by Frank Zafiro
“Doc, you better grab….”
I swung my left arm at Razor, catching him with a glancing blow across his chest. He fell backwards as I struggled to stand up. Doc latched on to my free arm, stopping my momentum. Mikey leaned in and head-butted me in the forehead. I collapsed back into the chair.
Razor scrambled back over to us and climbed on top of me. His hand snaked into my hair, where he grabbed hold and then slammed his fist into my face four times. Razor shoved himself off of me and stood.
I ran my tongue over my teeth and found a couple were broken on the left side of my mouth.
Razor pointed at Doc. “Don’t ever let go of him again.”
Mikey squeezed tighter around my right bicep. My hand went numb from the pressure.
“Who sent you down here?”
“No one,” I said and felt blood dropping on to my chin.
Razor’s hand shot out and slapped me across the face.
“Why’ve you been watching the clubhouse?”
I shook my head, trying desperately to clear the fog of pain. “I haven’t.”
“Wrong answer,” Doc said.
Razor spit in my face. “We’ve been watching you watching us.”
My head felt heavy and I dropped it down. Razor’s black boots were scuffed and his jeans were tattered at the legs.
His hand grabbed my face and Razor tilted my head up to meet his eyes.
“Our girls have been reporting back that there’s some sonuvabitch asking questions about a girl and our club.”
I noticed inside the spider-web tattoo on Razor’s neck was a long, ugly scar that ran across his throat.
“And just this afternoon, one of our crew got hisself killed.” Razor jabbed his finger at me. “I think you had something to do with that.”
“I didn’t kill anybody.”
Razor slapped me hard across the face. “You lyin’ sack of shit. Who’s the girl you’re asking about?”
I lowered my head and let the blood in my mouth run out. “My daughter. I’m gonna find the guy that murdered her and kill him.”
Razor lifted my head up again. “You know who that is?”
”Yeah.”
“Is he one of our crew?”
I nodded.
“Did you kill Sammy G?”
I glanced over to Mikey and smiled.
“Don’t look at me, cocksucker.”
Mikey’s eyes raged as I kicked upward into the Razor’s balls. Razor grunted and fell to his knees.
“What the - ?” Doc squealed.
Mikey let go of my arm with one hand to punch me in the face. I pulled away and leaned forward. Mikey’s punch glanced off of the back of my neck, sending shockwaves to my brain.
I pushed out of the chair with Doc still latched on to my arm. With a quick shove, I buried two fingers into his right eye socket and yanked out his eye.
Doc shrieked in horror and covered his face with both hands. I spun around to face Mikey as he punched me hard in the chest. My legs back-pedaled for a moment before I crashed over the bed. He followed me and landed on the floor next to me. As his hands scratched for my neck, I grabbed the telephone from the nightstand next to the bed and brought it down across his temple.
Mikey’s hands tightened around my throat and I continued to pound his head frantically with the phone.
Doc screamed in the corner and I knew Razor would recover at any moment.
The phone’s plastic housing started to disintegrate from the blows and I felt darkness creeping in around the edges of my consciousness. Mikey’s fingers squeezed harder amid Doc’s screams.
I brought the phone across Mikey’s temple one more time before his grip went slack. His remaining weight dropped on to my chest, pinning me to the floor. Over his shoulder, I saw the leader of the crew standing with a straight razor in his hand.
I squirmed to get free of Mikey’s weight.
“You cocksucker,” Razor yelled, spittle flying everywhere.
He stepped forward and I lashed out a leg at him. His hand arced downward and I felt a sudden burning in my shin.
“Get him,” Doc squealed from the corner.
When I broke free of Mikey’s weight I rolled over and pushed up. A burning sensation followed a thump across my back and I knew Razor had hit me again. I spun around and lifted my arms to protect my face.
The razor slashed through my flesh and I let out a surprised squeal. I jumped at Razor and tied up his arms as we crashed to the floor. We wrestled around as Doc kicked at me, one hand covering the bloody mess of his eye.
The blade cut my hands several times before I ripped it away from Razor. Once in my hand, I lashed out at Doc and caught him in the face with the razor. He stumbled backwards and crashed onto Mikey.
I drove the blade across Razor’s throat, tracing the old scar’s path. The blade was buried so deep I snapped off the handle. I threw it to the side as Razor gurgled and clutched at this throat.
With a quick turn, I latched onto Doc and brought my arm across his throat. I pulled tight, crushing his windpipe with my forearm. He clawed at my face and kicked wildly for a few moments. When Doc finally died, I pushed him away from me and let him fall face first into the wall.
Mikey was still out cold so I grabbed a pillow from the bed and covered his face. He never fought back, but slipped in to that permanent darkness almost peacefully.
I sat on the ground and listened to the silence. Some nosey neighbor had to have heard the fighting and Doc’s frantic shrieking. I tried to get up but fell to my knees. From my gut I felt a burning and tried to hold it down, but I was unable. I puked all over the carpet in my room.
