Bloody Sunrise: An electrifying psychological thriller Page 8

  ‘I want to sort this whole mess out—now!’ Denny wanted to say. And Powell didn’t say anything about Rashida. Not, ‘Sorry about Rashida.’ Or ‘What a shame about Rashida.’ ‘Did they get the guy who killed her?’ Just ‘Rashida’s gone and I’ve got somebody else to screw already.’ “I wanted to hear what you had to say about Rashida’s murder.”

  “I already talked to the cops.”

  “Yeah, so did I but I’m trying to find out some things on my own.”

  Powell shrugged.

  Denny studied Powell’s eyes. He didn’t seem like a killer. But isn’t that what they always say about killers? ‘He seemed like a regular guy.’ “I need to know what happened that night.”

  Powell scowled. “What do you mean? Somebody killed her. What’s there to know?”

  “What were you doing that night?”

  Powell looked off before looking back at Denny. “You’re kidding, right? I told you I already talked to the police. Now if you don’t mind.” He grabbed the door.

  “So you didn’t see me at all that night?”

  “What?!” He cringed.

  Denny shook his head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Look, man, I told you I already talked to the police. I told them everything I know. Now I’ve got things to do.” He started swinging the door shut.

  Denny put his foot out to block it.

  Powell pulled the door back. “What the f—”

  “You’re a scumbag, Powell. You never loved Rashida.”

  Powell stepped toward him. “Watch what you’re saying, O’Callaghan.”

  “You just used her, like you use all women, like you’re using this cheap blonde.”

  “Oh, is that right?” The big man nodded powerfully.

  “Yeah, it is. And for all I know you killed her.”

  “Now you listen to me.” Powell narrowed his eyes hard at Denny. “I know about you. I know about your twisted jealous little mind. You couldn’t please Rashida and I did. Enough said.”

  “I’m going to find out if you killed her.”

  “Oh, really? Well, let me tell you something, O’Callaghan. Brig told me what you were sayin’ that night, rambling in your usual drunken stupor, and if you weren’t a fireman, I’d’ve told the police what he told me. So watch your step, tough guy.” He slammed the door in Denny’s face.

  Chapter Eight

  Brig told me what you were sayin’ that night. Denny walked down Powell’s front steps. Brig told me what you were sayin’ that night. Powell’s words rang in his ears. So Brig betrayed him. Denny massaged his temples. There was so much free-floating information out there while he’d been in the blackout. It was like an army of ghosts, any of which could pop up and dash him at any moment. But Brig, Denny thought. Brig was his one true friend and his betrayal hurt.

  Denny drove around aimlessly. He ought to go to Aunt Elizabeth’s but she was always so busy, and besides, he knew what she would say. Maybe he ought to go back to Powell’s. He wanted to. The dude may have killed Rashida and now he was threatening him. And Brig. Denny shook his head. Brig, the betrayer.

  He needed a drink is what he needed. A drink would solve all his problems or at least that’s the way it felt. Ah, screw it, he wasn’t drinking. If he got drunk he was permanently hosed. He wasn’t far from Orson’s condo. Orson was at least the voice of reason, the calm in the storm.

  But Orson wasn’t home. Great. Denny rolled his eyes. He called him. He was at the YMCA working out. Ten in the morning and the guy is working out. Figured, Denny thought. Orson was the model fireman. Dudley Do-right. Joe Company-man. Denny drove there.

  The YMCA smelled of chlorine from its indoor pool. Denny walked past the check-in desk like he knew what he was doing, like he belonged. He went upstairs to the room with the exercycles and treadmills. The machines faced a flood retention pond and a stand of trees, a rare slice of nature in the city, but everyone pumping away on the machines had earbuds in and most were watching ceiling-mounted TVs or staring at their phones or fit-watches. Denny spied Orson in the middle of the room on an exercycle. He walked up alongside him and nodded.

  Orson, sweat shining on his face, a white towel around his neck, pulled out his earbuds. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “I was just in the neighborhood so I figured I’d stop and say hi.” Denny winked. “Good workout?”

