I slammed on the brakes and my truck screeched to a halt next to the Dodge. No other vehicles were in sight. My headlights illuminated the gate, which was wide open, its security chain having been either unlocked or broken. Through the gate, by itself in the sand, was a large burlap sack.
I drew my Colt revolver and exited the vehicle. Cold rain pelted my face as I held my weapon in the Low-Ready position. I cautiously approached the burlap sack and crouched next to it. Whatever was inside was bulky and looked heavy. Grabbing a corner, I yanked the sack upward. There was a dull thud as something large dropped onto the sand.
It was Ginger. The snake was motionless. I tapped it with my foot. Dead. I pulled back the hammer on my Colt, keeping it in the Low-Ready position as I surveyed my surroundings. A lone thunderclap echoed above me in the black sky. I stood there in the sand for several moments, getting drenched by the heavy rain. Aside from the rainfall and the rumbling muffler of the Dodge Omni, it was silent. I pushed wet hair out of my face and started to trudge back through the muddy sand toward my truck. I only made it a few steps before I saw the first drop of blood.
There was more. Much more. I followed the trail of blood to the right, just beyond where the light from my headlights ended. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a massive puddle of blood that funnelled away from the Porta-Potty Outhouses. I followed the trickling vital fluid to another pool of blood beneath the middle toilet unit. The door was slightly ajar. I tapped it with my foot, the door’s rusted hinges creaking ominously as it slowly swung open. Inside was my old friend Johnny Mamba. He was bathed in his own blood, his throat slashed so deep that his head hung lopsidedly to the left.
SIX
Swirling red and blue lights lit up the volleyball courts, making the wet sand look like the dance floor of a disco club. Three Vancouver Police Department squad cars had formed a perimeter around Johnny’s Dodge Omni. The punishing rain had finally let up just before they arrived. I leaned against the bumper of my F-150, my jacket draped over my wrists, covering the handcuffs that had been tightly applied by an overzealous rookie who had never heard of either my old man or me. Fortunately I had the foresight to put my thirty-eight back in my truck’s glove box before calling 911, and considering how jumpy the rookie was when he frisked me, it was definitely a good call. The rookie clipped his radio back onto his tactical vest and hustled toward me.
“Detective Constable Shepard will be here any minute, Mr. Ounstead,” he said, fumbling with his handcuff keys. “Sorry again about the confusion but when you were unable to produce an investigator’s licence I had no choice.”
“Forget it. You did good, Officer. I’ll be sure to mention that to Shepard.”
The rookie puffed out his chest proudly while unlocking my shackles. I knew from my pop that when you first got your badge in the VPD compliments were about as common as spotting a dancing Sasquatch, so despite the inconvenience, I didn’t see the harm in making nice. Especially since I planned on hanging around the crime scene for a while.
The rookie struggled to tuck his handcuffs back into the pouch on his police duty belt while I rubbed my wrists and watched two techs from the Forensic Identification Unit trudge across the sand. They joked back and forth as they sidestepped Ginger and prepared to dust the Porta-Potty for prints and snap pictures of Johnny’s corpse.
“I’d like to review your statement just one more time, Mr. Ounstead,” the rookie said as he flipped through his notepad.
“Sure thing, bub. But I think Detective Shepard would prefer it if you dealt with that news crew over there first.” The rookie craned his neck to see his fellow officers heading off a TV News van that was arriving on scene. He cursed loudly before thanking me and hurrying off.
I walked toward the gate to the volleyball courts, passing another patrol cop digging a roll of yellow crime scene tape out of the trunk of his cruiser. He was too preoccupied to notice me as I approached Ginger and crouched next to her. Unlike Johnny’s body, there were no immediate clues as to what may have been the cause of death. I leaned back on my haunches and thought things through. How the hell did everything get so screwed up so fast? One minute I’m convinced the whole snake-napping is amateur hour, and the next thing I know both Ginger and Johnny are dead.
There had to be an angle I was missing. Johnny’s murder was no panicked kill. He was straight up executed. I pulled out my SureFire flashlight that I had retrieved from my truck’s glove compartment when stashing my gun and thumbed the switch. Ginger’s scales gleamed under the high-intensity light as I inspected the dead reptile and looked for some indication of how it died. I moved closer to the snake’s head, and its black eyes filled with amber tint as the light hit them. I studied Ginger’s jaw carefully and noticed what appeared to be bits of silver gleaming between her hook-like teeth. I wiped my hands on my jeans and was about to pry open the snake’s mouth for a closer look when a silky voice sliced through the ambient crime scene noise and sent a pleasant tingle down my spine.
“You tampering with my crime scene, Ounstead?”
