by Mark Tufo
As the two walked out of Scott’s office, Jeff looked at Justin. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
*****
Nancy Adams, manager for the Quitman Duo-Plex, fought to sleep without seeing the nightmare that she had experienced in real life. The tiny little movie house she had opened to show independent and foreign films hadn’t been very popular at first, but eventually caught on once she started showing first-run movies on the weekends after they had already left the Sulphur Springs theater a few weeks earlier. She’d show them a little later at a much reduced price and local folks wouldn’t have to drive to the next county to see their favorite action stars blow stuff up on the silver screen, and save a few bucks doing it.
After she had showered and changed and given her statement to Denise, the two sat for a while and drank coffee. They tried to make small talk, but somehow, the conversation always came back to what had occurred in the alleyway outside her small theater. She relived those events each time she closed her eyes.
As soon as she got home, she replaced her concealed carry weapon with the spare she kept in her closet, but even then she didn’t feel safe. She knew she had shot that thing three times, mid center mass and it made no difference. Whatever it was, it wasn’t made of flesh and bone or she would have hurt it.
She sat in the darkness of her apartment above the movie theater and sipped at her hot spiced tea as she tried in vain not to recall the events when a knock at her door jarred her back to the present. She slipped her robe on and went to the door. She paused a moment and checked the peephole. It was someone in a uniform, albeit a different uniform than the sheriff’s deputies wore.
“Who are you?” she asked through the closed door.
“Constable Benjamin Gregory, ma’am. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I could.”
“I already gave a statement to the sheriff’s office,” she said warily.
“Yes, ma’am, I know. But I’m a constable, not a deputy and to be honest, they don’t think highly of us and rarely share information. I’d just like to ask a few questions.”
“I’d rather not if it’s all the same.”
She watched him lower his head and sigh. “Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, and honestly, I’m out of my jurisdiction, so I can’t compel you to talk to me. But something very similar happened to one of my family members just the night before last and I…well, I’d like to see if they’re related. That’s all.”
Nancy stood at the door and watched him through the peep hole. She could only see the profile of his face, but she believed him. His words seemed honest. “Let me see your badge, constable.” He turned toward the peephole so she could see the badge pinned to his chest. She stared at it a moment then laughed to herself. “I wouldn’t know a fake if I saw one,” she said as she unlocked the door and let him in.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said as he stepped in. “I promise, I won’t take too much of your time.”
“It’s okay.” She shut the door behind him. “I haven’t been able to really rest much since it happened.”
“I can understand that.” He pulled out his notepad. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked as he clicked his pen. “Exactly as it happened.”
Nancy invited him in to sit and recounted the events exactly as they occurred, including when the officers showed up and handcuffed her. She told of how she was driven to the station and questioned and how she hadn’t been able to sleep since because the events kept replaying in her mind over and over.
Bennie wrote furiously, taking copious notes. After he finished he sat back and gave her a thoughtful look. “Are you aware that there was another attack the same night as yours?”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Very. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but I caught wind of it from bits of pieces of radio chatter. For whatever reason, they’re going to great pains to keep it off of the air. I just don’t get it, though.”
“Don’t get what? That they’re hiding stuff or that there was another attack so soon?”
“That they’re hiding it. All murders are reported to DPS, so keeping it off the radios makes no sense. Unless they’re trying to keep it off there so that people with scanners don’t hear it and maybe panic?”
She nodded. “Well, that makes some sense. But are you thinking that maybe they’re trying to pull something?”
He sighed. “I don’t know.” He folded up his notepad and put it back in his shirt pocket. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I thought you should know.”
“Who was hurt the second time? Was that your family member?”
“No, ma’am. My cousin’s daughter had a friend over to their house the night before last. He was killed when he tried to force himself on her. Same MO. This…mist person…thing, just came out of the wind and blew him out a second story window, then hung him in their front yard.”
She brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “I never heard anything about that. And it’s such a small town, surely you’d think somebody would have said something.”
“Yeah, no shit, huh?” He stiffened as he caught himself. “Sorry, excuse the French.”
“No, it wasn’t French, I understood every word.” She smiled at him.
Bennie blushed at her. “Sorry. Anyway…yeah. Killed him deader than dogshit and then…” He looked up at her. “Sorry again. I just, ain’t used to talking to girls.”
“Obviously.”
“So then I hear about your case. And then there’s this other one. I thought, ‘I need to track her down and talk to her. See if it’s the same thing’. This ghost feller.”
“And if it is?”
“Then there’s got to be some kind of link. Either the victims or the would-be victims…something.” He scratched at his chin as he thought. “It can’t just all be random.”
“Why not? Why can’t a spirit just get tired of seeing people prey on others that are weaker than them and decide, ‘I’m going to make a difference’ and then step in and take matters into their own hands?” She studied his face. “I’m serious. Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I guess they could, but…”
“Seems to me this spirit is saving the taxpayers a lot of money by cleaning up the streets taking out the bad guys and making it so that you and your counterparts with the sheriff’s office don’t have to worry about trials.”
