Killer of Killers (7 page)

“My dear,” Karl droned, “we had a deal. I am
a man of my word, as you know. I kept my promise to you, and your
brother is safe. However, the world is in great danger, and we must
do something about it, don’t you agree?”

Samantha peeked at her brother and whispered,
“Yes.”

Karl switched his gaze from Samantha to Josh.
“And you,” he said with a sterner tone. “You understand what Soriah
represents. I thought you were on
my
side. Why are you
trying to make me the villain in front of your sister?”

“Mr. Manoukian,” Josh began, “I know I was
supposed to bring you Stiles. I know he was going to do this for
you...for us.” He glanced at Samantha, and his face became
resolved. “But someone took him out. It was this Smith guy. If it
turns out he works for Soriah, then that means Soriah’s on to you.
Don’t you think that puts you in danger?”

The next sounds were twin beeps from the top
of Karl’s desk accompanied by a flashing yellow light. Samantha
knew it signified a high priority call, and Karl answered it
immediately. “Yes,” he said into the cordless handset. “That’s
quite unlikely. You’re sure?” A pause. “Very well.”

Karl slowly lowered the phone, and his gaze,
filled with astonishment, drifted back to Samantha, and then to
Josh. “Well, it seems you could be right about this Smith,” he
conceded. “Jeremiah Flint has just been...
killed
...at the
Flip Flop Club.” He seemed to struggle with the news, even as he
spoke.

“Jeremiah Flint...killed?” Josh repeated in
disbelief.

“Yes.”

“But what about Topu Tacau?”

“Him, too.”

“Impossible!” Josh exclaimed. “Topu’s a
Soriah Special.”

“I know,” was all Karl seemed able to
say.

“No, it can’t be true.”

“Yes, Josh, it appears your Mr. Smith killed
both Flint
and
Topu Tacau. From what I understand, the
Global Girls saw the whole thing.”

Karl retained an astonished face until
Samantha, unabashedly pleased, announced, “That means he doesn’t
work for Abraham Soriah.”

“But I have to be sure,” Karl insisted with
his expression turning grim. “Completely sure.” For several moments
he examined his desktop. Then he looked up and said, “Find him,
Samantha. This will be your assignment. Don’t worry about your
superiors. The San Francisco Police Department will believe they
were the ones who sent you. I must know if Trent Smith works for
Soriah. And if he doesn’t, then he must work for me.”

“I’ll find him,” Samantha said. “You can
count on it.”

She placed the lengthy belt in her purse,
setting it next to a small photo of a comely Asian girl. It was
inscribed with Japanese characters, but two words were written in
English:
Love, Yoshiko
.

* * * *

Captain Gutto’s office appeared awfully small
to Samantha while she waited in front of his desk. After a session
in Karl Manoukian’s office the night before, the comparative space
seemed little more than a closet. And the captain’s corpulent body
was somewhat heavier lately. A double chin suggested he spent the
bulk of his job behind the desk he shared with a stained coffee cup
and an empty donut box.

As Captain Gutto burrowed through the paper
reports, Samantha already knew what he was going to say. Finally,
he put the stack aside, looked up, and asked, “Ever been to New
York?”

* * * *

The next thing Trent knew, he was walking
inside a dimly lit maze of well-trimmed shrubbery. An unearthly
silence imbued the air, which seemed heavy and oddly unreal. His
peripheral vision was out of focus, and eerie sensations crept
through his bones. Not knowing where he was or how he got there, he
felt compelled to keep moving forward. Step after step, Trent
couldn’t gauge his progress, and he had no sense of time.

Eventually, he managed to catch a glimpse of
a small figure when a passage stretched before him. It was an old
man wearing a white hospital gown. Even though the man was slight
and frail, he seemed to move along at the same pace as Trent. Just
as Trent turned a corner, the old man was visible for but a moment
before he also turned a corner. This lasted longer than Trent could
say, but soon he felt an ominous presence lurking in the trails he
left behind. He slowly turned around. Nothing was there. Yet the
feeling was unmistakable. Something followed him, and it was
something odious.

For long moments, Trent stood motionless,
keeping his eye on the far corner. Nothing emerged. It was as if
the entity recognized Trent’s wait for revelation, but it wouldn’t
cooperate. It waited, too. Still, Trent held firm. He was about to
take a step toward the presence when he heard a squeaky voice from
the opposite direction. “What are you waiting for?”

