by Ethan Cross
With a roll of his eyes, he bent his wrist to reacquire his target and squeezed the trigger. The result was one dead entrepreneur and one dead employee on the floor. He had wasted precious seconds assuming this woman to be his target. They possessed the same blonde hair and same artificially enhanced forms. Still, he cursed himself. His father had always preached against assumptions.
His gaze swept the room, and he listened for any sounds. But the police were close, and the sirens made it impossible to listen for an individual’s breathing. He didn’t have time to play hide and seek, and so he stitched a line of bullets high into the walls all around the room.
Then he listened for the whimper.
When hunting, fear was often the most effective method to draw out one’s prey.
He aimed the machine pistol at the source of the small cry.
“Come out now, or I open fire,” he said, bluffing.
Samantha Campbell stepped into the light. She had been cowering on the opposite side of her employer’s bed. Sammy, as her sister had always called her, was naked in all the spots she should have been clothed, while black leather covered all the patches of skin that could have acceptably been exposed.
Through a zippered opening, she said, “Please don’t kill me. I didn’t see anything.”
“Remove the leather from your face.”
She pulled off the zipper-clad mask.
With positive visual confirmation on his target, Granger lowered his weapon and said, “Don’t worry, Ms. Campbell. I’m here to take you to see your sister.”
The young woman’s surprise exceeded her fear, and she asked, “You know my sister? Are you the one who took her?”
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine.” His eyes searched the room for her regular clothing, but not seeing anything else, he reached down and pulled the pink bathrobe from the dead man’s shoulders. He held it out to Sammy. “Put this on.”
“It’s covered in blood,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
Granger examined the garment and saw the spots where bullets had pierced the fabric and then penetrated the pimp’s flesh. Blood had rushed from the wounds and stained the robe. He said, “It just makes it look like pretty red flowers. Put on the robe, or I’ll give you a few blossoms of your own.”
Once Sammy had on the robe, he rushed her down the fire escape and away from the building, heading toward the Buick. He was unarmed now, having discarded the Mac 10 in Faraz’s penthouse. It was a street gun, no serial numbers. Perfect for a job like this. He half-carried the terrified woman as she stumbled and dragged her feet. Luckily, his own strength was more than adequate for the task.
When they reached the Buick, he turned to Samantha Campbell, and in his mind, he overlaid an internal diagram of a woman’s brain and spinal column onto the side of her face. Then he struck her in the temple with a blow designed make her head rotate, twisting the spine and disrupting function between the upper brainstem and the higher brain, causing unconsciousness. Once she was out, Stefan Granger popped the trunk and deposited Sammy inside. Then he slid in behind the wheel and headed for the compound, his assignment complete.
~~*~~
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Corin Campbell would have normally backed away in horror at the sight of Tia’s mutilation. The young Asian woman, who didn’t look to be over eighteen, had only a mangled nub where her tongue should have been. Corin wanted to run as fast as her deceptively strong little legs could carry her.
Unfortunately, Corin was behind enemy lines with two broken legs, and she could do little more than look away and tremble.
Sonnequa said, “This is your world now, baby girl. You’d best get used to it.”
“Get used to it?”
“This is your life now. I’ll explain the rest of the rules. Only ask questions if it’s pertaining to that specific rule. Nod if you understand.”
Corin nodded.
“Good.” Sonnequa pushed Corin’s wheelchair over to the massive window. “Nice view, isn’t it? You can have a decent life here, Corin. A quiet life, perhaps. But not an uncomfortable one. As you can see by the view.”
“And that is a view of where?”
“Northern California, and that’s as much as you need to know about that right now. The first rule, as you heard, is no communication of any kind unless the Master is present or you are acting under his orders.”
“Where is the Master? Is he here all the time?”
“He joins us for dinner most evenings. The time varies depending on his schedule. It’s always a five-course meal. Prepared by us, of course, but the Master often brings in takeout to give us a break from even those duties.”
“So he’s not here right now?”
“Sometimes he is. And sometimes he isn’t. Doesn’t really matter. Rules stay the same.”
“But if he’s not here, then how does he know—”
“There are sophisticated surveillance and audio detection systems installed throughout the compound. If you speak to one of the other ladies or attempt to communicate, he will know. Someone is always watching. Trust me on that. Tia thought she was being smart too. She didn’t plan to get caught.”
“If that’s the outside world, right there, and he’s not even here, then what’s to stop us from getting away. We could smash that window and run. All of us.”
“That brings us to rule number two. We have wonderful facilities here. A stocked kitchen abundant with healthy snacks. A swimming pool. Sauna. Gym. Jacuzzi. Lots of books to read. A television with an endless supply of movies. And very little work to do. This place provides us with a life of luxury.”
“As what?” Corin asked. “Sex slaves for some psychotic pervert?”
“If I were you, I would keep thoughts like that to myself. The Master will probably cut you some slack since you’re new. But I would never count on mercy here, baby girl. Not from anyone.”
