Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  “Anders runs a small congregation, Jevonte. What reasons could he possibly have for embellishing the details?”

  Collins appeared bemused.

  “It’s taken me all these years to discover what a great man of faith you are. The kind of detective who will take a preacher’s word as being gospel.”

  The flippant remark contained much derision. Nevertheless, Addison did spend some time contemplating God, destiny, and the greater universe on the drive back from the church. He understood how people might get to thinking their lives were preordained for misery when childhood dreams turned to dust, and they found themselves dumped on the shores of an unwelcomed reality. Addison had pretty much abandoned his faith when his father passed and didn’t anticipate it seeing a way back to him. His verdict on such matters was reasonably uncomplicated. Everybody was accountable for their own choices in life, and sometimes nasty shit happened to outstanding people. But he wasn’t in a mood right now to engage in a conversation about life’s platitudes with the boss.

  “It’s not like Anders was opposed to us moving on Larry Springfield,” Addison countered. “He just wants to ensure Ms. Ferguson won’t be endangered as a result.”

  The lieutenant appeared weary, and it was easy to understand why he might want to go in all guns blazing. It would provide something to report back to the brass at the bare minimum, and progress was a keyword right now.

  “So, you’re convinced Springfield is connected to the killer?”

  Addison raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Nope, but it sure seems likely.”

  Collins tapped a hand on his desk in frustration. “What is it with you and men of the cloth?” he said.

  Addison appeared confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you insisted on keeping the identity of your priest a secret when the Feds came across, now you’re bending over for a Baptist preacher. If I didn’t know better, I might start to think the spirit of God has infected you. Did Anders mention anything about how these Filii Reprobi assholes threatened him?”

  Addison realized he hadn’t filled the man in on the first meeting yet. “He said a spook arrived at the church and showed him pictures of his family and various other people who attend the congregation. I guess it was more a ‘we know where to find you’ kind of thing. The people he recognized in the other photographs is what’s got him believing we might be taking on more than we can handle. He even insinuated our careers would be jeopardized if we choose to proceed.”

  The expression on Collins’s face was borderline admonitory. “I know how it all sounds, lieutenant, really I do. But like I said already, Anders has verified there was an inverted cross carved into the chest of a man in one of those images, a man with his throat cut no less. I mean no disrespect at all by saying this, but I can identify fear when it’s seated across from me. And I’d like to think I’m capable of detecting if someone is lying. Anders didn’t seem overly concerned about his well-being, but he was apprehensive when it came to others’ safety. Both he and Sally were speaking honestly, of that I’ve got no doubt at all.”

  Collins started drumming on his desk again.

  “You’re asking a hell of a lot of me. I’ve already stuck my neck out for you by keeping this whole satanic cult angle from the captain. Admittedly, it turned out to be the right move. But this shit here is on a whole other level, pal.”

  Addison nodded before Collins continued making his point.

  “These aren’t trivial details you’re expecting me to keep quiet here; it’s game-changing intel concerning the hottest damned investigation in the country. It should be sent straight up the fucking chain, no questions asked. If this blows up in our faces, it’s gonna be my black ass everyone is gunning for. No one will give a ripe royal fuck about you or Perkins, though I may find myself pushed into retirement.”

  Addison felt kinda lousy about the request. Still, the lieutenant was old school, and if their roles were to be somehow reversed, he would be asking the very same thing. Most case-hardened cops in the LAPD were being replaced by show ponies who spent too much time perfecting their physique in the gym. Meanwhile, an entire generation of tough guys had been put out to pasture, which made the job even more frustrating.

  When Addison started in uniform, he worked on the Hollywood beat with a veteran named Eric Devereaux. One night, they were called to a suspected B&E in a seedy apartment block located down a shadowy side street at the end of the Boulevard. Upon rolling up at the scene, they spent fifteen minutes searching for signs of a forced entry, then just as they began walking back to their patrol car, a crank head came charging out of the darkness, waving a piece in the air.

  Addison had fumbled with his gun clip while Deveraux disarmed the offender and beat him into a state of unconsciousness. As the EMS vehicle drove away, his partner said how the bastard might give pause for thought the next time he considered running at police with a gun in hand. Such events barely rated a mention back in the day.

  Collins lifted himself out of his chair to start pacing the office. He resembled an angry tiger in captivity, impatient for something to claw apart. His black suit was crumpled, and there were dark coffee stains on the collar of his shirt.

  “I can’t see how this will fall back on you,” Addison said. “The FBI has the record of interview, and if anything, damaging eventuates from withholding the info, you can deny having prior knowledge of the facts. It’s not as if Jed or I am going to rat you out.”

  Collins chuckled under his breath. “You can be a cold hard bitch at times, man.”

  Addison hadn’t meant to imply they shift the blame onto Sharp, but the lieutenant appeared to be coming round, which was the primary concern right now. If the Feds suspected resistance on their end, then the investigation’s whole tone would likely change. Trust was very much a reciprocal concept in law enforcement.

  “Rick’s the one who has insisted we keep Springfield’s details under wraps,” Addison reminded. “But I know it’s a big ask all the same.”

