Bloody Shadows

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “On it, Nick. See you in Olympia for sure.”

  “You sure will… bye Cass.”

  “That sounded interesting, partner,” Gus remarked. “Your agent’s unknowingly covering our terrorist play, huh?”

  “She even threw in an added stop in Seattle,” Nick replied. “It’s Karma, brother. I believe the serial killer’s luck has hit the deadline Karma train track leading only one place. He will board, unaware he’s traveling with the Unholy Trio, accompanied by possibly OG, the herald of doom.”

  “I like just ‘Geezer’ better,” Dan said. “The only thing I am is a herald of my own doom playing around with you bunch. I’m in all the way for this by the way.”

  “We can use you, OG,” Nick replied. “I’m glad you’re coming along. I can’t say you’re the conscience for our group, because the ‘Unholy Trio’ doesn’t have much of a conscience anyway. Your input is welcome though no matter what. Neil hasn’t called. I’m wondering if his imagination is running away with him about our antics in ending the mugging gang. I hope he doesn’t start making life miserable around our Pacific Grove base. I wish there were some way to adopt him into the fold, but it’s just too damn risky.”

  “Did you hear that, John,” Gus asked. “El Muerto is finally worrying a bit about the local police force putting two and two together in spite of his crappy e-mailed conclusions as the Pacific Grove police force ‘Castle’.”

  “Yes, I am impressed by his reticence to put us all behind bars.”

  Nick began a smartass retort, only to be interrupted by yet another call, this one from his boss in name only, CIA Director Paul Gilbrech. “Paul, old buddy, how’s it hangin’?”

  “It’s a go, Nick,” Paul stated with no preamble. “The powers that be want the serial killer terrorizing Seattle and the Isis compound near Olympia. You have a get out of jail free card no matter what you do to end either threat. I’m putting it into writing to you with my signature.”

  Nick stayed silent for a moment, absorbing what such a guarantee would entail. “Damn, Paul, you’ve bludgeoned any response I have into sand. How exactly does such a thing happen in your reality, pal?”

  “More and more big name people are seated at the table since all these Isis executions with public outrage have surfaced in the media. I want it all stopped, Nick. Do it with your comic book identities, or anything else you envision. I’m writing off on it. Screw these whack jobs, and their politically correct nonsense! I know one thing: if I back you, at least I know whatever the hell you do will be for America.”

  “You have chosen wisely,” Nick replied. “We are on it right now as we speak. Your attitude is a game changer, my friend. I will do everything in my power to make sure it comes out in our favor.”

  “I know you will. Talk to you soon… I hope.”

  Nick heard the disconnect with a grin. “Well… alright then. That call was a little over the top from what I’m used to. We have cover never before experienced. God only knows how real it is, but Paul’s signing on personally. About the only thing that guarantees though is we get to sit in the interrogation room with the CIA Director.”

  “Meaning we don’t know how many people Paul read in on this mission, right?”

  “That about covers it, Gus. Whatever we do, we’ll be looking to get screwed like always. If we’re really getting blown angel kisses then whoopee. I want to hear from our US Marshal contingent. They don’t lie, because they know I can smell it on them. Cassie told me two weeks before this that my publisher can have an emergency first numbered edition of ‘Assassin’s Folly’ delivered on site for a signing. If things keep progressing in our favor, we’ll go North early, and recon our hunting grounds.

  “I heard you mention the name of the new novel might be ‘Dark Interlude’,” Dan said. “I think a better title might be ‘Dolt’s Delight’ or ‘Washout in Washington’ or-”

  “That’s enough out of you fossil.”

  Chapter Three

  Home Adjustments

  Nick walked his crew to the door after they said goodbye to Rachel and Jean. “I’ll call you guys with an update the moment Neil calls me with his horrible discovery of dead thugs. That was a good session with mapping moves on paper. We’ll be ready when I get the word from Cassie. This may be really good, timing wise. I’m thinking maybe we can take care of the Seattle Slasher, or whatever the idiots in the media are calling him.”

  “Ripper,” Dan put in. “How exactly do you plan on finding out the identity of the new ‘Ripper’? I’ve been confused with your information gathering technique.”

