by AnonYMous
‘Yes Benny,’ said O’Grady, grateful that someone had finally chosen to raise a hand instead of shouting out unprompted.
‘Why call him the Red Mohawk?’
O’Grady frowned and pointed at the picture on the whiteboard. ‘Because he has a red Mohawk.’
‘I get that Chief,’ said Benny. ‘But why does he have to have a nickname? Surely that just glamorises this scumbag?’
‘Well, yes,’ said O’Grady defensively. ‘But it’s a pretty cool nickname, don’t you think?’
A few of the officers behind Benny nodded in agreement and the guy sat on Benny’s left nudged him and whispered, “He has got a point.”
‘Who came up with the nickname?’ Benny asked.
‘I did,’ said O’Grady. ‘You got a problem with it?’
‘I don’t see the point in it.’
O’Grady resisted the urge to call Benny an asshole, even under his breath. Instead he looked around at all of the faces in the room, making sure he had their full attention. It was time to hit them all with the one piece of good news he’d had that morning. ‘Look at it this way Benny,’ he said, focussing back on the most outspoken member of his audience. ‘Picture the front page of the newspaper, the big headline, it says “Benny Stansfield captures The Red Mohawk, lands ten thousand dollar reward.” Got a nice ring to it don’t you think?’
Several officers, including Benny visibly sat up in their seats.
‘That’s right,’ O’Grady continued. ‘There’s a ten thousand dollar reward for anyone who brings in The Red Mohawk.’
‘Ten thousand?’ said Benny. ‘Where did we find ten thousand dollars?’
‘Silvio Mellencamp has kindly put up a ten thousand dollar reward for anyone who captures this guy and brings him in alive.’
The mention of the reward had the desired effect. Suddenly everyone looked like they were itching to get out and hunt for the killer without a moment’s hesitation.
Benny put up his hand again. ‘What happens if I find this Red Mohawk guy and circumstances dictate that I have to shoot him in the face a few times until he’s dead? Is there still a reward?’ he asked.
O’Grady smiled. It was just the question he had been hoping for. ‘If anyone kills The Red Mohawk, Mellencamp’s not paying the ten thousand dollars.’
Howls of disapproval rang out from the audience. O’Grady raised his hand to call for quiet before continuing. ‘Let me finish,’ he said. ‘If anyone kills The Red Mohawk, the reward won’t be ten thousand dollars. It’ll be a hundred thousand. Mr Mellencamp was very clear about that.’
In the front row Benny stood up and turned to address his fellow officers. He gesticulated excitedly with his arms like a preacher trying desperately to keep his congregation from falling asleep during the boring parts of a sermon. ‘So what the hell are we waiting for?’ he yelled. ‘Let’s get out there and find this bastard!’
As the sound of chairs grating against the floor filled the air, O’Grady called out for calm. ‘Wait a second!’ he yelled. ‘Hold on a goddamn minute. There’s one other thing.’ He waited for quiet and for everyone to sit back down, or at least stop running for the door, which they duly did. ‘The FBI is sending a couple of agents down here to work with us on this. I’m not sure when they’re due to arrive, but let’s see if we can find this sonofabitch Red Mohawk before they get here.’
‘Why the fuck do we need the FBI?’ a voice in the audience called out.
‘We don’t,’ said O’Grady. ‘Our standard line is that we’re going to offer them every possible courtesy. But my off-the-record message to each and every one of you is this; make sure the hundred thousand dollars goes in one of your pockets. And don’t tell the FBI anything about it. They probably frown on this sort of thing. Let’s solve this one on our own and dish out some good old fashioned B Movie justice!’
O’Grady expected some rousing cheers from his audience of officers. Instead he noticed that they were all looking to the door on his left. Standing in the doorway with a face as pale as a ghost with a hangover was his secretary Brenda. She was visibly trembling. In the twenty-five years she’d worked in the department he’d never seen her look so nervous. And her hair was uncharacteristically messy. It was tied back in a ponytail, which wasn’t unusual but it looked like she’d been in a fight with a randy cat.
