Hunting a domesticated man doesn’t usually involve this much waiting around. I’m after one Rojelio Ignasta or Rolo as he’s known by his crew. He’s the brother-in-law of my main target and one of the names on my shopping list. Rolo’s habits were simple. I was allowing him the dignity of finishing up his morning routine before I grabbed him.
His beige Range Rover pulled up to the curb of his mother’s flat in Washington Heights. Four happy little kids came running out past the black lacquered front door ready for school with backpacks and lunch boxes in hand. His mother looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties. She appeared healthy, a capable older woman, short, thin, medium coffee-colored skin and dark hair she already styled for the day.
Rolo woke at six, lingered in his girlfriend’s apartment for ten minutes, then drove the thirty minutes to his mother’s home. He picked up a coffee, his ordinary weekday morning routine. Once the children were in the car, Rolo spoke with his mother on the curb. A smile rested on her face as she nodded in agreement, whatever he said pleased her. He ended the conversation by bending down to kiss her forehead while cupping his hand over hers and placing an envelope of what looked like stacked bills in her hand.
It wasn’t the worst hand off I ever saw, but Mama Rolo certainly wasn’t as skilled as her son. The fat envelope slid down her side and into the large square pocket of her light blue robe. She was a tidy woman. The pajamas and robe she wore were plain yet functional and looked to be good quality. Yesterday morning she was in a dark green pajama set. She reminded me of a thin green mallard duck. The pale blue color suits her better.
I couldn’t help but think of Balle as I followed Rolo across town. She distracted me even when she wasn’t in sight. At three in the morning, I woke up. Balle was asleep on her stomach next to me. Only a few lumens of light escaped from the electronics scattered around the room, but I could make out the curve of her hip, and the long line of her arm draped over the pillow.
It was a simple and beautiful sight, nothing was forced or staged. It is such an uncommon thing in my world that I lay there quietly and looked at her. I found a calmness that I couldn’t recall feeling before. Maybe it was the lighting or the crumpled pastel purple sheets framing the long line of her pale body. My brother claims that art gives people peace. That one canvas will speak to you even though similar pieces are totally silent. I understood what he was trying to explain to me now. I needed to see it for myself, of course, but I understand.
After a few minutes, I rolled quietly to the edge of the bed and looked for bottled water. I grabbed two from the box we left on the floor last night and got back in bed. Balle woke up enough to see me and put her hand out for a drink. I loosened the cap and handed it to her. Settling back in the bed, she coiled around me, burying her face in my bicep. Her soft legs slid over mine as she bit lightly at the skin on my arm, running her fingers across my chest and stomach.
It wasn’t long before I was kissing her again, grabbing handfuls of her firm thighs and round ass. She was warm in the cold morning air. One of her hands was behind my neck, pulling me to her as she kissed my throat. Her other hand energetically pulled at my cock. Her warm, soft body rubbing against mine made for a quick handjob that sent me back to sleep for what felt like hours.
Rolo was nearing his next predictable stop. He visited the gym to shower and change each morning. He entered the building with a dark blue duffle bag and left with wet hair and fresh clothes carrying a black leather backpack. There were three places he stopped for breakfast. Today he was staying local and drove a few blocks to an older looking diner. After parking, his vehicle in the furthest spot from the street Rolo sat in the car and checked his phone.
I have a good scenario for this location. There were garage bays for rent across the street from the diner. One was next to a bodega that Rolo stops at for cigarettes before heading out for his day. I set up in the garage, pulled my town car into place, and put my driver’s hat on the trunk lid. It was a simple prop, but it made me a servant and, therefore, less intimidating. Now I just needed to wait.
The next time I woke up in Balle’s bed, my phone alarm was almost at a full volume chime. I was out cold and missed the first few levels of noise. Balle was nowhere to be seen, but her closet doors were slid open, and an empty hanger was hanging sideways on the bar. The top closet shelf caught my eye. A blanket sat draped over a square box towards the very back of the shelf. I turned off my phone and went to check out the closet. Under the blanket was a tall shoebox-sized case with a few recent pictures and a pile of old newspaper clippings about a female lawyer and her Senator husband from Vermont. The lady was blonde and somber-looking in most of the newsprint pictures. At the bottom of the box were older clippings about a man and woman found murdered in a suburban Washington home. The dates were fairly recent, four years. I snapped pictures of the clippings and put the box back just as I found it. I didn’t want to be caught with the box, but I wanted to snoop.
