The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1)

by Michael Sigurdsson

  "Good, call me when you get him. I want his head on my table for breakfast. Soon."

  "Don't worry, I'll get him for you. Can you run some checks on Ron Morgenthal? This is most likely our guy."

  "Now you're talking,” he was friendly again. “I'll get my guys working on it and I'll give you a call in an hour or so," Dermot said and hung up.

  It was nearly half past seven. I went down to the lobby and ordered a cab. When I arrived, I called Jane to tell her I was waiting in a cab outside. Jane left the building. I could immediately recognize the sway of her hips. Wow, a view to die for. She was wearing a nicely fitting black dress. Quite a change compared to her business attire. I liked the low neck of the dress which exposed quite a lot of her breasts.

  We headed to a restaurant, Eleven, on Smallman Street, which Jane recommended. Fairly decent place. Classy interior, I liked it. Jane ordered the seafood platter, and I chose the strip steak, although the grilled swordfish was also appealing.

  "I'm glad you accepted my invitation for dinner," I started the conversation.

  "I'm very glad too," Jane said. "Not that I'm desperate for a date, but working in a hospital means long irregular hours. I don't really go out very often."

  "To be honest, I don't go out very often either," I sympathized with Jane. "Busy, irregular schedule, same as you," I clarified. However, I didn't add that I could call Carmela at my leisure to keep me company. "My life is quite busy, but rather colorless I would say."

  "You must be understating. You travel a lot, meet a lot of people, you work for the government. That must be exciting," she was curious.

  "In a way it is."

  "I'm sure it is."

  "And how did you end up as a doctor?" I asked.

  "I always liked helping people. As a young girl I did some charity work in my local parish. I was also pretty inspired by the ethos of the medical profession. Years ago it was very much about helping people, primum non nocere, which used to be a vow taken by doctors. These days unfortunately, it's pretty much driven by risk of litigation rather than client welfare. Also, many, if not most, doctors need to prescribe a lot of drugs to meet financial targets which are necessary to get sales commissions from pharmaceutical companies. I don't even want to mention that more than a hundred thousand people die annually in the US as a result of medical errors, like the wrong drugs or unsuccessful procedures. But I try to distance myself from the bad aspects and just do my job well. I love working with children."

  "That's quire inspiring, I must admit," I said. Her attitude and passion for work and helping others was very impressive. "I think that was the reason I trusted you with arranging the psychotherapy for the Wimbledon children. I knew you'd put your heart into it," I said her. Jane smiled. With the most wonderful smile. Dr. Jane was very handsome. Not cover page of a glossy magazine kind of beautiful, but more of a real-life beautiful type.

  I proposed a toast: "May your profession continue to bring you joy and happiness. I wish you to continue to derive great satisfaction from helping children."

  Jane was very pleased and blushed slightly, dropping her eyes in girlish embarrassment and raising the corners of her mouth. Quite a tantalizing view.

  My phone vibrating spoiled the moment. It was Dermot. "Jane, I'm sorry, I have to take it," I apologized.

  "Hi Dermot, any news?"

  "Ron Morgenthal died ten years ago. The terrorist we are after must have assumed his identity. We found no bills, no credit card payments, no tax returns, which is no surprise. This is a blind alley," Dermot summarized the research efforts of his team.

  "He’s either clever, or careful, or both,"

  "Combined with a pocket rocket launcher that makes him dangerous. I want this motherfucker dead soon," Dermot once again emphasized the importance of this job.

  "No worries, thanks for info," I finished the call.

  After dinner I ordered some champagne, and the evening passed quickly in a very convivial atmosphere. I paid the bill and ordered a cab to drive Dr. Lockerby home.

  I walked her to her front door, and Jane asked: "Would you like to come in for a drink? It's not that late yet."

  I didn’t have any other plans for the rest of the day, so I was more than happy to hear that. The rest of the evening turned out to be even more entertaining and pleasurable than expected.

