Fangsters

by Matt Drabble

  “And what if they’d have gotten away, what if we had a couple of guys walking around with that sort of knowledge, a fucking time bomb over our heads?”

  “They were never going to walk away Ghost” he nodded towards Eddie looking confused in the driver seat, “I learnt that from you”

  Ghost was caught off guard for a rare moment, “You know about that?” he asked unaware that Jimmy had known about his set up years ago in order to gain Eddie’s trust and loyalty.

  “I’m not completely dense you know Ghost” he answered seriously, the good nature momentarily draining from his tone. “Besides now the deal is sealed” his voice lifting excitedly again, “I saved Drake’s life and you took out the trash whilst the rest of his Muppets stood with their thumbs up their asses”

  “I guess you’re right” Ghost replied, cautiously thinking to himself that despite being rarely used, he must never again underestimate Jimmy’s mind.

  “Well buckle up fellas” Jimmy was grinning wildly, “Because now the real work begins”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  April 2012

  Rybeck waded through the mountain of bureaucracy, the forms were triplicate, and the process seemed never ending, this was the side of the business that was never highlighted on TV. Rybeck’s desk was a study in organizational, everything had its place and everything was most definitely in its place. The desk was a light pine coloured structure, two black plastic trays were stacked identically side by side, the slots were all labelled, and the paper sheets stacked neatly. The level of his in tray was never permitted to be higher than the level of his out tray. Black inked printed forms sat neatly piled ready for dispatching. The desk held three drawers and inside was the mess beneath the surface that seemed to be the metaphor for his life, everything appeared to be perfect, but there was a storm below the calm.

  The phone beside him sparked into life, as usual his stomach flipped and tightened every time that the phone rang as it was rarely good news.

  “Rybeck” he answered, attempting as always to keep the worried tone from his voice.

  “Good morning Inspector, it’s Dr Elliot here”

  “Morning Tom, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s about your body”

  “Why Tom, I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way” Rybeck genuinely liked the pathologist. He was one of the few men in the department who didn’t view Rybeck’s rapid career rise with suspicion or jealousy. Being gay had left Dr Tom Elliot as an outsider within the police and he was often the target of ridicule and childish abuse from the small minded.

  “You should be so lucky Alex” came the jovial reply “The body in question is the one that you dumped on me last night”

  “What’s the matter did he get up and walk away?” the silence on the other end was deafening, “Tom, Tom?” he panicked.

  “Yeah, sorry Alex I dropped the phone, no he’s still here” he laughed, “There’s just some weird shit going on”

  “Is that a medical term?”

  “Just get over here funny man”

  “Uh, well I’ve got a lot on over here, can’t you just tell me over the phone, or I can get someone to run over there”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important Alex, you know that”

  “Ah shit, all right Doc” Rybeck hung up the phone harshly and stood with annoyance.

  The lab was cold and sterile, white tiles encased the room, the stainless steel tables were clean and gleaming and the smell of death was evident beneath the chemical fumes.

  Rybeck entered the room and steeled himself against the odour; bodies were brought here in various states of violent demise. The plastic strips beneath the swing doors whispered as the safety of the outside world was sealed behind him. The soft thumps of his shoes against the tiled floor were muffled by the oppressive atmosphere. Normally Rybeck would not set foot in this room, the consequence of violence and the realities of death were not something that he ever liked to witness first hand. Rybeck considered himself to be cerebral detective, one who dealt with the abstract of a theoretical investigation. Any junior officer who found themselves assigned to work under Rybeck knew that they would be the ones having to look into the actual eyes of death. They would be the ones tasked with dealing with the grieving relatives, wading through the filth and muck searching for evidence whilst Rybeck sat serene observing and directing.

