The Red Mohawk

by AnonYMous

  Munson pushed the door open and walked in confidently.

  ‘Afternoon all,’ he said gruffly.

  The oldest of the three police officers walked towards him, no doubt intent on stopping him from walking in on their crime scene. He was a fifty-something, overweight, donut-eater in an oversized blue Stetson. One of the younger officers trailed along behind him, looking over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you the FBI guy?’ the older officer asked.

  Munson pulled out his ID badge and held it up. ‘Jack Munson, at your service,’ he said with a cursory smile.

  The officer peered closely at the ID badge. Munson afforded him less than two seconds before he slipped it back into his jacket.

  ‘Can one of you bring me up to speed on what’s happened here please?’ he asked, walking around the two officers impeding his path towards the other one and the waitress. He propped an elbow against the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. He hoped that his blasé attitude would confuse and unnerve them.

  The cop at the counter was in his late twenties with shoulder length blond hair. He pointed at the older cop Munson had just walked past. ‘Randall is the ranking officer here and the only one who has seen the killer in the flesh. You should ask him.’

  Munson turned round to see the tubby officer in the Stetson had followed him back to the counter and was now standing very close to him. Close enough that he might get a whiff of the rum on Munson’s breath.

  ‘Is that true? You’ve seen the killer?’ Munson asked while trying not to exhale too heavily.

  ‘I was there when he showed up last night’ said Randall. ‘He cut off my partner’s head with a meat cleaver.’

  Munson reached out and shook his hand. ‘Then you must be Randall Buckwater,’ he said. ‘I’ve read the file. Were you really singing On the Wings of Love as you drove away from the crime scene?’

  Randall closed his eyes. “Shit. Did they really put that in the file?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  Munson had Randall right where he wanted him. The officer was embarrassed and looked like he was inwardly beating himself up about the singing incident. It was the perfect time to start asking awkward questions. Munson had already noticed a trail of blood that led from an overturned stool by the counter to the men’s washroom. ‘Did someone get dragged into the men’s room?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ Randall replied. ‘Body’s already gone to the morgue though.’ He nodded to the two other officers. ‘You guys had better be on your way. Got to start notifying the families of the victims before the press identify them on TV.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  The two younger officers mumbled among themselves as they headed out to one of the cars parked out front. It left Munson with just Randall and the waitress to question. The waitress looked quite shaken.

  ‘Pity I didn’t get here earlier,’ said Munson. ‘Can you please recap for me what happened. Either of you?’

  ‘This is Candy,’ said Randall pointing at the waitress who was still standing behind the counter. ‘She came out from the kitchen and saw the Red Mohawk guy slice off the first victim’s hand with a meat cleaver. Then he sliced up two other guys who tried to restrain him.’

  ‘I only saw what he did to Arnold,’ said Candy. ‘Then I ran into the kitchen and hid.’

  ‘Right,’ said Randall, seemingly keen to do the talking himself where possible. ‘At that point everyone else ran out. Skidmark and Termite were killed just over there where that pool of blood is.’ He pointed at a puddle of blood in the middle of the floor. ‘We found the body of Arnold in the washroom. His head had been hacked off as well as his fingers, which ties up with what Candy saw. Lot of blood everywhere as you’d expect.’

  ‘Skidmark and Termite?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What are their real names?’

  ‘Skidmark Armstrong and Termite Smith.’

  ‘Oh.’ Munson turned his attention to Candy the waitress. ‘Any idea why he dragged this Arnold guy into the washroom?’

  ‘No idea,’ Randall replied on her behalf.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you.’ Munson pointed at Candy and asked again. ‘Any idea why he dragged Arnold into the washroom?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘She’s in shock you know,’ said Randall. ‘Cut her some slack.’

  Munson ignored him. ‘Did you see the killer leave the washroom?’ he asked her.

  To Munson’s irritation, Randall answered for her again.

