The Black Dress Page 2

  CHAPTER 2

  HOT PURSUIT

  J ess followed the shapely blond into the kitchen where he was ordered to fill decanters with spring water from ten-gallon jugs.

  She doesn’t remember me. Good. His eyes traveled from her slim ankles to her round, firm buttocks. In his opinion, Argentinian women were built for sex. He wanted to take a bite out of her jiggling flesh right then and there, especially when she stopped abruptly.

  “Make sure the water gets into the decanter and not on the floor,” she said, her Spanish crisp. “I pay a handsome price to import it from the U.S.”

  “Sí.”

  “Check the silverware before you place it on the table. I will not tolerate customers being seated at tables with soiled linens. The only words spoken to my customers are sí señor or señorita. Comprendes?”

  Jess smiled and nodded. He willed away the bulge forming in his chinos. Time for that later. He checked the clock. He had nine hours of pleasantries to perform before he could get her alone. Thinking of what lay in store made him shiver.

  * * *

  Paul boarded the plane. Skip was already seated comfortably with his neck pillow and earphones in place. He opened his eyes.

  “Wow, man, thought you were gonna stand me up.”

  “Had a date with Grace.”

  “Hope you got a little. Buenos Ares is filled with tempting morsels, but there’s nothing like home cookin.”

  Paul buckled his seat belt. “Let’s get this bird in the air.”

  “Relax, cowboy. We’re gonna get there. Don’t you worry.”

  “Yeah. Not my usual MO to be this jumpy.”

  “Ah, Sir Galahad, defending his lady.”

  “The fucker killed my family. He doesn’t get my girl, too.”

  “Gotcha, good buddy. We’ll put his lights out this time. No worries. Now get some sleep. I don’t want you cranky when we get there.”

  Paul closed his eyes. The image of Grace at dinner floated behind his lids. He loved her like no other. He couldn’t wait to complete his mission and get back to her welcoming arms.

  * * *

  Jess finished his shift at 4 a.m. His only faux pas, dribbling water on some lady’s emerald ring while refilling her glass. No one told her to stick her hand in my way. He slipped into the back of the kitchen where Juliana Serta tallied up the night’s receipts. He stood by the door, looking pathetic.

  “What is it?” she snapped.

  “¿Puedo interrumpir? My car.”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I can see you are beautiful, even after a night’s hard work,” he purred in Spanish. He proceeded when a trace of a smile crossed her face. “I apologize for the intrusion, but can I use the phone? My car broke down. I need to call a friend. I could walk, but I’m afraid…these shoes—” He looked down at his tattered boots. “Not the best for a fifteen-mile hike.”

  She laid her pencil aside to meet his gaze. “Beautiful, eh?” Her stoic features transformed into a sexy vixen. She eyed him up and down, accessing the possibilities.

  “Sí.” Jess knew from her hungry look that he was rounding the bases for home.

  “Perhaps I can drive you and save your friend a trip.”

  “I would be most grateful.”

  “Give me a minute. I’m almost finished.”

  “Sí.” He watched her stack credit card receipts, clip them together, and bend over to put them in the small safe. Her curves made him think of pony rides when he was eight—pony rides he gave his mother while her boyfriend masturbated nearby.

  By the time they got into her car and drove away, Jess’s blood percolated in his veins. Juliana was hot. She had no qualms about running her hand between his legs. When he asked her to pull over so they could be more comfortable, she obliged.

  Big mistake.

  Julianna’s eyes grew large, a kitchen knife nearing her throat. Jess teased her jugular with its tip. “That woman deliberately moved her glass while I was pouring her water. I should’ve poured it on her fucking head!”

  Julianna tried to remain calm. “Puta! I apologize, my mistake.”

  “You’re fucking right it was your mistake! You let her talk to me like I was dog shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe.”

  “Why don’t we get back to what we were doing—make amends? It’s been a long night. We both could use some good sex.”

  “Good? You think you’re good?”

  “Let me show you.”

