by Rusk, Day
“Looks like the fucking Texas Chainsaw Massacre in here,” said Detective Carroll as Ray and Bryan took in the scene. As they surveyed the living room, they realized she wasn’t that far off the mark.
“All this happened late last night and no one in the neighborhood called 911?” asked Ray.
“We only picked up this crime scene due to an anonymous phone call from a pay phone early this morning. Other than that, these three would be still laying here rotting,” said Carroll.
“This mess, and let me guess, no one heard or saw anything,” said Ray.
“Chances are the whole goddamned neighborhood was up and paying attention,” said Carroll. “Doesn’t really matter, in this neighborhood, we’re the enemy. We’ll question everyone on the street, but I can guarantee you we’ll come up with nothing. It’s just the way it is. You guys are from uptown, we’re downtown. It’s a whole different world down here, and a hell of a lot more dangerous.”
“That’s right, Detective,” said Bryan, “we’re uptown, but here we are, downtown.”
“I’ve heard about that case you two caught, the mutilated bodies. Based on what I found here, I figured you’d be interested in taking a look. The body on the couch, it’s been cut apart, more so than the fellow over here who just lost his head.”
“What do you make of it?” asked Bryan.
“The cut up victim, well, I’d say for the perp to do to him what he did, that would take some time,” said Carroll. “The other two? I figure that’s the killer running out of time. I figure he was hard at work cutting up the one on the couch when the other two showed up unexpectedly. Can’t quite figure out how it all played out, based on the positioning of the bodies, but one was shot and killed instantly, and the other, well that’s a mess on its own. Initial examination, he didn’t go down easily.”
“We have a case concerning two mutilated bodies, but each was laid out in...well...I guess you could call it an artistic manner,” said Ray.
“C’mere, I want to show you something else,” said Carroll, motioning for Ray and Bryan to follow her over to one of the shelves in the room. “You ever saw anything like this?”
Ray and Bryan looked to where she was pointing.
“Seems like this all came from the one the killer was dissecting,” said Carroll.
Nailed to the shelf were two eyes, nails right through them. Also nailed there were Harry’s limp penis and balls.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” said Ray as he took in the sight.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Bryan.
“What’s that?” asked Carroll.
“We’ve seen this before,” said Ray. “Fuck me. Our killer likes to display the same at his crime scenes. Our killer, however, has been praying on Wall Street types.” Ray took a second to look around at his surroundings. “This doesn’t look like the home of a Wall Street type.”
“The one that’s hacked apart,” said Bryan, “make sure the body is checked for traces of LSD. We’ve found it in the bodies of our other victims.”
“So what do you think? Could it be the same killer?” asked Carroll.
“Fuck me if it is,” said Ray. “This adds a whole new wrinkle to the case. This isn’t a Wall Street guy. Different M.O. in picking the victim. Why? It just opens up a whole new can of worms. Doesn’t make any sense.”
“Who is this guy anyway?” asked Bryan.
“That’s the interesting part, gentleman,” said Carroll. “Name’s Harry Madwin. A pretty high ranking member of Morgan Neil’s crew. The other two are also known associates.”
“Morgan Neil?” said Ray.
“You’re shitting me,” said Bryan.
“Detectives,” said a young Police Officer poking his head in the front door, “You’d better get out here.”
Detectives Carroll, Ray and Bryan made their way out the front door and stood on the porch.
“Son-of-a-bitch, look who’s here?” said Bryan.
Getting out of a car that had pulled up behind the police cars was none other than Morgan Neil and Sal Lunkin.
“What do you think?” said Bryan, “Returning to the scene of the crime?”
“Let’s find out,” said Carroll making her way down the porch steps.
The three of them headed over to Morgan and Sal, who had been stopped by a uniform police officer at the yellow police tape cordoning off Harry’s home.
“What’s happened, Detectives?” Morgan asked as soon as they were close enough.
“You’ll have to wait and read about it in the official report,” said Carroll, “but, wait a second, that’s right, you’re not a member of the police force. You won’t have access to the report.”
“Cute Detective,’ said Morgan a little annoyed. “This is one of my neighborhoods. You tell me or you don’t, I’ll know long before that report is ever written.”
“Madwin was one of your men, wasn’t he,” asked Ray.
“One of my men? Whatever are you talking about, Detective?” asked Morgan. “I’m here because I heard a friend of mine’s house was crawling with pigs.”
“A step up from the usual swine it’s crawling with,” said Carroll.
Morgan just looked at her, unamused.
“Anything stashed in the house you’re concerned we might find?” asked Bryan.
“Not my house, Detective,” said Morgan. “Whatever you find, well, I guess you’ll just have to talk to the home owner. Is that still possible?”
Ray laughed. “Nice try. Whatever’s happened here we’ll take care of it. You’d be best to get in your car, turn around, and leave well enough alone. Hate to ruin your morning by slapping an obstruction of justice charge on you for interfering with a police investigation.”
“Police investigation,” said Morgan. “That’s right; leave it up to the cheap suits to solve anything? That’s a laugh.”
