A Bone to Pick Page 7

  “I don’t have a boss,” he said, his mouth turned down in an obdurate line.

  “Look in my eyes, Mike. Look hard. What do you see there?” she asked softly, her eyes swirling gold and crimson. Her skin seemed so thin, the werewolf just there under the surface.

  “I..I..I don’t know, is it that animal? What are you?” he said, fear permeating every syllable.

  “That’s right, Mike, it’s that animal. I was born a werewolf and I can let my animal out and let it eat you and shit you out. I feel nothing except joy when I kill, so I will open your body up and pull out your intestines, then wrap them around your neck while you breathe. You’ll stay alive, because I know how to do it. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I used to work for the CIA. I know how to peel the skin from your body while you watch. Oh, you might faint, but I’ll wait until you wake up, then I’ll keep going. Would you like me to demonstrate? I don’t mind. Some people are just hard to convince.”

  “Fuck me! No!” he choked and began to cry.

  “Yes, well I don’t think I’ll fuck you. Thanks for the offer. Tell me everything you know. Don’t leave out a detail or I’ll play jump rope with your small intestines.” Hellen laughed.

  An hour later Mike was finished talking. He was panting with fear and he reeked, his body odor rancid. His body was slick with an oily residue and he was drenched in sweat. She’d questioned him and mixed the questions up to determine if he was lying. She wanted to make sure she had all that he knew.

  “That’s everything I know. Can you let me go now?” he asked and Hell could hear the hope in his voice. She reached down and picked up a filthy sock. She shoved the sock into his mouth before he could get off a scream. She shoved it deep and he gagged on it. She pulled out a precut piece of duct tape and pulled it off a slick plastic card. She found it easy to carry duct tape that way. No muss, no fuss, and no prints or DNA to be found.

  “Sorry, that isn’t the plan. But I’ll let you watch as my werewolf peels the skin from your body. That’s for killing my sister. That’s for beating a woman who served this country for thirty years in the Navy. Did you know that? You killed a thirty-year veteran. You killed the only person in this world who loved me. The only person in the world I had a connection with. Well, other than Widget, but she isn’t a person.”

  She took off her clothing in front of Mike, carefully folding them and placed them on the nightstand. There was movement from her wolf, pushing and growing, then Hell let it happen. The familiar extending and expansion. The popping of her tendons, bones, muscles, and the rearrangement began. Her body stretched and her legs and feet elongated. The claws came out and her arms and torso lengthened. The muscles bulged from her heavy thighs and fur punched through the hide. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Some of the fur was patchy but it was a nice shade of gray.

  The werewolf heard the high pitch squealing behind the gag. The nearly seven-foot werewolf stooped and looked into Mike’s face. A wide smile spread and the serrated molars gleamed in the lamplight.

  With almost a delicate and gentle slash, the six-inch claws raked across Mike’s middle, easily splitting the skin. An agonized shriek slammed against the sock. The werewolf draped the intestines around Mike’s neck.

  §

  Officer Clint Waywood gagged and turned to run out of the room. He made it to the front door before he vomited in the front yard. The warm afternoon sun hit him in the face and his pale gray eyes watered. He could feel sweat dripping down his face and dark spots threatened to overtake him. There were several other officers around him and they stared at him. He brought a shaking hand to his mouth. He’d never seen anything so horrendous. Shit! He knew Mike. He didn’t know the others in the house, but he knew Mike.

  There were a few officers who looked pale, they too shaken up about the scene in the bedroom. He gagged again, thinking about it. Mike had been skinned. His guts were wrapped around his neck like a fucking scarf. Holy shit.

  Waywood swallowed hard and looked up as the coroner walked out. The crime scene investigators hovered there for over an hour. There were a couple of detectives inside and yellow tape ribboned the whole property.

  “How long did he live? Do you know?” he asked the coroner.

  “I’d say he died within the last three hours. He was alive through all of that. He was left to die from shock,” the coroner replied. “There was very little blood. Whoever skinned him knew what he was doing. If we’d have gotten to him sooner, we could have maybe gotten the name of his killer.” The coroner looked a little ashen.

