Читать книгу Black Lotus - K'wan - Страница 6

CHAPTER 2

It was just before dawn when the call came in. A basehead looking for a discrete spot to blast off had crept in through an open back door of the building and discovered the body. He called it in to the police, hoping to get a reward to put toward his next high, but all he got was detained for questioning. A wall of uniformed officers ringed the perimeter, keeping everyone at a safe distance so as not to contaminate the crime scene. Since word got out, the block had turned into a circus of media and concerned citizens wondering about the heavy police presence in the normally quiet neighborhood.

The black-on-black Escalade drew more than a few curious stares when it rolled to a stop at the curb, twenty-two-inch chrome rims twinkling in the morning sun. 2Pac’s “All Eyez on Me” poured through the sound system when the car door swung open and Detective Wolf oozed from behind the wheel. He’d made a pit stop along the way over to change out of the clothes he’d been wearing at the bust and was now dressed in a black sweatsuit with a black bandanna tied around his head. His whole aura screamed thug, and the crowd gave him a wide berth as he approached the crime scene.

A ruddy-faced youth in a baggy blue uniform, who had obviously seen one too many reruns of NYPD Blue, moved to cut Wolf off. His face was sour and his hand lingered near his gun when he spoke. “Move it along, homie. They ain’t giving away no free turkeys today, this is police business.”

Wolf took a long drag off his cigarette and let the smoke spill from his nostrils. “I see you got jokes,” he laughed. “Stand aside before you find yourself disciplined for trying to be a comedian.” He reached to lift the police tape, so he could duck under and enter the crime scene, but the officer grabbed him about the wrist. Wolf’s eyes traveled up from the officer’s hand to his face. His lips drew back into a sneer, making him look every bit of the animal he was named after. “I’ll give you until the count of three before I put you on the news.” His hands balled into two tight fists.

“You threatening me?” The officer now gripped his weapon, his other hand still holding Wolf’s wrist.

“One . . .”

Another blue shirt approached. “What’s going on over here?”

“Two . . .”

“Stand down, officers,” a gruff voice called out before Wolf could finish his count. A pale man, who looked like he hadn’t been getting enough sun, emerged from the church doorway. A thick salt-and-pepper beard almost completely hid his upper lip. The captain’s bars on his white shirt glistened in the sun as if they were made of real gold.

At the sight of the captain the young officer released Wolf’s arm and took a step back. Both he and the second officer stood straight as boards, trying to look the part of model law enforcement in the presence of their superior.

“What the hell are you doing?” Captain Marx asked.

“We were just trying to keep the crime scene clear of rabble-rousers like you asked, sir,” the ruddy-face officer spoke up.

“You’ve got one more chance to call me by anything other than my name and I’m gonna put your lights out,” Wolf warned the young officer.

“You raise your hand in the presence of your captain and I’ll make sure you spend the next six months sucking fumes at the Holland Tunnel while you’re directing rush hour traffic, detective!” Captain Marx snapped.

“Detective?” the two uniformed officers said in unison.

Wolf pulled out the gold rope chain from inside his sweat jacket and flashed the badge hanging from the end of it. “Detective James Wolf.”

“Lone Wolf James,” the second officer spat, as if the words tasted like ash in his mouth. James Wolf had quite the reputation amongst his peers and superiors.

“My friends call me Wolf, and we ain’t friends, so Detective Wolf is fine. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can do my job.” He ducked under the tape and brushed past the two officers.

“Must you make a grand entrance every time you go somewhere, Jimmy?” Captain Marx asked, leading him up the church steps.

“I prefer Wolf or James, if you must. And I get my grand old entrances from my daddy,” he said with an easy smile. His father, James “Jimmy” Wolf Sr., had been a blues singer in the late ’70s and early ’80s. He loved to sing, but he loved cocaine more, and it was his first love that put him in an early grave and left James Jr. and his mother alone and struggling. “So, what’s so important that a police captain calls on a wretch like me at the crack of dawn?”

“Don’t get cute with me, Wolf. Under these bars and this white shirt I’m still the same guy who used to knock your skinny ass around the ring when I was training you,” Captain Marx reminded him. Many years prior, Wolf was one of the young kids who had joined the boxing program at the Police Athletic League where Marx volunteered as a trainer. Back then Wolf was barely one hundred pounds, but he was faster than any man Marx had ever seen. He could’ve been a great fighter, but didn’t have the discipline to focus more on boxing than the streets.

“I hit a lot harder now than I did when I was fourteen,” Wolf told him.

“I guess one of these weekends we can climb back in the ring and see what you’ve learned, but that’ll have to wait. Right now, let’s focus on police business.”

“What’s going on, cap?” Wolf asked, suddenly feeling uneasy about the look on Marx’s face. Clearly, whatever he had brought Wolf there to see had him troubled, and it took a lot to trouble a man like Captain Marx.

