Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story

by Adam Nicholls

  52

  Ryan was shown into the dark room. The door slammed shut behind him.

  ‘Wasn’t that great, boy?’ the killer asked him, but it sounded rhetorical.

  There was an unfamiliar feeling inside Ryan, however. A distasteful cocktail of sadness and shame. How had be been persuaded to do such a horrible thing? In the moment, it had seemed like a good idea, but now? His father would never be able to look at him if he found out what he’d done.

  ‘I’m talking to you, boy.’

  Ryan shrugged, taking a seat on the floor where he belonged.

  The killer looked down at him like he had been insulted. ‘You don’t feel smart? You don’t feel powerful? What the hell’s a matter with ya?’

  ‘I feel… bad.’

  ‘Well, tough fuckin’ titty. You did something today that your dad could never be proud of because he only gives a damn about your sister. But listen here,’ the killer crouched in front of him, ‘I’m proud of you.’

  Ryan smiled at him, but only because it was the easy way of shutting him up. By now he was coming to learn the best ways to avoid any further torture. ‘Thank you.’

  The killer rose. ‘Good boy. Now stay here and watch TV. I need to run out and do something. But don’t you get up off that floor, ya hear me?’ He switched on the old-fashioned TV and headed out, closing the door.

  He didn’t lock it. Ryan sat staring at the door, ignoring the cartoons on the television screen. I could try now, unless… Is it a test? That hopeful part of him said to get up and try, but the angel on his shoulder told him he’d best stay put.

  But it can’t hurt to check… can it?

  His hand hurt as he pushed himself off the floor, and he stalked slowly across the room. Perhaps just a little peek wouldn’t matter, he convinced himself. If the killer was still there, he could just say that he was making sure he was safe inside.

  Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.

  Embracing the fear, he wrapped his good hand around the handle. Trying his damndest not to shake, he twisted it and gave it a little pull. To his surprise, it clicked open, and a cold autumn breeze assaulted his face.

  Ryan poked his head through the door and winced.

  Up the walkway, the killer stood talking to a man. They both had their backs to the room but could turn at any moment. And then the punishments would begin.

  Pushing the door slightly to a close, Ryan pondered how fast he could run. If he could only make it to the street, he could cry for help and get out of there before the killer even noticed. But it was risky…

  Well, Ryan asked himself, what’s it going to be?

  53

  It was the hardest decision of his life, but it was his only hope.

  Ryan darted out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him. He was barely off the property when he heard the killer shouting after him.

  ‘Boy! Boy! Jesus Christ.’

  He didn’t want to look back, to see the man approaching with greater speed than his own. All he could do was ignore the shooting pains in his legs and push forward.

  Ryan hit the street, bare on each side but a variety of bars and houses further up the road. He tried to sprint faster, to reach the public place sooner, and then he heard the RV behind him.

  The killer sounded the horn, startling Ryan. It was close behind him, but how close? Close enough to hear the engine roaring, that was for sure. And while the cold breeze brought tears to Ryan’s eyes, making snot dribble from his nostrils, he was almost at the lively street.

  ‘Help!’ he screamed, grimly realising there was not another human being in sight.

  The RV closed in behind him, tormenting him rather than stopping him.

  Should I stop? The devils of simple submission were playing a number on him, telling him the easy route would be to just go back and accept his punishment. No, I need to get home, even if my dad still hates me.

  Ryan’s toe hit the kerb, sending him tumbling to the ground. He brought his hands up just in time to guard his face, but his knees and elbows took a damaging blow. He winced, hearing the RV revving even closer and the killer shouting out of the window.

  ‘Don’t make me get out of this vehicle, boy!’

  Panicking, Ryan picked himself up and disappeared into a nearby alleyway, not stopping to dust himself off. As he rounded the corner, he saw something that only God could have sent to him, to save him from his captor.

  ‘Help!’ he screamed to the two men at the end of the alley. ‘Please help!’

