by Mitch Goth
Kellen parked the car on the side of the main street of Sun City. There were many parking spots lining both sides of the road, without many cars to fill them. Under the shining, early afternoon sun, every inch of the town was illuminated. While she got out and scanned the main street, Ezra stepped out and gazed at something far different.
There weren't many people on the streets. It wasn't a weekend, most of the town's inhabitants were at work. Still, there was a person here or there, and he observed all of them. There were a few elderly folks sashaying out of a small corner restaurant and shuffling their feet towards nearby quilting and craft shops. The old corner diner and craft shops were just the start. There was a pre-framed art seller, something marketed only by a "Authentic Country Store" sign, whatever that meant, and a drug store that still sold ice cream and fountain soda. There wasn't much to do in Sun City for the non-geriatrics of the world. A perfect place for a serial killer to hide.
Above every shop was what looked like apartment space, or what used to be apartment space anyhow. Most of the upper floor windows to these stores looked dark and desolate, the perfect place to keep someone captive for two weeks before killing them. Along with that, all the seniors probably had RV's or something of the sort, ingenious camouflage when Ezra thought about it. The killer wouldn't stick out at all. In fact, the only people who did seemed to stand out were him and Kellen. They stuck out like sore thumbs in this town.
"Why are you wearing that thing?" Ezra inquired as he saw pedestrians taking ganders at Kellen's FBI jacket. With its bright yellow lettering on the front and back, it was easy to notice. "It's quite telling, and besides, it's summer. It's a Texan summer."
"Heat doesn't bother me. And I can't walk around this place like a pedestrian. I know you haven't dealt with small town cops before, but you need something to let them know that you're of greater authority. Badges rarely do it, badge and a jacket might though."
"If you insist. But if you die of heat stroke, I won't help you."
"I wouldn't want to be helped by you."
Ezra returned to observing everything around him. He knew they had hit a road block. He and Kellen were out-of-towners, obviously cops looking for someone, or at least Kellen was. Meanwhile, the killer no doubt blended in. It would be worse than finding a needle in a haystack, more like finding a specific piece of hay in that stack while avoiding getting stuck by the needle.
"Where the hell do we start?" Ezra asked.
"I'll say there." Kellen pointed a block down the road to two story brick structure that would fit in well with the rest of downtown if not for its much wider build.
For a moment, Ezra wasn't sure what the building was. There weren't any clues in the architecture. Nothing hung from the exterior walls and there was nothing to be seen in the windows. It wasn't until he looked at the parking spaces outside the building did he realize what the bland brick structure was.
"A cop shop?" he looked at the numerous police cars parked in front. "Are you crazy?"
"Why would that make me crazy? Come on." She walked towards the building.
"Because in case you've forgotten, you're toting around a serial killer on furlough. A rather famous serial killer in these parts, to law enforcement anyway."
"They'll understand."
"I don't think they will."
"This is FBI business, they'll have to deal with it whether they like it or not."
"As much as I enjoy your forward style, these officers might be more trouble than they're worth."
"I wish I could just leave you in the car."
"Why don't you? I'd prefer it in there."
"The last time I left you in the car, you made me chase you across Dallas. Not happening again."
With a groan, Ezra continued beside Kellen into the police station. As soon as they entered the lobby, he surveyed all aspects of the location. There was a large, dark wood front desk in the otherwise empty foyer. There were a multitude of thin corridors leading away from the lobby and into other parts of the station. The walls were a dull robin's egg blue color, and the floors had matching blue and white tile. The design looked like a hospital that existed in the days of lobotomies and hydrotherapy.
Kellen approached the counter to speak with the receptionist. "Hi, I need to speak to the person in charge." She flashed her ID.
The stick-thin, unkempt woman behind the desk stared at her for a moment. "You wanna see tha Chief of Police?"
"That would be preferable, yes."
Ezra walked up to the counter. He didn't want to stand too close to anyone who might recognize him, and in a station of law enforcement, everyone was a risk. Even as the talking between Kellen and the receptionist went on, Ezra was careful not to show too much of his face.
"Well, ma'am, he ain't here," the receptionist said.
"What? Well where is he?"
