The Red Mohawk

by AnonYMous

  ‘You didn’t stay there long. Are you sure you got everything you could from that place?’

  Fonseca glanced up at Darius to see if he was listening in on her conversation. He seemed to be concentrating on the road, but she lowered her voice anyway. ‘I had to leave in a bit of a hurry. I had an awkward incident there. I think it was best for everyone that I left when I did.’

  Munson seemed to perk up. ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘Well, I had a minor misunderstanding which culminated with me anally raping one of the patients.’

  Munson went quiet for a while before replying. ‘Come again?’

  ‘While interrogating one of the patients I had to stick a deodorant up his ass to teach him some respect. The doctor walked in on me and to be honest with you, things went kind of downhill from there. I got a little flustered and made a bit of an ass of myself.’

  There was another long pause on the other end of the line before Munson spoke again. ‘Milena,’ he said. ‘You’re really starting to grow on me. I want to hear all about this when we meet up at the diner in a minute. It sounds brilliant.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled for the first time in a long while. ‘One morning hanging out with you and suddenly I’m raping suspects. Your influence must be rubbing off on me.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Did you wash your hands afterwards?’

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’

  Munson laughed. ‘You know you can’t go telling people that you raped a suspect. You’ll get in trouble for that kind of thing.’

  ‘I won’t say anything if you don’t, Jack.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll become a rumour around the office. Those things can really take on a life of their own,’ said Munson, reminding her that she’d made a similar remark to him earlier.

  ‘And I’ll have to live with the fact that my rumour is actually true. I doubt it could get more ridiculous than it already is.’

  There was a pause before Munson spoke again. His voice had softened. ‘The rumour about me? What did you hear?’ he asked.

  ‘They say you shot a hostage but covered it up.’

  There was another pause before Munson replied. ‘There was a kidnapper with a gun to her head. I had to take the shot. He shot her. I shot him, half a second too late as it turned out.’

  ‘And the evidence got burned,’ Fonseca added.

  ‘I’ll see you at the diner in a few minutes,’ said Munson, unsubtly switching the conversation. ‘I just got some things to attend to here.’

  Fonseca heard the sound of him flushing a toilet and decided it was a good time to end the call.

  A few minutes later she arrived at The Alaska Roadside Diner. There were no vehicles parked in the bays out front. The place looked dead. Darius steered the cab off the road and parked up on the edge of the forecourt.

  ‘That’ll be twenty-five bucks,’ he said, staring at her in the rear view mirror.

  Fonseca reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her money clip. She counted out twenty-five dollars and handed it to Darius. ‘Thanks for the ride,’ she said. ‘Have a nice day. Sorry again about your friend Pete.’

  ‘Yeah. Have a nice day Miss. Hope you catch that Red Mohawk guy before I get my hands on him.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Fonseca climbed out of the cab and walked up to the diner’s entrance.

  From his seat in the cab Darius watched her walk up to the diner. The glass door at the front was already open. She walked right in and up to the counter. Darius pulled his cell phone from the front pocket on his pants. He picked out a number on his speed dial and made a call.

  A female voice answered. ‘Hello, Beaver Palace.’

  ‘Yo Clarisse, it’s Darius. I need to speak to Mr Mellencamp.’

  ‘He’s kind of busy Darius, you know, what with all that’s going on today.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ said Darius. ‘But I just gave a lady from the FBI a ride into town. And she’s got a photo of a girl with a birthmark on her face. She’s asking questions,’ he paused before adding, ‘if you know what I mean.’

  There was a lingering silence on the other end of the line before Clarisse spoke again. Her voice sounded different this time. ‘Putting you through now,’ she said.

  Thirty

  Benny pulled up at the electric gates at the front of The Beaver Palace estate. Standing on the other side of the gates was an overweight, bearded security guard in blue jeans and a black T-shirt. He recognised Benny and gave him a thumbs up sign. A moment later the gates opened and Benny drove on through to the driveway that led up to the front of the Palace.

