Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  “You’re a fucking lunatic,” Chigger repeated.

  “How else can you explain me standing here, like this, right now after all three of you have successfully killed me at least once each?” Ray was with Gerri. She should just shoot him now and shut him up. “I can prove it, of course. If you feel the need to kill me again. But here’s my proposal.” Dead man walking. Literally. “I work for you. Do the jobs no one else can do.”

  “In exchange for what?” The slim man sounded the least skeptical. “Your life? That’s clearly not in our realm of influence if what you’re telling us is true.”

  Jordan’s shrug was so typical of him, Ray sighed. “The usual,” he said. “Money, power, you know the drill.”

  Chigger stepped back suddenly. “Lying little fuck,” he snarled. “Just shoot the bastard.” His boys raised their guns, but Connell and his men stepped in the way.

  “Let’s see you die, first,” the Irishman said.

  Jordan didn’t seem to like that part of the offer. “Of course,” he said, tension coming through clearly from the earbud. “But, I have more.” Bloody hell. “Much more. Proof there’s more people like me.”

  Dear God. He wasn’t going to—

  Connell cut him off with a swing of the bat, catching Jordan on the side of the head. The con man went down in a heap.

  “You can tell us all about it,” he said in his soft accent, “when you wake up from this. If you’re not lying. Which I doubt.” He took another swing, this time in the air, boys joining him. “This is going to be fun.”

  Kinsey looked away for real this time, facing Ray who couldn’t tear her eyes from the scene below. Jordan was lost in the circle of men, thuds reaching them even from the distance. At one point, his mic was hit, because the feedback made Ray jump and squeal softly, and she wasn’t the only one. Good thing no one at the attack noticed. Ray was just as glad to no longer hear Jordan’s moans.

  Five minutes later, he was just a bleeding, groaning mass on the ground. Connell and his boys stepped back, gesturing grandly to Chigger. The Divinities leader jerked out a semi-auto, some kind of Uzi if Hollywood was a good judge of weapons, and opened fire. The desert night echoed with the rapid fire of the clip, bright flashes from the muzzle over and over, soon emptied into Jordan’s body.

  He’d stopped moving long ago, a lump of red flesh and blood oozing into the dirt. Ray was having a hard time believing even Jordan could come back from this death, when the slim man in the black suit stepped forward as Kinsey finally turned around again.

  And jerked beside Ray. “No,” she whispered. “Not that.”

  Ray registered the red canister, the stink of gasoline carrying on the wind as the man calmly poured fluid over Jordan’s body. Heard Jordan’s words in the back of the car just a few hours ago. No fire. She glanced back at Kinsey whose eyes filled with tears. “Anything but fire,” she whispered. “Ray, he won’t survive.”

  “How do you know for sure?” Gerri’s tension came through her whisper.

  “He was really scared.” Kinsey’s hands squeezed the lip of the window. “Fire will kill him for good.”

  But, it was too late, far too late, as Ray turned around, just as Chigger lit a cigarette and tossed the match.

  Jordan’s body burst into flames, forcing the medical examiner to raise one hand against the sudden light as Kinsey released a soft wail of sorrow beside her. The tall man with the gas can observed in silence a long moment while Chigger held out his hands to the warmth and laughed.

  “Nice night for a bonfire,” he said. So, the mic survived after all, crackling and grainy. It must have flown free of the body to survive the flames. Or Jordan had ditched it, never intending to wear it at all, a much more likely scenario.

  Connell and his men turned, but the silent man wasn’t done. He gestured to the body, the motion caught by the Irishman who paused.

  “Check the body,” the black suited man said.

  “He’s still on fire.” Chigger grunted, shrugged. Suit nodded, turned and retrieved another can. Jordan’s blackened body sizzled as water cascaded over him, a thin puddle of flame travelling away to burn on the dirt as the last pocket of gas stubbornly refused to die.

  “Check him.” The slim man waited while one of the Divinities stepped forward, crouching over Jordan.

  “No one could survive that,” the biker said.

