(fic) Man-Eater 14/?
Dec. 2nd, 2007 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don't own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairings: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Drama
Rating: R
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi.
Title: Man-Eater
Notes: Sequel to 'Denial', which is set before Volume 9's fourth chapter, Dynasty
“Hey, Leon,” Jill smiled as she approached his desk, a large stack of manila folders in her arms.
She wore a red short sleeved mock turtleneck, chocolate brown slacks and matching sling back pumps that tapered to a wicked looking point in the front. He’d heard women claiming that that particular style made their legs look longer but he wasn’t certain if that was true or not. All he did know is that he wouldn’t want to be kicked in the crotch by a woman wearing shoes like that. It’d pop his testicles like hot water balloons. He shuddered at the mental image that formed in his mind.
Despite their uncomfortable appearance, Jill almost always wore heels and in all the years they’d worked together, he had never heard her complain about them or her feet. Still, the looked uncomfortable as hell to Leon, and he wasn’t even the one having to wear them. She had the strap of a brown leather purse slung over one shoulder like she was getting ready to go somewhere.
In contrast, Leon sat in his desk wearing a black tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of faded jeans. His shaggy blond hair was pulled into a ponytail with a simple elastic band. All that mattered was that his clothes were clean and free of holes. God knows he had never made the acquaintance of an iron in his entire life, wouldn’t even know how to use one if he did.
“You’re looking as casual as ever,” she noted, eying him coolly.
“That’s me, Mr. Laid Back.”
“It’s so nice of you to join us today,” her eyes twinkled with merriment. “Are you finished playing hooky?”
“Yeah, I got tired of lying around,” Leon said, playing along with her, “Besides, my TV’s on the fritz and I was getting seriously bored. So I figured that I might as well come in and at least get some free coffee, which,” he added, saluting her with a Styrofoam cup, “is still the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted in my life, hands down.”
“It is pretty bad.” She agreed, “That’s why Starbucks is still the working man’s - or woman’s– best friend. And speaking of beverages, how’s the Count doing?” She dumped the folders on his desk and then fastidiously straightening the pile before it could topple over. “He never came back to get his tea set, so I was just wondering.”
She glanced at him coyly over the rim of the glasses she wore whenever she was working on the computers. “You didn’t get him sick, did you? God knows you never cover your nose or mouth when you cough or sneeze. It’s gross. Maybe the next time you go over, you can give it back to him?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s not like I don’t have anything better to do with my time,” Leon grumbled, digging in the top drawer of his desk for a pen or pencil. He kept buying the black Bic ones that he liked so much, but every time he turned around they would disappear. He had a sneaking suspicion that people were running off with them.
“And I’ll have you know,” he said, looking up into Jill’s smiling face, “he came over to my place, not the other way around. Gave me some chicken soup and then went on his merry way.”
“Really?” Jill blinked her surprised. “Hmm, I guess my super female Spidey senses were wrong,” She shrugged.
“Wrong about what?” He scowled at her, his suspicious nature coming to the foreground.
“Oh, nothing important,” she replied lightly.
Leon grunted, grabbed the top folder in the pile and laid it out in front of him. He flipped open the cover and shook his head sadly. It was a missing person’s report. The picture showed a young girl, Hispanic – she had just turned twelve last week - smiling into the picture day camera. According to the report, her name was Jessie Montserrat.
He skimmed the report and puffed out his cheeks in agitation. “This must be wrong,” he glanced at the simple desk calendar then back at the report. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since this kid went missing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jill said, “but we’ve reason to believe this girl is in danger. Her mother came to this precinct, not the one over by Skid Row, and said that she had left her daughter under the Eighth Street Bridge while she went foraging for food.
“’Foraging for food’?”
“Yes, that’s what the detective who took her statement said,” Jill leaned over and tapped one red lacquered nail against the type page. “They’ve been living out of cardboard boxes for the last three months. The mother, Sandra Montserrat, left her under the bridge to go dumpster diving behind some nearby restaurants. She didn’t want her daughter to know where she had gotten the food. I guess she was too ashamed or embarrassed to go to a shelter or food kitchen.”
“This is the tenth kid that’s gone lost in the last month,” He slammed his closed fist against the desktop. “God damn it, something’s going on down there and no ones been able to find out shit about it!”
“They are trying, Leon,” Jill said in a reassuring voice even though Leon knew that it angered her just as much as it did him, if not more, that the freak or freaks – and Leon was willing to bet there was more than one of these bastards at work, hadn’t been apprehended yet. “They’ll catch a break,” she said, meaning the department in charge of the cases, “They’ve got to.”