  Baby had stayed silent ever since he’d warned her that Silvio Mellencamp wasn’t best pleased with her and blamed her for the death of Arnold Bailey. She knew what that meant. It meant she was in for some kind of punishment, although hopefully not another gunshot wound like Benny had suggested. She’d been punished on numerous occasions in The Beaver Palace and the punishments were always severe.

  She glanced over her shoulder out of the back window of Benny’s squad car and saw the electric gates closing behind them. Her heart sank. Only a few hours earlier she thought she might have escaped this place forever, but she was back already. She feared that another chance to escape might not present itself for years. It made her feel tearful. She felt her throat tighten as the thought of what lay in wait for her within the walls of the mansion began to hit home.

  Benny parked up by the front entrance. ‘Time to get out, Baby,’ he said, speaking to her in a pleasant manner, as if he had forgotten about the earlier tension.

  Baby opened the car door and stepped out. There were a few more security guards milling around the grounds than usual. All of them were wearing jeans and plain black T-shirts. Mellencamp had obviously decided to beef up security in light of recent events. Baby didn’t even recognise some of the new henchmen. And some of them were openly carrying firearms, which was extremely irregular. None of Mellencamp’s guys were likely to be crack shots. Most of them were unfit or overweight, but even so, safety in numbers was clearly the order of the day. If the Red Mohawk showed up at Mellencamp’s he’d get more than he bargained for.

  Waiting for them at the front entrance holding the main doors open was Mack the Slasher. The sheer size of him filled out the door frame. He stood with his arms folded and a serious look on his face.

  ‘Welcome back Baby,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ said Baby, lowering her head as she walked past him and through the front doors. She didn’t want to make eye contact with him because she was unsure about how much trouble she was in, if any. She made a point of holding her wounded arm though, to make sure he didn’t grab a hold of it as he had a tendency of doing when he wanted someone to do as he said. Benny followed on behind her.

  ‘Afternoon Slasher,’ she heard him say. ‘How’s it going?’

  She didn’t hear Mack’s response because within a second of walking through the door into the reception lounge she was deafened by a loud scream. It was a scream she recognised. It was followed by the gentle thudding of footsteps. Charging towards Baby with her arms open wide, desperate for a hug, was Chardonnay. She was dressed head to toe in skin-tight leopard print clothes. She jumped on Baby and hugged her tight. Baby wrapped her arms around Chardonnay and hugged her back, wincing at the pain in her arm from the bullet wound. Even so, it was nice to feel wanted for a change.

  Eventually after being squeezed half to death, Chardonnay let go and stepped back. ‘I was so worried. You’ve got to tell me all about what’s happened to you! Where did you get shot?’

  Baby raised her eyebrows. Chardonnay looked her up and down. Baby was wearing a blood stained sweatshirt. One sleeve was missing and there was a thick white bandage wrapped around the arm just above the elbow.

  ‘Come on then?’ said Chardonnay excitedly. ‘Which arm did you get shot in?’

  ‘This one,’ said Baby pointing at the arm with the bandage on it.

  Chardonnay’s jaw
dropped open. ‘No way!’ she gasped. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘A little bit. That’ll teach me for going into town, won’t it?’

  ‘Well I’ve got something to cheer you up,’ said Chardonnay, grabbing her by her injured arm. ‘Come with me.’

  She dragged Baby over to an orange sofa by the wall. ‘Sit yourself here,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been given the night off, because, well, you know, there’s a killer on the loose and all that.’

  Baby sat down on the sofa. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ve got the big telly for tonight!’ screamed Chardonnay, clapping her hands together like a sea lion on crack. She grabbed a remote control from a coffee table in the middle of the room and plonked herself down next to Baby. She flicked on the giant plasma television on the opposite side of the room and snuggled up to Baby.

  ‘What are we going to watch?’ Baby asked.

  ‘Coyote Ugly of course!’ said Chardonnay.

