Flypaper Con: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 4 Page 7

  The audience was on its feet again. Most of them looked pleased. A few didn’t. Those were the people this was aimed at. There would be hate mail again.

  Worth it.

  What was the appropriate thing to do here? It was on the tip of his tongue.

  Oh, right.

  Nick lifted the mic sideways above the table. He turned his head. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t catch a glimpse of Blaire’s face.

  She had her hands on her hips. And she was smiling. Not the faux smile she wore as her own unique form of cosplay; a real one. He hadn’t seen it in years. Another win.

  Next to Blaire, Corpse hopped up and down and turned in circles as she thrust her hands into the air like he’d just won the World Cup. He was on fire. In the good way.

  Mic drop, bitches.

  He turned back to the audience and watched his own hand release the mic. He looked to the audience for approval and took notice of a nicely-dressed man in a dog mask standing all the way in the back with the other late arrivals.

  That guy.

  The microphone hit the table and feedback ripped through the room.

  Movement on the left-hand side of the crowd caught Nick’s attention. He focused on it and saw a caped and hooded figure burst from a cocoon of shouting people.

  The figure ran up the aisle at breakneck speed. He or she was dressed entirely in black, aside from a red fly on its shirt and the red inner lining of its hood and cape. The hood itself was attached to a leering skull of a mask, complete with massive black eyes and a gaping ebon maw.

  Nick gripped his cane and braced himself for impact.

  The skull-faced assailant dove over the table and slid into Nick like he was home plate. The two crashed to the floor. Nick’s elbow smacked the back of a chair that came down with them.

  The assailant loomed on all fours over Nick’s prone body. He or she leaned in close and screamed to break glass.

  A jet of red fluid sprayed from the mouth of the skull mask. Bright red obscured Nick’s vision entirely and flowed into his nose, down his cheeks, into his ears. He coughed and gagged as the skull mask vomited blood onto him at point blank range for what was probably only a few seconds, but, in the moment, felt like an absurd amount of time.

  It wasn’t an assault. It was a sight gag.

  The masked figure stood up over Nick and hopped around. Nick didn’t have to clear the gunk from his eyes to know the guy was doing a victory dance.

  Fucking DawkinsCon.

  Nick rubbed his eyes and heard booted feet clomping along the stage in their direction. He picked up on the familiar gait even before Corpse shouted ‘chimichangas’ and ended the Q and A session with a knee to the masked Maggot’s kidney.

  Chapter 9

  For the second time in as many days, Nick left the inside of Corpse’s hotel room shower looking like Norman Bates had turned someone inside out with a kitchen knife. Fake blood covered the walls, dribbling downward onto the tile floor where a crimson trail circled the drain. In the back of his head, violins screeched.

  Corpse shouted from outside the bathroom. “Ninety points.”

  Nick allowed himself a smile. He was alone. No one ever had to know how amused he was by the blood vomit stunt in hindsight. Or how excited he was to see the inevitable YouTube footage.

  There was a knock at the room door. Nick finished washing the sticky red substance out of his hair and strained to hear as the door opened and voices murmured to one another. “Blaire?”

  Blaire’s voice called out to him. “It’s me, Nick. Are you okay?”

  “I feel like people have been asking me that a lot. I’m fine, really.” He put a finger to his nose and blew red chunks at the shower drain.

  A paper sack flopped onto the bathroom floor. “I picked you up something to wear.”

  Nick turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. “I guess it’d be a lot to hope that it doesn’t have my name on it somewhere.” He wrapped the towel around himself and poked through the bag. “Oh, I take back the snark. This will do nicely.”

  The murmurs continued out in the hotel room proper. Nick hastily toweled off and slipped on his brand new grey shirt, black slacks and jacket. The Calvin Klein boxer briefs were snazzy. He should let other people pick out his clothes for him more often. He grabbed his cane and joined the others. “Is the Maggot brigade going nuts? I would be. Helluva display.”

  Corpse was glued to her laptop. “Oh yeah. Custom mask, kinda gross, ballsy as fuck, and then he took a beating from yours truly and a couple of security guards. They’re eating it up.”

