The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  Blum looked up into the camera. His expression quickly morphed from anger to desperation. “No, I can’t, I won’t.”

  “Fine, I thought you might say that, so the Benefactor took the liberty.” Alan pulled out several high definition photos and held them up to the video camera at close range. The pictures displayed the partially clad corpse of a young teenage boy who was badly mangled and burned nearly beyond recognition.

  “It can’t be. Tell me it is not him. For the love of God, tell me it is not him!”

  “It’s him,” said Alan as he felt the surface of his skin burst under the pressure of his fingertips. A glob of pus squirted over his hands and onto his computer keyboard. “It’s your son, Paco. He committed suicide by lighting himself on fire, a particularly painful way to die. I wonder which one of your children will be next.”

  “You—you—oh my God!”

  “Now, you listen good you worthless piece of shit. God doesn’t have a thing to do with it, and the Benefactor is back in charge. You get that vote undone and get those funds rescinded. I want that police force completely dismantled by the first of the month. Do you understand?”

  Silent sobs wracked the body of Ricardo Blum, who once again felt the oppressive presence of the Benefactor. “Yes, Mr. Ziminksi. I understand.”

  “I’m not sure you do understand. I need a demonstration of your loyalty. I want you to put your little finger in your mouth and chew it off.”

  Blum’s face contorted as he tried to process Alan’s demand. He looked into the camera, wretched pain etched on his face. “I can’t, Mr. Ziminski. Please.”

  “Don’t tell me what you can’t do. If you refuse, I’ll make certain that your son Frankie dies next.”

  “No—no, not Frankie. Please, let me kill myself instead.”

  “You had that chance some time ago, Mayor Blum. You made your bargain with the Benefactor. I’m wasting time here. Is it your finger or your son?”

  As his hand trembled, Ricardo Blum placed his hand into his mouth and bit down hard, screaming and growling simultaneously as he chewed through the flesh, muscle and tendons of the smallest finger on his left hand. He gnashed his teeth as he struggled with the bone. Grunting and snapping his jaws, he ripped at the finger until it finally separated from the base of his hand. Blood pulsed in strong jets over his face and ran down the length of his arm. Blum spit out his finger and screamed while blood began to puddle under his feet.

  Alan could only rub his hands together in sadistic glee. “You’re debt is repaid, Mr. Mayor. Now get those goddamn funds cut off so the police force is gutted. We need more serious crime in your city.”

  ***

  “There’s no point in just sitting around here. We’ve got some leads, and I need to get on the road. The longer I stay, the colder the trail will become.” Munoz sipped instant coffee and took a bite of his toast.

  Zach persuaded the him to spend the night in the safe house as they discussed the contact list and planned their strategy, but when dawn broke, the detective was of a single mind.

  “I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t help but wonder how high this thing goes.”

  “What I would like to know,” said Zach as he dried his hair after emerging from the shower, “is what are they actually doing? What kind of organization is this and what are their objectives? These endless pages of names and assignments seem almost nonsensical. ‘Change a credit report score, deny an insurance claim, file a lawsuit, cause a traffic accident.’ Who are these people, the nuisance brigade?”

  Munoz shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s about, but I think their goal is to be more than just a nuisance. Look at this one: ‘Plant heroin on Jacks.’ I suspect they are referring to State Senator Troy Jacks. Any accusation of heroin use would ruin his career. What I do know is that Harold Moss is a relatively important lieutenant in their organization. He has at least 20 people reporting to him, and the pyramid includes thousands on the lower levels. I’ve got to start with Moss and try and get more information.”

  “What should we do?” asked Anston.

  “You two need to stay here and keep out of sight,” said Munoz. “Use the computer to research some of the names on the list. Pay special attention to the one named Thomas Abernathy. He ranks high, and he’s located out here in the west.”

  “I don’t think we should split up again,” said Zach. “We can help you. Let us come with. I can give you insight into the people you talk to. Let someone else run the internet search.”

  Munoz paused and then shook his head. “No, this is police business, and I have to start with Moss. I don’t have any idea where any of this will lead to, but I won’t involve civilians and that’s final.”

  “I guess we just sit here and pick our ass,” said Zach.

  Munoz stood, strapped on his side arm, and grabbed his jacket. “After I talk to Moss, I’ll get back to you. I’ll call on the secure land line here. Don’t turn your cell phones on under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

  Zach said nothing but shook his head.

  Anston said, “Look, I need to stay in touch with my wife. I’ll need to make a few phone calls. I’m missing work, and the government doesn’t grant absences without calling in.”

  “Bad idea; it’s too late for that,” said Munoz. “You’re heavily involved in this Jarad. There may be people willing to kill you because you have knowledge of that list. I’m sorry, but there’s no turning back.”

  Munoz walked to the door and said nothing as he closed it behind him. He wasn’t even off the porch before hearing the sound of his prepaid mobile phone. The number on the screen was unfamiliar, and he answered tentatively. No one was supposed to have this number.

  “Hello?”

  “Jose, thank God.”

  “Yolanda, calm down. What’s wrong? Whose phone are you using?”

  “I bought my own prepaid. I’m sure they are monitoring my personal cell and home number.”

