“Beautiful, isn't it?”
Jarred by the outside sound of something alien, April Monday opened her eyes at the man who'd interrupted her. Special Agent Finn Roberts. The man assigned to her by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The man leading the Right Hand Man killings across this proud country. The man hunting Brock Shepherd. She let the words he'd muttered resonate in her head, just so she could understand what he'd said. Cupping her hand to her mouth, she took a fleeting glance at other patrons to see if she'd been seen in her trance, cheeks growing crimson as the embarrassment settled in.
“Oh my God! That's so embarrassing.”
Finn chuckled. Shook his head. “Nah. It's not embarrassing to be lost in pretty music, April. Not embarrassing at all. In fact...” he bit his lip before speaking “...I find it kinda sweet.”
“Sweet? That's not really a word many people associate with a Monday,” she admitted through a chuckle.
“Ha. Comes down to perspective, April. In fact, I find you kinda sweet all over.”
Quizzically, April squinted at her Special Agent. “Finn, I know you said this was something to take my mind off of everything... but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I feel like you're trying to seduce me.”
“Wining and dining is not seduction.” Finn waggled a finger at April as if scolding her.
Glancing around Pierre Henry's restaurant, that's Henry prounounced like it were spelt ON-ree, April felt underdressed and out of place. Mink coats more expensive than the car she drove were hanging from coat racks. Women with augmented chests the size of her head and faces pulled back so far they almost wore their pubic hair on their throat. April was not one of the social elite of Portland. She felt dramatically out of place.
“I don't belong here, Finn. Why would a man take a girl to a place like this unless he was thinking about getting laid?”
Finn pressed his hand to his chest, taken aback by the accusation yet his face didn't tell the story of a man who was shocked. It told the tale of a man who'd been busted. “April, the last thing on my mind is taking you to bed.”
“Wow, Finn.” April sipped her wine. “Way to make a girl feel special.”
Almost instantly, Finn double-took, just like a cartoon character. This time it was his face washed with crimson as he swallowed hard at the awkward lump growing in his throat. “That's not what I meant. You're taking me the wrong way.”
“You either ARE or you AREN'T trying to get in my pants, Finn.”
Hands up. Palms out. Finn felt the grasp of accusation wringing his neck. “What? Wait... April it would be unethical of me to go to bed with you.”
“But that doesn't mean you don't want to.”
Reaching out, Finn poured himself a glass of water into a wine glass from the crystal decanter designed to make April feel like even tap water were out of her price range. He stuffed a finger into his collar and tried to relieve himself of the tension. 'This woman is impossible,' he thought to himself, helping himself to a long drink of water.
“April, please. I have the feeling you're trying to make a fool out of me.”
“You've done it to me.” She fanned a hand out as if offering the restaurant as an exhibit. “Bringing me here. I'm like a fish out of water here, Finn. You'd have impressed me more taking me to a Taco Bell or something.”
“I don't like Taco Bell. I like good food.”
“Taco Bell IS good food. Well... at least where I come from. Where I come from it's good food.”
Finn sighed, running his hand down the length of his face, feeling like he were wading into quick sand and sinking even quicker up to his chest. “So what? I like good food. FINE food even. I brought you here to take your mind off-”
“Off what, Finn? Getting raped and having my hand hacked off?”
April rose her right hand, holding it out, pulling her hand into her sleeve like it had been lopped off. She was now at the stage where she'd began to accept her fate, if that was what it was. And being a Monday she had one of two options to deal with it. With humour or rage. She'd chosen the former. Her dad... his reputation had made his decision for him. He dealt with things in fists and booze.
The couple seated behind April had overheard what she'd said, the woman clearly aghast by her comments. Finn reached out, trying to pull April's hand down so she couldn't create a further scene.
“April... please! Don't speak like that!”
“Like what? The truth? We all know it doesn't matter how many clues you and your little scientists gather I'm fucked either way.”
“There's no need for that language.”
“Am I embarrassing you here, Finn? Are you regretting taking the middle-class girl to a restaurant she can't even friggin' say!”
