Killer of Killers (28 page)

“You won’t find anything like that,” Charles
said.

“Why not? Are you our new crime scene
investigator? Thirty plus years on the force... I know injuries
like this.”

“No, you don’t,” Charles countered.

“Really, now.” Williams crumpled his brow.
“Why do you say that?”

“Look more closely. Do you see any brass
knuckle indentations or any other impression on their faces?”

“Okay, mister smarty pants. That’s up to the
coroner to decide. It’s my job to mop up here. You want anything
else?”

By now, Charles noticed Andy waiting to
report and nodded to him.

“Nothing on Benson,” Andy said. “I’ll check
these two now.”

While Andy searched the lifeless Turks,
Williams looked on and inquired, “What are you looking for,
anyway?”

Charles answered, “A disc or flash drive.
Something that might contain a computer database. Have you seen
anything like that?”

“Nope.”

“Well, we’ll be helping ourselves to
everything that might fit that description. You don’t have a
problem with that, do you?”

The detective rolled his eyes and shook his
head. “Shit, I learned a long time ago not to have a problem with
anything you guys do. The entire city knows to back down when you
show up.”

Charles responded, “Thanks for your
cooperation, detective.”

As Williams nodded with a smirk, Bill
returned from the other room. “Charles, you’d better come and see
this.”

Charles closed his eyes for a moment and
pressed his lips together. Then he turned around and walked with
Bill to Susie’s bedroom. Charles entered first and viewed the
motionless woman. Her hands were clasped, and she was holding a
flower. Bill stood beside him. “I couldn’t disturb her,” he said.
“It’s just a robe she has on, and...I couldn’t...”

“Did you check the room?” Charles asked.

“Yes, but other than the black cases,
nothing.”

Charles studied the still form of Susie Quinn
and noticed her peaceful expression. He looked at the rose she
held, and he kneeled against the bed. He discovered the folded
towel beneath her side. Observing the knife wound, he noted the
towel was not soaked in blood, yet the sheets were drenched red. He
stood up and, from his high vantage point, noticed fresh orange
peels in the wastebasket near the wall. He turned back to Bill.
“You said her black cases are still here. Are they intact?”

“Yes, every one of them.”

“Very interesting.” Charles thought for a few
seconds, and then he added, “Round them up, will you?”

“Right.”

As Bill collected Susie’s supply of Eternity,
Charles turned to exit the room. But just as he did, he thought he
saw the rose in Susie’s hand move. He paused and fixed his gaze
upon her. Was it a twitch? Just as he was about to check, emergency
personnel arrived, prompting him to move aside.

Deciding to let the medics do their job,
Charles returned to the front room to examine what was left of
Jason Benson. He viewed the bullet holes lined horizontally in the
wall above the sofa and noted the wound on Benson’s chest. He
peered through the splintered doorway. More bullet holes checkered
the wall in the corridor.

Charles looked at the Turk lying on the floor
amid the wrecked furniture. He observed additional debris in the
dining room and an impression on the carpet that matched a huge
body. He followed footprints leading to the other Turk who wore the
mask of dread. Charles was not a crime scene investigator, but he
knew what happened and how in this once happy home of the woman he
hired from lower Manhattan. Her name was Susie Quinn.

Chapter
Fourteen

By the Dawn’s Early
Light

Late evening hours failed
to dim the bustling metropolis as flashing neon billboards
irradiated the always hectic and never sleeping boulevards. Cars
revved, tires screeched, and helicopters chopped the air, while
sirens wailing in the distance weaved a seamless transition from
one hour to the next. But none of it mattered to a wandering Trent.
Nor did the foul fumes of vehicular exhaust or the fetid stench of
restaurant refuse distract him in the least.

Trent had no destination and no plan of
action—that is until the moment he faced Abraham Soriah. When that
moment arrived, he knew exactly what he was going to do. A straight
punch through the costal cartilage of the fourth rib would pound
the pulmonary artery and, delivered correctly, would not be
instantly fatal. A slow death was in store for the man who would be
God, and no wonder drug was going to save him.

