Killer of Killers

by Mark M. DeRobertis

  Charles still remained silent.

  Williams then pointed, successively, toward each of the Turks. “As far as your two Specials are concerned, we can’t find the weapon that did them in. We’ll keep looking.”

  “For what?” Charles asked. “A baseball bat?”

  “Well, some kind of club or blunt object. Brass knuckles maybe.”

  “You won’t find anything like that,” Charles said.

  “Why not? Are you our new crime scene investigator? Thirty plus years on the force... I know injuries like this.”

  “No, you don’t,” Charles countered.

  “Really, now.” Williams crumpled his brow. “Why do you say that?”

  “Look more closely. Do you see any brass knuckle indentations or any other impression on their faces?”

  “Okay, mister smarty pants. That’s up to the coroner to decide. It’s my job to mop up here. You want anything else?”

  By now, Charles noticed Andy waiting to report and nodded to him.

  “Nothing on Benson,” Andy said. “I’ll check these two now.”

  While Andy searched the lifeless Turks, Williams looked on and inquired, “What are you looking for, anyway?”

  Charles answered, “A disc or flash drive. Something that might contain a computer database. Have you seen anything like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, we’ll be helping ourselves to everything that might fit that description. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  The detective rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Shit, I learned a long time ago not to have a problem with anything you guys do. The entire city knows to back down when you show up.”

  Charles responded, “Thanks for your cooperation, detective.”

  As Williams nodded with a smirk, Bill returned from the other room. “Charles, you’d better come and see this.”

  Charles closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his lips together. Then he turned around and walked with Bill to Susie’s bedroom. Charles entered first and viewed the motionless woman. Her hands were clasped, and she was holding a flower. Bill stood beside him. “I couldn’t disturb her,” he said. “It’s just a robe she has on, and...I couldn’t...”

  “Did you check the room?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, but other than the black cases, nothing.”

  Charles studied the still form of Susie Quinn and noticed her peaceful expression. He looked at the rose she held, and he kneeled against the bed. He discovered the folded towel beneath her side. Observing the knife wound, he noted the towel was not soaked in blood, yet the sheets were drenched red. He stood up and, from his high vantage point, noticed fresh orange peels in the wastebasket near the wall. He turned back to Bill. “You said her black cases are still here. Are they intact?”

  “Yes, every one of them.”

  “Very interesting.” Charles thought for a few seconds, and then he added, “Round them up, will you?”

  “Right.”

  As Bill collected Susie’s supply of Eternity, Charles turned to exit the room. But just as he did, he thought he saw the rose in Susie’s hand move. He paused and fixed his gaze upon her. Was it a twitch? Just as he was about to check, emergency personnel arrived, prompting him to move aside.

  Deciding to let the medics do their job, Charles returned to the front room to examine what was left of Jason Benson. He viewed the bullet holes lined horizontally in the wall above the sofa and noted the wound on Benson’s chest. He peered through the splintered doorway. More bullet holes checkered the wall in the corridor.

  Charles looked at the Turk lying on the floor amid the wrecked furniture. He observed additional debris in the dining room and an impression on the carpet that matched a huge body. He followed footprints leading to the other Turk who wore the mask of dread. Charles was not a crime scene investigator, but he knew what happened and how in this once happy home of the woman he hired from lower Manhattan. Her name was Susie Quinn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the Dawn’s Early Light

  Late evening hours failed to dim the bustling metropolis as flashing neon billboards irradiated the always hectic and never sleeping boulevards. Cars revved, tires screeched, and helicopters chopped the air, while sirens wailing in the distance weaved a seamless transition from one hour to the next. But none of it mattered to a wandering Trent. Nor did the foul fumes of vehicular exhaust or the fetid stench of restaurant refuse distract him in the least.

  Trent had no destination and no plan of action—that is until the moment he faced Abraham Soriah. When that moment arrived, he knew exactly what he was going to do. A straight punch through the costal cartilage of the fourth rib would pound the pulmonary artery and, delivered correctly, would not be instantly fatal. A slow death was in store for the man who would be God, and no wonder drug was going to save him.

