Something_Violent Read online

  SOMETHING VIOLENT

  Kristopher Rufty

  First Edition

  Something Violent © 2017 by Kristopher Rufty

  All Rights Reserved.

  A DarkFuse Release

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For David Bernstein

  Acknowledgements

  I really want to thank Bryan Smith. His books have been, and continue to be, an influence to my own writing. He also introduced me to a slew of crime fiction writers, and it was those writers, plus Smith’s own crime novels that influenced this book. Sure, it’s still a horror story at its core, but a different kind of horror story than what I’m used to writing. And it was a lot of fun. I might not have even given it a try without Bryan’s introduction to the wonderful world of crime fiction. If you’ve never read any of those old pulp crime stories, I suggest starting with Gil Brewer and never stop.

  I want to thank a few other authors as well: Ronald Malfi, probably the best writer working today, and definitely somebody I cherish having in my life. Jonathan Janz, a big guy with an even bigger heart and an acute sense for fashion. I admire him for not just his talent but for his soul. Jeff Strand, David Bernstein, Adam Cesare, Tim Waggoner, Hunter Shea, Russell R. James, Shane McKenzie, Edward Lee, Brian Keene, F. Paul Wilson, Heather Graham, Kathleen Pickering, Aleka Nakis, Gary A Braunbeck, Joe R. Lansdale, and Wrath James White have all played significant roles in not just my career, but my path as a human being. I also want to thank Tod Clark, Paul Synuria II, Amanda Hicks, Mackenzie Walton, Tristan Thorne, Dave Thomas, and Don D’Auria for constant input and support. All of you are very dear to me. Sappy enough?

  Most importantly, I want to thank my family. My wife, Angie, puts up with many hours of kid-wrangling while I lock myself in another room to bring the unnatural ideas in my head to life. I love her deeply and give her never-ending thanks for not judging me for the stories that seem to spew out of me on a daily basis. She has been with me through every step of this, has helped me grow into a better person over the years. There is no one I’d rather have at my side. My children (Logan, Linnea and Larson) are blessings in my life and I thank God every day that I get to watch them grow. Constant entertainment and love, they keep me on my toes and fill me with joy and laughter that I never thought possible. Plus, they like to chime in with ideas here and there, or influence particular scenes with their silly actions. I love you all, and I always will.

  Part One

  1

  Ron

  Ron McClure slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the counter.

  “Want a receipt?” asked the heavyset man, sitting on a barstool behind the register. Without looking up, he slipped the wine into a paper bag, then pecked the sum into the register with his finger.

  “No thanks,” said Ron, grabbing the wine. The paper bag crinkled around the bottle as he pulled it to him. “Keep the change.”

  The man looked up, eyes wide. His pockmarked face dimpled with a smile. “Really?”

  Turning away, Ron threw up his hand, and waved. The bells above the door jangled when he exited. He heard the man shouting thanks. The door closed, cutting off the man’s appreciation.

  Outside, the muggy night air made Ron’s T-shirt feel heavy on his skin. Already, he was sweating.

  I hate this damn weather.

  Had it not been for the conference, he wouldn’t be in North Carolina. Out of all the states, the Carolinas was a pair he avoided whenever possible. Couldn’t this time, though. He was a key speaker, an honor, really, so he couldn’t turn it down.

  But this heat!

  Even without the smothering sun, it still felt as if Ron were in an oven as he walked in front of the ABC store. The front parking spaces were designated for handicap drivers, which Ron found slightly redundant. Why would somebody with a handicap drive to a liquor store? Shrugging at his thought, Ron stepped off the sidewalk.

  The side parking area was heavy with shadow. Looking up, he saw the sodium arcs were dark from blown bulbs. Maybe next time he should park in the front, overlook the handicap warnings. He’d rather pay a fine than be mugged or killed in the obscure regions of the liquor store.

  Switching the paper bag to his other hand, he reached into his pocket and dug out his keys. He pointed the key-lock at his BMW.

  He stopped when he heard sobbing.

  Pausing, Ron cocked his head to the side. Listened. Somebody was definitely sobbing. Though it sounded faint, the person seemed to be close by. Instead of unlocking his car, he walked around the back of it.

  And saw the woman.

  In a white sundress, she sat on the concrete strip in an empty parking space. Her skin was slightly lighter than the darkness around her, but her hair was so black it nearly blended with the shadows. Her knees were sticking up and bent as she leaned forward, burying her face into her palms. It looked as if she’d been beating a drum between her legs, or playing a cello from how wide her legs were spread. The skirt hung between her thighs like a milky loincloth.

  Ron gulped. Though dark piled down, he could see enough of her to know she was gorgeous.

  Her body is, anyway.

  The face, which he assumed was magnificent, was concealed behind her hands.

  Ron took a cautionary look around. This woman could easily be a decoy, addle his focus while guys with guns ran in from the side.

  Another quick look around, he saw nobody.

  She’s alone.

  Ron took a deep breath. Should he approach her? She was obviously in some form of distress, and it was his job to help people during a crisis.

  Yeah, in my office, during an appointment. In California.

