So he starts threatening me, more or less. And then more. Unacceptable. Got out of control. Had me in a corner.…
I had a great time with Tiffany over the years. She stayed hot, in every way imaginable. Her Super Bowl commercial put her on the map. Hell, a year later she’s on the cover of Playboy! Fully revealed inside. Like a dream come true for this guy. Every guy’s dream—never comes true. Except it did, for me. Had me a Playmate! For a while. We’d…see each other.
I loved her. Well…I loved…being with her. But she didn’t love me. She was using me because she thought I could help her career.
And worse, she was seriously into junk on her own. Turned out she was getting hers from Ramon, too, after connecting with him through some creatives. Then she’s leaning on me to get her more stuff—and pay for it! Which got to be unacceptable and it freaked me out, knowing the cops might soon be onto us.
But what led the cops to me? When I think about it, maybe some of the creatives started getting suspicious. Lenny? That was a joke. And Chris was never a serious suspect, either. And once the detectives figured out my connection to Ramon, I’m buried in this. Fried.
I ended up being the prime suspect.
Sure, I have a Marine-issue Beretta M9, fitted with a threaded barrel to accommodate a suppressor. So what?
Semper fi!
Chapter 40
Look, I’m a guy who was confronted with tough, unbearable situations that left me with no options. My world completely caved in—in the space of a single week! I was drowning in the pressure of it all.
What’s a guy to do?
I had to do something about all of it. And I did.
Tiffany had rigged my iPhone text settings to “share my location” one night while I was in a postcoital shower at her place. Which is how she was waiting for me in Grand Central Station that night.
We did second cocktails, and then a joint was a natural next step. So I took her down to the sub-basement—M42 it’s called—a totally secret space that houses all of Grand Central’s AC to DC converters. You won’t find it on any public maps. Ramon took me there one night to trade copious amounts of dope for serious cash.
And that’s where they found her body. Her gorgeous body. With a bullet wound in the back of her head.
And Bonnie Jo?
I was seriously falling in love with Bonnie Jo Hopkins. The real deal, which was bittersweet because I’m already in love with another woman. My wife.
But our sex was…genuine. Intimate lovemaking.
We were genuine partners at work, too. BJ helped cast Tiffany for the CrawDaddy spot, and was on the shoot.
Bonnie was a social user. Just weed, really. She got hers from Ramon, just like everybody else. Always had some when I came over. Cool. Then she finally put two and two together, and was convinced she knew what really happened to Ramon.
And then in a world record slip of the tongue, I damned near called her Tiffany that night. Close enough. And that was it.
Our last night together—the all-time high and the all-time low in the space of a few hours. We experienced lovemaking like neither one of us ever had before, ever. Not even close.
And never will again.
It’s no coincidence these people were found dead right after the last time I saw them.
I murdered all three of them.
Chapter 41
Ramon was tough. My foxhole buddy. My partner. But he had to go. Squeezing me too hard.
I waited for the roof to clear the other night. He was leaning against one of the chimneys on the roof of our building, lighting a joint. Facing to the back, toward the alley, which helped. I pull my M9 out of my serviceable attaché, suppressor already mounted, place it to the back of his head, and pull the trigger.
I ease him down to the rooftop, brush his eyelids shut, straighten his legs out and fold his arms over his chest. Semper fi, my friend.
Tiffany? Much easier. There we were in the depths of Grand Central. I mean, hell, she’s already on her knees, preoccupied. I’ve still got my bag over my shoulder, pull my gun out, pull her besotted head back and slide the suppressor tube mounted on my M9 into her mouth, and before she realizes what it is, she flops over backward, knees buckled underneath her, wearing a stunned look of disbelief on her beautiful face.
And Bonnie Jo? That one hurt almost as much as Ramon. But she went ballistic on me, and who knows where that goes? I mean, she knows I’m a dealer. I’m afraid she’s got me pegged for Ramon. So when she was fast asleep, I did it.
Felt all clear then—except for Juanita.
She’s lucky. The cops saved her life the night they arrested me.
Chapter 42
I’m a kick-ass New York adman, Madison Avenue, yada yada. A wife who loves me. Two wonderful kids. I’m a family man.
Like I told Linda Kaplan: I’m a guy that makes shit happen. And I did.
I’m a guy who was confronted with tough, unbearable situations that left me with no options.
Like they say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
Jean and the kids are on the way over for a visit. They still love me, and their husband and father loves them more than simple words can describe.
Can’t wait to see my guys!
“MacGhee.” It’s one of the jailers.
“Yeah?”
“Your family’s not coming.”
“Not again! The fourth goddamned time, for Christ’s sake!”
I hear some guys down the hall in front of a TV. “Hey!” one of them says. “Check this out. Shh! Quiet!”
“…Esposito, for WNBC, with exclusive, breaking news. New York City police have just confirmed the arrest of their prime suspect in the triple homicide case that has had lower Manhattan on edge for the past week. His name is Timothy James MacGhee, and he is a senior partner at Marterelli and Partners, the advertising agency that all three victims were connected to. MacGhee’s being held at the Manhattan Detention Complex on White Street awaiting arraignment.
“Here’s Detective Peter Quinn, lead officer on the case for the 21st Precinct. Detective Quinn, what finally led you to Timothy MacGhee?
“These advertising people are crafty, I’ll give them that. He didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. But…”
And the guys down the hall erupt into spontaneous applause, just like my client did the other day.
So, here I sit in this godforsaken jail cell. Successful New York adman. Family man. Husband. Father. Churchgoer. An upstanding member of the community. And now my family is deserting me.
You know what? Fuck ’em.
Besides, if you saw me sitting here now, you’d have to say…why, he wouldn’t even harm a fly.…”