“We don’t even know why these kids have gone missing,” He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Are they runaways fleeing abusive home? Were they taken by some kiddy porn dealers? Murdered? We’ve got nothing, nothing for Christ’s sake. We’ve got no bodies, no witnesses, no fucking DNA, no known motives, and no suspects.”
“They’re running a check on all pedophiles and recently released prison inmates within a fifty block area – and there are a lot of scum running around that area of town, believe me. So far, everyone they’ve checked has had alibis.”
“Damn it, that’s not good enough,” He chewed on the ball of his thumb as he thought. “There has to be some sort of connection, something that links all these kids together. But they’re all different ages; the youngest was seven, the oldest, our latest victim, just twelve. They come from a rainbow of racial backgrounds, Caucasian, African American, Latino, Chinese… there’s got to be something, some clue, some connection. There has to be.”
Jill took one of the reports and stared at one of the victim profiles. It showed the picture of a little boy, red hair and blue eyes, his pale face speckled liberally with freckles. He was ten years old. Looking at the picture hurt something deep inside her and she felt the tell-tale pinpricks of tears in the back of her eyes. So young, so innocent. Despite her usually optimistic attitude, her gut instincts were telling her that they would never find this boy again – at least, not alive.
“They were all taken from Central City East.” she said suddenly, looking up from the photo to meet the blue eyes of her partner, “Skid Row. All of the kids that have gone missing were living on the streets. Whether they were living in shelters or in cardboard boxes, with their parents or alone, they all came from Skid Row.”
“So some freak is targeting at-risk kids and homeless kids because, what? He thinks no one will notice?” Leon was outraged, but it made perfect sense.
“Or care,” Jill added grimly.
“We’ve got to get down there, talk to anyone who might have seen or heard anything about this girl.” Leon pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, his hands balled into fists. “If we can just find a clue, something, I’m sure we’ll be on our way to cracking this case wide open.”
“But not before we go in and crack some skulls,” Jill stood and dug her keys out of her purse.
Leon smacked one fist into his open palm and the sound of flesh on flesh was very loud “Damn straight,” he growled.
As they walked down the tiled corridor that led to the employee parking lot, Leon walked past a janitor’s cart. He noticed that the floor had that wet-shiny look but then again, it had been recently polished and the floor had a glossy appearance to it that hadn’t yet been worn away by the scuff of hundreds of shoes. Give it enough time and it would be back to its sad, worn state in no time.
Suddenly, his sneaker-clad foot slid out from under him but he threw his weight forward and was able to prevent a potentially nasty fall. Crap, he thought, the floor actually was wet! There weren’t any yellow wet floor signs out to warn that the floor was slippery and this act of carelessness ticked him off.
He glanced around and saw a man, presumably the janitor, standing near his yellow utility cart with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands, steam rising slowly into the air as he blew on it to cool it down.
“You need to put out some signs, buddy,” he growled, “Before someone gets hurt and sues the department.”
The janitor, a young Caucasian with dirty brown hair and a scraggly beard, gave him a sarcastic one fingered salute to the brim of his Red Sox baseball cap. “Very good, sir,” he replied in a really poorly done English accent, “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Are you coming or not, Leon?” Jill called back impatiently.
“Yeah, I’m coming, hold your horses,” he called. He turned back to the janitor and gave him a nasty look. “Signs,” he snapped, “Don’t forget to put them out, jerk off.”
Then he was jogging off in order to catch up with Jill before she lost her patience and decided to leave him behind. He didn’t see the janitor pull a small cell phone from the pocket of his dark blue coveralls. And even if he had seen this, it wouldn’t have registered as anything out of the ordinary. Employees were always yakking on their cell phones, even though it was against policy for them to have them switched on while on duty.
The janitor glanced furtively around to make sure no one was paying any attention then punched in a number from memory. Then he held the phone to his ear and waited for the other line to be picked up. As he waited, he put out a few wet floor signs, not because he was concerned about his fellow employees’ safety, but because not having them out would most likely draw more attention to himself. And that was the last thing he needed, especially right now.
“McGaffin here,” he said, when the other line was picked up. He moving closer to the cart as a pair of police could pass him in the hall. Even though they saw the large yellow wet floor signs, they made no effort to detour around them but instead walked right on through leaving dirty prints in their wake. Assholes.
“What do you got for me?” Kuan Yin snapped.
“The target is moving.”
“Good, one of the boys will keep an eye on him.” The other line cut out and the janitor pocketed his phone. Easiest hundred bucks he had ever earned, truth be told. And, as far as he was concerned, the arrogant prick of a cop needed to be taken down a peg or two.
“That cop will get his,” he grumbled, and smiled. “He’ll get his comeuppance, just wait and see. Ol’ Kuan Yin will see to it, boy howdy will he ever.”
