I just need you to help me kill Lauren Betancourt.
58
Christian
Good. So far, so good with Vicky. I have buy-in. She’s willing to go along with this.
I let it simmer for a while. I don’t want to hit her with the entire plan all at once and overwhelm her. But Gavin and I have put together an initial outline.
For one thing, it has to happen on Halloween. Between now and November second, when Simon goes to his divorce lawyer, there’s no other day that makes sense. Today is Tuesday the twenty-fifth. Tomorrow or the next day—Wednesday or Thursday—is too soon. I need more time than that. The weekend is not going to work. Friday, Saturday, those nights are too unpredictable, and based on Lauren’s Facebook page, she seems to reserve those nights for her girlfriends, usually downtown.
And Monday the thirty-first—Halloween—is perfect, right? Most people are home so they can answer the door to trick-or-treaters. I can wear a costume that lets me waltz around in anonymity. I can hide a weapon in a costume or in some fake treat-or-treat bag. It’s the only day of the year that a woman would open her door to a man wearing a disguise over his face.
But like I said, I don’t want to hit Vicky with this all at once, so I give her a Nicky Special, fucking her upright, holding her up, pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around my back, drilling her until she cries out in climax. I’ll bet Simon never did that to her. I’ll bet he couldn’t hold her up. It doesn’t take long to make her come. It usually doesn’t. And all the talk about murder is probably an aphrodisiac on top of it. I know it is for me.
That should help remind her what a great deal she’ll be getting down the road, after she’s done with little Simon.
? ? ?
She’s nice and loose afterward, wearing my shirt and nothing else while sitting on the couch with a bottle of water.
“Halloween? That’s . . . that’s brilliant,” she says, after I lay it out for her. “Oh, and Grace Village—you know that town goes dark at seven o’clock.”
I didn’t. But now I do, as she explains the ritual.
“Everyone goes lights out at seven,” she says. “So maybe you could show up right before that. She might open the door for one last person.”
Maybe. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going to shoot someone. Kill someone. I repeat those seven syllables in my head.
Twenty-one million dollars.
Okay. That part was easy. The next part might not be. Gavin and I debated it, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right.
Here goes.
“Listen, one other thing,” I say. “I’m thinking about the police. What they’ll think when they find Lauren . . .”
“Dead. Fucking dead.”
A little more zeal in her than I expected. But I like the anger. The anger is good. She’s all in.
“Yeah,” I say. “What you said is right, Vicky. How hard will it be for them to figure out that Simon was having an affair with her? Probably not very. He has history with her, even if it goes pretty far back. And he’s going to her swanky downtown condo building for afternoon love sessions? That building has staff, they have security and doormen and—”
“I’m sure it won’t be hard for the police to figure that out,” she says. “That’s what worries me. When they look at Simon, they’ll look at me, his wife.”
“So that’s where this thought comes in,” I say. “If they’re already going to be looking at him, and therefore at you . . . maybe we could help keep the focus on Simon?”
She sits up, snapping to attention. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying . . . Maybe there’s a way we can help nudge the police in Simon’s—”
“Are you saying we frame Simon?”
I raise my hands. “I’m just trying to protect you, Vicky,” I say. “That’s all—”
“Hm.” Vicky gets up and starts pacing.
That isn’t a no. Seems like she’s thinking about it, strolling slowly, looking far off, picturing it.
“I know you care about him, but—”
“That was before I knew he was fucking Lauren,” she snaps. “And fucking me out of my money.”
I’ll have to keep that reaction in mind when I steal all of Vicky’s money. I better fly somewhere far away.
I let the idea marinate with her. I put on some coffee and drink a cup, while Vicky strolls around, mumbling to herself, occasionally shaking her head, still in disbelief at this turn of events. Wavering between anger at Simon, anger at herself for letting it happen, and deciding how far she’s willing to go to correct the situation.