlins, man.”

  Halo slapped Suicide hard across his cheek as the other veterans watched him throw his head to the left as if he had been sucker-punched. A slight red mark appeared on Suicide’s left cheek.

  “The war is over.” Halo shook Suicide.

  “War ain’t ever over.” Suicide dropped to his knees.

  Halo hugged Suicide fatherly. He rocked beside him as he sang. “Hush little baby don’t you cry. Papa’s gonna sing you a lullaby...”

  The homeless vet crowd dispersed leaving Suicide alone as he sang beneath his breath. “...Papa’s gonna sing you a lullaby.”

  Fiona placed her arms around Suicide. “Shhh… Shhh.”

  Privateer approached Fiona and Suicide and sat beside them. “What did you say about Buckets?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “They got Biscuit too.” Suicide whimpered in broken-hearted agony. “There used to be forty-one. Now there’s thirty-nine. Only thirty-nine.”

  ***

  Across the street from the memorial statue, Blaze, Roth and Sam stood on the corner curb at the crosswalk, looking around. Blaze took a deep breath, wrinkled her nose and exhaled. “Well, this is it.”

  “You still have time to change your mind if you’re afraid.” Sam barked and wagged his tail. “See, even Sam agrees.”

  “I’m sure, I want to interview them.”

  “What will you do if they don’t talk?”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I have to? No worries.”

  The light above the crosswalk blinked white. “We can go now. Heel Sam.” Sam barked again.

  The three stepped into the crosswalk almost in front of Matthew’s Ford Taurus. Matthew blew the car’s horn. “Watch where you’re going. Share the street with cars.” He pounded the dash board.

  Blaze pissed, flicked Matthew the bird. “Son of a bitch. I don’t believe this. This same guy almost hit me yesterday.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. How could I forget that beat up trash heap he calls a car?”

  “What if he’s following you?”

  “If he were tailing me, he would be on foot and not trying to run me
over every day.”

  “Point taken. Do you have any idea what you’ll say?”

  “To that S.O.B. who’s trying to run me down?”

  “No, silly, to the vets.”

  “I’ll start by introducing us. I’m hoping Sam will make it easier too.”

  “Good plan.”

  As if on cue, Sam bolted and broke loose from the leash almost dragging Roth with him. “Sam. Stop!”

  Blaze and Roth chased after him. “He’s always follows my commands.”

  Sam barked at Suicide and wagged his tail. Suicide leaned and kissed Sam on the head. “Bullet, nice to see you.”

  Blaze and Roth approached their four-legged furry friend. Blaze brushed her hair out of her face. “Sam recognizes you.”

  “He should, we were in the war together. Where did you get this dog?”

  “He’s not mine. My friend is his walker.”

  “Where’s his owner?”

  Roth’s face filled with puzzlement. “I haven’t seen him in days.”

  “What’s his owner's name?”

  “Not sure. He goes by Torpedo.”

  Suicide looked for his friend. “Torpedo.” He squeezed Fiona by her shoulders. “Where’s Torpedo?”

  “Man, we don’t know nobody by the name Torpedo.”

  Suicide dropped to his knees and rocked. “Then there were thirty-eight. Then there were thirty-eight.”

  Fiona looked over at Blaze. “He’s off his meds. He’s harmless.”

  Suicide’s face turned red. “I don’t take meds. Then there were thirty-eight. Then there were thirty-eight.”

  Fiona blew air from her lips, almost a whistle. “Ignore him. Aren’t you two out of place? Neither one of you look like you belong here.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me introduce us. I’m Blaze Angela.”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what you’re after.”

  ***

  The New Orleans Convention Center filled quickly by the energetic crowd entering to attend the 48th Annual Dimension Global International Conference on High Energy Physics, Particles and Quantum Field Energy. They came to take part in the open forum on the status of the U.S.S. Hawking - the first spaceship launched to colonize an alien planet.