  “Doc?” he called, his voice echoed around the lab bouncing off of the pristine white tiled walls, there was no reply. Normally there would have been an assistant to greet him at the main entrance, a heavy set woman with sloped shoulders and a face that bristled with irritation and whiskers. She was commonly referred to as Igor around the campfire of the department. Rybeck typically had no use for nicknames at other people’s expense, but he had to admit that it was apt. “DOC” he yelled louder. The room was bitter and smelled stale, the earthly stench of the grave permeated despite the highly potent industrial cleaners that scrubbed the lab clean on a daily basis. The hum of the florescent lights overhead buzzed and throbbed, it was a noise that Rybeck knew would drive him insane after a matter of hours. The pull out drawers were hidden behind rows of stainless steel doors, each containing the possibility of the dead sleeping.

  Rybeck knew that what made him a good detective, was his ability to retreat within his mind, to access a myriad of possibilities and explore the realms of his imagination. Unfortunately, this was a double edged sword. Whilst he could picture the breadcrumb trail of criminality, he could also imagine the terrifying sights behind the sounds on a dark and stormy night.

  There were wall mounted cabinets all with metallic doors concealing the tools of exploration. Rybeck could picture the gleaming sharp implements, curved and serrated ready to slice and rip. In the centre of the room mounted above a runoff and drain, were two large stainless steel tables. There were taps at one end, and an extendable hose for sluicing; the table was also grated for flushing. One table sat empty, the other was occupied, despite himself Rybeck felt his feet begin to move toward the large sheet that covered the resident. The room was deathly still and soundless, save for the under hum of the lighting. He approached slowly but deliberately, his mind desperate to pull back the sheet. His brain attempted to halt his feet and alter his course, but he could not turn away. He was an ocean bound tanker that could not change direction on such short notice. His hand reached out and grasped the sheet with a sweaty trembling hand. A voice screamed in his head to stop with promises and threats to no avail, his hand took a firm wavering hold and began to pull.

  “ALEX!”

  The voice shattered his hypnosis, and he screamed loudly, his heart pounded dangerously against his chest and he suddenly saw himself taking up residence on the table next door. He whipped around violently and saw Dr Tom Elliot grinning wildly at first, his look changing to genuine concern at Rybeck’s pallor.

  “Jesus, are you all right” the doctor inquired, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

  “Fuck me Doc, and no that’s not an invitation” he added attempting a joviality that he did not feel, but used for the sake of appearances. “You damn near gave me a heart attack”

  “Sorry Alex, I was calling you from over there” he jerked his thumb back towards the entry doors, “You were walking like a shuffling mummy and dead to the world”

  “Yeah I was miles away” Rybeck placed his hand on his chest and felt the thumping of his heart against his ribcage begin to slow. “Is this what you got me down for, to scare the shit out of me?”

  “No, not exactly, it’s just one of the perks” Elliot laughed. “We’re shorthanded today, Lucy called in sick, and I’ve been charging around the place doing everything for everyone”

  “What’s up with Ig...” Rybeck stopped himself, appalled at almost referring to the lab assistant as Igor. “With Lucy?” he finished.

  “Not sure, she worked late last night finishing up on your friend here, the corpse from the casino, and didn’t come back
in again this morning. I just managed to get hold of her then, whilst you were exploring and she sounded ok. Just a little tired, maybe it’s the flu or something”

  “So what have you got for me because, no offense, but I’d like to get the hell out here as soon as possible” Rybeck asked, managing to regain his composure.

  “Take a look” Elliot circled around and paused before pulling back the sheet. “He’s cleaned up fine” he offered to put Rybeck at ease; he pulled the sheet back to reveal Tank’s sanitary body.

  “What am I looking for?” Rybeck asked, before surveying. The big man’s body seemed pale, paler than he would have expected for just a 24hr cadaver, “The colouring?”

  “It does seem strange does it not?” the doctor replied. “The crime scene I understand should have been drenched in blood judging by our friend here, the average body holds over five and a half litters and this guy was empty”

  “How empty is empty” Rybeck’s imagination was piqued.

