#one of them was like barely fourteen i think and she was a twerp she was too hard on the kids

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Iron Man’s Minion: Rising

Over 30 people sent me ask requesting a sequel. I usually don’t do sequels. Its messy and rarely as good as the first. Hoepfully, you like this.

           Tony just sighed at sight four kids and his robot picketing his workshop. Rhodey just looked overly pleased. The sun was had rose. He had just finished up for the day. Only to be met with… whatever the hell this was.

           Honestly, he hadn’t thought they were serious. At least he didn’t think Peter was serious. Peter was the sweet one; 90 percent of time, he followed Tony’s rules to the letter, never giving too much problems.

           …Harley, on the hand, liked to start shit.

“What we want?” Harley called again.

“No curfews!” The other three, Peter, Riri, and Marinette yelled.

           Riri liked to instigate.

           As for Marinette, Tony was certain at this point, she just wanted to see the world burn.

“When do we want it?!”

“Now!”

           Dummy beamed loudly. A little sign in his claw.

           Tony pinched his nose, “I swear to god, Harley.”

           Harley smirked, “He says our sugar intake should be limited. I say we want candy. I say Sugar High and Die.”

“Sugar high and Die!”

           Dummy beamed again.

           Tony glared at his firstborn, “You can’t even eat.”

“Unlimited lab access!”

“Yes!”

“Breakroom for Interns,” Harley sniped. “We are not Avengers. We shouldn’t have to share with Avengers.”

“Not my Pop tarts!” Riri shouted, a big grin on her face, framed by her wild dark curly locks.

           Marinette was having the time of her life, “Death to Baby monitor protocols!” Ever since it was revealed she was Ladybug, Tony put her on the same restrictions at the other teen Heroes. Karen watching her from her new, Stark approved, mask.

           The others went nuts. “Death to Baby monitor protocols!”

           Rhodey looked smug, “Karma.” He said easily. “For everything you ever put me through at MIT; you have to deal with four versions of yourself.”

           Tony narrowed his eyes, “Okay time for the big guns,” He spun around. “PEPPER!” He yelled. “Jarvis get Pepper.”

           The kids looked at each other and braced themselves.

“We will not go quietly into the night,” They all said together. “We will not vanish without a fight!”

“Oh my god,” Rhodey said, looking like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. “They’re doing the speech from Independence day!”

“We're going to live on!” The kids said, dummy beeping with them. “We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day

“PEPPER!” Tony screamed again.

           First thing, Tony said when the redhead arrived, “Pepper, the minions are revolting. Do something!”

“Well maybe if you didn’t call them minions,” Pepper suggested just looking so done with the world. She could just barely believe Jarvis when he told her the interns, and teen heroes, were protesting. “And why is Rhodey holding a sign?”

           Tony huffed, “The twerps called him Uncle Rhodey with those big puppy dogs’ eyes. And he went full traitor!” He explained. “Those things should be weaponized. Fix this!”

           Pepper sighed and walked to Harley, the one with the megaphone was usually the leader. She smiled, “Lets negotiate.” This would be easy and over quickly. They were just kids, messing with Tony.

           Marinette stepped forward, “Sure,” She smiled pleasantly. “After our lawyer gets here.”

“You’re what now?!!” Tony shouted.

           Pepper eyed the bluenette approvingly. “Bring it on!”

           Matt Murdock had no idea that when Spiderman called to ask him to his lawyer and defend his rights, that he was talking about Peter Parker’s rights as an intern. He was on the avengers’ roster and most knew he identity. Foggy was confused but elated to test his wits against the force that was Pepper Potts.

           The two lawyers sat across from Tony and Pepper. The kids and Rhodey, who Stark called traitor every time he spoke, sat beside them. They were in a conference room at a large table.

           Matt began, “Our clients have made their requests very clear. Most of which are easy to employ and some would say are their rights.

“Their minions,” Tony stated. “They don’t have rights.”

           Pepper placed a hand on his shoulder, “Never say that again,” She said slowly.

“All employee should have a breakroom,” Foggy stated. “Even interns. It’s non-negotiable.”

           Pepper nodded, “Agreed. They will be given their own breakroom; that Jarvis will ensure only fellow interns will have access to.”

