The Queen and The Viper

by Adam C Mitchell

The squad car parked up on a nearby street corner near a chain fence that had been conveniently cut, for a quick entry or get away. Robinson tucked carefully behind a laundry van that seemed to have it’s tiers borrowed by some juvies. Well at least they gave the van’s owner four bricks back by way of a thanks, Simon chuckled.

  “Robinson go on ahead, go knock 971 up. Find out from the blind mouse, what room Bell’s hauled up in. When you got a solid hook on it, wait for me to amble past! You can give me the go that way, without anyone seeing, then from a window or a street lookie-loo” Morgan explained.

  “Check”

  “Oh and Robinson, when I go in, make sure no one else does, you follow not till I give the word anyway.”

  “Got you Morgan” the new partner said as he strolled to the door. Morgan stood on the curb, sticking a piece of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He gazed discretely up at the window of 971. What kind of crook, could take so much care and time, hacking up pretty dame, so perfectly only to try and hide his work in one spot, did he want to get caught? He wondered.

  Morgan had read all of Jack’s and later Peggy’s notes and now knew of all the other victim, and was able to see each woman’s docket thanks to a clerk at the Criminal Identification Bureau. But other than the most recent sorry victim, the rest had been scattered like confetti all over this city. Benjamin Morgan couldn't help but wonder why the Grade-School teachers body way so different? Was the killer a sadist, they were the hardest bozo’s to catch, because there isn’t ever a pattern to his or her victims. Instead this serial killer just get a diabolical satisfaction from mutilation probably with an aggressive sexual element chucked in for his added enjoyment. He thought as he spat his tobacco out, angered. On top of that what the killer need with the victims cash? How did that fit into there twisted plans?

  Simon was now perched against a land post, with his cigarette in hand, as Morgan walked along the street briskly waiting for his ‘go’.

  “Third floor, rear” Robinson whispered horsely “Room K.” Morgan didn’t react instead marched straight up to the door, almost vaulting the few small steps off the curb. At the door, he noticed it was unlocked and ajar, so he let himself in. Inside what he thought must be the lobby, he saw to his left a row if battered black-tin mailboxes, Perfect now he had a plan of sorts.

  He paused just long enough to make sure one of them bore a piece of paper with the pencilled recipients name quickly scribbled on it, Ashford Bell. Taking it he went in further.

  Making his way to Bells room, detective Morgan saw a thread of yellow light from under the gap of the door. The light licking out from under the door, something was moving about inside but despite his ear to the door, he heard nothing else. Just one person was inside, the best he could figure. He transferred his gun from his right armpit, to the right pocket of his coat, but kept his grip on the guns butt. He knocked and without waiting raised his voice.

  “Telegram for Mister A Bell,”

  The movement behind the door stopped suddenly, then came a long paused silence “Slide it, under the door” Morgan carried on hiding his voice, keeping it in a high register “Got to sign for it, I'm afraid, need a receipt an’ all mister.”

  “Shove that under to, I’ll sign that too.” said the answer from the other side of the door, Jack noticed the shadow from the door small gap, whoever was in Room K was looking through the key hole!

  “Sorry Mister Bell, I’d love to but it won’t fit, listen you want your telegram or not?” Another pause.

  “Wait a sec’ I’ll go get dressed.”

  “Okay sir” Morgan said now making his voice as best he could with a yawn. Benjamin Morgan was starting to bore of playing postman and this nonsense

  “Where’s the wire from?” the room’s resident said as he moved from the door. But the tone was muffled in some way.

  “Sorry Mister Bell. It’s more than my jobs worth, to read a telegram. Listen do you want it or not——” The door opened, the man inside was practically naked, well other than a very small dirty hand towel around his waist. He stood sideways on in the doorway. So Morgan could get or see into the place this naked towel wearer called home. His black hair was rumpled, almost windswept and greasy. He held a second hand towel up to his mouth, making it look like he had just finished shaving.

