Anthony Bruce was already in the interview room waiting when he arrived at his final destination. Seated in front of him, Victor couldn’t deny his eagerness to see the man’s familiar craggy face and to get into his degenerate headspace. As Anthony’s body count and notoriety continued to rise, so did the difficulty in getting in to see him as he was being inundated with requests for interviews. Victor had formed an unusual bond with the man over the last four years nd Anthony was his go-to-con when he couldn’t wrap his head around a case. Or Chapter.
The bond wasn’t only atypical, but necessary and Victor had come to accept the sociopath’s role in his life, even if the old man didn’t know the reasons himself. It was better that way. It was better that no one knew the reasons. It was essential.
“You’re a difficult man to get in touch with,” Victor eased himself into the hard metal chair.
Anthony’s weathered and scarred face split into a sarcastic grin and his voice cracked, “What can I say? I’m the man of the hour.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, Ant. Once we find out all your secrets, you’ll be old news.”
The sinewy, white-haired man belted out a depraved laugh and pounded his fist on the table. “You’ll never know all of my secrets, no matter how hard you try, Son.”
Victor winced and his mouth tightened into a deep frown at Ant’s term. It reminded him of his mother who used the same euphemism when speaking to him. God rest her bitchy, demanding, old soul.
Ant tipped his head back, his green-flecked eyes scanning Victor’s briefcase. “So what ya’ got for me? Chapter Seven?”
“A new case I’m working on. I need your thoughts,” he answered as he pulled out a thick case file.
“You know how this arrangement works. I help you in exchange for the enjoyment of reading about your fucked up relationships. Oh, my apologies. I mean Chapters.”
His stomach knotted and twisted. He hated Anthony with the kind of putrid loathing that seeped from his pores. More to the point, he was repulsed by the fact that he needed him. Narrowing his eyes, Victor sat silent, giving Anthony a pointed, contemptuous stare and prolonging the inevitable – having to share his secrets with the only man he knew wouldn’t judge him. They sat like that for several long moments, neither of them giving an inch.
“I’ve got all the time in the world, Agent Laurenzo. How about you? Don’t you have some pretty, young thing to get back to? Chapter Eight, perhaps?” He flashed his yellowed, cracked and crooked teeth.
Victor swallowed hard, trying not to reveal his resentment and nonchalantly waved his hand as if he could care less. “Seven was a waste of time and not worth mentioning. As for Eight, I’ve only just begun that endeavor and there’s nothing yet to discuss.”
“I’ll decide for myself if Chapter Seven was a waste of time,” Anthony seethed with visible mounting rage. “If you want my fucking help…”
“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy, old man. I’ll give you what you want,” he smirked derisively. He loved seeing the cold-blooded killer’s eyes brighten with fury. He often wondered if the rage that flared on the rarest of occasions in Anthony’s eyes was the same as that of when he was cutting the limbs from the bodies of his victims.
Reaching into his leather satchel, he pulled out a stack of photocopied documents. Ant’s face immediately brightened.
“You’re always prepared, aren’t you? So? Was she a good fuck?” he licked his lips like a hungry mutt and outstretched his arm. “Or was it a ‘he’ again?” he waggled his eyebrows perversely.
Victor’s jaw tensed and he pulled the notes just out of reach, tormenting Ant. “She was no better and no worse than the rest.”
“Said Agent Laurenzo, Master of mind fuckery and bisexuality,” Ant mocked satirically as he leaned forward and puckered his mouth in jealousy. “Now give me the motherfucking chapter or else get the hell out of here,” he hissed.
Victor smiled and raised his eyebrows, untouched by Ant’s accusation. He didn’t consider himself bisexual. He simply didn’t discriminate when it came to studying the weak or where his pleasure could be gotten from.
Casually, he laid the chapter on the table. Without delay, Ant slid it toward him and began fingering the pages lovingly as if he had been given a drug. In a peculiar gesture, his brows pinched together and he began to sniff the air around him. Picking up the pages and bringing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply and then placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, inching his way toward Victor. Ant was much too close for his comfort and his nerves prickled with caution, a red flag popping up as he fisted his hands, ready to defend his life. Again, Ant drew in a deep breath, his eyes dilating and a deep primal growl floating up from his throat.
“God damn I love the smell of cunt…” he whispered, his ruthless eyes fixating on Victor’s mouth. “Chapter Eight?”
Pushing his chair back, Victor snarled in response, regretting that he hadn’t showered before the visitation, “Keep your distance and don’t forget your place. I gave you what you wanted, now it’s your turn to return the favor. Let’s not forget who the bitch is here.”
***
Elsa quickly finished packing a day’s worth of clean clothing and womanly essentials. She had waited for nearly two hours before giving in and leaving 2500 East Grace Street to get ready for the weekend that lay ahead of her. It was absurd that Mr. Black hadn’t given her any information as to his whereabouts or what time he would be back. Christ, he hadn’t even given her a phone number with which to reach him yet. An unsettling thought had crept up on her during her drive back to her apartment that perhaps he really was married. It was nauseating to think about. She didn’t want any part of a man who was in a committed relationship and she had no desire to be ‘the other woman.’ There was just too much about Victor, aka Mr. Black, that needed to be known and she would know. She promised herself that much. After the weekend she vowed to do her own research.
Speeding back to his house, she was relieved when she didn’t see his car parked in the driveway. Letting herself in, the soft sounds of Figure 8 by Ellie Goulding filled her ears and the odor of cigarette and citrus lingered in the air and she knew what that meant. Rounding the corner to the living room, Mr. Black was leaning back in the duchess chair, his legs stretched out and his head cocked to the side as his eyes moved over her body. His mouth twitched with some undefined emotion, but the look on his face was undeniable - he was displeased. She dropped her bag to the floor and stood wordlessly watching him. There was no point in trying to make excuses.
“It was a simple request, Ms. Cassidy,” he spoke with light bitterness, his narrowed eyes stabbing into her.
Elsa lifted her chin, meeting his icy gaze straight on and pretended not to understand his look as she seated herself on the lounger across from him.
“I waited nearly two hours before I left,” she whispered in defense as her confidence waned in the face of his unnerving stare.
“The point is: you left. And now I’m to decide on how to deal with your insubordination.”
Her lashes flew up in shock when his eyes suddenly filled with fierce sparkling. He appeared as if he was thrilled with her ‘insubordination.’ When he stood and moved near her, she was still too startled by his statement to do what she knew she should, which was bolt in the opposite direction. Instead, she eyed him warily, his cat-like movements mesmerizing and spine tingling.
“What are you…” is all she could get out before he seated himself next to her and covered her mouth.