Caribbean Moon

by Rick Murcer

  Maybe he should consider that other offer. The pay was way better and there was no shortage of work with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU).He was pretty sure they didn’t do B&E paperwork either.

  “Okay. Tell me.”

  “Okay tell you what?”

  “Tell me about the pig, the priest, and the chicken.”

  “Nah.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t think you’d get it. You’re all blue-eyed and blonde, not Chinese.”

  “Remind me to kick your ass later.”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to do that. I just live for having my butt kicked.”

  “No problem. I’ll remember on my own.”

  “At your age? Psssft. I’m safe.”

  “Oh, I won’t forget. Trust me.”

  “It’s because men can’t get me off their minds, isn’t it? Admit it.”

  Sophie winked and blew him a kiss. Manny caught it and put it in his pocket and winked back. It was amazingly good to see her bouncing back to her former self. The whole thing on the cruise ship three months ago had affected them all, maybe for a lifetime. But Sophie had not only lost a good friend in deceased Lansing DA Liz Casnovsky to the murderous psychopath, Dr. Fredrick Argyle, but she lost an ex-lover as well. Her affair just happened to be with Liz’s husband Lynn. That kind of guilt and remorse would put anyone in a different place.

  The first two months back had been tough, but she was reverting back to her old persona, even though that meant she was going to be a pain in the ass from time to time. Some types of pain are just worth it.

  Argyle. He was still out there, and that fact made Manny more than a little nervous. The doctor had left bodies strewn all over the Caribbean and had disappeared after they had tracked him from Aruba to New York. His newfound friend, Special Agent Josh Corner, claimed the FBI had him high on their radar and was monitoring every known contact and source Argyle had ever associated with, but he was clever, wealthy, and worse, the most ruthless killer Manny had ever encountered. Not a good combination.

  But that wasn’t all. Argyle had put them all on notice that the books weren’t balanced, and there were more paybacks coming to the Lansing law enforcement family. It was a promise that triggered some sleepless nights and added more fuel to the workaholic streak in him.

  The time was coming when they would meet again. Only Argyle, seemingly, controlled when that encounter would happen. Manny would try to be ready.

  Meanwhile, there had been extra security put into place surrounding the families involved in the cruise ship incidents and they were doing all they could. He hoped it was enough.

  “Alright, I’m done with this report. Where do I stick it,” panned Sophie.

  “You can’t figure that out? I’m going to have to…”

  The phone on Manny’s desk rang. He looked at the number and quickly snatched the headset from its cradle. “Williams here.”

  Manny listened and then hung up without speaking. He stood, ran his hand through his hair, tightened his shoulder holster, and motioned to Sophie. “No more reports for you, us, today. We got a dead parolee and it ain’t pretty. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER-2

  Eric Hayes knew he wasn’t alone in the dark. The duct tape over his mouth and eyes proved to be efficient enough, but he heard his captor. Worse, his captor heard him. He knew the large man was staring at him from the other side of the small table situated in the middle of the suite on the ship’s eleventh deck. Eric was sure he had taken great pleasure in his attempt to demand and even coerce his freedom. Eric’s angry threats had evolved to desperate screams, then, as harsh reality showed its aberrant face, terror-stricken sobs had forced him to hold hands with helplessness. Lastly came a silent acceptance that was, somehow, more terrifying than the act of being bound in a chair at the whim of a maniacal stranger. All smothered by the gagging effects of the tape.

  The strong man doubling as his jailer had planned his attack well.

  Eric never could resist a story, or the thought of one, and the mysterious note had assured him that if he came to this stateroom at the proper time, he would be part of one that would make him famous. He didn’t know what that meant to a cruise ship docked in St. Thomas for the day, but how could he ignore a guarantee like that? It was like promising dope to a junkie, and he had chased the promise like one.

  One giant hand over his face, a rag immersed in chloroform and voila, instant prisoner.

  My God, he was still so naïve.

