Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  I pulled the car up into a space on the main street and turned the ignition off. The engine clicked as it cooled and I scanned the shop fronts on either side of the road.

  Alison worked her summer and winter breaks at the teahouse a few doors down. One thing that Necromancers were terrible at was staying inconspicuous. You go asking questions in your leathers, or send in the brawn to do the delicate work and everything falls apart. No, they needed to send the pretty boy killer, dress him up in a nice looking suit and send him to talk to the target’s friends at her old workplace.

  Winter was losing its chill, but snow was still collecting on rooftops and window sills in this part of the country. The sun beat down on the pretty little cottage town, melting the snow away flake by flake. It was quaint, but the mark of the terrible murder that had happened a few streets over still hung in the background like a cold shadow that they couldn’t shake.

  I’d stopped at a service station to grab a coffee just outside the town limits and even they had been shocked at the news. They still had a memorial photograph of the family on a noticeboard in the cafe. No questions had been required for that sliver of information. The Crawfords had been well known and well liked in these parts, except for the son. He’d trod a dark path long before he left school and became a man.

  There was a pub down the way called The Golden Lion, and across from that was a small grocery store that seemed to double as a home and hardware. Beyond was the teahouse called The Golden Mayflower. Small town people stuck together in name and business, it seemed.

  The map showed a country club and golf course through the woods and a variety of large houses with acreage. The place stunk of old money.

  Money and not much to do always resulted in gossip mongering. It was big business and there was plenty still being flung around about the Crawford’s murder. More than one person thought that Alison had gone out into the woods and killed herself. Over her grief, over guilt, over a lot of different things, but nobody had ever found a body. Someone disappeared and people automatically thought the worst.

  It may well have been that she’d taken her grief and used it to plan her own murder.

  Opening the door, I stepped out of the car and into the sunshine, pushing my sunglasses up my nose. Running over my cover in my head once more I pressed the fob on my keys and pocketed them, strolling towards the teahouse.

  Pushing open the door, I took in the quaint little room that smelt like roasted coffee and cake. Little tables were crammed into every available nook and cranny, each one covered in a red and white checkered tablecloth. The place was almost empty, being the end of winter and all. An elderly man sat by himself at a table by the large front window, nestled in a pool of sunshine, a teapot with a cup and saucer in front of him. He looked like a local, so I weaved through the tables and pulled up a chair at the table next to him, which happened to be the only other table coated in warmth from outside.

  The old man eyed me curiously, his cup shaking in his hand. That was more from old age than anything else. Sometimes it was hard to disconnect myself from the two settings, on reconnaissance or sitting at The Gambler’s Inn in my leathers.

  Setting my sunglasses and phone on the table, I glanced over the menu. Tea, more tea, coffee and cake.

  “You’re police?” the old man asked when I didn’t acknowledge him. “They stopped looking for her a long time ago. Such a shame.”

  “No, I’m not police,” I replied. “Private detective.”

  He looked me up and down with his watery eyes. “You look the part with your fancy car and suit.”

  Glancing out the window, I frowned.

  “I saw you sitting there,” he went on. “Watching.”

  “Oh, shoosh, Eddie,” a woman said and waved him off.

  Glancing up at the waitress, I saw her name tag read, ‘Patrice’.

  “Pay him no mind. They say his head was screwed up in Vietnam,” she said to me. “Alison was the only one who paid him any attention. That’s who he means by ‘her’.”

  “It seems like Alison was well liked around here.”

  “I knew her from high school,” she went on. “She was top in everything. Everyone wanted to be her.” She puffed out her chest, sticking her tits into my line of view. Apparently she had to compensate for her shortcomings next to Alison Crawford by being a tart.

  No doubt Alison had been voted ‘most likely not to attempt murder’, but better people had been driven to do dark things before. If they could, so could she.

  “Such a terrible thing what happened. Her family all shot dead like that.” Patrice shook her head. “What can I get for you?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” I shifted my phone and sunglasses on the table and glanced back to the old man.

  “Why a private detective?” Eddie asked as Patrice moved off.

  Solidifying the lie, I replied, “The police are at a loss, that’s why they sent me. Alison’s disappearance is considered a cold case now. They wanted to shut it, but I thought it was worth another look.”

  “Stop with your stories.” Patrice, the tarty waitress, hushed Eddie as she put a coffee in front of me.

  “They think I’m bloody crazy,” Eddie said and she rolled her eyes. “They just don’t see what I do.”

  “And what do you see?” I asked calmly, turning in my chair, effectively dismissing the girl.

  “Alison didn’t kill herself. I won’t have it. There was too much attention on the poor lass. If I were her, I’d try and disappear. Start afresh. No help staying round here with this lot prying into your business. Nosey lot of money hungry codgers around here.”

  It confirmed my suspicions that she’d tried to disappear after her family was murdered, but where had she gone?

  “Where do you think she’d have gone?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But she had to have had friends up at that fancy school of hers.”