“That means Tony can’t go in,” Peter laughed.

“You little shit!”

“Baby monitor protocols are too extreme,” Matt said.

Pepper pinched her nose. “As a hero yourself, Mr. Murdock, you must understand that we in good conscience cannot allow minors, even superpowered minors, to perform their heroics without proper supervision.”

Riri slammed her hands on the table, “I was a little late for curfew and you sent freaking Thor to track me down,” She said accusing to Tony, who looked completely unrepentant. “Thor. A god.”

“Alien,” Rhodey and Tony chimed.

“I snuck out one time,” Peter glared. “And the Avengers crash a house party.”

           Pepper winced. That had been a PR mess. “Tony will limit his use of GPS tracking provided all parties adhere to the rules and regulations they originally agreed to when they began their mentorship under Tony.”

“You mean when we sold our souls to the man,” Marinette snipped.

“The-The man?” Tony looked flabbergasted. “No! What?”

           The meeting went on for another thirty minutes. It was nearly adjourned when Pepper inquired if there was anything else.

           Marinette looked Tony dead in the eyes, “Karen no longer reports to you.”

           The other kids blinked in surprise before grinning.

           Tony leaned back in his seat, and nodded solemnly, “So its war you want.”

“Oh my god,” Pepper and Matt groaned.

           Foggy and Rhodey looked far too entertained for their own goods.

           Eventually it was agreed that Karen would report that if they were in any danger and agree to disclose if the young heroes were fine or not. Plus any messages they wanted to relay. Pepper didn’t budge on the candy issue; citing parents had enforced a healthy diet rule on the summer internships. Instead, the kids got a pool table to the breakroom and unlimited healthy snacks for the fridge provided at Stark Industries expense. But they would not dictate what the kids bought on their own.

           Marinette had been living at the tower for a month. One morning she decided to make herself her favorite dessert; chocolate and mint AND chocolate and raspberry macrons. She made little over a dozen and had left them in the fridge, a clear ‘Do not Touch’ sign on them.

           When she finished with Tony and the other interns for the day, Marinette washed up and rushed to the kitchen to get snacks so she could start binging watching Batman the animated series. However, when she got to the kitchen, opened the fridge, she saw her beloved snacks gone.

           Marinette eyes narrowed and she hissed. She marched into the living room and saw the plate she had used lying on the coffee table. The avengers sat watching TV. Marinette picked up the plate, “I made macarons for me. I left them in the fridge with a sign that said do not touch. Someone obviously can’t read. Who did it?”

           The heroes shared looks. No one answered.

“I’m not mad,” Marinette promised. It was lie. By the looks on their faces, they knew a trap when they heard it. “I just want to know the truth. I know it can’t have been Tony or Bruce, because they were with me in the workshop. Natasha is out with Pepper. So…”

           Nothing.

           Thor shifted uneasily. Bucky blinked innocently at her. Steve gave her a boy-ish grin. Clint looked vaguely terrified. Sam kept eyeing the window like it was an exit. Scott looked seconds away from calling for back up.

“Oh,” Marinette nodded. “It’s like that. Fine then.” With that she marched out of the room in a huff.

           When she was gone, Bucky sighed, “She’s going to make us pay for this.”

“One of is just going to go missing,” Sam nodded.

           Clint shrugged, “Sorry, Scott.” And went back to watching TV.

“Yea-What?” Scott yelled. “What do you mean Sorry Scott? Why is it me?”

           The next morning, the heroes woke up to find… things missing. Steve couldn’t find his shield. Bucky’s arm was gone. Thor’s hammer was missing and would return to matter how much he called for it. Clint’s was missing his custom arrows were. Sam’s AI redwing had vanished. And as far Scott, well…

No matter how much they searched, they couldn’t find their missing stuff.

           They all arrived back at the living room, wondering what the hell was going on. They figured one of Tony’s cleaning bots had gone haywire… Again. But that didn’t explain how no one realized it happening. Maybe it was Loki. Still they decided to talk to Tony first. Natasha was with him, and thoroughly amused at the sight of the ruffled men.

           The genius had looked confused, “No. My bots are all up to date. They didn’t even clean last night.”

           Thor nodded, “Then it was my brother. I shall have to speak with him at once.”