Inner rage forced Trent to conjure a scenario
that ended in Susie’s survival. If he killed Soriah when Manoukian
asked him to in the first place, then Susie might still be alive.
But that would pit him against his own principles. Could he really
do that? No. It’s what
Manoukian
would do. And Trent
believed there was a large gap between what Manoukian would do and
what he would do. Still, Trent couldn’t help but consider that
this
time, at least, Manoukian might have been right.

* * * *

It was past two a.m., and Trent sat
distraught in the outside patio of an all-night restaurant called
Rick’s Coffee Shop. Being mid-July, the nighttime temperatures
remained comfortable. The servers, dressed in maroon uniforms,
stopped asking for his order, because every time they did, he
didn’t.

Dawn broke, and soon thereafter, the day
shift clocked in. The morning waiter, a short, blond teenager, left
Trent alone because he still couldn’t bring himself to eat. There
was time for that later, and after his recent experiences, Trent
believed time was his only ally. The hustle of rush hour traffic
congested the streets, and the sidewalks filled with a torrent of
pedestrians. The restaurant drew its early crowd, so Trent freed
his table and walked around the block to hail a cab to the airport.
A taxi approached, but before Trent could hail a ride, it pulled to
the curb.

At first, he thought it was Charles again,
but when the door opened, a pair of skirted legs appeared. Trent
recognized them. They were the legs of Samantha Jones. With
emotions spent, and on the brink of exhaustion, he could only watch
her step from the cab. As she neared, her pace quickened until she
blurted, “Oh, Trent!” and wrapped him in a hug that took him off
guard.

“What are you doing here?” Trent asked. “I
left a message on your voice mail, saying I was coming back to see
Manoukian.”

Samantha pulled away to look him in the eyes,
but she didn’t release her embrace. “I had to talk to you,” she
said. “If you had a cell phone, I would have called you, but you
don’t, you old dinosaur.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I arrived yesterday, and that’s when I heard
your message. I’ve been combing Manhattan trying to find you.”

“Well, you found me. Now what?”

“Where can we talk?” Samantha turned her
blond head and panned the block. “I’m famished, aren’t you? Let’s
get something to eat.”

“I know somewhere.” Trent was thinking of
Rick’s Coffee Shop.

They entered the outdoor section of the
restaurant, which was bordered by a short brick wall. Samantha
started to sit near the periphery, but Trent pulled her to where he
had made himself a fixture the night before. “Let’s sit here,” he
said. The round metallic table was next to the building, and Trent
always put his back to the wall.

After they were seated, Trent noticed
Samantha giving him a once-over. He knew his face was gaunt, his
hair was a mess, and his eyes were red. His black shirt and blue
jeans looked smudged and rumpled, but more disturbing, he was sure,
was the blood that spotted his clothes. Trent wanted to say
something, but it was Samantha who spoke first. “Trent, what’s
wrong?” she asked. “You look worn out. Are you all right?”

Realizing the truth of it, Trent simply
nodded. He
was
worn out, but it wasn’t just physical. He was
emotionally worn, as well. Susie was dead, and he couldn’t escape
the notion that it was his fault. He kept thinking had he not
visited the Flip Flop Club, might it have been different? Had he
assured Soriah he would stop killing Eternals, maybe then the old
man wouldn’t have been so worried about retrieving his precious
wonder drug. If he had just left the senator alone, perhaps Susie
would still be alive.

“Look, forget about that,” Trent said. “All
that’s important now is that I’m willing to do what you wanted. Is
the deal still on?”

“Yes,” Samantha replied. “But there’s been an
unexpected development. Jason Benson has been murdered.”

“Murdered, hell, he was killed by Soriah’s
own men. Careless butchers. They were trying to kill
me
.”

“You? But why?”

“Probably because I finally made Soriah’s hit
list. They killed Susie first and then waited for me to show
up.”

“Susie?”

“One of the Global Girls. She saved my life
the night I wasted Flint.”

“Is that why they killed her?”

“More likely it was because she had the damn
drug. All the Global Girls did. They were supposed to give it up,
and she was the only one who didn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Benson told me when I ran into him at
Susie’s place. It means anyone who’s using the drug without
Soriah’s consent is in danger. Even you.”

