19. Angel Eyes
19
ANGEL EYES
I watch as Beatrix Starr crosses the parking lot of the motel, the two lane road, and walks back to the bar’s lot. She climbs into her fancy black van, pulls out of the parking lot, and heads back to Chasm. She doesn’t see how the Hunt twin steps out of his room, pulling on his shirt as he does, and watches her leave.
A second later, the door to Thatcher’s right opens, and the twink steps out of the room. Dressed in nothing but a silk yellow bonnet, pink pajama shorts, and fuzzy slippers, he looks ridiculous. Knox says something, plopping a hand onto his hip as he gives Thatcher what clearly looks to be lip. Thatcher says nothing, he simply stares after Beatrix.
I lean back in the driver’s seat of my car. Sitting in the gas station a block up, I stare at my targets intently through the rearview mirror. I don’t want to miss a thing, but I’m distracted now.
They let her live again. I was certain when the three of them killed Patrick Hunt and Lauren Starr that Beatrix would be next. When Sagan snuck into the Starr house after the EMTs left, I thought he was finishing what they started. Yet he left that same night, and the following morning Beatrix went to work like nothing happened.
I suppose it would look suspicious if she died around the same time the other two went. But for as much trouble as they went through to make the others look like accidents, I’m sure they could pull something off to get Beatrix out of the way quickly. So why didn’t they? And why did they deviate from their original M.O.s in the first place? Patrick and Lauren died of ‘natural’ causes not with a knife wound or with organs missing.
What was this tonight? Was Beatrix meeting up with the Hunt twins and their boyfriend planned? I’m not inclined to believe so if the brief surprise that flickered across all three of their faces when she entered the bar is something to go by. Did Beatrix know who sidled up next to her at the bar? There didn’t seem to be any sign of recognition on her face when she looked up at Thatcher but I suppose I could be wrong given she’s just as hard to read as the others are. Was this night just one coincidence after another? I dismiss that immediately. I’ve never believed in coincidences before, I’m not going to start now.
Yet everything in my gut tells me she didn’t know it was one of Patrick’s kids that she walked across the street with and joined in the motel. Maybe it was in the way she looked at him, curious, excited, and maybe a little nervous. But not with familiarity. Her body language also spoke to that. The Hunt twin held her hand, but Beatrix kept some distance between them as they headed to his place. That tells me they weren’t friends .
So how did this meetup happen? I’ve had a friend look into her phone records and checked her online presence. Both came up as dead ends. There is nothing that connects her to these three. All those nights Sagan’s been slipping into that fucking house—was that when they would talk? When they’d conspire? If so, what did they talk about? Is there money involved somehow? Is this a get-rich scheme? I don’t think so. It’s public record that Bright Starr is hardly treading water, and these three have been aimlessly bouncing from one state to another with large gaps in their whereabouts. They couldn’t possibly have much money to offer her.
My head spins as I reach up and smooth down my mustache.
Shoving my hand into my pocket, I drag out my crumpled box of cigarettes and yank one free. I toss the box into the passenger seat and snatch the lighter off the dash. Shannon is going to smell this shit on me, but I can’t help it. I need to steady myself and a few drags of a cigarette will help that.
For now at least.
I suck in a deep breath, savoring the slight burn from the smoke as it slides down my throat and collects in my lungs. In my rearview mirror, I watch the Hunt twin and his twink talk. They don’t stand there long. The Hunt twin shakes his head, running his fingers through his black hair-—a clear sign of frustration, then he storms back into his room with his boyfriend right on his heels.
How very interesting.
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I feel like the answer is getting closer. As if all I have to do is reach out and it’ll be there for my fingertips to brush against. I love a good mystery. It’s why I’d become a detective all those years ago. I miss it sometimes. Retirement can be a bit of a bore. Giving up killing and my career at the same time? Well, without my old lady, I’m pretty sure I would’ve gone mad by now.
But now I have something else to pass the time, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. This strange game the Hunts are playing has me absolutely enthralled. Especially since it looks like they’re about done. Whatever they want, it’s in that big old house in Chasm. That’s why they killed their father and took out their stepmother. Maybe Beatrix has something to do with that, maybe she’s just a mouse they’re playing with. Who knows? I hope to figure it out. I’d hate to think I’ve grown rusty since I’ve been out of the game.
As long as this game has nothing to do with trying to claim Chicago as their own—which I’ve been a little concerned about—I’m quite content to let them see it to the end. Sure, they come to visit and they kill on my streets, but if they’re almost done here, then I can allow it to go on for a little while longer.
I turn on my car and pull out of the gas station.
“I’ll figure out your end game before it happens,” I mutter to myself, still smiling. “Because I’m just that fucking good.”