Dead Wrong: Lukas Boston - Private Investigator Book One

by Logan May

  ‘Very nice,’ Lukas told his guide, a small girl who walked with a bowed head. Really, he was thinking this was a bunch of freaks who were probably better off locked away like this, albeit voluntary.

  ‘We surround ourselves with beauty and peace,’ she murmured. ‘So you mustn’t stay long.’

  ‘Okay—and I won’t take that personally,’ Lukas said. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To meet Mother. She is the leader of Ra’s People.’

  ‘Like a Mother Superior?’ Lukas wasn’t a fan of nuns. In his experience nuns were far too serious and they tended to scowl at him a lot unless he offered them a cigarette.

  ‘No, she is simply Mother.’

  ‘She must make a killing on Mother’s day then? With all these folks calling her... never mind,’ Lukas gave up, suspecting that Ra’s People weren’t allowed to have a sense of humour.

  She showed him inside one of the dwellings and silently left him. Lukas was in a lounge area so festooned with hanging drapes and curtains it was difficult to see the opposite wall. He picked out a lounge suite and a bed. The smell of incense hung in the air.

  ‘Mr Boston, welcome to our refuge,’ a woman said softly, emerging from nowhere.

  ‘Thank you... ah, Mother,’ Lukas said, unimpressed. Hiding among all the stuff hanging from the ceiling was hardly being Houdini. However, Mother herself was impressive. Far from some kind of matronly matriarch who ate unbaptised babies to make a point, she was a lithe young woman with a striking face.

  ‘Motherhood has been kind to you,’ Lukas said. ‘Considering the amount of kids you’ve got out there, I mean.’

  ‘Obviously, I am a spiritual mother, not the birth-mother of my followers,’ she said easily.

  ‘That would have been my next guess.’

  ‘I don’t imagine you guess anything, Mr Boston. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here and frankly we wouldn’t have invited you in. I suspect you’re very clever.’ Mother had moved closer and gotten even more attractive with each step. Lukas was even getting to like the shaved head already. Very Star Trek-ish.

  ‘Your suspicions aren’t officially confirmed, but I’ll take it. We’re looking for this man.’

  Lukas took the printed, photo-shopped picture of Gavin Hucknall from his pocket and showed it to her. She plucked it from his hand and held it up to the light, somehow maneuvering herself next to Lukas and brushing against him. Of course, it was sheer imagination on his part, but it felt like Mother was wearing nothing underneath her robes.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘That’s our friend Gavin—our close friend Gavin. I hope he hasn’t come to any harm?’ She sounded hopeful with inheritance dancing in her eyes.

  ‘I can’t go into any details yet, I’m afraid,’ Lukas said, becoming all too aware of her nearness. ‘Can you tell me how long he was living here?’

  ‘Several years, perhaps four or five years at least. But he gave his whole life to us, meaning everything. Everything then, everything now and everything in the future, it’s the way of Ra’s People.’

  Laying claim to every dollar she could.

  ‘Yes, well... possibly. Tell me, just how much contact with the outside world would Gavin have had during that time?’

  She stroked his arm, then squeezed his biceps appreciatively. Her other hand drifted momentarily across his buttocks. ‘We’re not completely isolated. That would be irresponsible. We allow one newspaper a day into the compound and everyone has access to it, if they wish. This way, nothing untoward can take us completely by surprise.’ She turned her pixie-like, gorgeous face up to his and smiled. ‘You don’t mind surprises, do you Mr Boston?’

  ‘Surprises are my favourite… ah, surprise,’ he said, feeling her hands wandering again.

  The rest was making sense. Hucknall would have kept a close eye on the news, meanwhile immersing himself completely into the community and effectively vanishing the way he did. But it wasn’t perfect. Cut off, Hucknall wouldn’t have heard any of the underworld gossip and rumours he’d be used to hearing. Until Charles Monroe’s death made the newspapers, Hucknall would have learned little about the missing drugs or his old boss.

  ‘Mother, I’d like to ask you how—’

  ‘You can call me Alice,’ she interrupted him gently.

  ‘Right, as in Wonderland? You know, like Alice in Wonderland... okay, maybe not,’ Lukas jumped as his arse got a firm pinch. ‘So really, how do you get away with all this?’