"He goes all sorts of places, I'll check for you." She typed into her computer, but was soon taken off subject. "Hey there, mister, I like your hair." She smiled at Ezra, who backed up a few more inches.
"Why thank you." He gave a confident smile. "The color runs in my family."
"Well it sure is nice." She twirled a lock of hair in her fingers.
"It holds no merit to yours." Ezra flashed a stare that matched his smile. He wasn't sure why he bothered flirting with this woman, based on her vocabulary choices he doubted she understood half of what he said. But anything he could do to not arouse any suspicion was helpful.
The receptionist stroked her frizzed hair gently. "Ain't you a charmer!"
Just then, an open hand struck the top of the wooden desk. The force behind the blow shook up papers, shifted computers, and knocked over a cup full of pens. The forceful hand belonged to Kellen Monello.
She pointed a finger at Ezra. "Stop being a distraction." She turned her attention to the receptionist. "And you, tell me where to find your Chief of Police, now."
The woman behind the desk was quick to get back to work at her computer. Ezra, however, took a different approach to Kellen's fury. With a suave smile still painted on his face, he took a few cautious steps closer to Kellen and the front desk. "No need to be upset." He feigned a Texan accent. "I was being gracious to our generous southern host." He shot the receptionist another confident look as he wrapped a comforting arm around Kellen.
"Nope." Kellen shrugged off Ezra's arm and took a step sideways. "Don't touch me...ever. Don't ever touch me. You think you can handle that?"
"Based on our mutual circumstance, understandable."
"Good," Kellen said before looking back to the receptionist. "You got an answer for me yet?"
"Well it looks like our Chief is at meetings all day at the county seat 'cross town. He ain't gonna be available 'til tomorrow," the woman replied.
"Who's the highest up on the ladder who is here right now?"
"Well, I thought I saw Captain McCullough come in today. His office is just down the way." The receptionist pointed a thin finger towards one hall. "Would you like to make an appointment?"
"I'll make one myself, thanks." Kellen walked off from the desk and towards the hall the woman had pointed to.
Ezra followed quickly. The woman called back to them, but Ezra couldn't hear what she had said, and he figured Kellen couldn't either.
On the other end of the slim hall, there was a large, open room filled with desks and lined with doors into other offices. There was no sign which department of the station they had landed in, but Ezra didn't care. He didn't even want to be there. But Kellen didn't appear to care either. It just looked like she wanted someone in the station to listen to what she had to say, no matter who it ended up being.
"Can somebody help you?" a young officer approached the two of them.
"I'm looking for Captain McCullough," Kellen said, showing off her ID once more. "Federal business."
"Who is looking for me?" A raspy tone came from the other side of the room.
Kellen and Ezra turned to see a tall, astu
te man with a wrinkled face and full head of bleach-white hair. No doubt Captain McCullough.
"That would be me," Kellen said. "Kellen Monello, FBI."
"FBI? What business do you have here, with me?"
"I believe a serial killer that the FBI has been after is based out of this town. I would like to have the cooperation of the local police department to help me find him before he kills again."
"Serial killer, in Sun City?" McCullough scoffed. "How the hell did you come to that conclusion?" He looked at Kellen in confusion for a moment before turning to Ezra for an answer. But at that moment he paused and his wrinkles grew deeper as he squinted at Ezra. "Who might your friend be, agent?"
"Not important," she replied.
"No, no, it's important. I know that ridiculous hair style anywhere. I saw enough of it on the news," his tone became dark and full of hate. "Officer," he called to the young man they'd just spoken with, "detain this man!"
"Detain?" Ezra laughed. "Really?"
"Yeah, really," McCullough said as the young officer approached.
"Sir, put your hands on your head," the young officer commanded as sternly as he could muster.
Ezra looked around the room for a moment. Everyone was on edge now. Everyone was looking. Kellen was trying to figure out what to say. The whole place was waiting for Ezra's next move. He was determined to make it a good one.
"On my head?" Ezra asked the officer politely.
"Yes, now," the officer replied.
"How about this?" Ezra shoved both hands deep into his pockets.
"Sir!" The officer pulled his gun and aimed it at Ezra's head. Other officers in the room stood up and glued their hands to their weapons. "Take your hands out of your pockets slowly!"
"Ezra, don't exacerbate!" Kellen implored.