  “Empty as in drained completely as if I’d done it here myself Alex, and here look” he pulled the sheet back from the bottom to reveal Tank’s feet. “Whatever blood is in the body will pool towards the feet after death, it’s called lividity, where the skin should turn an almost purple colour”

  Rybeck looked; the feet were porcelain and devoid of any flesh tone. “So where did it all go, there was hardly anything at the scene, certainly not a full body’s amount splashed up the curtains”

  “You tell me detective, what about the perpetrator?”

  “Unknown at this time” Rybeck was suddenly very eager to have a conversation. Ghost had told him that Tank had attacked him out of the blue and that he had acted in self-defence, he’d said nothing about draining bodies of blood. “Are there appropriate wounds on the body, other than the chest wound? Any marks that could have led to this happening?”

  “None that I can see, the only other mark is a small bite on his wrist, could be a dog or a cat, just a small puncture really, maybe you should put out an APB for Count Dracula” Elliot joked.

  Rybeck took the joke and laughed along as they walked towards the doctor’s office to review some of the paperwork, but somewhere nagging and itching and his vaunted imagination began to turn.

  Jess sat opposite Eddie across the table, the café was small and bustling, it was one of Eddie’s regular haunts he’d informed her proudly. The owner and several regulars had greeted him warmly with genuine affection. Eddie was a towering man and had to stoop under the doorframe and even turn sideways to gain entry.

  The café itself was a balmy welcome from the bitter cold outside. The tables were wooden with plastic wipe easy blue and white check covers, and the condiments were in clean containers with non-crusted caps. The floor was swept spotless, and Jess felt herself ashamed for her preconceptions when Eddie had first assured her inside. The owner/cook looked around retirement age; he was around six feet tall, but lean with it. His hair was immaculately groomed, as was his handlebar moustache; both were a clear snow white colour. He wore an immaculate white apron over blue chef's trousers, and a theatrical red neckerchief was tied around his neck. He had hugged Eddie like a man embracing an oak tree, his arms did not reach all the way around, and his forehead only reached Eddie’s massive chest. The way that they walked through the café Jess found reminiscent of the scene in Goodfellas, only on a limited scale. Everyone knew Eddie, and everyone had a warm word for him, there were handshakes and back pats all round. Eddie led her to what was obviously his regular booth; it was facing the window giving an unobscured view of the street. The benches on either side of the table appeared to be further apart than the other booths allowing Eddie easier access and space. They both sat on the leather covered soft benches, and Jess picked up a laminated menu, the food was mainly Italian, and she had been pleased to see that the coffees on offer were extensive and authentic.

  “Eddie my friend, who is your lovely companion today?” The owner sidled up to the table, his manner was friendly, but Jess noticed that his eyes were full and wary, and she was fully aware of stares from other sources in the café.

  “Giancarlo, this is Jess” Eddie announced formally.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Jess” Giancarlo held out an official hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you too” Jess shook the older man’s hand, it was smooth and powdered, “You’ve got a lovely place here”

  “Thank you my dear, you should have seen my restaurant back in the day, now that was something, right Eddie?”

  “Best in town” Eddie enthused.

  “So what can I get you today” Giancarlo said addressing the both of them, “The usual Eddie?”

  “Yes please” he answered positively salivating.

  “And for you Miss?”

  “I’ll take a tuna melt, and a cappuccino please”

  “Won’t be but a minute” Giancarlo responded as he glided back off to the kitchens.

  Ten minutes later Jess was sipping the hot coffee through the rich and chocolaty foam covering. She felt the hot liquid burn her lips and throat, and the caffeine hit her system like an appreciated slap in the face. The previous night’s excursions in Riverside watching Eddie at Ghost’s house, had left her exhausted, and the cramp car interior had offered little comfort. She had poured over the image of Ghost’s face all that morning; she was drawn to the man’s eyes. To see the unshakable boulder cracked and humanized had been exhilarating at first, but had slowly led to a deep discomfort. It had dawned on her that this man, this killer, this brute, this career criminal, this emotionless sociopath, had been scared and whatever had scared him was not something that she wished to encounter. For the first time she had been unsure about proceeding, she had to evaluate just how important this was for her. However, the more that she pondered, the more she realized that the roots of her obsession ran deep. The years that she had spent on her prey, she would not, could not waste. Her very core demanded that she never back away from this road, no matter how dangerous it may become. This was all she had now in her life, it was her life even if it meant the end of it.

