Superbia (Book One of the Superbia Series) (12 page)

The warehouse was
filled with hundreds of folding tables stacked on top of one another.
 
“I thought this was an FBI operation,” Frank
said.
 
“What’s with the Philly cops?”

“It’s a
taskforce.
 
They take guys from all
over.
 
There’s only a handful of Feebs,
but they fund it, so they run it.”

“Feebs?”

“It’s a term of
affection,” Vic said.
 
He came to a room
in the back and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.
 
“Is this where the 4-H club is meeting?”

Several voices
greeted him, and Vic waved for Frank to come inside.
 
There were a half-dozen cops inside the room,
dressed in baseball caps and t-shirts.
 
There was one man in a suit.
 
He
immediately looked Frank over and said, “Who’s the new guy?”

“This is Frank O’Ryan,”
Vic said.
 
“He’s the hero who shot the
mope that killed one of our guys.
 
Frank
took a round in the leg and he’s working with me while he recovers.
 
Hopefully longer.”

The rest of the
men nodded and murmured their approval.
 
One of the cops in the back said, “Where the white girl at?”

The man in the
suit’s head snapped at him.
 
His eyes
flared, but he caught himself before he spoke.
 
“Yeah,” he said, turning to Vic.
 
“How is Aprille?”
 

“Haven’t seen
her, Dez.
 
How’s your wife and kids
doing?”

For a moment, no
one in the room moved or spoke.
 
Dez
cracked a thin smile and said, “They’re good, thanks.
 
So now that we’ve made do with the
pleasantries, why don’t you tell us how you two wound up with a real life drug
dealer out there in the boonies?”
      
  

***

One of the
officers passed around flyers and said, “Here’s your boy.
 
Paris Deimos, black male, twenty-two years
old.
 
He’s got two priors for delivery of
controlled substances.”

Vic looked down
at the color photograph in his hands of a handsome dark-skinned male with
braided hair.
 
“Any weapons offenses?”

“He shot two
people when he was sixteen.
 
Did six
months for Agg Assault.”

“We suspect him
in several other homicides,” Dez said.
 

“Our boy says
he’s seen Paris shoot people down here,” Vic said.

“That just
confirms he’s a high-priority target.
 
What’s
the status of your CI?”

“What’s a CI?”
Frank said.
 

There were a few
chuckles and Vic shot a glance back at Frank with his eyes narrowed.
 
Dez held up his hand, “Easy.
 
He’s new to all this.
 
A CI is a Confidential Informant.
 
Is the local asset signed up yet?”

“No,” Vic
said.
 
“Not exactly.”

“Why?”

“I’m letting him
sweat a little.
 
We’ll get better
cooperation out of him that way.”

Dez nodded,
“Okay.
 
Just make sure you get him on
board soon.
 
We don’t want to miss this
chance.
 
Keep me posted.”

The officers got
up from their seats and Frank leaned close to Vic to whisper, “I thought Billy
wanted
to call the FBI.”

“Shut up,” Vic whispered.
 
He looked at Dez and said, “Hey, I need a
minute.”

The two men went
into the corner, talking in low tones with their backs turned to everyone
else.
 
Frank shook hands with the other
cops who introduced themselves and offered their hands as they walked past
him.
 
Frank saw Vic mouth the words
Truth Rabbit
and Dez’s eyes fixed on
Frank, suddenly interested.
 

***

Everyone filtered
out of the building toward their assorted vehicles.
 
Blacked out Chryslers with chrome rims and
beat up pickup trucks that wheezed smoke.
 
Dez locked the door behind them and held up his keys to autostart a
brand new Audi parked near the building.
 
As he walked up to Frank, he pulled out his phone and said, “Give me
your number.
 
I want us all to be able to
stay in touch.”
 
   

Frank rattled off
the digits as Dez punched them into his keypad and buzzed him back.
 
“Now you’ve got mine too,” Dez said.
 
“Give me a shout if you need anything.
 
This job is all about connections,
Frank.
 
It’s knowing who to call when you
don’t know where to turn.
 
Vic used to be
like that, but now he’s out there in the wilderness somewhere.”
 

Vic came up to
stand at his side as they both watched Dez get into his car and drive off.
 
“Promise me something,” Vic said.
 
“If he tries to sleep with you, say no.”

“Okay,” Frank
said.
 
“It shouldn’t be that hard.
 
He’s not my type.”

Vic stepped into
the street, timing the passing of a large truck, “That’s what they all
say.
 
Next thing you know, I’m losing
another partner.”

Frank hurried behind
him, “Does that mean I’m your partner now?”

“Just get in the
car.”
 
Vic reached for his keys and felt
his pocket buzz.
 
He frowned as he read
the name on the screen and held the phone up to his ear.
 
“Go ahead, Chief.
 
We’re in Philly, meeting with the FBI.
 
Yes it pertains to something in our
town.
 
I’ll explain later.”
 
He stopped talking and listened for a moment.
 
“Oh,” he said.
 
“Okay.
 
We’ll get right there.”

They pulled back
onto the highway and Vic said, “Did you ever meet Joe Hector’s step-dad, Al
Charon?”
 

“Yeah.
 
Why?”

“He’s dead.”

***

Officer Iolaus
was waiting by the apartment’s front door holding a yellow legal pad.
 
He smiled when he saw Vic and Frank coming up
the stairs.
 
“Thank God, now I can get
the hell out of here.”

A foul-tinged
whiff of air blew from under the closed door and Frank recoiled.
 
Vic put his hands on his hips, “How bad is
it?”

