Shadows in the Water

by Kory M. Shrum

“So you betrayed the men and women who worked with you, to protect a rich bastard?”

  Brasso rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why no one invites you to the parties, Robbie.”

  King ran a sweaty palm through his hair. This was all connected somehow. He knew it. But the pieces just weren’t quite lining up yet. King still had more questions than answers: why did Brasso choose him? He could have chosen any number of private investigators to find Venetti.

  He chose him so he could use him. Maybe even do away with him. If he could betray one friend, why not another? After King had delivered Venetti, maybe he was earmarked for a watery grave of his very own.

  “Do you remember Gus Johnson and Jack Thorne?” King finally asked.

  Brasso stopped smiling. “What about them?”

  It was a strange reaction. The way one reacts if you say I have a snake in this bag. If King were an interrogator, he’d lean into that, press harder, and see where it took him.

  He was a shit investigator, but he had to ask. “Right before he died, Jack was working a case. A big case.”

  Brasso’s feral eyes didn’t blink.

  “This case was against a mayor. He thought this mayor was selling drugs and perhaps girls. He had bank records and a couple of witnesses. That case never saw the light of day because, surprise surprise, when Jack died, the bank records and witnesses and all the other bits of evidence disappeared. That was real curious, because even Jack’s partner, Johnson, couldn’t seem to find any of it. Or maybe he didn’t look very hard.”

  King made a poof gesture with his left hand, the right still holding the gun, wide circles in the air before him.

  “Are you calling me unoriginal?” Brasso taunted.

  King wasn’t going to let himself be distracted. “Did you know that same mayor went on to become a senator?” King heard the tremor in his voice. Felt the gun rattling against his thigh. The orange light in the container made his head swim. If I don’t take a breath, I’m going to hyperventilate, he realized. Breathe.

  Brasso still said nothing.

  “But we all know the Martinellis killed Jack Thorne,” King said. And he got the reaction he wanted. Brasso relaxed. “And we even know that Gus Johnson was the one who gave his partner up. Told the Martinellis where to look, even though Thorne had taken all the necessary precautions to keep his home and family off the radar.”

  “So then why are you telling me all this?" Brasso wet his lips and then cautiously met King's eyes. “I know you loved the prick. Thorne. The only time you stopped praising your ass was to praise his. But what’s that got to do with me?”

  King grinned. But it was a hard, curdled expression that made the muscles in his face twitch. “Because the more I think about betrayal, particularly your brand of betrayal, the more I wonder who wanted to put an end to Thorne’s digging. After all, it wouldn’t have been hard to convince the Martinellis to do it, if they already had revenge on their mind.”

  34

  Lou stared at the blood-soaked carpet in her aunt’s apartment and wondered where shit had gone wrong. She had a process. A clear-cut, no error approach to killing. Take them to her private Alaskan lake. Jump to La Loon. Kill them and leave their bodies for Jabbers.

  No bullets. No casings. No gunpowder or evidence. No bodies. No blood. No witnesses, except maybe those from the point of abduction. But usually, she had enough counter-evidence to prove she was elsewhere. Enough improbability on her side to make people know she couldn’t have been in both Milan and New York on the same night.

  Therefore, officer, you are mistaken. That person you’re looking for only looks like me.

  With a sigh, she knelt on the rug and sprayed carpet cleaner onto the darkest spot. Then she took the scrubber to it, moving her hand in stiff circles the way her mother had taught her.

  Of course, Lou’d never even been questioned by the police regarding a missing person. The people she yanked off the streets were the vermin in the gutters. Why the hell would the police even look for them?

  Yet here she was, in her second trashed apartment this evening, furiously scrubbing at another carpet. Why couldn’t Lucy get a rug? Rugs were easier to dispose of.

  She stared down at the wet spot. No blood. Someone could have spilled a cup of water and was letting the carpet air dry. The walls and everything else had been wiped down as well. She threw the carpet cleaner and scrubbers into a bag and vacuumed the place. She spent extra time on the wet spots, trying to make sure no soapy spots dried stiff.