  Eric, for the hundredth time, speculated what the purpose was, and maybe more importantly, the reason he now sat bound in this room.

  Did this peek into Hell have anything to do with his career as a small-town reporter for the Lansing Post? He would be a liar, any reporter would, if he hadn’t worried that he had written something, somewhere along the line, that would offend someone to the point of repercussion. The public was as fickle as any weather forecast, and even in the land of the free, you had to watch your ass. He didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

  “Mr. Hayes. It is so good of you to join me for this happy fiesta. Well, happy for me.”

  The voice was powerful and confident. Eric also detected a hint of enthusiasm. The thought of his capturer being excited at his prey’s confinement sent a horrifying chill up his spine.

  “I know you are wondering what you are doing here and I assure you, I won’t keep you waiting. But first, I’m going to remove the tape covering your eyes. That’s the least I can do.”

  The feel of ripping tape against his skin caused him to scream from behind the tape as the hair of his eyebrows plucked from his face…with precious skin attached. Almost as pointed, however, was the sudden flood of light. Eric blinked and squinted his way to the realm of focus and after a few moments, succeeded and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  He at once recognized the man standing across from him. Anyone in Lansing, and maybe half the nation, would. Dr. Fredrick Argyle had added a blonde goatee, but it was him.

  “Do you remember me, Mr. Hayes? I assure you that you have not been far from my thoughts for years. I couldn’t be more pleased that we are finally all together. I love reunions. Ask anyone at the Lansing Police Department.”

  Argyle’s eyes rolled, and he laughed wildly. Almost like a cartoon madman, then brought it under control so quickly that Eric jumped. He began a new round of struggles against the bindings.

  “I assure you, Mr. Hayes, that your efforts to escape are futile. Duct tape is a wondrous invention to be sure. Besides, you don’t have my permission to leave. But you’ll have it soon.”

  The big man slammed his fist on the small table and Eric felt his heart skip beats. “You must atone for the things you have written about me. About my research. You’d write anything to sell a piece-of-shit newspaper.”

  The doctor bent close to Eric and pointed to the table. Eric’s smartphone sat so very close to the longest knife he had ever seen. “I’m going to offer you a chance to right wrongs, understand?”

  Eric nodded that he did.

  “This phone will inform your rag of a paper that you were wrong. That the Lansing Post should never have printed the drivel you wrote. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Eric shook his head and felt a little relieved. If that was all Argyle wanted, it would be the best damned retraction ever printed. He wanted to live. Swallowing some pride seemed a small price in exchange for that opportunity.

  “Excellent, Mr. Hayes. A wise decision to be sure. Shall we begin?”

  Before Eric could move, Argyle snatched the knife from the table and plunged it deep into the left side of his throat. He felt the blade came out the other side and the accompanying agony. His eyes grew wide watching the crimson spray that, somehow, didn’t seem to be his.

  Just before his world went dark, he heard Argyle laugh and repeat himself.

  “A wise choice, indeed.”

  *****************

  CHAPTER-3

  Reach
ing over to turn off his computer, he saw the e-mail notification pop up. Manny recognized the sender. It was from Eric Hayes, a local reporter, and it had an attachment. He’d have to look at it later. They had a crime scene waiting for them. Then he hesitated.

  Eric and he had worked some cases the way reporters and detectives do, but weren’t exactly on each other’s Christmas card list. He knitted his brow then decided it could wait. Maybe this was another reason to get a smartphone instead of the one he’d had for years. But answering e-mail and downloading data to and from a phone appealed to him like snakes in the shower. People already had enough ways to reach him. He flipped off the computer.

  “What?” asked Sophie.

  “Nothing, just an e-mail from Eric Hayes. I’ll check it out when I get back. Kind of odd though. I don’t really talk to him much.”

  “Get a smartphone, Williams, they don’t bite.”

  “Says who? Besides, it’s probably one of those ‘Don’t break this e-mail or you’ll have 8,000 years bad luck and grow a third ear on your arm--with little pink flowers in the background.”

