Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  When Pearce finished speaking, they got to their feet and headed back out of the room. Addison wasn’t necessarily disappointed with the way things had turned out, although he had been hoping that Sarah Parker might provide something a little more solid. A gnawing thought remained lodged at the back of his mind. Was it possible that some underlying evil connected this investigation to the killer? At least they were getting closer to the people involved with In Paucis. Whether it proved to be a winning move or a step toward their demise, only time would tell.

  Thirty-Nine

  It was tranquil inside the UCLA station house where Sean Brody sat at a computer contemplating his next move. He entered Narek Avakian’s name into the Laser program and studied his mugshot on the screen. There was a leaden detachment behind the hateful scowl, a homicidal indifference which suggested he might sell his children without much care.

  Sean could monitor Avakian’s movements from the comfort of his desk as the analytical function inside the Laser program underlined any locations where the scumbag had carried out his illegal activity. Artificial intelligence generated an accurate crime map, making it easier for Sean to cast his net. By using Laser in conjunction with the Chronic Offenders Bulletin, it left Avakian few places to hide. Yet, despite all these innovative upgrades to police surveillance, the system still favored the drug dealers, killers, and pimps who operated throughout the county. These low-life shit-skids understood how to play the game.

  Sean’s thoughts drifted back to the night three years ago when his former partner was executed beside him. He recalled the explosive terror in Janey’s eyes as she attempted to stanch the hissing of blood spraying from the wound on the side of her neck. An unbreakable sense of despair overwhelmed him in the months following her murder. A specter of hopelessness had wrapped its hands around his soul to squeeze any optimism right out of him. Janey Price was just twenty-seven years old when a single gunman ambushed them in a South-Central alley, and she perished inside their cruiser.

  The LAPD wasted no time in proclaiming her a police hero. She was buried inside a star-spangled casket as the bagpipes played “Amazing Grace,” and a three-volleyed gun salute cracked the skies overhead. Janey’s picture went up on the Officer Down Memorial Page, and her name was inscribed on the law enforcement monument in Washington, DC.

  Big fuckin’ deal, right?

  It all happened so quickly after they responded to a call about suspicious activity. The surrounding area had appeared empty when they rolled up to the scene, and neither one of them was prepared for what happened next.

  Janey was speaking to the comms division when the shooter rushed into view. There was hardly time to register a reaction as the scumbag unloaded two clips through the windshield of their patrol car. Sean could only screech in protest while the faceless fuckhead fired the decisive shot into his partner from point-blank range. He remembered watching the killer scamper back down the alley, then his head started swimming, and everything went black. He awoke inside a Los Angeles hospital four weeks later.

  It took seven months for his wounds to heal and another year of rehabilitation before he returned to active duty. Sean attempted to investigate the events surrounding his partner’s murder whenever he managed to have a night off the booze, but all he encountered was a city overflowing with scumbags. Street justice had irrevocably modified his approach to policing, but his desire for the truth remained strong as ever.

  Janey’s case eventually went cold when no fresh leads came in, and the wall of silence had persisted despite a hefty reward. The mayor even offered indemnity on previous crimes to any rat who came forward with information, but it was to no avail. Sean put in for an immediate transfer from Inglewood Station House upon his release from the hospital. The last thing he needed was his coworkers to start consciously looking out for him, or worse still, catch them pausing whenever he entered a room. A few people tried to get him to reconsider, but when Sean maintained his position, they shifted him to UCLA.

  Hatred became a reliable acquaintance as his culpability fueled the loathing inside him. Sean never made it to Janey’s send-off, which only increased his sense of shame. At least he got to attend her memorial service at the Glendale Forest Lawn Cemetery this year. There’d been an excellent turnout to the day, as her family, friends, and colleagues assembled in remembrance of a young woman taken way too soon. Sean kept in contact with Janey’s parents and called each week to check how they were holding up, always making sure there was nothing they needed.

  At first, the notion of bringing vigilante justice to the streets was nothing more than a drunken fantasy to help him sleep at night. However, the origin of those thoughts emanated from his most wounded place, where a paper-thin scar covered the ache. Looking back, perhaps he was disillusioned for longer than he’d known, and his partner’s murder provided the catalyst he required to act out. Vengeance overshadowed his thinking until his renegade justice concept manifested upon lifting a Ruger from a dead junkie on campus.

  About a year had passed since he sent his first piece of human garbage off to an everlasting retirement. There’d been no planning or revision of the subject’s patterns in advance. He merely drove around the county one night waiting for an opening. When he spotted a gangbanger stumbling along the corner of Vermont and West 75th Street, Sean just rolled up casually and shot the asshole in his face. First-degree murder had supplied him with the most awful and curative experience rolled into one. Then as soon as it was over, all he could think about was doing it again.

  Sean believed he was making a statement for every victim in America. The fact it also gave the criminal underworld something new to fear was an added perk. Maybe it was sublime madness, but he thought the bangers looked more agitated whenever he passed them on the streets. That first gang-loving dickhead wasn’t attributed to his hand, most likely because he didn’t leave a plastic badge at the scene. But it was still odd how ballistics failed to connect the slug inside the body to those blasted into his next four.

