Job confirmed.
Target acquired.
Now, it was time to track down this guy and take him out.
Interview
Part 4
“Miss Fowler, you want me to believe that you didn’t know anything about Mr. Ramos and what he did?”
“No. I figured he had a bunch of businesses that didn’t have a problem bringing in money.”
“I find that hard to believe. The FBI has been after him for nearly a year now and you’re telling me that you never saw anything to indicate he wasn’t what he seemed?”
-9-
Jessica
The problem with dating a killer was… I was dating a fucking killer!
I mean, hello!
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
That was the question that kept popping in my mind over and over again with red flashing lights and warning sirens going off behind it.
Months I’d been with Ray and I didn’t have a clue. Not even a hint. And I wasn’t even blonde enough to let my brain convince me that he’d done it just once. The way he talked as if he’d merely gotten rid of an annoying bug was proof that it meant nothing to him. That he’d done it before and he’d do it again in the blink of an eye.
It was okay.
Really.
I’d had to deal with shit as fucked up as this before and I lived through it. This would be no different.
By the next day, there hadn’t been anything said about the go-bag that I’d gotten together. That made me think that there weren’t any cameras. Or there weren’t any in the bedroom at least.
With that in mind, I began to search the bedroom for any clue or hardcore proof that I could take with me. There had to be something. Maybe I was just looking for a way to feed my curiosity. I had this need to know what exactly it was that he was into. Which seemed to be what I was into now.
Fucking great.
If anything, I could go to the cops or maybe the FBI. It wasn’t something I was super excited about, especially given my rapport with law enforcement, but if they could offer me protection and maybe even a new name, I was all in.
Carefully and methodically, I went through all his drawers, pulling out one row of socks at a time before putting them back. Then his underwear. I ran my fingers along the inside edges in hopes of finding a false bottom, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be that simple. I even got on my hands and knees and twisted until I could see the underpart of each drawer.
Nothing.
Not one fucking thing.
I moved on to his shoes. It was a weird thing to look through but you just never knew what strange place someone might hide things. I once knew a man that taped his most valuable things to the underside part of the lid for a toilet tank. I mean, he put them in like three plastic sealed bags, but still. I wouldn’t have thought to check there, that was for sure. I always wondered if he thought of those seven little trinkets every time he took a piss.
Just for good measure, I ran into the bathroom and checked the under part of the toilet tank lid.
Of course there wasn’t anything there. No, I had to think like Ray would. Only I didn’t know how therealRaywould think. Because I didn’t fucking know the real Ray!
I tiptoed back over to the closet. I went crazy checking pockets on jackets and pants, coming up empty every time. Not even a candy wrapper or a receipt. Was that the kind of thing the dry cleaners took care of? I had no clue but I could see it with the kind of money that Ray had. He probably paid extra for something like that. Or was he one of those people that didn’t leave anything behind? Was he so paranoid that he left nothing to be found? I should have known these things, I really should have. I tried to think about the nights we went to dinner. I was maybe sidetracked by all the nice places he’d taken me. I did remember watching him signing for the bill a few times, but he never did pick up his copy.
Hmmm.