  One by one, they bent over the body, hands on what remained of Jordan’s throat. “No pulse,” Connell said before leaning in to listen for breath. “No breathing.” He pressed one hand to Jordan’s charred chest. “No heartbeat.” The Irishman stood, backed away. “He’s dead.” The slim man in the suit stepped forward last, performed the same check. Chigger just shrugged when it was done.

  “He’s dead,” the biker leader said. “So much for coming back and shit.” He looked around. “Just so you know, I ain’t burying him.” He returned to his bike, fired up the rumbling engine. His gang were the first to leave, driving off into the night.

  Connell was next, drifting into the dark. He kept looking back, as though expecting Jordan to indeed rise from the dead. Ray held her breath as he finally slammed the door of his car, the echo of the three others carrying, and he drove off, illumination leaving the scene with only the wash of Jordan’s waiting car’s lights over his smoking body.

  Ray returned her focus to the slim, suited man who continued to stand over Jordan, watching. Waiting.

  Now Ray hoped Jordan was dead. Or would stay that way a little longer. But, there was no indication of recovery, not like she’d witnessed before, though she admitted from this distance it would be hard to tell. Still, the blackened lump remained still, lifeless. And, at last, with a short head bow in Jordan’s direction, the slim man turned and headed into the dark.

  Paused and looked back. “If you do rise,” he said. “Mr. Ambrose will have work for you.” And left.

  “Shit,” Gerri whispered over the earwig.

  Shit, indeed.

  ***

  EXT. – THE DESERT – NIGHT

  Gerri slipped through the darkness, heading for the body, watching with trepidation as Kinsey exited the van and fell to her knees next to Jordan’s charred remains. Foster emerged into the light of the van’s headlights, his own gun still out, though when Gerri holstered he followed suit.

  “How the hell did I let you insane women convince me to watch a witness be murdered and not do a thing to stop it?” Foster appeared shaken, badly shaken as he stared at the still smoldering remains.

  She licked her lips, thinking of barbeque. “Ray. Is he really dead this time?”

  The medical examiner shrugged while Kinsey stared up at her with puppy-dog eyes.

  Gerri groaned, exhaled. And had a thought. “Wait. Why did he mention fire at all? He never once talked about drowning or falling or being buried alive. The only thing he brought up was fire.”

  The blonde sniffed. “Probably because he knew it would be fatal?”

  The detective looked down the path toward where Ashmore’s pet Mossad had departed. “How would he know that?” She shook her head. “I think it’s more likely we weren’t the only one he shared that tidbit with.” Gerri met Foster’s gaze. “You said he’s been pulling this dying act for a while now.”

  “But, he told us it started here, in Silver City.” Ray frowned as she helped Kinsey to her feet.

  “Maybe the real dying did. Caught up with him.” Gerri crossed her arms over her chest. “Why tell us the one thing he was the most afraid of, the one thing that could kill him. And why would Ashmore’s pet Mossad agent specifically bring gasoline to a gunfight?”

  Gerri could tell Kinsey didn’t get it. But that was okay. She would, eventually. For now, they had a body to take to the morgue and the last strings of a mystery to tie together.

  And Gerri was still starving.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – NIGHT

  The dark morgue sat in silence, the lights long doused, cabinet
s closed, residents stored for the night. Something knocked against the inside of C2, rattling a moment before the latch released and the door swung wide.

  Blackened hands now turning pink pushed against the rim of the tray, sliding out the slab. He groaned and rolled from the edge, falling part way to the floor, one hand holding him up by the edge of the cabinet door.

  “Ow,” Jordan whispered into the dark. “Fucking ow.”

  “Aw.” Gerri flicked on the light, grinning as he looked up, shock on his face. “Does it hurt?”

  Kinsey almost prodded the detective, but she was enjoying this too much. All of the hold he’d had over her was gone, dissipated with the knowledge Foster uncovered and shared only an hour ago, while they sealed Jordan’s body inside the C2 and left him there to wake up.

  She was such an idiot. But, at least she was pretty sure there was paranormal power to blame for her trust and attachment this time. Her own power shattered his control, though, now she was willing to let it happen.