“Wait,” Steve said looking around, “Where’s Scott.”

           …And as for Scott? Well, he was missing.

           Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “She has him.”

“Well shit,” Clint said. “I was just joking yesterday.”

“I’ll miss the little dude,” Sam whined.

           Tony looked around, “What are you? No!” He laughed. “Marinette? Frenchy took your stuff? You’re the world’s greatest heroes! She is a fourteen-year-old girl, you know that, right?” He chuckled. Lil Dominator strikes again.

“Natasha,” Steve sent pleading eyes to the Spider.

“I’ll talk to her,” The Black Widow sighed, “But she’ll never respect you if you don’t fight your corner.” With that, she left to speak with Marinette.

           Natasha came back ten minutes later looking rather disgruntled, “She said no.” She told them. “Something about macrons and vengeance. And feeling her wrath. I think you created a supervillain.”

“No,” Tony chimed in. “No supervillany anything. Until she’s twenty-one. It’s in the minion’s contracts” He had made sure to add if after they threated to riot of the good grade addendum; anything lower than a B, and patrol is cut. “She’ll stick to her word.”

“Your interns have contracts?” Clint asked.

           Tony just shrugged, “They do now.”

“Let’s all go talk to her,” Steve suggested. “We’ll apologize and everything will good again.”

           This caused Tony to cackle. “Yeah, okay!”

           The heroes found Marinette on the roof with the other interns. The avengers and the minions eyed each other.

           Marinette spoke first, “I want three dozen macrons from the French bakery on 8th street, near Franky’s deli; all chocolate. Then you get your things returned.”

“You can’t just,” Bucky began. “That’s blackmail.”

“Its extortion,” Riri corrected.

“Marinette, how about…” Sam started but Marinette cut him off.

           She crossed her arms, “This isn’t negotiable.”

“Where’s Scott?” Clint asked. “How do we know he’s alright? We want proof he’s alive.”

           Peter leaned toward Harley, and whispered. “Hey, it sounds like they think we kidnapped him.”

           Harley leaned back, “That’s because technically we did. I think we’re a crime syndicate now.” (Peter yelped, “What?!). “Shhh. Just go with it.”

           Marinette pulled out a walky talky, and headed it to Clint.

“Hey Scott, you there, over,” Clint asked into the radio.

“Help!” Scott’s voice screamed from the radio. “Giant hamster. Giant mean hamster. Oh god why?”

“He’s name Sir Grumpy paw,” Riri said brightly. “I have to keep him here now. He tried to take out my mom’s cat.”

           Bucky just looked at Steve, “Can we just get her the damn macrons.”

“No!” Steve said. “We can find Scott and our things.” He promised. “You’ve gone too far,” he told Marinette.

           The bluenette grinned, “Oh captain, I’ve only just begun.”

           Steve stalked off with the other guys trailing behind him.

           An hour later, Thor was missing...

“She took out a god,” Clint yelled. “Anyone could be next.”

Sam used the radio to try and communicate teammates.

“Good spirits, friends,” Thor said. “I shall conquer the vile beast Sir Grump Paws. And return victorious.”

           Bucky was gone by the next hour. “What the fuck is wrong with this hamster?” The greatest assassin in history yelled once they contacted him via radio. “Who taught its fatass how to glare.” It went quiet. “Stevie, I… think it understand English. Shit.”

“Marinette took out the Winter Soldier,” Natasha said with raised eyebrows. “Impressive.”

           Sam went after that.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Sam just kept repeated. “We’re in a maze. Plastic tubes. We’re running. It’s after us, Steve. The hamster is after us.” It went quiet. “… I think it ate Scott.”

           Steve sighed, “Can you just talk to her?” He pleaded with Tony, “Clint’s freaked out.”

“Can’t,” Tony said. “Contract. Tony Stark cannot interfere or choose sides in an event of a Minions vs Avengers war.”

“Damn it,” Clint shouted. “This isn’t a war. This is an execution. They’re taking us out one by one, man.”

“Shouldn’t have at her macrons,” Tony smirked, proud of his minions. “She knows it was you by the way.” He told Clint. “She knows you were the one to take them.”

           Clint gulped.

           He went missing ten minutes later.

