by Martha Carr
He didn’t find anything very useful within the innumerable reports on Ben Hamilton and his money troubles with off-the-books gambling, a few loan-sharking mishaps, and a close call with a DUI after Dawn’s death that was dismissed because the feds were still using him as an informant by that time.
Finally, he found the transcripts.
The first was of video surveillance from what had been a vape shop on Johnny’s last visit to New York but had been something else fifteen years before. Of course, no one would tell him about it because they knew he’d investigate the establishment on his own—which he’d ended up doing anyway but fifteen years too late.
October 27th, 2015.
16:59:57 – Figures A (male; shifter; unidentifiable age; muscular build; 6’2”) and B (male, human, Caucasian; 30-35, average build; 5’11”) close the storefront and remain on the premises.
17:23:34 – Figure A moves to the back door located on the ground level.
17:24:54 – Figure C (male; human; Caucasian; 40-45; slight build; 5’10”) enters the shop through the back door. All three stand in close proximity to the exit. Conversation escalates.
Beside each of the marked moments in the footage was a single frame from the video itself printed in grainy black-and-white. That’s as good as they could get?
The dwarf studied the third frame and recognized Ben Hamilton’s hunched shoulders before he saw the note made in faded pencil below the image—Figure C – Deadroot Subject 32.
“Aw, shit, Ben. What were you doing?”
He turned the page to keep reading.
17:37:48 – Figure A draws a firearm and aims it at Figure C. Figure C steps away but does not move to leave. No other weapons drawn.
17:39:22 – Figure B moves slowly to the back door, Figure A still aiming a weapon at Figure C.
17:40:04 – Figure B returns to the main room with his hand clenched around the arm of Figure D (female; dwarf; age 11-14; 4’11”). Figure A’s weapon still aimed at Figure C.
“Jesus.” Johnny drew in a shuddering breath. He stared at the grainy outline of his daughter struggling in some asshole’s grip as he dragged her into the shop, caught forever in this frozen second. Why the fuck didn’t they show me this? I should have seen this.
He took another sip of whisky, gritted his teeth, and turned to the next page.
17:41:01 – Figure B shoves Figure D forward to form a circle inside the premises.
17:42:25 – Figure C gestures to the front door. Conversation escalates.
17:43:09 – Figure D steps toward Figure A. Figure A swings his firearm toward her.
17:43:49 – First shot fired from Figure A’s weapon. Bullet strikes the back wall of the shop.
17:43:50 – Figure C lunges toward Figure A. Figure D runs to the front door of the shop, avoiding Figure B’s attempts to catch her.
17:43:53 – Figure D reaches the front door.
17:43:54 – Figure A aims his weapon at Figure D. Second shot fired. Mortal impact to the back of the head (See Internal Federal Report #157843M: D. Walker).
17:43:55 – Figure D falls to the floor.
17:43:59 – Figure C attempts to approach Figure D. Figure A aims his firearm at Figure C again.
17:44:31 – Figure C runs to the back door and leaves the premises.
17:46:52 – Figures A removes a cell phone from his pocket and makes a call.
17:47:11 – Figures A and B leave the premises through the back door.
Manhattan PD arrived at the scene at approximately 17:53.
Chapter Three
Johnny could hardly read the last part through the tears that stung his eyes. He shoved the stack of papers away from him on the coffee table and downed the other half of his drink in one swallow.
I need another one. That was the only thought in his head as he stood and hurried to the kitchen. His shoulder caught against the doorframe and he managed to balance himself on the counter. In silence, he stood for a moment and stared at his bottle of Johnny Walker Black.
It wasn’t the booze making him woozy. He could hold his liquor better than half the moonshine drunks in his neck of the woods. They knew exactly what happened to her. This whole time, they knew. Why the fuck didn’t they catch the bastard?
By sheer force of will, he forced the tears back, snatched the whisky, and returned to the living room. He drank from the bottle before he reached his chair. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he pulled it out to glance at it as he sat. It was Agent Breyer and he grimaced.
Sorry, darlin’. Today simply ain’t the day.