Finn's face was redder, this time with attempting to sustain his rage. “You think I'm arrogant for taking you here? Listen to yourself! I'm trying to do something nice here for you, April. I'm not trying to embarrass you. I'm not trying to make you feel insignificant. It's just me trying to be nice. Trying to treat you.”
“You want to treat me? Here's a fucking treat, Special Agent...” she laced those last two words with spite “...catch the man who wants to fuck me and chop me up. Do that! That'd be a fucking treat, Finn.”
Plucking the napkin off her lap, she tossed in front of her and snatched up the glass of wine in her hand. Viciously, Finn pointed at her in exclamation for his next words.
“Fuck you.”
“No, Finn. Fuck you. Fuck you and take me home. I'm done with you're expensive water jugs and these plastic bitches in vermin fur. Take me home.”
And with that, April Monday downed the rest of her wine and put the glass down hard enough to make a thunk but not hard enough to break it's base. April rose to her feet on the thunk.
“April, don't be like this.” Finn rose to meet her.
She folded her arms across her chest. Stared a hole into Finn's eyes. “Take – me – home!”
“Fine! Fine. You win.”
April shook her head, slowly. “Nobody wins here, Finn. Trust me.”
“Let me get the check, okay? Then I'll take you home.”
Falling back into his seat, Finn dropped eye contact with April's and looked about the room, trying to make eye contact with one of the wait staff. He nodded when he'd made contact, calling over the waiter silently. April watched the interaction and shrugged, plucking her coat off the back of her seat and folding it over her arm, shoving her chair in with her thigh.
“Fine. I'm going to the bathroom.”
Stomping off, never looking back, April weaved through the other diners across the room. Finn watched as she left, muttering under his breath but forgetting his anger once his eyes dropped to her ass. Her perfect, athletic ass. Shaking his head, as if he couldn't believe the sight, Finn turned back to the table where he saw the waiter looking after April, making the same kind of face he had moment ago in his own perversion.
“What're you looking at?”
Red faced, the waiter drops his head. “Sorry, sir.”
“Get me the damn check.”
“Very good, sir.”
Scowling after the waiter, Finn couldn't help but let out a chuckle. A chuckle which was interrupted by his cell phone breaking out into the chorus from Green Day's Brain Stew, alarming half of the diners. Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Finn plucked his phone from their, pressing the answer button and holding his hand up in a silent apology to those that stared him down.
“Roberts.”
“Finn. Sal here. I've found something.”
“The fuck're you sweatin' for, man? It's colder than a witch's fucken tit in here. Turn the air con off, Renner.”
Reluctantly, Renner reached out and twisted the dial. The chilly breeze instantly dropped and Monday sighed, shaking his head in disbelief at the man's ability to sweat at 40 below. He lit his cigarette and cracked the window a tad. Renner took his eyes off the road a minute to stare at Augie.
“Got a spare?”
“Ain't no such thing as a spare, Renner.”
Renner chuckled. “Give us one of them would ya?”
Augie handed over the lit cigarette to Renner, who nodded in silent gratitude while the Raging Fear lit a fresh one and sighed as he exhaled. He turned the radio on and flicked through the channels, finding no tunes he wanted to listen to he turned it off again and drew on his cigarette again.
“What're you sweatin' so much for anyways?”
Renner shrugged at the wheel. “Thrill of the chase, I guess.”
“The chase? Renner... we drivin' round Portland hopin' we catch a glimpse'f Hookee the fucken Cripple. Ain't no chase, man.”
Snatching another glimpse of Monday, Renner frowned curiously. “Hookee the Cripple? Who's that?”
“You ever heard'f Chopper Read?”
Renner squinted at the road. “That some sorta motorbike or somethin'?”
“Motorbike? Fuck no. He's that Australian gangster type feller who kills other gangsters.” Disappointed, August shook his head, trying to ash unsuccessfully out the window, the gust tossing the ash across the car and onto Renner's pants leg. August pretended not to notice, having watched the ash dance across onto the trousers.
“Some sorta vigilante or somethin'?”
Augie shrugged. “Somethin' like that. Y'ever seen the movie?”
