San Francisco Night

by Stephen Leather

  He followed everyone else inside, took his audiotour handset, and started walking past the long rows of tiny cells. Apparently each one would have been equipped with bed, chair, basin and toilet years before, but the majority were empty now. The place gave him the creeps. The thought of thousands of America’s most dangerous criminals cooped up here under armed guard over the years was chilling.

  His cellphone rang once, then stopped before he could take it out. A minute or two later, a tall young man in a pulled-up black hoodie and jeans walked past him and whispered as he passed.

  “Outside by the smoking area in ten minutes.” It was Mitchell.

  Nightingale watched him walk down the corridor and out the main door at the end. He mooched past the cells, pretending to look interested. He went outside and walked down to the dock where a central cylindrical ashtray and some unwelcoming metal benches comprised the smoking area. The young man was waiting, looking out towards the city, his hood still pulled up to hide as much of his face as possible. Nightingale stood a yard or so away and leaned against the rail. No other smokers were braving the early-morning cold and biting wind. Nightingale took out his pack, fumbled out a cigarette with his gloved hands and lit it. The young man didn’t turn his head, but spoke quietly. “You’re English?”

  “Yeah. I’ve known Joshua for a while and he wanted me to help you.”

  Mitchell snorted. “You know what you’re up against?”

  “Joshua’s told me everything. I can protect you until he gets here, then you can get on his plane and go wherever you want.”

  “Give me a cigarette.”

  Nightingale offered Mitchell the pack and then lit a cigarette for him. Mitchell inhaled, then blew smoke towards the mainland. “They have so much power, they can do things you wouldn’t believe. I need money and a way out.”

  “Joshua can give you that.”

  “But he’s not here, is he?”

  “No, but in the meantime I’ll do what I can. How the hell did you get involved in all this?” asked Nightingale.

  Mitchell grinned but it was the snarl of a cornered animal. “A girl.”

  “A girl?”

  “A Goth bitch I met in a bar. Laura, her name was. Laura Lost, she called herself. I don’t know if that was her real name or not. I’d had too much to drink, she was high on something, best sex I’d had in a long time. She was covered in tattoos, all down her back. Weird stuff. Pentagrams, horned things, chalices, upside down crucifixes, the whole nine yards.”

  “And she introduced you to the coven?”

  Mitchell’s eyes hardened. “The Apostles aren’t a coven,” he said. “They are way way way more than that. Saying the Apostles are a coven is like saying Hitler had an anger management problem.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “I went out with her for a while. Well, I say went out, I just went around to her apartment and banged her most nights. When we did go out it was to these weird bars, pop-up places usually, in abandoned warehouses. She told me about stuff she was involved in. Sacrifices. Branding. Hard core stuff.”

  “Branding?”

  “She had some, on her back and her legs. Symbols and stuff, done with a hot iron. She said branding was more ‘real’ than tattooing, whatever that means.”

  “What sort of brands?”

  “Satanic stuff.”

  “And this girl introduced you to Abaddon?”

  Mitchell shook his head. “She was only playing with it. I think it was just about the sex with her, she wasn’t about acquiring power. She showed me a few websites and chat-rooms and I started getting more interested. I could see what I could get out of it.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Little did I know.”

  “So how did you get to Abaddon if it wasn’t the girl?”

  “I started going to a few meetings. Low level stuff at first, chanting, animal sacrifice, burning stuff. Then I got approached by a guy who asked if I wanted to go up to the next level and by that stage I was hooked and I said yes.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “Cooper, he said his name was. I never found out if that was his first name or his surname. Haven’t seen him for a while. I used to meet him in a bar on Haight. Tall guy, long gray hair, gray eyes. He promised me I could get what I wanted, money, power, promotions, women, everything. I said I was interested, obviously, and he said he’d check me out. Eventually I got invited to a Sabbat in an old warehouse. I don’t know where, I had to park somewhere and I was taken there blindfold. It was harmless enough, chickens slaughtered, Black Mass, then sex. Sex with women, men.”

  “You make it sound normal.” said Nightingale.

  “It’s the way a Sabbat often finishes. It’s the reason a lot of people get into it, but it was kids’ stuff for me. That was the first, then there were two more, each one a little more serious. Then another guy, much older than Cooper, asked me if I wanted to move up again. I was starting to do a whole lot better in the bank, so I sure did.”

  “What was the next level?”

  “Devil worship. The real thing. Scary as hell.” He shuddered. “It was then that I realized just what I was getting into. Devils, Jack. Real devils.”

  “Heavy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I tell you, up until the first summoning I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure it was for real, you know?”

  Nightingale smiled. “Yeah. You never forget your first.”

  “You’ve done it? Attended a summoning?”

  Nightingale nodded. “I tend to work one-on-one, though.”

  “You can do that? I was told it’s too dangerous, there’s too much can go wrong.”

  “You have to know what you’re doing.”

  Mitchell finished his cigarette and flicked it away. “My first was a real bitch. I couldn’t have faced her alone. There were ten of us at the Sabbat and I could see that everyone there was terrified. Her and her dog. You could feel the evil pouring out of them.”