  I frowned. I didn’t want to have to make another trip, but I doubted she would’ve turned to her University friends for help. She was intelligent, well liked, a people person. A girl like that would’ve been known by a lot of people. If she was reported missing and someone had seen her, they would’ve notified the authorities. The Necromancers would’ve found her months ago if that was the case.

  “I thought I’d seen a ghost,” Crazy Eddie said, breaking me out of my thought pattern.

  I glanced up at him, suddenly interested. “What do you mean?”

  “Alison was blonde. If there’s such a thing as doppelgängers, I swear this woman was her. It’s sad.” He shook his head.

  “What did this other woman look like?”

  He lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip. “There’s light and dark in this world boy. I’ve seen it all. This woman was the spitting image of Alison, but she was dark. Not just her hair, but her entire presence. I’ve seen good men go bad in the middle of war, but this was different. She had murder in her eyes.”

  They sure didn’t call him Crazy Eddie for nothing.

  “Nothing good can come of that,” he went on. “Nothing at all.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mercy

  X had just disappeared.

  I wanted to see him, to say…I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I felt the overwhelming need to lay eyes on him.

  He’d been gone ever since that night he and Weiss had killed those Necromancer thugs. I could still feel the sensation of the knife as it sailed past my head and the sound it made as it imbedded into Ugly’s skull.

  Who the fuck was X?

  Scratch that.

  What the fuck was X?

  Whatever shit he was in, his interest in me had made me a pawn in their stupid turf war. They’d be watching me now. Watching and waiting for X to screw up so they could take me.

  I escaped the clutches of a murderer only to fall into the arms of a monster.

  Fidgeting behind the bar of The Gambler’s Inn, I ha
d to do something. I needed answers, because this fear that was creeping up my spine like an unwanted houseguest was getting on my nerves. I came here to get lost, to collect myself, to bloody well regroup for the next assault, not to be made a target. I didn’t come all this way to be found out.

  I rounded the bar and strode toward the office. I was itching and I needed answers to scratch it with. Weiss would know, he was the numbers man, the go to guy for information. He would know. I went to shove the door open, but the memory of the gunshot that ripped the air apart the other night seemed to echo in my memory. He shot a man in cold blood. Bam. Right between the eyes.

  Thinking better of it, I hesitated, the door staying ajar. Weiss’ voice filtered through the gap and I paused when I heard him mention X. It was like a moth to a flame, so I peered inside.

  He was on the phone, his back turned toward the door, so he hadn't noticed the door slipping open.

  “X is on tenterhooks with Sykes,” Weiss said, pausing to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. “He knows that. This is his out, I don’t think he’d do anything to screw it up. He wants it too much.”

  He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “He’s never failed Greggor and I don’t expect him to now. He was trained too well.”

  Trained? I bit my lip, wondering what the hell Weiss meant. Trained for what?

  “I’ve got an eye on him,” he went on, then another pause as Greggor, whoever that was, answered. “I’ve got my eye on her as well. She’s got a mouth on her, but she can be trusted.”

  Closing the door softly, I went back out to the bar. That had to be me they were talking about. There were eyes on me from all camps, but Royal Blood trusted me. Weiss trusted me and I could use that to my advantage.

  My blood ran even colder with the thought of X working with the Necromancers. What was so important that a Motorcycle Club war would be put on hold for them to trust X with some unknown job? I had to find out without raising suspicion. Whatever it was, I was dragged into it the moment they sent the dogs in to rough me up. X had involved me in a lot more than some disagreement between criminals. He’d involved me emotionally the moment he fucked me over Weiss’ desk and solidified it when he made me take him to my place.

  All this was X’s fault.

  Turning around, I strode across the bar and shoved into the office.

  Weiss glanced up, the phone gone from his hand. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he asked.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “What-”

  Weiss held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t go asking questions, Mercy.”

  “Why not? Those ugly fuckers came in here and harassed me. They would’ve touched me up or worse if you hadn’t killed them. Shit,” I hissed shaking my head. “You and X killed five men and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

  “Don’t go getting involved in shit you don’t understand,” Weiss said. “You’d do best to stay out of it Mercy, or more of the same is coming your way. Next time, we mightn’t be there.”

  “I don’t appreciate being dragged into your fucking turf war or whatever shit this is,” I exclaimed. “I just work the bar.”

  “I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “I know you’re looking to get lost, but I don’t know if this is the right place to do it anymore.”

  What the fuck? “You’re firing me?”

  “No, I’m not firing you,” he said. “Just be careful. You’ll be okay as long as me or X are around.”

  “Where is X?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “He’s out on club business. Mercy…” Weiss stood, circling around the desk. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but X? He doesn’t do the old lady thing.” I cocked my head to the side. “The wife, the girlfriend, the lady,” he went on. “He can’t.”

  I was beyond trying to hide my attraction to the monster anymore, so I just went with it. “Why not?”

