by Dan Glover
Those girls were being used in the worst way. No... they'd been used up. That's the impression that kept surfacing each time he thought he might wake but instead tarried a while on the shores of id, soaking in a knowledge both terrifying in its reality and ludicrous in its finality. Who on earth could come up with such far-reaching schemes? Only the delusional victims along with the sociopaths that preyed upon those who trusted them most.
He could see them, uncouth figures swimming on the shore of some ancient sea. Demons unsheathed. Waiting... for what? For him? No... he was too old, worn out, frayed around the edges. No... the spirits demanded the fresh, the young, the lively. Nothing else would do... they were the ones... they had taken those twins, and many more like them. And until he stopped them, the carnage would continue.
Those incubuses, those succubae, needed fresh parts to survive. Organs. Some of which the donors could do without... but also some they couldn't. Just a little snip and a tiny suck and viola... a new kidney... an unsullied liver... even a brightly beating heart to replace the old one damaged with the years and hard living and way too many drugs. Danners shuddered inside his dream wondering what it must be like to awaken and realize part of you was missing. And what's more, the only reason you were still alive was that they needed more of you, more fresh meat to feed to the organ grinder.
The dragon's breath stank of pickles and smoked rhubarb and undigested salmon as it leaned in close to whisper profane secrets into his left ear in a voice both divine and profane, unbecoming of such a beast. Danners listened, knowing better than not to.
Chapter 2—Liza and the Rope a Dope
(Twins on Parade)
She remembered reading about the girls way back when... twenty some years ago. Back in the dim days of yore. She'd been sixteen then and full of fire and pretty sure she knew everything about the world that could be humanly known. The twins—her age, and her sister's, maybe a year younger or possibly a bit older—had vanished off the face of the earth while walking to the beach not two blocks from where they lived. It'd been one of those things that caused quite a commotion for some time but as the weeks and the months and the years wore on nobody seemed to think too much about them any longer.
Normally Liza only bumped in the morning but today she felt the need to go full bore, as it were. Those first contact jitters always brought out the worst in her and she needed the fortification. Besides, what difference did it make, really? That and she felt just a tad congested. Danners could wait. She heard the horn sounding again as she heaped a mound of snow white into her spoon, pulled out her Defi Dupont Extreme Lighter, and watched as the powder melted into a clear liquid, impeccably pure and dangerously potent.
"Hold on to your hoity, toity."
She spoke aloud the way she sometimes did when the anticipation was too much, the bell rung that couldn’t be undone. She kicked at the window curtain hanging inches from her bed with the toes of her left foot just to let him know that she knew... that she needed a few minutes to lay back and shoot that liquid velvet into her vein. Of course he knew what she was doing. Danners always knew. The man was a freak like that.
She should've gotten up earlier. That way she'd be ready. Instead, she'd stayed up way too late dawdling over cheesy old movies while hoping Danners might show up unbidden at her door with a pepperoni pizza and a soft body with which she might cuddle. She experimented by sending out thought waves to the old queer but either he'd gone to bed early in anticipation of having to be at her place this morning or else he simply wasn’t the adept she took him for.
"Danners... please stop! I hear you already."
For a second she picked up her phone thinking to dial him... to tell him to wait, that she'd be right out. But then she slipped it back into her purse, took off her panties, spread her legs, and slapped her inner thigh to raise a vein into which she might insert the needle. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, she loaded the hypo with the shit, held it needle up to tap the remaining air bubbles out tiny though they were, and swore once more, as if he could somehow hear her through the walls.
"Danners... quit! You know I'll be out directly, damn you. You're gonna make me miss."
The man was always in a hurry. She'd told him more than once not to be blaring that goddamned horn in her driveway especially at eight o'clock in the morning. The neighbors complained something awful. Poor old Mrs. Bickle didn’t sleep well at night... mornings was her preferred time, and sure enough, here come Danners laying on that tooter of his over and over like he might be on fire and needed pissing on to be put out.
