Chapter 8

While the assassin was unconscious, we stripped him and, using a couple of neckties Ruben donated to the cause, tied him sitting up in a chair. I stuffed one of his dirty socks in his mouth for a gag.

"You carry a knife, don't you?" I said to Ruben.

"Yeah, a little carved Damascus two blade. Why?"

"Even strong men talk when they're naked with a knife at their balls."

"A bluff?"

I shrugged. Was this the man who killed my old friend? Then I grinned and nodded.

"How did you spot him?" Ruben asked. "To me, he looked like an authentic room-service waiter."

"How many waiters wear $300 Bally shoes and a Rolex wristwatch? He's an amateur." I'd noticed the shoes and watch when we'd stripped him.

"He's coming around," Colleen said.

The assassin's black eyes fluttered open and then filled with fear.

"Give Colleen the knife," I said to Ruben, which shocked him momentarily, and then he smiled.

Uh-huh, now I understand. Women can be more ruthless than men. Sometimes violent know this as a fact, he thought as he opened one blade on the knife and handed it to Colleen.

Sweet thing, I said silently, grab him by his cock and cut it, not a lot, just a little, but make him bleed. Can you do that?

I can and I will. The skunk planned to kill us.

She brandished the blade in front of his eyes. "Morgan will ask you some questions," she said. "Answer them truthfully without hesitating, or I'll cut off your puny cock." With that, she grabbed the man's penis, jerked it, stretching it out away from his body and laid the sharp blade on the upper part of his limp shaft close to his pubic mound. With an evil smile, she sliced, drawing a trickle of blood.

"Jesus!" Ruben muttered.

"Oops," Colleen said. "I hope he doesn't talk, Morgan. Thinking about cutting off his cock and watching blood squirt until he bleeds to death is making my pussy wet." Nauseated is more like it, cowboy. Let's get this over with. I need to wash my hands.

He'd finished the muffled scream the cut evoked, so I jerked the sock from his mouth. "Scream and you lose your cock and your life. What is your name?"

Don't cut him again unless I tell you to do it with mind-talk.

Okay.

The assassin gulped. Sweat beaded his brow. "Ramon Chavez."

"That's a lie. Cut him again, Colleen."

"Paul Sanchez! Don't cut me! I'm Paul Sanchez."

"Who hired you?"

He thought a first name - Joseph - but didn't speak.

"Get ready to cut him again, Colleen. Who hired you?"

"He'll kill me."

"You might escape his wrath. You can't escape mine - or Colleen's. You heard her. She's looking for an excuse. Fuck, she doesn't need an excuse. Talk to me Sanchez."

Colleen grabbed his cock again.

"No! I'll talk! Joe, his name is Joseph Karsh."

"Where does Karsh live?"

"Las Vegas."

"Who hired Karsh?"

"I don't know. Honest! I don't know."

"Why am I marked for death?"

"I don't know."

He was telling the truth.

"Did you kill Marna Crispin?"

"No!"

"Who did?"

"I don't know."

A lie. His thoughts gave me a name, and Sanchez feared Joel Hall more than Karsh. He'd never reveal Hall's name. He'd die first.

"Marna is dead?" Colleen asked out loud, looking shocked and upset.

"Yes." I can't connect with her.

"You took the place of the room-service waiter to gain access to my room. Did you kill him?" I asked.

"No, he's tied up and gagged in a linen closet."

"Do you have backup?"

"No, I work alone."

He was telling the truth.

I looked at Ruben. "Check the linen closet. Make sure the waiter is still alive, and check our perimeter."

Ruben nodded and left the room, wondering as he walked away if I'd kill the man in the chair while he was gone.

"I was told Joel Hall killed Marna Crispin," I said. "Is Hall local or from out of town?"

"Vegas," he said, and then shivered with fear. How did he find out about Hall?

"Did you kill Candice Singer?"

Oh, fuck, I'm going to die!

"I can see it in your eyes! You killed her, you fuck!"

My faulty memory system took that moment to briefly correct itself and give me my Candice memories. She was a loving friend, not an enemy. Maggie had read her wrong, too. Candice wasn't a piranha; she loved me. I didn't love her, not like I loved Colleen, but still I gravitated to Candice for my downtimes. I was the user, not Candice, and because I used her, she was dead.

