Violet Darger | Book 7 | Dark Passage

by Vargus, L. T.

  She listened. Heard nothing.

  Was she being paranoid? Cowboy was already dead after all. The villain captured and then dispatched, so… She could just call out, couldn’t she? See if anyone was here? A guest perhaps? A tenant seemed unlikely, but it was possible.

  Still, that faint twinge of suspicion didn’t die back. She trusted her instincts. Crept further down the hall.

  The first door was open to her left. Thin berber carpet, gray with black flecks, lay beyond the chrome strip of the threshold here. Getting closer, she found a small exercise room with an elliptical machine. Mirrors hung on the wall. More red and blue smear paintings.

  A large rust-colored object out the window caught her eye. She passed the exercise machine to get a better look, using her fingers to pry open the slats of the blinds and peeking through.

  A huge metal statue of a vulture sat on a cactus in the back patio, its wings spread in a threat. Somehow it was tacky and impressive at the same time — finally something in this house that seemed to properly express Cowboy’s eccentric tastes.

  Chunky brickwork formed a grand outdoor space around the vulture centerpiece, with what looked like multiple grills built into the brick wall and another stainless steel monster of a grill that almost had to be commercial grade. There was a flat screen mounted under the awning, too. Wouldn’t want to miss a key third down when you’re out cookin’ an entire cow’s worth of beef on your numerous grills.

  Turning back, Darger crossed the hall to the next open doorway. She peeked in at a ritzy looking office. A sturdy oak desk dominated the floor space, the tall back of a high end office chair protruding from the opposite side of it. Behind that, leather bound books filled floor to ceiling bookshelves. It looked like something from a cheesy lawyer commercial on TV, one of those guys in a loud suit pointing at the screen a lot and asking if you’ve recently been injured in an automotive accident. Better Call Saul!

  She started to smile at the thought. Then her eyes snapped back to the desk without her telling them to.

  A bowl sat in front of the office chair. The neon orange shade of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese practically glowed against the white ceramic. It was half full, with a fork still jabbed into noodles. A bottle of ketchup sat next to the bowl, and looking closer, Darger could see that someone had squirted ketchup into the macaroni.

  Something told her to go closer, so she stepped into the room, drawn toward this bowl of pasta as though by way of tractor beam, her eyes never leaving it. She didn’t know what she intended to do until she reached a hand out and touched the side of the bowl.

  It was still warm.

  Darger’s scalp prickled.

  Someone had been here minutes ago. Jesus. Had they heard her come in and abandoned their meal? Were they hiding somewhere inside?

  And then the sound of a flushing toilet crashed down the hall, the sucking noise of the water spiraling down the drain somehow strident in the quiet house. Jarring.

  Darger unclasped her holster and drew her gun.

  Chapter 59

  Loshak knelt to get a closer look at the oblong puddle on the stony cavern floor. It was dull. A little cloudy. But there was no mistaking that metallic tang that stuck in your nostrils. It was definitely blood, and a lot of it.

  “We figure this would be where our, uh, faceless man met his demise,” a mustached crime scene tech said. He kept his voice low, perhaps out of a kind of reverence for what had happened here. “No sign of his flesh, though… the removed skin of his face, I mean. Nor the, uh, tooth.”

  Loshak nodded once, and then the tech drifted back as though to give the agent some space.

  Cowboy had moved the body a great distance and left it not far from the basement entrance to the tunnel. That was plain. The question was why.

  Was he planning to dump it somewhere, the same way he had the others?

  That had been Loshak’s instinct upon finding the body, and it still probably held the most logic. Something about it didn’t sit right with the agent now, however. He kept thinking about what Darger had said. That while at first glance cutting the man’s tooth out would conceal a potential identifying feature. But it also hung a lantern on it.

  Maybe he wanted us to find the body. Wanted us to think… what?

  The burden of that unanswered question settled its bulk onto Loshak’s shoulders, onto his neck. Made him tense up like the culprit behind all of this wasn’t already chilling in a locker at the county morgue.

