Anathema

by Bruce Talmas

  He punched me in the stomach as hard as he could. I could have blocked it, but I wasn't there to get in a pissing contest with Lief Erikson. It took two skipped breaths to get my wind back, and then I started laughing. “Maybe it was your father; I never can tell you people apart.”

  I felt a particular satisfaction making race jokes about the whitest people on the planet. The Viking went to hit me again when Ville spoke up, “I’m Ville. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to know about a busload of kids that went missing about a week ago.” Figured I might as well get right to the point.

  He set his glass down. “What makes you think I would know anything about that?”

  “Because your name came up when I Googled ‘douchebag kidnapper.’”

  I moved to sit down across from Ville, but Olaf’s son either took offense to my words or to my sudden movement. He charged me with all he had, and I gave him a hard right jab to the solar plexus as he drew within range. It was enough to drop him to a knee, which was all I needed. I sat down and faced Ville, but kept the momentarily-stunned man in my periphery.

  “Go to hell,” Ville told me.

  “I’ve been there a few times. It’s not all that bad,” I said as I grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl in the center of the table. “I can show you around if you’d like. I’m sure we’ll both be there soon enough."

  I popped a couple peanuts in my mouth, reached over the table, and finished the rest of his drink. It burned on the way down, but it was worth it to see the look on his face.

  “Hennesey? Jesus, you really are the whitest guy on the planet, aren’t you?”

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Look, I don’t care if you did the job. I need to find the person that ordered it in the first place.”

  Ville slammed his hand on the table. “You come into my club and accuse me of kidnapping children. I’m a businessman.”

  I held up my hands. “I mean no disrespect. Or only a little disrespect. But I need to find who wanted those children taken. It wasn’t some pedophile or serial killer. It was someone who saw them as a commodity. Which means they’d be willing to pay. Which leads me to you, Mr. Businessman.”

  He leaned in toward me. “I would never harm a child. I have my standards.”

  I leaned forward. He didn’t back away. I could smell the booze on his breath. “Bullshit,” I said. “I’ve killed more sick fucks like you than you’ve met in your lifetime. You know what they all had in common? None of them ever hurt a kid. Not one of them. Until I started asking questions in a more…compelling way.

  “Besides, who said anything about harming them?” I leaned back in the chair, mainly to get away from Ville’s breath. “As far as I know, no one knows what happened to them. Unless you know something I don’t? Is that what you’re telling me, Ville? That you have information I might find useful?”

  I reached into my jacket and pulled out a large wad of cash. All hundred dollar bills. I set it on the table. The mood in the room changed. I could feel the tension spiking from everyone around me.

  They were all thinking the same thing, but only Ville had the balls to say it: “What’s stopping me from killing you and just taking your money?”

  I shrugged. “The same thing that would stop you from taking the school bus job. Killing people in public in your own club is bad for business. So is killing a kid. I don’t think you’re dumb enough to do either. But I think you might also know people that don’t have your lofty standards when it comes to such matters. So are we to do business, Ville? Or shall I take my money elsewhere?”

  He tried to stare me down for about twenty seconds. Everyone at the table, plus everyone else within earshot, was holding their breath. It was clear that Ville held some esteem in this dingy little corner of the world. No one here had ever seen him confronted in this manner before. It had him uncertain, and it gave me negotiating power. I was just waiting to see how he handled it. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. I could feel a collective sigh in the room.

  When the tension had eased a bit, Ville smiled at me. “I don’t keep up with my competitors too much,” he said. “There were two guys I used to do business with. Subcontractors, if you will. Josh and Romeo. They were into all kinds of weird shit. Normally, I’m cool with that, but they were just freaks. Not professional at all. I cut them loose about six months ago. They’ve been freelancing ever since. They’d know who did the job, if they didn’t do it themselves.”

  I watched him closely throughout his little speech. If he was lying, he was damned good at it.

  “You have an address?”

  He nodded to one of his Vikings, who handed him some kind of day planner. Ville wrote an address on his napkin and handed it to me.

  “Thanks, Ville.”

  “Watch out with those two, though. They’re not right in the head.”

  “You said they’re into freaky shit. What’d you mean by that?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. They’re into satanic shit. All kind of tattoos and ritualistic crap. Just crazy, man. Not my scene at all.” I thought about the CD in his jukebox with the guys in face paint, wondering how true that really was.

  Stuffing the napkin in my pocket, I got up to leave.

  Ville looked up at me, “If you find out they were involved with those children, will you do me a favor?”

  “No problem.”

  “Tell them it was me that told you where to find them.”

  I smiled. “I can do that.”

  Chapter 18

  Josh and Romeo lived together on the fourth floor of an upscale apartment building north of the city. The kind of place that gives you a pool membership and cuts your grass during the summer, then shovels your walk and probably gives you a blowjob in the winter. A brochure in the building’s office stated that the first year’s rent was accompanied by a six-month membership at the local gym and a one-year membership to the country club that bordered the property. Most of the tenants were young professionals that saw the place as a status symbol. I wondered what they would think about two kidnappers living among them. I bet they wouldn’t care, as long as it wouldn’t increase their homeowner’s association fees.

