Lucky: The Irish MC (42 page)

Chapter Twenty Five

Lacey

After being cooped up in that horrible hole, it felt so good to be back in my apartment. It was amazing how much the past thirty-six hours were starting to seem like a bad dream. The first night I was back, I didn’t get a ton of sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d read and why Chase wouldn’t listen. But in the morning, I woke up with an idea.

“Do you remember when you worked for the library in college?” I asked Jackie over the phone.

“Unfortunately,” she said. “Why, do you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m going to go and look and old newspapers that haven’t been digitized,” I explained. “More research for this project.” I felt bad lying to Jackie about why I was hunting, but I couldn’t risk putting her in danger, too.

“You’re such a nerd,” she said. “Do you want me to come with? I’m not working today.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can handle it,” I told her. “Thanks, though. Do you want to get dinner later?”

“Sure,” Jackie said. “I can come over with a pizza. Sound good?”

“Definitely,” I told her. “I’ll be home in a few hours, I’ll call you when I get there.”

It was a warmer day outside; the sun was out, for once, and I was starting to feel like this endless winter would be over soon. Dully, I wondered if the cold and snow would always remind me of Chase now. They had a reason to; I’d been completely absorbed with him for weeks now.

The drive to the library was uneventful. I kept checking to see if there were any cars behind me, but it didn’t look like anyone followed me for more than a turn or two. I was more and more paranoid all the time, but so far, it didn’t look as though I was actually in danger. I’d never seen any of the guys Chase had threatened me with. If I was being completely honest, the scariest people I’d ever seen were Chase and Peyton.

The library was almost deserted, and I found a computer in the back hooked up to microfiche. There were a few newsreels from the year Rose was murdered, as well as the subsequent years. I hadn’t wanted to tell Jackie, but part of me was curious to see Chase’s mug shot, or the article detailing his arrest. I still couldn’t believe that he’d gone to prison for heroin of all things. That was terrifying; it made him an alien. I couldn’t believe I’d lost my virginity to an ex-heroin addict! Just thinking about it made me cringe.

To my surprise, there were some write-ups in national papers covering Rose’s murder. I found one in the
St. Louis Tribune
from a few weeks after her killing.

Nation On Edge After Girl’s Brutal Slaying: Detroit, along with the rest of the country, wait by a thread as the nation searches for the killer of Rose McIntyre. McIntyre, 17, was stabbed to death over a week ago and police are still hunting for the clues to her killer. Authorities believe that her killer was a member of The Machetes, a fearsome gang known for their ruthless drug connections and running guns. McIntyre was a star student at her local high school, with a full scholarship to college waiting for her after graduation. Her death was a senseless and brutal tragedy that’s given new meaning to the term “degeneration,” and it’s likely that parents will be haunted for decades to come.

McIntyre’s only surviving family is her brother, Chase, 19. Chase has been in and out of jail for petty crimes since the age of 17, and now he’s reputed to be dealing with some much messier stuff. Might the connection of her brother be a reason for Rose’s killing? It’s a chilling question, and one that we may never know the answer to.

Police are now advising all youth under the age of 18 to stay inside except for traveling to school. If you are under age and have a part time job, it’s strongly recommended that you quit, or take a leave of absence. In special cases, children will be excused from truancy as police believe the killer is still out there and looking for more victims. A mandatory curfew is in effect for those under 25, and you can expect a one-thousand dollar fine for violating it.

Leaning back in my chair, I covered my mouth with my hand. There was a picture of the crime scene. Rose’s body had been taken away, but I was left looking at a room covered in grotesque splatters of dark blood. There was a huge dark puddle on the floor and some bloody handprints on a fallen chair and the walls. I stared at the photograph and tried to make out the interior of the house. It looked to be a well-decorated but somewhat shabby room, with an oak table and four chairs. The wallpaper in one corner was peeling. I wondered if Chase had always grown up in poverty; from his backstory, I was guessing probably. That made Rose’s death seem even sadder to me because she’d worked to rise above it. I thought sadly of the scholarship that she never got to use. She’d be in her early thirties now; I wondered if she’d be married and have children. She was so beautiful, and she seemed so gentle and sweet. I bet she would have made a good mother.

Part of me wondered what Rose would think of her brother now. As tempting as it was to dismiss the idea, I somehow had the feeling that Rose would forgive her brother anything. It was easy to imagine her taking him in her small arms and trying to provide some measure of comfort. I had a feeling she was always the kind of person who would turn the other cheek.

