Dead Duck (Flynt & Steele Mysteries Book 2)

by Micheal Maxwell

  Figures. People. But no, that was not right either.

  They were ducks! There were at least a hundred of them. They were walking towards him and saying something he could not understand.

  “Flynt!” Steele barked. “Answer me!”

  Flynt’s mind’s eye and spirit were focused on the plasma world outside of the bounds of the natural universe. As he was finally able to pull together an articulate sound he responded to Steele with a single word.

  “Quack!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Steele did his best to keep his focus as he drove the car down the unmarked road. The voice on Flynt’s phone told him that he was about to reach a dead end. But the Joe Pesci-wannabe didn’t know about the narrow dirt logging trail off to the right leading back into a stripped section of forest.

  “Flynt, are you okay?”

  “Quack, quack.”

  The good news was that Flynt was smiling. Whatever was happening with him, he was enjoying it and there were no signs of him becoming violent. Steele found himself hoping that somehow Leik’s original mixture made it back into the duck. If that were the case, maybe Flynt’s trip would be mellow and they would come out of this relatively fine. However, the chances of that seemed slim.

  “Flynt, we’re nearly there. Are you going to be able to do this?”

  “Sure! Enlightened detective master. I will be your gun! Bang bang! Whooo…”

  “My God,” Steele muttered.

  As Steele continued down the dirt trail, he estimated they were at least fifteen minutes away from the nearest active road. It was the perfect place to hold a secret rave. It only took a few seconds more before a series of blue lights appeared through spaces in the trees. He saw the shapes of several cars parked in the darkness. Behind them, a strange-shaped building loomed like a castle. The blue lights were coming from this structure—a mixture of Christmas lights and neon string lights.

  Beside him, Flynt was chuckling. Now and then, a random “Quack” would escape his throat. He started to hum, only it wasn’t musical but more like someone imitating the sound an electric fan, or a group of Tibetan monks he’d seen on TV. Flynt smiled the entire time.

  Steele came to the end of the logging trail. The other vehicles were turned to the right and parked on a grassy field. With his headlights on high beam facing the odd structure beyond the cars, Steele could see that it was two buildings. The rave was being held in what looked like an old set of barns connected by a long narrow horse stable that ran between them. Lights were not only strung around the outside but were seeping through the cracks in the old wood.

  Q was right. It was only 9:17 but the place was already thumping. He could hear the blaring techno music before he even killed the engine.

  “Flynt, I need you to stay right here, okay?”

  Flynt nodded, but it meant nothing. He was one hundred percent out, enjoying whatever the D710 had to show him. A small part of Steele was happy for him. Let him enjoy his trip. Let him relax in a fluid world filled colors and an elaborate sense of borderless peace.

  It would have been much more convenient if this happened after the rave, but it was too late now.

  Steele got out of the car and did his best to stay in the shadows, away from the cars and off to the side of the barns. If he hoped to bust anyone dealing Ducky, the last thing he wanted was to make it known that there was some older guy here. It then occurred to him that this whole ordeal would have been easier if he’d gone home to change into street clothes. But it was too late for that, too.

  As he made his way through the shadows between the barn and the surrounding forest, he discovered that he was not the only one seeking refuge there. He passed by two couples that were furiously having sex. He picked up the pungent smell of clouds of pot and heard someone violently throwing up. In the distance, someone was calling for Samuel.

  Some party.

  As he reached the barns, his chest was assaulted by the bass bump-bump-bump of the music. It was an odd mixture of high-frequency electronic patterns feverishly repeating, as a hypnotic onslaught of rhyming words were calling out. The pounding beat of the bass fought with the repeating electronic notes. The closer he drew into the barn, the more intense it got. He could feel the bass in his bones, thumping and pounding. He reached the barn and placed his hand on the unpainted boards. He could feel the beat there, too. He wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the entire place came down from the bass alone.

