“Sonofabitch!” Page looked at the computer screen in disbelief. “You can’t write this shit. Talk about life being stranger than fiction.”
Judy ran over and looked over Page’s shoulder. Anticipation thrummed through her. The plot was thickening, and even she wanted a front-row seat to this drama. Regardless of how stable she was—she was still a woman, curious by nature and pulled into her friend’s newest drama. This shit was getting interesting, to say the least. If nothing else: living vicariously through Page was a blast. Whether that blast became literal or not remained to be seen. The jury was always out on Page.
“What is it, Page?” Judy felt like she was jumping out of her skin with excitement.
“Get the popcorn and sit down next to me and read it for yourself.” She looked wide-eyed at her friend.
Judy rushed over with a sense of urgency and scooted the matching desk chair up to the large area that was big enough for two computers. They were able to work at one large desk—each woman had her own space where they were able to sit across from each other—this…called for sitting next to each other. It was the perfect setup. Both women kept their areas neat and filed papers in filing cabinets religiously. Times like this called for a ‘girl huddle.’
Judy scooted in next to Page so she could read the email.
You fucking bitch! You’re no journalist. What you are is a disgrace to the writing community. I’ve seen some pretty selfish reporters who will do anything for a story, but lady, you take the fucking cake.
I’m going to make sure you pay for this. By the time I get finished with, you won’t be able to find a fixer who is willing to work with you. You’ll be forced to go overseas alone, where you’ll die like the dog you are.
Sincerely: The Real Fixer…
“Do you think Mano would write this?” Page’s face held an expression of pressing need. Had she had sex with a killer? Mano was pissed at her, but she’d never thought he wanted to see her dead. Damn! Who fucks a girl and then kills her? What kind of people had she gotten mixed up with? Questions invaded her head like an onslaught of soldiers coming in for the kill. She had seen firsthand what an attack from the enemy could bring in the jungles of Colombia. Was it on her doorstep now?
It wasn’t hard to read the panic on Page’s face. Judy vigorously shook her head no, an effort to reassure her friend. “The way it’s worded sounds like a woman. Oh. My. God. The last thing you need is a crafty, crazy, cartel bitch after you. You think Mano’s dangerous?!”
Page sat back and crossed her arms and looked at her friend in disbelief, “I just want you to know you’re making me feel a whole lot better. Your friendship has made me a better person in more ways than one. Since I’m going to die…I want you to feel all the love I have for you.
“Now…on a serious note—you know, a logical one. What the fuck do you mean?” Page was grasping at any hope it wasn’t Mano. It wasn’t because she had slept with him. He had connections; people who could kill her and she’d never see it coming. If Mano had written this, then she already had a price on her head.
Judy continued processing her thoughts aloud.
“It’s so vindictive. A man just does the deed; he decides he’s going to kill you and then does it. A woman wants to ruin you and then finish you off with death. Also, she’s shrewd enough to say you’ll be forced to go on jobs alone. If you were killed on a job, everybody would just think it was because you were in a dangerous area. They’d never think you were murdered. This is someone bent on revenge—like it’s personal. This is a well thought out plan. The only other thing you could be dealing with is a serial killer. Maybe the fixer who was killed was her brother, and she blames you. Maybe it’s just a serial killer who doesn’t want the truth about drug dealing getting out to the public. I really hope it isn’t a serial killer.” Judy looked at her friend candidly as if this all made sense to her.
“Like I said: you just have this way of making me feel all warm and fuzzy. I really feel safe now. Thank you, Judy. You’ve been such a good friend. Would you like to do my Eulogy?
“We need to do some research on fixers—see if there’s been a string of killings. Judy… I’m wondering why I’m the voice of logic now. We’ll have to dig deep because it isn’t something that would make front-page news. Nobody seems to give a shit about poor families overseas; until they need someone to point a finger of judgment at about the drug crises or human trafficking.” Page shrugged her shoulders, “just sayin’.”
Judy was on board with that—after all, research was logical.
“We need to research the fixer first, Page. Study his timeline, his associates, even study the family he went to do a story on. It isn’t just about who hired him. Somebody knew enough about him to track him down. Either they knew him, or there’s a damn good stalker out there who has you in his sights now.”
Page rolled her eyes, “Fabulous. Now I have two stalkers. It just gets better and better.” Page looked at Judy with eyes full of sincerity. “Please be careful, Judy. If he thinks he can get to me by hurting you, then you’re in danger too.”
“Or she. Remember, it could be a woman. It could be a man or a woman after us.” Judy’s eyebrows were raised as if proving a valid possibility. In all possibility, it was valid.
“We’ll know after we research.” Page nodded her head and squinted her eyes in resignation. “Research is the answer. We need to do some stalking of our own. Three kills, and it’s a serial killer. Judy. I don’t care who or what this guy is, I’m in it for the long haul. If I need you to go overseas with me, are you in?”
Page could see the conflict on her friend’s face. She watched Judy bite at a fingernail as if contemplating what all it entailed. She was thrilled when Judy passionately bobbed her head up and down, “Yes. I’m scared, but I’ll do it afraid.”
Chapter Ten
Tadias looked around at his office space. The walls were covered with pictures of his victims. People who had no idea they were being watched. He knew more about them than they did themselves. It was easy if you knew what you were doing. Digging through people’s trash provided a world of information. Aerial views of homes with Google Earth provided an intimate picture of how families lived; their personalities were evident in the location and layout of their homes. Following a subject taught their habits and schedules—people were creatures of habit he had learned. They went by the same newsstands and bought their coffee from the same coffee shop every day. People liked normal—it made them feel safe. Stalking made him feel safe—because control made him feel safe. He was doing the world a favor. You’re welcome, world.
Most people had schedules and had to be at work at a certain time. They had a certain time when they came home, and the dog met them at the door, the kids screamed Daddy or Mommy and held up prized pictures of their scholastic artwork. The men would be reminded of all the shit they forgot to do because: they didn’t listen. He listened. He listened when people had no idea he was listening. He listened. He watched. He calculated.
He liked his newest victim he’d been following because she presented more of a challenge. Because Kavya Page Wordsmith was self-employed. She wasn’t a creature of habit. She wasn’t a girl who lived in society’s box of normal. What the fuck was normal, anyway? He liked her because she could give him a worldwide voice about the things that needed to be discussed.