by Lex H Jones
“What do you see?” Madam Chong enquired. Carl could hear her voice but could not see her in the vision that now surrounded him.
“I’m in a house... my parent’s house, I think. The one I grew up in.”
“You are not sure?”
“I don’t know. It’s different... not the way I remember it...” Carl explained as he tried to focus on the words of the faceless man above him. “It’s something from when I was a kid, I think... there’s a guy shouting at me... I can’t see his face or hear what he’s saying.”
“If you do not hear it now, you did not hear it then,” Madam Chong explained. “You refused to hear the words that came from his mouth. Perhaps they were too painful.”
“Then why can’t I see his face?”
“Perhaps you refused to believe that it was who you knew it to be, so you placed a blank slate over his image.”
“The belt buckle he’s wearing...” Carl remarked, squinting at the phantom image of the bull-shaped belt buckle he was observing. “I think it’s my dad.”
“Why is your father shouting at you?”
“I don’t know, I was a kid. Could have been any number of things,” Carl shrugged.
“Then why would you remember it so strongly that your mind still holds onto such a picture? It must mean more to you, on a subconscious level if nothing else.”
“He’s not just angry, he… it’s like he’s full of hate...” Carl said softly. “He’s pointing to the back door... wait, I can make out a few words now... something about being irresponsible, not looking after things... and queer. He’s saying that word a lot. Jesus, I think he’s talking about Jimmy.”
“Who is Jimmy?” asked Madam Chong.
“Friend of mine, he’s gay. Knew him as a kid, and even then it was obvious that he was... I don’t remember this. I don’t remember my own dad hating Jimmy so much that he’d yell like this for me hanging around with him.”
“Perhaps you forced yourself to forget, to fabricate a different memory of the man you wanted your father to be.”
“You a councillor now?” Carl asked sharply.
“Actually she is,” Carl heard Pope’s voice remark. “It helps with allowing people to correctly interpret what they see here.”
“Ain’t that dandy,” Carl sighed. “Wait... I’m moving... walking down the hall to the back door, my Dad’s gone now... my face hurts. I think he hit me.. .but he never hit me, I don’t think...”
“The Blue Dust can only show what is, nothing more,” Madam Chong reminded him.
“Yeah yeah, my dad was a prick and I repressed it, big deal. My dad’s been dead years, I don’t see the relevance of this,” Carl stated as he saw himself opening the back door onto the small garden.
“I cannot choose what the tea shows you any more than you can. It is merely what your mind needs you to see.”
“Well right now I see the garden... it’s kind of overgrown, hasn’t been tended in awhile. It should be green, and that fence was brown... but everything is black and white.”
“You have disassociated yourself from the memory, to the degree that you cannot truly live in it.”
“Jimmy is here,” Carl remarked suddenly. “He’s stood by the fence, and he’s holding something.”
“What is it?” Madam Chong enquired.
“It’s a chain and a bike lock... and the bike isn’t fixed to the fence like it should be... holy crap, I remember this...” Carl’s voice increased slightly in volume. “I let Jimmy ride my bike, take it out for awhile. He brought it back but forgot to lock it up, so the thing got stolen. He was always forgetful and clumsy with stuff like that, and... my dad got pissed ‘cause of how much the bike cost... wait... Jimmy forgot to lock the bike up...”
“Duggan?” Pope stepped forward as Carl’s head started to sway slightly, as though he were close to losing consciousness.
“Pope, that you?” Carl asked as he bit his bottom lip and forced himself to remain awake.
“I’m here.”
“The gun... it got stolen... no one could break into my home without me knowing it, except for you, probably... so maybe they didn’t break in,” Carl explained, his vision of the black and white garden blurring and crackling like a picture on a television that was suffering from interference. “Jimmy’s been staying with me... he must have left the door unlocked... someone just walked right in and took it... I never use the gun anymore so never noticed.”
“Who knew it was there?”
