by Zoey Marcel
Jake scowled. “Fuck you, uncle.”
Hugh winked at him and herded Virgil, Travis, and Kayla out of the room.
****
A crooked grin tilted Keith's lips up when Uncle Hugh winked at him before shutting the door behind him as he left. Keith turned to face his older brother, shaking his head. “He's not exactly subtle, is he?”
Jake snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like an elephant.”
An awkward pause supplanted the conversation.
Jake's air turned humble and gloomy as repentant guilt filtered through his troubled eyes. “Keith, about what I said to you about Miranda—I had no right. You were outnumbered, and the fuckers were armed. What the hell were you supposed to do?”
Keith managed a weak partial smile, but his heart remained heavy. “I fought with everything in me to save her, but it wasn't enough.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling to keep Jake from seeing the tears glistening in them. “There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about her or hate myself for letting them take her.”
“It's not your fault. If it hadn't been for you, that Slade scum would have taken Kayla. I was out cold like a big, dumb rock.” Jake rolled his eyes. “A lot of good that would have done her.”
“Jake, you got hit on the head. It's understandable.”
“It's just a scratch. I shouldn't have let that stop me.” He sighed. “I think it's good our girl has several men to protect her, so the others can be there for her when the other men can't.”
Keith scratched his head. “I agree. I just wish Miranda had gotten a chance to meet Jason and Armand. The little firecracker needs two men who know how to protect her. She's too cocky, always putting herself in stupid situations because she thinks she's strong enough to take on any obstacle.”
Jake's head dropped, staring down at the blanket over him. “Yeah, I always had a feeling that kind of pride would get her into trouble one day. We'll find her. If she's part of this My Fairytale crapshoot, then somebody obviously wanted her bad enough to pay good money for her. My guess is whoever he is he still has her.”
“Probably. I don't know which is worse, if she's dead or still alive. I need her to be alive, but if she is that means all the horrors keep plaguing her, and she never gets any peace.” Keith's eyes stung with anguish. “It makes me sick to think of what might have happened to her.”
“I know.” Jake reached for his container of Jell-O. “Ah, hell.”
“God, if I could just remember where I saw that man before.” Keith noticed his brother fiddling in vain with the lid of the snack. “You need a hand with that?”
“No, I've got it. It's just 'cause they got me hooked up to this monitoring shit. I'm not weak, man.”
“Sure you're not, Jake.”
Jake gave him a playful glare, tampering with the lid some more before he finally speared a pen through it. A blob of green Jell-O flopped up through the slit. Both men chuckled.
Jake shook his head. “Jesus, apparently it takes a professor to open these damned things.”
Keith grinned before his mind drifted back to Miranda. His heartbeat ceased momentarily before hammering hard in his chest. “Professor.”
“What's that now?” Jake licked the spoon clean after taking a mouthful of the jiggly green stuff.
“What was the name of that professor who kept harassing Miranda at college?”
Jake thought for a second. “Donahue wasn't it?”
“Yeah, Donahue. I met him once. I went down to the college to tell him to quit nagging Miranda to go out with him. Shit, I think that's him.” Keith ran a hand over his head, digging his nails into his scalp. “She told me after I did that he tried to kiss and grope her. She got him fired.”
“You know how many men wanted our sister?” Jake reminded him while sampling more of the wiggly Jell-O. “Just because Donahue had a hankering for her doesn't mean he's the one who kidnapped her. She disappeared from New Orleans, not Lexington.”
“So, he could have gone to Mardi Gras, too. It might have been a random kidnapping, but that one man looked familiar. I can't see his face when I'm sober. I haven't touched bourbon since that night because the sight of the stuff rips my heart out now, but I need to be intoxicated so my mind is free to remember that night without hindrance.”
“What difference does it make which liquor you drink? If you're craving bourbon just say so.”
Keith shook his head. “No. I remembered details about that night more clearly when I was drunk, but I couldn't recall his face, only that it looked familiar. If I drink the same damned liquor I did that night and get good and drunk, maybe I'll remember what he looked like.”
