The Red Mohawk, Page 2

  There was a knock at the door. Baby paused the movie because she didn’t want an interruption ruining the dance sequence at the end, and she loved to hear every second of Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes singing Time of My Life. She rolled off her bed and walked over to the door. Before she even reached it, the handle turned and it opened. Chardonnay poked her head around the door.

  ‘Hi Baby. Whatcha doin’?’

  ‘Just watching a film.’

  Chardonnay had her long brown hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head. She was naturally beautiful and had the most divine olive coloured skin. She stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. ‘Have you seen the news?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Why?’

  Chardonnay was one of the few girls who loved her job at The Beaver Palace. Unlike Baby she had no aspirations to ever leave. She loved the work and she loved living in B Movie Hell. She grabbed the remote control from Baby’s bed and pointed it at the television. She was about to press a button when she spotted Patrick Swayze on screen.

  ‘You watching Dirty Dancing again?’ she asked.

  ‘There was nothing else on,’ Baby lied.

  Chardonnay smiled at her and jumped back on the bed, propping herself up against baby’s headboard. Baby jumped back onto the bed and snuggled up alongside her. Both of them were wearing their pyjamas. Baby compared her flannel Tweetie Pie pyjamas to Chardonnay’s silky leopard print ones. Chardonnay was so much more grown-up and sophisticated.

  ‘You know you should try watching Coyote Ugly some time. It’s just as good,’ said Chardonnay.

  ‘Nobody’s better than Johnny,’ said Baby.

  Chardonnay shook her head and grinned. ‘But Patrick Swayze’s dead now. Adam Garcia from Coyote Ugly, he’s still alive. And he’s still hot.’

  ‘Well then you can have him. I’ll stay with Johnny.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Chardonnay, flicking through the channels on the remote. ‘But if Adam Garcia shows up here one day, I’m holding you to that.’

  Baby was slightly irritated by Chardonnay’s channel flicking. The Dirty Dancing DVD was paused so she wouldn’t be missing anything, but even so, she hadn’t given her co-worker permission to channel flick. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘The news. Wait, here it is. Look!’

  Baby took a look at the television screen. She was only afforded a small portable television in her room but even on the tiny screen, she recognised a face on the display behind the newsreader. ‘Is that Pete Neville?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Chardonnay. ‘Someone’s murdered him.’

  Baby put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. What happened? Pete was a real nice guy.’

  ‘They aren’t saying too much at the moment but Sophie said she heard he had his head cut off by a masked madman.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Seriously. The news haven’t mentioned the decapitation bit yet but they did say the killer wore a mask.’

  ‘Have they caught him yet?’

  ‘No,’ said Chardonnay turning to Baby with a fake look of horror on her face. ‘Just think, he could be coming here. Who knows whose head he’ll cut off next?’

  Baby gave her a playful shove. ‘Don’t joke about things like that!’

  ‘It’s exciting though isn’t it?’ said Chardonnay. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever had a serial killer in B Movie Hell before.’

  ‘I don’t want one now either. I won’t be able to sleep now you’ve told me about this.’

  ‘Doctor Bob had the right idea,’ said Chardonnay.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He left town on vacation this morning. He’s gone to Fiji for two weeks.’

  ‘Really? So who’s giving out pills and stuff now?’

  ‘Clarisse I guess.’

  Baby was pleased to hear that Doctor Bob wasn’t around, but she hid her feelings from Chardonnay. ‘Oh. Scary isn’t it? There’s a killer on the loose and our doctor has gone to Fiji.’

  Chardonnay giggled. ‘It won’t make much difference. If you get your head cut off, Doctor Bob wouldn’t be able to sew it back on anyway.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s horrible. You shouldn’t even joke about stuff like that.’

  ‘No one’s listening.’

  ‘Maybe not, but joking about it is tempting fate.’

  Chardonnay giggled. ‘You scare far too easy. If you want I could stay in here with you tonight?’

  There was something about the way Chardonnay said it that suggested she was keen to stay with Baby. And the fact she was wearing her pyjamas and already pulling the duvet back hinted strongly at a desire to stay. Baby didn’t mind. It made sense that nobody would want to be on their own knowing that a masked murderer was in town. In fact, the more Baby thought about it, the more grateful she was to have some company.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But you gotta watch the end of Dirty Dancing with me.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Chardonnay. ‘But when it’s finished we’re watching Coyote Ugly. I need to introduce you to this film.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘You’ll like it. It’s about a girl who runs off to start a new life in New York. She gets a job in a bar and falls in love with this really cute guy.’

  ‘I’d love to go to New York.’

  ‘Well tonight Baby, we’re going with Adam Garcia,’ said Chardonnay jumping up from the bed and heading for the door to go fetch the Coyote Ugly DVD. As she opened the door she added, ‘unless that masked killer comes and gets us first!’

