by Jon F. Merz
I looked up. "‘Bastard’? Christ, a minute ago you were telling me what a pushover Cosgrove is. Now he’s a bad boy? Damn, you flip-flop like a cheap whore." I passed the photo back to him.
McKinley looked at the picture. "Well, yes, but obviously I-we-can’t condone this kind of behavior, Lawson."
"You seem surprised. Admit it, you know the guy’s a certifiable maniac. He’s a freak. And he’s never been content with just killing his victims. He’s gotta make a statement. Stand out like some damned insane artist. One of these days he’ll probably mail me an ear."
I scooped out some white rice on to my plate and quickly hid it under a pile of beef, brown sauce, and red peppers. "That makes him easy to track, thanks to the trail of dead bodies. But it also makes him more dangerous."
McKinley used one of his chopsticks to pick a piece of pork out of his teeth. "Well, Christmas comes early for you this year, whether I agree with your assessment or not." He replaced the envelope in his jacket. "Carte blanche on how you want to do it, they passed the termination order down this afternoon."
"All right. First things first: I’ll need a fresh mug shot. Chances are good he doesn’t look a thing like he used to."
"A hundred percent good, in fact," said McKinley. "Rumor is he vacationed in Switzerland, got himself a new face. Problem is we don’t have a photo."
I put my chopsticks down. "You’re sending me out blind?"
"So it’s not an easy mark, you’ll improvise."
"Cosgrove and easy aren’t even distant cousins. You’re handing me a grenade with no pin."
"You’ve handled worse assignments before," said McKinley. "Remember Tokyo last year?"
"The only thing I remember about that operation is how much miso soup I ate. Stuff was like intestinal drain cleaner."
McKinley grinned. "Well, there’s no miso soup on this assignment. Your orders are simple and clear. The Council wants him gone. Get rid of him. This time for good."
"There wouldn’t be a this time if the Council had seen things my way before. If they’d listened, instead of dismissing me like some naive agent fresh out of training."
McKinley frowned. "What do you want me to say? They fucked up? Well, they probably did. But then again, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of decisions you regret making."
"Only one stands out right now: having dinner with you tonight."
"You’d rather find out by having him show up at your house? I’m doing you a favor here."
"By giving me a sanction with no picture?" I shook my head. "That’s some favor."
"Look, you want to stop your bitching and start doing something about it or what? Honestly, I’d have bet good money you’d be all over this assignment."
I hated it. But I didn’t have to like it. Or McKinley for that matter. A job was a job. And Cosgrove just happened to be another one. I wondered how long I’d be able to convince myself that’s all it was.
The odds weren’t good.
I looked at McKinley. "Guess I’ll have to beat the grass and surprise the snake."
He stopped chewing. "That another one of your infamous Japanese philosophies?" He shook his head. "Don’t know why you bother remembering that mumbo-jumbo kung fu stuff."
"Maybe if you had some appreciation for things other than what you can stuff down your gullet, you’d learn something. It happens to be a Zen saying and a sword fighting strategy. I’ll use it to find Cosgrove. Hopefully."
"Yeah? Enlighten me, oh mighty Zen master. How you gonna use that to get your boy?"
"Cosgrove loves nightclubs. They’re his hunting grounds. I hate nightclubs. Cosgrove knows that. But I’ll do what he doesn’t expect: I’ll make them my hunting grounds too."
"Whatever," said McKinley. "Just so long as you get him."
"I don’t really have a choice, do I? Sooner or later he’s going to finish his business here in town and, according to you, come looking for me." I sighed and reached for another piece of beef. "You’re right. With our past, he can’t afford to leave me alone. He’s got to assume we know he’s here. And that I’ll be hunting him."
"You want backup?"
"You don’t have any backup to give."
"I could pull some strings. Get someone transferred over temporarily if you think you can’t handle him alone. If he’s too much for you."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." I frowned. "I don’t want a partner. I work better alone." I took a sip of tea. "Besides, I know Cosgrove better than anyone else. I’ll handle it. My way. Just make damned sure the Council doesn’t jerk me back in. If I get a bead on him this time, he goes down. Like it or not."