  Inner rage forced Trent to conjure a scenario that ended in Susie’s survival. If he killed Soriah when Manoukian asked him to in the first place, then Susie might still be alive. But that would pit him against his own principles. Could he really do that? No. It’s what Manoukian would do. And Trent believed there was a large gap between what Manoukian would do and what he would do. Still, Trent couldn’t help but consider that this time, at least, Manoukian might have been right.

  * * * *

  It was past two a.m., and Trent sat distraught in the outside patio of an all-night restaurant called Rick’s Coffee Shop. Being mid-July, the nighttime temperatures remained comfortable. The servers, dressed in maroon uniforms, stopped asking for his order, because every time they did, he didn’t.

  Dawn broke, and soon thereafter, the day shift clocked in. The morning waiter, a short, blond teenager, left Trent alone because he still couldn’t bring himself to eat. There was time for that later, and after his recent experiences, Trent believed time was his only ally. The hustle of rush hour traffic congested the streets, and the sidewalks filled with a torrent of pedestrians. The restaurant drew its early crowd, so Trent freed his table and walked around the block to hail a cab to the airport. A taxi approached, but before Trent could hail a ride, it pulled to the curb.

  At first, he thought it was Charles again, but when the door opened, a pair of skirted legs appeared. Trent recognized them. They were the legs of Samantha Jones. With emotions spent, and on the brink of exhaustion, he could only watch her step from the cab. As she neared, her pace quickened until she blurted, “Oh, Trent!” and wrapped him in a hug that took him off guard.

  “What are you doing here?” Trent asked. “I left a message on your voice mail, saying I was coming back to see Manoukian.”

  Samantha pulled away to look him in the eyes, but she didn’t release her embrace. “I had to talk to you,” she said. “If you had a cell phone, I would have called you, but you don’t, you old dinosaur.”

  “How did you get here so fast?”

  “I arrived yesterday, and that’s when I heard your message. I’ve been combing Manhattan trying to find you.”

  “Well, you found me. Now what?”

  “Where can we talk?” Samantha turned her blond head and panned the block. “I’m famished, aren’t you? Let’s get something to eat.”

  “I know somewhere.” Trent was thinking of Rick’s Coffee Shop.

  They entered the outdoor section of the restaurant, which was bordered by a short brick wall. Samantha started to sit near the periphery, but Trent pulled her to where he had made himself a fixture the night before. “Let’s sit here,” he said. The round metallic table was next to the building, and Trent always put his back to the wall.

  After they were seated, Trent noticed Samantha giving him a once-over. He knew his face was gaunt, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were red. His black shirt and blue jeans looked smudged and rumpled, but more disturbing, he was sure, was the blood that spotted his clothes. Trent wanted to say something, but it was Samantha who spoke first. “Trent, what’s wrong?” she asked. “You look worn out. Are you all
right?”

  Realizing the truth of it, Trent simply nodded. He was worn out, but it wasn’t just physical. He was emotionally worn, as well. Susie was dead, and he couldn’t escape the notion that it was his fault. He kept thinking had he not visited the Flip Flop Club, might it have been different? Had he assured Soriah he would stop killing Eternals, maybe then the old man wouldn’t have been so worried about retrieving his precious wonder drug. If he had just left the senator alone, perhaps Susie would still be alive.

  “Look, forget about that,” Trent said. “All that’s important now is that I’m willing to do what you wanted. Is the deal still on?”

  “Yes,” Samantha replied. “But there’s been an unexpected development. Jason Benson has been murdered.”

  “Murdered, hell, he was killed by Soriah’s own men. Careless butchers. They were trying to kill me.”

  “You? But why?”

  “Probably because I finally made Soriah’s hit list. They killed Susie first and then waited for me to show up.”

  “Susie?”

  “One of the Global Girls. She saved my life the night I wasted Flint.”

  “Is that why they killed her?”

