3. Revelation

I opted for a cup of coffee over more whiskey to ease the headache. The pot percolated near the sink, the aroma of coffee slowly filling the small office-apartment space. I sat back on the couch waiting for it to finish.

The Rat King, whoever he was, didn’t strike me as the benevolent type. I pulled the note back out of my pocket and studied it. “My show must go on,” “final act,” and “behind the curtains.” I played with these thoughts in my head and tried to figure out if there was a hidden message in there, or just his obsession with theater. 

“There will be four more before I’m finished.”

Time was running short. The Rat King could not be trusted, not even a little bit. But, like all evil, it can’t help but tell me exactly what it is he’s going to do. He can’t help himself. It’s not a performance if there’s no audience. All of his victims had been chosen specifically to fulfill that purpose, so all I needed to do was figure out his real motive. I wasn’t completely buying the Nutcracker motif, but I couldn’t cast it aside either. Much like his own staging, the motive on the surface could just as well be for theatrics just the same.

I had more of a personal relationship with Sophia than I had with any of the other victims, so I had an advantage that I hadn’t had before. What did I know about Sophia that could tell me something about where she might end up? Even if I couldn’t prevent her from dying, perhaps I could head off the drop-off and find someone directly involved. 

“Sophia won’t die tonight…” The words ran across my head like a movie reel.

I opened the vial and gave it a sniff.

Jasmine and ginger.

Son of a bitch.

4. 80 Proof

Morning light was peeking through the blinds of my apartment-office window when I decided sleep was no longer a viable option. I’d been up thinking about the case. About Jessica, Stacy, Cavalier, and now Sophia. It was hard not to think about Sophia after our unceremonious introduction, but now my already memory-overflowing mind was filling with ‘what ifs.’

I rolled the vial around in my hand, its little cork stopper whispering pleas to me to open it and drink its contents. My mind ping-ponged the thought that The Rat King was either telling the truth or lying. Either way, this was a test. He knew what he wanted me to do, and I knew I had to do it. 

Doing nothing wasn’t an option. Drinking it wasn’t an option. He knew I’d do neither. He knew my mind almost as well as I knew it myself. Having lived with it for 31 years, I’d say I had an advantage over him. He was smart, calculated. The theatrics of it all were a mask itself. Underneath the distraction of levity and familiarity he was vile, sadistic, and vicious. He wasn’t an actor in a play, he was the director. The veritable puppeteer pulling the strings attached to whomever he chose as his marionette, and I felt a tug.

I had to think different—-be different—-to cut the strings already wrapping around me. I had to get inside his mind just as much as he’d gotten into mine and turn the tables back. I needed to win. For Sophia. For Jessica. For Stacy. For Christopher. For all those left on his list, whoever they were. Justice needed to be served.

For Justice and Truth, the Courageous Stand. I could see the words etched on my grandfather’s sword hanging above our fireplace back in Yazoo, shining in the glow of a winter fire as if it were happening right now.

I leaned forward on the couch, the vial reflecting morning light between my thumb and index finger, an unlit cigarette twirling between the fingers of my other hand. “If it’s a battle you want, it’s a battle you’ll get,” I said to myself.

Mary Grace stirred in the bed behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but I wasn’t worried about her waking up. She was 120lbs soaking wet and drank at least two and a half glasses of 80 proof Kentucky soda. She was going to be down for a while, and she’ll be wishing she’d stayed down after she wakes up in a few hours.

I threw my jacket back on and pocketed the vial along with my soon-to-be smoked cigarette. I rummaged through the drawer in my desk and found a scrap piece of paper—-a rarity if there ever were one in this office. I wrote a note for Mary Grace.

MG,

I had to leave for a bit to follow up on something to help me find your sister. If your head is pounding as you read this, it’s normal. Drink plenty of water and get some salty food downstairs from Sammy. He’s a good guy, you can trust him. Tell no one you’re here or why. Lay low, keep my door locked. If you need anything, talk to Sammy. I’ll be back before night time. In case of emergency, call the number below. And always remember: Hope springs eternal where angels fear to trod.