  For a fleeting moment Lukas saw reality cross Alice’s face, before a mask of serenity returned. She knew what he was asking and her reply was more frank than he expected. ‘You might call us a cult, Mr Boston. We call ourselves a spiritual following. Whatever, the government calls us a religion and there are many, many benefits to being regarded as an official religion. No one wants to question the motives of any church. It’s just not done.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Lukas said, thinking tax avoidance. ‘I suppose the whole shaving-the-head thing helps a lot towards convincing anyone you’re serious?’

  ‘On the contrary, that is a core belief in our culture. Hair is an unfortunate consequence of our evolutionary beginnings and we no longer need it. It’s considered unhealthy and we remove all hair.’

  ‘Oh, right... all of it?’

  ‘See?’ She lifted her arm and allowed Lukas to see down inside her sleeve to her armpit. This also provided a glimpse of a perfect, small breast and nipple.

  ‘Yes, so I can see,’ he said, his mouth dry.

  ‘You’re here to help, aren’t you, Mr Boston?’

  ‘Yes, in any way I can. Whatever it takes.’ Lukas was abruptly feeling very helpful, because Alice was fiddling with the fastenings of her robe now.

  She said, ‘So to be clear, I’m sure you can appreciate that any funds from Gavin’s estate—should he have encountered some misfortune—rightfully belong here?’

  ‘It’s becoming more likely every minute,’ Lukas said. Any guilt from compounding his original lie was becoming swamped by more basic instincts.

  ‘Would you like to see how passionate we are about removing hair?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, for the sake of thorough research...’

  The robe magically dropped away and Alice stood in front of him naked, watching Lukas closely.

  ‘Fantastic and very dedicated—from a researcher’s point of view,’ he told her feebly.

  Alice stood beside him and put her lips close to Lukas’s neck. ‘Of course, being an investigator you should make absolutely sure and examine everything very closely.’

  ‘Yes, good idea—’

  ‘Except...’

  A silence dragged out. Lukas couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Sorry? Except what?’

  ‘You’re very unclean, Lukas. Hair, I mean. In all the wrong places.’

  ‘Of course, I can imagine what you mean.’ Lukas thought hard and desperately. ‘Okay, what if only the bits of us that actually touched each other were... you know, clean... is that better?’

  ‘We could draw a line, I suppose,’ she agreed, reaching for his shirt buttons. ‘Let’s say... anything below the waist?’

  He nodded as her hand slipped inside his clothes. ‘Yep—yep, that would definitely work for me.’ Another thought came to him and Lukas worried suddenly. ‘You use safety razors, right?’

  ‘You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you don’t make any sudden moves,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘It’s my late grandfather’s cut-throat razor, proper Sheffield steel sharpened on a leather strop.’

  Lukas felt the blood leaving his face ‘Haven’t you seen the latest disposables? High tech stuff, you can see it on the telly during the commercials.’

  Alice slipped around to his other ear and briefly chewed softly on his lobe. ‘We don’t watch television. Stay here and I’ll run a bath.’

  *****

  By the time he left, suffering a remorseful look from the girl now guiding him back to the gate, Lukas had a whole new appreciation for a close sha
ve. The downside was going to be the itching, maddening growth in all those hard-to-scratch places before the end of the week.

  What made it all worthwhile wasn’t just what had happened in the bathtub. It was the inspiration from Alice about how untouchable a religious institution might be.

  When you thought it through, just about any half-decent church might get away with murder.

  TWELVE

  Frank Blanco had cost Lukas a lot of money over the years, but more often than not he gave a good return on investment. Frank was an ex-merchant seaman who left the seven seas for a wife, three children and a lifetime habit in the betting shop. His specialty was the horses, although Frank was known to dabble on greyhounds if there wasn’t a decent turf meeting on. Lukas could rely on Frank to be a handyman—someone who could follow a mark, dig through a dustbin or ask questions that Lukas could never ask. It supplemented Frank’s dubious income stream and he rarely failed to deliver.

  Lukas found Frank, as always, in his local betting shop. Tall and thin, almost bald, his skin permanently suntanned from decades on the ocean to the point where his tattoos were faded smudges, Frank stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the banks of televisions on the walls. The screens showed races and betting odds all over the country. He was like a general controlling a battle.