  Loshak stared into the matte pool as though it might offer him answers, tried to stare through the filmy surface. It looked burgundy against the rock, like a dark red wine.

  Chapter 60

  Darger eased her head out into the hall, right shoulder pressed into the side of the doorway. She gripped the gun with both her hands, its barrel pointed at the terrazzo floor.

  Two closed doors faced her from the left side of the hallway. Based on sound, she was pretty sure the bathroom was the one further down from her, past a console table sporting decorative crockery.

  Her focus sharpened on the door — a thick plank of solid oak, smooth and pale, separating her from the sound of the toilet tank refilling. She let her gaze drift down to the tarnished brass door handle, thought about whipping it open to get the upper hand here, but her gut told her to wait.

  The odds were still high that this whole situation was harmless, even if the adrenaline coursing through her system told her otherwise. Cowboy could have a friend or tenant staying at this property, even if it wasn’t registered as an official rental property. He certainly seemed the type to conduct as much business as possible off the books.

  The spray of a running faucet sounded from behind the door now. Whoever was in there was washing his or her hands. They’d come out any second now.

  Darger swallowed and stepped fully into the hallway. Felt her pulse pounding in her temples. Felt a little flutter of lightness in her belly.

  She lifted her weapon. Aimed at the door. Ready for him.

  The knob turned. The door swung open.

  A small man appeared there in the opening. His eyes widened as they flicked up to her, to the gun in her hand.

  Darger barked at him.

  “FBI! Hands in the air!”

  He flinched backward in a stutter-step, brought the hardcover book in his hand up as though to protect himself. A thick George R.R. Martin tome hovering over his heart.

  Darger stepped forward, sucking in a big breath that she hoped didn’t look as shaky as it felt. Her eyes scanned up and down this guy, trying to figure out how he might fit into all of this.

  And then he jolted forward and flung the hardcover book at her face.

  Darger ducked. Off-balance. The dragon sigil on the cover glinting as the book whooshed over her head.

  The man lurched into the hallway and raced away from her. Zipping down the corridor. Darting like a cat. His bare feet slapping at the smooth surface of the floor.

  Darger recovered her footing and trained her weapon on his back, but he’d disappeared around the corner — one quick cut like a juking running back, and he was gone.

  She stared at the empty hallway for a second. Listened to his footfalls racing away. Blinked twice. Then she followed.

  In that flash of a second, as he’d hurled the book at her, she’d seen enough to finally start making sense of things:

  When his lips pulled back in a strained snarl, a gold tooth gleamed at the front of his mouth.

  Chapter 61

  Darger swung herself out into the intersection of the hallway where Worm had disappeared, feet set wide, her gun pointed in front of her. She gritted her teeth. Peered into the gap.

  Clear. Another empty section of hall stood before her, the walls populated with more muted art. He was gone from view, but she could still hear his footsteps somewhere in the distance, thumping along at a rapid fire clip.

  Damn it. These houses are too fucking big.

  Her heart thundered in her chest, but her voice ca
me out clear and strong.

  “FBI! Come on out, Worm. I just want to talk.”

  Her mind whirred, trying to make this new puzzle piece fit.

  We’d figured him for a potential victim. But victims don’t generally throw big ass dragon books at law enforcement. And if this was Worm, then who the hell was that down in the tunnel with his face peeled off?

  She set the questions aside for a moment and listened. Let her eyes drift down the hall. The path before her ended, leaving a corridor running to the left that would take her back toward the front of the house. It sounded like that was where he was headed.

  She turned around. Ran back the way she’d come. Hoped she might be able to cut him off.

  The oak doors blurred past alongside her as she rocketed toward the sound of the footfalls. She pushed herself harder, picked up speed.

  When she exited the hall, motion caught her eye to her right. It was him.

  She stopped. Got into her stance. Hoped that the sight of her standing her ground with her gun drawn would stop him in his tracks.