"Trust me, Lawson. You can stuff him and mount him on a wall for all we care," said McKinley harpooning the final dumpling.
"If only it was that easy," I mumbled. "Killing him will be hard enough."
*** *** ***
Midnight found me skirting puddles from the earlier downpour as I crossed the Brookline Avenue bridge, over the traffic surging along the Massachusetts Turnpike. The night had blossomed into a crisp, clear sky with tendrils of rain clouds slinking to the North. My heated breath stained the air in front of my face as I dodged another pool of grimy water.
I love the darkness.
Most people are afraid of what they can’t see. To me, the shadows hold the excitement, the risk, and even the danger I need in my life. I suppose I’d have to feel that way, given my occupation.
Cosgrove.
The last time he came to my theater of operations, he killed fifty people. Of course, the cops had no clue. They never did. And the Feds? Well, if you knew how they operated, it was no mystery why they were as clueless as the local donut jockeys.
Back then, I told the Council Cosgrove needed to be eliminated. He brought too much attention on an area of this world most people don’t realize exists. An area most people think is reserved for old books and Stephen King novels. An area most people don’t want to believe in, because it tosses their reality the proverbial bird in a bad way.
The Council didn’t believe me. Not enough evidence, they said, dismissing the dozens of bodies Cosgrove littered the streets and alleys with. They told me to leave Cosgrove alone.
I disobeyed the order.
Not a smart move on my part. The Council acts as a government of sorts for us. They hand down the laws of our society. I work for them with McKinley operating as my Control. Albeit a crappy one. But even the respect I had for the Council didn’t stop me from defying them.
I tried to take Cosgrove out. I almost succeeded.
And I almost died.
Almost.
In this game, almost means about as much as two minus two.
Cosgrove vanished without a trace. I got a verbal warning for failure to follow orders.
That’s called getting off lucky. On both counts.
Ahead of me, Landsdowne Street – Boston’s nightclub Mecca - beckoned. And on a Friday night, it was packed with all sorts of people out to enjoy a night on the town. Most of them didn’t realize how much danger was passing them by. Like the sharks that swam all around people at the beach. Just because you couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. It didn’t mean they weren’t just as deadly.
Especially when they were hungry.
Cosgrove may as well have been a poster child for Ethiopian famine.
His hunger for death rivaled only for his lust for blood. In the time I’d spent trying to track him down and waste his ass on a permanent basis, I’d learned a little something about him.
What made him different was an infusion of bad blood into his family line. His grandfather, lazy bastard that he was, chose targets of convenience rather than maintaining the dignity of the hunt. He lounged around insane asylums, morgues, anyplace where the dregs of society congregated. Where they were easy pickings.
Cosgrove’s dad said Grandpop did it so no one would ever miss them. So they wouldn’t know what had killed them. Cosgrove’s fat
her didn’t want to believe the truth that Grandpop was just a miserable excuse for a hunter.
The mixture of blood he took in infected genes which were subsequently passed down to Cosgrove’s father and Cosgrove himself. Cosgrove’s father killed himself shortly after I paid him a visit to discuss his son’s aberrant behavior.
Odd thing, that.
But the infectious mix of lunacy swirling about Cosgrove’s bloodstream mutated causing Cosgrove to kill with the same kind of zest a fourteen year old boy has when he discovers how to jerk-off. I’d seen Cosgrove’s death lust first hand before. His behavior, at least according to McKinley and the Council, could no longer be tolerated.
God knew I’d been tolerating longer than most.
I made my way past the sausage vendors pedaling thick pieces of bloated meat by-products sizzling over the blue flame of sterno to drunken nightclubbers. I walked past the homeless veteran with the old Campbell’s soup can held outstretched in front of him looking for salvation in the guise of another quarter. And eventually past the lines of limousines double and triple-parked in front of velvet cordons corralling long lines of supposedly beautiful people before herding them into the clubs.
