Fatal Reunion: A Very Unorthodox Murder Mystery

by Michael Sivyer

“If you survive the fight, I will coach you. I will eliminate your weaknesses.” He grunted, watching on as Andy was the first to make his way into a chalk-drawn circle beneath the old building's moss-covered skylight in the centre of the room.

  Even as the man of steel that Andy usually was, he could feel his heart begin to thump rhythmically against his chest, oxygen beginning to pump around his body in order to fuel his tightly clenched muscles. His mind began to flow back to all the training that he had received; the dos and don'ts of martial arts fighting. He eyed his opponent, maybe carrying around an extra fifty percent of his own muscle. Andy, therefore, arrived at the conclusion that his opponent's weakness would probably therefore be his speed. As the two readied themselves in the ring, Zeke staring fiercely into Andy's eyes, the owner of the illegal gym turning towards a rack of weaponry upon the far wall to select two bamboo canes of equal lengths. As the weapon was handed to Andy, he couldn't help but notice a scarlet smudge towards the top of the cane.

  All at once, his eyes widened. This fight, suddenly, had a lot more riding on it. His already adrenaline fuelled bloodline began to crank on overdrive, his body preparing itself for the rough and tumble of battle as he gave himself a swooped, sturdy balance. Making no move to launch the first attack on the other man, Andy frustrated his less nimble sparring partner with several swift, graceful foot movements before blocking a powerful blow using the bloodied cane that had been handed to him moments earlier. Although he battled his thoughts about the cane itself, he knew that he would have to divert his full attention to the movements of his prey; he was on the hunt, and this was not a battle that he could afford to lose.

  “Come on,” Andy's brother grunted from the side of the ring as the detective continued to frustrate his opponent. Although Andy was doing a spectacular job at dancing away from the challenges of the other fighter, he was yet to land a single blow of his own upon the other man. That soon changed, however, when he used the strength of his triceps to jam his opponent's cane between his body and his arm, driving him backwards before thrusting his own weapon painstakingly against the other man's chest, resulting in a meaty thud. Andy was soon pushed away from the other man, taking a few moments to regain his footing, once again resorting to the tactic of swirling around the ring like a fly around a trash can. Eventually, with one sweeping movement, Andy found himself behind his opponent, using all his might to thrust the cane horizontally into the other man's spine, using his own body's momentum to drive the man to the ground. Andy backed away in an instant, for he knew the other man would not be getting up for several minutes. This fight was his; he had won it. He exchanged nods with his brother, who stepped up into the ring after him, allowing Andy a few minutes alone with the club's master.

  Andy, still holding the cane of bamboo, approached the man. “So,” He spoke, making as if he was testing the cane's weight and speed, “I don't suppose you let the victors take souvenirs here?”

  “I don't have the authority,” Snarled the other man, “That thing doesn't belong to me.”

  “Humph,” Nodded Andy, scratching the tip of the bamboo with his fingernail. “Very well, to whom does it belong?”

  “My partner. Like I said, we don't do names here.”

  “So, there's... No chance at all that I could have this? Not even if I slipped you a bit of cash? Come on, I'll take the blame for breaking it. Hey, we could work with that!”

  “Look,” Responded the man, now becoming irate with Andy's peculiar methods, “Abide by the house rules or get out of this gym. You don't get to keep our stuff because you walk in here like the king of the world and win ONE fight.”

  “Fine,” Nodded Andy, admitting defeat in the matter. The detective strolled reluctantly towards the weapons rack at the back of the room before neatly standing the bamboo in its original place. He inspected it one last time; it had to have been the murder weapon. Not only was the incriminating blood still on the shaft of the weapon – albeit faded – the inside looked just large enough to hold a concealed metal shard. In fact, even the tips of the cane had been battered in – a position which was practically impossible to damage when using it in a martial arts fight – as if it had seen a great deal of impact shattering its head. He nodded once he had hung it in its place, before turning to watch the remainder of his brother's fight. Unlike Andy, his brother was less victorious in his battle, but still managed to escape the battlefield with a few minor bruises – which would prove to be a challenge to explain in the office the following day – and limped his way towards Andy.