My clothes still lay on the floor where I left them. I pulled on my pants and gathered my shoes for the walk back to my room. The hallway was empty, and I got the feeling everyone was still asleep. Once in my room, I took a quick shower in the small bathroom and got ready for a day hunting Rolo.
My email showed several new messages forwarded from my personal phone. My texts are sent to email, so I can’t be tracked running around New York while my alibi is being built at home. I’m working in the main office this week as far as my digital and credit card trails will show.
Henry found a guy to start the ground-penetrating radar on my property for a reasonable price. From his texts, the guy is starting today and working for five days. He knows I’m good for the money, so he must be fronting the bill.
While I waited for Rolo, I couldn’t help but research the news reports I found in Balle’s closet. There was a double murder of a husband and a housekeeper in the suburbs of Washington. A twelve-year-old girl was missing and presumed dead, but her body was never found. The article included a school photo next to an age-enhanced rendering. It looked like Balle, and then it sort of didn’t. I couldn’t ask her about my suspicions without telling her I looked in the box. I dreaded the thought of upsetting her.
Rolo exited the diner almost an hour after he arrived. As expected, he walked across the street to the bodega. I stood near the edge of the roll-up garage door and pretended to be having a phone conversation. I popped the trunk, took out some empty luggage, and set my driver’s hat on the handle. I attempted to remove a heavy case of champagne from the trunk when Rolo walked out of the bodega. I already placed a mixed case of top-shelf liquor on the sidewalk next to my half-open garage bay.
“Hey man, you selling this hooch?” Rolo asked while standing three feet from the garage door.
“Oh, this, I got the bottles as a tip from my last fare. Funny thing I just got my five-year chip in January, so I can’t really use it if you know what I mean.” Rolo walked closer. I made myself look weak and gave him a problem to solve.
“You know I could take some of this off your hands. I know a guy that can use it. “Rolo walked closer now leaning on the garage door track. I needed to be patient and calm to get him inside the door, and I would need to wipe that spot down.
“Really, that would be great, Man. I don’t want to keep the stuff around. My old lady will lose her shit if she sees me with it.” Rolo nodded in agreement and snickered as he walked inside to take a closer look at the mixed case of liquor. I could feel my mouth dry, and my muscles tighten. I almost had him.
“Hows about I give you a hundred for the case?” He asked smugly.
“Can you take it with you today?” I asked with as much of a familiar New York accent as I could muster.
“Yeah, sure, my truck is parked across the street.” Rolo pointed across the street at his vehicle.
“Perfect, that sounds really good. Hey, you have any interest in a case of champagne? I can’t seem to get it out of the trunk, but …”
“Hey, I can find a home for that too. Let me get it out’ a there for ya. That’s some nice stuff how much you want for it?” Rolo walked in the garage and bent down, looking at the case of champagne in the far back recesses of the town car’s trunk.
I hate to use poison. It’s a pussy way to kill somebody, but this guy had at least a hundred pounds on me. I needed him to fall fast, quiet, and ideally inside the trunk. I hid two gas cylinders under the top carpet panel of the trunk. It was the extra heavy box of champagne that did him in. Every breath he took, trying to pull it out, carried enough toxin to kill an average man. After three breaths, he fell face-first into the trunk mat.
The remote for the garage door was sitting in my pocket. I closed the door and waited for the poison to clear before approaching the trunk. No one saw anything as far as I could tell, and now with the door down, no one could.
I was concerned Rolo would slide out of the trunk while I waited for the air to clear, but to my surprise, he stayed hooked on the bottom trunk latch. It took a bit of struggle to get his heavy ass into the trunk, but I brought ropes with me just for such problems. The room didn’t take too long to wipe down, and my overnight pouch was now ready to send home. I snapped a quick polaroid of Rolo, dropped it in the pouch, and sealed it up.
There is a shipping and copy business on the way back to the stash building that can send the pouch overnight. My father gets impatient for results, but the picture will calm him down for a few days while I get things wrapped up. So far, the job was neat and tidy just the way I like it.