Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  Sharp maintained a forward lean in his chair. “In Paucis … is that Italian?”

  “Not quite, it’s Latin and translates as The Few, but we were advised they go by something else these days. The individual who spoke with us is well versed in these kinds of matters, and he was obstinate in his belief that the people who belong to this group still exist. He also presumed they would be highly active in occultic style murder.”

  Sharp kept a cynical gaze as he processed what he’d just heard. “And where are they now?” he asked. “Allegedly.”

  “That is what we’re hoping to discover, Rick. This Cross woman we’re searching for is supposed to have a relative who associated with the group several years ago.”

  Agent Pearce touched her partner on the forearm. “Can I ask who it was that passed on this intel to you?”

  “Sure, you can,” Addison quipped. “But we won’t be divulging a name.”

  Sharp looked bemused. “And why is that, exactly?”

  “Because we gave our word that they would remain anonymous. I don’t know about you guys, but we in the LAPD try awfully hard to ensure our snitches continue breathing.”

  Sharp and Pearce communicated silently with their eyes.

  “Is this informant someone you use regularly?” Pearce asked.

  “Nope, it was the first and final occasion that we’ll speak with them.”

  Sharp looked confused. “Yet you’re prepared to accept their information as though it’s coming from a seasoned stool pigeon. How the hell does that work?”

  Jed chuckled under his breath. The kid knew what was about to come as Addison set about explaining what they uncovered in Harry Bath’s grimy living room. The agents listened while he recounted the details, and by the time he finished, Sharp was fidgeting like a caged monkey while Pearce’s mouth had fallen agape. Addison didn’t think it was necessary to elaborate further, so he sat back and waited as they connected the dots. Neither of them appeared to be massaging their egos, and he entertained the possibility they might turn out to be okay.

  “Has anybody followed up with their family or friends?” Pearce asked.

  “They were wards of the state from a young age. In and out of juvie their entire lives. The details are a bit sketchy; however, it doesn’t appear there is anyone to speak with.”

  Sharp looked over at Collins. “Can I inquire as to what your thoughts are on this?”

  The lieutenant’s office had suddenly become a very contemplative space.

  “When Mowbray and Perkins first suggested to me that the homicides contained satanic undertones, I certainly wasn’t thrilled by the notion. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage the public to start embarking on neighborhood witch hunts. Much like you, it seems. I felt the brand might be intended to create a diversion.

  “The captain instructed me to focus a large portion of our resources into finding out where the asshole might be acquiring the ketamine from, and the purity of the chemical made it a valid command. But after hearing about what these two have managed to unearth, my opinion on the matter has changed. I will be assisting them however I can with the line of inquiry they’re currently on.”

  “Who’s the medical examiner?” Sharp asked, turning to Addison.

  “Lilly Coniglio, who is probably best on staff,” he answered, listening on uncomfortably as Jed snickered quietly beside him.

  “We’ll need to contact her and arrange for the victim reports to be sent over to our offices. Do you have a direct number? We can go through the regular channels if required, but I’d prefer not to waste any time where we don’t need to.”

  “Sure thing,” Addison replied, resisting an urge to shoot a frown in Jed’s direction as the agents connected with their eyes again.

  “Do you mind if we step outside for a moment?” Sharp asked.

  Collins raised two open hands. “Not at all. Take as much time as you need.”

  “Much appreciated, Lieutenant. I don’t imagine we’ll be long.”

  When the two agents had left the room, Jed exhaled. “Looks like we’re about to become a joint task force, Ad.”

  The boss’s glare sent hot ice in the kid’s direction.

  “A task force you’re damn well lucky to be a part of, Perkins. If you had come lumbering through my door ten seconds later than you did, the only thing your ass would be doing is answering those fucking phones.”

  Addison enjoyed watching his partner squirm. “Yeah, I’m sorry. There was a seriously bad fender-bender on the main artery, and it took me half an hour to get past the freakin’ pile up,” he answered genuinely.

  “So, what do you think, Mowbray?” Collins inquired.

  Addison knew he was referring to the FBI coming on board. “About what?”

  “About them out there? What the fuck do you think I’d be referring to?”

  “Well, I imagine you’re in a much cheerier place right now.”

  Collins laughed in disbelief. “Damned right I am. But more importantly, the captain will be overjoyed. Because now we won’t be the only target when the press fires off with their loaded questions.”

  Addison pressed back into his chair. “I guess it all depends on the way they do business and how it translates to our division. But I certainly don’t want to be demoted onto the Bureau’s mop-up squad.”

  A gentle knock ended the discussion before the agents stepped back inside the room. Sharp closed the door behind his partner as they returned to their chairs.

  “Let me say, we appreciate you all sharing this hard-earned intel with us,” Sharp declared. “We would like to provide our assistance in tracking down this Cross woman you’ve been attempting to locate, and we can also help with the search for the chemicals. There is no reason whatsoever to change anything you’re presently doing. All I ask is that you share any findings with us, and we’ll commit to doing the same in return.”