  The techno geeks went in to help with evidence collection.

  Waywood was there to keep the public out. Lord, he wished he could unsee it. He gagged again. The room smelled of blood and shit. Whoever had done that had kept Mike alive.

  Holy living hell! he thought.

  Was it the Colombian drug cartel? This was just their style. Was there a new player in town? He staggered to his patrol car and opened the door. He sat down heavily and pulled out his burner phone. He wiped at his face and noted that his hands were shaking. He hit a number on speed dial and waited.

  “Yeah, it’s Clint. Mike’s dead. Boss, looks like the Colombians or someone got to him.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Leon asked on the other end.

  “Mike. I was dispatched to his place. Someone murdered him and a few others. Don’t know who the other people were, but someone skinned Mike alive. Mr. E, they took his guts and wrapped them around his neck like a scarf. Coroner said he’d only been dead a few hours. The others were dead more than six or eight hours. He died fucking slowly!” Waywood hissed into the phone, turning his body away from the house.

  “Shit. Okay, calm down. What makes you think it was the Colombians?”

  “I don’t know, but it was professional. Mr. E, there was hardly any blood on the floor. They pulled his skin off him like clothing.” Waywood gagged. He stopped talking, trying to swallow, and squeezed his eyes shut. He mashed the back of his hand against his mouth as the tears slid down his face. He could hear Leon saying something, but he couldn’t respond. He took deep breaths, then finally got himself under control.

  “Sorry, boss. Sorry.”

  “Look, just stay put, see what you can find out. Who’s detective on this?”

  “Not sure, there’s a bunch of plainclothes in there now. Guess they’ll sort it out. I’ll let you know.” He hung up and put his head down between his legs.

  He never wanted to see something that horrible again.

  §

  Leon sat back in his chair.

  Columbians?

  That was some bullshit. He didn’t think so. He could be wrong, but he didn’t think so. Maybe the El Salvadorians? The Sangres? Or was there someone new coming in? That didn’t bode well for him. He didn’t need a turf war. Shit. And why Mike? He was nothing. A pissant. He wasn’t high enough on the food chain to matter.

  Dammit, I don’t fucking need this, he thought darkly.

  He picked up the burner phone and dialed. After a couple of rings it was answered.

  “Detective Down, Charlotte PD.”

  “Hey, it’s me. Got a minute?”

  “Sure, give me a second.” Ross hung up.

  Leon waited for him to call on the burner. Leon and Ross knew each other from high school and had grown up in the same neighborhood. Years later, one man went one way, the other towards a different life. Then they met and joined up for mutual benefits and money.

  “I’m thinking there might be some new gang activity. One of my low men got skinned. Has the gang task force made anyone for this?”

  “Shit, you got your intel fast, we just got wind of this shit a few minutes ago. Hadn’t heard anything, but that’s not my purview. I’ll look into it for you though.”

  “Thanks, man. Later.” Leon hung up the phone, sat back in his chair, and looked out the window. He was in the downtown office and he had a bird’s eye view of the city below. It was his home, his
city, and he had plans to own a very large chunk of it. He already had territories, invisible lines where the underbelly of Charlotte knew was his territory and his alone. The lines in the sand were pretty rigid and there was normally no straying over. While sometimes the lines were tested, that had always been met with a hard hit and the losers slunk back into their holes. This was a damn leap over. He lit a cigarette and sat back.

  Did Mike step on someone’s dick? He told the kid to start gathering shills, he wanted to open a new pill mill branch in that area. Leon wondered if perhaps the kid had stepped into someone’s territory unwittingly. Or was Mike doing his own thing, disregarding territories? Mike was young and ambitious and that led to stupid decisions. Dammit. He picked the phone up again.

  “It’s me. You hear what’s going on?” Leon asked, blowing a long plume of blue smoke from his nostrils.

  “Yeah, just got word. Fuck me. Who did Mike piss off?” Cleves said.

  “Don’t know and don’t know if it’s heading our way. Keep your ear to the ground, let me know if you hear anything.”

