by Jason Kahn
Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998
www.damnationbooks.com
The Killer Within
by Jason Kahn
Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-003-3
Cover art by: Julie D’Arcy
Edited by: Lea Schizas
Copyright 2009 Jason Kahn
Printed in the United States of America Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced , scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Killer
Within
By
Jason Kahn
To my wife, Karen, and my friend, Elaine Page 1
The Killer Within
Detective Frank Arnold viewed the bloodshed in the sumptuously appointed hotel suite with practiced stoicism. A well dressed Caucasian male lay on the floor, surrounded by three larger Caucasian males in Adidas sweat suits, all dead from multiple gunshot wounds.
There was also a dead African American female in a Paradise Hotel and Casino uniform with a gun in her hand. It looked like she had gained access to the room, shot the men, then herself.
Frank knelt down next to the young woman.
Her name tag said: Tracy Betts, Assistant Manager.
The crime scene guys were crawling all over the room like busy worker ants, photographing and tagging every blood-covered inch. Frank stood, careful not to disturb anything as a uniformed cop walked over to him, a puzzled look on his face.
“Detective Arnold? What’re you doing here? I thought the task force guys handled this sort of thing.” Frank scowled. “Somebody called it in, so I came over,” he said. “I still have to do my job, you know.” The officer stuttered an apology. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Seems like another sleeper hit, though.” Frank nodded, it sure did. He was about to ask a question when a voice came from the doorway.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay, officer?” Two men in expensive-looking suits with wireless earpieces walked in.
One of them looked at Frank with an amused expression while the other started surveying the scene.
“You trying to pick up a few crumbs, Frank?” Frank gritted his teeth. “Just responding to a call, Terry, that’s all.”
Terry smiled. “Well, we’ll take it from here.
Thanks, Frank.” Terry took the uniformed officer by the arm and walked him a short distance away.
Frank fumed at the silent dismissal, but he knew if he interfered his lieutenant would rip him a new one.
Page 2
Correction, another new one.
He took the elevator downstairs and stopped at the front desk to ask the hotel manager a few questions.
The man’s hands were shoved in his pockets; Frank could tell they wouldn’t stop shaking. Then he went outside to find his partner standing by the car, arms folded. Her lips pursed and exasperation clouded her face. “Why do you keep doing this, Frank?” He knew better than to try his “I just answered a call” line on Vera.
“Just get in, will you?” he muttered.
“Sure, I’m driving.” Her tone made Frank forget about protesting.
The car pulled away from the Paradise into the late afternoon Metro City traffic.
“Is it true who’s up there?” Vera asked.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “Boris Ilianov, and three of his goons.”
Vera gave a low whistle.
“That’s it for the Russians, then,” she said.
“Yeah, now Hector’s the only game in town.” Hector Avilles was an Ecuadorian crime lord. His gang used to be small time in Metro City, but now they owned the place.
“Sleeper hit?” Vera asked.
Sleepers were the assassins used by the Ecuadorians. A chemist in one of Hector’s ecstasy labs had stumbled across a drug that left the user completely susceptible to suggestion. A little slipped into a drink, a few simple instructions, and the poor sucker would unknowingly do whatever anyone told them, no matter how long it took for the instructions to be carried out.
Naturally, Hector used it to create killers and knock off all the other crime families. The sleepers were picked at random, with nothing in common. It could be a neighbor, a friend, or some girl named Tracy Betts.
“Seems like it,” Frank said. “It was an assistant manager, the manager said she’d been to the room several times without incident before she pulled a gun and whacked everybody.”
“And you’re sniffing around the case because. .?” Page 3
Frank scowled. “Goddamn task force is taking all the good cases,” he groused. “I’ve been on the job too long to be a meter maid.”
Vera didn’t answer. Everyone in the squad knew that when the Inter-Agency Task Force on Crime in Metro City formed eight months ago, they had passed Frank over. A decorated cop with years investigating narcotics and homicides, Frank hadn’t taken it well.
Vera changed the subject. “How are the kids, Frank?”A rare smile lit his face. “Good. Josh won his soccer game over the weekend and Kim can count all the way up to twenty now,” he said.
“That’s great, when do you get them again?” The smile died. “Settlement says I get them on the weekends, she gets them during the week.” Frank never referred to his ex by name.
“Any sleep-overs yet?”
The scowl returned. “She won’t let them. Doesn’t like the neighborhood I moved into. Like between my salary and the alimony I shell out I can afford anything better.” That brought Frank’s thoughts inevitably back to the subject that continued to gnaw at him.
“If I could just clear one big case, then Judge Browers would have to put me on the task force,” he said. “Then maybe I could turn things around.” William Browers was the federal judge who put the task force together. He had the political clout to do it, bringing in feds, secret service, and select members of the MCPD. Since the task force had started cracking down, Judge Browers became the most hated man in the Metro City underworld.