“Other cops.” Carl said through gritted teeth.
“Are you sure that is all the vision has to show you?” Madam Chong enquired.
“It’s breaking up, I think... I can still see the garden... the empty bike lock... but Jimmy’s gone... it’s only me stood by the fence... I can hear my dad yelling...” Everything went white before Carl’s eyes, and then he once more found himself staring at the withered face of Madam Chong. “It’s gone.”
“Was that helpful to you?” She smiled.
“Amazingly, yes,” Carl nodded. “But I feel like crap.”
“You should eat something,” the elderly Asian woman smiled again. “Come now. If there is nothing else, I have other customers.”
“Pope, lead me out, will you? If I have to find my way out of here alone, I’m gonna wind up in a closet.”
Pope did as requested and he and Carl left the House of Ghosts, finding themselves once more in the darkened alley outside. The snowfall was quite heavy now, but Carl was okay with that. The cold air against his skin and the chill filling his lungs removed the last remnants of the haze that the Blue Dust had brought about, sharpening his vision and his thoughts.
“So are you willing to accept that it wasn’t me who stole your gun?” Pope enquired.
“Yeah, I guess so. Which is a shame, because it would be so much easier if it was you.”
“Instead you are faced with the reality that one of your fellow officers is setting you up.”
“Joyous revelation, huh?”
“Which officers knew the gun was there?”
“Well let’s see... I had to fill in some paperwork to keep hold of the thing when everyone else turned it in... included on that form was a box where I had to make a note of my ‘secure location’ for storing the gun. That being the locked drawer next to my bed. So the only cops who would know it was there are the ones who had access to those records.”
“That should be a small number, then? Surely your station has sufficient controls in place to limit unnecessary access to such information?” Pope inquired.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Carl sighed heavily.
“Then you need to ask which officers hold a personal grudge against you?”
“Probably all of ‘em, except for Trent and the Commissioner. They don’t like me because I actually do my job and I do it for one paycheque only,” Carl explained. “Make it easier for a lot of ‘em if I was gone, one way or another.”
“You’re not that good at making friends, are you?”
“I’d never claim to be a people person,” Carl conceded. “But still, this is a big set up, Pope. To go the length of killing three random gay guys this way? No way is this all about me, it can’t be. Whoever killed those guys wanted them dead anyway, framing me for it is just a sidebar.”
“So that would mean your serial killer is a police officer,” Pope nodded.
“Yup, and one who hates gay guys. Or is one himself, I’m not clear on that yet,” Carl spoke his thoughts aloud so Pope could keep up. “You see, the crime scenes show that he actually slept with the guys first, which is a big step to take if it’s a standard homophobe murder.”
“Perhaps he is homosexual himself and yet hates it anyway? A double-edged sword?”
“You should be a police psychologist,” Carl remarked as he snapped his fingers in agreement with Pope’s suggestion. “I gotta put me a list together of possible suspects. I seen the guy on tape, he was pretty burly, so it can’t be any of the younger
guys; they’re all skin and bone. Hard to believe half of ‘em actually passed the physical. That should narrow down the list a little.”
“Would you like me to assist you?”
“You’ve done enough, and besides, you’re leaving.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw you looking at something that you took from your pocket. They looked like tickets, and I don’t see you as much of a movie goer.”
“They’re coach tickets,” Pope nodded, taking the items in question from his inside pocket and holding them up for Carl to see. “Two, for tonight.”
“Should I guess who the other is for?” Carl asked.
“I think you know.”
“Nice to see that someone listens to me.”
“She deserves better than this, Duggan. You were right.”
“Gotta ask, Pope. Why do the tickets state ‘Washington D.C’ as their destination? Why not take her to Florida? What’s there to do in D.C?”
“I never said that would be the only place we would go,” Pope smiled as he returned the tickets to his pocket. “The tickets can be rearranged if you need my help.”
