I found it odd that a taxi was already waiting right Infront of the house, but I wasn't just interested so much in whether it was a mere coincidence or not...
"Drive me to the Charis hub."
"That would be ten bucks, ma."
I squeezed out God knows how many dollars from my pocket and shoved it to his face.
"Keep the change and don't bother starting a fucking conversation."
It was Halloween festival. Lots of people were outside, doing whatever they wanted, and thanks to them, it took over an hour to get a little close to the Charis hub.
"I can't go any further, ma." I took my gaze away from the window and looked forward for the first time since the ride started.
It was really impossible for him to move any further. It's either he ride over those people or his car would be snatched. If he's unfortunate, it could be both.
I got out the car. The next moment I was swept into the crowd.
I moved with the chanting mob, tears streaming down my face. There was no escape. This was the worst day to get entangled into this mess. I was grabbed by a fat man in a Michael Myers mask and kissed. A clown face squeezed my breasts, and a zombie lifted me up. I struggled free and tried to run, but it was impossible. I was fucking hemmed in, trapped.
When I was finally able to break away and flee to a quiet street, I was near hysteria. I stood still for a long time, leaning against a wall and taking deep breaths.
Slowly, I regained control of myself. The Charis was just a stone throw from where I was.
"Can I help you?" A middle-aged, harassed-looking man with a weather-beaten face, who seemed genuinely concerned, asked once I entered.
"I... I want to buy a gun."
"Are you sure?"
"A fucking clown won't have squeezed my breast if I wasn't sure."
"Yo! Fine. What kind of gun?"
"Something that won't make any noise or grab attention"
"Smith & Wesson Quiet Special Purpose Revolver (QSPR) and the Soviet and Russian PSS silent pistol."
"Which is the most expensive?"
"Same price."
"Then give me the revolver," I said. I had brought enough cash with me, so money wasn't any bit of an issue.
I watched as he went inside a room and came back with a revolver. "You know how to use it?"
"I will learn from YouTube," I said.
"Should I show you?"
"No. Is it not about pulling a trigger? I will watch a YouTube tutorial on that or figure it out myself."
"Aight... Aight. I need your full name and address for police record."
It never occurred to me that my details would be needed. Well, I'm not the criminal. I'm just going to help the FBI.
"Name?"
"Zendaya Moretti."
He inputed them on his computer.
"Address?"
"1456 Bloomway Avenue," I muttered.
He raised a brow, typing it in without comment. "You live close to the warehouse district?"
"Yeah," I lied, avoiding his eyes.
---
Riverside Estate is a peaceful neighborhood with wide, smooth roads and big houses. Tall gates stand at the entrance, and the streets are lined with green trees and quiet gardens.
StephanVitale lived in one of those houses.
I stood in the shadows, studying the house, conscious of the heavy weight of the gun in my handbag. The plan I had worked out was simple.
I'm going to reason with StephanVitale, ask him to clear my name and confess his crime. If he refused, I would threaten him with the gun and force him to write out a confession. Or even record his confession.
I would take it to Detective Conan and he would arrest him for Jasmine's murder.
I wished desperately that Axel was there with me, but it was best to do it alone. He got a reputation to keep, he had to be left out of this. I would tell him about it when it was all over and Stephanwas behind bars, where he belonged.
A pedestrian was approaching. I waited until he had walked past and the street was deserted. I walked up to the house and pressed the doorbell. There was no answer.
He's probably at one of the private and exclusive parties. But I can wait, I can wait until he gets home.
Suddenly, the balcony light snapped on, the front door opened, and a man stood in the doorway. His appearance was a surprise to me. I had envisioned a sinister-looking mobster, evil written all over his face. Instead, I found myself facing an attractive, pleasant-looking man who could easily have been mistaken for a university professor. His shirt hung tightly to his six-packed, hit body.
His voice was low and friendly. "Hello. May I help you?"
"Are you StephanVitale?" My voice was shaky.
"Yes. What can I do for you?" He had an easy, engaging manner. No wonder Jasmine was used by this man.
"I— I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Vitale." He studied my trembling figure for a moment.
"Certainly. Please come in." I walked into a living room filled with beautifully furnished antique furniture. StephanVitale lived well. On my best friend's money...
"I was just about to mix myself a drink. What would you like?"
"Nothing."
He looked at me curiously. "What was it you wanted to see me about, Miss—?"
"Zendaya Moretti. I'm Jasmine's friend."
He stared at me blankly for an instant, and then a look of recognition flashed across his face.
"Oh, yes. Jasmine... I heard about her... Too bad."
Too bad? He had caused the death of that innocent sweet girl, and his only comment was: "Too bad." Seriously.
"Mr. Vitale, the district attorney believes that I killed my best friend... You know that's not true. I want you to help me clear my name."
He shrugged. "I never talk business during Halloween... It's against my belief. I usually take a break." Stephanwalked over to the bar and began mixing two drinks. "I think you'll feel better after you've had a drink." He was leaving me no choice.
I opened my purse and pulled out the revolver. I pointed it at him. "I'll tell you what will make me feel better, Mr. StephanVitale. Having you confess to exactly what you did to my best friend." He turned and saw the gun.
"You'd better put that away, Miss Moretti. It could go off."
"It's going to go off if you don't do exactly what I tell you to. You're going to write down how you got into my best friend's house, killed her for over what I don't know, and made sure my prints were left on the gun."
He was watching me carefully now, his dark eyes wary. "I see. What if I refuse?"
"Then I'm going to kill you. I will fucking cut you up and freeze your dead body so no one notices you are dead for at least a month." I could feel the gun shaking in my hand.
"Zendaya, you don't look like a killer." He was moving toward me now, a drink in his hand. His voice was soft and sincere.
"I had nothing to do with your friend's death, and believe me, I—" He threw the drink in my face.
I felt the sharp sting of the alcohol in my eyes, and an instant later the gun was knocked from my hand.
"Your so-called friend came to me. I helped her reach orgasm. She didn't tell you?" StephanVitale said. "It's unfair. She also didn't tell me she had a horny-looking friend. We would have had a threesome before her demise."
"You fucking psycho!"
He was holding me, pinning my arms, and I was blinded by his charm and terrified. I tried to move away from him, but he backed me into a wall, pressing himself against me. I could feel his hard cock.
"You have guts, pookie. I like that. It turns me on." His voice was hoarse.
I tried to twist away, but I was helpless in his grip.
"You came here for a little excitement, huh? Well, Stephan's going to give it to you better than you have ever had it."
I tried to scream, but my voice came out in a gasp.
"Let me go! Asshole!" He ripped my blouse away.
"Hey! Look at those tits," he whispered. He began pinching my nipples.
"Fight me, pookie," he whispered. "I love it!"
"Let go of me!" He was squeezing harder, hurting me. I felt myself being forced down to his couch.
"I'll bet you've never been fucked by a real man," he said.
He was on top of me now, his body heavy on mine, his hands moving up my thighs.