Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  The guys worked me over, clearing the blood away. Jess pressed an ice pack to my rib after I pointed out where Rankin caught me.

  Tommy took out my mouth piece. “Was it in the plan to get your rib cracked that round?”

  “It’s an inexact science, T. That feels good, Jess. Keep it right there. He dropped the left and I said hello to Mr. Nose, Dev.”

  Dev chuckled as Jafar gave me a couple swallows of water. “We don’t know how the judges will score the rounds, John. It might be one apiece or he took the first two. That plan of yours better get launched this round.”

  “Gonna go get me some, Dev.”

  The referee tried to get us to touch gloves starting the third and final round but Rankin wasn’t having any of it. His corner had staunched the flow of blood, but he was favoring his left leg. He’d have to rely on hand strikes to get my rib. When he did, me and Mr. Nose would get intimate. He was breathin’ through his mouth, but his eyes were clear. I knew what I was going to do: jab until he took me down. Rankin swung for the fences with both hands, hitting my arms and shoulders with pile-driver blows, trying to keep me on the defensive until he got a clear head or rib shot. Unfortunately for him his left dropped a tad too far. Mr. Nose splattered again from a straight right. Rankin dropped for a takedown and I went with him. Showtime.

  Rankin’s full mount was too low. I kicked off into his sides, pulled his right arm down against me, wrapped his right leg while reaching under and grabbing his left leg. His left knee gave out and I locked my legs around his head in a triangle choke. We locked eyes. Rankin knew I had him. The referee hovered over us, knowing the predicament Rankin was in. Rankin started to tap out but that ship sailed the moment he blew Lora kisses. I flipped him using his left leg while closing the triangle during the flip. Rankin’s neck broke. I immediately popped up from around him like I was all hurt that something bad had happened. The referee motioned frantically for the medics while he and I tried to administer to the fading Van Rankin.

  They hooked him up to oxygen while inflating air harnesses to keep Rankin immobile. I could see from the medical team’s faces, they didn’t want a death announced right in the cage. I did my award winning compassionate killer routine while they took him away, even touching his arm soulfully as he went by. The referee consoled me and did a quick solemn lift of my arm as the winner. Then came the post fight interview for the pay-per-viewers. Van Rankin was a warrior. Van Rankin had my utmost respect. I pray he’s okay. Blah… blah… blah… Van ain’t comin’ back unless it’s an appearance on Ghost-Hunters. My crew stayed near me the whole time commiserating with anyone who would listen about what a tragedy it was for the fight to end in such a way.

  Outside the cage, Lora wrapped around me with abandon, her lips wet with salty tasting tears, engulfing my soul in a kiss so intense my knees started to buckle. Fiialkov patted her shoulder like an old uncle, pulling her away and promising I’d be back out soon. He merely gave me a slight salute. Security and my team rushed me back to the locker room. Rumors already circulated Rankin died of his injury, so we were met by another host of reporters. We played the violins until finally the next fight drew everyone away for the time being. Tommy shook his head with facial features frozen in grim sorrow.

  “You cold blooded, heartless monster.”

  I put on my stunned look. “Whatever do you mean, T?”

  Dev grinned appreciatively. “You smiled when you broke his neck, John.”

  “Did not.” Yeah, I did.

  “I saw it too, you sicko,” Jess added while stifling a laugh.

  “Most impressive,” Jafar piped in. I could tell his adrenalin was still flowing.

  “If we’re all done mourning for poor old Van Rankin let me get my shower so I can go see Lora.”

  “Go ahead, but because you couldn’t settle for a win, we’ll all have to have our sad faces on for the rest of our stay,” Tommy gripped. “You can bet another killing in the cage ain’t going to get you on the UFC’s dance card anytime soon.”

  I walked toward the showers with a shrug. “Shit happens. Hell, I always liked the old, smelly warehouse fights anyway.”

  “Not everything’s about you, John,” Jess called out.

  “You should have consulted with your crew,” Tommy added.

  “Yeah, you selfish bastard,” Dev put the finishing touch to me as he broke out laughing.