  “Is there anything due?—” he reached out with his other hand, that’s when Morgan stepped in fast, pushing the man he believed to be Bell aside.

  “Yeah, your due mister. Put down—” then there was a faint humph from behind Room K’s door., Met with the uncontrollable exhalation of breath when a person suddenly exerts themselves. Morgan whirled, the blow had caught Morgan right across the top of his head, knocking him out senseless. The last thing he remembered was his knee start to buckle!

  Well he was trapped and time was trickling away. He had no clue how long he’d been there. Would anyone be looking for him? Did they even know he was missing he doubted that somehow. The damn relentless sound and his own pained breathing was all he had by way of company in this curved isolation he found himself in. Jack was lost in thought he knew about an even dozen or so creeps, cons and rogues not to mention an ex-wife or two, that would enjoy thoroughly putting him in a deadly set up like this. But figuring out who had escaped him. No one other than his second ex-wife could have bank rolled this. Well she could of he guessed but only if there was anything left, after she and her new boy toy had taken him to the cleaners in the divorce. But despite that he couldn’t see her doing this, she’d already taken her pound of flesh. He pushed the ex-wife out of his mind, and thought back who he thought it could be but he kept drawing a blank. Whoever this was, was either clever lucky or both, or at the very least be working with someone who was. Jack kept on this train of thought as best he could, who could’ve got into his home past both a door man and security guard, drugged him and got away with an unconscious body in toe. He hated this as now he had more questions than answers.

  Suddenly lost in thought all the light went on. Everything stopped and the sound of a door sliding open behind him. Then footsteps, heavy and laboured Jack could read a slight limp in the person’s footfall, but he couldn’t get more than that, or a fleeting glance as something like a bad covered his eyes and face. He felt the restraints ease up, and his wrists scream a pained relief. Then the tell tale feel of a gun barrel jammed in his gut stopped him trying to free himself further. The door opened again and he heard more heavy footsteps, then a rough pair of hands grabbed him and supported him under his armpits. He felt himself being half lead half dragged by the pair shortly followed by a third footfall. The newcomer then leading them all down corridors and a series of stairs that twisted so many times he lost all sense of direction. Then the sound of another door caught Jacks attention and the feeling of falling. They were going down, descending a fair way to he realized. Where the hell was he? Not a single word, sound or tell came from whoever was leading him. Finally a heavy hand pushed him down almost breaking his collar bone. Whoever it was had power behind them. Great that’ all I need he thought. He was forced back into another seat and new restraint were put on, rebinding his wrists.

  Then a sudden stir and the cover came from his eyes.

  Then for the second time in as many as hours as far as he could tell Jack was blinded by a glare of light, a light that beamed down at a sharp angle over his head and shoulders. Then he found himself staring out into the gloom of a chamber which seemed to stretch eerily into infinity. He did his best to lean forward as best he could, straining as much as his body would allow to get some, any kind of grounding on what the hell was going on. Then so abruptly that it startled him came a low monotone voice.

  “Greeting’s Mr Jack Malone.”

  The police Lieutenant nodded and waited. He wasn’t about to reply. Not a chance if the lure for an answer was the bait. He wasn’t biting just yet, instead he replied with steady silence and brooding. After a moment or so just gave a look, a look that finally got him the first of many an
swers.

  “Oh the chair, Mr. Malone yes it uncomfortable I know, but you won’t be in it for much longer that I promise you. So please just be patient.”

  Jack could hear movement ahead of him, then the voice spoke again.

  “Ah, excellent we are all hear now. We can begin and I can answer your question; who is responsible for your little well adventure but I bet more importantly to you is who you have the honour of speaking to. But before we tell you who we are in fact, let me first point out one thing that your chances are well very low indeed my friend. Yes, they are very low indeed that you will leave this place tonight alive.”

  “Mr. Malone in all the stories and reports we have read and obtained about you, they all say your brave, foolhardy at times but brave. Lieutenant Jack Malone a man who likes to out think danger. Well my dear friend it’s time to, well put you your money where your mouth is, so to speak. But first, who we are are and why your here.”

