The Green Lama: Crimson Circle

by Adam Lance Garcia

  Fulton looked up from the body of the show director and squinted his eyes as he gazed toward the back of the theatre. “Jethro Dumont, as in: The Jethro Dumont?” he asked, putting on his glasses.

  “Didn’t know there were others to be compared to. Ridiculous name like that you’d figure there’d only be one.”

  “Jesus, yeah,” Fulton said as he stood up. He patted the dust off his pant legs. “That’s Dumont, all right.”

  “Shit,” Crevier said with a grimace. “I read in the papers that he and Jean Parker were supposed to be engaged or something.”

  Fulton winced. “Fuck.”

  Crevier shook his head mournfully. “Damn shame, too. I hear she had a great ass.”

  • • •

  COMMISSIONER WOODS stood at the far end of the stage, watching his men move ladders over the blood-soaked carpet. There were still a few bodies hanging overheard—three men and two women—looking more like cattle in a meat locker than human beings. Wayland and Heidelberger were cordoning off the backstage area where they had found evidence of a gunfight. All in all, it was a horror show. With the Cannibal Killer still at large and now this, Woods knew his days were numbered. If the mayor didn’t kick him out first, the press would surely eat him alive.

  It was several minutes before Woods realized all work had stopped, the theatre suddenly silent. He whirled around, ready to holler at his men, when he caught sight of Jethro Dumont and Caraway standing at the back of the theatre.

  “Mr. Dumont!” Woods called as he ran over, his face beet red. “Mr. Dumont!”

  “Commissioner,” Jethro said as Woods rushed toward him, ignoring the other man’s extended hand.

  Woods glanced down uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Mr. Dumont,” he began, withdrawing his hand. “I’m so sorry you had to find out about this whole affair in such a traumatic fashion. We only learned about the tragedy recently ourselves and we had hoped to contact you once we had a clearer picture as to what had happened here.” He then angrily eyed Caraway. “And while he is aiding in this investigation, Mr. Caraway acted on his own accord. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “On the contrary, I appreciate that John brought this horrible crime to my attention before I read about it in the tabloids,” Jethro shot back with more venom than he intended. Right now there was very little separating the playboy persona of Dumont and the pain that was overflowing inside the Green Lama. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to John alone.”

  Woods scowled when he noticed every eye in the theatre on them. He took a long, steaming breath in and nodded in reluctant ascent. He stole one last spiteful glance at Caraway before he walked away in a huff.

  Jethro looked over to the bodies lined up on the stage. “How were they murdered?” he asked Caraway after Woods was out of earshot.

  “Their throats were slit; a clean cut straight through. If that didn’t kill them right away I’m sure they bled out. It’s a hell of a way to go.”

  “No bullets,” Jethro commented under his breath. “With Theodor there was only one bullet; easy enough to cover up. But there were too many people this time; so he kept it clean. No way to track him.”

  “Jethro, you’re not suggesting…”

  “You know who did this,” Jethro said, unconsciously clenching his hands.

  Caraway frowned and shook his head. “There’s no way of knowing—”

  “It was him,” Jethro hissed. “The same man who killed Theodor; who took Gary. He killed everyone here and now he’s taken Jean.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” Caraway said calmly. “This could all just be some crazed lunatic—”

  “He’s coming after me, John,” Jethro said. “Don’t you see? He’s taking us out, one by one, working up the ladder until he has me, killing anyone who will stand in his way.” Jethro glanced down at his clenched fist and saw it was beginning to glow, his veins pulsating all the way up his arm. He closed his eyes and took a long breath in, and whispered: “Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha!” The energy radiating in his hand faded like a dimming light, but the distended veins remained. He looked over the theatre, the sight of the blood and the bodies hitting him hard in the chest. Jethro shook his head and looked Caraway in the eye. “He’s striking at the heart.”

  Caraway furrowed his brow in disbelief. “‘Striking at the heart?’”

  “The rules are different now,” Jethro said as he spun on his heel and began marching out of the theatre. “You won’t find any clues here. We’re fighting a phantom.”

