When the Night Calls Page 17

  “What the hell is going on?” Daniel looked to one of the officers.

  He glanced at Daniel and kept moving. Daniel huffed, and then pushed his way towards the front desk, where a middle-aged lady was doing her best to keep up with an increasing stack of files.

  “Excuse me. I’m trying to find my wife. She was brought here this morning,” Daniel said as he cleared his throat.

  “Incoming is taken to booking first,” the lady responded without looking up.

  “Oh, no. She’s a victim.”

  The lady raised her head and stared at him as she fixed her glasses. “A victim of what?”

  Before Daniel could respond he heard Monica’s voice loudly over the office clutter.

  “Daniel! Over here.”

  He quickly turned his head and saw Monica waving from across the lobby. As he made his way over Officer Simpson glanced at him cautiously. When Daniel looked back he quickly looked the other way.

  “Are you okay?” Daniel gripped Monica’s hands and pulled her close.

  “Yes, I’m fine, but Sandra. Daniel, they killed her,” Monica began to sniffle.

  “What happened?”

  “I went over after you left. Thought I’d feel safer there. We were making popcorn and someone broke the window.”

  “Who was it? Did you see them?” Daniel edged closer.

  “No, no I didn’t. I just ran. Sandra was behind me, but she fell. I tried to stop for her, Daniel, I tried I swear.”

  “It’s not your fault, Monica. I’m just happy you’re alive,” Daniel said as he tried to console her...

  “I turned back…I did. When I realized she wasn’t behind me I turned around, but she wasn’t there. They told me they found her dead, Daniel. Officer McDaniel said she had her throat slit.” Monica gestured to a balding man wearing glasses that was nestled behind a tiny desk

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” Daniel whispered as he hugged her again. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Monica stood up and began to follow Daniel. She held his hand tightly, her free hand covering her mouth and wiping away tears. Daniel stopped at the desk in front of him.

  “Officer McDaniel?”

  “Yes,” he said with a scratchy voice.

  “If everything is done, I’m gonna take her home, you guys seem like you have your hands full.” Daniel nodded his head at the numerous officers buzzing around the office in a fury.

  “Oh, yes she is okay to leave.” The officer mumbled. Then he motioned Monica in and whispered. “Looks like the FBI have a lead on the murderer thanks to you. We might be wrapping this up today,” he pressed his index finger to his lips and made a shoosh sound as he winked.

  Daniel gave him a curious look. He grabbed Monica’s hand and pulled her towards the doors. As they stepped outside into the blaring sunlight Daniel felt a relief, like he was free again.

  “Daniel, what is it?” Monica asked as Daniel continued to pull her along.

  “Not here,” he said.

  They turned the corner and Monica stopped like she’d seen a ghost. She jerked back on Daniel’s hand and he stopped and turned around.

  “Daniel, why is your father’s car here?” Monica asked with a shaky voice.

  “That’s a long story. Just get in and I’ll tell you later.”

  Monica frowned then scratched her head, but followed Daniel to the car. She shot him a strange look as he opened her door then ran around to his side. Before she could reach for her seatbelt, Daniel started the engine and sped out of the parking lot. He drove onto the interstate and started heading away from his house.

  “Daniel, where are we going?”

  He didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead, gazing out of the window in a trance.

  “Daniel!” Monica raised her voice. “Where are we going?”

  Daniel took a deep breath, but kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Victor’s dead,” he finally said after a long pause.

  Monica jumped in her seat. “What! No…no.” Monica gasped and buried her head in her lap. When she sat back up tears were running down her face. She sniffled and used her shirt to wipe the tears away.

  “How? Why? Daniel, what is going on?”

  “It’s too much to explain now. But I’m taking you to a hotel in Baton Rouge until this is over. It’s not safe for you here.”

  “No! No! Take me to Covington!” Monica was almost shouting.

  Daniel looked at her skeptically. “What’s wrong with Baton Rouge?” he asked.

