by Luis Samways
The white van pulled into the back alley of the property he had rented out. Low-key was the theme of the day. He was playing it cool. No showmanship or overzealous costumes today. His work would speak for itself. Sure, he liked the idea behind the red hat. The “Mexican” moniker, the calling cards, the clown statue, the burning of flesh. But there was a whole lot more to him than showmanship. There was elegance. An elegance that had yet to break free. It was yet to show itself to the public. He would make sure they knew of his elegance. He would make sure they knew of his name.
He got out of the van and quietly composed himself. The back alley was obstructed by a mass of dirty garbage units and smelly trash bags. It smelt worse than rotting flesh. The smell wasn’t his doing. It was just the usual filth you’d expect from such a dwelling.
He got his key out and unlocked the side door to the apartment. He quickly entered the door and shut it tightly, enclosing himself in the safety of his plan. He exhaled and wiped the sweat off his brow. The workman clothes he had on were stained with sweat. He didn’t care. Usually his appearance would burden him. He had to always look dapper. He had to always look handsome. It was his way of life. Caring for one’s appearance was important, in his mind.
He raced up the winding stairwell and made it to the top. He rushed to a lonesome door that stood by itself. It resembled a door that needed a sanding. Splinters of wood spiked off its surface. It looked disused and old. Just how he liked it.
He opened the door and got into the empty apartment. A stale smell of paint etched in his nose. He coughed a stiff forceful mouthful of spit and hocked it out. The stairs were a hurdle to overcome, even at his age. Too many cigars and a lifestyle of drugs hadn’t favored his health. But that was in the past. He was a changed man now. He didn’t have time to waste on those petty activities. He was all about the show now.
He spotted the stool next to the bay window. He walked over and sat on it. He took off his work clothes and dried the sweat off his arms with a towel. He chucked the towel onto the floor and grabbed some binoculars that were sitting on the windowsill.
“Good. Just on time,” he said to himself as he spotted someone walking their dog.
He watched as the person noticed something strange on the pathway. To his delight, the dog walker started to examine the masterpiece he had left in the park. Suddenly he found himself smiling as a bunch of schoolkids ran up to the masterpiece in joy. He was brimming with glee as he watched the kids play with the statue. And then his plan had finally come to light. Someone had taken the bait. The baseball bat was being used as it was intended.
“Piñata,” he said to himself. “That’s it, kids. Hit the friendly-looking piñata,” he laughed.
Thirty-Two
I waddled into the precinct with a headache the size of Texas as it throbbed in my skull. It was as if I could hear a constant police siren in my head. All the while it was sounding off; it was mocking me, terrorizing my soul. I could barely concentrate on anything worth concentrating on.
Chief Shaw spotted me and started to stride in my direction.
“Great,” I muttered beyond my warm breath.
The lights in the station pounded into the back of my retina as I cocked my head to the side, trying to wriggle the pain away. The place was abuzz with phone calls and fax machines popping off every couple of seconds. The sounds of inmates in cells rattled my eardrums as Shaw smiled a candid grin at me. He shook my hand firmly. I nodded. I couldn’t manage anything substantial at that moment. All I could think about was the murders. That, and getting my next fix of pills. I was running low. Something needed to be done about that.
“Welcome back. Any luck on the CCTV? You were there long enough,” Shaw sputtered as I watched his fat cheeks convulse under the power of his tongue. It made my stomach crawl. I was ready to be sick. I held it in, even though I could feel it rise up as I attempted to speak.
“Excuse me,” I said, burping and clearing my throat. The squelching sound that came from my mouth obviously repulsed my fat slimy boss as he pulled a face akin to a kid watching Friday Fright-Nights on cable.
“You okay, Frank?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, just been a long one, that’s all, sir,” I replied, managing to regain my composure, and full control of my gag reflex.
“Good, my boy, good. Now, then, about the CCTV?”
“We found the killer on the tape. It’s our guy. Mr. Red Hat. That’s what I’ve decided to name the cunt.”
My outburst of foul language threw my boss off a little. Shaw looked as if he was a nun and I had just said the C-word in church.
“Ease off on the swear words, my boy. Less of that, or the damn board of directors will have you thrown into a course on anger management.”
I laughed.
“Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt,” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
It was obvious by the sheer silence that followed that everybody in the Boston area had just heard my swearing. A few smarmy laughs were heard. A few gasps of horror. I just remained placid. Fuck them if they thought this was a time for playing the nice guy.
“Look, sir, I really couldn’t give a shit. This case is eating at me. It’s irritating me. You should feel the same. We should all feel the same. I don’t have a damn lead. The CCTV was useless. All it showed us was what we already know. The damn killer is a cunt. He’s an evil bastard. He has fucked with us big-time. He’s cold. He doesn’t care, and all the while he’s out there, you are lecturing me on calling him a fucking cu-n…”
Before I could finish… “Okay, McKenzie, I get what you are saying. Just calm down. We’ll get the bastard. I can assure you of that,” Chief Shaw butted in.
