Catch & Neutralize (3 page)

“All right. Thanks for tipping me off about the tech support muscleman.”

Mark nodded, lifted a hand goodbye, and headed to the back of the lab. He had way more important things to worry about than office romances at the moment, things such as keeping himself from becoming a murder victim.

One more badge swipe left him alone in his office. He closed blinds facing the lab and turned on his laptop. Mark needed to find out more about this Mr. Pilfer and dig deeper into Angie’s recent activities.

A Google search turned up nothing about James Dean Pilfer. Mark decided to contact his longtime friend, Detective Franklin P. Wacker.

He answered on the first ring, low and gruff. “This is Wacker.”

“Franklin Peter Wacker! How’s it going, Frank?”

“Mark Carter! Funny you called. I thought about you this morning.”

“Still fantasying about me after all these years? Still living up to your old nickname?” Mark laughed.

“Shut the hell up,” Frank teased. “My middle name is Paxon, not Peter. I see dorky college jokes never die.”

“Nope, not the good ones.”

“I’m glad you called, Mark. What’s going on? How’re you? How’s Angie?”

Mark cleared his throat, serious now. “Well, Frank, that’s what I was calling about. I need to talk to you, but I’d like to do it face to face.”

“Yeah, of course, man. Are you in town?”

“No. I’m going to fly out as soon as possible. Hopefully, today.”

“Let me know when you have the details. I’ll pick you up from the airport. Nancy is going to be so happy to see you. I’ll let her know to get the guestroom ready.”

“Thanks, Frank. Talk soon.”

Chapter 3

Mark arrived at the Jacksonville, Florida airport the following evening. Frank waited at the coffee shop as promised, wearing a white collared button up and dress pants. That same clean-cut guy Mark remembered, tall and muscular but with a few more grays and wrinkles.

Frank wore glasses now. Those trendy ones all the hipsters were wearing. Looks like he continued following trends as always. A regular fashion plate, that one. Mark suspected Frank would end up a fashion designer of some sort but then surprised everyone by joining The Force.

The airport hustled with people of all types going this way and that. A pencil-thin elderly woman wearing a flower print pants suit passed by. She held in the crook of her arm an obviously spoiled teacup poodle wearing purple bows. The tip of the dog’s tongue poked out from black lips as though it couldn’t possibly be expected to hold it in any longer. The squeak of rolling luggage followed them. Rose scented perfume lingered in the duo’s wake.

Longtime friends, Mark and Frank, hugged before heading out.

“Good to see you, old man.” Frank nodded in the direction of his car. “I’m parked this way.”

Frank drove a police-issued Ford Explorer. A solar powered hula girl danced on the dashboard. Rolling down the window, Mark inhaled humid, salty air smelling of childhood and home. He hadn’t been back since marrying Angie.

Frank spoke first. “So tell me, old pal, what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure exactly.”

“You flew all the way from New Mexico, but you’re not sure why? Maybe you missed my sexy white ass?”

Mark laughed. “You’re probably right. That, plus I need some advice. I’d rather not talk about it while you’re driving. Why don’t you pull into a parking lot?”

“If it’s that serious, let’s talk over a cold one.” Frank’s blinker click-clacked indicating he wanted to pull into Banter & Bow. A Bud Light sign flashing OPEN hung in the window.

A cool blast of cigarette scented air greeted them. Classic rock played over the sound system. One wall with posters of cheerleaders, most from the Jacksonville Jaguars, demanded attention. Frank chose a table next to one signed by a bleached blonde named Amber. The tops of her suntanned breasts were oil shined and stuffed into a top three sizes too small.

“Good choice,” Mark said nodding at the poster.

“Yeah. Not a
strawberry
blonde, but she’ll do.” Frank pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one, inhaling deeply.

“I’ll get the drinks. What’re you having?”

Smoke puffed from Frank’s mouth as he replied, “Beer on tap and a shot of whiskey.”

Mark returned with two frosty mugs of dark red beer. A petite woman with short, black hair and cherry colored lips followed with two shots of whiskey. She set them on the table and pointed to her name tag.

“I’m Sherry. Just holler if y’all need refills. I’ll be right back with y’all’s complimentary chips and salsa.” She smiled before striding away and disappearing behind the bar.

Frank held up his beer before tapping it against Mark’s. Foam sloshed over the sides of his mug. “To two old friends drinking Irish beer and whiskey.”

After taking a swig, Frank licked the foam from his fingers. A wavy line of smoke trailed his cigarette.