  ‘As soon as the killer heard the first cops arriving on the scene he fled in a stolen car. Two or three squad cars were on his tail straight away.’

  ‘Yeah. And they’re already dead. I just heard it on the radio.’

  ‘Well three or four more are out looking for him now.’

  Munson disregarded Randall’s latest piece of information and leaned across the counter to try and invade Candy’s personal space. She was the person most likely to babble and reveal something that might be of use.

  ‘Candy. What can you tell me about the victims here? You knew them, right?’

  ‘Skidmark and Termite are mechanics from the local garage. They come in for lunch all the time.’

  ‘Were mechanics.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘They were mechanics,’ said Munson facetiously. ‘What about Arnold, the guy he dragged into the washroom? Who was he?’

  Randall butted in again. ‘His full name was Arnold Bailey. A very well-known local guy.’

  ‘Well-known. What for?’

  ‘He was a handyman, worked at Mellencamp’s.’

  ‘Mellencamp’s?’

  ‘The Beaver Palace.’

  ‘The whorehouse?’

  ‘Gentleman’s Club.’

  ‘Of course.’ Munson once again reverted to Candy. ‘And did Arnold the handyman from the Gentleman’s Club do anything to provoke the killer?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Candy. ‘The whole thing just happened out of nowhere.’

  ‘Uh huh. Was Arnold here on his own?’

  Candy nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Munson took another look around at the floor and at the number of dirty plates, mugs and glasses dotted around on the tables and the counter. It looked like the place had been busy before the murdering had started. ‘Okay. So everyone else got away. And the Red Mohawk, he chopped Arnold up in the washroom. Then what? You say he fled at the sound of the sirens. Did he just walk out to his car? Or did he do anything else?’

  ‘Straight out to the car,’ said Candy.

  Munson stared out at the parking lot. As he did, something caught his eye. The two cops who had left the diner had driven off in the police car he had parked up next to. But instead of driving down the highway they were attempting to drive the car across a grassy field on the other side of the road.

  ‘What the fuck are they doing?’ he asked.

  Randall shrugged. ‘Cam must be driving. He’s got no sense of direction.’

  Behind Randall the door to the men’s washroom opened and another police officer walked out. The sound of a toilet flushing inside the washroom filtered out. The officer was in his early twenties with black greasy hair. He was mopping his brow with a handkerchief. He saw the others staring out through the window at the police car driving across the field.

  ‘They going after the girl?’ he asked.

  Munson caught sight of Randall and Candy both throwing evil looks at the guy.

  ‘What girl?’ Munson asked.

  The officer stared at him, looking surprised, as if he hadn’t noticed him before. ‘Who’s this guy?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m Agent Jack Munson from the FBI. What girl?’

  Twenty One

  Litgo sat down in his favourite armchair in his front lounge. He picked up the phone from the coffee table by his side and dialled the number for The Beaver Palace. His heart was beating fast and his palms were sweating. He felt tense and nervous, as i
f he were a teenager on a first date all over again. As the dialling tone kicked in he had a flashback to the time when as a sixteen-year-old he’d picked up the phone to ask Clarisse Foster for a date. As terrifying experiences went this was up there with the Clarisse Foster incident, which hadn’t gone well. He shuddered as he remembered the awful rejection and the teasing at school that followed. He hadn’t asked a woman out on the phone since, but he remembered the feeling of the sweaty palms and the desire to hang up before it was too late.

  ‘Hello Beaver Palace,’ said a female voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Hi, can I speak to Mr Mellencamp please?’

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘My name is Litgo.’

  ‘Litgo? Not Litgo Montenari from the cottage in the Dyersville field?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Hi Litgo. It’s Clarisse. Remember me? We went to school together?’

  ‘Clarisse Foster?’

  ‘Yeah. Remember you called me up and asked me out once?’

  Litgo felt his butt cheeks tighten. All the old teenage angst came rushing back. ‘No,’ he replied defensively, while twiddling with his long red cape.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Can I speak to Mr Mellencamp please?’

