Indulgence (9 page)

Winter was losing its chill, but snow was still collecting
on rooftops and window sills in this part of the country. The sun beat down on
the pretty little cottage town, melting the snow away flake by flake. It was
quaint, but the mark of the terrible murder that had happened a few streets
over still hung in the background like a cold shadow that they couldn’t shake.

I’d stopped at a service station to grab a coffee just
outside the town limits and even they had been shocked at the news. They still
had a memorial photograph of the family on a noticeboard in the cafe. No
questions had been required for that sliver of information. The Crawfords had
been well known and well liked in these parts, except for the son. He’d trod a
dark path long before he left school and became a man.

There was a pub down the way called The Golden Lion, and
across from that was a small grocery store that seemed to double as a home and
hardware. Beyond was the teahouse called The Golden Mayflower. Small town
people stuck together in name and business, it seemed.

The map showed a country club and golf course through the
woods and a variety of large houses with acreage. The place stunk of old money.

Money and not much to do always resulted in gossip
mongering. It was big business and there was plenty still being flung around
about the Crawford’s murder. More than one person thought that Alison had gone
out into the woods and killed herself. Over her grief, over guilt, over a lot
of different things, but nobody had ever found a body. Someone disappeared and
people automatically thought the worst.

It may well have been that she’d taken her grief and used it
to plan her own murder.

Opening the door, I stepped out of the car and into the
sunshine, pushing my sunglasses up my nose. Running over my cover in my head
once more I pressed the fob on my keys and pocketed them, strolling towards the
teahouse.

Pushing open the door, I took in the quaint little room that
smelt like roasted coffee and cake. Little tables were crammed into every
available nook and cranny, each one covered in a red and white checkered
tablecloth. The place was almost empty, being the end of winter and all. An
elderly man sat by himself at a table by the large front window, nestled in a
pool of sunshine, a teapot with a cup and saucer in front of him. He looked
like a local, so I weaved through the tables and pulled up a chair at the table
next to him, which happened to be the only other table coated in warmth from
outside.

The old man eyed me curiously, his cup shaking in his hand.
That was more from old age than anything else. Sometimes it was hard to
disconnect myself from the two settings, on reconnaissance or sitting at The
Gambler’s Inn in my leathers.

Setting my sunglasses and phone on the table, I glanced over
the menu. Tea, more tea, coffee and cake.

“You’re police?” the old man asked when I didn’t acknowledge
him. “They stopped looking for her a long time ago. Such a shame.”

“No, I’m not police,” I replied. “Private detective.”

He looked me up and down with his watery eyes. “You look the
part with your fancy car and suit.”

Glancing out the window, I frowned.

“I saw you sitting there,” he went on. “Watching.”

“Oh, shoosh, Eddie,” a woman said and waved him off.

Glancing up at the waitress, I saw her name tag read,
‘Patrice’.

“Pay him no mind. They say his head was screwed up in
Vietnam,” she said to me. “Alison was the only one who paid him any attention.
That’s who he means by ‘her’.”

“It seems like Alison was well liked around here.”

“I knew her from high school,” she went on. “She was top in
everything. Everyone wanted to be her.” She puffed out her chest, sticking her
tits into my line of view. Apparently she had to compensate for her
shortcomings next to Alison Crawford by being a tart.

No doubt Alison had been voted ‘most likely
not
to
attempt murder’, but better people had been driven to do dark things before. If
they could, so could she.

“Such a terrible thing what happened. Her family all shot
dead like that.” Patrice shook her head. “What can I get for you?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” I shifted my phone and sunglasses on the table and
glanced back to the old man.

“Why a private detective?” Eddie asked as Patrice moved off.

Solidifying the lie, I replied, “The police are at a loss,
that’s why they sent me. Alison’s disappearance is considered a cold case now.
They wanted to shut it, but I thought it was worth another look.”