I saw Simbik before he noticed me sidling through the five college girls attempting to bullshit him with fake ID’s. The son of a wealthy Turkish importer who lived outside of Istanbul on a huge estate, Simbik didn’t have to work for anyone. He could have spent his life mooching off dear ol’ dad. He didn’t. I respected that. Rumor was the big lug had a soft spot for animals and was putting himself through veterinary school.
"Simbik."
He smiled immediately. "Who you pestering tonight, Lawson?"
I moved past the girls, who frowned and walked further down the street to try conning another doorman. I scanned the area again. "Just out for a walk."
Simbik smiled. "Sure, and I’m just standing here farting for my health." He shook his head. "I got a better chance of seeing Istanbul and Athens become sister cities, fuhgeddaboutit." He glanced up the street as more patrons arrived. "Who you looking for?"
For a recent immigrant to the States, Simbik’s accent was thoroughly Brooklyn. He once told me he’d worked in a pizza joint in Bensonhurst before moving up to Boston. He learned part of his English drowning in tomato sauce, cheese and dough. He learned the other half wading through guys named Guido, Vinny, and Sal with his fists and an occasional headbutt. At six feet two inches and a shade under two hundred and a quarter, the few foes Simbik couldn’t handle could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
I watched him examine some more ID’s and wave through another group of clubgoers before responding. Simbik knew very little about me. But he knew some.
"Man named Cosgrove."
"Friend of yours?"
I looked at him, and he broke into a toothy grin. Simbik knew if I was looking for someone, they definitely weren’t a candidate for sainthood.
"So, what’s your boy look like?"
I looked further down the street. "Don’t know."
Simbik cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. "Great job you got, Lawson. If I wasn’t so happy being a doorman here, rejecting little kids with bogus IDs and all, I might threaten to come aboard."
"What can I tell you – cosmetic surgery makes my life a bitch. No one’s got a recent photo of him."
He nodded. "Figures." He adjusted the radio earpiece he wore. "So, how you gonna do it?"
"He’s got a certain style. I’ll watch for it."
"Hey, man, Landsdowne’s a short street, but it’s got eight clubs, thousands of people, and only four hours to check them all out. You ain’t got that many eyes, my friend."
"Simbik, I’m a professional. I use cunning, experience, and a lot of good detailed information."
His left eyebrow arched higher on his forehead.
I shrugged. "All right, so you’re the only friend I’ve got down here. Your place is as good as any to start with, y’know?"
"Yeah." Simbik lit an unfiltered cigarette and took a long drag, expelling a thin stream of smoke into the night air. "Always knew my number would come up someday."
"Mind if I check it out?"
"Hey, bana gore hava hos."
"Thanks." I started inside but Simbik stopped me.
"Lawson."
I looked at him.
He blew more smoke into the night air. "You sure he’ll be inside?"
"Not really."
"You find him in there, what happens?"
"I kill him."
He regarded me for a moment. "Can you whack him quietly? I got a job here and all."
"Simbik, if I find this guy in your club, I’ll kill him any damned way I can. You’ll thank me for it a million times and then buy me all
the Bombay Sapphire I can drink."
"He’s that bad, huh?"
"No." I shook my head. "He’s even worse." I ducked under the blue velvet curtain and vanished into the shadowy recesses of the club.
Into the unknown.
Chapter Two
Inside, I felt the pulsing rhythm of amplified dance music rocket into my ear drums. Blue lasers and flashing lights pierced the darkness before being swallowed up again by the shadows. The dark kept me safe. If Cosgrove caught sight of me, he’d either try to escape or kill me.
Not knowing what Cosgrove looked like put me at a real disadvantage. Spend the kind of money Cosgrove had and you could put a new face on an elephant, call it a mouse, and no one would know any better.
Christ, he could look like anybody now.
Fortunately, the only thing more demanding than his bloodlust was Cosgrove’s vanity. Any changes to his appearance would have to make him look more attractive. He’d be a good-looking guy, probably with a couple of women around him. Cosgrove loved flaunting himself.