‘What is it Brenda?’ O’Grady asked.
‘Chief,’ she said, brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes. ‘Daisy Coltrane has just called. She says she’s just found Hank Jackson with his head down the toilet in his office.’
O’Grady tutted. ‘What’s unusual about that?’
‘Well, she also found his hands in the till and his feet under the desk, but so far she says she can’t find the rest of him anywhere.’
Eight
Clarisse glanced at the mirror on the wall and checked her appearance one final time. Her black negligee was the right kind of classy, just the way Mellencamp liked it. Her bra and thong were visible underneath it, but to get a good look one would still have to stare. And Mellencamp liked a good stare, even if he’d already seen what was on offer a million times before. She’d teased her blonde hair just how he liked it too, and her large barrel curls wouldn’t move even in a gale, thanks to an excessive amount of hairspray. She smacked her dark red lacquered lips to make sure her lipstick was on evenly. That would seal the deal. He liked the dark red lipstick. She took a deep breath and knocked twice on his door.
‘Come in,’ he yelled through the door.
She took a deep breath, turned the doorknob and let herself in, wondering what state she would find him in. Over the years she’d seen him in just about every compromising position known to man, usually involving him with his pants down. Sometimes he was with one girl, other times he had a whole group of them, and on several occasions he’d been on his own. Clarisse was never flustered or fazed by anything she caught him doing, not these days anyway.
His personal bedroom suite consisted of a huge four-poster bed on one side and a built-in Jacuzzi at the rear. He was usually in one or the other. Judging by the direction his shout of “Come in” had originated from she guessed he was in his Jacuzzi on the far side of the room. And she was right. There he was, leaning back, his large hairy torso visible above the bubbling water. He had a broad smile across his face, with his wispy black goatee wrapped around it. His fat bald head was sweating profusely.
‘Hi Clarisse,’ he beamed. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘They mentioned you on the news this morning,’ she replied.
‘Did they? What for?’
‘Said you’d offered a reward for the capture of that guy they’re calling the Red Mohawk.’
His eyes fluttered briefly. ‘Oh yes, that’s good. Keep going.’ He breathed heavily, leaning his head back.
Clarisse saw the back of a young dark haired girl pop up from beneath the water in front of him. ‘What’s that?’ the girl asked.
‘I said keep going.’ Mellencamp pushed her head back under the water with his left hand.
Clarisse closed the door behind her and walked over to the Jacuzzi, stopping three feet away.
‘There’s something else you need to know though,’ she said.
‘Good. Good. Go on.’
‘One of the girls is pregnant.’
Mellencamp didn’t respond for a few moments. He closed his eyes and pulled a face reminiscent of someone who’d taken a swig from a bottle of vinegar. Clarisse recognised the look. He was on the verge of ejaculating, probably into the mouth of Jasmine, the girl beneath the water.
Clarisse watched his expression change a few times until finally his jaw dropped and his eyes slowly opened. A sure sign that he was done. He reached over to his right and felt around until his hand settled on a glass of cognac on the side of the Jacuzzi. He picked it up and took a long sniff of it.
Jasmine resurfaced from under the water and began pushing her hair back from her face and wiping some bubbles away. She t
urned and caught sight of Clarisse.
‘Hi Clarisse,’ she said, blinking.
‘Hi Jasmine.’
Mellencamp took a sip of cognac and then lurched across the hot bubbling water to the side nearest Clarisse. He leaned over the edge and looked up at her, his lower half still under the water, bubbles dripping down his hairy chest. ‘What were you saying?’ he asked.
‘Can we talk in private?’ Clarisse asked.
Mellencamp looked back at Jasmine. ‘You’re gonna have to go back down,’ he said.
Jasmine frowned. ‘Huh?’
Mellencamp grinned at her and pointed down at his ass, which was just below the water and rather suspiciously was surrounded by more bubbles than any other part of the Jacuzzi. Jasmine’s lip curled into a sneer as she glanced down at it.
