Authors: David Reuben Aslin
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Horror, #Vampires, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Suspense, #Teen & Young Adult
Ian shook his head back and forth, a small scowl on his face like he knew the type.
Chief Mooney continued, “The guy’s gone so far as to purchase one of our oldest historic houses, a museum no less, from the local historical society for his personal use. His home. Oh, I’m told at first the historical society kept telling his attorney they wouldn’t sell. But the son-of-a-bitch kept upping the ante till they would have been crazy to turn it down. That’s pretty much how he bought that old waterfront warehouse that’s now his nightclub too. That’s how he does everything. He just keeps throwing money until someone catches it and puts it in their pocket. Before he even came to town, he donated a ton of dough to Mayor Marco’s re-election campaign last year, and it at least helped Marco get re-elected. Don’t get me wrong, Marco’s a good man. It’s just I don’t like the idea of this element getting into anyone’s pocket, least of all the mayor’s.”
Once again, Ian just sat there nodding in agreement with the chief as he thought to himself,
Unfortunately, money generally does more than talk. It screams.
“Well, Ian, that’s all I got. Let me connect you with my guy, who, once you two are away from the station, will give you some pay to get ya started.” Ian was greatly relieved how the money issue took care of itself without him having to ask or even having to have said a word.
Chief Mooney dialed “9” for the front desk. After a couple of buzzes, the front desk officer answered. The chief spoke in a commanding voice, “Have Officer Ned Parker report to my office at once.”
Immediately after arriving at Chief Mooney’s office, Officer Parker was introduced to Ian. Moments later, Officer Parker and Ian left the office and stood, idly chatting for a few moments in the hallway just outside of the chief’s office. But then Officer Parker’s tone and mannerism suddenly changed. He became very serious. Ian noticed that Officer Parker also seemed to fidget just a bit and grow silent each time anyone, mainly police officers, walked by them. He then spoke in a rather stern tone, “Say, Ian, I don’t know how much the chief told you about this recent series of deaths, primarily of young women; the fact is that at this time we only have our somewhat prejudicially-jaded suspicions regarding who the UNSUB or UNSUBs are.” Ian knew that UNSUB was law enforcement’s acronym for UNKNOWN SUBJECT, though to his understanding it was more frequently used by the FBI profilers than local law enforcement. Ian silently pondered to himself a moment on the thought of whether that meant something or not.
Perhaps the Feds are already involved?
Officer Parker continued, “But if you really want to stick your nose in, you’ll potentially be putting your neck out on this. And I mean from every direction. Especially with the kind of money this guy Salizzar’s been spreading all around town, maybe inside these very walls. Neither the chief nor I am convinced that these walls don’t have ears, ‘cause the guy always seems to be at least three steps ahead of us. I hear Salizzar even recently donated a bunch of money to our local library, then turned around and donated even more money to our local cemetery and crematorium. And he did so in a way that was anything but anonymous. Strange fuck. Between you and me, if this shit continues, this town’s either gonna lynch the guy or elect him for mayor.”
Ian began panning his eyes up and down the hallway. He then looked directly into Officer Parker’s eyes as he spoke. “I believe I understand the potential risks involved.”
Officer Parker stared intensely at Ian for a long couple of seconds. “Okay then. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Listen Ian, we need to talk away from here.” Ian nodded, indicating that he understood and agreed.
Officer Parker continued, “Do you know where the Astoria Column is located? I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s visible from most parts of town and from the bridge for certain.”
Ian smiled as he replied, “You mean that tall needle-style tower that you can see way up on the hillside above the town?”
Officer Parker grinned, “That’d be it. Anyway, to get up there’s a piece of cake. Just follow about any road in town that heads up the hill. You’ll see signs directing you once you’ve headed uphill a ways. It ain’t far. Fact is, besides the Column, you should take a glance at where our suspect resides. Just follow the one-way road in front of the station here and take the second right. Follow that for about four blocks, and you can’t miss it. Salizzar’s house still has a sign out front that says the ‘
Flavel House Museum.’
It’s been weeks since he moved in, and the son-of-a-bitch still hasn’t taken down the sign. Between you and me, I think it’s just another way he’s sticking his middle finger out at this entire town.”