  Eddie was talking to her over the remains of his monster meal, his usual, it appeared, was a triple 10oz burger with bacon, cheese and salad fixings. The mayonnaise coverings were all starting to tumble out of the side of the large bread buns as they struggled to hold the mammoth construction. His plate was awash with French fries drowned in ketchup that he spooned periodically into his mouth. Lettuce strips fell from his hard working jaws as they mashed the burger patties and accompaniments, she quickly tuned back in as he spoke between mouthfuls. She could only make out the occasional word as he chewed happily, his enthusiasm was infectious, and she felt herself smiling along with his cheery face despite her best efforts. She needed to find out what had happened last night that had put the fear of God into Ghost, the image of those eyes was seared into her brain. However, she was fast learning with Eddie that he would shut down if asked anything directly. Especially if it concerned Jimmy or Ghost, the only way to elicit information was to lead but not ask.

  “How’s work going Eds” she inquired, casually using the nickname that she had given him, it seemed important and proved effective to develop their own secrets.

  His face darkened with worry, he even stopped eating, “It’s all right” he replied without commitment.

  “You know you can talk to me if you ever need to Eds” she offered whilst finishing her excellent tuna melt, “You want a pudding? My treat” she asked casually, changing the subject, allowing it to brew.

  “Ice-cream” his face lit up as he resumed his attack on the triple burger.

  Some thirty minutes later they had said their goodbyes and Jess had reiterated her offer of support, she gave Eddie a hug and watched with a genuine pleasant amusement as his cheeks blushed. He said that he had an errand to run for Jimmy and he did not want to be late. She slid into her car; a two year old Prius parked around the corner. The car had been purchased from a dealer that she h
ad been seeing for the generous discount he had offered, rather than the environmental benefits.

  She paused before starting the engine despite the coldness; she let her thoughts drift over the meeting with Eddie. It was taking all of her patience to maintain her steady course. It was slow progress, but she had spent several fruitless years already and was not willing to risk losing the only fish that she had ever hooked.

  A hand suddenly snaked out of the darkness of the rear seats; a cold blade glided across her throat and the cold metal chilled her to the bone, a voice that was even colder, spoke from behind.

  “I thought it might be time that we met” Ghost growled.

  Rybeck walked slowly back from the pathologist lab, his mind was busy processing the information which he and the good doctor had been discussing. Once Elliot had noticed the lack of mirth on Rybeck’s face at all of his vampire jokes, he had become concerned, and Rybeck had a hell of a job convincing him that he was not taking them seriously. He knew in his heart of hearts that things such as vampires did not really exist, but in the heart of his dark imagination, all things seemed possible.

  He’d had a grandmother who had hailed from a small town called Băile Tușnad in Romania, she had been a superstitious woman who had brought her customs and fears with her to live in Fresh Haven when her health had failed. She was his grandmother on his father’s side and had come to live with them when Rybeck was only nine. She was a small frail looking woman, but in reality she was made of steel. She had been full of warnings for the young Rybeck such as, if you play with a knife the angels will run away from you or if you play with fire you will pee your bed. As far as Rybeck could tell most of her sayings were threats of one kind or another, and she had terrified him as a young boy, often babysitting him when his parents were out. Her thick accent only added to her aura of menace, she had often talked of the vampire myths and legends from her homeland. He remembered her telling him once, that those who became vampires were: criminals, bastards, witches, magicians, excommunicated people, those born with teeth or a caul, unbaptized children and the seventh son of the seventh son are all doomed to become vampires. To a young boy with an imagination such as Rybeck’s, her tales were full of dark terror on black nights beneath the covers. Her eventual passing had been somewhat of a guilty relief, but her tales ran their roots deep into his mind.