  He searched for some way in. His fingers found a sizeable knothole in one of the boards. He peered through it and allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment. When he could see again, he saw that the interior of the barn was awash in a stream of blue and green lasers, an overused fog machine, and about forty or fifty early party-goers.

  It was all a wash of color, light, and bodies. Still, it took Steele less than ten seconds to spot what he was looking for. Off to the side, next to a speaker stack twice as tall as he was, there were three people engaged in a rather clumsy fight. There were two men and one woman. The woman was easily besting the men.

  There was blood on her face and, God he hoped he was wrong, what looked like an ear in her mouth. The altercation attracted the attention of a few of the kids on the dance floor. Most of them seemed to be in a drug and soundscape trance. Their eyes were closed, their bodies barely moving to the beat as they faced the source of the music.

  Steele thought about forgetting his plan to be stealthy and rush inside to break up the fighting trio. Yet as he took his first step back the way he came, the barn wall shook furiously and three boards came crashing outward. Two bodies fell out of the barn right in front of him. They were men and one of them was wearing nothing but his underwear.

  The nearly naked man sat astride the other one. He started raining down punches and screaming. Only they weren’t really screaming…unless you could scream a quack.

  “You won’t let me fly!” the nearly-naked one said. “You’re my downer! Quack! You have to be eliminated! Deleted! Quack!” Punch after punch fell onto the other man, along his face, shoulders, and chest.

  Steele pushed the guy off but he was up right away. He stared at Steele, clearly stoned out of his mind, and said: “Quack! Are you one of them? Will you show me how to fly?”

  “Absolutely,” Steele said. He held out his hand and the young man took it willingly.

  Steele worked quickly, pulling the guy’s arm behind his back and tackling him to the ground. He was taking out his handcuffs to secure him when he felt something hard slam into the side of his face.

  Steele went to the ground, he was punched, and hard. He looked up; it was the man the nearly-naked one attacked. Now both of them were coming for him. As Steele processed all of this, he saw another person coming out of the barn. It was the woman that was involved in the other fight. As she came rushing at Steele, he was relieved to see that it wasn’t an ear in her mouth, but a pacifier. The end of it was lighting up in a series of reds and green pulses.

  She leaped for him like she was about to belly-flop into a pool. Steele easily rolled out of the way. When she hit the ground, he could hear the wind knocked out of her. Steele tried getting to his feet, but the nearly-naked man was coming at him again.

  Steele clenched his fist and threw a powerful uppercut. It felt good to deliver the blow—especially when he saw the punch take the young man off of his feet.

  There was very little time to enjoy it, though. When he turned to face the other man and the woman with the bloodied face, they were already coming at him. They teamed up to take him down in a combined effort. Steele stumbled, felt his feet leave the ground, and went crashing back through the wall where the two men came out.

  Steele didn’t have a choice. He was going to have to go for his gun. He fumbled for it as he got to his feet. As his hand found the butt of his gun, he saw there were now two other brawls taking place. There was a man that seemed to be delivering a series of elbow drops to someone that wasn’t there.

 
Even beyond the booming music, Steele could hear their battle cries.

  “Quack, quack, quack.”

  The music blared and the lights pulsed in hectic patterns. Four party-goers were coming towards him. There was ecstasy in their eyes, but there was clearly violence on their mind. As he started to draw his sidearm, he found himself relieved that Flynt wasn’t experiencing any of this.

  * * *

  Flynt was riding on a rainbow while the humanoid ducks fluttered by him, singing him words of praise.

  “Glad you’re here, Flynt!”

  “Stay as long as you want!”

  “You’re amazing!”

  There was no telling how long he was there or how much longer it would last. As he rode that rainbow of yellows, oranges, and pinks, he was also very aware of the unending abyss ahead of him. It was pitch black, but he didn’t fear it. It made him think of being on the ocean at night and staring out at the sea. It was endless, beautiful, and he could drown there and be happy.

  Ah, but could you? Drowning? Really? Do you really want to drown? To die?

