Yearling Investigation Archives (Book 1): Sanguine

by Brittany Swigert

  “I think you‘ll find I have nothing to say to you Erik. Odds are my people think I failed and have already sent another to dispatch the two of you. Scottie boy, you really fucked up not taking my deal. You could have lived.” Kliseman replied coldly.

  “Shut up.” Kasparov shouted. He was riding on adrenaline but his wound was starting to ache and was proving to be quite a distraction. He took his prescription bottle out and took his next dose, washing it down with the whiskey in his flask. “I never would have taken your deal. You went after a dear friend of mine and I will see to it your organization is brought down. You’re lucky I don’t just shoot you now. Lofgren thinks letting you off will lead us to the rest. Says it’s a good trade to take the whole group down. Think of it as a plea bargain.”

  “A plea bargain you say? You have no idea who you are working with do you? His own agency thinks he’s lost it. If you think working with him is going to be anything like what you are used to get ready to be disappointed. The man is insane. I will not leave this room alive, that much I already know. There is nothing you can do or say that will convince me otherwise.” Kliseman laughed as he replied.

  “How many people are working with you on this?” Lofgren asked calmly. It unnerved Kasparov to see him so cool after what Kliseman said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? Erik, Erik, Erik. Sophie is a pretty name for a little girl. It would be a shame-.” Kliseman started. Lofgren struck him hard against his jaw, the nail file tearing in to Kliseman’s cheek. Blood trickled down his chin as the man started to laugh.

  “You don’t know shit about my family.” Lofgren said spitting on him. “If you hadn’t seen my tattoo back in Tampa you wouldn’t even know I had a child. You act like you know everything about us, but you don’t. You observe, you make safe assumptions and say them in shocking ways to get a response. Anyone who knows how to manipulate can see right through it.”

  “Oh but it works doesn’t it Erik?” Kliseman laughed loudly. “God it feels so good to bleed. Nothing you do is going to hurt me.”

  Kasparov was sure he saw the cut on Kliseman’s face heal moments after it had been sliced. The doctor had warned against the dangers of taking pain killers and drinking, especially so soon after his accident. He wrote it off as a strange side effect and took comfort in the fact that Lofgren was entirely lucid. He didn’t want this to all be for nothing.

  “Kasparov, bring me the screws and the hammer.” Lofgren requested with a grin. Kasparov put the items on a tray and put them in a metal box that opened on both sides. He closed the box and secured it before Lofgren opened his side taking out the items he had requested. “You may think I can’t hurt you, but I know how to injure you in a way that you can’t ignore.”

  Lofgren began to sing to himself as he inspected the utensils. The words were foreign and he sang them in a guttural way that made his actions far more intimidating. It was, perhaps, more so due to the fact that he didn’t seem to notice he was singing at all. He raised his leg and stepped on Kliseman’s fingers to keep them from moving. He then lined up a screw between the skin and nail on one of his fingers before driving the screw in to his finger. Kliseman screamed and blood seeped out from around the nail. Lofgren sang louder and even started to bob his head a bit as he went to the box to retrieve a second screw.

  “What was that about not being able to hurt you?” Kasparov asked. He admitted to himself that this was harder than he thought, despite the fact that this man had caused him so much pain. The strange song his partner was singing only made him more nervous.

  Kliseman squirmed and screamed in pain as blood dripped from his badly damaged fingertip. The area around the screw took on a black color that must have been caused by the damage done by forcing it in.

  “Fuck you! I should have killed you when I saw you in Tampa.” Kliseman spat at Lofgren, ignoring Kasparov’s comment entirely. The singing stopped and the silence in the room was deafening.

  “You should have, but you didn’t because you are weak. Now tell me what I want to know” Lofgren replied with a strange smile on his face that seemed to twist in an uncomfortable way.

  “That’s not how it happened.” Kliseman retorted angrily.

  Lofgren picked up the next screw and hammered in to another finger. This caused Kliseman to scream out yet again. Kasparov wished he would just tell them what they needed to know so this could end.

