The Red Mohawk

by AnonYMous

  ‘Nope. Put on a fresh pot.’

  ‘I’ve just washed up.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’m feeling a bit queasy and I need the good stuff. Put on a fresh pot and then you and I can discuss what you know about the girl who was in here earlier.’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit again. I’m talking about the girl who was with Arnold when he got chopped up. The girl who ran across the field to Litgo’s and is now missing.’

  ‘Oh, that girl.’

  ‘Yeah. That girl.’

  Candy picked up a jar of coffee from a shelf at the back. She unscrewed the lid and poured some of the coffee into a filter machine. ‘I told you everything I know about her, which isn’t much,’ she said, avoiding Munson’s stare.

  ‘Candy,’ said Munson, his stomach rumbling almost loud enough to drown out his voice. ‘Look at me.’

  The waitress put the lid back on the coffee jar and replaced it on the shelf. She turned and looked at Munson as he’d instructed.

  He made sure he had her full attention and looked her firmly in the eye. ‘If you don’t co-operate with my investigation,’ he said, barely moving his lips, ‘if you test me in any way, I’ll see to it that your shitty little diner gets shut down. Not just for a week, for good. And if you know anything about this girl and I find out that you’ve chosen not to share it with me, your days in B Movie Hell will be coming to an end. You’ll be coming back to my headquarters with me.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Candy. She picked up a jug of water from under the counter and flipped open the top of the filter coffee machine. She began pouring the water in. She seemed fairly calm all of a sudden. Munson couldn’t make out if it was false confidence or what. ‘Coffee will be ready in five minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Good. Get me a fucking muffin too. I’m starving.’

  ‘Certainly sir.’

  Candy disappeared back out to the kitchen. Munson suspected that she could tell he was sick and a little drunk. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t so nervous? She thought she could outwit him. Bitch. His mood was seriously darkening. The drink and the nausea were taking him to places he knew he shouldn’t go. He was becoming crankier by the minute. It was times like this when he was best off keeping a distance from other people. Because when he was this drunk, he had no tolerance for anyone.

  He pulled his cell-phone from his pocket. It was irritating him that Fonseca hadn’t showed up yet. He couldn’t really leave the diner without her because she had no transport. He flicked through the menus on his phone and called her number. He stared hard at his phone. The display flashed up to show that he was being connected to Fonseca.

  Half a second later he heard the song As Long As You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys coming through the PVC strip curtain from the kitchen area. It was Fonseca’s ringtone and it was soon followed by Candy mumbling the word, “Shit.”

  Thirty Four

  Baby was enjoying Coyote Ugly so much that she had succeeded in putting her worries to the back of her mind, for a while at least. But then halfway through the film at a really good bit where Piper Perabo and Adam Garcia are sitting on the hood of his car and staring up at the night sky, Mack came down the main staircase in a hurry.

  He snapped his fingers. ‘Baby. Up!’

  Chardonnay yelled back at him. ‘Can’t you see we’re watching a film?’

  ‘Shut your fucking mouth you dirty little fuckbag!’

  ‘Fuckbag?’

  ‘Yeah. FUCKBAG!’

  Mack was never in the mood for any backchat, but that was exactly what he always got from Chardonnay. Baby assessed his frame of mind very quickly and jumped up from the sofa. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ Mack snarled.

  He stormed over and grabbed Baby firmly by her injured arm. ‘You’re coming downstairs. I’m taking you to your room. Silvio’s orders. You’ve had a big fucking day. The last thing you should be doing is laughing and joking while watching shit films on the big TV.’ He looked over at Chardonnay who was pulling a face at him. ‘You! Turn that fucking shit off!’ he yelled.

  Chardonnay was never one to follow orders so she used the remote control to flick the film forward to one of her favourite scenes. Mack didn’t approve.

  ‘I’ll ram that remote up your ass again if you don’t do as you’re told!’ he bellowed. Chardonnay paused the DVD and folded her arms in a sulk.