Officer Parker walked with Ian towards the front entry of the station. “I’d show you out, but I don’t want us to look too warm and fuzzy. You head up to the Column. Climb up to the top if you want. It’s a hell of a nice view. I’ll be up there in maybe an hour. I’ll be in my own personal vehicle. It’s a light gray Toyota Camry. I know what you drive. That Wagoneer.” Ian was astonished by that declaration. What he heard next dispelled his astonishment. Officer Parker smiled and laughed, “No. I’m not psychic. And no, you haven’t been under surveillance. I was near the front door when you got here. Just by coincidence, I saw you park your rig and cross the street. And jay-walk across the street, I might add.”
One Way Up. One Way Down.
At first, Ian figured that he probably had time to visit a liquor store to pick up a new bottle of liquid courage, but he changed his mind. “It’s about time I start giving my liver a vacation.” Ever since the vehicular tragedy that took from him the loves of his life, his wife and daughter – all Ian had cared about in the world besides his work – he hadn’t thought there would ever be a time that he would muster the strength required to climb out of the bottle and stay out. He wasn’t sure this was that time either.
One foot in front of the other. One step, and one day, at a time
. Ian thought about that phrase. It had seemed no more than a ridiculous twist on an old cliché to him at the time.
One foot in front of the other. One step, and one day, at a time
, had been spoken time and again by a Catholic priest. One who counseled the twelve steps to a sobriety group that Ian had once sat begrudgingly through in a half-assed attempt at getting people, mostly relatives that he didn’t even really know, off his back about his drinking. Back then, Ian wouldn’t have taken advice from the Pope himself. What seemed to Ian to be fairly obvious, but nobody else seemed to grasp, was that it wasn’t so much that he was addicted to alcohol, Jack Daniels old number “7” in particular, as he was addicted to his long-term depression. And especially back then, no amount of counseling or prescription anti-depressants, all too often chased with booze, helped in any way beyond putting him momentarily in a state of comfortable numbness followed by passing into peaceful darkness that unfortunately sooner or later became painfully illuminated once again.
Then and now no treatment worked, other than what Ian himself very recently discovered: delving back into work was his only possible salvation. That in itself kept him too busy to sink back into his potentially suicidal depression. And now, even more important to Ian’s reclamation than delving into the deep end of his newly reinvented work, was his new companion, Scout. Besides companionship, Scout gave Ian something that he hadn’t even realized was missing in his life. Someone, or something, besides himself that he was responsible for taking care of every day, even when he might not care to take care of himself.
“Okay boy, I’ve got a good idea. Let’s drive through that McDonald’s that I spotted when we first drove through town. We can eat our grub on the way up to that tower.” Scout, seeming to understand, stood up from his usual seated posture just for a moment, wagged his tail, and then settled back to his seated head-tall position in the passenger seat.
Ian pulled up to the menu and microphone. A pre-recorded message came blaring at him with a clearer tone than most order-board speakers.
“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new limited-time, seasonal pumpkin McFlurry with your order today? Go ahead and order when you’re ready!”
Those pre-recorded messages ending with, “go ahead and order when you’re ready,” always threw Ian. He never felt like there was a human standing by actually ready to take his order.
“Uh … yeah, anyone there? Are you ready for my order?” Ian asked in a slow clear voice.
“Yes sir. Go ahead and order when you’re ready.” Ian heard clearly the polite voice of an obviously young, female order taker.
“Okay, hi … um … I’ll have a number three quarter pounder with cheese value meal with a medium orange High-C
for the drink. Oh, and give me an extra quarter pounder with my order. Thanks.”
After paying for and receiving his order, then subsequently leaving the McDonald’s parking lot, Ian reached into his bag of fast food and unwrapped a quarter pounder and handed it to Scout, who wolfed it down in about three seconds. “Wow, you were hungry, huh, boy.” After having taken care of Scout, Ian began eating his meal while driving. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for a sign. “There it is, boy.
‘To the Astoria Column.’
All right, here we go. Just like Officer Parker said. This is a piece of cake.”
Upon arriving to the Astoria Column, that was located at the very top of the highest hill that overlooked all of Astoria. Ian instantly began marveling at the artwork that was etched and painted on the sides of the column. Which depicted aspects of the Lewis and Clark expedition.