“Nevertheless, you have no place here, Morgan,” said Ray, “although, as long as you’re here, I wouldn’t mind sitting down with you and talking about the death of your good friend Joe Weldon? What do you say?”
“Kiss my ass, Detective.”
“We’re through here, Morgan,” said Carroll, “I suggest you go crawl back into your hole.”
Detectives Carroll, Ray and Bryan turned and started heading back to the house. They had a lot of work ahead of them, and it was obvious they weren’t going to get anywhere with Morgan, so why waste any more time.
Morgan and Sal watched them walk away.
“If there’s someone stupid enough to try and move into our turf, I want to know about it today,” said Morgan to Sal.
“Got it, boss,” said Sal.
“Let’s get out of here. I want to know what’s going on even before the cops do.”
Without saying anything more, Morgan and Sal returned to their car. They had a lot of work to do.
Off to the side, standing amongst his curious neighbors, Carlos watched as Morgan and Sal got into their car and pulled away. He’d seen Morgan’s picture many times over the years in the newspapers. I guess the neighbors were right, he thought to himself, Harry did work for Morgan. Interesting.
Leslie lay in bed listening to the sound of the shower. It had been a long night and he really hadn’t slept. He and Gail had returned to his place; they were able to pull into the underground parking and take the elevator right up to his floor and his apartment. At that time of night, they didn’t run into anyone; anyone who would immediately know, upon looking at them, that something strange had happened.
They’d both cleaned up last night, Leslie wanted to wash away the blood, but first he had a drink. Gail headed straight for the shower and had actually invited him to join her; she had said something about now that they had shared in a kill they were closer to making love than fucking, so it would be special. He’d declined. The last thing on his mind had been sex.
He listened to her in the shower, humming some tune, enjoying herself, almost as if she were unaware that last night she had been res
ponsible for three deaths. It just didn’t seem to bother her.
What had she been doing to Harry’s body when he’d entered the house? Everything had happened so fast, but from what he recalled, Harry’s body had been cut to pieces. He’d read about a similar case in the newspaper; a couple of finance guys who had been found murdered and cut to pieces. Was it her? What were the chances of two killers who liked to mutilate bodies running around the city at the same time? Highly unlikely, he figured. Who or what had he let into his life?
Leslie moved to the kitchen and poured a coffee; he thought back over the events of last night. He had been stalking Harry with the intention of killing him if the opportunity came about. In his heart, he had been intending to kill a man. Based on what that man had done to him, he felt justified in doing so. But killing was killing. He knew he could wrap it up in whatever reason he wanted to, the simple fact of the matter was he was planning to take another life. So how was he different than Gail?
She seemed to be comfortable with killing. Should he hold that against her? Maybe by the time he got to his last victim, the last of the four, he too would be comfortable with killing. Although, if he were to get to the last of the four and finish him off, that would be the end of his killing; if Gail were indeed a serial killer, as he had no reason to believe she wasn’t, this was a lifelong hobby of hers, at least until she slipped up and was eventually caught. He was judging her and didn’t know if he really had the right to do so; not with the anger in his soul. She still hadn’t told him about the pain in her past, that cataclysmic event that had set her on the path of killing. Without knowing about that, could he really judge her? And whether he liked it or not, had she not did him a favor last night? One of his family’s murderers had faced justice and paid for his sins. It was all very overwhelming. He really didn’t know what to think, and if he was honest, part of his concern was that deep down he was now also a little frightened by Gail.
“You feeling better?” asked Gail, as she made her way into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around her hair and wearing one of Leslie’s shirts. He had to admit, the shirt was always a sexy look, even on a serial killer.
“Working on it,” said Leslie as she moved over to the coffee maker and poured a coffee, before moving to the kitchen table and sitting down across from him.
“The surest way to work up a crusade in favor of some good cause is to promise people they will have a chance of maltreating someone,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye. “To be able to destroy with good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behavior ‘righteous indignation’, this is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats.”
Leslie just looked at her; he had no idea how to respond.
“My favorite author again, Aldous Huxley,” she said.
“So last night was righteous?” he asked. “Who are you kidding?”
“Life, hell, life and death is merely a matter of perspective. That man last night was a killer. Would you say what happened to him was merely a matter of karma?”
“That’s not me, though.”
“But you’ve dreamt about it. Wanted it.”
“That’s not the same as actually doing it,” he said, the anger creeping into his voice. “Jesus. There are boundaries. There’s civilized behavior.”
“Societal boundaries,” she said, ignoring his anger, “imposed upon us. Is the world any better than the simpler days of an eye for an eye?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Crime still exists. Violence still exists. We may think we’re more civilized but in our hearts we’re still killers,” she said. “You know what being civilized has done for us; it’s just created a world where the criminal is better defended. Society and its rules have just made it harder for justice to prevail. Forget the victim or victims, let’s worry that we don’t trample upon the killer’s feelings or rights. We’ve changed the game. Evil cannot be allowed to reign unchecked. Society is evil.”