  The men stepped forward. One was black and wearing sports gear, in spite of the cold weather. The other a business suit, slightly older. They looked an odd pair to be hanging out down an alleyway, but Ryan wasn’t about to complain.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ the younger one asked. It looked like he was zipping up his fly.

  ‘Someone’s chasing me,’ Ryan wheezed.

  The killer suddenly entered the alleyway and caught up to them, smiling and wiping his forehead. ‘Sorry fellas, my boy’s just being a bit dramatic. You know how it is.’

  ‘This is your son?’ the old man asked, sceptical.

  ‘Oh sure, yeah.’ The killer looked down at Ryan. ‘Come on, boy. Let’s go home.’

  But the men weren’t buying it–something about the crying child with a bandaged hand didn’t look as though he was simply disobeying his father. The old man stood in the way. ‘Sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to prove–’

  With lightning speed, the killer drew a gun from the back of his pants and fired a quick shot into each of the men. They landed to either side of Ryan, making him squeal with horror.

  ‘Nice try, kid,’ the killer said angrily, stowing the gun away. ‘Just when I thought I could trust you.’

  Ryan jerked back as the man grabbed him, dragging him back to the RV.

  54

  Mason got back in his car and told Evie what he’d seen. He was watching her expression as she digested the information, mostly to see if it affected her as much as it had him.

  ‘It’s hard to see the bright side, but this suggests that Ryan Carter is still alive, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but try telling his father that. Look, I need to pay Mr Carter a visit. Do you think you can head to Keira’s, see what you can dig up?’

  ‘It’s a strip club, for Christ’s sake. Couldn’t you–’

  ‘Can you go or not?’ Mason snapped.

  ‘Fine… whatever. As long as I can take the car.’

  Mason reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a handful of cash, then held it out to her. ‘For the cab fare.’

  Evie stared blankly at it, snatched it up and left. ‘Be careful.’

  Mason made his way to the Carter household, wondering how exactly the man would take the news. Better yet, how would Mason phrase it? Sorry, sir, but your son mutilated a young girl? Your boy is alive, but he’s working with the killer? Something was amiss, but what it was eluded him completely.

  Owen opened the door and showed him in, but Mason only stood in the hallway.

  ‘What is it?’ Owen asked, obviously expecting bad news.

  He has no idea. ‘It’s not much of an update,’ Mason said carefully, trying not to further upset the man, ‘but I think your son is still alive. For now.’

  Owen sniffed and wiped his eyes, then looked up. ‘That’s great though, right? That means I can pay the ransom and take my son back.’

  Mason shook his head. ‘I still don’t think it’s that simple. ‘

  ‘I… I don’t understand. Why can’t I just pay the money and have my son? I don’t care about the million dollars. I just want to see Ryan and tell him that I’m sorry.’

  ‘Because you have to think about the other children, Mr Carter. If you pay that money, then a serial killer goes free. Whose kids will be next? I don’t give a damn about your million. I just want the killer in cuffs, if not–’ Mason caught sight of young Maisie cowering by the upstairs banister. It was good to see her out of the hospital, and he
couldn’t blame her for wanting to know where her twin brother was. ‘If not dead.’

  ‘But my son dies regardless?’

  ‘Not at all. You know we’re trying to–’

  ‘Trying to what? To catch a killer at any cost, including my boy’s safety?’

  ‘Hey, now you listen here,’ Mason snapped, trying to push back the guilt of speaking abruptly with a man missing his child. He knew that if Amy had been abducted instead, he would slit throats to get her back. ‘You’re trying to counter everything I say with the same comment. You’re going to give me one more day. I’m close, Mr Carter. I just know it.’

  ‘How close?’ Owen asked, pleading with his eyes.

  ‘Close enough.’ Mason headed for the door.

  ‘What if I–’

  ‘One more day!’ Mason closed the door and sucked in the fresh air, steadying his nerves. Time was not on his side, and he knew it.

  55

  Evie manoeuvred between the tables of perverted creeps.

  It wasn’t her kind of scene–everything from the sleazy music to the down-and-out women flashing their skin, putting shame to the rest of the ladies who were trying to make a decent living. But still, she thought, people do what they have to.