****
Kayla went to the vending machine, surprised to see Keith leaving. “Where are you going?”
“To get drunk.”
“What?” She grabbed his arm. “Why?”
He tilted her chin and absorbed her in his earnest gaze. “I just need a few drinks to help me remember the face of one of the men who took Miranda. I think I have a lead, but I want to be sure.”
“Please drink at home and take someone with you, so I know you're safe.”
Virgil walked up. “I'll go with him.”
She hugged them both. “Thank you. Please be careful.”
“We will.”
She watched them leave before pondering the assortment stacked in the vending machine. Did she want Fritos or a Twix?
“I never can decide what to get either,” a grotesque female voice said from behind her.
Kayla turned, trying hard not to look astonished by the ugly woman behind her. Either she'd lived a hard life and hadn't been gifted with softer features, or it was a cross-dressing man. She didn't want to let her mouth hang open and be rude, but her first reaction was to blink and stare.
“Me neither,” Kayla said.
“What are you trying to decide between?” the woman asked, clutching a manila envelope to her side.
Kayla glanced back at the appetizing selection. “Either Fritos or Twix. What do you think?”
“Hmm, I think Twix. The caramel inside matches your lovely eyes and the chocolate matches mine, both fusing together to form one sinfully decadent treat.”
Kayla immediately turned and hit the combo for the Fritos. No way was she eating a Twix after that creepy description. “I think I'm craving something salty after all. Thanks, though.”
When she turned around the strange woman was gone. Kayla's shoe kicked something, resulting in the sound of crinkling paper. She frowned when she realized the woman had dropped her manila envelope. How could she have not noticed the sound when the thing hit the floor? Why had she hurried off so quickly?
Kayla gaped when she picked up the envelope and saw her own name written on it but nothing else. She looked around but couldn't find the stranger anywhere. She hurried back to where Travis sat in the waiting room just as Master Hugh came back from the bathroom.
“What you got there, girl?” Travis asked.
“I'm not sure.” She opened the envelope and her heart stuttered in terror when she saw the dark blue satin panties with her initials on the tag. “Oh my God.”
Travis stood suddenly, looking worried and jealous. “What is that?”
Master Hugh snatched the undies from her, turning the sleek fabric over in his hands and then smelling it, whether to investigate or simply be a pervert with her panties, she wasn't sure. “Who left it?”
“When Beck had me, there was this masked man, the guy I later found out was a cop,” she started in a shaky tone.
“That Bruce Callaghan fella?” Travis asked.
She swallowed, trembling with fear. “Yeah. Sometimes he used to take things of mine for souvenirs. Garters, panties, that kind of thing.”
Travis looked like he wanted to kill the man.
“This manly looking woman was talking to me by the vending machine, and she just left suddenly. I didn't see which way she or he went, but the person left this envelope
behind. Do you think it was Bruce in disguise or a friend of his delivering it for him?” Kayla asked.
Master studied the underwear, deep in thought. “Is there anything else in the envelope?”
She peeked back in and found a note that read Черный дракон.
“What language is that? I can't even read it.”
Master took the note from her before his face went white. His fist clenched, crinkling the paper. “It's Russian ... for Black Dragon.”
****
Virgil stood near the dining room table, watching Keith take shots of bourbon. “Remember anything yet?”
Keith closed his eyes, clearly buzzed. “Give me a sec. Beads. Miranda had a gold necklace, a purple one, and some green beads. She had a fun Mardi Gras hat on her head that made her look like a spunky court jester.”
Virgil smirked. “That's great you remember what your sister was wearing that night. Now how about thinking back on something useful?”
“I'm working through it. Now shove off.” Keith's eyes closed again. “Don't go anywhere. I was just being rude.”
Virgil grinned. “I know you were. Now think, partner.”
