The Red Mohawk

by AnonYMous

  Candy didn’t wait around to hear the outcome of the conversation. She headed back out to the dining area to see Milena Fonseca who hadn’t moved from her stool at the counter. This time the FBI agent held up her cell-phone. On it was another photo. This time it was picture of a man in his late twenties or early thirties.

  ‘This is a guy named Dominic Touretto. You ever seen him?’ she asked.

  Candy studied the picture. She felt a sense of relief when she realised she had never seen the man before. ‘He’s not a local,’ she said. ‘If he’s ever been in here then I don’t remember him.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Fonseca. ‘Would you say you normally know all the customers?’

  ‘Pretty much yeah. This isn’t a big tourist resort.’

  ‘What about the killer in the mask this morning? Did you see his face?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t recognise him. Never seen him before.’

  ‘But you got a good look at him?’

  ‘Not really. When I took his order he was talking to himself so I avoided staring at him. He didn’t put the mask on until just before he started chopping folks up.’

  ‘But you saw what he looked like without the mask?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Reg walked into the diner through the PVC strip curtain. He tapped Candy on the shoulder. ‘Candy, your friend wants to speak to you on the phone,’ he said.

  Candy turned around and looked at Reg. He nodded towards the phone in the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak with the FBI lady. Go take the call.’

  Candy wandered back through the strip curtain and into the kitchen. She had taken barely two steps towards the phone before she heard a horrific sound behind her. It sounded like someone gurgling or throwing up. She raced back into the kitchen and saw a ghastly sight. Reg had thrust a large kitchen knife into Milena Fonseca’s throat.

  Candy covered her mouth with her hand, fearing that she might throw up. Reg tugged the knife back out of Fonseca’s neck. The blade was covered in blood, much of which was dripping onto the newly cleaned floor. Even more blood was gushing out from a gaping wound beneath Milena Fonseca’s chin. Before Candy could scream at him to stop, Reg plunged the knife back into Fonseca’s neck. The FBI agent’s jaw dropped. Her mouth was open and her tongue practically hanging out. Her eyes revealed a look of total shock at the sudden unprovoked attack. As Reg withdrew the blade for the second time he stepped back, treading on Candy’s toes. Candy jumped out of the way. She watched in horror as Milena Fonseca’s eyes dulled. The life drained right out of her and she slumped forward. Her head crashed down onto the bar with a sickening thud.

  Reg turned to Candy. ‘Get the mop,’ he said. ‘We gotta clean this up quick!’

  Thirty Two

  Mack led Benny up to Mellencamp’s office on the upper floor of The Beaver Palace. He banged hard on the door with one of his enormous fists, then shouted through it.

  ‘Benny Stansfield is here to see you boss!’ There was no reply from within, so after a few seconds Mack twisted the doorknob and opened the door inwards. He gestured to Benny to go in. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘He’s had a busy day. He might be taking a nap. Just wake him up. He won’t mind.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Benny walked in and Mack pulled the door shut behind him. Silvio Mellencamp was behind his desk, taking a nap just as Mack had suggested. His head was leant back against the soft black leather on his chair. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open. His gold dressing gown was wide open, but fortunately from where Benny was standing he was only visible from the chest upwards. He didn’t seem to have heard Benny enter, or heard Mack close the door, so Benny cleared his throat quite loudly in order to grab his attention. Mellencamp didn’t stir.

  ‘Mr Mellencamp,’ Benny called out. ‘You awake?’

  Mellencamp opened his eyes slowly, one at a time. ‘Hold on a second,’ he said before closing his eyes again.

  Benny stood and waited. For about another twenty seconds Mellencamp remained seated behind the desk, not moving. His eyes stayed closed, only flickering occasionally. Waking up seemed to be quite an arduous task for the old fella. His mouth gradually closed and his lips curled up in a smile that bordered on being a grin. Eventually he shuddered and just as quickly he sat upright and opened his eyes.

  ‘Okay, all done,’ he said.