  When she got to the empty bar, she flashed a photo of Marvin Wendell to the barman.

  He polished an assortment of shot glasses one by one, staring at the photo until recognition settled in. ‘Might have seen him. Who’s asking?’

  ‘Evelyn Black. I’m a private investigator… of sorts.’

  The barman assessed her, flicked the cleaning cloth over his shoulder, and dialled a number on a landline. He kept on eye on her, explaining to the person on the phone what was happening.

  Now why would you need to make a call?

  Evie glanced around her, studying the men in black suits who stood bolt upright and scanned their surroundings. When she’d first come in, she’d thought they were bouncers, but now she finally understood… they were bodyguards.

  Two of them approached her, one of whom had a finger to his earpiece.

  ‘Miss Black? Come with us.’

  Evie swallowed hard and followed them into the back, wishing she’d taken the gun from Mason’s car. They were backstage, heading up a set of shoddy wooden stairs until they reached a door. The bigger bodyguard punched in a code and showed her inside.

  ‘Miss Black, is it?’ A pony-tailed man in his forties sat at his desk, shuffling some things into a drawer. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.

  Evie tapped her nose and flicked her head at him, letting him know that he had some remaining powder. The man realised immediately and wiped the remaining cocaine off his nose.

  ‘I hear you’re asking around about a guy.’

  Looking around her and trying not to freak out that they’d closed the door behind her, Evie walked to the desk and showed the picture of Wendell. ‘Some say he comes here often?’

  The man studied the photo, then Evie, before speaking with that croaky Manhattan accent. ‘What are you, police?’

  ‘A PI, actually.’

  ‘Riiiight, right. Can I see your credentials?’

  Shit. Evie knew she should have borrowed Mason’s badge. She’d done that on multiple occasions in the past–it was surprising just how many people saw the shiny brass and looked no further. ‘I left them at home.’

  The man laughed, and his bodyguards followed suit. ‘You can see the trouble here, miss. A young woman such as yourself comes in here asking questions about a paying customer, has no identification and wants some information. How do you think that looks?’

  Evie, trying to hide her shaking hands, cleared her throat. ‘Look, I’m trying to pretend this is just a strip joint, and that I couldn’t head downstairs right now to hire one of your whores.’ She licked her dry lips, shuffled her weight to the other foot. ‘I’m not a dyke, but I would do it just to prove a point. This man is dangerous.’ She pointed at the photo. ‘He’s killed before and he’ll do it again. So unless you want the police at your door, how about you show me some professional courtesy?’

  The smile fell from the man’s face in an instant, pausing for thought.

  ‘Well?’ Evie prompted, faking courage once again.

  ‘Miss Black… This is the most courtesy you’ll get from me: turn around and go back to whichever hole you crawled out from. Never come back here. If you do, even the police won’t be able to protect you. You hear?’

  It sounded like a generous offer to her. It seemed obvious that he wasn’t likely to give up any details, so what other choice did she have than to walk out with her life?

  Not saying another word, she took the door she’d come in from and headed back downstairs, where the music had picked up its tempo and some skinny redhead was sliding off her panties on stage. Men were screaming and whistling like a pack of excitable dogs.

  Evie kept her head down and went for the exit, keeping a cautious eye over her shoulder. She almost screamed when she walked into the stripper.

  ‘Easy there,’ said the topless blonde, sneakily feeding a scrap of paper into her hand. She walked away without looking back.

  Evie, knowing better than to open it in plain sight, went for the front doors and around to the side. Nervous and curious, she opened up the paper and read the message with its one clear instruction: Meet me around back at midnight.

  56

  Midnight was approaching, but not fast enough. Evie hugged herself in the cold alleyway, refusing to take her eyes off the filthy old man who was taking a piss behind the dumpster.

  He zipped up and drunkenly stumbled towards her.

  ‘Want some fuh-fun, gorgeous?’ he asked as he swayed from side to side.

  ‘I’m not here for that.’ Evie took a step back, disgusted.

