Genre: Horror/Mystery
DRAGONFLY
By
Daniel Skye
PART
EIGHT: THE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT…
Thursday,
November 6th, 2008.
The
Blue Parrot, Bar and Motel.
Early
morning.
Richie
Carter had to call Mac Wilson’s suicide in to his brother. This was something
he could not walk away from. Walking away from Dolph Hendricks murder was one
thing.
Dolph
was an ex-con, a prison snitch. In fact, he was a stoolie inside and out of
prison. He made his fair share of enemies over the years. And technically,
Richie didn’t kill him. Zack Garton pulled the trigger. But Richie couldn’t let
his brother find out. He couldn’t have his brother knowing he was working with
Garton at all.
And
Dolph Hendricks wasn’t a major suspect in their investigation. Mac Wilson was.
And Richie couldn’t hide the fact that he’d been to the Blue Parrot. The desk
clerk had seen his face. He had asked her what room Wilson was in. He even
insinuated he was with the police, which wasn’t necessarily a lie. But the
clerk could still identify him when the real police showed up. No sense in
running, especially when he had nothing to hide, aside from his connection with
Garton.
Anthony
Carter didn’t appreciate the wakeup call. But when Richie told him the news, he
was on his way before Richie could even hang up the phone.
“So, a
few minutes in your company and Mac Wilson offs himself,” Anthony said as the
coroner did his work in room twelve. “You really have a way with people. What’d
you say to make him pull the trigger?”
“I never
had a chance to ask him anything. As soon as I mentioned Nadia, Nico, and
Fenton, he turned the gun on himself. But he confessed to hiring Jacob Price to
try and kill me. That’s it. Any secrets about Nico, Fenton, Nadia, or anyone else
who was involved, he’s taking it to his grave.”
“What
happened to your face?” Anthony inquired.
“Occupational
hazard,” Richie said. He knew Anthony would ask about the bandage. Luckily, the
wound was mainly superficial. Didn’t even require stitches. A bullet from Dolph
Hendricks gun had grazed his cheek. But withholding that detail from Anthony
was mandatory. Richie was on to something big here and the less Anthony knew,
the safer he’d be.
“Anything
I should know about?”
“Doesn’t
concern you. It’s unrelated.”
“If
you say so.”
“Have
you got anything new for me?”
“I
was going to ask you the same question.”
“You
talked to Mackenzie, right?”
“Yeah,
I talked to your friend down at the pub,” Anthony nodded. “I must applaud you.
Some job you did getting her to come forward like that. But I only know what
you know. We know the girl on the tape is Nadia Sanborn. We know she’s dead. We
know Mac Wilson was one of the four men who had a role in her death. Any
guesses as to who the other three men are?”
“Technically,
there were five men. The four men who were on camera, the ones that wore masks.
And the man who was holding the camera.”
“And
how are we supposed to find out now that Wilson eighty-sixed himself?”
“I’m
working on it,” Richie said. “I’m almost positive Nico was one of the men on
that tape. Not much good that does us, seeing as how he’s dead too. And Meeks
definitely knew who was on that tape. I think that’s why somebody killed him.
They didn’t want Meeks spilling his guts to us. And whoever it was that killed
Meeks, it wasn’t Wilson. They’re still out there.”
Anthony
wrapped things up as the coroner ruled that the case was indeed a suicide.
Richie asked him for a lift, told him his car was in the shop.
“Again?”
Anthony chuckled. “Junk that piece of crud already.”
“Just
take me back to my office. I have to get in touch with some sources. See what I
can find out about that tape.”
“Well
don’t bother checking in with Dolph Hendricks,” Anthony said. “Somebody punched
his ticket last night behind Jack’s Liquor Mart. The boys think it was drug
related. They’re not too eager to look into it.”
“Poor
guy,” Richie said, feigning compassion.
“Oh one
last thing I should mention. Your buddy, Dominic and his brother Nico–they’re
mobbed up. It took me a while to remember the name. The Cirico’s were before my
time. The father retired, stepped aside. But I assume the family still has
their connections. Maybe it’s worth looking into.”
“Maybe,”
Richie said, as another piece of the puzzle fell right into his lap.
* * *
Dominic
Cirico had done well for himself. He had more money than Zack Garton did, that
was for sure.
The steps
of the veranda led to the front entrance of Dominic’s two-story palace, which
opened to a long, narrow vestibule.
Garton
crossed the threshold of the vestibule and stepped into the massive foyer. He
knew Dominic was alone. There was only one car–a Mercedes–parked in the
driveway.