  “Now, I will ask again. Where are you all hiding out?” Lofgren asked calmly.

  “If you think I’m going to talk you are dumber than I thought.” Kliseman replied. “Does your partner know how we met?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Lofgren said casually as he pulled another screw out of the box.

  “Oh but it does.” Kliseman laughed. “Erik had almost won. He had tracked down and gotten rid of many of our operatives. And then he found me.”

  “Enough of that. Tell us where to find the others.” Lofgren yelled at him. It was clear his partner didn’t want Kliseman to finish his story and he wondered why. Kasparov watched as Lofgren drove the third screw in to Kliseman with less care than before. It had gone in wrong and pushed up the man nail leaving metal and blood and torn skin exposed.

  “I took that girl you were talking to and you stood down.” Kliseman yelled out in pain. “I told you if you didn’t let me go she would die. You tried to get her to tell you where we were hiding out and without her you would never know. And after everything, after letting me go we let her call you. She met you that night and told you she wouldn’t give us up and you lost it. You thought you were so smart, so in control. You’re nothing compared to us.”

  Lofgren drove another screw in to the man’s finger before throwing the hammer back in to the box aggressively.

  Lofgren left the cell allowing Kasparov to take his turn. He wasn’t sure he was ready to his part. He had never done anything like this and the idea scared him. He knew he was capable of it, and that terrified him even more. He did his best to sound like it had come naturally.

  “It feels good to see you hurt, I have to admit.” Kasparov told Kliseman. “Lofgren was clear that the screws shouldn’t stay in too long so I have come to remove them. I will do that for you if you tell us how many of you there are.”

  “No. I have no intention of telling you anything, besides I am having more fun telling you about the man you are working with.” Kliseman said through gritted teeth.

  “Ok. I guess we have to take extra measures then. Lofgren, pliers please.” Kasparov said as calmly as he could. He tried to behave in a way that would intimidate the man and get him to talk as quickly as possible. Lofgren unlocked his side of the black box and took out the screws and the hammer and replaced it with crude pliers. Kasparov inspected them in the light of the room and admired the handmade tool. He had noticed most of the tools had been, and had the feeling that Lofgren wasn’t new to this once more. He found himself wondering what had happened to the woman that Kliseman had mentioned.

  Kasparov lined up the end of the pliers with the knuckle closest to the screws. The skin had turned black from the screws and it was slippery with blood. He managed to get lined up and squeezed the ends clamping his knuckle and forcing the tool until he felt the bone shatter. He pulled back still holding the pliers closed and tore the end of the finger off. Bits of shattered bone and torn skin hung from the tip of the man’s finger. It bleed heavily.

  “Tell us what we need to know or I will be just as gentle next time.” Kasparov said as he stroked the next finger with the end of the pliers.

  “Why should I tell you anything? What do you really think you can do? You couldn’t even save your whore of a friend.” Kliseman spat at Kasparov.

  Kasparov lined the pliers up and ripped back once more. Blood dripped on to the floor as Kliseman screamed out in pain.

  “Oh I wish she had been taken too.” Kliseman yelled at Kasparov. “Such a sexy woman. I would have liked to enjoy her a bit before killing her. Such a shame I couldn’t hear her scr
eaming under me before Jared got to her.”

  Kasparov couldn’t take hearing the way he spoke about Bambi. Something in him snapped and he went at Kliseman with unnatural fervor. He ripped the tips off the third and fourth finger. Kasparov was thankful for the soundproofing the manufacturing company had installed years before as the man’s screams grew louder with each knuckle he ripped away. Kasparov noticed that the bleeding wasn’t stopping and it had started to pool on the floor. He worried if it continued much longer the man would die and they would learn nothing.

