Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (31 page)

“Understood. I’m not sure what you’ll face when you access the situation in person, including another one of these damn Isis cells, but if you can use any help, in any way, shape, or form, please call me, Nick. I don’t want to lose you for any reason. You would be surprised how far I’d go to keep you alive.”

That statement stunned Nick into silence for a moment. “You’ve grown fond of El Muerto, huh? This action being so close to my homestead, I will seek to be more circumspect in my dealings with these suspected wrongdoers. It’s been a pleasure working with you too, Paul. I don’t care to have anything happen to you either.”

“Would you like a ride to the hotel? I’ll bet Rachel will be glad to see you.”

“I believe you’re right, Paul. My Rachel has become unusually dissatisfied with her surroundings here in Charleston.” Nick walked over to put a guiding arm around Gilbrech’s shoulders. “Although excited at first with my tour, Rachel, Jean, and even Deke the dog have become restless. I think I have them spoiled with West Coast living, even though it’s been getting a bit violent out there too. New York, Boston, and Charleston have awoken my ladies to the fact sometimes it’s violent everywhere.”

“Have you considered the fact it may just be you, Muerto?”

“That’s hurtful, Paul… probably true… but hurtful.”

Chapter Eleven

Home, Sweet Home

John threw the Frisbee for Deke, watching with glee as the dog raced through the sand at Otter’s Point, snatching the black disc from the air. Nick’s new recruit never seemed to tire when playing with Deke. On the other hand, Deke caught the Frisbee, and then head tossed it off to the side before joining Jean at one of the tide pools.

“I believe Deke has signaled an end to my Frisbee tossing joy,” John said.

A typical Pacific Grove morning with low lying fog, gray cloudy skies, and dead calm ocean surf made for a cool morning in the high fifties. Nick, Gus, John, and Jean wore hoodies and ball caps. To Nick it was a perfect Sunday morning, complete with mild breeze, Gulls’ piercing cries haphazardly upsetting the nearly silent scene, and hot coffee spiked with Bushmill’s Irish.

“Have a seat then, John,” Gus urged. “We’re in heaven here, bundled as if trapped on an ice floe in the arctic, and wondering what the hell is so great about the beach before dawn.”

“Pay no attention to this heretic,” Nick countered. “He’s been whining ever since I moved his ass out here to Pacific Grove. Gus like’s nothing better than to complain. If we ever came down here, and the sun was shining on a crystal clear morning, he’d find something else to bitch and moan about. This is a perfect time to meet though as you suspected. Without traffic, it would be very difficult for someone to tail you here. You were unsure when we talked on the phone whether they’re that interested in you yet.”

“They are interested,” John responded, sitting down in his beach chair. He accepted a spiked coffee from Gus. He sighed deeply as the mixture wound down his throat. “You two are devils of temptation with this demon drink you have forced on me. It is very good. I am glad you have returned. Ansar has begun calling me at night. At first it was polite conversation, wondering about my situation here. Lately, he has begun suggesting vaguely it is time to get back in the game, because they need my experience.”

“Have they ever shadowed you to the Carmel Valley house after seeing you at the mosque?”

“Yes. The second time I attended, they followed me, but because of your Carmel Valley home’s location, it is very difficult to do so without being seen. I can tell they are anxious to know how I could be living at such a place. I believe they have visions of making it into a training ground. I have a scenario in mind I would like to share with you. I can tell Ansar I made a connection with a true believer while in Boston. It is his land I am staying on.”

“I like it,” Nick replied. “He can be an anonymous benefactor to use as a cover. Damn… this could be fun. We’ll let Ansar turn my Carmel Valley place into a terrorist training ground. Paul will pass out cold on the floor when I tell him about this new angle in the war on terror.”

“Wait a minute,” Gus interrupted Nick’s psycho reverie. “Isn’t the Carmel Valley place in your name?”

“Nope. I bought and developed it under a fictional business interest tied to my place in Las Vegas. The dummy corporation there pays all taxes and utilities through an on-line account. It will be perfect for what John has in mind.”

