The Man In Number 7 Read online

  “Hey Bob, how about a dry martini for a girl?” Agatha leaned over giving him a great shot of cleavage.

  “Sure doll, one dry martini coming up,” Bob shook the metal shaker and kept his eyes glued on her low cut blouse, and what it barely covered. He poured it into the martini glass, dropped in a couple of olives on the pick and slid it in front of her. “Start you a tab?”

  “Thanks, Bob,” Agatha sipped the drink, swiveled around to scan the room. Two men in business suits were having cocktails in front of a window. They had possibilities. She smirked at an older man with a woman half his age sitting in the corner. He was wearing a wedding ring, but she wasn’t. Taking the secretary out for a night cap, huh? Agatha had seen it all and heard it all. My wife doesn’t appreciate me anymore. We’ve grown apart. We don’t have anything in common. We don’t even sleep together. I haven’t had sex in years. Agatha never believed that one. Even if a man’s unhappy, if he’s married, he’s getting sex.

  A white-haired gentleman sat at the other end of the bar. Alone. No wedding ring. Did she mention premature white hair? He was very dashing. Agatha felt a tingling build between her thighs, then it moved into her stomach. She could always tell when a good orgasm was in her near future. He looked her way and she smiled. Her smile was tantalizing. That’s what men said. Tantalizing. She smiled at the prematurely white-haired man. He smiled back.

  A woman in a soft grey sheath dress, with grey heels and auburn hair in a beehive, eased past Agatha. She leaned over and kissed the man with the prematurely white hair and sat down at his table. He glanced over at Agatha, shrugged his shoulders and winked.

  Humph! How rude. How despicably rude to lead her on when he knew he was meeting someone else. She picked up her martini glass and tossed the cool liquid down her throat. Shoving the glass across the counter she scowled. “I’ll have another, Bob.” He pulled the glass away from her, set it in a large bin of dirty dishes and fixed her second martini.

  “Take your time, doll. The night’s young,” Bob slid the martini in front of her and marked a ticket with another drink.

  The night might have been young, but Agatha was getting older by the minute. Her twenty-sixth birthday was right around the corner. What would her mother, God rest her soul, say if she knew Agatha was turning twenty-six and still single? She could feel the lines and wrinkles encroaching on her face as she sat there. Before she knew it, her boobs would start to sag, she was sure of it. She gulped down her martini and motioned to Bob for a third. He raised an eyebrow, but did as she wished.

  Not getting any action in the Lamppost, Agatha paid her tab, touched up her ruby lipstick, and strolled outside. The night air felt good on her skin. It was cool and comforting. A wash of sweetness over her body. She hiccupped, chuckled to herself, and crossed Main Street to head back home. She stopped on the corner of 7th and Main and leaned against the brick building as she lit a cigarette. Traffic was picking up on the city streets as the bars and restaurants bulged at the seams. Maybe she had misjudged the evening. There might be hope yet. She glanced back at the Bouquet Bar. The music that blasted out of its doors and windows pulled her in.

  Sandy Miller sat at the large ornate wood bar inside the Bouquet. When she saw Agatha step inside the door she rushed to hug her. “Aggie, I’m so glad you made it. You gotta’ come meet these cute guys. Come on,” she grabbed Agatha’s hand and pulled her over to the counter. Sandy was right about one thing, they were definitely cute. Agatha felt better already. And the tingling was back. This time, she was sure it was for real. One orgasm coming up. She giggled and ordered another martini.

  Chapter 11

  Boise, Idaho

  Julien stepped off the Greyhound bus in Boise and grinned. The air in the depot was stale, but at least it wasn’t filled with dust. There were mountains. That was a good sign. Water wouldn’t be far. Julien was lost without a river or bayou close by. He threw his jacket over his shoulder and nodded at a station worker. “Where da Basque people live?”

  The woman behind the window raised an eyebrow at him. “The Basque block is across town that way,” she pointed to the south. “Grove Street area.”

