by B Branin
* * * * *
“I knew you didn’t have it in you!”
“Shut up Buggy!” I snapped as I balanced the phone in one hand and my hipflask in the other, “Things…things changed. New plan.”
“What? Did she pout? Batter her eyelashes? Or was she wearing something naughty so now you wanna be her knight in shining armor?”
“First of all, I am never the knight in shining armor.” I informed the haphazard hacker through gritted teeth, “Secondly, you’re on speaker phone.”
After getting over my initial shakes from the realization that I had actually danced with a dead woman, I retracted my resignation as Fiona’s Paranormal Investigator for obvious reasons. Things like this didn’t just go away. These questions needed answers and those answers could be the difference between life and death...or perhaps even un-death. So now Fiona and I were bouncing up and down in the back of some taxi as we made for the Dock District with all haste.
“Shit.” The hacker groaned just loud enough to be heard.
“Hello…Buggy is it?” Fiona spoke up, her tone a few degrees south of neutral, “I don’t use my body as a bargaining chip. Keep that in mind!”
“To be fair, I wasn’t considering it a bargaining chip,” Buggy replied sheepishly after a nervous cough, “More of a payment method-”
“Moving along!” I snapped into the phone, wishing Buggy was here in the flesh so I could punch him, “I need you to get a hold of the Twins and have them meet me at a club called Hell Scratch.”
“You sure that’s a smart move?” The haphazard hacker asked, “That’s really close to where they found the body of that girl you supposedly mur-”
“Speaker phone!” I hissed, ignoring Fiona’s curious glance.
“Okay, okay! But waking up the Twins this early is gonna piss them off!”
“Tell them I need help crackin’ open some skulls.”
“And?”
“Dammit...tell them they can open a tab in my name at the Booze Bin. But for one night only!”
“Okay, I’ll give ‘em a ring.” Buggy chuckled, “While I’m playing secretary, anything I should tell your favorite Russian mobster?”
“Yeah, see if you can’t find a card that says ‘thanks for taking the fall’ for the poor sucker he sent up river.” I grumbled, “Then tell Zotkin that I’m moving in on a lead.”
“Gotcha.”
There was a soft series of clicks as Buggy cut the call.
“Tell me again why we are going to this club?” Fiona asked, practically radiating anxiety despite doing her best to appear calm, “And what did you mean by you met my sister?!”
I appreciated my client’s attempt at remaining calm but I could tell it was all an act. The first sign that Fiona was extremely nervous was in her eyes, those damn beautiful works of green betraying her feelings. They were too focused, too intense to belong to someone who was truly composed. Her second tell was the fact she kept brushing a strand of hair behind her ear though it hadn’t fallen out of place once.
Had I not been attacked by a trash monster the night before, I would have simply assumed that I had danced with someone who looked shockingly similar to Faye. But with my definition of impossible being forever altered, I decided to stop trying to convince myself otherwise and just accept the fact that I was neck deep in some seriously bizarre bullshit.
“When you told me the Daughters of All might have something to do with your sister’s death, I followed up on a lead a friend had given me.” I explained, looking out the window to watch blissfully ignorant people carry out business that didn’t involve evil cults or resurrected relatives, “Several parents were concerned that their daughters were sneaking into a club called Hell Scratch, claiming it was a meeting place for the Daughters of All. That’s where I began my investigation.”
Fiona dropped the frosty act and leaned forward, hanging on my every word. It was completely understandable why my client was so anxious. If I had truly met her sister that night, it not only proved that Fiona wasn’t crazy but also that Faye was still alive somewhere.
“Inside the club a woman literally latched onto me as I tried to cross the dance floor.” I continued, holding up my scabbed wrists where Faye’s fake nails had dug into my skin, “Her eyes were dilated from drug use and she was caked in makeup but I can say without a shadow of a doubt it was your sister.”
I didn’t mention that it was more than likely Faye had planted her own bloody fingernails at a crime scene in hopes of framing me for murder. I figured it would be best to distribute just enough information to keep my client happy.
