Hell's Detective: Murder

by N. J. Bamford

  “Interesting,” the taller young man replies, kissing the woman on the cheek, “I made a new friend, who invited me to dinner and note swapping tomorrow evening.”

  “That was fast,” the middle-aged woman comments as she follows Richard into the kitchen, “The first day and you already have the makings of a best friend.”

  “Not really Mom,” Richard opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can of soda, “He only has one female friend, and I felt really bad for him. I mean, he says that everyone but her shuns him over something that happened with the former Student Council years ago, him being a member and all, and he had nothing to do with it. I’m starting to think the kids there are really judgmental.”

  “How awful,” his mother looks angry as she washes the dishes, “Kids today are so cruel. At least you are kind enough to be his friend, and I’m sure he is a very kind person.”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see. All I can say about him right now is that he needs more of a social life.”

  “What’s this about a new friend,” they turn to see a man in his late thirties enter the kitchen, brown eyes full of fatigue and dark brown hair slightly mussed.

  “Richard has made a new friend at school Tom,” the woman answers happily, “He and Richard will be having dinner over at his place tomorrow evening. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It is if we knew this person well,” Tom replies as he puts down his briefcase, “I keep telling you Richard that you have to be careful with who you give your trust to. You don’t know what they will do to you when you are alone with them.”

  “Come on, Dad. I think by now I can hold my own. Remember Edward, the ass back at my old school? He tried something and I gave him a black eye and a broken wrist. I wanted to kill him after what I heard he did to Missy and Susie.”

  “Granted, but you almost went to jail because of it along with him. Anyway, where does he live?”

  “The corner of Avata Street and Yankee Avenue.”

  “That’s in the business district. Will his parents be there?”

  “Says he lives with his older sister, who works as a private detective. Said nothing about the parents, though.”

  “How strange,” his mother muses, “I heard of a private detective that is said to be very good at her job and not charge outrageous prices like other private detectives do. Maybe she’s the one your friend’s talking about.”

  “Still,” Tom said, “I would like to meet her. After all, we are in a new neighborhood starting fresh. We don’t know everyone here yet, so we can’t be certain of who we can trust.”

  “There is also one other thing about him,” Richard reveals as he sits in a chair by the kitchen table, “When I was being introduced to the class, I got this very weird feeling when his eyes and mine met.”

  “A weird feeling,” Tom repeats, looking worried and suspicious, “What kind of feeling?”

  “You know that kind of feeling when you meet someone that you have not seen in years, yet you had forgotten about them and what they look like? It’s like that, only it feels different... like a familiar song that I have never heard of before.”

  “Tom,” the woman questions, looking scared. Both her husband and her son were born with unique gifts, gifts she still has trouble understanding. What she does know, is that these gifts are not harmful and they are blessings from God to His chosen few. Still, it is at times these gifts often got them into trouble when they least expect it.

  “It’s nothing to be concerned about Samaria,” Tom assures his wife, “It seems our son has met another like us.”

  “You mean... someone with gifts too?”

  “You can’t mean John is like us Dad,” Richard almost jumps to his feet upon hearing that, “He didn't even look like he can sense them. Not to mention I don’t sense a mark on him when I first met him-“

  “Everyone has different gifts from you and I,” Tom interrupts, raising a hand to silence his son, “Some can sense the auras. Others can hear the whispers. A few can even see the unseen. None need a mark to have a gift. On the contrary, having no mark is good. It means that evil has yet to claim him and bring harm to him and his family. I believe your weird feeling is not mere coincidence. You are fated to be his friend, because you are meant to keep him safe.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t even know if he is aware of what he has yet.”

  “In time, you will. Now, enough talk about what could be and what could not be. I’m going to get change. Is dinner ready yet, Samaria?”

  “It will be in a few minutes,” Samaria replies, walking up to the stove and stirring something in a pot.