  “No!” one of the ducks sang. “Stay here! With us!”

  “Live forever with us! You can fly here!”

  But the idea of drowning would not go away. He thought of what it would be like to jump into that darkness beyond the rainbow and the moment his mind latched onto it, a random and perplexing image popped into his head.

  He thought of Jacki Steele in her hospital bed. He thought of the wheelchair next to her bed and how she would not be able to move for the rest of her life. He thought of Steele, having to remain an outstanding cop while dealing with a special-needs spouse at home.

  Somewhere, far in the distance, he heard something familiar. A song. A chime, some familiar noise that his brain recognized. What was it?

  “Ignore it! Stay with us! FLY!”

  “Quack,” Flynt said through a smile. But it was a very confused smile, one that would disappear with the twitching of just a few muscles.

  The sound was still there. It was not music, as he originally thought. It was something else. Like a ringing.

  My phone…

  At this realization, the rainbow started to dissolve. The ducks, as happy as could be up until now, started to slow down. Their voices were less merry now.

  “Stay! You are special, Flynt! Come learn how to fly!”

  “Sure,” he said. “Quack.”

  Numbly, he reached out. It was not the abyss he touched, but the center console of the car. His fingers danced around as if they forgot their function. He felt the shape of the phone and pulled it close. His hands felt like hot air balloons as he tried to answer it. When he brought it to his ear, he did so with tremendous force. The rainbow shook beneath him and started to shatter.

  “Quack,” he said.

  “What? Who is this? Flynt?” It was a voice that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the world. But it was beautiful. A woman’s voice.

  “Yeah. Sure. Quack…”

  “Flynt, this is Kerrie Luna. I’m looking for Steele. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Kerrie! Luna! Quack!”

  “Flynt, you’re scaring me. Is everything okay?”

  “Mmm…”

  “Where are you?”

  “Rainbow. Nowhere. Abyss. Quack!”

  Flynt dropped the phone as he felt the rainbow giving away beneath him. He knew he must go. Whatever hold this place had on him was wearing off. He needed to go. He must find Steele.

  The rainbow faded. It was nothing more than a yellow fuzz now. Only a few of the ducks remained. They ambled along next to him, nothing more than translucent figures in the darkness. One of them was giving Flynt the finger which was odd because ducks have feathers, not fingers.

  “Quack…Steele…” he said.

  Flynt fumbled for the door handle and found it. When he opened the door, he fell out of the car into the grass. He rubbed his face on the cool grass and chuckled. Somewhere nearby, he heard music pounding like a heartbeat.

  But he also heard screaming.

  Still seeing the final vestiges of the fuzzed-out rainbow, Flynt leaned against the car and got to his feet. Slowly, deliberately, he followed the sounds of the screams.

  And quacking.

  * * *

  Steele hoped simply pulling his gun out would divert some of the party-goers but it seemed to have no effect. He supposed if they were tripping as heavily as Flynt was, they probably didn’t even know he had a gun. They might even see him as some weird duck-like creature…or, even worse, some reptilian monster that emerged from their trip to devour the godlike ducks.

  I’m not even on the crap and I’m going crazy, Steele thought.

  Suddenly, one of the ravers lunged at him. The weak left-handed haymaker missed by a mile. Steele batted the kid aside with his right forearm. As he followed through with the block, another one of the kids jumped on his back. Another went for his knees. Steele stumbled backward. The kid on his back was wrapping his arms around Steele’s neck in a lazy sort of chokehold. The one at his knees was doing everything they could to bring Steele down. As Steele fought against his attackers, he saw four more coming his way.

  Fortunately, as if on cue, two of them started fighting one another before they reached him.

  Steele did his best to shake his attackers off of him. The one at his legs was stronger than the one on his back. He tried to step backward, in an attempt to slam the kid on his back against the barn wall. The weight of the guy on his legs and the tightening bear hug made it nearly impossible.

