Deceitful Moon

by Rick Murcer

  All they had to do was hand her an envelope stuffed with money, and she was going to climb on board the ship they were sailing. She shook her head and smiled to herself. The look of surprise when she turned away each request to be treated like a blow-up doll was absolutely wonderful. Their reactions ranged from pure anger to utter embarrassment, and she reveled in it. The pervs would all go out the door wondering why, and she supposed, trying to figure out what to do with a libido raging higher than the Sears Tower.

  Another date with Rosie and the sisters.

  She finished her coffee and wrapped up the rest of her sandwich. Not everyone was turned away, at least in the last few weeks. There was the money thing, which always helped, but it was much more. There was a certain type that she needed to be with to make her feel alive. Everyone had a button, the button, that could send them to the top of the world and perhaps into outer space. When that climax of utter bliss arrived, it was like the soul separated from the body, causing a person to stop breathing because, for the moment, breathing wasn’t important, only that feeling, that release.

  She was no different. She had needs too, albeit, a tad different than most. She smiled. That just might be the understatement of the year. After all, wasn’t that what the Club was all about? Things had gotten a little harried the last day or so, but that was about to be handled.

  The slanted headlights flashed her mirror as the 2011 Mercedes-Benz E-Sedan 3.5L pulled up beside her. The driver got out, bending his homely, unshaven face toward her, almost falling through the open window of her car.

  “Are ya, Cat?” His breath was just this side of putrid.

  “Who wants to know?”

  He grinned, yellow and black lacing the teeth he had left. “This secret stuff just gets me harder. I be Cooldaddy. We talked las’ night.”

  She nodded. “Any trouble getting the vehicle?”

  “Not for me, darling. I’ve been doin’ this stuff for a long time.”

  “Good. You just got out. I’d hate to see you go back.”

  “I didn’t go ta prison for that. It was somthin’ else. I ain’t never been caught stealin’ a car.”

  She felt him staring at her breasts and saw him lick his lips, trying to control the trembling.

  “I been away awhile, and I’d like to get this party started. I got the car ya wanted, the kind ya said gets you hot, so can we go?” His face contorted into something halfway between a smile and a leer.

  This was going to be remarkably good.

  “Sure, baby. You get back in the car, and let me get my bag,” she said, drawing her skirt up, showing him her red lace panties. “Then we’ll go someplace quiet and rid you of those years of suffering.”

  Sweat popped out on his forehead. He stared another few seconds.

  “Mercy,” he whispered and scrambled into the Mercedes-Benz.

  She checked her look in the mirror and reached for the large, black, shoulder bag resting in the passenger seat. She did one last inventory of the toys need for the night’s playtime. Her hand brushed the black-leather wrist bindings and the vial of hydrochloric acid as she gripped the .22 and stuffed it into the front pocket of the bag. It wouldn’t be good for the founder of the Justice Club to be unprepared. Not good at all.

  Chapter-48

  The shimmering fog filtered out the light that shone in the distance, and he wondered if he was in a dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream. He was sure he could feel his feet and that never happens in dreams. Maybe his ticket had been punched, and the beckoning light he’d read about when people die was what he saw shrouded through the haze, just out of comprehension. So this was how the great mystery started. The journey into the afterlife. He felt a tinge of excitement . . . then a voice sounding far away, robbed him of that excitement.

  “For God’s sake man, answer me. Manny!”

  Sophie? He loved his partner, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her floating into eternity with him. This was personal. She’d get her chance, probably sooner rather than later.

  Another noise brought him completely out of his daze, and his eyes flew open just in time to hear another round of high-powered gunfire explode the computer screen near the front of the conference room. He was now fully awake—and just as aware of the throbbing pain in the back of his neck and his forehead. His head was in some kind of humongous vice, and Godzilla was turning the crank.

  “Manny. Are you all right?” Sophie prodded. He turned his head, fought the black curtain that threatened to throw him back into Never-Never Land, and stared into Sophie’s anxious gaze.

  “Yeah. I guess so.” He looked past her shoulder, noticed the FBI crew lying flat, side-by-side, under the conference room table. Alex sprawled to his left. Another shot rattled the corner of the table above Manny’s head, turning the wood into so many toothpicks.

  Another wave of dark nausea passed in front of his eyes. He waited, hoping for it to pass. It did, taking its sweet time.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and grabbed Sophie’s wrist. “What the hell is going on, and where is Stella?”

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder searching Josh’s face and looked away. “She’s dead, Manny. The first shot hit her in the back of the neck. She flew on top of you and you hit your head on the table. Part . . . part of her is over there and the rest . . .” She pointed. He twisted his head, more nausea, but it was lessening—and he didn’t care anyway; he had to see.

  Stella Crosby, his surrogate mother (adopted big sister at least), lay sprawled on her back. Her head was tilted at a severe angle. There was a section of her right shoulder and neck missing, but her face seemed to be untouched. Stella gazed at the ceiling with the haunting stare he’d seen far too often in the last three months. Deep stains of crimson surrounded the upper portion of her body, the bloodied .22 that she was going to shoot him with lay inches from his feet.

