Custos: Stalker by Custos- Stalker (azw3)

Author:Custos- Stalker (azw3)
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Jake Aaron
Published: 2015-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

*****

Custos drove unconscious Barb back to her apartment complex in his Camry. He used her key to get them into her apartment. He tucked her into bed and rolled her on her side so she would not aspirate potential vomitus. He positioned pillows and rolled blankets around her to keep her in place.

He reminded himself to stay on mission. He donned rubber gloves and went through drawers and papers. He checked everywhere, including drawers, the refrigerator and medicine cabinet. So far, he knew Barb was a neat person, a dedicated athlete, a yoga student, and ate a remarkably healthy diet for a busy professional. A notebook in her purse gave him a sense that he had done yeoman’s work in eluding the investigators so far. That was confirmed when he found her personal diary with a series of recent days punctuated with curses next to the word “Custos.” He finished by eliminating any indication he had been there.

As he started up the Camry, he thought, This will not stand! He headed back to the party. He did not yet have a plan because he had not seen the battlefield.

The “door guards,” who never really joined the party inside, were so far gone that they did not even question his return. He acted relaxed and grabbed another beer. Pinkie Finger was still there. In microseconds, Custos rehearsed his fallback move. If Pinkie Finger offered too much resistance, Custos would box his ears, shoot a four-knuckled blow to the trachea, and shout “fire” — easy-peasy.

As Custos carefully observed Pinkie Finger from across the room, he noticed the stocky guy had tried his trick on another young female, from the looks of things. Odds were that his victim would soon be on her way to the Middle East as a victim in the white slave trade. While the roofier leaned in to take advantage of his next compliant victim, Custos medicated the guy’s drink. He did so just when everyone turned to watch a couple dancing on the $4000 dining room table.

In minutes, Custos was able to steer Pinkie Finger out of the party with remarkable ease, repeating loudly, “Come on, Bob, we’ve got to get you home. Lady with a baby! Make way!” Using the key fob panic button, he located the man’s red Nissan Altima. The guy’s wallet indicated he was a loan shark with a wife and two kids. He positioned the semi-conscious guy in the driver’s seat of the Altima. He started the car and left it in park. He tweaked the driver’s right leg position to race the engine. Now reaching through the driver’s open window, he shifted the gear handle into drive.

The Altima leapt out of the parking lot, raced through the metal fence, and dove into the shallow end of the apartment complex’s heated pool. Air bags deployed. Steam rolled from the car’s hood. And the Altima’s horn blared like a train horn half-muffled by water. Apartment lights came on. Residents came out to see what was going on.

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