Grant Mckenzie Read online

‘We have to move. Time’s run out.’

  Zack opened his eyes. They were red and raw.

  ‘He called?’

  ‘We meet tonight. With the money. He wants you there.’

  Zack sat up and rubbed his eyes. He inhaled deeply through his nose and released it slowly from his mouth. ‘What’s our plan?’

  Sam held up the freshly pressed suit.

  ‘They couldn’t get all the stains out, but it’s dry.’

  ‘Where are we going? Supper at the Benson?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Somewhere less elegant, I’m afraid.’

  98

  Zack and Sam descended the long wooden staircase, their torsos dry inside makeshift ponchos made from knee-length plastic bags taken from the dry cleaner’s.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they walked to the underbelly of Burnside Bridge. The homeless huddled in the centre of the span, away from the rain. But even with dry ground beneath them, the wind and damp trampled through the open court with frigid abandon.

  Davey, his upper body wrapped in a black plastic trash bag, saw them approach and moved to meet them.

  ‘Did you find him?’ he asked.

  ‘He wasn’t the one,’ Sam said.

  Davey blinked rapidly. ‘You sure?’

  Sam nodded. ‘He’s dead, Davey. He was one of us. A pawn.’

  ‘Oh!’ Davey looked down at the ground, his left toe digging into the dirt. ‘He’ll come back for me now. Burn me again. Make my skin melt. Make me scream.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said. ‘He believes you’re dead, but we still need help.’

  Davey’s eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

  ‘We need you to look at the yearbook again. You said Alan brought friends to help out. We need to know who they were.’

  Davey’s excitement returned. ‘OK. That’s easy.’

  Zack and Sam followed Davey to his makeshift lean-to and waited as he dug into his pack and retrieved the yearbook.

  ‘I thought you were keeping this stuff in the tunnels,’ Zack said.

  Davey shrugged. ‘Safer with me now.’

  Davey opened the yearbook and turned to the mugshots of over 500 students. He placed his finger on the first face and began to move along the rows, mouthing each name as he did so.

  He stopped at the first face he recognized as one of Alan’s helpers. Zack looked down at it and shook his head.

  ‘Don’t know him,’ he said. ‘How many were there?’

  ‘Three.’ Davey tapped his temple.

  ‘Find the next one,’ Sam said impatiently.

  Davey dragged his finger along the mugshots again. This time he stopped mid-way through the book.

  Zack looked, sighed, and shook his head.

  At the Qs, Davey stopped again, his finger hovering over the face of a husky youth with round, black-rimmed sunglasses and lifeless chestnut hair that hung in greasy strands to his shoulders. Beneath the veil of hair, his face had an odd, plastic-like quality and his nose lay as flat as a retired boxer’s. His eyes were hidden beneath the dark glasses and his thin mouth emoted nothing.

  ‘You remember him, Sam?’ Davey tapped the photo. ‘He was real book smart, but clumsy as an ape. I had three Fresnals blow after he handled them.’

  Sam looked at the photo, a dim memory coming into focus. ‘What’s up with his face?’

  ‘He was burned,’ said Zack, his voice trembling. ‘He originally told me that he accidentally tipped a pot of boiling water over himself when he was a toddler. When my Kalli was born, I became paranoid about making sure the pot handles were always turned away from the edge of the stove.’

  Sam snapped his fingers. ‘That’s right. We used to get him to score all the booze for us before the cast parties. When he pulled his hair back, the cashiers were too embarrassed by his face to ask for I.D. Came in real handy.’

  Davey broke out in a grin. ‘Yeah, that was cool.’

  Sam continued. ‘I drove him home one time after a party and met his old man. Now there was a scary dude. His arms were burned, too. Real serious stuff. Industrial accident, I think he said. What was the kid’s name again?’

  ‘Lucas,’ said Zack.

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Remember I told you that Vadik and his daughter were sent to me by an acquaintance?’

  ‘That’s him?’

