First Circle Club

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First Circle Club Page 4

by Alex Siegel


  "Sounds fair," the dealer said.

  Sara took a coin from her leather bag and handed it over. The dealer gave her the cash, and she dropped it into the bag.

  Virgil was still wondering at his odd reaction. The dealer seemed completely relaxed, as if he had known Alfred for years.

  "Now we need a car," Alfred said in his strangely soothing voice, "but we want to avoid paperwork, if you know what I mean."

  The dealer nodded and pointed down the block. "Pete's Auto Mart. They'll take care of you. If you pay a little extra, they won't ask questions."

  "Sounds perfect." Alfred smiled.

  "Hey," Lisa said, "are you carrying a weapon?"

  The dealer pulled a long knife from under his shirt. It had a serrated blade covered in black paint.

  "Sweet," she said. "How much do you want for it?"

  "It's my favorite. A hundred bucks?"

  "We'll give you another coin," Alfred said. "Sara, please pay the man."

  Sara shot him a funny look, but she gave the dealer another coin without comment. He handed the knife to Lisa, and he also provided a sheath and a strap he had kept hidden under his shirt.

  "What about guns?" Lisa said. "We might need serious hardware."

  The drug dealer immediately pointed in a different direction. "Solid Smoke Shop. They have a secret gun store in a back room. Cash only."

  "Thanks!"

  Virgil shook his head in disbelief. The dealer was being astonishingly helpful. The cause had to be Alfred's strange voice.

  "What about false ID?" Virgil said. "Fake police badges would be even better."

  The dealer shrugged. "I don't know about that."

  "Well, thanks anyway."

  "If you need anything else, come by anytime."

  Virgil led the rest of his team away. They walked towards the car dealer.

  As soon as they could speak privately, he said, "Alfred, what did you do to that guy?"

  "I don't know." Alfred shrugged. "I just started talking, and it happened naturally."

  "There was nothing natural about that conversation. Drug dealers usually keep their mouths shut."

  "I agree," Sara said. "You somehow forced him to trust you completely."

  Alfred furrowed his brow. "Maybe some of the peace and love I found in Heaven flowed through me. I definitely felt empowered."

  "That's a very useful trick," Virgil said. "You can use it to extract information or compel cooperation."

  "I don't think it's meant for forcing people to do things. It's not mind-control. I can merely inspire trust and friendship in strangers."

  "Still useful. I wonder if the rest of us can do a trick."

  "I want to try something." Lisa looked around. "Follow me, guys."

  She led Virgil, Sara, and Alfred to a narrow gap between two buildings. There was just enough room to stand in the shadowy space. Loose garbage littered the ground.

  Lisa took out her new knife. She gently poked herself in the palm, but the sharp tip didn't penetrate.

  "What are you doing?" Virgil said.

  "Seeing how tough my new body is. Mammon told me I could take a bullet and not care. I can heal quickly from serious injuries."

  She pushed harder, and the knife finally went in. She pulled it out, and a drop of black fluid oozed out of the wound, flowing like hot tar.

  "Does that hurt?" Virgil said.

  "Not really," Lisa said. "It just tickles."

  The wound closed in just a few seconds without leaving any trace. Her brown skin appeared completely normal afterwards.

  She smiled. "Cool."

  "Let me try," Virgil said.

  She gave him the knife.

  He inhaled, clenched his jaw, and stabbed himself in the thigh. He expected pain but only felt mild discomfort. He could tell the knife went deep into his demonic flesh which had the toughness of very stiff clay.

  "Hey!" Sara said. "Are you crazy?"

  Virgil yanked the knife out. A tablespoon of black goo seeped out before the wound closed. He flexed his leg, and it felt fine.

  "Good as new," he said to Sara. "You want to try?"

  Her face expressed dismay. "No, thank you."

  Virgil gave the knife back to Lisa. "Let's keep walking."

  They found "Pete's Auto Mart" a few minutes later. The used car dealership occupied a corner lot. Cars of all types and colors were packed together behind a chain-link fence, each with a price painted in yellow on the windshield. A trailer sitting on blocks was in the back corner, and Virgil expected he would find "Pete" there.