He declined the call and set the phone aside on the coffee table before he resumed reading. It took him longer than he expected to pull his gaze away from the final frame printed on the transcript—his daughter lying on the floor at the front of the shop in a crumpled heap.
Nestling the whisky bottle in the cushions of the couch beside him, he turned the page and found exactly what he’d tried to find fifteen years before.
Interview from Internal Federal Report #157843M: D. Walker.
Suspect: Creed Vilguard
Human male. Caucasian. Age 32. 5’11” and 232.5 pounds.
Charges: Accessory to murder. Possession of Schedule II Narcotics with Intent to Sell. Two counts of Extortion. Aggravated Assault.
Suspect was apprehended on October 29th, 2015 in response to an emergency call reporting shots fired.
Interrogating Agent: F. Cordon
Interviews starts at 00:02:18
Cordon: Please state your name for the record.
Vilguard: Creed Vilguard.
Cordon: Tell me about what happened at RedHero Comics two nights ago, October 27th.
Vilguard: Man, I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast this morning. Had to be like any other day.
Cordon: Don’t play dumb with me. We have video footage of you in the shop with Ben Hamilton, Dawn Walker, and your friend.
Vilguard: (chuckling) Who?
Cordon: The shifter who shot the dwarf girl in the back of the head. You’re already in here, Creed. We have so much shit on you, you’ll be lucky to get out of this with thirty years served. Tell me what happened.
Vilguard: Man, you ain’t got shit.
Cordon: Huh. (creaking chair). Nice shoes. What are those? Custom-made?
Vilguard: Fuck you.
Cordon: Sure, but I promise you won’t like it. Do you think you’re protecting this shifter? You’re not. Right now, we have a unit heading to his place on 130th. We gonna round him up and whoever else is with him. So do yourself a fucking favor and tell me what Ben Hamilton was doing in that store two nights ago.
Vilguard: (sighing heavily) Shit. A’right, look. The yuppie stopped by unannounced to say he wanted out.
Cordon: Hamilton?
Vilguard: Sure, whatever. I called him shitstain.
Cordon: Wanted out of what?
Vilguard: Man, the dude was itchy, you know? Said he thought he was being watched. Followed. And he wanted to turn back on a deal he’d made.
Cordon: With you?
Vilguard: I guess.
Cordon: What was the deal?
Vilguard: The guy found his way into dealin’ for us. Small shit. I guess his conscience caught up to him and he wanted outta the game.
Cordon: Hamilton was dealing drugs for you?
Vilguard: (laughing) Man, how do you think this shit gets everywhere it does? Even the pawns got pawns, know what I’m sayin’?
Cordon: Are you saying you’re a pawn?
Vilguard: Ain’t we all?
Cordon: For whom?
Vilguard: (chair creaking) I don’t know, man. Honest truth right there. None of us know the guys at the top of this chain, a’right?
Cordon: Then who do you answer to?
Vilguard: Prentiss, man.
Cordon: Prentiss Avalon? The shifter who was in the store with you that night?
Vilguard: Yeah, the fuckin’ shifter.
Johnny’s cell phone rang agai
n on the coffee table. Without looking at it, he picked it up and tossed it distractedly against the far wall of the living room. It clattered on the floor and continued to ring until it finally stopped, but he’d already focused on the transcript.
Cordon: (pause) What was Dawn Walker doing in the store?
Vilguard: The dwarf? Shit, I don’t know what that kid was thinkin’. Prentiss heard some shit out back. Shifter hearin’ and all that. He told me to check it out, and there she was, tryin’ to listen in on the whole thing.
Cordon: So you brought her inside.
Vilguard: Fuckin’ right I did. Boss tells you to do something, you do it.
Cordon: You’re referring to Prentiss again, right? (pause) I need a verbal confirmation of that, Creed.
Vilguard: (throat-clearing) Do you ask your old lady for verbal confirmation when you’re railin’ her?
Cordon: (drinking water) Why was the girl there?
Vilguard: Man, I don’t know. She must have followed the bastard across town.
Cordon: Hamilton?
Vilguard: Yeah, fuckin’ Hamilton. They knew each other. You could tell. The dude looked like he was about to have a heart attack when he saw her.