Trent pivoted to the voice and saw the old
man looking at him, smiling. He was diminutive and short, with wiry
white hair that was long and unkempt like in the Albert Einstein
photos he’d seen from time to time. The man hurried on, making
Trent decide to follow him again. Trent quickened his pace until he
was running, but every corner he turned, again revealed the oldster
rounding the corner ahead. Trent slowed to a stop. He was confused
as to why he couldn’t gain any ground on the strange senior
citizen.

Soft footsteps made Trent spin around. He saw
Josh and Samantha Jones, and was relieved the evil wasn’t coming
from them. Josh, tall and broad-shouldered, wore his former
football uniform, but without the helmet and underlying pads. Upon
his white jersey, the number eighty-eight emblazoned his chest, and
he carried a football under his arm.

Samantha was as gorgeous as ever, but it was
strange to see her in a cheerleader uniform. Stranger still, it
wasn’t the typical outfit of a professional cheerleader, it was
more the style of a prep school cheer squad. The skirt was short
and pleated, white in color, and trimmed in black. A large letter M
embroidered on the front of her white top was also trimmed in
black. Trent thought for a moment that she was a cop, not a
cheerleader. Something was wrong with this picture. Regardless, he
was glad to see them, and he was first to speak. “Did you guys see
anything back there?”

“Like what?” Samantha asked.

“Like something bad.” Trent felt stymied for
being unable to elaborate.

“No,” Josh said.

“What about the old guy? Do either of you
know who that old guy is?”

“What old guy?” Josh asked.

Samantha stepped forward. “How about if Josh
goes back to find out what this bad thing is, and I’ll run ahead
and try to find the old guy.” Subsequently, each sibling ran off in
the respective direction of her suggestion.

Once again, Trent found himself alone. It was
disconcerting. He didn’t know whether to go back and assist Josh,
or go ahead and find Samantha. He decided to catch up with
Samantha.

Trent rounded corner after corner until
finally he saw Samantha sitting on the ground near the end of a
pathway with no more corners to turn. Standing at the dead end was
the old man. He was facing the bush, and Trent only saw the back of
his gown and the hair on the back of his head. Determined to reach
him, Trent passed Samantha, and as he did, she called out, “Don’t
hurt him.”

Don’t
hurt
him? Trent didn’t know why
she would say that. He believed the old man was the key to solving
the maze, and right now that was the only thing he wanted to do. He
put his hand on the man’s shoulder, but he turned of his own
volition, and Trent withdrew his arm. Once the man faced him, Trent
was surprised to see a much
younger
man. His hair was full
and neat, light brown and well kept, and the skin on his face was
smooth and youthful. His physique, also, was of a young man, but
Trent knew this was the same person who moments before looked
ancient.

The youth said, “What’s the matter? Don’t you
want to live forever?”

Feeling revulsion, Trent backed away, but as
he did, he brushed against the vegetation and felt a sharp sting on
his shoulder. He slapped his hand over the pain. In the next
moment, a rush swelled from his center and surged through his
extremities. He looked into the wall of leaves and zoomed in to a
needle-like thorn beaded with blood. He lifted his hand to examine
his shoulder and was amazed to see it healing in front of his eyes.
Like a video on rewind, the blood returned to the puncture, which
shrank until no wound remained. Even his torn sleeve miraculously
mended. He backpedaled further, passing Samantha, and it was then
he realized her concern wasn’t meant for the old man.

Again, Trent felt the ominous presence and
pivoted. He saw Josh, no longer in possession of his football, and
although he discerned no evil from him, he was visibly distraught.
With a glance at Trent, he said, “Sorry, man. I’m...so sorry.” He
sat on the ground next to his sister, and the faces of both
siblings blanked, as if they were hypnotized.

Puzzled, Trent moved away from them and in
the direction of the emanate evil, but when he reached the leafy
corner, he froze. He didn’t know if he should advance, or if he
should retreat. He decided to advance. After a single step, a
monstrous humanoid shape, rotted and moldy, suddenly pounced with
the ferocity of an African lion. It attacked violently, clawing
wildly with talons ripping flesh from bone. Trent could only throw
his arms up to protect himself, but it was useless. The creature’s
size was overpowering, and its stench overwhelming. Trent felt
himself succumbing to the slashing savagery.