But
Garton still tiptoed through the foyer, careful not to make a sound. He stopped
briefly to admire the extravagant living room.
Shag
carpets, suede couches, and a flat-screen television as big as a theater
screen. Priceless sculptures and stunning works of art adorned the room. Garton
didn’t recognize any of the paintings or the artists, but he was willing to bet
Dominic didn’t have a clue, either. People like Dominic didn’t buy art because
they appreciated it. They bought art to flaunt their wealth.
More
impressive was the kitchen. Granite countertops and marble tiles. Not faux
marble, either. Garton could tell it was the real thing.
He made
himself at home in the kitchen and waited patiently, silently. He heard
Dominic’s alarm clock go off at nine o’clock. He hit the snooze button once and
got up around 9:15.
Shuffling
into the kitchen in his robe and slippers, the first thing he saw was Garton
seated at the table, 9mm Luger in hand.
“Morning,
Hef,” Garton mocked him.
“Zack
Garton, I presume,” Dominic said, taking a seat at the other end of the table.
“How do
you know my name?”
“Who do
you think put you in touch with Kirk Warwick? Who else in Dorchester has those
kinds of connections?”
“I never
did business with the Cirico family,” Garton stated.
“Yes,
that’s true. You never even met my father. But you did business with the
Westfield crew, and so have I. I understand Mr. Warwick paid you a large sum of
money to do a job. Has it been done?”
“It has
not.”
“Might I
ask why?”
“Call it
professional curiosity. I like to know who the fuck it is I’m really working
for before I conduct business.”
“Is my
word not enough?”
“We’re
about to find out. I’m going to ask you a series to questions. Answer them
honestly, you might walk away from this.”
Dominic
tensed up. “Go ahead,” his voice quivering.
“Did you
know a girl named Nadia Sanborn?”
“Yes,”
Dominic’s head shook.
“Did you
know your brother’s pal, Mac Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mac
and Nico kill Nadia Sanborn?”
“Yes,”
Dominic said, ashamed to admit it.
“Did you
help them?”
Dominic
paused, biting his lower lip. His eyes were looking down at the floor, not at
Garton. “Yes,” Dominic sighed. “I didn’t think they’d go through with it. I
thought we were just going to have a little fun with Nadia and go our separate
ways. But things got out of hand. There was a video camera. And Wilson knew the
kind of money a film like this could bring. Genuine snuff films are a rarity.
And the sickos that buy them will pay top dollar.”
“Was
Fenton Meeks on that tape?”
“No.
Fenton lent Nadia out for the weekend. He wasn’t involved in the act itself.
But he had a copy of the tape. He actually requested one. Sick fuck.”
“Look
who’s talking.”
“I
have to live with what I did every day. Fenton doesn’t.”
“Did
you kill Fenton Meeks?”
“No.
It wasn’t even my idea. Todd Reynolds did the job. He runs with the Westfield
crew. But he was only following orders. I paid him to do it. But it was
Warwick’s idea.”
“What’s
the connection with Warwick? How did he know Wilson and your brother, Nico?”
“They
all met through Meeks. They shared common interests, mainly abusing women.”
“Satan
appears in many unassuming forms. That message was left in Meeks’ office.”
“Warwick’s
touch, not mine. He has a way with words. He asked me to pass it along to Todd
when he did the job. He wanted to put a scare into the police, into that
private detective that’s been trying to link that damn tape to my brother.”
“Speaking
of Richie Carter, you know who hired Dolph Hendricks to try and kill us?”
“I
hired Dolph to do what Mac Wilson failed to do and kill Richie Carter. I can’t
be responsible for you or anyone else who gets in the way.”
“Fair
enough. Now tell me who else was on that tape.”
“You
already know the answer to that.”
“Warwick?”
“Give
the man a prize.”
“That
doesn’t explain who was holding the camera.”
“Now
that, I can’t tell you.”
“I’m
afraid there’s only one alternative,” Garton said, waving his gun.
Dominic
looked away from Garton. He didn’t want to give it away, but he had an ace up
his sleeve. He was packing heat too.
Dominic
slipped the pistol from his robe and fired two shots. The bullets were embedded
in the wall behind Garton, missing him by mere inches.
Before
Garton could return fire, Dominic was scrambling for the front door. By the
time Garton caught up to him, Dominic was peeling out of the driveway in his
shiny Mercedes.
“Son
of a bitch,” Garton muttered. “I better get to Warwick before he does.”
To
Be Continued