* * * * *
You’d be amazed how much a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and bourbon can fix you up. Though my various injuries were still fresh, with the expert care of Father O’Brawley (and a lot of alcohol), I felt well enough to face the day and whatever problem it may bring.
Father O’Brawley tried to persuade me to rest for another day or at least let a few nurses-turned-nuns check me out for any extensive damages. I promptly refused, insisting that I had business to take care of. This was as close to the truth as it got. My habitual paranoia didn’t allow me to let my guard down so that meant resting was out of the question. After the crazed events that earned me my injuries, being caught flatfooted was the last thing I wanted.
It was quite odd. I had come face to face with what I had been pretending to be an expert on: the paranormal. The most amazing thing about last night’s experience was that I wasn’t too amazed. Confused, yes but after the initial shock of encountering the trash-thing my amazement ceased. My mind was already trying to break down the impossible event into something logical, into something I could accept. So far I had come up with three scenarios to explain what had happened last night at my office.
Scenario #1: I had been drugged. It was the most rational of the three options I had come up with. If the Daughters of All did dabble in narcotics, they could of slipped me some powerful hallucinogens… but that didn’t explain how I had received my injuries or how (not to mention why) the cult had managed to drug me.
Scenario #2: I was fucking crazy. Personally I didn’t like this idea but it was an option I had to consider, especially after last night. Maybe the years of boozing and dangerous living had caught up with me. Maybe my overly romantic history with a string of barmaids was letting some STD gnaw away at my mind. Whatever the reason, it was quite possible that I was indeed insane.
Scenario #3: The trash-thing was as real as my injuries, meaning I had stumbled blindly into something that defied all reason. This was the most unlikely of the three scenarios but it needed to be considered. Practicality was my friend here and it helped me fight the urge to buy garlic, crosses and silver bullets. There was no point dwelling on the paranormal because there was nothing I could do about it. So I just needed to remain focused and stick to my goal of taking down the Daughters of All before they could retaliate with something even weirder. After all if the trash-thing was real, what else could the cult throw at me?!
After thanking Father O’Brawley once more, I limped away from the rectory. Tired of playing the victim and patsy, I was filled with a burning desire to go on the offensive. No longer would I wait around for the Daughters of All to fuck with me again. Besides my luck was wearing pretty thin and I was running out of favors to cash in on.
So I needed to hit the cultists hard while I still could.
Heading down the street and searching for a cab, a simple equation was bouncing around in my skull. My life had gone to shit thanks to factor A (Fiona) and B (Daughters of All). I was convinced that removing those two variables would more or less make everything go back to normal.
Since Fiona was the easier of the two variables to get rid of, I decided to start with her. Finally flagging down a taxi, I told him to take me to Fiona’s place which Kurt had conveniently given me an address to. While in the back seat of the cab, I fished out my phone and called Buggy.
“How’s it going Broker?” Buggy asked, “Burning the midnight oil, eh?”
“Buggy it’s noon. If you’d go outside or at least get a place with windows, you’d know that.” I replied with a sigh, “Anyway, did you get that information I asked for last night?”
Before slipping into another restless sleep I had sent a text message to Buggy, another request of his immense computer skills. The cardinal rule was “know your mark” and I needed to get familiar with mine and fast. So I had sent the haphazard hacker into cyberspace in hopes of digging up some hard data on my enemy.
“Of course I did! So what’s you’re plan?” Buggy replied, almost insulted that I would suggest he couldn’t find out what I needed to know.
“I’m making it up as I go along. If I can’t flush these cultists out, I’ll make them come to me.” I did not care for the lack of organization my plans had as of late. In my experience, a sloppy plan either got you shot, arrested or worse, “Have you been able to dig anything up on the Daughters of All, organization-wise?”
“Other than the snippets in the newspapers, no. And those stories are few and far between.” Buggy told me grudgingly, obviously not pleased with the results of his cyber sleuthing, “These articles appear only when someone raises concern over the cult’s new recruits and then it gets all hush-hushed. As far as I can tell they only operate in our city but that’s about it. They are ghosts, man! No members list, no spokesmen, no mission statement, nothing! Even the charities they organized to get the parents off their back are set up by a third party.”
“Did you do a follow up on everyone who’s put the spotlight on the cult? Parents, cops, teachers, whatever?”
“It’s not my first day as a cyber snoop. Of course I did! There have been about six people to file a report or grievance over the Daughters of All, each one a mother concerned for their daughter. After one report by a single mother, she was somehow able to afford moving into a very ritzy apartment.”
“Bribes.” I growled.
“Oh yeah. Two of the others suffered some form of bodily injury after their own reports were filed. Another concerned mom OD’d three days after filing a complaint with the police.” Buggy went on, his pauses filled by the sound of keystrokes, “This reeks to high heaven and no one is bothering to do a damn thing ‘bout it. It’s all messed up. Big time. Anyone with a love of TV cop dramas would know this is waaay warped.”
“Is this warped enough to be some sort of cover? For some new drug cartel?” I asked, still convinced that the Daughters of All were a front for some illicit distributors.
