“Excuse me ma’am, I know I just asked, and you’re busy, but did you get ahold of Agent Lofgren?” He asked her.
“Yes Mr. Kasparov, I was able to reach him. I told him you were out of surgery and in recovery. He intends to stop by shortly.” She replied before writing a few numbers on his chart and leaving the room again. She was not thrilled to have been making calls for him, that much was apparent, but he was grateful for it. Kasparov also took this to mean Lofgren was alive.
He sat up in an attempt to get off the bed and over to his bag of personal effects. Fresh waves of pain traversed his body. It would be awhile before he would be in peak form and he may even need to take a short leave after the case was wrapped up. Using the IV holder for support he managed to heave himself out of bed and shuffled toward his bag. Standing up straight set off a strong ache, but he managed to keep his balance all the way to the duffle. Kasparov felt stronger than he had expected after being shot. He leaned down and picked up his bag, placing it on the counter and digging out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He also grabbed his jacket that was draped over the chair next to his bed and carefully put it on. The range of motion that led to retrieving the bag and donning the coat caused an unpleasant burst of manageable pain through him. Kasparov decided to take the elevator to the ground floor. He walked carefully through the hall, maneuvering in such a way as not to disturb his IVs. The nurse who was in charge of him noticed him shuffling through the hall and ran up to him complaining.
“Mr. Kasparov, please let me help you back to your room.” She requested. “You are not meant to be up yet.”
“Unless the rules have changed, and I can smoke in here, I’m going out. I promise to mind my IV and to be careful. I’ll even use the elevator.” He replied with a smirk.
“You certainly are not.” She barked.
“Listen, I get it, you have a job to do. I know that patients doing things they shouldn’t isn’t making it any easier but I’m good. I will be fine.” Kasparov reassured her.
“Do what you like then.” She said in a tone that conveyed her annoyance. “It’s not like you were shot today or anything. And why listen to me? I’ve only been treating patients for forty-five years.”
“I’m sorry. I understand what can happen. But I did get shot today. I could really go for one of these.” Kasparov smiled back holding up a cigarette as he began his slow walk to the elevator. A few minutes later he was out front of the hospital thankful he wasn’t wearing his jacket when he was shot. It was cold and raining, the woolen coat provided shelter and warmth against the weather. He held the cigarette in his lips as he ignited the tip.
Leaning against the damp building, Kasparov watched the people going in and out. Some seemed to be visitors, others sickly, some pregnant, and one man rushed through the door holding his bandaged hand. Perhaps it had been a cooking accident, or maybe the man owed the wrong people money. It was hard to tell on this side of town anymore. Kasparov was taking in everything he could in this moment. He felt the cold air on his skin and the smoke burning its way through him. He listened to the people talking as they went by. He was alive and he was going to take a moment to appreciate that fact.
Kasparov didn’t want to make the nurse any angrier than he already had so he extinguished his cigarette and started back inside. As he walked through the lobby he noticed a gift shop and felt around in his jacket pocket for any money he might have. Out of his left pocket he produced a five dollar bill and made the decision to brighten the busy woman’s day for allowing him his cigarette.
The products in the shop were typical, and expensive. Most of the cards were oriented around getting better or as congratulations for a newborn baby. After looking through the blank cards, he selected one with a teddy bear on the front and paid for it. He borrowed a pen from the cashier and scrawled a quick note to the nurse thanking her for putting up with him and his nicotine habit.
As soon as he reached his floor he carefully stepped out of the elevator and made his way to the nurse’s station. The woman who had been caring for him was typing something in on the computer when he extended the card to her. After quickly reading it she smiled a bit for the first time that evening and Kasparov knew he had done what he intended. As he headed toward his room the nurse called out to him.
“Agent Lofgren is waiting for you in your room sir.” She called.
“Thank you ma’am.” He replied warmly as he made his way back.
