by Frank Klus
Cassandra felt for a pulse. “I don’t think he’s going to be answering any more questions. He’s barely alive.”
Ray just stared at Campbell, still flashing a menacing look, and then he turned to his wife. “You know, Cass, I’ve interrogated a lot of men and I don’t think I’ve ever administered so much punishment as this guy took without giving me his life story. They usually turn into such chatter boxes that they’re singing about the time they took the last cookie out of the jar. I don’t think this bird knows anything else.”
Cassandra stared down at Campbell, frowning. Then she turned to Ray with a fearful look. “Hell House, Ray? Not that place again!”
“Excuse me sir,” said Dennis’s secretary. “The Brigade Commander is on line two.”
“O’Reilly,” Dennis said.
“Goose’s dead,” Mad Dog said. “They found his body next to his car a few miles from Sulke’s home.”
“Shit. He was your best man. “
“Well, he’s a dead man now. He called me around midnight and told me he spotted your brother and his wife by Sulke’s car. He told me they got spooked and took off. Goose followed them and called me. He was supposed to update me, but I didn’t hear from him again. I sent a squad to his last known location, and they found his body near his car in a bedroom community a few miles from Sulke’s home.”
“Where was he heading?”
“West.”
“Thanks commander.” Dennis hung up and looked nervous.
Jaydan Casimir noticed something wrong and approached his assistant. “What’s going on?”
Dennis filled him in.
“How much did you tell him?”
“Nothing. Only to follow him and stay in communication with us.”
“This is important, O’Reilly. Did you tell him about Hell House?”
“No, sir. I only told him the absolute minimum he needed to know in case he did get caught.”
“Good.”
Dennis stopped by Hell House, on the south side, to see how the work was going. Chills ran down his spine, but he couldn’t understand where this angst was coming from. He walked over to a man named Bartolo, the Captain of the south side brigades, and the organizer of the security team.
“Captain Bartolo, are we almost ready?”
“We’ll be ready by Saturday morning. Are you ready, O’Reilly?”
“I have a slight problem, Captain,” Dennis said, “but it isn’t anything for you to worry about. All those goddamn ex-Blues; they’ve been nothing but a pain. I swear to God, if we could stick them all in here, we could start the Blues up again; be a real kick ass team; just like they used to be—especially my brother. Goes in all fucked up; comes out all buddies again. We’d be hugging each other and he’d be saying he found the light. A real fucking laugh riot.”
Bartolo nodded in agreement. “They’re so damn idealistic—the Blues, I mean. I tell you, O’Reilly, the Lightning Squad was almost kaput. We were constantly broke. Fight the RAC. Give to the poor. What a load of shit. We’d be dead broke, and then we’d get our hands on loot from some RAC brigade—usually at the cost of a few lives—then what did we do with the haul? We’d give it to some homeless fuck who’d take it and say, ‘Where were you guys when they fired me? I used to have a real job, now I get table scraps from the likes of you.’ Yeah, that’s the way they looked at us; like we were responsible, and now we’re holding out on them. What the fuck?
“Then Commandant Jaydan Casimir from that NOGOV organization took over. Said we needed to be run like a business. No more giving stuff away to people who don’t appreciate it anyway. Now we keep it. Except your brother, that cunt of his, and a bunch of others wouldn’t go along. We kicked them out of the Squad, but a bunch more went with them; some of our best men. I tell you, O’Reilly, I’d love to see them all treated.”
Dennis smiled, nodding in agreement. “Absolutely, Captain!”
“Now, what is the problem I’m not supposed to be worried about?”
“My brother killed one of my men. It has nothing to do with Eugene. He’ll be here.”
“Do you know where Sulke is?”
“Oh, yeah. I have him tracked. Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll have him here Saturday. He’s coming over to my house, so there won’t be any problems.”
“I’m counting on you, O’Reilly. We’ve gone through a lot of trouble setting up Hell House. I’d hate to hear I wasted my time.”
Dennis just smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here.”
Dennis was visibly upset. He turned to his wife, with the bad news. “That was Gene on the phone. He’s not coming over Saturday.”
“Den, we need him. What did he say?”
“Said he was needed at work. I told him to come over as soon as he finished. He just gave me some bullshit excuse. I don’t believe for a minute he’s going to work. He never works on weekends. In any event, I’ve got him tracked. If he goes anywhere, I’ll know.”
“What do we do if he’s telling the truth? What if he does go to work?”
“I got to think.”
“What if he just wants to stay home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Den, if he goes to work we’ll have to wait until he comes home. Once home, we can go get him.”
“I know, hon. Still, the issue is how do we get him?”
“Bring your service revolver.”
“Kidnap him? No, I can’t do that. Let me think.”
“I don’t care how you get him to Hell House, just get him there. Look at these clothes of mine. Do you know how long it’s been since I bought anything new? I’m sick of old, torn, tawdry clothes. I’m sick of buying second hand from some thrift store. You promised me I’d have new clothes.”
“I know, I know, Teresa, and you will.” Dennis then brightened up, and a smile grew on his face. “Wait! I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“I know how we can get Eugene to Hell House. I have to make a few calls first.”