  “You thinkin’ takeover? Maybe Sangre’s people are trying to step it up?”

  “Don’t know. This has the ring of cartel about it. You know, big message, flashy…” Leon exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands over his face. He hated not knowing.

  “Shit, that ain’t good. I’ll have some of my guys start snooping around, quiet like.”

  Leon hung up and sat back in his chair. He didn’t like this one bit. What did it mean? He had two closings today and he needed to focus on them. They were multimillion dollar closings and he needed to be focused. The commissions on each property would fatten his bottom line and when it came to money, he liked a fat bottom line.

  He got up from his chair and walked over to the large window. Below him were people and cars, moving like insects. For him, they were potential customers to exploit. He’d just have to let his people do their jobs. He couldn’t get his hands dirty, he had way too much to lose. Keeping himself away from the dirt was even more crucial if someone big was moving in on his territory.

  §

  Bojo drew in deeply on his cigarette. He’d heard about Mike and a shiver when through him. Word spread fast when something crazy like that happened. Who in the hell had Mike pissed off? Was it Leon? He didn’t think so. Leon would just have a bullet put into his brainpan. Quick and easy. No, it took time and effort to kill Mike. A long time if what he heard was correct. He wondered if someone new was moving in, and what did that mean for them? How was Leon gonna handle it? He just hoped it was something Mike did and that would be the end of it. Bojo wanted nothing to do that that crazy-ass shit.

  He walked up and down the line of young people in front of him. It was a rough looking group. Homeless kids, and they all smelled. He rubbed absently at his nose. They were in the warehouse, in the upper story, used by Leon and his people. There was guarded access up on this top floor, which housed several locked rooms. There were several rooms that Leon and his men used to sample the merchandise that passed through the doors. Within a day or two, these kids would be sent to brokers. A few would head to Tulip Park or Myrtle Bay for safekeeping. Blondes were a premium and were on the highest watch list of the Middle East.

  Many of those were sent out internationally and a young blonde female got the highest price, especially a virgin. Bojo inspected each female, ensuring that Mr. E got top dollar. They had a special medical bay that was soundproofed. Dr. Winter served as their pill pusher as well as the clearinghouse inspector for the kids. The kids were cleaned up, pictures taken and sent out on the dark web to bidding sites. Some were bought in groups, to be sold later, individually. On the rare occasions, there were bidding wars. These were for the blonde girls under twelve. If the girl looked young enough, they lied about her age, driving the price up.

  As Bojo walked down the line, the children were crying softly. They were all drugged, that kept them easier to handle. They would be herded off shortly to be cleaned and fed. Half of them looked starved. Stopping in front of a twelve-year-old, Bojo lifted her face, scrutinizing it. She had brilliant blue eyes and what looked like strawberry blonde hair, though it was too filthy to discern the true color. He opened her shirt and she shrank back. He grabbed her by the back of her head, yanking her dirty hair.

  “Don’t you fight me, girl. I’ll make you damned sorry for it,” he hissed as he pulled the shirt open with his other hand. He grinned and several gold molars winked in the florescent light. He pulled her out of the line, then continued walking. There were a few boys.

  “How old are you?” he asked one boy.

  The towheaded kid tried to be brave, but his mouth wobbled with fear. “Fourteen,” the voice cracked, causing Bojo to snicker. He pulled the boy out of line, turned to Jim, and nodded his head to the rest.

  “Get them cleaned up and fed. I’ll send these two along directly. You know, quality control,” he said and his laugh was lewd and ugly. Grabbing each child by the upper arm, Bojo led them away from the main group. Their soft whimpering filled the corridor as he took them to his sanctum. He looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at Parker and winked. Opening the door, he shoved the two in and closed and locked the door behind him.

  FOUR

  Hellen sat in the living room. Betty and Miriam were sitting on the couch. They’d brought coffee cake over and were chatting amicably. Betty was told twice to turn her hearing aid up after she’d frightened the cat with her loud voice.

