Why is it so damn hot in here? That’s not my nerves… no, it’s like there’s a furnace running nonstop…
He noticed an intricately carved fireplace in the room, yet it was unlit, dark, and ashy. The deep, murky four-sided gateway of the thing hung onto a cloak of blackness. It definitely had not been used anytime recently and Nick surmised it was no longer functional, a simply ornamental feature. Furthermore, two two-by-four boards had been laid across the fireplace, shutting it out, with shiny silver nails nailed into the wood, as if trying to keep the Devil from entering the dwelling…or in this case, escaping it.
He looked back at the bed, trusting in Oliver’s theory and believing in Taryn’s vision of a doll hideaway. But if he believed them, why did his eyes tell him otherwise?
Nick, you’re a leader…
Floyd’s words reverberated, haunting him in his time of despair…
You gotta find them! You have to!
Aren’t leaders kings and queens, too? Kings have a throne and dungeons, too…
He dropped back down onto his knees, pulled up the bed skirt again and pushed along the sides of the boards, beating them like bad habits. Led by premonition—a monster seeking a monster—he dug into his mind hard and heavy, got on the man’s level, sank to an all-time low. Pushing and prodding, he clawed away as moisture oozed from every pore of his upper body and his eyes burned with freshly fallen perspiration…
And then, his moist palms hit something small, metallic…
He cracked a grin, tasting his salty sweat as it rolled over his upper lip, and got a good grasp of the metal thing, lodged snugly between the bed rail and thick mattress.
“Mmm,” he grunted. Maneuvering himself in an upward position, he pulled it out and admired his prize for a second or two…
A golden door key…
My, my, my, Christopher… Now what do we have here?
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Has anyone seen Vitale?!” Captain O’Sullivan called out, his brows bunched as he circled the man’s desk like a starved shark smelling blood in the water.
The phones rang off the damn hook, making him certain this day marked the beginning of a full moon. To make matters worse, they were short of staff; he needed all the help he could get. The mayhem had begun early, yet one chair remained untouched, colder than an unsolved mystery. He hated how anxiety stuck to him like a jockey upon a horse. The son of a bitch had him worried. In all of Nick’s time being an officer, his whereabouts had been seldom unknown while he was on the clock but now, the man was nowhere to be found.
“Hey! I asked a question! Anyone seen Vitale?!”
“No.” Officer Mike Moore stated, his back turned. “Not since this morning. He called and let me know he’d be running late.”
“This morning? You spoke to him this morning?”
“Yeah, I left you a message on your voicemail… He said he was coming in, just would be a little late is all.”
“Did he say why?”
“Nah, he didn’t say why.” Officer Moore quickly walked away, high stepping it like some soldier until he’d disappeared.
Where’s he running off to?
Captain O’Sullivan stood there, a hand on one hip and a file in the other, feeling clueless, exasperated, but more importantly, incensed.
He’s not answering his phone… he hasn’t been here today at all… no one knows where the hell he is. Jesus Christ, Vitale… If you’re drunk somewhere, strung out, so help me God, I’ll kill you!
All three bedroom doors now stood open by force, exposing their wares like storefronts on a sunny summer day. The other two weren’t nearly as elaborate as the master, but the middle one featured an array of used make-up, the drawers stock full of it stored in tidy containers. He’d carefully picked out a few lipsticks, placed them inside of his pocket, and taken photos at each and every turn. He’d also gathered a silky pale pink ballet slipper here, a plastic white comb and brush set there…
Stealing… taking… pillaging along the way. With extreme care, he’d wrapped each item in a freshly plucked tissue, praying for the least amount of contamination possible. As he made his way back down the steps and into the living room, he paused.
Did I miss anything? There’s always more… there has to be more. Come on, dollhouse, what secrets do you keep? Show me, damn it…
Taking one more look around, he huffed in frustration until his sights fell on the ceiling, which seemed curved slightly higher at the corners…
He cocked his head to the side and gasped, his heart racing so hard, he feared he may pass out.