“You’re just going to piss more people off, Frank,” Vera said. She didn’t mention that one of those people was Lieutenant Burke, their boss, or that was the reason Frank had been passed over in the first place.
He ignored the remark. “Something big’s coming, Vera,” he said. “This is the third sleeper hit in the past month. Hector’s wiping out the competition, he doesn’t want anybody else horning in on whatever he’s got planned.”
Page 4
“And you know this how?”
“My usual sources.” Over the years, Frank had developed an extensive informant network of snitches and low-level criminals.
“And why haven’t you told me any of this?”
“So you won’t get in trouble with Burke. Besides, I’m telling you now.”
Vera pursed her lips. “Thanks for keeping me informed.”
“Before we go back to the station, let’s head over to Gallant Street, by the Superstore.” Vera raised an eyebrow. The “Superstore” was a block where small-time dealers hung out, trawling for customers. “Why do you want to go there?” Frank smiled. “For information,” he said. “Just do it.” Vera shook her head, but she nonetheless turned east toward Gallant.
Minutes passed in silence as they left the hotel district and entered the more run-down areas of
Metro City, boarded up windows and burnt out cars up on blocks. “How’d it go last night, anyway?”
“How’d what go?” Frank asked with a straight face. “Frank, don’t play coy, you’re not good at it,” Vera said. “How’d your date go with that leggy redhead from the secretary pool?”
Frank coughed to hide his embarrassment. He’d tried to keep his first date since his divorce a secret, but he should have known his partner would find out.
“It went fine, we saw a movie, had a bite to eat, all in all, pretty nice.” The truth was they had seen a chick movie that Frank had feigned interest in, and then they shared some coffee while he made a miserable attempt at small talk.
Frank was saved from further conversation on the subject when they turned onto Gallant Street. He motioned with his arm. “Ahead there, pull over by the fire hydrant.”
“You want back-up?” Vera asked.
Page 5
“Nah, my guy doesn’t know you, you’d just make him panic. Just stay in the car.” Vera shot him a dark look. “Whatever you say, partner.”
The car pulled over next to a line of abandoned flat houses. Up ahead, young men sporting do-rags and ink on their skin clustered by the curb. Frank got out of the car and strode down the block like he owned it. Dealers and customers watched him warily. Some knew him by sight, others by the cheap looking suit that screamed MCPD. Without warning, he swerved and darted for a group of five tough guys with grease in their hair and chains in their pockets. They sprinted like jackrabbits, but not before Frank caught two by the arm and threw them across the back of an old Chevy with bashed-in headlights.
The two youths hit the metal with a thud and a sharp exhalation of breath. Everyone else on the street vanished inside crumbling walls and broken doorways.
One of the young men started to protest, but Frank grabbed his neck and shoved his face back down on the car. “Got anything else to say?” Frank growled. “No?
Good, then shut up.”
Frank did a quick body search before jerking the boy upright.
“You’re clean,” he said. “Beat it.” Frank shoved him in the back. The youth stumbled away with as much dignity as he could muster before disappearing into one of the nearby flats.
Frank leaned over the second youth, twisting his arm behind his back.
“Hey, Richie boy,” Frank snarled into his ear.
“What’s shakin’?”
“Jesus, Frank, what the hell do you want?” Richie said, his cheek pressed against the sun-heated metal.
“Why, Richie, can’t a guy be sociable now and then?” Frank reached in Richie’s back pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag with some white powder in it.
“Now what do we have here, Richie boy? Enough to put you away for a solid year at least, don’t you think?” Richie’s eyes squeezed tight as Frank twisted his Page 6
arm more. “Shit, Frank, you gonna bust me for that?
You must be getting pretty desperate if you—” Frank applied more pressure to the arm, cutting Richie’s speech off with a pained gasp. “Shame, what with your brother’s parole hearing coming up in a few months. No telling what can happen at those things, you know,” Frank said.
“Hey,” Richie said, his eyes pleading. “Anton’s been clean, don’t mess it up for him. Please, man, he’s done his time.”
Frank leaned over some more so he could whisper in Richie’s ear. “Maybe I could do something for your little brother, Richie. But, naturally, I’d need something in return.”
Richie shuddered, but then closed his eyes, resigned. “What do you want, Frank?”
“Just a little information,” Frank said. “You must hear lots of useful tidbits in that watering hole you work at. I know Hector’s gang hangs out there.” Richie’s body went stiff and he struggled, but Frank bore down and twisted his arm even more.
Tears squeezed from Richie’s eyes. “Shit, Frank, you tryin’ to get me killed?” His voice broke as the words came out.
“I’m trying to do your brother a favor,” Frank said. “I know something big’s coming, I want to know what.” He added casually, “Of course, if you’d rather send your mom postcards from the cell you and Anton are going to be sharing…”
Defeated, Richie spoke in a soft whisper. “All right, Frank. There’s a huge shipment coming in, drugs, guns, enough to flood the city.”
“Where?”
“Behind the old Herald building, at the loading dock.” “When?”