  “I suggest for you to put your stuff away and stop filling up on soda before dinner,” Tom turns to Richard, who is reaching for another can of soda, “You will ruin your stomach that way.”

  “Aw come on,” Richard whines, “They don’t have soda machines at school. Only fruit drinks, and even those are not available until after school.”

  “I don’t wanna hear it, young man. Now go clean up, or you will be studying on an empty stomach.”

  “Fine,” Richard sighs and leaves the kitchen, ignoring his mother’s chuckles and tossing his empty can into a plastic bin full of other empty cans.

  Chapter 3

  Night has fallen upon the village. Candles are lit and doors are locked by the villagers, none daring to be outside at this time. The soldiers patrol the dirt roads, searching in empty houses that have begun to decay from lack of care in search of any villagers that may be trying to avoid the curfew and/or stealing from said properties. Sadly, these empty properties are not abandoned as they appear to be. Rather, they are properties that were confiscated by Lord Babil from the original owners that were executed for their crimes. So far, no one is willing to buy them from the young lord nor does he have any plans for the properties.

  The village is almost like a forbidden realm now, the number of villagers decreasing almost each day. Travelers have stopped coming and those that once traveled with their goods to sell to other villages have been forbidden to leave. By day, the villagers work on their chores and try to sell their products to one another. By night, they have to be inside their homes on order by Lord Babil under claims of bandits being seen around the area. The villagers know the real truth, and that the curfew is in regards to the recent activities within the capital.

  King Henry II, after defeating his son King Henry the Younger, was defeated by his younger son King Richard. Many welcome the change, especially after King Henry II nearly depleted the kingdom’s dowry from one war after another, his rage being secondary. However, some are concerned as King Richard has decided to raise an army to join the Third Crusade, the funding coming from raising taxes, making deals with King William I of Scotland, and selling properties and positions in his court. Owners of properties and positions have to pay large sums to keep what is theirs. The soldiers wait every day for the royal messenger to inform Lord Babil of how many marks he has to pay to keep his lands. They know that no matter the amount, their lord will be very displeased. At the moment, Lord Babil is already in a foul mood from the number of villagers that have yet to pay their rent and the threat of other lords eyeing his lands. The new king’s royal decree will not ease his mood in the least.

  The servants in the castle perform their duties quietly, trying to finish as fast as they can before retiring for the evening. The butlers clean and organize the rooms and hallways. The maids sweep and bring in the laundry that have been washed earlier that day. The cooks prep different types of food for tomorrow’s meals and clean the kitchen. They did not want to incur Lord Babil’s wrath if he were to see a speck of dirt on the walls or a crumb of food on the plates or silverware. They fear the punishment will be torture in the dungeon or death. They can no longer sleep at night without locking their doors, afraid of the soldiers coming at night for them. It has happened before with a couple of young servants for different reasons, and they have never seen them again. Escape is not an opti
on, not with so many soldiers patrolling at night and they are chaperoned when out in the forest or anywhere else during the day.

  A young maid walks down a hallway, trying very hard not to tremble and drop the glass of wine on her tray. Lord Babil had ordered a glass of wine to be brought to him in his study, and she is the only servant available to fulfill the young lord’s command. She becomes more afraid as she passes the soldiers standing guard in the hallways, imagining any minute that they will grab her and take her to the dungeons for something she did that she does not know about. She finally reaches the door to Lord Babil’s study and she takes a couple deep breaths before knocking softly on the thick wood.

  “Enter.”

  The maid takes another deep breath before opening the door and entering the study. She closes the door before turning to see Lord Babil sitting at his desk reading a scroll. His clothing is clean and pressed, but one could only use a small bit of their imagination and those clothes will appear soak in blood before one’s eyes. The stench of blood invades her nostrils and she has to compose herself for a brief second before she walks up to the desk.

  “I have brought your wine my lord,” the maid said, praying that her voice didn’t waver as she bows.