  Blaire looked Nick up and down. “Better. The employed look works for you. And I’m surprised you’re so calm about all this. I thought you’d be on the ceiling.”

  Nick looked at himself in the mirror. “If I couldn’t laugh about it, I’d spend all day crying. This works.”

  Blaire and Corpse exchanged looks. This time, Blaire spoke her mind first. “Nick, sweetie, are you sure you want to go through with tonight?”

  Corpse slapped him on the arm. “Sure he is. Haters gonna hate, right, Bromega Red? You do you and I got your back.”

  Blaire scoffed. “Like you had his back on stage?”

  Corpse raised her voice. “That dude was like the motherfucking Flash. Dude was like…” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Bam. What’s up? But I drilled him good. You both saw.”

  “You ‘drilled him’ after he’d spewed four gallons of blood in Nick’s face.” Blaire dropped any pretense of geniality. “He could have been hurt, and I don’t want him exposed to any more craziness. We’ve had our fill for the weekend.”

  “Message received,” Corpse growled through her teeth. “I hear you and I understand you. And I’ll bring my bat.”

  Blaire raised a hand, her face as close to serious as Nick had ever seen it. “This is not an opportunity for you to act out your aggressive tendencies.”

  Nick reflected on a time when he was a participant in the discussion over how this night would go. “Would anyone like to know what I think?”

  Corpse stood on her tiptoes. She still didn’t quite make eye-level with Blaire. “I’ll act out my aggressive tendencies upside your face, Blaire Witch.”

  “Okay, no.” Nick waved his hands. “Corpse, flag on the play. Friendly fire. Blaire’s on our side. Side note: The Blair Witch thing. Nice, good form. It’s a bit obvious, but it works.”

  The webmaster curtseyed. “I’ve been saving that one.”

  He turned to Blaire. “Blaire, we’re still doing Winner Winner Dawkins Dinner. The silent auction is already in play, and it’s for charity. If someone gave an unfathomable amount of money to orphans just to kill me over a plate of spaghetti, we’ll let them have it. But there are easier ways to get close to me. See what I’m saying?”

  “You could—for example—dress like Elvira’s uptight daughter and ask him on a date.” Corpse smirked at Nick. He could see her mentally fist-bumping herself.

  Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Don’t.”

  Corpse pointed at the phone, her eyes wide and teeth bared. “Look at you. You’re so spun on this chick. All I had to do was mention her and you pulled out your phone. You were checking it for messages.”

  He paused. She was right.

  Interesting.

  He pushed the phone back into his pocket. “Doesn’t matter. At this point, I don’t know if I trust her.”

  Blaire lifted a finger. “Who are we talking about?”

  “Hellen.” Corpse went back to her phone. “The ‘caster. Nick went out with her last night and came back droned as the day is long.”

  Blaire didn’t speak fluent Corpse like Nick did. “Droned?”

  “Drunk-stoned. Well into his cups and full of wacky tobaccy.” Corpse leaned into Blaire. “At the time, he seemed to think Hellen had slipped him a Mickey.”

  Blaire was the only person in the room who showed the appropriate level of alarm for the topic at hand. “What?”
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  “Relax.” Corpse ground her teeth as she tapped frantically at her screen. “The state he was in, she could have a done anything she wanted to him. I think she was on the level. Don’t get me wrong, I also think she’s total garbage, but whatever she’s up to, it didn’t involve hurting him last night.”

  The agent put her hands on her hips. “How is it that he exclusively dates women who want to do him harm?”

  Corpse reached for the sky is exasperation. “That’s what I keep saying. The worst taste in girls, right?”

  Blaire agreed. “The worst.”

  “I’m still in the room,” Nick asserted.

  Blaire didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. “Okay, I guess if you think we’re good, you’ve sold me on the dinner thing.”

  Corpse put her hands on her hips in a blatant mirror of Blaire’s own posture. “If there’s no Winner Winner Dawkins Dinner, the terrorists win.”