He snapped his fingers, causing Keith's lips to thin in an annoyed line that disappeared when Virgil ceased the pesky action.
“It's dark. We're walking down a corridor outside.”
“You mean an alley?”
“Too nice to be an alley. It's too dark to see the street name. Miranda's tipsy. I'm annoyed with myself and her for getting buzzed off two shots of bourbon.” Keith's face twisted in pain as he buried his head in his hands with his elbows on the table. “Christ, I don't want to remember.”
Virgil put a hand on his back and patted him roughly. “Pull yourself together. If you can remember the skuzzball's face who nabbed her, then the pain is worth it.”
Keith lifted his face from his palms, making a teepee with his hands against his chin and nose. His blue eyes looked glassy and bloodshot, either from liquor or anguish. “Try going through it.”
“Sorry. What else do you remember?”
Keith's eyes closed, and his hands lowered to the table, clutching his shot glass. “A man approaches us, stocky but not fat, features hard to discern in the darkness. I've never seen him before. He comments on Miranda's tits. He says he saw her flash them for beads during the parade. I tell him to fuck off. He doesn't fuck off.”
Virgil's chest clenched, realizing how difficult this must be for Keith to relive mentally. He also wondered if Gretchen's situation had been similar when she was taken. Had anyone been with her at the time? Was she all alone and helpless? Beck had probably used her the way he had Kayla, but had Gretchen escaped or been given to someone else?
“Two men come up from behind. I fight with them. One of them has a knife. I feel it slash my ribcage while I'm fighting them, but adrenaline dulls the pain.” Keith stared off into space before his eyes dropped to the bourbon in his shot glass. “It doesn't occur to me that I might die, only that she might. The first man grabs her when she tries to beat him up. He pulls out a gun. Looks like a Walther PPK from what I can tell.”
“Does the gun go off at any point?” Virgil asked.
“I don't think so.”
Keith sucked in a hard breath of air, pouring himself another shot and downing it like there was no tomorrow. His eyes glistened, this time with sorrow, Virgil was certain.
“She screams for help, begging me not to let them take her.” Keith's tone cracked, and his voice trailed off. He sniffled, ducts welling with moisture before he continued, pouring himself more bourbon. “Stocky lech takes her. I fight with the other two shits. One I don't recognize, just an average-looking guy. You know, the typical medium build white male in his thirties last seen wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes kind of thing.”
“He didn't stand out?”
Keith shook his head, forehead wrinkling with pain.
“What about the other guy?”
Keith’s face darkened with ungodly hostility. “He wore khaki pants. It was hard to see his face because he wore a hooded sweatshirt, but at one point the hood fell off and I caught a glimpse of him.”
“What did he look like?”
“Familiar.” Keith took another drink, letting out a breathy exhale. “He has a thick scar that runs along his thumb to the fleshy area that extends to his pointer finger. Not sure how you get that kind of scar. Miranda told me something the day she got Donahue fired.”
“Focus, partner, don't go chasing rabbits. You'll end up putting the professor's face in place of the real culprit to give yourself a sense of closure.”
“I'ma talk ... and you can't s-stop me.” Keith slurred his words and hiccupped. “Damn, I'm losing focus. Why the fuck can't I r-remember very well ... when I'm sober?”
“Trauma. Fear. Adrenaline. Too many intense emotions pumping through you at once. It's easy to get mixed up during something like that, or not remember things quite right.”
“Miranda.” Keith pointed up, shaking his finger like he had something to say.
Virgil folded his arms. “What did she tell you when she got that Donahue fella fired?”
“She told me he pinned her up against the wall and stuck his hand down her top before she kneed him in the groin. She said his hand was rough.”
“Well, I bet if he was fighting to keep her still, but what does this have to do with—”
“Rough as in callused, but she didn't use that word. Why would one of a professor's hands be rough and the other smooth? Guy was masculine, but well-groomed, and his hand was soft when I shook it. He didn't know why I was there when I confronted him. That was before Miranda got accosted by him.”