The captain didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he turned on his heels and walked inside the church. Wolf stood there for a few moments, staring up at the stonework of the church. Standing in the massive building’s shadow made him uneasy. His gut began churning. It was as if his feet simply touching the steps of the church soiled them . . . made them unclean, like him, and with every step he took toward the arched entrance, the corruption spread.

When Wolf crossed the threshold of the church, the first thing he noticed was the smell. It was a combination of mothballs and death. He ignored the detectives and uniformed officers whose eyes followed him as he trailed Captain Marx into the chapel. Once there, it only took a second for him to spot it. Every other eye in the room was turned to it too. There was a series of flashes as a medical examiner snapped pictures of the crime scene from different angles. Suspended above the altar of the church was obviously what had Captain Marx so rattled.

The victim was a Caucasian man who looked to be somewhere in his late fifties, though it was hard to tell for sure considering his condition. He was suspended from the ceiling by chains, like a side of beef in a butcher’s freezer. Wolf could see where the steel hooks snaked beneath his skin, stretching it so much in some spots that it looked like it was about to tear away from his body. The blood-soaked white collar around his neck said that he was a priest, or at least he had been before someone strung him up. Now he was just meat dripping onto the wood floor.

“Nasty piece of work, isn’t it?” Captain Marx said.

“More like sick! Who would carve up a priest like that?” Wolf asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Father Fleming was a good man. No enemies to speak of.”

“You mean no enemies that you know of. Nobody gets dusted for nothing, especially not a priest. What kind of fucked-up individual would do something like this?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me.”

“Me?” For the last few years Wolf had been working in narcotics. Homicide wasn’t his bag.

Before the Captain Marx could clue him in, they were interrupted by two approaching men. The first was dark-skinned, with a tapered Afro and wearing a wrinkled green suit. The second was a tall Latino man dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. Gold badges were visible on both of them.

“What’s he doing here? This isn’t a drug case,” Detective Brown, the one with the Afro, said.

“Blood always brings the wolves out,” Wolf responded, just to get under the detective’s skin. There was no love lost between the two.

“Well, no pets are allowed in here, so why don’t you let your master take you for a walk, dog,” the second man, Detective Alvarez, said before crossing his heavily tattooed arms.

Wolf’s brow furrowed. He was being tested. “If you’re trying to be funny, I got a joke that I wanna share too, only you have to step outside for me to tell it.”

“What’re you gonna do, shoot us and try to put it down on the books as righteous, like you did your last partner?” Detective Brown said scornfully. It was a low blow and he knew it.

Before Wolf realized what he was doing, he lunged for Detective Brown. The two detectives began tussling, with Wolf wrapping his hands around Brown’s neck, trying to choke the breath from his body.

“Enough!” Captain Marx tried to pull the men apart, but they were locked onto each other like pit bulls. It took the combined efforts of Marx and Alvarez to separate them.

“Smile, officers!” someone called out. When they turned around, a photographer who had slipped into the church began snapping pictures.

“Who let him in here? Get that son of a bitch out of here and confiscate that damn camera!” Captain Marx raged. Two uniformed officers grabbed the photographer and dragged him from the church. “Have the both of you lost your fucking minds?” He looked back and forth between the two scrapping detectives.

“Your boy has got a smart fucking mouth,” Wolf said, staring daggers at Detective Brown.

“Then why don’t you come and close it for me?” Brown challenged.

Wolf took a step in his direction, but Captain Marx blocked his path. “Don’t push your luck with me, Jimmy. I’m still your boss.”

“James,” Wolf grumbled.

Captain Marx ignored him and turned to Detective Brown. “Why don’t you take a walk and cool off.”

“You can’t be serious,” Detective Brown said.

“Captain, with all due respect, this is our crime scene,” Detective Alvarez declared.

“And it’ll still be your crime scene when you get back,” Captain Marx replied.

Detective Alvarez wanted to argue, but he knew it would be pointless: Marx outranked him. “Come on, you know we ain’t got no wins when it comes to the captain’s pet dog.” He patted Detective Brown on the chest, and led him to the door.

Detective Brown was so angry that you could almost see steam rising from his head. Before he left the chapel, he stopped short and stared at Wolf. “One of these days the captain isn’t going to be around to save your ass. If you’re not careful, you might find yourself the victim of friendly fire, just like Dutton.” He winked at Wolf and left the room.

“Are you intentionally trying to get yourself kicked off the force?” Captain Marx asked Wolf once the other two detectives were gone.

“Hey, if I have to lose my job because I won’t let assholes like Brown disrespect me, then so be it.”

“So what, you gonna sock everybody in the chin who says something hurtful to you? If that’s the case, you’re gonna have a whole lot of fighting to do.”