  The prices on the cars struck Virgil as extremely high, but he didn't know what things cost these days. The last time he had bought a car was in 1980.

  The team walked over to the trailer, and Virgil led everybody inside. They found a middle-aged man with a gray mustache behind a desk. His button-up shirt had red, white, and blue stripes. He was watching a television hung on a wall. The television was much thinner and flatter than the ones Virgil had known in his day, but it clearly served the same purpose. The picture was much sharper, too.

  Alfred stepped forward. "Hi," he said with a smile. "Are you Pete?"

  The man behind the desk nodded. "You looking for a car?"

  "Yes. It needs to be fast and very reliable. We can't afford any inconvenient breakdowns. We'll be paying in gold coins, and we don't want to fill out any paperwork."

  Alfred was using his special voice again. It didn't do much to Virgil, but the effect on Pete was immediate and obvious.

  Pete stood up with a dopey grin on his face. "That's not a problem. Follow me."

  The team followed him out of the trailer. They walked over to a blue, four-door sedan parked in the middle of the lot.

  "A 2012 Nissan Altima," Pete said, "and it's in practically new condition. One owner, perfect maintenance record. This car will run forever, I guarantee it."

  "Sounds like exactly what we need," Alfred said.

  "Let's head back to my office and discuss the price."

  Everybody marched back. Virgil was already a little jealous of Alfred's ability to form instant friendships.

  When they were back in the office, Sara placed the bag of cash and coins on the desk. Pete looked into the bag, and his eyes widened.

  "How much are the coins worth?" Alfred said.

  "Let me check the price of gold," Pete said.

  He turned to a device which Virgil assumed was a computer, but he had never seen one like it before. It was stylish and had a large screen. In his day, computers had been big, boxy things which had cost an arm and a leg. It had taken a lot of fussing to make them work. Only technology geeks had owned them.

  Virgil came around and watched Pete work. The car dealer brought up colorful pages of information with just a few keystrokes. It was like magic. Virgil resisted the urge to ask a lot of questions about the astonishing technology.

  "Gold is worth 1,189 dollars an ounce," Pete said, "and I'm guessing those coins are a few ounces apiece. Three coins is a fair price, but I'll want four if this transaction is under the table."

  "Done." Alfred took four coins out of the bag and handed them over.

  "Give me a few minutes to write up a fake registration."

  While Pete worked, Virgil watched a soap opera on television. The quality of the picture was amazing. It was like looking through a window into another part of the world. Entertainment technology had certainly made impressive strides even if flying cars hadn't been invented yet.

  A news report broke into the show he was watching. An attractive female reporter was standing in front of a large crowd in an upper-class neighborhood. The sound was at a low level, and Virgil leaned in so he could hear the report.

  "The 'Suburban Stabber' struck again this afternoon," the reporter said in grim tones. "This is the fifth victim in two weeks. Police are withholding the name, but they did say she's a teenage girl. Authorities are cautioning parents to not allow their children to walk to school alone. They should be part of
a large group or take a car."

  Virgil clenched his jaw. Daniel Shipman, he thought.

  The reporter continued, "The attack occurred in Forest Lawn on the six hundred block of...."

  Virgil grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil off the desk. He wrote down the information.

  He turned to the rest of his team. "We'll finish shopping some other time," he said. "Our next stop is Forest Lawn. I want to investigate a murder scene before it gets cold."

  "The police won't let us just look around," Sara said.

  "We'll think of a cover story, and Alfred can use his voice trick to sell it."

  Alfred nodded. "That might work. Maybe we'll be federal agents. We were sent from Washington to help with the investigation."

  "I like that," Virgil said.

  "You and Lisa will have to buy new clothes though. No offense, but both of you look like you crawled out of a sewer. You won't pass for federal agents."

  "A sewer would've been an upgrade. I think we can all use better costumes. We'll make a quick stop at a clothes store on the way to Forest Lawn."