“Stop with your stories.” Patrice, the tarty waitress,
hushed Eddie as she put a coffee in front of me.

“They think I’m bloody crazy,” Eddie said and she rolled her
eyes. “They just don’t see what I do.”

“And what do you see?” I asked calmly, turning in my chair,
effectively dismissing the girl.

“Alison didn’t kill herself. I won’t have it. There was too
much attention on the poor lass. If I were her, I’d try and disappear. Start
afresh. No help staying round here with this lot prying into your business.
Nosey lot of money hungry codgers around here.”

It confirmed my suspicions that she’d tried to disappear
after her family was murdered, but where had she gone?

“Where do you think she’d have gone?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But she had to have had friends up at that
fancy school of hers.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to have to make another trip, but I
doubted she would’ve turned to her University friends for help. She was
intelligent, well liked, a people person. A girl like that would’ve been known
by a lot of people. If she was reported missing and someone had seen her, they
would’ve notified the authorities. The Necromancers would’ve found her months
ago if that was the case.

“I thought I’d seen a ghost,” Crazy Eddie said, breaking me
out of my thought pattern.

I glanced up at him, suddenly interested. “What do you
mean?”

“Alison was blonde. If there’s such a thing as
doppelgängers, I swear this woman was her. It’s sad.” He shook his head.

“What did this other woman look like?”

He lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip. “There’s light
and dark in this world boy. I’ve seen it all. This woman was the spitting image
of Alison, but she was dark. Not just her hair, but her entire presence. I’ve
seen good men go bad in the middle of war, but this was different. She had
murder in her eyes.”

They sure didn’t call him Crazy Eddie for nothing.

“Nothing good can come of that,” he went on. “Nothing at
all.”

Mercy

X had just disappeared.

I wanted to see him, to say…I didn’t know what I wanted to say,
but I felt the overwhelming need to lay eyes on him.

He’d been gone ever since that night he and Weiss had killed
those Necromancer thugs. I could still feel the sensation of the knife as it
sailed past my head and the sound it made as it imbedded into Ugly’s skull.

Who the fuck was X?

Scratch that.

What
the fuck was X?

Whatever shit he was in, his interest in me had made me a
pawn in their stupid turf war. They’d be watching me now. Watching and waiting
for X to screw up so they could take me.

I escaped the clutches of a murderer only to fall into the
arms of a monster.

Fidgeting behind the bar of The Gambler’s Inn, I had to do
something. I needed answers, because this fear that was creeping up my spine
like an unwanted houseguest was getting on my nerves. I came here to get lost,
to collect myself, to bloody well regroup for the next assault, not to be made
a target. I didn’t come all this way to be found out.

I rounded the bar and strode toward the office. I was
itching and I needed answers to scratch it with. Weiss would know, he was the
numbers man, the go to guy for information. He would know. I went to shove the
door open, but the memory of the gunshot that ripped the air apart the other
night seemed to echo in my memory. He shot a man in cold blood. Bam. Right
between the eyes.

Thinking better of it, I hesitated, the door staying ajar.
Weiss’ voice filtered through the gap and I paused when I heard him mention X.
It was like a moth to a flame, so I peered inside.

He was on the phone, his back turned toward the door, so he
hadn't noticed the door slipping open.

“X is on tenterhooks with Sykes,” Weiss said, pausing to
listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. “He knows that. This is his
out, I don’t think he’d do anything to screw it up. He wants it too much.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his eyes with his
free hand. “He’s never failed Greggor and I don’t expect him to now. He was
trained too well.”

Trained? I bit my lip, wondering what the hell Weiss meant.
Trained for
what
?

“I’ve got an eye on him,” he went on, then another pause as
Greggor, whoever that was, answered. “I’ve got my eye on her as well. She’s got
a mouth on her, but she can be trusted.”

Closing the door softly, I went back out to the bar. That
had to be me they were talking about. There were eyes on me from all camps, but
Royal Blood trusted me.
Weiss
trusted me and I could use that to my
advantage.

