Beyond the Blood Moon

by Vic Robbie

  It stinks.

  They drove into a yard behind a red stone building and were escorted up steps and into a brightly lit hall bustling with activity.

  Some are smoking. In a police station?

  She shook her head as the sergeant greeted a guy at the desk and led them into a small green-painted room with a table and a handful of chairs.

  ‘Okay, buddy, we are leaving you here,’ the cop said to Headlock. ‘Someone will speak to you when they’re ready. Let’s have no heroics. Remember, this isn’t your fantasy world. This is real life. A colleague will be on guard outside, and if he has to deal with you, you’ll end up in a cell.’

  Again, she’d been ignored as if her testimony wasn’t relevant, and she wondered why Headlock appeared worried? He wasn’t responsible for the girl’s death, and he had her as a witness.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘We can’t go on like this,’ Skarab shouted from the treatment room adjoining his mother’s bedroom. The evening had been more fraught than necessary with the possibility of her being caught giving him a headache that reverberated around his skull. She might not have returned, and his research would have amounted to nothing.

  ‘Told you to stay here, so I could treat you on my return from the lab. We must stick to our deadlines. Instead, you were gallivanting about, and I’ve had to chase all over, looking for you.’

  She uttered a theatrical sigh. He usually called her Bette, but when annoyed with her, he always addressed her as mother. ‘Your father wouldn’t have spoken in that tone of voice, so neither should you, Dudley.’

  His father wouldn’t have spoken at all if possible, he thought as he stared at the ceiling. Everything he was doing was for her benefit.

  ‘I’m sorry, mother. What we’re undertaking involves great risks, but I’m confident it will work.’

  As she removed her make-up, she snorted, ‘Sometimes, I think you’re obsessed with this and want to keep me locked up here like one of your laboratory mice.’

  ‘It will be worthwhile,’ he said, making a final check of the equipment. ‘We’re so close, and then you will have your life back to do whatever you wish.’

  There was a tremulous wobble to her reply. ‘But why can’t I have it now?’

  ‘Patience, that’s all that’s needed, we’re days away from completion.’ The tests proved one hundred per cent he was on the right track.

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Sounds like Frankenstein. It’s just a simple medical procedure, but you’d think you were giving me a heart transplant.’

  He uttered an awkward laugh and didn’t respond lest his voice betrayed his concern. She knew him too well. A heart transplant might have been more straightforward and less risky. Success depended more on the quality of the samples, which were difficult to acquire, than the recipient. Once he’d tried to describe the procedure, and she’d dismissed him, saying if her car needed repairing, she didn’t expect the mechanic to explain how he would do it. She just wanted it fixed. He was relieved. He needed her to be as calm as possible, and if she knew what he planned, she’d probably refuse.

  He put down a flask of liquid and stuck his head around the door. ‘Don’t be unreasonable. There’s nothing for you to worry about, I can guarantee that.’

  As if there was an itch needing scratching, Bette persisted. ‘You were always a headstrong boy, and you haven’t matured with age.’

  ‘I’m no longer a boy.’

  She sighed loudly as if that were debatable.

  ‘Whatever, I need to treat you now, and you must rest afterwards.’

  ‘And after the treatment, I’m good for nothing.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning. I’m not annoyed with you; I just want to ensure nothing interferes with our plans.’

  ‘Every time you treat me, I fear I won’t survive. That’s why I need to go out.’

  He returned to the treatment room. ‘You won’t if you carry on behaving like a teenager.’

  ‘I’m not in the army.’

  Bette might as well be if they caught her, he thought. ‘It’s not the going out that’s the problem, it’s what you get up to.’

  ‘I can’t help myself. It must be the treatment, and you shouldn’t have shown me the way to cross over.’

  The side effects hadn’t been eradicated, but he didn’t want to share his concerns with her. ‘Did something happen this time?’

  ‘Like what?’ She pulled herself together.

  ‘Like before?’