  “The police proceed according to their computer models furnished by the FBI, who now has an omniscient presence on site, with an agent in charge more worried about making the criminal square pieces fit into her round holes. The Feds are not incompetent catching bad guys if they’re actually connected to their victims. When they get a killer murdering people on a random basis, these task forces lose all sight of reality. I don’t blame them in a way. I never came close to being caught. Granted, I was a professional assassin, but it’s even more difficult to take down a random killer. In most cases there are no people with any kind of connection or reason for the victim to die.”

  “Those are all great excuses for the locals and FBI to miss catching the killer. I’m interested in how you’ll do it.”

  “Come along, and I’ll show you OG. Right now, I have more writing to do. Diego romance stirs my creative instincts.”

  “I can’t wait to hear what your pet Marshals say when they get the word you have Carte Blanche to handle the ‘Ripper’.”

  “They’re used to it, Gus. Go home. I have one hour to write before my agreed upon Dagger throwing knives lesson starts. I’ll be in touch.”

  Nick gave them a final wave and shut the door, looking down at the ever present Deke at his feet. “See, this is what causes writer’s block, Deke. When we literary artists are constantly interrupted, it leads to multiple excuses as to why we can’t write. The dreaded ‘Block’ could start at any time with what I’ve gone through these past days.”

  Deke snorted on cue, shaking his head, before staring into Nick’s face once again.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m full of shit. Let’s go get Diego on the path of love before Dagger tears into any more targets.”

  Deke fell in behind Nick with wagging tail.

  * * *

  Jean threw with force while on the move, hitting the target.

  “Nice hit! You’re getting the move to either side very well,” Nick complimented his pupil. “You’re taking the extra split second now to hone into your target. I love your progress. Ask your Mom. She’s really doing better than anyone I can think of at her age, not that I have much experience in underage knife throwing competitions.”

  “Yeah,” Rachel agreed with rolling eyes. “She’s deadly. I wish I could get more behind this exercise; but with no other positive outcome than killing things, I find it on the same basis as violent video games.”

  “Except that if someone were to try and take Jean off the street by surprise, I believe you’d think differently about her reactions,” Nick said. “Throwing knives hones concentration. That is an excellent life lesson. Throw your knife, kid.”

  In a split second, Jean drew her Italian Stiletto and hit the target dead center. She smiled at her Mom. “I’m deadly, Mom. No one will ever blindside me into the back of a van on my way to be maimed and tortured… ever again.”

  Rachel sighed, walking over to hug her deadly daughter. “I’m with you, but discipline means more than killing people.”

  “Dad has that covered too. He’s teaching me combat knife strategy.”

  “Oh goody,” Rachel said, eyeballing the suddenly uneasy Nick.

  “Gee… thanks for throwing me under the bus, kid. Maybe you can get your teacher at school to instruct you on combat skills from now on.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Jean replied with confidence, while collecting all thrown knives. “If th
e Momster tries to limit our lessons, I’ll blackmail her into submission.”

  “Momster?! You’re toast!”

  Nick barely scooped the ‘Momster’ into his arms in time before she reached her intended target. “Easy, babe, Jean’s eating your lunch. She’ll be skilled in all the self-defense I can teach her. She has good moral fiber, and she won’t kill anyone not deserving of it. I’m sorry, but that is what you married. I’ve tried not to allow my more psychopathic leanings infect us, but they can’t be simply ignored. I see all things in black and white, with very little gray.”

  Rachel’s body relaxed into defeat once again. She covered Nick’s hands gripped around her. “Although I acknowledge I cannot keep my sanity when baited by this offspring of the devil, I do once again recognize your point, Muerto.”

  Nick patted her shoulder as Jean giggled. “It was the ‘Momster’ tag. Take comfort in the fact you will have your revenge with my backing at Dagger’s most vulnerable moment.”

  Rachel brightened instantly, pointing at her now uneasy daughter. “Oh yeah, baby! This disrespect shall not go unanswered. Thanks Muerto. We’ll work out our signals later.”

