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THE PERFECT GAME
by
Stephen Paul
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Perfect Game
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Copyright © 2014 Stephen Paul. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
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ISBN: 978-1-940745-54-1 (eBook)
Version 2014.02.19
THE PERFECT GAME
CHAPTER ONE
He scanned the text message again.
C u soon ;)
Kyle Vine took a deep breath and slipped the smartphone back into his pocket as he stepped out of the taxi, still not sure what he was going to do. It was wrong. There was no question about it. And not just because he was more than two decades older than her—he was her professor. It simply wasn’t right on any level. Yet he didn’t turn around, didn’t leave. He kept walking toward the Lower East Side bar where she texted she’d be waiting at one fifteen.
He checked his watch as he walked, the dew of the damp June night collecting against his skin. He felt nervous, the pit of his stomach a mess of good and bad, but mostly good, excited. The type of excited he hadn’t felt in years.
He looked across the street through the misty haze and saw her step out of the bar right on cue.
Allie Shelton.
She was wearing a skimpy red skirt and a low-cut tight white tank, her chest barely contained, her long shapely legs seeming to go on forever. She turned to him and flashed a smile, brushing a few long strands of blond hair away from her green eyes. But instead of walking toward him, she went the other way. Away from the bar. Either trying to get away from anyone who might see them together, or playfully teasing him by making him work for it. He didn’t know. It’d been a while since he’d engaged in such a dance. A long while. He watched her tap away at her iPhone as she walked and felt his BlackBerry vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out.
Glad u came :)
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. No matter how much he wished he didn’t want her, he did.
Me 2, he wrote back, thinking using the number “2” instead of spelling out the word somehow made him seem younger, more in sync, more “hip.”
They’d never kissed. Never did anything but flirt. A game that had escalated once she asked for his cell number a few weeks earlier. The texts since then had been nonstop. She wasn’t bashful, especially not when texting. But her text from earlier that night, asking him to meet her out, had taken it to another level.
As did his reply agreeing to meet.
She texted again—Been waiting weeks 4 this—then turned into an alley about a block away so they’d be alone. A gesture he appreciated, not wanting to engage in a public display of affection for their first kiss, already uncomfortable enough just being there. The last thing he needed was to put on a show.
As she disappeared from view, he stopped and looked back at the smattering of smokers hanging outside the string of bars. All young. Not much older than his thirteen-year-old daughter.
His daughter … What the hell am I doing?
But he could question himself all he wanted and the answer would continue to be the same. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was taking advantage of someone who trusted him, looked up to him. But he couldn’t stop. The feeling growing inside wouldn’t let him. It told him to keep going, to just cut loose for once and enjoy. He was entitled to it. Besides, she wasn’t that young. She was old enough. She’d just turned twenty.
He started walking again toward the alley she’d ducked into, still not sure what he was going to do—slide his hands all the way up her long bare legs and pull her close as they kissed, or tell her he had to leave, that he couldn’t do it. But as he turned the corner into the alley’s dark shadows, he realized the question would forever remain unanswered as every single yearning temptation he had was chased away in one fell swoop.
Allie wasn’t leaning against the wall waiting for him to take her. Far from it. She was sprawled out on the ground amidst the grime and litter not moving at all, her eyes shut tight, her arms awkwardly stretched out over her head, one leg snaked around the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone at the other end of the alley, a man ducking out into the next block.
Kyle rushed over to Allie, bending down and grabbing her wrist, feeling for a pulse. There was a heartbeat, thank God. A strong one.
He scanned her up and down for any sign of trauma, any wound, but didn’t see any. He tried shaking her awake, but her eyes remained closed, her body completely unresponsive. She needed medical attention, quickly. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911, giving the operator the location and situation.
As he answered the follow-up questions, he spotted Allie’s iPhone a few feet away. Probably fell when she did. He picked it up and tapped the screen. Their entire string of racy messages popped up and stared back at him. One long chain going back to when they first started flirting. It was exactly what the police and Allie’s family would see. It’s also what the school would eventually see. He’d be fired. There was no doubt about it. Hell, he’d probably just resign first to make it easier on everyone. Jesus, he thought, what the hell am I going to tell Bree?
The light smartphone suddenly felt heavy in his hand. He couldn’t believe he was in this predicament. Nor could he believe what he was contemplating.
Delete them. Just get rid of the entire string and tell the police I was passing by.
Sure, it’d look suspicious, but the evidence, the texts, would all be gone.