"So I was right," McCullough said. "Ezra Grazer, Dallas's Angel of Death, vigilante serial killer."
"I was never a fan of that nickname." Ezra kept his eyes on the gun in his face.
"Sir, hands out of the pockets!" the officer yelled.
"If you insist." Ezra nodded. He took his hands out of his pockets and shifted his weight away from the front of the gun. Before the officer behind it could act, Ezra wrapped his fingers around the slide of the pistol and yanked it back, sending the round in the chamber flying. The officer started to tug back and away. Using the backwards force of the officer and the force he put in pulling the slide back forward, Ezra pulled the top of the weapon clean off with brute force alone. Once the gun was disabled, he raised his hands in the air, the slide still in hand, as other weapons in the room were drawn.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Kellen got in front of him. "I have documentation." She waved a paper. "Signed by the Governor of Texas. This man has been granted furlough and is within legal right to be in this building and to be by my side while I conduct my investigation."
"Bullshit, bring it here," McCullough snapped.
Kellen walked over to McCullough and the group of cops now surrounding him. It didn't take long for the conversation to swell into nothing more than a heated argument. All the while, Ezra just hung back and lowered his arms back to his sides. As he did, the young officer approached, bottom half of his gun still in his grip.
"How the hell did you do that?" the officer asked.
"Something I picked up from some Israelis in the war." Ezra handed the officer the other half of his gun. "Don't try putting it back together, I wrecked the insides doing that. Sorry."
"I'd say sorry to whoever gave you furlough, they're gonna hate this."
"Yeah." Ezra nodded, not caring all that much.
"You said you were in the war?"
"For a few years, a Ranger."
"I was almost a Marine. I got injured in basic though, honorable discharge."
"At that point I suppose it is the thought that counts," Ezra put no effort into trying to sound convincing. His mind was elsewhere.
Glancing over the young man before him, Ezra began picking apart every aspect of this interested conversationalist. His badge and small nametag were each spotless. He took good care of his things, like a Marine would be taught to on the first day. That seemed to be the case with everything on the officer's person, everything besides his flashlight. The massive Maglite was covered in dings, scratches, and dirt. This wasn't any kind of normal dirt or potting soil even. It was an odd mixture of mud and what looked like pebbles or minute scraps of rubble.
Just then, Ezra's brain came alive with activity. He peered at the officer's fingernails. They hardly looked like those of a neat and disciplined almost-Marine. Each of them were caked with dirt, the same interesting consistency as that on the flashlight.
"Been exploring where you shouldn't have been?" Ezra inquired, still looking at the officer's nails.
"Why do you say that?"
"Your nails, mostly, and your beat up flashlight. My first interpretation is either caving or urban exploration, and my personal guess would be towards the latter."
"It's a little hobby, sure."
"Well, perhaps you could let me in on the most remote places around here."
"Somewhere your killer might hide?"
"Precisely."
"I don't know." The officer sighed. "There's a few abandoned barns on the outskirts of town that are far away from anything other than road."
"Go on."
"There's an old gas station down Walnut Way. It's small, but they had a big body shop in it, so the walls are all thick and soundproof. There's also an old grocery store not too far from there. It's just a big empty space though."
"Anything else?" Ezra took note of every word.
"Down on the south end of town there's an abandoned cookware factory, it used to be accessible pretty easily but for the past few years it's been locked up tight."
"Thanks." Ezra turned away from the officer and grabbed Kellen's arms to pull her away from her heated exchange.
"What the fuck are you doing? Let go of me!"
"You take that psycho out of my town!" McCullough called to them as they departed back down the thin hall towards the lobby.
"What the fuck is your problem? Now what the hell are we supposed to do?" she asked Ezra.
"I've got our leads, don't worry." Ezra waved to the receptionist before they walked out the door.
"Wait, you've got leads?"
"A few, yes. After I tore his gun apart, that nice young law enforcer we met started up a conversation with me. He's some kind of urban explorer."
"Urban explorer?"
"Someone who goes into abandoned buildings, or old sewer pipes, subway lines, wherever they want to go, places people have forgotten about. Places that would be perfect to kill someone in."
"And?"
"He gave me a few things to go on."
"Well shit, let's go."
22