Carefully, I stood and considered dusting the room, but thought better of it. I grabbed the broken handle from the straight razor and the remnants of the telephone. Any other prints I’d left in the room could be explained away as a prior tenant.
With the front of my shirt, I opened up the door. While holding it by the edges, I hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. Carefully, I pulled the door shut as I slipped out into the hallway. I hurried away from the hotel and into the darkness behind it. For several blocks, I ran along the train tracks that cut through the heart of the Sprague district. I stopped behind a small, one-story building and wiped off the telephone and razor handle as best I could with my shirt. An old plastic shopping bag was caught up in a nearby bush. I worked it free and put the telephone in it along with the broken handle, careful not to add any more prints.
Grabbing the open end of the bag, I threw it and its contents onto the roof of the small building.
I leaned against the back wall and felt my body sigh in pain from various wounds. My clothes were covered in blood and I was leaking more. I needed an ally.
Music pounded through the speakers as I stepped in through the back door of the Club Tip Top, ignoring the big white letters on the outside that announced “NO ENTRANCE.”
I peeked into the dressing room and one girl was getting dressed. A moment later I stood at the mouth of the hallway, my eyes searching the room for her.
She was seated at the bar with a Coors Light in front of her on the bar. She wore a green silk robe around her body that revealed the green dragon tattoo that lived on her right thigh. I stood in the semi-darkness of the hallway hoping to catch her eye.
Gina was in a mild conversation with a clean-cut family man in a polo shirt and khakis. He stared intently at Gina as she talked with a smile.
From behind the bar, George poured drinks while chatting with the fat dancer I’d seen earlier. Up on the stage, a cracked-out black girl vibrated to some rap song.
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice asked with a tap on my shoulder.
I glanced over my shoulder at the dancer from the changing room. The brunette wore a white terrycloth robe that hung open in the front to reveal a red, white and blue bikini. A soft stomach pushed out over the top of the bikini bottoms.
“I need to get by,” she said with a smile that quickly fad
ed. “What happened to your face?”
“Car accident. Can you get Gina for me?”
The dancer backed up. “Listen, buddy, I don’t think that’s a good idea. ‘Sides, she’s with a customer.”
“She knows me. Tell her it’s Virgil.”
She eyed me for a moment before slipping past and hurrying over to Gina. She whispered in Gina’s ear for a moment before heading towards the stage.
Gina leaned back on her barstool with a concerned look in my direction. I leaned into a better-lit portion of the bar to let her see me. When recognition washed across her face, she turned back to her conversation partner and said a quick good-bye. I stepped back into the darkness and stumbled to the dressing room. A couple of seconds later Gina walked in, swung the door closed behind her and stopped in her tracks.
“What happened to you?” Her eyes took in all of the blood before looking up at me.
“I need your help.”
She grabbed a white towel from the table near the door and moved next to me. Gina gingerly touched my face with the towel. “The Brotherhood did this to you, right?”
“Gina,” I said quietly and reached out for her.
“Were you responsible for the dead one earlier today?”
I ignored her question. “Gina, please.”
She backed away. “Son of a bitch. If they see me with you, they’ll come after me.”
I lowered my head. “Gina.”
“You need to go. Now.” Her voice was low but still worried.
My eyes met hers. “One of their crew killed my daughter.”
For a moment, she looked over her shoulder at the door. When she turned back, her steel grey eyes were sharp. “Do you know who did it?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod.
“Was that who you killed today?”
I shook my head. “That was self-defense. He attacked me.”
She flicked another glance at the door.
“Gina, nobody’s coming after me.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Did you kill them too?”
I nodded.
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, God.”
“I know who killed my daughter. He probably killed your friend, too.”
Her eyes flashed with rage before the fear took hold again. “Do you think so?”
I nodded even though I didn’t know for sure.
Gina stepped back over to me and handed me the towel. “What do you need?”
“Do you have a car?”
She nodded. “It’s out back.”
I looked over to the chair in the corner. “Grab that jacket over there.”
“That’s George’s,” she said but picked it up anyway.
“He can have it back. I need you to give me a ride back to my hotel.”
She helped me put George’s large, grey jacket over the jacket I was already wearing. “Holy shit, you’ve got a lot of blood on you.”
“Not all of it’s mine.”
Her eyes glanced up as she reflexively pulled away.
I grabbed her arm to keep her from running. “What kind of car do you drive?”
The ride to the hotel was quick and uneventful. Holding my head up was getting tougher so I leaned against the window and felt the coldness of the glass against my skin.
Her older model Toyota Corolla didn’t attract any attention as she parked in lot near the Davenport.
“This is your hotel?”
I nodded as I pushed myself out of the passenger seat.
Gina glanced over at me as we walked into the lobby. I held on to her arm for support and to keep her from freaking out. “Make sure you stay between me and the check-in desk.”
Her eyes swept around the lobby. I wondered if it was the first time she’d been in the hotel.
We made it to the elevator and then my room without anyone noticing us. Once inside, I stepped into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet with the lid down. Gina walked around the room for a moment before returning to me.
“This is amazing.” She looked like a young girl who had just seen Disneyland for the first time.
