by JE Gurley
“Come on. I’ll take you back to your hotel before the press gets here.” She did not let go of me as I walked her back across the street to get her clothes. It felt good to have her under my arm. It had been a long time since I had felt anything but contempt for most women, though I could not place all the blame for my failed marriages on my ex-wives, bitches they may have been. I was never home. I was always so eager to solve everyone else’s problems I had no time for mine. Well, my problems had just gotten bigger.
As we pulled up at Joria’s hotel, I spotted a familiar black SUV parked across the street with the same two men inside trying hard to be inconspicuous. The dark suits and matching shades gave them away. I escorted Joria to the elevator and said goodnight. By the time I walked back outside, ready to confront our unknown friends, the SUV was gone.
8
Ella Ramirez was ecstatic. Her teacher and mentor, Professor Emmett Warren of Loyola University, had always told her, “Great reporters don’t report the news, young lady, they make it.” She deeply believed in this philosophy and tried to live by it. She had been furious at herself for letting Hardin slip away to the old monastery without following him, but she had a broadcast and could not shirk her responsibilities. She and Capaldi had listened intently to the police call on the scanner and left the station as soon as she went off air, arriving at the monastery just after the ambulance and back up police cars. She learned that Hardin had found Sasha Sattersby injured but alive, but in the process Attwood, Hardin’s partner, a female forensics assistant and a uniformed officer had died and the Midnight Monster had escaped capture. The police had whisked Sasha Sattersby away in an ambulance and was telling no one where she was.
The Midnight Monster had injured Hardin as well and he had spent the night in the hospital. Uniformed guards prevented her from getting anywhere near him. Two days later, she and Capaldi had stood in the rain filming the funerals of Lew Atwood and Melody Anderson from a distance, keeping a close eye on Hardin. He had seemed unnaturally subdued and melancholy. She imagined losing a partner could do that. She and Steve had been friends and colleagues for three years and she supposed she would lament his passing.
To get her story, she decided to stick with Hardin as if married to him. Keeping close tabs on him led her and Steve Capaldi to a building only a few blocks from Sasha Sattersby’s apartment. They watched from a distance as Hardin and a beautiful dark haired woman made mysterious preparations with Hardin carrying a sniper rifle up a fire escape and hiding beneath old rugs and boxes, while across the street the woman repeatedly walked out onto the balcony and glanced in his direction.
“He’s using her as bait,” Capaldi said after her second appearance.
“Beautiful,” Ella replied. “We need to find out who she is. Get a good shot of her. If he succeeds, I want it on video. Either way we’ll get some great footage.”
They waited for hours. She wondered how Hardin was managing beneath all those boxes and rugs in this heat. At least they had thought to bring a thermos of ice tea and some snacks. Ella had just dozed off when Capaldi suddenly cried out.
“My God!” he yelled, grabbing his camera from the floor beside him. “What’s that?”
Ella saw a flash of gray and heard the crash of breaking glass as someone entered an upper story window down the street and directly across from the bait apartment. A woman’s screams broke the quiet night.
“Get this! Get this!” she yelled at Capaldi, beating on his shoulder with her fist.
“Stop shaking the damn camera!” he shot back at her, fending her off with one arm while trying to focus the camera.
She watched as Hardin threw off his concealing cover and climbed onto the roof, his rifle slung over his shoulder, racing along the rooftop. She held her breath as he leapt the gap between the two buildings; then disappeared.
“Come on,” she yelled at Capaldi to get him moving. “We need close ups.”
Just over a minute later, while they filmed the broken window from the ground, gunfire erupted from the same apartment, followed by the noise of furniture crashing inside. Something, a shadow maybe, flashed in front of the window. Ella prayed for a clearer shot. Across the street, a uniformed officer appeared on the roof, raised his shotgun and fired. She could see where most of the pellets hit the side of the building, but some went through the open window. Then the officer fired again. The gray clad intruder fell out the window directly above them. Ella screamed as he plummeted toward the sidewalk.
