The Red Mohawk Read online

  ‘I won’t be reporting in to anyone. I’ll be going straight back to my retirement once this job is done,’ said Munson.

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ said Fonseca staring out of her side window. ‘They don’t have guys like you in the department any more. None that I’ve seen anyway.’

  ‘That’s why they called me The Ghost. If there is anyone like me in the department these days, you’d never see them. They’d be a ghost.’

  ‘I would know about them though. I can assure you.’

  ‘And I can assure you, you wouldn’t. Do you know what was special about my appearance in Pincent’s office today?’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘It’s the first time I ever showed up there as myself. On every other occasion I’ve been into that building I’ve been in disguise as either a cleaner, a bearded hostage negotiator, an accountant, you name it. Guys like me are kept at a safe distance from people like you.’

  Fonseca looked surprised. The look quickly changed to one of scorn however. ‘Bullshit,’ she sneered. ‘You would never have got into the building without my authorisation today.’

  ‘That’s because I’m history Milena. There will be other guys now, doing all the dirty jobs I used to do. And you will never know who they are.’

  ‘Trust me. I’ll know. Times have changed since your jolly boys club Jack. There are no secrets any more. Not at my pay grade.’

  ‘Oh but there are. At your pay grade there are some things that you can’t know about.’

  ‘I’m high enough to know everything.’

  ‘That’s where you’re mistaken sweetheart. You’re now too high to know everything. When you got promoted above Pincent it put you at a level where you cannot know everything. Because if you knew half the shit that was going on beneath you, you’d be fired and charged with treason. Guys like me and Pincent protect you from that. You coming along on this mission is just about the dumbest thing you could have done. You’re going to see shit that will stick to you for the rest of your career. And you won’t be able to report it because you’re already in too deep.’

  Fonseca smiled. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. Like I said, times have changed. Modern day agents don’t make bad jokes and inappropriate wisecracks for starters.’

  ‘I bet they do when you’re not around.’

  Fonseca’s cell phone rang and Munson was appalled to discover that her ring tone was As Long As You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. She took the call and spoke in hushed tones for the next five minutes to someone who Munson assumed was her boyfriend, or husband. She wore no rings on her fingers that might indicate she was in a relationship. In fact, Fonseca wore no jewellery of any kind. Just smart but plain black clothes. She wasn’t giving much away at all, apart from the fact that she was a fan of The Backstreet Boys.

  She ended the call abruptly when up ahead on the left of the road the formidable sight of Grimwald’s Mental Asylum came into view. It was a hulking grey stone building set in the middle of a huge country estate. It was like looking at a medieval castle. Those walls would be hiding a million horrible stories, involving a vast number of insane individuals.

  ‘This is the place,’ said Munson. ‘The former home of Joey Conrad. You sure you want to go through with this? Because it’s not too late for you to get a cab home you know?’

  ‘Oh I’m ready,’ said Fonseca. ‘You just wait. I’m full of surprises.’

  Ten

  The Alaska Roadside Diner wasn’t especially busy. It wasn’t in Alaska either, much to the bemusement of anyone who arrived there from out of town. It was in B Movie Hell and it was the second most successful roadside Diner after the local McDowell’s. There were a few folks eating in the booths by the windows and a couple of loners eating breakfast at the counter. In spite of the lack of numbers, The Alaska was unusually noisy because everyone in there was talking, mostly about the murder of Pete Neville.

  The waitress, Candy, a curvy blonde forty-something in a pink and white uniform that was two sizes too small, took a food order from a couple of guys in one of the window booths and made her way around the counter to the cooking area out back. The boss, Reg was flipping burgers while watching the news on a small square portable television. It was a TV that he’d hung on the wall himself a few years earlier. Reg wasn’t much of a handy man so the TV was tilted ever so slightly to one side. It annoyed Candy and even though it probably annoyed Reg, he was too stubborn to ever admit it, so it remained there at a slight angle. The lop-sidedness of it made the scrolling bar at the bottom of the news channel look as if the words were going to spill out of the bottom corner of the screen. Reg was staring at (and attempting to read) the words as they scrolled across. His foot-high chef’s hat was sliding off his head ever so slowly as he leaned further to read the scrolling bar. Candy crept up behind him and straightened it for him to prevent it from sliding off completely.

