Below is Chapter 6 from the sci-fi, triller book Fear is in the Air by Eva Newermann
Sunny: Killer and Rapist
Thank heaven Sunny was no Einstein. He had left his DNA and prints all over the house. It took the police only a short time before he was arrested. His rap sheet was as long as from here to the Moon. It was mostly car thefts and misdemeanors.
Born in Bermuda, he came to the U.S. as a teen. He joined one of the local criminal gangs. They went by the cute name “Piss on You,” which they all had tattooed in red from the navel down.
He told the police he had kicked our dog out of the house. Later we learned Killer had been hit by a car and killed.
After he was arrested everything went wrong. Sunny got a brilliant young lawyer.
He used all the tricks in the book to get his client off easy. It must have been a mock court. To make a long story short, after two years in and out of court, Sunny was sentenced to only 12 years in prison. When he had served his sentence he was deported to Bermuda.
I kept close tabs on him all this time.
He was not getting away that easy.
James and I are now living with Lillian and Dexter, on Galt Ocean Drive, Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
We had been in therapy for years. My brother and I did as well as could be expected after the traumatic event. We had made a pact: if we ever were in any danger and couldn’t speak freely, we would use the names Evita and Jimmy for ourselves. That would raise a “red flag,” alerting that something was very, very wrong.
Lillian was a wonderful person. She reminded me so much of my mom. The only sad thing, she had gatophobia, a fear of cats, so I had to find a new home for Pussy Galore.
I was still mad and unhappy. Sunny had to get what he deserved.
Every night I would lie in my bed fantasizing how to kill him.
I’ve had many years to plan Sunny’s death. Still, I didn’t know how I’d do it. I only knew he should suffer, and that before his last breath he should know who I am.
I had been keeping track of him in Bermuda. He was now a drug dealer living in a shack in the capital city Hamilton. When I started working for Star Gaze Airline we also had layovers in Hamilton.
Flying to Bermuda four times already, I had been very busy. Every time I was in Hamilton, I would put on my dark wig and some shabby clothes, then I would drive to the area where Sunny was working.
I had befriended a prostitute named Venus. She was heavily into drugs and was one of Sunny’s best customers.
I pretended I was a user, too, so Venus would get me drugs. That way I avoided meeting Sunny face to face.
Last time I saw Venus she told me Sunny was looking for a courier for the mainland. I told her I might be interested because I was deeply in debt and was getting desperate. I told her my lie with tears in my eyes.
“Give me Sunny’s phone number and tell him I will call him. I’m going back to Miami tomorrow but maybe next time I can talk to him.”
Venus promised to deliver the message.
I went back to the car and drove around for an hour. I was looking for an abandoned house or some remote place where I could lure Sunny to meet me later.
Finally I found a shack not far from his house.
It was an abandoned house close to the beach, nobody was living next to it. Outside there was a sign in red and white saying, ‘Beer and Liquor,’ so it probably had been a shop.
Farther down on Front Street, there was a Rent-a-Boat company. It should be easy enough for me to explain to Sunny where to meet.
I also have to figure out how I am going to kill him. He was a hefty guy. How would I immobilize him? Of course, getting caught was not an option, so I had to have a good plan.
If it was up to me I would like to knock his block off with a sledgehammer!
Cut his dick off and feed it to the fishes!
I could make him an invalid and bedridden for life.
Gouge his eyes out.
Drive over him with a car, the way my dog, Killer, died.
I could slit his throat, like he did with my parents.
The list goes on and on. Nothing is good enough for that son of a bitch (pardon my French).
After returning my rental, I was very exhausted.
There was a bar close to the hotel, and a drink was just what this doctor ordered.
“Give me the craziest, weirdest drink you’ve got,” I say to the bartender, and jump onto one of the high chairs.
“Oh, mon, you be very difficult customer,” he says in his unique Bermudian accent.
He disappears through the back door and I can hear some yelling and screaming. Finally he returns with a big grin on his face. In a small glass are two cockroaches crawling. He takes a whiskey bottle and water bottle and pours both simultaneously into the glass.
“Now see, that is an unusual drink for you, blond flicka,” he says loudly.
The other guy in the back, a young boy, is staring big-eyed at us.
I pick up the glass, the bartender and the boy start yelling: “No! No! No!”
“Yes, Yes, Yes!” I’m laughing, and my lower lip just touches the rim of the glass. I put the glass down.
