CHAPTER 34
Steven
November 2010
Airport Road was almost a straight drive from his house to Davis’s home. His speedometer registered twenty-five mph. He stopped at the 7-Eleven, bought a beer to chase his whiskey. Continuing to his destination, a few blocks down he passed the gas station. He was now closer to the airport.
To his left was open field; to his right were single-family dwellings. He drove another mile, then turned right into a fairly new subdivision. The neighborhood was quiet. He parked his truck on the opposite side of the street, about fifty feet from Davis’s front door.
He surveyed Davis’s house. A room, once dark, suddenly became illuminated. The silhouette dancing on the curtains matched the one he’d seen countless times at Mona’s house when he’d spied on her. Her shadow swayed.
He tiptoed across the street and through the alleyway alongside Davis’s property. The front room lights were off. Steven ducked, crept below Davis’s kitchen window, and headed toward the backyard. A light in a back room was on. Steam covered a small rectangular sliding window.
“Hurry up, Mona! The water is getting cold!” a man shouted, giving Steven his exact whereabouts.
Steven tugged on the ceiling-to-floor sliding glass door. The door was locked. No problem for an expert like him. He dug into his pocket, retrieved a flat metal hook, jimmied the lock, lifted the latch, then slid the door open. Once he was inside Davis’s house, Steven didn’t care if Davis or Mona saw him. He held his gun at his side, tiptoed into the bedroom, then scanned his surroundings.
Quietly he entered the bathroom. A tall male’s shadow was inside the shower. Hands above his head, he leaned against the wall. That’s interesting. Steven removed the white bath towel from the rack.
“It took you long enough,” he said. “Hurry up before I open my eyes.”
Whoever said “Timing is everything” was right. Unbeknownst to Davis, he’d never open his eyes again.
Steven opened the shower door. In one sweeping motion, he placed the towel over the back of Davis’s head, slammed his face against the tiles, held it there, then pulled the trigger.
Davis’s body slumped into Steven’s arms. Careful not to fire his gun again, he pointed the barrel away from his body. He dragged the body into the living room, lay Davis across the large area rug, sat on the sofa, sat his gun underneath the coffee table beside his foot. Mona’s voice resonated from the kitchen happily singing, “Hey boy, I really wanna see if you can go downtown with a girl like me. . . .” Her singing faded into humming.
Steven removed a cigarette from his shirt pocket. It was too wet to light. He sat there wishing he had the bottle of whiskey in his car to wash down his beer.
How fucking long is her ass going to be in the kitchen? He’d give her a few more minutes. If she didn’t come out, he was going in to get her.