Sonnequa dug into a pocket of her dress and handed a stack of pictures to Corin. Staring at the first photo, Corin felt the urge to vomit, but there was nothing in her stomach to heave out. She looked away from the photos and asked, “What is this?”
“Keep looking at the photos. Rule number two: don’t ever leave the protection of the Compound.”
“Or what? The Master will butcher you?”
“The Master didn’t inflict those wounds. That’s what happened when the hellhounds—a trained pack of Rottweilers—got hold of a girl who decided to break rule number two. The hellhounds protect the compound from intruders, but they’re also trained to tear us to pieces if we venture outside. You can explore, if you wish. Just don’t try to open a locked door, cause a problem, or step outside these walls. Keep looking through the pics.”
“I don’t need to see any more.”
“That wasn’t a request.” Sonnequa snatched the photos from Corin’s grasp and stuck them up in front of her face. “You look at these, baby girl. I’ve been here the longest. I’ve seen what happens when you defy the Master, and breaking the rules has swift and serious consequences.”
Sonnequa kept sticking photo after photo in front of Corin’s face. “You look at them! These were my sisters. That’s what we are here. A family. You can have a good life here. You just need to be a good wife.”
“A good wife?”
“He has bought you as his bride with his strength and blood.”
Corin felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate dimension. “I’m no one’s property, and I’m no one’s wife. Good or otherwise.”
“Rule number three is a catch-all. Do anything to incur the wrath of the Master, and the sentence is death. He has no mercy for those who defy him.”
“This is insane. I’d rather die than live on my knees.”
Sonnequa slapped her hard across the left cheek and then leaned down into her face. “You best wake up, baby girl.
There are much worse things he can do to you than kill you. And when one of us breaks a rule, we all suffer. Things aren’t as dark as they seem now. When you see the Master tonight at dinner, I suggest you show him respect and reverence. You can have a good life here.”
~~*~~
Chapter Forty
Special Agent Maggie Carlisle guessed that Eddie’s office had once been the mansion’s library. Two-story bookshelves encircled the room, with a ladder on rollers providing access to the top volumes. Like the rest of the club, it was something from an old movie. The enormous room held a sitting area with brown leather couches and a desk that looked as if it belonged in the Oval Office. Individual display cases filled with antique weapons from various eras, each with a small plaque, lined a path to the desk. On the way in, Maggie noticed that one contained a tommy gun that supposedly belonged to John Dillinger. She wondered if the collection had been designed to add to “The Great Caruso’s” mystique.
Eddie took his position behind the massive desk and directed them to a pair of leather chairs facing him. As Maggie sat, she noticed the chairs were shorter than normal, as if the legs had been altered to ensure that everyone looked up toward the desk.
She glanced over at Marcus. His nostrils were flared and his lip curled as though they had just stepped into a garbage dump. She had lectured him about playing nice on the drive from the airport, but he often seemed incapable of filtering himself.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie asked.
Maggie said, “We’re here to ask for your help, Mr. Caruso. We work for the DOJ as part of a task force tracking serial murderers.”
“Yes, I’m aware. I had my people check into both of you. It seems that your group’s activities are veiled in secrecy. To be honest, I was surprised that Marcus was still in law enforcement, after being drummed out of the NYPD.”
Marcus said, “My resumé isn’t really any of your concern.”
“Considering that you’re sitting in my office, in my club, I think it is my concern. I don’t like to associate with unsavory types, and the word on the street is that you’ve gunned down more bad guys than you’ve caught. Sounds like you’re nothing but a glorified trigger man.”
Leaning forward, Marcus said, “You heard wrong. I don’t need a gun. I could come across this desk and rip your lungs out with my bare hands.”
“Anytime. Anywhere.”
Marcus smiled. “How about right here and right now?”
Knocking three times on the desk to get the attention of the two little boys, Maggie said, “Okay, I think both of you need to relax. You can go in the bathroom and measure later, but first, let’s have an adult conversation.”
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, but then Marcus said, “We’re not here to dig up old bones. It was all a long time ago.”
“You still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But it’s kind of a moot point. Homeless winos have more class than you do. It makes this whole ‘Great Caruso’ shtick even funnier.” Marcus stood and added, “Come on, Maggie. I knew this was a waste of—”
She snapped, “Sit your ass down. I didn’t come all this way to watch you throw a tantrum.”
Marcus looked as if he’d been slapped.
Turning to Eddie, she said, “You want to prove you’re better than him. Here’s your chance. Forget about the past, whatever happened between the two of you, and be the bigger person. We both know Marcus isn’t capable of that.”
Maggie would have to deal with some backlash later for her comments, but right now, the best way to acquire Eddie’s help was appealing to his ego by using his dislike of Marcus to their advantage. She hoped Marcus would see that later, after they’d enlisted Eddie’s help.
Eddie leaned back and steepled his fingers. “I’m always happy to help officers of the law. When possible.”
“We have a mass murderer with a connection to a San Francisco crime boss they call Mr. King.”
