Almost Infamous (Detective Damien Drake Book 9)

by Patrick Logan

  “Yeah, took off. Ms. Schmidt is very worried.” Drake emphasized the word ‘very’.

  “Ms. Schmidt was actually here seven or eight times this month.”

  Drake couldn’t believe it.

  “Eight times?”

  “Yeah, and this is a light month.”

  Drake thought he was getting a better picture of Ms. Schmidt and her relationship with her cat.

  “I see… and Cosmo was…?” Drake shook his head as he let his sentence trail off. He had no idea if there was any patient confidentiality when your patient was a cat. This whole world was foreign to him, and he wasn’t a good enough liar to pretend it wasn’t.

  “He’s fine… almost always fine. Just getting old.”

  “And, uh…” Drake scratched his chin. How the fuck am I supposed to find this cat? “…was he happy?”

  Dr. Cratom sighed.

  “He’s a cat, Drake.”

  Drake’s ears started to get hot.

  “But,” Dr. Cratom continued, saving him more embarrassment, “Ms. Schmidt spoils the hell out of him. Super pampered.”

  “Okay, okay… well, maybe Cosmo will come back here, then? I mean… I dunno.”

  “Unlikely. I’ve got a picture of Cosmo, though—I can put in the lobby, just in case anyone has seen him.”

  “That would be great. And you have my card?”

  Dr. Cratom held it up.

  “Sure do.”

  “Great. Please, give me a call if you see the cat.”

  “Of course.”

  With that, Drake gave an appreciative nod and started back the way he’d come with Dr. Cratom in tow. As he passed the front desk, the secretary’s eyes never left him.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah?”

  “You been having any problems with security lately?”

  Dr. Cratom’s cheek twitched and Drake knew that whatever came out of the man’s mouth next was a lie.

  “No. Never. Why do you ask?”

  Chapter 29

  Tobin was shaking—his entire body trembling. Even his eyeballs seemed to be twitching in their sockets, which made it nearly impossible to see clearly.

  And yet he saw enough to know that it was him.

  He was on the video.

  It made him sick to see his own hands squeezing the poor animal’s neck, watching the cat struggle to breathe. Kicking its limp corpse across the alley.

  Tobin gagged and would have thrown up if he’d had anything in his stomach.

  “What… what did I do?” he whimpered.

  Even though he hadn’t touched his forehead, Tobin could feel another one of those paralyzing spells coming on.

  “What have I—”

  There was a knock on his bedroom door and Tobin shrieked.

  “You okay in der?”

  It’s just Kenneth… Relax, it’s just Kenneth.

  But even though he knew this to be true, instead of calming him, this fact just made Tobin even angrier.

  “Leave me alone,” he shouted, his voice shrill. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  “Tobin, you need—”

  Tobin grabbed the first thing he saw on his desk and threw it at the door. It was an empty glass and it immediately shattered upon impact.

  “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  This did the trick—Kenneth grumbled something and slunk away.

  Still seeing red and now hissing through his teeth, Tobin turned his attention back to his computer monitor and waited. At any moment, he thought either he’d get a DM from the SPCA, FBI, CIA, or the NYPD… or maybe they would call.

  No, no, they wouldn’t do that… they’d just kick down the door and burst in here… yeah, yeah, that’s what they’d do.

  Tobin’s eyes drifted to the door where the glass had smashed.

  He had no idea how long he stared, waiting. But as time dragged on and his heart rate neared normal again, Tobin started to come to his senses.

  The video, which looked as if it were taken from a CCTV camera perched high on one of the buildings flanking the alley, was grainy and of poor quality. And, based on the angle, there was no clear view of Tobin’s face.

  He recognized his white hat, the denim shirt, the fucking cat.

  But would anybody else?

  Tobin let out a huge breath and then double-checked that he’d logged onto 8chan using his VPN. When he’d first purchased it a year or so back during a Black Friday sale, it was to make sure that no one could link his many personas when he became famous.

