weren’t crimes of passion involved either the quest for financial gain or the fear of financial loss. Since it seemed like losing Brent must have cost Mason a lot of money, he made an unlikely killer.
But between Charlie, who hated Brent’s double life, and Lucas, who loved him too much, the whole crimes- of-passion angle seemed like a real possibility.
“Do you have any idea where I could find Lucas?” I asked.
“I can answer that question,” Mason said. “But it’s going to cost you. Ready to start taping again? Turn around and let’s check out your back.”
This was the last step before I’d have to pull down my pants. And, even if they never used it, I didn’t want these creeps having video of me in my underwear.
I may have been a whore, but it was always my decision who got to see me naked. Mason and Pierce weren’t about to make the list.
23
I stood up slowly and felt the dripping down my back.
Yuck. So gross.
Good.
I turned around slowly. Now that I’d shown off my chest, this was the next reveal.
“Oh my god,” I heard Mason whisper, “that is… oh.”
While the job Steven Austen did applying the scar to my chest was masterful, the disfigurement he applied to my back was nothing less than horrific. A mess of pimples, boils, and welts scattered across me like the ugliest constellation in the universe. He’d even filled some of them with a viscous white liquid designed to “pop” when pressure was applied-an effect I achieved when I sat down with my back against the headboard.
As I gave Mason a few moments to process the train wreck in front of him, I reached into my pocket and took out what appeared to be a tube of ChapStick. It was actually a tube of Vicks VapoRub, which I applied under each nostril. To Mason and Pierce, though, it should have looked as if I was using lip balm.
I tucked it back into my pants. While my hand was in my pocket, I unscrewed the other vial in there and let the liquid contents seep out.
“Uh, Kevin,” Mason said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It looks like you have some kind of… rash.”
“I do?” I said, aping surprise. I craned my neck trying to see. “Really? I don’t see…” I twisted a shoulder as far as it could go. “Aw, crap,” I said. “It’s back.”
“It?” Mason asked. He sounded ready to run screaming out of the room into the nearest decontamination chamber.
“After my operation-the one on my chest that left the big scar,” I clarified, just to make sure they remembered how bad I looked from the front, “I had to take some immunosuppressive drugs to keep my body from rejecting the new valve they put in my heart. Annnnyway…” I drawled Valley Girl style, “the doctors warned me it could lead to breakouts.”
I took a few steps backward, getting closer to Mason. “It happened once before, but it wasn’t too bad. How does it look now?”
Mason instinctively backed up, too, the reptile part of his brain directing him to flee in case my condition was catching. “It looks.. ” He stopped, but not because he couldn’t find the words. I heard him take a cautious sniff. “What is that smell? ”
After the third time I’d found a tube of VapoRub in Tony’s work pants, I’d asked him why he always carried it when he was working.
“In case I have to attend an autopsy,” he’d explained, “or an especially grisly crime scene. A little menthol under the nose blocks out the worst of the stink.”
Even through its protective mask, though, I could make out the sickening scent of the ethanethiol I’d poured out a few moments ago.
Steven Austen wasn’t the only one of my co-workers who’d assisted me today. Oliver, the maintenance man, helped me figure out how much of the noxious chemical I needed to release to pull off the illusion that my artificial rash smelled even worse than it looked. Ironically, the first time I’d come across ethanethiol was the day I met Brent. Oliver had been transporting to storage a tank of the stuff, which was usually used as an olfactory alarm in case of a gas leak.
Turns out, a quarter teaspoon of the stuff was enough to empty a room faster than a canister of tear gas.
“It might be the pus,” I answered Mason, using the grossest word I could think of. “From those weeping sores, I guess.”
“Oh my god,” Pierce exclaimed. “That is vile!” Unlike his boss, he didn’t try to cover his disgust under a veneer of good manners.
“I’m out of here, man. I think I’m going to…” Pierce made a retching sound and ran out of the room.
“I, um, I have to go, too,” Mason said. I swung around to face him and observed his pallor was a shade of gray I’d never seen on a living person before.
His Adam’s apple looked like it was doing jumping jacks in his throat in its efforts to suppress his gag reflex.
“Wait,” I said. I grabbed his forearm. His eyes widened in surprise at the strength of my grip. Or, it might have been the nausea making him look like that. Didn’t matter.
“You promised to tell me where I might find Lucas,” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said, trying to take the shallowest breaths possible. “But he’s still in the city. About two weeks ago, Kristen LaNue says he saw him in a club. By the time he made his way over, though, Lucas was gone.”
“Was he sure it was-”
“Yes!” Mason shouted. His complexion had now gone from gray to green. He slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words muffled. “I really have to…”
I made the quick calculation that whatever small chance remained he had anything useful to tell me was outweighed by the increasingly likely possibility he was about to barf on me. I let go of his arm.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the breakout,” I called, as Mason headed as quickly as possible to the exit. “Maybe we can try again when it clears up?”
Mason made a strangled sound as he flung open the door. It could have meant, “Sure,” or “Are you kidding me?” or “Drop dead.”
I didn’t care. I’d gotten what I’d come for. A few more answers and a little more insight.
There wasn’t anything else I needed from them except…
I walked over to the video camera Pierce had been using. Sure enough, it was a model similar to the ones we had at Sophie’s Voice. I found the “eject” button and removed the digital tape he’d been using. I put it in the pocket that didn’t have the ethanethiol in it.
I knew from bitter experience that the camcorder could appear to be shooting even if you’d forgotten to load it. I figured Pierce would assume that’s what happened.
No reason to leave them with anything with my image on it. Between my luck and Mason’s greed, he’d probably find a way to sell it to the three men in the world turned on by open sores.
I put my T-shirt back on and looked around. A fire exit. Most excellent. I was sure everyone would appreciate my leaving without passing through their offices and lobby on my way out. I grabbed my backpack and was out of there.
So much for my film career.
Fade to black, bitches.
A block and a half away, I found an alley between two apartment buildings. I snuck behind a Dumpster and