  ‘How come you don’t ever come up to The Beaver Palace?’ Clarisse asked. ‘You’d like it here. There’s lots of girls to choose from. Are you still single?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘Still cross-dressing?’

  ‘I need to speak to Mr Mellencamp. It’s important.’

  ‘We have lots of great outfits here you could try on. You really should drop by one day.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds nice, but I really need to speak to Mr Mellencamp.’

  ‘Okay. What’s it about? He’s a very busy man.’

  ‘I found Baby, the girl who went missing this morning after the murders at the diner.’

  ‘Wow, really?’ said Clarisse. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes. She’s fine. I mean, she’s been shot in the arm, but I bandaged it up and I think she’s gonna be okay.’

  ‘Wow. Good for you Litgo. Mr Mellencamp will be really pleased to hear that. We were all so worried when we heard Arnold was killed. We thought Baby might have been killed too.’

  ‘Well she’s fine. Benny Stansfield is bringing her back to you right now.’

  ‘That’s great. I’ll put you through so you can tell Mr Mellencamp yourself.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Litgo waited anxiously to be put through to Mellencamp and took some deep breaths, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t stammer when he finally got through. His palms were sweating quite profusely by now (and his ass cheeks were warming up). Speaking to his teenage crush Clarisse Foster again, after all the years he’d spent avoiding her had made him even more anxious. Mind you, his conversation with her had actually gone quite well, all things considered. She’d even suggested he drop by The Beaver Palace too, a place that he’d never been to as a paying client. He was probably the only guy in town who had never been up there, but now that he knew Clarisse was working there, he was considering changing that. He was surprised that she knew about his cross-dressing though. He’d enjoyed wearing ladies clothes ever since he was a teenager. In fact, he’d probably started it not long after the rejection from Clarisse.

  His maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Silvio Mellencamp’s voice. ‘Hi Litgo, how are you?’

  ‘Umm, I’m good thanks. How are you Mr Mellencamp?’

  ‘I’ve been better. There’s a bloody serial killer going round town chopping people up and it’s making my asshole itch. Everyone is asking me my fucking opinion about it and I haven’t even got out of my fucking dressing gown yet.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,’ said Mellencamp, obviously realising that he was ranting pointlessly. ‘Anyway, Clarisse tells me you’ve got some good news for me. What is it?’

  ‘I found Baby.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yeah. She’d been shot in the arm. I fixed her up and called Benny Stansfield to come collect her. He’s just picked her up and he’s bringing her back to you now.’

  ‘Excellent news! So I’m guessing the reason you’re calling to tell me this is because you want a reward of some sort?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Litgo defensively. ‘I just wanted to let you know. I thought you might be worried about Baby.’

  ‘Well you’re right. I was worried about Baby, and you’ve now put my mind at ease Litgo, so I owe you a big favour. What would you like?’

  ‘Oh nothing really.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Mellencamp guffawed on the other end of the line. ‘I know you Litgo. You’re a good guy but you don’t have a girlfriend and you’ve never been up to The Beaver Palace, which is a shame because cross-dressing is positively encouraged up here you know. You’d like it.’

  ‘Umm, I’ve just been busy.’

  ‘Ha ha ha! What nonsense. I’ll tell you what. You can come up here any night this week for one whole night and have sex with as many of the girls as you like. All free of charge. How’s that sound?’

  Litgo felt his eyes light up and his jaw drop. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Damn straight. In fact I’ll tell you what. You can bring your Wonder Woman costume and your Supergirl costume if you want. I’ll get the girls to dress up as Iron Man and Thor and some crazy shit like that. And Judy would make a great Incredible Hulk. You’ll have the time of your life and I guarantee you, afterwards you’ll be up here all the time.’

  Litgo swallowed hard. ‘Could I spend the night with Clarisse Foster?’ he asked.