  Reg was a balding red-faced fifty-year old with a belly that provided customers with the evidence that he enjoyed his own burgers. He covered his baldness underneath his beloved chef hat and overcompensated further by cultivating a thick bushy brown moustache underneath his nose. He had a thick growth of chest hair too which was protruding over the top of the white string undershirt he was wearing. And by ten o’clock every morning his baggy blue jogging bottoms had formed a sweat patch right up the butt crack. To look at him one would never know that he used to be a fine sportsman and a very accomplished marksman on the rifle range. These days he was an unhealthy sweaty blob. Candy reminded him of it constantly but he didn’t appear to give a shit.

  She squeezed past him and pulled a handful of post-it notes with details of food orders on them out from the pouch on the front of her pink apron. She stuck them slap bang in the middle of the TV screen that Reg was staring at, covering as much of it as she could. It was a guaranteed way to grab his attention. And to annoy him. Reg worked faster when he was agitated about something.

  ‘Got a real strange guy out there,’ she said. ‘Table six, cheeseburger, fries and a coke.’

  ‘What’s strange about that?’ Reg asked, peeling the post-it notes off the television.

  ‘He’s talking to himself.’

  ‘Lots of people do that. I talk to myself all the time when you’re not around.’

  ‘I know, I hear you all the time.’

  ‘So what’s the big deal?’

  ‘This guy asked his imaginary friend if he wanted anything to eat.’

  Reg took his eyes off the television and glanced over at her. ‘Okay so he’s a bit nuts. As long as he pays for his food and his friend’s imaginary milkshake who cares?’

  ‘Well, if other customers pick up on it, they might leave.’

  Reg looked back up at the news and began sticking the post-it notes up on the wall above the grill without paying much attention to what he was doing. ‘Personally,’ he said. ‘I think most people would rather be in here with a fruitloop who talks to himself than out on the streets. According to the news there’s been another murder this morning.’

  Candy looked up at the television. ‘Anyone we know?’ she asked.

  ‘They haven’t given a name out, but apparently it’s someone who works at Hank Jackson’s used car lot.’

  ‘The only person who works there is Hank Jackson though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So Hank is dead?’

  Reg flipped over a burger on the griddle with his rusty silver spatula. ‘You should be a detective,’ he said.

  ‘Oh God, my friend Patty dated him for a while. She said he had terrible flatulence, but apart from that he was nice a guy.’

  ‘Well he probably still is, but from what they’re saying on the news, he’s a nice guy with no head. Or hands. Or feet.’

  Candy felt her stomach turn. She feared she might throw up for a second and put her hand to her mouth just in case. ‘You are kidding right?’ she gasped.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Serio
usly? They cut off his hands and feet as well as his head?’

  ‘They?’

  ‘You know what I mean. The killer.’

  ‘Yep. An eyewitness saw the masked fella drive off in one of the cars from the lot.’

  ‘That’s shocking. He killed him just for a car?’

  Reg shrugged and flipped another burger over on the griddle. It made a loud sizzling noise and a puff of smoke blew up in his face. He coughed as he waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air. ‘Knowing Hank Jackson like I do,’ he spluttered, ‘I should imagine he did something stupid like pull a gun on the guy.’

  ‘Does he own a gun?’

  ‘I dunno. He might do.’

  Candy felt the reality of the murders more now that there had been a second. This was no freak occurrence. Someone was actively beheading innocent people around town. Everyone had a reason to be scared. ‘I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight,’ she said.

  ‘Someone will get him soon,’ said Reg.