  “Uh...yeah. I’ve got a conditioning test coming up for my scuba diving certification, so I figured I might as well start getting ready. And, as you know, the fitness test for the firehouse is right around the corner.”

  Denny looked around. The TVs were playing some reality show, hip hop was on the sound system, the machines buzzing. No one was going to be listening in on their conversation. “I talked with Brig.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “And...” Denny raised his eyebrows. “...with Powell too.”

  “Okay.” Orson slowed his pace and put his hands on his thighs as he pumped.

  “And I didn’t learn anything really from either of them.”

  “What did Brig say?”

  “He said yeah, he, like you said, left The Wild Bull with me.” Denny left out that Brig didn’t say anything about egging on Denny’s anger. “He said we went to Jammer’s Bar. But then that I left there without him.”

  “At what time?”

  “He said around ten-thirty.”

  “Oh, man. And they say the murder was at eleven.”

  “Exactly.”

  Orson shook his head in sympathy. “And what did Powell say?”

  Denny laughed. “Powell and I almost got into it. He didn’t come right out and say it, but he implied he didn’t see me at all that night. But he did say Brig told him some stuff about me. And that was pretty upsetting.”

  Orson quit pedaling and wiped his face with the towel. “That Brig, Denny.”

  “What?”

  “I know he’s a fireman and all but he’s also a hothead.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, Orson.”

  “I mean, he’s been hanging with that Rufus Tucker lately, and I told you Tucker’s a wacko. And Brig’s like half lost living in civilization since he got back from his last tour in Afghanistan anyway. He told me once you hear bullets snapping around your head, the adrenaline rush is so great, it’s impossible to return to ‘civvy’ life.”

  “Kinda understandable considering what he’s been through, don’t you think?”

  Orson slid his leg over the exercycle and sat side-saddle. “It’s more than that.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve heard him. He’s like crazy with hate against Muslims. And Tucker fuels that fire.”

  “What are you trying to say, Orson?”

  Orson shrugged. “Nothing, Denny. Who am I to say? But Rashida was Muslim and I’m telling you, Brig is big-time trouble. He’s killed Muslims in Afghanistan. He brags about it.”

  “So you think he’s killing Muslims here? You think he killed Rashida?”

  Orson got off the exercycle. “Brig said you left him at Jammer’s at ten-thirty?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One question then: before you asked Brig what you’d done, did you tell him you couldn’t remember anything after The Wild Bull?”

  Denny took a deep breath and huffed it out. “Yeah. So?”

  “So then Brig could’ve told you anything at all and you wouldn’t have known the difference.”

  “Oh, man.” Denny bit his lip. “So you think he’s lying?”

  Orson wiped up the sweat droplets on the exercycle with the towel and threw the towel over his shoulder. “I’m saying knowing how he feels about Muslims and with Rufus Tucker pumping up his hate, well, who’s to say.”

  * * *

  Denny had to get back to Aunt Elizabeth, whether she was busy or not.

  Her secretary had returned and was looking fine. A pretty brunette, brown eyes, jangly earrings with a comfortable, confident look on her face. Aunt Elizabeth’s secretaries were
always smart. A definite turn-on.

  “Hey.” He smiled at her. He could see Aunt Elizabeth was on the phone at her desk. “I’m sorry but your name is Arabella?”

  She laughed. “Gabriela.”

  “Ah, my bad.” He unzipped his coat and nodded toward his aunt. “Any time soon?”

  “Oh, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  Denny knew he should just wait for his aunt to get off the phone but this Gabriela was so pretty. “So, how’s your day going?” Yeah, maybe he felt a little guilty chatting her up because of Summer, but what the hell, any distraction from the stress in his life was welcome at this point, and what could be more pleasantly distracting than talking to a beautiful woman?

  “Good.” She looked at Aunt Elizabeth, then back to him. “She should be off soon. You can have a seat.” She nodded to a grouping of chairs by the window.