  “Oh…nothing. It’s just, I…I don’t want to be that far away.” Monica composed herself.

  “But they’re the same…” Daniel started to argue, but then simply nodded. “When I get back I’m gonna meet up with Tom and get to the bottom of this.”

  Strangely, Monica didn’t offer any resistance. She took his word as gospel and sat quietly sobbing the entire ride.

  An hour later Daniel pulled into a hotel on the edge of the small town. He opened Monica’s car door and she slowly got out and looked around. Clicking her teeth, she sighed and turned to Daniel.

  “I don’t even have clothes,” she spat.

  “I packed your necessities,” Daniel said as he opened the hood and pulled out one of her designer bags.

  Monica rolled her eyes and snatched the bag. Daniel placed his hand on the small of her back and escorted her to towards the revolving doors. Before they stepped inside he turned to her and whispered in her ear.

  “I think you should stay under a different name, just to be safe.”

  Monica smiled at him. “Oh, I always wanted to have a fake identity. Can I be Agnes, Agnes McCall?”

  “You can be whoever you want to be,” Daniel replied.

  Monica grinned as they walked inside and stopped at the receptionist counter.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help you today?” A fair-skinned lady with blonde hair and blue highlights asked.

  “My wife and I-”

  “Agnes.” Monica interrupted.

  “Yes, me and my wife Agnes need a room for a few nights.” Daniel said to her as he completed the guest registration.

  The receptionist pointed them in the direction of the elevators and Daniel and Monica headed off. Once they got upstairs they found their room all the way at the end of the hall like Daniel had asked.

  He stepped inside and made sure all the windows were locked and the curtains were closed. He placed her bag in the closet as Monica collapsed on the bed.

  “I’ll call you tonight. Keep the doors locked, hopefully McDaniels was right and this will all be over soon,” Daniel said as he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  Monica forced a smile on her face then slumped back into the pillows. Her mind was heavy with the death of her friend. Daniel was busy fighting his own demons and couldn’t offer her much more than begrudged grin.

  “I love you. See you soon,” Daniel said as he headed out of the door.

  The elevator ride downstairs seemed to drag on. He needed to hurry back home and get a hold of Tom. Hopefully he’d found something out or maybe Remy had managed to piece things together.

  “Leaving so soon, Mr. McCall?” the receptionist shouted after him.

  Daniel smiled and kept walking. He exited through the revolving doors and quickly made it to his car.

  He sped back to New Orleans, ignoring all the posted speed limits. He headed straight for his house to grab his gun and get a hold of Tom. He had concluded that this was all going to end tonight one way or the other.

  Daniel pulled the silver sportster into the garage and stepped out of it. He looked down at the driver’s seat and envisioned his dad sitting there. He sighed, lingering for a moment thinking of his loss.

  His dad was responsible for so much of what he was. He molded him, trained him since birth to always be prepared, always ready for anything.

  Turning his back to the car he walked inside and shut the garage. Pocket jumped off the couch and greeted him, then followed him into the bedroom. Danie
l sat on the bed and rubbed his face. He was still having trouble piecing things together. It all felt so surreal, like he was living in a dream.

  Yawning, he walked into the closet and reached for a box on the top shelf. It felt empty and Daniel immediately knew something was wrong. He slung the box onto the floor and pulled the top off.

  “What the hell!” Daniel mumbled to himself.

  The .357 that he always kept in the box was gone. Instead there was a small piece of crinkled paper. Daniel unrolled it and read the sloppy text.

  “Gotcha!”

  He threw the box against the wall and jumped to his feet. The bang startled Pocket and he barked loudly. Daniel marched into the kitchen and grabbed his keys. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye.

  There was a manila folder sitting on the counter with a note attached. Daniel slowly picked it up and examined it.

  “Daniel, I think you need to see this. Meet me at the river ASAP!” the note read in Tom’s unmistakable hand writing.