  He’d become more accomplished at choosing a target, and criminals were habitual by nature, which made tracking them a breeze. So long as he spent time in the planning, it almost guaranteed a favorable result. Remaining patient until all the pieces were aligned and never acting impulsively. One moment of sloppiness was all it would take to unravel things and hand him a life sentence in the process.

  Narek Avakian’s life of mayhem was rapidly nearing its end. The fucking slimeball was an Armenian Power hitman, a violent rapist, and an A-grade deviant to boot. Sean could have finished the bastard the other night when he lit his cigarette but didn’t want to start rolling the dice. There were still benefits from being so close to the degenerate, like experiencing firsthand the deluded sense of invulnerability that blunted his instinct.

  Sean was undecided on whether to shoot him near the apartment he owned in Glendale or out the front of his cousin’s restaurant. Avakian was too busy getting high inside the Abovyan Strip Club most nights to anticipate the bloodshed coming round the bend. Oblivious to the fact there were six bullets with his name on them, and the clock was about to strike midnight.

  Forty

  Addison and Pearce sat across from Tony Anders’s desk while waiting for him to finish a meeting in the hall outside. The preacher’s office was furnished in a simple manner. It contained none of the glitz on show at many of the larger congregations throughout the city. An old tuxedo sofa was positioned near a coffee table on the left side of the room, and a sliding window captured the passing traffic on Pico Boulevard. A plain cross stood atop a bookcase crammed full of Bibles, and the air smelled like a blend of frangipani and cologne.

  “How long have you and Rick been working together?” Addison asked casually.

  Pearce uncrossed her legs and turned to face him. “This August will be two years.”

  “And what made you decide on spending your days chasing bad guys?”

  Pearce chuckled lightheartedly. “I majored in law at Harvar
d and had my heart set on landing a gig at the Attorney General’s Office in New York City. I don’t know why I agreed to the offer for an interview at Quantico, but the Bureau wasn’t even an option until I received my acceptance letter. I got assigned to the behavioral science unit, and when I met Rick, he was working as a top-level analyst at the National Center. We landed on a case together down in New Orleans in 2016. Did you hear much about the John Atticus Lorne murders?”

  Addison knew the investigation well. “The tweaker creep they found in his mom’s basement.”

  Pearce nodded. “Yeah, that’s him all right. Anyway, it was the first occasion I worked with Rick, and then he became the agency’s main man in California and dragged me along for the ride.”

  Addison understood why Sharp would want her as his offsider. “Well, the way you handled Parker inside the interview room today, I’d have to say it was a wise move on Rick’s behalf. I mean, the whole pit bulls were once America’s family dog approach was superb. Still, I don’t imagine he needed to twist your arm.”

  Pearce giggled again. “Nope, no arm-twisting was necessary. I admired the man’s methods and understood how coming to Los Angeles would likely turn out to be the right move for me in the long run. What about you? I can detect the twangs of Texas in your voice.”

  Addison moved in his chair. “You got me there. I’m Texas born and raised.”

  “Dallas?” she guessed.

  It was Addison who snickered now. “Nope. I come from a small town filled with small-town sensibilities,” he said before a double knock suspended their discussion.

  Tony Anders stepped through the door and began making his way across the room, apologizing on the run for keeping them waiting. He settled behind his desk and regarded them both with a genuine curiosity, probably wondering what was coming next. The preacher had broad shoulders, ginger hair, and clear blue eyes. There was a natural warmth to the man’s demeanor, unlike the religious phonies who pilfered money on the television.

  Anders drummed his palms on top of his desk. “Who’s who?” he said.

  Addison introduced himself before waiting as Pearce did the same.

  “It’s not every day you find the LAPD and FBI on your doorstep,” Anders proclaimed. “There have been some strange situations unfold in this room over the years, but this is a first. That said, how might I be of assistance to you this afternoon?”

  Pearce motioned for Addison to lead the way.

  “How do you prefer to be addressed?” Addison asked.

  “People call me Tony most days,” Anders joked. “Though my wife will revert to Anthony whenever I’m in the doghouse.”

  There was no posturing about his manner.

  “I’ll get right down to it, then, Tony. We’re here to find out whether you have ever come across a group who were known as In Paucis at one time or another?”

  Anders appeared genuinely perplexed. “Not that I’m aware. Do you have a reason to think otherwise?”

  Addison studied the preacher closely. “I take it you’ve heard about the three women found in the hills?”

  Anders’s face transformed into a portrayal of empathy. “Even if a person found themselves on the dark side of the moon, they’d still be aware of what’s been going on in the hills,” he lamented.

  Addison acknowledged the statement with a nod. “We’re trying to determine whether people from In Paucis might be connected to those murders in some way,” he explained.

  Anders sat back. “Can I ask who impressed the idea I can help you with this?”

  “Do you know of a woman who goes by the name Sarah Parker?”

  Tony Anders looked upward while apparently racking his memory. “Nope, I can’t say I do,” he answered.