  The formation of a joint task force wasn’t unexpected. Whether the investigation continued moving forward in a balanced manner was anybody’s guess, but Addison sure wouldn’t be holding his breath. For the sake of appearances, he nodded.

  “Sure thing.”

  Agent Sharp seemed genuinely pleased. “Excellent. Is there anything else you think we need to know?”

  Addison shook his head. “Nope, that’s everything we have. Hopefully, things might change soon if we get lucky with the woman. I have a question of my own, though.”

  Agent Sharp extended an open palm. “Shoot.”

  “In the likely situation that another body turns up in those hills, are my partner and I still going to be working the scene?” he asked, staring Sharp dead in the eye.

  “I guarantee you both will. We’ve got a much better chance of apprehending this sick asshole by working together on this. It’s a definite yes as far as that goes. The only real difference is you’ll be sharing your info with me, and vice versa. I think a good place for us to start is by helping you locate Sarah Cross, do you agree?”

  Addison did agree; finding her was paramount. “Yeah, I certainly do.”

  “Great,” Sharp concurred, placing his card down on top of the lieutenant’s desk. “We’re going to need to get a copy of everything you have.”

  Collins nodded. “Consider it done.”

  A stiff kind of unity filtered into the room as Addison considered whether the Feds’ additional resources might provide the boost this investigation was crying out for. There were no assurances the group was responsible for the hills’ victims but finding them was the best lead they presently had. If the cards happened to start falling their way in a couple of important areas, then some severe heat might be about to come down on the perpetrator.

  Thirty-Four

  Many people were wandering around inside the farmers market, making it easier for Edward to follow the young lady who grabbed his attention in the parking lot outside. He kept pace with her from twenty yards while she drifted down the aisles, pausing here and there at various food vendors alo
ng the way.

  She seemed a perfect replica of Linda, and Edward considered whether his dead girlfriend had somehow found her way back into natural life. He observed her floral beach dress as it wrapped her thighs, barely containing the twisted desire that threatened to expose his genuine nature before a crowd of strangers. Her blond hair, golden complexion, and athletic body were a seamless match. Edward found himself dreaming about her bruised nakedness as his erection turned to stone. She was the precursor he’d been waiting for—the verification that his blood offerings were well received in the underworld.

  When Edward went hunting for the first three women, he’d spent hours just searching for an appropriate target. But this morning, he nearly drove over the top of Linda’s lookalike while turning off Third Street. She even flashed a cheery smile of appreciation after he waved her past, utterly oblivious to the fate she’d wandered into. He’d been feeling exceptionally randy of late, probably because there was nothing sexual in the way he dominated the other women. It was already a dangerous strategy to be drawing the authorities to their corpses when he finished bleeding them out, and he couldn’t risk leaving any DNA inside the bodies.

  The erotic burn he experienced while synchronizing their misery was eventually released in other ways. However, the pulse inside Edward’s pants was unpleasantly boiling his blood. He felt like a tormented eunuch with ten young virgins sliding all over him, entirely incapable of obtaining a release. Edward would relish slurping upon her various fluids and punishing her body to the point of compliance, whittling her into an obedient little doll to entertain him on those peculiar days when he couldn’t be bothered finding someone to kill.

  Everything appeared to be coming along nicely. The only real impediment he needed to be mindful of was the Old Man and the conceited assholes within Filii Reprobi. Each girl had eventually found their way to him without too much bother. He spotted Emma Paul coming out of a YHA in West Hollywood before seizing her as she strolled back from a house party. Then he tailed Katherine Schneider home from a gastropub in Culver City, surprising her inside Griffith Park—of all locations—the following day. It had taken him a little longer to get his hands on Jennifer Hill after sighting her at a yoga center, and now he was within touching distance of capturing the best prize of them all.

  Edward was meticulous during the abductions to ensure the victims remained in pristine condition. His strength would have been more than sufficient when it came time to snatch them, but the chloroform removed their ability to resist. He understood how everyone had a line-in-the-sand moment where fear surrendered its control and self-preservation took over. Subduing a person was quite gripping when undertaken from an unlosable position, watching them claw their way toward an illusion with a mouthful of sand. However, physical battles usually caused an injury, and he required each of the girls to be well preserved until their end.

  He decided to drive out to the farmers market this morning after receiving a vivid picture of Linda during the night. They’d been walking together at this location, just as they’d done on numerous occasions in the past. Edward believed in unpacking his dreams. There was often prophetic guidance concealed among the imagery. Sleep occurred within a cryptic dimension where he frequently resolved unsettled issues. But most people just ignored their visions, and in doing so, they forfeited treasure without ever knowing it.

  It was somewhat poetic to have found such a perfect replacement here. Linda had been fond of this place, singing, “Come meet me at Third and Fairfax,” whenever she wanted to spend a night at home mastering a recipe. Edward recalled how he fantasized about hurting children in the restroom while Linda went searching for ingredients. It was weird how he could appreciate the attraction of the market now that she was gone. There were probably leftover fragments of his sweetheart waiting to be unearthed within the walls of these stores—familiar traces and smells. Still, sentimentality was of little concern right now because there was an accurate replica of his dead girlfriend only fifteen yards from where he was standing—an almost mirror image with a face like an angel and a body made in hell.