“Gina, I need you to go to the store for some supplies.”
Her eyes focused in on me. She nodded and listened intently as I rattled off what I needed.
“I’ll be back,” she said, and left the room.
I carefully moved into the bathtub. My head rested on the back ledge as I drifted off into sleep.
Monday, April 19th
0834 hrs
Taylor Residence
TOWER
I gave the door a graveyard knock. The bottom of my fist hammered on the door, making it rattle. I gave five solid knocks, waited twenty seconds and gave five more. Then I waited thirty seconds and was about to give five more when the door opened.
Steve Taylor’s hair was tousled, with one side standing straight up and the other matted down. He wore a thin, white robe that I guessed actually belonged to his wife and had just been the first thing he could grab when he scrambled out of bed to see who the hell was breaking down his door.
“Detective?” Sleep clouded his eyes, and the alarm in them was already fading once he saw it was me at the door.
“Good morning,” I said briskly. “May I come in?”
He nodded and stood aside. Once inside the large entryway, he closed the door quietly and asked me, “Has there been a breakthrough in Fawn’s case?”
“No. Not a breakthrough,” I told him. “A development. I need to speak with your wife.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Uh, she’s still sleeping.”
“This is something you need to wake her for, Mr. Taylor.”
“Um, okay.” He padded toward the staircase, then stopped. “What time is it?”
“About eight-thirty.”
He nodded, then gestured toward the kitchen. “The automatic coffee-maker kicked on at eight, if you want some.”
“Thanks,” I said, but didn’t move.
He climbed the stairs and disappeared.
I wandered into the room to my left, sitting down on the piano bench. I looked down at the piano keys and was tempted to touch one to see if the Taylors kept it in tune. They probably did, even if no one played it. I shook my head at how ridiculous it was to pay a piano tuner to tune a piano no one played.
I sensed Steve Taylor come in the room and turned to face him. He held two steaming cups of coffee and offered me one. I hesitated, but took it.
He glanced around the room through his John Lennon specs. “We can talk in the library, if you prefer. There’s better seating there.”
“How long will your wife be?” I asked, rising to follow him.
He opened his mouth to reply but another voice interrupted him.
“She won’t be long at all,” Andie Taylor said from the foot of the stairs.
She wore a silk, floor-length nightgown, a vibrant peach color. The white robe Steve had answered the door in was belted loosely at her waist. Her hair was brushed out and it seemed to shimmer in the morning light that shone through the skylight above the front door. I met her eyes from across the room and said nothing.
“The library?” Steve asked me.
I nodded and followed him. I took the chair and Andie curled into the corner of the couch. Steve sat next to her and offered her his coffee. She took one sip and handed it back to him.
When both of them had settled their eyes on me, I looked directly at Andie Taylor and asked her, “Mrs. Taylor, are you at all interested in seeing your daughter’s killer brought to justice?”
Surprise leapt into her eyes, but I saw a flicker of something else there, too. Panic.
“What kind of question is that?” she sputtered. “Of course I do.”
“Then why did you lie to me?”
“About what?” she asked. After a moment, she added, “I haven’t lied about anything.”
I didn’t answer right away. Now that she w
asn’t weeping in full blown grief, I saw a certain brand of arrogance creeping back into her personality. It was the arrogance of the rich, a haughtiness that came with thinking that money made you smarter and better than some people and above certain things.
Andie looked to Steve, then back to me. “Is that why you’ve come here this morning and woken me up, detective? To throw accusations at me? Isn’t it enough that you thought Steve was –“
“I know he’s here in town,” I told her.
She gasped in mid-sentence and her lips hung open for a second before she pressed them back together. “I…I don’t know who you might mean,” she said lamely.
“Yes,” I told her. “You do.”
Andie looked back and forth between Steve and me, her eyes frantic. Steve sat quietly, watching me, his cup perched near his bottom lip. I fixed Andie with a hard stare and said nothing, content to watch her squirm.
She didn’t last long. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I –“
“Fawn’s bio-Dad is here in town. He’s looking for her killer. And he’s not being nice about it.”
I looked for surprise on their faces, but saw none. Andie bore the look of a socialite caught snooping in someone else’s medicine cabinet while Steve just sat quietly, holding his coffee cup close and sipping from it occasionally. What I had just said wasn’t news to either one of them.
“I—“ Andie began.
I held up my hand, interrupting her. “Before you even try to deny knowing about this, let me tell you what we’re talking about here. First, we’re talking about a vigilante, who is hurting people to get to the person he’s looking for. People who had nothing to do with Fawn’s death.” I grimaced inside at that lie, but it was necessary.
Andie swallowed, listening.
“Second, he’s destroying any chance of my investigation gathering enough evidence to convict Fawn’s killer. I know that probably doesn’t matter, since you think that this guy will find him first and kill him. But it does matter. Because I will find him first and arrest him. Only, this guy will have torched so much physical and testimonial evidence in the process, I’ll never get a solid conviction. The killer will get some weak sentence at best, serve a few years and be out. You want that?”