Mutilated Dreams

by Hadena James

  “Marshal Cain,” I answered.

  “Dr. Cain, I wish to speak to you.”

  “That explains why you called me,” I told the man. He had a heavy accent that sounded Russian.

  “It seems that we have mutual interests, Dr. Cain. I would like to discuss that mutual interest, but it is complicated.”

  “Well, let us uncomplicate it. You can start by telling me who you are and how you got my phone number,” I told him.

  “I would prefer to meet, face to face, say in an hour at a cafe a few blocks from the Marshals building.” He gave me the address. I didn’t scribble it down, I would remember.

  “This is where you tell me to come alone, is it not?” I said, already tired of the conversation.

  “No, you may bring one other person with you. I suggest Marshal Henders.” He hung up on me.

  “Who was that?” Gabriel asked.

  “I don’t know, but you and I are meeting with him in an hour because we have a mutual interest to discuss,” I told him.

  “Um, no,” Gabriel said. “I do not willingly meet with serial killers.”

  “It is in a cafe,” I added.

  “You believe being in public will help?” Fiona asked.

  “Sure,” I shrugged. “Run the number.” I read it off to her. Xavier grabbed my phone. His mouth fell open. “What?”

  “That is just one digit off from the number given to Lucas by Apex,” Fiona answered for Xavier.

  “One digit? That is odd,” I commented.

  “Okay, we’ll go meet with him.” Gabriel stood up. “I want to get there first.”

  We walked the three blocks. If he was going to take us out, it would be with a sniper’s rifle and a car wasn’t going to do us much good. An elderly gentleman was already sitting at a table outside, drinking a coffee concoction that smelled like hazelnuts and cream. He waved to us. Since we were at least forty-five minutes early, I was betting he was already here.

  “Dr. Cain, Marshal Henders,” he was just as polite and formal, even standing up to pull out my chair for me. His accent was a little less thick in person.

  “What should we call you?” Gabriel asked.

  “For now, call me Slavi,” he said, motioning for a waitress. To be polite, I ordered a soda and a muffin. It was perhaps the first time ever that I didn’t actually want a soda. I was a sugar and caffeine junky.

  “What mutual interest do we have, Slavi?” I asked.

  “Dr. McMichaels,” Slavi answered. “It appears I have ten million dollars missing from one of my accounts. This is lot of money, even to me. I have spoken to everyone with access to account and all swear didn’t steal it. Also, a shipment of cell phones went missing from warehouse I have. I was contacted by someone today who informed me one of those cell phones was used to contact several contract killers. I do not want trouble with the SCTU, so I bring this information to you.”

  “And you trust your staff enough to believe that none of them took the phones and money?” Gabriel asked.

  “I will be looking into it deeper.” He frowned.

  “I am guessing you are not in wallpaper sales,” I said. “So, why are Russians interested in the SCTU?”

  “That is problem, we are not. I feel setup,” Slavi told me.

  “It isn’t retribution for Detroit?” I asked.

  “Detroit,” Slavi waved the thought away. “It is cost of doing business. We should thank you for Detroit. It helped us. That is why I come to you now. I do not want problem with SCTU and you did help Detroit problems.”

  “I’m not entirely sure where this is going,” Gabriel said. I agreed, but didn’t vocalize it.

  “I think worker took cell phones, but now, I’m not so sure. Worker could not access my accounts. Either someone got to them through computer or it was someone inside my family. If inside, I will deal with it. If not, you can deal with it. I have contacted several people to try to have contract removed. However, no one sure who is offering money, but I give you lead. Nightstalker has worked for me several times. I know real name, Yuri Kozlov. See if he tell you anything.”

  “You expect us just to go talk to a contract killer and have him agree to talk to us?” Gabriel frowned.

