Myth Man (23 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“T
HAT’S SOME STORM,” CLEO Presto told her son as she gazed out a window that pattered a fast beat from the pounding rain. “I pulled out your rain gear, boots, and poncho.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She was pleased when he recapped his night with Camille. She became ecstatic when he said they made another plan. Presto honestly looked forward to it. Camille planned a behind-the-scenes tour of the Bronx Zoo.

It was not until Presto left the building that the ferocity was realized. It was impossible to manage an umbrella in the whipping wind. The streets were flooded. An empty Styrofoam coffee cup floated by, hugging the curb. It reminded Presto of a ship traveling the coast looking for beachhead. It also reminded him of Camille. He picked it up and dropped it in the corner garbage can.

Maybe God smiled on his good deed. He spotted an empty cab. Once inside, Presto hoped the visibility was better from the front seat. He was barely able to see past the hood.

He arrived at the precinct in one piece and lumbered as fast as he could to the entrance.

Danko waived him into his office. Dripping, he took off his poncho and put it on the floor where a small puddle formed.

When he finally looked at Danko, he noted that he looked as bad as the weather. A box of tissues sat beside him.

“Sick,” he declared. “Just came on.”

After Ridgewood and Donavan arrived, they all cursed the weather boisterously. It didn’t take long for them to agree to cancel any notions of fieldwork. The decision was not unanimous, with the one female dissenting. She let them know what she thought of their manhood until she relented when Danko, after several honks, tossed the empty tissue box in the garbage.

The rest of the day they looked over the other investigator’s notes and calls from the tip line. They added six more names to their list. Despite the setback, they left feeling something had been accomplished.

The next day was a mirror image of the day prior—terrible weather, but no new names were added, and nerves became frayed.

Ridgewood and Donavan started to spat. He was a man of action not research. Ridgewood reminded him that he
wussed
out due to, a
bit of rain
.

Danko interceded with a hoarse and stuffy apology. Presto remained quiet out of guilt. He felt like he let Ridgewood down. But unlike Donavan, Presto was not a man of action, and he did his best work sitting around.

Their takeout order arrived late (which was okay) and cold (which was not). Glumly, he ate his cheeseburger and soggy fries. He reasoned it was a good thing he was on the right side of the law. The thought of a prison menu diet was enough to keep him clean.

He did make his appetite up at dinner that night with Camille at Buddha’s Bistro. She had mentioned that on the West Coast she found the Japanese food to be excellent but not the same with Chinese. With the inclement weather, Buddha’s
proximity made it a wise choice.

The day spent with Agent Ridgewood and the night with Camille. Presto never had it so good. His upbeat demeanor was noticed. He’d been asked several times why he was smiling. Donavan even questioned him. “Did you get laid last night, bro?”

When he woke up Thursday morning, Presto heard his cell phone beep from a missed call. He checked the message. There were two.

The first was Ridgewood. She was angry and apologetic. Malcolm had called them back to Washington. Malcolm’s other assignment was a sudden priority. They’d return on Saturday.

The next call had been Danko, who reiterated Ridgewood’s message, although he sounded much happier for the reprieve. He could use a day or two in bed, he nasally explained.

Presto used his time off well. He visited his own precinct and had lunch with Jack Burton. He missed his friend, and they made plans, without Mrs. Burton’s consent, to enjoy her home cooking in a few weeks. He wished his boss a happy Easter, which rolled out of his mouth awkwardly. Until this killer was caught, the holidays were tainted.

The respite also allowed more time for Camille. They went to a pool hall where Camille hustled him five straight matches. They shopped, toured museums, visited art galleries, and then went to the Bronx Zoo.

“
Macroclemys temmincki
, or the Alligator Snapping Turtle,” explained Camille as they stood in front of a large glass tank within the Reptile House.

The one hundred and twenty pound, prehistoric-looking reptile faced them from within her tank. Her mouth hung fully open and looked capable of engulfing Presto’s beefy arm. On the tip of her tongue, a wormlike appendage swayed in the water. Camille explained, although Presto already knew but remained quiet, that the tongue ribbon was used to tempt fish and other prey near its mouth.

“Bertha, she’s affectionately called. She’s over sixty years old. She was rescued ten years ago from a Texas ranch. There was a betting ring where they pitted different animals against each other—dogs, boar, pythons, bobcats—you get the picture,” she said with a sorrowful sigh.

Presto was so happy he could have jumped in the aquarium with Bertha and hugged her. For the first time in a month, his mind was not preoccupied with the case. They had already been at the zoo for six hours, but the last two had been in the Reptile House. Surrounded by cold-blooded reptiles, Presto’s heart was simmering.

They arrived at the green anaconda exhibit. There were two snakes resting just outside a water basin. The larger of the two was twenty-five feet and thick as a maple tree; the other was about half the size. Once again, Presto knew, but he played dumb. He liked when she talked. There was a lot of girl left in this woman.

“What’s up with these two?” Presto inquired. “Is that the mother and her baby?”

Camille giggled. “Funny you should say that. That’s what most people assume. Actually, both snakes are the same age. The larger one is the female, which is usually the case with reptiles.”

Presto looked at her sideways. “They’re like the opposite of you and me.”