  Baby had only been introduced to the brilliance of Coyote Ugly the night before. But even so, she was more than happy to watch it again. After all, it was about a girl who escaped from her job in a pizza place to become a star in New York. With Adam Garcia.

  ‘Okay,’ said Chardonnay. ‘While John Goodman is on screen you can tell me all about your day.’

  While the opening credits rolled, Baby began to regale Chardonnay with the details of her incredible day. Chardonnay listened open mouthed, occasionally interrupting with an “Oh no you di’ent!” or a "Get the fuck out!”. Baby timed the story just right so that by the time the John Goodman scene was over she’d brought Chardonnay completely up to speed.

  ‘Wow,’ Chardonnay said while looking totally envious. ‘I wish that had happened to me. You’re so lucky!’

  ‘I don’t feel lucky,’ said Baby rubbing her arm.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. The doctor is on his way,’ said Chardonnay.

  ‘What doctor?’

  ‘The one who’s going to patch up your arm and see about your pregnancy.’

  Baby looked around. Mack and Benny had wandered off to Mellencamp’s office so no one of any importance was within earshot. She whispered in Chardonnay’s ear. ‘I was never really pregnant.’

  ‘Get the fuck out! No way!’ Chardonnay screamed.

  ‘Shhh. Don’t tell the whole world.’

  Chardonnay frowned as she processed the news. ‘You’d better keep quiet about that,’ she said. ‘Don’t let the boss find out. Apparently he’s already blaming you for Arnold getting killed. If he finds out you weren’t even pregnant, you’ll be in big trouble.’

  The feelings of anxiety Baby had endured for most of the day came rushing back. ‘Hopefully the doctor will just make me take a pregnancy test. When it comes up negative I can just claim it was a phantom pregnancy.’

  ‘I don’t think the doctor has come to give you a test. I heard Clarisse say he was coming to do an abortion and to fix your insides so you can’t get knocked up again.’

  Thirty One

  Candy had spent half an hour mopping up the blood from the diner’s floor. It had been a painstaking job and her back was beginning to ache. The men’s washroom was proving to be particularly tiring. There was blood everywhere. On the walls, the floor, the cubicle doors, in the urinals.

  The local cops had taken all the evidence they needed from the crime scene, which basically meant that they’d had a bit of a look around and then taken some muffins and donuts from behind the counter. The B Movie Hell police department wasn’t big on stuff like DNA evidence. They liked to work on old-fashioned methods like gut instinct and hunches. While eating donuts. It was a policy that had served them well over the years, but they had never encountered anything like The Red Mohawk before, and neither for that matter had Candy. She couldn’t help thinking that the cops should be the ones cleaning up the crime scene.

  Randall Buckwater and his new partner Gary had left her to clean up the mess created by the Red Mohawk, and she was pretty sure Gary had left an un-flushable turd for her to dispose of in the second cubicle.

  She had propped the front door of the diner open in order to let some fresh air in to eradicate the smell of blood and shit. After cleaning the washroom, which smelt even worse, she headed back out to the diner area. When she got there she was greeted by the sight of a woman dressed smartly all in black in her early thirties looking around the place.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Candy asked.

  ‘Hi. I’m Agent Fonseca from the FBI,’ the woman replied with a smile.

  ‘Sorry, we’re closed.’

  ‘I know,’ said Fonseca stepping all over the newly mopped floor as she looked around under the tables and chairs.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Candy asked.

  ‘I’m assuming you met my partner Jack Munson earlier?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Candy. ‘He was here. Do you have some identification, please?’

  Fonseca reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her FBI identity card. She held it up for Candy to get a look at it. A fairly pointless process really because Candy wouldn’t know a real FBI badge from a fake one.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Candy asked.

  Fonseca slipped her ID back in her pocket. ‘My partner told me you were very helpful when he asked you some questions earlier. Could you please tell me what you told him?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Let me just put this mop and bucket away and I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Candy wheeled the mop and bucket through the dining area and round behind the counter. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything?’ she asked.