Iolaus shrugged
and said, “No clue.
 
I got here, saw him
swinging, and shut the door.
 
That’s why
we have you guys.”
  

“Who found him?”

“Maintenance.
 
They went in to change the batteries on the
smoke detectors and saw him hanging there and called 911.
 
The coroner’s been notified.
 
Should be here in twenty minutes.”
 
Iolaus shook his head sadly and said, “Poor
bastard.
 
Him and Heck were always
tight.
 
I guess he couldn’t take
it.”
 

Vic nudged the
door open with his elbow and looked around the apartment.
 
A countertop island separated the living room
and kitchen, stacked with colored envelopes with sympathy cards.
 
Behind the island, the body of an elderly man
hanged by a rope suspended from the ceiling.
 
“We’ve got this,” Vic said.
 

They went into
the apartment and closed the door behind them, blocking the view from passing
neighbors but sealing in the stench.
 
Frank opened all of the windows in the living room as Vic went around
the island and stopped in front of the body.
 
There was a two-by-four set above the cabinets on either side of the
kitchen with a rope tied around the wood on one end and pulled tight around Al
Charon’s neck on the other.
 
The neck had
started to stretch.
 
Lengthening under
the weight of the body to something unnaturally long and thin like taffy.
 

There was a chair
kicked over near the kitchen entrance, close to Al’s dangling feet.
 
As Frank reached down to move it, Vic said, “Don’t
touch anything.
 
Not yet.”
 
There was a handwritten letter stuck to the
refrigerator by a heart-shaped magnet, written to
Andi and the Kids
.
 
“Who’s Andi?”
  

“Heck’s wife,”
Frank said.
 
He leaned forward to read
the letter but Vic snatched it off of the fridge and crushed it between his
hands.
 
“What the hell are you doing?”

“I remember
him.
 
You selfish, stupid, son of a
bitch,” he muttered.
 
He looked around
the kitchen and cursed.
 

“Hey,” Frank
said, pulling on his shoulder.
 
“I’m lost
here.”

“Heck’s mom died less
than two years ago.
 
I remember talking
to this dickhead at her funeral and he said he hoped he died next.
 
He told me he took out a big life insurance
policy in hopes that when he passed, Heck and his family would be all
set.”
 

“So?”

“So life
insurance policies don’t cover suicides, Frank.”

“How do you
know?”

“Because I have
one and if it was covered by suicide, Danni would have made me eat a bullet
years ago to collect.”
 
The two men
looked at one another and then back at the body.
 
It swung side to side, the old man’s bare
feet two inches off the ground.
 
“He was
a widower, right?” Vic said softly.

“Yeah.”

“Stay put.”
 
He walked into the kitchen, moving carefully
around the body.
 
He looked up at the
corpse and said, “It’s for a good cause, Al.
 
I’m sure you don’t mind wherever you’re at anyway.”
 
He reached for Al’s belt and fumbled with the
buckle.
 
  

“What in the fuck
are you doing?”

“Shhh!” Vic
hissed.
 
He quickly undid the belt and
worked the button and fly on the old man’s pants.
 
“Step back and hold your breath.”

Frank covered his
face as Vic yanked down the corpse’s pants and boxer shorts, spilling a pile of
excrement and bodily fluids onto the linoleum below.
 
“This is more disgusting than the babyshit diapers,”
Frank whined.
 

Vic backed into
the corner, desperately trying to keep his shoes out of the spreading puddle of
fluids.
 
“Listen, go find me his stash.”

“What stash?
 
You think he was doing drugs?”

“Not that kind of
stash, retard, his porno stash.
 
Go find
me a magazine.”

Frank disappeared
into the back bedroom and started rooting around in the nightstand.
 
“There’s nothing here but medications and a
bible, for Christssakes!”

“Keep looking!”

“He’s an old
man.
 
He wasn’t into that stuff anymore!”

“Find me
something, Frank,” Vic said.
 
He looked
at his watch, “Hurry up before we get company.”

Frank’s voice was
muffled and there was the sound of “This is the stupidest fucking thing you’ve
ever had me do, and we’ve done some really stupid shit together, Vic.
 
I can’t find any pornography.
 
There’s nothing….wait a second.”

He came back to
the kitchen holding a balled up piece of white fabric.
 
“I think I know what you’re up to, and this
is all I could find.”
 
He unraveled the
ball to reveal an enormous pair of satin granny panties.
 
“It was in a box in the back of the
closet.
 
I’m guessing Mrs. Charon was a
big lady.”
  

Vic held out his
hand and said, “It will do.
 
Throw it to
me.”

Frank tossed the
panties across the kitchen and Vic nearly lost his balance catching them.
 
He caught himself against the refrigerator
before stepping into the wide circle of yellow fluids.
 
There was more distance between him and body
than he could reach by leaning.
 
“The
things I do for people,” he said.
 

Vic stepped lightly
into the murky water and winced, watching his brown shoes turn dark and
wet.
 
“It’s soaking through my shoes.”

Frank covered his
face and said, “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Vic lifted the
corpse’s shriveled penis and wrapped the pair of panties around it.
 
He grabbed Charon’s stiff right arm and
forced it to bend toward its crotch.
 
He
managed to get the hand to stay close enough that the panties stretched from its
penis to its curled up fingers just as there was a knock at the front door.

***

Chief Midas
looked at them in disbelief.
 
Vic was
wearing his dress shirt and tie with a pair of Al Charon’s sweatpants and
flip-flops on his feet.
 
“The Coroner
said he died jerking off?”