  “I need the blow torch.” He said to Lofgren as he placed the pliers in the box and secured it. Kasparov was feeling a bit faint from the medication and hoped it wouldn’t impair his judgment. He wanted to kill the man in front of him more than he had ever wanted anything. Seeing his blood dripping on to the floor, hearing the squishing beneath his feet, smelling the panic on his captive, made the urge even stronger. He had never murdered anyone. He had put down criminals in the past when no options were available but he knew what he was doing was wrong. Still, he had to force himself to retrieve the torch Lofgren had placed in the box.

  “I can’t let you die no matter what you say about Bambi. Not yet. Not before you tell us what we want to know.” Kasparov said. He started the torch and burned the ends of Kliseman’s fingers cauterizing the wound to stop the bleeding. The screams were piercing and the smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils. Once he was done and the wounds were no longer dripping with blood, Kasparov left the cell and Lofgren went in with the screws and hammer in hand ready for round two. Kliseman stared at the men in terror.

  It was clear he was messing with Kasparov in hopes that they both would have given up and he could try to escape. Seeing Lofgren come in the cell with renewed vigor proved to be more than Kliseman could handle. He didn’t want to lose any more fingers.

  “It doesn’t matter if I tell you or not. You are never going to kill all of us Erik. You have to understand that. Even if you do kill me, it will not matter to them.” Kliseman tried to reason with Lofgren.

  “I am not afraid of you people. I know what you are and I know what it takes to bring you down.” Lofgren replied as he lined a screw up to continue his work.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way. Let me go. I will tell them you two are dead and you can leave town. They will never know.” Kliseman begged.

  “I think you will find we aren’t the running type, isn’t that right Lofgren.” Kasparov replied.

  “No, we aren’t. Give up your boss and I won’t have to do this again.” Lofgren said as he brought the hammer against the head of the screw sending it deep under their captives nail.

  “Claudia!” He screamed. “Get Claudia, she is in charge. There are only a few of us left. It’s why we can’t leave; there aren’t enough of us to make things work. We are trying to increase our numbers but its slow moving. We have maybe twelve people left including me; Thirteen at the most. Please let me go. I will leave and never bother you again.”

  That was enough for Kasparov. They had a name and a number. All that was left was to track Claudia. It looked like they were going to be catching her show tonight. It would be good to see the rest of the girls after what had happened. He picked up the gun from the table and sent a round in to Kliseman’s head silencing the man’s begging, and splattering bits of skull and brain matter against the bars of the cell.

  X.

  “You couldn’t have waited to do that, Kasparov?” Lofgren asked angrily as he wiped bits of Kliseman off of himself. Killing the man had always been his plan, but he hadn’t told his partner and was a bit taken aback at the easy way Kasparov pulled the trigger. The place was a forensics nightmare with blood splattered everywhere. He had wanted to make it a clean kill so it would be easier to cover-up. Now he had to be extra careful to remove any traces that they were there.

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand to look at him any longer after what they did to Bambi, and then to me. Besides if we had let him go, he would have turned us in. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go to prison if I can help it.” Kasparov explained. Lofgren couldn’t blame him for acting the way he did, but cleaning up after the incident would add time the men didn’t have. There was very little he hated more than wasting time.

  “Go on to Marian’s without me and warn Missy. Then keep an eye on Claudia. Don’t let yourself get distracted.” Lofgren ordered Kasparov. “Do not try to apprehend her. We will have to follow her back to where they are taking every one; otherwise we have no chance of bringing down the entire group. I know you are focused on Ms. Hodge, but you have to remember these people are kidnapping and murdering the people of this town just like they did in the places before here. You cannot let wanting revenge get in the way of taking down these people and getting justice for all of the other victims. This isn’t just about your friend. Don’t forget that.”

  “I had forgotten.” Kasparov said somberly. “I can’t believe how fucked up this has gotten me. I honestly had forgotten about the others. Shit. I don’t know Lofgren, have I gone too far?”