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘Benny called and said that Silvio Mellencamp is offering a reward for anyone who catches this guy, dead or alive. There’s plenty of folks who’ll want a piece of that money.’

  ‘Well I know what I’d do if I saw the killer,’ said Candy. ‘I’d start running and I wouldn’t look back. Hank Jackson should have run too, or called the police.’

  ‘Be hard to call the cops while you’re having your head cut off I suppose,’ Reg suggested.

  ‘You’re not funny.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Candy looked up at the television again. ‘Do the cops have any idea about the identity of the killer yet?’ she asked.

  ‘They showed a mocked up picture of him just now,’ said Reg. ‘The mask he wears is fuckin’ horrible. It’s this big yellow rubber thing with a red stripe of hair down the middle of it.’

  ‘Does he have any other distinguishing features?’

  Reg lowered his head and peered quizzically at her over a pair of imaginary spectacles. ‘The mask wouldn’t be enough for you to recognise him?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be a dick,’ Candy snapped. ‘I mean if he’s not wearing the mask how would you know it’s him?’

  Reg turned back to the TV. ‘The car he stole is a yellow stock car with a red stripe down the middle. If you can’t spot a guy in a yellow and red mask driving around in a yellow and red car you deserve to get your head cut off. This guy is just asking to get caught.’

  Candy cast her mind back to the last time she had driven past Hank Jackson’s car lot. It was a few weeks earlier when she was looking for a car for her son to learn to drive in. ‘I think I remember seeing that car,’ she said. ‘My son wanted it. He thought it looked cool. I thought it was a death trap. Now I suppose it really is.’

  Reg didn’t hear her, or he was taking no notice. He pointed up at the TV again. ‘There he is,’ he said. ‘That’s the guy.’

  Candy looked back up at the TV. The mocked up image of the killer was on the screen with the caption – RED MOHAWK: DO NOT APPROACH THIS MAN.

  She stared hard at the picture on the screen for a few seconds, taking the image in. She recognised the clothes the killer was wearing.

  Black jeans and a shiny red leather jacket.

  Her jaw dropped and she steadied herself by pressing a hand down hard on Reg’s shoulder.

  ‘That’s the guy in the diner who’s talking to himself,’ she said.

  Eleven

  Baby had a quick shower and threw on a pair of light blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. As she tied her hair back into a ponytail she thought about the plan she had spent the last few days formulating. So far it was going well. Doctor Bob, the guy who normally carried out abortions had gone on vacation to Fiji for two weeks. This was the window of opportunity she had been waiting for.

  When Kevin Sharp had showed up that morning, she knew she had found an unwitting accomplice for her plan. While he waited nervously on the bed for her, she had nipped into the bathroom and poured a small amount of syrup of ipecac down her throat. Quite a few of the girls at The Beaver Palace used the stuff regularly to help keep their weight down. Baby had used it to make herself vomit over Kevin Sharp, thereby alerting Clarisse to the situation. And it had worked perfectly. Clarisse had automatically assumed that Baby was pregnant and not bothered to watch her take a test, which was normal practice if a girl claimed to be knocked up.

  Several months earlier one of the other girls had fallen pregnant and foolishly declared that she wanted to keep the baby. Dr Bob was called and the girl’s abortion was carried out the same morning before word of her protest spread. Baby had correctly surmised that she would receive the same treatment. But with Dr Bob out of town, Baby was being taken on a hastily arranged road trip to Lewisville. This would provide her with a rare opportunity to escape from The Beaver Palace and B Movie Hell all together. If she blew this opportunity, she might never get another.

  The first road bump in her plan came when she discovered that Arnold had been chosen to drive her there. He had beaten her black and blue less than a year earlier after she had refused to play a particularly dangerous sex game with him. The two of them had not spoken since. Clarisse had seen to it that Arnold was not allowed anywhere near Baby from that moment on. So the fact he had been chosen to drive her to Lewisville indicated that if she did try to make a break for it, the punishment could be quite severe.