That old familiar sting... the head rush, and then... bliss, that eternal sunshine pouring over her, not like that first time so long ago, but good and righteous and oh so meaningful. Goddamned that Danners and his impatience anyway... if she only had that single moment, a second to savor, she could face what was coming. Breaking out of her heroin-laced day dream, Liza pulled on her pants, packed in her tits and snapped her bra, and chose a sweater not too tight yet not voluminous either... something tasteful. Every year the girls sagged a little more. Damned gravity, anyway.
She always hated meeting the family. Yes, the Picany twins had been gone long enough everyone else had forgotten them, but not the mother, not the dad. Liza tried to put herself in their place but failed. At thirty five she never had any children and the way things looked she doubted there'd be any little papooses in her future. Just as well, really... what sort of life could she hope to give a kid, anyway?
Don't do that to yourself, sissy Lizzi. You'll make a wonderful mother. You're the sweetest girl I know. Remember. We're a peppermint soul.
Come on, Lissi. What do you know? You've been dead for twenty years. If you could see me now you wouldn’t think so highly of me, kid. Used to be she'd only hear Lissi when she was about to go to sleep or maybe when she was just waking up. Lately, though, her sister's voice had been ringing in her ears a lot. Too much, maybe. What did it mean to hear the dead speaking as plain as day? Insanity? Worse? Bah. What of it.
She'd grow old one day. Lose her teeth. Her hair. Her boobs would dandle like overripe cucumbers off the vines that ran across her chest. Everything and everyone she knew would vanish bit by bit until the only soul left would be Lissi. Still sweet fifteen and just as loving as the day they last saw one another. I love you, Lissi. A thousand kisses deep.
Danners' car was still idling and he seemed particularly frazzled, even for Danners. You forgot to comb your hair again, she told him as she opened the passenger side door to crawl in beside him. His conspiratorial beard was off to one side too like he'd slept on it wet. Most likely drool, she thought.
"I hate it when I have to wait for you, Liza. You know that. And I really hate getting up so early. Christ. How do people do it?"
Great... Danners and his whiny mood swings... one day skipping the light fandango with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers and the next with his head stuck in the shitter and the lid shut. She wanted to tell him to chill out, to try some candy, but she knew better. If there was one thing Danners hated it was drugs, and smack? Don't even talk about it to him.
"So drive, turkey neck... we ain't got all morning."
She knew he didn’t much like that name but it fit. The old queer tried growing a beard to hide it but the flabby flesh still showed through maybe even more than before. Liza had him pegged for sixty but Danners never let on to exactly how old he really was. He was one of the few people she knew who never had a birthday. Maybe he thought that way he'd live forever. And who knew? Maybe he might. Jesus, she loved this man.
Chapter 3—I'm Sure I Made You Cry
(Please, Just Go Away)
1
"Remember the Picany twins, Sally?"
What was she now, stupid? Senile? Of course she remembered. She was the one in charge of the futile searches set up after their supposed abduction. Handing out flyers, tacking them to light poles, walking all up and down the beach, getting sand up her crack. Hank made sure to let her k
now exactly how useless her efforts were but she felt like she had to do something to help that poor woman. Right. That poor woman.
"What about them, Hank?"
It pissed her off so she snapped at him. Immediately felt bad but hell with it. Normally her husband didn’t hang around after breakfast. He seemed abnormally out of place sitting at the table so late in the morning nursing coffee now certainly cold. She couldn’t help it she liked this time for herself. Years ago when the kids were still small she'd get them all off to school and then lay back down for an hour or two. She never slept well at night. Waiting up for him didn’t help. Always late. Never a call.
Nowadays of course the kids were married with families of their own but Hank still insisted she get up and fix him coffee and eggs. She didn’t mind so much, as long as he left afterwards. Now, though, he was infringing on her time. A tinge of resentment must have colored her words for he looked sheepish, out of place, like he had something important to tell her but now was reconsidering.
"Never mind, Sally... I just thought..."
