Missing, Adam Nicholls [book recommendations website txt] 📗
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Johnny Walker was driving toward his death. He just didn’t know it yet.
Somewhere between Haynes Avenue and Briar’s, on only the fifth or sixth drive of his first car, he’d decided tonight would be the night to get what he wanted. He’d been thinking about it for months—thinking how easy it would be. How anonymously sexy.
As he rounded the corner, streetlamps and eccentric neon signs lit up the row of buildings. The area was full of life, much more than he’d expected. This is good, he thought. I’m just one of many.
His hands shook as he turned the wheel, swinging the car to the side of the street. How would he do this? Johnny figured it would be like in the movies—pull over, lean on your horn, and wait for them to come running.
They all look so… so dirty.
Another walked past, and he eyed her up and down. This one had a certain shimmy to her ass, a taunting tease in that little wiggle. But on the other hand, she had greasy hair and her stockings were torn (deliberately or not). Johnny assumed he wouldn’t be the woman’s first customer of the night and passed on the idea entirely.
Until he saw her.
What a remarkable sight she was. Long, wavy red hair that framed a rosy complexion. Her long legs were smooth, her lips red and full. She didn’t look like one of them, so much so he wondered if she even was one of them. After all, he was just twenty-one and had never been in this situation before. Hell, he’d never even been kissed.
After taking a moment to ignite his confidence, he stepped from his car and walked past the group of black men. Their eyes followed him—he could feel it. Or was he being paranoid? Either way, he had to keep walking.
The woman was smoking now, pulling long drags off the cigarette and exhaling a purple-tinged mist of swirling erotic magic. For a fleeting moment, she glanced at him, then looked away while flicking her hair in his direction.
Johnny grew increasingly nervous. The busy street, loud gossip, and rap music blaring from a nearby car wrought havoc on his anxiety. This is a bad idea, he told himself and turned to walk away.
But then…
“Where’re you going, sweetie?”
Johnny stopped in his tracks, took a deep breath, and turned. The woman was looking at him, her piercing green eyes glowing under the neon lights. “Are you…” He almost dared to ask, but fear of being wrong stifled the question.
She giggled like a playful teen. “Yes, sugar. Are you looking for a gig?”
“S-Sure.”
With the assured theatrical sexiness of Marilyn Monroe, she flicked her cigarette into the road and sashayed toward him, her cleavage on show, all perky and encouraging. “Then let’s go.”
Following a nervy moment of hesitation, Johnny clicked the key button and unlocked the car. Ever the gentleman, he held the door and admired her as she eased her perfect figure into the seat, smiling lustily at him as she did so.
Johnny shut her door and walked around to his. “Wow,” he mumbled under his breath, trying not to laugh out loud at the luck he’d stumbled into.
If only he knew he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.
San Francisco looked beautiful at night, but it was also scary. Especially for Johnny, who despised driving near the cable cars, hating how those things rattled his bones. He was already shaking enough.
“First time, sweetie?’ The woman pulled down the vanity mirror and applied some fresh lipstick. It smelled delicious, like cherries.
“No,” he lied.
She flicked up the mirror and sat back, assessing him. “So then, where’re we going? Your house? Or would you like to do this somewhere more exciting?”
Johnny hadn’t thought that far ahead. They sure as hell couldn’t go to his parents’ house—they would not be thrilled about their only son banging a prostitute in their own home. “Somewhere quiet. Any ideas?”
“Sure.”
Johnny drove in silence as the woman—still delightfully mysterious—directed him to a place she would only describe as “a good spot.” This ambiguity conjured images of a whole range of places, further rousing his curiosity.
“Pull up here,” she said, shuffling in her seat.
He stopped the car under a large tree at the back of a desolate parking lot, which overlooked some kind of park. It was an eerie place, dimly lit by a weak streetlamp back at the entrance.
Johnny shut off the engine and sat now in total silence. Looking around, he realized he knew the place, a popular spot for people looking for anything—sex, drugs, and whatever else might go down. He’d even considered coming here himself once or twice.
“So, what’ll it be?’ she asked, teasing her tongue across her top lip. “My hand? My mouth? All of me?”
Johnny felt his chest constrict. “I don’t know.” A shrill, anxious chuckle escaped. Truth was, he was already aroused and knew exactly what he wanted, but he was too shy to say it. Not only that, but he couldn’t keep his hands still. “What do you suggest?”
“That’s cute.” The woman giggled behind her palm and glanced over her shoulder. “It’s pretty quiet up here. Does anyone know what you’re doing tonight?”
Is she trying to make me more comfortable with conversation? “No. Well, my friend Callum knows I was thinking about doing this. Guess I just thought I’d never actually go through with it.”
Her hand drifted over and rested on his leg. She curved her fingers and rubbed gently with her fingertips. “Get out of the car. Let’s make this fun.” Before he could answer, she’d stepped out of the car and walked around to sit on the hood.
Johnny unclipped his seat belt and went to join her, one hand rummaging through his pocket in frantic search of a condom. “Sorry.”
“Come here.” The woman crooked her finger, beckoning him.
Hesitant, scared, and rising swiftly in his pants, Johnny approached her, blocking out a headlight beam. He moved to take her in his arms but was stopped short by her hand against his chest.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” she said, turning and pinning him against the hood. She lowered herself to her knees, staring up at him with those seductive eyes.
One hand was hooked onto his belt, as if she was teasing, making him wait—making him harder.
Johnny closed his eyes and tried to relax, feeling one hand on his stomach, another slowly unzipping his fly.
And then he felt nothing.
“Do me a favor,” she said, as if she had a sudden change of heart.
Johnny’s eyes shot open, and his stomach clenched when he saw the knife in her hand. His pulse raced as a flurry of questions flooded his mind. “Is this some kind of joke?” He looked around, wondering if one of the boys from his hockey club would leap out of the trees and yell Gotcha!
“Just shut up,” she barked, serious now, a different person to the one who’d aroused him. “You’re going to keep quiet, hold still, and help me send a message.”
Just as Johnny wondered exactly what kind of a message, the knife flashed up and pierced his jugular. His jaw dropped in surprise, mouth gasping.
Johnny had always thought about death and dying. But he had never thought it would happen to him.
“Quiet now,” she whispered.
It was the last thing he heard before he hit the ground.
Mason Black—San Francisco’s most notable detective turned private investigator—reclined with his feet perched on the coffee table and his teenage daughter lying in his arms. They were watching some movie about a cappella singers. Amy’s favorite, not his.
“How much longer is this?” he asked, glancing absently at his watch.
Amy tilted her head back to look up at him. “Don’t you like it?”
“I don’t mind it,” he said. It was mostly true. The movie sucked, but any time he could spend with his daughter was special. He got to see her so rarely now, since her mother had won the custody battle. Most people would have felt bitter resentment, but
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