  “No, her. He will talk to Aislinn Cain. He is admirer. If you arrest him, I believe circle will close and all information will be unavailable to you. That is why I give you name, I trust you to use it discreetly.” And just like that, the Russian mob in New Orleans had given me a lead. Gabriel would have to make the final call on whether I could or could not meet with this Nightstalker character. If he green lighted it, I would be talking to a contract killer and not arresting him. The world was an interesting place.

  “Thank you,” I told Slavi.

  “Please,” he stood up. “It is my pleasure.” Slavi bowed and walked away from us. He carried a cane. It caught my attention because so few men carried canes for decorative purposes anymore.

  “Well?” Gabriel looked at me.

  “The Russian mob had money stolen and the thief put out the contract and that man doesn’t want us looking into him, his family, or his employees for some reason.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. We aren’t DEA or FBI. We can’t just go looking into his business, illegitimate or not,” Gabriel said.

  “True, but it makes perfect sense if Slavi is hiding something we can investigate, like a son who likes to beat up women or kill people for money,” I said.

  “You want to talk to Yuri Kozlov, don’t you?”

  “I do.” I looked at Gabriel, “He is obviously a Russian hitman and we just got approached by the Russian mob. It is possible that he knows nothing. It’s also possible that he knows a lot.”

  “Fine, after we finish this case, you can meet with him, under one condition. You don’t go alone or unarmed.”

  “The second is definitely not happening,” I assured him.

  Twenty-seven

  “We finally got a hit,” Xavier said as Gabriel and I entered the conference room.

  “Great, is he important?” I asked.

  “As far as I can tell, he’s a trust fund kid. His father was some kind of oil baron and the guy has never worked a real job a day in his life. He tried his hand at a few things, but they were more hobbies than careers; like professional surfer,” Fiona answered.

  “Does he tie to Valerie McGregor?” Gabriel asked.

  “No,” Fiona sighed it out.

  “Okay, let’s grab dinner and get some sleep. We’ll look at it in the morning,” Gabriel said.

  We all headed out, even Christian Hunter. At the restaurant, Caleb Green beat him to the chair on one side and Xavier on the other side, but he looked perturbed not to be sitting next to me. He took the chair directly across from me, forcing me to make eye contact with him. This was going to end badly for one of us. I was betting it was him. Psychopath or not, I had the upper hand in this battle of wills. Considering my migraine problem as of late, I should have ordered something very healthy. I didn’t. I ordered fried pickles as an appetizer, a cheeseburger with grilled mushrooms and all the trimmings, and onion straws on the side. I also guzzled two Mountain Dews while we ate. The table was silent, which was rare for us. Even Caleb and Xavier didn’t speak much.

  The hotel was better. I locked myself away in my room, flipped open my tablet, and began reading a book by C. J. Weiland while listening to my collection of Rammstein songs. Actually, I put the song Moskau on repeat and only listened to it. I knew some Russian, but not enough to be able to speak or understand it. My mind was on Yuri Kozlov, the contract killer for the Russians. I’d never met with a contract killer, not face to face, let alone a Russian contract killer. It would be an interesting meeting.

  A gentle knock on my door made me look up from the music and book. I considered ignoring it and pretending I was asleep. There was this dread in my stomach that Christian Hunter would be on the other side. I grabbed my Taser and went to the door.

  I hate peepholes. Call me paranoid,
but I was pretty sure killers just waited for people to stick their eye up to the hole so they could put a bullet in their eye. This was an effective place to shoot someone if you wanted them dead. It was one of the easier points of access to the brain. Sometimes, it just damaged their eye socket and ruptured their eye, but it was rare. I’d even killed someone with a plastic spoon through the eye socket. I swung the door open quickly.

  Fiona stood on the other side. She was chewing on her lip. I motioned her inside.

  “I have a theory, but I don’t want to tell everyone,” she said once the door was locked again.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down at the little table provided for me. I turned the music down, but not off. “About?”

  “About Tyler Thompson,” Fiona said.

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “Oh, trust fund guy who lost his head.”

  “Okay,” I said, catching up to her thought processes.

