The Red Mohawk Read online

  He took a deep breath and peered slowly around the open doorway, his gun cocked and ready to fire if necessary. On the red tiled floor inside he saw a body on the floor. The body of a cop. He stepped inside the cottage straight into a kitchen. A ransacked kitchen.

  With two dead cops on the floor.

  One was lying on his back by the door in a pool of blood. The other was a few yards away lying face down in a similar state of splattered blood. Even though both of them had been executed with gunshots to the head, he recognised them as the two cops who had left the diner and driven across the field in a hurry to get to Litgo’s.

  Doing his best to avoid the blood, Munson trod carefully around them and made his way over to an opening on the far side of the kitchen. It led through to a hallway where he found the third dead body, lying face down on a fluffy red carpet. This one was different. This guy hadn’t been shot. And he was wearing a Superman outfit, or upon closer inspection, a Super-girl outfit, complete with a set of crumpled fake tits underneath the costume.

  ‘You must be Litgo,’ Munson whispered to the corpse as he stood over it. The Supergirl costume was torn in several places and covered in blood. Much of the blood came from a gaping wound in his neck, which had the necktie from the Supergirl cape stuck in it. Someone had sliced him open from ear to ear. But that wasn’t all. The slitting of the throat would have been the final, fatal cut. This guy had suffered for a while before that. He’d had some of his fingers cut off. Four on one hand, two on the other. That indicated a very real possibility of torture. If this was the work of Joey Conrad (and Munson was pretty sure that it was) then why would he torture Litgo? And where the hell was the girl who had fled across the field? Had she made it to Litgo’s? And if so, where was she now? And where was Joey Conrad?

  He checked all the other rooms in the cottage and found nothing of note. No more dead bodies, thankfully. No killer and definitely no pregnant girl. He did find a miniature bottle of rum though. It was called Cutthroat Rum, possibly a local brand, but certainly one he had never come across before. He slid it into his pocket with the intention of trying it later on.

  He walked back into the kitchen and leant down over one of the two dead police officers. He unhooked the walkie-talkie from the guy’s belt and sat himself down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table. He had a number of things to consider. There was one almighty mess building up in B Movie Hell. He checked his watch. Pincent would be home soon, and Munson definitely needed to talk to him to find out what the fuck was going on. There were so many questions. Like, why was it that Pincent couldn’t talk to him on the office phone? Or his company cell phone? And what did Joey Conrad’s arrival in B Movie Hell have to do with a mysterious pregnant girl, a bunch of unhelpful cops, a dodgy waitress and a dead transvestite in a shitty house in the middle of a field? The waitress at The Alaska definitely knew something, but she wouldn’t tell him anything while the cops were there. He had to get the cops away from the diner. The best way to do that would be to radio in the murder of two of their officers at Litgo’s.

  Trying to piece everything together in his head was beginning to give him a headache, and the thought of the miniature bottle of rum in his pocket was hanging at the back of his mind. He decided to take a quick taste of it to see what it was like. Hell, maybe it would even provide some inspiration? He unscrewed the lid and took a long swig, downing almost half the miniature. It tasted foul, nothing at all like rum. He grimaced and put the lid back on the bottle. It was time to radio in the latest murders. He flicked a switch on the dead cop’s walkie-talkie.

  ‘Hello. This is Jack Munson of the FBI. I’m at Litgo’s cottage in a field somewhere.’ He suddenly felt a jarring sensation in his stomach as if he were about to throw up. He tried to ignore it and carry on. ‘You’ve got two officers down here. I repeat two of your officers are down. Permanently. The Red Mohawk has struck again. Litgo the owner of the property is also dead. And he’s lost some fingers, possibly been tortured.’ The jarring sensation transformed into a stabbing sensation, causing his voice to stiffen. ‘Your two cops have been executed by gunshots to the head. Over and out.’