  I don't know if she was lying saying she didn't have too much time for dating, but going by what she offered that night, I was more than certain she must have been experienced. Or naturally talented. Or both. I was exhausted, but exhilarated.

  13.

  I WOKE UP very early the next morning and took a cab to my hotel. I had a quick shower and hurried to the airport to catch a plane back to Philadelphia. I remembered Martin had mentioned Lilith, the medium, was trying to get in touch with me.

  Lilith was a very interesting character. She had quite unique skills. She could see events before they happened. She didn't always see the true events, and did make mistakes, but in general she was quite accurate. She’d tried to explain to me that the visions she had could come in two ways. One way was on demand, for instance when requested by somebody else. The other was unsolicited visions, when she just saw them without anybody having asked for it. She didn't always know where the unsolicited ones belonged, so she would normally ignore those. But when she had some clue and knew the person, she might contact them if she was in a good mood, which wasn't too often. Moreover, the visions, especially those on demand, were exhausting, putting a lot of strain on her physical and mental capacities, so she had to be careful not to overdo things. Lilith charged a lot for each consultation, a nice sum of up to a thousand dollars or more for a short session (although she didn't work every day), so her clients were on the rather wealthy end of the spectrum. They ranged from jealous husbands, suspicious wives, cunning politicians to shrewd business people, although the first two, husbands and wives, were the majority according to Lilith. She once said to me, “Mike, in this world, it's all about getting laid, as often as possible, with as many partners as possible, to perpetuate the species. It's not a fad, it's biology, there's nothing you can do about it.”

  Lilith had a difficult childhood. She was raped by her stepfather from the age of four. Her step father was a celebrity and later it emerged she was not the only one. She did tell me some details, and those were terrifying. She endured a decade, but eventually took control of the situation; she slit her stepfather's throat and cut off his dick. In fact, she said she did it in reverse order as apparently he was quite vocal about the discomfort of losing this vital part, but Lilith didn't allow him to ponder this topic for too long. With the thing chopped off, she went to her mother, who knew about the abuse but was terrorized herself. She showed her the trophy and forced her to hush up the whole event. Even though her mother was in a way relieved about this development, she was also attached to her husband, or rather the few million-dollar estate she wanted to get from him. However, he was also a gambler, so the estate was worthless. Lilith's mother didn't yet know that at that time, and wanted to hush up the scandal, protecting the estate against any potential lawsuits that would follow, as she knew Lilith wasn't the only one who’d been abused. Consequently Lilith warned her mother that if she ever mentioned what happened to the police or anybody else, the same fate would await her, I suppose she meant the throat only, as her mother was unlikely to have a dick. As you see, she wasn't particularly emotionally attached to her mother, but as she didn't get any emotional support from her, or in fact any support during nearly a decade of abuse, you wouldn't really blame her. Lilith's mother was clever, and she called the police claiming she returned home and there was her husband dead, with a cut throat and his dick chopped off. Not knowing what to do with the penis, she shoved it into her husband's mouth, using plastic gloves so as not to leave fingerprints, the same as her daughter did. She thought that way the crime scene would look more dramatic. Obviously she didn’t tell the cops it was her who put the dick into her hus
band’s mouth. Lilith told me with the gaping hole of his mouth closed by insertion of the penis, the whole corpse was more balanced and esthetically pleasing. The crime was so outrageous, that nobody for even a moment suspected the wife or daughter of the deceased, even though the wife should be the obvious starting point of the investigation.

  Whether the psychic skills she had were from birth, or whether she acquired them during her troubled childhood, I didn't know. What mattered was, her skills were very useful to me.