  “More likely it was because she had the damn drug. All the Global Girls did. They were supposed to give it up, and she was the only one who didn’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Benson told me when I ran into him at Susie’s place. It means anyone who’s using the drug without Soriah’s consent is in danger. Even you.”

  “No. Josh and Karl wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “Listen to me.” Trent reached for her hands on the tabletop. “All the Global Girls returned their supply of this blasted stuff. Susie didn’t, and now she’s dead. You could be next.”

  “It might not matter anymore,” Samantha noted. “The lab’s entire database has been destroyed. The whole program is in jeopardy. With no more Eternity, Soriah has no reason to care. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Is it? Just what does Manoukian know?”

  “What Karl knows is that Benson is dead, and the files for Eternity are gone. Right now, everyone’s looking for a flash drive or a CD Rom.”

  The news of a search for the flash drive piqued Trent’s interest. “How do you know one exists?” he asked.

  “Soriah’s experts were able to determine that the files were copied before they were purged. There has to be a disc or a flash drive or something. They’re sure about it.”

  Trent figured he shouldn’t reveal what he knew, so he said nothing. But Samantha narrowed her eyes and added, “You said you were there...at Susie’s place...with Benson. Did you hear him say anything about it?”

  “What if I did? What if he told me the files were destroyed and all copies along with it? Then what?”

  “Then Eternity could be lost to us. The formula may never be recovered.”

  “Isn’t that better? Soriah’s plan for a super-human nation of Eternals will be squelched. I thought it’s what you wanted.”

  “It’s what we wanted, but the medicine has so much more to offer. It can save lives. Don’t you want that?”

  “What I want is justice,” Trent said. “That’s the only thing I ever wanted, and it’s the only stake I have in this entire mess.”

  “Justice,” Samantha repeated. “Does that include killing Soriah for the murder of your friend? Is it why you changed your mind?”

  “Soriah is not above justice. No one is. When can I meet with Manoukian? He has to get me inside that lab.”

  “He’s flying to Minnesota right now with Josh. We’ll have to meet them in Minneapolis and then take Karl’s private jet to Bemidji. From there, we’ll take a limo and arrive at the lab together.”

  A young waiter stepped to their table, but Trent noticed he wasn’t the blond kid from earlier. He was black-haired and dark-skinned, like an East Indian, and with no trace of accent, he asked, “Are you ready to order?”

  Trent eyed him suspiciously. “Where’s the other guy?”

  “What other guy?”

  “Hell, I don’t know his name. The short blond guy.”

  “I don’t know, sir. He must be serving the main floor.”

  The next thing Trent noticed was the waiter’s height. “Just how tall are you, anyway?”

  The young man fidgeted. “Well, I’m six, three.”

  Samantha said, “Trent, I’m sure it’s okay.”

  Trent didn’t take his eyes off the youth. He wore a golden vest over his maroon uniform like the other servers, and the usual white apron hugged his waist. But when Trent looked down, he noted polished dress shoes instead of the white sneakers worn by the rest of the staff. In addition to that, Trent recalled all of the other waiters had paper roses pinned to their vests. This waiter’s vest had no rose at all. “Your flower,” Trent said, pointing to the vest. “Where is it?”

  The waiter reached for something inside his pocket, but Trent sprang up and locked his wrist, forcing him to step back, gasping in pain. Consequently, an object fell to the floor. It was the imitation rose. Seeing this, Trent released the boy and sat down. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I’ve had a long day.”

  “But it’s only seven o’clock,” the boy muttered while holding his wrist and wiping the tears that dropped from his eyes.

  “Yeah,” Trent responded with a sigh. “You’d better hope I’m out of here by eight, eh?”

  To that, the server nodded. He bent down to retrieve his flower, and as he straightened, Samantha rose from her seat. “Poor thing,” she said. “Let me get that for you.” She took the rose from his trembling hand and pinned it to his vest. “It’s cute. I like it.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the youngster said, his face blushing to the color of the rose. He returned his gaze to Trent. “So, um, were you ready to order?” he asked again.