  “Freeze! Down on the ground! Right now!”

  He kept moving. Didn’t even flinch at her words or acknowledge them in any way. Oblivious.

  Her finger trembled against the trigger guard. Slipped off into the empty space in front of the trigger. Hesitated there. Unsure of whether he posed a threat or not. Was he on drugs? Why didn’t he obey?

  He hurdled the back of a big sectional, knees partially buckling as he tromped onto the seat cushion. And then he hurled himself off the sofa and dropped low, scrabbling on all fours into the kitchen. Disappearing behind the large bulk of the island.

  There were sounds. The clatter of silverware and other kitchen implements being tossed on the floor.

  And then the noises cut out. Silence.

  She crept forward a few steps. Her gun now quivered in her grip, and she could feel the sweat of her palms slicking the weapon.

  Her vision stayed trained on the hard line where the quartz of the island sheared off, eyes sliding up and down that angular plane, searching for any signs of movement in the space beyond the counter’s edge.

  A revolver lurched up over the lip of the counter. A little Saturday Night Special, gleaming steel, hovering there above the quartz.

  The bottom of Darger’s stomach dropped out. Mouth suddenly dry. Eyes opened all the way.

  A gun. That’s what he’d been running for.

  His hand squeezed. Finger flexing against the trigger.

  The gun barked. Bucked. Snorted flame.

  Darger dove onto her belly.

  Chapter 62

  Loshak strode across the large chamber — the main chamber of the cavern as he thought of it — watching the various tunnel mouths set in the wall before him. After Darger left, he’d watched all the SWAT officers file down those tunnels, the glow of their flashlights flickering over the walls, slowly going smaller and then disappearing as the deeper darkness swallowed them up. Then he’d made his way down to the bloody smear. Getting back, he was anxious to find out what information had come streaming in while he was away.

  Now his eyes shifted to Ambrose who paced back and forth just shy of the tunnels along with a few other detectives from the task force. The big detective had a radio in his hand, alternately holding it out to listen and then bringing it to his mouth to speak. Loshak made his way toward the head of the task force, figuring he’d be the first to find out about any updates they might be getting from the various caves.

  Multiple radios squawked all around as he got closer. Chatter burbling in unison on them. Deep voices and sizzling static emitted from the small speakers and bounced around the cavern, the echoes shivering in the dank space.

  Loshak didn’t mind the radio babble. The staccato patter almost had a calming effect for him after a while — radios provided background noise to perpetually fill the silence in tense moments like this one. It wasn’t unpleasant, even if he could only make out bits and pieces of what was being said.

  “Got a cage of some kind here,” one voice said. “Looks like a dog pen, but it’s empty.”

  “Moss everywhere out this way,” another voice said. “Big bushy clusters of moss hanging down off the walls. Soggy and scraggly as hell. Jesus. Almost looks as unkempt as DeBarge’s pubes.”

  Loshak recognized that one — the one who’d called him Lorshak. A couple of the detectives snickered, but Ambrose’s brow furrowed. He brought his walkie up like he was going to scold Hendrix for tying up the line with jokes, but then he stopped himself.

  Another deep voice crackled out of the radio.

  “We’re clear in tunnel three. Just empty cave this way. Tight as hell part of the way, and then it dead-ends. We’ll start making our way back.”

  Just as Loshak neared Ambrose, frantic chatter burst from the radio. Voices strained into something high and tight. Nervous and jittery. They were talking too fast for Loshak to understand any of it at first.

  Then he could.

  “She’s still alive.”

  Chapter 63

  Darger skidded over the slick tile floor on her chest and rolled onto her back. Pointed her Glock at the island. Finger trembling on the trigger. Ready to squeeze.

  Her eyes squinted down to slits. Watching for his head to poke out from behind the cabinetry under the quartz countertop. Flicking to one side and then the other.

  He didn’t show. Didn’t make a sound.

