by Daniel Jeudy
“She was involved with a Hollywood producer at the time and inadvertently stumbled upon the horror Filii Reprobi choose to indulge in. She loved this person and tried to make him see that if one can experience evil so entirely, then there must also be a paradigm of righteousness to balance the darkness. All it did was make her a target, which is why she landed at my doorstep seeking support. I have to honor her trust and protect the naivety of those who have been threatened.”
“Who is the film guy?” Pearce asked.
“I have no idea,” Anders replied. “At the end of it, I don’t care what you think of me, Agent Pearce. I won’t be speaking another word of this after you leave my office.”
Addison decided to try hosing down the heat. “What do you suggest we should do, Tony?” he countered. “These young women are made victims in a way that very few ever will be. Butchered as a passing sacrifice to an evil we have not yet been able to determine. So, we could sure use your help here. Are you seriously implying that we should close up shop like they don’t matter?”
Anders looked like he was running out of patience. “Not at all,” he objected, clearly unimpressed by the implication.
Addison opened his hands in front of him. “Well, then, here we are.”
“No, actually, it’s not ‘here we are.’ I don’t believe these people would leave behind a trail of corpses for the police to investigate. It’s just not how I envisage them functioning. The media reports are claiming the victims are all missing body parts, and I fail to see how it correlates to the group of people you’re currently inquiring about.”
Addison could appreciate where he was coming from.
“We’re not taking some wild stab in the dark on this, Tony. There are various kinds of incompetence in law enforcement, but with any luck, we’re not quite that bad yet.”
Anders looked mildly embarrassed.
“I wasn’t implying you are acting incompetently,” he said in an apologetic tone.
Addison brushed away the offense with a wave of his hand.
“The perpetrator drugs the victims with ketamine before cutting away his bits, and he might be draining their blood. We can only speculate at present, but we believe he might be using the ketamine to prolong their experience. Not to mention, there are several other elements which come across as being very ritualistic.”
Anders nodded. “Sure. Look, I get it.”
“He also burns the shape of an inverted Christian cross onto their left breast,” Addison continued. “Are you familiar with what the symbol represents?”
Something flashed inside Anders’s eyes. “An inverted Christian cross?” he repeated dolefully.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Anders looked like an old porcelain doll haunted by time. “There was something else among those photos,” he confided quietly. “I didn’t mention it before. You need to appreciate that these people have pictures of my kids. They also showed me the home address of other families who attend the services here as well. Then there’s the video taken of my parents’ home in San Francisco.”
Addison’s gut stirred. “Go on, Tony,” he encouraged.
“In one of the images, a young man was hanging over a clawfoot bath with what appeared to be a sliced throat. Now, I can’t be certain as to whether the photo was even real, but I did see the bleeding shape of an inverted cross on his chest.”
Addison sat back in astonishment as he contemplated whether the worst of anything imaginable might intend upon seeking him out. This case was spinning out of control like a car with an unlicensed driver behind the wheel, careening toward a collision that promised to be fatal.
Forty-One
The evening traffic along Golden State Freeway was free flowing as Edward maintained a speed just below the limit from inside the middle lane. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror and noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. The excitement of finding Linda’s substitute had made sleep impossible these past couple of days, and he intended to recuperate once he’d secured his prize back at the ranch.
When Paige contacted him in the morning, her voice sounded husky, and he spent the next hour fantasizing with his cock in hand. Paige had wanted to drive out to the dummy address in Santa Monica to collect her reimbursement. Fortunately, he was well prepared for such a development, and after listening to his devious explanation, she agreed to meet at Secret Gardens.
Edward learned some interesting facts while looking into Paige’s background. She was valedictorian of her graduating class in high school before undertaking an art major at Pomona College. Her best friend was a sexy brunette named Evie Popov, and her brother resided in Washington with his young family. Paige’s father owned a dental clinic in Santa Ana, and her folks didn’t approve of her latest beau, Gregory Pollock.
When Edward rolled up at Secret Gardens, his plan was momentarily stalled by the sight of Greg sitting beside his cargo. The young man’s broad shoulders and confident manner came across like he’d be ready to rumble. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but Edward had quickly regained his composure. He just smiled while drifting over to where they were seated before blasting three bullets into the big boy’s chest. He’d fitted his pistol with a sound suppressor, and by the time Paige clued onto the situation, the chloroform had already begun closing down her mind. It felt good shooting the final slug through Greg’s brains and settling the Harding family dispute by leaving his twitchy corpse on the sidewalk.
Edward intended to let the Old Man know that his killing spree was complete as soon as he arrived home, then he could get down to the business of exploring Paige’s sweet-smelling body. Lust continued its surge inside his gut, and he almost pulled off the freeway to feed his hunger. Most Filii Reprobi displayed an insatiable appetite for sexual perversion, and Edward had participated in many of their fuck sessions over the years. But aside from the mysterious delights he enjoyed with Meagan Banks, none of it fulfilled him. He understood the concept of pushing one’s carnality to the outer extreme; however, the orgies failed to invoke the same kind of energy he received when brandishing a blade.
