by Daniel Jeudy
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Jezazeal loitered in a far corner of the church, gratified by all the carnage and mayhem it witnessed. Humans were easily misguided into embracing destruction and shunning the light. It had been that way since the beginning of time. The individuals in this chapel had a few short years in which to indulge their carnal nature. Then they stood to encounter an eternity of torment beyond anything their minds might conceptualize.
Their future was endless suffering whereby their deeds would be returned ten thousand trillion times over. One millisecond at a time. The demon bellowed laughter from the bottom of its enormous belly. His glee made it down to the gate of Hades, but the black souls in the room didn’t hear a sound. Deaf, dumb, and blind to their very end.
Epilogue
Three Weeks Later
It was a lovely afternoon as the mild weather supplied the kind of temperature to suggest Fall was coming round the bend. Addison continued down Wilshere Boulevard toward Santa Monica, where he would meet with Jed and a couple of his buddies.
The last few weeks had gone by without incident after Edward Cole’s guilt was deemed a foregone conclusion. When all the collected evidence supported the perception, he’d worked alone; the mayor let the chief know he wanted the investigation finalized. In truth, there wasn’t a cop anywhere who wouldn’t have filed the case away.
Most of the Palmdale corpses were street dwellers, drug addicts, and sex workers—the kind of folk who went missing without creating even the slightest stir. It was quite possibly the saddest aspect of the entire investigation for Addison. The idea that people were being killed under everybody’s noses and no one recognized they were living in the first place. It got him questioning how many more there might be. How many bodies were buried across the country? Faceless casualties from the streets of America’s big cities? Forgotten men, women, and children whom nobody cared for.
One of the victims they recovered from the cabin was the perpetrator’s missing girlfriend, Linda Jones. Her skeletal remains had been positioned at the head of the table. A silver locket with Edward’s picture inside tangled around her neck. The FBI concluded that her bones were exhumed from another site before being transferred to the location. Linda’s parents revealed that their late daughter had always displayed an unhealthy fascination for the occult.
Edward Cole was initially questioned concerning Linda’s disappearance but provided the police with a solid alibi. The FBI located his safe house near the city where he’d gone after Jennifer Hill’s abduction to switch vehicles. It was an industrial-type unit within a secure compound situated on the edge of town. All the evidence reinforced the idea that Cole was a drug-taking lunatic who’d been captivated with Black Magick. Jed’s theory about him staging a minor accident was right on the money.
Rick Sharp and his team were quickly swept away with another high-profile case: a US senator murdered during a bungled robbery attempt. Sharp implied that the FBI would maintain its interest in finding Filii Reprobi, but Addison didn’t believe he had much intention of doing so. It might have been different if Paige Harding had supplied useful information that supported the existence of the group. She insisted that Cole had worked alone, and the only person he’d spoken of was Linda Jones.
The vigilante’s most recent target wasn’t going to be mourned by anyone other than his immediate kin. Narek Avakian was an asshole of the highest caliber who had somehow managed to avoid apprehension despite his many crimes. The LAPD was still no closer to finding whoever was responsible for the murders. Shootings were often the most complicated cases to resolve because everything was over in the blink of an eye. Detectives could quickly find themselves going round in circles, knocking on the same doors without making progress.
Addison checked his face in the mirror and was unsurprised by what he saw. He no longer felt a little crazy. Crazy didn’t come close to describing the madness that now resided inside his head. These days he considered the possibility of whether he might be fully fucking insane, an authentic whack job destined for a needle in the ass and a straitjacket at the nuthouse.
Larry Springfield and Sarah Parker had both fallen off the face of the earth, and their disappearance almost motivated Rick Sharp to climb back on board. Who knew? Maybe it had. Nevertheless, if the FBI agents had reinstated their concerns with Filii Reprobi, they kept the fact to themselves. There wasn’t much Addison could do if that turned out to be the case. His control was limited, even with the lieutenant on his side.
They organized round-the-clock security for Tony Anders and Sally Ferguson despite the preacher’s objections but scaled it down after two weeks. Addison still contacted them each night to make sure they were doing okay.
The only lead they’d acquired thus far was the accounting company used by Larry Springfield. Fairmont International was an expensive corporation-styled practice owned by a man named Clive Fairmont. Addison soon discovered that the firm donated generously to the LAPD ball and other political charity events every year. He was presently trying to figure out a way to set up surveillance on the well-heeled Mister Fairmont to see where he might lead them.