  In fact, once Gerri and Foster were done with him, Kinsey planned to kill Jordan herself.

  “Funny thing about you mentioning to Kinsey your fear of fire.” Gerri pulled out her phone. “And the fact our friendly neighborhood casino heavy and his assassin friend decided dousing you in accelerant and setting your ass alight was their go-to of choice.” She scrolled through her messages, enjoying herself far too much in Kinsey’s opinion. She wanted in on some of the fun. But, Gerri wasn’t done. “Turns out, that sealed juvie file of yours mentions a big ass old house fire.” She grinned at him. “One you said a buddy of yours set. And, tragically, died in himself while you survived.” Kinsey’s skin burned in angry response, so much she was surprised she didn’t burst into sympathetic flames. “Was that the first time you figured out you couldn’t die, Jordan? That had nothing to do with Silver City, did it?”

  He grunted, still recovering, one cheek pink, the other still a blackened mess.

  “Kinsey, baby.” She almost puked as he reached for her, the smell of charred meat wafting toward her. So not hot anymore, aside from the obvious.

  “You’ve been lying to me all along,” she said. “You even said you were and I didn’t believe you.”

  Jordan sighed, a bubbling sound that evened out as the black retreated, his pale eyes clear in the ashes around them. “I never said I was perfect.”

  “No,” Foster said, “but you are a murderer.” He had his own phone out. “You had me, Michaels. You convinced me it was Ryan who killed O’Reilly and Patterson at the casino, even had your buddy take the fall for you. But, it was you all along. You killed Alroy O’Reilly. And that gambler, Patterson, for Ashmore.”

  “Can’t prove it, agent man,” Jordan said.

  “You’re dead,” Foster said, tone deep and threatening. “I don’t have to prove anything.”

  Gerri’s bark of a laugh sent a chill down Kinsey’s spine.

  “What are you going to do?” Jordan sounded afraid, small, like a little boy waiting for punishment.

  “I’m going to take you in,” Foster said. “And figure this out once and for all. If it’s the last thing I do, Jordan Michaels, you will stand trial for the murder of Alroy O’Reilly, Jared Patterson and Ryan Beecher.”

  Jordan didn’t even flinch. Kinsey held out hope, until that moment, he hadn’t killed his friend. Just the other two. Not that it would have made things okay or anything. Just that she really wanted him to be innocent so she could salvage some of her own pride.

  His silence spoke volumes.

  “One question remains,” Gerri said. “Where’s the money you boosted from the Divinities?”

  Jordan’s disgust almost made Kinsey laugh. “Fucking Ryan,” he said. “Gave it to Ashmore, thinking he could buy that psycho off our trail. Led him and his freak of a security due right to us.”

  “Is that why you killed him?” Foster’s cold tone was all professional.

  Jordan shrugged. “He’d taken the fall for me too many times. I guess he just got sick of it. I couldn’t let him go to you, so…” He pulled a finger trigger at his temple. “The O’Reilly’s are famous for crushing bodies, so I figured it would all work out.”

  Kinsey’s stomach turned over. She’d almost slept with this lunatic?

  “You can’t tell anyone about him,” Gerri said, warning in her voice as Foster pulled out a set of cuffs and headed for Jordan. Ray hurried forward with a set of scrubs as the con man’s body, now reassembling to flesh, revealed his clothing didn’t survive the fire.

  “I won’t lie to my superiors,” Foster said, waiting while Jordan dressed before cuffing him tight. “I’m not afraid to face the truth, Detective.” He met Gerri’s gaze. “Are you?”

  She held up both hands, backing away. “Don’t come crying to me when your perp and all of your evidence disappears,” she said. “One word about what happened and it’s all over, Foster. Remember that.”

  The tall FBI agent just shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. For now, ladies, it’s been a… pleasure.” Kinsey couldn’t help but like his smile. “And interesting.” Foster marched Jordan out of the morgue, one last, mournful look aimed at her from those pale blue eyes before he disappeared from her life.

  Good riddance.