  Malone leaned forward again, against his bonds was tough but he wanted to hear all this. It could be useful “We see Mr. Malone that your a man of more than just great curiosity, Your into the puzzle, causes or the game as you will. Yes its the game more than the danger you thrive off. You love it than the personal danger you face when figuring it all out. I think that about sums you up. Well either way we are pleased. You will do my friend. A good bell… Yes a good bell indeed.”

  Bell … what in the hell did he mean by that Jack wondered, and really did he want to know more? Of course he did, who ever set all this up knew him inside and out, they knew he couldn’t or wouldn’t turn away from a good puzzle no matter what the cost.

  “Now we will tell you the who, the who as in who we are” came the low voice “A few years back give or take five men all of whom were more than just wealthy in commodities that signified more than just understandable wealth, property and trades if you follow. Well they had all grown board of the money and its trappings. Yet each one of them loved the game, like yourself. Well they all decided to join forces combing the collected wealth, smarts, ideologies and the like to make their mundane live more interesting again.”

  Chapter Seven

  “These men all of them came to the decision that the only game left worth playing well well the game against what I guess you could call ‘society’ or ‘the man’ as its sometimes labelled. Shortly after along with a collection of money hungry crooks and hoods formed the ‘House Of Games.’”

  “we as in my employers battled against the system and man made laws or anything else that we deemed to not sit within our single viewpoints, or frankly that just bored us. To the circle the concept of crime was immaterial it was and is a game to them pure and simple. It was the thrill of wits, the mental cat and mouse or chess game. Not a desire for additional wealth. Since the circles brains are better than the establishments we fear no laws. When our band was put together we all agreed on the idea of majority rule and if anything was leaked about us, the personal responsible would be killed along with their nearest and dearest by way or warning to the other members. Our inner circle is still five strong, even though one of the original five members is no longer with us. I wont bore you with the details except to say there was a wife, a lot of drink, lose lips and a double suicide. We could tell you many more tales of our power but your a clever man. I’m sure you can figure the rest out. Until now though Mr. Malone we have been more than happy to do the usual, you know daylight robberies of the so called un-obtainable's, bank jobs and the like not to forget my personal favourite the removal of expensive one of a kind gems and trinkets from those soles with both the means and the money. Of course even those had to be done with well….flair.”

  The moment that last sentence was uttered, Malone understood his connection with all this. As if reading what was in his captives mind, the voice went on;

  “If your half as sharp as we’re told, you’ve probably figured out why your here. Know one since the circles founding has ever been able to find a clue, or even suspect our operation. You my dear friend are the first of the so called ‘society’ to pick up any whiff of our trail. We know for a fact that a few months back you stumbled on a rather strange murder, a reclusive and eccentric broker had been stuffed inside his own small wall safe, contorted to fit if you will. The broker had vested interests in the very items we deemed to take from him. Jewels in point of fact that could quite possible fund a gentleman till the end of his days quite nicely. While you investigated that brokers murder, that great mind you prize noted that certain individuals were always around when we played out little well games and always in the circle of coincidence every time the broker was out in public. Your activities and investigations that followed the dealing’s with that broker though hindered us greatly, bring unwanted attention to us. Even if you didn’t know it at the time, your brought a fair bit of heat on us, it was annoying yes but quite exciting to, so thank you for that. Frankly though despite all that, Jack Malone you became a thorn in the House’s side. Jack Malone taking that case as you did signed your own death warrant. We were more than happy to send our murderous little friend, a man named Kirby to deal with you, but for some strange reason we can’t seem to find him as of yet. I don’t suppose being an officer of the city you know where he is do you?...No, oh well never mind. Like I said we were just going to kill you, but then your friend sergeant Ellen, stuck her nose in on something she shouldn’t, Contentment! I won’t bore you about that but the second you and her joined forces. The House was forced to act, and being gentleman we did the polite thing and punished you, and not the fairer sex. Your welcome by the way, we wouldn’t want the love of your life hurt now would we, Jack?” Jack began to struggle again, against his restraints, screaming inwardly as Jack broke his own wrist with a tell tale snap. Jack’s wrist was broken for no good reason, he really couldn’t escape, so he reassigned himself to listen on.

