Shrouds of Darkness

by Brock Deskins

  “Hey, I’ve kept you out of jail almost as much as all of them put together!” she responds hotly, showing true annoyance for the first time.

  “Then I guess my point is proven isn’t it?”

  “At least those uncontrollable freaks know how to say thank you.”

  “Yeah, how does Meat give his thanks, by the inch or by the pound?”

  Katherine glares at me as she white-knuckles the steering wheel. “Why are you always such a disagreeable asshole?”

  “Decades of practice, honey.”

  Try as I might; I cannot keep Katherine off-balance and annoyed with me. I must be losing my touch. I’ll have to work harder. Her smile is already returning to her pretty face; a smile made from her perfect, full lips. Jesus, what was wrong with me! I force myself to look straight ahead as she starts to speak again.

  “What were you asking about in the bar? Did you find anything out?”

  “I asked about your father, what kind of a man he was, what kind of a werewolf he was. Had anyone seen him lately? That sort of thing. Speaking of which, why were you in the bar?”

  “I was going to do the same thing. My dad rarely went there, but I hoped maybe someone had seen him or if not, just to ask them to keep an eye out for him. So what did they tell you?”

  “That he rarely showed himself there and wasn’t much of a werewolf.”

  “I could have told you that. I think I saw him shift one time in my life and that was only after Roger and I showed signs of the trait. Mom knows about him of course but he tried to keep it from Roger and me.”

  “Let me guess. You started cluing in when you hit puberty at nine and could pitch a softball that made even the lesbians jealous.”

  Katherine’s smile grows wider. “You saw that, huh? I went to NYU on a full softball scholarship, not that I am a slouch in the academic area as well. The hardest part was holding back. I maintained the second fastest pitch in the world, but I can break a hundred if I really let loose.”

  “Yeah, it looked like you let loose on Meat’s head all right.”

  “I knew he could take it and anything less probably wouldn’t have gotten his attention. Have you found anything else out?”

  “I went to the coroner’s office and took a look at some of the crime scene photos of a triple slaughter that happened near your father’s office.”

  Her smile quickly vanishes. “What makes you think that has anything to do with my father?”

  “I looked at some photos of hair that was found at the scene and it was definitely werewolf.”

  Katherine shakes her head resolutely. “No, no my father would never hurt anyone. He hates his condition.”

  “Even if his life was threatened?”

  “I—I’m not sure. Maybe he would to defend himself, but it would have to be really serious. He would run first. Who would want to hurt him or kill him?”

  “Someone who either didn’t know who he was or was really stupid. I need to make some calls and find out who these guys were, but I already know they were not innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I just can’t believe that my dad could do that even then. You don’t know him like I do.”

  “I don’t suppose you could identify the hair sample by sight or smell or know anyone who could?”

  She shakes her head. “No, dad never shifted; just that one time that I know of and I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only time he changed around anyone. Ok, some tigs jumped him and he shifted because he thought he was going to be hurt or killed, but where is he? Why hasn’t he come back?”

  “That’s the only part that really has me confused. Maybe he feels so horrified at what he did, he can’t come home. Maybe, since he is so unused to shifting, he simply lost control during the rage and hasn’t been able to shift back.”

  Katherine looks worried because she knows that my supposition was the most likely explanation.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Follow the bodies and hope we find him before the wolves get involved.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katherine drops me off at my place and I tell her that I’ll let her know if I get any more information. I watch her drive away before I duck inside. Maybe it is just my ego talking, but I can’t shake the feeling she was flirting with me and I really didn’t know how to deal with that. It’s never good to get involved with a client, especially when she’s half werewolf.

  I decide that it is best to keep my mind on work so I called Angel’s office phone. It rings five times before someone picks it up.

  “Detective Sergeant Castillo,” comes the answer.

  Oh shit. How the hell did I dial Satan? That has to be outside my calling plan.

  “Uh, Angel please.”

  “He’s on another line. Can I help you?”

  Yeah, you can shoot yourself in the face. “No, I’ll hold for Angel.”

  “Who is this?” she asks with a profound pause. “Malone, is that you?”

  “Uh, no this is his cousin—Vlad.”

  Vlad? Jesus Christ my improv sucks.

  “Detective Lopez,” Angel says into the phone.

  Oh thank God. “Angel, are you alone on this line?”

  “Yeah, who is this—Leo?”

  “Yeah. I need some information and those bodies you scraped up the other night.”

  “Leo, that’s an ongoing investigation. I really can’t give out that kind of information.”

  “It’s important. Besides, it’s a dog attack so no need for all the hush hush.”

  Angel sighs and pauses to think. “Why are you interested in this case?”

  “I don’t care about the case. I’m just curious about who the stiffs are.”

  “Bullshit. You ain’t curious about anything. Why are you getting your nose in this?”

  It’s my turn to sigh. I hate the way information tends to require two-way communications.

  “I have a client who has me looking for someone. I want to make sure none of the vics are my guy.”

  “You know, Leo, bullshit answers from you makes my good answers cost more which just serves to pay off the debt I have to you that much faster.”

  “Yeah but until then stop busting my balls and make with the info, law monkey.”

