Deadly Days: A Gripping Detective Thriller (Logan Stone Book 1)

by Brad Hart

  “Logan,” Walsh said. “You okay?”

  “How do I look? Okay?” Logan grinned after a long pause and started to laugh. “Yeah. Keep your spirits up. That’s what I’m doing with mine – keeping them right up,” he lied.

  “We’re going to get out of this.”

  Logan looked at her and smiled but said nothing. They kept moving through the woods until a light became visible in the distance. A small makeshift hut came into view, and a man came out of it, stooping below the small gaping hole which acted as a doorway. The man began to rise until he appeared close to seven feet tall.

  “Bring them to me,” he said. His voice was as expected from a man of his height; a deep bass that seemed to rattle the shack behind him and shake the limbs of the trees above it.

  When he made his appearance, the already quiet woods grew even quieter. The cloaked members of the cult seemed to look upon him with a sense of awe. Logan couldn’t see why. The guy just looked like a circus clown to him, and he looked like he needed a good, hot shower and a bowl of macaroni and cheese to fatten him up a little. Maybe a few steaks with that too, and potatoes on the side.

  The gag tightened around Logan’s neck as he was pulled toward the man who towered over the shack like a rail-thin giant. Walsh was shoved close behind him. Logan had to crane his neck back to get a look at the man’s face, and as he did he felt like an ant about to be squashed. The man’s face was pale and gaunt with hunger. He looked as if he didn’t know what food was. His pupils were massive, which made it apparent that he was probably strung out on some kind of substance like the others.

  He was old, with wispy graying blonde hair that hung over his ears, parted in the middle. His eyes were a cold baby blue, and his fingers looked to be twice the size they should have been, even despite his enormous height. He peered down at Logan, looking at him as if he were no more than a nasty if slightly adorable mouse. His thin lips cracked into what Logan guessed was supposed to be a smile, but it wasn’t happy, nor was it friendly.

  “Welcome,” he said. “I’m guessing you may have heard a great deal about me by now. I am the master. You’ve come a long way, thanks to Parson – who I assume is long gone, dead by your hands, considering you were holding his cellular phone. Am I right about that? Did you kill my man?”

  “You’re right about that,” Logan spat next to the guy’s foot. “Whatever his name is, he’s dead. Took some bullets to the back. Guess that fancy old fashioned armor couldn’t stop that, could it?”

  “Well,” the master leered at him. “Parson was a good soldier, a man of his word. Whatever I instructed of him, he would carry it out. Whenever I told him to kill, he would pick a target and sacrifice them for me. He will be missed, but if you think I can’t replace that loyalty with another soldier… Oh, you’re very mistaken.”

  “You’re scum. Your brainwashed little helpers are killing innocent people around California,” Walsh tried to lunge forward but was grabbed from behind by one of the cloaked figures. The master laughed as she wrestled with them.

  “Cute,” he said. “But, unfortunately for you, utterly pointless. You’re wasting your energy.” He paused, thinking. “Then again, you might as well use all the energy you’d like. You’ve only got a little time left.”

  “Where’s my dad?” Brianne said. Then she began to scream. “Daddy, daddy!”

  “Shut her up,” the master said, and a cloaked man quickly placed a gun to Brianne’s head. He jammed the muzzle hard against her temple. She stopped crying and screaming. “So. This girl had the nerve to escape, and so I sent my woman into the woods to find her. I assume she’s dead as well? I heard gunfire.”

  “The asshole with the crossbow?” Logan said.

  “Well, that’s being a bit harsh, but yes. The asshole with the crossbow – and she was quite good at using the thing. I see she did a little damage to you…” The master reached down to touch Logan’s cheekbone. Logan pulled away, but the master pinched onto it and squeezed the wound tight.

  “Bastard,” Logan growled. Blood poured from the slice in his cheek.

  “Hurt?”

  “No,” he lied. “I can do this forever, freakshow.”