"I want to kill you now! Right now!" I screamed and cocked my hand and arm for a strike. I was furious! "I'm expert in the martial arts. I could drive the bone in your nose into your brain, and it's taking all the will power I have to control that urge, so talk to me. Tell me everything. Why? Why did you kill Candice?"

"I'm an assassin. That's what I do. Karsh through Hall hired me to kill her."

"Why did he want her dead?"

"She'd been under a watch; her house was bugged. After you made arrangements to meet her, she found a bug. She planned to tell you. That's what I was told. That's all I know. Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me."

I'd broken his spirit. He'd answer any question I asked, so I asked for details, how he'd murdered Candice, step by step, starting from the moment Joel Hall ordered the hit. Then I questioned him about Joel Hall and Joe Karsh. Hall and Sanchez worked for Karsh. Sanchez feared Hall more than Karsh because Hall was a stone-cold killer, a man without conscience or mercy, a man who enjoyed inflicting pain. From what Sanchez said, Karsh wasn't my enemy, but my enemy had hired him.

"Go wash your hands," I said to Colleen.

While Colleen was in the bathroom, I was sorely tempted to drive the bone in Sanchez's nose up into his brain. He was evil. He didn't deserve to live. With a sigh, I reached and pressed and put him to sleep. Killing an unarmed man tied naked to a chair with borrowed neckties was counter to Mr. Bart's conditioning.

Ruben returned, looked at the assassin and said, "Is he dead?"

"No, taking a nap. What about the waiter?"

"He's alive."

"Did you release him?"

"No. He was kicking the door and screaming through a gag. Someone else will find him. Our perimeter is clear."

Paul Sanchez alive presented a problem. I couldn't release him. His first call would be to Joel Hall, his second to Joe Karsh. I didn't want Hall or Karsh to know that I knew their names.

Colleen returned from the bathroom, looked at the assassin and said, "Is he dead?"

"No," I said.

She grinned. "Couldn't do it, huh?"

"No."

"Softy. That's what you are - a softy. Heather was wrong. You're not a killing machine." She gave me a gentle kiss. Course I already knew that. I couldn't love a killing machine.

"What should we do with this asshole," Ruben asked.

"I can't kill him," I said. "Can you?"

Ruben grinned. "Nope. What about you, Colleen? Can you kill him?"

"Untie him. Put a gun in his hand, and if he tries to kill one of us, I could kill him. The way he is - no way. He should be brought to justice, though."

Chicanery is required, Colleen said silently. Speak to this scum's mind, cowboy. Become his conscience. In other words, brainwash the fucker.

"What a good idea," I said. "We'll turn him over to the police. I'll work on him some more when he comes around."

Wake up, Sanchez. Wake up, I said inside his mind. It's your conscience. Wake up.

His eyes suddenly opened wide. He stiffened with terror when he remembered where he was and what had happened, was still happening to him.

You must confess your crimes.

His head spun right and then left, searching for the source of the words entering his mind.

This is your conscience. You've ignored me too long. I don't want to die. If you die, I die. Confess! Tell them your crimes. No! Don't tell them. Tell them that you'll tell the cops. They might let you go if you promise to confess your crimes to the authorities. Tell them! Tell them if they let you go that you'll confess your crimes - all of them.

His black eyes bulged with fear. I must be going crazy. My conscience has never spoken to me before. Why now?

"How about it, Colleen? Do you want to kill him?" I asked. I'd let her experience the thoughts I was sending Sanchez as his conscience.

"May I cut off his cock?" she asked with eager glints in her pretty eyes.

Tell them, or that ruthless bitch will kill you! She'll cut off your cock, stuff it in your mouth and watch you bleed to death.

"Don't kill me!" Sanchez gushed. "Turn me over to the police. I'll confess my crimes. Please! Don't let her touch me! Please!"

"Can't do that," I said. "You'll tell them about me, tell them what I did to you, and they'll arrest me. Oh, I'd get off. I've got a good lawyer, but I don't want the hassle."

Agree with him, you idiot!

"I won't mention you, Morgan. I promise!"

Include the woman. Tell him you won't tell the police about her, either. The other man, too. Save us! Confess! Confess!

