Authors: Justin Gustainis
Tags: #Justin Gustainis, #paranormal, #Stan Markowski, #crime, #Occult Investigations Unit, #urban fantasy
Evil Dark (32 page)
He slapped the bar with his big hands. "Now, what can I get you fellas? First round's on me."
"Really?" I said. "Pity we're on the job, or I'd ask for a nice single malt." I'm not exactly sure what "single malt" means, except that it's expensive booze. "As it is, I'll have a ginger ale, and my partner here will have…?" I looked at Karl, who said, "Club soda is fine."
Leary cocked an eyebrow at Karl. "Club soda, is it? Well, just as well you didn't ask for a Bloody Mary, since mine aren't made with real blood." He laughed, which made one of us who found him funny.
Leary drew our drinks from his dispenser and brought them over. Setting them down with exaggerated care, he said, "A ginger ale for the good Sergeant Markowski, and a mere club soda for Detective Renfer. I didn't even know you people could drink this stuff, Karl – it lackin' the hemoglobin, and such."
"It doesn't do much for me, tell you the truth," Karl said with a friendly smile that displayed his fangs, "but I can drink it without puking. Besides, if I get an uncontrollable urge for the real thing, I know what to do." He looked Leary up and down. "You'd be a Type O, wouldn't you, Leary?"
Leary forced a grin at what he probably hoped was humor, then turned to me. "What brings you gentlemen here, then, if not for spirits? If you came by just to see how old Leary is gettin' on after the great ogre invasion of a few nights ago, well, I'm touched at your concern, I am."
"No, actually, we're meeting someone to discuss police business," I said, "and this was a convenient location for everybody." I saw something large moving in my peripheral vision and turned to look. "And here he is now, right on time."
Leary was looking in the same direction I was, and his eyes were suddenly the size of drink coasters. "What in the name of all the saints is
he
doin' here? The bastard's in jail, ain't he? Don't tell me he made bail, because the judge didn't set any. I called and checked."
he
doin' here? The bastard's in jail, ain't he? Don't tell me he made bail, because the judge didn't set any. I called and checked."
I acted like I had just figured out what he meant. "Oh, you mean you thought this fella is… no, no, you're quite right. That one's in the slam, and likely to remain there for some time." I paused for effect. "This is his brother."
"Good Lord between us and all harm," Leary breathed. To me he said, "What does he
want
?"
want
?"
"A drink, I expect," I said. I waved to the ogre. "Come on over and sit down, Ivan."
And so he did, taking up two bar stools in the process. I noticed Ivan lowered himself down carefully even so, as if used to the fragility of human furniture.
"What'll you have to drink, Ivan?" I asked. "The good innkeeper, Mister Leary, here is buying – isn't that so, Leary?"
Leary seemed incapable of speech. He just looked at Ivan and nodded.
"Cognac," Ivan rumbled. "I like cognac."
"My friend here will have a cognac, Leary, a double. The good stuff, if you please."
The look that Leary gave me could be bottled and used to poison pit vipers. But off he went, and soon came back with a snifter of cognac that he set in front of Ivan. No dramatic flourishes this time, I noticed.
Before turning away, Leary caught my eye and mouthed what I'm pretty sure was "You're responsible."
Ivan took a sip of his cognac – I noticed he didn't swirl it around in the snifter first, the way people do in the movies. I never understood that ritual, either. He put the glass down and said, "Good stuff. Thanks."
"You're welcome, Ivan. Now I want to ask you something. Is it true what I've heard, that your people are related to… goblins?"
The ogre sat staring into his glass, and I wasn't sure he was going to answer. But then he nodded slowly and said, "Not close relations, but yeah. Some say like 'cousins', but I'm not sure what they mean."
"Do you speak Goblin?"
Another slow nod. "Some."
"Do you know any of the local goblins?"
"A few, yeah."
"Do any of them owe you a favor? Or is there maybe one who you can scare into doing something for you?"
Ivan turned and looked at me. "Depends on what 'something' means."
I turned my stool toward him and leaned forward a little. "OK, here's what I had in mind."