  Steele realized he was going to fall if he hit the ground, he didn’t want to think about what would happen to him. He was going to have to fire his gun. With any luck, he could get away with just a warning shot. He didn’t want to put a bullet into one of these kids. It wasn’t their fault the drug they were taking was tainted. Of course, there could be an argument that they shouldn’t be doing the drug in the first place, but his mind was too panicked and distraught to worry about their rights.

  The kid at his back gave a harsh tug backward. The grip around Steele’s neck grew tighter, he could hardly breathe. At the same time, the kid at his knees started to push. He was going down…down…

  Out of nowhere, a shape came barreling out of the crowd. Steele was sure it was a trick of the strobing lights and the smoke machine because it looked like…

  “QUACK ATTACK!”

  Yup, it was Flynt.

  As he came rushing forward, Flynt giggled at his own wordplay. The giggle got cut short as he threw his right knee into the back of the kid that was trying to knock Steele down. The kid went sprawling to the ground and Steele saw there was not a touch of remorse in his partner’s face.

  Seeing what was taking place, the kid on his back loosened his grip. Steele took immediate advantage of this by reaching back, grabbing the kid by the back of the head, and then hunching over. He intended to simply toss the kid to the ground, but the surge of fear and adrenaline caused him to overreact. The guy flew about three feet forward before he collided with one of the ravers—this poor guy wasn’t causing any trouble, just bobbing to the unending thump of the music.

  “Hey! He flew!” Flynt clapped his hands and laughed hysterically.

  All others in the group that tried to surround Steele froze. High or not, they now realized that there were two threats.

  “He flew…” one of them said.

  “Quack! Show us!”

  They stepped forward slowly. To Steele, they looked far too much like zombies. With the flickering lights and music from some techno hell, it was like something right out of a very bad horror movie. Some reached out, others shuffled toward him with ghastly expressions darkening their countenance.

  “Flynt, you back now?”

  “Think so. Still a little woozy and spinny. But the abyss is gone.”

  “The what?”

  “The ducks, too.”

  “Flynt, we may have to—”

  Befor
e he could get the words out, he heard something. It was very low and faint, almost drowned out by the blaring techno music. Steele turned to find the noise and saw there were now three others coming for them. They were larger, faster, and angrier than the first wave of attackers. Further back in the crowd, two fights started. There were multiple participants, with a more intense physicality to their punches and kicks. As he watched, a kid dressed in a tank top body-slammed a kid with dreadlocks. Dreadlocks had at least fifty pounds on him. He hit the ground with a thud and didn’t move.

  “You hear that?” Steele asked.

  “Sirens,” Flynt said.

  “Did you call back up?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then who is that?”

  “Quack if I know.”

  “Stop that.”

  “Got it.”

  They slowly backed away from the approaching crowd. Like the first group, there was one completely out of control guy leading the pack. He bent and charged forward in a practiced linebacker stance. Steele clubbed him on the back of the neck. He went down like the Hindenburg.

  “Hey! The rainbow! Where is it going?” one of the kids screamed from behind him. “The ducks! The ducks are slipping away!

  “Bummer,” Flynt whispered.

  “They coming down off of it?” Steele asked. “Is that what happened to you?”

  “Sort of.”

  Now the wailing sound of the sirens was nearly as loud as the music. If Steele’s guess was right, there were at least two black and whites headed their way. And from the looks of the fights continuing to break out in the center of the bobbing and dancing crowd, they weren’t a minute too soon.

  Sure enough, ten seconds later, three cops came through the double barn doors along the side of the barn. They looked totally confused as they drew their batons. Right away, two of the officers went into the crowd of dancers, fighting their way through towards the DJ.

  The third cop ran over to Flynt and Steele. His eyes were wide. He looked around as if he were dropped down in a war zone. Flynt saw from the uniform and nametag he wasn’t a Puta Gorda officer. The backup was from Roseburg, a division closer to the location of this shindig.