  “Jesus, Jethro, where are you going?”

  “To save the woman I love,” Jethro growled in reply as he stormed out of the theatre and into the night.

  Chapter 11: Interrogation

  JEAN DIDN’T pass out, though she wished she had. Dazed, she had been gagged and blindfolded, her hands tied behind her back before she was dragged out of the theatre and carelessly thrown into the trunk of a car. She landed on her dislocated shoulder, her screams of pain muffled by the cloth and metal encasing her. The car rumbled to life and sped out to destinations unknown. She tried to call attention by kicking the side of the trunk as hard as she could but the glass shards digging into her skin forced her to stop as quickly as she started. She was able to work off the blindfold, not that it helped in the pitch black of the storage compartment.

  This was not the first time Jean had been kidnapped, having long ago accepted it as something of an “occupational hazard.” But after everything she had done over the last few years she had hoped she had become experienced enough to prevent it from happening again. But, then she had never faced anyone like Omega before. She could still see the bodies of her cast mates—her friends—bleeding from the ceiling. She could have saved them, she told herself. If only she had arrived sooner, she could have fought back, they would have stood a chance and maybe they would still…

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Who was she kidding? No matter what she would have done, he would have overpowered her and still killed everyone else, if only to prove a point. But now was not the time for self-flagellation. She steadied her breath the way Jethro had taught her and slowed her heartbeat to a manageable rhythm. If she was going to survive this, she needed to be calm. She had dealt with cold-hearted bastards in her time, murderers who would gun down women and children just to avoid capture, undead Nazis bent on world domination, but there was something bone-chillingly wrong about Omega. She didn’t doubt that he was human—she had seen him bleed—but that was what made him so much more terrifying; a perverse detachment from any form of empathy that was almost robotic.

  An hour passed, maybe more, the car swerving left and right at irregular intervals making it near impossible for her to visualize the path they had taken—not that she was particularly good at that, but she had been getting better. He was taking her somewhere far from the city, that much she had been able to determine. Where their ultimate destination would be, she could only guess. Just as long it wasn’t New Jersey, she thought with a bit of gallows humor.

  The sound of dirt and gravel running under rubber resounded beneath her, a discordance of sound that was almost deafening. After what seemed like another hour, the car rolled to a halt and the engine shut off. Jean turned her body as best she could, aiming her feet toward the back of the car, guessing where Omega’s knees might be. If she acted fast enough, she could hopefully incapacitate him long enough to make an escape. She firmed her lips in anticipation and squinted her eyes, preparing for the blast of light that would momentarily blind. The sound of keys clinked against the car’s exterior, the trunk lock clicking open. The cargo cover swung up and Jean caught a glimpse of Omega’s knees and kicked both her feet out with all her might.

  But Omega had anticipated her attack, smoothly taking a step back just beyond Jean’s reach. Defeated, she started to scream through her gag, hoping that someone would hear.

  Omega gave her an amused lopsided grin. “Oh, hush, Miss Farrell,”
he said, patiently placing his hands behind his back as he watched Jean kick and scream. “There is no one for miles.” He waved over the thicket surrounding them. “Besides, I can barely understand you with that gag on.”

  “Fuck. You,” she said deliberately.

  Omega chuckled, his teeth still lined with blood. “Oh, I don’t need to pull off the gag to understand that one,” he said, warmly. “Now, are you going to keep fighting back or will you play nice? If you keep up this nonsense, I will break both your legs and every single one of your tiny little toes.” He waited while Jean hesitantly stopped kicking. “Very good. Thank you, Miss Farrell.” He leaned forward and picked the blindfold off the bottom of the trunk. “Let’s put this back on you. We wouldn’t want to give away all my secrets, now would we?” he said as he placed the fabric over her eyes. He then lifted her up out of the trunk and, in one smooth gentle motion, threw her over his shoulder.

