“Look, work the scene and call me if you find anything useful.” I hang up on him and toss the phone on the seat.
I pull out of my parking space and drive toward Hyde Avenue, heading straight for The Ruins. The phone keeps vibrating with Gabe’s number dialing mine, so I lift it up and shut it off. I can’t tell him where I’m going. If my hunch is right, he will be the first person I call, but for now, I need to do this on my own.
Chapter Twelve
Nikolai
August 4, 2015 3:17 a.m.
I find my way to the Shady Pines Motel on the outskirts of Blythe Harbor, located off Highway 101. I remember driving by the place when I was on my way into town, and now I will be paying it a visit.
I pull into the parking lot and make my way to the office. The glass door squeaks as it opens, and the bell located above it rings. It sounds throughout the small lobby yet is soon drowned out by the noise of an old, black and white show playing from the square-shaped television on the wall. The furniture surrounding the television is nothing special, like the TV, and is old, from the worn out floral chairs to the chipped coffee table. There is a smell of coffee in the air, but I don’t see a coffee maker anywhere in the lobby.
A man in his late forties happily comes out from a back room behind the high hotel desk. His smile falls quickly when he takes in my appearance. I’m sure he knows a man walking through the door, dressed in an all black suit, leather gloves on his hands, and briefcase clasped in one is not here to rent a room. If he is who Manny says he is, the clerk will give me the information I need when I pass over the thousand dollars in my pocket.
His eyes are worried behind the black rims of his glasses, and I can tell by the quivering of his round shoulders he is borderline terrified. Good, that’s exactly where I want him.
I set my briefcase on the high counter and greet him with a slim smile. My business here will be in his best interest if he does exactly what I want him to do.
“Hello, Abe,” I say after reading the clerk on duty sign hanging on the wall behind him. “I am hoping you can help me.” I pull the stack of bills out of my pocket and pass them across the wooden desk.
Abe only looks at the money as he pushes the rim of his glasses up his nose. He reaches out to take the bills, but I stop him in his tracks. I quickly scan the room for cameras or any type of recording device, finding nothing. This is probably another reason why criminals like to stay here—they don’t have to deal with getting caught on video.
With my other hand, I pull my nine millimeter from the inside of my jacket and set it down on the counter, as well. This gets his attention, and he pulls his hand away from the cash.
“What …? What do you want to know?” he stammers.
“I need to know if two gentlemen came to rent a room yesterday, men like me who passed you a wad of money in exchange for a less than sanitary room and a closed lip,” I ask, ripping him apart with a mere glance.
“Yes. Two men with the same accent as you came in here yesterday.” I smile, knowing these are the guys I need to see. “They are in room sixteen. It’s located at the end of the building.” He points his finger toward the window behind him. “That way.”
“Very well, Abe.” I pass over the cash while keeping my leather-covered hand on top of it. “And this is for your blind eye. Oh, and your assistance.”
He nods his head hesitantly as he comes around the side of the desk. I motion with my fingers to follow me outside then open the passenger door of my car, directing him to get in. He falls in, and I do the same then pull it to the far end of the motel.
Beethoven is still playing through the speakers. I inhale a breath and exhale it after my lungs are completely expanded. I think of nothing. My mind is empty as I take a moment to get my body ready for what’s about to happen.
With my mind focused and ready for the next step, I grab my briefcase from the back seat and exit quietly from the driver’s side. I hold the door handle, closing it with my hip to muffle the sound, and Abe does the same. I can tell he is terrified for what’s about to happen, but I only need him for a moment.
I round the rear of the car, snatching Abe’s shirt in my hand and pushing him toward the green door with the metal number sixteen. I swallow back the rising excitement as I put my ear to it while still holding Abe’s shirt.
As the sound of the TV floods my ears, I close my eyes and listen to the voices on the other side of the door. Then I hear them conversing in our native tongue, and I smile, knowing this is finally going down.
I pull Abe over and push him in front of the peephole. “Knock on the door. Don’t say anything. I will do the rest,” I whisper then crouch behind Abe’s wide frame.
Once he knocks, you can hear the two men scrambling behind the door and their muffled voices. I look to the crack underneath and see a shadow dance across the floor. My muscles tense, anticipating the door opening and havoc breaking loose.
The sound of the chain lock clanks against the wood as it’s dropped. The door creaks, and I dig my feet into the ground and push Abe with all my strength. The man on the other side of the door is knocked back when the door flies open, and I barge my way through.
Guns pop while I keep my hand firmly latched on to Abe’s plaid shirt as I make it over the threshold. As expected, my shield gets shot with holes almost immediately, and then Abe’s body slumps down to the carpet, dead. I fall with him to the ground, only to prevent my chest from getting shot as I use the side of the bed as a makeshift shield.
Two more shots pop, the bullets flying in my direction. I rise up quickly, seeing one man with his gun pointed in my direction, and the other is starting to walk around to my side of the bed. I lie back down just as fast, waiting the seconds it takes for him to be within my sight. Before he can squeeze his trigger, I squeeze mine, but I don’t kill him; I only wound him in the leg.