  “No fair! Dad… what kind of crap is this? You’re siding with her? I’m funny, tolerant of what you are, and your protégé. You can’t just throw me under the bus like this.”

  Nick walked over to put hands on Jean’s outraged shoulders. “There are more lessons in life than throwing knives, kid. Someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll find someone who means more to you than anything else in the world. It’s a partnership beyond kids, jobs, and life itself. You and Deke are beyond everything else in my world except for one: the Momster.”

  Jean hugged Nick. “Yeah… I know. You do realize Mom and me will be at each other’s throats for the rest of our lives with you as some helpless referee, right?”

  Nick hugged her back. “I’m a writer with imagination. Believe me. I’ve seen the future, and I’m not running away, kid.”

  “Good!” Jean pushed away. “I bet I’m throwing well enough to take you, old man. Want to have a go at the knife wielding Dagger?”

  “Sure. Shall I use my left or right hand?”

  Jean’s jaw dropped open as Rachel enjoyed her daughter’s shock therapy. “You’re right handed! What do you mean left or right?”

  Nick plucked a throwing knife off the table with his left hand, while keeping his eyes on Jean, and whirled with force, sending the blade into the target center, buried to the hilt. “I mean right… or left, little one.”

  Jean stared at the knife hilt in disbelief, glanced at Nick, and turned away with arms over chest. “I hate you!”

  Her statement led to hilarity, with Jean unable to resist joining. Even Deke, sensing something like a treat bounded around his three human mates. They heard the motion sensor alarm begin pinging first, followed by the doorbell ringing. Nick peered into the monitor inside the door leading to their backyard, and sighed.

  “Rats, it’s the cops. I’m taking you two out to dinner. Pick a place with steak so I can bring back multiple bone treats for my four legged brother, the Dekester.”

  “By your command, Muerto,” Rachel said, putting an arm around Jean. “Stay out of jail.”

  “Will do. I’ll bring Neil in if he’s not here to arrest me.” Nick listened to the pleasant tittering of laughter at his caveat as he answered the door with a smile of one who enjoys what is within his grasp. “Neil! How the heck are you? C’mon in. I guess you received my thoughts on the muggers, huh?”

  Sergeant Neil Dickerson nodded in acknowledgement, a chill running down his spine he could not explain, or cared to. He shook hands with Nick McCarty, he knew to be a bestselling novelist with a book at that moment in the number one slot on the New York Times Bestseller list. The incongruity of what he knew and what he suspected made his hands sweat. Nick noticed, as he drew the Pacific Grove policeman inside the doorway.

  “You don’t look so good, my friend,” Nick said, releasing Neil’s hand. “Would you like a shot of nerve tranquilizer? That is… of course, if you’re off duty.”

  “I am off duty, Nick. Ah… sure, I’d like a shot. How about a double on the rocks?”

  Nick grinned. “My man! Come with me, my friend.”

  Neil followed Nick into the kitchen, where Nick prepared two small glasses with ice and a double shot of Bushmills in each one. “I’m taking the girls out to dinner tonight, so I’ll have a taste with you. Did something go wrong?

  “Not really, Nick. Some joggers found the bodies of three dead guys along a path near Lover’s Point, and another in his vehicle on the street nearly opposite of where they were found.” Neil sipped his beverage. “I have a feeling the mugger problem is over. You were right on all counts with the supposition you sent me. I’m not so sure as to how these guys ended up dead though.”

  “Good Karma?” Nick sipped his whiskey, watching Sergeant Dickerson closely.

  Dickerson grinned. “Maybe. We don’t have any leads or suspects in the deaths of these muggers, and from where they were killed, I doubt I’ll get any either. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it may not be a good idea to involve our ‘Castle’ of Pacific Grove in any more cases. I know you have credentials with the FBI, US Marshal’s Service, as well as the CIA, Nick. Do you have a license to kill too?”

  Nick laughed. “Nope. I don’t have a license to kill. Do you know for sure the dead guys are the muggers you’ve been after?”