Cordon: Did they say anything to each other?
Vilguard: Nah. He was tryin’ not to piss himself, and she did all the talkin’ anyway. She said if we hurt him, we’d be sorry—tough kid but not a lotta brains. Obviously.
Cordon: That’s when Prentiss shot her?
Vilguard: That’s when he tried to scare her off, man. He told her to get lost and this had nothin’ to do with her. And a little girl can’t do shit. (heavy sigh) The kid shoulda listened to him. She had her chance but she wouldn’t quit mouthin’ off.
Cordon: About what?
Vilguard: She said if he hurt the yuppie or her, we wouldn’t get away with it ʼcause her old man was a bounty hunter. Then he got the go-ahead to— (throat-clearing)
Cordon: To shoot Dawn Walker?
Vilguard: That’s what he did, ain’t it?
Cordon: The go-ahead from whom? (pause) If you ask me, Creed, that little slip-up makes it sound a hell of a lot like someone else told Prentiss to shoot the girl. Who else was in that shop? (pause) (slamming) I’m not fucking around, Creed! A twelve-year-old girl was murdered. You’re catching an accessory to murder charge with at least four other felonies. Do you want to add obstruction to that list too? Of a federal case?
Vilguard: You already know Prentiss shot her.
Cordon: Yeah, and our people are picking him up right now, so I don’t give a shit about that shifter anymore. You said he ‘got the go-ahead.’ So who else was in the shop?
Vilguard: (soft chuckling) You’re the one with the video footage, ain’tcha? You wanna see exactly who was in there that night, go ahead. Take another look. If you find anyone else in there, you should get your head checked.
Cordon: I want to hear it from you.
Vilguard: (pause) Man, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else. This is bullshit.
Cordon: This is your only chance, Creed. I can’t do anything about the possession charges or aggravated assault, but if you—(crosstalk)
Vilguard: Don’t matter anyway. If you’re so sure you got Prentiss in the bag, that’s all you need. (chair creaking) That’s all you sonsabitches are ever gonna get.
Cordon: (papers shuffling) (chair scooting) Then you’re on your own. You wanna take the blame for whoever was calling the shots last night, that’s on you.
Vilguard: We done with this shit?
Cordon: Yeah. We’re done.
(End of Recording)
Johnny’s hands shook as he held the last page of the interrogation printed in black and white. These two-timing assholes kept all this from me. They knew exactly why she was murdered. Where, when, the whole fucking shebang. And she tried… He swallowed thickly and sniffed. She tried to get the man outta there by droppin’ my name.
He turned the last page of the interview and set it on the stack of upside-down ones on the table. The next was an arrest report dated November 3rd, 2015.
Prentiss Avalon. Male. Shifter. Unidentifiable age. 6’2”. 284 pounds.
Apprehended in Brooklyn, NY, at President Street and Brooklyn Avenue and charged with Possession of a Schedule One Narcotic with Intent to Sell, Aggravated Assault, Racketeering, Public Endangerment, and Felony Murder in the First Degree for the death of Dawn Walker.
The suspect was apprehended after Brooklyn Police received a call of shots fired at the site of the crime. Avalon was found with 12 grams of Methamphetamine,10.4 grams of Heroin, and 14.6 grams of an as yet unidentified substance on his person at the time of his arrest.
Also in his possession was the weapon assumed to be used for the murder of Dawn Walker on October 27th, 2015 (see Internal Federal Report #157843M: D. Walker). Narcotics sent to forensics for confirmation. The firearm, a Ruger LCP 380 Auto, Model #3701, as submitted to ballistics for confirmation as the murder weapon.
Reporting Agent: F. Cordon
At the end of the arrest report, two photographs had been stapled to the page—one of Prentiss’ firearm and the other of the entire collection of drugs he’d had on him during his arrest, all of the tiny plastic baggies stamped with the red boar.
The next page held an additional report of Prentiss Avalon’s case hearing. His weapon had been confirmed as the murder weapon in Dawn’s case, and that together with the interrogation of Creed Vilguard was enough to find him guilty of First-Degree Felony Murder among the other slew of charges. The shifter had been found guilty on every count and received a life sentence.
