The Canefield Killer - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 2

James Feld couldn't sleep.

He sat in front of the TV, a beer warming in his hand, watching the late-night infomercials with no real interest. He had to be at work in three hours but was wound too tightly to sleep even though he was exhausted. The house felt empty. There hadn't been anyone else here for days and Feld had grown anxious and jumpy in his solitude.

Headlights washed over the house. From inside Feld saw them as a glow behind the curtains, but he knew what they were. He slid one hand down the space beside the cushion on his lazy chair and gripped the handle of his gun.

The car lights went off and two voices made their way to the door. Feld pulled his hand out of the chair without the gun and picked up the remote control after adjusting his boxers. Then he took a long pull on his warm beer and watched the door.

The boy came in first.

Feld hadn't seen him in almost three days. The last time he was in the house they had fought. Feld was angry that the boy hadn't brought any friends by in nearly a month. The boy had turned the argument around on Feld, saying he should be enough, and that Feld was just using him before storming out the door. He had actually started to worry that the boy might not come back. He had begun to like him, and while he was ultimately replaceable, he was also dangerous if he decided that Feld was 'uncool'.

The boy paused in the doorway and stared at Feld in the recliner. His eyes were bloodshot, and had dark patches under them, but Feld could see the edge in his brown eyes. His frame was frail, and his hair was unwashed and hung down his forehead, touching his eyes. Feld preferred the boy's hair short, but recently he had been refusing to cut it.

The boy raised one hand in a half hearted wave and pushed through the door. A girl that couldn't have been more than fifteen trailed behind him. She had dirty blonde hair that draped down her back and over her shoulders, hiding her face. As she followed the boy into the house she mumbled a greeting so soft that Feld couldn't hear the words.

She hugged the far wall as she walked through the room, glancing over at Feld every couple of steps. He felt a small swell of pride that he could draw her attention like that.

Still got it, he thought as he watched her.

She had on a long flannel shirt that had several rips in it and hung almost to her knees. The shirt was baggy, but Feld watched her closely as she walked and thought he could make out the shape of her breasts, small and perky to be sure.

He watched her disappear around the corner. When he heard them in the bedroom he got up and walked into the kitchen, leaving the TV on. The warm beer went down the sink after one last swallow.

Feld looked down at himself as he stood in front of the sink. He was erect, the fabric of his boxers tenting outwards with his excitement. He gently rubbed himself then walked over to the free standing counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and opened a drawer.

In the hallway he passed the boy coming out and paused to kiss him on the top of his head. Sometimes he would join Feld in the bedroom, but most often he just got stoned and sat in the recliner staring at the TV. Sometimes, if the girl got loud the boy would leave for a while, but he always came back. Feld knew that now; the boy would always come back.

The boy started to speak, but Jimmy held one finger up to his lips. He patted the boy on his ass and stepped past him. Jimmy Feld hefted the electric razor in his hand as he walked into the bedroom. The first thing to go would have to be her hair, he didn't like it.

It made her look too feminine.

***

Officers Dale Monroe and Albert Bennett sat at an intersection debating where to go for their break. Dale had packed a lunch and forgotten it at the precinct; he wanted to go back and get his tuna sandwich and SoBe, but Bennett was insisting they go to an all night diner on the other side of town.