  Nightingale stiffened. “Dog?”

  “Yeah, a collie with the blackest eyes you’ve ever seen. Same as her eyes. She appeared in black. Like a Goth. It was only when I saw her I realized that Laura had a tattoo of her on her back. Do you think that means something?”

  Nightingale said nothing. Of course it meant something. Mitchell had been pulled into Satanism by a girl who had the tattoo of the first devil that he met. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  “We swore allegiance to her, that was the purpose of the summoning, but we were all terrified. Even the High Priest was scared, you could hear it in his voice. Give me another cigarette, will you?’

  Nightingale flicked away what was left of his cigarette and lit fresh ones for both of them.

  “Did you do a deal?” he asked after he’d blown smoke.

  Mitchell looked across at him, eyes narrowed. “A deal?”

  “For your soul.”

  Mitchell shook his head and took another drag on his cigarette before answering. “I thought about it, but no. I was approached by the Apostles before I got the chance. You can’t join the Apostles if you’ve sold your soul, that’s one of the rules. One of the many rules.”

  “And did Proserpine say what she wanted from you?”

  Mitchell cocked his head on one side. “I didn’t say her name was Proserpine.”

  “She’s famous in devil-worshiping circles,” said Nightingale. “Goth chick with a collie, she’s one of a kind. But never let her looks deceive you. She’s dangerous.”

  “You’ve met her?”

  “Oh yes. And lived to tell the tale, just about. But it was a close call.”

  “She didn’t ask us to do anything, but said that one day she would. But like the Godfather, you know.” He forced a smile. “The whole thing’s a bit like the Mafia, isn’t it? You do what they say and you get what they want. But cross them and you’re dead.”

  “Yeah, except the Mafia will just put a bullet in your head. The devil will take your immortal soul.” He shuddered again. “It wa
s one of the women at the summoning who told me about the Apostles. Just a few throwaway lines at first and then once I’d shown interest she told me the full story.”

  “Was she an Apostle?”

  She shook her head. “No. She works for Abaddon. Like a recruiter. She’d sold her soul to a devil when she was a teenager so she couldn’t become an Apostle herself.”

  “Tell me about the mansion where all this took place.”

  “I only saw the changing rooms and the main ceremonial area. I parked about twenty minutes away. They hooded me to and from the place. It’s only when you get to be a full Apostle that you find out where it is. It’s a matter of trust.”

  “And you prove your trust by killing?”

  Mitchell nodded. “That’s how you become an Apostle. You kill for them and that binds you to them. But it’s more than that. Each killing is part of a greater process.”

  “Leading to what?”

  “Ultimate power,” said Mitchell. “The Apostles will rule the world.”

  “According to this Abaddon?”

  “She knows what she’s doing, Jack.”

  “Where did you park? Same place every time?”

  Mitchell nodded. “A Rite Aid on Hillsdale Boulevard. They picked me up and put a hood over my head. Then dropped me back there when it was over.”

  “Tell me about the first time you went to the mansion.”

  “Like I said, I only saw the changing room and the temple. Big place, all the Satanic decorations you’d expect. Candles, herbs, chanting in a language I’d never heard that they had to teach me phonetically. Musical instruments. Drums. Bells. Tambourines. Then they dragged in some fat frizzy-haired girl, naked, tied her to the altar and some guy shoved a spear into her a dozen times, finally in her throat. He took his mask off and drunk the blood.”

  “And you recognized him?” asked Nightingale.

  “Pure chance...Kent Speckman. How about that?”

  Nightingale looked at him blankly.

  “You’ve never heard of Kent Speckman? The Specter?”

  Nightingale shook his head.

  “Shit, Jack, don’t you read the papers? The Specter, the fastest and most elusive running-back the 49ers have ever had. Nobody can lay a hand on him. The guy’s a living legend.”

  “You’re sure it was him?”

  “No question.”

  “They took you out after the sacrifice?” asked Nightingale.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t allowed to see them pay their Service to the Temple.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you’re a woman, it means giving yourself to any man who wants you in the coven. If you’re a man it means having your choice of any woman there.”

  “Sounds like being a man is more fun,” said Nightingale.

  “Usually is,” said Mitchell. “Anyway, that was the first time.”

  “Tell me about the second time.”

  Mitchell slumped down onto a bench and stared out to sea.

  “Oh God. It was awful,” he said. “It was a nun, or so they told us. Tied her to a cross upside down, then one of them hammered nails in her hands and feet, shoved a cross backwards up her. Then slit her throat and drank the blood. They called her Peter, but it was a woman. A woman did that for pity’s sake. And looked like she loved every minute. Hell.”

  “And you recognized her too?”

  “Anyone would,” said Mitchell. “Lucille Carr.”

  “Who?” asked Nightingale.

  “Lucille fucking Carr, where have you been, man? The fucking actress.”

  “Take it easy, Lee,” said Nightingale. “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re nearly out of it now. Guess I’m a little out of touch with Hollywood these days.”

  “All the way by the sound of it, but anyway she started on TV. That Blood Network show. How does someone that famous get involved in shit like that?”