  He squeezed harder. Logan’s eyes bulged out, locking with the master’s. He wasn’t weak, and he could handle the pain. He could also handle the intimidation. He was going to give some of that back to the bastard master. A taste of his own medicine. He wasn’t going to break eye contact or blink until the nutcase did. Do it first, and you lose.

  “How does it feel now?” The master asked.

  “Like heaven,” Logan grinned through the pain, blocking it out, thinking happy thoughts. He thought about his apartment. He loved the place, but he hadn’t been there in ages. He had been traveling too much, working wherever the cases took him. His apartment was a small one bedroom in an old pre-war building on the far Upper West Side of Manhattan.

  Fifth floor walkup, but it kept him in shape. No elevator in an ancient place like that. Logan thought of the days and nights spent strolling through Central Park. It wasn’t so busy at the top of the park, and he found it easy to clear his head when he walked around the small pond. He thought of his neighbor’s golden retriever. He thought of the playful but lazy street cat who lived inside the bodega on Columbus Avenue. Logan winced through the pain. He could feel the blood streaming down his face and past his jawline, onto his neck… He couldn’t block it out any longer.

  The master pulled away. “You’re a strong one or a good actor. Which is it? And what about your partner here?” He grinned, swaying his monstrously long arm toward Walsh. He rubbed his bloody fingers together and placed them beneath his chin as if lost in thought while he stared down at her. She had been placed against the back of a tree.

  Logan wanted to shout something along the lines of, ‘Leave her out of it’, but he didn’t. It wasn’t time to be the big hero. Shouting that would be dangerous. Making any sort of connection to her would be dangerous. Showing any sort of feeling, concern, or care for Walsh needed to be avoided at all costs. The master stooped down on his knees to get a good look at her.

  He still towered over her, and he put his long forefinger under her chin and brought it up to meet his cold, ugly gaze. “Oh, you are beautiful, aren’t you? You look strong too, girl. Are you?”

  “Why do you do it?” Walsh asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “Kill.”

  His eyes gleamed. He was proud of himself. “I didn’t much, at least not this time. You think I’m the one murdering all those people? Oh, dear – you have a lot to learn. I’m six feet seven inches tall. I would stick out far too much to commit the acts myself. As much as I’d enjoy getting my hands filthy… It’s not the safest idea. No, I merely stay in the shadows these days and enjoy killing in my own privacy… For example, here in the woods. Right – here - in – the - woods… The others in San Feliz, and Los Angeles? Those were my doing, but not by my hands, dear.”

  Walsh looked around. She knew that of course, he wasn’t the actual killer, as that had been obvious as soon as she had laid eyes on him. But which one was the killer? She knew they were all killers – but who had been the ones operating in San Feliz and LA? There must have been two, and she didn’t even know if either of them were there.

  The man leered at her. “You’re hoping that if you stop me, it will stop my work from being executed,” he chuckled. “Oh, dear. You’re not too smart, are you? You or your friend. On the contrary, you’re both foolish, and my work will continue even if you kill me or bring me to your silly little idea of justice. Want to arrest me? Go ahead, try it. I still have men out there, and you know it.”

  “Not many,” Walsh grinned. “A twisted cult like this wouldn’t be that big. Couldn’t be. You’re bluffing.”

  “Want to try me? Do you really want to accuse me of bluffing? Should I act on that accusation, dear? Should I phone up one of my men and ask them to prove my reach? If you believe I’m bluffing, then think again. Sur
e, Los Angeles has no one of mine as of now. That’s because you killed them,” he pointed to Walsh and Logan. “However, I’d like to introduce you to everyone else who believes in my command… Not including those who are currently in your sweet little town, my dear.”

  Walsh shuddered at the thought of the man’s twisted cult members planning their next heinous murder in San Feliz. She could hardly resist the urge to rise to her feet and break her hands free like a comic book hero before she clutched the master’s throat and strangled him to death while gazing into his cold eyes. But that wasn’t going to happen, and she knew it. It never did, outside of the movies. There was no time for fantasies of revenge.

