An Angel of A Different Order: Dr Peter VonNetzer, the bloodletter (Danger Angel Book 1)

by S. R. Rashad

  “Did you get his number.” Peter says. His voice piercing the silence.

  Claire is so startled by the sound of his voice, she nearly jumps ten feet in the air.

  “What the hell!” She says, grabbing her chest “Fuck, I thought you were sleeping. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “No, I was just thinking.”

  “With your eyes closed?”

  “Yes. I concentrate better that way.”

  “Oh…ok…but man” she says still clutching her chest.

  “The number?”

  “Oh, I didn't get it, yet. I’m going back now, just grabbing my smokes. The clerk was busy.” Claire begins her nervous lie, not looking at Peter. She ruffles through her purse finds her cigarettes and holds the pack for comfort. “I didn't want to bother him, Peter.” she says letting out a slip because she's so nervous, “what,…I mean Frank.”

  Did she say Peter? What the hell! She thinks, not good.

  “Who's Peter?”

  “Oh, did I say, Peter…I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about my uncle Peter lately, is all.” She says nervously. Her nerves are completely shattered now. She’s lost her calm. Being totally unhinged, she walks over and opens the bathroom door and goes in, instead of exiting the room like she intended.

  “Everything ok, Claire? You don't seem yourself.”

  “No, I’m fine. I just remembered I need to use the bathroom first.”

  She goes into the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind her. He knows she knows. What the hell is she going to do. She tries to go out the bathroom window but the damn thing is way too small. Shit! She can't stay in there all day.

  “Hey, Claire. I’ll go get the number. I’ll be right back.” Peter says.

  This is her chance. She hears Frank, who is really Peter, open the door, then it closes. She has to move quickly, while he's gone. This is her chance. She waits a few minutes then she opens the bathroom door, and is hit hard in the face. She feels the room begin to spin. She is hit again before she can gain her bearings and is knocked to the ground. Peter takes the magic eight ball and hits her a few more times with it, till the ball breaks.

  Claire lies on the floor bloody with Peter standing over her. With the magic eight ball smashed to bits, he grabs his cane and continues the work he started with the magic eight ball, laying into her. His blows become more forceful and anger filled.

  “Why! Claire, why? This was working out perfectly. Now, I have to do this. You see what’s happening here.” With what little life left in her, these are the last words she hears. “I was enjoying being Frank, the cancer patient, with his beautiful nursemaid. You had to go and ruin it!”

  Peter takes a few more savage swings. Claire is most certainly dead now. Her head looks like a science project, gone wrong. Blood spatter is everywhere, the walls, the floor, the bed. The room has the look and feel of a slaughterhouse now. Peter stands there panting heavily, half exhausted from the fury. But the hunger for blood fills him again. He enjoys the familiar comfort it brings although he didn't take satisfaction in killing Claire. He wanted her around. Besides, she wasn't his taste. But now, that the blood fever is back. He is recalling a very delightful being he saw the last time his attorney came to visit him in prison. He wants her. She was splendid. He will have her. But first, that damn clerk, he ruined everything.

  Peter doesn’t bother cleaning up his mess. He is so infuriated that he doesn’t take the time he would normally take, to make certain the place is left spotless. His OCD forces him to be spotless. But this time, he is too enraged. And now, the bulk of his anger will be unleashed on the meddling clerk.

  Peter exits the room, leaving behind the wig, the beard, the cap, the shawl, and all that was Frank, the cancer patient. The world won’t let him be anyone else. They want the monster, the predator. They want his gift. And they shall have it. They shall have it in full.