Galloping Jesus, now the guilt trip. Look at his face. In two seconds he's liable to start crying. Gotta get a grip, Sally. Remember that you love him. Or at least like him. And if you don't, fake it for a little while more. No sense agitating things now. Not when you're so close.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I think I feel a migraine coming on. You know how I get. Please tell me about the twins. Did they find them?"
"No, nothing like that... but Allen Picany called me yesterday. It seems he's considering hiring a psychic to bring in on the case... actually a pair of private detectives, one of whom is able to locate missing people by holding items that once belonged to them."
"Jesus, Hank... a psychic? Really? I thought I knew Allen better than that. What's Paula have to say?"
"Apparently she's all in too. You know one of the private eyes... she used to work at the department."
"It's Liza McNairy... isn’t it, Hank."
Of course it was Liza. Beautiful Liza. Gorgeous Liza. Hank wants to fuck your brains out Liza. Sure, she remembered all the fights they had over that woman, Hank always taking her side, forever making excuses for her behavior. Get your own fucking husband, bitch. Leave mine alone.
"Yes it is... I just want you to hear it from me. There was nothing going on between us, Sally. There never was."
It was an old wound, one that never healed properly. To listen to Hank tell it, there hadn't been anything at all between him and Liza McNairy. Just friends... that's all, honey bunch. I'd never go behind your back like that. Trust me. But she saw how they were when they were together. She wasn’t blind. Christ, the two of them reminded Sally more of a husband and wife than any other couple she knew, what with finishing each other's sentences and touching one another, always feely feely, kissing and hugging. Laughing over jokes no one else thought funny. Yeah, right. Nothing going on. Sure. I believe that, Hank.
"Will you be working
2
"With her again, Hank?"
She didn’t like the tremor in her voice... that rising falsetto that sounded suspiciously like one of those nasally whines she hated so. Did she really care that much? After all the affairs? Of course she never confronted Hank about them. What was the point? She'd learned a hard lesson in that department, thanks to the one and only Liza McNairy.
"No... though I may have to talk with her and her partner... possibly fill them in on the case."
Sure... like no one else in the entire Sheriff's Department could do that. It had to be Hank Lupo, lady's man. What did it matter? Let them take up where they left off. She'd washed her hands of it ages ago.
"Partner?"
"A fellow named Danners Forthright... jailbird... did time on death row for a murder they now say he never committed. He claims he sees things."
"Come to think if it, I saw them together on television just the other day, Hank... on Dr. Phil. They just solved an old case back in Detroit. It happened over forty years ago. Do you think they can really find the twins?"
"No... I don’t. I think Allen's wasting his money. I told him that he might be falling for a line but the man's adamant about hiring them. Drunk, as usual."
"They seemed pretty convincing, Hank. The show was about a man who thought his uncle killed his father. He was so sure of it. He'd spent his entire adult life convinced his uncle shot his father during a drug deal gone bad. But it turned out it wasn’t the uncle at all. It was actually a close family friend. The man ended up confessing. Even Dr. Phil seemed impressed with what they did."
"Come on... that's all a put on for the good doctor's viewers. The man plays the ratings game just like they all do. I don't believe that nonsense any more than I could fly to the moon, Sally. You don’t either."
"I didn’t before but now I'm not so sure. Will they be coming by the house? That man who works with her must be gay from the looks of him. So flamboyant. Liza's still beautiful as ever."
"I can't think of any reason why they'd have to stop by the house. Besides, Liza probably remembers the last time we got together."
"Come on, Hank... I wasn’t that bad."
"You all but accused her of having an affair with me, Sally."
"I'd had too much to drink. I told you how sorry I was."
"But did you tell her?"
Why couldn’t women like Liza McNairy find husbands of their own instead of sniffing around after hers? Hank wasn’t all that. He was never the kind of man to turn heads even in his younger days and the man didn’t age gracefully. Hell, just climbing the stairs to their bedroom left him winded. She thought police detectives were required to exhibit some sort of physical prowess but that must not be so... at least not in her husband's case. Maybe he was special after all.