  Denny got the message. She was one of those classy women regularly hit on who knew how to deflect attention without being insulting. His flirting defeated, he nodded, walked over and sat. Really, with Summer, he probably shouldn’t have been hitting on her in the first place.

  He sat nearly twenty minutes until Aunt Elizabeth came out. “Come on back, Dennis,” she called, and she led him to her office and closed the door behind them.

  Denny sat on a maroon leather chair, his aunt sitting across a desk from him. “I just wanted to check in with you, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  “Have you filled in the timeline gaps?”

  Denny rubbed his shoulder. “I’ve tried but it seems nobody knows what happened that night. At least what happened to me.”

  The attorney, in a yellow blazer, a blue sweater underneath, leaned back in her chair. She said nothing for a while and then: “I’m going to hire a private investigator to see what they can find out.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth, I don’t have the money—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “But how will he be able to find out more than I have?” Denny crossed his arms.

  “The one I use is good. She’ll find out.”

  It was a cowardly thought but Denny started wondering what if the investigator found things that pointed to him. “You sure it’s a good idea? I mean what if she finds something...” He shrugged. “...you know...”

  “That implicates you?”

  “I didn’t mean that.” He uncrossed his arms and sat up in the chair. He felt guilty about the lie but he had his pride. “I meant, can she be trusted?”

  “I’ve worked with her several times. And remember, she reports to me, not the police. And remember, as well.” She nodded. “The police are out there doing the same thing.”

  Great, Denny thought with a sigh. He thanked her and headed out of the office. Pretty Gabriela was smiling as he walked by her desk, but he could barely manage a nod to her. This thing was getting beyond scary.

  * * *

  Denny needed a drink. What was there for him to do anyway? Aunt Elizabeth was hiring the private investigator to fill in the blanks on the timeline. It was all taken care of—his fate was out of his hands. He drove to a bar out in Elmwood Park. Driving further to not know anyone. That was the plan anyway. He’d just have a few. Yeah, he really ought to talk to that traitor Brig again, but he needed to ease the pressure first, at least a little.

  His cell rang. He wasn’t answering. He didn’t want to know who it was. But what if it was the cop? He looked at the phone. George. George, his AA sponsor, was the last person he wanted to talk to! But then...but then what if George needed help again? “Damn it!” He hit the talk button. “Yeah, George?”

  “Hi, Dennis. I just wanted to check how you were doing. It was so good to see you the other day.”

  “Yeah, okay. It was good to see you too.” The bar was coming up on the right. But he could hardly hang up on George—or tell him he was going to a bar. Denny had to think of what he’d told George when they’d met at the Serenity club. Yes, he’d told him about Rashida. He’d basically told him everything. He drove past the bar. “So how are you doing?”

  He talked to him for a half hour. At first Denny was angry, very angry. It was as if the powers that be had cheated him out of his chance at getting relief, but the fact of the matter was talking to George was calming him down. And when Denny hung up he realized he could function again. He realized he didn’t have to get drunk, and that he was going to be able to talk to Brig again.

  And this time talking to Brig would be no-nonsense. He drove to his apartment complex. Nobody in the car wash this time. He caught Brig carrying out the garbage.

  He wheeled into the first available spot and jumped out. “Brig!”

  “You can’t park there.”

  “I don’t care.” Denny slammed the Camaro’s door.

  “I’m telling you, man.” Brig opened a little gate to the dumpster area, lifted the lid on the dumpster and pitched the trash. “The dude whose space that is—he’s like a mountain man.”

  “You lied to me.”

  Brig closed the gate and looked at Denny as if he were from the moon. “I’m not going around in circles with you again, O’Callaghan.” He headed for his apartment.

  Denny grabbed his arm. “You talked to Powell.”

  Brig shook free. “And I talked to you. So what?”

  “But you told Powell I ranted about killing him.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Hey.” A guy with hulking shoulders and a long bushy red beard walked up to Denny’s Camaro. “Whose car?” he said to no one in particular.

