Travel Bug (34 page)

“She had no money and no family to inherit it if she did!”

“Right, what was the motive?”

“Damned, if I know,” Martin answered.

Then a terrible thing happened. Martin thought long and hard about it all. He realized that his intuition was acting up; it was a feeling of dread that put stabbing pains in his stomach. Martin knew that not all killers had motives. Hell, if anyone proved that it was Tommy Grey… Doubting Thomas… and he wanted to talk to Martin. If there was one thing worse than hearing this psychopath offer explanations for his motives, it was just plain hearing him talk. This sociopath whom he and his partner bested was a man in love with the sound of his own voice.

How could he murder a woman when he was trapped in a mental hospital?

“You know…”

“God, Mary, don’t even suggest it.”

“Sorry.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Look, he’s a madman but he might know something.”

“I hate him, if there is such a thing as man who is evil, Thomas is the textbook definition.”

“Really, then confront him with good.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Show him good is as powerful as evil.”

“Sorry, honey. This isn’t a movie. I’m a detective and he’s a serial killer. We’re not warlocks locked in supernatural battle.”

Pathetic middle aged people they had become. Granted, they picked a small town that seemed to be a hellish hotbed of activity but most of the time it was dull country living.

“Honey, think of me and the baby, Jack’s gone.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” she said without malice.

“Well, I guess…”

The phone rang. It was Calvin.

Martin rolled his eyes and then hung up. It wasn’t exactly a lengthy conversation, not even a short argument or debate.

“That was…”

“Sure, Mary, I have to go to that damn mental hospital. The man thinks that Thomas knows something about Ethel’s murder. We have to go together. God forbid he misses out on his moment of glory this time. Sometimes I think Calvin things he was predestined for greatness or something.

“Well, you know, funny you should say that because… there was a man with a theory once, a long time ago …”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said.

***

Luther returned home. He waited for the great cat to come down the stairs. It had always been an occasion when he did. Now it was serious business. He heard the familiar footsteps and saw his superior’s shadow. No more salmon and rice for him. Hell no. This time it would be lobster, from Maine of course. A baked potato with sour crème and he bought a case of imported German beer. This was a feast. Another terrorist had vanished from the face of the earth and the two operatives were going to be celebrating tonight. There would be much to be happy about but to the outside world it would appear as madness. This was no delusion about a black cat or movie about a killer dolphin. This was bloody real life. The telekinetic cat had orders and like a good soldier, Luther always followed them.

“Hello, sir.”

Moose looked up at Luther.

“Mission accomplished.”

The cat obviously heard the triumph in his voice. It was after all, a professional job. It wasn’t overly sadistic like the pieces of scum the enemy were. He didn’t rape her or torture her for hours like Saddam Hussein. She led to the deaths of patriots and now she paid the price in full. She was hung just like the dictator who once thought he was invincible but no dictators ever are. Just because you rape, torture and starve fellow human beings doesn’t make you a god. They may resign in disgrace, they may be forced to commit suicide in a bunker or they may be hung… not by executioners but by their own people. A certain Italian dictator was taken by surprise one day when people chose liberty and he had the worst day of his life. It goes without saying, of course, that it was also his last day before he found his new home in hell.

“Yes, it was a difficult task but not impossible,” he answered his superior.

If he could kill Ethel, there was no terrorist that he could not strike down. He had such great attachment to her, childhood memories and for the love of humanity, a friendly soul in a dark world. That wasn’t easy for him to lose. It probably would have been easier to give up a lung and a kidney for good measure. The others would be coming because that was the essential purpose of his mission. They would be much, much easier than someone who had once filled his heart with love and faith in people. So this was no typical day of killing the enemy or being a heartless warrior. This was a test and a God damn good one at that. Luther was really different. He was a new kind of killer. The kind that small town America really trusted due to sufficient sacrifice and all American service. If his heart belonged to the darkness it was the brightest part of the abyss that could be measured. Killing in the name of freedom excused a lot of atrocities and it always had. Luther did not excuse mass genocide in the name of people’s revolutions. And he did not excuse fascist like Hitler either. Totalitarianism needed to die… That was by no means an easy feat to kill those fascist monsters. Luther only admired real freedom fighters like Americans killing the British or the Viet Kong.

