“You need to talk to talk to your daughter. She doesn’t understand why they think you are some deranged mad man. It’s not like she sees much of you anyway. Who can say if she was fighting because she knew that wasn’t who you were or fighting because she believes her classmate and wants to be like you?” She was clearly frustrated and Lofgren knew nothing he was going to say would make it any better.
“I will try to get by there as soon as this investigation is over. I will probably be home for a day before I’m gone again.” He was ready to get off the phone and would have agreed to almost anything to get Yvonne to quit bothering him.
“Good. Oh and to top it all off your daughter cut her own hair a few days ago. I bet you didn’t listen to the voicemail I left. I need money to fix it” She continued.
“Can’t you cut it? I don’t have a lot right now and I don’t have time to wire it to you.” Lofgren asked.
“Oh, I see. When she needs something you are too busy, or tapped huh?” Yvonne replied hastily.
“What is your problem tonight Yvonne?” Lofgren asked angrily. Yvonne had cut their daughters hair many times and had done fine. She didn’t usually ask for more money unless she needed it, but this seemed a bit frivolous. He was sure she only wanted to fight.
“My problem, really? Ok. You want to know my problem. Sophie!” Yvonne shouted for her daughter before she put the phone on speaker. “You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with while you’ve been gallivanting through the Pacific?”
“You know I don’t gallivant, Yvonne. So Sophie, why did you cut your hair baby girl?” Lofgren asked his daughter.
“I wanted to look like Mommy’s friend. She’s spends a lot of time with her and I thought if I looked like her, she would spend more time with me.” Sophie explained.
“She’s talking about my new assistant Greta. It’s an old Jewish woman with short hair that helps me with my business.” Yvonne explained as Lofgren recalled how long his daughter’s hair had been.
“Sophie, sweetie, do you like your toys and going out to eat and seeing movies?” Lofgren asked the little girl.
“Yes, I especially like the pony toy mommy bought me yesterday.” She replied.
“Well, Mommy would love to spend all day long with you like she used to, but she has to work. If she doesn’t work she can’t afford toys or going out to eat, or anything like that. Do you understand? Mommy works hard because she loves you very much and wants to make sure you’re happy and well cared for.” Lofgren explained
“Ok Daddy. I’m sorry I cut my hair, Mommy.” She said to her parents before running off. Yvonne turned the speaker phone off and once again it was just the two of them.
“Use my credit card. I don’t have cash I can send right now.” Lofgren said dryly.
“I’m sorry I blew up at you. It’s been a rough day. We had five accounts cancel and I’ve had to work late every night trying to get them recovered. I guess Sophie felt ignored. I hope she’s ok.” Yvonne apologized.
“She will be fine. Sophie is overly attached to you, and has been since we brought her home.” Lofgren remembered his daughter’s first days clearly. She was such a sweet girl, and Yvonne was so happy. Part of him wondered if he should have stayed a little longer, the other part didn’t care enough to let it bother him.
“That she was.” Yvonne laughed. “Speaking of overly attached, Zander came by the other day looking for you. He said you guys were having a fight or something and you weren’t answering his calls?”
“Your brother tried to steal one of my favorite knives last time he was at the apartment. I have no intention of inviting him back any time soon. He’s your brother, deal with him.” Lofgren said dismissively.
“Fair enough, but I won’t solve your problems. That’s on you. I’ll take Sophie to get her hair fixed tomorrow. Have fun.” Yvonne replied.
“I am on a case. It’s far from fun. Tell Sophie I will try to see her later this month. Goodnight.” Lofgren ended as flipped his phone closed. The coffee he bought had gone cold during the call and added to his frustrations. Yvonne was nothing more than an inconvenience anymore.
Lofgren ordered two coffees to go and went back to the car. After three failed attempts to start it, the vehicle fired up and he was able to make his way to the hospital. Despite the faulty brakes and the stiff steering, the remainder of the trip proved uneventful as he parked in front of the hospital.