  “It’s that bad? What’s going on?”

  “Look, I don’t have much time. I could lose my job. Jose, the Feds have an arrest warrant for you. They say you killed those two FBI agents at the trailer park. I guess there was another dead body along with the agents. The Feds are literally crawling all over the place.”

  Munoz grabbed his brow and then rubbed his forehead. “That means they’ve been to my house. See if you can get word to my wife that I’m ok.”

  “Sure, I’ll figure out some way.”

  “Ok, thanks, Yolanda. I’ll stay low. I’ll call you at this number when I know more.”

  “Ok… Jose?”

  “Yes?”

  “Travel safe. You’re in some serious trouble.”

  Munoz started the engine and threw the car into reverse, throwing up a shower of stones. There was no way one of the FBI agents was still alive when they found him. Munoz checked both of them, and neither had a pulse. He wondered how they could have put things together so quickly since he thoroughly scrubbed the crime scene. Unless…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You failed in finding the girl, and it doesn’t reflect well on you, Abernathy.” Xavier Watts talked softly, but Thomas Abernathy was well aware of the gravity of his message.

  “I understand, Mr. Watts. Sarah Johansen has enjoyed extraordinary good fortune. We’ve lost several excellent affiliates in the chase. I have to admit wondering why we are committing such resources in search of—someone of such low stature.”

  “I can’t go into a lot of detail here,” said Watts. “I think you understand why she left Desolation and ran away from the Benefactor. That type of things can’t be allowed. Desolation may soon be the capital of the world, and its citizens must be ready to welcome the event. She is a threat to our preparation and plans.”

  “Yes, I knew she was part of the original family, but I didn’t realize that she was the first to successfully leave Desolation,” said Abernathy.

  “Yes, regrettably, she is the first.”

  “I wi
ll handle this personally as you requested. Can you patch me in to Ziminski’s GPS data? He’s still tracking her, right?”

  “I already have you linked directly to Alan. He’s got her traveling north on I-5.”

  Watts sipped his margarita and scratched a deep crevice in his heavily lined face. He was still attractive in middle age, but the burden of his position had taken its toll. As the Benefactor’s first recruit, Watts recalled his own attempted suicide almost 20 years ago. Mr. Cox was just beginning to understand the depth of his power, and as an apparition, he forced a young Watts to lower the gun from his own left temple. Their subsequent discussions led to an epiphany for Watts. For a long time, he believed Mr. Cox was the personification of God.

  Watts recalled the Benefactor’s contagious excitement; the high energy recruitment meetings that attracted new members and galvanized the fanatical core group. As the special ones emerged, those who were saved from their own self-inflicted demise experienced the breadth and reach of the Network as it continued to grow. The sermons sounded fiery but vague, a mixture of brimstone and hope for a new order among men.

  Unfortunately, like a heroin addiction, the euphoria faded and Watts began to see another side of the Benefactor as time passed. His enormous ego and growing paranoia consumed him. A deep-seated sadistic streak surfaced along with a thirst to inflict pain and intense suffering.

  The power Watts experienced firsthand was raw and unbridled. In a moment of shock and grief, he recalled disposing of a grotesque corpse the Benefactor painstakingly filleted with a Sabatia chefs knife. The woman’s screams still sounded fresh in his ears. At that moment, Watts realized his association was not with God, but rather with the soul of Satan himself.

  “Mr. Watts, is there something wrong?”

  “Ah, no, everything is fine. Is there anything else, Abernathy?”

  “Yes, in fact, there is one more thing.” Abernathy shifted uneasily in his chair. “We have another problem.”

  Watts sighed. “We’ve had enough problems for today, Mr. Abernathy. I hope the news isn’t catastrophic.”

  “We have a banker, a rather prominent banker in fact, who has been—compromised.”

  “Compromised in what way and to what degree?”

  “Well, according to the banker—his name is Harold Moss—he was confronted by someone from law enforcement. This person took his phone and his computer. It had, er, that is, it contained a complete list of his contacts and…”

  “And what, Mr. Abernathy? Please finish.”

  “And his assignments.”

  Xavier Watts reached into his pocket and extracted a Pall Mall. He didn’t smoke much anymore, not because he cared about his health, but because he had grown sensitive to the stench. Yet on certain occasions when his nerves needed calming, he indulged. “Where is he located, and what is his rank?”

  Abernathy swallowed hard. “He’s in Seattle, and he’s a level three. When I checked, he had over 25 level-four personnel reporting to him.”

  “Level three? This is indeed serious. Listen to me very closely, Mr. Abernathy. I assume you’ve contacted this Harold Moss and identified the law enforcement official?”

  “Yes, but it actually gets worse.”

  “How could it possibly be any worse, Mr. Abernathy?”

  “Well, apparently this same law enforcement official was involved in an incident with two of our Network associates who worked undercover at the FBI. He killed them both. Our local area law enforcement partners got an arrest warrant out for him.”

  Watts sighed deeply and shook his head. “For Christ's sake, how could that have happened?”

  “We're not sure. They were tracking that priority one rogue entity moving from Las Vegas to Seattle. Do you recall?”