  Mack dragged Baby away from the sofa and threw a parting shot in Chardonnay’s direction. ‘If I hear that fucking Fight the Moonlight song while I’m walking away, I’ll come back and I promise you, you won’t be able to walk for a week when I’m done with you.’

  He yanked Baby’s arm real hard and hauled her out of the lounge and over to the stairs that led down to the girls rooms. They passed quite a few of the other girls on their way to Baby’s room. No one dared to look at them or speak a word. It seemed as if everyone knew what was in store for Baby.

  There hadn’t been any sign of a doctor arriving at The Beaver Palace yet, so she feared that this was something else. Mack had something unpleasant planned. The other girls all knew it. Baby recognised the look on their faces. It was the look that signified she was in trouble and that they were all praying for her that it wouldn’t be life threatening.

  When they got to Baby’s room, Mack opened the door and pushed her inside. She was thankful that he had let go of her arm. His grip had been so tight he had left fingerprints on her. On her bad arm of all places! She had made a few whimpering noises to indicate how much he was hurting her but he had ignored them, and she knew not to overdo it because it would only encourage him to squeeze harder. The insensitive prick.

  She walked over to her bed and sat down on it, staring at her feet and hoping Mack’s intention was just to leave her there on her own to mull things over. Unfortunately Mack had other plans. He wasn’t leaving. He closed the door behind him. And locked it.

  ‘I’m sorry about this Baby,’ he said. ‘But I’m under instructions from Mr Mellencamp.’

  Baby swallowed hard and made a point of rubbing her injured arm again to remind him that she was in a vulnerable state already. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Take off your clothes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  ‘What about the doctor? Is he really coming tonight?’

  Mack took a deep breath. ‘I don’t like having to ask twice. Now take off your clothes.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Now!’

  Baby leant down to untie her sneakers. Due to the pain of the bullet wound in her right arm and a general feeling of numbness due to the lack of blood flow she tried to do it with just her left hand, so her efforts were somewhat clumsy.

  ‘Come on, hurry up!’ Mack snapped.

  ‘It’s difficult. My arm hurts. I have been shot you know.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll help you.’

  He reached forward and pushed her head back out of the way.

  ‘Ow, careful!’ she cried.

  That was enough to piss him right off. He pushed her head all the way back down onto her pillow.

  ‘Lie back. And lie still,’ he said.

  He walked around the bed and grabbed a hold of her sneakers, one in each hand. He didn’t bother to untie them. Instead he yanked them both off with brute force and dropped them onto the floor. ‘Can you lift your arms up?’ he asked.

  ‘Only the left one.’

  Mack reached forward and grabbed her sweatshirt. In one swift and ungainly movement he yanked it over her head and then pulled the left sleeve off her arm. The other sleeve had already been ripped off earlier in the day so he didn’t have to cause her too much discomfort. He threw the sweatshirt against the wall on the far side of the room. It left Baby in just her jeans and a bra. ‘Can you undress yourself from here?’ he asked firmly.

  ‘Yes. But what for?’

  ‘Because I told you to.’

&
nbsp; Baby began unbuttoning her jeans. Once again it was a clumsy effort with just one good hand available to her. She managed to undo two buttons before Mack lost patience again. ‘Take off your bra,’ he snapped.

  ‘That’s going to be tricky,’ she said. ‘My arm should really be in a sling you know.’

  Mack lunged forward and grabbed her by the throat. He lifted her off the bed with one hand, almost choking her, his grip was so tight. With his other hand he ripped off her bra, snapping the strap. He tossed it aside and then slammed her back down onto the bed. Next he forcefully yanked her jeans off, almost hauling her off the bed. Her panties came down slightly and before she could reach down to pull them back up he had ripped them off too. He climbed up onto the bed on his knees and loomed large over her. Yet again he placed a hand around her throat. When he was sure she couldn’t move he reached over to her bedside table and pulled something out of the top drawer.

  ‘This will only take a minute,’ he said. ‘And it will be easier if you don’t struggle.’