  “You two can go now,” Nodded the man in charge of the warehouse, “I expect to see you next week. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Andy half-smiled in response before placing his arm over his brother's shoulder as they emerged from the warehouse and strolled towards a vehicle that was waiting for them a block away from the warehouse. As Ted dabbed his bloodied nose with a tissue, he glanced towards Andy, whom took several moments to notice his brother's stare.

  “What?” Andy shrugged.

  “Well?”

  “'Well' What?”

  “Please tell me I didn't get knocked around for sweet fuck all, Andy!” Pleaded Ted.

  “Oh no,” Smiled Andy, looking down at his fingernails to admire the bloodied splinters that he had managed to scratch away from the tip of the bamboo cane, “I got everything I came for. Couldn't have gone better!”

  Chapter Six

  Much to the amusement of his partner, Andy brandished a nail file upon arriving back at the headquarters. He simply raised an eyebrow at Mike, his voice stern yet playful.

  “Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn.”

  In turn, Andy very delicately filed the dried blood from his fingernails, letting the particles fall onto a glass slider before placing the object in the palm of a passing-by lab analyst, releasing a smug grin as the sample disappeared into a laboratory room.

  “Brushing up on your salon skills?” Chuckled Mike gleefully. “What about our murder weapon?”

  “Well... I saw the thing, all right! I'm sure of it. I just need the proof. Hence my little bit of nail-filing.”

  Mike glanced back with a rather blank, confused expression hoping that Andy would fill in the blanks for him, but such a break did not come and he was forced to wait until about quarter of an hour or so later when the analyst appeared once again – this time holding a sheet of paper containing a rather complicated looking graph that showed two similarly shaped jagged lines that shot across the page.

  “Well?” Asked Andy, his heart fluttering for a few moments as he hoped for the results that he wanted.

  “Well... The sample is an eighty-percent match to your Chris Lawson. It's not perfect due to contamination, but I'm sure that it'll be enough to convince the captain to draw you out a search warrant.”

  Triumphantly, Andy punched the air as he ripped the paper from the analyst's grip, rapping his knuckles in an upbeat tune against the solid yet stained wooden door belonging to the captain's office. The sound of footsteps resounded from beyond the hollow walls before the handle of the door rattled, the frame being drawn inwards for no more than a single moment before Andy had held the D.N.A results out at arm's length in front of him, ready for close scrutiny from his boss.

  The older man had no place for retreat other than to admire the detectives' handiwork in the case, though did offer some stern words at the end of his speech.

  “I'm pleased with the results of your investigation; But really, Andy, when I tell you to stay away, I mean it for your own good – You, or god forbid, even your Brother Ted, could be on a metal slab in our morgue right now if it weren't for your thankfully good luck.”

  “Cheers,” Nodded Andy, knowing that this was damn close to the best compliment he could hope to draw from his senior supervisor, “Now, about that warrant, when can I expect to have it? Because I can damn well tell you; It's either this or we wait around for them to rob that poor jeweller and leave another trail of bodies in their w
ake.”

  “Fine,” Admitted the captain hesitantly, “I'll tell you what; the judge owes me a few favours so I can get it drawn out ASAP.”

  Perhaps a little too eagerly, the detective partnership set about navigating their city hunting-grounds before they had a paper copy of the warrant to hand, knowing that – as always – they would find a flaw in the system that would allow them to act for the greater good of the city. At the very least – they had informed the Captain that they had intended to investigate the premises, so they had that going for them. Arriving at the scene, they lingered silently around the edges of the warehouse. Mike, having not experienced the stench earlier, turned his nose up at the scent of the earth that rotted deep below the surface of the murky water.

  With his partner attempting to conceal the convections of his body as he dry-heaved, Andy raised a finger to his lips. Placing his ear against the tattered walls, the sound of a scuffle from beyond the walls greeted his ears.