  ‘Having any luck, Frank?’ Lukas asked, standing beside him and looking at the displays as if they meant something to him.

  ‘There’s no luck involved, I keep telling you that, Lukas,’ Frank said, still watching the televisions, his voice gravel-like from a million cigarettes. ‘It’s a science, but with a bit of chaos theory thrown in.’

  ‘So you’re losing then?’

  ‘There are some dodgy pricks out there, Lukas. Jockeys who put on the brakes, trainers who give ‘em the wrong instructions. How’s a man supposed to earn an honest dollar?’

  ‘Get a job, perhaps?’

  ‘Now, now, no need to be rude. I suppose you need something?’

  ‘Have you got some spare time?’

  ‘For you, of course I have. Unless it’s this Friday. Wedding anniversary—I’m taking the missus to the track. Members Area with all the trimmings. She’ll be getting all dolled up, no doubt.’

  Frank’s wife Christine was a cherubic, happy soul who tolerated her husband’s many flaws with a laugh and a shrug. Lukas tried to imagine her dressed up for the racetrack and came up with a kind of cheerful Miss Piggy.

  Lukas said, ‘Not sure what day, to be honest. I can leave it up to you.’

  Frank looked at him. ‘What are we talking about?’

  With a wide, false smile Lukas said, ‘You need to get some God in your life, Frank. See the error of your ways. I want you to go to church.’

  ‘You’re joking, right? What for?’

  ‘Well, why would anyone normally go to any church?’

  They both looked at each other a moment, at a loss for an answer.

  Lukas shrugged. ‘Anyway, just look lost or something. In need of… hell, I don’t know. More to the point, I want you to watch everyone else. Something fishy is going on. I’m hoping you’ll spot it.’

  Frank sighed, unhappy. ‘All right, but what if they do something to me? Like, you know… that shit they do to people.’

  ‘They can only try, Frank. If in doubt, roll your eyes back in your head and pretend to faint, they’ll love it. But keep one hand on your wallet at all times.’

  *****

  Lukas went home intending to use the rest of what was left of the afternoon to cook something from his refrigerator—anything would do. He had a habit of buying food and it passing the use-by date before he found time to eat it. Outside on the footpath, he bent over to check his mailbox, one of several in a pair of rows set into a brick wall.

  A bullet clanged spectacularly into one of the other boxes above his head.

  At least this time Lukas knew what was going on. With a yelp he ran around the other side of the bricks and crouched down.

  Lukas called, ‘Who the fuck is this? God help me, if you ever learn to shoot straight.’ He wasn’t expecting an answer and didn’t get one. ‘Useless bastard,’ Lukas muttered.

  Judging from where the bullet hit, Lukas was certain his position was safe. But getting inside the building meant a quick sprint across the lawn, an open area with no cover. Still, since the sniper was struggling to hit an easy target, it was likely a moving one would have good odds of surviving.

  He looked up at the apartments and saw Irene’s disapproving face glaring down at him from a window. He gave her a wave and an apologetic smile. It seemed to make her angrier, no small feat. ‘Fat cow, come down here and get shot at,’ Lukas said, keeping his smile. A lace curtain dropped into place, dismissing Lukas and his disappointing behavior.

  Lukas sucked in three deep breaths, braced himself, then pushed away from the wall, launching him into a run over the grass. He waited to feel a bullet punch him down. It didn’t come. Lukas scrambled into the elevator alcove, wind-milling his arms in an effort to stop his headlong rush.

  He collided heavily with Max who was waiting in the shadows. It was a bit like running into a very large pillow with bad breath. His colleagues lurked close by.

  ‘Shit, you’re joking,’ Lukas gasped. ‘Not again.’

  ‘Just for a chat,’ Max rumbled.

  ‘Which one this time?’

  ‘Just for a chat,’ Max repeated, a master of discretion.

  ‘It’s always just for a chat. Then I get tied up and…’ Lukas figured it wasn’t worth explaining more. Julie’s interrogation techniques, at least. ‘Look, I can’t go out there. Some idiot’s trying to shoot me. Seriously. The letterbox just took a bullet for me, didn’t you hear it?’