  Was he so shallow that he needed to be paid to help somebody? Was he now that much like his old man?

  Going to her might be a bad idea. It would get me involved in whatever dilemma she’s going through, and that just might open my door to a whole lot of crazy.

  Ron decided to ignore her. Pretend he didn’t see her as he got into his car, avoid eye contact. Maybe she’d prefer it that way as well. If he was going through a personal catastrophe, the last thing he’d want was a stranger coming up to him in a darkened parking lot, asking questions. Besides, if he tried communicating with her, she might mistake his intentions.

  And mace him.

  He thumbed the button on the keypad. As the door locks thumped, his headlights clicked on, shoving away the shadows.

  The woman jerked, gasped.

  Grimacing, Ron turned around. He was about to apologize but his breath caught in his throat when he saw her face.

  “You scared me,” she said.

  Her face stole his breath. Ron couldn’t speak. His mouth was stuck open. In the soft glowing spread of his headlights, he saw her almond-colored eyes were spilling tears down her face. Her cheeks shimmered under the gloss of her emotions. Her raven-black hair was slightly wavy and very long as it draped high cheek bones. Lips, perfectly bowed and plump, curled over a cute chin. The sundress had thin straps that went over her small shoulders. He saw no evidence of a bra as the dress draped large breasts. The upper slants of her mounds were smooth and dusky and lightly glazed in moisture, the valley between them a tight line. He could see the points of her nipples pushing into the white fabric.

  Nope. No bra.

&
nbsp; Her skin, the color of caramel, was naturally tawny and sleek. If he were to stroke her leg, he bet his fingers would slip along.

  “Now you’re really scaring me,” she said. She sat up, as if preparing to run.

  Ron held out his hand, gently patting the air. “I’m sorry, don’t be scared.” He realized he was speaking to her like a stranger trying to sweetly coerce a child into his car. “I didn’t mean to…startle you.”

  He attempted a smile that felt awkward, and wondered if it looked as creepy as he figured it did.

  Her slight grimace proved him right. “It’s okay,” she said. “Have a good night.”

  She started to get up. Ron stepped forward, making her gasp.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” she said, holding up a hand.

  “No!”

  She flinched at his tone.

  Ron, lowering his arms by his side, shook his head. He sighed. “Wow,” he said. “I suck at this.”

  “If by this you mean trying not to scare the shit out of me, then yes.”

  Ron laughed. “I am awful.”

  “Rotten,” she said. A corner of her mouth lifted, showing a hint of a dazzling smile before his headlights timed out and darkness fell over them.

  “My name’s Ron McClure.”

  “Jody Covington,” she said. She sniffled. Her face was pale around the dark smudges of her eyes and mouth. “Nice to meet you.” She took a shaky breath.

  He needed to approach her sensibly, if he was going to find out anything about her. Ron carefully set the wine on the hood of his car. Slowly, he turned back to Jody. “Mind if ask why you’re out here?”

  Jody brushed her shin as if something were on it. She looked at her knees. “Maybe I just like crying in parking lots.”

  “Somehow, I doubt it.”

  Jody snorted. “Good guess.”

  “So how did you come to do what you do not like?”

  “Whoa,” she said. “Listen to you, sounding all proper and shit.”

  Ron softly laughed. “Sorry. A bit of my work voice coming out, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m afraid,” she said, mimicking him. She laughed. “What are you? A college professor or something?”

  “Worse.”

  “Worse than that?”

  “I’m a…” He paused for effect. “Marriage counselor.”

  Jody feigned a cry of alarm, putting a hand to her pleasant breasts, which looked painted in moonlight. Pretending to gasp, she said, “Say it isn’t so! You look awfully young to be a marriage counselor. What are you, thirty-five?”

  “On the bridge to forty.”

  “Short bridge or long bridge.”

  “These days, it’s only a few steps.”

  “No way.”

  “I speak the truth. I wouldn’t lie to somebody so lovely.”

  Though he couldn’t see Jody’s face clearly, he could tell she was smiling. He hoped she trusted him a little more now and wouldn’t mind sharing her story.

  “At least somebody thinks so,” she said.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t be alone there.”

  “Aren’t you a smooth talker?”

  “A proper smooth talker.”

  Laughing, Jody said, “I’d have to agree with that. Wait a second…” He saw the pale streaks of her arm lifting. Her finger pointed at him. “You said your name’s McClure?”

  “I did.”

  “As in Dr. McClure? The one in all the celebrity magazines?”

  “One in the same.”

  “You’re that guy on all the talk shows?”

  “Correct.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true.”

  “You mean to tell me you’re the one those actors are saying saved their marriage? That A-list couple from all those superhero movies?”

  “The Sheas, yes. I was the only one willing to sit with them. Talk about a crazy lifestyle.” Ron whistled. “Craaaazy.”

  “Bullshit.” He saw the dark flaps of her hair as she shook her head. “No way. What are you doing in North Carolina?”

  “A conference.”

  Jody shook her head again. “Nope. You saw me crying here, and are working on some kind of play, right? I’ve had all kinds try to get between my thighs, but never somebody using a story like that.”

