Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

Bryan made more beer-bottle circles. “He’s thirteen. He’s an outcast. Maybe he gets recruited by Marie’s Children. Maybe he makes some kind of deal with them to kill his enemies. That’s plausible, but it doesn’t explain my dreams. More important, it doesn’t explain why anyone would cover this up. The body count is up to three.”

“Four,” Pookie said. “Oscar Woody, Jay Parlar, Birdman and don’t forget Rex’s mom.”

“Right, four,” Bryan said. “Why would Zou and Robertson let this happen? If Marie’s Children are behind the killings … maybe Zou is part of the cult?”

That same thought had been rattling around the back of Pookie’s mind. It seemed that Zou had to be involved, somehow, but to think that the city’s top cop was part of some wacko witches’ coven? The idea shook Pookie’s beliefs to the core.

“She’s been a cop for thirty years, Bryan. How would she have got hooked up with them?”

“Maybe on the Golden Gate Slasher case, she found something. Or maybe something found her. Look at her career. She started out on patrol, she works a case with the symbols, winds up as an inspector” — Bryan snapped his fingers — “just like that.”

Pookie nodded, trying to work through the possibilities. “Yeah, okay, so maybe she’s a shit-kicking rookie who gets a break on the Golden Gate Slasher case. That case brings her into contact with the occult freaks behind the killings, assuming that the John Doe didn’t act alone. Marie’s Children recruit her, or indoctrinate her, or make her wear a fez hat like those Shriners, whatever, and bam — they have someone on the inside of the SFPD.”

Bryan slow-motion-slid his bottle from his left hand to his right, then back again. “Doesn’t get more inside than the chief of police. Someone with a lot of power gets control of Zou, then moves her up the ranks until she controls what cops get assigned to murder cases.”

“Maybe,” Pookie said. “But it still doesn’t add up. We think Verde is in on this with her. Birdman was Verde’s partner, so wouldn’t that mean Birdman was in on it as well? Why send Verde and the Birdman somewhere they could get killed? And the BOLO out on Rex is no joke — every cop in the city is looking for that kid. If he’s in Marie’s Children, and Zou is in Marie’s Children, why wouldn’t she pull the BOLO?”

The connections just weren’t there. On top of that, it didn’t jibe with Pookie’s instincts.

“Chief Zou has been a superstar cop for thirty frickin’ years, Bri-Bri. She’s done every job, from patrol to inspector to administration. She’s been shot twice in the line of duty. She’s won every award the department has to offer. And we’re thinking she’d take money to cover up for serial killers? I can’t buy it.”

“Might not be money,” Bryan said. “Blackmail, maybe.”

Pookie’s cell phone buzzed: a text. He pulled out the phone and read it. It was from Susie Panos.

SUSIE PANOS: ALEX IS HOME. HURRY!

He showed the text to Bryan.

Both men slid off their stools and ran for the door, leaving their beer and the giant statue of Bigfoot behind.

Night had fallen. Under a small tree just inside Sharp Place at the corner of Union Street, Rex and Marco waited. Waited and watched. They each had a blanket. Not the warm kind, either — Rex’s blanket was already soaked. It stank. Marco said that was important, the stinky part. It made sure people kept on walking.

The blankets were more complicated than Rex had thought. They were heavy because they were actually four blankets sewn together at one edge. Like the pages of a book, you could flip them so that a different color faced out: dark gray, brick-red, black and dark green. All the colors had lots of stains. The blankets also had hidden pockets. Marco kept his hatchet in one, safely out of sight.

On the way to this spot, Marco had stopped to show Rex how the blankets worked. When Marco picked the right color and slid into a shadowy area, then sat perfectly still, he all but disappeared.

Marco had also shown Rex how to wrap the blanket around his head, almost like a hood. Rex could see out, but for someone to see in they’d have to get real close.

Rex was cold, wet, shivering, and he’d never felt this amazing. The cold, the wet, those things didn’t matter — he was waiting, he was watching.

He was hunting .

“Do I get to meet Sly tonight?”

“Probably,” Marco said. “He’ll call when he comes out. He’ll be very happy to know I have you.”

“Why don’t you just call him?”

“No cell-phone reception at home,” Marco said. “Just wait, my king — Sly will call.”

Rex kept looking up at the window across the street.

“Sixth floor, you said?”

Marco nodded. “I followed Alex here myself a few days ago. He likes to hang out on the fire escape, so I know which apartment is his.”

The fire escape ran up the face of the ten-story building. A row of bay windows rose up on either side, close enough to the fire escape that someone could step out of them right onto the small, metal landings.

Alex could be in that building. Rex was so close .

“What is Sucka going to do?”

“Kill him,” Marco said. “Sucka has been waiting for his chance. Pierre got to kill the first one. I helped, but Pierre got him. Chomper and Dragonbreath got the second.”

Chomper? Dragonbreath? Such cool names. Sucka was also a cool name, but Rex didn’t want him to kill Alex unless Rex could see it happen. He wanted to watch Alex suffer. He needed to hear Alex beg .

“Marco, tell Sucka to bring Alex out here.”

The bearded man’s eyes widened. “My king, we can’t bring him out here! It’s too early, people are around, we’d be spotted!”

“Then take me inside. I need to see that bully die.”

Marco shook his head. He looked pained, like he might cry at any moment. “You’re my king and I’m supposed to obey, but I gotta keep you safe! We can’t go in. Please just stay here and let Sucka do it for you.”

If Rex was the king , then people had to do what he said. He’d spent his whole life being told what to do — now he would do the telling.

“I said I want to see it . Tell Sucka not to kill Alex until I get there.”

Marco just stared. He didn’t seem to know what to do. After a few seconds, his blanket slid aside a little. His hand came up with a cell phone.

“We get these at CVS,” Marco said. “Or Walgreens. Just buy them and turn them on. It was Sly’s idea, ’cause they can’t trace them back to us or nothing.”

He started to dial, then stopped. “My king, what about other people in the apartment? What if the boy’s mother is home?”

Rex thought about that. He closed his eyes and remembered the leather belt tightening around Roberta’s neck, how she had struggled and scratched.

His dick started to stiffen.

“He can kill the mother,” Rex said. “And he can kill Issac if he has to, I guess, but you tell Sucka not to kill Alex until we come up there. I … uh … I command that, or whatever.”

Marco dialed.

Rex tried to sit still. He waited.

“No fucking way, Mom,” Alex said. “Issac and me ain’t going to the cops!”

She was crying. The bitch was always crying.

Alex packed clean clothes into a duffel bag. Issac looked through Alex’s dresser, searching for dry clothes that wouldn’t look all baggy on his smaller frame.

His mom was doing that thing with the tissue paper again, wadding it up and pulling little bits out of the ball.