  Julien nodded thanks to her and swaggered out of the station in the direction she pointed. Meandering through the center of town, he decided to take a small but necessary detour in a bar. The light was dim, a jukebox played Travelin’ Man by Ricky Nelson. “Whiskey,” he called to the bartender, then surveyed the room around him. Quiet this time of day. Not many people yet. He tossed the coins on the counter to pay for his drink, and frowned. “What da hell dat music?”

  The bartender put the change in the cash register. “Ricky Nelson, it’s his new hit.”

  “Mo’ like new shit to me,” Julien slugged down the whiskey. He lit a cigarette and shook his head. “Dat ain’t music.” He left the bar and continued south until he arrived at Grove Street. The front of a large old boarding house was lined with men sitting in chairs on the sidewalk, smoking, drinking beer and laughing.

  “Ya’ll know them dat play in da bands? Ya’ know, dat go down to Nevada sometimes?” Julien exhaled smoke in their direction.

  “Sure,” a younger man with thick curly black hair said. “Jimmy Juasoro, he has a band that goes down there.”

  “Yeah, dat ‘em. I heard ‘em play, where can I’s reach ‘em?” Julien shifted his weight from side to side. He was amazed at how friendly these people were. How easily they gave out information.

  “Jimmy and some of the other band members live in the row houses on Broad Street, the ones Rosa owns.” The older man next to him pointed to his right. “Just a few blocks over there, Broad Street between 4th and 5th Streets. Can’t miss ‘em.”

  “Much obliged,” Julien nodded, took another drag from his cigarette and whistled a familiar tune as he continued walking. He slowed his pace when he saw the four stucco houses, identical in design, that lined the block from the corner to the alley. He prowled around the neighborhood. Julien gave a neighborly wave to a couple as they walkout out of their front door of the first house next to the alley. He ambled down to the corner. These people didn’t know who he was, but he knew them. They were the filth who brought his wicked sister-in-law to this town. She-who-must-be-dealt-with was here, somewhere on this block. He could feel it in his bones.

  No one in the row houses fit her description. What little description he had anyway. There were a few people he hadn’t seen yet, living in the apartment house around the corner. So he circled the block again. He needed to make sure before he moved in.

  He stayed in the shadows, ducked behind trees, and slipped around corners to keep from being seen. Julien could fade into the backdrop, all of him disappearing. He watched the house on the corner of 5th and Myrtle Streets. The large two-story apartment building. He watched the people sit on the chairs on the front porch. He observed two little girls playing on the swing set in the back yard. He watched the inhabitants as they left in the morning. And he watched when they came home in the evening.

  After dark, Julien put his bare hand on the fence around the old home. Only a vague sensation came to him, but one he understood. This was a place that had seen a great deal of death. And it wasn’t over yet.

  The next day a summer rain storm moved into the valley. Julien crouched behind a large lilac bush waiting and watching. The lilacs were a pleasant whiff, but he loved the smell of the impending rain even better. That felt more like home. He sat down on the sidewalk with his back against a chain link fence and lit a cigarette. He watched a couple of cars drive past. Across the street were two houses that flanked a large grove of trees. He chewed on his lower lip and took another drag off of the cigarette. He decided to see what was on the other side of those trees.

  Crossing Myrtle Street, Julien followed a small foot path between a house and the back of a large brick building. When he came out on the other side, the corner of his lip curled up in an evil grin. The large building to his right was the Historical Museum. Straight ahead was a
city park with a small zoo to the left. Julien listened to the rush of the river beyond. His step quickened as he danced his little jig through the city park and to the edge of the Boise River.

  It wasn’t as grand as some of the rivers he was used to in Louisiana. And he didn’t see any crocs. He sniffed the air and smelled the cold water. He loved the water. A good swift current could hide all manner of sins. His grin widened.

  The city park was not a big park, not compared to the ones in New Orleans, but it was substantial enough. At least for his needs. Large full trees lined the river banks. It was perfect. Julien scooted his butt down on the cool grass and leaned against a large maple tree. He finished his cigarette, closed his eyes and listened to the rush of the water beside him. The smell of the animals in the nearby zoo pranced on the breeze that brushed past his nose. He flicked the cigarette into the river.