Inside the directory showed a labyrinth of hallways, any one of them could be where his friend was recovering. Lofgren decided he had better check with information so he could get to Kasparov while the coffees were still hot.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m looking for a man who was brought in several hours ago. He was shot. Scott Kasparov?” Lofgren asked the woman at the desk.
“Hmm. I see here he is in recovery room 319. Take the elevator to the third floor and go straight past the nurses’ station. It will be on the left.” The woman replied almost robotically.
“Thank you.” Lofgren finished and he made his way up to find his friend’s room.
The elevator looked to be new and the ride was quick. As he stepped out on to the recovery floor he noticed the noises that filled the hall. Screaming and crying came from many of the rooms where as others were nearly silent. The staff seemed to be overrun with patients, so Lofgren decided to find the room himself. Just as the woman at the information desk had said, it was on the left a short way from the nurses’ station. Inside he could hear Kasparov grunting and what sounded like another man talking to him. Immediately, Lofgren threw the door open to see a man holding a knife to Kasparov’s throat.
The distraction of the opening door provided Kasparov enough time to act against his attacker. He pushed the man’s arm out and gripped the back of the assailant’s head bringing it hard over his own shoulder and on to the ground. Lofgren drew his weapon and moved toward Kasparov and the man who had been threatening him.
For a moment everything was still as both men watched to see what would happen next. The man on the ground wasn’t moving Lofgren checked the man’s pulse to verify he was still alive before placing him in handcuffs. He carefully moved him to the bathroom and laid him on the cold linoleum floor. It didn’t take long for him to realize who the man was and he took special care to ensure he was contained.
Kasparov had recovered his cigarettes and lit one before pulling himself in to the chair next to his bed before pressing the call button to alert the nurse. “So your name is Erik?” Kasparov asked weakly as he waited for assistance.
“Yeah. Erik Lofgren.” Lofgren replied as he placed the coffees next to the sink across from the bed. “What happened here?”
“This guy wanted me to hand you over and close the case.” Kasparov answered. His breathing was labored and it was clear that he had lost a lot of blood. Lofgren worried that it may be the end for him. It would be a shame to go out this way after all he had endured.
“I’m guessing you didn’t?” Lofgren laughed.
“Not a chance.” Kasparov answered as he slipped in to unconsciousness. The cigarette fell from his weak fingers and hissed as it hit the saline that covered the floor.
The nurse who had been tending to Kasparov came in the room with an unamused look on her face. “You aren’t getting another ciga-“
She stopped and called for help before shooing Lofgren out. A dozen people came in and took over moving Kasparov back to his bed, stitching him back up and starting new IV’s. As soon as he was stable she came out of the room enraged.
“Who the hell are you? What did you do to that man? Where is his friend, that agent fella? I’m calling the police.” She questioned Lofgren without allowing him time enough to answer.
“That agent fella was after Detective Kasparov. He fought back. The room was fucked when I came in and saw the man with a knife to my partner’s throat. Apparently my entering the room provided enough of a distraction to give Kasparov the upper hand. My name is Agent Erik Lofgren with the Federa
l Bureau of Investigation.” Lofgren explained while presenting his ID. “The man who claimed to be a federal agent is connected to a crime organization we are currently investigating. Is Detective Kasparov going to be alright?”
“He’s going to be fine. He tore his stitches and the wound was aggravated when his skin tore further. Luckily none of his organs were further damaged. What happened to the fella that was in there?” She answered.
“He’s handcuffed in the bathroom. I’ll be taking him away now that the room is passable again. I will return shortly.” Lofgren replied.
He walked back in to the room and looked at the two cups of coffee that sat on the table. He knew they were cold. It was going to be that kind of day.
IX.