  “It sounds like a fight...” Whispered Andy as the thwacking echoes of bamboo canes sliced through the silence around them. “You know what our duty is if we hear a disturbance, Mike!”

  Mike nodded, signalling for one more second to catch his breath before they entered the building. With Mike's stomach now settled, the duo crept around the docks. Weapon less though they were, the duo knew that even the most hardened thugs wouldn't risk the murder of a police officer; it would bring too much heat. Especially if this was the same crew that were planning a hit on the jewellery store. So, with that reasoning behind their confidence, the pair announced their arrival as they strode into the centre of the warehouse.

  The leader, of course, recognised Andy within moments, and thinking that he was perhaps here to introduce another member to the club, instantly set his mind upon the possible financial gains of having another member pay to join the illegal operation.

  “Back so soon? I don't do social calls. Come back with the money, and I'll think about initiating your little friend here.”

  “I'm afraid I'm not here for a social call,” Spoke Mike, sizing himself up against the three fighters in the room; the two in the ring, and then of course the leader of the group himself. “We're here to shut down the little thing you've got going here. We know about the people killed by those canes.”

  Rather thankfully for the detectives, the two men holding the weapons seemed rather uncomfortable over the mention of the murders, and one shortly after the other, fleeted from the warehouse after releasing their weapons with a clatter. They may not have been the savoury type, but they certainly weren't murderers.

  “My, my.” Tutted Andy, “You've been in the country for... what? A month? And you've already got yourself a big date in the diary as well as a nice little illegal gym.”

  “Humph,” Retorted the man desperately, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Andy advanced towards the man with bull-like power in his stride. “Oh, you know damn well what I'm talking about. Planning to go to the jewellers sometime soon, aren't you? And not to buy your missus a nice diamond ring, either.”

  Before long, Andy had advanced the suspect back towards the nearest wall and hoisted him up via a firm hold on his neck.

  “Mike, go and search the place. I'll have a word with this delightful gentleman.”

  The man gulped at the mention of his quarters being searched, and in turn looked rather uncomfortable as Mike went about turning over the warehouse in the most destructive manner possible – first kicking a rack full of bamboo canes to the floor before he then categorically tormented several decorations that had been placed around the room. All the while, he used his machine-like face-reading skills to determine whether he was getting closer or further away from the spot that the man was fearful of having searched.

  Mike eventually came to a standing point on a wooden stage which seemed to have a crawl-space beneath it with a trap-door implanted in the surface. It looked a little out of place; as if it was a recent instalment, even. Where the rest of the warehouse floor had years of dust covering the bottom layer – save for where blood had recently been mopped from the fighting area itself – this particular area of the room seemed as if it had been visited regularly. Teasingly, Mike began to perform to his audience of two, his body swinging together an elegant dance of victory as he lingered near the trap-door.

  “I bet you're hiding something under here, eh?” He sung joyfully as he resumed his dance. The man began to struggle in Andy's arms, eventually managing to break free of the almost vice-like grip which the detective had cast over him – but he had only managed to make an advance of a few meters before Andy had once again flung his body across the room, this time capturing the man of Asian descent in a more than uncomfortable position on the dirt-ridden floor.

  “That's a yes!” Mike cheered. He lowered himself into a crouch, applying pressure to the door so that it would then fling back upwards to reveal a small hide-away space beneath the stage.

  Andy watched on, eager to share his partners discover. Although thanks to his position, his view was somewhat compromised, he could still see the somewhat concerned expression slowly creeping onto Mike's flesh.

  “What is it, Mike?” Andy called across the room.

  Meanwhile, on the stage, Mike looked down at a metallic silver bowl – much like the ones used at dog pounds – which had a slither of watered down blood remaining from the last meal, curdled upon the bottom of the container.

  “Dog fighting.” Mike spoke almost certainly; “There's a bowl down here Andy, and whatever kind of dog it is, it's been going through steak. It's got to be dog fighting.”