Lilly Coniglio represented a solitary piece of happiness in his life. They’d met for coffee on four occasions now and were going on a date to a jazz club later tonight. Coniglio took things to a new level when she kissed his cheek outside the cafe earlier in the week. It was a good thing she’d been feeling shameless. Otherwise, they might still be drinking mud at the same table ten years from now.
Addison spotted a vacant parking space near the Gas Lite Bar where Jed was waiting and pulled in beside the curb with a well-practiced turn. He checked his phone for messages before climbing out of the pickup to make his way toward the taproom. The unmistakable smell of stale liquor invaded his senses as he walked through the doors. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but it was a longtime companion, which made it comforting.
Jed talked about this joint often, so Addison wasn’t the least surprised by the dark interior, reclusive booths, and old-school vibe. The kid and his buddies were seated in the corner of the room, and Addison made his way over to the table. He sat down opposite his partner, appreciating the fresh whiskey glass they had already ordered for him.
“Now that’s what I call service,” he remarked.
“Good thing, too, it seems,” Jed replied.
Addison raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, and why’s that, kid?”
“Truth be told, you look like you’re hurtin’ for one.”
Everyone in the booth laughed in an easy, good-natured way.
“Ad, this is Clarence and Sean.”
They all shook hands and settled back in their seats. Clarence was a fit African American who had a way about him that suggested he’d be a good soldier to fight alongside. Sean was more subdued but a strong character all the same. It was easy to see why the three of them had connected at Elysian Park. Even though they were different, their core values and loyal undertones appeared to be in perfect alignment.
Clarence got down to business. “Perkins has been explaining how you would like some discreet surveillance work done on a ritzy accountancy firm in Beverly Hills,” he said.
Addison sipped his whiskey and studied the man closely.
“I can vouch for both these boys, Ad. No doubt about it,” Jed assured him.
A palpable tension suddenly permeated the booth as a silence seemed to go on longer than expected, like a load hanging over the edge of a cliff undecided on whether it would fall.
Addison returned his glass to the table. “The surveillance needs to be performed twenty-four-seven without a soul knowing about it. My kid’s life may depend on it,” he said, unblinking.
Clarence’s expression appeared trustworthy and committed.
“I can put in for vacation time. Not right away, it could take a while for it to be approved. How long do you think you’ll need eyes on these people?” he asked.
“How much time do you have up your sleeve?”
; “Nine or ten weeks, give or take.”
Addison had another drop of whiskey.
“Put in for four weeks to start, and I’ll pay you for your troubles.”
Clarence appeared startled.
“If I agree to do this, it’s because I want to help, so there’s no need to pay me. The LAPD can continue doing that. I don’t have immediate plans for a holiday anyway, and the GND will probably be delighted to see my desk empty for a month. Besides, Perkins is my bud—if he’s in trouble somehow, then it’s the least I can do.”
Addison appreciated the sentiment. “What exactly has my partner told you about the situation we find ourselves in?”
Sean Brody touched Clarence on the arm.
“Perkins has only spoken to us in very loose terms. The man was mindful of not overstepping any boundaries before meeting with you first. He did enlighten us about someone threatening your families and how it might tie into the slimy shitheel you boys retrieved out at Palmdale. He also said you wanted to get a set of eyes on a certain individual and are experiencing difficulties making it happen. You can depend on us, Addison. Clarence and I are both accustomed to playing a part in the game from outside the fuckin’ box.”
Jed chuckled.
“And here I thought you were all ready to put your service revolver under lock and key, Brody. What happened to your vision for change?”
Sean smiled and reached for his bottle of Coors. “Yeah, well … the vision was good while it lasted, pal.”
Jed dropped an open palm onto the table in front of Clarence. “Pay up, sucker,” he said.
“You’ll have to take an IOU; my wallet’s all plastic right now.”
Sean shook his head and swilled his beer.
“You prepared to roll with this, Ad?” Jed checked respectfully.
“Sure, kid; seems as good a plan as any.”
“Well, let’s fill these boys in with the specifics, then, shall we?”
As they relayed the details over the next fifteen minutes, a buzz connected the four of them. It was a part cop, part brotherhood, and part frustrated awareness. Clarence sat through their recount with his arms folded tightly across his chest, the look in his eyes betraying the calm of his exterior. Addison noticed how Sean bobbed his head sideways whenever they mentioned Filii Reprobi, like he was tossing around an idea to different parts of his brain, weighing up what he intended to do to them.
