Prologue
She spied her quarry across the room of smoke and sweat. Luis Cortez sat in the chair of scratched wood and ripped leather like he was king of the manor, with no fear of the opposing forces that were out to destroy him. A group of men were clustered around the scarred table with him, in part as protection and also as associates. The appearance was purely King Arthur and the Knights at the Round Table. A secret smile stretched Velvets crimson lips when she saw his eyes on her and her eyelids lowered to half mast with a come hither look. She twirled around the scratched, golden pole in a swirl of red silk and blond hair on clear, ice-pick heels. Bestowing him with a full view of her ample bosom, Velvet sashayed her hips to the beat of the driving rock as she stepped off the stage and walked to his table. Luis's eyes ran down her sleek body in appreciation. Velvet reached his table and sat in his lap in such a provocative manner, you'd think sex was the only thing on her mind. Then, she leaned over his shoulder and whispered in his ear," Queen to Kings Knight."
Luis lifted his brown eyes to hers and whispered back, "Checkmate?" Velvet arched an eyebrow over sardonic blue eyes as she lifted her hand and ran it through his curly black hair. He lifted his own hand and traced the shape of her full lips with his index finger. It was as if his companions no longer existed.
He cleared his throat and said in a raspy voice," I never expected someone so beautiful to want involvement with my business. " Evidence of his arousal to her beauty could be felt through the silk of his trousers and the thong at the apex of thighs. Velvet curved her hand to trace the strong jaw line and the scar she knew was just below his ear. She also knew he received the mark in a knife fight with an old partner three years earlier. In a hushed tone through a crooked smile she said, "Then don't expect, just enjoy the rewards. "
As she leaned over to kiss the sensual lips, a man from the next table reached over and grabbed her arm with his sweaty hand. " Hey honey, if your giving that out, I think we could appreciate you better than that island-hopping import. " His friends at the table chuckled at what they thought was obviously a funny joke and leered at Velvet, their intentions for her plain in their eyes. Luis was reaching down for the gun under his jacket, but before he could blink, she had gripped the offenders arm and flipped him onto the floor with her ice-pick heel pressed into his jugular.
Velvets eyes were hard as diamonds as she glared into the culprits face. " The business between myself and the gentleman is none of your concern. If you know what is good for you, you won't touch me again. Because next time, I'll bury this heel in your throat and watch you bleed to death on this wooden floor. Understand?"
The miscreant just blinked his eyes that were fast clearing of alcohol, and urinated in his pants. Velvet lifted her eyebrows at the khaki pants that were fast turning brown in the front. She lifted her foot as two enforcers showed up to remove the man and his friends from the club. She overheard one of the bouncers telling the man "She's a black belt and could've snapped you like a toothpick. You ain't too smart, are you?"
Velvet looked back over to her companion and saw respect in the dark eyes. " Well, at least I know there's steel under that soft exterior." She smirked down at him. You don't know the half of it. Then she pressed a quick hard kiss to his lips that promised even more, and stalked back to the stage to finish her number.
Unbeknownst to her, while Luis watched her with open lust, another set of eyes were watching her, and weighing her against plans of their own.
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The smell of blood met him at the door of the small well-kept house, and he knew he had more chaos on his hands. Another mess in a nice neighborhood. The press will love this, he thought. He looked around the brightly-lit neighborhood, the suburbia feel of the (cookie-cutter) houses, perfection stamped on every lawn. Safety once instilled in the residence was now shivering as it cowered behind locked doors and automatic alarms. Detective James Cage steeled himself for what had to be on the other side of the door. Visions of past crime scenes flashed in his mind before he could lock them out. His partner, Piotri Iverson ambled out the door on two stumpy legs, and wiped his red face with a handkerchief.
Cage put a hand on his partners shoulder and asked the question on his mind. "Is it like the others?" Iverson shook his head, and for a moment, Cage felt relief. Then, Iverson lifted his eyes and in a dead pan voice, stated It's worse. For Iverson to be so shaken as to use no inflection in his voice, it must be bad. He had been on the force with the Miami Police Department 20 years to Cages 12, and had seen things most people see only in nightmares.
The blood in Cages veins ran cold as he thought about what mustve been done to the person inside. He looked into his old friends eyes when he asked the next question. " Is it him? " Iverson nodded his head as he affirmed, It is. Cage stepped around Iverson and walked inside to a blood bath that made his stomach roil.
No wonder his veteran partner had looked so ill and feverish when he came out of the house. The walls were splattered in arcs of crimson. Not a single space in the house was spared the deadly brush. He carefully stepped around the crime scene investigators, shattered objects, and possible clues.
The forensics teams went about their business as if the head investigator had not even stepped into the realm of death. The continued their search for elusive fingerprints and possible evidence with their powders and brushes, black lights and blind knowledge. Cage studied each room, getting a feel of the emotions that had erupted in the rooms, trying to understand the sequence of her death struggle.
He eventually found her in the back corner of the master bedroom closet. The hair that had once been brown, was now streaked the color of rust. The eyes were glazed and the face locked into an expression of fear. She was a small woman, her stature not much to defeat in battle. The body showed she had fought, and lost against the man wielding the knife.
Cage felt anger and despair pulsing in his heart as pulled on gloves and looked at her outstretched hand to the note that he knew would be there. Wrapped in a plastic baggie, there was no blood on the snowy white envelope, just as he knew there would be no fingerprints, no fibers, and no physical evidence to link to the suspect. But it would be full of clues. Little rhyming hints that didnt make sense. And it would tell who the next victim would be. He couldnt open the baggie; much less the note inside, until it had been analyzed at the lab for every possible hint as to the identity of the person who called himself, Shakespeare.
The anger and helplessness continued to burn through Cage, and he decided then and there that this was the last one. He had made the promise before, a promise that continued to be broken, despite his determination to catch the madman before he killed with such glee again.
Staring at the mangled womans body, the chalk line that marked her final resting-place, Cage vowed he would find out who the intended target was, before Shakespeare struck again. All he had to do was figure out the code, or get the intended victim to report her set of poetry being delivered to her. If things held to the timeline of the others, she should be getting her first prose tonight.