Leslie took a moment to let what she was saying sink in. On the one hand she was right; if there was a high profile murder, there’d be the usual outrage and call for justice; as time went by, however, that outrage would die down. Eventually, even if there was a murderer that’d been caught, memories of the victim would fade and all focus would be on the killer, trying to understand him or her and their motivation. Did they have a bad childhood? Were they somehow conditioned to kill based on their upbringing and environment? What had we done to drive them to commit the act of murder? What social programs were not made available that might have saved these poor souls? Were their rights being adequately looked after? The farther and farther it got away from the actual crime being committed, the less and less the innocent victim seemed to matter; by being murdered and not being around, it seemed the victims were destined to be forgotten, as we worried about the living – the killers and their rights. Morgan Neil and three of his thugs had killed his parents, decades had passed, and Morgan was still out there a free man with the blood of many others on his hands. Was that justice? We follow the rules and he knew how to play those rules to his advantage. In many cases, we set up the game so it seemed like the fix was in, and it favored the killers.
“The other murders,” Leslie finally said, “The ones in the papers. Was that you?”
Gail was impressed. He’d put two and two together and had actually come up with four.
“Both deserved what they go. Both were evil, disguised,” she said.
“Disguised?”
“You’re blinded by society and its rules. You’ve conformed to its ideas of what’s right and wrong,” she said. “Think back to last night. Revenge, true revenge. Look deep into your heart and tell me if somehow it doesn’t seem right. Society would say no, but what do you think?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“Then you better decide,” she said standing up. “Last night you embarked on a journey; you got blood on your hands. Righteous blood. There’s three more names on your list; three more killers who have escaped justice, and will continue to do so if you let them. Free yourself from your torment and embrace the clarity that will come by spilling their blood.”
It all sounded so good; he was happy Harry was dead, and knew he’d be happy if the other three were the same. He was happy with it in one sense, but in another, some part of his mind was trying to remind him that what he had done, what he was considering to continue to do, was wrong. An eye for an eye was barbaric; it belonged to another, less civilized time.
“I am what I am,” said Gail. “I’ve accepted it and I make no excuses. If you can break down the walls within you and truly desire revenge on a very real level, call me. Tonight.”
Gail turned to the leave the kitchen.
“How do you know you can trust me?” asked Leslie.
She turned to look at him.
“What’s to stop me from going to the authorities and telling them what I saw? All of my actions last night were really in self defense; protecting you from two thugs.”
“There’s nothing stopping you, Leslie,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”
Gail left the kitchen, leaving Leslie to his thoughts.
chapter SIXTEEN
morgan NEIL was not happy. Harry was dead and he hadn’t ordered it. If he disliked one thing, it was someone else committing a homicide in his city. He didn’t care about all those crimes of passion; husbands killing wives and vice versa, those were insignificant. There were a lot of murders in the city he could tolerate or care less about, but when his men were the targets, and he hadn’t sanctioned it, that was another matter. Anyone bold enough to take out one of his men – or in this case three – and one of them a longstanding soldier and confidant like Harry Madwin had been, definitely spelt trouble. Only someone confident enough he had the muscle to take Morgan’s rackets away from him would be foolish enough to draw first blood. It had to be a rival gang, someone he didn’t know about; had he left anyone even remo
tely associated with Joe Weldon alive? Could the threat be coming from within? They had drawn first blood, which he guessed was their way of making a statement, a confident statement. No matter how confident they felt, however, Morgan knew they’d pay the price. Over the decades a lot of suckers had come after him, and he always came out on top. If someone was declaring war, he was ready to fight – he was ready to kill and do so indiscriminately.
If there was one thing Morgan didn’t like, it was being out of the loop. He had to go to Harry’s house this morning; because he just couldn’t believe what he was being told was true. Harry was fierce; it would really take something for someone to get the drop on him. The fact Lou and Corrigan had been taken out with Harry suggested to Morgan that the killers had had the element of surprise; something they would no longer be able to count on.
Morgan knew Lou and Corrigan had been murdered along with Harry because he’d been informed of that through his back channels. The Detectives at the scene had given him a hard time, but he didn’t hold it against them; that was the nature of their relationship. They, however, thought they could keep the facts from him; a foolish assumption. Nothing happened in his city that was important to him, that he didn’t know about. Police officers and Feds were human. They lived as humans with all the concerns of humans, from paying the mortgage, to putting their kids through college, etcetera and etcetera. While many, if not the majority, were straitlaced and took their jobs seriously, if you looked hard enough and put the standard temptations of money, and lots of it, in front of some of them, you discovered they were many willing to play ball. Morgan longed for the old days when it seemed the Mob could corrupt entire police forces, judges and politicians; the days of Prohibition, when crime seemed so much simpler and corruption the rule as opposed to the exception. He figured that must have been a magical time. Today, things were harder, and while it would be impossible to corrupt an entire police force, there were enough wayward police officers and Feds to at least give him what he wanted, which was information. No sooner had he gotten back to the Raven Club, from which he conducted business, that he had reached out, through his Captains of course (he wasn’t about to get caught on wiretap saying anything), to his organizations contacts with a demand for information. He wanted to know everything that had happened last night; he wanted to know everything the Detectives would know and more – and preferably before them.