Extremely Average

While in the car, they formed a plan.  Brenda would be in the way, so they cuffed her to the steering wheel and headed up to the penthouse.  Mike didn’t like going in without backup and he wasn’t sure he should let Henry go in with a gun, but he knew that the captain wanted the killer and that was the priority.

“Mike, I’ll start by picking the lock and then you bust in.”

Mike reached out and twisted the knob, it was open.

“Or, we could try your way.”

Mike gave Henry a wink, drew his weapon and entered the hallway.  It was dark and the only sound was from a radio somewhere back in the back.  Henry had his gun out, too.  The main room was clear, they spread out, Henry went to the right and Mike the left.  Nobody was in the kitchen and Mike returned to find Henry coming back in from the balcony.  All the rooms seemed empty, except the one with the radio, and they stood on either side of the open door.  A single light from the desk was all that was on.

With a nod from Henry, Mike took the lead and burst into the room.  It was empty.

“Damn,” Mike said.

“He must be out.”

“We could wait, what do you think?”

“Maybe, but my gut says, we’ve missed him.”

“Why do you say that?”

The phone rang and Mike almost shot it.  He looked at Henry, who turned off the radio.  Henry slowly walked over and picked up the receiver.  He didn’t say anything.

“I saw this move coming from a mile away.  Did you really think you could catch me at home?”

“Major, It has been a long time.”

“You think you know me?  You think you’re smarter than me?”

“I think you need to stop playing games, stop the killing, this is between you and me.”

“I make the rules.  Did you get the package?”

“Yes, but I’ve not looked inside.  I assumed it is booby trapped.”

“It isn’t.”

“The clock is ticking.  You now have four hours left to find the next tile and save another life.”

“Why don’t you,” Henry started to say, but stopped when he heard the major hang up.

Mike put his gun away, “Well, at least we know who the killer is, so that is something.”

Henry didn’t think it was much of a consolation prize.  They spent some time looking around for anything that might have a connection to any of the murders.  As Henry suspected, they came up empty.  They headed back downstairs and they were both surprised when they found Mike’s car no longer contained Brenda.

Mike, cussing most of the way back to the precinct, under his breath, he and Henry pulled the Captain aside and brought him up to speed.  Mike expected to be dressed down at losing Brenda, but the Captain didn’t seem very concerned.  He told them to go back to Henry’s and check the package, he would meet them there later.

As they walked out of the building, Mike was still fuming, he felt like everyone was watching and he hated not knowing if there was a leak.  Henry hadn’t said much and was sick of the games.  He was worn down and wondered if the major had succeeded in breaking him.  He wished he knew where Celine, Bobby and Carol, were hiding.  He missed Buttons, too.

The lieutenant had been slow to start talking, but once he began, the haunts from his past poured forth like the first wave breaking through the dike.  The doctor generally limited the sessions, especially the early ones, to an hour, but he was still taking well into the second hour.  He covered his days at boot camp, how he finally felt he had found his purpose in life, and the importance of following orders.

When he finished talking about the awful day when everything went to pieces, he sighed, took two deep breaths, and closed his eyes.  The doctor noticed the lieutenant’s right hand begin to tremble.  The shaking rattled up the lieutenants wrist, elbow and soon his entire arm was shuddering.  The doctor made a few notes and then watched as the right hand came up to the lieutenant’s mouth, like it was holding a cigarette cupped between the 3rd and 4th fingers. The lieutenant took a long drag on the memories of smoking with his men and the shaking stopped.

“You know Doc, I just remembered a weekend in Paris, before the war.”

“What made you think of that moment?”

“I’m not sure Doc, it just wedged its way in through all the mud, fire, and tears of the war.”  He took another drag.

“Would you like a cigarette?”

“You see Doc,  you can’t get this brand here in the states, so I’ll stick with mine, if it’s all the same to you.”

The doctor opened a small wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out a cigarette for himself.  He lit it and said, “Go on, tell me about Paris.”

“It was a couple of years before the war.  I had an uncle doing some business over there and he asked me to come along.  The funny thing is, I don’t remember him being there at all.”

“Oh? What do you remember?”

