by Ethan Cross
With a wink, he continued, “Then years later, this preacher tells about how he had become successful and saw this old professor at a conference. Preacher walked right up to him and asked how many students the old man had witnessed run out into the water with all their clothes on.”
“Hundreds, I’m sure, depending on how long he taught that class.”
“Well, the professor didn’t answer. He just smiled. Now, that unnerved the preacher a bit because he had been pondering this subject for some time, so he asked the question that had really been on his mind.”
Emily completed the thought: “He asked how many students the professor saw actually walk on the water.”
“Right, but the professor just laughed and told the preacher that no student of his had ever succeeded, at least not to his knowledge.”
Emily asked, “Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”
“Just stay with me, darling. The professor explained that anyone who actually had the faith that it took to walk on water would never feel the need to prove it, especially not to themselves. It’s a bit of a paradoxical exercise. After all, the whole point of faith is believing without seeing. The professor told the preacher that people who truly have faith . . . they just run and let the Universe handle the rest. And those individuals know that if the world drops out from beneath them, they’ll always find themselves on solid ground.”
After a long moment, Emily said, “How do we find my friends? I’m drowning here, Baxter.”
He took a deep inhalation of his organically grown herbs and then said, “You told me that you’d already met Unser, and he basically advised you to drop dead. But then he up and beats you to it. Makes me question what precisely he did tell you. I’m just thinking that he obviously knew something if our friend the Gladiator thought it was worth killing him over.”
Emily seemed to consider this but then shook her head. “He just wrote an address down and told us our answers were there. When we went to the location he gave us, we found out it was a cemetery. He sent us on a wild-goose chase.”
Baxter smiled. “No, I’m not convinced he did. Here’s where local knowledge comes into play. Let’s say you and I go take a walk among the tombstones.”
~~*~~
Chapter One Hundred Four
Sonnequa graciously held the door for Derrick, a Walther PPK pistol in her right hand. He wheeled inside the concrete cage with a nod of thanks to his current First Lady. His brother was close on his heels, as always. As Oban had instructed, both Agent Williams and Mr. Ackerman wore tuxedos. He couldn’t help but smile at the pair sitting atop the mattresses cross-legged, like two Buddhist monks on their way to the Oscars. He said, “You two look adorable.”
Agent Williams held up a hand to block the brighter light from the corridor and asked, “Who the hell are you?”
“Let me put it like this: if you were to follow the yellow-brick road, I would be the man behind the curtain.”
Agent Williams scratched his head and replied, “The Wizard of Oz. Is that who you think you are? I remember that guy as really not so much of a wizard. He was a total fraud, to be honest. Is that what you’re saying? Was that like a subconscious cry for help?”
“I’m saying, Agent Smart Ass, that I am the one pulling all the strings. You know me as Mr. King.”
“But,” Ackerman interjected, “we’ve seen surveillance photos of Mr. King at his mansion.”
“Yes, the whole thing with the mansion and the agoraphobia rumors and all of that nonsense is a smokescreen. It’s my protection plan. You see, I started out as a quite successful businessman. A doctor actually. Oh yes, how rude of me. My true name is Dr. Derrick Gladstone. It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you.”
“And what are you a doctor of?” Marcus asked.
“I’m a fertility specialist. More specifically, I have my own chain of fertility clinics, which provide a nice insulator for my other business endeavors. And the darker side of my kingdom is where I make the real money.”
Agent Williams started to stand but Sonnequa gestured him back down with the barrel of her gun. The DOJ agent said, “If you’re supposed to be the King, then what does that make your boss, Mr. Demon? Is he like the Emperor?”
Derrick checked his watch. “I’m so going to enjoy watching the two of you die later. In regard to Mr. Demon, I owe him everything. He found me and my brother and helped us to realize our true potential. But he’s not exactly my superior, either. You might think of him more as a major shareholder in my business empire. And as my younger brother informed you, Mr. Demon set all of this in motion. The message intercepted by the FBI’s undercover agent was specifically crafted to make you boys think that Mr. King, the Gladiator, and the Demon Welkar were separate entities, and that Mr. King’s organization was not happy with the Gladiator’s service. When, in reality, we are all part of the same Legion. We are all brothers.”
Ackerman said, “I’m not sure how I feel about the reckless dilution of the term ‘brother’ in such a context. But to be clear, the Gladiator, your masked friend here, is your younger biological sibling?”
Showing his perfect white teeth, Derrick replied, “I do so admire your work, Mr. Ackerman. I had so hoped we would get a chance to chat, and I wanted to tell you this very story. Especially considering how you are also working with a brother.”
Both sets of brothers remained silent a moment, and Derrick knew he had just scored a point for his team. It was all psychological, but he wanted them to feel how powerful he and all the Legion truly were.
He continued, “This isn’t something I talk about often, but you may have noticed that I’m in a wheelchair. It was during my senior year of college football when the spinal cord injury occurred. I was the star quarterback, and I would’ve probably been scooped up by the NFL, if it hadn’t been for a linebacker trying to prove a point. It was a late hit, completely inappropriate, and the refs called him for it instantly. But the damage was already done. My spinal cord was forever broken.”