  Thirty Five

  As soon as Munson heard The Backstreet Boys song As Long As You Love Me, he raced around the counter and through the PVC strip curtain into the diner’s kitchen. The effects of the rum and the vomiting had been nullified for a moment at least. The Backstreet Boys had sobered him up the second he’d heard them singing. Something was very wrong here. And that cunt of a waitress held all the answers. Candy was standing in front of a table in the middle of the room. She had a guilty look etched into her face. The Backstreet Boys song was blaring out from a cell phone on the table behind her. Milena Fonseca’s cell phone.

  ‘Give me that fucking phone,’ Munson snapped.

  Candy stepped aside. Munson looked at his own phone in his hand. The display told him he was calling Milena Fonseca. He ended the call.

  And The Backstreet Boys stopped singing.

  He slid his own phone back in his pocket and glared at Candy. She instinctively raised her hands in self-defence. Munson barged past her, his shoulder knocking against hers. He grabbed Fonseca’s phone from the table. His eyes were immediately drawn to a couple of spots of blood on the display.

  ‘Where’s my partner, Milena Fonseca?’ he growled.

  Candy swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You know full fucking well what I mean. This is her phone. And it’s got blood on it. If you don’t tell me where she is and what’s happened to her, in about five seconds it’ll have your blood on it too.’

  Candy didn’t wait for him to start counting. ‘She’s with Reg.’

  ‘Who the fuck is Reg?’

  ‘The chef. He works here. She had a nosebleed. He took her to the hospital.’

  Munson pulled his right arm back over his left shoulder then swung it back, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Even though he was feeling groggy, he could still throw a mean backhand slap and he was sharp enough to catch a waitress off guard. His hand connected with her face, crashing into her cheekbone and snapping her head back. The blow knocked Candy off balance and she staggered backwards into the grill. She managed to grab a hold of it to stop herself sliding to the ground.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cried, her face revealing a sudden element of fear that had been lacking previously. ‘You’re an FBI agent you can’t go hitting a woman!’

  ‘I’m from the Seventies. And I can do worse, I promise you.’

  Munson hoped to God he didn’t have to do any worse. He hadn’t wanted to lay a hand on her, but time was in short supply. He needed answers from her fast. He recognised the look on Candy’s face in light of the threat of more violence. She was trying to work out how far he would go to get the information he wanted, questioning whether or not she could handle another blow from him, and where the next blow would land.

  ‘I had nothing to do with it,’ she blurted out. She straightened herself up and steadied herself against the grill.

  ‘Nothing to do with what?’

  ‘It got out of hand. She attacked Reg…’

  Munson stepped into her personal space and grabbed her around the throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he made sure she knew the threat was there. ‘I swear, if the next word out of your mouth is a lie, or even if it’s true but it sounds like a lie, I’m going to knock every single one of your teeth out. Now think carefully. What happened to my partner? Is she still alive?’

  Candy was too scared to recognise that it was an empty threat. In years gone by Munson might have meant it and carried out a brutal assault on her to get the information he wanted, but those days were behind him. He was beginning to realise that he no longer loved the violence of his job the way he had as a young man. He just wanted her to answer his questions.

  Tears began streaming down her face. Her cheekbone was glowing red where he had slapped her. She looked down at his hand around her throat and shook her head. ‘No. She’s dead,’ she sobbed.

  Munson’s felt the air drain from his lungs. He released his grip on her throat and stepped back. His shoulders drooped and his heart sank. The words “She’s dead” replayed over and over in his mind. ‘Who killed her? You or Reg?’

  ‘Reg.’

  Candy looked fearful of what else he might do to her if he got the urge. But she was definitely more fearful of what he might do if she didn’t answer truthfully.

  ‘How did she die?’ Munson asked. ‘What did Reg do to her?’

  Candy looked down at the floor. She sobbed some more, her whimpering became louder and more hysterical, much to Munson’s irritation. Before he had to threaten to strike her again, she blubbed out an answer. ‘He stabbed her in the throat,’ she mumbled. ‘It was horrible.’