She gasped as he suddenly unfurled large wings and lifted into the air, missing the ground by less than a foot. As he gained height, he flapped his wings and soared directly over Ella’s head. The breeze of his passing mussed her hair. She wrinkled her nose at a sudden fetid odor. Then she saw his face and froze in shock, all thoughts of her story forgotten. It was not the face of a man but of a creature, a real monster, straight from the pages of some medieval book on architecture. She had seen such creatures decorating the roofs of cathedrals and thought them grotesque. None compared to the horror of the face she had glimpsed.
The creature landed briefly on the balcony on which the dark haired woman stood; then he shot into the air and over the roof. Ella held her breath, not believing what she was witnessing. She could have sworn that a brief knowing look passed between the woman and the creature and that a smile crossed the woman’s lips, but she must have been mistaken.
Less than thirty seconds later, while Ella pondered the implications of what had just happened, shots erupted from the roof and someone on the roof screamed, the police officer with the shotgun. She watched in horror as the officer’s body flew from the roof and smashed onto the asphalt in the middle of the street only ten yards from her with the sound of a melon bursting. He lay there like a broken, discarded doll, his blood slowly pooling around his body and running into a nearby storm drain like runoff from a spring rain.
She backed up slowly and brushed against Capaldi.
“Did … did you get all that?” she asked, her voice quaking. Her whole body quivered as adrenaline pumped through her heart, excitement battling disbelief and fear for dominance.
He didn’t answer for a moment; then, quietly, “Yes.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here before the police hold us as witnesses.”
Back in the van, she sank into the passenger trying to slow the pounding of her runaway heart. Her palms were sweaty and her throat flushed. “Did you see that thing? What the hell was it?”
Capaldi looked over at her. She had never seen his face so pale, so drained of color. “It was the Midnight Monster.”
“We have to get this video back to the studio.”
“Wipe your face,” Capaldi said.
She reached and adjusted the rearview mirror where she could see herself. Blood spotted her forehead and one cheek, the dead police officer’s blood. She felt suddenly lightheaded and her stomach queasy. She frantically rubbed her face with her hands until her skin burned but the blood remained; only smudged.
“It will come off with soap and water,” Capaldi assured her as he repositioned the mirror.
Ella fought back the burning tears that welled in her eyes, doubting the blood would ever wash away.
9
“What the hell were you thinking, Detective?” Captain Bledsoe minced no words with me. The veins on the side of his neck were sticking out like ropes. “You told me you had a plan I went along with it. Was this your plan?” He slapped a newspaper on the desk in front of me. The headline read, “Déjà vu” and showed the dead officer’s body in the middle of the street. “Luckily, they haven’t been able to interview the girl who almost died.”
I started to remind him that I had saved her life, but dropped it. It wouldn’t help my case. I had blown it big time and I knew it. I had been overconfident. I thought the heavy artillery was all I needed. The damned creature was smart, a lot smarter than I gave it credit.
“We had the right ar
ea,” I reminded him. “I don’t know why it didn’t choose Ms. Alvarez. She made herself highly visible.”
He shook his head. “Do you realize I may be fired over this, after twenty-five years on the force? If I am, do you for one moment believe I’m going to go down alone? If I go, you’ll go so fast behind me they’ll think we’re shackled at the wrist.”
I picked up my Styrofoam coffee cup to take a sip. It had sat untouched since he had started unloading on me half an hour earlier. Now it was cold. I set it back down in disgust. I needed my caffeine but couldn’t stand cold coffee.
“Damn it, Hardin, you’re a good detective but this, this…creature is making an ass out of you, out of all of us, a highly visible ass at that. I think you’re too close to the case. Detective Atwood’s death is affecting your judgment. I’m going to reassign you.”
I jumped up, startled and angry. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You can’t,” I protested.
