After dinner, Jill made the call on a prepaid phone.
“Uh . . . hello.”
“Is that Bret?”
“No it’s the President of the United States. How did you get this number?”
“Oh, sorry. Must be the wrong number.”
There was a pause. “No hold it. It’s Bret here. Who am I speaking to?”
“A friend.” She heard him sniffing.
“Have lots of those.”
Jill doubted that. “You still on the drugs?”
“None of your business.” Still more sniffing.
“Well, if you are, I have some for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And they won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”
“Really?”
“Just need you to deliver something for me.”
“Really?”
If he says ‘really’ one more time!
“Deliver what?” The sniffing was back.
“Just an envelope. I’ll pay you before delivery and after. It can either be money or drugs. The choice is yours.”
“What about both: money and drugs?”
“Possibly.”
“Okay. Let’s meet.”
“No meeting. I’ll place an envelope at an agreed location. It will have the instructions and one gram of pure meth inside.”
“One gram.” He whistled. “And on delivery.”
“I will instruct the receipt to provide you with another gram and $1000 in cash.”
Another whistle. “Do I know you?
“No, and that’s the way I want it to remain.”
“Why can’t you deliver it?”
“There are people looking for me. The place may be staked out. They won’t be expecting you.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
Jill stayed quiet.
“Danger . . . that’s what I’m all about.”
Jill thought so.
31 – The cursed clown
JILL SAT IN FRONT OF HER MAGIC MIRROR as she pushed her hair into a shower cap and pulled on elbow-length gloves. No dropped hairs or fingerprints.
She wrote Ruby’s address on a piece of paper and placed it in an envelope. Now the payload. The deliverer would expect to see something else in the envelope so she obliged. After meditating into her black window, she wrote a number and sealed it in a smaller envelope. An envelope inside an envelope.
The deliverer could open the payload if he wished. She was sure he would. He’d see a number which would be meaningless—to the reader anyway. But it was a Wiccan number to curse the reader if he did not complete the task, another curse added to his already cursed life.
But for the recipient, for Ruby, the curse was the man who handed her the letter. It was a gamble, but Jill believed the beast inside the crazy man would be unleashed when he found there were no drugs or money to be handed out after his delivery. He’d be primed by the concoction she’d put together for him, and she had no doubt it would be consumed. The man would be hyper-aroused, anxious, and dangerous. Jill knew that he would be guided by her gods.
Would he kill the girl? That was the unknown. But Oram shouldn’t be walking the streets. Jill had researched his history—one of violent assaults and mental issues. He was one disturbed individual, and Jill could only wonder what went on in his head when the chemicals hit his bloodstream. She also wondered what went on in the court system, why he wasn’t locked up.
Doesn’t matter. He soon would be.
Was she also evil? No. She needed to do this because her gods had preserved her. She wanted to please them. Oram, Ruby—they were only collateral damage. Jill would survive. A cleansing process was in hand. The gods needed her. They’d proved this in the past.
<°)))><
Jill called her work regime one day on, one day off. She did find the ‘off day’ term negative but generally they were not off days. And today wasn’t going to be an exception.
Jill had called the crazy man last night. She’d had to call, because his file showed his place of abode as no fixed address. Now she called him again because she needed to get the envelope to him. He was living in shared accommodation with some friends. Jill was reluctant to put the envelope in the house’s letterbox in case it ended up in the hands of one of his ‘friends’. They would all be addicts.
Google Earth showed a plot of vacant land a few blocks away from the house. There must have been a house there before, because Google Earth showed a lonely letterbox. Jill drove there and parked her car within viewing distance. Yes, there was a bland letter-box surrounded by a sea of junk mail. Why would someone put mail in a letterbox when there wasn’t even a house? She lifted the lid of the letterbox, cleared the junk mail, and placed her envelope inside. Then she returned to her car and texted the man.
He came not long after she texted. Fidgeting, head darting around. He lifted the lid of the letterbox, took out the envelope, looked around, placed the envelope inside his shirt, then hurried back in the direction he’d come from with the occasional glance behind him. He reminded her of an excited schoolboy.
Sure, using him was a risky proposition, but she trusted the gods. The crazy man would do what he would do, and there would be no connection to her. Hey, he was crazy. People like that get things in their head and there’s no stopping them.
Like her. The sacrifice would be fulfilled. Her god would be appeased, and then no more of this. What a mess! It all started back in that other clinic where she’d borrowed some drugs. She got caught and then they pounced on her. That magistrate was not a nice person. She hadn’t done anything wrong before. She was blind to her addiction he told her. They were blind—she didn’t tell them who the drugs were for. Her partner was happy his temporary need had been fixed and he had a severe dislike for the magistrate also.
But the gods told her what to do. There was no stopping her.
Jill yawned.
