The bar was just about empty. An older man with a patch over one eye sat at the counter and sipped on a Budweiser. He didn’t even look up when I came in. It made me wonder if he was even aware of my presence. I was dressed in a nice suit with a black tie. My blond hair was short and spiked just the way K liked it. I looked the part of a punk wannabe mobster, which was half the battle.
The bar was long with beer signs hanging on the wall and a big mirror behind the counter. A short, fat bartender looked at me with deadpan eyes as he wiped his mouth with the end of his dirty white apron. The place could hold fifty or so customers, but the rush was still an hour or so out.
“This way.” One of the mooks led me to a back room with a wooden door and a fogged-over window with lettering that read, “Office.” Before I went in, he looked at me with a look that said, you know what to do, so I obliged, put my hands against the wall, and he patted me down. I’d left a knife in my pocket so he’d feel like he’d found something and would be satisfied.
It worked.
He smiled with a big dumb grin and opened the door to let me inside. He never even looked at my hands, and I tried to loosen my grip so it didn’t seem like I was holding something. But it was too late for them anyway.
I was in.
The office’s walls were filled top to bottom with newspaper clippings and photos tacked on.
Murder in Cape Town leaves police baffled.
Fifteen-year-old girl missing.
Banker found in his own vault, throat cut.
So The Magician was a collector of his own art, and he could care less who knew about his acts. The man himself sat at a large, wooden desk. He sat looking over his accounting books, which were piled on the floor. One thick one sat open on his desk.
He pointed to a chair across from where he sat, without looking up.
I sat down and looked at his accomplice, who glared back at me. He was all of six-feet-seven and had a head of thick, raven black hair. He wore a white dress shirt and a Glock in a Galco shoulder holster. He didn’t seem overjoyed to see me and I didn’t send any love in his direction either. The two mooks who let me in left the room and shut the door behind them.
“So, you think you have something I want?” The Magician finally spoke, looking up at me with a set of dark brown eyes. He had thinning black hair and a splash of gray ran through it like spider webs. He was built like a linebacker with a fat neck and wide shoulders. I saw that he was not packing a weapon, but I knew that in or under his desk, he would have a shotgun, unless he was completely stupid.
I started to speak but he jumped in. “You better have what I want because not just anyone can get a meeting with me. And you, my friend, are on borrowed time.” His Italian accent made him hard to understand, not to mention the fact that he slurred his words and chewed on a toothpick.
The WJA had forwarded him ten million to meet with me, hoping to make a business arrangement. He responded with a time and place. We had him hooked, and all that remained was my part. I thought again about my sweet daughter, Sam, and imagined this pig taking her. I remembered all the little girls he had kidnapped and killed. I did not need to think on it long. The reason I was here gave me the strength to begin.
“Mr. Fontana, I am here to talk to you about your future.” He started to butt in again, but I stood up as my instincts kicked in. I knew it would enrage him that I dared to stand without his permission, but I needed him mad. I needed him to be so mad that his judgment would be clouded.
“Your future is set in stone, Magician.” I spat his nickname out as if it were poison, and his face turned red from the neck up. I raised my hand. “You are here tonight to pay for your sins.”
The bodyguard hit the floor with a thud before he even knew he’d been shot. The gun in my hand was just an extension of my arm. The magic of The Magician was about to run out, and as he stood up, I pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into his chest. His body shook as he tried to catch his breath. I moved over his desk and pushed him backward. The chair he was sitting in splintered and broke apart under his weight. He grunted and gurgled as his lungs filled with blood.
I landed like a tiger, crouched on his torso, and looked into his dark, empty eyes. He tried to push me off, but I shoved the barrel of my .45 into his neck so hard that he froze and glared up at me with hate flashing through his eyes. Leaning down, I whispered in his ear just before I pulled the trigger.
“Sweet Dreams!”
* * *
THE REDHEAD LAY ASLEEP in the bed, looking as peaceful as an angel. Her delicate eyelids covered her blue eyes and the moonlight cast a glow over her face.
She’s so beautiful, so sweet.
Taras Karjanski looked down at her and touched her soft skin with his hand. He stood over her and let his fingers feel her cheek ever so gently as if she were made of glass. If he pushed too hard she might break. He considered himself lucky to have met her and hit it off so quickly.
Mandy Buckingham told him about how she grew up in Redding, California, and began working for the airlines when she turned twenty. After a year she moved to Los Angeles to focus on her acting career. Her parents were both lawyers and hated the fact that their only daughter was off chasing a dream they believed she would never attain.
She thought she controlled her life, but she didn’t. Not now. With one punch he could end her. And her dreams would disappear into the wind.
He felt something stir within him. It was a scary thing—to be sucked in to where the caged monster hid, and to tease him and let him out to play, even for a moment. Just one time, and it would change your life forever. Taras knew all about playing with the caged beast, he liked the thrill and fear that came with living on the edge.