  She stood up an overturned chair and straightened a crooked picture of Aphrodite in a tree pose on her aunt’s wall above the Indian print sofa.

  If this whole murder-revenge thing ever goes sour, she thought, I could open a cleaning business specializing in blood. Kill your bastard husband and need help disposing of his worthless corpse? Lou-Blue is there for you! 555-7687

  She grinned and stepped into the closet and closed the door behind her. When she opened the door again, she was in her St. Louis apartment. The door hit a boot with a worn rubber shoe and stopped. She had to squeeze herself through the crack in order to escape the cramped space. Pink dawn was starting to sprout on the horizon, but her work was far from done.

  She still had the bodies.

  Four bodies and a spattering of other evidence—sponges, a torn T-shirt used as a rag, two bottles of cleaner, and a handful of bullet casings—she’d get rid of this too.

  She dropped the bag of evidence and wet rags beside a black boot. Then she stepped over all the legs between her and her bathroom.

  A giant tub sat in the middle of the tiled room. It was a puckered, god-like mouth waiting for her.

  Lou bent and turned on the faucet. Measuring the temperature with the back of one hand, she used the other to plunge the stopper into the steel drain at the bottom of the tub. The tub was made for two people and deep enough to reach a grown man’s shoulders when filled.

  Lou filled it.

  Then she dragged the body of one of the men down the hall. Not for the first time tonight, Lou was grateful that her apartment had no carpeting of any kind, only hard floors that could easily be wiped clean.

  She stepped into the water with her shoes on and hefted the man up into the tub with her. It was hard. Dragging dead bodies around always was. They went limp and completely unhelpful when they were dead. Gravity enters the bones of the dead in a way it can’t with the living.

  But once Lou got enough of the big figure onto the lip of the tub, the momentum of his corpse dropped him into the water. She cradled his bulk against her like a lover. Then she tried not to feel any panic regarding the fact that she was going to pull a dead body on top of her in a bathtub, and should her ability choose to fail her now, she would suffocate under the corpse crushing her.

  She took a breath and submerged herself, the corpse still hugged against her chest.

  Her gift didn’t fail her.

  She felt the bottom of the tub soften and fall away and then it was gone completely. She kicked her legs for the surface of the water and broke for air.

  She let go of the corpse and watched it sink without her. She knew she should drag a least one of the bodies onto the shore for Jabbers, a sort of offering in honor of their working relationship. But she had three bodies left to go. It could wait. She dipped beneath the surface and let the lake take her again.

  The tub bottom solidified beneath her, and she sat up, sucking in more air. Black hairs from the dead man floated on the surface, and Lou made a note to scrub and bleach the tub when she was done. She wasn’t concerned about cleanliness. Lou never bathed in this tub. She used it only as a doorway. It took too much energy not to slip that the idea of soaking in a tub for an hour was ridiculous. Her mother had loved to do that, with wine and a book.

  But Lou would be exhausted after five minutes.

  That’s what the shower with its glass doors in the far corner was for. And it sat beneath a bright, beveled window for extra measure.

  Her boo
ts squeaked against the slick floor as she held onto the tub for balance. Water sloshed over her knuckles. But despite the discomfort of wet clothes clinging, she pushed on.

  She dumped two other bodies, the full trio who had lay siege to her aunt’s apartment, in Blood Lake. With each return trip through the tub, the water was a little pinker than the trip before. La Loon water clung to her hair and clothes. The tub was as red as blood when she climbed into it for the last time, with the body of the man who had pistol-whipped King, demanding answers to Venetti’s whereabouts.

  When she broke the surface of Blood Lake, Lou didn’t let go of the body this time. Instead, she lifeguard dragged this corpse toward the shore until the silty bottom rose at an angle beneath her like a partially submerged boat ramp. Each step elevated her out of the water.

  Dragging a wet corpse was even harder than dragging a dry one.

  She didn’t even have the corpse out of the water when the leaves rustled. Something thrashed through the thick jungle foliage on her right. It would be here in twenty or thirty seconds.