  Peter enters the lobby. He comes to the front desk but there is no sign of the clerk. He walks down the hall and sees a light coming from a room whose door is partially opened. He moves by the door, slowly and silently. The door is cracked wide enough for him to the see the clerk there. He's opening a safe. His back is facing the door and he doesn’t see Peter standing there on the other side, peering through. Peter can see a letter opener on the desk near the clerk. He pushes the door open slightly, with his bloody cane, getting a better look at the clerk. The clerk is getting a revolver from the safe. Peter sees he is attempting to load it. As the clerk reaches for the bullets, Peter burst through the door and grabs the opener from the desk. The clerk is startled, turning swiftly, he drops the bullets to the ground. Out of some nervous instinct, he still points the unloaded gun at Peter while reaching down to retrieve the scattered box of bullets. Peter hits his arm with the cane knocking the gun to the floor. And in one continuous motion, with the opener in his other hand, he rams it into the side of the clerk’s neck, not quite a kill blow, but enough to start the bleeding. The clerk makes a gurgling sound as his throat fills with blood from the letter opener that now protrudes from his neck. The clerk reaches to pull the opener from his neck. Peter stops him, breaking his arm with the cane. Peter wants him dead, but more importantly, he wants him to know he’s dying. Peter breaks his other arm, and why not, the first caused the clerk to whimper. With the opener stuck in his neck, the blood has no way to escape and continues to flow inside his neck, down his esophagus. He gurgles and chokes. Peter is enjoying the clerk’s suffering. The clerk flops around on the ground as his eyes begin to roll to the back of his head. Peter, in all his monstrous glory, lords over the clerk, watching the magnificent suffering, as the blood does its work. The clerk begins to asphyxiate. Peter’s pupils open wide to take in all the beauty of the approaching death. A few minutes and the clerk will drown in his own blood, splendid.

  Peter sees the clerk’s car keys on the table and grabs them.

  Chapter 21

  Sniper to sniper

  The DA has managed to keep the third shooting victim out of the papers, and away from the media. It has been over a week and there is nothing new on the vigilante case. The 71st continues to worry him. Today he’s going to let captain Benson know the urgency involved here.

  "Linda, I'm going to the 71st. I should be back before my meeting with the Mayor.”

  “Ok, DA Ortiz. Don’t forget, you still have to meet with that local channel 1 reporter, in an hour. Should I reschedule?”

  “You know what, yes. See if, she can do tomorrow, same time. I’m not sure if I’ll be back in time for that.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Thanks, Linda.”

  Capt. Benson, officer Jeffries and detectives Ellis and Davies or attempting to come up with a better profile of the vigilante.

  “Ok, detectives. I want officer Jeffries to run point on this one. Are we in agreement here, any concerns or suggestions, feel free to voice them now?”

  The tension between a few other divisions and the special Taskforce is palpable. Most consider them hotheads, Cowboys with big egos and tendencies to bend the rules too far. Jeffries has the most super inflated ego of them all. Although not necessarily a hothead, he is self absorbed to the extreme. So, working with him, isn’t something detectives Ellis and Davies are looking forward to, but all know he’s a highly decorated ex army ranger, and excellent marksman with years of experience as a combat sniper. So his input into the sniper’s mindset may prove invaluable to this case.

  Davies and Ellis have no real objections at this moment but they are certainly gonna keep Jeffries ego in check when need be.

  “Yes, Captain we agree.” Says Ellis.

  “Good. Jeffries has a little more insight he wants to share with us today. Go ahead, Jeffries.”

  “Thanks, Captain. First, I want to say I respect the work you detectives do but let me share some things most will overlook when searching for this type of guy. He's extreme focused. He is trained to wait, to be patient. Most people underestimate this skill but
it is the sniper’s stock and trade whose value can’t be measured. He is keen and very observant. And the real trick is, though he assesses a situation, his enemies and any given scene quickly, he is not quick to react till he is sure of his win. So you are looking at a calm individual. He’s no hothead. You have to remember we snipers sometimes only get one shot. So that one shot becomes everything. He is also very skilled at evasion, or avoiding capture. When you are often times far away from your team, usually perched high and far away from help, you have to plan a means of escape before you plan your kill point and most times, you have to have a plan within a plan. But more often then not, you have to plan quickly, on your feet, in cause your escape points are blocked or overrun. This is the kind of individual we are up against.