  He tossed the walkie-talkie back on the floor by the dead officer and rubbed his stomach. The pain subsided a little. He hoped that a whole bunch of the local cops would head out to Litgo’s to investigate. It would keep them busy for a while longer. That is, if they weren’t busy enough already. After all, the bodies were starting to pile up all over town.

  Munson liked the idea of heading back to the Alaska Roadside Diner and questioning the waitress again. He tried to remember her name. Carly? Carey? Candy? Candy, that was it. Questioning Candy when there were no cops present might just provide him with a few answers. She definitely knew more than she was letting on.

  His stomach suddenly tightened again. And it rumbled. He felt the early warning signs of a bout of heartburn, or possibly vomiting. In fact, definitely vomiting. He hauled himself up out of the chair and made a dash for the kitchen sink. He made it in the nick of time. A huge splurge of vomit flew out of his mouth and over the dirty dishes in Litgo’s sink. The pain in his stomach didn’t ease though. He doubled over in pain, placing one of his hands down on the cold kitchen floor. What the fuck was in that rum?

  Twenty Nine

  Dr Carter was true to her word and called a cab for Milena Fonseca. Fonseca waited outside in the fresh air for it to arrive. It was a painfully long fifteen minute wait, but the thought of hanging around inside the asylum after what had happened in there just didn’t appeal. Grimwald’s Asylum was more insane than its title suggested and the staff weren’t any more likeable than the patients. So Fonseca waited outside, with her stolen copy of Gone with the Wind tucked inside her jacket.

  The air had turned cold by the time the blue cab pulled up. The driver wound down the window and called out to her. ‘Hi. Are you Milena Fonseca?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  The young man jumped out of his cab and came over to greet her at the asylum’s front doors. ‘Hi, I’m Darius from Johnny Cabs,’ he said. ‘Have you got any luggage?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t staying here. I just dropped in for a visit.’

  Darius was olive skinned and in his early thirties. He was wearing a blue blazer with a matching hat, the kind a bus driver would wear. ‘Where can I take you?’ he asked.

  ‘Johnny Cabs huh?’ said Fonseca, reluctantly accepting a handshake from him and checking out the cab, which looked like it had seen better days.

  ‘Yes Miss. Where can I take you?’

  ‘B Movie Hell please. I’m meeting a friend there. I’m not sure exactly where yet, but I’ll let you know on the way.’

  Darius hurried over to the cab and opened the back door for her. It was a comforting moment of chivalry after the Touretto incident. She stepped in and he closed it behind her.

  Fonseca took one last look back at the asylum as she pulled Gone With The Wind out from inside her jacket. She placed it on the seat beside her. She reminded herself not to touch the photo inside it again. That thing had been up Dominic Touretto’s ass. She shuddered as the image of him naked popped into her mind. It was a relief when the cab pulled away and drove her out onto the main highway.

  ‘How long will it take us to get there?’ she asked.

  ‘About fifteen minutes,’ Darius replied, smiling at her in his rear view mirror. ‘There’s very little traffic and virtually no stoplights.’

  Fonseca decided that twenty minutes was enough time in which to press him for some local knowledge. After all, if a cab driver in a small hick town didn’t know all the local gossip then who did?

  She leant forward from the back seat and spoke loudly and clearly into his ear. ‘You live in B Movie Hell?’ she asked.

  ‘All my life,’ he replied.

  ‘You like it there?’

  ‘What’s not to like? Got a real good sense of community spirit there. Everyone looks out for everybody else.’

  ‘That’s nice. Yo
u got all your family there then?’

  ‘Yeah. Is that why you’re going? Visiting someone?’

  ‘No. I’m with the FBI. Come about the killer that’s just turned up in town.’

  ‘Oh. That guy. Yeah it’s terrible what’s happened,’ said Darius. ‘Pete, the police officer he killed and beheaded was in the same class as my brother at school. I’ve known him my whole life. I’ll tell you, I hope this Red Mohawk guy tries to get a ride in my cab. I’d like five minutes alone with him to show him what I think of him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend that,’ said Fonseca, conscious not to let on that she knew the true identity of the masked killer. ‘He’s clearly very dangerous.’