  Zack blanched at Sam’s accusing tone. ‘We haven’t spoken in years. He came to me about ten years back. He was broke and in a bad way. I guess I felt sorry for him. I did what I could, but his injuries were more extensive than he had said. He’s burned everywhere but the injuries took place over a long period of time. I was able to do some decent work on his face, but there really wasn’t enough good tissue left on his body to do much else. I thought we parted on good terms, especially when he sent Vadik’s daughter to me.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Sam kicked the ground in frustration. ‘He was in the car with Vadik, but his face didn’t register. How can a twisted little fuck blame us for his life? Ironman was a real bastard, but what did we do?’

  ‘Maybe he simply wanted to be us,’ Zack said as he worked it through. ‘But every time he tried to fill our shoes, he failed.’

  ‘So destroying us will make everything better?’ Sam asked bitterly.

  ‘Or maybe he’s just finally figured out exactly what he is.’

  ‘A monster,’ spat Sam.

  Zack nodded. ‘He’s cleaning the slate. Ironwood, the football player with a future and a mean streak a mile long; you, the egotistical golden boy aiming for a Hollywood career. Even I was being recognized for my work as a surgeon. You saw the newspaper clipping on Robertson’s computer. He wants to erase us.’

  Sam ground his teeth. ‘On the phone he said everything was easy for us, but he refuses to see what that led to. Ironwood was washed up at nineteen and my biggest role of late is a fuckin’ commercial for the Beavers. I can see him being jealous of you and Alan, but why the rest of us?’

  ‘Because,’ Zack said, ‘he isn’t just looking at who we’ve become. He’s also focused on who we were.’

  Davey’s eyes went wide as he followed the conversation.

  Sam rubbed at his temples, the fingers working deep. ‘You think Lucas is capable of this?’

  Zack nodded again. ‘He’s been badly scarred and no matter what he claimed, his burns weren’t an accident. They’re too precise, too continuous. He has layers of scar tissue.’

  ‘But is he unbalanced enough for this to make sense to him?’ Sam pushed.

  ‘Who can say?’ Zack replied. ‘In high school he was always a follower, never a leader. It’s possible the only way he saw to fit in was to adopt other people’s passions. At first, he followed me, but I was a year older and medical school was too much of a leap. Then he chose you, but couldn’t make it on stage. He was then left with Alan, who must have carried him along some, but eventually he failed there, too. I also got the feeling from our sessions that he lost more than skin during those burnings. He might have no trouble with the morality of kidnap and murder.’

  The air around them went silent as all three men stared down at the photo of the blank-faced boy.

  ‘He fits,’ Sam said, breaking the silence.

  Zack agreed.

  Sam rose to his feet, noticing the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. Thick clouds still held the sun at bay, making the early evening feel more like night.

  ‘How do we find him?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Vadik will know.’

  Davey leapt to his feet. ‘Can I help? I know my way around.’

  Sam ground his teeth. ‘We can use every friend we’ve got.’

  99

  Back in the Mercedes, with Davey stretched out in the back seat, Sam turned to Zack.

  ‘So if Lucas is the kidnapper, and he’s connected with Vadik, why did he help me raise the money?’

  ‘You said yourself this isn’t about money,’ Zack answered. ‘By using you to rob the mall, he made you an outlaw, and he got to keep play
ing the game.’

  ‘Then what about you?’

  Zack looked at him questioningly.

  Sam continued. ‘Why is he still torturing you? He’s destroyed your career, killed your daughter and kidnapped your wife. Why not end it like he did with Ironman and Alan?’

  ‘He still needed something.’

  Sam frowned. ‘We’ve already agreed it’s not about the money?’

  ‘But my share gave you the incentive to play his game, Sam. You said yourself that a million was impossible, but once you had three-quarters . . .’

  ‘I had hope,’ Sam finished.

  Zack nodded.

  ‘But what did that leave you?’

  Zack’s voice was ice. ‘I have hate.’

  100

  ‘So,’ Detective Preston began as he drove Hogan to Old Town, ‘this Lucas fellow spent fifteen years in jail for rape, and took over the Russians when he got out?’

  Hogan nodded. ‘He must have made contacts inside. According to Calico, Lucas appeared on the scene ten years ago, working as an underling for a Russian heavy, Georgy Malkin, who is said to have ruled his mini empire like the crimpers with good old-fashioned leg-breakers at his beck and call.’