  “Most impressive!” Jafar repeated.

  Tommy administered a head-slap to Jafar’s head I could hear without turning. “Shutup, kid.”

  All I knew was I had Lora waiting outside the locker room with that fine ass black dress on. Be patient, baby, the Dark Lord’s on his way.

  The End

  HARD CASE 2

  Chapter One: Monsters

  Stuttering screams of agony reverberated off the dank walls inside the basement of the small elementary school. A naked, red haired woman strapped to a table, writhed in misery, arching upwards with each ministration by the three figures gathered at the table. A battery operated lantern hanging overhead provided the only light, swaying eerily on the pipe as if disturbed at the scene below it. The scream creators, encased in hooded disposable plastic suits with gloves, each held a bloody scalpel. They paused every other moment, savoring the horrific result of their actions.

  The two smaller figures on the woman’s left moved more industriously than their counterpart on the other side of the table. The smaller of the two giggled with each high pitched shriek, adding another slice to prolong it. Their larger opposite companion held a small HD camcorder, only moving closer to the table in order to add a slice of his own, before moving back a pace to film their macabre collaboration. The giggler lifted free the woman’s left breast, dangling it by the nipple over the woman’s face. Their victim passed out.

  “Wow… that was awesome! She stayed conscious longer than any before,” the smaller one of the three exclaimed with another giggle, her Southern accent drawling the last two words. “Did you get it all, Rich?”

  The tall man across from her nodded. “I didn’t miss anything. God, that was hot! I know Cheryl got off. What about you, Tara?”

  Tara smiled at her companions with bright, glazed eyes, and then laughed. “We… are so… sick! Let Cheryl and I hold your stuff. Break her little toe on the right, Rich, before we forget. Otherwise, those FBI morons won’t even know it’s us doing it.”

  Cheryl laughed, taking the proffered scalpel from Richard. “I still can’t believe we had to leave the shoe off before they got on to the broken toe. We’d probably have to surrender before those idiots ever caught us. This one’s naked, so they can all hover around pointing at the toe with arrogant eyes of stupidity. I think we should do one more here before we split up. I don’t have to be at the firm until next Monday.”

  Richard handed the camcorder to Tara and broke the victim’s right little toe with exaggerated brutality, leaving it hanging by only loose skin. “There… they won’t miss that one. I don’t know, Cheryl, it’s already Thursday. That doesn’t leave enough buffer space between the killings and our flights back.”

  “He’s right Cher,” Tara said, handing back the camcorder.

  “These cops out here couldn’t catch a cold,” Cheryl replied. “Even if they get the FBI idiots… that black guy and his skank partner on the case within hours, they’ll be spending days doing their ‘Criminal Minds’ bullshit in the precinct with mockups, profiles, and circle jerks.”

  “Maybe Cher’s right. They don’t have that weirdo guy with them anymore we were watching out for. He was only referred to as a consultant, and never modeled for pictures or press conferences. I’m glad we chilled for a time while he was consulting. I still can’t figure out how he solved all those cases for those two retards. I wish we could have went up against him just once though.”

  “Hey… goofy… we can joke around about idiot police and FBI, but let’s not start painting a bulls-eye on our chests,” Richard warned. “That consultant asshole was goo
d. C’mon… lets wake Red up and play a while longer.”

  Cheryl followed Tara around the table again. “Are you going to the class reunion?”

  Tara spun toward her friend. “Oh hell yeah! This is our ten year reunion, girl. Don’t even think about not coming. I’m wondering if we should do one of our classmates. It’ll turn Harvard upside down!”

  “Damn, Tara, that’s not bad,” Richard replied, moving into position. “We’ll be able to act all frightened and outraged at our poor classmate’s horrid death, wringing our hands and weeping while we watch the cops chase their tails. We’ll be interviewed for sure.”

  “I am so in!” Cheryl agreed. “What would be better than to attend a reunion and celebrate our first killing? I love this plan!”

  Their victim began to move, and then moan, and then scream.

