Unfair Advantage

CHAPTER ELEVEN



(Warning: This chapter’s beginning actually made me sick to write. I only soldiered through because it was necessary to illustrate Brand’s character.)







Brand finished his breakfast: omelet with Gouda and basil, caviar and sour cream, mixed melon, fresh carrot and orange juice. He phoned in an order for dinner delivered from Katana that night at nine. Then went into his lab.



Nathan lie on the table, restrained, unconscious from the carefully balanced, combined quantities of morphine, Tylox and Zanex.



Brand had briefed the client on the new developments. That subscriber asked for some fairly traditional entertainment. However, when Nathan wanted to go home Saturday morning, the relationship between he and Brand underwent inevitable change.



Yesterday became a parade of rather crude, low level torture. More mental than physical. And by Brand’s standards, inefficient and awkward. Still the customer was always right when they delivered an untraceable two million to an offshore account.



Brand checked his site security measures. Green across the board.



He looked at the kid. Not his ideal Sunday morning pursuit. Brand knew the service he provided. He eased on latex gloves, took out his surgical kit, placed it within easy reach. Knowing the video and audio system sent footage twenty-four seven at this stage of the project, Brand looked into camera.



"Per the agreement, eight-o-five AM. Subject is unconscious at this juncture."



Brand administered ether with a vintage mask. Then he withdrew a scalpel from the kit. "I injected clotting agents last night."



He made final calculations, incised Nathan\'s abdomen with a neat cut. Blood welled, spilled, slowed. Brand inserted two fingers, withdrew a portion of small intestine and slowly withdrew it. The odor of open belly filled the lab. Nathan\'s body twitched.



Brand looped the pulsing organ around the kid\'s neck. Then he generously squirted lube up Nathan\'s well-used ass, rolled a condom on himself. Tightening the knot, Brand reached for the reviving agent. He broke the ampoule. Nathan came to.



Screaming.



Brand choked him with his own entrails, fucked him. Loosened the gut noose, reamed him like a bull, let him choke again.



One hour. High bidder\'s request.



Brand could command a hard-on. Not an orgasm. So he never promised it. At the end, he stuffed the intestine into the barely conscious kid\'s mouth, cut off his air and waited.



He pulled out. Nathan\'s bowels emptied onto the floor.



The client had specifically demanded strangulation for that reason. Also stipulated the scene remain untouched for an additional three hours of viewing.



Brand used the lab shower, settled in to monitor the site for the remaining period.



Finally, he cut the feed, donned his protective gear, carried the body into the lab bathroom for processing.



Isopropyl alcohol and plain bleach bought cash from various stores followed by a lengthy, rinse removed trace evidence. Used properly, internally as well as externally they obliterated most viable DNA. Brand purchased the products in small quantities every chance he had to keep it as unlikely to draw notice as possible. He cleaned the body in this sterilized bathroom off the lab. First washing hair and skin with liquid soap he’d stolen from several men’s rooms.



As he worked, Brand considered his foolish attempts with Vitriol acid years ago. The media went rabid at the Victorian melodrama of the substance. Law enforcement nearly caught him.



Brand scraped under Nathan’s nails, rinsed everything with a strong bleach solution, flushed the abdominal cavity with alcohol, then pushed the intestine back inside and made a few stitches to keep the wall from giving way and spilling more entrails. Finally, Brand rinsed, dried it with generic paper towels and wrapped the body in plastic from a large roll he’d taken from an industrial dumpster years ago. He kept the heavy duty plastic for wet work situations like this.



After he’d finished with the body, Brand cleaned the lab. Lawn plastic, intended for placement under mulch, served as floor cover. It protected the imported carpeting, made clean up a matter of fold, bag and remove. Brand vacuumed and swabbed the restraint table with antiseptic wipes.



Equipment required adjustments and attention of various sorts. Recorded feed from clients needed checked. Finally, Brand showered again, checked the monitoring system in his private elevator and sector of the parking garage. When he moved in four years ago, he’d hacked the building’s security . He’d recorded approximately one hundred of his very normal ins and outs. Whenever he required privacy, he simply routed a playback through the pre-existing setup to feed that footage to the building’s guard station downstairs.



Later he would take the body to dispose of it.







Dani stood staring out the picture window of the living room. After only a few minutes of discussion it had become apparent Ashlyn and Tim couldn’t remain together without the danger of another snarling match. So the detective went to wait in the car. Ashlyn snapped the leash on Buddy, took the puppy for a walk.



Considering what Larkin had told her over the past half hour, she asked, “So you aren’t even certain this guy was kidnapped?”



From behind her he replied, “Fourteen-year-old boy. The parents tell us he’s stayed out all night on several occasions without letting them know ahead of time. He just hasn’t done two.”



She heard him quietly move closer. Dani inhaled. “He’s frequently left without really getting permission. You stated yourself his age breaks the general outline.”



“If you can call it an outline. Age was the only common denominator among the vics. Although, it doesn’t discount the possibility our guy’s struck again.”



She rubbed her temples to soothe the slight ache there. “If your department can’t determine yet if there’s been a crime, why should I go to the city to help?”



Big hands settled on her shoulders. Unwelcome sexual lightning skidded through her body.



Larkin turned her to face him. “Because we can’t assume he’s safe.” Those cranberry brown eyes plumbed her soul. “You’re the only person who can help right now.”



She felt the latent desire flowing from him to her. Glimpsed his haunted struggle to find the killer. “I distract you too much to be helpful.”



“I’ll deal with it.”