  ‘You don’t want… some of this?’

  Suddenly the club’s back door opened, and the stripper who’d left the message stepped out. It was a complete transformation to see her in clothes. Inside, she’d looked like a whore, desperate for money. Now she looked like somebody’s mom. ‘Go home, Jeremy,’ she said to the drunken man.

  He turned, tried to understand what was going on, then stumbled off into the darkness while muttering incomplete words.

  ‘Sorry about him,’ the stripper said, stepping closer.

  ‘Thanks for the rescue.’ Evie held up the note. ‘You have some information?’

  The stripper chewed on her gum. ‘You a cop?’

  Evie felt that this woman deserved the truth, at least. ‘Just an interested party.’

  After a longer stare of assessment, the stripper took Evie by the arm and led her away from the club, lowering her voice. ‘That man you’ve been looking for? His name’s Marvin Wendell. He comes here a lot.’

  She knows his name. At least I know she’s not lying to me. ‘You’ve danced for him?’

  The stripper laughed. ‘My professions extends a little further than just dancing, if you catch my drift. Wendell is a client of mine. Into some freaky shit, but he always pays.’

  ‘You’ve been in his RV?’

  ‘RV? Sweetheart, we catch a cab to a motel up the road. Romero’s, I think it’s called.’

  Evie couldn’t believe the man was into prostitution. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’

  ‘Couldn’t be surer. Guy was missing a finger. Kind of reduces the pleasure, if you get what I’m saying.’ The stripper winked. She was a friendly woman, kind of keen to please, but generally big-hearted.

  ‘I get you,’ Evie said awkwardly. ‘You say he pays you. Is he… of wealth?’

  They passed the drunk they’d seen only moments ago. He was sleeping it off on a nearby bench, which was still wet from the recent showers. The street was otherwise empty.

  ‘He pays me for the whole night because of the distance to the motel. It suits me–I don’t have much of a life outside this place anyway, and I’m saving to go back to college.’

  Evie felt for this woman,
but what could she do? ‘Romero’s. Got ya. Thanks for your help…?’

  ‘Jennifer.’

  ‘Jennifer. You take care.’ Evie handed her the cab money that Mason had provided, smiled, and walked towards the nearest bus stop to wait for her brother. She had a feeling he would be interested in the new information.

  57

  Mason pulled up to the bus stop to find his sister cold and tired. It was getting late, and she would probably want to head home soon.

  ‘Evie,’ he called to her and let her get in the car. They parked to talk about the details. They even took a cigarette from the emergency supply and shared it between them while catching up on the details.

  ‘So this Wendell guy,’ Mason said, taking a long, smoky draw, ‘he uses this motel often?’

  ‘All the time, apparently.’

  ‘Why not use the RV?’ Since Mason had discovered it at Rigby’s, it had been collected and hadn’t returned. He could have kicked himself for not having impounded it sooner.

  ‘You said it yourself,’ Evie said, taking the cigarette from him and rolling the spent ash into the Mustang’s tray, ‘it has no real interior. Just a tin can, right?’

  It was true. But however much Mason wanted to believe that Marvin Wendell would be at the motel, he had his doubts. ‘You coming, or do you want me to drop you home?’

  Evie cracked a window and tossed the smoke outside. ‘You’re going now?’

  ‘I don’t want to waste any more time.’

  ‘But you’re exhausted, and it’s a couple of hours outside the city.’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Mason knew exactly where this was headed: the ever-persistent request that she get to drive his precious Mustang. He didn’t like it – never had – but it made sense on this occasion. ‘Just… be gentle, all right?’

  Evie climbed out and they swapped seats. Mason reclined in the passenger side as Evie struggled to handle the unfamiliar power of the car. He wanted to get some shut-eye – he really did – but it was impossible to relax while Evie was grinding gears.

  An hour passed and the car was being handled better. Mason laid back, his eyes on the sunset. Was he on his way to meet Wendell, or would it be another dead end? And what about Ryan Carter? He didn’t want to admit it, but the odds weren’t in the boy’s favour.