He hadn’t always been like that. Time was, Cosgrove’s looks ranked right down there with the kind of road rash you’d find at a motorcycle accident scene. But a huge trust fund and family money enabled him to get the wrongs righted and come out looking like some GQ model, albeit a deranged one.
By comparison, my short bristly permanently graying hair poked straight out of my scalp at odd angles, accentuating my large forehead and reasonably strong jawline that hadn’t yet succumbed to age. McKinley once called me a walking military recruitment poster.
Maybe I could use some time in Sweden.
I stopped at the first bar, leaned into the Naugahyde padding and ordered a Bombay Sapphire with tonic from a guy with far too much metal lancing his skin. I slid a ten dollar bill on the counter then turned to sip the drink and watch the crowd.
In Simbik’s club there was only one VIP area. It overlooked the dance floor from an upper balcony wrapped in maroon padded couches. I felt sure Cosgrove would be sitting up there surveying potential victims like he was on some kind of sick shopping spree.
"Is that a gin and tonic?"
Brunette. Too much makeup. In my peripheral vision I could see her holding her drink up next to mine in some kind of vain attempt at playing Match Game. "Good choice," she said.
I took another sip and continued watching the floor. "What kind of gin did you order?"
The look on her face told me she had no idea. "Try Bombay
Sapphire next time," I said and moved into the crowd. That
would count as my contribution to human society tonight. A little education for the masses on what constituted a damned fine drink. And if I took Cosgrove out, that’d be my angel’s wings for sure. I might just make this a banner night.
I took the steps to the upper balcony slowly, using the black metal rail to cover my approach. Cosgrove would be sitting near an exit. A pompous bastard maybe, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.
Unfortunately, he knew that I always worked alone. The price of being the best at what I do.
Sometimes being good really sucked.
A club security guard barred my way; apparently I wasn’t wearing this season’s appropriate Gucci fash
ion apparel. I smiled. "Simbik sent me."
He nodded and let me pass.
At the top of the stairs, I paused, scanned the recessed shadows for any signs that Cosgrove might be there. Even with the onslaught of steady musical rampage, I could hear the juicy sounds of several people swapping spit and Southern Hemisphere body fluids. So much for safe sex. It was only a matter of time before humans wiped themselves out. Even with AIDS killing thousands of people, they still wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t even care but continued epidemic levels of a killer disease threatened the food chain. And that meant my existence might even come into question.
I zeroed in on the recessed circular couch to my right. A man being wooed by two women and a possible threesome reclined against the back wall. Lucky bastard.
I walked over, standing in front of him. He was about six-one and weighed maybe two hundred pounds. That was about right for Cosgrove. And it gave him about a twenty pound advantage over yours truly.
I’m usually much more subtle. I wouldn’t normally dream of making an approach this way. Unfortunately, McKinley sending me out without even a vague idea of what Cosgrove looked like, complicated things to the point where subtlety lost out to a frontal attack.
I cleared my throat.
Whoever he was, he wasn’t happy with my sudden appearance.
"What the fuck do you want?"
I took a sip of my drink, felt the delicate flavoring of juniper and licorice as it coursed down my throat. I smiled.
"Mav kola an gurok."
It was a simple enough greeting in the old language. I wasn’t quite sure what I hoped to gain by saying it. Maybe lull Cosgrove into replying which would have been a dead giveaway.
I didn’t get my wish.
"Fucking immigrants," said the man in front of me. He stood and tried to shove me away. I pivoted, used his momentum and sent him sprawling down the stairs with me close on his heels.
I caught up with him just as he came to rest at the base of the steps. I tugged down the collar on his shirt and examined the base of his clavicle for the birthmark that would identify him as Cosgrove. The birthmark was the one guarantee I had that Cosgrove could never erase. Even with all the Swedish doctors working on it. It branded us all, the mark of my race. A tattoo of sorts that was as much a means of identification as it was a stigmata.