  Once they ordered, and the waiter moved on, Samantha looked at Trent with sympathetic eyes. “Trent, I’m sorry about your friend. I didn’t know you were close to anyone in New York.”

  Trent rubbed his brow. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know it either. And now it’s too late.” Just then it occurred to him that the incident at Susie’s apartment must have taken place after Samantha arrived on the East Coast. “You didn’t follow me here to talk about any of this, did you?”

  “You’re right,” Samantha said. “There’s more I need to tell you, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” Her eyes assumed a mystical charm and seemed to ensnare Trent. He tried to escape her enthralling gaze but couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was a natural attraction, or was it that damn drug?

  The server returned with their order, but after he left, Samantha ignored the food. “Trent,” she began, “if Soriah is out of the way, Karl Manoukian will arrange for a government distribution program. He agrees with you. He doesn’t want a monopoly of the formula. This serum is more than a fountain of youth. It’s more than a bodybuilding steroid. It holds the key to prevent disease, Trent. Can you imagine? No more cancer. No more sickness. That’s why it’s so important for us to retrieve the data.”

  “You really think it’s all that?” Trent asked, ever the cynic.

  “The FBI and their researchers are still working on it,” Samantha conceded, “but so far it really seems to be.”

  “I heard Soriah wants to help children. Do you believe that?”

  “Children? It doesn’t even work on children. Who told you that?”

  “Never mind who,” Trent answered. “I should have known better.” He turned his head and viewed a mother with her child. “Obviously, an anti-aging serum is intended for adults, but you keep talking about cancer and disease. So what about kids? What’s in it for them?”

  “The little ones...” Samantha pouted. “Maybe some derivative could help children if they cared to develop one, but that’s not what they’re working on. What Soriah wants is to create his super race and then watch the rest of the world age, suffer, and die, while he sits back and
cares not in the least.”

  Trent nodded, but there was something else in her eyes, in her expression, in the sound of her voice. He knew women, and he knew there were different words on her mind. A second time he reached for her hand and spoke. “Samantha, I know none of this is what you’re here for. What is it? What’s really going on?”

  “You’re right, again,” Samantha said. She closed her eyes. “I followed you here because I’m in love with you.” Her eyes reopened, flooded with tears. “For the first time in my life, I’m in love.” She put her free hand to her forehead. “I couldn’t let you vanish without telling you that.” Her tears began to fall.

  Trent was caught in the moment. A year ago he had walked away from Yoshiko, and just yesterday he watched Susie die in his arms. Without thinking, he responded, “I love you, too,” and held both of her hands with both of his.

  “You do?” A look of hope flashed across Samantha’s face.

  “Of course, I do,” Trent replied, still unsure if the feelings were real. “But you have to forget about me.”

  “What? Why? You tell me you love me, and then the next thing you tell me is to forget about you?”

  “You know what I am, Samantha. I’m a killer. That’s what I do. How can we have a meaningful life together?”

  “You’re a killer of killers only,” Samantha reminded him. “What about when you’ve killed all the killers? Won’t you be able to stop killing then?”

  “There will always be murderers walking free, even without your drug around. The only person who can take them off the street is me, and that’s what I’m going to keep on doing.”

  “But why?” Samantha’s tone was increasingly anguished. “Why is it so important to you?” Before Trent could answer, she calmed herself and asked, “Does it have something to do with Yoshiko?”

  Trent perked up at the mention of the name. “Yoshiko?”

  Samantha reached into her purse and pulled out a photo. “I’m sorry, Trent, this belongs to you.”

  Trent glanced at the photo. It was Yoshiko’s! “How... Never mind.” He slipped the photo into his shirt and studied the tabletop. Then he looked up, resolved to lay out the facts. “Not long ago, I was the champion of the Japanese circuit. A gaijin from America. It was a first, you know. I was also the highest-ranking sensei at the Tokyo Dojo. A gaijin from America. That never happened before, either.” He cast his gaze afar as he recalled the past. “Almost every man in Tokyo loved Yoshiko. But she loved only me. The gaijin from America.”