“The hell I can’t! This came down from the top. As of now, you’re off the case. I’ll find you something to do later. Right now, take some time off and rest. Grieve for your partner. Don’t make me take your badge,” he warned.
I chewed my tongue as I fumed silently at his needless reminder of my part in Lew’s death, as if I had casually let it slip my mind. What could I say? I glowered at him but he had mastered the art of ignoring unruly subordinates. He turned his back on me, his way of letting me know that I was dismissed, but as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck. I resisted the impulse to slam the door behind me. Outside his office, no one would look me in the eye. The office had a very effective rumor mill and everyone probably knew what was going to happen before I did. I caught a couple of sideways glances in my direction loaded with sympathy, but mostly because of Lew. Everyone had liked him. Me, they only tolerated. All the uniforms knew was that I had killed two of their own. I would have hated to see the bookmaking odds on my remaining a detective.
I wasn’t going to take this lying down but I knew better than to try to buck the captain openly. He was an old pro. He had survived his position as long as he had by covering his ass and by sucking up to the right people. Yet I knew I couldn’t just drop the case. I had too much invested in it. Joria and I had come so close. I couldn’t back out now. I would not accept defeat at the hands of some South American myth. I was a cop.
I didn’t bother calling Joria. I went directly to her hotel. Our friends in the black SUV weren’t there. When I knocked on her door, she opened it promptly and ushered me inside. She wore a loose fitting Carlos Santana t-shirt and cut off denim jeans that fit so snugly they made me wish I were the denim. She was barefooted. Her toes nails painted a bright crimson that reminded me too much of blood. I quickly shook off my morbid thoughts as my eyes followed her wonderful ass across the room and my body followed her to the sofa.
“I was hoping you would come,” she said with a mischievous grin as she sat down and tucked her legs up under her. “I’ve been thinking of you.”
I plopped down beside her, catching a whiff of her perfume as I did so. The woman changed scents as often as I changed socks it seemed, maybe more often. This time it was an exotic fragrance, some jungle flower. Its heady aroma was enticing and doing a number on my hormones. “Oh, yeah?” I replied, momentarily distracted by the scent.
“I’m afraid my actions have gotten you into trouble with your superiors.”
“I’m used to it,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could.
“No, seriously,” she insisted. “They have asked me rather politely to refrain from further action involving the Chupacabra or face immediate deportment. They informed me you were no longer working on the case.”
I rubbed my chin where it still itched from the scar. “Officially, no, but I don’t intend to let this thing kill any more girls.”
She smiled. “Good. I hoped you would say that.” She reached over and picked up a file folder from the sofa table. “The creature has changed its pattern. It usually feeds every two to three days but so far has attacked five women, perhaps six, in seven days. I think it is because of you. I do not think we can prevent it from killing again, but we can track it back to its lair. It prefers the old monastery for some reason. Normally, it would change locations periodically, especially once it has been discovered, but I believe it will return if you and I are there alone, waiting for it.”
I looked at her. Her face bore a look of determination. I needed her help, but I could not, would not allow her to place herself in danger again. The creature was too smart and too dangerous.
“This is something I’ve got to do alone,” I said slowly. Before she could protest, I continued. “I need your help, yes, but it’s me the creature wants. I can use that to my advantage. All I need is a lucky shot and I can put this thing down once and for all.”
She laid her hand on mine. “Do not be foolish. My father tried the same thing and … and he died.”
“I’m a very careful man,” I assured her. It was more difficult to reassure myself. “Somewhere out there is a missing girl whose parents don’t yet know is missing. It’s probably too late to save her, but I can make sure her death is the last one. If the creature has returned to the monastery, then I must confront it there. Trying to bring it to me has proven too costly.”
I could read the sympathy in Joria’s eyes. I tried to sound flippant as I boasted, “By tomorrow morning, I’ll have the creature’s head for you to examine at your leisure. That should raise a few scientific eyebrows.”