  Bette’s brow creased, and she glanced away, thinking the questioning so unfair.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I went out for fresh air.’

  ‘And?’

  She stressed the words. ‘Nothing happened.’

  ‘Don’t lie, mother.’

  ‘Had a few drinks that’s all.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘With a man, quite an interesting one…’

  ‘Was there trouble?’

  ‘No.’ Bette’s gaze dropped to her lap, and she fiddled with her fingers, trying to conceal the lie.

  He was troubled. While undergoing the treatment, she was susceptible to infection, which could delay the procedure and might prevent him from another attempt.

  Bette flashed him a hard smile. ‘A girl’s gotta have fun.’

  Chapter Eight

  During a thirty-minute wait, Solo kept talking, but Headlock didn’t respond trying to fit together the bewildering mosaic of recent events and found no pattern to it.

  ‘How many rooms are there like this here?’ she asked. Not getting a reply, she persisted, ‘Are they filled with people like us waiting to be questioned about a crime they may or may not have committed, each isolated in their own misery.’

  A cop entered with a black coffee in a plastic cup and announced that the lieutenant would be with him in minutes, and he groaned. And she looked at him in surprise.

  Eventually, the door flew open, its handle slamming against the wall deepening a small crater in the plaster. A man with crewcut blond hair and a trim moustache swept into the room clutching a coffee and chewing on an unlit cigar. Another detective accompanied him but was dismissed with a curt nod of the head.

  ‘What you been up to now, Junior? Never a dull moment when you’re around.’

  He ignored that. ‘Your heavies can’t pull me in whenever they want. I’m a free person, for the moment, anyway.’

  The lieutenant tasted the coffee and frowned as if he should have known better and put his feet up on the desk, showing who was in charge. ‘It might have escaped you, but you’re a witness in what appears to be a homicide, and you might even be a suspect. When my men checked your ID, they thought I’d like to speak to you for obvious reasons, Junior.’

  ‘Stop calling me that. I don’t like it.’

  ‘Exactly why I use it. Suits you, now you’re no longer the No.1 guy.’

  ‘Get it over with.’ He didn’t want to remember. ‘What do you want me to tell you?’

  The lieutenant bit off the end of the cigar which was now brown pulp and spat into a waste bin. ‘Not every day you come across a dead body. Or have you forgotten that? Maybe all those beatings damaged your brain.’

  ‘Not likely to forget. The child was younger than your son.’

  As if contemplating the same fate for his child, a cloud crossed the lieutenant’s face. ‘Tell me everything you told my sergeant and leave nothing out.’

  In as much detail as possible, he recounted his story omitting why he’d been in the parking lot.

  ‘Were you in the alley when it happened?’

  ‘No,’ he replied quietly.

  The lieutenant rubbed his chin. ‘Lucky you got me. An unscrupulous cop might fit you up for this one. Who’s saying you didn’t kill the kid?’

  ‘Look, the killer hit me with something hard.’ He turned his head, so the policeman could see the wound now matted with coagulated blood, but the lieutenant appeared unmoved.

  ‘The killer? Why w
as he the killer?’

  ‘Because he is, you asshole,’ Solo interjected, but the cop ignored her.

  ‘I guessed. Why else would he hit me over the head?’

  The lieutenant glanced away, thinking about what next to ask. ‘You could have done it to yourself.’

  It wouldn’t be the first time a wrestler had cut himself to get the blood flowing with a blade passed to him by the referee. It was all good entertainment. But he was exasperated. ‘I told you, I went into the alley and found the body.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ The lieutenant stood up, pushing back his seat and causing it to screech on the rubber floor. ‘Pity you haven’t someone to back up your story.’

  ‘He’s got me,’ Solo insisted. ‘I’m the one who caught the killer.’

  Again, the cop ignored her, and he snatched a sideways glance at Solo, expecting her to argue, but she didn’t as though unwilling to become more involved than she was.

