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“Tall?”
“Richard, I have to go.” Those five words soaked in absolute fright. Slow time. Muffled sounds start across the phone line. Muffled struggling sounds.
“Petticoat, are you at your office?”
“Yes! Richard he’s onto us! Ric—”
A wet sound comes across the line. Some gurgling. The phone drops. What I’d call the sound of writhing on carpet. I hear someone try to pick up the phone and drop it. The quiet thump of it hitting something soft. Could be the carpet again. Could be flesh.
Now I’m in the car. Speeding.
The phone picks up. Breathing. Listening. Just quiet. Listening.
“Hello, rapist,” I say.
“Mmmmm...Ricky, is it? You have such deep voice,” he says in a slithering tone. “Raspy.”
“Thanks. I smoke. Is Petticoat dead?”
“I prefer to think of it as joining his wife.”
“You just killed your cash cow.”
“Cash cow? Please,” he says. “It was over the moment he hired you. Blackmail works best when it is done quietly. This is easier, I think.”
Three more miles.
“So, you killed Mickey Cantu as well?”
Quiet. Even his breathing stops. Then, “Who knows? Who knows...” His voice trails off like he’s thinking. I can hear him cluck a time or two.
“So is that a yes?”
Instead, he says, “Do you know why I’m staying on the phone with you as you obviously race towards me, Dick?”
“Don’t call me Dick, pervert. Men who can’t get laid voluntarily don’t get to disrespect me.”
“Trying to antagonize me. Delicious.”
“When did Cantu get you in on this? Why you? Are you also a burglar? Did you two work together before?”
Laughter. And that’s all. Laughter.
“Pussy, when I get my hands on you—”
“So tough. So very, very tough for a man lying there, boozed unconscious as I came inside your home. You looked like such a baby, Dick. A baby who burped its milk all over itself and no one loved it enough to clean it.”
“We’ll work that out.”
I hear a whoosh as the rapist’s breathing gets harder. He sounds labored.
“Out of breath? Did Petticoat whip your ass before you killed him?”
“No. I’m lugging around his secretary.”
I floor it. Run a red light and an old pickup truck dodges off to the side, mashing the horn as it goes.
“Let the woman go,” is all I can say as I navigate the final leg with abject fury.