  The wanna-be rain shower came and went. Julien huffed at the thought of Idahoans calling that rain. They had no idea what rain was. But it left a sweet smell behind. He enjoyed the smell. The thunder clouds moved on and the sun retreated for another day.

  It was a full moon. Julien couldn’t believe his luck. Things always went his way on a full moon. This was a good sign. He stomped his second cigarette butt into the wet grass, shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and gazed back across the park in the direction of the Basque neighborhood. Like a predator scoping out his prey, Julien stalked across the deserted park, creeped through the high bushes on either side of the walking path, and came out again on Myrtle Street.

  Standing at the edge of the thick bush that was taller than him, Julien watched the apartment house. His eyes narrowed on a lovely blond in a tight skirt and satin blue blouse with spaghetti straps. She passed through the front gate and stood on the sidewalk as if she was unsure of which direction to turn. Like a jaguar in the jungle, Julien pounced on his chance, and in the snap of a finger he was across the street standing next to her. He leaned against the fence and lit a cigarette, eyeing her fine shapely body.

  “Ya’ll look like ya’ needs some company, darlin’,” Julien smirked.

  The young woman jumped, held her hand to her inviting chest, and giggled with a nervous breath. “You startled me,” she said, eyeing his cigarette.

  “Want one?” Julien asked and held the pack out to her. She took one and held it to her plump, ruby lips. He slid the pack back into his dirty tee shirt pocket, pulled out a match, struck it against the seat of his rough denim jeans and lit the cigarette in her mouth. He took a drag off of his and leaned back against the fence. “Ya live here?” he nodded at the large old home behind them.

  “Yes,” she took a puff and crossed her arms, sizing him up and down. “You have a funny accent, a lot like the new girl upstairs.”

  “Dat so? Where she be from?” he asked trying to seem as if he didn’t care.

  “I’m not sure. She doesn’t talk much. She and her daughter just moved in,” she blew smoke out on the exhale.

  “What be yo’ name?” Julien’s eyes lit up with excitement. He’d found her. He’d found the bitch of a bride that murdered his brother. His whole body tingled.

  “Agatha. I’m a stewardess for United Airlines. And you?” she took another drag off of the cigarette.

  “All ya need to know, darlin’, is dat I’m yo’ pilot for dis trip. What say we take a walk, maybe have a little fun down by da river side?” he filled his lungs with nicotine and could barely stand still he was so excited. His heart raced and his stomach tingled like a hundred moths clambering to the flame.

  Agatha narrowed her eyes on him. “I’m not free. You got twenty dollars, we’ll go back into my apartment and I’ll make it worth your while,” she pulled the cigarette away from her mouth and slowly swiped her tongue across her top lip.

  Finding it hard to stand still, Julien swiveled his hips and shook his shoulders. His hard-on was already getting tight in his jeans. “How ‘bout we walk to da park. River da best music fo’ a night of hot sex. I make it good for ya’ll,” Julien threw his cigarette to the sidewalk and put a hand on each of her bare shoulders. “I gots fifty bucks and all da cum ya can swallow,” a high-pitched excited giggle left his mouth.

  Tossing her cigarette on the sidewalk by his, the blond beauty crushed it with her three-inch red patent leather heels. She slipped her arm around his and pointed them toward the city park. “Fifty dollars you say?”

  “Yes’m,” Julien snickered. “Or as we says back home, laissez les bons temps rouler.”

  “Ooh,” Agatha crooned, “that sounds French. I love the French. What does it mean?”

  “Let da good times roll, darlin’” Julien reached back and pinched her butt cheek as they crossed the road. “Tell me ‘bout da place ya’ll live, and da new one with a daughter.”

  “Apolline?”

  “Yeah, she a stewardess too?”

  “No, she’s a waitress, down at Murrays.”

  The two squeezed through the narrow walking path between the trees and emerged in the park. One car sat empty in the parking lot. Probably some kids making out in the back seat. Julien didn’t care. He guided Agatha across the cool grass to the river’s edge.