  “Maybe. The firewall would have caught it though. And that doesn’t change the fact you’re such a baby with this stuff. I’m going to talk to your wife. She’ll straighten you out…and don’t get kinky on me.”

  Manny rolled his eyes as they reached the unmarked cruiser and climbed in. A Ford Taurus with a twenty-four valve turbo that kicked ass and took names when the pedal hit the metal.

  They pulled out of the underground garage, Sophie driving, and screamed down Cedar Street, lights flashing.

  “Where we headed, I forgot to ask?” said Sophie.

  “Where else? Behind the White Kitty. Sex, rock and roll, and now murder.”

  “Awesome.”

  They reached the strip club in record time and Manny reminded himself to take Sophie’s keys away. The woman was a great driver and fearless behind the wheel, but he had to liberate her cell phone when she tried to text her husband, Randy, while driving seventy-five miles per hour.

  He stepped out of the car and gave her the look, tossing her phone at her.

  “What? I always drive like that.”

  “Consider your license revoked. You’re going to kill us one of these times.”

  “Damn. You are getting old.”

  Manny and Sophie ducked under the yellow tape and moved to the back of the parking lot, near the large, rusting trash bin that also served as roadblock to the narrow alley running away from the strip club/adult theater. The September sun was warm, even at four in the afternoon and it did little to improve the mixture of scents emanating from the crime scene.

  Day-old, decaying human flesh combined with the truly ripe odor of hot garbage did little to stir anticipation for Manny’s next meal. He didn’t know how the CSU guys did it, but it never seemed to bother them. That, or secretly they enjoyed it, harboring some kind of warped fetish. He chose not to dwell on that one.

  Alex Downs, his good friend and head of the LPD’s CSU, was bent over a small swatch of cloth near the corner of the trash heap, dark streaks of perspiration running down his pink shirt and khaki slacks. The pudgy CSI was already working hard.

  “What do we have?”

  Alex stood, cracked his back, and flicked away sweat with his latex-covered hand.

  “Not nice. Thirty-five-year old white male, based on rigor, dead about fourteen hours and lividity indicates he’s been on his back. He was partially hidden by the trash dump so none of the patrons spotted him. The janitor noticed the smell and called it in.”

  “Dispatch said he was an ex-con out on parole,” said Manny.

  “That explains his choice of establishments,” deadpanned Sophie.

  Alex smiled. “Three years is a long time…Anyway his name is Mitchell Morse and he got out two days ago.”

  “What was cause of death?” asked Sophie. “I mean, other than this heat.”

  “Funny you should ask. Let me show you something. Oh. You may want to cover your noses. It gets worse.”

  Alex led them around the corner and he was right, it did get worse, much worse. Manny eyeballed Sophie as she covered her nose with one hand, then the other, eyes watering like she had been cooking with the harshest onion known to man. He felt her pain.

  After a few moments, Manny was able to control his gag reflex and Sophie had seemed to adjust as well. Alex stood next to the body, grinning.

  “You think this is funny?” he said to Alex.

  “I sure as hell do. But you two have come around, so let’s get to it.”

  “Paybacks, just remember paybacks,” threatened Sophie.

  Alex waved his hand and bent close to the body. “The body is bloated and I’ll have to see the toxicology and autopsy reports to confirm, but I’ll tell you what I think…and it’s weird.”

  “Bloated? Good God. He looks like a blimp,” stated Manny.

  “Not unusual in hot weather, of course,” responded Alex. “You can see the bullet holes in his chest and the one in his forehead, four total, looks like a .22.He was also tied up with black leather straps. But that’s not what I want you to pay attention to. See that area by his groin?” Alex was pointing to a raw patch of skin bulging through Morse’s blue jeans near the left inner thigh that was perforated diagonally toward his crotch, displaying raw, disfigured muscle tissue--and a small lump of flesh where his penis used to be.