Fuck!
I can’t do it myself. I could blow the whole goddamn case if I make a move! Fine, I’ll take care of this another way… I got you, you son of a bitch, I got your ass!
He quickly burst free, raced to his car and jumped inside. The clock had gone from tick tock to turbo blast and he feared he may already be too late…
“Nick, where tha hell have you—”
“I need a search warrant issued right fucking now!” He stormed past Captain O’Sullivan, yelling at the top of his lungs as he flung his jacket down and rummaged through his desk.
“For who?! What have you been doing?!” his boss angrily called out.
Sweat clung to his form, his hair slicked across his forehead as he placed each item on the captain’s desk from his journey to Queens. Returning to his desk, he looked over his shoulder to see the man almost running towards him, his face balled up, and his fists, too.
“I’m talking about the Brownsville Thirteen case! I’ve got him! But he’ll know I was there so we gotta hurry up, they’re inside! I have to go!” He raced past the big man once again, almost knocking him over as he grabbed at drawer after drawer, filtering through the damn things over and over again.
“Nick, you’re going to tell me what you’ve done right now damn it, ya hear?!” the big man’s voice boomed.
“I laid some stuff on your desk—evidence, just cause! Go see for yourself!”
“You’ve been following a suspect without being officially on a case?! Are you crazy?!”
“Two of the missing girls are twins.” He tossed a stack of papers haphazardly in the trash. “When they disappeared, they were last seen in green jackets… Those jackets are now documented.”
“Nick! For fuck’s sake! You broke into someone’s house? You know that’s not how we do things. The entire department could be sued! Jesus Christ!”
“I know what I’m talkin’ about!” he screamed. “Shit! I thought I had it in here… Doesn’t matter, look!” He paused, swiped sweat away from his eyes. “Can’t you just trust me one more time, please? Just one more time, Captain! I know I’m not a homicide detective, I know this, but you know damn well I should have been years ago!” A crowd began to form around the two men as his anger surged within him.
“You gotta earn that! It’s not just given to you because you feel like you deserve it!”
“Oh, really? I earned it years ago!” He pointed away at nothing in particular. “Because I was unpredictable, a bit hot under the collar, you didn’t let it happen. You wanted to give me a chance, right? But you knew your reputation was on the damn line. Don’t worry.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I got it all figured out.”
“No you don’t, Nick… no you don’t.” Captain O’Sullivan huffed and looked at him sadly, as if he were just plain pitiful.
“Oh, trust me.” Nick smiled wide as he placed his hand across his heart. “I do. You saw me like a son…yeah, you did, but you didn’t trust me, not as far as you could throw me, Captain.”
The man turned away for a spell, the truth written all over his face.
“You liked me, but you sure as hell didn’t know what to make of me. And… I know why. You weren’t sure what my deal was, but you knew something was off, something that made you a little uneasy—apprehensive—because you’re a real good judge of character; you’re known for it…”
The man’s stern expression soft
ened somewhat. He seemed to stand there wrestling with sorrow and anger. Which emotion won, Nick wasn’t sure, but in the grand scheme of things, it all came out in the wash.
“It was the goddamn drinking, Captain.” He smiled grimly, swallowed, shook his head in shame. But he had to make the man see, to wake him up right then and there.
“My head wasn’t always completely in the game. I understand your hesitation, Captain… but sometimes we gotta crawl on our bellies so we can appreciate what it feels like to stand on two feet. As messed up as I was, I still worked circles around most of these motherfuckers!” he shouted, the room drawing quiet, void of other chatter. “Captain, I’ve been doing homicide cases this entire goddamn time! Now what?!”
The seat was still empty…
Taryn turned away from the thing and warmed her arms with her trembling hands.
Nick! Where are you?!