“I remember Cole Porter.  I didn’t seem him in person or nothing like that.  I just remember hearing his songs every night at this cafe.  You know, Night and Day, I Get A Kick Out of You, and You’re The Top, were some of the biggies.  The best song though, by far, and those Frenchies played it every night, Let’s Do It.  Heck, I even liked that song as a kid.”

“I have that record.  I like it too. What else do you remember about Paris?”

“It rained one day, not hard, but steady.  I was walking someplace and ducked under an awning.  A moment later a woman joined me.  She said hello and a bunch of other things, but I only understood “Bonjour”.  She was real pretty.  I just let her talk and smiled.  Gosh, I haven’t thought about Odette in years.”

“This has been a very good first session.  I don’t want to stop, but I simply must keep my next appointment.”

“I understand, Doc.”

“If you would like, we could get together after dinner?”

“Okay.  I’ll be in my room.  You’ll come find me?”

“That will be perfect.  I look forward to hearing more about Odette.  Maybe I’ll see if I can dig out that record.  Would you like that?”

“Very much.”

The orderlies came in and escorted the lieutenant back to his room.  The doctor made a few more notes and then made a call.

He thought Luna looked a little surprised to see the gun, but it passed quickly.  She simply said, “Mike is in your office.”

“I have someone I’d like you to meet,” Henry said, as he herded her through the door, “This is detective Mike McDermott,  his friends call him “Big Mike, you may call him, Sir.”

Mike staring at the frightened girl, “What have you brought me here?”

“This is the woman who is going to take us to our serial killer’s house.”

“Is she, now?”

The woman didn’t make eye contact but said, “Yes, Sir, but I don’t know nothing about no murder.”

“She got a name?”

“Tell the nice detective your name.”

“Brenda.”

“Now, Brenda, why don’t you write down the address for our detective friend.”

Luna appeared with some paper and a pencil.  Brenda wrote, in very neat handwriting, the address and handed the pad to Mike.

Henry said, “Luna, stay here with Brenda, make sure she doesn’t try to jump out the window or do anything stupid, I need to talk to Mike.”

Mike followed Henry to the outer office and closed the door behind him.

“Henry, you know we can’t call this in.  The captain is the only one we can trust right now.”

“I know, but I want her to think we did.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“There is something I need to tell you, something I haven’t completely figured out myself.  I know him.”

“We sort of figured that, since the letters were personally directed to you.”

“His name is Major Doyle Worthy III.  He was the one who concocted the plan that almost got me killed in the war.”

“Why does he hate you?”

“I guess, because when everything went to shit, the men turned to me to save their asses.” Just then it came back to him, he remembered who the man at Bellevue was, and said, “First Lieutenant Randolph Vance!”

“What?”

“The shooter out at the Palmeroy’s place, his name is Randolph.  He was the Major’s right hand.  I have no idea why he’s involved.  I always liked the guy.  I hated the Major, though.  God he was an arrogant ass.”

“So, what’s the next move?”

“I say we go round him up and see if he gives me a reason to shoot him.”

Henry and Mike left the office with Brenda walking, still with the occasional sob, between them.  They made it to Mike’s car with little fanfare, not suspecting that Brenda hadn’t been the only person keeping an eye on the Henry Wood Detective Agency.

His steps were quick but light.  He made it to the stairs and saw her cleaning cart set off to the side and heard light feet climbing upward.  Her pace was quick, but not cautious.  Following was easy.  When she darted into an office, Henry made his way up to the edge of the door and listened.

“It’s me.  The package just arrived,” she said and then paused, listening.  “Okay, I’ll keep watching.  You want me to come over later?”

Henry waited until he heard her hang up and then opened the door slowly.  She saw him and froze, “So sorry, on break.”

Closing the door, he pulled his revolver and said, “Oh, so now you have an accent. Come around to this side.”  Henry waved the gun and she moved a little further to the side.  “You know, I’m not a cop.”

“I know.”

“I’m in a rather bad mood.  You and  your boyfriend have been causing me enough troubles that I may just have to shoot you, in the knee, before I ask you the important question.”

“I don’t have a gun, I’m defenseless.”