By the time we finished talking with Ivan, who promised to stay in touch, it was getting near the end of our shift. But I wanted to do one more thing, before Karl and I parted company for the night.
"Since the bad guys know where I live," I said, "I told Christine to spend the day someplace else."
"Sounds like a good idea," Karl said. "You planning to follow your own advice, for a change?"
"Yeah, I am, as a matter of fact. I thought I'd get a room someplace until this mess of a case is resolved."
"Probably for the best. Got someplace in mind?"
"I want a hotel, not a motel," I said. "If I can get a room four or five stories up, or higher, I won't have to worry about anybody coming at me through the windows. And I'll set up some stuff at the door to give me a few seconds warning if anybody tries to get in that way."
"As long as you don't blow away some poor maid who just wants to change the sheets."
"I'll notify housekeeping to leave me alone," I said.
"So, there's five high-rise hotels in and around town, haina? Which one floats your boat?"
"I was thinking of the Radisson."
Karl whistled. "Stan the man is going first class."
"Fuckin' A," I said. "The city will reimburse me, since this is work-related, so I may as well make the most out of it."
I didn't tell Karl why I hadn't considered staying at the Hilton.
"Thing is," I said, "I need to go home first and pack a bag."
"And you want me to watch your back." One of the things I like about Karl is I don't have to draw him any diagrams.
"Exactly," I said. "Which is why I'd like us to go now, while there's still some night time left."
"So, let's do it."
Karl drove us back to the station house, where we signed out and got in our own cars. We'd agreed that Karl would leave first, and park a couple of streets over from my house. He'd quietly make his way through the neighbors' yards and get in position to watch my place before I drove up.
And if I encountered trouble from somebody already waiting inside, Karl's acute vampire hearing would pick it up, and he'd move in fast. He's been in my place many times, Karl has – he doesn't need to ask permission to enter.
I went in through my front door carefully, ready for trouble. But I needn't have worried. The only living soul inside was Quincey. Bringing his cage with me to the Radisson might draw attention, so I quickly changed his bedding, overfilled his food bowl, and attached an extra water bottle, so the little guy wouldn't dehydrate.
As I packed my suitcase, I kept one ear cocked for sounds of commotion outside. "If somebody does show up," I'd said to Karl, "take him – or them – alive, if at all possible."
"Fine with me, but if you're thinking of interrogating another one of these clowns – well, you saw what happened last time."
"Yeah, I know – they tend to be obstinate. That's why I have in mind something different to try, if we ever get our hands on another one."
But I guess the Church of the True Cross wasn't interested in me any more tonight. I locked the front door, waved in the general direction of where I figured Karl would be, and drove off to spend a few days in the lap of luxury. Of course, it's easier to enjoy elegant accommodations when you're not concerned about people trying to kill you.
On my way to the Radisson I called Christine. She had another half an hour to go on her shift at Emergency Services, but I wanted to be sure she knew where I was before she went to ground for the day. She's not supposed to take personal calls at work, and I'd already caused enough disruption over there for one night. So I called her personal number and waited for the voicemail to kick in.
"Hi, baby, it's me. I just stopped over to the house, and it's fine, but I still think we should both stay away for a few days. I'm going to be at the Radisson, under the name Michael Pacilio, P-A-C-I-LI-O. But if you want to call, you're probably better off just using my cell number. Love ya."
Michael Pacilio was the hero of that novel I'd been reading about scientists who'd opened the door to hell. I didn't think anybody would recognize the name – the book hadn't exactly been a bestseller.
I knew that using a phone while driving is against the law, and it's a law I usually agree with and obey. But shit happens, sometimes. I was tempted to arrest myself for the violation, but I decided to let me off with a warning, instead.
At the Radisson I talked to the assistant manager, Tim Walsh. I've known Tim a long time, and he agreed to let me check in under the false name I'd selected.
He also promised to override the computer's request for a credit card number to go with Michael Pacilio's name. Anybody with the resources of the Church of the True Cross might be able to access my credit card statements online. If they saw a current charge for the Radisson, they might send some people after me. Then the hotel would have more dead bodies to deal with, one of which might be mine.
