Hi all,
Happy holidays everyone. :) A little more of the story to carry you through a cold winter.
Enjoy!
psyche b.
18. Investigation
Kelly's mind spun in a thousand different directions. Memories, questions, fears and suppositions clanged against each other to create a painful din inside her head. She watched Conlon walk away from her as she tried to get through the internal storm. She kept telling herself that this was not the time to get lost in the past.
Kelly forced herself to focus on Conlon. He appeared to be mostly listening, but he gave short, one or two word answers. He seemed to be agreeing with almost everything that Victor said. Tension had crept into his stance and the detachment was back in his face. Kelly forced herself to get up and cross the room. He turned quickly. A wary look flickered across his face.
"Can I talk to him?" A soft quiver invaded her voice.
Conlon turned away to relay the message. He turned back and answered her with a simple shake of his head. She started cleaning up. Doing something would keep her hands busy. It would make it easier to combat the fear that was rising in her chest. She forced herself to go numb to that and the too-hot water she plunged her hands into. Somewhere behind her, she heard Conlon end the call.
"He'll-"
"He thinks I lied to him." Her tone was flat.
"I don't know for sure, but I don't think so." Conlon brought the last of the dishes to the sink. "He said he'll call you later tonight."
"So he can figure out what to say." She kept her eyes on the sink.
Conlon forced a short laugh and picked up the dishtowel. "Mr. Creed doesn't strike me as the type who has a hard time saying what's on his mind. He was in the middle of something when I called though. I'm sure that's the only reason."
Logically, she knew Conlon was probably right. She just couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ever step in what you thought was mud, John-Boy?" Creed put the phone back on his belt. The bitch was half-way in shock, a red-brown river of blood trickled from her ear to soak the collar of her shirt. The senator was still conscious and from the look in his eyes, the bastard was pissed. He paced circles around the pair. "You don't do it on purpose but you get talking or thinking or some shit like that and you don't see it 'til you're about to put your foot in it. Then you think to yourself
'Fuck, I shoulda been paying attention.'
So your foot goes down and as soon as it does you realize it ain't mud after all, it's a knee-deep puddle of putrid liquid shit and you end up falling in face first. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened to me, but every single time it pisses me off just a little more."
He stopped and leaned in close. The defiance retreated from the senator's eyes as Creed advanced, terror bloomed there instead. The stink of it rolled out of his pores in thick waves. "Lemme tell you what else pisses me off. It ain't just me that went shit-diving this time. This time I realized that what's mine has been teetering on the edge of that shithole too and
that
, John-Boy, is what sends me right over the fuckin' edge."
He stood up and glanced over at the corpulent woman. He gave a mean little smirk. "Guess seeing her suffer ain't exactly the same thing, is it? Should've gotten that cute little assistant of yours in here. The one with the big tits and nice ass. She do anything else besides suck cock? Well I guess you'd want her pussy and probably her asshole too, but I mean is she anything but your whore?"
The gag muffled the senator's exclamation. Creed could smell anger mixing with the fear again.
"Awww, what's wrong? Thought nobody knew you were fucking her?" Creed chuckled. Shattering ice struck a warmer note. "How come you government types always think nobody knows what you're doing? I'll tell you one more thing John-Boy, the guy who paid me is gonna get his money's worth today." Creed's fist came down hard and fast on the senator's upturned face, shattering the orbit of his right eye. The bound man screamed into the gag.
Creed gave a derisive snort. "Fuckin' pussy." He brought his fist down again.
*~*~*~*~*~*
For Creed, the next few hours passed in a blur of memory, supposition, muffled screaming and blood. It wasn't his most creative work. Creed didn't really give a shit about the old bastard or his fat wife. They were just a job, but they did provide convenient targets to let out the hottest flashes of his rage against Stan. Dripping blood and shattering bones brought his temper back to a slow smolder. By the time he started staging the scene to look like a home invasion gone to shit, he was working on what was really going on.
Course none of it made a goddamn bit of sense right from the beginning. It would have shocked the hell out of him if this part of it was any different.
Creed figured he had probably worked for just about every reasonably sophisticated criminal organization in the country at one time or another. Each one had its own unique culture that tended to shift with time and changes in leadership. Some included anyone who could bring in money, kick ass or both. Some thought mutants were an oppressed group, so that's all they accepted. Sometimes that was true, sometimes it was cry-ass bullshit. He knew from experience that it could be seductive bullshit, but it was still just bullshit.
No matter what their structure though, most organizations needed to hire outside talent at some point and that was where he came in. Creed didn't give a shit about what each one subscribed to, or what they specialized in as long as the money appeared in his account on time.
Paul Cavallo used in-house talent exclusively. Impressive, but it made Paulie C something of an unknown quantity. He knew what he saw on the news, and for the most part that was all amateurish bullshit. None of it would have given Paulie C the reach he was reputed to have. None of it would have engendered the kind of hatred the other bosses had for him either. Creed didn't like variables and he sure as hell didn't like guessing what he was dealing with. He had a short list of people to ask. Before he could do any of that, he had to finish this up.
He did a final walk-though of the house. Dead maid in the kitchen, wilted green beans scattered over the carcass. Nine private security agents stacked up in a twisted pile of arms and legs in the laundry room, picked off when Creed arrived and when shifts changed. All ten shot twice in the chest, once in the back of the head after they went down. Just to make sure they wouldn't be getting back up. Efficient, but boring as shit. Empty electronics cabinets. Empty jewelry armoire upstairs. Old man and bitch lay in thick rusty puddles on the beige carpet. Suitably broken, suitably shocking to whoever found them.
A muted sparkle caught his eye. He cocked his head, went over and tugged at the diamond on the bitch's ring finger. When it didn't come off, he took the whole finger. He dropped the flesh and bone into an empty ashtray and stuck the jewelry into his pocket. Ring was probably worth ten thousand dollars and it was fucking ugly. He wondered absently which one of them had such god-awful taste.
Creed stopped in the study. He'd saved it for last, certain that what he was really after had to be in there somewhere.
There were a few decent paintings, but the artists were obscure enough that assholes interested in electronics and jewelry probably wouldn't recognize them. He left them on the walls. He kept scanning the room. The large desk caught his eye. It was easily the best piece in the house. Substantial. Understated with a nice deep polish. The center drawer was the perfect place to keep the combination to a wall safe. He pulled it out, expecting it to come out in his hands. Instead it stopped less than halfway. He sat down and felt around underneath until he found a box taped to the underside. He pulled it off and found a computer hard drive in a plastic bag.
He chuckled. Safe would have been too obvious. He tugged the drawer all the way out and dumped the contents. He found the combination written on a slip of paper taped to the underside, exactly as he expected in the first place. He knocked a few of the paintings askew until he found the wall safe. He opened it and found cash and some legal papers. He left the papers where they were. Cash was always useful. He added the four thick bundles to the collection of odds and ends in his pockets.
When he got back to the van, he checked the hard drive. Six files, all containing data. Just like he'd been told. He didn't give a shit about what was in those six files, just as long as they were there. Whatever factions were operating in the world were going to do their thing with or without him. The best he could do for himself and his frail was to figure out how to use them for his own purposes and stay out of the middle otherwise. He dialed the cell number he'd been given. "Got it."
"I'll be waiting."
Creed ended the call and started down the long access road. In forty minutes, the hard drive would be out of his hands, so would the rest of the shit. The cash was a little bonus for all his hard work.