  By the time I arrived, it mid afternoon on Sunday. I drove to the far corner of the lot—away from the few parked cars and the security cameras. The parking lot was almost empty. All of the tenants must have been at the gym or the golf course. Maybe they were all at church; I could see it being that kind of place. The only other car near mine was a 1998 Ford Bronco parked a few spaces away from mine. A man in sunglasses and a Steelers cap sat inside sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Cop, I thought. For all their training, policemen were not good at blending in with their surroundings.

  He was probably there for Romeo and Josh just like I was, but what did I know? I was a stranger in this town. Most of the people who were around when I was prowling these streets were dead or in jail. The whole landscape had changed. This entire apartment complex could have been a massive meth lab and I wouldn't have known about it. Whatever the case, a cop surveilling the apartment building of the men I needed to speak with could cramp my style. I decided not to stay in my car like I’d originally planned. The cop wasn’t paying attention to me yet, but if I sat there for an hour he surely would. I got out of my car and walked by the Bronco. The man inside turned toward me as I got close and I realized my instincts were correct: He was a cop. Not just any cop, either. It was the same man I’d seen in the newspaper clipping.

  Thomas Rose looked very different from the photos I’d seen, though. That man had been your prototypical police officer: clean-shaven, salt-of-the-earth protector of the populace. This man was haggard and beaten down by life. He had a week’s worth of beard and probably way too much coffee coursing through his veins. He hadn’t had a haircut in a while, the salt-and-pepper hair curling up from under the baseball cap. I’d have to keep an eye on him. Something told me he still had a part to play in the infernal two-step I’d begun.
r />   We both made eye contact through our sunglasses. He observed me as a cop would be expected to observe a long-haired stranger dressed in black and wearing sunglasses, but he didn’t give me undue attention. I gave him a quick nod as I passed the Bronco. He raised his coffee cup in a sloppy half-salute. I bet there was more than coffee in his travel mug.

  Once I cleared the Bronco, it was smooth sailing into the apartment building. Inside, the building was even nicer than it appeared from the lot. There was a marble-countered information desk on the right, adjacent to a bank of gold mailboxes for the tenants. Strangely, nothing else indicated that I was in an apartment building. The rest of the décor screamed pretentious law office. Straight ahead was a giant archway that led into the main courtyard, in the middle of which was a fountain lorded over by a pair of granite angels.

  I took a look at the angel sculptures to see if they were anyone I knew. If people only knew what an Angel truly was, I thought, they wouldn’t be so quick to decorate their lawns and gardens with them.

  An elegantly-designed glass elevator slid down the near wall of the courtyard. Elevators were deathtraps that I rarely used unless I had no choice. That went doubly when everyone could see you through the walls of the elevator. I knew Josh and Romeo were staying in Apartment 420, so I took the stairs that bisected the far wing to the fourth floor. That way, I started my search in the center of the building instead of guessing and possibly having to walk the entire perimeter of the complex.

  Once I was past the lobby and courtyard, the building took on a simpler aspect. Still nice, but less glitz. At least it looked like an apartment building now. It was still far too nice for a couple low-level thugs that made their money through ransom and the mental anguish of terrified loved ones, but at least it wasn’t tacky.

  I got to the door for 420 and heard voices from inside. It was the corner apartment, which seemed to verify that Officer Rose was here for them. His SUV was parked so that he could see both exterior walls of the apartment.

  There were at least three of them inside the apartment. The doors and walls were thick, so they had to be nearly yelling to be heard from the hallway. I knocked politely, but loudly enough to be heard over the raised voices. Silence descended inside the apartment, and I saw the peephole shadow over as someone came to the door.

  Idiots, I thought. The easiest way to kill someone staying in an apartment or hotel was to wait for them to look through the peephole and shoot them through the door. I’d done it numerous times myself. Even the higher-quality doors in this place weren’t going to stop a bullet from a .45.

  “Who is it?” someone asked in a ridiculous singsong voice. I felt like I was interrupting a game of grab-ass.

  “Pizza guy,” I said.

  “What?”

  I leaned in so whoever was looking through the peephole could see the top of my head quite clearly. “Just open the fucking door,” I said. I didn’t speak very loudly. I didn’t want to alert any nosy neighbors that anything might be amiss in the hallway.

  There was a moment while they debated the wisdom of opening the door. I could barely hear them now. They were at least suspicious enough to keep their voices down.

  “Who is it?” another voice called out. This one was less sing-songy than the last.

  “Candygram.”

  “What?”

  Jesus Christ. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

  There was further discussion from inside. I doubted anyone would mistake it for a MENSA meeting.

  “We’re busy.” It was the second guy again.

  I sighed. “I don’t care,” I was trying to whisper and yell at them at the same time. It came out like a hiss. I was getting irritated. I should have just kicked in the door from the start. That method had served me well in the past. Stick with what works.

  “Come back in an hour,” the voice said.