  ‘What happened to Malkin?’

  Hogan smirked. ‘I asked the same question. Calico says his car mysteriously burst into flames on his way to work one day. Numerous witnesses said they could hear him screaming as the car kept moving down the street at high speed and ended up in the river.’

  ‘Fire, huh?’

  ‘A rival gang was blamed, although Calico claims there was no evidence to back it up. One week later, three of its members were found on the riverbank where Malkin’s car left the road. Their eyes and tongues had been cut out before they were stripped naked and burned alive.’

  ‘And Lucas moved up?’

  ‘The Russians liked his communication skills.’

  ‘He must have studied The Secret in the joint.’

  Hogan laughed. ‘There’s also a juvenile record of petty crimes, including incidents of setting his neighbours’ pets on fire. Two dogs, one cat and a basket of newborn bunnies.’

  ‘Twisted little prick.’

  ‘His record was clean for two years prior to the rape. He was seventeen at the time of that incident, but turned eighteen shortly after. The court tried him as an adult.’

  ‘He had form,’ said Preston. ‘I would have thrown away the key.’

  Hogan flipped through the copy of the police report he was reading. ‘Lucas claimed he didn’t do it. He admitted that he and Robertson found the girl naked and unconscious in the bedroom. The sight excited him and he confessed to touching her breasts. Robertson got squeamish and left, but Lucas was too pumped up. He masturbated over her.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘The girl woke up just as he was ejaculating.’

  Preston winced. ‘Bad timing.’

  ‘There was evidence linking four of the suspects – Toler, Ironwood, White and Lucas – but Lucas was the face the victim saw.’

  ‘Pretty tough to claim innocence if you’re caught waving your dick in the victim’s face,’ Preston said.

  Hogan nodded. ‘That’s how the jury saw it, too.’

  Detective Hogan parked the car outside the Olde Towne Fish House and inhaled the salty air.

  ‘This is one of the legitimate businesses that Lucas owns. According to Calico, it’s also our best bet for finding him.’

  ‘I thought something smelled fishy,’ Preston quipped.

  The two detectives walked into the restaurant and flashed their badges at a college-age waitress standing by the reservation book. Her authentic ‘wench-style’ period costume squeezed her plump bosom until it resembled two baby-smooth grapefruits, which were about to explode.

  ‘We’re looking for the owner.’ Hogan’s gaze was firmly fixed on the woman’s face.

  Preston’s eyes weren’t as disciplined.

  ‘I haven’t seen him,’ said the woman. ‘Try the cooks.’

  She jabbed a tooth-gnawed thumbnail in the direction of a door with a round porthole at the rear of the restaurant.

  Hogan pushed through the door to enter chaos. Six chefs were busy at their stations and the aroma was an exotic soup of herbs, garlic, salt and brine.

  It was impossible to tell who was in charge, so Hogan held up his badge and said loudly, ‘We’re looking for the owner.’

  ‘Good luck, mate,’ called out an Australian accent. ‘We only look for him on pay day.’

  The other cooks laughed and continued to cook, cleave, steam and stew.

  ‘Does he have an office?’ Hogan asked.

  ‘Stairs at the back, just past the pots,’ called an Indian accent. ‘Sometimes he there, but often not.’

  Preston nudged his partner towards the small flight of wooden stairs beside a large, walk-in freezer.

  They climbed a dozen stairs to a makeshift office with thin plywood walls built above the freezer. When Hogan knocked, the flimsy door rattled in its frame. In response to the silence that followed, Hogan turned the handle and entered.

  The office was unoccupied, but from its layout it was obviously used for book-keeping. Shelves of box files were organized by date, going back at least four years. The lone desk held a standard Dell computer and a large calculator that printed off paper records.

  ‘Maybe we should have called first,’ said Preston.

  ‘And missed the chance to see this?’ Hogan retorted.

  ‘We could always take the waitress in for questioning. Who knows what she’s hiding.’

  ‘Whatever it is,’ Hogan answered drily. ‘I’m sure it’s not a fancy for old lawmen. Besides, you need more than a good lasso trick to keep up with college girls these days. They all read the Kama Sutra.’