  Munson closed his eyes and visualised Fonseca’s murder. Not because he wanted to but simply because it was all he could think about. Her death had been avoidable. If he hadn’t been drunk and busy throwing up at Litgo’s he wouldn’t have arrived late. He would have been here to deal with Reg when Fonseca needed him. He’d started to warm to Fonseca. She had spirit and a sense of patriotic duty about her. He shuddered at the thought of her murder. She had died alone in a shithole diner, away from her family and friends in the middle of this godforsaken clichéd B Movie town.

  He opened his eyes. The mental image of Fonseca’s murder sobered him up some more and made him angry. Right now he had some serious shit to deal with. Decisions had to be made, like what to do with Candy.

  ‘Why did Reg kill Fonseca? What did she do wrong? What made him do it?’

  Candy looked away and he sensed she didn’t want to answer. He reached out and grabbed her around the throat again, gently squeezing this time. Some snot dribbled out of her nose and more tears streamed down her face. He sensed that she was feeling sorry for herself. And it disgusted him.

  ‘Could you pass me some tissues? she sobbed, wincing in the fear that he might hit her again or apply more pressure to her throat. Munson spotted a roll of kitchen towel on the sideboard. He relinquished his grip on her neck and grabbed a couple of sheets of the kitchen towel. He held them out in front of her and said nothing. She snatched them from him and used them to wipe her nose and face clean. And now that she was free from his grip she took the opportunity to slide down into a sitting position on the floor, with her back pressed up against the grill.

  Munson picked up Fonseca’s phone from the table. He looked at the spots of her blood on the display. The sight of the blood brought back the image of her murder in his mind again. He grabbed a sheet of the kitchen towel and used it to wipe the spots of blood from the display.

  The blood came off easily enough and the touch of the tissue and his fingers pressing against the phone made its screen light up. Fonseca’s phone came out of sleep mode and on it he saw a headshot photo of a man in his twenties. The guy was pretty ugly. Munson squinted at it to get a better look.

  ‘Who the fuck is that?’ he muttered out loud.

  Candy sniffed and looked at the mess she’d made in the kitchen towel
. ‘That’s the girl you’re asking about,’ she said.

  He looked down at her and frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘That’s why Reg killed her. She had a photo of the girl.’

  Not for the first time that day, Munson wished he hadn’t drunk so much rum. He was looking at a photo of a guy, not a girl. He swiped his fingers across the phone’s display. A different photo appeared on the screen. A photo of a girl with a blue birthmark on her face. Munson felt a headache coming on. He rubbed his forehead and stared hard at the photo. He glanced down at Candy again. She looked terrified, like she thought he was about to kill her. But she was of little concern to him. It was the girl in the photo that was giving him a headache. What was it about her?

  It took him longer to work out the answer than it should have done, but when he did work it out, he felt his legs go weak.

  ‘Oh SHIT!’ He blurted his thoughts out loud. ‘Pincent, what the fuck have you gotten me into!’

  Thirty Six

  Silvio Mellencamp had given up on any chance of getting dressed. The gold dressing gown was staying on for the rest of the day. There just didn’t seem to be any point in changing into anything else. The day had been full of so many interruptions, that he hadn’t had a chance to say hello to all the girls that worked for him. And more importantly he hadn’t had time to decide which of them would get to spend the night with him.

  He poured himself another large cognac from a decanter on his desk and sat waiting for the next person to knock on his door. He’d been told by his receptionist to expect someone within a minute. And that was about two minutes ago. To amuse himself while he waited he counted down from ten in his head. He only got to seven before he heard two loud knocks on the door.

  ‘Come in Reg,’ he shouted.

  The door opened and in walked Reg, the chef from The Alaska Roadside Diner. He was a close and loyal friend of Mellencamp’s, going back years. Reg was wearing blue sweatpants and a dirty white singlet. His forehead was sweating profusely and he looked a little out of breath too.