The room was empty when Kasparov walked in and carefully took off his jacket. He looked around for signs of Lofgren, who was said to have arrived. He noticed the bathroom in his room appeared to be occupied and decided that his partner was using the facilities.
“Did the guy get away?” Kasparov called out, hoping that Lofgren could hear through the heavy wooden door. “Or did we get to arrest the bastard?”
After a moment Lofgren still hadn’t replied and Kasparov wrote it off. He had just begun to settle back in to his cot when he heard the commode flushing and Lofgren washing his hands. He was piqued to find out what had happened after he was shot. Something still felt wrong and he couldn’t figure out what. Maybe Lofgren could fill him in on what he didn’t remember and it would come to him. The door to the bathroom opened and Kasparov looked up to find a tall blonde man he had never seen before. He watched carefully as the stranger moved to close the door to his room.
Who are you? Where is Lofgren?” Kasparov asked forcefully.
“Your little friend isn’t here. I told the nurse I was Lofgren to get in to your room without suspicion.” The man replied. His voice was both cold and poignant. “I just want to have a little conversation with you Mr. Kasparov.”
Kasparov wasn’t sure who stood before him, but he knew he couldn’t trust him. This person knew who he and Lofgren were. He must have been working with the cult that had been murdering people. He wondered if the tall stranger had been involved in Bambi’s death. He would need to be very calm and careful if this was going to go well. He was in no shape to fight and would likely die if he was forced to do so.
“What do you want to talk to me for?” Kasparov asked carefully. He could tell there was something obscenely wrong with this man. The way he moved seemed oddly familiar, and this only furthered his discomfort.
“Your current case is getting in our way. With you and your little friend poking around, we can’t get anything done. Now I don’t expect you to just go back to the office and say nothing ever happened. We are willing to give you one of ours to close the case.” The stranger explained.
“If you’re willing to sacrifice one of your own then why not just do what you did all the other times you’ve done whatever it is you freaks are doing?” Kasparov wanted to know why they wouldn’t just leave like before. What was different here?
“Listen, Scott was it?” The stranger asked as he sat on the end of Kasparov’s bed. ”Well, Scott, we simply don’t have the funds for all of that. An operation like ours takes time and money. We have neither at the moment, all thanks to your little friend’s workings in Tampa.”
“So why not just give up? You can’t keep this up forever, he will catch you even if I let you go.” Kasparov felt like there was more to this than the guy was telling him.
“Oh, Scott, you simple creature.” The man laughed. “He isn’t going to be a problem anymore. That is the other half of our bargain. I said we have a pawn to confess. But I need one of yours. I want Erik Lofgren.”
“What do you intend to do with him once you have him then?” Kasparov was trying to remain calm.
“Kill him.” The strange man stated bluntly. “He has been a thorn in our side for months. My boss would be pleased to have his head mounted I think.”
“I am afraid I can’t let you do that. Mr.-” Kasparov started.
“Mr. Kliseman. And you may find you have no other option in the matter. I can be very persuasive.” Kliseman replied as he pulled a strange knife from his belt.
“What are you going to do t
o me if I say no? Kill me?” Kasparov was getting frustrated.
“That is exactly what I will do.” Kliseman said with a sick smile. “What I haven’t told you is that I am here to do just that. I had hoped we could instead come to an agreement. I want to keep doing as we were without having to fight the entirety of Landsford P.D. So far they haven’t taken any interest in us aside from lending you to Agent Lofgren to assist in his investigation. If I kill you now, I think they will have to investigate which would prove to be a great inconvenience.”
“It’s not going to happen.” Kasparov spat at Kliseman. “You are just going to have to kill me. I am not going to trade my life for someone else’s. Hell, I welcome your invitation. I have full faith that Lofgren can take you down.”
“That’s too bad.” Kliseman said before taking a lunge at Kasparov who rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being gored by the weapon Kliseman held in his hand. The hospital bed was small and he tumbled off the side landing hard on his wounded side. The pain screamed through him as he moved to stand. His IVs had been ripped out when he fell and the holder had fallen with him. The bags had burst on impact making the floor beneath him slippery.