She smiled, either at my determination or at my braggadocio. “There are still many hours until dark. Why don’t you stay here for awhile?”
As she spoke, she leaned closer until her face was only inches from mine. I took this as an invitation. I pulled her to me and kissed her, as I had wanted to do since I had first met her. Her lips parted slightly as she returned my kiss with a passion that said she wanted more. My right hand moved of its own volition to her pendulous breast, cupping it firmly, rubbing my thumb across her nipple until I felt it swell and harden. She gasped with pleasure and leaned back. I stared into her eyes as I judged her desire equal to or stronger than mine. As I began to remove her T-shirt, she obligingly raised her arms to help. Her naked breasts bounced before my eyes invitingly. I wrapped my lips around one nipple and tongued it gently. Her nails raked my back, carefully avoiding my wound, drawing me to her, sucking in her breath between her teeth. Her moans of pleasure enhanced my excitement. Even my teeth were getting excited caressing her nipple. I pressed my hand against the flat of her belly and felt the muscles beneath her skin ripple with pleasure.
After a few minutes if this, she pushed me away and stood. Swaying seductively, she slowly removed her shorts and stood before me naked, her flawless brown body perfect in proportion, her neat, dark triangle of pubic hair staring me in the face. She smiled and took my hand. I let her lead me into the bedroom like a lamb to the slaughter, wondering why that particular phrase popped to mind. Perhaps my two previous marriages had colored my thinking. All I knew was that I wanted to race her to the bed but I followed meekly, letting her win. She gently undressed me, covering my chest with soft, moist, tongue-tickle kisses. Naked, we embraced, the heat of our bodies filling the air with sex pheromones. If our hot flesh had not resisted it would have flowed and we would have melded into one.
I gently pushed her onto the bed. She smiled, drawing her legs up and spreading them, exposing her divine pleasures to me, inviting me to partake. I didn’t need much coaxing. I entered her gently as she gasped. We held each other motionless for a long moment, a space of seconds that seemed like minutes until together we found the rhythm our bodies sought and coupled like wild beasts. Our pace increased, became frenzied, our breaths ragged until I felt her body stiffen in orgasm. She pounded my back with her fists. I suspected she would leave bruises but I didn’t care. Her contractions coaxed me into my orgasm. Spent, I lay beside her, my arm across her sweat-soaked belly.
“Ditto,” I gasped, realizing how long it had been since I had been with a woman.
“It has been much too long,” she confided as if reading my mind.
“For me too.”
She smiled. “Not too long for you to forget how to please a woman.” She rolled over on her side, rested her head on her arm and looked at me. “You will be careful tonight, will you not?”
I smiled. “If I can expect more of this, I will certainly be careful.”
“Whenever you want me,” she answered, burying her face under my chin. Now her perfume mingled with our pheromones.
I considered her proposal. “Hmm. I’m not as young as I once was. Give me a few minutes to rest and I’ll take you up on that offer.”
She snuggled closer, nibbling at my neck. “I can’t wait.” Her hand went down my chest to my crotch. I was pleased to discover not all parts of the body age equally.
Much later, after a quick shower, I dressed and reluctantly left Joria to put my hastily contrived plan in motion. As I exited the hotel, I spotted the now ubiquitous black SUV parked down the street with its two occupants. I resisted the impulse to wave as got in my car. Halfway down the block, it pulled into traffic to follow me. I smiled at their inept shadowing of me, poor quality for professionals. A first year rookie could have done better.
****
Inside the black SUV, its two occupants watched as their quarry walked out of the hotel and stood for a moment on the sidewalk straightening his tie, staring directly at them.
“Do you think he’ spotted us?” the driver asked the other occupant of the vehicle.
The two men looked like clones – dark suits, white shirts, black shoes and dark shades. Even their hair was similar in color and style. Tim Hays removed his shades, revealing light gray eyes. His partner, Emmett Nelson, had blue eyes. “Nah,” Hays answered. “He’s just looking around.”