Ray and Cassandra spent the rest of the week checking on Eugene’s movements, and trying to figure out where Hell House was. They brought their friend Daniel in to hack into the Squad’s central computer to see what he could find, but so far, getting in was proving to be quite difficult.
Eugene’s movements were predictable and uneventful. He sometimes went to the office, and other times he went elsewhere. Nothing was out of the ordinary until Monday morning. Cassandra got up first and Ray slept late. When he got up Sean offered to make him some breakfast, but Ray chose coffee instead. He took his coffee into the parlor where Cassandra was at the desktop.
“Gene is still home.”
“Doesn’t he usually leave for work by this time?” Ray asked.
She checked the time. “He should have left a couple hours ago.”
“Would he have checked for a tracker?”
“Gene?” Cassandra said, smiling. “He wouldn’t even know where to look.”
“Dennis?”
Cassandra looked up, stared at her husband, and looked worried.
“I better drive out there and see if he’s really there or not,” Ray said.
Sean walked into the room. “I’ll go,” he said. “You got an operation to run here.”
“Would you really not mind?” Ray asked.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“I need to talk to Daniel,” Ray said to Cassandra. Ray reached for his phone. “Daniel. It’s Ray. We’re not sure where Gene is. He should be at work, but the tracker indicates he’s still home. Sean went to check on him, but I got a bad feeling about this. I think they’re going to take him to Hell House.”
“I did find something of interest when I was able to hack into some email where the number ‘123’ came up. It’s some sort of code. Do you think it might be important?”
“It could be. See if you can find mention of ‘Hell House’ with ‘123’. It’d also help if you can hack into Dennis’s email. We
might strike pay dirt there.”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying, but haven’t been able to yet,” Daniel said.
“This might be a good time to bring Jimmy the Fox in,” Ray said. “He might be able to help.”
“I agree. In the meantime, I’ll try to find as much info as I can from the main computer. There’s still a ton of emails to go through.”
Ray dialed the Fox’s number and waited. “Jimmy, have you ever heard of ‘123’?”
“That sounds like one of the Squad’s codes. I broke the code book…. Give me a second…. Let me see if I can find it here…. Oh, yes. Here it is. Let’s see. Code 123 means ‘in process’.”
“In process as in something is being done but not completed?”
“I guess.”
“Look, Jimmy, do you think you could get a tracker on my brother’s car?”
“I suppose so, but wouldn’t he just check for it?”
“I understand you’re the best at hiding trackers.”
Jimmy was beaming. “Yeah, I guess the Squad still hides them the way I told them to.”
“Jimmy, do you suppose you might have a secret hiding place you haven’t told the Squad or Blues about?”
“I might. Where does he live? License plate would really help.”
Ray gave him all the details.
“Why do you want to track your brother anyway?”
“I’m hoping he goes to Hell House.”
“Shit! I hoped I’d never hear of that place again.”
“Me either.”
Almost three hours went by before the phone rang. It was Sean. “Yeah, Ray. Nobody’s home. His car is in the driveway. I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door, but no one answered. I went around the house, where there was a side window that I could see in, but I couldn’t see anyone inside or any sign that anyone was home.”
“Did you check to see if our tracker is still on?”
“Yeah. There are two trackers on his car—ours and theirs.”
“Thanks, Sean. Come on home.”
Cassandra just looked at him. “They got him, don’t they?”
Ray frowned and looked worried.
Ray’s phone rang. It was Daniel. “Ray! I’ve got it—Dennis’s password.”
“That’s great. How’d you do it?”
“It was that Hell House. I just typed in about a couple dozen variations and boom—there it was. Anyway, I scanned his emails, but there was nothing there. Then I looked at his document folder and there was a Notes subfolder. I opened that and, hello, there it was, ‘Hell House Notes.’ It’s on De La Salle Street, just a few blocks from Dennis’s house. Ray, Gene’s in a lot of trouble.”
Chapter 10:
The Interrogation
48 Hours Earlier
Eugene Sulke woke up strapped to an ergonomic metal chair. It had a pair of straps which secured his wrists to its arm rests. He looked down and saw that the chair had leg straps as well, although they weren’t used now. The chair was bolted to a cement floor in what appeared to be a basement clinic.
Immediately to the right of the chair was a desk with a stenotype machine on it.
Beyond the desk he saw what appeared to be a display monitor; although he could only see the back of it. He noticed another one to the left of it. Both monitors, if that’s what they were, were suspended from the ceiling by a series of movable rods; perhaps made of steel.
Next to and below the left-most monitor was a desk with a laptop on it.
Further to his right, past the first monitor, was a door, and what appeared to be a small room.
Ahead of him was something appearing to be a hospital gurney about eight feet away. It was elongated, but it wasn’t on wheels; it appeared to be bolted to the floor. The gurney was about seven feet long by three feet wide at one end, and about two feet wide at the other end. It was metallic and cushioned, with three pairs of straps.