The seats in the audience filled up fast, and though they’d had an incredible turnout, it felt to her as if no one had come at all. Something told her when she looked at her man that morning, the way he made a mess of their closet and almost bust his head wide open as he hopped about getting on his pants—whatever had set him ablaze would cause a fire in her heart, too.
She danced between infuriation and sadness as she reflected on how his phone continuously went to voicemail.
And then, there were the questions about dolls… such strange, bewildering questions…
Startling her out of her thoughts, Parish, one of the models, bounced towards her and tapped her shoulder.
“The show is about to start and I can’t find my red and cream bustier.”
“Oh, um, I know where it is.” She sniffed and hightailed it towards the dressing room. The place lit up with chatter, and the M.C. got ready to take the stage. “Shawty is a Ten” by The Dream began to blast through the large speakers…
Jules approached her, looking like a damn vision from Heaven in his white suit and silver cane. He nodded her way, winked, and sailed on past just as cool as he pleased.
“Parish, here you go, honey.” She handed the lady the bra and paced nervously from side to side, then picked up one of the flyers of the show:
SWEET WARRIOR LINGERIE PRESENTS
Pink Ribbon in the Sky Productions
TARYN A. JONES – Designer
of the ‘LIVING DOLLS’ Collection…
She gripped the flyer so damn hard, it crumpled in her hand as she marched back out front to watch everything she’d worked so hard for in action.
Nick! Damn you! I don’t ask you for much, and you abandon me on the night of my show! One of the most important nights of my life!
She seethed with anger, her mind going around and around as she made herself comfortable in a front row seat, her long, sparkling white gown shimmering under the lights.
When I get my hands on you, Lord help you!
“Nick, chill out… calm down,” someone called out—he couldn’t tell who.
“Chill out? Don’t tell me to fuckin’ calm down! Someone’s gotta give a damn around here, get some serious work done! I’ll chill out when I’m dead, okay?!” he barked, wanting everyone to hear every damn thing he had to say. The volcano he’d become had finally erupted, an act of Nature long overdue. “I’ve been drunk doing a better job than some guys and they know it!” He pointed around the precinct, looking into the eyes of all the men and women dressed in navy blue, their badges sparkling under the ceiling lights.
“The Glen-Mills case—remember that, Captain? I solved it!” He stabbed his forefinger into his chest, claiming what was rightfully his once and for all. “Lieutenant Walker got a package in the mail about the case in Long Island; you know, the one with the stolen cars ending up in the damn river. One of ’em had a baby in the back seat! Who could forget that, huh? I sent that research to him, all that information that I personally collected… stayed up night after night. I gave him everything he needed. All he needed to do was double check my findings and make a damn arrest, and less than twenty-fours later, ya know what? He did, but he didn’t mention my name; he sure as hell didn’t!
“That wasn’t the perpetrator confessing, finally coming clean like it was said in the press! Noooo!” He shook his head vehemently. “I sent those damn maps for the Opal case, including the one where the body was found of that man that had been missing for months! The Victor homicide, remember that shit? I solved that too! Just ask Officer Ashton!”
He and Captain O’Sullivan shot a look at the man in question, a guy with enough tenure for two. The man stood there, stone faced, then lowered his gaze from both men.
“The Tractor-Belle case, I cracked it!” Tears welled up in his eyes, threatened to fall. “The Rifer case, guess who mother-fucking who! Yeah, it’s me again.” He laughed angrily. “That interrogation of the Baseline killer, I told Officer Townsend what to ask ’im, how to make him fall apart, make him tell the truth… cause I’m one of them, Captain! I’m a part of this, the people we chase and hunt down each and every day. I chase myself away every damn day, too… I’m a beast! A goddamn monster! I fight with that fucker every morning, afternoon and night!