  He never thought that it would be to hide his true identity after something as horrible as this…

  Relieved that it was still active, Tobin’s shoulders straightened a little.

  Maybe… maybe it’s not that bad.

  But in the few minutes that had passed since he found and viewed the video and now, it had gone from two-dozen views to nearly a hundred.

  “No… why? Why are people watching this?”

  The crushing sensation in his chest returned.

  With all his experience in social media, Tobin should have known better than to check the comments.

  But he couldn’t help himself.

  They were all the same… and they were scathing.

  I hope these guys find this asshole and do to him exactly what he did to the poor cat.

  Let’s put him in a room with a tiger and see what happens…

  This man should be thrown in jail! So disgusting! Despicable!

  By the time he was done reading the first dozen, Tobin felt like puking again.

  He had no idea what to do. This wasn’t like a troll on IG, like Anon—he couldn’t report the post and get it taken down. For one, it wasn’t his post… for another, it would just draw more attention to it. And him.

  If the video was getting this many views in a day, there was no telling how many it would garner in a week or a month.

  Just as Tobin was reading a particularly sadistic comment, the phone in his pocket buzzed. The sound was so jarring that his feet jerked and smacked the wall under his desk.

  “Nooooo,” Tobin whined. His head felt three times its normal size, his ribcage twice as small.

  Throw the phone in the garbage… start again… Tobin is dead, Lucas is dead, there is only Chad now…

  Tobin slowly pulled his phone out and checked the locked screen. It wasn’t a caller but an Instagram notification.

  Take out the SIM… burn it…

  Tobin opened the app.

  Anon had made another comment.

  What? No more shitty videos today, Lucas? Good… keep your lame crap off the Internet. This world is better off without you. You’re nothing, a nobody… and will never amount to anything.

  Chapter 30

  The next stop after Dr. Alex’s Pet Shoppe for Drake was the local animal shelter. His hope was that someone found Cosmo early that morning and dropped him off so that he could make an old lady happy and get paid. The good news was that the SPCA was close to Dr. Cratom’s clinic, which, Drake surmised, was no accident. Even before he made it to the front door, he could hear howls and shrieks from within.

  For what felt like the tenth time today, Drake asked himself what the hell he was doing.

  He knocked on the door, before realizing that this was like any other store.

  You’re losing your mind, he thought as he opened the door and stepped inside. After the Pet Shoppe, he’d prepared himself for an awful stench, but the most prevalent odor was wood chips. The place was also surprisingly clean. Much like Dr. Cratom’s clinic, there was a central desk, but it was unmanned. Behind the desk was a long hallway, flanked by rows of cages. From where he stood, Drake could see a couple of dogs, mostly older ones, in said cages, and they appeared to be responsible for most of the noise.

  “Excuse me?” he said, trying to project his voice. It was no use; the dogs were just too loud.

  Drake leaned around the desk and spotted a woman crouched near the end of the hallway
, her back to him.

  “Excuse me?” Louder this time.

  When the woman continued to do whatever she was doing through the cage, Drake looked around the desk for a bell to ping.

  Yeah, sure, like that wouldn’t confuse the hell out of the animals… Mealtime! Nope, just a PI way the fuck out of his league.

  “Excuse me?” he said again, this time nearly at the top of his lungs. His words finally got the woman’s attention and she turned to look at him.

  She was wearing a matching orange T-shirt and baseball hat both of which bore a white SPCA logo. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and forced out of the hole in the back of the cap. She had blue eyes and a smooth, pleasant face.

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute, just trying to get Brody here to eat his treats,” the woman said with a smile. Drake put her in her late twenties.

  He watched as she reached into the cage and coaxed a brown Labrador to eat a cookie off her palm.

  “Oh, finally,” the woman said as she rose to her feet, an action that was met by more howling. “Hold your horses, Luke. I’ll be back with your treat in a minute.”