He sloshed the mop head around in the dirty water, did a half-assed job of running it through the wringer and then went back to mopping the floor, daydreaming about how he would spend his money.
*****
Their trip down to Central City East hadn’t been as productive as they had hoped. Leon and Jill had questioned everyone they found wandering the streets about the missing girl. Every time they flashed the picture, all they got was a sad shake of the head and a ‘sorry, never seen her, officers’ for their trouble. They’d asked bag ladies, winos, and the occasional panhandler. They’d drop change into tin cups by the handful but none of them had seen the girl.
One man, a white haired geezer with rotten teeth and a gangrenous stench about him, had said he had seen a girl under the bridge, but couldn’t tell them anything more helpful than that. The description of the girl seemed to fit the mother’s, though, which wasn’t really very helpful but confirmed the mother’s story. He also babbled on and on about seeing a white Animal Control van that had been roaming the streets the other night in search of feral dogs and cats. He complained bitterly about its noisy muffler waking him up.
This had gotten their attention, vans were, after all, the favored mode of transportation for kidnappers, but when pressed for details about the van, the old man because agitated and started shuffling off raving on and on about demons and monsters. He had waved his hands at them, shooing them away from him as if they were nothing more than annoying flies.
Finally, foot sore and dispirited, they had returned to the car.
In silence, Jill drove Leon back to the precinct and dropped him off at the front door. He got out and slammed the door behind him, harder than he had intended, but she didn’t give him any static about it because she understood how he felt. Sometimes the rising crime rate in this city got to you, especially when the victims were children.
“Leon,” she rolled down the window, “Something’s got to come up. I know it’s hard, and I know it feels like we’re just spinning our wheels, but we will catch these bastards.”
“Yeah, we’ll catch them in the end,” he agreed gloomily, stuffing his hands in his denim pockets, “But how many innocent kids are going to disappear in the meanwhile?” Without waiting for an answer he pushed open the door and slipped into the building.
He gathered the old case that contained the tea set which Jill had left by her desk and carried it out to his car, amazed that such a thing weighed as much as it did. “How in hell does D carry this thing around?” he gasped, sliding it into the trunk with as much care as he could manage, “It weighs a freaking ton!”
After storing the case in his trunk, he returned to his desk to work on some reports. It was lunch time before he was able to get away from all the paper work he had missed out on during his absence. And it was later still before he got through traffic that was congesting the highways.
Frazzled and out of sorts, he finally parked the car as close as he could get to Count D’s pet shop with the tea set stowed carefully in the trunk of his car. He had to park a few blocks from the shop and walk the rest of the way, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Chinatown was a busy district after all, a wildly popular tourist attraction with narrow streets.
He noticed a white van parked a few parking spaces in front of his car and it brought to mind the old man they had talked to down on Skid Row – the white one that had been with Animal Control. Trying manly not to grunt as he set down the suitcase, he peered into the front passenger side window, but didn’t see anyone in the front seat. Walking around the van, he inspected it from every angle, taking special note of the license plate number.
Yes, as far as he could tell, the van was with Animal Control and judging from the fact that the driver wasn’t with the van, he assumed that meant he was about somewhere catching some yowling stray cat or garbage eating dog. Someone had to do it, he knew, because God knew that Los Angeles had more than its fair share of homeless critters. Truth be told, the stray population in Chinatown was a bit lower than anywhere else in the city, a fact that only served to fuel the ridiculous rumors that the local restaurants preferred serving dogs and cats to chicken and pork.
He was curious about the van, but not especially suspicious because all of the missing children had come from Skid Row, which wasn’t really close to Chinatown. And, no doubt, Animal Control had more than one van since Los Angeles was a pretty big city. Still, he made a mental note to company and check out its driving logs. It couldn’t hurt, after all, and might provide them with a solid lead, or at least eliminate any drivers as being suspects.
Leon picked up the case and continued lugging it to D’s shop. The walking itself wasn’t so bad, but the weight of the case containing D’s tea set was killing his arms and shoulders. And here he thought he was in any kind of shape. By the time he arrived at the shop, his mood was as dark as the gathering clouds overhead.
He set it down and put his hand on the door handle to open the door. It wouldn’t budge.
“Damn it, D, open up!” Leon yelled, pounding on the door. Only then did he notice that the pet shop’s sign was turned ‘closed’ side out. “What the hell? D never closes shop this early.”
He slammed his fist against the door again and wished he had remembered to put the spare D had given him a few weeks ago on his key chain. Just as he was about to turn around and leave, the door was unlocked then flung opened.
‘Hey, Big Bro,’ Chris slipped out the door with the vicious goat-thingy padding along beside him looking wary and ill-tempered. The animal glared at him then made a show of scenting the air as if he smelled something foul. ‘Are you feeling better?’ Leon heard his voice without the boy actually opening his mouth.
