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

by Adam Nicholls

  Chris rose to his feet. ‘Mr Black, if you knew my wife or daughter, you would know that they were happy. They had no reason to want to go anywhere. They’re just too responsible for that.’ His face began to redden, this time through anger rather than distress. ‘I came to you for help, and the last thing I expected was to be–’

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Healy. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want the facts.’

  Chris slowed his breathing and finally sat.

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And? What did they say?’

  ‘They said they have nothing to go on. No footage, no witnesses. Not even reports of a suspicious character. They say they’re doing everything they can and I believe them… but it doesn’t look too hopeful.’

  Mason was astonished. Given his own years of service with the SFPD, he had never expected that a member of the public would think they’re unable to be helped. The police, after all, were the authorities. To Mason, this suggested the ability to protect and serve. It was a promise, not just a motto. ‘And that’s why we’re having this discussion?’

  ‘Yes, I…’ Chris sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the cushioned arms. ‘Mr Black, I’ve heard good things about your service. I’ve been told that you’re competent, trustworthy and resourceful. If it’s all the same to you, I would like to employ you to find my family.’

  Mason didn’t need to think about it. It seemed that putting this man out of his pain would be little more than a pleasure. After all, it was his job, and he liked to think he was getting pretty good at it. ‘I’ll need photographs, information, and a payment deposit upfront. If this is okay with you, we can get to work immediately.’

  The faintest of smiles crept onto the man’s face. It was one of great relief. ‘Thank you, Mr Black.’ He rose and raised his hand. ‘Thank you so much.’

  Mason stood, shook it and looked his client in the eye. ‘I’ll find your family, Mr Healy.’ It was just then that he felt something familiar – the guilt of a lie, perhaps, or the sensation of overwhelming self-doubt. Either way, he was making a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

  4

  Anarchy lit his cigarette, the paper burning crisply into a wave of smoke. His legs up, he drew back and inhaled deeply as he watched her crawl away.

  ‘Save your strength,’ he said, smirking. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

  The woman, whose name was something like Maria or Marion – he couldn’t quite remember, stopped and lay flat on her belly. The knife in her back had finally defeated her.

  ‘There you have it.’ Anarchy sat forward, took another puff and blew it into a grey cloud. The post-sex cigarette had always been his favourite. ‘Try not to feel bad about it. You gave it some fight, after all. I’m almost impressed.’

  As if by some miracle, Marion (yes, that was it – Marion, one of the others had screamed when he’d dragged her away) reached across the dusty floorboard, dug her painted nails into the frayed wood and pulled herself a little farther. She was nearly at the door now.

  ‘Woohooo.’ Anarchy laughed and stood, clapping. ‘You go, girl!’ He stalked around her, watching her body shiver as each painstaking reach toward the door killed her a little quicker.

  ‘P-Please,’ Marion mumbled with what little strength she had left. Her arm suddenly loosened as if she had given up and her cheek lowered to the wood in submission.

  Anarchy – still loving his own high-school nickname – crouched beside her and looked into the dark, desperate pools of her eyes. There was something in there, a genuine desperation to accompany her plea. ‘Please what, babe?’

  Marion’s face contorted in agonising horror. ‘Please… Hurts…’

  Perhaps he could allow her to live, get her some medical attention. But what would be the fun in that? It wasn’t like he didn’t have two other women to fuck around with. Besides, this was a fun change of pace from stabbing drunkards, burning down family homes and other exciting pastimes. ‘It’s all right – it won’t hurt anymore.’

  When he reached for the knife and tugged on it, Marion’s eyes shot wide open. She grunted, unable to find words to sound her pain. Anarchy slid the blade out, found a new spot in her back and plunged it in.

  ‘How’s that?’ he asked, watching the lids fall slowly over her eyes. ‘That should end the torment, no?’ Once more, he took the knife from her back and stabbed her again. This time it took a little more force.

  Marion’s body finally stopped moving, the knife’s hilt protruding from her flesh in a proud admission of victory. She was at peace now, whether she had wanted to be or not.

  Anarchy stood up straight, looked around the dusty old room and rubbed his hands together. There was so much work to be done, and this was just the start of it.

  5

  Mason sat behind the wheel of his Mustang, heading toward the bar in which the girls had last been seen. It was a long shot, and the police had probably already been there, but it was as good a starting place as any.

  As he headed down Fernleigh, tapping the wheel to some new tune on the radio, he couldn’t help but think of Evie. There was once a time when the majority of his cases would begin by enlisting her help. As an investigative journalist, she had always been eager to help. Sadly, since she had learned about his murderous ways, she had become a different person.

  I miss you, Evelyn.

  It had been a year since they’d sat and had a proper conversation. All necessary passings-by had been cold and formal, but that wouldn’t stop his efforts. Even Diane had tried desperately to bring them closer together, but there was still no sign of any give.

  This much was now clear: he was on his own this time.

  It was midday when he reached the bar, and he was surprised to find it open. Inside, it was a total dive. It smelt of stale beer, and dust motes were visibly floating around like flies. Nobody was in sight, quite understandably, other than the bartender, who was cleaning up behind the bar.