Kliseman walked up and stomped Kasparov back down. He continued this for a few moments before it became apparent that he wasn’t going to be able to get up that way. Kasparov wasn’t willing to give up. He was in pain and his vision was fading in and out as he fought an oncoming blackout. He reached out and grabbed Kliseman’s ankle and pulled as hard as he could. If not for the fluids on the floor it wouldn’t have worked.
Kliseman fell back, giving Kasparov just enough time to push himself to all fours and maneuver on top of his assailant. Now he was in control. Kasparov landed several well placed punches to the man’s face before grabbing the IV tubes and pulling them around Kliseman’s neck.
He knew if he was going to survive in his condition he had to make sure his attacker didn’t survive the fight. For a moment it looked as though it would happen until Kliseman, in an attempt to free himself, plunged his fingers in to Kasparov’s gunshot wound and pulled at the side.
Immediately Kliseman was free and pulled himself up. He grabbed his neck and caught his breath as he watched his victim squirm in a growing pool of his own blood. The pain that ripped through Kasparov was unbearable. It was the kind of pain that makes your vision blur and your breath catch in your throat. He needed to finish this fast if he had any hope of living through the next few minutes.
“You could have walked away from all of this!” Kliseman yelled as he kicked Kasparov. “None of this had to happen if you had just given up that prick of a partner you have.”
Kasparov wanted to say something but he couldn’t muster it. He was pulling himself up slowly, but it was taking all of his strength. He felt above his head desperately for anything to hoist himself up by. His hand landed on a drawer handle and he heaved his way up before the drawer gave way spilling its contents on to the ground as he fell back to the floor.
Supplies scattered across the linoleum. Glass vials shattered allowing the liquid inside to mix with the blood that had begun to pool. Kasparov looked around for anything to help him out of his situation. At last, he found his break. A syringe had fallen along with a vial containing a sedative. If he could use it to subdue the man who had attacked him he could get to the nurse call button and be saved. He clamored with the syringe and managed to draw the sedative into the tube.
“What are you going to do?” Kliseman laughed as Kasparov rolled on to his back. “Shoot some pain meds and keep trying. You really are a fighter aren’t you?”
Kasparov scooted closer to Kliseman trying to get within stabbing range to administer the sedative. He was running out of time and every moment was agony. It had to be now.
“I think you’ve had enough Scott.” Kliseman said as he kneeled down and grabbed Kasparov by his hair. He took the syringe from Kasparov before it could be used against him and threw it across the room then reached for a scalpel that had fallen and placed it on Kasparov’s throat. “Goodnight Scott. I’m sure that you can’t wait to see your little whore again.”
VIII.
Lofgren turned Jared’s phone on and sat at the bar for a moment. He wanted to get as much information from it as he could. As he searched the device it was clear the call log had been cleared, so had the messages and the contacts. The phone had proved useless and he abandoned it in a trash can near the end of the bar as he walked toward the door. There was nothing more to be done at the club and he resolved to make his way to the hospital.
Randall had given Lofgren Kasparov’s spare keys. He needed to get to the hospital to see his partner and come up with a new approach. Now that Jared was dead, he had no lead and was once again lost in the dark. It wasn’t the first time he had found himself without a direction to go in and somehow he knew that he was closer than he had ever been to finding the truth. It was just a matter of looking in the right direction.
Kasparov’s car was parked close to the bar and bits of rust left a stain on Lofgren’s pale fingers as he opened the door. It was a wonder the car still operated, much less passed inspections every year. Driving the car proved to be a grueling experience. Its brakes were not as responsive as they should be and it seemed to rattle much more than he had noticed before. Turning the wheel was a task of fortitude and strength. It was apparent that if the vehicle had any power steering fluid to begin with it had all leaked out. Nicotine residue had built up on many of the surfaces and created a fog over the windshield that caused visibility issues on an already hazy night.