“Hey, squirt,” Leon ruffled his hair, shot a glare at the critter sitting at Chris’ feet then disengaged himself from his brother’s enthusiastic embrace. “And I’m fine now. No nasty virus is going to get the best of this copper.” He thumped his chest heartily to show that he was as fit as a fiddle.
“Where’s the Count?” Leon eased past Chris and made his way over to the kitchen. He needed to set this damned thing down before he pulled a muscle in his back, if he hadn’t done so already. “I’ve got his stupid tea set. And let me tell you, the next time he leaves it at the precinct, he can go pick it up himself because it’s heavy.”
Chris nibbled his lower lip uncertainly as he trailed behind him. ‘Count D isn’t here right now,’ he said apologetically.
“What do you mean he isn’t here?” Leon demanded hotly, setting the tea set on the counter and turning to face his little brother. “You mean he left you hear at the shop all by yourself?”
‘He went to meet a friend from China earlier and hasn’t come back yet.’ Chris eyes were uncertain. He knew the child didn’t like seeing him and D fight, but damn it, how irresponsible was it to leave a kid all by himself with a shop full of potentially lethal animals? ‘But I’m not by myself, Big Bro, honest. Tetsu, Pon-chan and Q-Chan are with me. And everyone else in the shop, as well.’
Leon didn’t hear a word after Chris said that D had gone to meet a friend. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you happen to know where they were supposed to meet up, Chris?”
‘No, I can’t remember the name’ Chris replied, shaking his head, ‘but it was some Chinese restaurant in Arcadia.’ The goat-thing made a series of low growling sounds in its throat and Chris smiled. ‘Tetsu says that the name of the restaurant was Din Tai Fung.’
“I know where that is.” He didn’t demand to know how that mangy goat could possibly know the name of the restaurant because it would have made him feel weird. No doubt, Chris just happened to recall the name just then. No doubt, the goat apparently ‘talking’ to Chris just at the right moment as if to prompt his memory had just been a freaky coincident.
“Damn it, he’s sneaking around with that Sung guy, I know it.” Leon growled. “I bet that whole deal about an inheritance was just an excuse to sneak illegal contraband into the country. And that Jin Li must be his drug supplier with connections to the Chinese Mafia.”
Leon didn’t know if he actually believed that D might be running drugs for the Chinese Mafia, but he did know that something was definitely going on between him and that Jin Li dude. They could be dealing in drugs or guns, or anything. And while he didn’t want to believe that they could be hooking up, he had to be prepared for that possibility as well. His stomach lurched at the idea but he ignored it and instead focused on the growing pit of anger in his stomach.
All he did know for certain was that last night D had been kind of evasive and if that wasn’t a sure sign of a guilty conscious, then he’d eat his badge.
He turned to his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Look, kiddo, there’s something I’ve got to take care of. You think you’ll be okay here for a little while?”
Without really waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and stalked out the shop door, his hands balled into fists. Something was going on and he was going to find out one way or the other. He’d find D and this Jin Li guy and get to the bottom of things. And if that meant he’d have to beat the little weasel’s head in, then so be it.
The white van was still in its parking spot and when he approached, he glanced through the windshield and thought he saw movement in the depths. The dog catcher, or whatever they called themselves nowadays in this age of political correctness, must have returned. Turning his attention back to matters at hand, he reached into his pocket and removed his car keys, jingling them in his fist as he made his way to his car.
Just as he reached the car and began crossing to the driver’s side, he heard the sound of a van door slamming open behind him. He inserted the key into the lock but before he could unlock the door he caught movement off to one side a few moments before he heard a man’s voice directly behind him.
“Detective Leon Orcot?”
Leon’s heart lurched in his chest. His instincts screamed that the owner of that voice wasn’t going to ask him if he wanted to buy some Girl Scout cookies. Sensing some sort of movement behind him, he whirled around instinctively bringing his arms up in a defensive posture. For one moment, he caught a glimpse of a tall red-haired man. The stranger’s arm shot out and he saw that there was something in it and then the metal prongs of a stun gun were being pressed against his shoulder, shooting a high-voltage, low-amperage charge of electricity into his body.
An involuntary cry of pain was wrenched from his throat as his muscles contracted painfully. The muscles in his legs gave out and he bounced against the side of the car before falling to the ground. His arms and legs twitched and convulsed, back arching like a trout out of water.
The red man’s face came closer, leering. “The boss wants to talk to you,” he announced solemnly.
Leon gaped at him, and then the man leaned forward and jammed the stun gun against his flesh again. Another burst of agony raced through Leon only this time he wasn’t able to give voice to his pain. Then, mercifully, darkness swept in and he knew no more.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Pairings: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Drama
Rating: R
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi.