At the rear of the bar, two scrawny men in faded jeans and armpit stained t-shirts were playing a game of pool. One was attempting a shot and the other looked on while chalking his stick.

Mark took a gulp and wiped a hand over his mouth. “I think Angie’s trying to kill me.”

Frank choked on beer, coughing. After composing himself, his face remained flushed. “That’s not funny, man.” He hesitated, shaking his head and squashing out the last of his cigarette. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Serious. I think she’s been trying to poison me. Every night she pours me a drink. I think she’s been putting something in it, something slow acting. And,” Mark looked around to be sure no one was listening, “she might have a hitman after me.”

“Good God, Mark! I’d call you crazy if I didn’t know you so well. But, jeez man, Angie? Tell me what’s been going on.”

Sherry returned with her cherry lips upturned, placing napkins and munchies between the two men. “Can I get y’all anything else?”

“We’re good for now, Sherry. Thanks,” Frank said returning the smile.

When Sherry reached beyond hearing distance, Mark went through the details of Angie’s strange behavior and weird phone calls. He finished with the severed head found in the refrigerator.

Frank let out an extended whistle over a slow head shake. “You’re giving Angie a lot of credit here, Mark. You think she’s
that
smart?”

“I think she’s smart enough to plan it. Not necessarily smart enough to do it without getting caught.”

After downing the whiskey shot, Frank held up the empty glass to Sherry. She smiled from behind the bar, nodded, and started pouring another.

Mark continued. “I thought she was having an affair with this guy, James Dean Pilfer. I almost wish that were the case. Now, I don’t know what to think. I was hoping you could use your magical police database to check him out for me.”

“Yeah, Mark. This is some off-the-wall shit for a guy like you. I’d be happy to help you out. Incidentally, did you report the head you found?”

Sherry came around with two shots, one for each. Mark almost refused, but on second thought, pulled the glass closer. Frank paid, giving Sherry Cherry Lips a generous tip.

“Back to your question. No, I didn’t report it. I didn’t want to get mixed up in all that drama. I walked into the guy’s house uninvited. Granted, it was unlocked but that doesn’t cancel out the fact that I wasn’t invited. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to report it. When you get back, not here. Make an anonymous call to the police from a disposable prepaid phone or a payphone if you can find one. Try to disguise your voice, stick a finger inside your mouth. Anyway, if the head’s still there, your guy’s caught. If not, they’ll think your call was just a prank. Either way, they’ll have been alerted and maybe put Pilfer on their radar.” Frank downed his second shot and lit another cigarette.

“I’ll get this round,” Mark said raising his hand to Sherry.

“No more for me. I’ve got to drive. And, I want to be sober when looking into this Pilfer guy. I’ll have water and a coffee.”

After taking their orders, Sherry collected the empty glasses and promised to be back in a flash.

The coffee was hot and of good quality. Both men took it black. Frank drew on his cigarette between sips.

“I think whatever’s going on with Angie, it ain’t good.” Smoke escaped from Frank’s nostrils. “Even if she’s not trying to kill you, being mixed up with the kind of guy who hides heads of the human variety in his ‘fridge…” He took a swallow of coffee. “You know what I’m saying.”

“I know. She’s been acting differently for the past few months. I’ve been playing along, pretending to feel sick in the evenings. Then I overhear that phone call.” Mark shook his head closing his eyes. Opening them, he brought the coffee cup to his lips and rippled the dark liquid with a blow before taking a sip. “I was thinking about removing her from my will, my insurance papers, my bank account, everything. But then I keep wondering, what if I’m wrong. What if she’s not trying to kill me? What if she’s not having an affair? What if I’m an old, paranoid freak losing his grip on reality?”

Frank blew smoke over Mark’s head and smashed his cigarette into a metal ashtray. “You could be mistaken, Mark, but you’re not crazy. Let’s get going and have a look at Mr. Pilfer’s history.”

~

Frank and Nancy lived outside Jacksonville in a small town called Starke. Their place constituted a log cabin style house off a dirt road where all neighbors were at least 5 acres apart. Trees lined the property. In the back, a horse whinnied and jumped playfully towards another.

“That’s Jack and Jill. They’re twins.” Frank looked at his watch. “Almost feeding time. We feed them three times a day. Vet says that’s too much, but I disagree. Look how happy and healthy they are. Every creature deserves at least three good meals a day. Even shithead prisoners get that.”

Mark nodded. “Gorgeous animals.”

As Frank pulled in front of the cabin, Nancy peeked out the window. The door opened as Mark and Frank reached it.