  “So you don’t feel any emotions?” Betty asked, causing Miriam to hiss at her and nudge the woman.

  “Betty, did you leave your brains in a glass along with your teeth?” Miriam asked, looking over at Hellen apologetically.

  Hellen was curled up in the recliner with her laptop. She looked over the top of her reading glasses, first at Betty and then at Miriam.

  “Sorry, Hell, sometimes Betty doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.” Miriam’s faded brown eyes narrowed at her friend.

  “I feel emotions, Betty. Some I don’t understand, nor do I have the ability to process them like you do. Or if I do, they aren’t usually on the mark. I can’t feel sorry for you because you’re deaf as a stone. But I do grieve my sister’s murder.”

  Betty’s face flooded with a dull red and Miriam snorted in amusement. Pursing her lips, Betty turned down her hearing aid and concentrated on knitting, pointedly ignoring the others.

  “Sorry, Hell, Betty speaks before she thinks sometimes. I hope you don’t mind us dropping by. We’re so used to being here and it makes us feel closer to Viv.” Miriam shrugged helplessly.

  Hellen waved the comment off and went back to work on the computer.

  “What are you looking at?” Miriam asked quietly.

  “I’m building a graph on this Leon Ellsworth and his people. This man has his fingers into a lot of pies. He looks legitimate on paper and I’m trying to investigate back beyond twelve years ago, but there isn’t much there. When I hacked into Charlotte PD’s files, I found several files were redacted. He’s paid someone to go in and clean things up.”

  “He can do that?” Miriam was shocked.

  “It would appear so. He’s got some friends in the police department. It also appears that he is using one of his businesses to obtain properties. His real-estate business is legitimate, or at least appears that way. However, tracking the acquisitions, there seems to be a pattern of high crime in the area, then he swoops in and acquires properties on the cheap. Or one of his people goes in and buys the property.”

  “Why would he do that? Cause the problem, then stop it?” Miriam asked, confusion written all over her dark face.

  “Because Ellsworth can in turn sell large tracts of land to development companies. These old homes aren’t worth much, but the land they sit on is priceless. Charlotte is ever growing and expanding. They get rid of the poor and build new complexes, apartment buildings and so on. Millions, if not billions of dollars are at stake here,” Hellen s
aid, sipping her coffee.

  “Isn’t he afraid he’ll be caught?” Miriam asked, taking up her knitting.

  “He’s got enough buffers in place, along with shell corporations and silent partners. There are a lot of layers and I’m having a hell of a time sifting through them and connecting them to Ellsworth. I can’t see the whole picture, but Mike did give me some useful information and names. These names are leading in other directions, such as Bartholomew Joseph Brown, aka Bojo. He owns and runs that restaurant in downtown Charlotte as well as a nightclub.”

  “You mean Bojo’s? Dammit, that’s a nice restaurant. He’s mixed up with Ellsworth?” Miriam growled.

  “Yes, Mike said he thought maybe Bojo was mixed up with some kind of sex trafficking or child trafficking or something along those lines. The name Berry Cleves came up as well, so I’ll look in that direction too. It seems that Ellsworth attempts to keep things compartmentalized, but there are overlaps and so some intel gets passed around.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Betty asked, looking over her glasses. She’d just turned up her hearing aid and looked at both women questioningly.

  “I’m going to look into Mr. Brown’s affairs and see where that thread leads me and then I think I will pay Bojo Brown a visit.”

  §

  Bojo looked over his receipts for the weekend. Things were looking good and his restaurant was holding its own. He was in a prime location, thanks to Leon, who was a silent partner. His business was straight and he crossed every T when it came to running the place. It was his legitimate face. Leon had insisted that as each man grew in his association, they start building a legitimate façade. When Bojo got high enough in the business, he would assign someone to run his portion of the illicit side and step away, distancing himself from the dirty work, just as Leon had done.

  When he’d put enough money away, Bojo’s arrest record could be revised. He wasn’t sure how that would be done, but Leon assured him that for the right price, nearly any sin could be washed away. Especially in the computer age where information was digital and in the right hands, easily manipulated.