“OK, OK, ten points to you. Just give me a Cuba Libre, easy on the Coke!” I put my elbows on the bar disk, cupping my head in my hands.
The bartender takes the cockroaches glass and gives it to the boy. He disappears fast.
I feel pretty good when I leave the bar with the amusing name, Robin Hood. Is the bartender giving free drinks to the poor?
I’m dreaming that the phone is ringing and I’m hitting it over Sunny’s head to make it stop.
Suddenly I’m awake, the phone is ringing.
“Yes, and what time is it?”
“Sorry to wake you this early, Ewa, it’s seven.” I hear the familiar voice of the captain.
“We have a problem. There is a storm coming in fast. It’s already a tropical storm named Erin and it will be a hurricane soon. So it looks like we’ll not be able to go back to Miami today. I will keep you posted, but if you don’t hear anything from me by noon, we’re stuck here.”
I look out the window. The palm trees are swaying and I can see clouds building up on the horizon.
On TV the weather channel is showing the predicted path of the hurricane, and it’s coming straight at us. They are telling us it will make a direct hit in two or three days.
The hurricanes are rated from one to five, five being the strongest. Erin could become a three or four, something very devastating for Bermuda. Most of the houses are not built to withstand strong winds. The hotel, on the other hand, is built solid and should be safe enough.
Outside there is debris starting to fly all over the place.
The anchor on TV has been telling everybody to stock up on food and water for days now. The stores are already getting low on bottled water.
I go back to bed and lie staring up at the ceiling.
Could this be a sign showing me how to kill Sunny?
If I could meet him in the abandoned house on Front Street, the one with the Beer and Liquor sign, then, immobilize him, I could kill him in a way that would look like an accident. Maybe it would look like the hurricane was the killer? A hurricane, category three or four, would destroy everything around here and he probably wouldn’t be found for a long time, if ever.
My head is spinning.
I always have my Rohypnol pills with me. If I put some in a wine bottle, and he drinks it, he will collapse soon after.
It is midday and there is still no call from the captain.
I call the prostitute Venus. I‘ve told her my name is Nikita.
The cell phone I’m using I’ll throw away later, so no one can trace my calls.
Yes, Sunny was around and yes, she had told him I would call, one of these days.
When dialing Sunny’s number, my hand is shaking.
After five or six rings he answers.
“Hey, Sunny,” I say, “this is Nikita, a friend of Venus’.”
“Oh, yeah, she mentioned you,” his voice is still a little high-pitched, the way I remembered.
“Well,” I say, “maybe we can get together and talk some business? But it has to be before the hurricane hits. What about tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he says. “Do you know your way around here?”
“Yes, I have a car, but I don’t want to meet in a public place. Do you know the Rent-a-Boat place on Front Street? Right down the street from it is an abandoned house, with a Beer and Liquor sign. Can we meet there at 12 o’clock? And please bring some goodies. My nerves need something before the hurricane hits.”
He coughs, laughs and agrees. We hang up.
My whole body is shaking and I open a small bottle of wine. I don’t bother with a glass, but drink it straight down. Then I go back to bed and sleep for three hours.
I order room service and call the car rental. They tell me I really shouldn’t be driving in the storm, but I tell them I have to visit a very sick friend.
Well, at least “sick” is true.
In the evening the whole crew has dinner together in the hotel.
They all talk about hurricane Erin. All I can think of is the bastard Sunny. I excuse myself and leave early.
I have a restless night. So do the palm trees outside. The howling winds are accelerating by the minute.
On TV the next morning they have upgraded Erin to a category three hurricane, and it’s still heading straight for us.
I find my stash of small wine bottles; two red and one white.
They never check our bags when we go through security and it’s common knowledge that the crew takes some bottles of wine and liquor whenever we leave a flight.
The wine bottles have screw corks and I open one of the red ones.
How many Rohypnol tablets should I put in it? I have read many stories in the newspapers about how girls have their drinks spiked and get raped not remembering a thing, but they never say how many tablets it takes.
I put six tablets into the bottle. I sure hope Sunny is very, very thirsty.
I put the bottle together with a white wine bottle in a bag, followed by a jumpsuit, shoes, socks, gloves and my wig.
Did I forget something? Oh, yes, a large knife in case I have to stab him to death, for good measure!
I feel that the storm outside is now inside me.