“No. Josh and Karl wouldn’t let that
happen.”

“Listen to me.” Trent reached for her hands
on the tabletop. “All the Global Girls returned their supply of
this blasted stuff. Susie didn’t, and now she’s dead. You could be
next.”

“It might not matter anymore,” Samantha
noted. “The lab’s entire database has been destroyed. The whole
program is in jeopardy. With no more Eternity, Soriah has no reason
to care. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is it? Just what does Manoukian know?”

“What Karl knows is that Benson is dead, and
the files for Eternity are gone. Right now, everyone’s looking for
a flash drive or a CD Rom.”

The news of a search for the flash drive
piqued Trent’s interest. “How do you know one exists?” he
asked.

“Soriah’s experts were able to determine that
the files were copied before they were purged. There has to be a
disc or a flash drive or something. They’re sure about it.”

Trent figured he shouldn’t reveal what he
knew, so he said nothing. But Samantha narrowed her eyes and added,
“You said you were there...at Susie’s place...with Benson. Did you
hear him say anything about it?”

“What if I did? What if he told me the files
were destroyed and all copies along with it? Then what?”

“Then Eternity could be lost to us. The
formula may never be recovered.”

“Isn’t that better? Soriah’s plan for a
super-human nation of Eternals will be squelched. I thought it’s
what you wanted.”

“It’s what we wanted, but the medicine has so
much more to offer. It can save lives. Don’t
you
want
that?”

“What I want is justice,” Trent said. “That’s
the only thing I
ever
wanted, and it’s the only stake I have
in this entire mess.”

“Justice,” Samantha repeated. “Does that
include killing Soriah for the murder of your friend? Is it why you
changed your mind?”

“Soriah is not above justice. No one is. When
can I meet with Manoukian? He has to get me inside that lab.”

“He’s flying to Minnesota right now with
Josh. We’ll have to meet them in Minneapolis and then take Karl’s
private jet to Bemidji. From there, we’ll take a limo and arrive at
the lab together.”

A young waiter stepped to their table, but
Trent noticed he wasn’t the blond kid from earlier. He was
black-haired and dark-skinned, like an East Indian, and with no
trace of accent, he asked, “Are you ready to order?”

Trent eyed him suspiciously. “Where’s the
other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“Hell, I don’t know his name. The short blond
guy.”

“I don’t know, sir. He must be serving the
main floor.”

The next thing Trent noticed was the waiter’s
height. “Just how tall are you, anyway?”

The young man fidgeted. “Well, I’m six,
three.”

Samantha said, “Trent, I’m sure it’s
okay.”

Trent didn’t take his eyes off the youth. He
wore a golden vest over his maroon uniform like the other servers,
and the usual white apron hugged his waist. But when Trent looked
down, he noted polished dress shoes instead of the white sneakers
worn by the rest of the staff. In addition to that, Trent recalled
all of the other waiters had paper roses pinned to their vests.
This waiter’s vest had no rose at all. “Your flower,” Trent said,
pointing to the vest. “Where is it?”

The waiter reached for something inside his
pocket, but Trent sprang up and locked his wrist, forcing him to
step back, gasping in pain. Consequently, an object fell to the
floor. It was the imitation rose. Seeing this, Trent released the
boy and sat down. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I’ve had a long
day.”

“But it’s only seven o’clock,” the boy
muttered while holding his wrist and wiping the tears that dropped
from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Trent responded with a sigh. “You’d
better hope I’m out of here by eight, eh?”

To that, the server nodded. He bent down to
retrieve his flower, and as he straightened, Samantha rose from her
seat. “Poor thing,” she said. “Let me get that for you.” She took
the rose from his trembling hand and pinned it to his vest. “It’s
cute. I like it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the youngster said, his
face blushing to the color of the rose. He returned his gaze to
Trent. “So, um, were you ready to order?” he asked again.

Once they ordered, and the waiter moved on,
Samantha looked at Trent with sympathetic eyes. “Trent, I’m sorry
about your friend. I didn’t know you were close to anyone in New
York.”