  With that, she approached, wiping her hands on the thigh of her fitted jeans before holding one of them out to him.

  Drake shook it.

  “Damien Drake,” he said as way of introduction.

  “Patty Sheer. What can I do for you? Looking to adopt?”

  Drake gave an awkward smile.

  “Ehhh, not so much. I’m actually a PI.” He felt like a goof handing out his business card again, but it worked with Dr. Cratom. The woman took the card, gave it a quick, polite once over, and then slid it into a pocket.

  “So, what can I do for you, Damien?”

  “Please, just Drake. I’m looking for a cat.”

  “And I thought you said you weren’t looking to adopt?”

  “No, I—a client—” Drake stopped when he saw the expression on Patty’s face. She was messing with him.

  “Sorry, just couldn’t help myself.” Patty touched the back of his arm. “This isn’t your typical gig, is it, Drake?”

  HE chuckled.

  “Hell, no. But hey, if I can help an old lady find her cat…”

  “Sure. What kind of cat are you looking for?”

  “Big and orange,” Drake thought about what Dr. Cratom had said. “Old. Mostly indoor.”

  The inner corners of Patty’s blue eyes lifted and she stifled more laughter.

  “Sure… but what breed, Drake?”

  Drake reached into his folder and pulled out a picture of the cat and held it out for Patty to see.

  She took one look at the photo and said, “Ah, an Orange Tabby.” Patty squinted. “What’s the cat’s name and did he or she have a collar?”

  “He’s named Cosmo. And yes, he has a collar.”

  Patty frowned.

  “Here, follow me.”

  Without waiting for a reply, the woman turned and started to walk down the hallway. Drake had to move quickly to keep up. With every cage they passed, the woman called the respective animal by their name and offered some comforting words.

  Suzan… Suzan Cuthbert… that’s who she reminds me of.

  The thought came out of nowhere and instantly soured his mood.

  “Drake? Did you hear me?”

  Drake shook his head and forced himself to smile.

  “Sorry, I was distracted. I’m, uhh, a little out of my element.”

  Patty laughed.

  “Yeah, sometimes I forget that normal people don’t spend all day talking to animals.”

  I might not do that, but I doubt that many people would call me normal.

  “So, how long has Cosmo been missing?”

  “Just over a day.”

  “Hmmm… and Cosmo is an indoor cat, you said?”

  “Yep.”

  Patty stopped in front of a large cage and Drake looked inside. There were four cats all huddled in the corner.

  “Then I’m sorry but—”

  “Wait! That orange cat!” Drake extended his hand and pointed toward the back. “Is that—”

  “No, that’s Jinxy. Came in here a week ago—still has his collar. Owners aren’t responding to any calls. Unfortunately, I think he's been abandoned.”

  “Shit.”

  As if to confirm her words, Patty leaned down and extended her hand.

  “Here, Jinxy.”

  The cat detangled himself from another and slowly walked toward the front of the cage. Admittedly, Drake knew very little about cats, but to him, this animal looked exactly like Cosmo.

  Patty stroked the cat’s hindquarters and the animal responded by purring loudly.

  “You sure that’s not Cosmo?”

  Patty looked at him as if he had three heads.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Drake said, holding up his hands. “It’s just… well, never mind.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Patty gave the cat another stroke and Drake took this opportunity to glance at his phone.

  There was a message from Screech waiting.

  “Patty, thanks for your help. I gotta get going, but can you do me a favor?”

  She smiled.

  “Of course.”

  “If another orange cat comes in, you think you can give me a call?”

  “Hell, seeing how overcrowded we are, if you promise to take an animal off my hands, I’ll deliver Cosmo directly to your door.”

  “You know what?” Drake said with a grin. “I think that could work.”

  Chapter 31

  Tobin needed something to calm his nerves. Vicodin, Perc, Xanny, Oxy, fucking anything. But he was bone dry.