He thought of Bree, thought of what would happen if she found out why he was there and how it would completely shatter the image she still held of him. He couldn’t do it, not to her, and not to himself. He’d already done enough damage there.
He drew a deep breath as he pressed “edit,” then watched the words “clear all” pop up and sear into his conscience. He paused again before pressing anything else, his emotions tugging him apart, one side flashing images of being grilled by the police, the other urging him to just prepare himself to lie and delete them, convincing himself that there was no need for anyone to see their private messages. That they had nothing to do with Allie’s collapse.
He looked down at Allie and saw her chest moving. She wasn’t having any trouble breathing. There were no marks on her, no signs of an
assault. Maybe she’d even get up before anyone came.
But maybe not.
And if she didn’t, the texts would destroy him. Something he wasn’t prepared to let happen. So he flushed away any further hesitation and pressed the button, then watched as the entire conversation, every single racy message, disappeared. He thought about pocketing the phone rather than leaving it, but quickly dismissed the idea and dropped it, afraid someone would track it back to him using the GPS.
As he watched the pink case land next to Allie’s still arm, the enormous weight of his actions bore down on his conscience like a bag of wet cement.
He’d crossed the line. And there was no turning back.
CHAPTER TWO
He felt good. Damn good.
Hell, compared to where he’d been he was flying now. The difference was like night and day and the high had him buzzing. But still, he knew it wasn’t as good as it should’ve been. He wasn’t able to get that last bit. The girl hadn’t been the total pushover he’d expected. It’d been harder this time. Much harder than any of his other hits. Then he heard the guy coming around the corner before he was able to give it that final push and finish things. So he stopped. He had to. And that meant he fell short of what he usually got. Short of the total fix he needed.
But it should still be enough, he thought as he crossed over Delancey Street, turning back as he neared his car to see if the guy had decided to follow him.
There was no one. He took out his remote and unlocked the driver’s side door, then slid inside. He pushed the fob into the ignition and the engine turned over. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, giving one more look down the street.
No one.
He pulled out and made his way south on Delancey, heading toward the FDR. The way things had gone down wasn’t sitting well with him. And it wasn’t just that he didn’t get all he wanted. It was more than that. He’d been sloppy. He should’ve made sure the coast was completely clear. Not be so impulsive. He should’ve been more patient, waited first to see why she had ducked in the alley before immediately attacking. Better yet, he should’ve targeted a guy. Guys were more likely to be alone. At that time of night, girls were almost always with someone, especially the hot ones.
But he’d been there for an hour, and it’d been a slow night. There hadn’t been many matches for some reason, and those who fit the bill hadn’t been alone. He’d also been tired. And jittery. And worn. He’d needed the fix. Needed it bad. Things had been getting worse, and his body was crying out to him to jump at whatever opportunity came along.
So he had. Recklessly.
He took stock of himself, wondering if what he’d taken would be enough and last until the next night or if he should take some more.
He lifted his hand from the wheel and balled it into a fist, then released it and held it hovering over the armrest. Steady as a rock. He peered out the windshield, through the mist. Everything was clear. Colors jumped out at him even in the damp, dark night. His body tinged with electricity now, sparked with vibrancy.
Yeah, he thought, it should be enough. But it was tough to tell. Everything was so new.
And it was better not to risk it. Hell, Corin would already be pissed at him for being so careless that he’d let someone see him. But the guy who showed up in the alley couldn’t have gotten a good look at him. He wouldn’t be able to ID him.
But still, maybe he should’ve done something. Stayed around. Taken care of the guy and tied up loose ends. Just to make sure.
Shouldn’t matter, though. Not in a big picture way. Yeah, it’ll get Corin nervous. But Corin was always nervous. And this blip on the radar didn’t deserve it. The guy in the alley wouldn’t be a problem. And even if he was and things started to escalate a bit too much, Corin would be able to put out the fire. He was good at that.
But he was getting ahead of himself. No one knew or even suspected anything about what he was doing. Everything was still fine. Corin had confirmed it a couple of times already, assuring him that their clients were quiet. Hadn’t piped up a word since he’d started. So they didn’t even know. And if they did know, they apparently didn’t care. Besides, he knew how valuable he was to them. It was the ace in the hole he was always ready to play.
So he let the concern slide to the backdrop and instead focused on what mattered, the next night and the stellar performance he expected would follow.
As long as he’d taken enough.
