“Believe me,” I tell him, shaking my head, “I want nothing more than that, but right now, it’s not an option.”
“Clearly,” Mendez fires back. “So I want to know what it is you think that we should be doing right now, you and I. Should I kick your ass into suspension for the rest of your day, until we cut the cake and say happy retirement, or do we need to do something a little more proactive, because I’m willing to take it easy on you, on account that your daughter is a target for this fucker? It’s not much of a reason, let alone an excuse, but it’s enough for internal affairs to roll their eyes and shrug at. So what do you want me to do with you, King? What’s next from here?”
“I want you to give me SWAT, a strike team of my own choosing, and your blessing to raid a restaurant near Parker High School so that I can catch this bastard once and for all,” I tell him bluntly and mercilessly. He stares at me with a calm, detached look on his face that is clearly questioning everything that he just heard, but there it is. I need his help and that’s what I need from him right at this moment. That’s what I want to do from here.
“You got some kind of information that I don’t know about, King?” Mendez asks me with a baffled look on his face.
“I do,” I tell him honestly, but that’s all he’s getting out of me.
“So why haven’t you passed this along to the FBI?” Mendez presses.
“Because they’d believe it just about as much as any other lead right now,” I tell him. “I know that the killer is going to be at Goliath restaurant this evening with a group of teachers, because he tried luring my daughter out of hiding and to that little rendezvous earlier today. I know that he’s going to strike. I know that this is the best opportunity that we’ve got. I know I have to keep my daughter safe, and that she’s the bait. But I also know that I need help on this. If I wasn’t sure about it as much as I am, then I wouldn’t be coming to you, Chief. I would go rogue again and do this my way, but I need help. This is our one shot and I need to hit the bull’s eye. I need to do this for my daughter.”
Mendez looks at me, pondering the words I’ve just said. He’s an asshole, test-taking douche, but even he has a heart. He looks at me with eyes that are studying everything right now, from the electricity in the air to the weight of the words that I just threw down on his desk, and I’m not confident that he’s going to pick them up and take them home with him. I’m well out of the frying pan and definitely deep in the fire, but he can pull me out any second if he wants to. I know that he has it in him and I’m taking a play right out of my daughter’s playbook. I’m going to go out on a leap of faith right now. I’m going to hope for the best and I pray to whatever god is out there, that I don’t splatter all across the ground reaching for something that isn’t there.
“What exactly do you want?” Mendez asks me.
“I want a strike team composed of officers of my choosing,” I tell him. “I don’t have the names right now, but I can get them with one phone call. I want to use my team to seed the restaurant’s staff members and wait for the killer and his party to arrive. When they arrive, I want those under my command to engage them and escort them out into the parking lot where they will enter a prisoner transport van and return back here to the precinct. When they arrive, I want each of them placed into their own individual cells. From there, I’ll identify who the killer is.”
“That’s a tall order.” Mendez looks at me with a discerning expression. “The FBI are watching you like jackals watching an injured wildebeest. If you get my blessing, then you’ve got to do all of this without me or anyone else knowing. Can you do that? The less anyone knows the better. We can’t answer to what we don’t know.”
“I’ve got people I can trust,” I tell him.
“Then you better get your ass on it and quickly,” Mendez tells me and I can feel my heart starting to take wing. “I’ll call the restaurant and smooth over any concerns that the manager and owner might have. The paperwork will have to wait. You get your team gathered and get them into position as quickly as possible.” I rise from the chair and nod to him. I’ve got a lot of work to do, but I feel confident about all of this. “King,” Mendez calls me back as I make my way out the doorway. I look at him and he has a grave expression on his face. “This is your last play, your last shot, and your last chance. If this goes tits up, then there’s nothing I can do for you. You understand me?”
“I do,” I nod to him.
“Good luck,” he says for his farewell and I actually appreciate the gesture. Maybe he’s not as big of a douche as I’ve thought all this time.
Making my way through the bullpen, I look at all of the disgruntled faces, disappointed with me and annoyed that I’m still here. I don’t blame them. Their disliking of me is totally and completely justified and I’ve had it coming for a long time, but I’m not willing to go out on this note. I’m going to rise to the occasion and I’m going to put this asshole in the ground. Thankfully, I’m not alone in this. I’m going to have others there with me that are more than willing to help.
Dropping down into my desk, I notice that everything is askew and wrong, the internal affairs boys definitely didn’t do their cleanest work here and I’m pretty certain that a blind man would know that they’d been here. I pull out my phone and look up Owens’s number and hit the call button. He’s the first person that I need to talk to. If I’m going to get a group mobilized in the next four hours and briefed on what we’re going to do, then I’m going to need his extensive network of vigilantes. If anything, they’ll be waiting for the call already. If I know Owens, they’ve all been eagerly snapping at a piece of the action for a long time now and I’m about to give it to them.
“King, give me something good,” Owens answers his phone in his usual attitude. I wonder if this man ever has an off switch.