Paige contained the potential to meld old desires with fresh possibilities. She intensified the ache in his balls by provoking the possibility of his demise, generating a beautiful discomfort that threatened his grip on reality. A decade of mystical osmosis had landed him at the gates of perdition, where a murderous inquest was headed his way. The Old Man would be expecting an adequate response to satisfy the demands coming from the obsequious assholes within Filii Reprobi.
Edward resisted the compulsion to hit the accelerator as he veered onto Antelope Valley Freeway. He’d been operating outside of time these past few weeks, looking down on things with preeminence, confident of remaining one step ahead of the game. But the girl in the back had messed with his head, and Edward wondered whether all great seekers eventually got to thinking this way. Did Nimrod ever track a soul to the edge of civilization, only to find his quiver was empty when he prepared for the kill shot?
If the Old Man intended to finish him off, then he’d lure Edward toward a ruse to do so, dangling a piece of bait just out of reach until he walked himself over the edge of a cliff. The best killers were skilled at presenting like prey, drawing their target into the open without creating suspicion before unmasking themselves as a predator.
A recurring riddle had been occupying Edward’s sleep recently. A particularly annoying dream where he was searching for something undetermined. It mostly happened right before he awoke, and on every occasion where he thought he’d found what he was looking for, Edward came up empty-handed. After encountering each obstacle, he continued to open random parcels with renewed enthusiasm, only to discover something immaterial waiting inside.
It left him feeling deceived, like some puritanical spouse who discovered their partner in the act of fucking the babysitter. Even so, he was never affected by fear. Edward stopped being influenced by such nonsense long ago. Almost anything could be accomplished
when he applied moral autonomy to a situation. The cosmos offered everyone an infinite scope of opportunity; however, most people were akin to mice on a wheel, running fast but going nowhere.
The sun continued its descent as darkness began fusing into the muted orange glow on the horizon. Edward examined his reflection in the mirror once more and saw the fierceness swirling through his eyes. They were only ten minutes away from camp cuntmore, where an empty cage awaited his doll. Then after his call to the Old Man was out of the way, he would nourish himself on Paige’s flesh by unleashing the full flavor of his passion.
Part three
“For the wages of sin is death”
Romans 6:23 King James Version.
Forty-Two
Traces of shit lingered in the air, a relic of the two African brothers they ground into dog food a few days earlier. Narek disregarded the other men in the warehouse as he fixated on the boss. Davit was wearing a white rain slicker while he staged an impromptu inspection of his precious meat grinder. The boss was tall, sinewy, and lean with dark hooded eyes that rarely communicated what he was thinking. At fifty-three, Davit remained youthful enough to mix it with any younger men in the prime of their life, and his cruelty ensured few ever contemplated taking him on.
The boss had arranged a collection of torture implements nearby, and the floor was covered with clear sheet plastic. Tigran Grigoryan made a bleak impression as he sat bound to a chair in the middle of the room, pleading innocence through a makeshift gag. His fears were laced with electricity. The fact Narek had known Tigran for over thirty years only made the situation feel even more surreal—like an episode of the Twilight Zone.
They’d conquered their challenges side by side. Becoming outlaws together upon realizing the American dream was set aside for middle-class folk with pale skin. Narek recalled when they popped their cherry by sharing a younger skank at his cousin’s place and blowing up mailboxes on the fourth of July. He’d lost count of the various cocksuckers they’d whacked over the years, and it was only last weekend when their wives spent the day at Disneyland with the children. None of the men in the room knew the reason why the boss had called this meeting, but from the moment Narek saw his terror-stricken friend taped to the chair, it became apparent he’d messed up in a bad way.
“What have you done, Tigran?” Bedros teased while grabbing playfully at his crotch. “I was in the middle of having my knob polished when Davit called. Now it seems I’ll be cutting you into little pieces for all the fishes to feed on. But don’t worry about it, chent, more work is more money, and the bitch will be waiting with open legs when I finish here.”
Narek fired off a warning glare while lighting a smoke. “Shut your trap, Bedros. He ain’t no spik trash you’re talking to.”
Bedros smirked; the cunt was enjoying himself. “Narek, my brother … he was somebody who had our respect; this is true. But what I see before me today is just another gyot. Isn’t that right, booby?”
Tigran screamed in a garbled frenzy. It was a fuckin’ complicated watch.
“How about waiting to hear from Davit before we make things more difficult for him,” Narek objected. “We don’t even know what it is he’s supposed to have done.”
Bedros made a tsking sound. “Come on, Narek, look at this chent. Have you ever seen anyone walk away from the chair he’s sitting in? He was your brother for a season … now he is a nobody.”
Narek grunted a rejoinder and blew out a smoke ring which dissipated in slow-moving wispy curls. He was feeling torn about finishing a man who was practically an extension of himself. Murdering an acquaintance could be a little tricky, but doing a genuine buddy was like being ordered to drown the family puppy as a kid. He had only killed a friend on two previous occasions and received no pleasure from the act. First-degree murder usually included desire, premeditation, and malice. Simply put, the killer wanted the person dead, planned the crime, and sought the victim out to ensure their death occurred. Each of those ingredients was missing for him here tonight.
