"Would you prefer fat ass?"
"Fuck off, granny."
Mabel laughed. "I like you, doughboy. You're just as fucked up as I am, even though you don't want to admit it. You're going to get a good thrill out of watching her die, too."
Tim grinned and nodded. Maybe Mabel Schneider was right. He knew she was correct in that last statement: He was going to have a good time watching Lisa Miller die.
It took all of Brad Miller's willpower to not bolt for the door and undertake the search for Lisa by himself. He was sitting in a chair in the office of Head of Security at the Luxor, being grilled by two FBI agents. The cops and feds were crawling all over the place. Security was tight, and the last Brad had heard they were conducting a room-to-room search of the entire hotel and casino.
He didn't want to admit to himself that they were too late. It had taken a few minutes for hotel security to free him. and forty minutes had passed since then. The feds had just arrived, but he had to beg to get them to even show up. Once Luxor security informed the feds on what was happening, the mood changed. Now everybody was racing around the Luxor like they had fire up their asses. The clock was ticking.
"Haw old do you think the woman was?' one of the agents asked. Both agents looked to be around Brad's age. One was white, the other was black.
She looked over seventy. Close to eighty. I've told you this five times already!'
"I'm sorry," the agent said. He looked flustered. "we just… I've just never heard of…"
You've never heard of an old lady psychopath slashing people like she was Jack the Ripper. Is that what you want to say? Brad dosed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that wanted to creep up into his brainpan. "I swear to. Christ, the woman was fucking old. She looked like an old fucking grandmother, for God's sake! Now-'
One of the security team held out a telephone receiver to Brad. 'Excuse me, sir? Guy on the other end says he's Mr. Miller's attorney. A Mr. Grecko?'
Brad leaped for the phone; he hadn't even heard it ring. "I'll take it!'
"Brad?" It was Billy, all right. He sounded on the verge of losing it.
Billy, they've got her!" Brad yelled. He had called Billy twenty minutes ago and left a message, sobbing frantically into his voice mail that they had gotten Lisa again, that they had slipped past security using an old woman as their assassin. Then he'd called his parents. His mother had been shocked; she'd started to cry. His dad had gotten on the line and didn't say much. He was probably shocked, too. His dad usually clammed up when he got too emotional. Brad was the exact opposite. "They've got her, Billy, they slipped right past the fucking security and-"
"Paul told me everything," William said. His voice was even, controlled, yet with the faintest hint of strain beneath it. "We're doing everything we can, buddy."
"How the luck did this happen?" Brad shouted. He could feel that he was on the verge of crying again and he tried to hold it in.
"I've just talked to Paul, and I told him that I just found out that there's a commercial printer in the City of Industry, a guy by the name of Rick Shectman, who might be a possible suspect. They're sending a team of agents to question him right now."
"Tey've got somebody? Is this a-"
"It's a credible lead," Billy said, overriding him. "Listen, Brad, my source says that the feds have been investigating this guy for years, but they've been unable to come up with much of anything. He runs a commercial print shop in Industry that is believed to also produce child pornography. My source also told me that there's speculation he's tied into the production of other forms of illegal pornography. No hard proof, though, just speculation. But get this: His father, Boris Shectman, was convicted in 1979 of producing child pornography and bestiality publications and served six months. Boris also ran a lucrative porn business, providing loops to porn shops across the country. He also ran coin-operated booths, prostitution rings, the whole nine yards. My contacts are still trying to dig his name up in connection with their snuff-film investigation in the seventies, but he's confident Boris was partially responsible for at least one snuff film that was made in seventy-eight or seventy-nine. That's what my contact tells me. His source claims that Boris was deep into the whole hardcore industry, and that-"
"They're going to get this guy? Is that what you're telling me?" Brad was excited; he wanted to get out of here now and help!
"They're after him now." He could tell Billy was trying to sound hopeful. "I don't want to… you know… get your hopes up, but-"
"I just want her found," Brad said, trying to control the stammer in his voice. "1 just want her found."
"I'm doing everything I can, buddy. We'll find her. Now, can you pass me back off to the agents you're with?"
Brad handed the phone to the black agent, who took the phone. "Yeah? Paul Off from the field office? Okay. Thanks" The agent gave the phone back to the Luxor security man, who hung up.
Brad leaned forward, cradling his head between his hands. He still felt weak from the Taser. Weak and sick. "Mr. Miller?"
Brad looked up. The African-American agent was looking at him with soft, brown eyes. "Mr. Miller. I have something I want you to look at.*
"What?"
Another security agent had stepped into the room while Brad had been talking to Billy. He was holding a videotape. He inserted the tape into a VCR and as he got the tape ready, the head of security at the Luxor addressed him. "We questioned some of the guests and gave them your description of the woman who attacked you. We were able to verify that a woman fitting that description was seen with a man in the lobby, and that the man was pushing a luggage cart with a large box on it. Naturally, it was assumed they were guests. When I got the description of the woman from you, I ran it through security and we checked the tapes and came up with footage of the suspects leaving the hotel. We also checked the parking lot security tapes and were able to identify their vehicle. We got a blowup of the plate and alerted the state police and the DMV. They're on it now we also gave them a description of the man seen with the woman. I'd like you to view the tape and tell me if you recognize him' He turned to the TV and VCR, pressed the Play button, and stepped aside.
Brad moved toward the TV, watching the black-andwhite images of hotel patrons in the lobby hurrying to and fro. He recognized the old woman the minute she stepped into frame. 'That's her!" he said, feeling his skin crawl.
The security agent slowed the speed of the tape down. "Take a good look at this guy," he said.
Brad watched the tape, his heart racing. When the man stepped into frame pushing a luggage cart, Brad didn't recognize him at first. The gold rungs of the luggage cart partially obscured the man's upper body, but as the tape progressed frame by frame, the man's figure moved into a more prominent view in the film. Brad felt his breath draw in as the man's face loomed closer. He wasn't wearing sunglasses and he was clean-shaven, his hair cut shorter, but there was no mistaking it. The man in the film pushing the luggage cart was the man who had had him arrested outside Ventura over two weeks ago. "That's him!" he cried, pointing at the TV. "Ibat's the guy who called himself Caleb Smith. That's the guy who had me arrested and kidnapped Lisa!"
Twenty-eight
Animal was waiting for them at the precise spot Tim Murray had told him to be.
He was also dressed and ready for action.
Tim had piloted the SUV off the secondary road over the bumpy terrain to the hilly area at the foot of the indine. He parked behind a large outcropping of rocks. A four-door Saturn with a rental-car decal affixed to the rear window was already parked there and Animal was waiting, leather bondage mask over his head, his upper torso bare. Mabel took one look at him and grinned. "I've seen two films you were in. I love your work."