  He carried her for several minutes, humming while he did, showing no sign of fatigue. Jean heard the sound of wind through the trees and the faint sound of wildlife, but nothing unique to indentify where they were. She heard the creak of rusted hinges of a metal door, Omega’s footsteps on a cement floor. There was the sound of metal sliding across a concrete floor and Jean was delicately placed in a cold metal chair. Her hands were momentarily unbound before being strapped to the armrests. She whimpered as he moved her dislocated arm. Omega then undid her gag before pulling off her blindfold. Her eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the bright light shining in her face, purple spots filling her vision.

  “There,” Omega said warmly. “I’m sure that’s much more comfortable.”

  Jean glanced down at her bindings, then back up to her captor. “Barely. You popped my shoulder out of its socket back at the theatre.”

  “Ah, my apologies,” Omega said sincerely. He reached over, loosened the binding, took Jean’s arm in both his hands and in one fluid motion he pulled and twisted, snapping her shoulder back into place. Jean let out a moan of pain and relief. “There. Better?” he asked.

  “Yeah…” She tried to peer into the shadows around her, making out the faint hint of a small table filled with what looked like medical equipment. There were no windows, the only light in the room blasting her in the face. There was a slight echo to their words; emptiness surrounded them. She took a long slow breath in. She needed to stay calm. “Where am I?”

  “Somewhere private,” Omega replied, sliding a chair over and sitting down in front of her, his face drowned in silhouette. “Somewhere I like to take my most special of guests.”

  “Well, isn’t that the sweetest thing.”

  Omega crossed his legs, placed his hands in his lap and laced his fingers together, silently studying her. “I confess, Miss Farrell,” he said eventually. “I think I can see why the Green Lama is so taken with you. You have so much more… spirit than anyone else I have ever dealt with.”

  Jean regarded Omega with suspicion. He was sitting right in front of her, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t make out a single detail of his face. “Are you… flirting with me?”

  He chuckled. “No, Miss Farrell, I’m afraid not. But, I’m flattered you think I would. No, I’m simply expressing my...” He glanced away while he searched for the word. “My respect for another man’s taste.”

  “Thanks. You know, you’re very inconsistent. One moment you slam me against a wall, the next you’re tryin’ to flatter me.”

  Omega chuckled. “Some have called me volatile or erratic. I just simply adapt myself to the situation.”

  She gestured her chin at his chest. “How’s that bullet wound treating ya?”

  “Painful,” Omega admitted with a shrug. “But nothing I haven’t dealt with before. And how are you? Are you comfortable now?”

  “As much as I can be.”

  “Good. Good,” he said with a nod. He uncrossed his legs and shifted forward so he was a few inches away from her. Jean instinctually cringed back as far as she could. He waited several moments for her to relax before he reached over and gingerly rolled her hair around his fingers. “We wouldn’t want you to be any more anxious than you already are.”

  Bewildered, Jean nervously watched him work. “Aren’t you just the perfect host?”

  “Always.” He let the curl of hair spring off his fingers. Frowning with satisfaction, he got out of his chair and walked over to the table where he picked up a small bit of rope and stretched it between his hands.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Jean asked despite her heart hammering in her chest as he slowly walked back toward her.

  “If you want,” he said as he loomed over her, the rope taut in his hands.

  She kept her eyes on his shadowed visage, doing her best to ignore the trembling beginning to echo through her body. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “You’re the one who took Gary.”

  “That wasn’t a question, Miss Farrell.”

  “That wasn’t an answer.”

  Omega considered her. “I am,” he said after a moment. He walked around her and tied the rope around Jean’s neck before wrapping it to the back of the chair. “Did Mrs. Stewart-Brown tell you about me?” he asked as he finished securing the knot. He pushed Jean’s head forward so that the rope pressed against her throat. “Stay right there,” he instructed. “Don’t lean forward too much or you’ll choke yourself.”

  A long quavering breath escaped Jean’s lips. “Where is he?” she asked, trying to tramp down the panic that was welling up in her stomach.

  “Now why would I tell you that?” he asked with a bemused smile.

  “You killed my friends, dragged me to a secluded, windowless shack in the middle of nowhere and then tied me to a chair. Humor me.”