When they were done explaining the circumstances, a waitress breezed up to their table, and Sean ordered a double round of drinks.
“A man after my own heart,” Addison said appreciatively.
“There are some things only liquor can soothe,” Sean replied.
“True, but I need to drink cautiously this afternoon.”
Sean appeared a little bemused. “Really, why might that be, Addison?” he quizzed.
“He’s met the lady of his teenage dreams,” Jed teased.
Heat banded in Addison’s cheeks.
“Good for you, man,” Clarence acknowledged.
Sean picked up a coaster and began tapping it on the table.
“These cats sound as if they might be hard to bring in for an interview,” he said.
Jed shot Addison a perplexed look.
“What is the bigger picture here?” Sean continued.
Quiet returned as every sound within the bar intensified.
“Bigger picture?” Addison said.
Sean stared back at him, cold and unblinking. “Do you intend to slap handcuffs on these cocksuckers, or are they going in a ditch?”
Jed leaned back in his seat as Addison finished his glass. Sean continued tapping the coaster, only louder and faster, building to a crescendo.
“Sometimes, men are forced to do things they never imagined they could,” he confided. “Other times, they choose to act in a way they never thought they’d have to. If you were to ask my opinion on the matter, I’d tell you it’s probably best to make the decision. Any man compelled into action can never really be his own master. But then again, who the fuck am I? Still, there’s going to be a cost either way.”
The waitress reappeared and placed the drinks down onto the table before Sean requested that she put them on his tab. When she walked back to her station behind the bar, he divided the liquor between them.
A queasy twisting knotted Addison’s gut. It was akin to what he’d felt all those years ago upon hearing his mother’s heartfelt cries coming from the kitchen downstairs. A sense of relief raged against the furnace of consternation searing at his conscience. When he’d met Tony Anders for the first time, he saw a twinkle in the preacher’s eye—a look that suggested he could see good where others found none.
Sean Brody was like the antithesis of such sentiment. His eyes were unassuming, but they reached inside to restore color to unwanted memories. Addison had an unexpected image of a face being held together by wafer-thin scar tissue, its slick purple flesh gleaming with dampness and encrusted in craters. He saw Tony Anders, too. Steadfast in faithfulness and untroubled by death, presenting his cheek to a hostile world that bade for his blood.
“Who wants to make some fucked-up things a little bit right, then?” Sean asked, raising his beer bottle in the air. He waited while they reached for their drinks, smiling without concern as their pact was sealed amid the clinking of liquor.
Addison thought about Nate having to reside in a world where Filii Reprobi wandered, and his anxiety threatened to return. He polished off his glass of whiskey and made peace with the arrangement he’d just entered, knowing the only way he’d ever feel reassured was by taking down the entire group for good.
The dimness of the room suddenly seemed hostile as shadows claimed ownership of the space, drawing power from the many secrets that had been shared within the building. Addison stood without speaking and began walking for the door.
“Where are you going, Ad?” Jed called after him.
“For a smoke,” he responded with calm resolve.
He felt more robust than the man who’d entered the bar moments earlier. There was no point in repudiating the fact he wanted the bastards dead. Perhaps that vengeful part of his soul was still breathing—the part he thought had been extinguished after watching his father’s killer get executed. Only now, it raged deeper, fed by a willfulness to see things through. He wouldn’t receive satisfaction until all his enemies were broken, and he didn’t consider what the consequences might bring. They’d threatened his boy and stood inside the room where he slept each night. The terror they sent his way would be the architect of their fall, like a returning missile destined to land in the center of its launching pad.
As Addison stepped outside, he lit a cigarette and turned his back on the afternoon sun. When his date with Coniglio ended later this evening, he was going to hit the booze. Then he’d pop a couple of pills in the hope of getting a dreamless night’s rest.
Acknowledgments
I need to thank my amazing wife for listening to countless hours of this book, many times over, one chapter at a time. This book would be non-existent without your input. Thank you, my love.
Lynk Manuscript Agency, Sean Doyle and Saso Creative deserve a shout-out for all the fantastic work they did on my behalf. My editors, Michael McConnell and Jenny Scepanovic, have helped immensely on many fronts, polishing my book and making me a better writer.
Alex and Mark, you are true Blue Mountains brothers – thank you.
I appreciate all the times where Leigh Marks, Mimi, and Patrice listened to my work and provided encouragement.
And finally, to my dear mum and dad, thank you for giving me the best life any person might have. I love you both dearly.
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Daniel Jeudy, Sons of a Brutality