“It ended up near here, boy. Lewis and Clark, they finally made it to the Pacific Ocean just beyond Astoria. Just a short distance from here; I believe they built Fort Clatsop near the mouth of the Columbia on this side of the river near where it dumps into the ocean. This entire area’s riddled with the history of Lewis and Clark as well as World War I and II fortifications on each side of the mouth of the Columbia. Forts that housed enormous gun batteries built to protect the mouth of the Columbia against any enemy ships or submarines that might attempt to come up river and attack or even try and invade strategic deep water ports along the river like Astoria, Longview, and especially Portland. I think I read that the fort on the Washington side is Fort Columbia, and the one on the Oregon side of the river is Fort Stevens, which also has right there on the beach the remains of an old shipwreck, the Peter Iredale, I think it’s called. Nearby, there’s the Battery Russell, a famous old gun emplacement. Just some fun facts. Do you like history as much as me, boy?”
Scout barked twice and began happily panting. Ian affectionately petted Scout from the top of his head, down his back with his right hand. There were only a few cars in the parking lot. None of them were gray Toyota Camrys. Ian decided to park his Jeep and take Officer Parker’s suggestion to climb to the top of the column.
“Well, boy, now that you’ve had your history and geography lesson for the day, I think I’ll climb that sucker and take a good look around.”
Ian, being one who by nature paid attention to most every little detail, decided upon entering the tower to count how many steps it took to reach the top of the column.
Less than a month ago, if Ian had attempted the same climb, he would have been severely winded. But all the hill climbing and spelunking that he’d done recently back around Harmony Falls had him in pretty good cardiovascular condition. Even so, after Ian had been climbing for a few minutes, he began to get a little disoriented, almost motion sick, from the round and round, up and up you go, dimly lit, somewhat dank, massive spiral staircase that resounded with incessant reverberating echoes created from other climbers, whose chatting and clamoring feet on the metal staircase were only slightly less than thunderous to his ears. After another minute of climbing, Ian could see the top of the stairs. He was rapidly closing in on reaching the top of his climb.
One hundred sixty-two … one hundred sixty-three … one hundred sixty-four. “Piece of cake.” Ian smiled and proudly proclaimed out loud as he opened the door and crossed the threshold to the outside world. He was a little out of breath but not too bad, and he was very glad to get out into the light and the fresh air.
“Fantastic!” Ian said in a feeble attempt to proclaim out loud the fabulous, panoramic view that the climb to the top of the Astoria Column afforded him. He then began walking around the tower’s wrap-around viewing platform, taking in all that he could see, and he could see for miles.
From below in the parking lot looking up at the height of the column, he’d figured he’d get a good view from up above. But he never would have guessed that on such a cloudy day he would be able to see so very far in every direction. Ian especially noted that off to his left from where he stood was Saddle Mountain. He’d noted that it was a particular place of interest from his brochures and that it had a popular hiking trail that went from a parking lot below all the way up to its summit. Ian then gazed ahead towards the mouth of the Columbia and the ocean beyond.
After taking one more look all around, Ian glanced downward and noticed that a light gray Toyota Camry
was pulling into a parking spot below, just two parking spots away from Ian’s Jeep. Ian hurriedly began his descent down the column.
Officer Parker spotted Ian’s egress from the column. He rolled his window down and held his arm out of the window up in the air.
Ian spotted Officer Parker’s hand, and proceeded to walk briskly up to the driver’s side of the car.
“Ian, go around and get in. I figure this is about as good a place to talk as any,” Officer Parker said. Ian figured that the officer had chosen this particular area of the parking lot because he would be able to see all vehicles that were coming and going with ease.
Ian did as instructed. He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and climbed in.
“What’d ya think of our little tower?” Officer Parker asked Ian with pride in his voice.
“It sure offers a fantastic view.” Ian said earnestly.
Officer Parker smiled and nodded his head in agreement as he replied, “Yeah … the view is really something from up there all right. Ian, I see your Jeep comes with a security system.” It took Ian almost one long second to get what Officer Parker meant by that.
“Oh, yeah that’s my German Shepherd, Scout. He’s a trained … He was a police dog that the former sheriff of Harmony Falls owned. Scout was given to me by the … new … sheriff there.”