  “He sounds almost superhuman.” Say Davies with laughter.

  “Well in truth, we’re taught to believe we are, detective. It’s this belief that helped me survive some situations most thought weren't survivable.”

  “Ok, how do you suppose we capture a guy like this then. Kryptonite, huh?”

  “No, it’s a little simpler. The best way is…”

  Just then DA Ortiz Bangs on the door.

  “Hold on, Jeffries. Let me see who the hell this is.” The Captain says.

  The captain opens the door and is ready to lay into one of his men but instead, he is surprised to see DA Ortiz there.

  “Oh, hey DA. I thought you were… Oh, hell, it doesn't matter what I thought. How can I help you?”

  “How's this vigilante thing coming along?”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Great. Any leads?”

  “No, not necessarily.”

  “So, how is it, good.”

  “We are building a better profile.”

  “I see. Can I talk to you in private for a minute?”

  “Yea, sure.”

  The captain addresses his team.

  “Gentlemen, go get yourselves some coffee. We’ll reconvene in 20, thanks.”

  “Ok, DA. What's troubling you?”

  “The Mayor. That's what's troubling me. Do you know who the third shooting victim was?”

  “No, not real. Let me go get the file.”

  “No need. You won't find it there. It was the Mayor’s son.”

  “You're shitting me!”

  “No, captain Benson. I’m not. A few of the Mayor’s chosen responders were on the scene and handled things quickly and quietly. So, no one knows. But most important, the kid wasn't hurt too bad. Needless to say this is still very troubling to the Mayor.”

  “Yea, I understand, shit!”

  “Do you?”

  “Come on, shit. If it were my kid, God forbid…”

  “Well, we have a few concerns.”

  “Shoot.”

  “So first, you're confident you can catch this guy?”

  “Yea, things are looking better.”

  “Ok. We know the people who were shot. Do we know who was the intended victim or victims?”

  “Well, we believe it may have been the doctor. Being that it was his trial and all.”

  “How can you be sure, cause the Mayor fears it could have been his son.”

  “No, we don't think so. And did anyone even know his son was going to be there? You know what DA. I’ll have Jeffries explain it to you.”

  “Ok, but let's leave the Mayor’s son out of this, for the time being.”

  “Of course. Hey Jeffries, come in here for a sec.” The captain yells

  “Yea, cap.”

  “Come in. Close the door.”

  “Ok.”

  “Explain to the DA. How we know who the intended victim was.”

  “Ok. The shooter we know is a trained sniper, possibly, ex military from his weapon choice since the weapon he used was the army’s preferred weapon from 1988 to about 2004 or so. Although It was still used a little later in some cases, but for the most part, it was phased out around 2004. This makes our shooter mid 30’s to mid 40’s. Possible Iraq or Desert Storm vet. Most snipers like to use weapons they’ve had successful kills with. But to answer the question of who the intended victim was, that's easy, the doctor or his attorney, the only two real possible choices. A sniper has to set up his location in advance. And being that it's the VonNetzer trial, the only two people you know for sure have to be there are the attorney and VonNetzer of course, everyone else would be incidental. Anything else, Captain, DA Ortiz?”

  “No, I think you answered pretty satisfactorily for me, thanks officer Jeffries.” Says DA Ortiz

  “No problem.”

  “Yea, thanks. Jeffries. We're good for now.”

  “Ok, captain.”

  Jeffries leaves them alone again.

  “I like him, captain. Why can't we put him in charge of the Taskforce. That's if it's still around, after the investigation. Where is Sgt. Roberts anyway, captain.”

  “He's on a little hiatus.”

  “He did fuck things up. I may have to bring him up on charges. What is I.A.D. saying?”

  “They're starting an investigation this week I believe.”