“Who's in it?”
“That Australian feller. You know that one that was the Hulk?” August raised his left arm, like he were trying to make himself look bigger to represent the Marvel hero.
Staring off into the distance, as best he could as he drove, a thought struck Seth Renner and he seemed confused by his own conclusions. “Ed Norton? Him? He's Australian?”
“Not THAT Hulk. Not the Fight Club feller.” August twirled a finger like he were trying to take Renner into the past. “The other one. In the first one.”
“Oh... I know him! He was in Black Hawk Down.”
“Yeah.” Augie pointed. “Him! What's his name?”
Renner stabbed in the dark. “Eric Roberts?”
“Eric Roberts?” Augie looked at Renner the way someone might if they passed wind in an elevator. “Eric fucken Roberts? Man, you're clutchin' at straws.”
With his cigarette wielding hand, Renner pawed the air as if to make Augie forget his first attempt. “No. It's not Roberts. It's... ah fuck. Name's on the tip of my tongue.”
“But you know who I'm talkin' 'bout right?”
“Yeah. I can see him in my head like.” Stuffing the butt of the cigarette in his mouth, Renner pointed with his now free hand to his temple.
“Well he's in it. And on the DVD they've got extra special bits. You know them things? What're they called? Special extras or somethin'. Anyways... it's where they talk about makin' the movie and shit. They talk to this Chopper feller.” Subconsciously, August makes a gun shape with his hand.
“The gangster or the character?”
“Gangster. And apparently, when he was in the pen, he used'ta speak 'bout this character of his called Hookee the Cripple. Fucker's even wrote children books 'bout him.”
“Who'd let their kid read a story written by a killer.”
Throwing his hands in the air, as if giving a silent testify to his driver, August let them slap on his thighs. “That's what I reckon, too. Anyways... THAT'S who Hookee the Cripple is.”
Monday drew back on his cigarette, then inspected what remained before taking another long draw and flicking it out the window, satisfied they'd finally got there. Renner let a smile curl in the corner of his mouth.
“That was worth it.” He bit on his lip, testing the Raging Fear who seemed disgruntled with the Detective's shot at him.
“Fuck you. Least I'm tryin' ta make conversation. Ain't the one sweatin' like they just got ass fucked by a chilli pepper.”
Renner chuckles. “You're a real poet, August. Y'know that?”
“Real fucken poet. Thing is, Renner... we ain't gonna find this stumpy motherfucker drivin' on the streets.”
“I don't see you comin' up with anything better.” Renner flicked his butt out the window.
“Ain't anything better. He can hang lower than a snake's fucken nutsack. We ain't gonna spot him comin' out of a Baskin an' Robbins lickin' a gelato ice cream with a big fucken target on his chest. This is stupid. You're wastin' both'f our time, Renner.”
“We could get lucky,” Renner said with a shrug.
“And Cindy fucken Crawford could climb in through this window...” August pointed at the his half-cracked window and then pointed to his chin “...and sit on my God damn face, Renner. Both things ain't happenin'.”
“Suck my dick.” Renner pointed at his lap.
“Your as classy as me.” Augie sighed and plucked another cigarette from his pack, pointing at Renner with the butt. “You oughta think about takin' me home. I got big wrestlin' shows comin' up. You want company... I suggest you head up to my ol' man's bar an' lookit some'a them bitches waggin' their boxes about fer five dollar bills.”
Renner chuckled, eyeing off August's fresh cigarette. “Five more minutes. Then I'll buy you a beer.”
“Pffft,” hissed August, lighting his new cigarette, “I'll buy you a pretty little pink drink with an umbrella in it.”
The pair chuckled together and passed the rest of the time in silence, as the lights of Portland flashed by the vehicle's window, casting ghoulish shadows across their faces. Another three cigarettes in that five minutes and the duo were about to give up when the sounds of a polyphonic version of AC/DC's Back in Black interrupted their silence. August fumbled with his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. The screen read Roberts as Monday stared at the device blankly.
“It says Roberts on it.” August glared at his driver. “What's that mean?”