Title: Man-Eater
Notes: Sequel to 'Denial', which is set before Volume 9's fourth chapter, Dynasty
“Hey, Leon,” Jill smiled as she approached his desk, a large stack of manila folders in her arms.
She wore a red short sleeved mock turtleneck, chocolate brown slacks and matching sling back pumps that tapered to a wicked looking point in the front. He’d heard women claiming that that particular style made their legs look longer but he wasn’t certain if that was true or not. All he did know is that he wouldn’t want to be kicked in the crotch by a woman wearing shoes like that. It’d pop his testicles like hot water balloons. He shuddered at the mental image that formed in his mind.
Despite their uncomfortable appearance, Jill almost always wore heels and in all the years they’d worked together, he had never heard her complain about them or her feet. Still, the looked uncomfortable as hell to Leon, and he wasn’t even the one having to wear them. She had the strap of a brown leather purse slung over one shoulder like she was getting ready to go somewhere.
In contrast, Leon sat in his desk wearing a black tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of faded jeans. His shaggy blond hair was pulled into a ponytail with a simple elastic band. All that mattered was that his clothes were clean and free of holes. God knows he had never made the acquaintance of an iron in his entire life, wouldn’t even know how to use one if he did.
“You’re looking as casual as ever,” she noted, eying him coolly.
“That’s me, Mr. Laid Back.”
“It’s so nice of you to join us today,” her eyes twinkled with merriment. “Are you finished playing hooky?”
“Yeah, I got tired of lying around,” Leon said, playing along with her, “Besides, my TV’s on the fritz and I was getting seriously bored. So I figured that I might as well come in and at least get some free coffee, which,” he added, saluting her with a Styrofoam cup, “is still the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted in my life, hands down.”
“It is pretty bad.” She agreed, “That’s why Starbucks is still the working man’s - or woman’s– best friend. And speaking of beverages, how’s the Count doing?” She dumped the folders on his desk and then fastidiously straightening the pile before it could topple over. “He never came back to get his tea set, so I was just wondering.”
She glanced at him coyly over the rim of the glasses she wore whenever she was working on the computers. “You didn’t get him sick, did you? God knows you never cover your nose or mouth when you cough or sneeze. It’s gross. Maybe the next time you go over, you can give it back to him?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s not like I don’t have anything better to do with my time,” Leon grumbled, digging in the top drawer of his desk for a pen or pencil. He kept buying the black Bic ones that he liked so much, but every time he turned around they would disappear. He had a sneaking suspicion that people were running off with them.
“And I’ll have you know,” he said, looking up into Jill’s smiling face, “he came over to my place, not the other way around. Gave me some chicken soup and then went on his merry way.”
“Really?” Jill blinked her surprised. “Hmm, I guess my super female Spidey senses were wrong,” She shrugged.
“Wrong about what?” He scowled at her, his suspicious nature coming to the foreground.
“Oh, nothing important,” she replied lightly.
Leon grunted, grabbed the top folder in the pile and laid it out in front of him. He flipped open the cover and shook his head sadly. It was a missing person’s report. The picture showed a young girl, Hispanic – she had just turned twelve last week - smiling into the picture day camera. According to the report, her name was Jessie Montserrat.
He skimmed the report and puffed out his cheeks in agitation. “This must be wrong,” he glanced at the simple desk calendar then back at the report. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since this kid went missing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jill said, “but we’ve reason to believe this girl is in danger. Her mother came to this precinct, not the one over by Skid Row, and said that she had left her daughter under the Eighth Street Bridge while she went foraging for food.
“’Foraging for food’?”
“Yes, that’s what the detective who took her statement said,” Jill leaned over and tapped one red lacquered nail against the type page. “They’ve been living out of cardboard boxes for the last three months. The mother, Sandra Montserrat, left her under the bridge to go dumpster diving behind some nearby restaurants. She didn’t want her daughter to know where she had gotten the food. I guess she was too ashamed or embarrassed to go to a shelter or food kitchen.”
“This is the tenth kid that’s gone lost in the last month,” He slammed his closed fist against the desktop. “God damn it, something’s going on down there and no ones been able to find out shit about it!”
“They are trying, Leon,” Jill said in a reassuring voice even though Leon knew that it angered her just as much as it did him, if not more, that the freak or freaks – and Leon was willing to bet there was more than one of these bastards at work, hadn’t been apprehended yet. “They’ll catch a break,” she said, meaning the department in charge of the cases, “They’ve got to.”
“We don’t even know why these kids have gone missing,” He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Are they runaways fleeing abusive home? Were they taken by some kiddy porn dealers? Murdered? We’ve got nothing, nothing for Christ’s sake. We’ve got no bodies, no witnesses, no fucking DNA, no known motives, and no suspects.”