“Tomorrow night, after midnight.”
“Who’s running the show?” Frank asked.
Richie paused, and Frank was about to apply more pressure, both figuratively and literally, when Richie spoke again.
“Arturo,” Richie said.
Page 7
Arturo Vega was Hector’s son-in-law. Rumor had it they had some kind of spat a few months ago and the two had been at odds ever since. Maybe Arturo was trying to make good with the head of the family, Frank thought.
He released Richie’s arm and made to help him up from the car when he heard the scuff of footsteps behind him. Frank whirled, surprised at the sight that greeted him. A short, fat, balding man in a grey, pinstripe suit walked slowly toward them. He was completely out of place carrying a leather briefcase in the now-deserted, run-down block. He stopped a few yards away.
The man’s expression was blank, and his eyes, eerily vacant, focused on Frank.
“Detective Frank Arnold,” the man said, as if in a trance. Not a question, but a confirmation.
The man’s other hand slowly emerged from his pocket, holding a gun. Frank dove as fast as he could, trying to shove Richie out of the way. Shots fired, somebody yelled, Frank hit the ground and rolled under the car, desperately fumbling for his gun. He heard the staccato sound of bullets ricocheting off metal. More shots rang out, followed by the soft thuds of bodies crumpling to the ground. Then silence.
“You can come out now, Frank,” Vera said.
Frank rolled out from under the car and got to his feet, surveying the area. Richie lay dead, shot several times, and there were bullet marks on the car where Frank had stood moments ago. Vera stood over the body of the guy in the suit, she put her gun back in its holster. Frank took a few breaths, waiting for his heart to stop jumping.
“Shame you had to kill him,” he said at length.
No one had ever managed to take a sleeper alive.
The MCPD lab guys said the only way to see how the drug worked was to study someone under its influence. But since they all killed themselves after their assignment, that had been impossible.
Vera looked at Frank. “You’re welcome.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks, Vera,” he said belatedly.
She ignored him as she called in the homicide on Page 8
her comm.
Within ten minutes, the area was taped off, with uniformed officers and crime scene investigators inspecting every inch.
Vera and Frank drove back to the station, they had to see the lieutenant about this. In the car, Frank told Vera what happened, the information Richie gave up, the appearance of the man in the suit. A cursory inspection of his wallet revealed him to be an accountant for a firm in the financial district, wife, kids, house in the suburbs. Completely normal.
The whole ride back, Frank noticed Vera glancing at him, her expression troubled. She kept opening her mouth to speak, but each time stopped herself.
Frank guessed the reason. “Look, you had no choice. You had to take that guy out or there’d be three dead people kissing the pavement instead of two. So don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Yeah, I know, Frank, thanks.” She seemed to calm down, but from the look in her eyes, Frank knew something was still eating at her.
Back at the twelfth precinct, Frank repeated the same details while he and Vera sat in Lieutenant Burke’s office. The lieutenant listened intently, leaning back in his chair as they finished. “So what do you make of all this?” he asked Frank.
“I thin
k Hector knows I’ve been poking around in his business,” Frank said. “I think he’s worried I’m on to something, so he sent someone to take care of me before I got too close.”
“What about Richie?” Burke asked.
“Hard to say if he was a target or not. Most likely caught in the crossfire. But I’d bet my badge his information was on the money. It makes sense, what with all the other hits going on and the rumors from my other informants.”
Burke nodded. “All right, I’ll call Judge Browers’
office, get the task force on this.” That was just what Frank didn’t want to hear. He leaned forward, a fierce gleam in his eyes. “With all due respect, sir, screw the task force. Hector came after me.
Let me lead a team tomorrow night, let me bust this Page 9
shipment.”
Burke’s eyes went hard. “I won’t have any grandstanding in this squad.”
“This is my case, I want this one,” Frank said.
“I really don’t care what you want, detective.” Burke’s voice betrayed a long-simmering irritation gained from years of butting heads with Frank. “This isn’t about you--”
“Sir, if I may,” Vera said, “The information came from Frank’s source, and it does look like Hector put out a hit specifically on him.”
Frank watched his partner. Her face was a mask of calm, but he could read the tension in her body.
She looked long and hard at the lieutenant, and some unspoken acknowledgment passed between them. The lieutenant looked down before returning his gaze to Frank. “All right, we’ll do it your way.” Burke glowered as he spat out the words, begrudging every one. “I’ll put the team together, and you can run the show.” Frank suppressed a grin. “No task force?”
“No, but understand, you screw this up, it’s your ass and probably your career.”
That didn’t bother Frank one bit. “Understood, and thank you, sir,” he said, rising.
The lieutenant grunted, and his voice sounded odd. “Thank me when it’s over, Frank. Vera, I need to speak with you.”
Frank left Burke’s office, closing the door behind him. He wondered what had changed the lieutenant’s mind, and why he wanted to talk to Vera. He was probably making sure she spoke to a department shrink. That was standard procedure after a shooting.