“Was it wintertime?”
“It was December. His hands didn't smell like lotion. I think they were just soft, but I remember seeing some kind of scab on his thumb. A scab or a really new scar that hadn't fully healed would feel rough on a tit.”
Virgil cleared his throat. “Right, moving on then. Can you honestly, truly see the face of the familiar man who attacked you? He had a scar or a scab in the same place, but that doesn't mean it was him.”
Keith heaved a long sigh and closed his eyes. “The clothes are wrong. Donahue normally wore a suit. Let me see if I can picture the attacker in a suit. He said something to me.”
“Who did?”
“The familiar fucker I fought with. I'm trying to remember. He said 'Not so tough now, are you?'”
“So he definitely knew you.” Virgil felt his skin crawl.
“He said he'd take care of my sister for me. Then one of the men—the other guy—hit me over the back of the head, and I blacked out. When I came to, it was just before dawn, and I was alone, bleeding. Someone happened across me and got me to a hospital. I'm really surprised I survived.”
“Somebody must have been watching out for you.”
“Must have been.” Keith's eyes closed for a good while. “The attacker knew Miranda was my sister. Most people would assume a man and a woman walking down the street together were dating. He knew we were related.”
“Then it had to be someone you knew.”
“Definitely.” Keith paused. “The smell.”
“The attacker stank?”
“No, he smelled good, familiar. Crap, I can't remember what cologne Miranda said Donahue wore. I need to go shopping.”
“Whoa, no you don't. You're not driving drunk.” Virgil held his hands firmly on Keith's arms when he stood.
“You can drive me. I need to go sniffing the colognes at a department store. Then I'll know if it's him. I can remember the scent of the attacker, but not Donahue. I just remember Miranda saying what cologne he wore, because she thought it smelled good.”
“Fine, I'll drive, but do me a favor and try to keep a low profile while we're at the store.”
“Trust me. No one will know I'm drunk.”
“Right.”
****
Virgil shook his head
as he watched Keith fumble frantically through the expensive colognes. He wrinkled his nose upon smelling one. “Crap. Who would wear that?”
“Focus, partner.”
“It started with a vowel. A I think.”
“Axe maybe?”
Keith practically lunged at the bottles of Axe cologne. He sniffed deeply before shaking his head and putting the cologne back. “Smells good, but no, it was something else. Something designer I think.”
“Armani?”
Keith looked like a light came on. “I think it was Armani. Shit, why are there so many of them? None of these smell familiar. Is this all of them?”
Virgil tried not to laugh at Keith plastering the bottles to his nose and inhaling deeply before coughing and putting each one back. “Any luck?”
“No. It was Armani, though. That sounds really familiar, because it made me think of Armani suits, which Donahue wore. He made it a point to tell Miranda to impress her. Now, if I could just find the right one.”
“They say smell is the most powerful memory. Is that what you're hoping for?”
“What? Yeah, pepperoni. Get a Hawaiian and a cheese pizza while you're at it.”
Virgil chuckled. “And you're the key to cracking this case, awesome. Oh, look. Here's one that's in the wrong place. Have you smelled Armani Code yet?”
Keith snatched the bottle from him and sprayed it on Virgil, smelling the air around him with his eyes closed. “That's the name of the cologne she said he wore. I'm almost positive.”
“Okay.” Virgil coughed and waved his hand around to disperse the strong musk. It smelled good, but Keith had pretty much doused him with the stuff. “I don't know which is worse, marinating in cologne I don't normally wear or those men over there watching us, who probably have it in their heads now that we're a couple.”
“Jesus Christ!” Keith yelled, drawing everyone's attention.
Virgil let out a long whistle, cringing. “Watch your language, you gutter-dweller, and quit being so loud. You're making a big old scene.”
Keith grabbed him by the arms. “It's him! The scent smells the same as the man who pummeled my ass, and I just had memories of smelling the same cologne on the professor. Powerful smell memories of men, Virgil!”