  Benny approached the desk tentatively. He stopped in his tracks just short of Mellencamp’s desk when he saw something moving. A young woman was crawling out from underneath the desk. She popped into view on Mellencamp’s side. She had long dark hair and creamy brown skin. She was dressed in a black bra and matching thong with a pair of thigh high, high heeled boots. She stood next to Mellencamp and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Will that be all?’ she asked.

  ‘Can you just wipe the sweat off my brow?’ Mellencamp asked.

  The young lady grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and wiped his forehead with it. ‘Is that better?’ she asked.

  ‘Lovely.’

  She turned to Benny. And smiled. ‘Hi Benny.’

  ‘Hi Jasmine.’

  Mellencamp patted Jasmine on the backside and then ushered her away. ‘Tell Selena to drop by in half an hour,’ he said. He took his eyes off her backside for a moment and smiled at Benny. ‘Take a seat.’

  Benny sat down in a chair opposite him. ‘I got the girl back for you,’ he said. ‘She’s downstairs watching a movie in your entrance lounge.’

  ‘You mean Baby? You got Baby back?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s who you wanted, right?’

  ‘Fuck yeah. How is she? Is she shaken up about what happened to Arnold?’

  ‘Yeah, little bit. She’s been shot too. Reg hit her in the arm with a shot from his rifle. It slowed her down.’

  Mellencamp nodded. ‘Yes I heard. Good old Reg. Never misses does he? I owe you each ten grand. You’ve really pulled me out of a hole here.’ He reached into a drawer on his desk and pulled out a thick wad of fifty-dollar bills. He tossed it across the desk to Benny. ‘There’s ten for you. Don’t spend it all at once.’

  ‘I can take Reg’s too if you like.’

  ‘Not necessary. Besides, I need to keep some money in the desk drawer to pay the doctor when he arrives.’

  ‘What doctor?’

  ‘Clarisse managed to get the doctor from Lewisville to do a call out to take care of Baby. It’ll cost me a small fortune mind.’

  ‘Oh right. To sort out that bullet wound in her arm. It’s not that bad you know. I think she’s making a fuss over nothing.’

  ‘Well that’s nothing new. But actually the main reason for getting the doctor in is to carry out a termination. Baby’s gone and got herself knocked up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why Arnold was taking her to Lewisville this morning. But now Arnold’s dead and if I’m honest, I’m beginning to wish Reg had shot Baby in the head instead of the arm. It would have saved a lot of trouble.’

  ‘You’d have had to pay him more than ten grand though, I’ll bet!’ Benny joked.

  ‘I’ll be paying him more than that anyway. He’s just killed an FBI agent for me.’

  Benny couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve got two FBI agents in town.’

  ‘Yes I know, but they’re here to find the Red Mohawk aren’t they?’

  Mellencamp picked up a glass of cognac from his desk and took a swig. ‘That’s what they want us to believe,’ he said, licking his lips. ‘But the female agent dropped by Reg’s diner earlier. She had a photo of Baby. And she was asking questions.’

  ‘No fucking way!’

  ‘Yeah. Sneaky bastards.’

  ‘So how did Reg kill her?’

  ‘Stabbed her in the throat.’

  Benny grimaced. ‘Eww, that must have been hard.’

  ‘Not for Reg. He cuts pigs throats all the time out the back of the diner. He knows what he’s doing.’

  Benny
tried not to visualise the image of Reg slaughtering pigs or female FBI agents. ‘So what about the other agent?’ he asked.

  ‘We need to give him the Corey Feldman treatment.’

  Benny frowned. ‘What’s the Corey Feldman treatment?’

  ‘He can never be allowed to leave B Movie Hell.’

  Benny understood what Mellencamp meant. Before he could comment, the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled into life. ‘Benny, come in, this is O’Grady.’

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ said Benny. He plucked the radio from his belt and spoke into it. ‘Hey Chief, wassup?’

  ‘The Red Mohawk has struck again Benny. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at Silvio’s place. Just informing him of what’s been going on.’

  ‘Well you can tell him that we’ve just heard that your buddy Litgo’s dead and apparently so are officers Leland Patchett and Hanran Lonnegan.’