  “But I am Ron McClure. The Ron McClure.” Ron couldn’t believe his own voice. He sounded like a spoiled child trying to convince his parents the porno magazines under the mattress weren’t his.

  “Prove it,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Let me see your wallet. Show me your license.”

  Ron felt a pinch of alarm. He saw himself handing over his wallet, then she would jump to her feet and run away with it, yelling “Sucker!” while waving the wallet in the air.

  Frowning, Ron said, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable handing you my wallet.”

  “Afraid I’m going to take off with it?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Well, I just won’t be able to believe you’re who you say you are without proof. Sorry.”

  “Scoot over.”

  Jody moved over to make room. The pale strip of the parking curb seemed to grow underneath her as she wiggled down. Ron stepped to the curb, turned around, and sunk to a crouch. When he felt the coarse firmness of the curb, he sat.

  “Going to show me now?” she asked.

  Leaning to the side, Ron reached into his back pocket and tugged out his wallet. Then he removed his cell phone from another pocket.

  “Ready to have your mind blown?” he asked.

  “Blow it away,” she said.

  Ron flipped the wallet open, using the cell phone’s screen to light it. She looked over his arm. He could smell her shampoo—a combination of honey and flowers. Clean.

  “Well, I stand corrected,” she said.

  “Satisfied?”

  “I am. Is it true you’re working on a new book?”

  “Very true. Almost finished with my first draft.”

  “How is it?”

  “It’s…” Ron let out a long breath. He wanted to say it was crap, complete bullshit. And not just that, anybody who read it would know a fraud filled its pages with lies. Truth was, he was under contract, and had no idea what book he wanted to turn in. “It’s too early to tell,” he said.

  “Are you writing it yourself or having somebody else do it?”

  “Nope. Just me, myself, and I.”

  “Good. I hate it when somebody releases a book with their name and face plastered all over it, then in very tiny print somewhere on the cover ‘co-written with so-and-so’. I know the so-and-so is the real writer of the book.”

  “I can assure you, there will be no so-and-so anywhere on my book. It was in the deal that I write it myself. In my voice.”

  “More proper talk,” she said. This close to her, it was easier to see her splendid smile.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said. He put his hand over his heart. He let his hand drop. His fingers brushed the smoothness of Jody’s arm before his hand plopped on his thigh. He’d never touched such delicate skin. “Care to share what has you so upset?”

  “I’m upset about plenty,” she said. “But it’s too much to get into here.”

  “Oh?”

  She’s going to ask to go somewhere we can…talk.

  Ron’s mouth went dry. His tongue felt like a rock. He quickly put his hand under his leg, hiding the wedding ring, and felt guilty. But he left his hand where it was, and didn’t know why.

  She nodded. “Yep. A parking lot isn’t the right place to talk about what’s on my mind.”

  I knew it.

  Nodding, Ron kept his expression serious, concerned. Not trusting his voice, he remained quiet.

  Jody let out a deep breath that rattled cheeks. “Plus, it wouldn’t be fair for me to talk to you about it without Seth around.”

  The anxious tingles Ron had felt swirling in his gut faded. “Seth?”

  “M
y husband.”

  Disappointment nearly stole his posture. “Oh, I see. Marriage issues.”

  “I think he wants to leave.”

  Ron couldn’t hide his surprise. “You? Somebody wants to leave you?”

  He felt her elbow nudge him. “Oh, stop. You’re married, right?”

  Ron lowered his head. “Yes. How’d you—?”

  “Know? Well, your ring is shiny, it glows in the dark. Even when you try to hide it.”

  Embarrassed, Ron looked down and saw the narrow white gold band, slightly twinkling.

  “Plus, you’ve talked about your wife in interviews I’ve read. You’re very private about her, which I can respect.” Jody let out a long breath that puffed out her cheeks. “So, you know how it goes. Marriage isn’t all about looks. You hear stories all the time of men cheating on their wives with ugly bitches, just because it’s something different. You know?”

  “Did he do that to you?”

  “No. He’s not a cheater. Seth is not a cheater.”

  “Okay. You’re out here in a parking lot, crying your eyes out. Something’s wrong.”

  “Right. That’s why I need your help.”

  “Did he ditch you? Make you get out of the car and take off?” Ron looked around. He didn’t see any cars, other than his.

  “No. I took a cab here. I figured you’d come back. You’d been here the last few nights. You’ve bought a small bottle of vodka each night, but not tonight. Figured you wanted this bottle to last longer.”

  “What?” He felt a sickening knot in his chest.

  “I guess it’s your way of relaxing after a long day of giving speeches at the conference. But you had a beard in the pictures I saw of you online, so I had to be sure you were actually you and I hadn’t been trailing the wrong guy the last few days.”

  That’s why she wanted to see my license.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “I figured if I just parked my hot ass right beside your car and pretended to cry, you’d fall for it. I was right. They always fall for the crying charade. Figured my dress wouldn’t hurt, either.” She grabbed her breasts, jiggled them. “No bra. Makes them easier to bounce around.”