“Ma’am, that’s called vigilante justice. And, last I checked, it’s still illegal,” he said as he stood up.
“Illegal or not, it saved my life.” She paused, realizing that fact for the first time since it occurred. A certain kind of peace settled into her that she hadn’t had. And she suddenly felt very sleepy.
*****
Jerrod Miller intercepted Maria as the middle aged Mexican woman was about to open the door. “I’ve got this one, Maria, thank you!” he said a little too enthusiastically. “You can go back to whatever you were doing.”
He smiled at her and waited until she turned and left. She gave him an odd look and stole a peek over her shoulder as she departed to see what the man could possibly be up to.
Miller opened the door to District Three’s Constable, Christopher Anthony. Constable Anthony had the look of a seasoned war veteran, long and lean, with a hard face and a thousand yard stare. Miller smiled at the man and ushered him in. “Constable, so good of you to come out here on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”
Anthony’s eyes glanced about the house, taking in everything and committing it to memory. “What can I do for you, Mr. Miller?”
Jerrod Miller averted his eyes. “It would seem, Mr. Anthony, that I’m having a bit of a security problem.” He lowered his voice. “Word has it that you’re the man to see when it comes to unconventional answers.”
Chris’ eyes bored into the man and Miller’s stature shriveled like his manhood in chilly waters. Anthony continued his cold stare until he felt t
he wealthy man had suffered long enough, “Where did you hear such things?”
“I…um, have very wealthy friends. They…um…may have, uh, well, procured your services…uh, in the past.” Miller refused to meet his gaze.
Anthony continued to stare the man down. Before Miller could speak, Chris ripped open Jerrod’s shirt and spun him around. “Are you wired?”
“What?” Miller stammered.
“Are you wired?” Anthony repeated, pushing the man against the wall where he was thoroughly searched.
“N-no!” Jerrod answered, suddenly frightened by the speed and strength the man displayed. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
Anthony spun him back around and poked a very firm finger into his less than firm chest. “You’re implying that I may be able to provide services beyond the call of my station,” he answered quietly. “Services that I may or may not have provided for others that may or may not have bent certain federal laws. I need to make sure that you aren’t recording this conversation.”
“I-I’m not.” Miller’s eyes went wide. “I swear.”
“Then let’s step out of this foyer and discuss what kind of security problems you may be having.”
Miller tried to pull his ruined shirt closed and led him to his private study. He seated the man and excused himself to his room where he picked out another shirt, but waited until he was back in his study to put it on lest the crazy bastard ruin it as well.
Jerrod entered the study and found Chris sipping from a large glass of his best brandy. He chose to ignore it as he knew the man’s services would not come cheap. Anthony was studying his collection.
“You like?” Miller pulled his ruined shirt off his shoulders. “It took me a long time to complete that collection.”
Anthony shrugged. “I prefer newer things.”
Jerrod tucked his shirt in as he pointed to the Earp pieces. “Those are my pride and joy. And the reason I called you,” he said. “Somebody has tried to relieve me of this.” He indicated the entire collection. “I need a security system that can protect my collection, my home, and myself.”
Anthony turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Odd. I’ve learned over the years that a man will usually list things in the order of importance that they are to him. You listed your collection first and yourself last. Is that really how important this old dusty crap is to you?”
Miller sat in his chair and stared at him, his mouth open, nothing coming out as he contemplated what Anthony had just said. “Mr. Anthony, I didn’t ask you to come out here to analyze me or my belongings, only to protect them.”
Chris snorted a quick laugh then nodded. “Okay. I can do that.” He drained the brandy and set the snifter on the desk. “I’ll need access to your grounds for two days. Every inch of your home and property for a proper analysis. Then I’ll need two more days to write up my proposal. If you agree to the price, I can have it installed in—”
“Price is no concern.” Miller interjected.
Chris raised his eyebrows at him again. “Truly?”
“I don’t want a fucking minefield, Mr. Anthony. Just a state-of-the-art security system and, if possible, something that can catch the bastards in the act.” He gave him a smile that reminded Chris of a certain Columbian drug lord that he had issues with. “I’d prefer to deal with the intruders on my own, but if the authorities have to be involved, then…I guess I’ll just have to accept that.”
Anthony nodded. “I’ll still need two days to properly assess your property.”
“You have it.”
11
Dr. Guffey stepped away from the bodies and snapped the rubber gloves off his hands. He tossed them into the biohazard receptacle and recorded his notes into the log. Pushing his glasses back onto his nose, he glanced back at the mutilated bodies and shook his head.
“What the hell got hold of you boys?”
“That’s what we’d like to know, Doc,” Justin asked as he entered the exam room. Eckerson followed but he looked less determined than Zimmer did.
The Medical Examiner picked up his reports and stepped toward his desk. “It’s not pretty boys.”
“We know that, Doc. We were there, remember,” Zimmer stated. “We need to know what you found. If there was any evidence that can help point us toward who did it.”