“Cap,” Clint’s voice came from the radio. “We’re going to do it. We’re going after Sir Grump Paws. It’s time. We can’t live like this, not under his reign. That monster has to be stopped. If we don’t make it, just, just… Tell our story. Tell Nat, I’ll miss her. My sister and her kids, they get all my stuff”

           Steve just looked up at the ceiling, and just looked so done with the world. He got up and went to find the interns, “What are you demands?”

           An hour later, he came back with four dozen macrons, a dozen cupcakes, sticky cheese, peppers, and a pound of gummy worms. He sat the goods on the counter. Natasha, Tony, Rhodey, and Happy looked stunned.

“You… surrendered?” Tony asked perplexed.

“Captain America doesn’t surrender,” Rhodey stated.

           Happy shook his head, “You can’t give in, Cap. I know these rugrats. You gotta set boundaries.”

           Steve just shrugged, “Eighty percent of our team is missing. They just want junk food.”

“It’s a good trade,” Marinette said as she led the other interns, including Pepper’s intern MJ and tech Intern named Ned, into the kitchen. She held the Captain’s America shield proudly.  Peter carried Bucky’s arm. Thor’s hammer floated behind Riri, carried by Plagg and Trixx. Harley had redwing and Clint’s arrow. The kids placed the weapons down on the table.

           However before they could grab the goodies, Steve crossed his arm, “Nope. My friends first!”

“Right behind us,” Riri said.

           Suddenly a squeaky voice was heard, “I have vanquished the dreaded foe, Son of Rogers.”

           Everyone looked down.

           In five different hamster balls, were the missing avengers, looking like they just fought a war?

“Why are they tiny?” Tony pinched his nose.

           Mj shrugged, “How else were they supposed to have gladiatorial death matches with a hamster?”

“Oh, of course,” Tony said sarcastically. “Silly me.”

           It took the tiny avengers half an hour to get back to normal. Hamsters were added to the tower’s banned list.

           Fury showed up later that day. He glared at the interns, Stark’s minions; Ladybug, Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron, “I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

“No, you’re not!” Tony yelled from wherever he was.

           Marinette woke up a few days later; thirsty. She saw it was close to midnight so she decided to rush to the kitchen to get a glass of milk. As she headed to the kitchen, she saw something out the corner of her eyes that had her quickly backtracking.

           In the dining room was Loki, Bucky, Tony, Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, Plagg, Wayzz, and Trixx siting around the table, playing what looked to be poker.

“The girl who tormented by brother and the avengers,” Loki said approvingly. “With a rodent.”

           Marinette nodded, “Deal me in.”

           She’d sleep when she’s dead.

           The next day, Steve and Pepper would both find themselves knocking on Marinette’s bedroom door. One to get an arm back. The other the keys to Tony’s Lamborghini. Only to find Thor already there requesting his brother’s helmet back.

             Gambling with Marinette was added to the Tower’s banned list. 

#ml fic #ml salt #Avengers #tony stark #steve rogers #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #pepper potts #thor #loki (marvel)

[mysteryshelf]

FALL INTO MYSTERY BLOG TOUR - A Fatal Obsession

Welcome to the “Fall Into Mystery Event” happening Sepetember 10th to 21th, 2018, at SHANNON MUIR’S THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to SHANNON MUIR’S THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF arranged by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

on Tour September 1 – 30, 2018

Synopsis:

“James Hayman’s edgy, ingenious novels rival the best of Lisa Gardner, Jeffery Deaver, and Kathy Reichs. A Fatal Obsession is his finest to date: a ferocious live-wire thriller starring two of the most appealing cops in contemporary fiction.” —A.J. Finn, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window

Zoe McCabe is a beautiful young actress on the verge of stardom who has been basking in the standing ovations and rave reviews she’s been getting from critics and fans alike for her portrayal of Desdemona in an off-Broadway production of Othello. As she takes her final bows, Zoe has no idea that, seated in the audience, a man has been studying her night after night, performance after performance. A man whose carefully crafted plans are for the young actress to take a starring role in a far deadlier production he has created just for her.

