Lori felt mostly content as she looked out onto the ocean, although one thought nagged at her: How was she going to sneak Lucky into her apartment? And how could she possibly keep his presence a secret? She sat worrying about that for several minutes until finally making a decision, resolve hardening her features.
She got off the bench and tugged on Lucky’s leash, coaxing him to his feet.
“Come on, big guy,” she said. “Time to take you home.”
* * * *
Nathan caught her before she was able to sneak Lucky into the elevator. He was the live-in superintendent for Lori’s building. A short, squat man in his fifties who always seemed to wear the same dirty undershirt badly yellowed with age and perspiration and even dirtier khakis, and whose body odor was pungent enough that Lori needed to breathe through her mouth when he was around. Nathan also had a habit of barely moving his lips when he talked, as if he were always practicing a ventriloquism act.
“Dogs aren’t allowed,” he said.
Once again his lips showed less movement than someone shivering from the cold. It was disorienting to Lori watching him talk, like trying to watch a foreign movie that had been poorly dubbed so that the mouths and sound were out of sync. Nathan also seemed to have a way of sneaking up on her when she least wanted to see him, and because of that she was ready for him and had her game plan figured out.
She argued, “Mrs. Weinstein has a Pomeranian!”
He made a face as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “That’s what you call that thing? It’s always yapping. Gives me a headache.”
“I’ve been with Lucky for hours now and he hasn’t barked once.”
“It don’t matter. Weinstein got permission to have that yappy thing. You don’t have permission. You need to write a letter to the landlord and get permission.”
Lori didn’t quite bat her eyes at him, but she came close. “Nathan, I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman living alone in the city. I don’t feel safe. I need Lucky here to feel safe.”
“The building’s safe,” he argued.
“That might be true, but I don’t feel safe walking alone outside.”
“Neighborhood’s safe also.”
“I don’t only walk in this neighborhood.”
He shifted his eyes so that he was looking past her right shoulder, and a blush reddened his cheeks. “You’re very pretty,” he said. “You could get married if you want.”
“Thank you, but even if that were true, I’m not dating anyone right now, so that solution won’t help me today. You don’t want to be responsible for me being hurt or worse, do you?”
His face reddened more. “Nothing I can do,” he insisted. “Rules are rules.”
Lori had half a pound of roast beef in her oversized handbag, which was the main reason Lucky had been behaving himself—his attention focused solely on her bag. While she was talking with the super, she had unzipped her bag and pulled out a slice, which she held to Nathan. He gave it and then her a baffled look, as if he thought she was trying to bribe him with cold cuts.
“Why don’t you feed this to Lucky?”
It took him a moment to make sense of what she was suggesting. His eyes instantly dulled, as if he were going to flatly refuse, but he just as quickly weakened and accepted the meat, which he held out to Lucky. The dog snatched it out of his hand without taking off any fingers, but he also wagged his tail slightly as if he was still trying to decide whether the squat super was friend or foe. Lori gave the super another slice of roast beef to feed Lucky, and this time the dog made up his mind and let out an appreciative grunt. He even pushed his thick head closer to the super so the man could pet him.
Nathan looked perturbed by all this as he struggled to make a decision, but Lori saw something melt in his eyes. She knew the man liked her and found her attractive. She also knew he was harmless, and his feelings for her might very well have been along the lines of a brother toward a much younger sister (even though there was a good twenty-five years separating them) rather than any romantic longings. She also had no doubt that he was a loner and had guessed he would warm up to Lucky if given a chance. It looked like she was right.
“If he bothers other tenants or makes a nuisance of himself—”
“He won’t! I promise. And I won’t be leaving him alone in my apartment. I’ll be taking him to work with me each day.”
The super’s mouth pinched as if he were suffering indigestion. But this was just for show. A decision had already been made. He cautiously began rubbing Lucky behind his ear, and a contented noise rumbled out of the dog’s throat. Kindred spirits.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he confided. “When a letter goes to the landlord, he calls me to make the decision. You can keep him as long as he don’t cause any trouble.”
Lori could’ve kissed him, except it would’ve confused the situation. “Thank you so much, Nathan. And he won’t cause any trouble. I’ll make sure of it.”
The super shifted his gaze from the dog to Lori. He smiled, revealing cracked and chipped teeth stained worse than his undershirt. It might’ve been the first time she had ever seen his teeth.
He said, “If you want to let him eat Weinstein’s yappy little dog, that will be okay with me. The thing gives me a headache. But make sure he don’t cause no other trouble.”
Chapter 5
Three years ago, Morris Brick was a star within the LAPD after solving three high-profile serial killer cases in a span of seven years. His last investigation as a homicide detective had him chasing down the Hillside Cannibal Killer, which not only made him a national celebrity but also almost made him the Cannibal’s last victim. When he decided to quit the department and start MBI, Police Commissioner Martin Hadley made only a perfunctory effort at best to talk him out of it. While that might’ve surprised others, Morris pretty much expected it from Hadley—after all, the two of them strongly disliked each other and had been butting heads since he made detective. Hadley, however, went ballistic when he found out Morris had arranged for three other LAPD homicide detectives—Charlie Bogle, Fred Lemmon, and Dennis Polk—to join him in his new venture. The police commissioner would’ve blown a gasket entirely if he’d known Morris also took copies of his cold cases with him on his way out the door.
Morris had no intention of actively working any of these unsolved crimes, but he wanted the files in case inspiration struck. Of all of them, the ones he prayed most to be solved were the Nightmare Man murders. He also dreaded the thought of ever opening the thick manila folder that held the sickening details and secrets of those killings.
It was a little after four when he returned with Parker in tow to MBI’s office suite on Wilshire Boulevard. He’d been coaxed by Stonehedge to have three le daiquiris (his actor friend was right—they were delicious), but he could’ve had half a dozen more and it wouldn’t have mattered. Thinking about the Nightmare Man sobered him up more than guzzling a thermos of black coffee or dumping a bucket of ice water on his head.
He was fourteen when the Nightmare Man first struck, but even though he had been almost a decade away from becoming a police officer, he was still connected with those