  “Place it right there,” Lord Babil points to a corner of the desk, not even looking up from the scroll he is reading to look at her. The maid swallows lightly before picking up the glass of wine and places it on the corner of the desk, holding her tray close to her chest.

  “I-is there anything else I can do for you my lord,” she asks, cursing herself for the slight stutter in her voice.

  “No,” the young lord replies, still not looking at her, “You are dismissed.”

  “Have a good evening my lord,” the maid bows once again and walks toward the door. A sense of calm begins to rush over her and she begins to feel a little bit happy. She will get to live another day.

  “Wait,” Lord Babil’s command is so sharp and so sudden that she almost trip as her legs instantly halted, “You spilled some wine on my desk.”

  “A spill,” the maid asks in fright, turning her head slightly, “Where, my lord?”

  The soldiers outside flinch upon hearing a young girl scream.

  “Right there,” the young lord answers.

  * * * *

  The bells of a nearby church ring in declaration of the time. 3 A.M. Many of the houses of Tsudane are dark as their occupants sleep soundly, lost in the realm of dreams. The few that are still awake bathe in the soft light of small lamps, televisions, or their computers as they went about their business. A couple stray cats prowl along the sidewalk in search of food or other cats trying to intrude on their territory. Not a single car drives down the streets or a pedestrian walks on the sidewalks. Upon the final ring of the church bells, all becomes quiet once again.

  A humanoid figure appears suddenly from the shadows of a house, his entire form covered in black. He is holding a small kerosene tank in one hand, a duffle bag in the other. He surveys his surroundings quickly, seeing no one in the streetlights or within the windows of the houses nearby. He sprints towards the Utgama’s house, staring at the large bay window near the front door. Seeing that the lights are off, he slowly walks up to the front porch. He sets his bag down and begins to turn the handle of the kerosene tank.

  “Don’t you know that sniffing that shit will give you brain damage?”

  The figure nearly jumps and turns to see Jenne Cordovo behind him, hands in her trench coat pockets. He drops the kerosene tank and dashes forward, knocking into the private detective. Not even unwind, Jenne swings her leg out and trips the figure before tackling him onto the ground. The figure gives off a soft cry and wheezes from the weight on his back, barely struggling as Jenne handcuffs him from behind. For added measure, she uses a thick ribbon from her pocket to tie his ankles together. The figure jerks with everything he has to throw Jenne off, but the private detective presses one knee into his back and finishes tying the ribbon, using the tail end to tie it to the chain of the handcuffs. With her captive immobilized, she walks over to the hissing kerosene tank and, after putting on a pair of gloves, she turns the handle to shut it off.

  “What do they teach you kids in school these days,” she asks almost sarcastically, then takes out her cell phone and dials a number, “The eagle has caught the lizard. The lizard is subdued.”

  The figure tries to crawl away, but Jenne grabs him and forces him onto his knees. She pulls off the thick mask and takes pictures with her camera phone of the exposed face.

  “Wha,” the figure, a young man with short brown hair in spikes and hazel eyes, cries out, “What are you doing? Stop that! Who the hell are you?! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who the fuck I am?!”

  “I am a private detective,” Jenne answers, pressing a few buttons on her cell phone, “I have been hired to put an end to your vandalizing ways. As for who you are, I can see you are somebody with a dirty mouth. I sure hope you don’t kiss your mother with such a mouth.”

  “Don’t you fuckin’ patronize me,” the young man snarls, the front door opening to reveal Marius and a woman in her mid-thirties with very short black hair and dark eyes coming out to them.

  “Ms. Cordovo,” Marius said, then sees the young man, “Frank! What are you... It was you? You... were the one? You did this... to me? To my family?”

  “What family,” Frank laughs sarcastically, disgust in his eyes, “You live with a fag! A FAG! You have no business living here! This is God’s neighborhood, not the devil’s, so go back to wherever you lived before, you fag!”