  But there was still time to cut through the rope that bound her hands, and she was doing just that.

  When the master had been speaking to Logan, all attention had been on him, and Walsh had been forgotten about, albeit briefly. Still, for an agile woman like herself, a brief moment had been enough time to twist her bound hands around her back and grab the handle of the knife that stuck out of her boot. All the while as the tall man spoke to her, she held the knife with both hands and was careful not to let it move or bring any attention to it. She was glad that none of the cloaked members of the cult were behind her. If they had been, then they would have seen the long blade that she held in her hands.

  When the master stood and moved away, Walsh began to cut. She was going to get them the hell out of there, all of them. Logan, Brianne Jones, the other girl, and herself. Would there be casualties during the process? Yes.

  And Walsh wasn’t going to let Logan, the two girls, or herself be one of them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Walker could feel himself regaining some sense of normalcy, despite the terrifying situation he seemed locked into. If he hadn’t gone after that rusted out car, if he hadn’t reversed and parked behind it, then none of this would have happened. His leadership had gotten the best of him, along with his aching sense of justice.

  And now he felt he’d met his end thanks to his own arrogance. His own hatred of working with a partner.

  He sat there, wondering what was going through Walsh’s mind at that point. He even wondered about Logan Stone. He was a nobody to him, but he’d been an alright guy and Walker knew he didn’t deserve to meet a twisted end like this. As he thought of his children, and the marriage to his wife which he would now never be able to repair, a figure came toward the fire from somewhere in the woods.

  The figure was wearing a red sack over its head with eyeholes cut into it. Walker started to laugh. He was staring death in the face and he started to chortle at it.

  “So, it’s you,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

  The man in the mask said nothing. He looked to the drugged-out man who drove the rusted car. The drugged-out man nodded his head at the man and then did a knife cutting motion with his finger to his neck. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “We don’t know when,” he said, sounding bored. “Still waiting for you know who to call. Did you move the pig’s car?”

  “With what?”

  “What?”

  “Move it how?”

  “Move it off the road a little bit so nobody can see it if they drive by.”

  “Move it how?” The masked man asked again.

  The druggie winced. He looked nervous. “I mean, put the keys in and start it up and just move it a bit,” he chuckled as his face turned red. “Pull it into the trees, you know?”

  “You didn’t give me the damn keys.”

  “Oh. Well, sorry about that. That’s my fault,” he stuttered and then pulled the car keys from his pocket. “I forgot to give you these, but don’t worry about it now, sir. I’ll do it myself later. You just relax now, okay? I know the master wants you to save your energy for later.”

  Walker eyeballed the druggie and then looked down at his own belt and the miniature satchel that he kept fastened to it. He kept it hooked onto his belt at all times, and it was old and weathered but reliable and made of tough horsehide. He wasn’t sure if they had noticed or checked the satchel, but he had an extra set of keys in it for the cruiser. The thing was small enough that there was a big chance they hadn’t even noticed it. But, Walker wondered, what good would it do? He was cornered, surrounded by these freaks. If he had the keys, then so what?

  And these psychos had weapons. Probably plenty of them.

  “What if your master doesn’t call?” He asked.

  “Hey, shut your big mouth up,” the druggie said, and burst forward.

  He crouched down on his feet to meet Walker at eye level. “Nobody asked you any questions. You speak when spoken to, do you understand me?” His eye twitched and he scratched his nose.

  “Strung out?” Walker grinned.

  “What? No.”

  “When was your last fix? Are you waiting on something? Master got all the drugs, wherever he is?”

  “Shut the hell up!”

  “He supplies you with a boatload of pills and chemicals to keep you all doped up and in return, you do his dirty work? That it, kid? Am I getting warm? He’s the fixer?”

  “I’m not going to warn you again! You speak again, and I’ll punch you in your nasty pig face. Or better yet, I’m gonna make that son of a bitch cut your insides out. Boy, he will gut you like a fish,” he groaned, scratching his neck with one hand like a junkie needing a hit while pointing with the other to the masked man.