  ‘If you want to,’ said Mellencamp sounding confused. ‘But there’s a lot of younger girls here you know. Baby for instance. She owes you at least a hand job for fixing up the bullet wound in her arm.’

  ‘I think I’d like to try Clarisse first,’ said Litgo.

  ‘Fine. Whatever. Why don’t you come on up tonight? We’ll have a dress up party. You’ll love it.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks Mr Mellencamp.’

  ‘You can call me Silvio. Bye.’

  Mellencamp ended the call before Litgo could respond with a goodbye of his own. Litgo placed the receiver down on his phone and took a deep breath. This was turning out to be a great day indeed. His lifelong dream to get it on with Clarisse Foster might finally be about to happen. He could feel a rock hard boner coming on just thinking about it. The bulge in his shorts wasn’t a great look for Supergirl, but hey, no one was watching. This called for a drink.

  He stood up and headed out to the kitchen to grab a bottle of his favourite cider. In his fridge he had a stash of Randy Panda cider. He picked one out and cranked the lid off with his teeth. On top of the fridge he had a pocket radio. Normally the radio only got used when he was doing the washing up. But this was a special occasion. He switched it on and smiled to himself. This was a significant moment in his life, and it would be good to hear a song that would remind him of the moment whenever he heard it again in the years to come. He fiddled with the tuner knob and prayed he would find a good tune.

  It took a few seconds before he found one, but it was one he recognised in an instant. Human by The Killers.

  That’ll do!

  Litgo began wiggling his hips, staring at his bottle of cider as if it were a dancing partner. He enjoyed a good dance while wearing his Supergirl outfit, the cape was great for swinging around, as long as he didn’t trip on it. While wiggling his hips he boogied back a few steps, then forward a few, performing some kind of strange hybrid of the Charleston and the Macarena. After a good twenty seconds of boogying he spun around and took his first sip from the bottle of cider. He stared out of the kitchen window and shuddered as he realised he had an audience. Standing at the window and staring in was a man in a yellow rubber skull mask, grinning insanely back at him.

  The Red Mohawk had come for Litgo.

  Twenty Two


  Milena Fonseca followed Dr Carter up to the third floor. Halfway down a long corridor Dr Carter stopped outside one of the doors and pulled a set of keys out of a pocket on her long white coat.

  ‘This is Dominic Touretto’s room,’ she said. ‘Just be on your guard because he really is a mixed bag. He’s placid ninety-nine per cent of the time, but if he’s off his game he can be a bit of a handful, particularly with women. He’s a real fantasist. Don’t be surprised if he makes a few lewd comments.’

  ‘I can handle a lewd comment,’ Fonseca replied.

  ‘I’m sure you can. But make sure you ignore them. Don’t let him engage you in any off topic sexual innuendos.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Carter unlocked the door and pushed it open. Before walking in, she called out. ‘Dominic, it’s Dr Carter. Are you decent?’

  ‘I might be.’

  Dr Carter looked at Fonseca and rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the best we can hope for,’ she said. She peered around the door and then stepped inside.

  ‘Hi Dominic, how are you today?’ she asked, waving Fonseca in.

  Fonseca followed her in to get a look at Touretto. He was lying on his back on a single bed by the far wall. He was a short fellow, barely over five-feet-six tall. He had brown hair swept up into a quiff, probably to make himself look taller. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of dark blue sweatpants. His eyes lit up at the sight of Fonseca and he shifted swiftly into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

  His room was almost identical to Joey Conrad’s. He had a television and DVD player with a shelf of family orientated DVD’s. Unlike Conrad he also had a decent collection of books on a shelf below.

  ‘Who’s she?’ he asked, nodding at Fonseca.

  ‘This is Milena Fonseca,’ Dr Carter replied. ‘She’s with the FBI and she’s investigating the escape of Joey Conrad. She’d like to ask you some questions, if you that’s okay with you?’

  ‘Questions? About what?’

  Fonseca stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘Questions about Joey Conrad,’ she said.