“Thanks, but no. You need to get out of here, before things with Petroni start to heat up. He still wants me dead, probably you too. At least one of us should survive, and I got a better chance of doing that and solving this cop-murder debacle if I ain’t worrying about you and Felicity.”
“If you change your mind, you have my number,” Pope nodded, shaking Carl’s hand. “Take care, Detective.”
“Look after her,” Carl returned.
Chapter Thirty-Nine;
True Friend
C arl walked on through the increasing snowfall, his leather jacket refusing to keep out the worst of the cold. The wet snow slid off it to the ground, keeping him dry as was intended, but the cold air itself just bit straight through the cowhide like it wasn’t even there. The night wanted everyone in the City to feel its presence, and Carl wasn’t putting up much of a fight. He had departed from Pope and was heading home, determined to start work on his list of possible suspects whilst his thoughts on the matter were still fresh. He could feel the snow deepening on the ground, his boots had to press down through several inches of the soft white crust before reaching the harder pavement beneath. As he walked on, he heard the sound of a car driving slowly not too far away from him. Carl glanced over his shoulder and saw a battered grey vehicle making its way down the street with the headlights dipped. The manner of the driving was that of someone taking it steady in dangerous conditions, but Carl knew better. It couldn’t have been more obvious if the cops had placed a damn flashing cherry on the roof. If you want to tail a suspect, make sure it’s not someone who knows every undercover car on the books for a particular station. Goddamn morons.
As he passed a dark alleyway, Carl suddenly felt someone grab his arm and pull him off the street. It was so sudden and unexpected that he had no time to resist it, just as he had no time to block the hard blow to his face that sent him reeling back into a collection of garbage bags discarded at the side of the alley. Carl shook his head in an effort to clear it and saw three average-sized men stood over him, each wearing expensive-looking black suits and shades.
“Nice night for a walk,” one of them smiled as he flicked a switchblade from his pocket.
“It’s December and you’re wearing sunglasses at night... what’re you, an idiot?” Carl commented as he stood up, tensing himself for what he knew to be inevitable.
“Oh, he’s got a mouth. I’m gonna cut it out of his face,” one of the men remarked, lunging at Carl with his knife.
Carl grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it until it cracked, causing him to drop the knife and scream simultaneously. He then turned his opponent around and kicked him in the small of his back, feeling something dislodge beneath his foot as the man went down to the floor. Facing three opponents at once is difficult for anyone, even a fighter as adept as Carl. You can’t be everywhere at once and you can’t dodge every blow that comes. Or every knife blade. The detective felt the cold steel thrust itself between his ribs on the right side of his body, causing him to grimace as his nerves suddenly blurted into life. Carl managed to raise a fist and drive it into the face of the attacker, causing him to let go of the knife and leave it in Carl’s side as he backed away.
“You ever feel like you brought a knife to a gunfight?” Carl groaned as he drew his weapon and fired a single shot into the chest of the man who had stabbed him.
He went down hard, and fast, the bullet tearing straight through him and out the back of his chest. Despite the success of the action, Carl instantly regretted using his gun given that the shockwave it sent down his arm could be felt in the gaping wound at his side. If he wanted to remain conscious then firing the gun again would be a poor idea, but the third and final suit wasn’t looking to give him an option. He drew his own gun and aimed it directly at Carl’s head. The detective kept his weapon aimed at his final opponent whilst taking the knife from his side and pressing his left hand against the wound in a desperate attempt to hold off the blood-loss. To his gratitude, the cold night-air was also doing its part by slowing his blood flow.
“Petroni’s not a guy who lets things go, is he?” Carl chuckled as he struggled to keep his hand from shaking as he held the gun.
“You insulted him.”
“I’ll lose many a sleepless night over it,” Carl nodded.
“He’s not a man you should make an enemy of. He wanted you to know that.”
“Oh, so he has a message, does he? Was wondering why you guys didn’t just kill me the moment you dragged me down here. I’m gonna black out any second, so come on, let’s hear it.”
