Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

PARKMEYER LIED ABOUT THE ARROW. I TALKED TO RAMON JOHNSON. HE’S DEAD NOW DICKER PRICKER OF NATURAL CAUSES, BUT I TRACKED HIM DOWN AND INTERVIEWED HIM BEFORE HE DIED. HE SAID HE SAW AN ARROW IN THE KILLER’S BACK. HE SAID THE KILLER DREW THE SYMBOL IN THE DIRT EVEN AS HE WAS DYING.

Biz-Nass took the scrapbook and flipped to another page. He handed it over.

Bryan noticed the dateline — May 5, 1969. The headline read, WAH CHING MASSACRE. Below the headline, a faded, yellowed, black-and-white photo showed three dead men covered in black-spotted white sheets.

The black was blood, and there was a lot of it.

On a wall behind the bodies, slightly out of focus, Bryan again saw it — the circle and triangle symbol from the Oscar Woody murder, the symbol from the Jay Parlar murder, the symbol from his dreams.

What the hell was he supposed to make of this?

Biz-Nass took the scrapbook, closed it and put it back on the shelf. He walked back to his throne and sat. I’VE GIVEN YOU INFORMATION. I’M DONE.

“We need more,” Bryan said. “We need more .”

Biz-Nass shook his head. I CAN’T. I GAVE YOU MORE SHITTYBALLS! THAN YOU FUCKLESNIFF! HAD BEFORE.

The man had given great info, but now the fear was back in his eyes. What was he afraid of? Bryan looked to Pookie.

“Biz, baby, this is great,” Pookie said. “You gave us a lot, and we thank you.”

Biz-Nass nodded.

“Give us one more thing,” Pookie said. “This thing I ask for, it’s like nothing. You researched this, so I’m betting you know what these symbols mean.”

Biz-Nass thought for a moment, then leaned forward and looked closely at the photos on his table. He used his right index finger to trace parts of the symbol as he talked.

He started with the slashed curve that was part of both drawings.

MMMM THIS IS A SYMBOL FOR THE SAN FRANCISCO BAY. THE TWO LINES REPRESENT THE ENTRANCE TO THE OCEAN BETWEEN THE TWO PENINSULAS .

He pointed to the symbol that showed a lightning bolt going through a circle, with the two half-circles on either side.

THE CENTER CIRCLE REPRESENTS THE EGG FROM WHICH THE WITCHES WERE SPAWNED—

[ one womb ] flashed through Bryan’s mind

—THE HALF-CIRCLES USED TO BE ARMS REACHING OUT TO PROTECT THE EGG. SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE THEY WERE SIMPLIFIED. THE JAGGED LINE REPRESENTS HUMAN BLOOD. THIS IS THE SYMBOL OF MARIE’S CHILDREN.

Bryan leaned in. “So, the symbol at the site of the murders means Marie’s Children killed the boys?”

THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT IT MEANS.

“I don’t get it,” Pookie said. “The boys were in a minor gang. Why would Marie’s Children go after them?”

Mr. Biz-Nass shrugged.

“We think the killers might be wearing masks,” Pookie said. “Costumes and the like. That ring any bells?”

STORY GOES THAT MARIE’S CHILDREN DRESSED UP TO LOOK LIKE MONSTERS, TO TERRIFY VICTIMS BEFORE KILLING THEM.

“I knew it,” Pookie said. “Hear that, Bryan?”

Bryan said nothing. Costumes could explain what he’d seen in his dream, what Tiffany Hine had seen, but could it explain what Robin had found?

Pookie picked up the photo of the lightning-bolt symbol. “Biz, you sure this is the work of Marie’s Children? Could someone be faking it?”

MOST CERTAINLY. OR MAYBE SOMEONE THINKS SHITTYBALLS! THEY ARE MARIE’S CHILDREN.

Bryan touched the picture of the triangle symbol, the one that scared him so bad it was like touching a blow-up photo of a spider that might come alive and bite you. He pushed it toward Biz-Nass. “And what about this one?”