Though chewing on her bottom lip nervously, Fiona put on a brave face. I couldn’t imagine what volatile emotions were bubbling inside her. Fear? Relief? Confusion? Undoubtedly these were the main ingredients making up the emotional cocktail swirling inside her right now. I was just glad she hadn’t burst into tears or anything. I was good at seducing women, not comforting them.
“I saw them bury her. It was an open casket funeral.” Fiona murmured, “How is this possible? I wanted proof that she was still alive but now…now I’m frightened.”
“I don’t have the answers but we’ll find someone who does.” I vowed, reaching over and patting her hand, “I can be very persuasive at times. Trust me, they’ll tell us everything.”
“Have you ever done anything like this before?” She asked, her emerald eyes brimming with uncertainty, “During other investigations?”
Though keeping my false identity as a Paranormal Investigator wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, I found that it’s never good to switch personas mid-con. Besides there was no point in upsetting Fiona further by telling her I wasn’t who I claimed to be. After all, it was better to keep the lie alive and the complications to a minimum.
“Nothing this…um…drastic.” I replied, pausing to clear my throat as I formulated another lie, “I am mostly hired to disprove stuff. Like haunted houses or alien abduction claims and stuff like that.”
“I suppose that’s a relief.” Fiona mused, almost to herself, “I’d be terrified if this kind of thing happens a lot.”
“You and me both,” I agreed before taking another sip from my hipflask.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, both of us having plenty of thoughts to sort through. I kept one hand in my pocket, running a finger along the handle of my switchblade. To say I was on edge would have been the understatement of a lifetime; after the encounter with the trash-thing, I was terrified to discover what else the cult might have laying in wait for me!
The parking lot belonging to Hell Scratch was completely empty but that wasn’t any big surprise. Hell, most of the Dock District was empty at this hour. With ships rolling in about dusk, the shucking houses, warehouses and all other enterprises had no choice but to wait until nightfall before opening their doors. The residence of the docks usually kept the same hours their workplaces did, sleeping the day away until punching in for a graveyard shift.
There was a surreal feel about the club’s emptiness, which pressed down upon me the moment I exited the taxi. The stillness of Hell Scratch brought to mind a steel trap, waiting to be set off with a single misstep. Once again my paranoia began screaming at me to get the hell out of this parking lot and maybe even the city. If Fiona hadn’t been standing right next to me, I might have bolted… but for her sake (as well as my reputation) I put on a stoic face.
I could have wept with joy as the cavalry arrived.
The Twins pulled into the parking lot, Kurt on his bike and West behind the wheel of the Road Killer. Even at a distance I could tell that they were irritated. West’s usual smile seemed forced and while Kurt’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of shades, I was positive his ice-blue eyes were glaring daggers.
“This had better be worth it, Broker.” Kurt growled like a rabid dog, “You’re scraping the bottom of the favors’ barrel.”
“Last time I got up at noon,” West grumbled, “It was for mandatory yard work
in prison.”
“Hey, I’m good for it!” I replied defensively, “You guys get to open a tab in my name and even get to bust some heads!”
Apparently my bribes weren’t nearly steep enough to warrant the ungodly chore of waking up before noon. West grunted like an animal and Kurt folded his tattooed arms across his chest. The animosity was oppressive in its intensity. Surprisingly, that’s when my client came to my rescue.
“I’d personally like to thank you two for coming,” Fiona added, turning the charm on full blast, “In truth, I actually suggested calling you two. I feel so much safer with you gentlemen around then I would with just Mr. Broker being here.”
Though it was a poor lie, I must admit that when it came to manipulation, Fiona might be even be my superior. Then again what woman wasn’t a master of manipulation? She locked her big, beautiful eyes on the Twins before offering an overly sheepish smile that seemed to make her already delicate and alluring features even more fragile.