Officer Parker suddenly adopted a serious expression. “A large police-trained dog … Nice.” Ian nodded his head in total agreement. He knew Officer Parker was wrapping up his chit-chat and was about to start talking shop. Ian, in prior quick study of the officer, had noticed the man could change topics and levels of seriousness on a dime.
“Okay, Ian. I can’t stress to you enough how potentially dangerous undercover work can be for anyone, whether private investigator or law enforcement professional. What I can tell you is this. After you’ve taken a look at these pictures of the bodies, at least the victims we know of …” Officer Parker paused to catch his breath and a bit more composure. “Anyway, the bodies were fished out of the river with their throats, and or … various body parts … torn-apart, exsanguinated, and totally bled-out. Some organs were totally missing. We’re suspecting possible organ harvesting. That said, suffice it to say, the pictures of them aren’t pretty. And whoever is responsible is to say the least extremely disturbed and dangerous. Coroner says that it’s possible the bodies were at least in part mutilated. Fed on by something like bull sharks that can live for extended periods in fresh water, which would account for some of the lacerations. That variety of shark has been known to come in from the ocean and travel quite a ways up rivers. But in each victim, it was determined that they were dead before they hit the water. Cause of death was not drowning.” Officer Parker handed the photos to Ian. Ian instantly became wide-eyed as he grimaced and shuddered ever so slightly, hoping that Officer Parker wouldn’t notice.
He did, and replied, “Ian, don’t sweat it. You’re not gonna impress me by trying to be a tough guy. When I first saw these pictures, I ain’t ashamed to tell ya I nearly lost my lunch. And I’d even been present and seen some of the bodies fished out, seen ‘em first hand.” Ian looked up from the pictures directly at Officer Parker. He then slowly began shaking his head back and forth. With his mouth slack-jawed open, Ian began taking a series of deep breaths trying to gain composure.
Officer Parker reached down between the front seats and retrieved a large, unmarked manila file folder. He handed the folder to Ian. “In here’s just about all the notes on the victims and summaries of statements of potential witnesses as well as various crime scene investigative reports. It may seem like a lot, but I assure you, with the number of deaths, it really ain’t much to go on. Nothing we’ve got points directly at Salizzar or his nightclub. Not directly. What little information we have on the guy is mostly from public domain records like his business license application and such. He listed his full name as Vladimir Drago Salizzar. He’s supposedly from Hungary, where he either came from big money or more likely made big money in drug trafficking and black marketing human organs. Maybe operates nightclubs for money-laundering set-ups and near perfect traps for attracting his victims. Salizzar listed on his liquor license application that he owned a few of those absinthe nightclub bars around Budapest. Ian, you heard of … You know about absinthe?” Ian nodded. He had heard about the stuff and wanted Officer Parker to know straight-up he was telling the truth about it.
Ian spoke, “Yeah, it’s some kind of wormwood spirit. Very high alcohol content. It’s popular in Eastern Europe. Well, all over Europe now. It’s sort of becoming a fad here in the States as well. But besides the alcohol effect, absinthe is supposed to contain small traces of, if memory serves, a substance … well, a drug called Thujone from the wormwood. Wormwood extract ingested in any significant quantity is very toxic, like drinking turpentine. Thujone’s hallucinogenic. But the amount allowed in absinthe, I’ve read, is very slight; its reputation for causing a hallucinogenic effect, beyond mere intoxication from its high alcohol content, is highly overstated to the point of near wives’ tale. The ‘buzz’ one gets from drinking absinthe in moderate to heavy consumption, in common vernacular I believe, is colorfully referred to as, ‘Chasing the Green Fairy’!”
By the raised eyebrows and the surprised expression on Officer Parker’s face, Ian knew his knowledge on the subject required some explanation. “I spent some time years ago in Europe, mainly in Scotland, doing some zoological work around the Lochs.”
Officer Parker was impressed nonetheless. “That’s the stuff all right. He’s peddling that green shit in his bar.” Ian slowly shook his head and flashed Officer Parker a look of disgust, clearly intent on indicating to Officer Parker his sympathy to both the police department and the town’s predicament.