Henry pulled out his other gun, “It’s okay, I brought one for you.”

She looked confused.

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to shoot it.  I’ll just say it was yours, so when the cops ask, I’ve got a good reason for blowing off your  knee caps.”

The confusion morphed into fear and a tear started down her face.  Henry hated crying broads and would have normally crumbled, but she didn’t warrant sympathy.  He pulled the hammer back.

“No, don’t shoot me.  I just met him. Please mister,” she said sobbing, “I’m sorry, I just did what he said, because…”

“Save the tears and excuses.  You’re an accessory to murder and I don’t like the games you two are playing.  Who did you call?”

“He was just a cute guy, who was nice to me, I don’t know anything about a murder.  You have to believe me.”

“Who did you call?”

“His name is Doyle.”

“Doyle what?”

“Doyle Worthy.”

“Major Doyle Worthy III?”  Henry asked, slowly, afraid he had heard her correctly.

“He’s a businessman.  I don’t know if he was in the army.  We just met a few days ago.”

Henry lowered the hammer on the gun and waved it at her.  “We’re going down to my office.  You’re going to write down everything you know and then say it all again, to the police.”

She started to open her mouth to object, but Henry pulled the hammer back again, and she stopped.  He waved the gun towards the door.

“I have a package for Mr. Henry Wood.”

Henry popped out of the back room and saw the kid.  No more than 18, he was tall, thin and had a frightened look in his eye.  “I’ll sign for it.”

The kid’s feet seemed glued to the floor.  He held out a clipboard and then nervously dropped the pen.

Henry bent down picked up the pen and signed.  The kid held the box out, but Henry didn’t take it, he grabbed the kids wrist, and pulled him in.  “Who gave you the package?”

His voice squeaking, “I don’t know, Sir, he never came out from behind the screen.”

“The screen?”

“One of those that ladies use to dress behind.  He had one.  He said, I had to deliver this to you and not to talk to anyone about it.”

“You seem scared.  Did he threaten you?”

“He had two goons, with guns, they scared the shit out of me.”

“Where did you pick up the package?”

“A place on E 17th street, the address is on the box.”

“You giving it to me straight, kid?”  Henry squeezed the wrist until he felt the kid tremble.

“Yes, Sir, that is all he said.”

Henry let go, “Don’t move.”

The kid was pale and looked like he was about to get sick.  Henry pulled a twenty out of his pocket and then a business card.  “If you ever get a call from the same voice, you call me.”

“A twenty?  Gee, thanks.  That’s the biggest tip I’ve ever gotten.”  He wheeled around, relieved and bordering on happy.  He headed down the hall and almost ran into the new cleaning lady coming out of one of the offices.

Luna, with a glare, said, “You were pretty hard on the kid?  Why’d you have to be so mean?”

Henry gave her a wink, “Sometimes you gotta be tough, this is serious business.”  Henry noticed the cleaning lady making her way rather quickly towards the stairs at the other end of the hall.  Then he leaned into her and whispered, “And to let him know the kid didn’t say nothing, if anyone was listening.  I’ll be right back.  Don’t touch the package and lock the door behind me.”

The plants were in serious need of attention and Luna went to find water for them and the coffee.  Henry liked being back in the office, even if it meant the serial killer and assassins could find him.  It’s good to be home.

Henry looked out of the window, checking sight lines.  Was there someone waiting, biding their time until he returned? He didn’t see anything, but closed the blinds anyway.  If they were going to get him, it would be face to face.

Luna, carrying a pitcher of water, asked, “I’ve watered the plants.  Coffee is on its way.”

“Thanks, I’m sure they needed it.”

“So, what do we do next?”

“We wait.”

“To be killed or for the next letter from our impatient serial killer?”

“That is the beauty of being between a rock and a nut case, one never knows.  It could go either way.”

“Maybe, I should have a gun?”

“Maybe, I should do most of the baking from here on out?”

Luna sticks her tongue out and then sets the pitcher down.  “I don’t have to tell you I’m frightened, I’m sure you can tell, but I want you to know, I’m confident we can win this game.”

“You just sounded a little like Lauren Becall, there.  Must have been table 30?”