  The two moons hung in the purple sky and Blood Lake was still in the quiet evening.

  Of course, it was always a quiet evening in La Loon. Every time Lou had visited this strange place, the sky was the same color, the moons hanging in the same position. She had no idea if some version of the sun rose and set on this place. Perhaps this part of Jabbers’ world was like Alaska. For months at a time, everything traveled the sky in the exact angle.

  Lou realized she didn’t have her gun.

  A black face broke through the trees and screeched. A mouth opened wide showing no less than four or five rows of long needle teeth the color of puss. A large white tongue lolled in its mouth, and the interior cheeks puffed, making Lou think of the cottonmouth snakes she’d seen as a child, hiking the woods with her father. Jabbers might be the same black-scaled, white-mouthed coloring of a cottonmouth, but she—or he—was no snake.

  She had six legs with talons, curved nails that dug into the earth as she walked. Between the toes was webbing, no doubt useful in the lake spreading out behind her. But the talons made her think of gripping and digging in. Did she nest in the mountain range a mile in the distance? She imagined the beast waking in some cave each morning and climbing down to the water’s edge, waiting for her offerings.

  Jabbers darted forward, and Lou pulled her bowie knife. The beast stopped in its tracks and hissed, pulling itself up to its full height.

  Lou took a step back away from the body, moving so that Jabbers could easily pounce on the corpse, as she’d seen her do many times before. Foxes hunted like that, jumped down on the frozen waters to get seal pups out from underneath the ice.

  Only Lou wasn’t sure it was necessary if the prey was dead, served on a proverbial platter. They weren’t going to put up a fight. But then again, if one has spent a lifetime putting a napkin across their lap before eating, one doesn’t stop because the menu changes.

  Lou was clear of the corpse and lowered the knife.

  Jabbers pounced, coming down on her forepaws with a playful air of a puppy seizing a toy from its master’s hand.

  Though no one in their right mind could look at Jabbers and see a playful puppy. She was too terrifying with her slit eyes and teeth and the way her body contracted from shoulders to rump with each movement. She was a solid mass of muscle.

  Lou heard a splash and looked out over the lake.

  Fins cut the water, darting one way then the other, like fish on the Discovery Channel evading predators. Only these fins were far too large to belong to fish, and she couldn’t imagine anything as large as a killer whale traveling in formation to protect themselves from predators.

  Movement caught Lou’s eye, and she whirled back toward Jabbers to find herself face to face with the beast.

  Lou raised the knife instantly, but she was too slow. The blade touched the underside of Jabbers’ chin, and when it did, a grumbling sound came from its throat. Lou’s arm tensed, ready to plunge the blade up through the beast’s jaw and into its brain—if its anatomy remotely resembled the creatures back home.

  Fucking stupid, she thought. Fucking stupid for taking my eyes off you. Why in the world would you munch on a corpse with fresh meat so close? Water drying on the end of Lou’s nose began to itch.

  Lou could smell her—smell corpse meat on her breath as her growl deepened.

  Then her hind legs folded and she sat down on her rump. The long white tongue came out of her mouth and lapped lazily at the blood drying on her muzzle.

  Not growling. Purring. Purring like a goddamn cat.

  Immediately her mind flashed with news stories meant to warm over sappy souls. How lions came to love their masters, recognizing them, hugging them, jumping up and wrapping those large furry paws the size of a grown man’s face around in a gentle embrace, even after years in the wild. How a tiger could not eat a goat that was put into its cage as a meal.

  Lou had formed a shaky alliance with a creature straight from a child’s worst nightmare, taming it with the corpses of her enemies.

  But she had no illusions. She had a ragged scar on her shoulder that wouldn’t let her make that mistake.

  Lou took a step back into Blood Lake. Cool water lapped at her ankles, then the back of her calves. She held the knife out in front of her. Jabbers didn’t mind. She lifted one taloned foot and began to gnaw at it, digging out the guts stuck in the webbing.