  A sliver of moonlight illuminated the outline of the maple and cottonwood trees that lined the riverbank. They listened to the water rush past on gentle waves, and the rhythmic sounds of the tires on the bridge just a few yards away. The orchestra of the night played on as Julien ravaged the naked body of Agatha on the bank of the Boise River. The storm had long passed though there was still a soft breeze that rustled through the trees. Her body was soft and her breasts were full, just the way he liked them. He sucked on her tits like a hungry baby determined to get every last drop. She moaned in ecstasy.

  Two orgasms later, Julien was finally done. He lay naked on the cool grass beside her. Reaching over for his tee shirt, he pulled the cigarettes out of the pocket and lit one, handed it to Agatha, then lit a second for himself. He blew smoke rings into the cool night air and listened to the river rush past them.

  “Fifty dollars, Captain, and I’ll head home now,” Agatha sat up and reached for her blue silk blouse with spaghetti straps.

  Julien grabbed her hand and stopped her. “I ain’t done,” he took a long drag off of his cigarette and threw it in the grass. He rolled over and mounted her to have one last run. But this time when he was done, he didn’t roll off. Instead he sat up a bit, looked down into her hazy eyes, the corner of his lip curled up. “Guess I forgots I ain’t got no cash,” he slid his hands around her neck, and squeezed the life out of her. She kicked and flung her hands choking out an attempted scream.

  A gasp, a gurgle, and Agatha Pearl Pierce was dead. Julien slid off of her and rolled her naked body down into the rushing river. He picked up her purse, took the money out of it and stuffed it into his pocket, then wrapped her clothes around the biggest rock he could find, and threw them all into the center of the water. He pulled his jeans on and lit another cigarette. He had no choice really. She might have said something to Apolline. He couldn’t risk that. Too bad, too. She was a good lay. Although he’d never paid for sex, he didn’t see no sense in that.

  He’d never understand women. They don’t pay for it, but they think men should? That was just crazy in his book. Nope. He never planned on giving her fifty bucks. Not even the twenty she asked for. He pulled on the rest of his clothes and stood up. Best to stay in the shadows. They’d find her body the next day, but the river was flowing pretty fast. It would be away from here. He bought himself a little bit of time.

  “Apolline,” he muttered.

  The next body to go in the river would be hers.

  She had lost her right to live. And Julien Gale Dubois was the perfect judge, jury, and executioner. He slipped through the park to a large row of trees near Myrtle Street. He took his shoes off, laid down under the trees and fell asleep with a smile of anticipation on his face.

  Chapter 12

  Boise, Idaho

 
After two weeks working the early morning shift at Murray’s, Apolline was happy to get moved to the evening shift. This meant she got to sleep in. Ah, she loved sleeping in. The birds were singing in the tree outside her bedroom window as they flitted among the branches. The sun gently reached across her face. She rolled over to look at Elizabeth, but her daughter was already up and playing in the middle of the living room floor.

  “Cher, what are you doing?” Apolline called into the other room as she pulled the sheet up over her face to block the bright morning sun.

  “I’m playing with my paper dolls.” Elizabeth came bouncing into the bedroom. “I need to go potty, Mama,” she twisted her little face in a show of urgency.

  “Okay, okay,” Apolline stretched her way out of the sheets, pulled her bathrobe off the foot of the bed and slipped it on. “Come on,” she rubbed her hands through her messy hair and trudged through the living room, out the door into the hallway, and opened the door to the bathroom. “I will wait for you here,” Apolline leaned against the wall.

  “No. I can do this by myself,” the little girl said with an air of independence.

  “Very well,” Apolline said on a yawn. “You come right back in when you are done,” she stood and looked around the hall. Apartment 7 was to the left, and apartments 4 and 5 were on the right. Her apartment number 6, her new home was at the end of the hall. There was a window at the opposite end if the hall where the sun peeked through into the hallway and down over the staircase to the left. She opened her door and stopped. Apolline was sure she heard something, a faint sobbing.