Portland, Maine detectives Mike McCabe and Maggie Savage are settling into the new rhythm of their relationship when McCabe gets a late night call from his brother Bobby that Zoe, McCabe’s favorite niece and Bobby’s daughter, has suddenly disappeared. The NYPD is certain Zoe’s abduction is the work of the man the tabloids have dubbed “The Star Struck Strangler,” a killer who has been kidnapping, abusing and finally strangling one beautiful young performer after another. Bobby begs McCabe to return to the New York City crime beat he’d left behind so many years ago, to work his old connections, and to help find Zoe before her time runs out. The stakes for McCabe and Savage have never been higher. Or more personal. And suddenly the race is on to stop a vicious attacker, before the McCabe family is torn apart beyond repair.

  Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Thriller Published by: Witness Impulse Publication Date: Aug. 21, 2018 Number of Pages: 432 ISBN: 9780062876676 Series: McCabe and Savage Thrillers #6 Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

  Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The worst thing about the rage was its randomness. Tyler Bradshaw never knew what might trigger one. A tone of voice. A look. An innocent or perhaps a not so innocent remark. Tonight he could feel it starting to build just seconds after he’d begun walking down the center aisle of the small McArthur/Weinstein Community Theater on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Having attended all eleven previous performances in this limited-run production of Othello, Tyler knew exactly where he wanted to sit for tonight’s finale. The same seat he’d occupied for every performance so far. The same seat he was going to sit in tonight no matter what. A12. On the aisle. Front row. Right-hand side. By far the best seat in the house in terms of offering him the most intimate view of the death of Zoe McCabe, the young actress cast in the role of Desdemona.

This would be Tyler’s last chance to watch the woman he wanted so desperately, the woman who’d been haunting his dreams for months, meet death at the hands of Randall Carter, the well known black actor who was playing Othello the Moor. And if all went according to plan, this closing night would become opening night for a much more intimate relationship.

But Tyler had taken only a few steps down the aisle when he was stopped short by the sight of some son of a bitch sitting in his seat. The theater was practically empty, and some asshole had actually had the nerve to plant his butt in the seat Tyler claimed as his own. He stood for a few seconds watching the guy as the anger grew. Some skinny twerp with a shaved head and black-framed hipster glasses leaning over and talking to the woman next to him as if unaware of his transgression. Tyler barely managed to suppress an urge to run down the nearly empty aisle to the first row, pull the guy up by his ears and kick the shit out of him right then and there.

Take it easy, Tyler told himself. Don’t start a fight. Don’t cause a scene. Don’t get your ass thrown out of here. Do that and you’ll miss Zoe’s final death scene, and you really don’t want to do that. Still, when something he so desperately wanted was denied him, when something he considered rightfully his was withheld or taken away, Tyler found it nearly impossible to suppress the anger filling his brain. But he knew he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he managed to walk at a measured pace the rest of the way down the aisle. He stopped and stood directly in front of the guy in A12. He looked down. “Sorry, buddy,” he said in a voice filled with no more than a hint of threat, “you and your girlfriend are gonna have to move. This seat’s taken.”

“I beg your pardon,” the guy said in what Tyler thought was a condescending tone. Tyler hated it when people condescended to him. New York was full of them. It was one of the reasons he really didn’t like spending time in the city even though he’d been born here. Even though he still kept an apartment here. Even though he’d worked three years at his uncle’s fancy Wall Street law firm. That job had gone down the crapper the day Tyler totally lost it when one of the other associates had condescended to him. Told Tyler in front of like ten other people that the only reason the firm had hired Tyler was because his uncle happened to be managing partner. Tyler reacted by slugging the guy right then and there in front of six other lawyers. Knocked the bastard flat on his ass. Then followed up with a kick to the gut. A deliciously satisfying kick even though it marked the end of his legal career. The only reason Tyler hadn’t been charged with assault was that his uncle convinced the other guy his own career would go much better if he simply forgot about the whole thing. Tyler still got pissed off when he thought about that asshole.

“You heard me,” Tyler said to the guy who’d taken his seat, making sure he kept his voice quiet and controlled. “You’re sitting in my seat. This has been my seat for the last two weeks. The entire run. And it will continue to be my seat for tonight. That means it’s time for you to tell me how sorry you are and get up and move.”

Condescension changed to huffiness. “I don’t know who you think you are but there’s no reserved seating in this theater. We took these seats first. That means they’re ours. There’s plenty of empty seats all over the place. Just take one of those and leave us the hell alone.”