Suddenly a smart-looking fellow entered the fray, holding a file. He had a smile on his face as he walked up toward us. By now, everybody else was back to work. They had seen my outbursts before. They couldn’t give a damn whether I had a meltdown or not. It was the norm around here.
“Hello, gentleman,” the guy said, still smiling from ear to ear.
“What are you so damn happy about, suit?” I asked angrily.
“Nothing much, Mr. McKenzie, just got some files back on two of our victims. We know their full names and addresses. Plus where they work,” the guy said.
I felt my face relax a little. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it would do.
“Brilliant. Finally some darn luck,” I bellowed out in joy.
“That’s not the best of it. Both male victims, the one who was found in the van, and the other who was killed at the bar, worked at the same place. They were both Foster Industries employees.”
Thirty-Three
Sal Smith and Roger Smith were late for the meeting. They had run up the winding stairwell at a great speed for their age. The exertion that it took on their body was large. Both men felt out of breath and were about ready to collapse when they got to the top.
“Damn elevators,” Sal Smith said as he caught onto his wheezing breath.
“Tell me about it,” Roger Smith replied.
Both men were drenched in sweat. Their suits had glistening droplets of perspiration on the shoulders and sleeves. They both tried to compose themselves. They didn’t want to appear rattled or shaken before heading into the meeting. Even though it was the large flight of stairs that had caused such tired legs, they didn’t want to be perceived as weak in the boardroom. This was their last chance. This was the opportunity for them to secure some business before everything went south.
“You ready, old boy?” Sal asked as he finger-combed his hair back into a neat presentation.
“As ready as I will ever be,” Roger replied.
Both men sighed in anticipation. They straightened themselves up and stood to attention. They walked quietly down a corridor that was illuminated with moody lighting. A few expensive-looking paintings donned the walls. The smell of fresh air vapored through the building. A slight feeling of contempt marked the day as Smith and Smith got ready to seal their fates. They had be
en waiting on this moment all day. To be fair, they had been waiting for this moment for three weeks, ever since they found out the client was thinking of shipping off.
“You reckon we will change his mind?” Sal asked his partner as they made their way around the final corner before the ominous door they were expecting to go through.
“Change is a hard thing to swallow, my friend, but I’m sure we will walk away with something.”
Both men stopped before the big black door they had walked through before. It was a sturdy-looking piece of hardwood and gleamed with a polished finish. Many a time they had had meetings in that room. Many a time they had witnessed the inner workings of such a prestigious office as Foster Industries.
Sal took the lead and thumped his fist onto the hardwood door. It rattled like a snare drum. Maybe it was his nerves, but Roger put up his hands in question at such a forceful knock.
“Easy, man, you don’t want to knock the whole damn door down,” he said.
His partner nodded. He knew he had already messed up. Leave it up to him to screw things up like that at such an important time.
“Take your time,” Roger said aloud.
“I am,” Sal replied.
“Not you, never mind. Knock again — I don’t think anyone heard us.”
Sal looked at his longtime partner and friend and frowned.
“You sure the meeting was today?” he asked.
A candid look of impatience crept across Roger’s face.
“Of course I’m sure. It’s all I’ve thought about all week. This date and time has been on my mind nonstop, you know that.”
They knocked again. This time harder. This time with no remorse.
Still no answer at the door.
“Hell’ is going on?” Roger asked himself.
Sal had an expression of anger on his face.
“The damn guy stood us up. He isn’t answering his door. He has a legal obligation to harbor this meeting. He’s stalling again. Screw this, I’m going in. He can’t hide from us forever,” Sal bellowed as he turned the handle on the door and barged in.
The door wasn’t locked; it was easy enough for both men to walk into the office. A stale smell filled the air. It sort of smelt like popcorn. Both men breezed into the empty-looking office. The sight that stood in front of them startled them a little. All the computer terminals were smashed. The desks looked as if they had been sifted through, and paperwork was draped all over the place.
“He’s taken off” Sal said.
Roger walked forward to investigate the scene a little more. Curiosity was washing over him. He gently placed his suitcase on the floor and made his way around the large office. Nothing was out of the ordinary…apart from the broken computers and the bombshell of paperwork that was abundant in the office.
“Found anything?” Sal asked from afar.
Roger didn’t answer. He was too frightened. He found something indeed. It was a pool of blood that was drying up into the carpet. He had noticed it when he stepped on something squishy. He had looked down, and saw to his horror that he was standing on blood.
“Roger?”
“You’ve got to see this,” Rogers’s voice whispered from the shadows.
All Sal could do was follow his partner’s voice into the dark. When he got there, he found his frightened friend panting like a dog.
“What, what’s wrong?” Sal asked.
Roger managed to point to the floor.
“Blood, there’s blood on the floor. We need to call the police. I think something happened here,” Roger said as Sal looked on in horror.
Both men stood there in the lonesome dark, staring at the blood smear on the carpet. They had a million thoughts running through their heads, and their safety wasn’t one of them.
Thirty-Four
“Where exactly is Mr. Foster?” a man asked as he stood up in frustration.