  ***

  INT. – RAY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

  Ray passed around the bottle of red wine, settling in her seat, happy to play hostess. Gerri was already digging into her rare steak, chewing thoughtfully as Kinsey topped up her glass.

  “I wonder if we’ll ever see Jordan again?” The blonde set the bottle down with a soft thud on the white table cloth.

  “Do you want to?” Gerri swallowed, sipping her wine, green eyes watchful. Ray took a healthy mouthful herself, enjoying the burning of the tannins on the roof of her mouth.

  “I don’t know,” Kinsey said, shrugging her slim shoulders. “Any feelings or attraction I had for him are long gone. So odd.”

  “Weird, you mean.” Ray saluted them both with her glass.

  Kinsey nodded. “Definitely weird. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

  Gerri’s faint frown echoed the blonde’s as though considering something herself before she shook it off and met Ray’s eyes. “You’re sure your burn victim will pass inspection?”

  “I’ve already signed off on the paperwork,” she said, setting her glass aside to at least pretend she was going to eat something. “Robert wasn’t all that happy about stealing a body from the crematorium, but his friend who works there said bodies go missing from the place all the time.” What a lovely thought. “I’ve logged the autopsy and he’s due for burial. So, unless Jordan shows his face somewhere he’ll be recognized, the book is closed on this one.”

  “Foster can take the heat for our little fakeout with his superiors when he pulls him out at trial time.” Gerri shook her head. “If he makes it to trial. I doubt it will go that far.”

  “You’re thinking the powers that be will make this go away?” Kinsey nibbled on a carrot.

  “I think,” Gerri said, reaching for her phone as it vibrated next to her, “he’s in for a rude awakening. Ah.” She grinned at the message, turning it so they could read. “What did I tell you?”

  The text was from Foster.

  How did you know?

  “So, Jordan Michaels disappears and his crimes go unpunished.” Kinsey sighed over her glass of wine.

  “At least one of us might have a happy ending out of this.” Ray winked at Gerri. “Agent Foster seemed rather interested in our redheaded friend here.”

  Gerri blushed. Again. She never blushed and here Ray had seen her do it several times in reference to the FBI hottie. How interesting.

  “At least I didn’t fall for the crook,” Gerri shot back. Kinsey rolled her eyes as Ray laughed. And held her breath. But neither asked her about her love life. Which she preferred. She’d tell them what they needed to know eventually. For now, she was keeping Cici and their growing feelings for each other to herse
lf.

  “Are you going to answer him?” Kinsey tilted her head, light catching her glasses, washing over her soft cheek.

  “Not a chance.” Gerri shoved her phone in her jacket and saluted the girls, the clink of crystal musical in the room. “He can figure his own shit out. I’ll be here when he’s ready.”

  Loaded words that made them all grin.

  ***

  INT. – JULIAN BLACK’S MANSION - NIGHT

  Simone smiled at the slip of paper Clarence handed her, holding it over a candle flame a moment later. It curled into a pile of ash in Julian’s favorite crystal ashtray as she watched, the light warming her black eyes with pinpoint flares.

  “Perfect,” she said, turning to slide her polished nails over the surface of her helpless guest’s arm, circling the woman where she stood—held frozen by drugs and power—slowly, patiently, tongue sliding over her ruby lips. “The experiment begun so many years ago with darling Jordan appears to have been successful. A merging of human and dervish DNA, with a touch of Nightshade for good measure, though it took far too long to mature into what I needed. Still, it appears I’ve found the right combination at last.”

  The woman groaned under her touch.

  “Time to expand my research,” Simone said, hand slipping beneath the thick, straight, silky hair hanging over her captive’s face. The waterfall of black strands felt like butter over her flesh, almost enough to distract her from her plans for the evening. Almost. “To see if I can speed and alter the pheromone hit while increasing healing time. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

  Dr. Ocean Panther managed to raise her head enough to meet her captor’s eyes. Her vapid lack of focus and the twist of pain around the corners of her mouth were imminently amusing to Simone. Such strength the Periqwai woman possessed, now all Simone’s.