“This is my seat and you are going to have to move.”

For exactly twenty-three seconds the guy said nothing. Tyler knew it was twenty-three without having to consult his watch. It was this brain thing he’d had ever since the so-called accident. He always knew precisely to the second what time it was and precisely how much time was passing. Just as he knew how many steps it would take to get from one place to another without having to think about it. It hadn’t always been that way. Just since his old man had tossed him headfirst into the shallow end of the swimming pool at their country place when he was fourteen and he’d bashed his head against the concrete. That’s when the rage problems started as well.

For the entire time, the guy just sat where he was and looked up at Tyler. Maybe he was debating whether to challenge someone who, at six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds, was way the hell bigger than he was.

Tyler was getting closer to hoisting the guy out of the seat and tossing his skinny little ass out into the aisle. Which would have ruined everything. Thankfully, one second before he would have done just that, the guy’s wife or girlfriend or whatever she was, broke the impasse.

“Come on, Richard,” she said. “Let’s move. I don’t like being this close to the stage anyway.”

“I oughtta call the police,” said Richard.

“Call whoever the fuck you want, Richard. Just get your ass out of my seat.”

“Richard. Please,” said the woman. “This guy’s unhinged.”

“Yeah, Richard, I’m unhinged,” said Tyler, putting as much menace in his voice as he could.

“And if you want to know the truth, I’m getting more fucking unhinged by the second.”

The woman rose, took Richard’s hand and pulled. “Please,” she said.

The guy finally stood. No doubt relieved not to have to confront someone as big and angry-looking as Tyler. But, Tyler figured, also ashamed that he lacked the cojones to stand up to the bully who’d shamed him in front of his girlfriend. A lot of people responded to Tyler that way. He usually enjoyed it when they did. He especially liked it when people backed down and did exactly what he told them to. Which was most of the time. Most people were too chicken-shit to stand up for themselves.

Tonight was no different. The guy named Richard picked up a canvas messenger bag from the floor and let the woman lead him across to the other side of the small auditorium, where they found seats a couple of rows back. Tyler watched them go. Neither looked back at him. Neither noticed the small, satisfied smile he threw at them. Confrontations that ended like this and the adrenaline rush that came with them always made him feel better.

Before sitting down, Tyler unzipped his backpack, pulled a pair of latex gloves from the package he’d put in there, and put them on. Then he took out a packet of antibacterial wet wipes and used three of them to wipe down the seat, the backrest and the arms before easing his large frame down into seat A12. His seat. That done, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply in and out. Pictured the rage that had come from the confrontation slowly dripping out of him, drop by drop, like water from a leaky faucet. That’s what Dr. Steinman, the therapist he started seeing a year after the swimming pool incident, had taught him to do when he felt this way. He watched the drops falling . . . exactly one drop per second . . . and knew without counting that one hundred and forty-four drops had fallen before he’d totally emptied himself of the anger and felt calm enough to open his eyes.

Tyler had another twenty-one minutes and twelve seconds to wait before scheduled curtain time. Maybe even more minutes and seconds before the curtain actually went up, because they never seemed to get the timing right. To pass the time he popped a couple of sticks of Juicy Fruit gum in his mouth and started chewing. Then he pulled a week-old copy of the New York Daily News from his backpack and unfolded it. He stared for what had to be the hundredth time at the banner headline, the big black letters seeming to leap out at him from the front page. StarStruck Strangler Strikes Again. He wondered if that was just one headline or if that was the nickname they were going to give the killer. He wondered if the name would stick. Tyler thought about it. Star-Struck Strangler wasn’t nearly as interesting as, say, Son of Sam. Though it was, he supposed, equally alliterative. Both had multiple S’s, which had always been one of Tyler’s favorite letters. He repeated the headline to himself. Star-Struck Strangler Strikes Again. Four ST words in a row. Tyler preferred S words when they were followed by L’s. Words like slasher. Slimy. Sleazy. Slippery. Slinky. Slick. Slutty. Yes, SL words were much better than ST words. His favorite SL word, slithy, wasn’t a real word at all. Just something made up by Lewis Carroll. ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. Wonderful creepy-crawly sounds.