My blood ran even colder with the thought of X working with
the Necromancers. What was so important that a Motorcycle Club war would be put
on hold for them to trust X with some unknown job? I had to find out without
raising suspicion. Whatever it was, I was dragged into it the moment they sent
the dogs in to rough me up. X had involved me in a lot more than some disagreement
between criminals. He’d involved me emotionally the moment he fucked me over
Weiss’ desk and solidified it when he made me take him to my place.

All this was X’s fault.

Turning around, I strode across the bar and shoved into the
office.

Weiss glanced up, the phone gone from his hand. “What’s got
your knickers in a twist?” he asked.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What-”

Weiss held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t go asking questions,
Mercy.”

“Why not? Those ugly fuckers came in here and harassed me.
They would’ve touched me up or worse if you hadn’t killed them. Shit,” I hissed
shaking my head. “You and X killed five men and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

“Don’t go getting involved in shit you don’t understand,”
Weiss said. “You’d do best to stay out of it Mercy, or more of the same is
coming your way. Next time, we mightn’t be there.”

“I don’t appreciate being dragged into your fucking turf war
or whatever shit this is,” I exclaimed. “I just work the bar.”

“I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “I know you’re looking
to get lost, but I don’t know if this is the right place to do it anymore.”

What the fuck
? “You’re firing me?”

“No, I’m not firing you,” he said. “Just be careful. You’ll
be okay as long as me or X are around.”

“Where is X?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“He’s out on club business. Mercy…” Weiss stood, circling
around the desk. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but X? He
doesn’t do the old lady thing.” I cocked my head to the side. “The wife, the
girlfriend, the lady,” he went on. “He can’t.”

I was beyond trying to hide my attraction to the monster
anymore, so I just went with it. “Why not?”

“It’s not my business. You’d do best to listen, Mercy. Fuck
knows I’ve given you enough warnings.”

“I’m just trying to understand,” I said.

“That’s the thing,” Weiss said. “With X, you can’t. That
fucker is a mystery, even to me.”

I stared at Weiss, wondering the same thing about him. I
didn’t quite believe his words, and by the look on his face, neither did he.
Weiss knew something.

Something big.

And I was determined to find out what.

*****

A few days went by. A few days of nothing.

After such a violent situation playing out at The Gambler’s
Inn, it sure was bloody quiet. Weiss came and went as per his usual routine. I
did my shifts, the regulars all did their rotations at the bar and nothing
untoward happened. At all. It was so bloody quiet all I could do was think
about X.

X pressing me up against the wall over there and dry humping
me into submission. X dragging me by the hair into Weiss’ office. X pounding
his cock into me from behind. X’s finger in my ass. Bloody hell.

I woke up each morning in a cold sweat, images of blood and
death plaguing my dreams. They get them every time. Bam. Right between the
eyes. Sometimes it was a faceless man. Sometimes I just found bodies
everywhere. Sometimes it was X with the gun. I woke with images of death that
bled through to my waking life.

I was thankful that The Gambler’s Inn was quiet on a week
night. People went to other pubs that played football games on flat screen
tellies or had a livelier atmosphere. Only the punters looking for a quiet hole
to water themselves in came here. Most of the time I was on my own and that’s
the way I preferred it.

It was a Tuesday night, so the place was as dead as a
doornail. A few old Royal Blood bikers were in one corner, weathered men who
had snow white beards and beer guts. Three younger men were engrossed in a game
of pool, their attention on who was winning. A pile of money that had been bet
on the game was sitting on one edge. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air, the
clean air laws given the middle finger. Weiss never enforced them, being a
heavy chain smoker himself. It’d screw with his nicotine addiction.

Everyone had just seemed to have forgotten that a few nights
ago, five Necromancers were killed right where I was standing. How could people
be so…
flippant
with human life, no matter how scummy the victim was?