It had been a few days since Kasparov had come to the hospital and he was glad to finally be getting out. Pain still held his body in a vice grip and the medication they gave him barely took the edge off. He had been having terrifying dreams every time he slept. The nurses said it was just a side effect of the medicine and not to worry. Walking was agonizing while sober and Kasparov relied on a cane to get around on his final day at the hospital. Still, he had a lot of work to do and he knew Lofgren, who had been by to see his partner earlier that day to confirm the arrangements for the upcoming interrogation, was patiently waiting for him on the other side of town.
Lofgren had wrapped up things at the precinct and claimed he was moving on to investigate elsewhere and Kasparov had been put on leave to heal after his injury, but he had no intention of stopping. This group had hurt someone irreplaceable to him and then had the audacity to think he would let all that go to save his own skin. Kliseman had been taken to an old factory on the outskirts of town to be questioned off the record. As soon as he could get there Kasparov had every intention of doing whatever it took to get answers from him.
Once he had all of his paperwork a nurse wheeled him out to the curb. Kasparov had tried to convince her that as long as he had the cane he could walk fine but the woman insisted it was hospital policy so he sat like a scolded child until they passed the threshold and he was allowed to stand. He thanked the nurse as he pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The air outside of the hospital was cold and wet; it made Kasparov’s wound ache. He lit the tip of the cigarette and leaned against the building to wait for his taxi to arrive. A black car pulled up with a checkered design and simple block lettering on its door in cheap vinyl that read “Cartenour’s Cabs” and he limped toward it motioning to the driver to roll down the window.
“You here for me?” Kasparov asked the driver.
“I’m here to pick up a Scott. Are you him? Did you call?” The driver asked.
“Yeah! Thanks man. I need to get across town and I’m not supposed to drive yet.” Kasparov told the man as he got in to the cab. It was like any other taxi had been except for the smell. The man had an incense burner in one of his cup holders and it had filled the car with a pungent blend of patchouli and musk. He wondered if it was something religious but the man driving the cab didn’t look the type. It was safe to assume by the drivers eyes and the burns on the tips of his fingers, the driver was covering up the smell of marijuana. “Do you know how to get to the industrial district? I need to go to the old Anderson factory. My company is thinking of buying it and if I miss this appointment we could lose it to the competition. I’ve already been delayed enough”
Kasparov didn’t usually have to lie; being a police officer he could really go anywhere he wanted as long as he was welcome or had a permit. Unfortunately, this time he needed to be discrete. He knew full well that what he was about to do was illegal and losing his job would be the least of his worries. The driver laughed at his lie and made it clear he thought he knew why he was going. Everyone always expected it to be drugs in these places. There was enough of it in the area to warrant the accusatory chuckle and the cabbie was clearly no stranger to the activity. Kasparov tried to pull off an amused smile in an attempt to be nonchalant. It was better that the driver thought he was an addict, he had just come from the hospital and it was convenient. For the rest of the drive he made an intentional effort to scratch his arms and neck, sniffle, and shuffle in the back seat.
As soon as they arrived Kasparov paid the driver and let him know not to wait for him. He limped carefully up to the door and let himself inside. The building was drafty and dark, but small fires had been lit by junkies that resided within its sheltering walls. Needles and syringes littered the ground and blankets had been heaped on to the floor. A few of the inhabitants had noticed he had arrived and seemed to be afraid, while others were so far gone they didn’t even know where they were. Kasparov held up a comforting hand as he turned to look out between a crack in the door.
He watched as the cab driver lit a cigarette and fiddled with the radio. It was clear he was comfortable in the area and had no intention of leaving until he got another call. From behind him Kasparov heard one of the junkies moan. The sound startled him and he turned to see where the noise was coming from. A blonde woman, aged by hard drugs, had a syringe in her arm and was shooting up. She looked so desperate for the high. He watched her as she removed the needle and let the drug take her.
With her blonde hair and blue eyes she could have been Bambi. She was thin and beautiful. Her long legs shone in the dusty warehouse as she danced up to him. He was so close he could feel her breath on his neck. As she reached forward he wanted the moment to last forever. Her touch broke him from the trance he had let himself slip in to and where once stood a beautiful woman, now he saw what the woman really was. Her blonde hair was missing in chinks and her skin was saggy against her hollow cheeks. The smell of urine was overpowering and he stepped away. His wallet fell to the floor and he bent over to get it from her.