I hammered him until his black eyes stared blank and unseeing, luminescent with the madness while I carved into his mind wielding a surgeon's scalpel with my telepathy. As his conscience, I thrashed him while we untied him, and I continued my assault on his besieged mind while he dressed, telling him over and over again what he had to do to save himself.

He became as docile as a purring cat and as obedient as a well-trained dog.

I asked silent questions, which he answered out loud until I told him to think his answers, not speak them.

"This guy is nuts," Ruben said as we drove away from the Boulders.

I was unrelenting. Confess! Confess! Confess! Don't let the name Morgan pass your lips. Confess all your crimes except the last. Don't tell the police about Morgan. Tell them everything, but don't mention Morgan.

What about Hall? he asked his conscience.

Leave Hall out of it. Morgan will take care of Hall. Save yourself. If you tell them about Hall, he'll torture you, and then kill you.

That's what I'll do. That's good. What about Karsh?

Leave Karsh out of it. Confess your crimes. All of them, but don't bring up Morgan or Hall or Karsh. This is about you, Paul. About us. You're not like Hall. You have a conscience. I'm your conscience. Confess your crimes but leave Hall and Karsh and Morgan out of it.

At the corner near the headquarters building for the Scottsdale Police Department, I emptied his silenced weapon, wiped it down, and put it in his hands. "When you confess, you'll need this gun with you. It's the weapon you used to kill Candice Singer. Right?"

"Right," he said.

This is good. Morgan is helping you do what you know you must do.

We watched him walk into the building with the gun in his hand. I coached him mentally at every step. I'm not sure what happened inside. I was too far away to connect with anyone except Sanchez. My plan fell apart, though. Shortly after he walked into the building, gunshots rang out, and my mind lost its connection with him.

They killed him, I told Colleen silently.

Why?

I don't know.

Later, a television reporter gave us the story. Supposedly, Sanchez walked into the police station brandishing his weapon. Someone yelled, "Gun!" and four police officers drew their weapons and shot him.

I called my skip-tracer/private investigator and apologized for my rude but necessary behavior when I'd called her before, explaining why I'd hung up on her. I did my song and dance about my memory loss and nemesis, and then brought her up to date on my effort to turn Protect & Serve into an organization, finally arriving at the reason I'd called her.

"I need two dossiers, Robyn: one for Joel Hall and another for Joseph Karsh. They reside in Las Vegas. Hall works for Karsh."

"What kind of detail do you want?" she asked.

"As detailed as possible. Karsh can lead me to my enemy."

"How soon do you want the dossiers?"

"Yesterday, but..."

"If you want detail and speed, I could do a better job for you on the ground."

"You mean go to Vegas?"

"Yes, on the next flight."

Not a bad idea, except...

"Robyn, they're killers, especially Hall. He enjoys torturing his victims. If either of them found out you were nosing around asking questions..."

"I can take care of myself, Morgan."

"I'm sure you can." Hmm, Ruben was still on the clock. "All right, but I'm sending one of my new operatives with you, a man named Ruben. He..."

"I don't need a nursemaid, Morgan."

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I want Ruben on the ground because he'll look at Hall and Karsh and the situation from an entirely different perspective than you. He's a protector, like me, and at the moment, I'm his principal, not you, so I'm not sending him to Vegas to protect you. Still, it wouldn't hurt either of you to get along and watch each other's back."

When I told Ruben what I wanted, he wasn't happy about teaming up with Robyn either.

"A female private dick, huh? What is she a bull dyke?"

"Shame on you, Ruben," Colleen said.

He blushed. "Sorry."

"Ruben, I don't remember her, but her appearance and sexual preference aren't material. Look, she'll gather personal information about the men to develop the dossiers. I want you to take a gander at their strongholds. The dossiers should tell us their personal weaknesses; your investigation should tell us their physical weaknesses. We might need to breach their strongholds to get at them, and if possible, take Karsh alive. Besides, where's the harm in watching Robyn's back at the same time?"

They flew out of Scottsdale Airport late that afternoon. Eileen set it up. They could carry their weapons and a large bag of goodies from my armory with them on a chartered flight.

Colleen and I drove Ruben to the airport. I wanted to meet my skip-tracer in the flesh, mostly so I could connect with her while she was in Vegas. I checked on Mark, Heather and Jim three or four times everyday - to make sure they were all right, not to spy on them.