I caught a whiff of perfume in the air before I turned around. It was the same scent of Burberry fragrance she always wore, except now there was an added hint of citrus. I palmed my flashlight and turned to face Detective Constable Rya Shepard, who stood with her hands on her hips. She was dressed in her usual slim-fitting trousers, however, instead of a matching blouse and blazer, she wore a purple Henley shirt underneath a light leather jacket. I hadn’t seen her dressed so casually in a long time. It looked good on her.
“Hello, Rya.”
“How do you know the vic?”
“He was a friend.”
“And you’re here because…?”
I caught Rya up to speed on Johnny’s case and the snake-napping. If she was at all amused by the absurdity of a reptile being held for ransom she certainly didn’t show it, although I chalked that up to her professional integrity rather than concern over offending me.
“I’m going to need a copy of that ransom note,” she said.
“I’m sending it to you right now.” I tapped a few buttons on my cell and forwarded the email Johnny had sent me earlier.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rya said. “We have your statement and I’ll update you as best as I can. But right now you need to leave.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “But how about I just make sure you guys don’t overlook any evidence before I go?”
“If you’re even thinking of dicking around with my crime scene I can always have Constable Adams handcuff you again.”
“You could. But I doubt my pop would be very impressed.”
“I think Frank would agree that if I of all people tossed your ass in a holding cell then I must have had a pretty damn good reason.”
“C’mon, Rya. You know me. I wouldn’t waste your time.”
She pulled her wavy raven hair back into a ponytail.
“All right, Jed. Make it quick.”
I motioned to Ginger and we both squatted next to the deceased snake. I used my flashlight to point out the silver in between the reptile’s teeth. Rya snapped on a pair of latex gloves and touched the glinting speck.
“It looks like a piece of foil or something,” she said.
“Yeah. And I’m no snake expert, but I’m pretty sure their diet doesn’t include Ding Dongs.”
“Our tech guys will look into it. If there’s something of value here we’ll find it.”
“Who’s going to examine the snake?”
Rya nodded at the Forensic Investigation Unit techs. “The IDENT boys will check it for any evidence.”
“Are you going to do an autopsy?”
“On the snake? Christ, I don’t know. We might get a vet to look at it depending on what IDENT finds. Right now I’m a little more concerned with your friend’s autopsy and following the leads o
n his death.”
“Johnny adored this snake, Rya. The person who took it knew that. It doesn’t make sense that they would kill it.”
“Maybe it just died. It would explain why they bumped up the time frame for the exchange, since they wouldn’t want rigor mortis to set in and then be forced to try and pawn off a stiff snake as a live one in order to get their money.”
“I don’t know. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever caused Ginger to expire could shed some light on all this.”
“Duly noted. Is that all?”
“There’s one more thing.”
I headed toward the chain link fence behind the Porta-Potties. I twisted the switch on my flashlight so the light stayed on and aimed the beam toward the object that had caught my eye while I was waiting for the police to arrive.
“What is that?” Rya asked. I focused the light on the item — a blue racquetball. Rya looked at me quizzically. I motioned for her to take a closer look. As she bent down she saw what I had earlier, a small bloodstain, which contained what looked to be a partial fingerprint. Rya snapped at one of the FIU techs who hurried over and bagged and tagged the racquetball.
“Good eye, Jed. But we would have found it.”
“I have no doubt. But my friend is dead and the killer is out there. I want your investigation to be as efficient as possible.”
Rya pulled me aside and her piercing green eyes narrowed. “I’m on this, okay? The best thing you can do right now is leave and let me work.”
“What about XCCW? I should probably brief you since it’s extremely likely that whoever did this was connected to the wrestling business.”
“Listen to me. I understand you’re upset. But you have to trust me when I say we will conduct the most thorough investigation possible.”
“Okay, but — ”
“Jed?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really want to help your friend?”
“Of course.”
“Then go. If you do that I give you my word I’ll keep you in the loop.”
I looked past Rya and saw two men from the Coroner’s service arrive and start unloading gear from their van. The finality of Johnny’s death suddenly hit me. When you work in professional wrestling, you see a lot of crazy stuff. You learn to expect the unexpected. To believe anything is possible. To never say never. Except Johnny’s death was no scripted storyline. There would be no encore performance. No dramatic surprise return. My friend was gone and he was never coming back.
Rya squeezed my arm, her voice softening. “Go home, Jed.”
I left without another word.
SEVEN
Declan poured me my third generous serving of Jameson’s Irish whiskey and apologized for it lacking the spiced apple and oaky kick of the eighteen-year-old Glenfiddich we had the night before. I told him I didn’t care. It’s not like I was drinking for taste.
My cousin had hardly said a word to me since I told him about Johnny. Declan was all too familiar with how to cope with death, and, as a result, he made sure that I had plenty of space at the end of the bar while I did my best to drown my sorrows. He’d appear before me now and then to refill my glass, before returning to serve more tequila shots and Jägerbombs to a raucous group of Vancouver Film School students in the midst of a wrap party. By the time I was on my fourth drink I had succeeded in numbing some of the shock and pain and soon found myself in the mood for some company. Declan appeared as if on cue, topping me up and pouring three fingers worth for himself.