  Lou dove beneath the water and wiggled herself out of her clothes. When she surfaced again, she was naked in the blood red water of her bathtub.

  Her arms were shaking from overuse. Her head pounded with each heartbeat.

  She pulled the plug and watched the water drain, leaving a pink ring in the tub. She bent beneath the faucet and rinsed her hair and body until the water ran clear. She smoothed a hand along the rim until all the pink droplets became white.

  Jabbers’ bright eyes and the smell of her corpse breath burned in her mind. That had been too damn close. Close and stupid. What was wrong with her? She’d never been this careless before. And Jabbers wasn’t even her first mistake.

  Konstantine.

  She was still unable to explain the uninvited pull to visit Konstantine.

  What do you want from him? She asked as she shivered, naked in the empty tub. Your enemies are dead.

  Almost, her heart whispered. She paused with the comb in her hair. Almost.

  35

  Konstantine slid into the back of the sedan as the driver opened it. The A/C instantly began to cool the sweat on his neck as he took the seat opposite the doors, his weight against the partition. The small window was open, revealing an empty driver’s seat. The senator followed him in, unbuttoning the jacket on his suit as he slid across the leather.

  The door closed, and the car rocked gently to one side. The driver’s shadow fell over them as he rounded the car, ready to reclaim the wheel.

  Ryanson was clearly pleased. “That went well. Perfect. I can’t wait to see what you’ve drummed up.”

  Konstantine handed over a USB indentical to the one hidden inside his boot.

  “Any plans this evening?” The senator asked. His mood was bright and contagious. “A woman waiting maybe?”

  Yes, Konstantine thought. And if she did not find him tonight, she would find him the next, or the one after that. She was waiting all right. Waiting to slit his throat. He had to decide, while he had a chance, what to say first. His first words may be his last. So what could he say that would stop her?

  Who understands you better? They were born of the same crime-ridden and violent world. They’d both lost their mothers. They both wanted revenge.

  Too presumptuous, he decided.

  I dream about you.

  Perhaps too intense.

  I only want one thing.

  Too demanding.

  “I considered visiting downtown Austin,” he said. Where she was last seen hunting Castle. Her hunting ground. “There is a bar there.”
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  “That’s a shame,” Ryanson said. He made an exaggerated pout with his lips. “Can’t I persuade you to come out with me instead? I have a beautiful boat. Congress doesn’t reconvene until Monday, and my flight isn’t until Sunday night. I can bring five girls to make you forget about the one you miss.”

  Konstantine forced a polite smile.

  “Ten girls?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You know, I don’t like double-crossers,” the senator said.

  Konstantine looked up from his lap and met the man’s eyes. He noticed the shift in the man’s tone, the change in the air’s temperature.

  “I have your man Julio in the trunk,” the senator added. His eyes clung to Konstantine’s, measuring him up.

  Konstantine cocked his head. “Julio?”

  “It took us a long time to crack him. Longer than I expected actually. He was very, very loyal to you.”

  Was. Konstantine’s heart kicked his ribs, began thrashing in its cage.

  “It’s true that I planned to murder you both anyway. I don’t like leaving trails,” he said. Then his face brightened. “But when I found out who you were, hoo boy! You’re a wanted man, Mr. Konstantine. Your father has—had—a lot of enemies. And Father Leo wasn’t a favorite either. Unfortunately, you’ve inherited enemies on both sides.”

  Konstantine took inventory of the weapons on him. Two guns and a blade. Ryanson had the advantage of being by the door. And assuming the driver was loyal to him, he had a man at Konstantine’s back. But he was still sure he could get to his guns before either of them moved.

  “So I decided to have an auction. The highest bidder gets you and I’m spared the trouble of killing you myself. Win-win.”

  Konstantine’s fingers brushed the butt of his gun the moment before a sharp pain pricked the side of his neck. He turned in his seat as the driver pulled his hand back through the partition. His fist clutched a syringe, the needle and a tube with the plunger completely depressed.

  Konstantine reached up and touched his neck, felt a knot swelling under the skin. A drop of blood came away on his fingers.