Stalker Steve~
Never has a case caused me more hair loss and tachycardia than this one. It's harder than it sounds to be a hitman for hire these days. If it weren't for the fringe benefits, I would cut my losses and dip the hell out of this hotbox! I have always heard that if you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life, and I do love my job!
The excitement of the pursuit, then aiming my weapon at them, witnessing their reaction, and having their blood spray my face with their last heartbeats after I plug the back of their heads, satisfies my inner demons.
That, of course, was until Santa Monica's finest poked their noses into my business. I have found that a great stress reliever is inflicting as much pain as possible on my victims before they meet their end. A normal person might not know how gratifying it is to hear the screams of the damned, but I am not normal, and I do. The one I just got rid of helped relieve a lot of inner conflict, and I thank him for that!
However, the loud-mouthed brat, screaming at the top of his lungs, having found the body, distracted me as I was attempting to flee the scene. His interruption caused me to grab hold of the pier to duck out of sight. My foot slipped on the sandy bottom, and I fell forward, ripping the glove and gashing my index finger on a rusty nail. It hurt like a bitch. I tore the gloves from my hands and shoved them in my pocket.
Then, I searched for the kid, but he was gone. Hunting the little curtain climber down was something I would have to deal with later, just in case he got a good look at my face. I realized about a minute later that I had dropped one of the fucking latex gloves, and doubling back to retrieve the incriminating evidence was my only option. What do I find but a Barney Five-looking motherfucker picking it up out of the water.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" I cursed as he headed up the beach towards her.
The dick licker who's making my life hell now has my attention. The almighty Detective Harley Gibson stands up from my victim to meet Maberry's finest. I throw my hands up. This is stellar now. I have given her my fucking DNA, no less!
I watch as Barny hands the glove over to Detective Gibson, who holds it up for the ME, Belinda—she's a real bitch, too—who sprays the glove. I cursed again as the luminol lit up. They slip it into an evidence bag. The detective then looks around as if she knew someone was watching her while resting her hand on the barrel of the Glock at her side. I duck back out of sight with a groan, knowing I am batting a damn thousand tonight!
With the media closing in, it's time for me to get the hell out. Given my luck tonight, I would end up on the evening broadcast. I was in enough trouble as it was. My minor folly tonight would displease Dean, my boss, to say the least. If they didn't guard him so well, he would be the next body floating down the bay! I turn and head back down the shore toward my car. I can already hear him in my head. He's been warning me about the detective.
Getting inside, I slammed the car door, wrapped an old napkin around my still-bleeding appendage, and snatched the burner phone Dean had given me as he called emergencies from the glove box.
"We've gotta a problem, boss."
He is already growling at me. I hate fucking werewolves! "What kind of problem, Steve?"
There was no sense in pussyfooting around it. "I fucked up, Dean. Detective Gibson has my DNA." I braced myself for the explosion.
I could almost see the veins popping out on the sides of his ugly face. "You incompetent bastard! How did you let that happen?"
"I am not incompetent! Need I remind you of the ten bodies you have in the morgue thanks to me? I was dumping number eleven when I got surprised. One of the latex gloves YOU insisted I wear slipped out of my pocket. I tried to retrieve it, but the police found it first."
"You need to get it back and silence that bitch detective."
"Gibson doesn't have the glove. The fucking ME has it."
"Of course she does!" He exhaled. "Lie low until you hear from me. Stay off the detective's radar. She will follow the anonymous tip that I will plant. The stalker will be waiting. Take her to the warehouse on Pier Thirty-Six. I will ensure that the evidence gets lost. Don't fuck this up, Kyle!" he warns me before disconnecting the line.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I count my blessings. At least Dean didn't know where the lost glove came from. It wasn't like the old Beaner was going to make his delivery. Tossing the phone onto the seat beside me, I slapped the steering wheel with both hands. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but I wasn't in the best position to do that. After all, it is my DNA and my dumbass fault. Starting my car with force, I head back to my hideaway in the trees.
On the way, I call my girl Vicky in need of a wet pussy to take my frustration out on. No way could I make my move on the detective until Dean got her away from the police department, anyway, and a man's gots needs! It shouldn't be too much trouble after that. Since I don't want to get shot, I will use a tranquilizer gun on her first, which means I need to get a tranquilizer gun first! Once I get her to the warehouse, she'll be Dean's problem. There are two more names on my list.