  “So, he was never a suspect in the original attack on Valerie McGregor, but he was living in San Diego at the time, trying his hand at professional surfing. Since he was worth a lot of money, his father hired bodyguards during that time to make sure he didn’t get attacked by sharks or something. He could have been the one that originally attacked Valerie. She sees him, goes to return the favor and loses control. She kills him, and then she has a nervous breakdown and ends up where she is.”

  “She’d found her Dark Tower,” I said. All the puzzle pieces slipped into place.

  “Like the poem? I thought the dark tower was heaven?” She said.

  “The dark tower can be whatever the dark tower wants to be. It does not change the fact that once Childe Roland reaches it, he has nothing left to live for, so the only option left for him is to die. It is a great poem.”

  “It is a great poem and I had never thought of that.” She thought for a moment. “It is exactly like Roland’s quest. She was mutilating surrogates, but then she had the chance to do the real one and she killed him. She has nothing left to live for and she isn’t really a killer anyway, so she goes to pieces and cuts herself up.”

  “All we have to do is prove that Tyler Thompson attacked her the first time,” I told her.

  “Well, I thought of that. I started doing some research already and found a list of candidates that might have been Thompson’s bodyguards.” She handed me her tablet.

  “Haven’t we already chased a serial killer with the last name of Thompson this year?” I asked, taking the tablet and looking at the screen. There were four names and faces.

  “No, but statistically speaking, it wouldn’t be abnormal if we had. Thompson is a common last name,” she answered. I smiled. She sounded a little like me when she said it.

  “I agree with your theory; so how do you want to proceed?”

  “I’m not sure. I want to talk to these guys. One felt remorse enough to call it in. With Tyler dead, he might talk. However, I’m not sure how to do that without getting Gabriel’s approval.”

  “Bring it up tomorrow, and I will support you.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “No.” I frowned at her. “Why the sudden shyness?”

  “I don’t like Christian Hunter. He’s creepy and not in the same way you or Green or even Blake is. There’s just something off about him.”

  “I agree with that too. Could you run a background check on him?”

  “His records are sealed because he’s a US Marshal.” She shook her head.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s a serial killer, does that help?” I asked.

  “No,” she stopped shaking her head. “Do you really think he’s a serial killer?”

  “Yeah, I really do. Green thinks so too.” I showed her my phone. There was a text from Caleb with just two letters SK in it. After showing her, I deleted the text.

  “Wow, what are we going to do about that?” Fiona asked.

  “At the moment, nothing. I have no proof. You have no proof. We cannot obtain proof. So, while he is with the SCTU, we do not trust him with much more than information. When the VCU is rebuilt, I am going to try to get Malachi and Caleb to look into it more. They can poke where we cannot, right now.”

  “We’re going to be chasing serial killers with a serial killer, the irony,” she said.

  “You already do,” I reminded her.

  “No, I don’t. I chase them with you and you aren’t a serial killer. I don’t know what you are, but it isn’t a serial killer.”

  “Or a superhero?” I smirked.

  “I had to say something encouraging. Superhero won out. Of course, I’m not ruling out a cape and tights for you yet either.” She chewed her bottom lip again.

  “I am still not presenting your theory. I think you should do it.” I thought for a moment. “No, you have to do it. Everything needs to appear normal. My holding your metaphysical hand will not work. I do not want to raise suspicions. I would hate to smear a Marshal with the label serial killer and find out that he’s just a super freaky psychopath who likes to stick pins in butterflies or something.”

  There was another knock at the door. I sighed, got my Taser and went to the door again. Gabriel stood on the other side. His face was grim.

  “Valerie McGregor died a few minutes ago. She went into cardiac arrest and they couldn’t revive her.”

  “Fiona has a theory about the connection between Valerie McGregor and Tyler Thompson that I think you need to hear.” I ushered him inside and let Fiona explain. It wasn’t in front of the whole group but it worked.

  “You agree?” Gabriel asked me.