Dani pulled free, walked to the door. The wooden one stood open leaving the cedar-framed screen to let in the breeze. “I don’t know if I can deal with the strain, detective. It’s landed me in the ER twice.”







Brand checked the stream from his fiber optics in the elevator and segregated sector of the garage. No one. He used his wireless, hand held split screen monitor en route as he carried the body to the elevator and into the parking area. Tucking the device into the pocket of his blazer, he deactivated the alarm, unlocked the Jag. His burden went into the trunk. He slid behind the wheel.



Manhattan this time of night continued to teem with activity. It also brimmed with dark alleys and shadowed places.



Having already scoped a spot to leave Nathan, Brand pulled up behind the Muslim-owned video store. A strict moral family, the owners closed at ten due to nightlife in the area. On either side stood rowdy bars. He stopped, made certain the back exits hadn’t been opened for the emptying hours.



He made the transfer from trunk to dumpster in less than three minutes according to the dash clock.



Brand drove for a while, windows down, Berlioz blasting. He drove back to the penthouse, thinking maybe he’d make use of Mayan the next day.







Dani selected an apartment from a reputable real estate firm’s website. A virtual tour convinced her to call. Located on Eighth Avenue south of One-twentieth, it boasted a nearby parking building and a ‘pets negotiable’ clause. As a previous Manhattanite, Dani knew the parking issue wouldn’t draw crowds. However, the pet issue would.



She called the agent. Within hours she’d signed a faxed two year lease, faxed back a letter promising the overnight of the notarized lease agreement, and used her American Express Black to pay all rent in advance.



Dani sat at her desk. She wondered what had prompted her to take an apartment. Maybe a sort of self dare. She refused to spend the rest of her life hiding. The same resolve lead her to agree to Larkin’s request. The one that precipitated her needing a place to stay.



Dani intended to stop evading her unwelcome gift and start mastering it.







Brand took red silk cord from his third drawer. He kept it’s length coiled as he approached her. She knelt by the bed. Submissive. Naked.



“Shabari,” Brand rubbed the silken cord between his thumb and forefinger, “had it’s origin with the Samurai. It started as a ritualized form of knot tying.”



He made a loop, knelt, slipped it under one foot. Then he repeated with the other. With a strong shove he pushed her onto her back. Her eyes widened. She gasped softly. Brand twined the cord about her neck, between her breasts, and around their lush fullness. “It is an art form if properly done. And, I like the view.”







Dani packed. She put Buddy in his crate, managed to get it into the back of her Toyota. Then she drove to her new apartment. They spent a few minutes letting Buddy stretch his legs, piddle in the dog potty space outside the manicured courtyard of the big brick building. Then they went into the cozy lobby. She toted Buddy down the hall in his crate, set it down to open the door to her place, number ten.



The building had ten apartments on each floor, so the number indicated level. These street level units at the back had access to the gardens and dog yard.



Dani moved his crate inside, closed the door and opened the rigid plastic crate. Buddy came out slowly, sniffing. She looked about. It appeared bigger in person.



The stainless steel and black appointed kitchen had tiled counters. A freeform tiled bar separated the kitchen from the living room and dining area. Wood floors, white walls. French doors stood at the back. Through them Dani saw the brick patio and small private courtyard.



The guest room, full bath and small laundry room were set off to the left down a small hall with a big closet. She peeked into the bath, noted the pedestal sink, window framed with colorful stained glass. The guest bedroom boasted a glass and wood door leading out to the patio, a picture window and a small closet.



Buddy trotted at her heels as she walked back out into the great room. Off the kitchen, a small square hall hosted a closet to the right, a tall slender window to the left. The master bedroom lie beyond. She stepped in. Thick Berber carpet stretched over the floor. Sunshine streamed cheerfully in through huge windows. To the right, long deep closets flanked a tiled hall. At the end of it, a large bathroom complete with vintage cast iron, claw-footed tub and stained-glass window.



The atmosphere of the place held only a happy residual from previous tenants. Dani mentally sighed in relief. That aspect she couldn’t check via the net.



Feeling relieved at the atmosphere of her new place, she opened the doors leading out into the courtyard. From her purse in the living room the cell phone rang. She’d changed the tone to play the William Tell Overture. Dani flipped it open, saw Larkin’s mobile number.



Her belly fluttered, nipples tingled. She glanced around for no legitimate reason, realized the silliness of it, answered. “Hello?”



“Miss Richards, we have a confirmed death on that missing persons. The city of New York would gladly offer accommodations if you would indulge us.”



Dani heard the doorbell ring. Buddy barked. “I’m already in the city, detective. I have to answer the door. I’ll call you later this afternoon.” She hit the ‘end’ button, conscious of her desire to avoid hearing his voice again. Then, unwisely imagined that voice lowered to an intimate hush, bent on seduction.



A shiver passed the length of her body. Stop it, stop it.



She folded the phone, walked to the door. Neighbor? Concierge?



Dani peered through the peep hole, saw a small, trim woman with shiny brown hair in a sleek blunt bob. Opening the door, Dani asked, “May I help you?“



The woman raised her hand, motioned. A man with a camera on a shoulder rushed up the hall behind her.



“Miss Richards?” Something about the woman seemed familiar.



Dan glanced from the camera man to the woman. A sinking sensation filled her belly. “Who’s asking?”



“I’m Peta Seymour with Channel Six. I tried you several days ago. You didn’t respond. Can you tell me what role you play in the New York Police Department’s investigation of the child murders?”