  Pete arrived with paperwork and a set of car keys. "Here you go. The car is registered under the name of a guy who died a few years ago, but he should still be in the DMV computer. I can't help you with insurance. Don't get into an accident, or if you do, abandon the vehicle."

  Virgil took the papers and keys. "Thanks. You've been very helpful. Now I just need a map that can get me from here to Forest Lawn."

  Pete gave him a puzzled look.

  "You still use maps, right?"

  "Not really," Pete said. "Most people have a navigation app in their phone. I can't remember the last time I looked at a paper map."

  Virgil wasn't sure how to respond. The idea of asking a phone for directions seemed preposterous.

  "We lost our phones," Alfred said.

  Pete looked at him. "All of you? That's strange. Well, I think I have an old dashboard system I can give you. It probably still works, but I never use it anymore."

  "Let's try it."

  Pete searched his office until he found a device that looked like a miniature television on a rubber stand. A cord plugged into the socket for a cigarette lighter. Everybody went out to the car. Pete set the device on the dashboard and turned it on.

  A short time later, a colorful map appeared on the little screen. An arrow marked the exact position of the car dealership.

  "How does it know where we are?" Virgil said.

  "Satellites, I think," Pete said. "The entire map of the United States is inside that dingus."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  Sara gave Virgil a stern look. "Let's not try to understand the wonders of modern technology," she said. "We have better things to do. Put in the address."

  With a little coaching from Pete, Virgil entered the destination address. A pink line appeared on the map showing the exact route he should take. Virgil was flabbergasted. He didn't understand how a cheap, little unit weighing less than a pound could figure out the best way to drive through Chicago.

  "Come on," Lisa said. "We have to go!"

  Virgil nodded. He put the leather bag containing Furies' Bane into the trunk of the car, and Sara did the same with the money bag. Virgil took the driver's seat, and Lisa rode shotgun. Sara and Alfred sat in back.

  Virgil drove off, guided by the miraculous navigation system. It even talked to him in a woman's voice!

  Chapter Three

  Virgil parked the car on a quiet, residential street in Forest Lawn. He stepped out and checked his appearance. Everybody had bought fairly nice business suits on the way over. The shopping detour had taken more time than he had wanted to spend, but it had been necessary. The team intended to present themselves as federal agents.

  Virgil looked at the big houses and magnificent trees. The streets and sidewalks were pristine. Even the gutters looked freshly swept.

  Lisa walked around the car. "Nice neighborhood. I lived in crappy apartments my whole life."

  "A crappy apartment is still better than Limbo," Virgil said.

  "Yeah."

  "They had me filing paperwork in Limbo. What was your job?"

  "Counting loose change," she said. "Demons brought in dump trucks full of coins, and I had to figure out how much the loads were worth."

  "Ugh."

  "It could've been worse. In the Eighth Circle, some souls are buried upside-down with their legs sticking out. Their feet are on fire all the time. All they can do is kick, but it doesn't help."

  Virgil grimaced. "Ouch."

  Lisa and Alfred joined the group. Everybody walked down the street towards a large, milling crowd. It was obvious where the action was happening.

  "Let me do the talking," Alfred said.

  Virgil nodded. "Work your magic."

  The police had cordoned off a large area with plastic barriers. Evidence technicians and detectives were going over everything using magnifying glasses. They were picking up tiny bits of evidence with tweezers and storing it in individual plastic bags. Virgil was glad to see the body still at the scene. A white sheet covered the murdered teenager, but some blood had run across the sidewalk and into a gutter.

  "I want to examine the victim," Sara murmured.

  "Of course," Virgil said. "That's why you're here."

  A boisterous crowd surrounded the crime scene. Most were curiosity seekers, but plenty of reporters were in the mix. Their video cameras were smaller than in Virgil's day, but their purpose was still clear. He was a little surprised by the number of female reporters. That part of the news business had changed, although all the women were young and photogenic. Some rules were eternal.