MMM FIRST RECORDED INSTANCE IN 1892. CIRCLE REPRESENTS AN EGG, BUT ALSO REPRESENTS THE EYE OF A HUNTER. THE UNFINISHED TRIANGLE IS A SYMBOL OF PROTECTION AGAINST THE DEMONS THAT HUNT MARIE’S CHILDREN .

“Demons?” Pookie said.

THE SAVIORS. IT IS A SYMBOL OF PROTECTION AGAINST THE SAVIORS.

Bryan remembered the fear from his dreams, could feel it even at that moment, a cold fist below his heart. “How about that. The killers have a boogeyman all their own.”

I HELPED YOU. NOW LEAVE.

Bryan started to ask for more, but before he could Pookie shook hands with the fortune-teller.

“Biz-baby, you’re a good man,” Pookie said. “If we have more questions later?”

Biz hesitated, then reached into his jacket and handed Pookie a business card. There was nothing on the card but a number.

THAT IS A PREPAID PHONE. NOT TRACEABLE TO ME.

“A prepaid phone?” Bryan said. “What are you, a drug dealer?”

IT’S MY BOOTY-CALL PHONE. A LOT OF LONELY HOUSEWIVES COME TO GET THEIR FORTUNES READ, IF YOU YOU’RE A PRICKER-DICKER-FUCKER-SUCKER KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Pookie nodded respectfully. “A playa’s gotta play, Biz, a playa’s gotta play. Thanks again. We’ll be in touch. Bryan, let’s go.”

Pookie quickly walked to the door and held it open. Bryan hesitated, staring at this charlatan who had surprised him with real information. He knew that Biz had more to share, but maybe Pookie was right — maybe this was all they could get for now.

Bryan walked out the door and headed down the stairs to Columbus Avenue.

Bryan watched Pookie slide a fork into his second piece of yellow Sacripantina cake. He put the fork in his mouth, then hummed as he chewed.

“This is so good,” he said. “It’s like a Twinkie on steroids. Sure you don’t want a piece?”

Bryan still regretted the kielbasa that sat like a sour brick in his stomach. He could smell the sugar, the flour, even the lemon flavoring in Pookie’s cake. One bite of that and his swirling stomach would rebel. He shook his head. “I’m tripping, Pooks. Our best lead, and what do we have to work with? I mean, a witches’ coven? Mob hit men? A hundred-year cover-up of some kind? Come on.”

“Why not? There’s a reason Oscar and Jay were killed. Some kind of occult connection is as good a lead as anything else. I’ll start digging into the Golden Gate Slasher case. And by I’ll start digging , I mean I’ll get Black Mister Burns to do it for me.”

“Do you ever do your own detective work?”

“Yes,” Pookie said. “I can detect cock-knockers. Wait … I detect one sitting across the table from me now. Sure you don’t want some cake?”

“No,” Bryan said. “I don’t want cake. I want to find out what’s going on.”

Pookie nodded slowly. “We’ll get this figured out, Bryan. The dream thing doesn’t make any sense, and I know that’s messing with you, but I need you to try and relax so your brain works right.”

“I don’t want to relax.”

“Come on, trust Doctor Chang. Did you feel better after seeing your dad?”

Yeah, I actually felt sane again .

“No,” Bryan said. “I didn’t.”

“L-L-W-T-L. Look, man, if there’s a cover-up, and the chief of frickin’ police is involved, then you know we need to move carefully. Patience, Daniel-san.”

Patience? Easy for Pookie to say. And yet patience was exactly what they needed — Bryan was a hunter. If he lost his shit now, he might spook the prey.

Someone was responsible for all of this.

Bryan wouldn’t rest until he found out who that was.

Hector’s Revenge

Aggie James picked up the Tupperware container that had been tossed his way. It hurt to do even that. His body ached. He needed a hit. Something. Anything. Drying out sucked.

He opened the container and smelled it. His trembling stomach rejoiced at the scent of the brown stew filled with carrots, potatoes and thick chunks of some stringy meat.