“He says you—”
Carl didn’t let the suit get close to finishing his sentence before he put a bullet between his eyes. The talkers always did carve out their own gravestones.
“Moron,” Carl groaned as he staggered past the body, kicking it in the ribs as he went.
With a severe grunt of pain, Carl reached inside his jacket and took out his cell phone, hit one of the speed-dials and waited for the call to be answered.
“Trent, come pick me up. I’m in the alley next to that store where they sell the donuts with the cherry glaze. Don’t ask for directions, you know where it is, you fat prick.”
Carl forced himself over to the wall, where he then slumped down to the floor, keeping all of his strength focussed on holding his hand against the wound at his side. He glanced to the left and saw the three bodies of the men who had tried to kill him. One of them was still alive, but he wasn’t going anywhere, Carl thought to himself. At least one segment of his spine had been broken or dislodged, so he wasn’t likely to be getting up and trying anything. With that knowledge in hand, Carl felt that it was safe to close his eyes, just for a moment. When he opened them again, he was in a white room being attended to by a young female nurse he didn’t recognise. She was pretty despite the lack of makeup, and her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“Am I dreaming this?” Carl groaned.
“You don’t have very exciting dreams, do you?” she smiled as she continued to stitch up Carl’s side.
“I dunno. Hot chick in a nurse outfit? I’ve had worse.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and not file a harassment complaint on account of your delirium,” the nurse smiled.
“I appreciate that,” Carl smiled as he looked around. “Hey, am I in Seven Saints?”
“You certainly are,” she nodded.
“I knew you’d play hell if I took you to the hospital across the river,” came Trent’s voice. Carl turned to see the elder detective stood with his arms folded in the doorway. “How you doing?”
“I’ve been worse.”
“I know, I’ve seen it,” Trent nodded. “Is he going to be alright?”
“Of course,” the nurse smiled as she cut the thread on the last of Carl’s stitches. “The blade didn’t cut anythin
g important, so as long as he rests he should be fine.”
“Fat chance of that,” Trent sighed. “What the hell happened?”
“Petroni still wants to ask me to dinner. He ain’t happy when I keep saying no,” Carl grunted as he tried to sit up. The nurse narrowed her eyes at him and pushed him back down in the bed.
“You stay there until I saw otherwise, do you understand? I just put those stitches in you and if you rip them straight out I am going to be very annoyed!”
“Jesus, you’re hot,” Carl smiled at her.
“Sorry to disappoint you but you’re not my type. I’m actually dating one of the other nurses. She’s blonde and six-two,” the nurse smiled as she wrote something on the clipboard at the end of Carl’s bed.
“I’m not sure if I want you to be kidding or not,” Carl said with a confused expression.
“Go easy on those stitches and you should be fine,” the nurse commented before leaving Carl and Trent alone in the room.
“So Trent, can I ask you a favour?” Carl inquired.
“Of course.”
“Next time you got someone tailing me, tell ‘em to maybe come and help me when I’m getting stabbed, alright? I think ‘blowing your cover’ comes further down on the list than letting another officer get killed.”
“I didn’t ask anyone to tail you,” Trent said defensively. “But there’s lots of folks who want to see you go down in flames, so I guess they’re looking for any opportunity to catch you out.”
“A cop stole my gun, Trent. I’m sure of it.”
“OKAY, well that does make some kind of sense. Who else would know it was there?” Trent said humbly. “So what do you want to do about it? I wanna help, but I can’t just start questioning the entire force, based on nothing more than accusation, no less.”
“Just get me home, to start with. I need to speak with a friend of mine. I’m pretty sure he left my door unlocked and didn’t tell me about it. If that’s what really happened, then I know I’m right about this. I gotta confirm that before I do anything else.”
“You’ve finally learned that it’s a bad idea to go charging in without taking your time to get everything in order. I’m so proud,” Trent said mockingly.