  I liked Lilith, I must admit. She was good looking, had a slim body and long legs. Long, slightly curly auburn hair, and a pale complexion suited her professional image well. I think she actually enhanced the paleness with some makeup, but she didn't overdo it, so it still looked classy. She had a prominent nose, I think they called it Roman nose, but not too big. Under the proper lighting conditions at certain angles, her nose and eyes looked as if she was an eagle, although some would say rather like vulture. Anyway, the complete package was very good, and even despite her childhood and teenage history of sexual abuse, she’d managed to recover to some extent and she didn't shun sex at all. I did spend a night or two with her and liked it, no doubt. But I wouldn't treat it as a permanent relationship, rather as an ad-hoc event, as she had an inconvenient habit of trying to cut her sexual partners with a knife. She did cut me the first time, so the next time I was more careful. She said she just wanted to mark me with a tiny scratch, but I actually got a three-inch gash on my forearm. She said it made her feel more complete, although I struggled to understand how. Moreover, with her track record of chopping off dicks and slicing throats, I preferred to be safe rather than sorry, and had to be vigilant on those rare occasions that I slept with her. Which defeated the purpose really, as it was difficult to wind down that way (it was pleasant though).

  I dialed Lilith’s number: "Hi Lilith."

  "Hi Michael, I was expecting your call," she answered.

  "How are you getting on, how are you keeping?"

  "I can't complain, especially as I hope you're going to pay me a visit soon. We have a lot to catch up on," she said voluptuously.

  "I might someday, although I met somebody interesting recently."

  "Oh, that's sad, at least for me. Are you sad too?"

  "Not really, in fact, I'm happy. Early days yet. But even apart from that, are you still so keen to cut off my manhood?"

  "Don't be a girl Mike, I wasn't after your dick, I just wanted to mark my territory. Although the knife I used would come in handy for that purpose too."

  "There you go," I said.

  "Joking aside, when are you going to fuck me, please?" Lilith meant business.

  "I'm in a sort of relationship, as I said."

  "Knowing your social skills with women, I give you six months before she dumps you," Lilith laughed. "Then you'll come running to me."

  "We'll see. Anyway, you have some information for me?" I felt uncomfortable with the way the conversation was progressing.

  "Are you blushing, little boy?"

  "I'm not! What did you want to tell me?"

  "Okay, let's get serious. I saw the St. Brigid School shooting on the news. I feel you must be involved in it?"

  "I am, how do you know? I didn't advertise it," I was surprised.

  "I just know, you know."

  "Right, I’m trying to track down the gunman."

  "I may be able to help."

  "I'm listening, go ahead," I encouraged her to get to the point.

  "I had a vision, although that's not the right term, as what I experience is a mix of sight, sound, feelings, and thoughts. The vision was related to your job. You have to figure out where this is, but it was about a house in the suburbs being blown up by a bomb or something. Inside were two children and their mother. I didn’t see their father. What was strange, was the kids seemed not to be really there, but in some other place with lots of beds. I could see them next to their mother, but not necessarily in the house. Their mother was in the house for sure, and was dressed in black, and I could feel a lot of pain and sorrow. Maybe she was a widow? Does that tell you anything?" Lilith finished.

  I was silent for a brief moment.

  "It does," I said. It must be Lauren Wimbledon. I knew she might be in danger. "Any more detail? When is it going to happen?"

  "I don't know when, it could be an hour, it could be a week, it could be a month. It could be never."

  "Thanks Lilith, that's very useful. I have to hang up now and check it out."

  "No problem. For you, anything. Just remember to send the usual amount in an envelope," she concluded and added: "And remember, when your current lady dumps you, I'm here for you. Don't be shy, my boy," I heard her laughing.

  "Sure, thanks," I finished the conversation.

  Without delay, I called Dr. Jane Lockerby.

  "Hi Jane, where are the Wimbledons, are they at the hospital?"

  "Hi Mike, what’s happened? You seem very serious. The kids are here at the hospital. Lauren went back home."

  "She might be in danger. What's her address? I need to get to her asap."

  She gave me the address.

  I dialed Martin's number: "Martin, I have to stay in Pittsburgh for a few more hours. I called Lilith and she saw the Wimbledons’ house being blow up. I have to pick her up and take her to the hospital, where she'll have police protection. Have you arranged that yet?"

  "Yes, the cops should be at the hospital within two hours."

  "Good, can you reschedule my flight for later today?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks," I finished.