Davit edged his way along the wall, seemingly lost in his thinking. As if he might be undecided on how things needed to play out. Then, right when Narek began considering a more pleasing outcome, the boss cut a line across the room toward Tigran’s chair.
“You are a stupid fuck,” he grumbled. “Deceiving your own.”
The biggest threat to a criminal enterprise usually came from within; David made an example of rats to deter others from choosing a similar path. If Tigran had sold them out, then he’d be attuned to the reality that terrible consequences were fast approaching. His trial would be heard in a courtroom of impartial arbitration, where the judge didn’t give two fucks about what colors a man wore or the allegiances he’d sold his soul to. Underworld enforcers maintained a ruthless set of principles, and they imposed themselves upon anyone who betrayed the code. Tigran was Narek’s closest friend, but he had no problem understanding how it was better to follow an order than be on the end of one.
Davit moved in; an expression of loathing pressed to his face.
“You probably excused what you did because none of us were part of the betrayal,” he suggested indignantly. “But you’re mistaken, you rat fuck.”
Tears streamed down Tigran’s cheeks. He was a much harder man than most; however, death was no longer an abstract notion in some faraway land. The freaking walls were closing in, and he was on borrowed time, not so much living as counting down the seconds until his end. In this circumstance, there was no disgrace in weeping. Narek believed his friend’s pleas would remain inside his ears for longer than he cared for.
Davit scanned each of the men in the room, straightening his shoulders while he interpreted their faces with suspicious eyes. The barn light overhead gave his slicker a metallic sheen, making him appear like some batshit crazy anti-hero from a Marvel movie.
“We all accept the responsibility that comes with being a part of the Armenian Power. This outlaw life has provided each of us with many opportunities we wouldn’t ordinarily receive. I heard Levon’s kid was accepted to college.”
Everyone besides Narek started laughing.
“The Armenian Power has established a reputation for flying straight,” Davit continued. “But the building will crumble if we start selling people out. Keeping tight lips is one of the very first things we are taught, so this cocksucker knows what he’s done.”
Tigran’s despair became even more profound. He’d stood opposite that chair often enough, smiling while other people’s misdeeds were determined. Clemency only transpired on the big screen where mercy swooped down in the nick of time to save the day. A spirit of murder was slapping Tigran across the face with both its hands. If he were fortunate, there’d be nothing waiting on the other side except darkness. He couldn’t anticipate a speedy departure either. They usually reserved an unexpected bullet for soldiers who remained faithful to the code. His oldest friend would have to seek solace in the empty void of nonexistence and pray there wouldn’t be any standards to appease once he got there.
Davit stroked the side of Tigran’s face, ruffling his dark curly hair with fake affection while stooping to eye level. “Our brother here has been singing like a fucking canary,” he said before making his way to a corner of the room.
Narek watched the boss remove a folder from his briefcase. It contained the evidence of their comrade’s misdemeanors. Bedros and Levon were reticent as they awaited further clarification, smirking shamelessly in anticipation as Tigran’s wailing increased. He sought out Narek with a haunted gape, searching urgently for any sign of reprieve, for a spark of light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
Davit strolled over to the mincer, where he flicked a switch to set its grinders into motion, then he placed a sequence of photographs down on the floor before ushering them in for review. Narek crouched on his haunches to study the images which captured Tigran getting into an unmarked police car at various locations around the city.
“Fucking unbelievable,”
he muttered. “What do they know?”
Davit caressed the blade on his hip while he stepped his way through them.
“Nothing. I found out about this a few days ago,” he said, leaning in close once more so Tigran could feel the blaze of hatred on his face. “My little mole inside GND has assured me that none of us will be subjected to any fresh investigations. This prick was only passing on street-level information. But it makes no difference to me. Squealing is squealing, and we all know it’s only a matter of time until a rat starts working his way up the chain.”
When Davit finished speaking, he gave Tigran’s cheek one final pinch, easing the blade into his belly with a well-practiced hand as the traitor thrashed about furiously. Everybody was articulating their condemnation when Narek stepped in to have a turn at stickin’ the rat. He realigned his thinking to forget the past they shared growing up together on the streets of Glendale. After all, Bedros was one hundred percent correct. Whatever this cocksucker might have once been, he sure as fuck was no longer his brother.
Forty-Three
“How have you been holding up, Sally?” Tony Anders asked.
The woman’s smile didn’t extend further than her lips. “I’ve been doing … okay. Thanks,” she replied.
Sally Ferguson was a portrait of breathtaking beauty. So much so that Agent Pearce appeared kind of ordinary sitting beside her. The former supermodel continued glancing across at the office door as if wary of an impending threat. Her eyes undermined the outward display of calm she was attempting to present.
Pearce and Sally were seated on the tuxedo couch while Addison, Jed, Rick, and Tony sat opposite them in flimsy plastic chairs.