  ‘You’ll have to wait here. Forensics will be back for your DNA and to inspect your wound. They’ll need your clothes. And they’ll carry out initial tests on the girl before a full postmortem. Don’t make plans for the rest of the night.’

  ‘Hey, what about my rights?’

  ‘One more squeak out of you and I’ll have you stripped bare-assed naked and slung in a cell for a couple of nights.’

  ‘Do I need a lawyer?’ he yelled at the policeman as he made for the door.

  ‘Fuck the lawyer.’ The lieutenant slammed it shut behind him.

  Solo had been standing by a barred, dirty window and came over and pulled out a seat and sat beside him. ‘That joker’s a bozo. Why was he most discourteous to you?’

  He put his head in his hands and dry-washed his face. ‘I killed a man, and he wanted to lock me up.’

  She paused before answering, ‘Okay, you have a history, but you’re innocent; otherwise, you wouldn’t be free?’

  ‘It was an accident, but I still feel guilty for what happened.’

  ‘Just because you escaped that charge doesn’t mean he can pin this one on you.’

  ‘With our cops anything’s possible.’

  She inclined her head in agreement, and for the first time he studied the slim woman before him. After the shock of finding the body and in the dim light of the bar he hadn’t noticed, but the glow from a bare bulb brought her into sharp relief. Thick black hair with a sheen making it sparkle and pulled up into a bun on the top of her head and dressed with a red flower. A striking face powdered an unnatural ivory white. And red around the eyes matching the glossy red of pouting lips added to a theatrical sensuality. Only the enquiring, violet eyes he’d thought were black appeared natural. It was the look of a geisha, but she wasn’t Japanese. Any movement caused a tendril of black hair to escape and caress her cheek and, agitated, she pushed it back into place.

  If surprised by the attention, she didn’t show it. ‘Why did he call you Junior?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Tell me, I think we have plenty of time.’

  Headlock sighed. ‘He was always the blue-eyed boy. Regular promotions as a cop and now he’s regarded as a pillar of society. Me? I was at the bottom of the pile. He was No.1, I was just Junior. Tonight is another example of that.’

  She said nothing, her bewilderment demanding an explanation.

  ‘He’s my brother, my elder brother.’

  Chapter Nine

  The three men dressed like undertakers in dark suits and black ties were uncomfortable as they waited in the main reception area. The palatial surroundings of Ottomon’s home would have made most uneasy, but it was what he might do that worried them. Unpredictable and a man of volcanic temperament, he was prone to erupting vocally and physically at any moment.

  The senior of the trio, a squat man with the look of a martyr, glanced despairingly at the others who were taller and muscular with hands as large as dinner plates. Say the wrong thing, and they’d need new jobs or worse. They allowed the woman to escape the house and grounds. That wouldn’t please the boss.

  ‘Where the fuck is Solo Blue?’ Ottomon shouted as he stormed into the room, followed by an anxious woman wearing large horn-rimmed spectacles and carrying a phone and a laptop.

  Not sure how to respond, they jumped to their feet. Silence was always safer.

  ‘I don’t want to hear excuses.’ He waved an arm at the men. ‘Where is she? Have you dealt with the problem?’

  ‘Sorry—’

  It was a bad start, and he swung round to confront the speaker. ‘Whenever someone says sorry, I know I’ll be disappointed, and I don’t like disappointment. Reminds me of my childhood.’

  ‘Sir,’ the senior man steadied himself, ‘security didn’t apprehend her on departure. We have punished those responsible.’

  He appeared mollified, but only briefly. ‘And?’

  ‘We are continuing our search.’

  He sucked in his breath. ‘Drink,’ he ordered the woman with an imperious wave. There was silence while she poured it and pushed the glass into his hand.

  ‘Get on with it.’ He waved a hand as he took a mouthful. ‘Every moment is—’

  ‘What the fuck’s this?’ He choked on the drink. ‘Tastes like virgin’s piss.’

  Apologising, the secretary darted over and took away the glass. She poured a stronger measure into a fresh glass and, with a shaking hand, handed it to him.