  “You won’t do shit,” Walker grinned bigger. “You’re waiting on a call from your master; your knight in shining armor. When the master calls, why don’t you go ahead and tell him that Chief Frank Walker sends a big screw you to him.”

  The back of a bony, filthy hand smacked Walker’s cheek hard. It sent his head down to the ground, smacking against the dirt with a crack. He shut his mouth then, but not because he was scared– he just didn’t want to die or pass out before he had a chance to escape if that chance ever came. He had his doubts that it would.

  “Alright, alright. I won’t say anything,” he mumbled.

  “You better not,” the druggie’s eyes were bulging from out of his hollowed sockets. He stared at Walker, waving his finger in the air like a mother scolding her naughty child. “You speak badly about the master one more time and I don’t care if I don’t have his direct orders. I don’t need them. I’ll kill you right then and there. I’m not in the best of moods, as you seem to be able to see. I don’t have anything stopping me right now from blowing your brains out, or cutting your throat, or tying you up to that split and then watching as you scream until your vocal cords burst while you’re burning alive. Pig, I would love nothing more in the world than to watch that right now with my own eyes… And believe you me, I will be watching that as soon as the master calls and gives me the go to. The master is a busy man. Maybe he’ll call me in fifteen minutes, or maybe he won’t call me until three in the morning. I can wait. We are all children of the master and we have all been taught by him to wait for something special,” he said, spreading his arms out at the small crowd that surrounded them.

  “And make no mistake, everyone. Witnessing this man up on that split, burning and smoking… Oh, that’s going to be so special, alright. But for now, pig, I suggest you take it easy and enjoy the last remaining hours or minutes of your pathetic life.”

  Walker thought hard and fast. He stared at the junkie, whose face was still so close to his own, all squinting and angry and red. Then he stared at the man on the other side of the fire with the red mask over his head. His eyes wandered to the flames then, and he envisioned himself being roasted alive.

  His wife would find out about that, even if the police department tried to keep it quiet. Even if they tried to downplay his death by telling her it had been a gunshot or a knifing. She’d find out the truth. She was smart, certainly smarter than himself.

  His kids would find out, too. Not at first, but eventually.

  They would grow up without a father. Maybe the wife would remarry, and maybe
he would be a prick. Maybe he would be a banker with a good salary who was a better man than Walker himself. Maybe he would be a good stepfather with no skeletons in his closet and no guilt in his past for not saving the lives of two innocents.

  Walker could never live that down. He couldn’t get rid of his skeletons.

  His kids would certainly find out how their daddy died one day. They would find out he was burned over a hot flame like a pig while a crowd of demented maniacs watched and cheered.

  Walker’s gaze jumped from the flames to the junkie who still scowled at him. The junkie’s head was close to his own, about six inches away.

  Perfect.

  Walker slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, shattering the cartilage upon impact. Blood spurted out and the man screamed as Walker jumped to his feet and took off through the woods, sprinting faster than he had since his days as a star on the high school track team.

  He hadn’t smoked back then, but he had smoked now for many years, and his lungs were a shell of what they used to be. Even so, he ran like a man with everything to lose, because at that moment he realized he was just that. He couldn’t lose his kids. He couldn’t lose his wife.

  More than anything, he couldn’t die and have them find out how.

  He couldn’t let them lose him. He was going to get home and fix all his wrongs and make everything right and happy again. He was going to cherish his wife for putting up with his moods and cook her dinner every night. He was going to play baseball with his children and take them to the movies on his nights off from work. He was going to finally be the dad they deserved, if he made it.

  It was a big if.

  His heart was pounding as he brushed past the trees and jumped over shrubbery. He didn’t look back, because if the cult been coming then he didn’t want to know. Walker ran like a linebacker. The years of toxic tobacco wasn’t going to stop him. He kept on going until he could see a faint light in the darkness; a glimmer of hope in that gnarled and depressing forest, and beyond the faint light was his shining police cruiser.