Guffey set his preliminaries on the desk and sighed heavily. “No evidence, but…” he trailed off.
“But what?” Jeff asked.
“I can tell you that these two poor bastards suffered badly before they died. Intense pain,” Doc winced. “Things were done to them that shouldn’t ought to be done to any man while he’s still breathing. I haven’t gotten to the ceiling decoration yet.” He motioned over his shoulder to the third body under the sheet. “But first appearances of him were that he was pummeled to death then drawn and nearly quartered before he was…hung to an apartment ceiling.”
Justin motioned to the two they found in the alley. “Talk to me, Doc. What’s the story?”
Doc leaned against his desk and removed his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stretched his neck. “Okay. For starters, they suffered from forcible penectomy in such a manner that indicates that—”
“English, Doc. Small words for those of us that didn’t pay attention in eighth grade biology.” Jeff said.
Guffey looked at him sideways. His features tightened somewhat as his tone sharpened. “Their ‘junk’ was ripped from their bodies while they were still alive.”
“Ooh.” Jeff cupped himself protectively. “That ain’t right.” He grimaced at Zimmer and shook his head.
“Then, to make matters worse, the very same ‘junk’ was forcibly shoved down their throats,” the doc added. “While they were still alive.”
“Oh, yuck,” Eckerson said. “Hey, wait. Was it their own junk or, was it like, the other guy’s junk, cuz, that would be like even more wrong, ya know? I mean, it’s bad enough—”
“Eckerson,” Justin interrupted. “Stop, please?”
“Well, I’m just saying. Because you know it’s bad enough that somebody would rip your jewels from your body and shove them down your throat, but it would be even worse if they shoved somebody else’s jewels down your throat. Know what I mean?”
“Seriously, Jeff, stop,” Justin pleaded.
“Well, come on. I don’t know if you wash yours or not—”
“ALSO,” Doctor Guffey interrupted, “we discovered that they both had rather large pieces of flesh ripped from them and they were disemboweled while they were alive. It was the stress and the blood loss from the disembowelment that lead to their deaths.”
“All of that and not one single shred of evidence?” Justin asked.
“Nothing. Not a single blade mark on anything. It was almost as if they used their nails to do it, but we couldn’t find a thing.”
“Unbelievable,” Justin muttered. “They always leave something behind.”
“I thought there were shell casings left at the scene?” Guffey asked.
“The night manager fired at the attacker. We recovered all three bullets from the brick wall of the theater,” Justin replied.
“Oh, wait…that reminds me, there was one anomaly.” Guffey walked over to another file folder. “We typed the blood samples that we took. We sampled different areas where there were arterial sprays, some from the floor of the alley and the blood that covered the owner-manager of the theater.”
“What was the anomaly?” Eckerson asked.
“We found three distinct types of blood.” Guffey handed over the report. “We got the two victims, one Curtis Vines, a three time loser from Gainesville, the other is Jorge Flores, a felon from Sherman, and the third—”
“The killer’s?” Justin asked hopefully.
Guffey sighed and shook his head. “Brian Culley. Our first victim that we cut down out of the Davidson’s yard.”
*****
“What do you see?” Casper asked.
“Shut up, stu
pid,” Roger whispered and elbowed the skinnier man. He readjusted his binoculars and peered through them again. “It’s that stupid cop with the neck thicker than his head. The one that drives the GMC with the lift kit.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him around,” Casper whispered. “I think his name is Anthony sumthin’. What’s he doing?”
“He’s just walking around lookin’ at stuff and writing on a clipboard.” Roger lowered the optics, spun and flopped to the ground with a sigh. “He may be investigatin’ our break in.”
“Well ain’t that a kick in the ass?” Casper wondered aloud. “How long does it take for them to figure out we broke in?”
“I dunno. Maybe they’s busy or something. Or maybe Miller was too busy to call ‘em. You know how them rich people are, can’t be bothered with something simple like a couple of prowlers kicking in the door and messing up his office.” He looked at Casper, “‘Cuz really that’s all we was able to do. Stupid glass in there was too hard to bust. Fuckin’ space age stuff.”
“So what do we do now, Rog? Do we wait him out or come back later?”
Roger sighed and shook his head. “I reckon we come back. We give a couple days to think that we ain’t coming back and then we hit ‘em when they least expect it.” He smiled a half-drunken smile. “He’ll either be sleeping, or out partying with his rich buddies, and we’ll sneak in and rob the rich bastard blind.”
“Are you sure we can get to his stuff this time, though?”
“My buddy Kyle promises that his portable plasma torch can cut through anything. If it’s man made, it’ll cut it.”
“Okay then, let’s skedaddle out of here. I got a weird feeling sitting out here with Mr. No-Neck traipsin’ about.”
“Let’s go blow something up. I got a hankerin’ to watch something go boom.” Roger’s eyes glassed over.
Casper smiled and flashed his good tooth. “Yeah. I wanna watch something go boom, too.”
“Maybe we should go back to the ghost town?” Roger wondered aloud.