  “Perhaps it’s getting involved in shit that brought the fame?” said Nightingale. “Why did you get in touch with Joshua?”

  “Because I realized I wanted out and I figured I couldn’t just walk away,” said Mitchell.

  “You knew they were going to sacrifice people, right?”

  Mitchell’s face screwed up as if he was about to cry. “I knew, but I didn’t know,” he said. “It’s like I got sucked in and the more I got sucked in the less horrific it was. But when they killed the nun…”

  “You wanted out?”

  Mitchell nodded.

  “Do you know who they wanted you to sacrifice?”

  “They were going to get the victim for me. Two of the Apostles are experts at abductions. Don’t ask me how, but they can abduct people to order, pretty much. All they told me was that I would have to saw the victim into pieces while they were alive.”

  “Did Abaddon tell you how many sacrifices are left?”

  Mitchell shook his head.

  “But I was told these sacrifices are just the beginning. A way to store up power inside their circle, and bind each of them to this leader, Abaddon. But it’s all building up to something much bigger, and that’s coming up real soon. When they first started, the Sabbats were on the full moon. But they’re coming quicker now. Every week. And they’re building to something big. Something really big.”

  “What and when?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me,” said Mitchell. “They said I’d find out once I was initiated.”

  “What about the leader? Abaddon? What can you tell me about her?”

  “Just a name to me,” said Mitchell. “She gave the orders, but I never saw her without the mask. The masks muffle the voice, so I don’t even know what she sounds like, but I do know she’s pretty damned powerful. I’ve seen her grant favors to her followers, call down power for them, bring them success in what they want. It was what I was hoping she’d do for me. Look, time’s running out for me. A black SUV turned up at my house. That’s when I ran. I have to get away from San Francisco, chances are I’m being overlooked right now, they’ll catch up with me soon.”

  “Overlooked?” said Nightingale.

  “Yeah, a powerful Satanist can do that, go up to the Astral and follow someone from there. Abaddon’s more powerful than you’d believe.” His whole body was shaking and he had trouble getting the cigarette to his lips. “I won’t be safe until I’m out of the country with a new name and a new identity,” said Mitchell.

  “Almost there,” said Nightingale. “Come back with me to my motel and we’ll wait there. I’m at the La Luna Inn on 101.”

  Mitchell shook his head. “No, I’ve been safe enough over the last couple of days on my own. Let’s keep it that way until Joshua gets back.”

  “That’s crazy,” said Nightingale. “I can protect you.”

  “Against Abaddon? I don’t think so. I’ll go back to the mainland, you stay here. Watch my back. If you see anyone get onto the ferry who looks like they’re following me, phone me or text. Then when Joshua lands, I’ll come to you.”

  “What are you doing for money?”

  “I’ve got some.”

  Nightingale took out his wallet and gave him a handful of bills and a credit card. “Use this if you need more cash, but not in a store,” he said, and gave him the PIN number. “Don’t use anything with your name on it. And change your SIM card often. Each time you change it, send me a text so I can stay in touch.”

  Mitchell nodded. He pocketed the notes and card. “You see anything, call me while I’m on the ferry. Otherwise I’ll see you at your motel once Joshua gets here.”

  He turned to go but Nightingale put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Be careful, Lee,” he said.

  Mitchell nodded, flicked away the remains of his cigarette, and headed down towards the ferry. Nightingale watched him go. He wasn’t happy about Mitchell staying out in the cold, but it was his call. There was nothing Nightingale could do to force Mitchell to go with him. And besides, it was only one more day.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mitche
ll walked down the gangplank, pulled his hood even further forward and headed off down Fisherman’s Wharf. He kept his head down and didn’t notice the two uniformed police officers blocking his way until he almost bumped into them. He moved to walk around them but one of them put a hand on his arm. “Lee Mitchell?” he asked.

  Mitchell shook his head. “No,” he said, and tried to push his way by. The officer tightened his grip on the arm. The second officer moved to Mitchell’s other side. “What is this?” he said. He felt a sudden stab of pain in his left arm and almost immediately his legs buckled.

  The two officers grabbed his arms and dragged him to the cruiser, his shoes scraping across the sidewalk.

  “Looks like you’ve had too much to drink, Sir,” said one of the officers for the benefit of anyone walking by but no one paid them any attention, those that weren’t looking at their smartphones were caught up in their own thoughts. The officers pushed Mitchell into the back of the cruiser and drove off, followed by a black SUV.

  CHAPTER 10

  Nightingale caught the next ferry back to the mainland and took a cab to the motel. He collected his SUV and drove to the Mission Street library, a square gray building on a corner lot. He parked the SUV, went inside and found a free computer. He Googled Kent Speckman and Lucille Carr. There was plenty of online information about them both, though nothing that connected them. He got home addresses for them and pictures of their houses. He then spent the next hour looking for Christians who had been abducted over the past six months, but Googling “Missing Christians” didn’t help. He tried Googling missing nuns, priests, monks, church-going spinsters, choristers. Then he narrowed down the list by focusing on disappearances that had occurred the week before a full moon. That gave him several possibilities.