  Baby smiled politely. She didn’t care about the masked killer that much. She was much more interested in the news that Doctor Bob, The Beaver Palace’s in-house doctor, was out of town.

  Three

  The phone seemed to have been ringing for hours. Jack Munson had incorporated the ringing noise seamlessly into his dream. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw on his bedside table was a half empty bottle of navy rum. His cell phone was next to it, its stupidly loud old-fashioned ringing tone blaring out. He reached over and grabbed it, lifting his head from his pillow, immediately feeling the full effects of the previous nights alcohol intake.

  ‘Yeah,’ he mumbled, blinking his eyes to try and wake himself up a bit more.

  ‘Hi Jack. Please tell me you’re not hung over.’

  ‘I’m not hung over.’

  ‘Good, because I need you to come in to the office. I’ve got something for you. Something big.’

  Jack rubbed his forehead and tried to estimate how much extra sleep he could get away with. ‘Okay, give me a couple of hours.’

  The voice on the other end hesitated a moment before replying with a sense of urgency. ‘Jack, I need you right now.’

  ‘Okay. Give me an hour.’

  ‘I can give you thirty minutes. Call me back on this number when you arrive.’

  The line went dead. Jack let his head fall back onto the pillow. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbled to himself.

  He closed his eyes and made a feeble attempt to grab an extra thirty seconds of sleep, knowing that even if he were able to, it wouldn’t be a good idea. The voice on the other end of the line had been his old boss Devon Pincent. Pincent hadn’t called him in over a year. He hadn’t worked in almost three. If Pincent had a job for him now, then it was going to be something extremely important.

  Something serious.

  He sat bolt upright, his head dizzying momentarily. Then the training kicked in. The “old school” reactions came back instinctively. He rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. He needed to shower and brush his teeth at the very least. That would leave him twenty-five minutes to get dressed, jump in the car and race down to headquarters to meet Pincent.

  He turned the shower control valve to unmercifully hot and scrubbed hard in an effort to wake himself up. It worked. He began to slowly feel more awake. He hadn’t had to do this in a long time. For the last few years when he woke up with a hangover he did everything at a leisurely pace. But the years of trainin
g in the Special Forces came back quickly. When he needed to be sharp and alert his body and mind had an incredible capacity to perform under any duress. And a hangover didn’t really count as any kind of duress. His mind began to focus on all the things he would need to take with him. His gun, his passport, some fake id’s, and his security pass to get into the building, as long as it hadn’t been revoked. He had been assured that it wouldn’t be without his knowledge.

  While brushing his teeth, he began to mull over the possible reasons why Pincent had called him. Three years ago the unit had told him his services were no longer required. He was a dinosaur they’d said. Stuck in the past. His methods no longer appropriate. And then there was his drinking. That had become a problem. As he’d gotten older he’d found it harder to cope with all the things he’d seen and done as a young man. Done for his country and for the greater good. One thing in particular had haunted him for the longest time. He had made a mistake that could never be undone. A mistake that replayed over and over his mind like a broken record. Only alcohol could ease the pain and make him forget, even if it was just for a few hours.

  When the department had placed him on indefinite leave his drinking and his attitude had been listed as factors. He knew his judgement was off, the drinking had seen to that, and if he was honest, his attitude hadn’t been great either. But that wasn’t all. Times had changed. Technology had changed. Muscle wasn’t required any more. Not his kind anyway. Modern investigative work required more technically minded people. Younger people. Honest people who didn’t cover up their mistakes. Or drink to forget them.

  He trawled through his old work clothes in his wardrobe and picked out a pair of grey trousers and a black shirt. Neither of them fitted quite as well as they used to. He was a touch heavier around the waist and the chest. Where once there had been solid muscle, there was now what he called “slightly softer muscle”. In his more self-aware moments, he guessed others would call it flab. The top button on his shirt wouldn’t do up, so he decided to leave it undone and go without a tie. He slung on a loose fitting brown suede jacket and took a quick look at himself in the mirror. He had become a washed up older version of himself. He looked like shit.

  In his younger days Munson had almost always been in a relationship. And the thing he missed most now that he was old and single, was having a woman make him breakfast in the morning. These days all he had for company was his rum, and rum wasn’t a good cook. Polishing off a bottle of the stuff the night before didn’t help put him in the mood for cooking his own breakfast either.

  As he slipped his watch onto his wrist he realised he didn’t even have time to make himself a coffee. Instead he took a large swig of rum from the bottle on his bedside table. It might just be the last chance he would get to take a drink all day, so it was now or never. Damn, that stuff tasted good in the morning. He was about to put it back when he found himself wondering if he’d get a chance to buy any more later. Probably not.

  He screwed the lid back on and slipped the bottle into the inside pocket of his suede jacket.

  Better safe than sorry.

  As he was making his way down to the parking lot beneath his apartment block he still hadn’t figured out why he had been suddenly called up out of the blue. His brain hadn’t quite shaken off the feeling that there was a layer of cotton wool on it, stifling it from connecting the dots. The rum hadn’t provided any inspiration either.

