Chapter~10~Rookie mistake.

Stalker Steve~done

Never has a case caused me more hair loss and tachycardia than this one. It's harder than it sounds to be a hitman for hire these days. If it weren't for the fringe benefits, I would cut my losses and dip the hell out of this hotbox! I've always heard that if you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life, and I do love my job!

There's nothing else that compares to the adrenaline rush I get from my victims, the hunt, and then witnessing their reaction to death is my foreplay. When I stand behind them with my weapon aimed and have their blood spray my face with their last heartbeats after I plug the back of their heads, it is my nutbuster that satisfies my inner demons.

However, the loud-mouthed brat, who found the body, distracted me as I was attempting to dump and run. His interruption caused me to grab hold of the pier to duck out of sight. My foot slipped on the sandy bottom, and I fell forward, ripping the glove, gashing open my index finger on a rusty nail, and it hurt like a bitch.

"Shit, fucking shit dammit to hell, Sadie!"

The unwanted gloves don't stand a chance as I tear them from my hands, shove them in my pocket, and head back to my car. Only to realize about a minute later, when I went for my keys, that I had dropped one of the fucking latex gloves. Now, doubling back to retrieve the incriminating evidence was my only option. What do I find when I get back to the pier but a Barney Five looking motherfucker picking it up out of the water?

"Do you believe this mutherfucking shit?!" I asked of no one.

The place is crawling with cops; the red willow trees growing along the bay front to my left catch my eye and will serve as some much-needed cover. Once in the shadows, I made my way toward them, where I crouched down and watched as he handed it over to her.

She's been asking for it, and now she has it! The dick licker who's making my life hell has all my attention. The almighty Detective Harley Gibson stands up from my victim to meet Maberry's finest. This is a stellar moment for me; now she has my fucking DNA, no less!

Barny hands the glove over to Detective Gibson, who holds it up for the ME, Belinda—she's a real bitch, too—who sprays the glove I cursed again as the luminol lit up. They slip it into an evidence bag, and the detective then looks around as if she knew someone was watching her while resting her hand on the barrel of the Glock at her side. With a groan, I duck back out of sight.

When the detective's group heads toward the rest of the pigs, I head back down the shore toward my car again. I can already hear him in my head; getting inside, I slammed the car door, wrapped an old napkin around my still-bleeding appendage, and snatched the burner phone Lenorad had given me as he called emergencies from the glove box.

He answers on the second ring. "We've gotta a problem, boss," I said.

Lenorad is already growling and snarling at me. This is why I hate fucking werewolves! Especially ones with attitudes like Lenorad's, whose bark is as bad as their bite. His deep voice rumbled through the receiver, rattling my bones.

"What kind of problem, Steve?"

I'm imagining him sitting up straight from his lavish chair from a kicked-back position in his extravagant office with a 1000-dollar bottle of Double Eagle bourbon in front of him, while I am out here doing the shit work. If it's the last thing I do, I will see him dead and enjoy every minute.

For the here and now, there was no sense in pussyfooting around about the situation. "I fucked up, Lenny. Detective Gibson has my DNA."

"You incompetent bastard! How did you let that happen?"

"I am not incompetent! Need I remind you of the ten bodies you have in the morgue thanks to me? I was dumping number eleven when I got surprised. One of the latex gloves YOU insisted I wear slipped out of my pocket. Of course, I went back to retrieve it, but the police found it first."

"You need to get it back and silence that bitch detective."

"Gibson doesn't have the glove; the fucking ME has it."

"Of course she does! Lie low until you hear from me; stay off the detective's radar. She will follow the anonymous tip that I will plant. The stalker will wait for you to take her to the warehouse on Pier Thirty-Six. I will ensure that the evidence gets lost. Don't fuck this up, Steve!"

I'm counting my blessings as I scrub my hands down my face. At least Lenny didn't know where the lost glove came from. It wasn't like the old Beaner was going to make his delivery tossing the phone onto the seat beside me; I slapped the steering wheel with both hands, wanting to tell him to go fuck himself, but I wasn't in the best position to do that. After all, it is my DNA and my dumbass fault.

In need of a distraction on my way back to my hideaway in the trees, I call my girl Vicky. No way could I make my move on the detective until Leonard got her away from the police department, anyway, and a man's got needs! It shouldn't be too much trouble after that.

Since I don't want to get shot, I will use a tranquilizer gun on her first, which means I need to get a tranquilizer gun first! Once I get her to the warehouse, she'll be the boss's problem. There are only two more names on my list before I can blow this popsicle-ass town.