The Necrophiles Have Your Wife

Pt. VI: What Does a Gal Wear to a Snuff Party?

Janet Turner was working off-line on an article slated for the next morning's edition, when the phone rang. She was a petite, sexy-looking woman, with short, curly brown hair, and blue eyes.

"Yep?" She hooked the phone between her ear and shoulder and kept on typing.

"There go to be a Circle tomorrow night, Senora," a voice said, with a Mexican accent.

Janet stopped typing suddenly. Her heart went pitter pat. Excitement surged within her. She took the phone in her hand.

It was Miguel, her latest contact. For a year she'd been working on a story about snuff parties, but so far she'd turned up nothing. This could be her big break. The story of the decade--if she could actually attend one.

"Can you get me in, Miguel?" she asked, almost on the verge of begging.

"Maybe...si," he considered, "but it is risky. "If they think you not right, you dead meat."

"I know. I know," she said, "but it's now or never. You've got to arrange it, Miguel. It's important."

She heard him sigh. "OK, I try it, Senora, but price be forty thousand dollares."

"Arrange it, Miguel. I can get the money."

* * *

"It's crazy, Janet, goddamned crazy," Jake Turner, her husband, cried out. "You could get killed messing with people like that."

"Well, there's some risk," she admitted, placing a hand on her hip, "but that's my job."

"No it isn't. You're job is to be a reporter, not go out messing around in weird cults or whatever the hell they are."

"But that is my job: to uncover the news, to let people know what's going on in this crazy world of ours. Somebody's got to do it. And right now it seems I'm elected."

Jake groaned and glanced over at Janet's father, Matt Larson, former FBI agent, now semi-retired. "Can't you talk some sense into her, Matt?"

Matt grinned. "'fraid not. Takes after her mother. Stubborn as a mule."

"You're both crazy," Jake said. "Don't either of you realize the risk envolved? This isn't some fucking pop fiction novel we're talking about; this is real life. There won't be any calvary-to-the-rescue ending if something goes wrong."

Matt's face took on a peevish look. "We know that Jake, but thanks to Janet's hard work and determination, we, at the Bureau, finally have a chance to crack an obscenity that has spread its tentacles throughout the nation. It has got to be stopped. And right now Janet is our only hope. There's some element of danger; I won't try to con you on that, but we'll have her under continuous surveillance. At the very first hint of trouble we'll move in."

Jake collapsed on the sofa, placing his head in his hands. "And what if you don't move in fast enough?" he asked, raising his head to stare at Matt.

"I know she's your wife, Jake, and believe me, I understand your concern, but she's, also, my daughter, and if I doubted for an instant that we would be able to protect her, I'd be the first to talk her out of it."

"Well," Janet said, folding her arms across her breasts, "if you two macho guys have finally decided what the little woman is going to do, will you tell me where we can get forty thousand smackers?" She looked at her father.

"No problem. The Bureau will come up with it, and gladly, to get these creeps."

"Good. It's all settled, then. We just have to wait for Miguel to call and hope he is able to arrange it." She sat down next to Jake. "Darling, I love you," she said, kissing him on the cheek."

"I know," he patted her knee, then squeezed it.

She smiled. "And now that we have got it all settled, can anybody tell me what a gal wears to a snuff party?"

"That's not funny," both men chimed.

To Be Continued...