  “What’s going on,” a neighbor calls out as he and a few others leave their houses to see what the commotion is going on outside the Utgama’s house.

  “I’ve sent the pictures to your email address and the video camera caught everything,” Jenne reports as she retrieves a small camcorder from a nearby bush, “It is up to you what you want to do with him. I can only keep him tied up for a little while longer before I have to let him go.”

  “Just a moment,” they turn to see a young woman walking up to them, her white hair tied in a bun and sea green eyes full of kindness, “If you do not mind, I would like to have a word with this young man.”

  “And you would be,” Marius asks, unsure of who this newcomer is while still feeling hurt by Frank’s words. How could this once kind and welcoming young man become so... hostile... and violent in such a short time?

  “She’s Lilia,” Jenne informs, keeping her eyes on the young woman as she kneels before Frank, “She is a freelance social worker that has dealt with cases like this.”

  “Cases?”

  “People caught up in cults, gangs, latest dangerous fabs, and even hate groups becoming extremists. She goes around and tries to convince them that what they were taught and are doing is wrong. If anyone can get through to this kid, it’s her.”

  Lilia whispers into Frank’s ear, her voice too low for anyone else to hear. The young man’s face changes from annoyance to anger, to interest, then to shock, and finally to guilt with tears filling his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Frank nearly cries, tears falling down his cheeks, “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t... I mean... The pastor told me... homosexuality is a sin. To allow sin to exist... will destroy us all...”

  “Sound familiar,” Jenne asks Lilia as she stands, who pinches her nose in frustration.

  “Pastor Walter,” the young social worker answers with slight bitterness, “He had been excommunicated from the church years ago for encouraging violence in the name of God to youths and extremists. He was sent to prison for creating a cult that was responsible for the burning of Galeria Medical Clinic, causing six deaths and injuring twenty-four.”

  “The one that was performing abortions cheap,” the private detective guesses, to which Lilia nods, “With the police out in search of that social killer, I highly doubt they have the time to notice an ex-convict back to his old tricks again. With his kid’s help though,
he can be put back behind bars.”

  “Please,” Frank asks, eyes full of hope, “I will do anything to fix my mistakes. I’ll testify in court. I’ll fix the flower garden. I’ll... I’ll even build a new playground set! You name it!”

  “It’s not me you have to apologize to,” Jenne informs, “It’s to the Utgama family you have to apologize to. And by the way, whoever told you that Mr. Utgama is married to a man?”

  “Huh?”

  “He is married to a woman.”

  “A... a woman,” the young man stutters, turning to look at Marius’ companion, “You’re a woman?! But... but you look like-“

  “The usual treatment for cancer is to remove the tumors via surgery and months of chemotherapy. Depending on where the tumors are and how much chemo, anybody’s body would look different afterwards.”

  “It’s true,” Marius’ companion speaks softly, pained eyes lowered, “Chemo may be saving my life right now, but it also has taken away many things: My hair, my energy... my breasts...”

  “Ann,” Marius takes his wife into his arms as she begins to cry, everyone feeling sympathy for the poor woman. Frank looks dumbfounded as Jenne releases him for his restraints, then becomes terrified as he spots the angry form of his father coming towards them.

  “I shall take my leave now,” Jenne informs Marius, “What happens now is up to you. Good luck.”

  Without a backwards’ glance, the exhausted private detective leaves the small crowd after taking the ribbon and handcuffs off of Frank and heads for her car on the other side of the block. Despite a quick and almost trouble-less case, all she wants to do now is to fall into her bed and sleep until the afternoon the next day. However, Jenne has company.

  “You knew how this would end,” Lilia states as she catches up to Jenne, “didn’t you?”

  “Anyone could tell that child was a newbie to the game of hate crimes,” Jenne informs, “Newbies act similar to bullies in school. They start small when hurting others, but eventually escalate to more horrendous acts of harm as they become addicted to hurting others. It’s no surprise that many of these bullies end up becoming criminals.”