“I’ve got something in the works and I’m going to need bodies,” I tell him bluntly. “I don’t mean a few bodies, Owens. I’m going to need twenty bodies or maybe even more. Can you get me enough people? Half of them are going to need to be in their civvies and going under cover for this operation. Tell me if this sounds like something you’re capable of getting done.”
“How about I get you thirty?” Owens fires back with gusto. “Give me specifics here, King. What are we dealing with?”
“I talked to Kelly after I left the scene.” I try to spin everything that’s happened so far with the light that we’re still chasing a real, living killer now and not some spectral entity that no one is going to comprehend. “She said that one of the teachers at her school contacted her and asked if she could take her out to dinner as a sort of show of support for her mother’s death. Kelly told me that it sounded suspicious and that there’s nothing that would really make her want to go to that sort of thing. So when I asked her a bit more about it, Susan Larsen was listed as one of the people going to the gathering. So I think the killer’s next victim is going to be meeting Kelly there.”
“So you think the killer’s going to be in the group?” Owens tries to cut through the details to find the core of what interests him. “Or do you think the killer is going to show up?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “We know that the next victim is going to be in that group of people. So if we can get the killer’s next victim, then the pattern’s broken. The killer won’t have anyone else to go after and we’ve won his sick little fucking game. If we’re lucky, we might even get him on the way.”
“So you just want to round up a bunch of teachers and hope that the killer launches an assault on the precinct? Is that what I’m getting here?” Owens asks me.
“You got a better idea?” I ask him, feeling frustrated that he’s not entirely behind this. What more does he have going on that he can’t help perform a little sting operation?
“No, it’s a fucking brilliant idea,” Owens laughs. “Me and the boys will be loitering around the lobby the rest of the week, hoping that this fucker shows up. But what if he doesn’t? Wh
at if he moves on to another victim?”
“I don’t think he will, Owens,” I tell him. “It’s not the pattern. It’s not the killer’s style. He’s never given up or changed targets. Once we break the cycle, I think that he’s going to be done. I’m hoping that the dumb son of a bitch turns himself in.”
“If that’s the case,” Owens clears his throat and I can hear him spitting on the other end, “then he’s going to meet a couple of assholes who owe me a few favors in prison.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I tell him. “Get me ten bodies in civilian clothes, and the rest need to be here at the precinct in two hours, ready to go. I want you with them, Owens. I’m not doing this without you.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Owens laughs on the other end. “If that asshole is there, I’m sure he’s going to try to make a move.”
“That’s why I need multiple bodies,” I tell him. “Get your ass here pronto.”
“See you there, King,” Owens says for his farewell, and I listen as the phone goes silent.
I’m not done yet though. I’ve still got one more call to make and I look up Lola’s number and hit the call button. I know that we can get the van down in parking and that transport isn’t going to have a problem with it. There’s only one more aspect of all of this that’s going to need to be cleared up. I need Lola’s help for that. It’ll be easier if a pair of legs and tits goes down to finish the final segment of the plan.
“Steven, are you alright?” Lola answers the phone and I wonder what it is exactly she thinks that I do for a living. I’m pretty sure that she pictures me jumping out of airplanes and getting into firefights the majority of the time that I’m not there with her.
“I’m fine, Lola,” I tell her, trying to hide my frustration with the question. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’m clocking out,” she tells me. “I’ve got to get home and get some rest, unless you need my help with anything.”
“Actually, I do,” I tell her, feeling bad that I’m going to be derailing her plans and belaying her sleep just a little while longer.
“Anything,” she says to me.
“I need you to go down to lock-up and talk with the shift manager,” I tell her. “I need you to convince him that we need all the bottom cells emptied and kept open for an operation that’s coming in. I’m not sure how many people I’m going to be bringing in, but I need them all cleared so each prisoner gets their own cell. I don’t want them mingling and touching. Just convince him that he’s going to need to do this or suffer dire consequences.”
“I can try,” Lola says apprehensively and I know that this isn’t her style. This isn’t what she’s used to doing at all, but I don’t doubt that she can pull it off. She’s resourceful, sexy, and smart. It’s a triple combination of trouble when it comes to anyone who is in Lola’s way of getting what she wants. “Steven, what’s happening?” Are you onto something big right now?”
“I think so,” I tell her honestly, but I’m afraid of what to say to her. Fuck it. She’s been here with me since I found out what it is I’m dealing with. Why should I keep her at arm’s length? “Kelly called me and said that some of her coworkers want to take her out to dinner and show their support for her in this troubling time. The caller listed the people who would be going and listed the name of a recent victim. Putting two and two together, I figure that the demon is going to be there and I mean to take in each of them and figure out which one has the demon in them.”
“Then what, Steven?” Lola asks me, sensing where this plan leads.
“Then I’m going to kill the son of a bitch and end the demon’s little joy ride,” I tell her with a cold, determined voice. I’m tired of playing games with this thing. I’m tired of picking up all the pieces and bagging up the bodies. I want to stop it, once and for all, and I’m going to do whatever is necessary to ensure that Kelly, and everyone else in the world, is free of it, no matter what the price is. And for the first time ever, I understand the gravity of what comes next.