Robyn Berdan was not a bull dyke. She was a doll baby - a Barbie doll, big blonde hair, long neck, big bosoms, tiny waist, womanly hips and long, long legs. I put her age at thirty-three or -four.

I can see it in his eyes, Robyn thought as she watched me walk toward her. He doesn't remember me. That's not right, dagnabit. I'm memorable. I am! Sure, it was just one time, and it was ages ago, but if I trip a guy, he ought to remember landing on me.

Jeez, cowboy, did you bed every good-looking woman you ever met? Colleen said and dug her elbow in my ribs. I'd plugged her into Robyn's thoughts.

We were like two ships that pass in the night - one night. Then I hooked up with George, and when I sent George packing, Gabby had him by the gonads, Robyn thought. Nice gonads they were, too, if memory serves, and there's the rub - his lost and wandering memory, that and the beauty on his arm. I don't normally swing that way, but she sure could tempt me.

Hoo boy! Ruben thought. What a woman! She could give a dead man chronic, raging tumescence.

That's when Robyn noticed Ruben. Ooh, be still my heart. What a hunk! Down girl. He's probably married with six screaming, snot-nosed kids. Oh, oh, I'm in deep doo-doo. Married with children or not, that man makes me wet.

I introduced everyone. Ruben looked stunned. Robyn looked nervous. Colleen chortled inwardly.

You're having way too much fun, sweet thing, I said.

They're cute. Ruben's smitten; Robyn's got it just as bad. It's love at first sight for both of them.

Lust at first sight, you mean.

Uh-uh, love, baby. I know about love, and that's love. Oh, they'll jump each other's bones at the first opportunity. That's lust, and they've got lust galore, but they're twittering, and twittering slips the situation beyond mere lust way out on the other end to romantic love.

Twittering, huh?

Yep. Ruben lusted after Heather and vice versa, but neither twittered.

I chuckled. I think you mean that they weren't all atwitter.

That, too.

As the chartered aircraft taxied toward the runway, my cell phone rang. My get-it-done gal had identified another support staff member, my electronic-surveillance and spy-gadget guy, Horace Reed.

"Thanks, Maggie, I'll give him a call. Have you made any headway on my forger or hacker?"

"I've crossed off some names. Is that headway?"

"Sure, if some names remain on the list."

"Then I haven't made any headway. Call Gordy. He has some bad news for you."

I connected with Gordy's mind immediately. He'd heard about Marna.

"All right. Maggie, I need to change cell phones. Too many folks know my current number, and I've been using it too long, which means I'll soon need to call a pot full of people and give them my new number. That doesn't make sense, and it occurred to me that I might have a support staff function I didn't put on the list - an answering service, one number that anyone can call twenty-four/seven, a communications clearing house, if you will."

She laughed. "I don't need to track down that staff member. Her name's Jennifer DuPont, Jenny for short. Protect & Serve is in the phone book, bubba, and Jenny or one of her operators answers the calls to that number. I thought you knew that."

"Nope. I thought Leticia, the receptionist at the executive office, answered those calls." Which, upon reflection, didn't make sense. She didn't have any messages for me the first time and only time I stepped into the offices since my memory loss. "What's Protect & Serve's phone number. I'll call her."

"Call Gordy first," Maggie said but gave me the number.

"All right. Maggie, call Jenny for me. Fill her in and wade through the messages she's taken since I lost my memories. There's gotta be a bunch. Save me some time, please."

"Will do."

I called Gordy and told him I knew about Marna, but didn't know any details. He knew some.

"Whoever killed her tortured her first, Luke."

"Where was she killed?" I asked. Tortured. That's why she gave up my location.

"In her car. It was parked in the garage next to her office building." His thoughts gave me some gruesome details he didn't express. "Under torture, she might have given you up, Luke."

"She gave up Morgan," I said and told him about the attempted hit at the Boulders. "If she gave up Luke Upton, as well, my house in Carefree isn't safe, and I'll be forced to discard my Luke Upton identity." Giving up the real me went against my grain. Suddenly, I felt compelled to know one way or the other.