  “Well, let me know what they come up with. And see about having Jeffries take the Sgt.’s exam, will you.”

  “I’ll mention it to him.”

  “Well, you guys eased my mind a little. At least, I have better news for our worried Mayor. Ok, captain. I’m off. Please keep me in the loop.”

  “Will do.”

  The captain intends to find the Sgt. himself. After all, he knows him best. The Sgt. Spent a lot of time talking with his shrink. Jeffries is right. This is the first place he needs to go. He makes the call…

  "Hello, Dr. Phillips’ office. Stacy speaking. How can i help you?”

  “Hello, Stacy. Captain Benson here.”

  “Oh hey, captain Benson. What's up?”

  “Is the doc, available to talk?”

  “Not just this minute. But it looks like he has a free hour at 2 o’clock. You wanna call then?”

  “You know what. I’ll just come down there then. Will you let him know?”

  “Absolutely, captain Benson.”

  “Thanks, Stacy.”

  “No problem. We’ll see you then.”

  “Ok.”

  The DA seems to be agreeable at the moment. Officer Jeffries is taking a good lead. The team is still intact. The pending investigation, into the team’s conduct, is troubling, but the Roberts thing is more troubling. It’s the piece of the puzzle most concerning the captain at present. He’s heading over to Dr. Phillips’ office, hoping the doc can lead him in the right direction. He wonders if the doc didn’t tell the Sgt. to lay low for awhile.

  The captain walks into Dr. Phillips’ office. He feels good being here, just not under these circumstances. The doc is a good man. He was tremendously help to captain Benson when he was battling the booze and deep depression. He trusts the work the doc does here.

  “Good afternoon, Stacy. Is he available?”

  “He's grabbing a quick bite. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Great. I’ll have a seat.”

  “Ok, if you need anything, coffee or water. Let me know.”

  “I’m fine, Stacy, thanks.”

  “Ok.”

  A few minutes pass and Dr. Phillips returns with his lunch.

  “Hey, captain. I haven't seen you in awhile. What brings you by? Do you think you need more sessions?”

  “No, not really, doc. I’m good in that department, I think.”

  “So, what is it?”

  “Well, can we talk in your office?”

  “Sure, if you don't mind if I eat my lunch while we talk. I have another session in a half hour.”

  “No, no. I don't mind.”

  “Then, come in… Ok, what is it exactly, Ryan?”

  “Well, you know the Sgt. …um…”

  “You know I can't speak to you about the Sgt.’s sessions. I hope you’re not here for that.”

  “Yea, yea. I know, of course. B
ut do you know where he is? Did you suggest he go on some mini vacation or something?”

  “Mini vacation? No, what's going on? I know he missed the last session?”

  “So you didn't suggest he lay low?”

  “No, Ryan. Not at all. In fact, I was sure he'd make his last session. He seemed to understand the progress we’ve been making.”

  “So where do you suppose he is and why would he take off without talking to anybody. I know he and I haven’t been close, lately. But I still consider him a good friend.”

  “Well, what I can say about that is this, it's not your fault for the wedge in the relationship. Douglas is battling demons, a few he put in place himself. He needs to see that. Do you remember how it was for you with your depression?”

  “A little, not really so much anymore.”

  “Well, that's good. It means you are on the other side of it. That's positive. But let me explain something to you. Losing one’s family in a instant and having recurring bouts with PTSD, and deep feelings of isolation, brings on a myriad of stress factors. Especially, for a man coming to the end of a successful career, questioning his place in the world. And the anchors that were set in place are gone. The place he goes to decompress from the pressures of a stressful job, gone. With PTSD, it's hard to trust your thoughts and emotions. One begins to feel rudderless, alone. He’s family was he's true north. He's job gives him purpose, even more so with the absence of his family. What I'm saying is Doug set himself up for failure. He set an impossible task for himself. He wants care, respect, adoration, purpose and unconditional love from a job.”