‘Hurry up,’ said Mellencamp. ‘Me and Clarisse need to talk in private.’
Jasmine took a deep breath and once more disappeared beneath the water, in the direction of Mellencamp’s butt.
Clarisse knew that Jasmine would come back up for air soon enough so she got to the point quickly. ‘One of the girls is pregnant,’ she repeated.
‘Pregnant?’ Mellencamp lifted his glass of cognac towards his mouth again. ‘Which one?’
‘Baby.’
The look on his face made it hard to tell what he was thinking. On the one hand, Clarisse knew for sure that the news of Baby’s pregnancy would have angered him, but she also had to take into consideration that he had Jasmine’s tongue wiggling around up his butt.
His eyes twitched a few times before he eventually responded. ‘How do you know she’s pregnant? Who told you?’
‘She did. After she threw up on a client.’
‘She threw up on a client? Oh for fucks sake!’ His mood visibly darkened, in spite of the rimming. ‘Any idea who the father is?’
‘She said she doesn’t know.’
‘You believe that?’
‘I believe she believes it.’
‘Okay, so call the doctor in.’
‘She wants to keep it.’
Mellencamp placed his drink back down. At that moment Jasmine resurfaced from the water behind him. He threw her a stern glare, which resulted in her taking a deep breath and disappearing back down behind him in a hurry. He looked back up at Clarisse. ‘I don’t give a fuck what Baby wants,’ he growled. ‘She can’t keep it. Call Bob and get him in to sort it out this afternoon.’
Clarisse grimaced. ‘Bad news,’ she said. ‘Doctor Bob is on vacation. He and Julie have gone out of town for a while. They won’t be back for a fortnight.’
‘Well can someone else do it?’
‘Only the hospital in Lewisville.’
Mellencamp scowled, then juddered momentarily as Jasmine no doubt hit a sensitive spot beneath the bubbles. ‘Not for Baby,’ he said. ‘She can’t go to the hospital.’
‘Well there’s one guy who works at the hospital who also runs a private practice on the side. His name is Dr Chandler. He won’t do house calls outside of Lewisville but he is discreet. At the right price.’
‘So what, Baby would have to go to Lewisville?’
‘Yeah. If you’re that desperate to get it done now then it’ll have to be done out of town.’
Mellencamp sighed. ‘Fucking hell.’
Clarisse shrugged apologetically. ‘She’s going to be out of action for a while either way. I think the sooner we get it done the better. The longer we leave it, the more determined she’ll be to keep it.’
Jasmine resurfaced once more. She wiped some bubbles away from her nose and looked at Mellencamp with pleading eyes, hoping not to have to go down again. He reached over and stroked her face, then leant back and kissed her on the cheek before waving her away. As she climbed out of the bath his eyes lingered on her naked ass as he mulled over what to do about the current situation. Eventually he turned back to Clarisse.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But tell her she’s going to hospital for some scans or something. Let her think we’re allowing her to keep the baby. But get Arnold to take her. Tell him to make sure the doctor understands what needs to be done, you know, in case this Chandler fella thinks it’s immoral or something. Arnold will make him understand what he’s got to do.’
‘Arnold? Are you sure you don’t want one of the other guys to do it?’
‘Positive. Arnold’s a ruthless cunt. If the doctor needs a little gentle persuasion, Arnold will do it with pleasure.’
‘I know that, but Baby and Arnold don’t get on, remember?’
Mellencamp picked up his drink and took another sip. ‘You said she wants to keep the baby. And I know what a pain in the ass she can be when she wants something, so get Arnold to take her.’
Clarisse couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You haven’t forgotten what he did to her last year, have you?’
Mellencamp stood up and moved back to his original spot at the back of the Jacuzzi, carrying his glass of cognac with him. He sat back down and leant back against the side. ‘With Arnold,’ he said. ‘Baby will know that if she tries to do anything stupid like run away again, he’ll make her wish she hadn’t. So get Arnold to take her.’