  Blaire looked at her watch. “Let’s not get crazy, but I see your point. So, unless you two change your minds, meet downstairs in two hours? Nick, drink some water and get a little shut-eye, yes? Best faces.” She had fully reverted to her pageant contestant persona.

  Nick followed her to the door. “Will do, promise.” He shut the door behind her turned to Corpse. “Blaire Witch, really?”

  Corpse sprang up and down. “Legit as fuck, right?”

  He walked back to the bed and collapsed onto it. “Okay. Sleep now.”

  “You could do that.” Corpse’s voice was tinged with a teasing melody; a promise of possibility.

  His curiosity was piqued. “Or?”

  “Or, Blaire also dropped off a screener for some movie by some no-name company. Some guy you met last night?” Corpse held up an unmarked DVD case and made a face like they’d just won the lottery.

  “Mother of God.” Nick bolted upright and pointed at the door with dramatic flair. “What are you waiting for, Robin? We need booze and pizza, stat. There isn’t one moment to lose.”

  Corpse planted her feet. “Who you calling Robin? Bitch, I’m the one with the brains and the computer, you’re my Robin.”

  Nick lifted his cane. “Yes, but I have the house and the money.”

  She clenched her fist and shook it in jest. “You win this round, Dawkins. Beer and pizza is on you.”

  ***

  No working cameras. That’s what the girl had said in the hallway. Dogman was sure of it.

  The universe was truly working in his favor.

  Where he’d previously planned on exacting his horrific revenge on Nick Dawkins and hoping he’d been careful enough to not leave any trace of his identity, he could now go one further. With no cameras to record who was where, when or doing what, he could now point the authorities in one very specific direction.

  When it was over and done with, no one would so much as look for the man in the dog mask. He just needed the right patsy.

  And then, almost immediately, one had presented himself.

  Dogman followed the kid with casual ease. His dark curly hair stood out in the crowd by several inches. All Dogman had to do was keep up.

  The kid, who’d called himself Brundlefly during the Q and A, wandered to a couch in the lobby and sat down. He pulled out a bottle of water and swigged from it as he thumbed at his smartphone.

  Dogman approached the couch across from Brundle and had a seat. The kid noted the dog-faced man now sitting five feet away and did a double-take.

  “Hello,” Dogman said.

  The kid gave Dogman the slightest of nods and went back to his phone.

  “I couldn’t help but be impressed by your display in there.” He pointed in the direction of the assembly hall where the Nick Dawkins Q and A had taken place. “I’ve spent a lot of time wondering when anyone was going to grow a pair and ask him some tough questions.”

  “No problem.” Brundlefly barely looked up from his screen. “I just don’t get why everyone is so up that guy’s ass.”

  Dogman flicked a finger at the red fly on Brundle’s shirt. “Funny, you’re dressed like one of his biggest fans.”

  Brundle talked at Dogman more than to him. The kid was dismissive. An annoying trait his entire generation seemed to share. “Myiasis is bigger than Nick Dawkins now. It’s a community. Some of us have made real friends there. If Nick Dawkins were hit by a truck tomorrow, it’d go on without him.”

  Dogman tapped the ends of his fingers together. The kid was indeed exactly what he needed. He took a breath and collected his thoughts. This change of plans was beneficial but risky. Involving a second party directly meant having a wild card in the mix. But the potential benefits couldn’t be denied. It was worth the risk. He’d simply have to improvise. Think on his feet. He could do that.

  “You know, I’ve been waiting to find someone else who gets it.”

  The kid finally broke free of his phone’s hypnotic spell. “Gets what?”

  “What I’ve tried to do. With Myiasis.” Dogman paused for a moment and let the kid jump to his own conclusions. Then he reaffirmed them with a handshake.

  “Pleased to meet you, Brundlefly. I’m The Administrator.”

  Chapter 10

  “So…” Nick waited for the words to come. They took their time.

  Corpse lay on the bed next to him. “So.”

  The credits rolled on the DVD screener of Joint Custody they’d watched over a historic beer and pizza binge.