I hung up, and Colleen and I drove away. I didn't know what we'd face as we approached the Carefree house. Some evasive driving might be necessary, so I drove. As I started up the long drive to the house, I searched the mountainside, as did Colleen, but neither of us saw anything out of place, and the back of my neck didn't itch.

After I drove through the gates, I hopped out and moved into the house through the front door.

The house is clear, I told Colleen a few minutes later. Park the car in the garage and meet me in the security room.

I checked for any breaches in the perimeter defenses and armed the mines. If Marna gave up Luke Upton, my enemy had yet to marshal a force to attack my stronghold.

I breathed a sigh of relief as Colleen stepped into the room.

My cell phone rang.

"Morgan," Maggie said, "Jenny took a call from an attorney from Marna Crispin's firm today. I thought you'd want to return his call right away."

"I do." I dialed the number Maggie gave me and asked for Richard Dent.

"Who may I say is calling, sir?" the receptionist asked.

"Morgan."

"Thank you. I'll transfer your call now, sir."

"Dent, here," a gruff male voice said.

"I'm Morgan. You called."

"Ah, yes. Ah, Marna Crispin was murdered this morning."

"I heard."

"I've been given her files. She left specific instructions regarding your files, Mr. Morgan, yours and the files of another man named Luke Upton."

"I understand."

"Then you understand more than I."

"What were her instructions?"

"To seal the files, contact you, and turn the files over to you. Failing to contact you or Mr. Upton, the files were to be destroyed. This is highly irregular, Mr. Morgan. The firm doesn't... can't turn our files over to anyone, let alone destroy them. The liability, you understand."

Bless you, Marna, I thought.

"Are you saying you're refusing to comply with Marna's instructions because of potential liability to your firm?"

"Ah, yes."

"Then you just jumped from the frying pan into the fire, Mr. Dent. If you don't comply with her instructions, I'll file suit today. As Marna's client, those instructions were mine. Seal those files, and seal them now. If anyone, including you or anyone in your firm, looks inside those files, I'll consider your actions a breach of attorney/client confidentiality, Mr. Dent. Am I making myself clear?"

Colleen, call Blount on your cell phone. I gave her the number.

"Highly irregular," Dent muttered.

"Mr. Blount, Morgan would like to speak to you," Colleen said.

"Dent, hold for a second," I said and took Colleen's phone. I told Blount what was going on, referring to Luke Upton as a client to explain the Upton files.

"I understand. I'll call Dent. I know him. He's a wimp."

"I'm in a fix, Tim. Could you pick up the sealed files for me, as well?"

"Sure."

"Don't break the seals and take some armed muscle with you."

"It's that way, huh?"

"Maybe."

"All right."

I told Dent my attorney would be calling him, gave him my attorney's name, and told him that Blount would pick up the files as soon as possible.

And breathed another sigh of relief.

"The sun's over the yardarm, baby. Wanna drink?" Colleen asked with a bright smile.

I sipped scotch, and Colleen put a plate of cheeses, crackers and fruit in front of me at the bar.

"Thanks," I muttered and munched a cracker.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I was wondering how my enemy connected Marna to Morgan?"

"The first time you met with her, some watchers spotted you leaving the building where she works."

"True, and I didn't notice them going in, so I don't think they were watching the building for me. Someone in or around the building spotted me and alerted my enemy, who called Karsh or Hall or Hansen, probably Karsh, who called Hansen, who didn't have enough time to deploy shooters, so Hansen called Greenfield at Modern Security, who sent out watchers with orders to follow me, none of which explains how my enemy tied me to Marna."

The cheddar cheese was sharp - my favorite. The flavors exploded as I chewed and swallowed. I said, "Sanchez told me that my enemy bugged Candice's home. When she found one of the listening devices, she planned to tell me the next time I called, but she couldn't call me. She didn't have my cell phone number. To insure the success of the ambush at the Wrigley Mansion, Joel Hall, who works for Karsh, sent Sanchez to kill Candice. Perhaps my enemy bugged... no, that doesn't fly. If Marna's phones were bugged, my enemy would have had plenty time to deploy shooters at her office for my arrival." I popped a grape in my mouth - more explosive flavors. "It's a dilemma."

Suddenly it occurred to me that Candice could have called Jenny. I dialed Maggie. "Are you still sifting through Protect & Serve's messages?"

"Yes."