Ackerman said, “It sounds like a godsend to me. If you had been contracted by the NFL, you probably would have suffered from CTE. There’s still a possibility if your college years were as you describe. But, well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain those studies to a medical doctor.”
Derrick wheeled forward and leaned out over his knees as he continued the story. Sonnequa tightened her grip on the pistol, adjusting to ensure a clear line of fire. He said, “While I was lying in a hospital bed, my little brother went out, captured the man who did this to me, and beat him to death with his bare hands. Now that, Mr. Ackerman, is loyalty. That is brotherhood. But even if we weren’t blood relatives, the same kind of brotherhood is still found within the Legion. Mr. Demon wanted me to extend to you one last invitation to join us. He can help you to achieve your true potential, just as he has helped my brother and I, and countless others.”
Ackerman glanced over at Agent Williams and paused for a long moment, as if he were considering the offer. Then the infamous serial killer said, “I already have all the brothers I can handle. I have a real family. And I’ve warned Demon what would happen if he ever tried to take what’s mine.”
With a small nod of acceptance, Derrick said, “Excellent. Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I’d love for you gentlemen to join me for dinner.”
~~*~~
Chapter One Hundred Five
It was a beautiful day, one her mother would have referred to as jacket weather. The sun had brightened a gray sky, but as they walked among the tombstones, Emily Morgan felt the sorrow of each death as they passed by. She didn’t yet know if Marcus and Ackerman were dead, but she had already begun to cycle the stages of grief. But she had to focus. At the moment, her thoughts should remain on the man responsible for the slaughter she had just witnessed.
Emily considered herself a patient woman. After all, it was her job to listen, to gen
uinely care, and offer whatever counseling service the client required, whether that be a shoulder to cry on or just a sounding board for his or her problems. The nature of her job demanded a humble and understanding spirit.
But even she was ready to strangle Baxter Kincaid.
“Okay,” she said, “we’re here. Now, tell me what it is that you’re thinking. Is the name on one of these tombstones supposed to mean something to me?”
Baxter said, “Well, these were all once people. Every one of them a son, a daughter, a friend. They each had a life, and now they have departed this mortal coil. Onward and upward. You and I will both share their fate one day. So yes, I would expect these names to mean something to you. But that’s not why we’re here.”
With a roll of her eyes, Emily said, “You remind me of someone else I know when you act this way.”
“I’m sure you’re referring to some kind of brilliant detective mentor?”
“Actually, he’s more of a mental patient. But he has this way of being horrible and yet likable at the same time.”
A sadness filled Baxter’s eyes. He said, “It wouldn’t be the first time I was called a mental patient.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just a little distracted.”
“No worries, darling. I want to catch this bastard just as much as you.”
“I thought you wanted off the case, that your job was over?
“I said that before he went and shot up a brothel in my neighborhood. This might be a bit childish, but I think of myself as sort of the local protector of my neighborhood, kind of like Batman watching over Gotham City. Only without all the gadgets and Kung Fu and what not.”
“How is this trip to the cemetery supposed to help us find the Gladiator?”
As they reached the back edge of the property, Baxter opened a wrought iron gate. Then, pointing at a small yet well-maintained home adjacent to the cemetery, Baxter said, “We’re here to talk to the caretaker, who lives on the grounds. I’ve met him a time or two, and I remembered that his name is Granger.”
~~*~~
Chapter One Hundred Six
Corin completed her chores and acted the part of the good wife, but she was always watching and waiting. Part of her wanted to shut down and give up, to play the role she had been assigned in Derrick’s egomaniacal kingdom and simply go along to get along. But, in the end, she had too much conviction to acquiesce to the will of a madman. The very thing that King Derrick seemed to admire about her most was the aspect of her personality which would never allow her to be part of his harem.
Along with the other women, she helped with the preparation of dinner. It was an all-hands-on-deck kind of moment. Derrick was calling it their Last Supper. The final meal that they would share together before entering the promised land. She thought it strange that Derrick, a devout atheist, would latch onto such religious language, but perhaps he was doing that on purpose to set himself up as a sort of living god.
The meal preparations went slowly, since they were only allowed to use one knife. And that knife never left the Good Wife’s sight. Early on, Sonnequa had caught Corin staring at the potential weapon while one of the other girls had used it to peel potatoes.
The Good Wife had snatched up the knife, held it up to Corin’s throat, and said, “Don’t you dare get any ideas, little girl. I know you think you’re tough, but you should know that Fallujah ain’t got shit on where I grew up. Don’t believe for one second that I won’t kill you.”
Corin didn’t flinch as the knife brushed against her throat. She didn’t even blink. She stared directly into Sonnequa’s eyes and said, “We should be allies, not enemies. If we work together—”
The Good Wife applied pressure to the blade until a small trickle of blood ran down Corin’s neck. Sonnequa said, “Before I came here I was addicted to heroin. But that wasn’t even enough. I had to have that heroin cut with fentanyl. Derrick saved my life and gave me a purpose. We are going to do great things together, and I won’t let you stand in the way of that. I won’t let you get the rest of us killed.”
Corin backed down, but she kept one eye on the knife to see where the Good Wife stored it when they were done.