Beneath the headline that dominated the front page was a subhead set in slightly smaller black type. It read, Missing Ballerina Found Murdered on Beach. No alliteration there unless you counted the M’s in Missing and Murdered and the B’s in Ballerina and Beach, and Tyler didn’t think that really counted. Tucked next to the headline and subhead was a color photo of an attractive young blonde, her hair pulled back in a bun, smiling at the camera. A happy smile, he thought, for a woman who’d turned up dead over a week ago. Tyler flipped open the tabloid and read full the story once again:

Friday, October 2, 2015. The body of 21-year-old Sarah Jacobs, a dancer with the New York City Ballet who had been reported missing two weeks earlier on September 15, was discovered late last night lying in a shallow, sandy grave on a stretch of beach in Sherwood Island State Park., The beach is located on the Long Island Sound in the affluent suburb of Westport, Connecticut.

Investigators say Ms. Jacobs’s body was discovered at approximately six a.m. by Westport resident Edward Todd. Todd told police he was walking his dog on the beach as he does every morning, when the dog raced ahead and started sniffing at something in the sand. When Mr. Todd was close enough to see it was the remains of a human body, he immediately dialed 911 on his mobile phone and informed Westport police, who arrived moments later. After identifying the body, Westport detectives notified the NYPD, which had been searching for Ms. Jacobs since her disappearance.

The victim, Sarah Jacobs, was a well-regarded dancer who was considered a rising star with the New York City Ballet. According to police sources, the victim’s body, when found, was wearing a black leotard and black ballet slippers, an outfit identical to the one she wore on stage during her last performance at Lincoln Center on September 12, three days prior to her disappearance. Her hair was also arranged identically to the way it had been during the performance.

Ms. Jacobs was the daughter of prominent Broadway producer Frederick Jacobs and Chelsea art dealer Marjorie Hanscomb Jacobs. Both parents refused to comment on the discovery of their daughter’s body. André Komar, the company’s ballet master, told reporters, “Sarah was an exceptionally gifted young dancer with a bright future ahead of her. All of us who knew and worked with her here at the New York City Ballet are grieving along with her parents. This is a real tragedy and we will all miss her enormously.”

Assistant New York City Medical Examiner Dr. Peter Weisman told reporters the apparent cause of death was strangulation. He also said the body was badly bruised and there were clear signs that Ms. Jacobs had been sexually assaulted prior to death. Her body is scheduled to be autopsied by the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner to determine, among other things, time of death and if strangulation was indeed the cause.

The victim has been the subject of an intense New York Police Department manhunt ever since her disappearance. She was last seen leaving a private party at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan on the evening of September 15th. Her father told reporters she left the party early after complaining of feeling “queasy” and said that she was going to take a cab home to her Greenwich Village apartment.

Ms. Jacobs is the third young member of New York’s performing arts community to have disappeared from Manhattan since the beginning of the year. The body of an earlier victim, Ronda Wingfield, 28, an actress who appeared frequently in musical productions in Manhattan and elsewhere, was discovered last May 19th in a wooded section of Manhattan’s Highbridge Park.

A third performer, actress Marzena Wolski, who also lived in Manhattan and who, for the last two years, had a starring role in the TV crime drama Malicious, was reported missing September 28th. Police have reportedly found no clues as to Ms. Wolski’s whereabouts.

When asked if police believed the three kidnappings and two confirmed deaths were the work of a serial killer, the NYPD’s chief of detectives, Charles Pryor, told reporters, “While we can’t be absolutely sure at this point in the investigation, given the obvious similarities in the choice of victims, all of whom performed on television or on stage, as well as similarities in the cause and manner of death of the two victims found so far, we are fairly certain that that is the case.” Pryor added, “There are currently no suspects but we are hopeful that the discovery of Ms. Jacobs’s remains will provide some relevant leads.”

Tyler reread the article a couple of times even though he already knew it pretty much by heart, as he did just about everything else that had been published about the kidnappings and murders. He then turned back and examined the front-page photo of Sarah Jacobs. With her long, narrow face, Sarah wasn’t really all that pretty. At least not compared to Zoe McCabe. For Tyler Bradshaw, there was no one who could compare to Zoe.