CHAPTER THREE
The EMTs didn’t take long, which wasn’t unusual for Manhattan. With the number of hospitals and EMS services in the city, the rate of response to an emergency call was about six minutes. They arrived soon after he dropped the phone. Soon after he’d signed, sealed and delivered his soul to Hell.
An orange and blue ambulance sat parked by the sidewalk, its red, white and blue lights taking turns brightening up the dark alley where the medical technicians knelt by Allie. They were both young—a man and woman. The man had freckly white skin and blazing red hair. The woman was Hispanic, with long braided black hair and strikingly sculpted cheekbones. Each had on skintight latex gloves as they examined Allie. A crowd of gawkers had already gathered, craning their necks to see what was going on.
The female technician asked Kyle, “Do you know her? Relative? Friend? Just passing by?”
Kyle didn’t know what to say. Should he really lie? Say he was just passing by? But what would happen when the police came? What if they took a statement, wanted to see his ID? He’d be digging himself a bigger hole if he lied now. But what would be the point of having erased all of the messages if he told them he was a friend? They’d know why he was there. After all, why else would a forty-one-year-old man be on the Lower East Side at one fifteen in the morning with a blazing hot twenty-year-old?
“Friend,” Kyle said, then awkwardly added, “who was just passing by.” He was horrible at lying. Always had been.
The woman stared at him for a few seconds, knotting her brow. She read right through him. She knew he was lying. Just passing by at that hour? He knew the questions that were going to come next: Where do you live? Where did you just come from? Why are you so far from home? How did you get down here?
But those weren’t the questions that were asked. The woman wasn’t a cop. She didn’t care about his intentions. She was an EMT. She cared about saving a life and had no intention of wasting precious time by making a horny forty-one-year-old man feel even more foolish and ashamed.
“She take any prescription meds?” the woman asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Is she epileptic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any illnesses?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“She take any drugs tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much did she have to drink?” the technician with the freckly skin asked as he shined a small light into Allie’s eyes while lifting her eyelid with his other hand.
“Not sure,” Kyle said, then decided to volunteer a bit more to short-circuit the litany of questions that would come with similar responses. “I just got here about fifteen minutes ago. I hadn’t seen her before then. When I got here, I saw her step into this alley and then I found her unconscious and lying on the ground.”
Both paramedics raised an eyebrow.
“So, she was fine one minute,” the woman said, “and then walked into this alley and passed out?”
“Yes,” Kyle said. He knew he should probably mention the man who’d hurried out the other end. But Allie didn’t have any cuts, bruises or marks. Her clothes weren’t even ruffled and she had all of her belongings. So the last thing he wanted was to needlessly escalate things and become a witness to a crime that probably hadn’t even happened. Besides, he hadn’t even seen the man’s face. Didn’t even know the color of his skin. All he knew was that the guy had on a T-shirt and was wearing a hat. So how was it going to help? It would just make an already questionable scene more suspici
ous. It wasn’t necessary. And it wasn’t going to help Allie recover.
The EMTs said nothing and went back to the ambulance.
Kyle followed, asking, “So what do you think it is?”
The woman shrugged. “Could be a drug overdose. Could be a reaction to medication she’s taking. She might’ve had a seizure.” The woman paused. “Or it could be a brain bleed—burst aneurysm. But I’d be surprised to see that in someone so young. Was she complaining of a headache?”
Kyle shook his head no as the man brought the stretcher out of the ambulance. Kyle gazed at the large crowd that had gathered. He looked at the young faces, wondering if any were his students. But he didn’t recognize any of them and none came forward as a friend of Allie’s.
The technician with the freckly skin bent down and picked up Allie’s iPhone. “This belong to her?”
“It does,” Kyle said, hesitantly.
The man dropped the phone into a plastic bag and then helped the woman load Allie onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. Kyle looked down the street as the medics prepared to leave. “Am I supposed to wait for the police now?”
The woman was checking Allie’s vitals and didn’t look up. “You can do what you want,” she said, “but it doesn’t look like they’re coming.”
“Don’t they have to?”
“They’re pretty busy people,” she said. “Unless it’s an EDP or there’s some other reason for them to jump the call, they don’t usually show up. Especially not for a kid who passed out after leaving a bar at one in the morning.”
EDP—emotionally disturbed person. Kyle remembered the term from his externship days during graduate school. He also remembered how reluctant the police were to even respond to those calls. So the woman was probably right, it was unlikely the police were going to show up for a girl who passed out after leaving a bar. Why would they?