  Benny’s jaw dropped. He felt his mouth go dry and his stomach tighten. He knew all three of those guys. Two work colleagues and a lifelong friend. He managed to force out a few words without throwing up. ‘What the fuck?’ he said.

  Mellencamp had heard everything that Chief O’Grady had said. He looked concerned, far more so than he had a minute earlier. He rubbed his chin and looked deep in thought. ‘The Red Mohawk went to Litgo’s place?’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘That’s weird. I was talking to Litgo less than an hour ago.’

  O’Grady’s voice crackled through the radio again. ‘Hi Silvio.’

  ‘Hey chief,’ Mellencamp replied. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘This Mohawk asshole went to Litgo’s. It sounds like he tortured Litgo before killing him. Patchett and Lonnegan must have showed up and disturbed him because they’re both dead too. Gunshots to the head. It was radioed in by an FBI agent named Jack Munson. Our guys are on their way to Litgo’s place to confirm it. I think it’s true because we can’t get hold of Litgo or Patchett and Lonnegan. And there’s no reason to suspect the FBI guy is lying.’

  Mellencamp reached across the desk and snatched the walkie-talkie from Benny’s hand. He spoke into it, spitting some cognac over it accidentally. ‘Is the FBI guy at Litgo’s right now?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. I’ve just sent two units there to find out what’s going on. We’d have got there sooner if it hadn’t been such a crazy morning. Guys are dropping like flies.’

  Mellencamp silently cussed. ‘Does this FBI agent know anything?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like anything about what goes on in my establishment?’

  ‘No. I haven’t even spoken to the guy yet. All’s I know is, he turned up at Litgo’s and found the latest bunch of dead bodies. Then he called it in on Patchett’s radio.’

  Mellencamp took a sharp intake of breath and pulled the walkie-talkie closer to his mouth. ‘Chief, this FBI shithead, what’s his name, Munson? He can’t be allowed to leave town.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘I think he’s come looking for Baby.’

  Benny noticed that Mellencamp was spitting a lot over his walkie-talkie while he was talking into it. He reminded himself it would be worth wiping it clean before using it again.

  Chief O’Grady’s voice responded to Mellencamp through the walkie-talkie and all the excess saliva. ‘No you’re mistaken Silvio. The FBI are here for the Red Mohawk.’

  ‘Then tell me why his partner turned up at The Alaska with a photo of Baby, asking questions.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, oh. This guy can’t leave town. He’s got to be eliminated. We’ve already taken care of his partner. When your guys get to Litgo’s, if he’s still there, tell them to take him down.’

  ‘You mean kill him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a bit over the top isn’t it?’ said O’Grady.

  ‘No it’s not. We can’t take any chances.’

  ‘But surely it will mean a whole bunch of other FBI people coming to town? They’re not going to let that go. There’ll be hundreds of them coming here to find out what happened to their colleagues.’

  Mellencamp laughed. ‘I bet they don’t. I can guarantee you these two FBI agents are here in an “off-the-record” capacity. Only one man will know they’re here and that’s the clown who sent them.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Trust me Chief. Just get rid of this Munson asshole. And burn the body. Over and out.’

  Mellencamp switched off the radio and handed it back to Benny.

  ‘We don’t generally say over and out any more Silvio,’ Benny said, taking the walkie-talkie and trying to keep his fingers clear of all the spit.

  Mellencamp ignored him. ‘Fucking FBI,’ he said, thinking out loud and picking up his glass of cognac. ‘I thought this shit was over and done with.’

  Benny sensed that Mellencamp was overreacting and seemed a little paranoid. ‘It’s Pete’s Neville’s murder last night that brought them here. Maybe they’re only asking about Baby because she was with Arnold when he got killed?’

  ‘That is possible, but it’s one helluva coincidence.’

  ‘So, shall I take Baby somewhere else then? Somewhere safe?’

  Mellencamp shook his head. ‘Too risky. One good thing about that Red Mohawk coming to town is that I’ve beefed up security. This is the safest place to be right now. But we’ve got to get rid of that FBI agent before he contacts his boss and that fucking clown sends more of them here.’