  Jess watched Julianna unfasten the clasp on his chinos with expertise. Long, red fingernails guided his zipper like a pro. His breath caught when she reached inside his pants to free his aching prisoner. Her eyes challenged his. “Would you rather have me taste? Or slit my throat?” Jess sliced her skin. Blood trickled down her bodice. She laughed. “You’re a real fucker, my friend, one that should be sucked hard.”

  It was Jess’s turn to laugh. He stuffed himself inside her mouth until she gagged. He pressed her head into his lap, cutting off her air. Wrapping blond hair around one fist and steadying the knife against her throat with the other, he thrust his hips violently against her face while he sang, “Vaya con Dios, my darling.”

  He spilled his seed and her blood. As Julianna’s life wicked down his thighs, soaking his pants, he howled at the moon. The night is still young.

  * * *

  Paul handed the taxi driver twenty Argentine pesos. Skip grabbed both bags and waited by the curb while Paul chatted with the driver in Lunfardo. Paul’s parents had been lovers of the tango, and he was familiar enough with Lunfardo, a language considered slang and spoken by the lower class. He could decipher the words. Although the conversation was limited, it was friendly, and Paul learned everything he needed to know. The plaza in Puerto Madero where the girl was found murdered was only two blocks away.

  “Later,” Paul said, slapping Skip on the back, “we head to Puerto Madero. Raphael Jimenez will meet us there.”

  * * *

  Jess snuck behind a brick “boliche,” a club that hosted “in-betweeners,” those who partied between the hours of 3 and 4 a.m. He found a water spigot, peeled off his blood-soaked pants, ran them under the faucet, then shook and squeezed the excess water. Just then, two drunks pushed through the back door, singing the same tune the band was performing inside.

  “Hey man,” the drunken male nodded at Jess.

  The female giggled at Jess’s predicament. “Doing laundry?” she inquired in English. The man grabbed her hand and dipped her in his arms. Jess became invisible as the couple began to dance like animals stalking one another.

  “You speak English?” Jess asked in a thick Spanish accent.

  The female slid closer. Jess smelled alcohol.

  “Yes.”

  “My car broke down. I need to get back to Puerto Medaro.

  Can you give me a lift?”

  The woman looked to her man for confirmation. He seemed to understand English as well. Jess felt lucky.

  “We can take you,” the man said, tossing Jess the keys. “You drive.”

  The woman followed, eyeing the wet trail Jess left behind.

  “What is that stuff, looks like bloo—”

  “Power steering fluid. I told you, my car broke down.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Still, it looks like—”

  “Anyone hungry?” Jess intervened. “Can I buy you breakfast? The least I can do for your trouble.”

  “Nice, ol’ chap.” The man turned and pointed, “Down the road a meter or two on the left: best parrilladas in town, if you like barbecued meats.”

  “I could go for a mate,” the woman chimed in.

  “Best to watch what you say in these parts,” Jess added. “You may end up with someone in your bed instead of a cup of tea.” The couple laughed.

  The man opened the trunk of his rented Chery Tiggo and pulled out a clean pair of shorts. He handed them to Jess. “Little inclement for short knickers, but better than freezing your ass off in wet ones.”


  Jess, stripped out of his wet pants and donned the short, dry ones. I’m one lucky dog, he mused, tossing the wet pants into a makeshift dumpster. It sure is getting chillier. He thought about Julianna’s naked body lying in a ditch on the side of the road. Brrrrrr.

  * * *

  “Je—” Grace woke, her heart pounding. Jess. Although her nightmares had subsided, occasionally one snuck up on her. Nine times out of ten, Jess would be the predominant figure.

  She pulled back the covers, welcoming the long-haired shepherd’s comforting snout, resting on the edge of the bed. “Pretty soon, I’ll have you climbing in bed with me.” The dog’s soft woof agreed.

  She glanced at the clock.

  “5 a.m.?”