  Another shot slammed through the chair to Stella’s left and hammered the wall. Manny pulled his eyes away from Stella’s body and ducked his head.

  Odd. He felt a sudden sensation of relief, immediately followed with an awful sense of searing guilt. Relief that it was over, that she wouldn’t be a threat to anyone again. But guilt that said he should have been there, should have seen what she was going through. He could have helped.

  “Manny. I know that look, that Guardian of the Universe thing. You couldn’t have helped her. She’d made up her mind to travel on the dark side of the moon. It was her choice,” soothed Sophie. “And there was that other thing.”

  “I know. I know. But to go like this . . . what other thing?”

  “She was going to shoot me in the face. You heard her. That wasn’t going to happen.”

  “That’s why you jumped her?”

  “Hell, yes. Can you think of a better reason?”

  “I thought you were distracting her so I could get the gun?”

  “Ah . . . well, okay. That too.”

  “Can we talk about this later? We have a tiny problem here,” said Josh. “You need to keep your asses down.”

  “Josh,” said Chloe, barely raising her head from the carpet.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve been timing the shots. They were about seven seconds apart, except the last one, which was about twenty-five seconds.”

  “Reloading?”

  “I don’t think so. The sniper can’t stay there all night. He, or she, has to know help’s coming.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Manny. “How long since the last one?”

  “Over thirty seconds. I think the shooter got the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Manny. He crawled toward the door, stopping at the edge of the table, and lifted one of the fallen chairs above the table top. He waited.

  The only noise coming from the window was the breeze flowing from the late night air.

  A few seconds later, Manny dropped the chair and glanced back to the others under the table. “Let’s hope this works.”

 
“What are you going to do?” asked Sophie.

  “I’m going to stand up.”

  “Wait. Can’t you like raise your hands or arm or something? It’d be better than your melon.”

  “How long, Chloe?”

  “Ninety seconds.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  Manny crawled two yards, took a deep breath, and lurched to his feet.

  Chapter-49

  “How’s the noggin?” asked Sophie, plopping down beside Manny in the burgundy leather chair. She had to almost yell because of the din inside the conference room. It was buzzing with forensic techs and LPD personnel practically stepping over each other.

  He moved the blue ice pack to the back of his neck. “I’ll live, but a couple more pain killers could be in my future.”

  “Mine too, but not for the same reason as you,” she grinned.

  “Recreational? You?”

  “I know. Hard to believe, but how else do you think I keep my edge? Good looks and brains only go so far.” Sophie’s face turned serious. “I have a question for you.”

  “All right, but nothing too strenuous for a few more minutes. I have to get these bells to stop ringing.”

  “I know what you mean. So this is a tough question and no dancing around. I need a straight answer.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It is.” She let out a breath. “Do you think I should get breast implants?”

  “What? Why?”

  “I think it could enhance my career goals. I might even make lieutenant with bigger ta-tas, say 38DD. Besides, I read a couple blogs and checked out a bunch of porno sites where Asian women with big boobs get lots of action. Men think they’re hotter than habanera peppers dipped in jalapeño sauce.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, I don’t kid about this stuff. Lots of men have some real kinky itches that only we Orientals can scratch. So yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

  “No. I mean there are blogs out there talking about Asian women with big breasts?”

  She patted Manny’s arm. “I need to get you plugged in.” Then she moved over to where the FBI threesome was conferring with Alex.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to get plugged in, Sophie style.

  The new smartphone was growing warm in his hand. He wanted to call his wife and tell Louise that one of her close friends was gone, that she and Stella wouldn’t be doing lunch anymore. But each time he pushed the speed-dial button, he hung up just as fast.

  He finally put the phone in his pocket. He would tell her face-to-face when he got home. They would sit on the sofa, close together, and he’d be there for her. He’d make the time, somehow.

  A minute later, the ME tech rolled the gurney toward the door with Stella’s body enveloped in a black body bag. Manny watched her go, realizing his sense of surrealism had never been stronger. Gavin was in the ICU fighting for his life, and now this.

  Stella had changed, gone deep into the realm of hatred and fear. He’d never know why, completely, and for the hundredth time, he asked himself why he hadn’t seen it. But people mostly only let you see what they want you to see. Mostly. She must have been tortured on a level he never suspected.

  For reasons he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, he stood up and stopped the ME tech. He took in a deep breath and unzipped the bag. Her eyes were closed, and she looked almost serene.

  He lowered his face and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, Stella. I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

  He motioned for the tech to keep going. Maybe she’d find some peace in the next life. He hoped so. God said it was true.

  Manny slid back in his chair, switching the ice pack to his forehead and wondered which way to go next. He didn’t have to wonder long.

  Agent Corner moved beside him, joined by Chloe and Sophie. “Manny, I know this is tough, but we’ve got more issues and have to get things in gear. We need you thinking straight. Are you up to it? I mean, I’d understand—”

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. What do we have?”

  He met Josh’s even stare with one of his own, and the agent nodded slowly and motioned to the window. “Let’s go over there.”