Wolf snorted. “I been fighting all my life, that ain’t nothing new. You of all people should know that.”

“Yeah, kid. You’re a fighter, and I’ve seen you put quite a few people on their asses, but there’s one you’ve never been able to beat.”

“Bullshit, I never lost a fight in the ring!” Wolf countered.

Captain Marx placed his hand on Wolf’s shoulder. “I’m not talking about the ring, kid, I’m talking about that ghost you keep swinging at and can’t seem to hit. When are you gonna let it go?”

Wolf wished it was that simple. He wished he could put what he was feeling in the bottom of a file cabinet with the official report, that he could wash away the evils of the job in booze like most cops did, but blood didn’t wash off him so easily. “I know you didn’t call me here to discuss my service record. What gives, captain?” he asked, ignoring the question.

“I was hoping you could help give me some insight into what we’re dealing with.” Captain Marx nodded toward the dead body. “At a glance, how would you call it?”

Wolf walked to the edge of the police tape and examined the body. “The blood splatter patterns are what I would look at first,” Wolf began. “You see the way the ones around the body are drying already and the ones pooling under the body are still wet? They’re older, and from the way they’re spraying away from the body,” he pointed to the faint splotches of blood just beyond the police tape, “I’d say he was hung on the chains while he was still alive. His throat was cut later. The killer wanted him to suffer, which means it was personal and not some random killing.”

Captain Marx nodded. “Very good. It’s nice to know that there’s still a cop hiding somewhere beneath that chip you’re carrying around on your shoulder.”

“Okay, so somebody whacked a priest, my heart is bleeding. I still don’t see what it has to do with me. Like your boys said, I’m narcotics and they’re homicide. Let those two idiots work the case.”

“They are going to work the case, but I need you to solve it. And the quicker the better,” Captain Marx said with a nervous edge to his voice.

Wolf picked up on his superior’s uneasiness. “Captain, what is it about this murder that you aren’t telling me?”

“I fear that the chickens may be coming home to roost,” Captain Marx answered in a defeated tone. Before explaining further, he led Wolf to a quiet corner away from the crime scene. He spared a glance over his shoulder before reaching into his pocket and producing a plastic baggie, which he discretely passed to Wolf.

Wolf examined the strange flower inside. It looked almost like a water lily, only it was as black as night. “What is it?”

“Temporarily misplaced evidence,” Captain Marx said with a sly grin. “It’s a Nelumbo lutea, also known as the American lotus.”

“I’ve seen lotuses before, but never a black one.” Wolf handed the flower back to Captain Marx.

“I have, and I’ve prayed that I’d never see one again. I’ve only seen one up close once in my life before this, and it was at the scene of a multiple homicide, even more fucked up than this one. We were looking for a little girl who had been kidnapped by a Mexican cartel. Thanks to an anonymous tip we were able to track them to a warehouse out near the airport. Now keep in mind that these were highly trained and ruthless killers, so when we go in we’re already expecting the worst, but none of us expected what we encountered when we got inside.”

“Did it get messy?”

Captain Marx laughed. “That’s just it. We were able to put it to bed without firing a single shot, thanks to that little black flower.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither did we. When we rushed the warehouse, instead of finding the dozen or so shooters we’d prepared for, we found a warehouse full of corpses. There were eight or nine of them all together, all gutted and hung from the ceiling by chains like cattle. Same as Father Fleming.”

“And the girl?” Wolf asked.

“Physically, she was fine except for the fact that she was covered in blood. Mentally, she was stir-fried. It was days before we could get her to do anything besides mumble incoherently in Spanish. When we were finally able to question her, she had quite a story to tell. She said that the Angel of Death had come and killed the men.”

“So you mean to say that one person came in and took out a room full of armed cartel gunmen?”

“Sounded like a tall tale to me too, until I asked her to describe the Angel of Death, and all she would say was, El Loto Negro.”

“The Black Lotus,” Wolf translated, drawing on his high school Spanish skills. Something about the name sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Right,” Captain Marx nodded. “I did some digging and found a few other cases that mentioned a black flower at the scene of the crime. Just about all the victims had been criminals of some sort, or had some black mark on their record. The causes of death were different, but there was a flower at every scene.”

“So, you think we’re dealing with some type of serial killer?” Wolf was growing more interested. He hadn’t officially agreed to help with the case yet, but his brain was processing the information as if he had.

Captain Marx chuckled. “A serial killer would’ve made this too easy. I believe this is way bigger. During my investigation into the Black Lotus I kept getting stonewalled by the department, so I called a buddy of mine who works for the feds. From the way he reacted you’d think I’d just asked him to help me whack the president. Officially, he refused to comment on the Black Lotus killings.”

“But unofficially?”