In moments, it would be over, but Trent was a
fighter, and he refused to submit. He reached deep into his heart,
into his soul, and retaliated with every fiber of his being,
pummeling the monster with his fists, again, and again, and again.
By sheer force of will, Trent gained the upper hand and didn’t stop
bashing and smashing until all that was left of the ghastly ghoul
was little more than a gooey gob on the grassy ground.

Comprehending the obscenity finished, Trent
staggered to his feet and turned his head. Josh and Samantha were
gone, and no sign of the youngster remained. Next, the fuzzy edges
of his vision bled inward. Everything faded and there was only
black.

Trent was adrift in space. A void of no
boundary or light, yet he felt no despair. He knew where he was.
The master had described this place. It was the bane of existence,
a point where shadow prevails. The subconscious side of life, but
also the intellectual side—the inspired side.

As Trent floated through infinity, he heard
Shoji’s voice:
“To have light with no shadow, one believes he
has mastered all, and I tell you now this is the way of the fool.
He who understands his limits shows wisdom. Without the shadow
there can be no motivation and no innovation. One must value
darkness in addition to the light...or be cursed to eternal
stagnation.”

From the sea of timeless nothing, something
new began to form. The exquisite face of his past romance, Yoshiko
Wada, became as real as the day he left Japan. Long, black hair
fell across her brow, and her sultry eyes were half-closed with
passion. When her mouth opened, Trent again heard the last words
she spoke to him:
“I’ll wait for you, forever.”

The image blurred and reformed into the
beauteous face of Samantha Jones, whose long, blond hair flowed
with enchantment in the wind. With puckered lips, she kissed the
air, after which her sensuous voice proclaimed,
“I’ll wait for
you, forever.”

The fair-skinned goddess transformed into the
equally alluring but darker complexioned Global Girl. Her seductive
features drew ever closer. Cheek to cheek with Trent, she crooned,
“I’ll wait for you, forever.”

Trent wanted to speak, but no words would
come out. With increased effort, he tried again, but still nothing
vocalized. Finally, with Herculean exertion, he forced it out.
“Susie!”

Trent realized he was dreaming and began to
stir, but the velvety voice of Susie Q purred into his ear,
“Ssshhh, it’s okay, baby, go back to sleep.”

He didn’t. It occurred to Trent that he was
flat on his back in a comfortable bed, and he was wearing no
clothes. The next thing he recognized was his body in a state of
sexual arousal. Not sure if he was half awake or half conscious,
Trent opened his eyes to a sliver and viewed the beautiful,
dark-skinned woman through his eyelashes. Sitting on top of him,
trying not to put her weight onto him, the exotic dancer was also
nude and had him completely inside of her while moving her pelvis
in slow revolutions. He was genuinely amused and flattered to
discover Susie making love to him while he was sleeping!

Unsure of the circumstances, Trent continued
to feign sleep and let Susie ride out the experience. After all,
she most likely saved his life when he passed out at the club. If
this was how she wanted him to repay her, he was content to
cooperate. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was awake and
enjoying it every bit as much as she.

“Mmmmhhh,” she moaned as her hips danced a
rhythm above him. Her knees, straddling his waist, braced most of
her weight, and her arms, anchored astride his head, suspended full
breasts mere inches from his face.

“Mmmmhhh...” The movements quickened and then
slowed, and she tensed for an approaching climax. Finally, she
increased the pressure and, “Oh! Oh!” made it happen. The
impassioned woman preserved the position for a few more seconds,
and then concluded the act with “Oh, Jesus.”

Easing from the bed, the ebon beauty slipped
into a pink baby-doll nightie and sat at her dressing table to look
in the mirror. Trent watched through the corner of his eye as she
brushed her thick flowing locks.

The doorbell sounded. Susie threw on a
bathrobe and walked out of the bedroom. Shutting the door behind
her was Trent’s cue to look around. He sat up, but a swell of
vertigo reminded him to move slowly. Now lucid and alert, he
wondered just how long was he out. Weakened muscles suggested it
surpassed a good night’s sleep. Was it a full day? Perhaps even
two?