The night was still young for the Red Dog. He left Mandy’s apartment without a sound. She had a simple walkup: one bedroom, a small kitchen, and a living room that was a dining room, as well. Looking down at his watch he noticed that it was one in the morning…plenty of time to hit a few clubs, check out the night scene, and get into some trouble.
He walked in the shadows as he made his way down to the corner drug store. LA was still alive and bustling with activity even at this hour. He loved to see all the people and think to himself how fragile their lives were. I am the highlander! No, I am more powerful than he. I hold life and death in the palm of my hand. He liked to watch the Highlander movies. He felt like he could relate to someone who was immortal. He was immortal after all, just below a god. Maybe one day, he would kill God and take His place.
Most mobsters or mafia bosses would have bodyguards and private jets carry them wherever they went. Taras Karjanski liked to be alone. It reminded him of the plains of Russia, and his fields full of sheep.
Before Taras knew it, he was in the middle of downtown. He could hear music from the dance clubs and looked around for one that he deemed promising. Across the street he spotted a club called The Deuce. It had a tall, glass, knife-shaped sculpture jutting from the street into the air, with neon lights intertwined throughout it. Inside, the carpet was red and the black walls contrasted with white booths and tabletops. Oversized cone-shaped lights hung on cords, like icicles waiting to fall on some unsuspecting person below.
The music was pop rock with a little jazz mixed in. Not much was said to the big black bouncer who guarded the door after Taras slipped him a thousand-dollar bill. With that kind of bribe, he was granted a private table in the back overlooking the dance floor. Music pounded out something that Taras didn’t fully understand. Pop it like it’s hot, or drop it like it’s hot? It didn’t make any sense, but everyone on the main dance floor moved with the beat in one, fluid movement. People talked, laughed, and danced in packs that, from where Taras sat, looked like a sea of moving arms and bodies.
The place was packed and filled with excitement. Taras was in the mood to be alone, contrary to the Red Dog’s mood. Much of his hate was for the way the people all seemed so happy. It made him want to burn the place down with all their smiling faces trapped
inside.
The waiter took his order and returned with vodka in a short, fat glass that had two ice cubes floating in the clear liquor. It was an old cliché, but he liked the taste of it and hoped he could just watch the ridiculous people in peace. However, that was not what the Red Dog wanted, or what he was going to get.
A tall blonde and her short girlfriend came over to his table and smiled at him, as if expecting something for their efforts. The tall one wore a red dress that hit her just above the knees, and she had a huge rose pendant around her neck. The smaller brunette had a choker around her neck with a tiny, white flower in the middle, and a black dress. The colors almost made Taras think they might work at the club, but they must have visited the club in the past and dressed to match the décor.
“You girls looking for something?” He wanted to scream at them to leave him alone in his misery.
“You seem lonely and so sad…we thought you might like some company.” The tall one slid into the booth next to him and the shorter brunette sat on his other side. He could smell the perfume on them and, mixed with the smell of the vodka in his glass, it made an intoxicating scent. He forced a smile, and took another sip.
“Okay, if you lovely ladies insist on being with a lonely and sad man, then I have a few rules before we continue.” The girls laughed and rolled their eyes as he began to explain.
“First, no names. Second, you will leave just the way you came—alone. Do you understand the rules?”
They nodded. The shorter one spoke in a whisper and Taras had to lean toward her to hear what she said, “What if we break your little rules…then what?”
Taras looked at her and, with no expression on his face, said, “Then I’ll have to kill you.”
They both stared back at him and after a brief pause, they burst out laughing. If they only knew. He wasn’t joking.
* * *
KIRK WESTON GOT OFF the plane and looked at his watch. A red dot blinked with a map outline where the numbers would normally be. He had found a bunch of gadgets online. When you had a million dollars in the bank, you could get just about anything you wanted. The red, blinking dot was the location of Taras Karjanski, or at least it was the location of his wallet. Kirk had put a small tracking device in his wallet when he bugged his villa six months earlier.
After picking up his brown duffle bag from baggage claim, he got a cab and headed downtown. The Russian was on the move and was out way too late to be up to any good. It was two a.m., and Kirk was exhausted from the flight. Now he had to go chasing the Russian around when all he wanted was to crawl into a warm bed and sleep.
Los Angeles could be a beautiful city at times, depending on where you were. However, tonight something didn’t seem right. Something was off about this entire trip. He knew that Taras was going to meet his family in Russia. So why the stop in LA?
The cab pulled up to an apartment building that stood four stories tall and was made of red brick. Each window had a green awning above it and the complex looked to be over a hundred years old, though with recent renovation. He paid the cabbie, walked up the steps and looked at his watch again. The little red light was blinking a few blocks down and he knew this building was Taras’s last known location.
The apartments looked dark, but one had a faint light coming from beneath a blind. It was the one with the closest staircase, so Kirk decided to try that one first. Why not? Not like I’ve got anything better to do. He didn’t know why, but he had a strong hunch that he was on the right track.
He made his way up the front staircase and looked up and down the street. This might be the best time to start a gunfight. No one was milling around, and worst case scenario, he had his badge. Kirk breathed in the night air as he tried the doorknob.