“I’ve heard of him. Supposedly very reclusive and ruthless. But I don’t know King or anything about his activities.”
“That’s not what we need from you. We just want to use you as a reference to get close to him. A simple testimonial kind of thing.”
“And what are you supposed to have done for me?”
“Contract killing.”
Eddie chuckled. “Why on earth would I need a contract killer?”
Taking a deep breath, Maggie said, “Let’s not chase our tails here. You run a powerful criminal organization with your hands in everything from drugs to money laundering. Mr. King has similar interests on the opposite coast. We hear he’s not a very trusting man, and we don’t have the luxury of time. If you were to vouch for our undercover agents, it would help us at least get our feet in the door.”
Eddie shook his head. “I have a reputation to uphold. I don’t know your friend, Mr. King, but we could possibly do business with some of the same people. I don’t know. Hypothetically, if I was involved in anything like what you mentioned, which I’m not, I couldn’t go around helping the feds. It would be bad for business, and from what I’ve heard about King, he would hold a serious grudge.”
“We understand that. The thing is, we’re not after King. We’re after someone who works for him. We’re only trying to get a lead about our killer. King will never know we’re not who we say we are or that you vouched for the other side.”
“And why would I stick my neck out? Sounds like a lot could go wrong in that scenario. What’s in it for me?”
Marcus said, “How about the satisfaction of, for the first time in your life, not being a worthless sack of monkey—”
Ignoring him, Maggie interrupted with, “The Shepherd Organization has pull with pretty much every government agency. We would owe you.”
“What? I never agreed to—” Marcus started, but again Maggie intercepted his comments.
“Our Director asked me to extend this offer to you. We could be a powerful ally, or we could make sure that you’re on the radar of agencies like the FBI and the IRS.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, I’m just trying to explain that it’s better to be our friend. Our Director has the Attorney General on speed dial. I think that would be the kind of relationship a man like yourself would find valuable.”
She looked over at Marcus. His eyes were on fire, and his jaw was clenched. He had never been happy with the lengths to which the Director would go to stop a killer. Marcus didn’t have a problem bending a few rules, but when it came down to it, he had his own code of righteousness that often didn’t fit within the SO’s shades of gray.
“If I were to provide you with this reference,” Eddie said, “that favor would have to be a damn big one.”
“I can’t offer you a get-out-of-jail-free card, but the Director can move a lot of mountains under the right circumstances.”
“Fair enough, but I have another minor stipulation. I’m going to need Marcus to admit that his father, Detective John Williams, was a dirty cop who liked to plant evidence.”
Marcus balled his fists. In a whisper, he said, “My father was a man of integrity. Something you’d know nothing about.”
Eddie’s calm demeanor toppled like a house of cards. He slammed a hand on his desktop and screamed, “I treated you like family, and you betrayed me. You squealed like a good little piggy. Went running right to your daddy. But when he didn’t have an actual case, he decided to make one. Except your filthy pig father got caught.”
Marcus shot to his feet, knocking over the leather chair, and before Maggie could intervene, he vaulted over the top of Eddie’s desk.
Grabbing the crime boss by the lapel of his tuxedo, Marcus lifted Eddie from the chair as if he weighed nothing. Then Marcus drove his former friend back against the large window that occupied the space behind
the desk.
Using leverage, Marcus wrenched Eddie’s arm up behind his back, soliciting a crack of tendons and a cry of pain.
Marcus whispered, “I know what kind of man you are. The same one you’ve always been. Weak and afraid. You’re all talk and no action. You see that rod iron fence down there. I bet I could throw you through this window hard enough to make you land on that. I want you to imagine being impaled on that fence while I tell you the way things are going to be. Now, you’re going to take our deal, and you’ll get your all-important favor from on high. I’m going to let you go, and we’re going to have a nice ride back to the airport in your limo. But if you call me or my father a pig one more time or even try to act like the tough guy I know you’re not, then you’re either going to sprout wings or become intimately acquainted with the top of that fence.”
~~*~~
Chapter Forty-One
The past…
Junior hadn’t been kidding about losing his way in the warren of secret passageways. Marcus had to crawl through some, and sometimes he had to slide down or climb up. He thought he was close behind the other boys, but sound carried strangely in the dark skeleton of the house. Within two minutes, he realized he had taken a wrong turn. But even after trying to correct his error, he quickly lost the sound of Eddie’s and Junior’s voices completely.
“Great,” Marcus said to himself. “I’m going to get trapped in here and have to live on rats and cockroaches. I’ll become like the Phantom of the Opera, only inside the walls. The Ghost in the Walls. Sounds like a scary movie.”
By the end of his little speech to himself, his voice had begun to tremble with fear.
Darkness terrified him more than anything else. So much so that he carried a flashlight with him everywhere he went. But even under the protection of the miniature Maglite’s warm glow, the darkness was always creeping up behind him. The shadows seemed to pulsate with unseen dangers. The darkness seemed to reach for him. Something about the unknown. He couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see.