  ‘A glass of soda water would be good, thanks,’ said Fonseca sitting herself down on a stool at the bar. It was the same stool Arnold had been sitting on before The Red Mohawk sprung into action and chopped him up.

  ‘Last person to sit there had his fingers cut off,’ Candy informed her politely.

  Fonseca looked down at the stool and the surrounding area. ‘You’ve cleaned it up well,’ she said, shifting herself across onto the next stool along.

  ‘Thanks. You should have seen the mess in the men’s room. That was ten times worse.’

  ‘I’ll bet. The men’s room at the FBI is always a mess too, and we’ve not had a murder there in years.’

  Candy wasn’t familiar with FBI humour so she had no idea whether or not she should be laughing. ‘One glass of water coming up. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  She left Fonseca behind and wheeled the mop and bucket through the PVC strip curtain and into the kitchen. She propped the mop and bucket up against a wall by the grill. The last thing she needed right now was to participate in another interrogation. The earlier one with Jack Munson hadn’t gone well. Reg the chef was a far better liar than her and she felt anxious answering questions without him around. Unfortunately he was hiding out upstairs. Ever since he’d shot the girl with the birthmark on her face, he had wisely decided to stay out of the way of the cops and the FBI.

  Candy washed her hands in the sink as she thought about the best way to deal with an interrogation from Fonseca. “Keep your answers short!” she told herself, repeating the thought over and over in her head. She made her way back out to the eating area where Fonseca was still seated at the bar. The FBI agent was playing around with a cell phone and not really paying attention to the waitress. Candy picked up a clean glass and filled it with soda water from the drink dispenser. She placed the glass down on the bar in front of Fonseca.

  ‘One soda water,’ she said. ‘On the house.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Fonseca, taking her gaze off her phone and looking down her nose at the soda water. ‘Before we get started about what happened in here earlier. I wonder if you could just take a look at this for me. See if you recognise this girl.’

  Fonseca grabbed a napkin from a dispenser on the counter. She used it to hold up a small Polaroid photograph for Candy to get a good look at. It was a picture of a young woman in lingerie. ‘
Ever seen her before?’

  Candy stared closely at the photo. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t look familiar. I mean she’s not a regular customer here. I’d know her if she was.’

  ‘This girl has a blue birthmark on her face. Have you seen any girls in town with a birthmark like this? I’m told she might work at a place called The Beaver Palace. Do you know it?’

  Before Candy could think up an answer the phone in the kitchen started ringing. ‘I’d better go answer that,’ she said. ‘Could be the police.’

  ‘They can wait,’ said Fonseca firmly.

  ‘No they can’t,’ Candy replied. ‘I’ve got family and friends in this town and there’s a serial killer going round cutting people’s heads off, so I’m answering that phone whether you like it or not.’

  She hurried back out to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised at herself for being so forceful with Fonseca. She grabbed the phone off the wall. ‘Hi Alaska Roadside Diner, Candy speaking.’

  A male voice on the other end spoke gruffly. ‘Put Reg on the phone.’

  ‘He’s upstairs. I’ve got the FBI in here….’

  ‘I know. Put Reg on the phone.’

  Candy knew the voice on the other end of the line. It was Mack the Slasher. Not a man to be messed with. She put her hand over the phone and shouted up the stairs. ‘Reg! Phone! It’s Mack for you.’

  Reg yelled back down. ‘Coming.’

  The creaking of floorboards above her head followed. She heard a door open, followed by a loud farting noise and then Reg’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He soon appeared on the stairs, wearing slippers and blue sweatpants, and his undershirt. He looked like he’d been drinking. His eyes were a little bloodshot and his shirt was untucked. He ambled over to Candy and held out his hand to take the phone. ‘What’s he want?’ he whispered as Candy handed it to him.

  She didn’t reply. Instead she gave him a serious glare. The kind she knew he would understand. He took a deep breath and spoke into the receiver.

  ‘Hi Mack. How’s it…’