Luna batted her eyes, “You sound nothing like Humphrey Bogart.”

“But I’ve got the same rugged good looks?”

“Oh, the coffee is coming along nicely.”

Henry liked the banter.  He went back to the outer office, “I think we’ll leave the front door open, today.  It will let us see them coming.”  Henry wedged an envelope under the door to prop it open.  He stood looking down the hall, expecting the door to Bobby’s office to pop open, and the little round man to come scampering down the hall.  Where did they go?

“What are you looking at?”

“Just thinking.”

“So, you want me to be your secretary, today?”

“Sure, I’m used to taking orders from Celine, so if you think you can muster bossing me around some, keeping the coffee fresh, and looking at me disapprovingly, as I read the sports page, then I think you’ll do fine.”

“I think I’ll move the desk a little to the left, to get out of the line of fire.”

“Not a terrible idea.  Where is Mike, anyway?”

“Remember, he said he was going to bring over a copy of the letter found at the crime scene yesterday.”

“Oh yes, the one where I am scolded for not playing his game the way he wants.”  Henry realized how cavalier that had sounded and that a man had died to make that point.  “I’m sorry, that was crass.  We need to stop this guy.”

“What if the assassins get you first?”

Henry sort of chuckled at this.  “You know, that would serve the SOB sending us Scrabble tiles, right.  I somehow think that the “forfeit” would really piss him off.  Much as I’d like that, I think I’m going to pass on the death thing, for now.”

“Good choice, boss.”

“I don’t let Celine call me that,” Henry said and then let his shoulders fall, “but, of course, she doesn’t listen to me, either.  Is the coffee ready?”

The Lieutenant had found it easy to slip in and out of crazed interludes.  The last few days, sitting alone in his cell, enveloped in quiet, he had found a measure of peace.  His typical restless sleep, with the night sweats, and battles that raged in his dreams, had been nowhere to be seen.

He awoke slowly this morning and just lay there remembering the dream. In it, he could see the tree line around the lake and hear the birds.  The water surface was calm, only barely disturbed by the bobber at the end of his fishing line.  The morning mist had hung around for a bit and then burned off as the sun crept over the tops of the pines.  A girl, in a gingham dress, had waved to him from the shore, saying that breakfast would be ready shortly, and that the fish would still be there when he was done.  He rowed to shore and only realized who the girl was, when he sat across from her in the cabin.  It was Kim, the girl he had dated in high school.  Her hair, auburn, was tied in a pony tail, and she smiled, as she put a plate of eggs in front of him.  They talked for a long while.  Eventually, he realized he was dreaming.  He asked her about it, she said that it probably was a dream, but she had missed him, so it was nice anyway.

He had been so focused on remembering the dream, he hadn’t noticed the orderly bringing in his breakfast.  Just before he closed the door, the lieutenant said, “Hey, one second.”

The orderly stopped and looked back.  “Yeah?”

“I think I might have hurt someone, the other day, is she okay?”

“She was rattled, but that is all.”

“I’m sorry.  Please tell her.  Oh, and thanks for the food.”

With a look of understanding, the orderly said, “I’ll tell her, and you’re welcome, but…it isn’t very good.”

“It smells like eggs.”

“It is, scrambled.”

The lieutenant pulled off the little cover and saw the eggs, some toast, a carton of milk and an apple.  It was exactly what Kim had set out for him, in the dream.  He broke down a little and a tear rolled down his face.  “It’s perfect.”

The orderly didn’t say anything else, but closed the door.  He watched through the window for a little while.  It didn’t bother him at all.  The lieutenant didn’t have silverware, but shoveled the eggs onto the toast and slowly started to eat.

Just as he finished another face appeared at the window, one he didn’t know.  The lieutenant, more out of reflex than anything, popped to his feet and stood at attention.  The bespeckled man, in a white coat, entered the room with a leather bound journal.  ”Hello, how are we feeling today?”

“Sir, much better, sir.”

The orderly was standing in the hall and after the door closed, started to watch through the window.

“At ease, soldier.”

“Thank-you”  The Lieutenant sat back down on the edge of the bed and his shoulders slumped.