  Alfred asked the police about who was in charge of the investigation. Even when he wasn't using his special voice, Alfred put people at ease with his obvious sincerity. When somebody else spoke, he listened intently to every word. His attitude never hinted at arrogance. He would've made a good con-man, Virgil thought.

  Perfect weather created an ironic contrast with the grim murder scene. A bright sun shone in a blue sky. It felt like summer even though the date on the calendar was early autumn.

  The lead investigator turned out to be a man named Detective Thomas Haymaker. His black hair was thick and curly. He had a short, wiry build, and he moved quickly from place to place. Brown eyes stared out from under dense eyebrows. He was wearing a nice, gray suit which was a cut above what police detectives normally donned.

  "Hello," Alfred said to the detective. "My team and I are from the FBI Center for the Analysis of Criminal Behavior. We were sent to help you with this investigation. Looks like you have a serial killer on your hands. We'll do everything we can to assist you."

  He was using his special voice, and Haymaker smiled in response.

  "Great! I could certainly use the help. What are your backgrounds?"

  "I'm a criminal psychologist." Alfred pointed to his teammates in turn. "Virgil knows how to catch fugitives. Sara is our forensics specialist. Lisa has a ton of street experience."

  Virgil raised his eyebrows. He was surprised Alfred was using their real names, but it probably didn't matter. The names were just words on tombstones.

  "Sounds like a solid group," Haymaker said. "Glad to have you onboard. Mind if I see some identification?"

  "Oh, sorry," Alfred said in a tone of embarrassment, "but we left our badges in Washington. We were in such a rush to get out here. We'll show you our ID as soon as the FBI can get it to us."

  He used the voice again, and Haymaker bought the ridiculous lie.

  "That's fine," Haymaker said. "You look legit."

  "Can I examine the body?" Sara said.

  "Sure."

  Haymaker escorted the group through the police line. Virgil watched where he was putting his feet to make sure he didn't step on any possible evidence. Even a cigarette butt could be important.

  Haymaker gently pulled back the white sheet. The victim was a pretty girl on the verge of womanhood. A freckled f
ace held a peaceful expression. A cut on her neck was clearly the cause of death.

  Sara knelt over the body. "A single incision directly into the carotid artery. Very surgical. Unconsciousness in ten seconds and death within a minute."

  Virgil nodded. The cause of death matched Daniel Shipman's modus operandi.

  Virgil looked around to see if he could help the investigation in any way. The regular police were doing a very meticulous job of collecting evidence. His team couldn't add much to that process.

  "Any witnesses?" he said.

  "No," Haymaker said. "Somebody mentioned hearing a car, but it could've been unrelated. We don't have a precise time of death. We found suspicious footprints behind that hedge." He pointed to a hedge which abutted the sidewalk. "We already took casts."

  Virgil frowned. "The location is exposed, but nobody heard or saw the murder, which means it happened fast. The killer ambushed the girl and fled."

  "That's a reasonable theory."

  "I assume you talked to the parents."

  "Of course," Haymaker said, "but they had nothing to offer. They're obviously devastated."

  "Let me try talking to them," Alfred said. "I'm good at dealing with very emotional people."

  "OK. I'll show you the way to their house. It's not far. The poor kid was almost home from school when the perp killed her."

  Haymaker pulled the sheet back over the victim. The group made its way out of the crime scene and through the crowd.

  When they were finally alone, Virgil said, "This wasn't an opportunistic killing. The murderer knew exactly where and when to strike."

  "How did you reach that conclusion?" Haymaker said.

  "The chances of catching a girl alone without any witnesses around is pretty low. Kids tend to travel in groups. And that hedge was the ideal spot for an ambush. Perfect crimes don't happen by accident."

  "All the Suburban Stabber murders have been perfect. No witnesses. Quick and clean. We have no clues about the killer's identity."

  "That's very odd," Virgil said. "I've chased a lot of bad guys over the years, and they always make a mistake."

  The group arrived a few minutes later at a big, yellow house. Cars filled the driveway and were parked along the street. Virgil guessed relatives and friends had arrived to comfort the grieving parents. What a circus, he thought.

 

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