There was another article in the same newspaper a week later. The headline was
Slasher Strikes Again
and with a grim feeling, I read on.

In what could have been deemed another brutal murder, the same attacker who killed Rose McIntyre, formerly of Detroit, has struck again. This time, however, the victim lived to tell the tale. Brenn Hobbs, 21, was attacked when she was crossing a mall parking lot last night. Hobbs works at a kiosk in the mall and was heading to her car around 11 p.m. She said that she noticed a large man following her, so she quickly ran to her car. However, when she got there, she was able to get inside and drive away with no problem. Once at home, another man jumped out of Hobbs’ backseat and attacked her, leaving her in the driveway. Luckily, one of Hobbs’ neighbors was arriving home and saw her. Hobbs survived, but she is in critical condition at the Lincoln County Memorial Hospital. Her family requests privacy.

If her family wants her to be private, why did the article give away her location
? I thought to myself, rolling my eyes. Leaning back in my chair, I wondered if it would be possible for me to talk to her. Brenn Hobbs couldn’t be that common of a name. Heading to Google, I typed her name in and hit enter. The first result was a Facebook page of a business called Brenn’s Hens. It was a gourmet butcher shop in downtown Detroit. And the owner’s last name was Hobbs…

Grabbing my coat and car keys, I hurried through the library and got into my car. I had no idea if she’d be there, but I had to find out. I had to ask what she’d seen that night. It only took me fifteen minutes to drive across town, but it felt like an hour. I seemed to catch every red light and every slow driver. Finally, I pulled to a stop in front of the store. The lights were on, but no one was inside.

“Hello?” I called out. “Ms. Hobbs?”

A plump brunette came out of the back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hi,” she called out cautiously. “Can I help you?”

I tried to smile as genuinely as I could. “Hi, Ms. Hobbs,” I said in a shaky voice. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Her face instantly turned ashen and I knew I probably wasn’t the first person who’d come looking for her. “Get out of here,” she said quietly. “I can’t tell you anything that you’ll want to know.”

I shook my head. “Brenn, I’m sorry, it’s personal. My friend’s life is at stake,
my
life is at stake!”

Her eyes blazed and she squared her shoulders. I saw the traces of a long, pink scar starting on one shoulder and sloping downwards. I cringed as I wondered how much it must have hurt.

“That makes no difference to me,” she said in a curt voice. “I can’t risk getting involved with anything dangerous again. That time in my life has passed.”

I frowned. “Wait, were you involved in something bad? I thought it was random. Just like what happened to Rose.”

Brenn laughed, showing a mouthful of yellowing teeth. “Oh, honey,” she said. “No one is innocent when The Manticore is involved.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “What?” I repeated dumbly. “The Manticore?”

“With his big machete,” Brenn said. She raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t I say to get out of here? Do I have to call the cops on you, too?”

“No, no,” I said in a shaky voice. “I’m leaving now. Thank you.”

“Bye now,” Brenn said in a calm voice as I backed out of the store. She reached for a cleaver and I turned around before I could see where the blade would fall.

With my heart pounding, I slowly walked back to my car. Brenn had said The Manticore had attacked her, not the boss of The Machetes. And something about a big machete…

I knew I had to call Chase. He’d have to listen to me now.

Chapter Twenty Six

Chase

I was speeding back to Lacey’s when my cell phone rang. It was from a number I didn’t recognize, but I flipped it open anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. McIntyre.” I recognized the old man barkeep’s voice. “I’m calling to inform you about a sighting.”

My heart started to thud in my chest. “When? Now? Is he still there?”

“He’s gone, unfortunately,” the old man said. His voice sounded shakier than it had before. A chill of fear ran down my spine when I realized the old man was probably more afraid of The Manticore than he was of me.

“What did he do?” I demanded. “Tell me everything.”

“He came in with a young Asian girl,” the man stuttered. “And he was laughing and joking around, he was in a real good mood.”

“And then?” I growled in exasperation. “Tell me the good stuff, old man!”

“I’m getting there,” he said calmly. “He’s wooing the girl and then another young man comes in, oh, I don’t know, early twenties. The young guy makes the mistake of sitting down on the other side of the girl. He got up and slashed him right across the chest, with an odd sort of knife. The girl screamed and then before I knew what was going on, she was on the floor, covered in blood. He cut up both of them like pieces of fruit and then left.”