“You gotta be a thief to understand one, Captain. You gotta get into their damn heads, know how they operate. The best hunters think like the animals they’re after; they become the beasts. They don’t just sit back passively. No,” he said with another shake of the head. “The hunter becomes the hunted. You must have a deviant mind. And I did… I do. That was me, goddamn it! All me! I worked, drank, and worked some damn more because that’s my fuckin’ job, and my job was my wife and my life!” Spit sprayed out of his mouth out as his eyes continued to water, anguish so deep begging to burst forth.
“I had to keep quiet, work behind the scenes… a damn ghost writer to my own life… Well, I’m done being invisible, Captain… done with it all.” He threw up his hands. “I’m not a drunk and sad sack of bullshit any longer. I got purpose; I got reason to live!” He snapped his fingers and looked out into the sea of people.
“Get me my search warrant, goddamn it!!!” His voice cracked. A couple of people started to move away, on the alert, as if ready to follow his orders.
“Someone taught me how to love and respect myself—someone I love with all that’s in me, and she no doubt wonders where the fuck I am right now, but I am where I’m supposed to be, doing what I was born to fucking do so that I can continue to give her all the love she needs and deserves! I’m alive; I’m a cop, a damn proud one! Brooklyn’s finest!” He beat his chest with a firm first. “Brownsville is my home. I was born and raised here, and someone is taking little girls from their families, snatching’ them up, and no one gives a shit to dig deeper, go the extra damn mile! Well, it stops NOW! Not on my goddamn watch! Not now, not ever!”
“Nick,” the Captain said calmly. “I’m trusting you… I am. What do you need from us?” Angst imbued his tone and he put his hands up in surrender.
“A search warrant in record speed, a big ass bulldozer, and a damn prayer!”
“Where’s it at, Vitale?!” someone called out.
He grabbed his jacket from off the ground and turned his back on the crowd. “6809 Linden Boulevard, and I need back up and I need it yesterday!”
He grabbed a second gun, strapped up, and hurried out of the precinct. In the distance, he could hear scrambling behind him, as well as elevated voices, the screams of shattered pride and a call to action. The monster within him had been unleashed to bite the heads off everyone in his way. He was returning back to the dollhouse, and if he had to tear the place up brick by tiny brick with his own hands, he simply would.
The clock wouldn’t let the hell up; it became the biggest monster of all, refused to release him, to slow down. So, he asked Father Time if he could take a moment of his life, steal it away, and give it to the missing girls of Brownsville instead…
They look so beautiful… dreamlike.
The models came down the runway one by one, poised and
graceful, their eyes bright and glassy. Moving to the music, they looked like musical notes in motion. Vicki gave Taryn a big squeeze, a warm hug as she observed her creations coming to life.
They do look like dolls… just gorgeous. Each of the models on the stage had had either a partial or full mastectomy, every example showing the gamut of the lingerie line. They bounced about, their heads high, all warriors… every damn single one of them. They owned the damn stage, from the palest one, almost the color of snow with long, straight, flowing light blond hair, to the darkest, most luminescent azure, her natural hair blown out like a gorgeous coiffed halo…
They radiated from the inside out.
The dolls go marching one by one,
Hurrah, hurrah…
The warriors beat their drums,
Hurrah, hurrah…
Cancer’s a thief,
but it didn’t get shit.
The Warrior Princess
surely saw fit.
…And the dolls…kept… m a r c h i n g…
d
o
w
n.
To the ground.
To Hell…
And beyond…to fight, with the Devil…
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You can’t do this!” the man screamed out, his blue eyes bulging from their sockets as he twisted and turned in the officer’s grip, a look of complete panic and distress on his face.
“We’ve got a search warrant, Mr. Allen…we can do this,” Officer Tomas said dryly.
“Over here.” Nick pointed to the ceiling in the living room, commotion all around him. Officers from three precincts moved about the premises. “There’s fresh paint there, you see? Right above here is the master bedroom, and an old fireplace. There’s water damage, too. Something leaked.” He continued to make his way around, pointing and directing like they were in the middle of a damn traffic jam.
In the Nick of Time Page 62