  Squirrel Hill was a nice, leafy residential area. Wilkins Avenue was a very long street, cutting across Squirrel Hill diagonally and horizontally. I asked the cab-driver to stop a few houses before the Wimbledons’, paid him, asked him to wait, and briskly continued on foot. I scanned the area, it seemed quiet, no unusual individuals or cars. I knew this guy Ron Morgenthal was probably smart enough to realize that Lauren may get police protection, so he'd prefer to act fast. I just hoped it wasn't too late. It seemed too quiet for my liking.

  I walked onto the property and approached the house. I knocked on the door and went along the porch to inspect the front of the house while waiting for Lauren. Then I noticed the explosives in a shaded area under the porch by the stairs. The self-timer showed “32 seconds.” "Fuck," I said and ran to the door. I kicked the door open, entered and shouted. "Lauren, it's Mike, there's a bomb, where are you?" I heard some music in the kitchen so I hurried there and saw Mrs. Wimbledon with an expression of surprise on her face.

  I shouted: "Bomb, run!" and dragged her outside to the garden, as I’d noticed a sturdy brick garden shed in the far corner.

  The explosion was massive, a hot wave swept thought the garden, splinters and masonry were flying all over the place. We were behind the shed. Its front wall caved in and the roof collapsed. But it held, and as it was quite far from the house, we were unscathed.

  The Wimbledons’ house had ceased to exist. Lauren had had a narrow escape and was shaking with shock. The only words she managed to utter were: "Thank you Michael, you saved my life."

  I took her to the hospital. The police were already there to keep an eye on her.

  A little while later.

  "Oh my god, Mike, what happened?" Dr. Jane asked anxiously.

  "The gunman from the St Brigid School shooting wanted to finish off what he left unfinished. He planted a bomb in the Wimbledons’ house."

  Jane couldn’t utter a word for a while.

  "I'm so happy that you’re all right."

  "I'm all right, but Lauren had a narrow escape," I answered.

  "How did you know he would make an attempt on her life?"

  "I have my sources," I said, I didn't mention it was a medium. That would cause more questions than necessary. "Besides, it was quite obvious. He didn't get her the first time, and didn't want to let it go."

  "Poor girl, at least the police are here to protect her."<
br />
  "She’ll probably need a shrink on top of that as well."

  "Mike, you have no sympathy whatsoever."

  "Just the opposite, I mean I wanted to pay for a few sessions with a psychologist, same as for her children."

  "That's a different story now, but it didn't sound that way when you said ‘shrink.’ Have you ever heard about 'tact' in the context of human relationships? I’m not surprised you haven’t always had plain sailing with women." Dr. Jane added sarcastically.

  Not knowing what to answer, I just said "She’s been through a lot recently, especially the bomb. Professional treatment would help her to deal with the mental stress."

  "Now you're talking."

  I stayed at the hospital for another hour or so, and eventually departed from Pittsburgh heading home.

  14.

  BACK IN PHILADELPHIA.

  On the way home, I dialed Martin's number. "Hi Martin, I'm back home, can you arrange a meeting with Mr. Zhao for me?"

  "Sure, no problem," Martin said. "You'd better bring a nice gift for him. He's quite particular in that respect."

  "Do we have any of the whiskey that we got from Dermot left?"

  "He doesn't drink that much I think. He's Asian, many Asian people suffer from so-called 'Asian Flush.' They can't process alcohol efficiently. I don't think whiskey is a good present for him."

  "Really, I didn't know about that," I was surprised.

  "That's why you pay me well to know these things. Can I have a pay rise please?" Martin joked. "And I'm not joking, by the way," he joked again.

  "Jokes aside," I wasn’t joking, "let's discuss it some other time, okay?"

  "Okay, back on the topic of Mr. Zhao then. You need something unusual or expensive. He has sophisticated taste. And he’s a connoisseur sadist."

  "I suppose a vice for torture and a gold bar would appeal to both of his tastes," I jested.

  "Well, a gold bar would be expensive, but not sophisticated."