  “You are such a prick, Leo,” Angel laughs as he starts typing at his console.

  “Yeah, that’s the general consensus,” I reply.

  Angel comes back a minute later with my answers. “I have one Rocco Kilcuddy, Michael Rizzo, and Jeffery Sanders.”

  “What kind of priors are we looking at?”

  “The typical. Burglaries, possession, strong-arm robbery, assault. Rizzo was up for attempted murder once but pleaded out to a lesser assault charge.”

  “Any involvement with any organized crime families?” I ask Angel.

  “Nothing on my profile sheet. I’d have to check with the organized crimes task force to make sure but I don’t think so. They were all just your basic street hoods.”

  “All right thanks, Angel.”

  I hang up the phone but Angel’s input doesn’t make me feel any better or bring me any closer to solving this case. I already had a pretty good idea of the victims’ identity.

  I didn’t know them by name but I knew them by reputation. Like Angel said, they were toughs, thugs, and a general waste of space but they weren’t murderers. So why did they go after Martin? These guys knew the streets well enough to know who was made and not to screw with, so why go after such a high profile target? It doesn’t make sense.

  That means I will be pounding the pavement looking for clues and these kinds of clues were probably going to be bodies. Vincent will have to get the Sheriffs involved if the body count goes up, assuming they aren’t already. He said they had other duties but that doesn’t mean they aren’t running parallel to this.

  I begin running the streets and jumping rooftops well after the sun goes down. Of course, the odds of me stumbling upon an attack are pret
ty slim. It’s a big city after all, but I figure if there is going to be more attacks, they would likely happen fairly close to the first one. It’s not like a two or three hundred pound werewolf can take the subway or run down the Brooklyn Queen’s expressway on his way to Manhattan.

  I am perched atop a roof overlooking Fort Greene Park since it is near the first attack when I get a call on my cell.

  “Yeah,” I say into my phone.

  “We got a call for a cleanup on 8th and Cumberland. Vincent wanted us to let you know.”

  “Got it, thanks.”

  That is near the naval yard and only a few blocks from where I am now. It takes me less than five minutes to run there. When I arrive, I find the cleanup crew already at work along with a couple of my favorite Sheriffs.

  Quinn accosts me the moment I drop down to street level. “What the hell are you doing here, Malone?”

  I ignore his rudeness. Right now, I have better things to do than play who can piss the highest up the flag pole. When I’m on a job I like to consider myself something of a professional. But when it’s over, well, we’ll just see what happens.

  “I got a call. Thought I would look around and see if this is my guy.”

  “Yeah well, you can go fuck off somewhere else. We got this and we don’t need any help from some wash out PI,” Quinn sneers, obviously goading me for a fight.

  It takes some significant willpower and calming techniques my shrink gave me but I manage to keep my cool. It wasn’t that long ago that I would have made paste out of this kid, but since I got thrown out of the Sheriffs and started paying for my own therapy, I decided to do my best to make my time and money count for something.

  “Vincent wants me to take a look and last time I saw, he was your boss so shut your trap and get out of my way before I tear off one of your arms and bitch slap you all the way back to Manhattan with it.”

  Nailed it. Textbook anger management. I can tell by the look on his face he is ready to throw down but once again, Wyatt ruins what could have been the highlight of my day.

  “Quinn! Go help them clean that mess up,” Wyatt orders his minion.

  Quinn smiles at me and sneers, “He might be today, Malone, but things change.”

  “Quinn!” Wyatt shouts again and Quinn stomps over to where the others are tossing body parts into thick, waterproof bags.

  I walk over to where Wyatt is poking around and assumedly gathering clues. “Any idea who this was?”

  Wyatt shakes his head. “We found a wallet and ID. Looks like some guy going home after his shift at the shipyard. Nothing more than that right now.”

  “Wolf attack?”

  “Looks like it, given the scattering and wound marks.”

  This is good for me but it really sucks for Martin. I pull out my small but bright flashlight and begin scanning the area. I take some pictures of some of the body parts and surrounding area with my phone. It takes almost half an hour but I finally find what I am really looking for. I pull a small plastic bag out of my pocket and drop the tufts of rough hairs into it.

  I will have to wait until I get home to really compare them to the photos I got from Raj, but I am certain they match. It is not looking good for Katherine’s father.

  I spend another hour looking for any clues that will tell me the direction the attack came from or where he went afterwards but I come up empty. The cleanup crew departed with a one-fingered wave from Quinn nearly an hour ago.

  It is getting late, or early depending on your perspective, and I figure there is little if anything else I will find here, so I hightail it back to my place for a closer look at the evidence.

  The first thing I do is pull out the close-ups of the hair samples Raj supplied. I don’t need the lighted magnifying glass on my desk to tell they are a perfect match, but I will run them by Raj anyway just to be certain.

  I’m looking over the photos and about to toss them all back into the envelope when something catches my eye. I stick the picture of the first crime scene under my magnifying glass and take a closer look. Next to one of the body parts from the three thugs in the alley is a small, silver object. If I wasn’t familiar with it I never would have been able to pick out what it was and more importantly, to whom it belonged.