  The criminal in Andy's grip chuckled heartily as Mike leaned cautiously over the edge of the hideaway. If there was one thing he hated, it was vicious dogs. He didn't mind the soft, furry kind that would spend the morning fetching a tennis ball, but the kind that had been trained to enhance their natural instinct to kill were another story. Especially when he couldn't even see the thing.

  “Something funny?” Asked Andy, driving his knee into their suspect's back to stifle his menacing laugh.

  “Oh. You won't be finding any what you're looking for in there.”

  “I don't give a toss,” Exclaimed Mike, “Anything at all that can get scum like you locked behind bars, I'm more than happy with. Dog fighting... what's that? Five years?”

  Apparently, something was still humouring the man

  Whatever what breed of dog it was, Mike was about to find out. Exhaling sharply, he removed his jacket and wrapped it around his arm as a layer of protection. His face writhed with imaginary agony seconds before he had even set himself down.

  “Here, poochy poochy!” He called, as he lowered his arm into the pit.

  The room fell into silence; the man's chuckles had since resided as he now realised that he was in a stampede of trouble whatever the outcome. Mike's heartbeat by this point was driving against his chest so hard that even Andy could hear a feint rhythmic drumming from across the room – and he too had an ounce of concern for his brave colleague.

  The outcome was all the worse than either of the two could have expected; not because Mike's arm had been chomped off by an angry pit-bull, but rather because the touch upon Mike's arm was much to delicate to be from a jaw bone. When he dared to look down, he noticed a hand. A human hand. It was wrapping around his wrist as a cry for help – a cry which Mike answered by pulling him from his living tomb. The boy was no older than five years old, and stood on the spot shivering whilst Mike and Andy exchanged glances. At once, the victorious vibe from the room converted into energies of anger and disgust.

  “Well, that five years has turned into a lifetime behind bars.” Mike said dryly, “And I'm sure you'll get the V.I.P treatment. Even murderers don't like your type. Your life's pretty much over now, so you might as well cough up your plans to rob the jeweller's while you're at it.”

  Andy rose to his feet after locking his man in place with a set of handcuffs. He disappe
ared without a word, presumably to call in the situation. He returned a minute or two later to comfort the boy, all the while keeping one eye cast upon the squirming, handcuffed mound upon the floor. Lowering himself, Andy opened his arms and the boy sprinted towards him.

  “You're safe now... You're safe.”

  The boy buried his face in Andy's shoulders, his lips grazing Andy's right ear as he spoke softly. “We need to leave. Before the others come back... Please!”

  Andy ushered the boy silently yet nurturing towards Mike, whom whilst he was not a fan of children himself, fully understood the delicateness of the situation. The boy tenderly gripped Mike's palm, and the detective lead him away from the warehouse of horrors and towards a safe location behind the building itself. He gazed into the boy's eyes; two brilliant sapphires of innocence that had probably seen things that not even a fully-grown man had seen.

  Mike crouched on his knees. “Who are the others?” He enquired softly, “It's important that you tell me. It could help a lot of people.”

  “The man inside... he's my... Uncle. My father and his men... they'll come back soon, and they're even more horrible than him.”

  “Did they all do this to you?” Mike searched for confirmation, nursing the boy's forearm to comfort him.

  “Yes. It's always been like this. Even back when we lived in America. All the other children went to school, but my father told me it was pointless. They let me out when we're at home, but dad says that they can't risk me getting in the way when they're working on something... So, I guess they're working on something big right now.”

  Mike nodded. “Thank you... Sorry, I didn't catch your name?”

  “Kris,” Nodded the boy, “Kristian.”

  “Thanks, Kris, I really appreciate your help. There are some men on the way. They will take you to a very safe place, is that okay? Me and my partner have a little bit of work to do here, but we'll be back soon.”

  The boy nodded understandingly as sirens blared in the distance. “Please...” He spoke innocently, “Please don't hurt them. They are my family after all. But I do know they are bad men. I don't want to grow up like them – I want to grow up like you.”