Against the wall and beyond the gurney was a glass display case consisting of two metal shelves. On the bottom shelf were various kinds of instruments. He saw a barber’s shaver and sheers, an assortment of scissors, some gauze and bandages, and a general medical kit. There were a couple of peculiar looking instruments that Gene could not make out, and one scary looking instrument. It was tubular in shape, with a protruding needle at one end, and a series of wires that were wound up at the other end.
On the top shelf were a set of vials, needles, and bottles. There were also a couple of scalpels and an assortment of containers that appeared to be various drugs. There were glass doors that opened up to access these medical devices and supplies.
On the wall above the case was a clock, and just below the clock was a digital readout of the date—it was February twelfth, and the time was 2:33.
To the left of the clock was an opening that might be a hallway, but Eugene couldn’t tell for sure.
To his immediate left, Eugene saw stairs leading upwards, and beyond the stairs was a small table with a single chair. Both were plain and appeared to be utilitarian.
The whole atmosphere had a clinical look and smell, and Eugene felt his heart pounding against his chest. What is this place? Why am I here? There were no windows and just some faint sounds coming from the hallway ahead of him. There must be another room down there.
He heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Eugene turned to look, and saw a man appearing to be a soldier or security guard. He was tall and lanky with broad shoulders, and he wore a Lightning Squad uniform. He was armed.
“So you’re awake now,” he said when he saw Eugene staring at him. He looked straight ahead and yelled, “Doctor, he’s awake.”
A few minutes later a rather small wiry man, appearing to be around fifty years of age with a balding head and beady eyes, emerged from the hallway. He was followed by a rather austere looking man of about the same age carrying something, and sitting down at the desk with the stenotype.
“Ah, you’re awake, Mr. Sulke. Good, good,” the man said. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“No.”
“You’re here to get better.” He said this with a silly smile, like a doctor talking to his patient.
“I don’t understand. I’m not sick. Why am I strapped down? What is this place? Let me go.”
“Aren’t you facing a dilemma, Mr. Sulke?” Eugene just stared at the man, flashing an angry expression. He started to say something else but the guard slapped him with an open hand, striking the side of Eugene’s face. He screamed in protest, and the soldier struck him again. Eugene tried to stand up, but he couldn’t get out of the chair. He could sense blood oozing from his bottom lip, and his left cheek felt numb from the blows. The guard was about to hit him again when the man stopped him. “Now, now, Hurd, you made your point.”
Hurd stooped down until his head was even with Eugene’s, and then he put his angry face directly in front of Eugene. “You answer the doctor properly. When he asks you a question, you answer directly to that question, understand?”
“Yes,” Eugene said, bitterly.
“Yes, sir, mister,” Hurd said. “Now, this is Doctor Sistrunk. You say ‘yes, doctor’ when you talk to him. Understand, shithead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Now, we can start afresh,” Dr. Sistrunk said as Hurd resumed his normal position of parade rest. “Tell me, Eugene—may I call you Eugene?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Good, good. Tell me, Eugene, how did you meet Cassandra?”
“It was about a few months ago, I think.”
“Try harder, Eugene. Was it in September?”
“I think it was August.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I just remembered. It was right after I was invited out for a barbecue by my friend, Dennis.”
“Would that be Dennis O’Reilly?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Good, good.”
Eugene noticed the austere man with a permanent frown typing away as he answered the doctor’s quest
ions.
He then turned back to the doctor. “What is this place?” Almost as soon as he got the question out he was viciously struck again by Hurd. Eugene shrieked in pain.
“You answer the doctor’s questions, understand?” Hurd said. “And you don’t ask questions—we do the asking, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Eugene answered meekly.
“Good, good,” Sistrunk said. “Now tell me all about Cassandra.”
Eugene told the doctor everything he could remember about her. He corrected himself numerous times. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering when the doctor asked him another question. When he hesitated or looked puzzled Hurd would beat him again.
At last, Dr. Sistrunk stopped the interrogation. “Good, good, good, Eugene.”
Sistrunk wore a supercilious smile almost the whole time. He walked around in his lab coat like every move was carefully scripted. He had an unctuous manner, a haughty profile, and a slow, deliberate style of speaking.
“I think Eugene is hungry and thirsty, eh, Hurd?” Hurd was silent, but stood at parade rest next to Eugene. “Unstrap him, Hurd.”
Hurd did so, but as soon as Eugene was free he leaped up, pushed Hurd aside, and made a dash for the stairs. He didn’t get far, however. Hurd was too quick and strong for Eugene, who was out of shape. Hurd grabbed him from behind, shouted for the upstairs guard, who then hurried down, and the two forced Eugene back into the chair, strapping him back down. The upstairs guard went back to his post, while Hurd disappeared out of sight. When he returned a few minutes later he was carrying two truncheons. They were black, and about two feet in length.
Hurd had a vicious look on his face. “You shouldn’t have done that, man. You shouldn’t piss me off like that.”
He hung up one truncheon and grabbed the other. He then beat Eugene over the head with it. It was soft, so as to inflict pain without cracking the skull. Hurd struck Eugene in the head with it several more times, and then struck him about the neck and shoulders; Eugene screaming each time. Then he turned to his feet and ankles and struck him there.