  Grace groaned and pushed back down, burying her face in the pillows. Paul’s scent lingered there. She pulled the pillow to her breast, imaging him lying close. When they had met at the Park Ultra Lounge the night before, she sensed his uneasiness. However, her suspicions were warded off by his determination to please her at dinner. He ordered her favorite wine, her favorite meal. Even dessert. He inquired about her day, listened intently, and asked all the appropriate questions. For a moment, Grace thought he had an agenda. Then toward the end of the evening he became introspective. Did I spoil our time by leaving so early? She wondered if he was hoping to spend the night. No. He had Mrs. Leatherby’s cow to attend to early this morning. Perhaps he was disappointed because she had agreed to watch Buns for Sal and John.

  Buns!

  She shot out of bed and peeked in the guest room where the boy slept soundly. Grace stood by the door, watching. Would there be a sleeping child in her future? A warm feeling spread through her soul, and Paul’s image returned. Hope so.

  Grace padded downstairs, followed by Sneaky, who seemed happy with the early hour. When Grace opened the back door, the dog jetted to bushes near the back of the lot, scaring birds from their hiding places. Grace drew a breath of fresh air and returned to the kitchen to start coffee. Life felt good.

  * * *

  When two men entered the café, the waiter rushed to be of service. “Café. Dos,” Paul said, noticing the trio in the corner yucking it up. Americans? No. The man and woman sounded British, the other person Paul couldn’t see, but his Spanish accent sounded phony. All Paul could see of the man was his black hair, his pale, hairy leg, and worn boot. Odd. Why would someone wear boots with shorts?

  “Ever have parrilladas?” Skip interrupted Paul thoughts.

  “Yeah, it’s the equivalent of tri-tip. Try it; you’ll like it.” Paul’s attention turned back to the trio. He couldn’t hear what they were saying now. They had lowered their voices, talking in a more serious tone than before. The waiter appeared with two coffees and urged Paul and Skip to address their meal choice, making it impossible to eavesdrop.

  * * *

  Jess had been enjoying his new friends when he heard a familiar voice. He didn’t turn around immediately. He waited until he heard the man place his order before glancing in the direction of Paul and Skip. What to do?

  “Fuck,” Jess swore under his breath. “Is there a bathroom back there? I think that barbecue shit messed up my stomach. I’m not feeling well.” The couple sitting across from him looked concerned.

  “Loo in the back,” the man said pointing over his shoulder.

  “Ya vuelvo,” he complained in an over-exaggerated accent. “Got major cramping going on.”

  “Go. We’ll wait for you,” the woman added tenderly.

  The couple exchanged commiserating looks.

  When Jess sensed the men at the other table were preoccupied, he stood up and headed for the narrow hallway below the sign that read, “Baño. He walked quickly toward the back of the restaurant where a screen door offered him freedom. Pleased with his performance, he reached in his pocket, extracted the keys for the couple’s rental car, positioned himself behind the wheel, and sped away.

  * * *

  Paul’s radar picked up the shift in atmosphere. He looked toward the threesome. The man in the shorts was gone. Paul nudged Skip. “Watch my back.” He rose and approached the table where the couple had resumed their drunken playfulness.

  “Excuse me, I overheard you speaking English. Are you American?”

  “Nope,” the man replied. “UK. You from Amer-i-ca?” His sarcasm made the woman laugh.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering where your friend went?”

  “He’s in the crapper. You have a thing for him, Amer-i-ca?” Both the man and woman broke out in laughter. Paul remained subdued.

  “See that man over there?” he said, referring to Skip. “He’s a U.S. Marshall. We’re looking for this man.” Paul opened his wallet and presented a photo of Jess.

  “Like I said, he’s in the crapper. See for yourself if he’s the guy.” The man reached in his pocket. “Bugger me, mum! He’s got the car keys!” The man pushed the woman to the edge of the bench. “Let me out. I need to get the keys!”

  The woman sobered quickly. She turned to Paul. “What’s he wanted for?”

  “Oh, little of this, little of that. Is he the guy that was sitting with you?”

  “Not rightly sure. His hair and brows were much darker than the man in the photo.”

  “Ever hear of hair dye?”