  Keeping the gun in front of her, she pushed up into a crouch. Gaze still jumping over the gleaming surface of the island, waiting for him to emerge.

  She stayed low. Backpedaled into the mouth of the hallway she’d just vacated.

  A rivulet of sweat drained down from her hair, touched the skin behind her ear.

  Eyes still locked on the kitchen, she tilted her head to the right. Caught sight of the doorway into the exercise room in her peripheral vision, a dark rectangle in the corner of her eye. She ran for it.

  Gunfire cracked behind her. Two shots that echoed sharp and shrill off all the hard surfaces.

  Drywall burst over her head. Bullets gouging the wall, spritzing white powder into the air. One of the smearing-looking abstract paintings went crashing to the floor.

  She ducked into the doorway of the exercise room. Flattened her back against the wall.

  Then she held her breath. Listened for the sound of footsteps, either fleeing or coming closer. Heart punching in her chest. Eyes blinking rapid fire.

  When no footfalls came, she edged into the doorway. Peeked her head out.

  He squatted in the narrow passageway between the island and the fridge. Gun arm raised. One eye squinted shut.

  His arm jerked. He fired again.

  The wood of the door frame exploded inches to her left. Splinters flung from the shattered jamb.

  She pulled her head back into the room.

  Another round pinged off a door hinge, the sound of metal striking metal impossibly sharp and brittle at this proximity.

  And then his gun clicked. Empty. The unmistakable sound of a dry firing revolver.

  Darger leaned out with her gun drawn just in time to see him vanish into a doorway on the back wall of the kitchen. Heard the clatter of his bare feet pounding down wooden steps.

  The basement.

  She ran.

  Chapter 64

  Darger sprinted down the hall. Reached the doorway as he lurched to his left at the bottom of the steps, moving out onto the smooth gray concrete of the basement floor. Again he vanished from her narrow field of vision.

  She darted down the bare wooden stairs, taking them two at a time. Ready to shoot. Ready to tuck and roll. Ready for anything.

  More and more of the basement came into view to her left as she descended. Huge and clean and mostly empty floor space. The sprawling floor was splotched with the oblong reflections of the fluorescent bulbs above, a row of them trailing deeper and deeper into the space.

  A workbench emerged. Tools hung up on nails
above it meticulously. It looked practically unused, as most everything in this house did.

  She reached the floor at the bottom, and Worm was there, across the vast basement floor from her. He careened around a steel support beam jutting out of the exposed floor joists above, his back to her. Sprinting away, arms and legs churning.

  Darger felt her feet snap to a shoulder-width stance beneath her. Training and instinct taking over now.

  Once more she raised her gun. Aimed. Arm muscles tightening. Hands and wrists ready to squeeze off the shot that’d take him down. Already certain beyond a doubt that her aim would be true.

  She didn’t hesitate. Darger pulled the trigger.

  And then Worm dove face first into nothing. Disappeared into a gaping hole in the basement floor.

  Chapter 65

  Darger gasped. Felt the shock physically as a prickling of her scalp, a numbness in her cheeks, her jaw dropping open.

  And words pounded in her head, keeping time with the speed metal rhythm of her heart.

  Another tunnel. Another hole etched into a basement floor. How many?

  She sidled up to the edge of the hole. Peered down into the void where the concrete was wounded, where the soil lay open.

  Her breath hissed in her nostrils. Those words replayed in her head over and over.

  Another tunnel. Another tunnel.

  What the goddamn fuck?

  A ladder rested at the lip of the jagged opening. And the lights within the tunnel were on. Yellow light oozed down from a string of bulbs, formed glowing puddles on the sandy layer of earth.

  That strand of lights trailed away out of view, and she saw no sign of Worm down there. Gone already, to be certain. Running deeper and deeper into the underground shaft. Listening, she thought she could hear his footsteps, a tiny pattering and scuffing of his bare feet at the dirt floor, echoing funny, but the tapping was ultimately too faint for her to be certain.