  ‘Do you guys know who he is yet?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Until we’re one hundred percent sure it would be wrong to label anyone as the killer. So far he’s been wearing a mask so it’s not really possible to identify him.’

  ‘Is it someone from the asylum? Is that why you were there?’

  ‘No. I stopped off there to visit a friend of mine who works there.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Dr Carter.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah she’s nice.’

  ‘Yes. She’s delightful.’

  ‘So what leads have you got on this murder case?’

  ‘None that I can talk about.’

  ‘But seriously, come on. I bet you do know who’s behind the mask, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Fonseca lied. ‘But so far we don’t think it’s anyone local. Like you said, you’ve got a real good community spirit in B Movie Hell. If the killer was a local man I think you’d know before we did.’

  ‘That’s true. According to the news, he’s driving round in an old yellow and red stock car that he stole this morning from Jackson’s Motors. I know exactly the car they’re talking about too. If I see it, we’re going after him, okay?’

  Fonseca smiled. ‘Okay.’ She suspected that Darius was all bravado and if he saw the car the chances of him following it and confronting the masked killer were probably very slim indeed. ‘So your friend Pete who was killed, do you know if he had anything in common with any of the other victims?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything. Did they have the same hair colour, personality, sporting heroes, anything really?’

  Darius screwed his face up as he contemplated how to answer. It struck Fonseca that he wasn’t too bright and by asking him such an open question she had given him far too much to think about. It seemed to be deeply troubling him.

  ‘He’s killed a few cops now,’ he mumbled. ‘Of the civilians he’s killed, Arnold worked for Mellencamp, but Hank Jackson the car salesman worked for himself. I don’t know if they have anything in common. There’s another victim who was with the cops that got shot earlier today. He hasn’t been identified yet.’

  ‘You said Arnold worked for Silvio Mellencamp? What does Mellencamp do exactly?’

  ‘Mr Mellencamp, oh he’s got his fingers in everything. He pretty much owns B Movie Hell. He’s the one who came up with the name for the town. He used to be a movie producer in Hollywood. Then he moved here and totally transformed the place.’

  ‘Do people not mind that he changed the name of the town?’

  ‘I think there was a little resistance at first but when it became clear that he was willing to invest his money in all the local businesses, people soon got over it. That was over fifteen years ago now.’

  ‘Is he a good guy?’

  ‘Yeah. He employs half the town. If people in B Movie Hell are out of work, the Mellencamp foundation finds work for them. Trust me, if he ever moved out of B Movie Hell the local economy would be knackered. I mean, he even part-owns the cab firm I drive for. It was him who came up with the name Johnny Cabs. And he designed the uniform too.’

  ‘He sounds very original. I wonder where he gets his ideas.’

  Darius shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Someone told me that Johnny Cabs featured in a movie once, but I don’t recall the name of it.’

  ‘Yes, I think it did. What do you know about girls?’

  ‘Girls?’

  ‘Yeah. Isn’t there a place called The Beaver Palace in B Movie Hell?’

  Darius frowned and took a hard look at her via his rear view mirror. ‘Are you into girls then?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I’m just being nosy that’s all. I heard that Mellencamp owned The Beaver Palace.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.’

  ‘Of course. It’s just that someone gave me a photo of a girl who looked like she might be an escort. Could you take a look at it for me? I’d be interested to see if you know who she is, seeing as you’re a cab driver I figure you must know most of the local women right?’

  ‘Sure. Let’s see it.’

  ‘It’s in my book. Hang on a sec.’ She opened the book onto the page with the photo in it. ‘Do you have a tissue?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. Hang on.’ Darius reached over into his glove box and pulled out a white tissue. He handed it back to Fonseca.

  She took the tissue and used it to pull out the photo from Gone With The Wind. She held the photo out in front of Daruis’s face. He took his eyes off the road for a few seconds and slowed the car down. He stared hard at the picture and pulled his head back slightly to get a better view of it. And he sniffed.