  “He’s got my keys. Let me get them back before you arrest him.”

  “Simmer down. I’ll get your keys. Stay put.” The couple took their seats. Suddenly nothing was funny.

  Paul walked slowly down the dingy hallway. He eased the bathroom door open slowly. The door to the only stall gaped open. No one occupied the urinal. The room was empty. Paul did an about face. He pushed through the screen door, gun drawn, checking the alley. Skip came around the corner, holding “baby” by his side.

  Paul sneered, “Gone.”

  “Figured as much.”

  “Damn! Now he knows we’re here.” Paul turned to his friend. “Call Raphael. Tell him to spread the word. If he gets across the border, we’re screwed.”

  Paul returned to the table inside the restaurant. He slid into the place Jess had occupied minutes ago.

  “How do you know this guy?”

  “We met him in an alley a few blocks away. He needed a ride. I was too drunk to drive. I gave him the keys. He seemed like an okay chap.” The man ran his fingers through his hair. “He stole my bloody car, didn’t he?”

  “I’m afraid so. Where did he want you to take him?” “Puerto Madero,” the woman replied.

  “Can you show me where you met him?”

  “Sure. He took my bloody knickers too.”

  “How did he get those?”

  “His knickers were wet. Being the gent that I am, I offered him mine.”

  “He said they were covered with power steering fluid,” the woman shuddered. “Looked like blood to me.” The couple moved closer together as if being close would keep a person like Jess out of their space.”

  “Can you show us where you picked him up?”

  “You better believe I can!” The man said, touting his machismo status. The woman snuggled closer, finding him irresistible.

  * * *

  Skip searched the alley. Paul pulled the soggy chinos from the makeshift dumpster. When the large box collapsed, spilling its contents, rats scurried in all directions. The couple stayed in the car while Skip and Paul bagged the bloody pants.

  “Our boy has been up to no good; I just know it.” Skip gingerly lifted one leg of the chinos and sniffed. “Oh yeah. Bad, bad, bad.”

  “We need to find him, Skip.”

  “No worries, Bro. We’ll get the fucker. ‘Baby’ has the itch.”

  Paul’s blood began to boil. “I may just kill him with my bare hands, so I can watch the life drain from his beady little eyes. He’s a monster.”

  Skip patted Paul’s shoulder in commiseration. “Amen, buddy. Amen.”

  The sun began to warm the air, but the d
arkness in Paul’s heart remained. He was beyond hatred. He was determined to see Jess dead.

  CHAPTER 3

  BAD ADVICE

  G race busied herself making pancakes. She knew Buns liked them fluffy, not underdone. A raw pancake might spoil his appetite. Grace could attest to the fact the boy would turn sour in a heartbeat if his food was not prepared just so. Oh, the pressure. Grace beat the batter until it was creamy, aiming for the best possible results. She hummed softly, spooning perfect circles onto a hot griddle.

  Buns spending the night was a big treat for her. Sal didn’t let the boys out of her sight until they were old enough to leave the nest. Four older brothers attended college. Buns was the baby. Sal often referred to him as “Oops.” John was torn between calling him Alden for “all done” or Brunswick after his “mistress,” the pearl, urethane beauty that kept him a happy man several nights a week. Sal voted for a more traditional name, but it was John’s turn to pick.

  Their eldest son Sam was nearly finished with his bachelor’s degree in psychology. Thank you, Auntie Grace! She loved taking credit for his career choice. It gave her great satisfaction to know the young man had been absorbing the text she read aloud the years she was in school and babysat for the boys. Sal claimed her son chose his profession because she worked for Grace. Nuh, uh. Sam loved hearing all about Freud and watching movies like Gaslight. Grace shared her own stories about saving a hummingbird and wanting to help people free themselves from the tangled webs of life. Grace, passionate about her calling, intrigued Sam with anecdotes.

  “Morning, Auntie.” Buns crawled up on the stool and took a sip of juice.

  “Morning, Buns. Pancakes are almost ready.” Grace checked the underside of her round masterpiece.