  The object is a tiny silver blade designed to slip over the finger like a ring and it serves two purposes: chopping up cocaine and making a small cut to drink blood. Knowing the owner and the time of night, I am almost certain where I can find its previous wearer.

  Much to my displeasure, I enter a club that is so shitty and decadent it makes the Perestroika look like the Vatican without as many pedophiles. Looking around at the general clientele, I amend my opinion and call it a draw.

  My target, Nicky, will be in whatever passes as a VIP section in this shit hole. Nicky is what we call a bloodling and the closest thing to a half-vampire as you can get. Bloodlings are exceedingly rare as they are almost always created by accident and considered a fluke of nature.

  Bloodlings are usually created by being an unkilled victim but somehow gets a bit of vampire DNA into their system. Maybe the feeder had gingivitis and his gums were bleeding or something, I don’t know. That little bit of infection is not enough to turn the victim into a vampire but it does imbue them with some pretty nice abilities.

  They are stronger and faster than most humans but not quite as strong as a half-were. Freak and Tiny would both make a good fight but the smart money is on either of those hulking brutes. They do not need to feed on human blood and never need to kill to survive but consuming small amounts of blood does keep them strong and healthy.

  Unfortunately, Nicky is an outright piece of garbage and he uses his accidental abilities to be a tough guy and push around the humans. He likes to be the big fish in this cesspool of a pond, but he’s really only a big fish amongst the lowest of the bottom feeders.

  I find him in the back surrounded by a group of whores and toadies all doing blow and drinking what they think is quality booze. Nicky is loudly proclaiming his greatness and generally mocking anyone that catches his eye in hopes of provoking a fight. People know him here and they don’t take the bait.

  I approach him for the side and tap him on the shoulder. “Nicky, I need to talk to you.”

  “Fuck off, I’m busy,” Nicky replies and flips me the bird over his shoulder without bothering to look at who it is.

  I grab the raised digit and expertly snap it like a breadstick in two places. Nicky cries out, jumps to his feet, and cocks back a fist, ready to destroy whoever was foolish enough to attack him

  His coked-out eyes take in my face and he goes so white he practically glows under the clubs black lights.

  “Oh fuck me, Leo, I didn’t know it was you!”

  I grab him by the ear like mother scolding a child and drag him through the club in the most humiliating way I can think of. Guys like him need an occasional reality check.

  “Ow, come on, Leo, I’m sorry!” Nicky cries as I lead him to a back entrance by his ear.

  We step out into the dank alley and I casually toss him into the wall of the neighboring building.

  Nicky stands in a half crouch with hands held defensively and pleadingly over his head. “What’d I do, Leo? I ain’t done nothin’ I swear! I been straight, I know the rules!”

  I know he knows the rules; I made it very clear to him what they were shortly after he changed and began acting stupid. Well, stupider, which given his general level of intelligence was quite a remarkable feat.

  “Where’s your little razor ring, Nicky?”

  Nicky makes a show of patting his pockets. “I don’t know, I guess I lost it.”

  “Where do you think you lost it?”

  “I don’t know, if I knew that it wouldn’t be lost would it?”

  I raise a hand and Nicky ducks and covers himself again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know!”

  “Then let me refresh your memory. How about an alley near 123rd, that sound familiar?”

 
; Nicky stands back up straight and extends his arms towards me. “Whoa, I did not do those guys! No way I could have done that if I wanted to, you know that.”

  “But I know you like to skulk around that area and I bet you saw something.”

  Nicky starts looking a whole lot more nervous. “You’re testing me aren’t you? This is a test to see if I’ll spill! I know the rules; I don’t say nothin’, you ain’t gotta worry about me.”

  Now this is very curious. “What rules, Nicky? What rules apply that makes you think you can’t tell me what you saw?”

  “The rules, man! You know, like Vegas! What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. What you guys do stays with you. I’m no snitch, Leo.”

  I grab Nicky by his ear once again and twist it painfully. “New rules, Nicky; what Leo wants, Leo gets and if you think leaving that club was embarrassing, think about how it will feel going back in with one fucking ear. Now you tell me what you saw or I’m going to start pulling off parts of your body, starting at the top and working my way down. I suggest you spill before your new name becomes Nicholas the dickless.”

  “Ow! It was you guys! I saw you guys!”

  “What do you mean, ‘you guys’?” I ask, my gut churning with the words I know are coming next.

  “You guys, with the black coats and big black van!”

  I let go of Nicky’s ear. “Are you telling me you saw Sheriffs at the scene? What were they doing, not cleaning up apparently?”

  Nicky shakes his head. “No, man, they took down that werewolf. They shot him full of tasers and tranq darts and then they loaded him up in the van and drove off. I climbed down from the roof I was on to check it out. I didn’t find nothin’ but a hundred bucks and a couple knives. I kept the money; the knives were shit.”

  “How do you know they were Sheriffs, did you recognize any of them? Would you be able to recognize them if you saw them again?”

  “Naw, man, they had the hoods of their jackets up like they didn’t want to be seen.”

  I need to go home and process all this. Nicky isn’t the most reliable of witnesses but he believes what he saw. The question is do I believe what he believes he saw?