“Do you know where you are, son?”

“I don’t know the name of the place, but it is some sort of hospital.”

“That is correct.  Do you know your name?”

“Yes, it is First Lieutenant,” he said and then paused, “No, that’s not true, not anymore.  I used to be in the army and was a First Lieutenant, but that was a while ago.  Now, I’m just Randolph.”

“Randolph, I’m Dr. Joel Silverstein.  How do you feel today?”

“Are you a psychiatrist?”

“Yes, Randolph, I am.”

“Are you my doctor?”

“Yes I am.”

“Should I call you doctor or Joel or Mr. Silverstein?”

“Whatever you want, Randolph.”

“I’m not usually this, well, clear headed.  Sometimes I may be hard to talk to.  I am worried that…”

The doctor sat quietly and let him gather his thoughts.

“It is just that, I didn’t want to hurt anybody, or maybe I did, but not the nurse.  Is she okay?”

“She is fine.”

“I told the man at the window to tell her I’m sorry.  I hope he does.”

“I’ll make sure she knows.”

“Sometimes, I think I’m not here.”

“Where do you think you are?”

“Back in the dirt.”

“In the war?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask a favor?”

“I can’t make any promises, but go ahead.”

“When the demons start up, in my head, I usually feel it coming on.  It is like the moments before a sneeze.  I can’t stop it.  I am not sure what I might do, when they’re shouting in my head.  I’m tired of hurt people.”

“That is good, Randolph.  I’m glad to hear it.  What was the favor?”

“If I tell you that they, the demons, are coming, get help or get out and lock the door.”

The doctor wrote some notes in his journal and then looked up.  “Randolph, I appreciate your concern.  That is a very good sign.  I’m going to leave you now.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk again this afternoon, would that be, okay?”

“I’d like that.”

The doctor stopped before leaving and asked, “How was the breakfast?”

“It was good, thanks.”

The doctor left and the orderly came in and gathered the tray.

Associate 2 groaned a little.

A woman wearing nothing but a slip rolled over and flopped her arm across her chest, “Hey, tiger, you were something.”  She leaned over and gave him a kiss.  “Where’s the little girls room?”

He pointed, “It’s down the hall, second door on the right.”

She giggled, “Thanks, lover.”

2 watched her slink out of bed and down the hall. It was reflex to check and see if there were any guns, knives or clubbing implements stored under her pillow.  He found her panties.  The clock looked like it might be 6:30, or maybe one of the hands had gone missing, he wasn’t sure, nothing seemed to be in focus.  A blurry shape appeared at the door.

3 said, whispering, “Do you remember how we got home last night?”

“No, do you know the name of the woman I woke up with?”

“I’ve got a nameless blonde snoring like a lumberjack in my bed.”

2 was quiet for a moment, then laughed, he could hear her.

3 said, “Well, nobody killed us last night.”

“Speak for yourself.”

The sound of the toilet flushing made them stop talking.  The woman in the slip padded back down the hallway, “There’s the gorgeous man, how’s it going Matthew baby?”

3 didn’t react to the name, since it wasn’t his, then realized he must have made it up.  “I’m a little rough, you gals sure know how to have a good time.”

“You think so?” She said, flattered.

“It was quite a night, not one I’ll soon forget…as soon as I remember it.”

She laughed and then snorted, “Don’t say Delores and Dorothy don’t know how to show a man a good time, especially when he is buying the good stuff.  We ain’t been out with a couple of big spenders since we had that flight into Cleveland and met up with the guys from the convention.”

The door to 3′s bedroom opened up and a woman walked out holding a bed sheet to her chest with one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other.  “What’s a gal have to do to get some breakfast around this joint?”

The woman in the slip, either Delores or Dorothy, they weren’t sure, said, “You got anything in the ice box?  I make the best breakfast this side of the Mississippi?.”

2 waved his hand, “Sure, help yourselves.”

The two women disappeared down the hall.

2 said, “I don’t know about you, but we gotta run the broads off, or I’ll call our location in to the Enclave, myself.”

3 nodded, “But after breakfast, right?”

2 shrugged, “Right.”