“Unofficially, he told me that the Black Lotus is an assassin rumored to be tied to the BHOB. You might know them as the Brotherhood of Blood.”

This surprised Wolf. He didn’t have any official information on the Brotherhood, but from what he’d heard they were a secret fraternity of assassins, who were hailed as the best of the best when it came to taking lives. The Brotherhood of Blood was alleged to be connected to some of the most infamous killings in American history, but they moved like ghosts, so law enforcement was never able to put anything other than speculation on paper about them. Their members were said to be composed of men from all walks of life, and none outside of the Brotherhood knew the true identities of its members.

“I’ve always thought tales of the Brotherhood were ghost stories to keep rookies on their toes,” Wolf said.

“Ghost stories don’t leave priests strung up like meat in a slaughterhouse.” Captain Marx glanced over at the murdered man.

Wolf turned his gaze as well to the mess that had been Father Fleming. He reassessed the crime scene, the chains, the worn wooden benches . . . the red baseball cap lying on the floor . . . He hadn’t noticed that cap at first because it was soaked in blood, and almost blended in with the bloody floor. Something about it tugged at his brain, but before he could dwell on it further, the captain broke his concentration.

“So, are you with me or what?”

Wolf weighed it. “Let’s say I go along with the theory that the priest was killed by someone from the Brotherhood. What does it have to do with me? It isn’t drug related, so why should I get involved? You said yourself that the department was stonewalling you and the feds don’t wanna talk about it, so why not just leave it alone? Or better yet, let those two idiots from homicide deal with it. I’m sure the department will be more inclined to lend their support to the donkeys than they would the wolf.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“If I go to my superiors talking about secret societies and assassins, they’re likely to slap me in a white coat and lock me away somewhere. Brown and Alvarez are good cops, and given enough time I’m sure they’ll piece it together, but by then the shit will already have hit the fan and the Brotherhood will be in the wind. Once they’re called in to do a job, they don’t waste much time.”

“For someone who doesn’t know much about the Brotherhood, you seem pretty well informed as to their tactics,” Wolf said. It was more of an observation than an accusation, but it somehow felt like the latter.

Captain Marx shrugged. “You’re in the streets so you know how it goes. Sometimes you hear things. Listen, James, you know I wouldn’t come to you unless it was a last resort. I need someone I can trust to help me out on this one. I’m not asking as your captain, I’m asking as your friend.”

Wolf took a few minutes to mull over what Captain Marx was asking him. It would be a difficult case, with him having very little to go on, and obviously dangerous, but those were the elements that got Wolf out of bed every morning to put on his badge. “This could get very messy, captain,” he finally said.

“I’m sure it will, but I’ll make it worth your while. You crack this case and I’ll make all that Dutton business go away.”

Detective Richie Dutton had at one time been Wolf’s partner and mentor. They called him the Chameleon because of how fluidly he slipped from one criminal persona to the next. He was so good that sometimes it was hard to tell which side of the law he was really on. He taught Wolf how to survive working undercover cases by embracing the personas of the criminals they were tracking. When Wolf and Dutton were on the job they moved like rock stars, indulging in money, pussy, and drugs—and it was the drugs that eventually tore them apart.

Wolf dabbled in drugs when the job called for it, but Richie was over-the-top with it. He was notorious for his cocaine and alcohol binges. One night he had gotten coked up out of his mind and beat a prostitute they’d had working as a CI nearly to death. When she threatened to blow his cover, Richie decided that she had to go. Wolf had done some things that he wasn’t proud of while working undercover, but he wouldn’t sign off on cold-blooded murder. The two got into a heated argument over it and one thing led to another. When it was all said and done, Dutton and the CI ended up dead and Wolf was left to answer for the killings. In his report he said that Dutton had been high on drugs and trying to kill him, so he’d shot his partner in self-defense. The toxicology report confirmed that Detective Dutton had elevated levels of cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol in his system, and being that there were no witnesses, no charges were brought against Wolf. The shooting was ruled justified, though there were still some people who weren’t convinced.

“I was cleared of that,” Wolf replied.

“Yeah, for now. You think I don’t know that IAD is still sniffing around, trying to find a home for that dirty kill?”

“They can sniff all they want, but they won’t find anything,” Wolf replied confidently.

“Yeah, because it was me who taught you how to cover your tracks. Look, whether it went down the way you say it did or not isn’t my call to make. I’m not judging, but as long as you have that hovering over your head, your service record is going to always be tainted. I’m offering to wipe your slate clean. You might even be able to pull a promotion out of it if you solve the case.”

“And if I blow it?”

“If you blow it, some heads are going to roll, starting with yours. I’ll deny any knowledge of your investigation, but will do what I can to see that you’re not brought up on charges,” Captain Marx said flatly.

Wolf couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re one cold old bastard.”