The Crucifix Killer

‘Rookie!’ he shouted.

With great effort Garcia managed to half open his eyes.

‘Hang in there, buddy.’

Hunter surveyed the dimly lit room. It was large, fifty-five feet by forty-five he guessed. The floor was littered with dirty rags, used syringes, crack pipes and broken glass. In the corner, to the right of the entrance door he could see an old and rusty wheelchair. On the wooden table in the center of the room sat a small, portable cassette tape recorder and a single note that read play me first in large red letters. He pressed the play button and the now familiar metallic voice came blasting out of the tiny speaker.

‘Hello Robert, I guess you’ve made it in time.’ Pause.

‘You have no doubt realized that your friend needs your help, but for you to be able to help him you have to play by certain rules . . . my rules. This is a simple game, Robert. Your friend is locked inside a bullet-proof cage, so shooting it won’t help you. On its door you’ll find four colored buttons. One of them opens the cage, the other three – don’t. Your task is quite simple – pick a button. If you press the correct one the door will open, you’ll be able to free your partner and walk out of the room.’

One chance in four to save Garcia – definitely not great odds, Hunter thought.

‘Now here comes the fun part,’ the tape recorder played on. ‘If you press any of the other three buttons an uninterrupted high-voltage current will be sent directly to the wire crown on your friend’s head. Have you ever seen what happens to a human being while he’s being electrocuted? ’ the voice said with a chilling laugh. ‘His eyes burst, his skin crinkles like bacon, his tongue recoils into his mouth ready to choke him to death, his blood boils, bursting vessels and arteries open. It’s quite an exquisite scene, Robert.’

Garcia’s heartbeat went into overdrive. Hunter could see the line on the heart monitor screen peaking faster.

‘And now for the really fun part . . .’

Somehow Hunter knew that the electric current trick wouldn’t be the only twist in that room.

‘Behind the cage I’ve placed enough explosives to obliterate the room you’re in. The explosives are attached to the heart monitor and if it gets to read a flatline . . .’ a longer pause this time. Hunter knew what the metallic voice was about to say next.

‘Boom . . . the room blows. So you see Robert, if you press the wrong button, not only will you watch your friend die knowing that you’ve killed him, but you’ll get to die soon after.’

Hunter’s heart was now beating viciously against his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his eyes, his hands shaky and clammy.

‘But you have a choice Robert. You don’t have to save your partner, you can just save yourself. Walk away now and leave him to die alone. No one will know except you. Can you live with that? Will you gamble your life for his? Pick a color, you’ve got sixty seconds.’ A loud beep came from the tape recorder before it went silent.

Hunter saw a red digital display above Garcia’s head light up 59, 58, 57 . . .

Three

Five weeks earlier.

Jenny rubbed her eyes as she got up from the busy table at the Vanguard Club in Hollywood, hoping she didn’t look as tired as she felt.

‘Where’re you going?’ D-King asked, sipping his champagne.

Bobby Preston was the best known dealer in northwest Los Angeles, but no one ever called him by his real name, everyone knew him as D-King. The ‘D’ stood for ‘Dealer’ as he would deal in just about anything: drugs, girls, cars, guns – for the right price he’d supply you with whatever you wanted.

Jenny was by far his most stunning girl. Her body was flawlessly toned and tanned and her perfect face and smile could charm any men on this earth, D-King was sure of it.

‘I just need to retouch my make-up. I’ll be right back babe.’ She blew him a little kiss and left the exclusive VIP area still holding her champagne glass.

Jenny couldn’t handle any more alcohol, not because she was feeling drunk, but because this was her fifth successive night out partying and she’d had enough. She didn’t think her life would turn out this way. She never thought she’d become a hooker. D-King had always assured her that she wasn’t a working girl. She was a high- class entertainer for gentlemen with extremely good taste and obviously a lot of money, but at the end of the day she was having sex for cash. To her that made her a hooker.

Most of Jenny’s clients were perverted old millionaires looking for something they couldn’t get at home. Sex was never your normal run-of-the-mill missionary position. They all wanted their money’s worth. Bondage, BDSM, spanking, watersports, strap-on sex, it didn’t matter. Whatever they were into, she had to provide, but tonight was no working night. She wasn’t being paid by the hour. She wasn’t out with one of her deadbeat clients. She was out with the boss and she had to party until he said it was over.

Jenny had been to the Vanguard Club plenty of times. It was one of D-King’s favorite hangouts. There was no denying that the club was a magnificent luxurious extravaganza. From its enormous dance floor to its laser-light show and great stage. The Vanguard could hold up to two thousand people, and tonight the club was packed to capacity.

Jenny made her way towards the bar closest to the ladies’ room where two barmen seemed rushed off their feet. The entire club was a tremendous buzz of beautiful people, the great majority of them in their twenties and early thirties. Jenny was oblivious to the pair of eyes that followed her from the VIP area to the bar. Eyes that had been on her all night. In fact, they’d been following her for the past four weeks, from nightclub to nightclub and hotel to hotel. Watching her as she pretended to have a good time, as she pleasured each and every one of her clients.

‘Hi, Jen, are you OK? You look a bit tired,’ Pietro, the longhaired barman, asked as Jenny approached the bar. He still spoke with a slight Spanish accent.

‘I’m OK, hun, just too much partying I guess,’ she said unenthusiastically after catching a glimpse of herself in one of the bar mirrors. Her hypnotic blue eyes seemed to have lost some of their sparkle tonight.

‘No rest for the wicked, huh?’ Pietro’s comment came with a shy smile.

‘Not tonight,’ Jenny smiled back.

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, I’m OK. I’m still struggling with this one.’ She raised her champagne glass giving him a sexy wink. ‘I just needed to get away from the party for a little while.’

Pietro and Jenny had flirted a few times but he’d never made a move on her. He knew she belonged to D- King.

‘Well, if you need anything just give me a shout.’ Pietro went back to preparing cocktails and flipping bottles. A dark-haired woman who had been standing on the other side of the bar dying to get his attention gave Jenny an evil look that said ‘Back off, bitch, I saw him first.’

Jenny swept a hand through her long, wheat-blond hair, placed her champagne glass on the bar counter and turned around to face the dance floor. She enjoyed the club’s atmosphere. All those people having fun, dancing, drinking and finding love. OK, maybe not love, she thought, but at least they’d be having sex for pleasure, not money. She wanted to be just like them. This was definitely not the beautiful Hollywood life she’d dreamed of when she left Idaho six years ago.

Jenny Farnborough’s fascination with Hollywood started at the age of twelve. The movie theater became her shelter from the never-ending rows between her submissive mother and her overly aggressive stepfather. Films