  Once over to the large, blown out windowsill, Josh pointed to the old brick building across the street. “The shots came from that window on the fifth floor. The shooter was using M118 Special Ball ammo. We found one spent casing. Nasty stuff. Alex and Max went to the lab to give it a once over, hoping to get lucky with a print or something. That kind of ammo can pierce light armor from 125 yards. It’s pretty standard issue for military snipers—and contract hit men.”

  “But you don’t believe this was a hit man, right?” asked Manny.

  “No. Too sloppy,” said Josh.

  “We’re lucky the sniper wasn’t a great shot,” added Chloe. “Assuming the shooter was a member of their Justice Club and a woman, which makes sense, she just got a small part of Stella’s neck and shoulder, and the ammo did the rest. The other shots weren’t close. For some reason, the shooter couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn after that. Nerves maybe.”

  “I don’t think so,” Manny shook his head. “Ouch. Got to stop doing that.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Josh.

  “Chloe said it was about seven seconds in between shots. So that means the shooter was in a rhythm. Hitting Stella from that distance, through thick glass, means she, if it was a she, knew what she was doing. To miss us after that was virtually impossible. There’s something else.” He pointed to what was left of the computer monitor. “The shot pattern, after hitting Stella, is a perfect arc from right to left.”

  “So the next five shots were cover fire so she could get out of the building and escape?” frowned Sophie.

  “I think so. She knew help was coming. She would have planned for that, delaying that help could have given her a bit more time to get away.”

  “That means she wasn’t after us. Just Stella,” said Chloe. Manny noticed how the light caressed her face as she cocked her head. It was all he could do to not notice too long.

  “If you’re right, and we have this part figured out—” started Sophie.

  “—then we have to answer the why question,” finished Manny.

  “But that should be obvious. I mean, we already know she broke rank. The Club must have been worried that she was going to screw things up and put them all behind bars,” said Josh, his hands gesturing to emphasize his point.

  “That’s true, but remember what Stella said about working it out, that there wasn’t a real problem. And on top of that, why wait until she’s in the LPD conference room to take her out?” said Manny.

  “Maybe they didn’t know where she was?” interjected Sophie.

  “We didn’t find a cell phone on her or anything else the Club could track her with, but I’m not buying that. It took time to get set up for the shot, so someone from the Club had to know,” answered Manny.

  “Okay, smartass, what’s the answer?” asked Sophie.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s almost like the shooter was prot—”

  “Detective Williams?”

  He turned to see who had called his name.

  Kathy Ross, followed by Frank Wymer, stepped through the door, Wymer with a super-sized chocolate shake in his plump hand.

  “Frank? A chocolate shake at 1:30 a.m.?” marveled Sophie.

  “Hey. Gotta keep up my strength.”

  Ross rolled her eyes. “Never mind that. We got a problem. In fact, we have three of them.”

  Chapter-50

  “I don’t see what’s so special about you,” snickered FBI Special Agent Jake Rosen as he bracketed Argyle’s right side, with Agent Hoover on the left, while they walked through the secured concourse at Miami International Airport. “Just another deranged prick who thought he was smarter than the rest of us.”

  Argyle stared straight ahead.

  “It’s ridiculous that we have to shut down this end of the airport and escort y
our ugly mug to Lansing, wherever the hell that is, just because you’re supposed to be some dangerous psycho. But I don’t see it. You look like a pansy-ass to me, right, Doc?”

  Argyle kept walking. No emotion or acknowledgment that he’d heard the agent. But he had, all too well.

  “What? No comment? Didn’t your momma teach you to answer when spoken to?” The agent rammed his elbow into Argyle’s ribs. “I’m talking to you, murdering piece of shit.”

  Argyle never flinched as he managed to keep pace with the two agents, even with the iron restraints restricting his mobility, but he stayed silent. There was a time for everything.

  Rosen glanced to the other three Feds some twenty feet behind, shotguns resting across their arms. He leaned over to Agent Hoover. “I hear he has real problems gettin’ it up,” he whispered. “Am I right, Doc? No can launch the rocket?”

  Argyle smiled. “Why don’t you ask your wife and mother? They didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’m not sure which one screamed the loudest.”

  Rosen’s mouth dropped open, and then Argyle watched him lose control.

  The agent swung the billy club at Argyle’s head like he was trying to take one deep into the seats of Comerica Park. Argyle moved as fast as any man in his position could and ducked beneath the blow. The stick nicked the top of his head and landed flush into the face of Rosen’s counterpart, shattering his mouth into pieces and setting free a gushing stream of blood and broken teeth.

  Before Rosen could draw the club a second time, Argyle moved close and hammered the agent’s nose with his forehead, splitting it open and sending him to the tiled floor, blood instantly covering the agent’s face.

  Argyle heard the other agents coming up behind him, but they weren’t fast enough. He dropped to his knees, bending close to Rosen’s ear. “How do you like me now, agent? Not so much? Didn’t your momma ever teach you not to play with things you didn’t understand?”

  “On the floor, face down, now,” yelled one of the Feds behind him. “Or you’re a dead man.”