  * * *

  The two FBI agents carefully inspected the naked mutilated corpse of a young woman, left in the middle of an elementary school hallway.

  “Jesus… Mary… and Joseph…” the woman agent mumbled. “We have to get Clint back with us. We’re going over Lundigan’s head.”

  “Shit!” Her companion straightened away from the body, his fists clenched. “I don’t want that fucking asshole in with us ever again! We need to get back to basics on this. We’ll take a fresh look-”

  “We’ve done the fresh look stuff. We’re lost, just like with Montoya. I’m calling Sawyer. If he gives us the go ahead, we’re going up to get Clint. I’ve had enough of this. These monsters are laughing at us! They nearly ripped the woman’s right little toe off this time as if to say we’re too stupid to breathe. Maybe they’re right.”

  Her partner closed his eyes, picturing Clint Dostiene in his mind’s eye with tight lipped fury. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes to glance down at the victim, and then nodded. “I’ll call Dostiene’s boss, Dennis Strobert. You get on the horn to Justice. We’ll need a player to keep Lundigan out of this.”

  “It’s the right decision.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  * * *

  Tonto, the huge mixed breed Collie/German Shepherd, let out a low vibrating growl at the door. Clint Dostiene sighed as he slumped back on the pad laid out under his sink, looking up in annoyance to the cosmic forces combining for a work stoppage on his sink plumbing. He stood up a moment later, stretching his six foot two frame out, contemplating whether to pretend he wasn’t there or not. His truck was parked in the back of his place, out of sight from the front. Smiling to himself, he wondered how far out in the middle of nowhere he had to go so as not to get any visitors. His sparse neighbors came by out of curiosity or to ask for a favor once in a while. Dostiene endured their visits politely.

  That’s who he figured was approaching his house now until Dostiene heard Tonto give off an unusual plaintive bark. Dostiene jerked forward, reaching into the cabinet drawer to pull out his hideaway .45 caliber Colt automatic. Instead of going to the front door where Tonto camped out in hackles raised sentry duty, Clint eased out his rear door with the Colt tucked in solidly at his rear waistband. He vaulted his six foot high, locked gate with an acrobat’s fluid movement, muscles flowing in sharp relief under his t-shirt. Easing around the side of his house, Dostiene made sure he missed nothing in the near dusk grayness. When he saw the two suits standing on his doorstep, he straightened and walked toward them.

  His approach startled the man and woman. They instinctively reached for weapons. When they saw him waving with a confused look on his face, they relaxed. The woman, a five foot four inch brunette, thin to the point of looking sickly, gave Dostiene a tired shrug. Her partner, a tall black man with a goatee gestured at Clint with annoyance.

  “Damn it, Clint! Can’t you just answer your front door?”

  “I live in the middle of nowhere for a reason, Sam - I don’t like visitors, but I still get them. Tonto has this weird bark when something ain’t right. He just announced you two with it. I have enemies. If I had any family, they’d have been killed already, or in hiding.”

  “Couldn’t you at least leave that very expensive satellite phone on we gave you?”

  “I could, Janie, but then I’d be getting calls I don’t want. All you have to do is leave an e-mail at the drop we have set up. I get it, and I call you. I bet you two are here about the copycat Zodiac killer or killers in San Francisco. What I don’t know is why.”

  “We need you on this,” Sam replied, gesturing at the front door. “Can we please go in and discuss it inside. I’ll pay you for the coffee if you have any.”

  “C’mon in, but I’m really not playing hard to get. I’m out of the game, kiddies,” Clint replied, opening the door and pointing at Tonto who immediately sat down next to the entrance. “I have coffee made, so come on in and sit down at my meager kitchen table.”

  Clint sat down facing the two agents after serving coffee. Tonto curled up next to his chair. “I wish you two would have simply e-mailed me. I could have saved you a trip.”

  “We know you’re still doing jobs for your real master,” Sam stated. “Rumor has it you went rogue and took out Carlos Silva near La Jolla when the cartel kingpin came across the border.”

  Dostiene sipped his coffee, smiling amiably. “Rumor has it, huh?”