  ‘What the hell’s that? And can I rent the DVD instead?’

  Hogan laughed. ‘Lucas owns two other restaurants near by.’

  ‘Any of them serve steak?’

  ‘Well, number two on my list is a place called The Olde Steak House.’

  ‘Being a detective, I would deduce we could find ourselves a bit of beef there.’

  ‘Let’s test your theory.’

  101

  A brown car was pulling away when Sam, Zack and Davey arrived outside the popular fish house. Inside the Mercedes, Zack was sweating despite a chill in the air, but Sam discovered he felt strangely calm.

  He pulled out his revolver. ‘I’m not leaving without answers,’ he said. ‘Consequences be damned. If you’re not up for it—’

  Zack leaned over to the glovebox and withdrew his tiny, stainless-steel pistol. Dried flecks of blood marred the gun’s shiny finish.

  ‘I’m in,’ he said.

  Sam turned to Davey. ‘Keep low. We’ll be back soon.’

  Davey slipped down further in his seat. His eyes were as wide as a kid on a Ferris wheel.

  The restaurant was busy with customers, but Sam didn’t hesitate to walk briskly past the tables and through the swinging door at the rear. The young waitress at the reservation desk didn’t even bat an eye.

  Several cooks glanced up at the two men, but didn’t seem particularly interested. Zack and Sam entered the walk-in freezer without hindrance or objection. After all, who would enter a lion’s den without an invitation?

  They descended into the tunnels with less confidence than they had entered the restaurant. The pitch darkness and heavy air crowded in on their resolve.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Sam stopped and switched on a pocket flashlight. Its weak beam barely pierced the thick, stale darkness.

  ‘Close the hatch,’ he said. ‘See what happens.’

  Zack retreated up the stairs and pulled the hatch closed. Instantly, the row of electric lights overhead lit the tunnel. Sam switched off the flashlight and they moved forward.

  In the cavern with the red sofa, Sam felt his stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. With every step his mind screamed that he was going in the wrong
direction.

  He crossed the room and knocked on the door that led to the inner sanctum. No reply. He knocked again, and then tried the door. Locked.

  Frowning, Sam turned to Zack just as a distant scrape of metal on stone echoed from deeper in the tunnels. They both approached the second stone archway, but unlike the tunnel they had followed from the restaurant, this one remained in darkness.

  Sam switched on his flashlight and plunged ahead. Zack trailed nervously behind.

  Inside the unexplored tunnel, Sam moved cautiously, the flashlight focused on the ground. A few feet into the darkness, they came across another cell dug into the wall. This one was barely four feet deep and its door was one solid piece of wood without bars or window.

  ‘That’s probably a crimpers’ punishment cell,’ Zack whispered. ‘If you caused them trouble, you were moved to one of these. The isolation and darkness drove a lot of captives mad, but the crimpers would knock them unconscious and sell them anyway. It became the captain’s problem once they were at sea.’

  ‘Charming,’ Sam whispered back.

  ‘There was one infamous case,’ Zack continued, his nervousness making him chatter, ‘where legendary crimper Bunco Kelly sold a crew of dead men for thirty-two dollars a head to the captain of The Flying Prince.’

  ‘Dead men?’

  ‘The story goes that a gang mistook the cellar of a mortuary for the saloon next door. Thinking they had scored big, the men cracked open a keg and had a party. Unfortunately, the keg was formaldehyde. When Bunco happened along, all the men were dead or dying. Thinking quickly, Bunco and his crew carted the bodies through the tunnels and out to the docks. Legend has it, he even told the captain that he should really charge him more since he had to get the men so drunk first.’

  ‘Sounds like someone Lucas would admire,’ said Sam, his voice taking on a nasty edge.

  Zack took the hint and shut up.

  After a few more feet, they came to a heavy steel door that sealed yet another stone archway. It definitely wasn’t part of the original construction. Sam tried the handle and found it locked solid. As he bit back a curse, his flashlight shifted to the left and illuminated the entrance to a smaller, secondary tunnel. The dirt floor was well travelled.