  “It fits better than anything else,” I told him. “I think she meant to take trophies from him, like he did her and lost control, killing him. I still think he said something to trigger it, but whatever it was has been lost to time with both of them dead.”

  “Okay, we’ll start making calls in the morning.” He didn’t exactly glare at me, but he did have a funny gaze as he stared at me. “About Hunter…”

  “Not open to discussion.” I held up my hand. “I get it, we need the manpower, and he wants the job. So help me God, the first time he discharges his gun recklessly or does something incredibly stupid, I am going to drop him.”

  “Too many ’paths in the mix for my taste,” Fiona said.

  “The VCU has two,” I pointed out to her.

  “Yeah, but they get along.” Fiona shrugged at me. “You don’t trust him. It’s going to be hard for the rest of us to trust him.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Gabriel said. “He’s a little too eager for the job. The last time someone volunteered like this to work with us, it was because he was working on the mistaken belief that Ace’s grandfather had killed his child.”

  “Ah, the infamous John Bryant,” Fiona said his name slowly. He was her predecessor.

  “Now in jail for assaulting a federal officer,” I told her. “He attacked Malachi, even managed to Taser him, but he had a standard Taser and Malachi did not do more than develop a muscle twitch in response.” Tasers affected how the body’s electrical impulses fired. I was finding that in a psychopath, where neurons didn’t fire correctly and nerves responded differently to electrical stimulation anyway, a standard Taser didn’t do much, which was why I kept amping ours up.

  “Better him than me,” Fiona said, a strange look crossing her face. “I believe Malachi really likes watching other people bleed.”

  “You would be correct,” I confirmed.

  “Are you two planning a slumber party?” Gabriel asked.

  “Maybe,” Fiona answered. Gabriel smiled, shook his head, and left. Fiona lingered until the wee hours of the morning. We played War and Fiona suggested we travel to a place with a white sandy beach and cabana boys.

  Twenty-eight

  Morning came too early. The sun streamed in through a crack in my curtains. I was positive I had closed them completely the night before. Next to me, Fiona was snoring. Gabriel was beating on my door and shouting at someone. My tongue felt g
lued to the roof of my mouth. My lips were stuck to my teeth because I had zero moisture in my mouth. My eyes hurt too. My head hurt, but it wasn’t a normal migraine. I had never felt anything like it.

  The deck of cards remained on the table. So did two open bottles of soda. It was rare for Fiona to drink a soda. I tried to remember the night before and couldn’t. It was hazy. Something about playing cards and men in spandex and parrotfish. I poked Fiona. She groaned.

  “Did we get drunk?” I asked her.

  “Go away,” Fiona grumbled.

  “We are both nude and in bed,” I told her. Her eyes flew open. She grabbed at the covers, pulling them up her massive frame. Gabriel’s voice grew more intense. “In little to no time, they are going to bust in here and find us like this. Did we get drunk?” I asked her.

  “No,” she frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. The door opened. Three very shocked men entered the room. I sat there on the edge of the bed completely ignoring the lack of clothing. Something was wrong.

  “You’re, um, I’m going, we are, hmm,” Gabriel stammered.

  “Confused?” I asked, reaching for the soda. I took a drink.

  “Yes,” Xavier said.

  “Me too,” I told them. “Fiona as well.”

  “So, did you fall off the asexual wagon?” Caleb asked.

  “I do not believe so,” I answered. “I do not remember last night. Something about a parrotfish at war with a man in spandex.”

  “Do you remember me coming by?” Gabriel asked.

  “No, did I have clothes on?” I asked.

  “Yes, you both did.” He frowned.

  “So, I was here when you visited?” Fiona asked. “Why did you visit? Why did I visit?”

  “Get them to the hospital, and have them checked out. I’ll call crime scene techs and have them go through the room.” Gabriel was already drawing out his phone. Xavier was moving to get some clothing for me. Caleb was trying to hand Fiona her stuff from the floor.