  Collins lumbered back to his desk and slumped into the chair.

  “How’s it been working with them?” he asked through a smile.

  Addison’s expression reflected his surprise. “Much better than I was initially expecting, that’s for sure. Not only has Rick been true to his word, but it turns out they also happen to be particularly good at what they do. We probably wouldn’t have progressed so quickly without them. Pearce is one of the finest interrogators I’ve sat down with. The woman’s ruthless.”

  Collins’s subtle smile became a grin.

  “What happens next?” he asked.

  “We’re going to set up detail on Larry Springfield and see where it leads us; then we’ll send in the troops when the timing is right. I don’t imagine it’s gonna be a long wait. I’d also like to find out who the prick’s accountant is. Those payments he made were substantial and would be difficult to explain away.”

  Collins’s furrowed brow indicated he was deep in thought.

  “Something on your mind, boss?” Addison asked him.

  “It appears you’ve got this case by the tail, so I don’t want this to sound like sour grapes. But have you considered what might happen if the perp isn’t connected to these Filii Reprobi cocksuckers?”

  It was a detective question and something which Addison had already contemplated several times in the past few hours. Everything appeared to be lining up perfectly, but the killer and the group might still be independent of one another. What Collins wanted to know was where the investigation would go if their search uncovered a broader adversary than first anticipated. Addison rubbed the tightness in the side of his neck.

  “I’m feeling confident that our guy is one of them,” he answered. “Maybe he’s just working from a different playbook, and we’ll catch ourselves two birds with the one stone.”

  It was the best he could come up with, and he watched as Collins placed a big paw over his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Okay, then, you got anyth
ing else for me tonight?”

  “Nope, that pretty much covers it.”

  Collins began looking around his office as if he’d misplaced something important. “Where’s Perkins?” he asked playfully.

  “I told him to go home right before I came to see you.”

  Collins smiled again. “All righty. You and I should probably call it a day.”

  Addison nodded while pushing himself out of the chair before saying goodnight and walking back into the main office. He’d started preparing himself for the likelihood he was being dragged someplace he didn’t want to go. What he needed was to switch everything off for a while, buy a bottle of whiskey and order a pepperoni pizza on his way home, then drink until he found sleep.

  Forty-Six

  There was nothing suspicious on the security cameras along the front boundary of Edward’s property, yet a paranoid disposition troubled his mind. More than a day had passed since he’d spoken with the Old Man and promised to stop dumping bodies in the hills.

  The slippery fuck seemed pleased by the news. His manner was amiable, and nothing implied Filii Reprobi was manipulating Edward’s immediate surroundings. Even so, the Old Man wasn’t about to advertise a proposed strategy. Edward had seen him fillet flesh from children as his soulless eyes gazed down on them apathetically like he was dissecting a rat in biology class.

  Meagan Banks—the cold-hearted bitch that she was—taught them various ways to keep a person alive. The Old Man had become proficient at removing muscle from bone as his subjects shook about in violent futility. He regulated his rage better than anybody, rarely reacting to the suffering he created, and his detachment was never more apparent than when his walls were being sprayed in crimson.

  Filii Reprobi owned a cottage inside Los Padres National Forest, where they sometimes went to inflict misery in a more intimate setting. Edward and the Old Man spent a few days there during the previous summer, draining the life from two teenagers taken off Santa Barbara’s streets. When they finished having their fun, the room was a shifting mass of black flies swarming over the sullied corpses on the cabin floor. Afterward, they’d both sat silently for a while, appreciating their creation as the bugs laid seeds in whatever cavities remained. That same afternoon, the two of them were seated at a diner on Paradise Road, eating pie and slurping milkshakes without a care in the world.

  Edward had studied the Old Man closely in that café, watching as he engaged in small talk with an attractive waitress who looked like Jennifer Aniston. The woman inquired about their day and whether they planned on visiting the region’s famous canyons and camping grounds. A few weeks later, the Old Man arranged her abduction from the parking lot behind the restaurant at the end of her shift, and she suffered a prolonged experience. Edward preserved the grill waitress’s memory to recap how disingenuous appearances were for everyone involved with their organization.

  The fact he had been ordered to attend the compound the following evening didn’t necessarily mean he was in immediate danger. However, he needed to prepare himself for a possible ambush because if they were going to spring a surprise, it would be when he was alone in the dark at a remote location like the Mojave Desert.

  Sordid impressions of Paige flooded Edward’s mind as he raised himself off the couch to begin striding across the living room. One hand squeezed his throbbing cock as he opened the steel door to his storage chamber and stepped into the gloom. Paige uncurled on the ground and began pulling at the tape on her wrists while Edward scoffed at her clumsiness. He decided to do away with the enclosure, which allowed him more access to her lithe young body. It wasn’t as if she could dig a way out through the floor.

  Edward encouraged his arousal by swirling his fingers along the bulge in his pants until lust blistered his spirit to the point of displeasure. The vision of her dirty gleaming skin robbed his breath, and he considered whether she might become the best remedy to a glum mood he would ever find. Edward needed to lick the saltiness of her unwashed skin while bruising her body. Beat her severely, then help mend the wounds. Paige offered momentary rapture, but if he intended to keep her long term, she would have to become familiar with his sadomasochistic aspirations.