“To your mate,” he said, raising his glass. We clinked our glasses.
“He was a good guy, D.”
“Aye, he must o’been. Never seen you like this before.”
“We were pretty tight back in the day. I can’t tell you how many crappy motel rooms we shared while bouncing around North America together from one wrestling gig to another.”
“Paid your dues together then, yeah?”
“And then some.”
Declan popped several PEZ candies out of Batman’s plastic head and we enjoyed them with our whiskey. After a while, I made a decision. “I’m going to find the son-of-a-bitch who killed him.”
“You takin’ the piss?”
“No.”
“Ain’t that something best left to the cops?”
“I think I can help. Plus I know I can navigate the pro-wrestling circle a hell of a lot better than they can.”
“Aye, I believe that. And you definitely got the chops to dig up some shite. You are Frank’s son, after all. It’s just that going alone on something like this, well, there’s a fair chance it might require a bit more o’the rough and tumble than you see at the nightclubs. Things could get ugly.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you around, isn’t it?”
Declan smiled. “Aye, I guess it is.”
I nearly spilled my whiskey when a skinny twenty-something kid hopped onto the stool next to me, drumming his fingers on the bar.
“What’s up, Jed?” he asked excitedly.
“Not now, Billy,” I grumbled.
“What’s the matter?”
“Feck off, boyo,” said Declan, waving his hand like he was shooing away a fly.
“Feck off?” questioned Billy. “Don’t you mean fu — ”
“I mean feck off! For shite’s sake I’m tryin’ to be polite, ya wee guttersnipe.”
“Okay, relax,” said Billy, throwing up his hands in submission. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I buy me and Jed a round.”
I sighed and shared a tired look with my cousin. Neither one of us were in the mood to deal with Billy’s usual enthusiasm.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” he asked.
“Whiskey.”
“Yeesh. How about a Guinness?”
“Not tonight, kid.”
Billy Nickens was a med student at the University of British Columbia who happened to live a few blocks north of The Emerald Shillelagh. After joining my gym six months ago, he immediately recognized me from my professional wrestling days and pestered the crap out of me until I agreed to show him some mass building routines. He’d been a familiar face around the pub ever since.
“All right then,” said Declan. “Time for you to get your brainy arse back to your table.”
“Can you bring me another pint when you get a chance?” Billy asked.
“Aye, piss off already and I will in a few,” snapped Declan.
Billy slid off his stool and gave me a pat on the back. “You hitting the gym tomorrow, big guy?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Cool.”
Billy strolled off toward a nearby table that was stacked with anatomy and physiology textbooks. Declan smirked as he topped up my glass. “I think that lad’s got a wee crush on you.”
“Just call me McDreamy.”
I pounded back my drink and stifled a burp.
“Should I call Connie to come pick you up?” asked Declan.
“No.”
“You sure? After the day you’ve had, seeing that lovely lass might do you some good.”
I paused before responding. Declan waited me out. “We broke up,” I said finally.
“Jaysus Christ,” Declan said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I liked her, Jed. She was a posh gal. Better than the usual slappers you run around with.”
I stared into my empty glass, trying to focus my inebriated vision and stop the ice cubes from moving. “I liked her too.”
“What happened?”
“Another time,” I said, tapping my glass for a refill.
Declan obliged and poured more Jameson’s. More celebratory film students entered the pub and Declan ambled off to tend bar. I nursed my booze, my mind swirling with a medley o
f thoughts. Johnny’s murder. My failed relationship with Connie. Even skinny Billy Nickens and the way he looked up to me. I looked across the bar and saw my sallow reflection staring back at me. It took all the restraint I could muster to keep from throwing my old-fashioned tumbler glass into the mirror.
EIGHT
My hair was as it is now — a bit shaggy but still a far cry from the lion’s mane I sported back in the day. My torso was tanned and toned and shined under the spotlights, magically lacking the spare tire my abdominals had been burdened with over the last few years. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as the ravenous crowd roared all around me, yet somehow everything outside the wrestling ring was shrouded in darkness.
I crouched in a staggered wrestling stance in the middle of the ring, shifting my weight back and forth on the balls of my feet, anxiously awaiting my opponent to emerge from the shadows. Cloaked in a robe, my challenger slipped through the ropes. He untied the knot in his belt and revealed himself.
It was Johnny.
He was sickly pale and covered in blood that was flowing freely from the gash in his throat. He reached out to me, desperate for help, but before I could take a step toward him I was attacked from behind. My unseen adversary tied me up with a monstrous bear hug. I looked down, seeing my attacker’s thick sweaty arms as they squeezed me with tremendous force. I fought to break free with all of my might, but the more I struggled, the tighter the hold became. Soon I was completely immobile.
Cobra Clutch Page 4