He falls to the ground, and I crawl over to him then snag his gun from his hand. With my right hand, I point the end of my pistol at his head, and he relents.
The other man hops on the bed, hoping to get a shot off, but again, I am quicker. I squeeze the trigger of the second gun and land the bullet in his groin. He falls, writhing in agony on the mattress.
“You goddamn cocksucker!” the dickless man screams in my direction just as I rise to my feet.
I yank on the bottom of my suit jacket to readjust the fit and then pull the end of my shirt out of the sleeves. My cufflinks came unfastened in the showdown, but I am able to fix them and get myself back to the flawless condition I was in.
The man shot in the leg tries to get up, but I kick him in the face, stopping him immediately. Blood leaks from his nose, running into his mouth. It turns his teeth a bright, crimson red. It’s when I stand over him that the man simply stops his squirming and looks up at me.
I know him, Boris Stravinsky, cousin of Ademar Stravinsky and a horrible human being. He gets a thrill out of breaking in newly abducted women the organization is trafficking. He’s a pig and a rapist. He doesn’t deserve to die by a bullet. Oh, no. He needs to feel every inch of my knife, and he will. I can guarantee him that.
“You’re … You’re supposed to be dead,” Boris says over the other man’s wailing on the bed.
I lean down, my pistol pointed at his face as I get mine closer to his. I only smile and kill him with my eyes. Then I reply, “I’m afraid the rumors you heard of my death were made prematurely, old man.”
“You were a confirmed hit. Michel killed you in prison. It was in their ledger on the computer. You. Were. Dead.” His voice stumbles as he pushes the words past his lips.
I only smile, knowing I have successfully evaded them all these years. “Yes, I know. Money is a wonderful thing, right, Boris?”
He blinks slightly, his breathing fast and labored.
“However, I want to thank you for the attempted murder on my life. It’s amazing how passion for revenge surpasses the will to simply endure. You gave me the greatest motivation to keep my
self alive and healthy.”
“But … but you were dead!” Boris screams out as I push the barrel of his gun into the wound on his leg. The blood seeps from the hole and pools on the floor. It’s a crimson, sticky river flowing from his thigh.
“On the contrary, old friend.” I lift my pistol and clock him on the skull. His head lolls to the side as he is knocked unconscious.
I move to the man on the bed. I don’t recognize him. He is slightly younger than Boris. There is no doubt he is in an extreme amount of pain, but this will feel like paradise by the time I get done with him.
He is pleading with his eyes as he slowly bleeds out of his mound. I move to the edge of the bed and put my size eleven dress shoe between his legs, applying pressure.
“Awwwww!” The man wails out in pain while I simply stand there, steadily applying the pressure from my foot.
“Oh, this is only the beginning,” I promise him before I raise the butt of my gun and clock him over the head, knocking him out, as well.
The room looks like a war zone with bodies and bullets everywhere.
I walk around to the table where scattered among the empty bottles of beer are pictures. I pick the glass bottle up and set it aside then pinch the black and white image between my fingers and hold it up. There it is, the white house with flowers and Smith smoking on the front porch. He is standing over the flower boxes on the porch, looking into them like they are his pride and joy. The time stamp at the bottom was today, two hours before I got into town. They were casing the place, just like I was a few hours ago.
I sift through the other pictures and see the rest of Smith’s family. One is a woman I immediately recognize who is still of great beauty. She is holding a young boy on her hip, and he is staring up at the woman happily. She is looking up at the porch where my eyes follow to see another child sitting on the edge of the railing, looking at her cell phone. This is his family.
My gut sinks to my feet as my knees buckle slightly actually seeing pictures of his young and innocent family. I knew he would have children, it’s something he used to talk about, but seeing them in this photograph makes my job that much harder. Once I go there, they will be in danger if I am seen.
I gather up the pictures and walk to the door, getting my briefcase from the ground. Then I stuff the photos inside and work on getting what I came here for.
I pull the bedspreads from both the beds and wrap each man up in one. I’ve zip-tied their arms behind their backs and their ankles. I only wrap them up to prevent blood from getting all over the trunk of my new car.
Opening the motel door, I pop the trunk and hoist Boris up first, tossing him in the back. I repeat the same movement with the other man then shut the trunk.
I then go back inside and look down at Abe lying in a heap on the carpet. I don’t do anything except snag the ‘Do not disturb’ sign from the floor and hang it on the outside handle. I’m not sure how long these guys were checked in for, but I need some time to get to my next destination.
Chapter Thirteen
Josslyn
August 7, 2015 9:47 p.m.
The clues have driven me to a place tucked away in the depths off Hyde Avenue. Found in the farthest northwest corner of the city, The Ruins are filled with shells of rundown factories, old manufacturing materials from the plants strewn about, and vacant, homeless shanties are scattered along the tree line. That’s how taboo this area is; not even the homeless are willing to survive here anymore, not since Victor Zaretski.
After his arrest, the police saw firsthand the extreme, sadistic atrocities that happened here at the hands of Zaretski. The murders Zaretski committed were unspeakable. I will never forget what I found when I came across his killing ground.