It was open. Not a good sign. The kitchen light above the sink was on and the faint smell of burning wood filled the room. The fireplace still glowed with the last bit of embers as it smoldered in the living room hearth.
By now, he had his gun drawn and his heart quickened as he made his way toward the bedroom. Everything was quiet in the house, and between the fireplace and the light on in the kitchen, it gave the idea that someone else was here. Maybe one of his goons, or maybe a girlfriend? Kirk was alert and every nerve was on end as he stopped in the doorway to the master bedroom.
The form of a sleeping woman made a lovely shape in the king size bed. He flipped the light switch, but the woman didn’t move when the room filled with light. Kirk stopped as he read the rough message written in black marker on the wall above her bed.
YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME, DETECTIVE?
CHAPTER FOUR
I COULD HEAR THE clock as it ticked on without anyone or anything able to stop it. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Even the paper in The Magician’s big, black book floated to the floor with a quiet fluttering as it turned over and over in the air. I could feel my mind jumpstart as my instincts came alive. The Magician had seen his last magic trick…tonight, the trick was on him. He would not do anyone else any harm, at least not in this life. I waited for the guards to burst into the room to see what all the noise was about, but they never came. The silencer was effective. I moved as fast as I could and did not make much, if any, sound as I finished my mission.
The tall beast of a bodyguard looked up at me with blank eyes and a hole in his forehead. He never knew what hit him. Perhaps the last thought that passed through his brain was nothing short of genius, but then again, maybe not. Usually the type who were employed by men like The Magician were not the intellectual sort.
I didn’t kill for fun or sport, and I had to shut off my emotions when I was on the job. If I thought about it long enough, then the dark beast inside might even find it enjoyed killing, when in fact, I did not relish it. I did, however, get some sort of satisfaction in knowing that someone tonight would sleep better without this killer on the streets.
A great man once told me that you had to remember your Why. The Why is what keeps you going when things are at their darkest and will keep you focused on what needs to be done. I had a daughter waiting for me at home, and a loving wife, and I wanted to see a day where they could be safe. I was not naïve or stupid, I knew that my small part wouldn’t make much difference, but it made a difference to the family who wouldn’t lose a loved one to this monster.
Time to go, Mark.
I awoke from my thoughts and slipped out the back door of the office. No guards came to stop me, and I was soon back in New York with my comfortable slippers on and a warm cup of cocoa in my hand. I couldn’t explain it, but nothing beat a warm cup of cocoa after a long day at work.
* * *
KIRK WESTON RUBBED HIS shaved head and muttered. He searched his mind trying to figure out where he’d slipped up. He had been so careful in Bali and he’d thought he’d gone unseen by his enemy. However, the message written on the wall proved otherwise.
He stumbled down the dark alley behind the apartment building and turned toward the street where he found a pay phone. He dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I want to report a murder.”
“What is your name, sir? Where are you?”
“In apartment 1A, on the corner of Sixth and Spring Street.” Kirk hung up before the operator could ask any more questions. And he rubbed his fingerprints off of the phone.
Walking down two blocks, he looked up the street, heard the sirens, and saw the flashing lights from an ambulance. They wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, and Kirk didn’t think he would either.
* * *
“MORNING, BABE. DID YOU sleep okay?” I grabbed K around the waist from behind as she tried to pour a glass of orange juice.
“Like a baby. When did you come in?”
“Late.”
“I see. You up for some scrambled eggs?”
“Always.” I loved the way K made eggs. She always put a little cheese on them. “You look like—well…uh.”
“I was going to say a ravaging beauty.” K smacked my arm and laughed. We’d been married for almost ten years now but we were so in love that it seemed like just yesterday that we met.
Samantha was seven and thought everything was hers or would be hers if she just batted her big blue eyes. Then again, maybe she was right. I couldn’t resist her even if I tried. But Sam rarely took advantage of me, though. She somehow knew that it was a special thing to have that kind of love from her father.
“So, what are you up to today?” K asked as she cracked an egg.
“I’m off today, so I thought I would take you to…well, you’ll just have to wait and see.” K turned to look at me with eyebrows raised. “What’s the problem? Sam’s in school until three and you’re off, too.”
“Mark, I have to work today, I—”
“—I called and had you replaced for the day so you’re all mine!” K’s eyes brightened as she jumped in my arms. “You dog.”
“Yeah, I know.”
* * *
THE LOS ANGELES TIMES had a headline that would end up on every news channel in the country.
TRIPLE MURDER!
“Three women found dead. A flight attendant was found early this morning, strangled in her sleep, and two bodies were found in a dumpster behind The Deuce nightclub early this morning. Their bodies were cut up so badly that the authorities aren’t ruling out an animal attack.”
The story went on about how the LAPD believed the murders might be linked and there could be a new serial killer on the loose. Taras looked at the paper and shuddered. It was hard to believe that someone could do that to another human being. But then again, he had enjoyed it, even if it did bring him a small amount of guilt.
They broke the rules. They disobeyed me!
* * *
DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2) Page 3