“I know Gilbrech’s going to ask this,” Gus continued. “What the hell are we going to do with a terrorist training ground? I know I’m interested in knowing.”

“We will let John play the Pied Piper, getting all the rats together. Then, El Muerto, Payaso, and the newest member of our violent band, El Kabong, will swoop down on these wrongdoers.”

Gus let out the breath he had been holding. “Oh boy.”

“El Kabong?” John’s questioning glance from Nick to Gus went unanswered until Gus grabbed his iPad, doing a quick on-line search. He then turned it for John’s viewing pleasure of an old ‘Quick Draw McGraw’ cartoon, featuring the goofy horse Quick Draw and his alter ego, the vigilante, El Kabong. It was many moments before John could speak.

“See,” Nick pointed at John. “He likes his new secret identity.”

“We’ll be the laughing stock of all creation when our first violent video hits,” Gus said. “Are you meaning this as an insult so as to attract a response?”

“Of course. When terrorists die at the hands of cartoon characters, it provides the right message for these assholes. Instead of instilling fear in the populace, the people will see terrorists hunted down by cartoons.”

“Yes… yes… it is just so,” John managed to blurt out in agreement. “It will be seen as a great insult, and it will lower their esteem when seen in this light you have planned. Do I also get a costume?”

“Of course,” Nick answered. “You shall have a black mask like El Muerto, but you will have an impressive El Kabong swashbuckler hat.”

“May I shop for one?”

“Sure, John. Gus picked out his own Payaso mask. We will be a famous trio by the time we get done with this new group of thugs. Paul is very happy with your actions here on the coast. Did you get your credentials?”

“Yes. I have them hidden though, so in case I begin getting visitors at your Carmel house. I like it there, Nick. Thank you for letting me stay at your other home.”

“It’s already paid dividends. I’ll contact Paul when we finish our Sunday morning beach walk.”

“I should go now before I am seen,” John said. “El Kabong… away!”

John scurried along the Otter’s Point rock wall, waving at Jean. Deke ran to get a last pet before John reached the stone steps. Jean hurried over.

“Dad? Did you make John into El Kabong?”

“Oh… you know of the great El Kabong, do you?”

“I saw him on Nic-at-Night. He’s a cartoon horse named Quick Draw McGraw, who turns into El Kabong the cartoon vigilante.” Jean began giggling. “So… you added El Kabong into your gang. That is so cool.”

“Remember to keep that to yourself. I have plans for El Kabong.”

“I bet you do. What does Payaso think of this new guy on the team?”

Gus shrugged. “I guess it makes sense in some alternate universe. John seems to like it… a little too much for sanity’s sake though.”

“John recognizes genius when he sees it, Payaso.”

“If you say so, Muerto.”

A police car drove to the roadside near the stone wall. Sergeant Dickerson exited the vehicle, waving at Nick. “Hey, Nick, I thought our resident crime fighting writer would check in when he returns from a book tour. You’re not holding up your end of this Pacific Grove PD and ‘Castle’ type collaboration.”

Nick reached and shook hands with the crouching Dickerson by the rock wall. “Sorry, Neil, but I figured you’d seen enough of me for a while after the Kader mess. Thanks, by the way, for backing me up on the consulting gig I managed to get Gus and I tangled in with. You know my daughter Jean, don’t you?”

“We met under bad circumstances when the Kader mess unfolded. Hi Jean. Not to switch topics on you, but I need another pair of eyes on a murder I’m working with other police departments to solve. Would you take a ride with me, and take a look?”

“Go on, Dad,” Jean urged. “Gus will see us home. Mom should be wide awake pretty soon anyway with the Sergeant’s visit. I’ll tell her where you’re at. I doubt she’ll be surprised.”

Nick got a nod from Gus. “Sure, I’ll take a look, but why is everyone getting bent out of shape over this murder? It’s not like you to want me to take a look at a crime scene before you’re on your last nerve.”