She pinched some flab with a prankish grin. “Then maybe we’ll visit the chimpanzees and hang with our fellow mammalians. The largest male, Scamper, is a ham, just like you. I heard that a few weeks ago he stole his handler’s iPod, climbed a tree, and held the headphones to his ear. Apparently, he didn’t like what he heard, because he snorted a loud raspberry and tossed the iPod to the ground, where it broke.”

“Maybe it was,
Hey, hey, hey, we’re the Monkees
,” sang Presto. “Maybe the chimp was insulted.”

Camille laughed, which further cheered Presto.

They arrived at a wall-encased terrarium. Presto looked around and then saw a Jackson’s chameleon perched on a branch. Its green, splotched skin blended perfectly with the green foliage. Three tan horns, two over the eyelids and one that was longer and protruded from the snout, combined to look like the twigs it was sitting within.

Thankfully, Camille again provided commentary. “I love these guys,” she gushed. “I had a panther chameleon at college. I think I was the only girl with a reptile on campus.”

Presto supposed she was. She was as rare as the endangered red pandas they’d visited earlier.

When Camille got home that Friday evening, she called with good news. Yes, she took the job, and would he help her find an apartment. He agreed and asked about a celebratory dinner on Saturday. She regrettably declined and explained she was expected to attend a dinner with the Zoo’s director and a few patrons. He was disappointed but understood. He was cheered when she mentioned that the two families were spending Easter together.

Ridgewood and Donavan’s Saturday flight back was delayed, and they did not arrive at Danko’s until two o’clock in the afternoon. The group spent their time on security provisions. It was Easter eve, and every church in the city would be guarded. They departed with hope. Another death would be a disaster.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

N
ICE COSTUME
, MYTH MAN thought sarcastically.

Victor Markov wore a fake beard and mustache. It was a primitive effort, one likely purchased in a Halloween costume store, but it was passable in the dark bar. The knit cap and use of contacts instead of his typical wire frames did give Markov a different look.

Markov’s eyes scanned the almost vacant bar. The place was a dump, and at 10:30 pm most of the older patrons had since stumbled out the door. Markov’s twitchy eyes and uncomfortable hands embodied his nervous state. He leaned closer across the table and spoke in a hush tone. “I know I want to do this, but I’m still scared.”

Across the table, the other man had spent hours with his disguise. A prosthetic chin enhanced his jaw line. A body suit under his clothes made him look beefier. His wig was grayed at the temples and peppered throughout. His skin was bronzed a few shades darker. Although the weather was not chilly, he wore thin, black leather gloves.

“Me too,” Myth Man said. “We both have something to lose.” He removed one glove, raised his hand, and pointed to his wedding band.

“Are we crazy?” asked Markov.

Myth Man gave him a long smile. “You’re the doctor.”

“A nurse, but don’t you think less of it. You know how important my job is.”

Myth Man nodded. “I do. He’s an important man.”

“He truly is. It’s a pleasure working with him, but when I think of us, sometimes I think of him. I feel ashamed.”

Myth Man held no empathy but answered, “I know. But no one will know. We’d both be ruined.”

Markov exhaled. “I think I’d kill myself.”

Myth Man stifled a smile.
I got that department taken care of
.

He watched Markov closely. His voice had a feminine squeak, like he was in the midst of puberty. His accent was classic New Yawk. He liked to touch his face, especially his ears, and he walked in short, quick steps.

“Another beer?” Markov asked after a short impasse. “I’ll feel better doing this if I’m buzzed,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“I’ll feel better when you unzip my pants,” Myth Man replied with a wry smile.

“Me too,” Markov replied with a mischievous grin of his own and got up to fetch some brewskies.

Myth Man watched him go. Markov was perfect. When he had chosen his target, he’d known the only way to get to him was through his nurse. He had begun to follow Markov.

He was surprised one night to see Markov reappear from his West Village loft. He wore a disguise, but Myth Man was sure it was Markov. This interested him, and he followed Markov into a bar. Myth Man immediately noted all the patrons were male and figured out Markov’s game.

A week later, Myth Man followed Markov to a different bar and approached him, timidly. The slow come-on worked with Markov, and an even slower courtship commenced. It started with short phone calls. Then they opened up to each other. Markov confided his identity, while Myth Man continued his lie. Tonight’s rendezvous was to cement their union.

Markov returned with the beers. They clinked bottles and drank up.

“You guys must be nervous with this killer on the loose,” broached Myth Man.

Markov huffed. “Hardly,” he claimed. “If anything, the recent attentions only made security tighter and more of a hassle. The police are everywhere.”

No problem
. “Yeah, well I hope they catch him soon. The man’s a menace.”

“You got that right,” agreed Markov.

Myth Man took a long chug of his beer. He then took a long look at his watch. “What time do you have to be there tomorrow?”

Markov stretched his face taut. “Five in the morning. He must be cleaned, dressed, fed, and groomed.”

“Sounds tough.”

Markov shrugged. “I suppose it is, but I wouldn’t trade my job with anyone in the world.”

Tomorrow you will
.

Myth Man gestured to the door and threw a long coquettish smile at Markov. He tried a face he’d once used on his wife It said:
Let’s get busy.
“It’s getting late then. Want to get out of here?”