“They’re running a check on all pedophiles and recently released prison inmates within a fifty block area – and there are a lot of scum running around that area of town, believe me. So far, everyone they’ve checked has had alibis.”
“Damn it, that’s not good enough,” He chewed on the ball of his thumb as he thought. “There has to be some sort of connection, something that links all these kids together. But they’re all different ages; the youngest was seven, the oldest, our latest victim, just twelve. They come from a rainbow of racial backgrounds, Caucasian, African American, Latino, Chinese… there’s got to be something, some clue, some connection. There has to be.”
Jill took one of the reports and stared at one of the victim profiles. It showed the picture of a little boy, red hair and blue eyes, his pale face speckled liberally with freckles. He was ten years old. Looking at the picture hurt something deep inside her and she felt the tell-tale pinpricks of tears in the back of her eyes. So young, so innocent. Despite her usually optimistic attitude, her gut instincts were telling her that they would never find this boy again – at least, not alive.
“They were all taken from Central City East.” she said suddenly, looking up from the photo to meet the blue eyes of her partner, “Skid Row. All of the kids that have gone missing were living on the streets. Whether they were living in shelters or in cardboard boxes, with their parents or alone, they all came from Skid Row.”
“So some freak is targeting at-risk kids and homeless kids because, what? He thinks no one will notice?” Leon was outraged, but it made perfect sense.
“Or care,” Jill added grimly.
“We’ve got to get down there, talk to anyone who might have seen or heard anything about this girl.” Leon pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, his hands balled into fists. “If we can just find a clue, something, I’m sure we’ll be on our way to cracking this case wide open.”
“But not before we go in and crack some skulls,” Jill stood and dug her keys out of her purse.
Leon smacked one fist into his open palm and the sound of flesh on flesh was very loud “Damn straight,” he growled.
As they walked down the tiled corridor that led to the employee parking lot, Leon walked past a janitor’s cart. He noticed that the floor had that wet-shiny look but then again, it had been recently polished and the floor had a glossy appearance to it that hadn’t yet been worn away by the scuff of hundreds of shoes. Give it enough time and it would be back to its sad, worn state in no time.
Suddenly, his sneaker-clad foot slid out from under him but he threw his weight forward and was able to prevent a potentially nasty fall. Crap, he thought, the floor actually was wet! There weren’t any yellow wet floor signs out to warn that the floor was slippery and this act of carelessness ticked him off.
He glanced around and saw a man, presumably the janitor, standing near his yellow utility cart with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands, steam rising slowly into the air as he blew on it to cool it down.
“You need to put out some signs, buddy,” he growled, “Before someone gets hurt and sues the department.”
The janitor, a young Caucasian with dirty brown hair and a scraggly beard, gave him a sarcastic one fingered salute to the brim of his Red Sox baseball cap. “Very good, sir,” he replied in a really poorly done English accent, “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Are you coming or not, Leon?” Jill called back impatiently.
“Yeah, I’m coming, hold your horses,” he called. He turned back to the janitor and gave him a nasty look. “Signs,” he snapped, “Don’t forget to put them out, jerk off.”
Then he was jogging off in order to catch up with Jill before she lost her patience and decided to leave him behind. He didn’t see the janitor pull a small cell phone from the pocket of his dark blue coveralls. And even if he had seen this, it wouldn’t have registered as anything out of the ordinary. Employees were always yakking on their cell phones, even though it was against policy for them to have them switched on while on duty.
The janitor glanced furtively around to make sure no one was paying any attention then punched in a number from memory. Then he held the phone to his ear and waited for the other line to be picked up. As he waited, he put out a few wet floor signs, not because he was concerned about his fellow employees’ safety, but because not having them out would most likely draw more attention to himself. And that was the last thing he needed, especially right now.
“McGaffin here,” he said, when the other line was picked up. He moving closer to the cart as a pair of police could pass him in the hall. Even though they saw the large yellow wet floor signs, they made no effort to detour around them but instead walked right on through leaving dirty prints in their wake. Assholes.
“What do you got for me?” Kuan Yin snapped.
“The target is moving.”
“Good, one of the boys will keep an eye on him.” The other line cut out and the janitor pocketed his phone. Easiest hundred bucks he had ever earned, truth be told. And, as far as he was concerned, the arrogant prick of a cop needed to be taken down a peg or two.
“That cop will get his,” he grumbled, and smiled. “He’ll get his comeuppance, just wait and see. Ol’ Kuan Yin will see to it, boy howdy will he ever.”
He sloshed the mop head around in the dirty water, did a half-assed job of running it through the wringer and then went back to mopping the floor, daydreaming about how he would spend his money.