  The hollow sound of Omega’s laugh echoed in the cramped space as he turned back to the table. “With my associates,” he said as he sat down in front of her again. “If he is still alive, that is. I’m afraid his fate is no longer in my hands.”

  “And Theodor?” Jean asked with a faint snarl.

  Omega stared at her in silence.

  Her lowered lip quivered. “You killed him.”

  Omega struck her with the back of his hand. Jean’s head flung to the side, and the rope cut into her neck. She let out a choked cry and tried to blink away the black spots that formed in front of her eyes.

  “Theodor Harrin was a pitiful man,” he said at length, a subtle rage lacing his tone. “I don’t know what you saw in him.”

  “Did you?” she shot back.

  “Such a pretty face,” Omega said before striking her again.

  Jean let out a cough, tasting blood against her tongue. “Did you?!” she shouted, defiant to the last.

  Omega hit her again, harder this time. Jean’s right eye stung and her ears were ringing. Omega leaned back and considered her intently for a moment. “I did,” he admitted as he adjusted his suit. “Does that bother you?”

  Jean bared her teeth. “A bit.”

  “Do you expect me to apologize?”

  Jean croaked a laugh. “You don’t seem like the apologetic type.”

  “My profession does not allow for apologies,” he said gravelly.

  “No, I didn’t think it would.” Her heart settled back into a familiar rhythm. This was it, she realized, the end of the road; and as terrifying as it was, she wouldn’t go out begging. After all she had faced, the horrible things she had witnessed, whatever Omega had planned was nothing she couldn’t handle. “So, are we about finished with all this foreplay, cause I’m starting to wonder what the hell I’m here for.”

  Omega leaned forward and took Jean’s right hand into his, stroking it like he was her lover. “You and your friends have been quite troublesome, more so than I am accustomed to. It has been very frustrating. And you—” He paused to cough into his left hand, blood flecking his lips. He wiped his palm carelessly on his pant leg. “You put up more of a fight than I had anticipated.”

  “Thanks,” Jean said
with a terse grin.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Farrell, I have no intentions of killing you,” he reassured her as he took her right pinky finger and slowly pushed it back. She winced in pain but remained silent. “Unlike your compatriots, my employers believe you are worth more alive than dead. I’d just like you a little more… talkative.”

  “I’m pretty talkative already,” she admitted. “Seriously, I never shut up.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Miss Farrell,” he said before snapping Jean’s finger back.

  Jean let out a scream. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  “There we are…” Omega said with satisfaction before moving on to the ring finger.

  Jean screamed again, the pain radiating throughout her body. It was a sensation like being drunk, but without the giddiness and joy of intoxication. She felt like she was neck deep in sand, her muscles turning to rock. He was going to ask her about Jethro, she realized, a pit forming in her stomach. He was going to torture her until she couldn’t hold back the truth. She needed to delay the inevitable, draw out some time until she figured a way out. She peered into Omega’s shadowed visage. “You know, you are a really creepy guy,” she said through hitched breaths. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

  Omega smiled and softly kissed her wounded hand. “I’ve been told as much before. Though they’re usually screaming.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her intently for several moments. “Miss Jean Farrell. Born April thirtieth, nineteen-fifteen at your father’s farm in Silver Bow County, no town to speak of, naturally. Mother died in childbirth, as we discussed. I understand she was quite beautiful. No siblings, but more cousins than you could count. You were a noted delinquent at school, despite your obvious intelligence, and your marksmanship is practically unparalleled by anyone of either sex.” He then snapped back her middle finger. He waited for her to finish screaming before he continued. “You left Silver Bow in nineteen thirty-four—not long after your break up with Andrew Lawton—in hopes of making it in Hollywood, but your biggest role was an extra in A Night at the Opera where you met the actor Ken Clayton. You two quickly struck up a friendship and were soon publicly dating, despite the fact that Clayton is a homosexual. You and Mr. Clayton eventually left Los Angeles aboard the S.S. Cathay where you met the Green Lama, and have been working with him ever since. And let us not forget your successful turn on Broadway. You’ve done quite a bit for a woman who’s only twenty-four.”