  Daniel removed the sticky and opened the folder. There was a white sheet covering several newspaper clippings. On the sheet Daniel noticed a very familiar picture and the name Agnes McCall.

  AGNES MCCALL

  Agnes McCall lived in Baton Rouge. She came to Louisiana by way of Seattle. She peddled her skills as an actress to land her a job serving drunken men more drinks. When she wasn’t pursuing her dreams or working, she frequented the local colleges and had become the neighborhood “good time.”

  She’d done a short stint as an exotic dancer and had her way with a few of the frat boys after a long night of drinking. Although her reputation was well deserved, it also implied that she was much more cavalier with the number of partners than she ever really was.

  Agnes was a beauty to behold. She had red, flowing hair that fell softly over her shoulders. Her perfectly tanned legs seemed to run on forever, only stopping to accentuate the black skirt she wore nearly every day. Slim and petite, she moved gracefully like a panther in the snow. If she had been born with the ability to see the future, rather than look breathtaking in a mini skirt, she may have never shown up to work that Friday night.

  Benny’s Gin and Jazz was bustling as normal. A full house took in the sights of long legs and tall glasses as the local jazz band played on the stage. For a hole in the wall bar, the place had a sophisticated atmosphere, much like a porn director who read Shakespeare.

  Although the outside of the building like the surrounding area was tattered and ragged, the inside boasted almost new furnishings with shiny new bar stools to boot.

  Smoke filled the room echoing the fog that consumed the alleys outside. The stunning waitresses floated across the bar, surrounded by the mysterious aura.

  Agnes made her rounds carrying drink after drink to the capacity crowd, fighting off drunken advances and the occasional groping. As she headed back to the bar a stout, college-aged kid with bright blond hair flagged her attention and ordered a glass of Bourbon.

  “Tough night,” he murmured.

  “Comes with the territory,” Agnes said with a forced smile. “Single or double?”

  “Make it a double, I’m pre-celebrating. I’ve got a big date tonight.”

  Agnes nodded and walked away. A few minutes later she returned and sat a glass of amber colored liquid onto the table.

  Sighing, she attempted to take some of the weight off her feet by leaning on a nearby barstool as she waited for the man to pay. He reached into his pocket as he grinned at her then leaned over and whispered something to the man sitting next to him.

  “You can say that again,” the man replied and ran his long, skinny fingers through his stringy hair.

  He was tall and gangly, and his dark brown hair fell over his forehead nearly covering his even darker eyes. Agnes shivered as he looked her up and down and bit his bottom lip.

  “Oh yeah, you can definitely say that again,” he repeated.

  “Anything else?” Agnes asked in an annoyed tone.

  “That’s all…for now,” the blonde man said.

  The other man nodded and they both laughed. Agnes eyed them for a moment then sat his bill on the bar and ran off in the other direction to beckoning hands.

  Ten minutes later she returned to check on them, but they’d both left. His bill was sitting on the table with the exact amount and an extra twenty-dollar bill as tip. He’d scribbled a number on it and wrote “call me.”

  Agnes scoffed and tucked the money into her apron. Half-insulted, half-flattered, she quickly rushed off to attend to her other tables.

  By four in the morning the club was finally winding down and Agnes started to gather her things. She grabbed her coat and purse from the back room and then waved bye to Hank, the bartender and club owner.

  “See ya later, Agnes,” Hank growled as he wiped at the bar with a dirty rag. “Sure you don’t need a ride?”

  “I’m okay, Hank, besides I’ll be sound asleep in my bed by the time you leave here. And the way that brunette is watching you, I’m pretty sure you already have somebody you need to take home,” Agnes replied with a smile and nodded toward the only customer left.

  Hank laughed and waved his hand. “Get out of here. Don’t fill your mind with what us old folks get into.”

  Smiling, Agnes headed outside and started the four-block walk to her flat. The street, once cramped and full of noise, now only had a few intoxicated stragglers attempting to remember where they’d left their car.