  He started the engine on his black Lotus Esprit and drove out into the backstreet behind his apartment. Maybe it was the sunlight that did it, but suddenly his mind cleared completely. It occurred to him that Pincent had said, “I need you”. Not we, not the unit, not Your Country. Nope.

  I need you.

  That could mean this was something unofficial, something for an outsider, someone who could be trusted. Maybe he was needed to track down a mole in the department? Or maybe something he and Pincent had done together years ago had come back to haunt them? He hoped that was not the case.

  They had done at least a hundred “off the record” jobs between them in the good old days. In these modern times of full disclosure there was every chance they could go to prison for just about any operation they had carried out in the past. Pincent had overseen or authorised most of them. Jack had been his secret right hand man. In the old days he had been known as The Ghost because no one ever saw him in the flesh. Jack Munson was the most secret agent of them all.

  In the old days.

  Four

  The drive across the city to get to headquarters had gone by in a blur of beeping horns and stop signs. Munson ignored them all. That was one of the curious oddities about drinking rum for breakfast. The rum brought out his innate ability to drive from one place to another without any concentration or awareness of his surroundings. And yet every time without fail, he ended up exactly where he wanted to be, and usually with a few minutes to spare. On this occasion he had actually arrived at his destination about twenty minutes late, but he put that down to the ridiculous timeline set for him by Pincent.

  A security guard had been waiting for him outside the building and led him through the reception area to the elevators. The place hadn’t changed much.

  When the doors opened on the eighth floor, the first thing he saw was Pincent’s face. His old colleague was standing directly in front of the doors waiting for him. He looked run down, his features all craggy and weathered from the stress of the job. His hairline had receded an extra inch too. He still had a fairly decent clump of grey hair on his head, but these days his forehead went a lot higher.

  ‘Is it taking you a lot longer to wash your face in the mornings?’ Munson blurted out, courtesy of the rum.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re receding a bit.’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘No,’ Munson said defensively, before adding, ‘I just didn’t have time for breakfast. I had a few drinks last night and my stomach’s a little unsettled. Some breakfast should sort me out. Any chance someone could rustle me up a bacon sandwich?’

  Pincent didn’t even crack a smile. His sense of humour seemed to have deserted him. Another noticeable change in him was his clothing. He was better dressed than Munson had ever seen him before. He wore an expensive charcoal grey suit with a smart white shirt and a dark blue tie. One thing about him hadn’t changed though. His expression gave away nothing. That was one of the great things about Pincent. His poker face.

  ‘This way,’ said Pincent. Without waiting for a response he turned and headed down a long corridor. Munson followed him all the way into a meeting room at the far end.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Pincent, closing the door behind them as Munson stepped inside the room.

  Inside was a long marble meeting table with six black leather seats running along either side and one further seat at the end. Sitting in one of the seats on the far side of the table was a smartly dressed, tanned lady of Latin descent.

  ‘Hi,’ said Munson. ‘I can tell just by looking at you, you’re from either Jacksonville or Baltimore. I’ve got a good eye for these things. Picked it up in the field of duty. So which is it? Baltimore isn’t it?’

  ‘Close,’ the woman replied. ‘I’m from Verona.’

  ‘Don’t let him fool you,’ Pincent butted in. ‘He’s just warming up. Jack’s always cranky and a bit off his game when he hasn’t had anything to eat.’ He nudged Munson. ‘Jack this is Milena Fonseca.’

  Fonseca was wearing a black figure-hugging suit with a black blouse and had her dark hair scraped back into a ponytail. Munson took a silent guess that she was a field agent in her early thirties (and maybe secretly wished she was a cat burglar). She had chiselled features, high cheekbones and big brown eyes. He liked her right away, solely because of the eyes. Munson was a sucker for brown eyes.

  Fonseca didn’t get up from her seat. ‘Nice to meet you Jack,’ she said outstretching a hand. He took her hand and shook it firmly but briefly as he sat down. Pincent pulled out another
chair and sat down next to Munson.

  ‘Milena’s fully briefed and will bring you up to speed with all our intel when you leave.’

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘You’re both going to a place called B Movie Hell. Before that though, you’ll be making a stop off at an asylum first.’

  ‘B Movie what?’

  ‘Hell.’

  Munson frowned. For a minute there he thought maybe he’d had too much rum, but Pincent had confirmed it. He’d said B Movie Hell. ‘What’s B Movie Hell when it’s at home?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a hick town in the middle of nowhere. Used to be called Sherwood County.’

  ‘A perfectly good name.’

  ‘Indeed. About twenty years ago a rich benefactor named Silvio Mellencamp moved in there. He used to work in the film industry. When he moved to Sherwood he changed the name of the town to B Movie Hell.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could change the name of a town when you moved there. Have I been missing out on something?’