  She had barely finished tying up the laces on her sneakers when Clarisse popped her head around the door and told her it was time to go. One of the younger male security guards marched her out to the front of the palace.

  Arnold was waiting for her in a black Mercedes Benz E-class. The engine was running and the front passenger door was open. Baby climbed in and closed the door without looking at Arnold. The road ahead would be long and probably quiet.

  The two of them didn’t speak for the first ten minutes of the journey. Baby made a point of either staring straight ahead or out of the side window. The Mercedes was one of approximately twenty that belonged to Silvio Mellencamp. It had dark tinted windows like all of his cars (apart from the convertibles). No one on the outside world would know that she was inside.

  Her heart was pounding hard in her chest as she tried to figure out a way to manipulate Arnold into letting her out of the car. She also had to pick the right time, a time when an escape route presented itself. She wished she knew B Movie Hell better, but her trips out of The Beaver Palace had been far too infrequent for her to ever establish her whereabouts.

  ‘Have we got enough gas to get where we’re going?’ she asked.

  Arnold ignored her. In her head she counted to ten, then tried again.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

  He continued to ignore her and stared straight ahead down the highway. He had one giant shovel-sized hand on the steering wheel. His forearms were huge too. The tight black T-shirt he was wearing barely covered half of his huge biceps. His face was worn and leathery from the effects of working outdoors for much of his life. He was one of Mellencamp’s henchmen, sometimes working as muscle for hire, other times carrying out jobs in the gardens of the estate. His hair was thick and brown, hanging down by his shoulders. On the surface of it, he looked like a charming ladies man, but as Baby knew only too well he was actually a vicious woman hating bully.

  Her inquiry about whether he was hungry had obviously weighed on his mind though, because almost a minute after she had asked the question, he suddenly answered.

  ‘There’s a diner up ahead. We can get some food there.’

  ‘Great,’ Baby replied. ‘I could use the bathroom too.’

  For the first time in the journey he took his eye off the road and glanced across at her. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas,’ he said. ‘If you’re thinking of running off again, I can assure you, you’ll wish you hadn’t.’

  ‘Why would I want to run off? We’re going to the hospital, right?’

  �
�Yeah. But just know this, if you do decide to be an idiot and try to run off, you’ll put me in a position where I have to hit a pregnant woman, and I don’t want to have to do that. But if you make me –

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’

  ‘Right.’

  Arnold turned his attention back to the road ahead. To further cement that the conversation was over, he reached down and turned on the car stereo. The two of them sat listening to a song on the radio and ignored each other for a few minutes. As the song drew to a close and the disc jockey began talking over the last few bars, Baby spotted the diner up ahead on the right. She pointed out to it.

  ‘Is this where we’re stopping?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. The Alaska Roadside Diner,’ said Arnold, slowing the car down.

  There were five cars, a white Fed Ex van and a red pickup truck parked out in front of the diner. Arnold pulled into a space between the red pickup and a yellow stock car with a red stripe that ran from the front of its hood up to the windscreen and then across the roof and along the trunk. He glanced across at it and muttered something about it being “a cunt’s car”.

  The deejay on the radio announced that there was a newsflash coming up. Arnold didn’t wait to hear it. Instead he switched the engine off, killing the radio at the same time. He opened his door and climbed out. He didn’t close the door, but leaned back in and looked at Baby. A strong breeze outside blew his greasy hair across his face. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t want to jump straight out,’ she replied. ‘In case you thought I was going to run off, you know, like you said earlier?’

  ‘Just get out of the fucking car.’

  He didn’t sound in the mood for any more backchat so she opened the door and climbed out. She surveyed the area around them. There was nothing to see but the never-ending highway that stretched all the way to the horizon and a wide-open expanse of grassy fields on the other side of the road. Arnold was staring at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking. His eyes were daring her to make a run for it. This definitely wasn’t the right time. She would have to be patient and pick a moment when he was distracted or vulnerable. She desperately hoped that such a moment would come.