  Benny frowned. ‘What clown? Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Devon Pincent. I bet he’s behind all this.’

  ‘Devon Pincent?’ Benny stiffened in his chair. ‘Is that who I think it is?’

  ‘Yeah. That sonofabitch.’

  Thirty Three

  The miniature bottle of Cutthroat Rum had done something evil to Jack Munson’s insides. After throwing up in Litgo’s sink and collapsing in a heap on the floor, he dragged himself across to the bathroom on the other side of the cottage. He spent another fifteen minutes throwing up in the toilet before he was able to compose himself. In the middle of all that he’d taken a phone call from Milena Fonseca and agreed to meet her at the Alaska Diner.

  He washed some traces of vomit from his face and hair and splashed some water on his face. He couldn’t work out if he’d just had too much rum or if the Cutthroat stuff had been spiked with something. Or maybe the stresses of just being back in the job had begun to get to him. It also occurred to him that Luke the Fed Ex delivery man at the diner had warned him about Litgo leaving traps around the place to catch out intruders. Maybe the rum had been poisoned? Either way, he’d lost some crucial time and he couldn’t waste any more mulling over the possible causes of his sudden illness. He felt light-headed and in need of a lie down, but that wasn’t an option. He’d radioed Litgo’s murder in to the local cops with the intention of making himself scarce before they arrived. He should have been long gone.

  He hurried back outside into the fresh air, still feeling distinctly under the weather. He climbed into his car and took a look at himself in the rear view mirror. He didn’t look fit for work. It was time he took a break from sipping rum and faced up to the hangover that was trying to kick in.

  He started the engine and reversed the car back out onto the dirt track. It was too late to go back the way he came. He could tell from the sound of the siren that the cops were coming up that way. The dirt track carried on past Litgo’s so he followed it along in the hopes of finding his way back to the main highway. Unfortunately the dirt track led him on a merry dance, taking him further away from his arranged meeting with Fonseca at The Alaska Roadside Diner. By the time he’d got himself back on the highway and cruised up to the diner he’d wasted nearly half an hour. His car was leaning heavily to the right and making some strange noises too.

  He pulled into the diner’s parking lot and stopped as close to the entrance as he could. The place looked barren. There wasn’t a customer in sight and all the cops that had been m
illing around earlier in the day were long gone.

  He sat in the car for a few moments to get his shit together. He stared through the windscreen to see if he could spot Fonseca anywhere. She was supposed to meet him in the diner. He was sure that’s what they had arranged. Or maybe the rum was playing tricks on him? So where the hell was she? He sensed that he stank of a mixture of puke and booze. There was no hiding it. Fonseca wouldn’t approve. But then he didn’t approve of her not being where she said she’d be.

  He got out of the car and walked gingerly up to the diner’s entrance. He tugged at the handle on the glass door. It didn’t move. The damn thing was locked and bolted shut from the inside.

  He peered through the glass for any signs of life. There was no movement, not even a stray cockroach. He banged hard on the door to see if he could catch anyone’s attention. To his eternal relief, after just a few seconds, Candy the waitress appeared through the strip curtain from the kitchen out back. She stopped dead like she’d been freeze-framed when she caught sight of him at the door. She didn’t look pleased to see him. She pointed at the sign above his head on the door. The sign that said closed. Then she mouthed the words “We’re closed” just to overemphasise the point.

  Munson shouted back through the door, “I don’t give a fuck. Open the fucking door! I need to take a piss!”

  Candy appeared to contemplate her options for a while before mouthing the word “Fucksake!” and then making her way round the counter to the entrance. She unbolted and unlocked the door.

  ‘We’re closed you know,’ she said.

  ‘I got that.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m meeting my partner Milena Fonseca here. You seen her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case I’ll have a coffee while I wait for her.’

  Candy looked like she was about to refuse, or at least attempt to, so Munson pushed the door further open and barged past her. He took up a seat at the counter. ‘Black, two sugars,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you needed the toilet?’

  ‘I’ll go later.’

  ‘Fine. I hope instant coffee is okay for you?’