If my heart didn’t have about thirty years of selfishness caking to it, I might have fallen under Fiona’s charms as well. Her enthralling presence made you want to become anything and everything she could ever want. Not even the Twins seemed able to resist her calculated charm.
West’s smile became genuine as he coughed nervously, “It’s nothing, really. We’re happy to help.”
Kurt gave a non-committal grunt but I noticed he didn’t ooze the sense of irritation he had just seconds before.
“Now that our big, fearless protectors are here,” I cut in, clearing my throat to get everyone’s attention, “How about we go see what this crazy cult is really up to?”
With the Twins and Fiona at my back, I strode over to the big door that I had used to enter the club the first time. Of course now the thick metal door was locked and there was no bouncer to bribe with fake drugs. With my colorful background I could have easily picked the shabby lock on the door but I wasn’t in the mood for guile. Answers were long over due and I wanted them now.
So I knocked on the door, nice and loud.
“We go in there, bust some heads and leave?” West asked, stifling a yawn as he did so, “Hardly seems worth the effort.”
That statement sounded so casual coming from the giant that Fiona shivered, momentarily forgetting who the good guys were.
“Not quite. The cult uses this place as a recruitment center for teens but I think that’s only part of their game plan. I suspect they’re smuggling drugs as well.” I explained, getting everyone else up to speed, “So we go inside to sweep the place. Once we get some solid evidence on their narcotic ties, we call in Zotkin and he’ll take matters into his own hands.”
“Who’s Zotkin?” Fiona asked.
“If you’re lucky,” I replied, “You’ll never have to find out.”
The Twins chuckled, leaving Fiona to ponder the inside joke as the door opened.
A lone, bloodshot eye peeked out from the crack between the door and the frame as a nasally voice declared, “We’re closed. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”
“Excuse me sir,” Fiona spoke up with another assault of feminine charm, “We just want a look around, and I think I lost my purse here a few nights ago.”
I gave her an approving nod. Though it was a convincing lie, Fiona didn’t have the same ability to read people like I did. It took me all of a second to realize that this guy was too aggressive to be an employee and he sure as hell wasn’t the club’s owner. Add in the greasy skin and blood shot eyes and it was obvious he was just another junkie and possibly in league with the Daughter of All.
“Then consider it stolen!” The pale doorman hissed before attempting to shut the door.
I placed my hand against the door, stopping him from shutting it.
“Fiona, that was very coy and I am thoroughly impressed.” I gave my client a winning smile, “Top marks for creativity. But this guy doesn’t work here. He’s just some burnout who watches the place, probably being paid in drugs. Aren’t ya pal?”
The doorman’s bloodshot eyes widened and his lips peeled back even further, almost comically so, “Get the fuck outta here!”
Ignoring the doorman, I continued to address Fiona, “Now he is what we call ‘expendable’ on the account that no one gives half a damn about him. There’s a proper procedure when dealing with expendables. West, care to demonstrate?”
I shoved the door open as West stepped into the junkie’s sight. The doorman’s red-rimmed eyes grew wide with panic as he took in the sheer size of the giant. With a savage jab that could have shattered brick, West broke the junkie’s nose. The doorman flew backwards as if he had been hit by a truck, landing flat on his back and letting out a whimper of pain.
Casually Kurt stepped past us and strode over to the fallen doorman. Not wanting to be outdone by his counterpart, the biker raised a booted foot and brought it down hard against the doorman’s groin. Even I felt sorry for the poor bastard at that point. Mercifully the doorman lost consciousness after issuing a high pitched squeal that nearly left my ears ringing.
Stepping around the unconscious (and now possibly impotent) doorman, the rest of us entered the gloomy club. It was the same as I remembered it though the dance floor seemed a lot larger now that it was devoid of all dancers (both living and undetermined). Thinking of Faye, I shuddered. Even the Twins’ presence couldn’t entirely ease the knots of dread in my stomach.
“Hey! Who the hell are you?” Called an angry voice that echoed in the empty club.