“Maybe, but not like any MO I’ve seen. Remember Broker, you’re dealing with religious fanatics. Sacrificial lunatics for all we know! They don’t need a motive to howl at the moon, cast spells or do whatever crazy cults do. Maybe there isn’t any pattern to see. Maybe they are just bat-shit crazy.”
At his mention of spells I winced and thought of the trash-thing in my office…but I successfully derailed that train of thought before I mentally talked myself out of my plan of action. The more I focused on the things that I didn’t understand, the more I wanted to skip town.
“Anything else I should know about?” I sighed, disturbed by this lack of information. No one was this clean and if Buggy couldn’t find the skeletons in their closets they were professionals.
“Yeah, I found at least one more link all of the mothers who filed grievances shared.”
“That being?”
“A journalist who interviewed each mother, five out of six times was doing it right at the police station. Her name was Faye Ambrose.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. You know how she died?”
“Fiona told me…”
“Not pretty.”
“Is any death pretty?”
“I’m serious! If you think you being framed was a poor setup, man you should check out her case file! It’s a class A clusterfuck!”
“Don’t give me the details,” I grumbled, “I’m cutting Fiona loose. I can’t cover her ass and mine at the same time. Soon as I’m done with her and get Zotkin what he needs to run the cult out of town, I’m gonna pretend none of this ever happened.”
“You…really?”
“Yes.”
“Seems kinda cold man…I mean, she’s in the middle of this conspiracy too! What if-!”
“No Buggy. I’ve made up my mind!” I growled into the phone, “Just send me everything you found out. After visiting Fiona, I’m going to act on that other lead.”
I brooded as the hacker relayed the information I had asked for thro
ugh a series of emails (so it wouldn’t be directly linked to either of us, I suppose) and finally a text message to my phone. If things went smoothly all of the information Buggy passed along would be worthless because I’d have no need for it…but lately, things weren’t going smoothly.
Not since Fiona walked into my life.
Once the cab stopped, I dropped a few twenties and didn’t even bother waiting for change. Climbing out of the vehicle, I shielded my eyes from the blinding sun. It was a beautiful day with robin egg blue skies, fluffy white clouds and golden sunlight. A day that made most forget their troubles. The kinda day that families would deem picnic worthy, where parks were overcrowded and folks would be firing up their grills.
The kind of day I always slept through.
Ignoring the obnoxious burning ball in the sky, I headed for the house that Fiona and her roommates shared. My usual persuasiveness and tack had abandoned me during the ass-handing that damned trash-thing had given me. I hadn’t even bothered coming up with a lie to tell her. This was going to be short, bitter and blunt.
Guilt attempted to writhe around in my guts but with the combined efforts of all my aches and pains, I easily squashed the annoying emotion. Stepping up to the large oak door, I banged my fist against it just hard enough to declare to everyone inside that this was urgent.
As I waited, the gears in the ol’ noodle quickly spun a short, blunt and harsh speech. I usually relied on sweet talking so this was somewhat new territory for me but that wouldn’t stop me from doing what was necessary. My verbal rounds were locked and loaded and all I needed to do was fire them away at my client.
The door opened.
Fiona stood in the door way…and those damn emerald eyes wiped out my articulate arsenal before I could even say a word.
“Mr. Broker?! Oh my god!” She exclaimed as she took in my ragged appearance, bandages and all, “What happened?!”
Damn…this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” I grumbled, upset at myself for being unable to bring forth the scalding rant I had just prepared, “We need to talk.”
“Yes, I think so.” Fiona agreed, still staring at my injuries with obvious concern.
“It’s about the case…are you sure you want your roomies to hear this?” I asked quietly. Sure I wanted to abandon her but I wasn’t cold enough to ditch her and have one of her roommates overhear what I was about to say.
“They’re all at school.” Fiona informed me, taking a step back and waving me inside, “This is student housing but they let me stay here just the same.”
There was a certain irony at work here since this was perhaps the one time I didn’t want to be invited into a client’s house. Usually I worked hard to be invited inside so I could begin establishing the trust that all cons required. On any other day, I might have found this ironic situation amusing.
After being led to the modest living area, I turned to Fiona and took a deep breath. This was it. Time to get rid of one of the variables that had turned my life into an absolute wreck. I opened my mouth to begin an it’s-not-you-it’s-me-speech adapted to our unique relationship but before I could say a word she blindsided me again.
“Are you in pain?” Fiona asked, genuine concern in her voice, “Want me to get an icepack? Or some Tylenol?”
“Got my own medication.” I replied, reaching into my jacket pocket and taking a nip from my hipflask.
Her nose wrinkled cutely in a show of disbelief, “It’s barely noon!”
Screwing on the cap of the flask, I shrugged and slid it back into my jacket, wincing as the pain in my ribs flared up briefly.
“Listen, I’m going to level with you.” I finally managed to say, the liquid courage from the flask loosening my tongue, “This is way out of my league. Your personal safety and mine are at risk here. I’m done. I’ll refund the money you gave me and then I suggest you use it to go back home and do whatever small town girls do.”