  “Yep. We contacted prior surviving victims. The dead guys were identified right away as the ones. I bet they never figured they’d need masks, because the idiots thought they had a sweet gig going in the dark and fog. We’re looking into revenge killings, but no one knew who they were until today. You can imagine how tough it is to get someone to talk to us on a Sunday. They seemed to enjoy the news though. I wanted to come by in person to update you on this. I’m not going to pretend with you, Nick. I think you trapped and killed those guys. They deserved it, but I could go to prison as an accessory to murder if you were ever implicated. I’ll make certain that does not happen in this case, but I think maybe our ‘Castle’ TV show joke is over.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot to absorb, Neil. I’m sorry you feel you’re leading me to murderous ends. If you do believe what you’re saying though, I won’t be offended if I’m not called on as your ‘Castle’ type writer contact. We can still be friends though, right?”

  Neil gulped down the rest of his drink while standing. “We will still be friends. It would be idiotic to admit to any of what I’ve said, but I’d like to think I could still call on you if my back’s against the wall.”

  Nick stood with him, with Deke nosing around both men. “I’d be happy to help in anything you would like my input on, my friend. I don’t think depending on me for the murderous role you think I’m playing out is an option or reality, but I am good at profiling.”

  “Yeah… you are.” Neil held out his hand and Nick grasped it. “See you later, Castle. Have a great dinner with your family. I guess Rachel’s really close by now, huh?”

  “She is indeed, and thinking she will be early. We’ll be going to Washington for a couple of book signings. I’ll let you know the dates. I’d appreciate it if you could have a squad car swing around for a check once in a while.”

  “Count on it.”

  While watching Neil walk to his car, Nick put Gus, John, and Dan on a network call. “Neil’s been by. He has a wild theory about the criminals he asked me to look into. Apparently, he believes their deaths were due to me, a lowly author of fiction books. It ends there though. No need to say anything else about such an outlandish fable. I’m taking Rachel and Jean out to dinner. Would you guys like to meet at the beach tomorrow morning?”

  “I’m in,” Dan said.

  “I’ll bring the coffee this time,” Gus said.

  “I will again bring the magic elixir if you would like a taste,” John added.

  “See you guys on the beach then.” Nick disconnected. Wh
en he turned, Rachel and Jean were behind him, dressed to go out to dinner.

  “I’m famished,” Rachel stated, rubbing her rather extended stomach. “And so is Quinn.”

  “What she said,” Jean added, “but with gasps of that’s just disgusting.”

  Nick again interceded on a Rachel beat-down of Jean. “You two need to work this confrontation stuff down to small disagreements without this unseemly mother/daughter blend of insanity. Otherwise, I go straight for the throat of the youngest.”

  “Uh oh,” Jean said, waving her hand in abdication. “Just testing the boundaries. Fail!”

  “You two will drive me insane!” Rachel clenched fists at her sides.

  “It should count on my part that I am not doing so consciously, Babe,” Nick said.

  Jean’s giggle and silence illustrated her instinctive knowledge about the unstated parameters. Nick gestured at the perpetrator of parental agony. “Keep it up, Dagger, and the only weapon or electronic gear device in your hand will have to arrive by way of imagination.”

  “No fair! I always get screwed because I’m the smartest. You and the Momster should learn to build better barricades between you and the rest of us unfortunate inmates on the good ship ‘crazy planet’. Some of us didn’t ask to be shipwrecked here with you two weirdoes.”

  Sensing she may have gone one step beyond in her defense tactic, Jean immediately recanted her last statement. “Uh… no offense of course. I was simply pointing out the plight of us less fortunate travelers, doomed to share space on the same vessel not of our making.”

  “Wow,” Nick said, grabbing Jean’s ear as she danced on her tiptoes in distress. “That was a neat, well-spoken cry for help, don’t you think, mistress of the ‘crazy planet’?”

  “Let her go, Muerto. In another few moments, you’ll be ditching us, and heating a can of soup. I think I’ll be less annoyed when sitting in a nice restaurant such as the Old Fisherman’s Grotto in Monterey. It’ll be just the three of us for a change.”

  “Sounds good. That place is a crack up. They have that sign that says ‘No Strollers, No High Chairs, No Booster Seats’.”