We intruders spun around to find the owner of the voice over by the bar, looking just as surprised to see us as we were to see him. Just like the doorman, this guy was pale and looked slippery to the touch. His eyes were equally bloodshot and his left one had a nervous tic. If the lighting had been better, I’m sure we would have been able to see the track marks on his arms.
“We’re the new building inspectors.” I commented blandly, “So if you have any keys to this premise, I suggest handing them over right away.”
The guy licked his lips nervously, weighing his options. His eyes flickered over to his unconscious comrade and his anxiety seemed to triple.
“I-I’ll call the cops.” He threatened meekly.
“Do you even know the average police response time in the Dock District?” I sneered, “Eight minutes. And that’s assuming we let you get to a phone.”
The nervous tic in this guy’s left eye increased its speed so it almost appeared as if he was blinking at us in code. It was probably the result of his burned out mind trying to come up with some sort of response.
“How about you just walk through that fire exit over there?” I spoke in a way that let him know it wasn’t a suggestion, “And save yourself a lot of pain?”
Apparently this junkie was too stupid to take a hint. He glanced at the fire exit located behind the bar and then back to us. It wasn’t until West took a step towards him that the idiot actually took flight, hopping over the counter and scrambling out the door.
“I’m may not be the smartest man in the room.” Kurt spoke, looking down at the doorman, “But who gets junkies to watch over a storehouse of drugs?”
“For real.” West agreed, scratching his head, “This shit is weak, Broker. Beating the tar out of a few tweakers ain’t worth waking up this early.”
The Twins’ logic was sound. No one in their right mind would put such a pathetic security detail on anything important, especially a cache of narcotics. So that either meant that there was nothing in this club worth guarding or…
“I hope you’re packing heat.” I called out, “Because there is only one thing that can scare a junkie away from a big score.”
To answer my question Kurt turned to me and opened up his jacket, revealing a holstered M1911 service pistol. This particular .45 was Kurt’s favorite firearm because he won it in a bare-knuckle boxing match against a soldier who thought “be all you can be” translated into being a dick.
West shook his head but
I hadn’t expected him to be armed. After one witnessed the damage the giant could do with just his fists, it was obvious why he rarely carried a firearm. West’s natural strength and personal preference of melee violence made him incredibly dangerous unarmed…plus he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn unless he was standing five feet from it.
“What keeps an addict away from drugs?” Fiona asked, doing her best to hide the tremor in her voice.
“Fear of death.” West answered, “And that only works half of the time.”
My cowardice was giving me a mile long list of excuses to get the hell out of the club. Once again the cult’s operation wasn’t adding up which left me at a disadvantage. I had hoped to get my hands on some hard evidence to prove that the Daughters of All were drug traffickers but posting junkies as sentries made me doubt they’d keep a stash here…unless the drugs were protected by something even more dangerous than a couple desperate burnouts.
Something like the occult nightmare I had fought in my office.
The thought of squaring off against something as bizarre and dangerous as the trash-thing nearly sent me running for the exit. Through sheer force of will I managed to stand my ground. This needed to be done. I had to see this through. Unlike most of the people I’ve double-crossed or cheated, these fanatics wouldn’t let me slip through their fingers so easily. After the lengths they have gone through to try and end me, I knew that they wouldn’t be satisfied until I was six feet under.
Simply put it was them or me.
“There’s a second floor underneath us.” I informed everyone, “Mostly just storage closets but I think there might also be a studio and lounge area. Good a place as any to snoop.”
“How do we get down there?” Kurt asked, sounding dangerously close to bored.
“The door behind the DJ booth.” I answered as I started jogging towards the elevated platform, “Let’s hurry. I wanna cover as much ground as we can before that junkie gets a hold of his boss.”
Nimble as a cat, Fiona caught up with me and asked, horrified, “Why did we let him go? We could have tied him up! Or…or something!”
She made a quick glance at West which informed me that “or something” meant another KO.
“Simple,” I grinned with more confidence than I felt, “Where better to get answers than from one of the bosses?”
* * * * *
