7. Messiah

"Son of a bitch!"

I was deep into my thoughts on where to find this maniac when Mark texted that another body had been found. What makes it worse is that another cop showed up to the scene before we could get there. That means we can't wipe this from the radar as easily as the others. I can just imagine the news teams are already gearing up to deploy their vans just as I grab my keys to make my way there.

I park on the side of the road just down from where the police have marked off the area with yellow crime scene ribbons. I lean against my car as I glance up and down the street. It is almost one in the morning. I should have been asleep. Maybe then I could have avoided this shit until daylight. I text Mark that I am here and wait a few minutes until he appears from around one of the CSI vans. Two news vans pull up. The reporters and camera people start setting up just on the outside of the police barrier. The reporters are met by different cops that give them the three details they can disclose.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as I pull my smokes from my pocket. I take a long drag as I see Mark speaking with another cop and pointing from one end of the street to the other. The cop starts walking away from me as Mark turns in my direction. I stay in my spot as he approaches, his badge glinting in the street lights as he glances around for any more bystanders.

"R on the chest," I note.

"Yep," he sighs, stopping a few feet away.

"Dick cut off?"

"And missing," he adds.

"Fuck." I take another drag from my cigarette and hold it as I think.

"I.D. on the body marked him as Holden Roth," he tells me. "Sound familiar?"

I nod. "Same crew as the others."

"Well, we can be certain this is personal now. Just need to find out why."

"Or I can go visit his friends, pop a few bullets in them and call it a day. We get ahead of this killer, finish the job for him."

"Who is to say this is the only group he is going after?"

No one. For all we know, this could just be the beginning of a long string of bullshit coming down on Charles's men. There has to be a reason for this.

"Get what you can. Meet you at the diner for breakfast," I tell him, dropping my cigarette and stomping it out with my boot.

He nods before turning away and walking back toward the crime scene.

He doesn't have much more information at breakfast. At least, he tells me he doesn't. I have worked with Mark for a few years now, but he acts too hesitant about this scenario. There is something he isn't telling me yet. A fact that annoys the fuck out of me because now I am going to have to call a ghost to break into the police records to see what is going on.

After breakfast, I am still too wired to go to sleep. I make my way to Gold Standard and order a drink as I wait in a dark booth. I don't even know if I want to get anything extra while I am here. I just don't want to go home yet.

There aren't any dancers on stage and the music isn't even turned up as loud as usual. There is only about an hour or so before the place closes up for the night. Likely, the girls are all too tired and used to want to bother with me.

"Why so glum?" Oakleigh asks as she sets a drink down on the table.

Her skin is dewy with sweat and it makes the glitter on her chest look like specks of dust.

"Long day," I say, reaching for the glass. "Who is all around?"

"Just me and Jean still on the clock," she answers, sitting down across from me.

I can smell the heavy scent of mango wafting off her and mixing with the slightly sweet scent of her sweat. There is a smear of pink lipstick in the corner of her mouth, and I decide I am definitely not in the mood to play with sloppy seconds. The whiskey is good though.

"Where is that Angel chick?" I ask.

"Angel?" She tilts her head. "Oh, her. Didn't work tonight."

"She is–"

"Not up to standard," she finishes. "We are aware. But Kevin keeps her around. She is a fucking bitch if I ever saw one. She is probably lucky to make forty dollars a night and that"s just tips from serving drinks."

"When will she be back in?" I ask, tipping the whiskey glass to my lips.

"Tomorrow. She comes in at ten."

I nod. She eyes me for a moment and I lean back in my seat, looping my arm over the back of the booth. I know she is waiting for me to make an offer.

"So, are you only here for a drink or was there something else on your mind?"

I swallow the rest of the whiskey to keep myself from saying what I am really thinking.

"Just a drink tonight, Babe."

I get some sleep and then call one of my ghosts to start looking at the police database for any information about the recent murder. From there, I make my way to the North side to keep an eye on Holden's crew. They meet for lunch at a small deli then branch off in different directions as they get to work peddling drugs. Watching from my car, I follow one down the block until he stops at a crossing and leans against the light pole, staring down at his phone as he waits for customers.

It is early afternoon. The street is busy with people moving aimlessly from one place to another or heading to and from some of the small stores along the street. I smoke a few cigarettes and take note of the people hanging around. My target makes a few deals with people that walk past him and I try to see if any of them look sketchy. Well, more sketchy than someone buying drugs from a dude on a street corner.

Target one doesn't have anything of interest going on, so I turn on the car and make my way down the street a few blocks until I see his buddy in a similar position on a different corner. I type out notes on my phone as I wait, things to potentially look into once I am back at my computer. I need to know who their dealer is. I already know their criminal records, but maybe I should look deeper to see if there is a connection there. Did they attend the same school? How long have they worked together? Maybe it is one of them offing the competition in their neighborhood. As Disciples, they don't have the power to make calls like that. Then again, as many hits as I have made to off drug peddlers and middlemen, I never had the urge to cut their fucking dicks off.

Target two doesn't appear to have anything interesting going on and I nearly start the car to leave when I notice a woman walk up to him. He stares down at her as she speaks then nods before nudging his head toward the side of the grocer behind them. That isn't a usual move.

I get out of the car and walk slowly toward their location. They aren't hidden long enough to do anything explicit. The woman appears from around the corner and walks away with her arms wrapped across her chest to combat the cold. The target walks back to his spot a few moments later. Just another deal. I take a few more steps before turning to head back to my car when I catch a glimpse of the woman's face.

She looks different without her wig. Her hair is a bright red that glows against the pallid color of her skin. Glancing left then right, I dart across the street and follow her. She makes it about half a block before I am able to catch up.

"Angel," I call.

I know that can't be her real name, but it is all I have to go on.

"Angel."

Her shoulders tense and her pace picks up. She heard me and is choosing not to answer.

"Hey." I reach out and touch her shoulder.

She whirls, a kubaton gripped in her hand as she glares at me.

"Go away," she says through gritted teeth.

I hold up my hands and take a step back. "Not a good place to be walking alone."

She looks me over, probably assessing whether or not I have my own weapon. It is Chicago after all, and we aren't in the best neighborhood. She glances around the street then tucks her kubaton back into her coat and turns around. I follow her for a few steps before she whirls, shouting at me to leave her be.

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