Kasparov’s wound throbbed angrily as he moved carelessly to retrieve what the woman had tried to take. He gasped in pain and grunted as he grabbed the wallet and stood up. The blonde had joined a group of addicts who had passed out on a pile of dirty towels. Kasparov looked back through the crack in the door to see the cab had driven off. He carefully stepped back out of the building and started to walk the rest of the way to meet with Lofgren.
It would have been easy to have the driver take Kasparov to the right place, but he wanted to be sure he wasn’t followed. They had captured one of the organizations members and odds are, they would be looking for him. If for no other reason than to silence him before he said too much. The idea of Kliseman slipping through his fingers made Kasparov’s blood boil. He had attacked him in the hospital, tried to get him to turn Lofgren over, and to roll over and just let them get away with what they did to Bambi and the others. The thought made him angrier as he approached the factory Lofgren was waiting at.
The doors were standing open allowing light to filter in illuminating the room. Work stations stood abandoned, covered in dust in the desolation. The floor showed signs of animals and people who had come and gone seeking shelter. If any junkies had been staying here, they were long gone. Kasparov turned on a flashlight that had been left on one of the benches and made his way to the back of the building searching for the elevator. It took several minutes limping around the shop floor before he found it. Once inside he remembered Lofgren’s instruction and used the key he had been given to override the security lock on the top floor. It had been used as the research and development level when the company was still in operation. The elevator was old and it shook when it started it’s ascent as well as when it came to a stop. Kasparov thought about it falling to back to the ground with him still inside making this all for nothing and he laughed. He was nervous about what they were about to do, even if he didn’t want anyone to know it.
The elevator door opened in to the secure level of the building where Lofgren was sitting in a folding chair reading a book waiting for his arrival. He had set up lights all around the room to make it easy to see, but the harsh light hurt Kasparov’s head when it washed over him as he stepped out on to t
he hard tiled floor. The large metal cage that stood in the center of the room held Kliseman who was further bound to a chair. The man looked to be gagged with a bit of cloth and a leather belt. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days and clearly had not been given adequate amounts of water.
“Are you sure you want to do this Scott?” Lofgren asked as he stood and closed his book, carefully placing it on the chair.
“They put me on leave to heal. They told me you wrapped up your investigation and would be following leads elsewhere. So the way I see it, I can go home, forget about all of this and let you get these pricks by yourself, or I can step up and hurt this bastard in such a way that he has no choice but to tell us how to take out every single person that is a part their little cult.” Kasparov replied.
“If this gets out, you could go to prison.” Lofgren reminded him. His face was stern but it was hard to tell if he was showing concern or just stating a fact.
“I know what will happen. I am willing to go down for good to get the guys that got my Bambi. Besides, you’re here too aren’t you? You can get just as much shit for this as I can.” Kasparov countered.
“I could at that. I guess we will have to make sure we get enough information to make prison or worse worth it.” Lofgren smiled at Kliseman with a twisted look on his face. He tossed a pair of gloves to his partner. It was apparent that he was fairly comfortable with what they were about to do to the man who they had detained. Kasparov was ready to get started, but he feared he would go too far and kill Kliseman. He watched as Lofgren entered the cell. They had decided to go one at a time to avoid any chance at escape. Even if the man broke free and dispatched the person questioning him, the other would be safely on the outside of the cage ready to shoot.
Lofgren took a seat in front of Kliseman and pulled out a nail file. He began cleaning his nails and looked at the man tied to the chair. “So, Mr. Kliseman, was it? I’m going to ask you a few questions and you are going to answer them and then we will let you go as soon as we have concluded our investigation.” Lofgren instructed as he removed the cloth from his captives mouth.
Yearling Investigation Archives (Book 1): Sanguine Page 9