Frank threw his arms around Nancy and planted noisy kisses on her lips, cheeks, and neck. She was about two feet shorter but just as physically fit. Frank kissed her again on the mouth. “How was your day, darlin’? The twins eat?”

Her shoulder length strawberry blonde waves bounced with giggles, green eyes glowing with love. “My day was good, better now you’re home. And yes, I fed the twins.” She turned to Mark for a hug. “So good to see you, Mark. How was your flight? They don’t feed you much on planes these days. You must be starving. ”

“I could definitely eat,” Mark agreed.

“Well, come inside you two. I’ve made spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread.”

The scent of it radiated throughout the house. Mark’s stomach grumbled. “Smells great, Nancy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mark. It’s always nice to see you.” Her smile and personality radiated warmth.

After dinner, Frank and Mark retreated to Frank’s home office with a couple of cigars. It looked to Mark like The Batcave redone in a country manner. Whiteboards, corkboards, and electronic equipment were arranged in a kind of organized disarray along the wooden walls. It appeared dark and cozy with a hint of cowboy mystery.

Frank pulled an extra chair behind the desk for Mark and pushed a large ashtray half-filled with butts so both could reach it. After logging into to the National Crime Information Center (NCIC), Frank asked for all the information Mark had on James Dean Pilfer.

Mark pulled the printed sheet from his pocket and handed it over. “Other than the name, I have date of birth, address, and cell phone number.”

“That should do it.” Frank clacked on his laptop, inputting the information.

On the NCIC tab’s top right, a partial circle appeared to chase its tail, desperately trying to catch itself. Ten seconds later, the screen filled with gathered facts. The name was one of many. James Dean Pilfer also went by J.D. Ponce, Jack Plaster, Thomas Dean Banks, and most recently Tristan Bellamy.

“This guy’s been caught for drugs and prostitution. Amphetamines, heroin, cocaine, and hookers. Basically, a drug dealing pimp.” Frank took a puff from his cigar. “No big loss to society if that was his melon you found in the ‘fridge. On the other hand, it could belong to someone he decided to off.”

“Oh, my God.” Mark leaned back in the chair, defeated. “You think Angie’s one of his whores? You think she’s trying to get him to ‘off’ me?”

Frank shook his head taking another puff. “Not Angie. If she were a call girl, she’s way too classy for the likes of this chump. Highly doubtful she’s cheating on you with him either. Something else is going on. Pilfer probably doesn’t have this number or name anymore. Losers like him usually change numbers and names frequently to avoid getting caught.”

Rubbing his temples, Mark sat up. “So, you don’t think Angie’s mixed up with Pilfer at all?”

“I’ll need to look into it more, but I really don’t think so. His record’s been clean the last two years. With the crimes he was incarcerated for in the past, I doubt he’d get away with being a hitman. Ain’t smart enough for that kind of work.” Frank puffed on his cigar. “No idea what kind of criminal activities he’s into now, but I’m fairly certain you’re in the clear with regards to Pilfer.” He took another puff. “Your best bet is to simply ask Angie what’s going on. Who knows, maybe this Pilfer character’s cleaned himself up over the years and walks a path of decency.”

Mark’s head bobbed twice. He sighed with relief. “You got any whiskey? I need a drink.”

“Yeah, man, drink up.” Frank pulled a bottle from the desk and handed it over. “Did you hear about that lab you used to work at? It was broken into about a month ago. A big to-do but very hush-hush.”

“Florida Site Genetics? No, I haven’t heard anything about it. What happened?”

“It’s been kept out of the news, but I heard through the station that a chemical compound was stolen. Something called Toxin Gina.”

“Oh, Jesus God, no.” Mark took another shot of whiskey. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “They told me they’d destroyed it. It’s horrible, highly contagious. Starts out as pustules and when it gets into a living organism, it basically fries the brain. I tested it on a plant before leaving, and came in the next day to the entire lab under quarantine. Every rat infected with broken blisters or covered in huge pustules. Turns out one of the rats had gotten out of its cage and nibbled the plant. Juices from the plant now so toxic… Their little bodies burning up, screeching, running all over the place like they were trying to get away from something…”

“I should’ve guessed you’d know what it is.”

“Know what is?!? I freakin’ created it, Frank. An accidental achievement found by combining the wrong genetics with plant matter. I was looking for a way to accelerate plant growth, help feed more people, end world hunger. Instead, I got Toxin Gina. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Matthew Baker, Florida Site’s CEO, swore up and down he’d gotten rid of it, obliterated it. I should’ve known he’d lied when I got that damn award.”