  He took a hard slug of the drink, prepared to be disappointed but was surprised. ‘That’s better. Continue.’

  ‘We’ve checked her apartment and are watching the places she frequents and speaking to her friends, although she doesn’t appear to have many. There’s no sign of her. It’s like she’s disappeared off the planet.’

  He exhaled and slammed the glass on a table, causing its glass top to crack. ‘Fucking failure. Give me something positive.’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time—’

  ‘She’s chipped, what’s the problem?’ Unable to accept it, he paced the room. ‘With a chip, we should have her location immediately.’ He slammed a fist into the palm of his hand, emphasising his point.

  The men glanced at each other before the senior man cleared his throat. ‘Only the Bureau of Interrogation and StatPol have access to her information, we—’

  Frustration was dragging him under like a riptide. He owned several members of the Praesidium, and they’d do whatever was necessary to protect their meal ticket.

  ‘I made enquiries through a contact.’ The senior man seemed pleased with himself, but his smirk slipped when the boss gestured for him to get on with it.

  ‘He ran an unofficial search and came up with nothing.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ He returned to the drink.

  ‘Perhaps there was a malfunction, sir.’

  He couldn’t believe that. ‘What about her phone?’

  ‘Dead, no signal most of the time.’

  That was unusual, but she could block the signal if she believed she was being tracked.

  The man knew it wasn’t going well and started to sweat. ‘We have located a signal several times in the Fisherman’s Quay area, but it stops transmitting. We’ve sent men down there but there’s been no sighting of her.’

  ‘She obviously knows we’re after her.’

  Uncertain what to say next, the senior man stayed silent.

  ‘Who knew she was here?’

  The man ticked them off on his fingers. ‘The driver—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He won’t be driving anymore.’

  He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Her agent must be aware.’

  ‘Terminated.’

  ‘Good, and the agent’s sidekick?’ He recalled the small man with flapping hands to whom he’d taken an instant dislike.

  ‘He never left, sir. We’re holding him here so he can help in our search if necessary.’

  He clasped his hands together, and for the first time, the senior man looked confident he had all the bases covered. But
it still troubled Ottomon. In a civilised world, it was impossible to disappear. It left a nagging doubt in the pit of his stomach, like swallowing a rock. ‘There’s one person who can help us with this. He’s a scientist at Evolution Industries. Bring him to me.’

  ‘But, sir, he wouldn’t risk his life—’

  He had had enough. Negatives depressed him. His business motto was ‘Positivity means profitability’, and anyone who put up obstacles didn’t have a future in the organisation. He pointed a fleshy finger at one of the other men.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The man stepped forward, patting the pistol under his jacket.

  He swung around and pointed to the senior man. ‘Shoot him.’

  And as he swept out of the room, he ordered the secretary, ‘Get that mess cleared up.’

  Chapter Ten

  They examined him for what felt like hours, taking blood tests and swabbing inside his mouth for DNA, patching up the head wound and advising him to go to hospital to get it checked. Once completed, an officer escorted him, dressed in a blue gown like a hospital patient, back to the room.

  ‘Hi, Headlock,’ shouted a cop who sat with feet up on a desk in the squad room eating a hotdog that spilt ketchup down his chin. ‘What you doin’ here?’ Fragments of frankfurter spat out of his mouth like bullets. ‘Thought you got off.’

  He ignored him as the minder opened the door. As if caring for him instead of imprisoning him, the cop appeared almost apologetic. ‘Holler if you need anything, I’ll be just outside.’

  The room was empty. He expected to find Solo waiting for him, but there was no sign of her.

  ‘Where’s my friend?’ he asked, but the cop stared blankly and didn’t answer.

  ‘Solo? Where is she?’

  Without replying, the cop left, closing the door behind him.

  He felt cheated. Why had she deserted him when he needed her? She was his only witness and could clear his name. They must have questioned and eliminated her as a suspect. But where did that leave him?