“You sure are making me into a mean motherfucker,” said Luther to his cat.

Moose did not respond but his facial expression was sarcastic.

“I know, I’m a natural born killer,” said Luther.

Luther knew that he was. No doubt about that one. He killed enough of the enemy in Iraq to brag to anyone who had ever fought in a war before. This was real. As in real fucking life here, real life indeed, not fantasy land. Luther Knox was a lean, mean, blood spilling machine! The same men who would judge him were among the same weak ilk who thought the crusaders were the villains during the middle ages. If one thought that Vlad the Impaler was the bad guy, also known alias Dracula, then one could not see that the enemies were indeed at the gates! It was a dark job to be the one who put out other people’s lights. That’s life, fuck it, no need to glamorize or justify it! That was Luther Knox, no pretense but a whole lot of substance here. He came, he saw, he obeyed; he was the ultimate killing machine. The man was the ultimate patriot; he was damn near the polar opposite of any documentary filmmaker on Abu Ghraib.

“I’m here and I’m ready to obey for my next mission.”

Moose ran right back up the stairs fast. “Fuck it, I’m a hero,” Luther said.

***

Doubting Thomas was insane but quite brilliant really. Killing men in the name of lack of faith… shameless but somehow he pulled it off. Still, there was more in his little dark heart than meets the eye. Love of death was love indeed. No God damn doubt about that……

“We need to talk to you,” said Calvin, who was destined for mediocrity.

“Yes,” he answered the constable.

“Smith isn’t here but Calvin is.”

“I’m so freaking flattered!” answered the monster.

“Good,” said Calvin.

“Oh, are you finally a part of what the fuck is going on now?” asked Thomas.

“Yes,” answered Calvin.

“Good.”

Mr. Grey… Doubting Thomas… was toying with him but he was too naive… way too innocent… to know that … now. …

“It was good of you to come, constable. I receive very few visitors here.”

The John the Baptist Hospital was one of the most functional mental health facilities not just in Philadelphia but the entire country. Where Thomas was located, was far from the general population. In decades past, they would have executed him but now John the Baptist hosted a myriad of sociopaths and psychopaths. There were also, many, many individuals who would only hurt themselves and never anyone else. The solitary condition of Thomas made it very interesting to Calvin how he got certain information regarding crime.

“Where did you hear about these new killings?”

“Where is Wesley?”

Martin came right behind Calvin without warning. They both starred at Thomas, who was behind the glass. Martin Wesley grabbed the phone.

“Nice to see you again, detective, I’m so sorry to hear about your partner.”

“I’m sure.”

“How did you know about Ethel before practically anyone else did?” Wesley asked.

“Life isn’t fair, I’m better at understanding human nature than you.”

“How did you know?” he asked again.

“When I was really young, a boy, there was an amusement park. We all went there for some laughs. Everyone had fun except for one little girl. She was in a wheelchair. I guess he just watched everyone else have fun.”

“What’s your point?”

“Life isn’t fair, that’s why I do what I do.”

“I thought the last time it was because of the alien invasion.”

Thomas smiled at Wesley and the pointed to Calvin. He was motioning that he wanted to talk with him. Calvin picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

“You’re a little troll,” said Thomas.

“I guess I am, too?” asked Wesley, after grabbing the phone.

“No, you’re a dragon and Smith is a fallen serpent!”

“What?”

“No more Smith and Wesley investigations.”

“That’s not why we’re here, Thomas.”