  I’d been joking with the Candygram comment, but this was beginning to feel like bad sketch comedy. I’ve always prided myself on keeping control of tough situations. With everything that had happened the past few days, I felt that control slipping away. This was idiotic. A group of morons and an apartment door weren’t going to turn me into Inspector Clouseau.

  I kicked the door in. The two guys standing on the other side both fell backwards clutching their heads. Two other guys were reaching for their weapons from the opposite end of the living room. I already had both of my Sigs in my hands and trained on each of them.

  “No,” I said in a tone one might use when a dog tries to hump your leg. They dropped their hands to their sides.

  “What the fuck?” yelled one of the men on the floor. He staggered to his feet still clutching his head. He was going to have a nice knot on his forehead in a couple of hours. I ignored him.

  The room was full of money. At least twenty grand was being counted on the coffee table, and probably double that amount had already been counted and stuffed into a black duffel bag sitting by the couch.

  I turned my body so I could keep the two by the door in my vision while still aiming at the two in the living room. “Which of you are Romeo and Josh?”

  Everyone just stared at me. I hip-checked the door shut and waved the morons into the living room.

  “You two, get in here.” They obeyed and joined the other two next to the couch. All four of them formed a semicircle around me. “Have a seat,” I told them.

  They all moved toward the couch, which could comfortably seat two. When they realized they weren’t all going to fit, they started shoving each other. Kidnappers or not, they did not deserve to be living this well. They did not deserve to be living at all, from what I could see.

  “Sit!” I said, louder this time. They jostled each other for another second before one of them was smart enough to disengage from the game of musical chairs and sit on the recliner. The remaining three squeezed onto the sofa.

  “Who’s Romeo?”

  No answer for a second, then the guy on the side of the couch nearest me raised his hand.

  “Okay, who’s Josh?”

  Another delay, then the guy in the recliner raised his hand. I felt like I was teaching kindergarten, but at least we were getting somewhere. They were the same two who’d come to the door and who now had matching lumps starting to rise on their foreheads. I sat down in the one remaining empty chair in the room.

  I pointed my guns at the other two men. “You guys go.” I motioned to the door. They had no problem understanding that. They were gone before Josh and Romeo could even start yelling at them.

  “Fuck you!” they both shouted to their departing comrades.

  “Fucking cowards!” Josh added on his own.

  I returned my attention to the two I’d come for. “Sorry about the door,” I said. “If this goes well, I might even reimburse you for it.” I put away my guns to set them at ease. They stared at me sullenly, both of their mouths hanging open a little bit.

  “Which of you is in charge?”

  No answer.

  “I’ll take that to mean you’re equal partners.”

  No response.

  “So if I shoot one of you, there’s no downside for me. Seeing as I can get the same information from either of you. Therefore, you’re both expendable at the moment.”

  No answer again, but this time they were giving each other strange looks. I was beginning to think they were both dumb. Well, I already knew they were both dumb, but maybe they couldn’t speak either. Since my charm obviously wasn’t working, I pulled out the .45. If we were going to play this game, the biggest gun I had on me would probably work best.

  I put the gun against Romeo’s nose. “What do you say, Romeo? If I kill you, do you think Josh here will talk?”

  “What do you want?” he asked. It came out a little nasally since one nostril had a gun barrel up it.

  “I want to know about a busload of missing kids.”

  No answer. I’d reached my limit.

  I pulled out my combat knife and stabbed
Romeo in the leg. It got my point across without the sound of gunfire. Romeo screamed. I half-heartedly chopped him in the windpipe. He stopped screaming. Or, more accurately, he stopped making noise. The screaming continued silently.

  “Josh?”

  Josh just stared at me bug-eyed.

  “Josh?”

  He shook his head. “Yeah?” At least he managed to croak something out.

  “Romeo here seems to have trouble speaking at the moment, so I’m going to need you to tell me what happened with those kids. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Should I stab Romeo in the other leg?” I asked him.

  He looked at Romeo. Such a simple question, but still Josh didn’t answer me. I stabbed Romeo in the other leg.

  He grabbed his other leg and starting mouthing the word ‘motherfucker’ over and over again, but still no sound was coming out. It was hard to tell whether he was motherfucking me or Josh. I personally would have blamed Josh.

  “Okay, let’s try something else,” I said. “Where’d the Big Bag-O’-Cash come from?”

  Neither of them made a sound.

  “I’ve run out of legs to work with here, so I'm going to have to stab him in the dick next. Poor Romeo’s gonna have to change his name. Is that what you want Josh?”

  Romeo looked at Josh. Josh looked at Romeo. Both were scared shitless, although Romeo had a bit more reason to be. I figured he would be the one to break. After all, it was his penis on the line.

  Josh surprised me by finding his voice, though.

  “We only helped out. We didn’t have anything to do with planning it or anything after they were taken. We just did the job and were done with it. Until today, when we picked up the cash.”

  “Where’d you pick up the cash?”

  “Some big field. North of here.”

  “Were the other two that were here part of it too?”

  “Yeah. We took the kids out of the bus and put them into two minivans. They were the drivers.”

  I guess I shouldn’t have let them go after all.