  Max’s face went through several expressions indicating he was giving this some thought—slowly and methodically, like a mechanical clock grinding to a cuckoo-like conclusion. To his credit, Max had been watching Lukas out on the street and decided something odd had happened. He turned to his assistants.

  ‘Bob, bring the car around the back.’

  ‘What?’ Bob nearly squeaked. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re the fucking driver, Bob. Who else?’

  Bob dragged the keys out of his pocket and held them out to the last member of the threesome. ‘Oscar, you’ve always wanted to drive. Here’s your chance.’

  ‘Like hell,’ Oscar said quickly. ‘You’re the man, remember? The tough-guy transporter dude you keep telling us about with the slick, wheel skills. I’m just along to beat up the passenger—sorry,’ he added to Lukas.

  ‘You don’t have to, you know,’ Lukas said.

  ‘Maybe, but I’m expected to do stuff, right? For the pay, I mean.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lukas sighed.

  ‘Bob, the bloody car?’ Max growled.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not like they’re not trying to shoot you, Bob,’ Lukas said helpfully. All he cared about right now was that bringing the car around the back was a good plan. Everything else after that he could deal with when had to.

  THIRTEEN

  Like being tied to the damned chair again.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, come on,’ Lukas yelled at the shadows. ‘Can’t we skip this bit by now?’

  There was an ominous silence and Lukas worried which of the Monroe twins he was going to face. Raymond was nasty, mostly, when he wasn’t giving you contraband beer. At least you knew what you were getting. Julie on the other hand was unpredictable. Lukas liked the idea of what he might get, but if she was angry things could turn very ugly and painful indeed.

  He felt only half-relieved when Julie walked into the light. She was wearing a short, black skirt—very short—and black stockings. Julie shook her head sorrowfully at Lukas.

  ‘Lukas, Lukas, Lukas… you’ve let me down.’

  ‘Let you down? Really? How am I supposed to achieve anything, if you keep tying me to this damned chair? While we’re on the subject, can you get something more b
loody comfortable? This wooden piece of shit is killing my back.’

  ‘I don’t want anything with armrests,’ she said, sitting on his lap and straddling Lukas, her face very close. She slowly licked his nose and cheek.

  ‘Okay… ah, I can understand that. Exactly how have I let you down?’

  ‘I hear you’ve been working for someone else. You’re supposed to come to me first, remember?’

  The hem of her skirt crept up towards her hips. Lukas tried not to look. A small, snub-nosed pistol was tucked into the top of one nylon stocking.

  ‘You mean your brother? Sure, but at least I figured that you didn’t want me to tell Raymond about our arrangement. Is that right? It hasn’t been easy, but you still come first, darling.’

  Lukas could tell this was news to Julie. Her eyes narrowed for a moment.

  She said, ‘It’s Raymond? He’s been talking to you?’

  ‘We had a talk, swapped a few beers…’ Lukas tried to be nonchalant. ‘No prizes for guessing what he wanted. Hey, I don’t suppose you want to untie me?’

  ‘Maybe I like you all tied up?’ Julie said absently, thinking.

  Lukas took a stab in the dark. ‘Look, you said you’d help, if I ran out of options. So tell me, what do you remember about Gus Warner? He used to work for your old man back then.’

  Julie furrowed her brow. ‘A stupid little guy. Ex-army, because he got kicked out when his eyesight turned to shit. He knew all the right things to say when my dad wanted to hear them. Then he put himself out as bait during the investigation and didn’t come back. No one cared—’ she stopped, suspicious. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m just… looking at him. It might be nothing. Give me time.’

  ‘So you have been doing something? Good boy, Lukas,’ Julie purred and pushed her hands down the front of his trousers, rummaging around. Her eyes went wide. ‘Oooh! You’ve gone all Brazilian. Did you do that just for me?’

  She was squeezing a little too hard and Lukas was wincing. ‘Not really, it was more a sacrifice done in the line of duty. Hey, can you go a bit easy?’

  ‘Hmm, I definitely don’t want to untie you now. This is lovely. It’s like putting your hand into a Christmas stocking and finding a little baby rabbit—a hard baby rabbit.’