  Manny squeezed his legs together and cringed. “Oh man! What caused that?”

  “It looks like an acid burn and if I were a betting man, I would bet his testicles, if I could find them, got the same treatment. Those burns probably came from hydrochloric acid; he was one hurting puppy before he checked out.”

  “Whoa. Someone burned his pecker off and then shot him four times?” asked Manny.

  “Yep. Definitely antemortem. Someone had to get up close and personal to do it, too. And that’s not all.” Alex asked one of the coroner’s people to help him turn the body on its side.

  Manny followed Alex’s hand to the place where a small tip of white jagged bone poked through the purplish-red skin of Morse’s back.

  “His neck was broken, postmortem, in several places. The ME will let me know for sure, but see these marks?”

  Manny did see them. “Looks like boot or shoe prints.”

  “There’s hope for you yet. Yeah. It is. I think the killer did the Watusi on this guy for more than a few steps. There are some other deep marks that I can’t ID yet, but I will when I get back to the lab.”

  “So whoever killed this guy was pissed,” said Sophie. “Like a crime of passion?”

  “Bingo. You win the Kewpie doll.”

  “Any shell casings?” Manny asked, already suspecting there wasn’t.

  “None, so far.”

  Alex scowled, made a small clucking sound in his throat, and removed his gloves. “There is one more thing. There was quite a bit of blood, but not as much as there should be.”

  “You mean it was almost a dump site, but maybe not,” said Sophie

  “I don’t know what I mean. It just doesn’t add up, yet.”

  “Well, if he was inside, chasing the hooker of his dreams, it stands to reason he was killed here,” stated Manny.

  “Makes sense,” said Alex.

  “Okay, boss. Let’s find out if he was here, and who he wanted to make friends with,” said Sophie.

  “Okay. But we have one small problem.”

  Sophie stared at him, and then began to laugh. “Never been inside one of these places, huh? Come on straight-lace boy. I’ll hold your hand.”

  CHAPTER-4

  Manny walked through the gray-tinted glass door with Sophie at his heels. He noticed the metal detector but went through it anyway. The siren was loud and immediate and got the attention of the two women behind the long glass counter--and the two security goons who were hanging out near the DVD section of the store. The larger of the two men, sporting a dirty blonde mullet and black, fingerless gloves r
ushed toward them like a bull chasing a red flag. Manny’s police ID stopped him in his tracks. The bruiser gave him a dirty look, but said nothing.

  “Good evening, folks. Now that we have your attention, we have a few questions. We’ll ask politely, you answer with honesty overflowing from the goodness of your hearts, and we’ll be fine? Capishe?”

  The tall blonde, wearing little more than a smile, a long, sheer negligee, five-inch stilettos, and Koi fish tats on both shoulders, stepped calmly to the glass counter. “Can I help you?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Charity. I’m the night manager.”

  “Charity? Is that your real name?”

  “Real enough for the pervs that come in here…Evelyn Kroll is my legal name.”

  “Okay, Evelyn. Were you working last night?”

  “Yes. I came in about 6:30 and closed up about 3:30 a.m.”

  Manny motioned to Sophie and she handed him her phone with the freshly downloaded picture of Mitchell Morse on the screen. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “Is that the dead guy?” She shivered. “That’s so freaky. Yeah, he came in about 11:00 and went right into the theater.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yeah, just him and his five friends, Rosy Thumb and the Four Finger sisters.”

  Sophie snorted and glanced away. Manny ignored her.

  “How long was he here?”

  “I’m not sure; we were busy last night, full moon or something. We had a couple of fights and tossed a hooker out on her ass. I do remember seeing him about 1:30 or so.”

  “What was he doing?”

  He heard Sophie throttle a cackle. He gave her the evil eye.

  Evelyn smiled an anxious grin. “He was standing by the door, talking to one of the ladies, trying to get a paid ride around the world. She told him that was illegal, and that she wasn’t interested.”