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“Did you ever see him watching Rachel and India?”
“I don’t know. I don’t hang out in the hallways. I like to get back to my room quickly.”
“Any idea where Mr Gibbon might be today?”
She frowns. “He has this woman friend. I’ve seen him with her sometimes but… She’s not his girlfriend or anything.”
Storm leads in confidingly. “How do you know that?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s a hooker. I don’t know her name.”
“Anything else about where he might be?”
“We went bowling with some friends once to the local bowling alley two streets away. I saw Mr Gibbon there. He was with his buddies. I never went back there after that.”
When Storm and Leo have finished canvassing the house, nobody else has given them any useful information. Storm messages Monroe, asking him to see if he can find the name of Gibbon’s hooker friend. In the meantime Storm and Leo decide to try the bowling alley.
As they drive there, Storm comments, “Notice anything odd?”
Leo nods his head. “All the residents were female. Young girls. Only a couple with boyfriends.”
“That doesn’t happen by accident,” Storm says.
“Unless your landlord is a creep,” Leo finishes. “I hate it when they run,” he adds.
Kurt Gibbon is not at the bowling alley. The assistant manager however is eager to be helpful. He seems to not think much of Gibbon or of his boss’s friendship with the man. He gives Storm the names of several of Gibbon’s friends, two of whom live locally. He is not averse to taking their addresses off his boss’s rolodex.
A half hour later Storm finds that one of those friends has spare keys to Kurt’s apartment. Storm manages to convince him that they are concerned about Gibbon’s safety, and the friend lets them in. He seems more amused than worried when they find smears of fresh blood on Gibbon’s kitchen floor.
Storm is taking a swab of the blood when Monroe calls back with the address of Gibbon’s lady friend. Twenty minutes later Storm and Leo find Gibbon holed up in her apartment. His fresh wounds tell Storm he has been up to no good, and this is compounded by his effort to make a run for it out of the ground floor window. He gets stuck with one leg in and one leg out.
Leo drags him back in. “Kurt Gibbon, you’re coming with us.”
Chapter 19
ALYS
I strut into the hospital carrying a super-sized meat feast pizza in a box. It is just about dinnertime, and nobody can resist a pizza. I smooth down the hair of my black wig as I navigate to the ward that India’s room is on. I catch a guy leering at me. He’s sat next to his pregnant girlfriend in a wheelchair and he’s looking at me. I blow him a kiss and he puffs up like he’s hot. I’m killer with these red lips on and he’s about to find out.
I prance straight at him, my butt wiggling like it has a life of its own. When I get to him I bend down to look him in the face from two inches away.
“Hey baby,” I coo in a baby-doll porn-star voice. “You looking at me baby? You order this special delivery pizza with a girl on top, baby?”
Everyone is looking at him and suddenly he doesn’t like it. “N-no,” he stutters, his face going red.
I take hold of his jaw and jerk his face around towards his baby-mama. “Keep your eyes on your prize, jackass.” I slap his cheek hard as I leave. An older lady nearby chuckles.
I take the elevator up to India’s ward. From down the corridor I can see there is a cop marching to and fro outside her room. The other is sitting in a chair outside it. A nurse is walking towards me. I thrust the pizza box into her hands.
“This is for the police officers guarding the werewolf,” I tell her. “It’s their dinner.”
I turn away, ignoring her complaints that it’s not her job to be serving pizzas to police officers who shouldn’t be in hospitals. I go and loiter in a waiting room for a few minutes. Just long enough for the officers to munch a couple of slices of their meaty cheesy carb-fest, laced with a little something extra special. I don’t leave it too long though. Wouldn’t want those boys to pass out or someone will notice what I’ve done.
Judging that
the moment is ripe, I stroll towards India’s room and find the marching officer is swaying unsteadily on his feet.
“Come and sit down,” I tell him, and he obeys unthinkingly, letting me guide him by the elbow into India’s room.