  Fuck you, you anonymous piece of shit… fuck you… I’m not a nobody.

  “I’m somebody,” he whispered.

  Without thinking, Tobin replayed the video. When it was done, he started it again from the beginning.

  “I’m somebody,” he repeated, this time in a lower octave. “I’m somebody—f-f-f-fuck you, Anon.”

  A shiver coursed through his body as he looked back at the message on his phone.

  Tobin licked his lips.

  “You’re wrong, troll—you’re fucking wrong.”

  His headache reached an all-time high, and he fought the urge to touch his face or head. The last thing he needed now was another episode. But just as his vision began to distort, something happened.

  The video jumped. No, not jumped, but rocketed to the very top of 8chan. Within an instant, Asshole Savagely Strangles Defenseless Cat topped a thousand views.

  Then two thousand.

  All the pain that racked Tobin’s body sluiced away.

  “I-I-I’m famous,” he whispered.

  Without thinking, he copied the video URL and then navigated to his Instagram page. He scrolled to Anon’s most recent comment and pasted the link.

  “You don’t know who I am. You don’t—”

  A series of bangs coming from the apartment door stayed his hand.

  “You fucking idiot,” he cursed himself, deleting the post.

  Tobin couldn’t believe that he’d almost posted the video as a reply to Anon from Lucas’s account.

  “You moron.”

  For some reason, he found himself thinking about the man in the club, of Caine, of being choked with a thick rope.

  Tobin’s fingers instinctively went to his throat and he massaged his blistered skin.

  Something had happened to him that night.

  Tobin Tomlin had died.

  Tobin had been murdered, as had Lucas Lionell. Choked to death, their body turned into a fucking stuffed statue just like the animals and the mannequins.

  But Chad was here.

  Chad was still alive.

  And Chad was motherfucking famous.

  Licking his lips, which were incredibly dry, Tobin logged out of all his socials and triple-checked that his VPN wasn’t just up and running, but that his location was anonymized.

  Tobin had done this
so many times now that it was almost second nature. Within minutes, Chad had an email address, a Facebook page, a Twitter, and an IG.

  He was Chad, and Chad was him.

  Tobin was a fucking loser, someone who had been extorted by a fat ginger.

  Tobin was a man who lived in a shitty apartment with an illegal immigrant who wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone about the rent.

  Tobin had to build a fake shelter in his bedroom so that his followers didn’t know he lived in squalor.

  Tobin didn’t have money for new clothes.

  Tobin had a protruding forehead that kept him from getting the reality TV gigs that he deserved.

  Tobin was all those things.

  And Tobin was nothing.

  But Chad… Chad, on the other hand, was famous.

  Grinning so wide that the seam on his forehead stretched in protest, Chad opened his Instagram profile. He snagged a still image from the video, one that perfectly captured his new profile. It was pixelated and aside from his flat forehead, you couldn’t make out much, but it was him.

  Then, with a laugh, Chad made his first official post: a link to a video. When he was done, he made sure to tag Anon42819.

  Chapter 32

  “So, where are we with trying to catch some pussy?” Hanna asked as Drake stepped through the doors of DSLH Investigations.

  “Fuck off,” he shot back.

  “Testy, testy.”

  Despite his words, Drake was happy to see that Leroy, Hanna, and Screech were all waiting for him. Then he grew concerned.

  “If this is a damn surprise again, I’m gonna—”

  “It’s not,” Screech said.

  Drake observed his friend for a moment.

  When did he get so serious? I’m supposed to be the dark brooding type, not him.

  It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had once taken Drake out for breakfast for what he claimed were the best pancakes in New York. Now, it looked as if not only had Screech been without pancakes for some time, but given his pale face and thin frame, perhaps without any sort of sustenance.

  “Ok… what, then? What is it now? Why’d you call me back here? One of us has to do some actual work.”

  When nobody answered, Drake turned his palms up and repeated the query.