*****
Their trip down to Central City East hadn’t been as productive as they had hoped. Leon and Jill had questioned everyone they found wandering the streets about the missing girl. Every time they flashed the picture, all they got was a sad shake of the head and a ‘sorry, never seen her, officers’ for their trouble. They’d asked bag ladies, winos, and the occasional panhandler. They’d drop change into tin cups by the handful but none of them had seen the girl.
One man, a white haired geezer with rotten teeth and a gangrenous stench about him, had said he had seen a girl under the bridge, but couldn’t tell them anything more helpful than that. The description of the girl seemed to fit the mother’s, though, which wasn’t really very helpful but confirmed the mother’s story. He also babbled on and on about seeing a white Animal Control van that had been roaming the streets the other night in search of feral dogs and cats. He complained bitterly about its noisy muffler waking him up.
This had gotten their attention, vans were, after all, the favored mode of transportation for kidnappers, but when pressed for details about the van, the old man because agitated and started shuffling off raving on and on about demons and monsters. He had waved his hands at them, shooing them away from him as if they were nothing more than annoying flies.
Finally, foot sore and dispirited, they had returned to the car.
In silence, Jill drove Leon back to the precinct and dropped him off at the front door. He got out and slammed the door behind him, harder than he had intended, but she didn’t give him any static about it because she understood how he felt. Sometimes the rising crime rate in this city got to you, especially when the victims were children.
“Leon,” she rolled down the window, “Something’s got to come up. I know it’s hard, and I know it feels like we’re just spinning our wheels, but we will catch these bastards.”
“Yeah, we’ll catch them in the end,” he agreed gloomily, stuffing his hands in his denim pockets, “But how many innocent kids are going to disappear in the meanwhile?” Without waiting for an answer he pushed open the door and slipped into the building.
He gathered the old case that contained the tea set which Jill had left by her desk and carried it out to his car, amazed that such a thing weighed as much as it did. “How in hell does D carry this thing around?” he gasped, sliding it into the trunk with as much care as he could manage, “It weighs a freaking ton!”
After storing the case in his trunk, he returned to his desk to work on some reports. It was lunch time before he was able to get away from all the paper work he had missed out on during his absence. And it was later still before he got through traffic that was congesting the highways.
Frazzled and out of sorts, he finally parked the car as close as he could get to Count D’s pet shop with the tea set stowed carefully in the trunk of his car. He had to park a few blocks from the shop and walk the rest of the way, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Chinatown was a busy district after all, a wildly popular tourist attraction with narrow streets.
He noticed a white van parked a few parking spaces in front of his car and it brought to mind the old man they had talked to down on Skid Row – the white one that had been with Animal Control. Trying manly not to grunt as he set down the suitcase, he peered into the front passenger side window, but didn’t see anyone in the front seat. Walking around the van, he inspected it from every angle, taking special note of the license plate number.
Yes, as far as he could tell, the van was with Animal Control and judging from the fact that the driver wasn’t with the van, he assumed that meant he was about somewhere catching some yowling stray cat or garbage eating dog. Someone had to do it, he knew, because God knew that Los Angeles had more than its fair share of homeless critters. Truth be told, the stray population in Chinatown was a bit lower than anywhere else in the city, a fact that only served to fuel the ridiculous rumors that the local restaurants preferred serving dogs and cats to chicken and pork.
He was curious about the van, but not especially suspicious because all of the missing children had come from Skid Row, which wasn’t really close to Chinatown. And, no doubt, Animal Control had more than one van since Los Angeles was a pretty big city. Still, he made a mental note to company and check out its driving logs. It couldn’t hurt, after all, and might provide them with a solid lead, or at least eliminate any drivers as being suspects.
Leon picked up the case and continued lugging it to D’s shop. The walking itself wasn’t so bad, but the weight of the case containing D’s tea set was killing his arms and shoulders. And here he thought he was in any kind of shape. By the time he arrived at the shop, his mood was as dark as the gathering clouds overhead.
He set it down and put his hand on the door handle to open the door. It wouldn’t budge.
“Damn it, D, open up!” Leon yelled, pounding on the door. Only then did he notice that the pet shop’s sign was turned ‘closed’ side out. “What the hell? D never closes shop this early.”
He slammed his fist against the door again and wished he had remembered to put the spare D had given him a few weeks ago on his key chain. Just as he was about to turn around and leave, the door was unlocked then flung opened.
‘Hey, Big Bro,’ Chris slipped out the door with the vicious goat-thingy padding along beside him looking wary and ill-tempered. The animal glared at him then made a show of scenting the air as if he smelled something foul. ‘Are you feeling better?’ Leon heard his voice without the boy actually opening his mouth.