She set the table with two extra places, having been told they had special guests. Then she had taken an assigned seat along with the others and waited quietly for Derrick and their guests to arrive. The man in the skull mask was the first to enter, only he wasn’t wearing his mask. Instead, he wore a black suit with a white shirt and tie. His hair was coiffed and his face freshly shaven.
It was a bit surreal to see the murderer who had repeatedly raped her taking his place at one end of the table as if he was the VP of some Fortune 500 company.
She noticed him stealing glances at her, but she did her best to ignore his eyes upon her flesh.
Derrick entered the dining room next, followed by two men whose hands were secured behind their backs. Sonnequa brought up the rear a few cautious steps behind them, armed with a black pistol.
The newcomers were dressed in tuxedos, as was Derrick. The Good Wife even wore a special dress and silver jewelry for the occasion.
Everyone took their seats at the long table, Derrick at the head, opposite the Gladiator. Corin had noticed that King Derrick used his younger brother like a hammer, little more than a tool for his own perverse ends, which made her wonder if Derrick could throw away his brother—and all of them—just as easily as a used Kleenex.
As he took his place in front of the assembled smorgasbord, Derrick said, “A few introductions are in order. Ladies, these two men are representatives from a federal agency called the Shepherd Organization. As part of this evening’s festivities, you will have the privilege of watching these men die.”
The two agents stared defiantly at Derrick. Even beneath the tuxedos, Corin could see that they were both heavily muscled and powerful men. Both were handsome, in their own ways. The one sitting closest to Derrick, whom he introduced as Special Agent Marcus Williams, possessed rugged good looks and brooding eyes. The other man, whom Derrick referred to as Mr. Ackerman, was movie star handsome and had an odd, gleeful gleam in his eyes, as if he was actually enjoying the proceedings.
After Derrick introduced him, Ackerman snickered and said, “How is it that your benefactor figured out my true identity?”
Derrick rolled his eyes. “They may have changed your face. But when Mr. Demon saw your scars, he knew exactly who you were. He’s a bit of a student of scars, and he has a great deal of respect for your work, as do all of the Legion.”
“Thank you. I try.”
“I have to say that my brother, whom you know as the Gladiator, is itching to get into the ring with you. Destroying you and your partner will be his crowning achievement.”
The big man at the end of the table remained silent, but his gaze was locked on the two newcomers. He looked as though he was ready to spring forward and attack at any moment.
Ackerman said, “That’s sweet. Albeit a little sad, considering that after I kill you and your brother you’ll be just another name I forget later.”
Derrick laughed. “The betting is at an all-time high for this episode of the Diamond Room. And, personally, I can’t wait to see how it all turns out.”
Then, with a snap of his fingers, five muscular black-and-brown hellhounds burst into the room, taking up positions around the table. With a small smile, Derrick said, “Don’t worry, gentlemen, the boys won’t beg for scraps from your meal. They know that their supper will come later this evening.”
Corin shuddered at the memory of the Rottweilers in action, the sounds of their growls and the tearing of flesh.
Ackerman looked down at the dogs with admiration and warmth, as if he would have nuzzled the hellhounds if he had not been restrained. He said, “They are amazing creatures. Did you train them yourself? I’ve always found working wi
th animals to be rather unpredictable. A killing machine that loves you based on the contents of its stomach can never be fully trusted.”
“Actually, our mutual Scottish friend supplied me with my praetorian guard. I can only imagine what he uses them for, but I find them much more dependable than any human. You’ve seen what they can do. If I wished it, I could order them to kill all of you. In less than a minute, all of your jugular veins would be torn out and you would be bleeding to death on my floor as the hellhounds slowly devoured you. I’ve often seen them bury their snouts into the intestines of a meal while it’s still kicking.”
The agent with the brooding eyes—whom Derrick had called Marcus—asked, “Can we pet them?”
This drew a chuckle from the one called Ackerman and a scowl from Mad King Derrick.
Corin wasn’t sure what she thought of their behavior. The two men both seemed fearless, in their own ways. She wondered if they were really so inept as not to see the danger they faced, or were they playing some kind of psychological warfare?
Derrick simply smiled and asked the Good Wife to pass the potatoes.
Marcus asked, “Are you going to undo our hands? I think it’s customary for the condemned to be allowed to eat their own last meal.”
“I’ll have one of the ladies feed you once they’re finished,” Derrick replied. “Besides, I want to hear how an infamous serial murderer came to work for the government.”
“I filled out an application online, but enough about me,” Ackerman said. “Have you ever heard the story of the Persian general who trained wolves to fight as part of a northern campaign?”
“I don’t believe I have,” Derrick said, stuffing a piece of steak into his mouth.
“The wolves were powerful and magnificent beasts, similar to your hellhounds. The general trained them well and thought them loyal. So, when he knew that they would have to cross over a dangerous mountain pass—and it was impossible to move the full force of his army—he used the trained dogs and his best soldiers to mount a forward assault. The problem came when they were snowed in up on the mountain. The general’s second-in-command, who was in charge of the rest of the forces, found them two weeks later. They were nothing but bone. The wolves, however, were fat and happy.”