-Mercury

P.S. don’t drink anymore whiskey

I left Delaney’s home and office number at the bottom, folded the note with her name on the flap, and left it tented next to her on the bedside table. I also decided to leave a little note for Sammy so he’d be aware.

5. Horsepower

Chicago Prime at 7:00am was my favorite time of day. The air was crisp and fresh from the morning sun after being blanketed in the shadows of night for 12 hours. Knowing where I had to go, and the hurry I found myself to be in—-as well as my strong desire not to be waylaid by Rock and Rumble—-I decided to take the car.

I parked in a little garage just around the corner from Sammy’s in an abandoned transmission shop that was once run by a Laotian man named Tran called Tran’s Trannys. After he mysteriously disappeared, the building was condemned due to an overgrowth of some bacteria of Asian origin. It was later discovered that the bacteria only thrived in the intestinal linings of Laotian’s. Explains what happened to Tran.

The building was then left alone and no business would come within a hundred yards of it—-except for Sammy’s Soda Shop, of course.

I popped the lock on the garage door and slid it open. The metal rollers and bearings voiced their complaint as I did. I knew it didn’t need a lock, but it gave me peace of mind. My car wasn’t anything special, but it was mine. It was a Ford Model A I bought near Memphis on my way up here. After selling the plantation, I was flushed with cash and had some money burning a hole in my pocket. I found it sitting in a grocery store lot with a dirty For Sale sign taped to the windshield. Bought it after the first test drive.

The sedan was made of near impenetrable iron, which, by all practical metrics, was simply impractical for a car. The guy I had bought it from had customized it to ‘prepare for the coming chrono-apocalypse.’

The tires were extra thick to support the extra air needed to keep the car from sitting flat on the rims. The cab had a black leather bench seat large enough for me, a passenger, and one small person willing to ride between us, and a large back seat. The chassis was reinforced to accommodate the extra weight from the panels, and the engine was one of a kind. Where most cars were 3-speeds with four cylinders with around 3,300 cubic centimeters of engine displacement, they were only producing 40 brake horsepower, and could do up to 65mph for a car that weighed around 2,200lbs. This one weighed in around 4,800lbs, had a 6-speed manual transmission and had 9,300 cubic centimeters of displacement, producing 500 brake horsepower, which meant it was capable of speeds up to 150mph. 

I called her White Lightning.

She was painted pure white on the outside to contrast the black leather interior. And of course, I had a special gear knob that sported my country's flag fashioned down in Memphis before I set off for Chicago Prime. Some called it the Rebel flag. I called it beautiful.

I opened one of the two doors available and slid in. The engine roared to life like a monster being awoken from a long slumber in need of a feast. I pulled out of the garage, not a citizen in sight, turned right, and floored it towards my next destination. 

6. Jorge Castro Rosario Rodriguez

I made it a few blocks before I realized I had company. A black, unmarked vehicle had been following me from a couple car lengths back and one lane over since I turned past Sammy’s towards Atlantis. I wasn’t heading to Atlantis, but near the border. I had a friend who was a chemist that I trusted could give me answers to the mystery vial The Rat King had sent me. 

I did my usual evasive maneuvers to confirm my suspicions only to be proven right after my third right turn. I knew there wasn’t a chance they could catch me, but playing it cool seemed like a better idea than drawing undue attention to myself—-more undue attention.

I pulled off the side and killed the engine. The other car pulled up right behind me, but kept its engine running. Standard procedure.

Two boys in blue got out with stone expressions on their faces, never taking their eyes off my car. An average sized, very tan man got out behind them in a suit that was worth more than Sammy’s monthly revenue. He had slicked back ebony-black hair that looked like it was never completely dry. He wore a dark blue tie against a  perfect white shirt, both underneath a black double-breasted jacket.

He buttoned his jacket, turned and started walking towards White Lightning. His bodyguards walked with him, one down the passenger side and the other right behind him, both stopping just before my taillights. The tan one continued straight, his $500 shoes clacking on the asphalt until he reached my window.

He gave a slow knock on my window with a bejeweled finger. I didn’t look at him immediately, but pulled the cigarette from my pocket and lit up. I took a long drag and exhaled slowly before rolling down my window.