  He moved across the room in shuffled steps, chuckling at the way she attempted to claw a hole in the wall as unmistakable disgust encased her. She would soon come to accept her circumstances with a different attitude once she grasped the alternative. He provided the opportunity to extend her existence as his favorite little dolly—a chance to continue breathing so long as she supplied him with the contentment he required.

  Edward listened to the pattern of her breath before mounting her torso. He ripped at her lime green sundress like an excited child, sliding up her body and licking her neck like a lizard. Her sweat mixed with stale perfume to produce a salty layer of scented paste as she toiled fiercely beneath him. He wasn’t deterred by her loathing, grinning while she gawped up all crazy-eyed and spicy, bucking her hips against his aching cock. Paige’s resistance was about to be exposed to the hand of correction, and his discipline would be harsher than necessary.

  He straddled her like a cage fighter and grabbed a fistful of honey-­blond hair, inhaling the leftover floral scent of shampoo. Edward imagined sponging her in the soaps Linda once enjoyed when she eventually fell into line. Dressing her up beautifully so they could appreciate one another from across the kitchen table as he destroyed another homeless bum. For now, she remained intractable, thrusting upward in willful stupidity. Paige’s shrieks were piercing as long tendrils of mucus danced around her nostrils to the melody of her breath.

  Edward pinched her ass cheeks with both hands, twisting with furious delight to break the skin. He paused while she thrashed furiously before biting into her shoulder so that blood filtered over his tongue, sucking against the wound until his mouth tasted like rusted steel. When his spittle turned the color of red wine, he waited tolerantly for Paige’s trembling to subside, kissed her eyes with soft lips, and got to his feet.

  A little later, they would smoke some DMT together and take a spiritual journey to an alternate dimension assembled in perfect lines. When they returned, he intended to increase the breakdown velocity by separating her memory from her consciousness, rewiring her awareness into a state of total compliance.

  The extent of her misery would be dependent upon how determined she was to hold onto her memories. Paige’s past recollections were like rotting teeth that needed an extraction, and he was going to enjoy pulling them out slowly, roots and all.

  Forty-Seven

  At face value, the crime scene up at Secret Gardens presented like a botched robbery, which was why Addison wasn’t notified of the event until morning. Gregory Pollock was identified as the deceased thirty-five-year-old male from a license the CSI team discovered inside Paige Harding’s car. An all-points bulletin had gone out on the girl.

  The detectives who drove over to Pollock’s address in Huntington Beach discovered that the victim was a high-end sports executive who rented the stucco bungalow with his girlfriend. Neighbors noticed the young couple drive away in the late afternoon before verifying they were alone and appeared normal at the time.

  Pollock was shot three times in his upper chest and once in the forehead. Four shell casings were recovered for ballistics, representing the first noteworthy trace evidence the killer had left behind at a scene. By the time everyone realized Paige Harding had resembled the three previous victims, they were well behind the play. Things went down beside the Self Realization Fellowship Headquarters, but all the available CCTV proved useless because the gardens created a blind spot.

  Addison considered the peculiar location of the crime while he squeezed the ache at the side of his temples. He’d discarded the idea that these abductions were an act of randomness. What was the likelihood of the perpetrator driving up to Mount Washington and stumbling upon Paige Harding—a young woman who happened to tick all the right boxes?

  He believed a meeting was prearrange
d. Perhaps the girl felt apprehensive about going there alone, so she decided to drag Pollock along for the ride. No matter how he looked at this thing, there was no way he could attribute the circumstances to their being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which meant the perp must have been instigating an exchange before the abductions. However, on every occasion he tried to figure out what the killer’s method might be, all he was getting were blanks.

  Addison began mulling over Larry Springfield’s possible connection to Filii Reprobi. He wondered if the renowned movie man knew the perpetrator’s identity. It would have been a ridiculous notion a week ago, but the case had unearthed some strange threads of late. The brass had scheduled a press conference downstairs to provide the latest rundown on the investigation. Hopefully, the lieutenant didn’t disclose the specifics of what they’d uncovered to the captain beforehand. Springfield was presently shooting a biopic in South Africa, so throwing his name up in lights wasn’t the right move at this point.

  Jed was about to ask Addison if he had heard back from Rick Sharp when Detective Tom Rodgers approached them.

  “How are you doing, Mowbray?” Rodgers asked casually.

  Addison looked over at him, irritated by the pointless question. “Up to shit, Tom. Right up to shit.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine. You found anything new?”

  Addison studied him through a narrowed gaze. “We’re still following up the same bits and pieces,” he lied.

  “I thought the Feds might have helped get things rolling.”

  “It’s still early days.”

  Rodgers nodded. “I just wanted to let you know, Lyn has organized drinks at the Rhythm Room later tonight. She thinks it’s time everyone chilled the fuck out by getting a little rat-assed.”

  The hip venue inside the basement of an office building on 6th and Spring had become a popular spot with many younger cops. They promoted a large group environment with jazz bands, pool tables, ping pong, and shuffleboard.