  Mason approached him. ‘Are you the manager?’

  ‘Owner,’ the barman said without looking up. ‘Listen, if you’re here about the missing girls, I’ve already spoken to you guys. I came in and gave you an official statement.’

  ‘I’m not with the police.’ Mason slid his PI badge across the bar and watched the barman’s eyes assess it. ‘I’m here in a more private capacity. I know you’ve done this all before, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you know.’

  The barman cleared his throat, wiped a glass dry and stored it under the counter. His hands came down to rest in front of him. ‘You get three questions, then I want you to leave. That fair enough?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Mason looked around him, measuring his options carefully. It was a gloomy place – really quite miserable, even with all the neon. When he thought of his first question, he placed it carefully. ‘Did you know the women? All three of them?’

  ‘I didn’t know a single one. Only reason I knew they were here is because they were so damn loud. They were like a murder of crows. Drinking excitably, that kind of thing.’

  Mason nodded, taking it in. ‘You say you heard them. Anything in particular?’

  ‘Girl talk.’ The phone began to ring, and the barman ignored it. ‘They announced that they were leaving, loud enough that anybody would have heard them.’

  ‘Did anyone else hear them? Anybody get up and follow them?’

  ‘They would have had a hard job. The girls took a cab home. Had me call it in for them.’ He pushed himself off the bar and waved his palm toward the door. ‘That’s your three. I’m sorry it’s not much use, but it’s all I have.’

  Mason swallowed hard. It really had been a waste of time. ‘Thank you,’ he said, stuffing the badge back into his pocket and heading toward the door. There was nowhere to go from here – no leads, clues or witnesses. Only…

  ‘Hey.’

  The barman looked across at him, clearly frustrated. ‘No
. No more questions.’

  ‘Sorry, I just wondered if you could call me a taxi.’ Perhaps there was somewhere to go from here. It may not be much, but if he could find the driver who’d taken the girls, he might just fall into some luck.

  With an angry flick of the barman’s wrist, the taxi company’s business card slid across the bar, stopping just by Mason’s hand. ‘Now get out of here,’ said the barman, ‘before I call the police.’

  6

  When the cab arrived, Mason tapped on the driver’s window and waited for it to roll down. Now he was looking at a chubby, wrinkled old man with dark eyes.

  ‘I don’t got all day,’ he said grumpily.

  Mason ignored the remark. ‘Four nights ago, three women used your company to get home. They were picked up from here.’

  ‘Mouthy bitches.’ The driver nodded, his cheeks wobbling as he did so.

  ‘Do you remember where you took them?’

  ‘Sure. Get in.’

  Mason walked around and climbed in beside the driver, paying no mind to the rules. He needed to get in close and personal with this man, make him comfortable enough to search his memory for anything that might be important.

  The cab began to move, and the driver snacked on a cereal bar. ‘So,’ he began, spitting oats as he spoke with a mouthful, ‘what did these women do wrong?’

  ‘It’s not what they did – it’s what happened to them.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘After you dropped them off, they weren’t seen again.’

  The driver screwed up his empty wrapper and dropped it by his feet. ‘Never?’

  ‘Never.’ Mason was at a loss. Whatever had happened to these women must have been somewhere between the cab and their homes. The big question was: how large a distance was that?

  After around fifteen minutes, the driver stopped on a run-down street. Graffiti plastered the shutters of failed businesses. Rough-looking kids bounced a dirty old ball around the litter-covered sidewalk.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, pointing to the charge on the dashboard.

  Mason handed him a fifty-dollar bill. ‘They live around here?’

  ‘Not a clue. They got to talking about who was going to pay the fare, and it was too hot an argument. When it looked like none of them were going to pay, I had to stop and let ‘em out.’

  ‘In a neighbourhood like this?’

  The driver shrugged. ‘Not my problem.’

  Mason shook his head and got out. The street stank of something spicy.

  ‘Hey.’

  He turned back, leaned in to see the driver.

  ‘Need a ride back?’

  Mason shook his head, closed the door and was left alone in the street, looking around at the place. He thought he knew where he was, but couldn’t be too sure. Looking around, he kept his eyes peeled for any areas that might be dark and concealed.

  If I were up to no good, where would I hide?

  Of course, there was always a possibility that the girls had jumped ship. Although Chris Healy had been so certain that they would never do such a thing, Mason knew from his own experiences that you couldn’t always tell how your partner felt about you.

  The kids ran and screamed around him as he walked, playing like there was no tomorrow. Mason began to think how good those days had been with Evie – playing outside in the dirt.

  But before that thought could evolve, he spotted a small pile of plastic.

  What is that?

  Mason strode toward it and dropped to a knee. It looked like sturdy stuff, although it had been smashed as if in some kind of struggle. The drain beside the plastic lay suspect, and he peered inside it.

  All of a sudden, it was like Christmas had come early. Deep beneath the grate, lying in a small cluster of leaves, a cell phone rested half against the wall of the drain. Mason groped at the metal and tore it off with a grunt.

  He reached for the phone, praying that it wasn’t just a coincidence and that it had something to do with the disappearance of his client’s family. If he was wrong, then this could all be a big waste of time.