Fiona looked shocked and I was going to springboard off of her speechlessness and make a quick exit. That had worked on several ex-girlfriends and even my ex-fiancé so I had no reason to doubt the strategy this time around.
I took a step towards the door.
“You…” Fiona began, her voice barely a whisper.
I held a sigh in check. Here it comes. The tears, the shouting and the desperate pleas as she begged me not to go.
“…bastard!” Fiona finished, stepping forward and grabbing my still-tender wrist.
I knew my face had to be the perfect picture of flabbergasted alarm. By no means was I unfamiliar with a woman’s scorn but Fiona didn’t seem that type of girl! Yet right now as she held my wrist tight, preventing me from leaving, I came to the realization that I had underestimated her.
“I trusted you!” Fiona continued on, her emerald eyes blazing with betrayal and anger, “I-I came to you looking for help and you’re the only one who offered! I believed you! Now you want to bail on me?! You prick!”
Perhaps it was the booze, the pain, or just the fact my nerves were too frayed to deal with this shit. Either way I wasn’t about to take this from some slip of a girl who, for all I knew, was indeed crazy.
“You listen to me you borderline hillbilly!” I shot back through gritted teeth as I returned the daggers she was staring at me, “Everything has gone to hell since I took your damn case! You might have experience dealing with inbred farm boys or some cattle ranching cheat but here in the city people get killed for sticking their noses where they don’t belong! Maybe you’re sister would still be alive if she had known that!”
Fiona looked as if I had slapped her and I didn’t blame her. What I said was a hundred times harsher than what I had intended to say but c’mon! It was for her own good! If she was smart Fiona would take my advice. If not, then she’d wind up dead in a gutter somewhere.
That’s when Fiona surprised me yet again. She cocked back her fist and send a lightning fast jab right to my face, striking my already swollen lips. White-hot pain flashed through me as I stumbled backwards, caught completely off guard. I tasted blood on my tongue and was nearly choking on anger.
“You spoiled little bitch!” I shouted, “That voided any refunds!”
Using my thumb, I gingerly squeezed my bottom lip where a cut from last night’s rumble with the trash-thing had reopened. When I pulled my thumb away it was sticky with blood. Before I could fire off any more insults (at a safe distance), Fiona reached into her back pocket and took out her wallet, opening it up for me. Inside was a black and white picture of a smiling young woman with a striking resemblance to Fiona. But this woman was more mature and where Fiona gave off a sense of innocence and purity, the woman in the picture seemed to have a seductive and teasing look about her.
“See this?!” Fiona demanded as she held up the picture.
“What? You’re so backwoods that you don’t know that pictures come in colors nowadays?” I growled back, lashing out feebly thanks to injured pride.
“It was for an art class, asshole!” Fiona snapped back, “This is my sister who I loved…love…very much! I know I saw her alive! I know it! You said you could help me find her and now you’re going to back out?! Y-You coward!”
“Hold up!” I said, reaching out and ripping the wallet from Fiona’s grasp so it was out of my face, “I told you I’d look into it! At most, I told you I’d investigate the Daughters of All because you asked me too! I never said I’d find a fuckin’ ghost!”
Fiona and I locked eyes, the tension in our stares causing enough friction that I’m surprised one of us didn’t burst into flames. After a few moments, Fiona finally broke the gaze, looking down at her wallet in my hand.
“You’re going to ruin it…” She said softly, the tension draining from the room.
I looked down at the wallet and saw my bloody thumb was right over the picture of her sister. With the tension between us fading, I let out a resigned sigh and held up the wallet while removing my th
umb before the blood could stain the photo…and dropped the wallet as if it had suddenly transformed into a scorpion.
“For the love of all that is good and decent!” I breathed, my knees growing weak and threatening to buckle underneath my weight.
“What’s wrong?” Fiona asked rather icily as she bent down and picked up her wallet. She inspected the picture and saw the same thing I saw: a red smear right over the lips of Faye’s photo.
“Do…do you have a pen?” I asked, reaching out with a trembling hand and taking hold of the picture.
Anger and curiosity battled for dominance on Fiona’s face but after giving me another frosty glare, she stepped over to a desk and retrieved a pen. Handing me the felt tip pen, she raised one eyebrow as if to ask, “What in the world are you thinking?”
Taking the pen in one hand, I held up Faye’s picture and slowly began to cover her eyes with black ink. Fiona made a hiss of protest but I silenced her with an urgent look. After filling in one eye, my hands began trembling uncontrollably, making it rather difficult to finish Faye’s remaining eye. Fear unlike any I’d ever known began to suffocate me once I completed my alterations.
“What is it?” Fiona asked, the cold anger in her voice replaced by genuine concern as she took in my stupefied expression.
I held up Faye’s modified picture. Her lips were crimson with my blood and her eyes nothing but black pools of inky darkness. Gone was the playful tease that had been photographed by Fiona. With the changes I had made my client’s sister now looked rather unhinged, her smile going from seductive to sadistic.
“I think I met your sister.” I choked out, resisting the urge to run out of the house and go screaming down the street, “At the club Hell Scratch…”