The group of businessmen sitting around the big desk looked on in anger. It was evident to Olivia Cormack that the meeting was going to be a hard pill to swallow. She knew that she needed to reel these gentleman in. She needed their cooperation. It was vital to the success of the transition.
“Gentleman, I have already explained to you the whereabouts of Mr. Foster. He couldn’t make it. He apologizes. Now can we please move on to the subject at hand?” she said in a stern manner.
The man who had stood up before sheepishly sat back down. He had a scornful look on his face. The other men looked at him in pity. They knew how he felt. There was nothing like being berated by a woman at a business meeting to tarnish your ego.
“Okay, good. Now we can move on,” she said as she sifted through some paperwork that lay in front of her. The deep wooden base of the table glistened as the lighting above her echoed off its finish. She could feel the heat coming from the indoor lights. It was making her feel warm and flustered. She cleared her throat. The saliva was sticking to the back of her tonsils. She felt like she had a lump in her throat. The time had finally come. The time she had been waiting for. She had been eager to get this particular day done and over with. For too long she had had the burden of the company on her shoulders. She just wanted to be done with it all.
“The papers are in from the lawyers. The transition is final. Juarez Intel Incorporated now has a controlling stake in the company. All public shareholders from the States have been given severance. You, gentleman, shall also be given what is due to you. Now that the company and its future are secured, we can move on to greener pastures. Hopefully the history between us will not tarnish the growth of Foster Industries in Mexico and around the world,” Olivia said as she peered through her reading glasses at the men staring at her around the conference room.
A slight murmur of chatter broke out. It was faint, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out the chatter wasn’t favorable.
“Any questions?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yeah. How much is Jesse Foster paying you to screw us over?” a man asked from across the room.
His question unnerved the room. A bated breath of silent agreement broke out before the group. All that Olivia Cormack could do was brace herself for the long night ahead. She knew that every single person in the room would want answers, and she had been sent there to give them. She anticipated the fact that she might be there all night. Either way, she knew they had coffee on the regular, so she wouldn’t be as tired in the morning.
She breathed in a heavy breath; the intake of air hitting her lungs awoke her from her thoughts. She then saw the group of men staring at her for answers. It turned out it wasn’t a dream. She was really there, surrounded by a group of ex-partners. She knew for a fact that the night would be a long one. Coffee or not, she and Foster Industries had some explaining to do.
Thirty-Five
I sat up straight in my seat. The leather chair was making my back itchy. I tried to maneuver the itch away, but the more I tried, the harder the itch prevailed. I had more pressing things on my mind. I was washed and bathed. I had had time to get freshened up in the bathroom. It wasn’t quite a shower, but basins never did any harm to hygiene. I hadn’t had time to go back home anyway. Not since we had our first break in the case. The break had come in the form of IDs for both our male victims. We had managed to ID the other two victims, but they had been collateral damage. We thought that maybe they were innocent bystanders, caught in a spree. I was certain of that fact, so much so that I couldn’t even remember the name of the bartender/owner of the bar in which our most exciting victim was found.
I watched as Chief Shaw cleared his throat as he stood in front of us all. A big group of uniforms and detectives were sitting idly, waiting for Shaw to speak. I hadn’t seen a big meeting like this one in a while. I felt as if we were about to be sanctioned into a manhunt. Hopefully that was the case, because I wasn’t up for lectures on sexual harassment today. Those sorts of workshops do nothing but waste police time. You’d be surprised at how many days of the year are dedicated to “
training.”
Makes me sick.
“Okay, gentleman,” Shaw said as he stood high and mighty in our presence. The man had a way about him. A stern way. It was the sort of stance a teacher took at school. They would always push their greater knowledge and authority on you, much like Chief Shaw would do on a daily basis.
“We have two names for our victims. One Toby Johnson, an intern at Foster Industries. One Nick Evans, chief financial officer at Foster Industries. We have two other victims, but they don’t seem related. The only relation they have to the case is that they were murdered by the same man. We don’t have an ID on this particular gentleman, but he is quite easy to spot. Hopefully that will lead to his capture. He wears a big red sombrero, and he also leaves little red sombreros on his victims. The two odd victims that we think were killed with no motive did not have a little red sombrero on their corpse. So we are assuming he killed them because he had no choice. The other two, Evans and Johnson, both work for the same company. We are going to dig into this company and find out some more. I want uniforms to go down to their building and find out what you can about Evans and Johnson. We also need to talk to as many people as possible who work at the company. The more eyes and ears we have, the more information we gather, the faster this case is solved and I can get back to sleeping every evening, instead of every weekend.”
A long silence followed as I watched Shaw sift through some notes he must have jotted down.
“McKenzie, I want you and Santiago to question people at Foster Industries regarding the killer. I want to see if anyone recognizes the suspect. It can’t be a coincidence that two people were killed from the same company at different intervals, on different days.”
“The killer killed an intern, you say?” I asked, ignoring the protocol of waiting till the Chief asks us if we had any questions.