“Too bad because that’s the only reason I’ll speak with you. The four of you were at a restaurant, right? Then a man fired several shots, wounded a whole lot of people but I believe he only killed one. What was her name? I can only remember her last name…”

“Shut the fuck up, Thomas or I swear to God…”

“Smith, she was Mrs. Smith and not the kind found in the frozen food section. Her body is probably pretty cold now though. I guess he could turn to a higher power for comfort but… he doesn’t believe in one”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No, you won’t. Smith is a drunk and he might kill himself. I guess he’s mad at you since you had a gun but failed to act on time to save her. Funny, I don’t begrudge you.”

“No, but you begrudge him for bringing you to justice.”

“What justice? I ran out of aliens and decided to turn myself in to the authorities.”

“Bullshit, he got you but you did use that to your advantage in terms of not going to real jail… or being put to death.”

“Too bad, you know us crazy folk or apt to repeat or crimes. That is, unless, you’ve killed all the little green men and proved that God exist.”

“Sorry,” answered Wesley.

“Goddamn it, don’t humor him,” said Calvin.

“Right,” said Wesley.

“Anyway, gentlemen, you came to see me because the old lady got killed. I think you had better watch out in your little town now. There will be others and the same way. A pathetic attempt at making it appear as suicide will be the order of the day.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Wesley.

“I just know,” he answered with a sincere tone.

“Oh,” said a bewildered Calvin.

“How do you know?” asked an impatient Wesley.

“I know because I am part of the process. You and the fat man fail to realize this. I see no point in lying to you or speaking in riddles, gentlemen. I do have an idea but I don’t know for sure.”

“Who do you think it is?” asked Calvin.

“None of your fucking business, you fucking ugly troll!”

The constable became enraged and started to bang on the glass over and over again. He did this obsessively until his hands bled. An orderly had to take him away but left Martin there to continue questioning Thomas.

“I know you like to give hints. You and I know each other, Thomas.”

“Yes,” Thomas answered him.

Martin felt middle aged and overweight compared to thinner, younger madman. He did confess to himself, however, he felt physically and perhaps even intellectually superior to Calvin. If this was a story, he would be the protagonist and Calvin would be comic relief. He was practically an American version of Shakespeare’s Falstaff character. Still, he felt like a partner would be needed once again. It was a shame this one suffered in comparison to his last partner but nothing was as bad as going it alone. This was true unless, of course, Calvin proved to be an even bigger fool than he was already.

“Well, hell, won’t you tell me anything?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“The killer lives in town.”

“Yes?”

“The killer is not a woman.”

“Well, fine then, Thomas,” said Martin sarcastically. “Most crimes are committed by men, not by women. Some help that is.”

“So you don’t want to hear the final part of my hint?”

“No, please, Thomas, I do.”

“Good.”

Martin was sick to his stomach asking this piece of psychotic filth for tips and pointers with his investigation. Perhaps the bastard could rip open his stomach with a knife like he was doing to others before Jack apprehended him.

“Please…”

“Alright, fine. Since we’re old friends, a little more information, I mean why not, right?”

“Right, Thomas.”

“We’re both sensible guys.”

“Okay.”

“Here is the last hint you’ll get from me, Martin. The man you want is someone who was sane a week ago and…”

“What?”

“Please, let me finish, old friend.”

“Okay… I understand…”

“A week ago he would not have killed that old lady but… he has killed before.”

“He killed when he was sane?” asked Martin.

“Oh, yes. Now he takes orders regarding who his next victim should be.”

“From whom does he take orders?”

“I don’t know exactly…”

“What do you know?”

“Whoever he takes orders from is not human; it’s a phantom inside of his mind. It’s probably personified by something special to like a painting or even a pet.”

“Like a dog or a…”

“Cat.”

“Precisely…”

“Why?”

“Well, unlike the two of us who enjoy certain closeness, this particular young man has no friends.”

“Young man, you never said he was young.”

“Well, I fucked that up; I guess that was a freebie.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“Nothing, old buddy.”

“Please…”

“Sorry, you’re still a dragon… I was supposed to be your nemesis.”

“You aren’t Professor Moriarty any more than I’m Sherlock Holmes.”