"I've got to go, Sally. Don't wait dinner tonight. I'll be late."
Yeah... like she ever did. He must think her world still revolved around Hank Lupo, detective first class, protector of the free world and the home of the brave. Hell, Hank honey, didn’t anyone tell you? That shit went out with the 90s. Whatever dinner he got when he finally dragged ass home at two in the morning consisted of week-old hamburger helper, reheated and nuked especially for you, sweetie. Make sure you blow on it before you take a bite... that motherfucker might be just a tad hot.
Chapter 4—Mornings
(Waiting on McNairy)
1
It griped his ass to have to wait for anyone. Always did, ever since the day his mother took him down to Union Station and told him to just stay right here, you little bastard... I'll be back directly. Hell, he'd still be waiting if it wasn’t for the nosey cop who'd noticed a little boy dressed in pink tights with tears running down his face and a beat up suitcase sitting next to him. Union Station... Jesus, there was a blast from the past.
"Why so early, Liza? What's the point?"
"Alan Picany drinks, Danners. We have to get to him before he falls into his early afternoon stupor."
Great. Just what they needed. A drunken client. They'd be dancing around his binges for the next month, unless they managed to solve the case sooner, which they wouldn’t. Funny how he knew that before they'd even been hired to find the man's long lost daughters. Twins. Was that why Liza was so adamant on seeing the Picany's this morning? If so, he could have spared her the anxiety. Of course Alan Picany would hire them.
Liza made him promise to be at her apartment by eight o'clock sharp even though the traffic was murder at that hour and she knew it. And she was also well aware of how he liked sleeping till noon. That's what mornings were for. Still, like the dutiful dog he'd become, there he sat, blasting the horn, waiting a few minutes, and then laying on it again. Yeah, he could get out and go ring the doorbell but he'd seen the curtain move in her bedroom window. Liza knew he was here. He knew exactly what she was doing too.
One of these days she'd get a bad bundle. He'd warned her about it at least a million times but the girl never listened. Damned, if he'd met someone like Liza for
ty years ago he never would have taken up dicks. But now, hell, a girl like her wouldn’t look at him sideways and he knew it. He'd warned her about taking this case too. It smacked—no pun intended—of bad times and not much pay. But Liza insisted on at least talking to the parents. She seemed to take this one personally, and that was just bad business.
"Look, Liza, those girls've been gone twenty years. The cops must have been over that case time and again. What makes you think we can do better?"
She smirked. Like she knew something no one else did. It was that same twisted grin that got him hooked on her, that little Mona Lisa smile she gave him the first time they met. He'd just been released from prison. Wounded. Hurting. Liza McNairy was carrying some angst of her own. The story he heard later went that she'd shot the wrong man during a shootout and resigned from the Sheriff's Department shortly thereafter.
That day she'd come by his place looking for information. At first, he took her for another Hollywood news reporter out for a scoop. Only she wasn’t. She came to him asking questions about the crime for which he'd been convicted, but he could tell she was interested not for aggrandizing her own career but to help the grieving parents who were now going through the same terrible times they'd thought were behind them.
They'd talked for hours. Before he realized it day had turned into night. They covered all aspects of his ill-fated attempt at aiding the police solve a crime that still remained unsolved since his release from prison.
"Are you really a psychic, Mr. Forthright?"
"I guess that depends on how you define the word, Ms. McNairy. I get impressions, usually in my dreams."
"Are you always right?"
"No. Half the time I'm wrong."
They'd struck up an odd friendship after that night. Later, when she finally told him how she shot that kid, his was the shoulder she cried on. He knew the tears meant nothing but it felt good to actually have a friend again. It'd been too long. Like forever. Jerry Addams forever. Vietnam forever. He took to tagging along with Liza after she quit the Sheriff's Department and when she asked if he'd like to partner with her as a private investigator, what could he say but yes.