  Edward stopped near a pie shop entrance while the doppelganger went into a store to buy fresh produce. She studied a pineapple and took a backward step to allow room for a mother with two children to pass by. After choosing a banana, his angel breezed down to the cashier, where she handed over her money with a perfect hand. Edward’s arousal escalated as she rested the fruit on her thigh to apply balm onto her bow-shaped lips, waiting till she exited before positioning himself behind a group of tourists to resume his tail.

  When the lookalike increased her speed, Edward slipped out from behind the travelers to keep pace. He saw that she was making an impression on several men as she moved toward the exit, and he advanced cautiously like a shifting mass of fluid while he shadowed her out the door. Edward slipped a phone from his coat pocket, pulling down the brim of his cap and scanning the area with a careful sweep of his eyes. Warm summer air hit his face, and he eased into a more casual stride.

  A blaring car horn merged with the shriek of a crying baby to replace the buzz of activity from inside. Edward watched the girl approach a blue Toyota hatchback, pausing as she opened the driver’s door and placed her bags on the passenger seat. The instant she entered the car, he made his move—closing space while talking loudly into his phone, timing the moment where he slammed his case against the taillight. Edward bent down to retrieve his props, and when he straightened, she was standing nearby with hands-on-hips, shaking her head like some goddess of confusion.

  “Damnit, I am such a dumbass,” he said sheepishly with stooped shoulders. “I was so darn busy talking on the phone and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

  A look of reprieve flashed over her face at the realization he wasn’t seeking injury compensation like many low-classed scammers in the city. It was entertaining to watch.

  “What happened?” she snapped.

  Her moist lips caused his cock to catch fire again as he pointed his finger at the cracked paint and busted plastic, struggling for control.

  “My case has collided with your vehicle, I’m afraid,” he replied uncertainly, studying the slender curve of her ass when she bent over to inspect the damage to her car. He imagined biting into her flesh before she turned back to face him with a frown.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” she asked with exasperation.

  Edward crouched down to open his briefcase. He could smell a caramel fragrance coming from her legs and very nearly lost his mind.

  “My name is Gary Klein; I live in Santa Monica, and seeing as this is not your fault, I’d like to pay for the repairs.” His tone was legit as he removed a bogus license and extended it toward her. She studied the ID with a crinkled brow while looking at his face.

  Edward raised his hands in trustworthy surrender. “Why don’t you just take down my particulars, then when you get a quote for the cost to have this damage repaired, I’ll send you a check. What’s your name?”

  He watched her expression soften.

  “I’m Paige,” she replied. “Paige Harding.”

  Thirty-Five

  Addison was surprised when Coniglio called to suggest they meet up for a coffee to discuss the Bureau’s participation in the case. Typically, when they were together, a crime scene was to be worked, or some cause of death needed to be determined. Her invitation was likely all business, but it still left him feeling excited.

  After taking a shower, he slipped on a pair of Wrangler jeans with a red check shirt and headed out the door. The Sunday traffic leading onto Glendale Freeway was light, and he used the fifteen-minute drive getting his thoughts into uniformed alignment. He checked the time while continuing down into Echo Park, taking a left into a side street of stucco apartments and faded bungalows. Addison quickly found a parking space before checking his appearance and making his way back up to Sunset Boulevard.

  Some asshole almost knocked him over as he came bustli
ng up the sidewalk at a three-quarter pace. The young runner had a one-dimensional glare and appeared insensible of anyone who happened to be walking nearby. There was a menacing resolve to his gait. A real “stay the fuck out of my way” aura, which seemed to be the rage with many running enthusiasts these days. Headphones pumped music into his ears while his feet slapped against the ground in a monotonous rhythmical beat.

  The “me first” attitude of contemporary America pissed off Addison. But he refocused on the lovely weather and how he wasn’t expected at his desk until the following day. Distant buildings appeared to have been rendered impressionistic by some unknown artist in the sky. There was always a touch of randomness to grab hold of a person’s attention in this city. Los Angeles was like a vast lucky dip of people, places, and things, offering everything from the good to the downright horrible.

  When Addison spotted Woodcat Coffee Bar up ahead, he continued in an unhurried stroll to make his way inside. Coniglio was seated at a table halfway down the room, staring curiously at her phone. She was an advertisement for vitality in a white summer dress that accentuated her soft olive complexion. Her brown hair fell loosely past her shoulders, and there was more makeup on her face than she wore on the job.

  Addison realized he was feeling unsure of himself and thought back to what Jed said while standing inside the parking station a few days earlier. There were approximately twenty people scattered throughout the room, all of them seemingly oblivious to his presence. The modern rustic interior was too trendy for his taste, although the aroma of fresh coffee beans was undoubtedly enticing.

  Coniglio flashed a smile when he approached the table. Her brown eyes appeared deeply mysterious among the shifting shadows inside the room. Addison found himself briefly entranced by the liberty of her gaze, nodding while he lowered himself into a chair before a blond-haired waiter with sleeve tattoos floated up like gun smoke.