  “You worked with us in the past on nine different cases with a hundred percent success rate. It wasn’t your fault the court let Lynn Montoya go,” Janie added. “Your boss at the company told us if we could talk you into doing this, he’d get behind it. He told us the orders on the Silva job weren’t specific enough.”

  Dostiene chuckled. “Denny told you that? For the record, Denny Strobert’s a stand up guy. He was happy with our serial killer liaison gig. Forget whatever crapolla you heard on the rumor mill about Silva. Look, I liked working with you two. The Montoya case didn’t bother me. Hell, I knew the jury would let her off. That lawyer she had gathered the families of all the rape victims those eight shitheads she killed brutalized. When the prosecutor lost his bid to suppress their testimony, the outcome was a done deal. I only caught her because she had a target rich environment, and I simply shadowed the one I figured she’d get next.”

  “Yeah, but you lost the bait.”

  Clint shrugged. “I arrived a little late, Sam. Sue me. You two didn’t even know it was a woman doing it. Anyway, that was when Montoya walked and I got my walking papers from helping you two. It was an interesting gig for a while being on loan to the FBI. I’m not ever working for that asshole, Lundigan, in charge of your department again. I’m even having second thoughts about doing anything for Denny. They almost locked me up over that torturing bastard Silva, in spite of Strobert’s intercession on my behalf. You both know I ain’t ever letting that happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, Agents Reeves and Labrie, I have plumbing to fix.”

  Reeves reached out and grabbed Dostiene’s wrist. “This is a bad one, Clint – worst ever. Lundigan has nothing to do with this task force we’re forming. We think there’s more than one killer. We think the San Francisco thing is only the third locale on their serial killer tour, but we’re not even sure of that.”

  Clint stared at Reeves’ hand until he removed it from his wrist. “How do you know that, Sam? Wait a minute… you think those women killed in Los Angeles, and the graveyard of missing women down in New Mexico are tied into the same ones you think are active now in SF?”

  “We’re sure of it. They imitated the Hillside Stranglers in LA, David Parker Ray in New Mexico, and now they’re mimicking the Zodiac Killer in SF, complete with nonsensical coded notes to the police. The bad part is they torture the victims in ways even the original killers never did,” Janie Labrie stated. “We missed a tell they gave us on every victim. They were laughing at us I’m sure. They broke the little toe on all the victims’ right foot. When we didn’t get the clue, they began taking the shoe off the victims’ right feet until we got it. It pissed me off!”

  “How did you get onto this tell?”

  Sam and Jan
ie glanced at each other.

  “We didn’t,” Sam admitted. “Somewhere over state lines with the horrendous killings, coupled with local contamination, we missed it. They included a note on the last victim in San Francisco. They made the locals and us into idiots, and we were.”

  Janie grabbed Clint by the front of his shirt. “I know you’re nearly as psycho as the people we’ve hunted together. I don’t pretend to know what the difference is between you and them. There are at least a dozen people dead that we know of. Put on your Dexter mask and help us get these monsters.”

  “Unhand me, Copper! You two were never this touchy-feely before.”

  Labrie chuckled and let Clint go, gesturing at Tonto. “Some protection you have there.”

  Clint glanced down at the curious face of Tonto, and then back to Janie. “You don’t want to ever see what Tonto does if he thinks I’m in real danger. Anyway, what kind of leeway do I get on this. I’ll need some bait… hey… where’s my old pal Lynn Montoya? She’d be perfect for this gig. I bet the FBI has kept track of that serial killer on legal release.”

  “Forget it,” Sam replied. “Montoya went to Mexico and began plying her trade down there. Word is Mexico’s Federal Police caught her, and then sold her to some lieutenant in the Los Zetas Cartel. Hey… what’s that look for?”

  A grim faced Dostiene stared from one agent to the other. “You should have started out with that news flash. I ain’t doin’ shit for you two until I get a sit-rep on exactly where she’s being held. I also want you to point a bird at the place and get me some surveillance photos. What? You’re still here? Get movin’?”