  Nick watched the names crawl up the frame and disappear into cinematic Valhalla, heroes and legends, all. “That was really good, right?” Corpse flung her hands up. “Right?”

  Nick turned to her for reassurance. “I’m not crazy.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not at all. It was really good.”

  “I really wanted to hate it. I wanted it to be so, so bad.” Nick looked at his phone. It was nigh time to meet Blaire for the charity dinner. Corpse stared at him in disbelief. “Why did you want to hate it?”

  Nick searched for a way to express his thoughts without sounding petty and came up short. “I met that Mike Reaper guy last night. I think I hate him.”

  “Why would you hate him? His movie was—” Corpse flailed at the air as though her point were a physical object in front of them.

  “I know, but he’s so fucking perfect, it’s disgusting.” Nick noticed a piece of food in the corner of his mouth and wiped at it. The crumb fell away, but the shame remained. “He acts like he’s got it all figured out. And hell, maybe he does. That stupid movie was amazing. Anyway. It’s almost time to meet Blaire. So much for catching a nap.”

  Corpse picked a pizza box up off the bed and dropped tossed it onto the table. “So much for dinner. I’m tick-full.”

  Nick rolled out of bed, his belly firm. “I’m pregnant with a pizza baby.”

  The trip downstairs to the lobby was slow and plodding. Nick felt as though he left a greasy trail of meat and cheese behind him like some kind of fast food slug.

  Blaire’s heels clicked across the lobby floor as she moved to greet them. “Nick, dear, you didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

  Nick gestured at Corpse. “She says sleep is a crutch. We also ruined our supper, it was decadent as fuck.”

  Corpse bounced in place with excitement. “We watched that screener you brought us.”

  Blaire motioned them toward the hotel restaurant. “Oh, how’d you like it?”

  Nick followed Blaire’s lead. “It was great. I’m so friggin’ mad about it.”

  The agent was silent, but looked over her shoulder and displayed the face of confusion.

  Corpse elaborated for him. “He thinks the guy who made it is a tool and was hoping for a clusterfuck he could thumb his nose at.” She whispered at a volume that wasn’t really a whisper at all. “I think he’s jealous.”

  Blaire shrugged. “Envy doesn’t suit you, dear. Also, try to remember that Mr. Reaper is still poor and you are… well, not.” She tilted her head. “Mr. Reaper. What a great name for a horror director. D
o you think he has representation?”

  Nick was far past ready to talk about something else. “So, this silent auction, how’d we do?”

  The agent looked at her clipboard. “As discussed, we auctioned off three individual seats at the dinner table and one set of two, the ‘Double Dawkins’ package. All told, we raised eight-thousand six-hundred and fifty-eight dollars.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Hot damn, that’s not bad at all. Everything’s all set up?”

  “One Winner Winner Dawkins Dinner. Private room, not overly spacious, but nice.” The way Blaire accentuated the word ‘overly’; it was laced with an ironic flavor that Nick assumed meant dinner would take place in a closet.

  The hostess met them at the entryway and led them toward a room in the back. “Everyone on the list is already here and seated.”

  Nick smiled at the hostess. “Did any of them look sketchy? I’m kidding. But not really.”

  They walked into a small, dimly lit room apart from the main dining floor. A single, long table took up most of the room. At the far end, three empty seats waited for Nick, Corpse and Blaire. The other seats were filled with an assortment of people who had paid real money to dine with Nick Dawkins.

  Nick surveyed the group to get a sense of the next hour of his life. The survey came to a screeching halt when he spied a couple of familiar faces, one of which made his genitals shrivel up and die.

  Plain Jane, Miss Urethral Probe 2014 herself, sat on one side of the table. She wrung her hands together. “Oh. Oh, no. You’re weirded out that I’m here, aren’t you?” Jane stood up at her seat, then sat down. Then she stood up again. She reconsidered her stance several more times as she spoke aloud to no one in particular. “I knew it would be like this, I said it wasn’t a good idea, I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

  Nick whispered in Blaire’s ear. “I’d have thought bare minimum, people who have broken into my home wouldn’t be eligible to win.”