  “I had every intention of dispatching Mr. Kliseman. He was a danger to us alive, both legally and physically. Despite our safety measures, if we left him here he would have escaped and come for us and our families. It doesn’t matter if it is Ms. Hodge or a stranger; you need to approach this thinking of the big picture. It’s easy to lose sight of the situation when your rational is convoluted by thoughts of revenge.” Lofgren explained. He felt almost hypocritical as he lectured his partner; after all, he himself was pursuing the group out of a personal vendetta. They had managed to elude him this far and Kliseman was clearly playing game with him. Now that he was taken care of all that was left was to bring down the rest of them.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Kasparov replied. “I guess I have to let some things go for now. I’m going to be ok. I’m good now. Thank you.”

  Kasparov took a sip from his flask and winced as he grabbed his cane and began to make his way to the elevator. Lofgren watched him limp and stumble. He imagined the pain Kasparov was feeling was excruciating. He had read somewhere a shot to the stomach area was one of the worst ways to die. His partner had been lucky that the bullet didn’t hit him closer to the center of his body, and even luckier to have lived through being attacked so soon after. It would be a long time before the man was ready to fight again, and Lofgren didn’t want him to act recklessly.

  Surveying the scene Lofgren knew that a full clean-up was impossible in the time available and had to think quickly. Kasparov’s actions had been impulsive and had left the floors slick with blood. He had acted impulsively, leaving no time for Lofgren to discourage him. He knew cleaning everything would take far too long. They didn’t have a lot of time and he hated that his partner had delayed his plans.

  From what he had seen the area was full of drugs, hookers, and empty factories. He made the decision to stage a high level drug deal gone wrong. He carefully packed away his tools, cleaned any finger prints and wiped the blood from his shoes. He then covered his shoes with plastic bags to obscure the prints that would be left. Careful attention was given to the prints he had already made. Once he was satisfied he wrote the address of the place on a slip of paper and tucked it in Kliseman’s pocket before taking the elevator back to the ground floor, wiping any prints from the buttons and leaving the key in the security override lock.

  The light filtering in from the door guided Lofgren out in to the cold air. It had started to rain again leaving a sick sheen on the abandoned buildings. The warehouses and factories were just as dead as Kliseman and he couldn’t wait to put it behind him and move on. Now that they had a lead they could follow it all the way to a resolution. This was the closest he had ever come to solving the case. He almost had Kliseman once before, but he slipped out of his fingers. Now he had Claudia, and she wasn’t getting away.

  Lofgren’s car was parked a few blocks away and he managed to get to it quickly. He needed to get to
Marian’s as soon as possible. It was unlikely that Claudia knew they were coming for her, but he wasn’t confident Kasparov could repress the impulse to take her out before they found out where the others were staying.

  After driving Kasparov’s car, he had a new found respect for his own aging vehicle. It was about eight years old but it functioned as if it was new.

  Inside the trunk was a spare set of clothing he kept for situations like this. He changed quickly and gathered his stained clothing and lighter fluid. There was a burn barrel on the side of the warehouse that looked to be a popular evening gathering place for the local homeless. A couple of people had already started to gather but they did not appear to be in control of their cognitive faculties. Lofgren put the clothes in the barrel and poured the lighter fluid over it. When he reached for his lighter he was reminded of his recent decision to give up the habit, luckily there was a book of matches lying near the barrel.

  The first match crumbled against the strike paper without as much as a spark. The next popped and fizzled out before he could even move to place it in the barrel. After several attempts he was left with a final match. Lofgren was getting frustrated and he had to maintain his composure. The last match scraped across the strike paper and gave off a sound of the thing coming to life. He carefully cupped it in his hands as he went to put it in the barrel. A strong wind blew extinguishing the flame.

  One of the homeless men came up and put a hand on Lofgren’s shoulder. He was dirty and smelled like mold and urine. The agent was repulsed by the thing that had invaded his personal space. It wasn’t until he watched the man pull a lighter from his pocket to ignite the contents of the barrel that Lofgren understood his intentions. The rain was making it hard to burn and Lofgren was growing worried. If this didn’t work he would have to move the garments and he had already drawn far too much attention to himself.