“Hey, squirt,” Leon ruffled his hair, shot a glare at the critter sitting at Chris’ feet then disengaged himself from his brother’s enthusiastic embrace. “And I’m fine now. No nasty virus is going to get the best of this copper.” He thumped his chest heartily to show that he was as fit as a fiddle.
“Where’s the Count?” Leon eased past Chris and made his way over to the kitchen. He needed to set this damned thing down before he pulled a muscle in his back, if he hadn’t done so already. “I’ve got his stupid tea set. And let me tell you, the next time he leaves it at the precinct, he can go pick it up himself because it’s heavy.”
Chris nibbled his lower lip uncertainly as he trailed behind him. ‘Count D isn’t here right now,’ he said apologetically.
“What do you mean he isn’t here?” Leon demanded hotly, setting the tea set on the counter and turning to face his little brother. “You mean he left you hear at the shop all by yourself?”
‘He went to meet a friend from China earlier and hasn’t come back yet.’ Chris eyes were uncertain. He knew the child didn’t like seeing him and D fight, but damn it, how irresponsible was it to leave a kid all by himself with a shop full of potentially lethal animals? ‘But I’m not by myself, Big Bro, honest. Tetsu, Pon-chan and Q-Chan are with me. And everyone else in the shop, as well.’
Leon didn’t hear a word after Chris said that D had gone to meet a friend. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you happen to know where they were supposed to meet up, Chris?”
‘No, I can’t remember the name’ Chris replied, shaking his head, ‘but it was some Chinese restaurant in Arcadia.’ The goat-thing made a series of low growling sounds in its throat and Chris smiled. ‘Tetsu says that the name of the restaurant was Din Tai Fung.’
“I know where that is.” He didn’t demand to know how that mangy goat could possibly know the name of the restaurant because it would have made him feel weird. No doubt, Chris just happened to recall the name just then. No doubt, the goat apparently ‘talking’ to Chris just at the right moment as if to prompt his memory had just been a freaky coincident.
“Damn it, he’s sneaking around with that Sung guy, I know it.” Leon growled. “I bet that whole deal about an inheritance was just an excuse to sneak illegal contraband into the country. And that Jin Li must be his drug supplier with connections to the Chinese Mafia.”
Leon didn’t know if he actually believed that D might be running drugs for the Chinese Mafia, but he did know that something was definitely going on between him and that Jin Li dude. They could be dealing in drugs or guns, or anything. And while he didn’t want to believe that they could be hooking up, he had to be prepared for that possibility as well. His stomach lurched at the idea but he ignored it and instead focused on the growing pit of anger in his stomach.
All he did know for certain was that last night D had been kind of evasive and if that wasn’t a sure sign of a guilty conscious, then he’d eat his badge.
He turned to his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Look, kiddo, there’s something I’ve got to take care of. You think you’ll be okay here for a little while?”
Without really waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and stalked out the shop door, his hands balled into fists. Something was going on and he was going to find out one way or the other. He’d find D and this Jin Li guy and get to the bottom of things. And if that meant he’d have to beat the little weasel’s head in, then so be it.
The white van was still in its parking spot and when he approached, he glanced through the windshield and thought he saw movement in the depths. The dog catcher, or whatever they called themselves nowadays in this age of political correctness, must have returned. Turning his attention back to matters at hand, he reached into his pocket and removed his car keys, jingling them in his fist as he made his way to his car.
Just as he reached the car and began crossing to the driver’s side, he heard the sound of a van door slamming open behind him. He inserted the key into the lock but before he could unlock the door he caught movement off to one side a few moments before he heard a man’s voice directly behind him.
“Detective Leon Orcot?”
Leon’s heart lurched in his chest. His instincts screamed that the owner of that voice wasn’t going to ask him if he wanted to buy some Girl Scout cookies. Sensing some sort of movement behind him, he whirled around instinctively bringing his arms up in a defensive posture. For one moment, he caught a glimpse of a tall red-haired man. The stranger’s arm shot out and he saw that there was something in it and then the metal prongs of a stun gun were being pressed against his shoulder, shooting a high-voltage, low-amperage charge of electricity into his body.
An involuntary cry of pain was wrenched from his throat as his muscles contracted painfully. The muscles in his legs gave out and he bounced against the side of the car before falling to the ground. His arms and legs twitched and convulsed, back arching like a trout out of water.
The red man’s face came closer, leering. “The boss wants to talk to you,” he announced solemnly.
Leon gaped at him, and then the man leaned forward and jammed the stun gun against his flesh again. Another burst of agony raced through Leon only this time he wasn’t able to give voice to his pain. Then, mercifully, darkness swept in and he knew no more.
TO BE CONTINUED…