My jaw hung open. “Holy shit,” I breathed. “How long did this take?”

“About five minutes,” the old man said. “And then he sent the junkies in here to clean, as usual.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “Keep me informed every time he comes in. Not just this one, do you understand?”

“I get it,” the man said drily. “I have to go now.”

I hung up without saying goodbye. My heart was racing. I couldn’t believe someone was impersonating The Manticore to this level of verisimilitude. It was frightening; it was almost like the real Manticore had come back from the grave to haunt me. I shivered as I hunkered down in the driver’s seat and pushed my foot to the floor.

Lacey’s apartment was empty when I got there and another stab of fear pierced my heart. I dialed her cell phone but she didn’t answer, and a wave of anxiety passed through me.

“Lacey, call me back as soon as you hear this,” I growled into her voicemail. “This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, princess, call me right the fuck back.” Angrily, I threw my phone across the room. It hit a mirror and broke the glass, sending shards everywhere. I knew I should clean it up, but I couldn’t even focus at the moment.

Lacey’s laptop was open to a search page. When I realized she’d been researching The Manticore and the slashing murders, I was angry, but not before a headline caught my eyes.
Manticore On the Loose: Citizens Terrified
.

Some say The Manticore disappeared, but authorities are convinced he’s back after an attack on a group of young girls at the Rockwood subway station. Four 15- and 16-year-old girls were attacked by a single man after taking the last train of the evening. All four of them were killed with a single slash to the chest. Police are on the hunt for anyone who resembles this profile: dark skin, long dark hair, bright eyes possibly colored with contacts. It is thought that the perpetrator is carrying a long machete. He is considered armed and dangerous. If you encounter this suspect, do not try to fend him off. Instead, you should hide and call the police as soon as possible.

A chill ran through me. Was this what Lacey was trying to tell me? I rolled my eyes; sometimes she made absolutely no sense. Yeah, this was creepy, but it wasn’t like what happened to Rose.

Something struck me and I looked at the picture again. The bodies had been removed but the photo showed a subway station covered in blood spatters and smears. There was a set of bloody handprints, leading over to a giant pool of blood. Although at first it looked like the person who was stabbed had lain there dying, on closer inspection I realized they had been crawling
away
; the handprints pointed in a different direction. My heart sank when I realized it was exactly like another crime scene photo that I’d studied too many times before.

Rose’s.

The image would forever be burned into my brain. Our old living room, with that shitty oak table. The chairs turned over and covered in bloody handprints. Handprints all over that peeling wallpaper and some of the carpet. In the official photo, Rose’s body had been removed, but I’d seen it while she was still there. She’d died a few feet away from where she’d been slashed. She’d somehow managed to crawl away from the puddle of blood and into the kitchen.

It was exactly similar to the photo from the subway station, from only a few days ago. The bad feeling in my stomach turned to lead as I studied the photo even more closely. Aside from the difference of scene, everything matched.

There was a sinking feeling in my chest and I closed my eyes, leaning against the back of the couch and covering my eyes with my hands. How was it possible that I’d spent so much time looking for the wrong guy? And if The Manticore was really alive, he must have known that I was searching for the boss of The Machetes, not The Manticore himself. It was even more unsettling to realize that I’d been the pawn of a cat and mouse game the whole time. I’d been protecting Lacey from the wrong people, and going after the wrong people for Rose’s death.

I hadn’t wanted to believe that The Manticore was back. Maybe it was the idea of confronting an almost superhuman villain, or maybe it was the idea of failing. And I almost certainly would fail; he was capable of killing a human being with a single flick of the wrist. No amount of training would ever be able to save me now. The only way I’d be able to win was through speed. I knew I wasn’t stronger or more dangerous than The Manticore, but I could be quicker. With a deep breath, I checked the gun in my waistband. It was a powerful little Smith & Wesson, but it felt like a toy in my hands. I knew I was going to need something a lot stronger in order to fell The Manticore.

Suddenly, little things started to make sense. How those junkies in the alley were convinced the killer was The Manticore. And the guy with the machete in the bar who killed the younger kid and that Asian girl. And the schoolgirls, murdered at the subway station. And the junkie henchmen he would deploy to clean up the bar after he was done. I suddenly knew he was supplying them with heroin from The Machetes; probably the same heroin that I’d sold myself.

The Manticore was still alive. And now I knew it was only a matter of time before he came for me.