Once I got into my room, I ordered a big room service breakfast, which Tim agreed to deliver personally so I wouldn't have to worry about who the waiter was really working for. He's a good man, Tim.
Then I called Lacey and brought her up to date. I also told her my idea about how to handle a prisoner from the Church, should we ever get another one. She agreed immediately, and said she'd start looking for a suitable place at once. I told her I'd ask around as well.
After eating, I left the tray out in the hall, took a shower, and went to bed. They say that we all dream, every night. Maybe that's true, but if I had any dreams this time, I was blessed by not remembering any of them.
I'd been at work about ten minutes when the Feebies marched in, intent on talking to McGuire. I received the usual Greer glare, but Thorwald didn't look at me at all. I tried to catch her eye, but it was like I didn't exist for her. Guess she didn't take kindly to being stood up.
I called Victor Castle and told him that the Church of the True Cross seemed to be escalating its efforts to start a "race war" between humans and supes. He said he would do his best to keep the supe community from overreacting to the latest atrocities, but urged me to "bring this matter to a successful conclusion as soon as possible," as if I needed encouragement to do my job. Prick.
Even if it wasn't my job to take down the Church of the True Cross, I'd do it, anyway. Burn somebody alive on my front lawn, I take it personally. I'm funny that way.
On my way to the break room for a cup of what passes for java in the squad, I noticed that somebody had left a copy of the
People's Voice
on an empty desk. The front page headline grabbed my attention – which wasn't hard to do, since the letters were about two inches high.
People's Voice
on an empty desk. The front page headline grabbed my attention – which wasn't hard to do, since the letters were about two inches high.
DEMON MURDER!
it said. Underneath, in somewhat smaller type was,
"Snuff films" show torture of innocent humans
and below that even smaller letters promised,
(Story, page 3).
"Mother
fucker
!" I muttered. Karl must've heard me, because he came up and looked over my shoulder.
fucker
!" I muttered. Karl must've heard me, because he came up and looked over my shoulder.
"Ah, shit!" he said. "How'd those fuckers get the story?" Before I could offer an answer he said, "Turn the page, will you?"
The headline at the top of page 3 was in smaller print but equally hysterical:
Videos Show Torture, Murder
.
Videos Show Torture, Murder
.
The story was underneath.
Special to The People's Voice by Tod Solin
SCRANTON (Oct. 19) – A series of "underground" videos show the apparent torture and murder of innocent people at the hands of demon-possessed humans, humans who have no control over their macabre actions.
Each video shows two naked prisoners, shackled to chairs facing each other. A voice off-camera can be heard summoning a foul creature from Hell. Then one of the prisoners is "possessed" by the newly arrived demon, who is then freed to commit bloody mayhem on the other screaming, pleading human.
Despite advances in special-effects makeup that allow Hollywood filmmakers to realistically simulate torment and mutilation in the horror sub-genre known as "torture porn," it is highly unlikely that the atrocities shown in these videos are simulated.
The People's Voice has obtained three of these so-called "snuff videos", and this reporter has been reliably informed that others exist as well. The videos have been…
• • • •
To the left of the story was a shot from the video that Thorwald and Greer had screened for the squad at the beginning of this nightmare. It showed the demon-possessed man at work on the other one, who we now knew as Edward Hudzinski. The image was carefully selected to avoid showing the participants' genitals or any actual explicit torture. But it had a good shot of Hudzinski's face in mid-scream.
Karl stopped reading and stepped back. "Know that that splattering noise is?"
I turned to face him. "What noise? I don't hear anything."
"Sure you do," he said grimly. "It's the sound of all the shit that just hit the fan."
I refolded the paper and took it with me to McGuire's office. The Feebies were still in there with him, but I rapped on the door a couple of times and opened it anyway.
"Boss, I–"
Thorwald gave me the kind of glare that Custer probably grew really tired of in his last moments. "This is a
private
conversation with your
superior
, Sergeant – which you have
not
been invited to take part in!" Hell hath no fury, and so on.
private
conversation with your
superior
, Sergeant – which you have
not
been invited to take part in!" Hell hath no fury, and so on.
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