“They fucking got him!” Johnny pounded his fist on the stack of papers and grasped the whisky bottle with the other for another long swallow. The motherfuckers put him behind bars a month after he killed her and didn’t say shit ʼcause they knew he was simply the trigger finger. They knew the fucker who killed her wasn’t calling the shots, and they couldn’t even have the decency to tell me that.
The dwarf grunted and glared at the open file in front of him. I should stop right here but it can’t get much more fucked-up than this, right?
His hand was no longer shaking when he flipped the arrest report and continued. What followed were more reports of Prentiss’ sentence hearing, a transfer to the max-security prison most of Johnny’s bounties ended up spending a minimum of five years in, and another report of having closed Dawn’s case at the state level—but not federal. The feds had left Internal Federal Report #157843M: D. Walker open for investigation, and the last stapled collection of papers told Johnny exactly why.
The top page was a memo sent to the Deadroot team from Agent Frank Cordon and dated February 27, 2016.
Ongoing work with CI Ben Hamilton has led to valuable insight into where Deadroot plans to strike next. According to Hamilton, he has arranged an in-person meeting with one Harold Nolgan. If you don’t recognize the name, look it up (reference Operation Shadow). We believe we have every reason to give credence to Hamilton’s claim. His information has pointed us to their next rendezvous point in The Bronx on March 18th, 2016 (see attached location details). This is our chance to strike and apprehend both parties if we time this right.
I want to reiterate the importance of keeping all aspects of this operation under wraps, especially when it comes to the Bounty Hunter Division. This includes Agent Tommy Nelson and any contracted bounty hunters he currently handles. We’ll only have one attempt at this, and that will be in less than three weeks.
Strategy meeting this Thursday at 8:00 a.m. Let’s bag these assholes.
With a snarl, he turned the page and poured through what scattered reports remained of Operation Deadroot and all the details of every meeting held by the team assigned to the operation up to three days before the sting. They’d dotted all their i’s and crossed all their t’s, and then…nothing.
He flipped back through the stapled reports in case he’d missed something, but that was it. Nothing else in the file mentioned the fi
nal maneuver that would have tied up Operation Deadroot in a neat, back-stabbing bow.
“What the fuck happened?” The dwarf growled and took another long swig from the bottle.
He already knew, however. The sting op had failed—gone south, somehow. And no one had bothered to write anything up about it ’cause they’re all too chickenshit to admit they fucked up. That they pushed me out and fed me crumbs and still couldn’t bring the bastard in.
And that bastard, Johnny knew, was the same bastard running around New York two months earlier calling himself Lemonhead. He’d let the slippery fuck escape so he and Lisa could rescue Amanda from the penthouse. Now, Lemonhead or Deadroot or whoever he chose to call himself was still out there and back in action.
“Fuck!” He thumped both fists on the coffee table and breathed heavily through his rage and the decent alcohol haze he’d built up in the last hour.
Outside, the coonhounds bayed together and their voices drew steadily closer.
“Incoming, Johnny!”
“Someone’s rolling up. Two someone’s.”
“Two cars, Johnny.”
Their barking and howling passed the side of the house and continued at the front of the property. He grunted, gulped another shot of whisky, and ignored everything but the files in front of him. I’m gonna get him this time. No fuckin’ doubt about it.
Chapter Four
“No! Back up, you—” Tommy Nelson’s whine of frustration cut off seconds before the door to the screened-in porch slammed shut.
“Johnny!” Rex howled. “That salty asshole’s back.”
“Yeah, let us in!”
Both hounds bayed and barked outside the front porch until the front door opened.
“Back door, Luther.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll tear his arms off!”
They raced to the back again, barking nonstop. Tommy stepped into Johnny’s entry hall, followed immediately by Lisa Breyer. “Johnny? What the hell are you doing in here?”
Lisa tapped her colleague on the shoulder and nodded down the hall toward the living room. All they could see was Johnny’s bent knees at the edge of the couch, his boots, and a pile of papers on the coffee table.