Tyler finally returned the paper to his backpack, relaxed in his seat and waited patiently until the curtain rose, and Roderigo and Iago entered a bare-bones version of a sixteenth-century Venetian street. Tyler watched the beginning of the play with minimal interest. It wasn’t Iago or Roderigo he’d come for. Tyler’s only reason to sit through this part of the play over and over again was to make sure he got the right seat to feel the closeness of the woman he so desperately wanted. His gaze never strayed from her from the moment she first came on stage in Act I, Scene III, until she was finally done to death in Act V, Scene II, bloodlessly smothered by the actor who played the title role. When the play got to that point, Tyler whispered Desdemona’s last words to himself, doing his best to mimic the way Zoe spoke them.

That death’s unnatural that kills for loving.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?

Tyler sometimes practiced gnawing his nether lip when Zoe said the lines. She was right. It didn’t seem natural. Still, the most famous writer who ever lived had written it that way.

Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope They do not point on me. . . . A guiltless death I die. Oh yes, my love, he whispered to himself, a guiltless death you die. But not too soon I hope. For I’m quite sure I want you with me for a much longer time than the Star-Struck Strangler had allowed either of the others.

And then, when it came time, he mouthed the famous lines spoken by the Moor.

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely, but too well . . .

Tyler had fixated on these words since he’d watched the first performance two weeks ago, for he believed they precisely defined who he was. They were his lines because he believed that he too was one who loved not wisely but too well.

When the play finally ended and the curtain fell two hours, twenty-seven minutes and thirty seconds later, it was the third longest of the twelve performances he had attended. It irritated Tyler that the actors couldn’t do a better job of getting the timing right. Yes, in one performance, the actor playing Iago had even screwed up one of his lines and Othello had to ad-lib filler dialogue until Iago got his brain back on track. But that was the only time they had an excuse.

He let the irritation go when Zoe and the rest of the cast stepped in front of the curtain to take their bows. He stood with the audience and applauded as loudly as, if not more so than, anyone else in the theater. Took the overchewed ball of gum from his mouth and whistled loudly.

Of course, Tyler’s applause was only for Zoe. His gaze fixed only on her. Her dark and penetrating eyes. Her glorious smile. The slender perfection of her figure. At last, when the curtain calls were finally finished and the actors gone from the stage, Tyler slung his pack around one shoulder and walked out, once again practically the last to leave the theater. For the first time, his mind was finally and truly made up. He could wait no longer. He pulled a crushable Aussie outback hat from his backpack and put it on. Kind of goofy-looking, but what with all the damned surveillance cameras on the streets these days, the wide brim did a good job of hiding his face. And on a cold, drizzly night like this, it wouldn’t even attract much attention. Tyler left the theater by a side exit, crossed the street and stood in the shadows of a darkened computer repair shop, waiting for Zoe to emerge from the stage door dressed in her own street clothes.

When she finally walked out, she wasn’t alone. She was with Randall Carter, the big black dude who played Othello. They stood together on the sidewalk talking. Tyler felt rage once again building as they talked. Especially when Carter leaned down and kissed Zoe on the lips. Nothing passionate. Nothing sexy. But still. The woman Tyler considered his own kissing some hotshot Hollywood bastard? A black hotshot Hollywood bastard no less, which made it even harder to take. Tyler could barely keep his rage from roaring back, barely restrain himself from rushing across the street and kicking the shit out of Carter. While he stood there seething, a black Lincoln SUV pulled up. Randall Carter got in. Zoe waved. The car drove off. Zoe pulled up the hood on her rain jacket and started walking by herself along the street. Tyler watched and waited until she was a little ahead before following.

***

Excerpt from A Fatal Obsession by James Hayman. Copyright © 2018 by James Hayman. Reproduced with permission from Witness Impulse. All rights reserved.

  Author Bio:

JAMES HAYMAN, formerly creative director at one of New York’s largest advertising agencies, is the author of the acclaimed McCabe and Savage Thriller series: The Cutting, The Chill of Night, Darkness First, The Girl in the Glass, The Girl on The Bridge, and A Fatal Obsession.

Catch Up With James Hayman On: jameshaymanthrillers.com, Goodreads, Twitter, & Facebook!

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