“Commissioner Rodriguez! What brings you to this side of paradise?” I said, smoke wafting out of my window towards the commissioner. His cologne was fighting back, making sure to assault my senses just as much as I was assaulting his.

“Señor Jones,” he said as he swiped at the smoke, swirls forming around his hand as he did, “I believe there’s a medical problem you need to be made aware of.”

I scratched my head just underneath my hat, a look of feigned confusion on my face. “Well, Jorge, I can’t say I’m aware of what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do, señor Jones. Clearly you have spontaneous deafness that has made it impossible for you to obey direct orders from people who can make your life a living hell,” he said, speaking through a smile that was all teeth. His voice stayed calm, but microscopic fractures were forming on his otherwise pristine exterior.

“Jorge, no offense, but you’re not my superior. I’m a civilian. Private investigation does not fall under the purview of judicial overwatch.”

“Sí, verdad. But investigations performed by the CPPD—-as well as any consultations—-do fall under it.” He smiled a malicious smile. “And as far as Captain Mahoney and Lieutenant Delaney go…” he paused and stared at my face, presumably awaiting a reaction. I gave none. ”…they won’t be involved in the case either. I’ve assigned Detective Johnson to full authority of the case.”

If I had any flabbers left, they’d be gasted.

“That’s all well and good, Jorge…”

“Commissioner Rodriguez,” he corrected me, rolling his R’s and lisping his S’s like a good Spaniard.

“We’re on a first name basis now, Jorge. Albeit, not as close as you and Gabridone, so no need to call me ‘daddy’ or ‘master.’ Mercury will do just fine.”

Rodriguez slammed his fist on the roof of my car. His soft hands couldn’t dent plastic, let alone solid cast iron. I wasn’t worried. His lackeys stepped up a couple steps towards the front, hands reaching for their holsters, but Rodriguez put a hand back to wave them off.

He leaned down and in, whispering now, “Señor…Mercury, I would not say such things if I were you. If I even so much as smell you near this case, I’ll have you thrown in the worst cellblock in all of Chicago Prime. I’m sure you have some pedophile and other rapist friends in there who would love to get their hands on you.” He leaned in closer and spoke in a whisper, “and, in case you needed reminding, Jessica Callahan is ruled a suicide, not a homicide, and the two bodies found at the bar in Old Illinois are going to be ruled alcohol poisoning on both accounts. The ME will confirm.”

I smiled and gave an unimpressed laugh, “I can’t say I’m the pedos type. The other rapists might be a problem, but I’ve dealt with them before. Besides, the CPPD aren’t the only ones who have hired me for matters related to this case. Senator Callahan officially hired me just yesterday. Maybe you’d like to talk to him. I’m sure a standing Illinois senator would love to take commands from a greasy Mexican like you,” I said. I decided not to take the bait on his suicide and alcohol poisoning angle. If he was going to decide to let their deaths be ruled incorrectly, it still wouldn’t prevent me from investigating independently, even if Sean Callahan hadn’t unofficially-officially hired me. Delaney and Mahoney weren’t so lucky.

Given all the rest he’d said to me, he clearly wasn’t aware of Mary Grace and Sophia.

Jorge didn’t speak for a few seconds. Rage turned his tanned face a dark red before he said with wavering control in his voice, “Señor, I could bring you in on whatever I want; obstruction of justice, evidence tampering, crime scene tampering, assault on a law enforcement officer. You name it, señor. You’re lucky someone has decided to be generous today, or else there might be an ‘accidente’ this morning involving two police officers and a southern immigrant,” his voice dripped with gluttonous malice and wrath. His eyes stared with bloodlust as he insinuated that I might be the ‘accidente’ waiting to happen. He continued, “and, I guess the senator will need a visit paid to him,” his face suddenly contorted as he leaned into my car, spit spewing from his mouth, “and I’m Spanish, not Mexican, you inbred pendejo.”

I finished my cigarette and dropped it out the window at Rodriguez’s feet. He did a small jump back to avoid the ashes and embers getting on his expensive pants. “Well, Jorge, if that’s all you need from this conversation, let me say firstly, noted, and secondly, I’ll be going.”

“I’ll be watching you, Mercury. Stay away from this case.”

I rolled up the window, engine roaring back to life simultaneously, and I sped off.