“We’re the latest PD in the area to be looped into this. It’s the seventh murder of this kind in the area. We have similar… oh hell… I can’t be talking about this in front of Jean. Come with me, and I’ll explain in detail on the way. You can fill Gus in later if you need to consult with him. Any new ideas are appreciated. Thanks for doing this, Nick. I don’t expect a lot of help, but if you could shed a new light on the shared info, it would be great.”

Nick noticed the underlying horror on Dickerson’s face. Something was badly amiss in his chosen beach town. “Let’s do it. Gus… best take Jean and Deke to the house. I’ll call you once I find out what’s going on.”

“On our way. C’mon, Deke, you salty dog. We need to hose you off when we get home.”

Deke immediately scrambled for the furthest part of the beach, evoking laughter even from Sergeant Dickerson.

“Your dog seems to have a wide vocabulary,” Dickerson said.

“You don’t know the half of it. Watch this,” Nick said. “C’mon, Deke. You get a steak treat later when I get home.”

Hearing that, Deke comically raced to Gus’s side, enduring his leash hookup.

“Damn… that’s a little freaky.”

“Yep, and you don’t know how many words the canine brat recognizes the spelling of.” Nick knelt down and roughed the fur on his canine drinking buddy. “He’ll want a b.e.e.r. with the steak.”

Deke immediately did leaps in the air, agreeing with Nick’s spelling of his favorite beverage to much amusement from his human counterparts.

Sergeant Dickerson straightened, waving for Nick to come along. “Let’s go before Deke starts talking. We could probably use a shot and a beer before you see this crime scene.”

“I’m a bit ahead of you, Neil. For full disclosure, Gus and I have imbibed the Irish with our coffee. Will that be a problem?”

“The only problem I see is that I couldn’t have imbibed a bit with you.” Dickerson sighed. “Come along. Maybe you’ll be able to make sense out of what’s waiting for us. As Jean surmised, Rachel directed me here. She wanted to know all the details before I left which I couldn’t tell her. She was not happy.”

“It’s a tricky job, Neil. Rachel will get over it. I’m glad she’s not jogging down here to interfere. Believe me, she would if she could. Spill it for us Rachel fans. She tried to blackmail you into talking with my location, didn’t she?”

Dickerson grunted his acknowledgement. “Yep. She almost broke me, but I valiantly resisted her insidious ploys for information.”

“She rolled you,” Nick observed with a headshake of disparagement for the Sergeant. “Let’s get out of here. You can share your less than stellar performance in the squad car.”

“Damn it, Nick… she’s good.”

“I know, my friend,” Nick replied, walking quickly through the sand toward the stone stairs with Dickerson paralleling his steps at the roadside. “I’ll explain to her she’s not allowed to browbeat the local police into submission from now on.”

“That’s mean, Nick. How the hell did you ever hook up with Rachel anyway?”

“Small steps, my friend,” Nick cautioned while ascending the steps to Dickerson. “It would do you no good, nor would it help with your peace of mind to know the details of our unholy union. Be happy we joined as a force of good.”

Dickerson laughed, but cut his enjoyment short at the solemn look on Nick’s face as he reached the roadside. “You’re scaring me, Nick.”

“Welcome to my world.”

* * *

They reached the body before the detective in charge released custody to the medical examiner. They were in a wooded area fifty yards away from Route 68. A naked young girl, Nick figured to be between nine and eleven lay posed with a fresh gardenia bouquet posed in her hands. He could tell from the discolorations she had been abused in a yet unknown number of ways.

“Okay, Neil… I held the scene in place until you arrived with your writer expert,” an overweight man, six foot in height said, his butch cut brown hair and facial lines placed him in the late forties bracket to Nick’s assessment. “Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”

Nick took the Nitrile gloves Dickerson handed him, stuffing his hands in without taking his eyes off the little girl. He stared into her wide open eyes with the psychopathic killer again welling into prominence within him. The girl with the long blonde hair looked startlingly like Jean. He moved to the Gardenia bouquet, noticing the beginning of rot from lack of treatment. Dickerson remained silent, not acknowledging the detective, waiting with jaw clenched for Nick to examine the body.

Nick looked up at the detective. “How many like this?”

“Ah… six,” the detective answered, surprised at the first question.