  “Yes, I recall clearly. The directive came straight from the Benefactor.”

  “Well, for some reason, he ended up at a mobile home park in Seattle. The agents were about to apprehend him and a companion, but this same local law enforcement official intervened.”

  “And what is the lawman’s name?”

  “Detective Jose Munoz. He’s with Seattle P.D.”

  “Alright, contact Alan, he's the best chance we have of finding this Jose Munoz. You must also locate and retrieve the stolen computer and mobile phone. Finally, you see to it that both Mr. Moss and this lawman do not cause us any further issues.” He took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Do you understand Mr. Abernathy?”

  “Yes sir, of course, I understand completely.”

  “Good. And Mr. Abernathy?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is your best and perhaps last opportunity to clean up these infections. I don’t care for the West Coast. Please don’t make me return.”

  “No sir. I will attend to these matters personally.”

  ***

  Sarah continued traveling north on I-5, crossing the Oregon-California border without incident. She detoured often, trying her best to stay on the freeway for no more than an hour at a time. The trip was proving to be much longer than she had expected, but it was best to move slowly considering her driving skills were still lacking. While she maneuvered relatively well on two-lane highways, California freeways were another matter entirely. That she hadn’t killed herself seemed like a small miracle.

  After pulling off the highway for the night, she drove to a deserted street in the small town of Drain. Portland was still about 400 miles away, and Sarah didn’t think it was prudent to try and travel any further, especially on the freeway in the dark. Besides, she needed another tank of gas and didn’t know how far ahead the next station was.

  Turning into an abandoned convenience store parking lot, Sarah found an old blanket from behind the bench seat and hunched down while drawing it up over her arms and chest. She knew if sleep came, it would be ragged and uneven, but she was exhausted and needed to rest for at least an hour. She closed her eyes, exhaled and drifted off moments later. Her sleep was light and unsatisfying.

  Sarah. The voice sounded distant and reverberated through her mind. Sarah, you can’t run from me. She whimpered and pulled her legs in tightly, curling against the far corner of the small cab. Her breathing deepened, and her eyes fluttered as she moved into R.E.M sleep. For a moment, the voice in her head stopped talking, and her senses drifted, overcome by what felt like operating room anesthesia.

  Without warning, a gust of chilly wind blew in, and the temperature in the truck began to drop precipitously. The cold caused her to shiver, but she couldn’t tell if this was reality, a dream or a combination of both. As her eyelids fluttered open, he stood directly in front of the vehicle, a ghastly pale yellow glow created an ominous shadow around his slender body. The pasty white skin and the crooked smile remained unaffected. He spoke to her but not with words.

  What is all this nonsense, Sarah? You cannot leave me. I won’t allow it. In the morning, when it is dawn, you will turn the vehicle around and drive down to Sacramento. Mr. Abernathy will meet you at a church. I do not need to give you a name; you will simply know where to go when the time comes. Do you understand me?

  “Yes,” she replied. “I understand.”

  And now what do you want to do for me, Sarah? What will you do to apologize for all the terrible things you have done and the deaths you have caused?

  Slowly and almost mechanically, Sarah pulled up her knees while unfastening her belt buckle. After removing her jeans and panties, she turned sideways on the bench seat and situated herself on all fours as experience had taught her. This was his favorite position. His clammy hands ran up and down her back, and his foul breath came from over her shoulder. She grunted as he entered, and she pushed her mind to the empty space that offered a respite from Benefactor’s brutal assaults.

  The friction was molten hot, and Sarah panted as she matched his rhythm. Harder, faster, the shame welled simultaneously with the pleasure. She reached behind and grabbed his arm so hard she knew she had drawn blood. The Benefactor howled with
delight. They tensed at the exact same moment, and Sarah let out a small gasp.

  When he was finished, she woke with a start and clawed wildly at the frigid air in the cab. Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes were open and wide with fear. She looked through the windows at the pitch-blackness, but there wasn’t any sound except for the rhythmic chirping of the crickets.

  Had the Benefactor really come to visit? Sarah slid down the seat and fell back into a deep sleep. The vivid nightmares of her own gruesome death returned, and without a conscious thought, she understood that in the morning she must turn the truck around and head back to Sacramento.

  ***

  “I just don’t get it,” said Sergeant Kevin O’Malley as he raised the mug to his lips and sipped at his beer. “I’ve never seen a Deputy Commissioner pull rank and take jurisdiction for a prisoner before he was even charged.”

  Captain Chad Murkell shook his head in agreement. He was a hardened veteran of the force and had developed a sixth sense for identifying rotten cops. Right now, Deputy Commissioner Trardent smelled like raw sewage. “I’ve never seen anything like it. That perp must have been involved with some pretty heavy stuff to get that kind of attention. But what was he up to? And that Madison Avenue bitch lawyer, what was that all about?”

  “Not sure…You think the perp was just trying to rob the parking garage attendant?”

  “That doesn’t feel right either. Any fool knows those attendants will give you whatever money they have if you sneeze at them. Why kill the guy?”

  “I don’t know,” said O’Malley. “How did he get there, and how come none of the security cameras in the neighborhood caught him going into the garage?”