  “What about a Sarah Cross or Sarah Randall?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  “Well, Agent Pearce and her partner brought Ms. Parker in for questioning earlier today after we received information that she has a cousin who is possibly involved with the group. She initially rejected all our assertions on the subject, which is hardly surprising given what we know about them. But when we threatened to find her relative, she provided your name as her way out. Parker claimed you’re the only person she knows of who’s taken a stand against them and lived to tell the tale.”

  The preacher’s face showed no signs of fear. “I believe I might know who this Parker woman is referring to,” he said. “And I’m likely placing a lot of other people’s lives in jeopardy by acknowledging the fact.”

  Addison fired an enthused look at Pearce. “Do you know where we can locate them?”

  Anders ran a hand across the top of his head. “I think you may have misinterpreted me. I certainly don’t know where you can find the group you’re asking about. These people are the epitome of evil, probably unlike anything you can imagine. I don’t make such a claim irreverently because I figure you’ve encountered more horror than any two people should throughout your careers. Nevertheless, the members of this club are rotten to their very core. They also happen to be rich and powerful; I’ve seen the evidence of their influence with my own eyes.”

  “How did you cross paths with them?” Pearce asked.

  Anders smiled, as if to say, Do you really want to know?

  “It wasn’t much different to how we are meeting now,” he explained. “Except, there was a man who appeared to have some type of a military background sitting across from me. He placed a collection of photographs on my desk and played me a video. Then after he’d made his point, he just collected his things and walked back out the door.”

  Agent Pearce tapped a hand on the side of her chair. “What was in the photographs and footage?”

  “The images appeared to have been taken at political fundraisers where some of our nation’s most well-known names were having a great time. They were there too, I presume.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Addison asked.

  “Them. You know, the individuals this Sarah Parker referred to. Their faces had been blurred out, but the identity of the people they were entertaining was clear.”

  Pearce continued her tapping. “Who did you see in the photographs?” she insisted.

  Tony Anders squeezed his eyes. “I mean no disrespect, Agent Pearce; truly, I don’t. But the faces I recognized in those photographs could put an end to both your careers with one call. Besides, if this meeting became known, then innocent people will die. People who have nothing to do with this.”

  Pearce remained unimpressed. “If this group is as dangerous as you and Ms. Parker claim, then why are you still alive today? Why would they allow you to reveal the things you have?” Her voice was broiled in skepticism.

  The smile on Anders’s face appeared different. “I don’t have a worldly answer to your question. Simply put, they have their God, and I have mine. You should appreciate what it is you’re going up against here. These people trap flies with honey, and from what I’ve seen, their pots are scattered everywhere.”

  Addison and Pearce looked at each other again. All this babble about feuding gods and faceless men in high places was starting to piss them off.

  “So, let me get this right,” Addison chuckled. “You won’t reveal any of the names to us, even though your faith should dictate otherwise?”

  Anders leaned forward in his chair and exhaled forcefully. “I don’t know the identity of anyone inside their organization, and I’m just not prepared to divulge the names of the individuals who I recognized in those photographs. The consequences of doing so are too great. If it were only my life on the line here, then I’d be more helpful because this world and everything it offers is of little interest to me. I will give you the name of the group, though … at least it was the name when I encountered them.”

  Addison flicked open his notepad. “Ready when you are, Tony.”

  Anders released another heavy breath as he dropped his gaze. “They are called Filii Reprobi, or Children of the Fallen.”

  Addison checked t
he spelling before writing down the name and translation, thinking the likelihood they were involved was only growing stronger.

  “Are you certain there’s nothing else you can tell us, Tony?” Pearce asked.

  Anders interlocked his fingers with a frown. “You know the identity of one of their associates, is that true?” he accused.

  “Indirectly,” Addison replied.

  “Well, if you’ve set your minds on approaching them, then I’d suggest you could start there and quit expecting me to play Russian roulette with other people’s lives.”

  Pearce had heard enough and cut in abruptly. “We will be following every piece of information that comes our way, Tony. The reason we came here today is that Sarah Parker dished your name up on a plate. I’m certain you’d expect us to keep pushing forward by whatever means if it were your daughter who happened to be one of the victims. We’ll eventually put the cleaners through this Filii Reprobi cult, but before we start making moves against a person who might be directly involved with them, we need to ascertain what it is we’re up against. It’s called knowing your enemy; the more we know, the better our approach will be.”

  It was easy to detect the tone of frustration flooding Pearce’s voice. She wasn’t buying into the whole my God versus their God thing either.

  Anders unlocked his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “I can hear the strain of accusation in your voice. Perhaps, you think I’m too indulgent to provide you with anything more than I have already, or maybe you presume I’m just a fool because I believe God died a criminal’s death on a Roman cross. So, please allow me to repeat what I’m so desperately trying to communicate. The Filii Reprobi is unlike anything you will have encountered. I can guarantee it. And as the head pastor of this church, I am responsible for safeguarding the people’s lives under my care. Remember, I only learned of their existence by chance after a woman came to me for help.