XVII
The Goliath Diner is an inconspicuous little restaurant that looks like it belongs somewhere in the northeast in lobster territory and that instead of home-cooked, savory meals, it should be selling seafood. There’s a tall, dry locust tree and a walnut tree that shade the majority of the building, keeping the harsh sun off of it with an umbrella of leaves that cast shadows large enough to keep the small diner and the parking lot cool. It’s a small enough building that the trees actually dwarf it and from the road, it’s noticeable only because of the trees. They serve as signs, pointing directly to Goliath and have to be well over a hundred years old.
The exterior of the building is painted in a soft baby blue on the paneling and woodwork that looks about as real as a three dollar bill, with white trim all around the windows and the siding. The black roof is covered in fallen leaves and branches from the walnut tree and the grass surrounding the building is as emerald green as I’ve seen before, especially in the brutal and unforgiving heat that we’ve had lately. The manicured bushes surrounding the building make the entire place look like it’s out of place, transported from somewhere more temperate and welcoming, not in the middle of this shithole of a city. It’s been owned privately for a long time, after the chain that owned the building died off in the recession. The new owners have poured enormous amounts of care and concern into the homey little restaurant and it shows.
Inside, I am surprised to see sturdy pine tables with a glossy varnish and over-stuffed booths just waiting for asses to be planted in them. The woodwork on the chairs in the no man’s land between the booths is excellent and over all, the restaurant retains a sort of sturdy, Germanic feel to it. The walls are covered with art and near the ceiling, a continuous shelf holds antique knick-knacks that no one would ever want beyond decorating purposes. The wallpaper is what you’d expect to find in a restaurant like this, tacky, but not unpleasant to the eye. It doesn’t stand out, but rather, it fades back into the décor, building to the ambience that you’re immediately engulfed into. Overhead, the droning tune that plays is soft chamber music, welcoming the guests to sit, talk, laugh, and not have to speak over it. Approaching the counter and cash register, I see a man with red hair and a mustache who looks both scared and excited. Reading his name tag, I realize that I need look no further. When I introduce myself to Art Derby, the manager, I find myself completely impressed by the restaurant as a whole.
Sadly, I know that what follows is less pleasant and less entertaining. Walking him around the counter, I introduce him to the elite team of ten murderously vengeful officers who had arrived in their civilian clothes and were ready to be the first line of defense against this nameless, faceless killer. Owens and the rest of the officers watch as they all file into the north wing of the restaurant, laying the trap. I place eight of the undercover officers at three different tables while the two remaining officers are placed as waitresses working for the restaurant. I instruct Art that no one else is to be seated in the north wing of the diner. After sending him away to inform his staff of their instructions, I share my plan with Owens and his team, letting them know that when the time comes, they are all expected to draw their weapons, demand that the party placed in their section put their hands on their heads. At that time, Owens’s strike team in the backroom and the kitchens will burst in to offer any support. I, on the other hand, will be outside, keeping an eye on the perimeter and the transportation. Letting those under cover fall into their roles, I return to check on the manager.
Art Derby, the poor bastard, is baffled and overwhelmed by all of it, but time and time again, I ensure him that we are professionals and that we are going to do everything that we can to keep the restaurant safe and secure during this event. I tactfully leave out the part that his insurance should cover any damage created by an all-out fire fight. He informs me that he is thankful that today has been slow so far and that they shouldn’t expect much of a rush at di
nner time. I should be okay with that, but I immediately worry that we can’t rely on his predictions. If the restaurant gets crowded, then we might have trouble. All I know for certain is that by tonight, I’m going to have the demon in lock-up and I’m going to be able to figure out which of the teachers has the creature inside of them. Right now, my money is on Debra Connelly.
I look across the asphalt at the line of shrubs defending the parking lot around Goliath from my gaze. All I see is a rolling wall of emerald and that’s alright with me. We’re all on radios, looking at the same images of Debra Connelly and her cohorts, waiting for them to show up. I look down at the short-haired, fifty-year-old woman and wonder what the demon intends to do with her. How will it inspire Debra to kill herself? I look at the picture and toss it into the passenger seat. It smells like burnt rubber in this parking lot and it’s hot as hell out here. It’s too bad that the lot next to Goliath is a tire shop and all I hear are the sounds of impacts and rap music. I love cars, even the smell of tires, but rap just stirs the need for violence within me. I contemplate, momentarily, taking a walk into the tire joint and smashing their stereo with a tire iron.
Looking across the little driveway that brings traffic off of the main street and into a narrow road leading to either the tire shop, Goliath, or three other shops along its way, I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a huge mistake right now. Maybe I’m underestimating this thing. Maybe it’s more cunning than I’m giving it credit for. I mean, it’s outplayed me this entire time. It has been five steps ahead of me and I’ve just been wandering around in the dark, not even sure what it is that I’ve been following. Right now, I feel like I’ve just stumbled across something that is infinitely smarter than me, and I for some reason think that I have a chance at catching the thing.
The Darkness Inside Us (A Detective King Suspense Thriller) (A Detective King Novel Book 3) Page 14