Nine
Jack Munson and Milena Fonseca caught a two-hour flight to a naval airbase thirty miles from Grimwald’s Mental Asylum. The guys at the base were expecting them and a few of them already knew Munson. He was handed the keys to a brand new Mercedes Benz and within five minutes of landing they were on the road and headed to the asylum. Munson had insisted on driving even though he knew that Fonseca was concerned that he had been drinking. So he was pleased when she didn’t protest.
They hadn’t had much chance to discuss anything on the plane. Munson had deliberately created a fuss about wanting the plane’s flight attendant to bring him a bacon sandwich and then complained when he’d been given ketchup instead of brown sauce. By the time they landed he had downed three more cups of coffee. With the caffeine and food in his belly he felt like he was sober enough to deal with Fonseca. And his mood had lightened a little. So by the time they were cruising down a quiet country lane that led to Grimwald’s he was finally ready to indulge in some getting-to-know-you banter.
‘You want to ask me something don’t you?’ he said.
‘I’ve been asking you questions for twenty minutes,’ Fonseca replied. ‘You’ve just been ignoring me.’
‘I was kind of zoned out, not deliberately being rude.’
Fonseca sighed, but chose not to argue. ‘Pincent never told me the full story of why you were placed on indefinite leave,’ she said bluntly.
Munson didn’t take his eyes off the road. And for an inappropriately long time he considered not answering her. Eventually though, when she had almost given up hope of getting a reply from him he responded to her question with one of his own.
‘How did you end up as Pincent’s boss?’
‘He had some problems.’
‘Like what?’
‘Family stuff.’
‘Devon doesn’t have a family.’
‘That’s his problem.’
Munson knew what she meant. ‘You got any family?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but I don’t discuss them.’
‘That’s a good way to be in this business. A spouse and kids will get you in trouble, make you a target.’
‘I know,’ said Fonseca defensively. ‘This isn’t my first day on the job.’
‘So Pincent’s family problem. Has he ever talked to you about it?’
‘No, but that’s because I don’t like to talk about other people’s families any more than I like to talk about my own. But if you mean do I know about wife and kids being murdered, then yes I do. And from what I can see he’s never gotten over it or fully accepted it.’
‘Hardly surprising though is it? I mean it’s a hard thing to deal with. It ripped him apart back in the day. He’s not been the same since,’ said Munson remembering how distraught his friend had been upon discovering that he had l
ost his entire family in one afternoon. ‘I think he copes with it very well though. The agency should cut him a little slack.’
‘These days Pincent is the only one in the department who gets cut any slack at all,’ said Fonseca with a touch of bitterness creeping into her voice.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘The reason I got promoted above him is because he was caught using government resources for his own personal agendas. Quite how he didn’t get fired I’ll never know. Anyone else would have been out the door in a flash.’
Munson took his eye off the road for a moment and glanced across at Fonseca for the first time since they had left the airport. ‘What was he doing?’ he asked.
‘It would be unprofessional of me to say.’
‘How so?’ Munson asked, concentrating on the road ahead once more.
‘You wouldn’t want me discussing your personal problems with everyone else would you?’
‘I couldn’t give a shit. Come on, what was Devon doing that he shouldn’t?
‘Sorry buddy, but it’s classified,’ said Fonseca with a cursory smile. ‘But seeing as you couldn’t give a shit what people say about you, how about you tell me why you got sent out to pasture? Your file says nothing about it. In fact, your file doesn’t say much about anything.’
‘You know why that is?’
‘No. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘It’s classified.’
Fonseca tried a different approach. ‘You know there’s a lot of rumours going around the department about what it was that made you start drinking.’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I know, but rumours have a habit of generating into something completely over the top. I’d just like to hear your side of the story.’
Munson breathed in hard through his nostrils. ‘Give it up,’ he growled.
‘Fair enough,’ said Fonseca, lightening her tone a little. ‘But just know this. Pincent’s days in the department are numbered. After you and I clean up this latest mess of his, he’s history. He knows it too. But you, if you want any more jobs like this tossed your way, you’re going to have to be more open than this, because you’ll be reporting in to me.’