  “Mr Malone has your attempt to break free, over now? You can’t so please just listen. As we said we are all sports-man, we all like games as you have already learned. But despite your meddling we, like you so we are willing to give you a fighting chance. I think since our formation we have only given three people the same chance. But each time the person failed. But you my unwilling participant have a reputation for courage and a great mind. So you to can fight for your life. You can play the Game Of The Bell. So listen up to the game as it will start soon.” The once strong monotone voice slowly became a mild tone, then to a hiss almost like that of some reptilian creature for an issue of Amazing Fantasy Magazine, yet he continued.

  “This here is our favourite little game; our willing player you my dear fellow, is in a darkened room. One of the organization’s inner circle drawn by simple lot, waits there armed with a revolver with only three bullets in the chamber. The player is only allowed to be armed with a humble little bell. The little game is simple, the man with the little bell has one goal. To use that bell to make his opponent discharge those three bullets at him all within a single hours time.

  Even if the player is wounded, by the time his hours up. He dies regardless the only way for him to win and well survive is, for those three bullets to be shot off within that hour and miss, miss completely.”

  For the first time since his abduction and this mess began Jack spoke. “That’s not exactly fair now is it buddy. What’s to stop you from bending the rules in your favour. For hiding the shots for the full hour for example?” The game maker seemed put out, as if the thought of cheating was a despicable slight against the divine himself.

  Well Mr Malone that is up to you, the player of the game.” was the private eyes only answer “we in the circle want action nothing more, nothing less. It is for the player to use the only strategy left to him, that of aggression. The player must make his opponent fire. Plus for every missed shot our member fires, he must pay the rest of the inner circle the sum of $75.000. For every bullet remaining in the gun when the time is up. So either way you look at it, it pays for our man to play by the rule
s, shoot straight and often. You will now be taken to the room, for the hunt. Then a minute later you will be un-blinded, the moment it’s done the hour will begin. The inner circle have drawn lots. That is all I will say to you.”

  With that last sentence, the overpowering light went out above him. Jack then felt the bag go back over his head. His restraints were loosened and again he was man handled along another long twisting corridor. When he was next stood alone. The bag was removed and he was back again in the pitch black darkness. His restraints were gone and in his good hand was a bell. The damned bell. He then grasped the bell’s little clapper and quickly hunkered down low. Darting left from the spot where he had been released.

  Standing alone, the darkness wrapped around him. Unarmed but for a small bell in his hand. Jack hated the fact that somewhere in that black void was a man with a loaded gun, waiting for him to make a wrong move or give up his position, so he could put a round in the clueless private eye. Jack had to admit this felt like something out of a child’s adventure tale, yet this was real the bell in his sweaty hand. The electric stillness of the black in front and around him told him that. This was defiantly real. A few moments before his playful death sentence was put down, Jack was relatively cool and well and truly level headed, as if he was listening to a lecture of a decrepit learning establishment the type as a boy, he would have regularly been expelled from. But now alone in this cold darkness with death nipping at his heels, he felt his face suddenly grow clammy and his knee’s almost buckle beneath him.

  With a small reserve of courage he managed to steady himself; his only hope of lasting the hour was to stay calm. It was only after only Jack knew he could probably keep a level head for that long, but it would be tough. The voice had said that three before him had played the game, all three were now dead. Well he knew he could survive, the Central City streets told him that, he knew he could win! As quietly as he could, he put the tiny bell down and then quietly as possible moved away from it. He had no use for it. He calmed his breathing as best he could, trying not to let a rustle of clothes or misplaced foot give him away. He moved his hand to his hip more than on sheer instinct and muscle memory. It was then he forgot his gun had been taken.