As Lofgren made his way to the hospital he considered the investigation. He was no closer to solving the case than before, and now his top suspect was dead and his partner wounded. Perhaps he had made the wrong step coming after Jared so soon. Had he been more cunning, he would have gained Jared’s trust and apprehended him quietly and privately. Then Kasparov wouldn’t have gotten hurt, although it was unlikely his partner would have accepted waiting to bring in Jared. Not after what happened to Ms. Hodge.
Despite his frustrations about losing his suspect, Lofgren was not ready to give up. He remembered the letter that had brought him to this place and it reminded him that someone wanted him to find their organization. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he thought one of them may be on his side rather than theirs. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter, he was here and he was going to find them.
Lofgren was pulled from his thoughts when the vehicle failed to stop at a red light even as he was slamming on the brakes. The car was halfway in to the intersection before he slowed down and by that point his only choice was to speed through. Luckily the streets were quiet and no one was around that met any real danger. Lofgren recognized to skill required to drive a vehicle in such bad shape, and more importantly the terrible judgement to do so.
Exhaustion had been building from the last few days and it threatened to overtake him. He approached a coffee shop, and felt that he had no choice but to stop and get some. Kasparov would likely need something to boost his energy after all he had been through and hospital coffee is not known for its wonderful flavor. This thought justified the detour to Lofgren and he pulled the car in to the parking lot and carefully stopped in a spot. As he got out of the car, the familiar sound of a new message resonated from inside his jacket.
It was from his ex-wife, Yvonne, and she needed to talk. He wondered what she could possibly want with him now. He had avoided calling her when she messaged him last but perhaps it was time to break the silence. He resolved to call her once he had his coffee. He entered the little shop and was immediately welcomed by the staff. It was warmer inside than he expected and the smell of coffee ensnared him.
Lofgren ordered his coffee and took a seat at one of the tables nearest the wall. He rested, holding the warm paper cup in his hands. Until now he hadn’t considered how cold it had been in Kasparov’s car. The coffee burned his tongue on the first sip, reminding him to drink slowly. H
e let the nearly black liquid cool as he pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open.
As he began to dial his ex-wife’s phone number her picture flashed on the screen and a loud rhythmic sound erupted from the device. He didn’t need to call her after all, she had seen to that personally. He spoke quietly in to the phone. “Hello, Yvonne.”
“Finally I hear from you. Where are you? I went around to your house but you weren’t there. We need to talk.” Yvonne was upset although Lofgren had no idea why.
“I’m on the west coast dealing with an investigation. What do you need?” He questioned.
“Your daughter got in a fight with another kid in day care.” Yvonne replied, her voice edged with frustration.
“What does that have to do with me? They are just children; neither could really be all that hurt.” Lofgren asked bluntly.
“They are both fine, the other kid got a bloody nose but that isn’t the point. Do you want to hazard a guess as to why she was in a fight?” She spat angily.
“I don’t have the slightest idea. Perhaps the boy was simply bothering her.” He answered.
“No, there was a reason. She told me the boy was making fun of her for being your child. It was the Claremont’s boy. Whatever you said to those people must have bothered them because their son said some pretty harsh things about you. Sophie told me he called you a freak and a monster. There is a rumor going around that you have tortured people and worse. A girl shouldn’t have to hear things like that about her father.” Yvonne yelled in to the phone. “What’s worse, now they are saying that she hurts people too. What is wrong with you? You can’t have told those people you really did all that shit?”
“Of course I didn’t. You know as well as I do I don’t lie if I can help it. I definitely wouldn’t make up things at a Christmas party I didn’t want to be at just so I don’t get invited back. I recommended a few books to them is all. The boy probably heard then taking about them and assumed they were talking about me.” Lofgren reasoned.
Yearling Investigation Archives (Book 1): Sanguine Page 8