Body parts, entrails, and appendages were placed in chemical-filled glass jars and set neatly on shelves as treasured keepsakes, while the weird scribblings of a disturbed mind covered the walls. I can still see the large, permanent marker he used to write with sitting on a small shelf among the entombed body parts. To Victor, it had its own place. It was a strange sight, yet it made perfect sense to him.
His murders upset this already fragile town; subsequently, when I arrested him, the entire town breathed a sigh of relief for a moment. The citizens have been pleading with the city to destroy The Ruins, but the city can’t afford the cost. Besides, everyone is still too freaked out to come out to this place, anyway. Law enforcement, regular citizens and criminals all refuse to even come within one hundred feet of it, as if the ghosts of his victims haunt the dilapidated structure.
Gabe would be furious if he finds out I am out here alone, and then he would probably handcuff me to my desk, which is exactly why I shut off my phone. Let’s be honest; this is probably my dumbest move yet. However, the tattoo research led me to remember where I’d seen the eight-pointed stars that were cut out of the two John Does before—in an old, metal factory, carefully placed on the wall, blended in with the scripts written by Victor Zaretski—and I need to know what the hell is going on. I need to see if my memory is correct and if that star is here.
I can look at the photographs from the Zaretski murders all I want, but the pictures are horrible. Instead of wasting my time hoping to find this star, I will go to the source and see it for myself. I need to know if it’s linked to my case. It’s my damn job, and I will find it.
My car comes to a halt as I pull up to the remains of this broken-down manufacturing plant. When you look at the building, it appears to have been hit by a wrecking ball, but it hasn’t. The building is simply crumbling as it decays, year after year, brick by brick.
I clear my throat then swallow down the invading baseball-sized lump working its way up my throat. My hands are shaking a little, and my gut is swarming with alarm, but I ignore the signs as I move to open the door. With my pistol on my hip and my flashlight in my pocket, I leave my phone in the console, step from the car, and go in search of the eight-pointed star Victor drew on the walls. I only hope time hasn’t erased the one clue I am looking for.
The crunching sound of glass under my shoes pierces my ears as I take one step after another across the cracked pavement. That’s not the only thing that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, though. I also have the eeriest feeling I am being followed with every step I take, but I shake my head, chalking it up to my mind playing tricks on me.
I inch my way down the road, looking over my shoulder with every step I make, then focus on getting closer to the building. It’s black as midnight out here, the streetlights either broken or shut off.
I keep my right hand on my pistol, ready to draw it from my holster at a moment’s notice, while the flashlight is now secured in my left hand. On the off-chance someone is following me, I don’t want to alert them that I am out here, so I continue walking down the road in total darkness.
I round the corner of the building and make my way to the side door. The door is heavy steel, fastened to a rusted track. I drop my hand from my gun and grab ahold of the handle, yanking it to the side and trying to jerk it open. It’s supposed to slide open with the ease of a patio door, but after years of no use, the door seems to be rusted shut. I try to slide it open one more time, pulling as hard as I can, yet it doesn’t budge.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, looking down the side of the building and hoping to find another way in.
I abandon the side door and walk deeper into the blackness of night, moving along the side of the building. Although the small, block, glass windows have been punched out on one side, you still cannot see in fully on the main level. I get on my tip-toes to try to look for another way in on the opposite side, but it’s impossible to see.
I can only hear the brush of waist-high grass against my clothes and the pounding of my heart as I keep inching my way to the back of the brick building. My stomach is churning, and my blood is pumping adrenaline throughout my body, making me antsy, yet I still have that eerie feeling someone is here. Am I being watched? I shake my
head back and forth and keep forging ahead.
Finally, I make it to the back of the building. Before I round the corner, I pull my gun from its holster as I press my back against the brick. The exterior is rough, and the red brick seems to crumble slightly as I get my back flush with the building. I look to my left, seeing nothing. I look to my right, and again, there’s nothing. I release a deep breath and peel my back away from the wall then slowly take a step forward.
The deeper I get, the more I can feel a presence surrounding me. My mind is spinning with the images of Victor’s kill room, and I can’t help thinking the area is swarming with the ghosts of the dead victims. They are haunting the area, scaring away anyone who dares to come near it again. For the second time in my life, I know what it truly feels like to be frightened, but I have to ignore it. I need to get my body inside this building. I have to see the words and images to ensure I am correct.
I swallow down the fear once again and round the corner, keeping my body flush against the building. I make it to the middle of the building and find an opening. It’s not a door, but a small hole in the structure. I lean over and slide my leg through. It’s a tight squeeze, though I think I can wedge my way through to the inside.
I turn my frame and start to shimmy my way between the decaying bricks. I fall through the last of the opening, tripping in the dark over a pile of debris lying on the floor. My hands break my fall, but my knee cracks against something sharp, cutting my skin and ripping my jeans. Warm blood starts to run down my leg, and in this moment, I’ve never been so glad I got a tetanus shot in my life.
I quickly pull myself up and flip my flashlight on, looking around the place Victor lived. As I scan the walls, I can see the evil he left scribbled and splattered on the surfaces. His words are slightly faded, but I can read them; they’re still intact.
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