  “Hey, dawg,” Brig called to the guy. “He was just leaving.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Denny,” Brig whispered. “Move your car or that guy will tear it apart.”

  Denny ran over, hopped in. “Sorry.” He pulled into a visitor’s space further down, hopped back out, but by then Brig was gone. He must’ve run to his apartment. Denny hustled up the stairs. Brig’s door had been left ajar and he walked in.

  Brig was taking a hit off a joint. He coughed out the smoke and held the joint out to Denny. “Here, I’m not talking to you unless you smoke this with me and calm the hell down.”

  “Right.” Denny shut the door behind him. Oh God, it was so tempting and he did need to know what Brig knew about the night Rashida was murdered. And once Brig got wasted who knew if he’d be able to tell him anything at all. But Denny knew if he smoked the joint it would lead him back to drinking, which would mean disaster. But yeah, he had to know what happened the night Rashida was killed. Denny took the joint and drew in the smoke but didn’t inhale, while Brig watched him carefully. Denny held the smoke for a long time before oozing it out.

  “All right now. Talk to me as if you’ve got a brain.” Brig took the joint and another hit.

  Denny continued to pretend inhaling the joint and when it was finally done, Brig got out an orange plastic bong. He loaded up its bowl.

  Denny held up a palm. “Bongs give me headaches.”

  “Suit yourself.” Brig lit the bowl and sucked the smoke up the tube and deep into his lungs.

  “All right, man,” Denny said, squinting his eyes, talking slowly, doing his best to act stoned. “All right. So tell me what you told Powell.”

  Brig held the smoke from the bong hit and held it and held it. Finally, like a jailbreak the smoke burst from him. A hacking spell followed. “Oh, man, this is good dope.”

  “Brig?”

  “What?”

  “What did you tell Powell?”

  “Oh.” He rubbed his nose. “I didn’t really tell him anything. It just came up.”

  “What just came up?”

  “Well, all right, okay.” Brig lit a cigarette. “The way you were acting that night.”

  Denny scowled. “Come on, Brig, just tell me exactly what you said.”

  “I warned him, okay?”

  “So you did tell him I ranted I was going to kill him?”

  Brig waved the cigarette at him. “No.�
��

  “Well, what did you say?”

  “I told him to watch himself.”

  “To watch himself?”

  “To watch out for you.”

  “And you didn’t tell him why?”

  Brig frowned. “I told him you’d been going on about Rashida and him.”

  “And why would you tell him that?”

  “Because he’s one of us, Denny. Because we firemen gotta watch out for each other.”

  “He’s a sleazebag.”

  “Yeah, maybe he’s a little out there when it comes to sex but he’s a fireman first, and a damn good one at that.”

  Denny looked off, then back at Brig. “So you told him to watch himself?”

  Brig dragged on the cigarette and nodding, exhaled the smoke as he spoke. “And I’m giving you the same advice.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I know somebody who knows somebody who knows your Detective Nemiah Washington.”

  Denny was on the verge of telling Brig to watch himself, because he was sick and tired of being jerked around. “And what about Detective Washington?”

  Brig stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “On the job they call him Pod Washington.”

  “Pod?”

  “P—O—D: Prince of Darkness. They say that like the Bible says: ‘And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.’”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brig shrugged. “That Washington’s a climber. That he’s Mr. Clean-Cut Nice Guy on the outside but all the while he’s thinking of nailing your balls to the wall. He wants to be Chief of Police, even Mayor. And he sees his path to the mayor’s office to be through piling up convictions. How he gets them he doesn’t much care. In fact, he doesn’t care at all.”

  * * *

  Denny left Brig’s thinking what Brig said about Detective Washington made sense. Those aggressive questions Washington asked in the last interview. You were out drinking, inhibitions down, you went over to Rashida’s and got into a fight? The way he’d tried to trick him with the ‘two questions’ ruse. So Brig was watching Denny’s back after all, and yeah, Brig was right—Denny needed to be super vigilant because Washington was a snake. What had Brig said? The devil disguising himself as an angel of light. It was sinister.