  7

  The contents of Anarchy’s backpack included: a combat knife, a tranquiliser gun (which he had picked up for a remarkably good price from a pawn shop back in Washington), two cans of compressed air, and a zippo lighter. To the everyday man, this would be a confusing assortment of items, but to Anarchy it was a bag of opportunities.

  There was only one reason he hadn’t yet sealed the backpack, and he was wrapping it now. The chequered cloth lay out flat across the dusty ground, and he placed the severed head inside. The way the eyes stared widely at him seemed amusing. He could almost hear her crying all over again.

  I made her break so easily. Pathetic.

  First he flapped one side of the cloth over, then he rolled the head to wrap it quickly before stuffing it in the bag. He zipped it up, slung it over his shoulder and stormed toward his collection of vehicles. Of course, they weren’t really his vehicles, but they were in his possession. Until somebody stopped him, that was.

  Anarchy sat atop the motorcycle. It wasn’t his favourite, but that was probably a good thing. This way, he could leave the head in a special place where it could be found – maybe somewhere a kid might find it and be fucked up for life – and then get out of there. Potential witnesses would say, “I saw him on a green Kawasaki Ninja,” and then he wouldn’t have to feel bad about ditching the bike.

  With all the ingredients of a fun and chaotic day at hand, he slipped on his bike helmet, started up the engine and roared toward the city for some fun.

  8

  Mason parked outside the school, waiting for Amy. She was fifteen years old now, and shaping up to be every bit as incredible as one could hope from their own flesh and blood.

  While he waited, he looked at the phone he’d found in the drain. It was an iPhone, just like Amy’s, but the battery was dead. Sure, he could just run into a store and buy a charger, but this way he got to visit Amy, even if just for a moment.

  When an hour passed by, Mason sighed and tuned in to the radio. Bon Jovi began to blast out, and he turned it down in a desperate attempt to gather his thoughts. To kill the time (and although he would never admit it, to satisfy his own insecurities), he tried Evie twice. Sadly, there was still no answer.

  Where have you gone, Evie?

  Just as his back was starting to ache, something that was happening more often these days, a group of schoolchildren came funnelling out of the double doorway, finally free from their day of hard schooling. Mason climbed out and looked around everywhere, until Amy came out with a boy’s arms slung over her shoulder. Whatever he was whispering in her ear was making her giggle, showing off a perfect set of pearly whites.

  Who does this kid think he is?

  ‘Amy,’ he called, stealing her attention immediately.

  The look of pleasant surprise was nothing short of satisfying. She ran toward him, leaving the boy in the proverbial dust. ‘Dad!’ she cried, and leapt into his arms, knocking him back toward his car door.

  Mason kissed her on the top of the head and held her for a moment. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m good! What are you doing here?’ She pulled away, tucking a stray wisp of hair over her ear and looking over her shoulder at the boy.

  ‘I needed a favour, actually. You have an iPhone, right?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Mind if I borrow your charger? It’s for a good cause.’

  ‘Sure.’ Amy unhooked the bag from her shoulder and rummaged through it. She produced the white cable and dumped it into his hand. ‘Come drop it off when you can?’

  Mason nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the boy. ‘Who’s the kid?’

  Amy looked again over her shoulder, waving the boy toward her. ‘This is Marcus.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she mumbled as he approached. ‘Marcus, this is my dad.’

  For fifteen years of age, Mason thought it
incredibly sweet that he should hold out his hand for a formal introduction. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’

  Mason shook it. ‘You too, kid. Do you guys need a ride?’

  Amy looked to Mason, Mason looked to Marcus, and Marcus looked nervously around before finally shrugging. ‘Think we could walk it.’

  ‘We’ll walk it,’ Amy confirmed. ‘Thanks, though.’

  Through the silence, the radio in the Mustang hissed some news that Mason wished he hadn’t heard. Feeding his morbid curiosity, he leaned in through the open window and turned the volume up.

  The broadcast was professionally informative, with a tone of sadness:

  “…at Ryder’s Mall, where the body was displayed across the food court. Police are yet to arrive on the scene, but local shoppers are shaken up. The victim has been identified as Marion Healy, who had been reported missing…”

  Mason turned back to his daughter. ‘Amy, I have to–’

  ‘Go? Yeah.’ She leaned in, pecked him on the cheek, then took a step back to let him leave. ‘But don’t forget about me.’

  ‘Could I ever?’ said Mason, dropping into the driver’s seat and revving up the engine.

  9

  There was a large crowd of nosey shoppers gathered outside the mall when Mason arrived. Knowing full well that it would be a fight to get inside, he stowed the iPhone in the glove compartment and made his way between the people.

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ Mason overheard one man saying. ‘My daughter saw that mess. Poor thing will be scarred for life.’

  ‘Fucking cool!’ said one of the teenagers, high-fiving his friends.

  Mason tried to hide his disgust as he made his way to the police tape, and was shown in by Detective Bill Harvey. ‘Tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.’

  ‘It’s worse,’ Bill said, leading him through the evacuated mall. ‘Nobody even saw it happen. One minute everything was fine, and then before you know it, everyone is running around in a blind panic.’