"Did Candice Singer call and leave any messages?"

"Over a dozen during the last three months. That's as far back as I've gone. I started with the most recent calls and worked backwards."

"What was the date of her most recent call?"

"Lemmee check." She came back and gave me the time and date. It was the Saturday night before the ambush at the Wrigley Mansion.

"Did you listen to her message?"

"No, Jenny lists the calls on a log. I've been working off the logs."

"How does the system work? Does Jenny or one of her operators answer each call?"

"No. A machine answers each call. Jenny and her operators log the calls and give them to you when you call in. If a call is an emergency, or if you've told Jenny to alert you to a specific call, the operator will call you immediately. Frankly, Jenny thought you'd been killed or seriously injured, Morgan. She's been worried sick."

"Is Candice's last message still available?"

"Lemmee check?"

A minute later, she came back and told me no. The tapes were cleaned and reused weekly. That'll need to change, I thought.

Then an idea struck me. "Hang on, Maggie. I want to try something." I picked up the hardwired phone on the bar and hit speed-dial number one. The phone rang, and a machine answered the call with an anonymous message, telling me to leave my name and number.

At the beep, I said, "This is Morgan." I gave the machine the number for the phone on the bar, hung up, picked up my cell phone and told Maggie about speed-dial number one.

"Are you with Jenny now?" I asked Maggie.

"Yes."

"If I'm right, she just received a call from me."

"Jenny," Maggie said. I heard muffled sounds, and shortly, the hardwired telephone rang.

"Morgan," a female voice said when I answered the call, "you can't believe how happy I was to find out that you're still alive and kicking. This is Jenny, by the way, and yes, I'm speed-dial number one."

"I tried speed-dial number one a while back, but the anonymous message worried me. Someone is trying to kill me. Did Maggie fill you in?"

"Yes."

"Anyway, that's the reason I didn't leave a message. You're not an employee. What are you? A contract service?"

"Yes."

"Do you have other customers?"

"Sure"

"How many? Are you at capacity?"

"Yes and no. I will be now that you're active again. Why do you ask?"

"Did Maggie tell you that I'm changing Protect & Serve from a one-man band into an organization?"

"Yes."

"I plan to put to work somewhere between fifteen to twenty operatives. Can you handle that much more phone traffic?"

"No."

"What's the bottleneck? Equipment or operators or both?"

"You demanded the personal touch, Morgan. Will that change?" Her voice had lost its warmth.

"Nope, just the opposite. Jenny, I sense that you're upset. Why?"

"I can't serve you. You'll look elsewhere for the service."

"Not if we work together. I'm nothing if not loyal, Jenny. Talk to me."

"I don't have the money to expand, but that's not all. I work out of my house. My ratfink husband ran off four years ago, leaving me with three small children. I can't work out of an office and take care of my kids. If I try to put in more equipment, the telephone company will get wise and change my billing to business rates instead of residential, and that'd put me out of business. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, because I need your business, Morgan."

"You answer my phone twenty-four/seven, right?"

"Yes. A friend of mine down the street covers the phones at night and wakes me if a call comes in that she can't handle."

"You didn't answer an earlier question, Jenny. How many other customers do you service?"

"Five, but they're easy. I'd tell them to find another service if it'd do any good, but you said fifteen new operatives. I can't handle fifteen Morgans, and that's the truth."

"Wanna bet?" I said. "What do I pay you now?"

"$2,000 per month. That's high, I know, but you wanted and demanded personal service."

"I can fix this, Jenny, but you'll need to level with me. What's your monthly gross income?"

"I don't know what gross means."

"How much do you take in each month before you pay any expenses?"

"That varies, but about $3,000."

"How much would you need to charge me if you let your five other customers go and had to pay the telephone company business rates?"

"I don't know. I'd have to do some checking and make a budget."

"While you're checking, calculate any capital expenditures needed, and add the expenses for some more operators."

"Morgan, I don't know what capital expenditures are, and my house is small. It can't handle more operators."

"Is Maggie still there?"

"Yes."

"Let me speak with her."

I put some cheese on a cracker and ate it.

"What's happening, Morgan?" Maggie said. "Jenny's very upset."

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Buy at Bookapy.com

Protect and Serve

Paul Phenomenon

$3.99