[Note:  In last night's chapter I had written that there were "Three barely audible pops", I have since changed this to "One", as it was a bolt action pistol.]

The crime scene still had people milling about.  The press had left and all that remained was some human shaped chalk, painted red.  It wasn’t dark yet, but there were plenty enough long shadows that Henry wondered if his assassins might be among them.  He saw Mike coming out of the building and waited.

“Henry, glad you made it.”

“What happened?”

“One shot, in the chest, from close range.”

“Close range?  And nobody did anything?”

“A few people say they saw the man collapse into the arms of a guy, but nobody can remember what he looked like.”

“So, you think it is related to the others?”

Mike motioned for Henry to follow.  They went into the Daily News Building, passed by a woman crying into the shoulder of another, and entered a small conference room.  The table was a dark mahogany and well polished.  There were six chairs, four of which were pushed neatly under the table, with the other two occupied by the captain and a man Henry didn’t know.

The captain said, “This is Jeff Whitman, the senior managing editor, for the Daily News.”

Henry pulled out a chair, then said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Jeff Whitman was tall, dark hair, strong jaw and wore a dark suit.  Henry judged him to be in his mid fifties.  His face was ashen and his hand had a slight tremble when it reached out to shake Henry’s.  Henry looked into his eyes, which looked back wanting answers.  “Did you know…”

Jeff started to speak, paused, then said, “He was a senior copy editor.  We’d worked together for the last 28 years.  He hired me,” he said, and then his voice trembled, “and I was in the meeting planning his retirement party.  Next week was his last.”  The strong jaw quivered.

The room remained silent for a while.  Jeff Whitman brought his anguish under control and then shook the captains hand, and said, “I’ve got to go work on tomorrow’s edition.”

The captain said, “You’ll leave out the bit about the tile?”

“I will, but the murder is going to be front page, and we’re mentioning the other two as well.”

Trying to be respectful, the captain maintained an even voice, but it was strained, “If you do that, and people start saying “serial killer”, well have a full fledged panic on our hands.”

“You can stop the panic by catching the bastard, or better yet, shooting him on sight,” Jeff said, his grief replaced by anger.  He slammed the door as he left.

It was strange how his lust for ruining Henry’s life had little or no bearing on how he felt killing an innocent person.  It was a necessary part of the process and worth it, he was sure.  He washed his hands in the sink, the fading evening light creeping through the bathroom door.  It was the 3rd time he’d washed them since arriving home.

It had gone just as he imagined.  He had chosen the Daily News Building at 220 East 42nd street, quite by random.  In truth, it had chosen him. He had walked around the entire block once and then, upon passing the main entry a second time, spotted the next victim.

The man wore a wool suite, seemed to be in his late 60′s, carried an expensive brief case, and walked in a way that offended the major’s senses.  Most importantly, the man walked alone among the denizens of New York City.

The distance between them had closed rapidly. The major put a stiff shoulder into the wool suite and immediately apologized, but not for the collision.  One barely audible pop and the man collapsed into his arms. The major gently rolled him to the ground and in one motion slid the envelope and gun inside his suit coat.  The major then stood and walked away.  Moments later the screams began, but by then he was across the street and into a cab.

He had the cabbie take him to a restaurant, where he waited for a few moments and then walked two blocks to another cab stand.  That cab took him home.

Brenda, his little waitress/cleaning girl friend was waiting to report.  He had tired of her after the first night.  Still, in his present mood, he wasn’t going to turn her out.  She didn’t understand the sort of game they were playing, but was smart enough to not ask.  The major was good at spotting that trait in people.  He had a sense for who was clever enough to get involved, but not so curious, as to be nosey.

Brenda still had her uniform on.  It was tight fitting and she thought her boss might like to help her take it off.  He looked at his hands and tried to think of some small talk, “You did a good job today.”

“I didn’t see Henry all day.”

“Sometimes inaction is the hardest job to perform.”

She smiled at the compliment and then stretched, “You hungry?”

He wasn’t, though it seemed, from the look in her eye, she didn’t mean food.  Brenda eased herself off the bed and spun around, making a weak attempt at reaching the zipper.  It would be a welcome diversion.