  “It’s not my business. You’d do best to listen, Mercy. Fuck knows I’ve given you enough warnings.”

  “I’m just trying to understand,” I said.

  “That’s the thing,” Weiss said. “With X, you can’t. That fucker is a mystery, even to me.”

  I stared at Weiss, wondering the same thing about him. I didn’t quite believe his words, and by the look on his face, neither did he. Weiss knew something.

  Something big.

  And I was determined to find out what.

  *****

  A few days went by. A few days of nothing.

  After such a violent situation playing out at The Gambler’s Inn, it sure was bloody quiet. Weiss came and went as per his usual routine. I did my shifts, the regulars all did their rotations at the bar and nothing untoward happened. At all. It was so bloody quiet all I could do was think about X.

  X pressing me up against the wall over there and dry humping me into submission. X dragging me by the hair into Weiss’ office. X pounding his cock into me from behind. X’s finger in my ass. Bloody hell.

  I woke up each morning in a cold sweat, images of blood and death plaguing my dreams. They get them every time. Bam. Right between the eyes. Sometimes it was a faceless man. Sometimes I just found bodies everywhere. Sometimes it was X with the gun. I woke with images of death that bled through to my waking life.

  I was thankful that The Gambler’s Inn was quiet on a week night. People went to other pubs that played football games on flat screen tellies or had a livelier atmosphere. Only the punters looking for a quiet hole to water themselves in came here. Most of the time I was on my own and that’s the way I preferred it.

  It was a Tuesday night, so the place was as dead as a doornail. A few old Royal Blood bikers were in one corner, weathered men who had snow white beards and beer guts. Three younger men were engrossed in a game of pool, their attention on who was winning. A pile of money that had been bet on the game was sitting on one edge. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air, the clean air laws given the middle finger. Weiss never enforced them, being a heavy chain smoker himself. It’d screw with his nicotine addiction.

  Everyone had just seemed to have forgotten that a few nights ago, five Necromancers were killed right where I was standing. How could people be so…flippant with human life, no matter how scummy the victim was?

  That was the pot calling the kettle black, wasn’t it?

  That’s when I felt his gaze on me. My entire body was zapping with some kind of fucked up electrical current, so it couldn’t be anyone else.

  Turning, I laid eyes on X, who had appeared out of nowhere and was sitting on a stool at the bar. His elbows were leaning against the mahogany, his head lowered but his gaze firmly on me. He looked strung out but he also looked like something else…a predator.

  Squeezing my thighs together I asked, “Want a drink?”

  There was no way in hell I was staying away from him now. We had the connection most people only ever dreamed of, let alone found. Maybe X didn’t realize it yet, but something kept bringing him back to me. Whatever it was, I was more than happy to go along with it.

  It was dangerous for both of us if we wanted to go on living, but more than that…it seemed forbidden and that made it all the more thrilling.

  “Corona,” X murmured, but I’d already opened the fridge and was popping off the cap.

  It hadn’t taken long to plant the seed in my heart, did it? I was a magnet for trouble, even when I wasn’t trying. The moment X turned up and kissed me, it was too late. The moment he fucked me, I was a goner. It didn’t matter what or who X was now. I was addicted.

  I put the bottle in front of him and leaned back against the bench behind me. He took a long swill of beer, before sinking into his earlier posture. He slid a twenty on the bar, but I didn’t move to take it.

  “Hard day?” I asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Do I look that shit?” I drawled, some of my spark coming back.

  He stared at me for
a moment. “You look tired.”

  “So do you.”

  He snorted and downed another mouthful of beer. X never talked and it was beginning to piss me off. Normal people talked, but he was far from normal. That was a point I’d caught onto early, then it was solidified when he threw a knife at my head like a fucking ninja.

  Glancing up, I noticed the three men at the pool table had left, leaving the table of old Royal Blood bikers at the rear. They were talking in hushed tones, glancing over at us every now and then.

  “They’ll leave in the next five minutes,” X said, not even turning around.

  “How do you know?” I retorted.

  “Experience.”

  “Do people dislike you that much?” I asked, trying to prod for information.

  His lips curled as he regarded me. He was totally onto me. Shit on it.

  “No, I think it’s more to do with fear,” I went on. “They’re afraid of you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I pushed off the bench and leaned against the bar, closing in on his personal space. The air crackled with more than attraction, it was alive with the thrill of the chase.

  “I see the way people look at you.” I watched him lift the bottle of beer to his lips and drink, my heart picking up speed. “The mysterious tough guy who does secret business for Royal Blood. No one knows your name, or where you’re from. They just know you’re a mean son of a bitch.”

  “And what do you think?” he asked, his fingers tightening around the glass bottle.

  “I know enough that I should stay the fuck away from you.”

  X stared me down, the air humming. It took all I had not to fling myself across the bar and beg him to take me again, but I held his gaze, daring him to give me something. Anything.

  “You’re a smart woman Mercy,” he said after a moment. “But there’s a problem with that.”