  ‘That photo smells a bit funny.’

  ‘It’s been stuck in Gone With The Wind.’

  ‘Oh. That book must smell of shit then.’ He stared hard at the picture, all the while screwing his nose up to avoid its foul odour. ‘Who gave you that picture?’ he asked.

  ‘I got it from a dating agency.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A dating agency.’

  ‘What’s one of them?’

  ‘Don’t you have dating agencies in B Movie Hell?’

  ‘That depends, what are they?’

  ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Do you recognise her?’

  Darius focussed his attention back on the road ahead. He slowed the car down a little more. They were approaching a bridge with a police car parked at the end of it.

  ‘Hold on. We just have to make a stop,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just got to check in with the cops. They aren’t letting anyone suspicious in. You’ll be okay though. I’ll vouch for you.’

  He pulled up alongside the police car and wound his window back down. A grey haired old cop was leaning out of the driver side window of the police car. ‘Afternoon Darius. Who you got with you?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s from the FBI. Her partner is already in town.’

  The cop peered through the window at Fonseca. He ran his eyes up and down as if he was checking her out. After a few seconds he smiled at her and nodded at Darius. ‘Her partner already came through. Carry on.’

  ‘Do you need to see any identification from me?’ Fonseca called out.

  The cop shook his head. ‘Nope. You carry on little lady.’

  Little lady? Fonseca took a deep breath through her nostrils and fought back the urge to call the guy a patronising fat bag of shit.

  Darius thanked him and pulled away again, steering the car past the WELCOME TO B MOVIE HELL sign and onto the bridge that led into town.

  ‘So do you recognise her?’ Fonseca asked again.

  ‘Who?’ said Darius.

  ‘The girl in the picture.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I was told that she worked at The Beaver Palace. Would you like to take another look at the picture?’

  ‘I don’t recognise her. There ain’t no girl in town like that.’

  ‘The birthmark on her face is quite distinctive, don’t you think?’ Fonseca said taking another look at the girl for herself.

  ‘Yeah. There ain’t no girls in this town with birthmarks on their faces.’

  ‘If there were…’

  Darius let out a small laugh.
‘Look lady, I need to concentrate on the road. There’s a lot of speed traps around here. I can’t afford to get caught again. I’m one ticket away from a ban.’

  ‘Sure.’ Fonseca sat back. She and Darius exchanged a quick look in the rear view mirror before he returned his focus to the road ahead.

  Now that she was in B Movie Hell, it seemed like an appropriate time to catch up with Jack Munson to see how he was getting on. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit Munson’s name on the speed dial. The phone rang for quite a while before he answered. He sounded half asleep.

  ‘Hey Milena.’

  ‘Hi Jack. How’s it going?’

  ‘Uh, where are you?’

  ‘I’m in a cab. Just driving across the bridge into B Movie Hell. Are you okay? You sound a bit dazed?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m fine. Been very busy here.’

  ‘Are you still at the diner?’

  ‘Nah. I left there already. The bodies are starting to pile up real quick here. I’m at a farmhouse now. A few miles away.’

  ‘Okay, can you give me directions and I’ll meet you there?’

  ‘No. Don’t do that. Go to straight to the Alaska Roadside Diner.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where I’ll be going in a minute. See what you can find out from the waitress there. She knows more than she’s letting on.’

  ‘How so?’

  There was a clattering on the other end of the line that sounded like Munson had dropped the phone.

  ‘Jack? You still there?’

  She heard him grunting and groaning for a while before he spoke again. ‘Sorry about that,’ he mumbled. ‘Can the cab driver hear you?’

  Fonseca glanced up at Darius. ‘Probably yeah. Why?’

  ‘Go careful. Everyone I’ve come across in this town so far seems to be a bit off. Everyone knows everyone else here and they aren’t happy to see us.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘Did you get any useful leads or information from the asylum?’

  ‘Actually yes I did. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.’