  Agnes quickly made a beeline for her apartment, cutting through one of the alleyways in a path she had taken hundreds of times. The tap of her heels on the cobbled streets outpaced most thoroughbreds as her long legs made quick work of the shadowy road. After working these parts for a few months, she knew the dark alleyways were no place for a woman.

  As she rounded 36th and Walsh she could see the outside lights to her apartment. She sighed with exhaustion, eager to lie back on her sofa and relax her tired feet

  “Hello sexy lady,” a voice whispered from behind her.

  It sounded so close she wasn’t sure she hadn’t said it herself. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she whipped around while at the same time reaching into her purse. Her fingers wrapped around the tiny pocket knife she always carried and flicked open the blade.

  The streets behind her were barren. Even the homeless men that normally heckled her on the way home were gone. Maybe it was the wind, she thought as she turned back around and quickened her pace to almost a run.

  Sprinting the last hundred yards to her home, she fought against the eerie sensation that someone was following her. When she finally reached her apartment she quickly unlocked it and ran inside.

  Slamming the door behind her, Agnes bolted it shut then let out a sigh of relief. She leaned against the door lock in exhaustion and swallowed hard.

  From the shadows a man peered out at her. He watched her as she ran inside and slammed the door.

  She looked frantic and out of breath, in no shape to scream or call for help. The moonlight beamed through the window, illuminating Agnes’ every feature. The man gazed intently at her, studying his prey like a hunter. With her back turned she’d given him the perfect opportunity to strike, but it was easy, too easy.

  He silently stepped out of the shadows, his feet floating over the floor like a ghost. But he didn’t strike. He wanted to look in her eyes once more; he wanted to see his quarry face to face.

  Agnes slowly turned and sat her purse onto the table then began to make her way toward the bedroom. Suddenly she stopped, and all the color faded from her face. Her fingertips went ice cold and fear robbed her of any voluntary actions.

  Stepping out of the shadows was a stubby man clad in all black. He moved slowly, but deliberately with a sense of certainty that chilled the blood in her veins. As he walked closer Agnes tried to move her feet, to run or let out a yell, but she was unable to. She stood motionless as the mystery man came to a stop only inches from her.

 
They were standing face to face and Agnes could make out the distinct smell of Bourbon as the man stared down upon her. His warm breath swept across her face with each exhale. It was a heavy breath, not out of exhaustion, but out of excitement.

  “Welcome home, Agnes,” he projected loudly in an all too familiar voice.

  Still unable to move she stared back into his face. He had soft features and dark eyes, shaded by the dimly lit room. He was someone Agnes would’ve normally not given a second glance, but now he had her full attention. It wasn’t his appearance that frightened her, but the way he looked at her. It was the menace and ill-will behind his scowl. It was the shadow of evil behind his pupils that let her know, this would be her last night on this Earth.

  For the life of her she couldn’t control her legs. She knew what she needed to do, but her body betrayed her. Every muscle fiber was frozen, rigid and incapable of action. She had become a prisoner in her own body.

  “Help,” she was able to mutter in a tone not much more than a whisper. “Help,” she said again this time more audible.

  He calmly pressed his index finger to her lips. “Shh, there is no help.”

  Then, without warning, he grabbed her by the throat and threw her to the ground. With the weight of him pressing down on her and his large thick fingers cutting of her oxygen, all her senses came flooding back and her will to survive took over.

  She began to scream and kick as he wrestled her down, pinning her to the ground. She continued to struggle, knocking the table over and breaking a vase. Her purse tumbled onto the ground and her pocket knife slid across the floor.

  He tightened his grip on her neck. He was close now, very close. Close enough to see the blood vessels in her eyes begin to redden.

  “That’s it,” he grumbled. “Don’t fight it, just…just let it happen.”

  Slowly, she found it harder and harder to draw breath. Gripping his wrists, Agnes stared into her attacker’s eyes beseechingly. But she found the eyes that stared back lacked any remorse. Instead the man looked upon her as if she was some sort of oddity, like a dog born with five legs.