The Perfect Show (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Thirty-Three)

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Hank Costabile did his best not to grin.

After weeks of frustration, after endless hiccups, it was finally time. He was going after Jessie Hunt. The moment for action was only seconds away but he made sure that his outward appearance gave no hint of that.

As he sat on a bench outside the Hollywood/Vine Red Line Metro Station, he looked casually at his phone. To anyone walking by, it appeared that he might simply be perusing a news story or checking sports scores. But in fact, he was actually reconfirming the details of the Metro trains. For his plan to work, he had to get this exactly right.

Hank glanced up for a moment to check on the location of his minders. The two plainclothes officers assigned to follow him by police chief Decker were sitting in their gray sedan, parked in front of a palm tree beside the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame sidewalk lined with the names of luminaries past and present. Hank had passed by them earlier and saw that they were right next to the star for Reese Witherspoon.

They made no attempt to hide themselves. It was a silly game they all played. He knew they were watching him, and they knew he knew. When he”d parked his car in an adjoining public lot, they”d idled just outside the gate, waiting to see where he would go next. When he crossed the street to get a burger nearby, they pulled into their current spot. He had lulled them into a sense of complacency. They had no idea what was coming next.

He’d followed this route before on several occasions, just to make himself comfortable, but he’d always done it in a relaxed ambling manner that suggested to his police tail that he was simply enjoying the pleasures of Hollywood. In truth, he was checking the departure times of the trains, making sure they matched the real-time analysis of an app that proudly claimed “99.2% Metro time accuracy- for better commuting!” In his personal experience, the site had been accurate within ten seconds for each route he’d tested. He hoped that didn’t change today.

The clock on his phone turned over from 3:26 to 3:27. Hank stood up, nonchalantly balling up the wrapper for his burger and tossing it in a trash bin, before heading over to the giant escalator that led down to the bowels of the Metro station. At the last moment, he veered slightly left and chose the stairs instead. He took the first few steps at a normal pace.

Only when he knew that he was far enough down the stairs that the officers watching him couldn’t see the top of his head anymore, did he suddenly pick up the pace. He darted down the steps as quickly as he could, well aware that the officer in the passenger seat of the sedan, who he knew to be a four-year vet of the force named Carrera, would have gotten out of the car by now and have made his way toward the escalators.

Once Officer Carrera reached the top of the stairs, looked down, and saw that Hank was already out of sight, he’d know something was wrong. He’d understand that Hank could only have made it down the stairs that fast if he’d been rushing. And once Officer Carrera knew Hank was rushing, he’d realize that the situation had changed.

That’s why, once Hank got to the bottom of the stairs, he broke into a full run. He rounded the corner to the right, sprinted down the long hallway, and then curled left to the turnstiles leading to the platform.

He already had his phone out and swiped it in front of the sensor, waiting the half-second for it to register. The last thing he needed was to jump the turnstile and face off with some chesty security guard intent on giving him a hard time. He wasn’t worried about losing a physical altercation. He just couldn’t spare the extra seconds.

Once through the turnstile, he dashed down the stairs to the platform, looking around desperately for Willie. Sure enough, the homeless man was exactly where Hank had instructed him to wait, sitting on the wooden bench halfway along the platform behind a pillar. Hank hurried over to him.

As he approached the man, the eastbound train pulled into the station. Hank looked down at his phone. The train was only four seconds late, almost exactly matching the app. While he walked, he took off his green jacket, which he’d intentionally worn today for its boldness, and shoved it into a nearby trash can.

Willie saw him and immediately took off the blue Dodgers cap he was wearing and handed it to Hank, along with a windbreaker and a small backpack that had been sitting on his lap. Hank handed over five $20 bills, the second half of the payment he’d promised Willie when he first made the deal with him earlier this week.

“Thanks, Willie,” Hank muttered quietly as he slid the cap onto his bald head. “A guy should be coming down the stairs in the next few seconds. He has black curly hair and is wearing a brown leather jacket over a blue dress shirt.”

“Got it,” Willie said.

Next to them, the train came to stop. People began filing out while others waited patiently for their chance to get on.

“Remember he’s a cop—don’t touch him or try to physically stop him,” Hank warned as he put on the blue windbreaker. “Just get in his path and start acting like you know him. Once he gets by you, let him go. Don’t make your move for a few seconds. After you do, the rest should fall into place from there.”

Willie nodded and headed back in the direction of the platform stairs. As he did, the westbound train arrived at the station, just as it was supposed to. Hank flung the backpack over his shoulder and headed to the open doors of the eastbound train. He fought the urge to look back toward the stairs. By now, Officer Carrera would likely be at the top of them, trying to locate him. Glancing in that direction might give him away.

Once onboard the train, he moved to a spot where he could look out the window without being seen. At that moment, the doors to the westbound train opened. As far as Officer Carrera would know, the man he was after could have hopped on either one.

The stairs were barely in view from his position, but he could make out Willie as he scurried up. At the halfway point, the man stopped and seemed to talk to someone, moving his hands animatedly. A second later, Officer Carrera came into view, looking alarmed at how agitated Willie was, even as he tried to survey the platform for his target.

Hank looked down at his phone again. According to the app, the eastbound train was supposed to pull out in twenty seconds. That meant the door would surely close in the next five to ten. Officer Carrera, only briefly deterred by Willie, brushed by the man and hurried to the bottom of the stairs.

Hank knew exactly what the man was thinking. Should I get on this train or the westbound one ?Or is Costabile hiding behind a pillar here on the platform, ready to leave this station once the train I get on pulls away. Then he seemed to decide, stepping toward the doors of Hank’s train, which somehow still hadn’t closed!

But a moment later, Hank saw Willie tap him on the shoulder. Officer Carrera whirled around, pulling his weapon from his holster at lightning speed. Just then, the train doors hissed and slammed shut.

The last thing Hank saw as the train started to pull away was Willie with his hands in the air and a smile on his face. He”d followed the plan perfectly. Now, the man only had one more thing to do. Hank hoped that even with no more money on the line, he”d complete his final task.

Hank retreated to an empty seat and immediately unzipped the backpack, pulling out a purple Lakers cap and a cheap black rain poncho. He took off the windbreaker and the Dodger cap, stuffed them in the backpack, and changed into the new items.

Then he opened the smaller, front pocket of the backpack, the one with the secret, padded pouch that had led him to purchase this pack in the first place. He pulled the switchblade out of the pouch and slid it into his pocket.

He glanced at the train app again. They would arrive at the next stop, Hollywood Western, in two minutes. He would get off there, leave the station, dump the backpack in a street-level trash can, and catch a cab—which he would pay for in cash—to his next destination.

Then, he would hole up and wait for the call from the Central Station dispatch sergeant, who would let him know when it was time to make his move. He was almost in the wind. And soon, Jessie Hunt would be in the ground.