“Might mean Finn's tryin' to get onto ya.” With his free hand, Renner stuffed a finger into his collar to cool off. “Answer it.”
“Dunno how.”
“Really? You can't answer your cell? What's the point in carrying it?”
“I dunno. You answer it.”
Renner chuckled, holding out his free hand. “Okay.”
Putting the cell into Renner's palm, August watched with interest, trying to catch a glimpse of the button Renner pressed but didn't quite catch it. He shrugged and watched as Renner put the phone to his ear.
“Renner here.” He glanced at August and made a face. “Hello? Renner here! Hello?”
Pulling the phone away from his face, Renner inspected the illuminated screen with scrutiny. August couldn't quite see it, but the display read that the call had ended. It had ended after one second. Renner thumbed at some more buttons and the phone's screen went out.
“Shit.” Renner held the phone out to August, who took it from his grasp to study it himself.
“What?” asked August, shaking the phone as if it would light up again.
“You're outta battery.”
“Oh, well.” August stuffed the cell in his pocket and plucked another cigarette from his pack. “Important enough he'll call you, right?”
Renner smirked. “Right.”
Exhaling heavily, in almost a sigh, Renner flicked his indicator on and turned the vehicle around into the opposite direction. Monday stared across at him as he lit his smoke.
“Where we headed?”
Renner's sweaty forehead had seemed to have dried up as he smiled across at the Raging Fear. “Somebody owes me a pretty pink drink.”
Augie chuckled, raising a finger like there was something more to add to Renner's point. “WITH an umbrella.”
“Right,” agreed Detective Seth Renner, “with an umbrella.”
“Where am I?” Sal repeated, “I'm outside having a smoke. I've got news. BIG – fucking – news.”
Salvatore paused, waiting for that statement to resonate with his conversation counterpart and Finn's response of jovial ponders of Sal's surroundings was struck with brutal seriousness.
“At first I overlooked the details. I didn't think anything of it. I just figured they were lazy.”
Across the other side of the country, Finn Roberts pushed a credit card in the awaiting hand of the wait staff at Pierre Henry's with bewilderment for the words he'd heard.
“Sal, this makes no sense to me. Who's being lazy? What are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about Phoneix, Finn. Phoenix. That crime scene in the bathroom. Remember?”
“Of course I remember, Sal. This is my case. This is the Right Hand Man, Sal. You think I've forgotten about the biggest case of my career?”
“Sorry, Finn. Of course you haven't. I'm just saying... this is an epic find.”
“What's epic?”
In Washington, Sal flicked half of his cigarette away and squinted as he turned to face the stiff breeze which bashed at his full cheeks. He tugged open the side door to the building and began making his way down the corridor.
“Well, I've been studying the evidence. I thought I'd found a partial on the inner, upper thigh of our Jane Doe. And I was right. I had found the partial but there wasn't much to work with. It was like a partial of a partial.”
Sal plucked open a door that led to another corridor while Special Agent Roberts told him to go on.
“Well, I worked on that partial of a partial, Finn. I worked on it and came up with something and found out who it belonged to but I didn't think anything more of it. I just put it down to laziness. Sometimes people get lazy with crime scenes. Especially people who aren't as familiar with them.”
“I'm not sure I'm picking up what you're putting down, Sal. You need to be blunt with me.”
Salvatore Salvatore made it to the end of that hall and pulled open another door, stepping into a lowly lit lab which seemed to be solely illuminated by the variety of computer monitors in the room. Snatching up a can of Coke, Sal took a big pull before putting it back on the counter and crossing the room to a monitor with a face illuminated on it.
“I ran the print. I came up with something, Finn. I'm sorry. I feel so fucking STUPID. I just figured they were being lazy, Finn.”
“WHO was being lazy, Sal? Just fucking tell me.”
“RENNER was being lazy, Finn. I figured Renner was being lazy in Phoenix. It was his partial of a partial I found on that girl's upper thigh, Finn. His print. His fucking fingerprint.”
Back in Portland, Finn was blind to the waiter's attempts to hand back his credit card. The rest of the world seemed to have frozen in a great void of time and he was in slow motion. He seemed to have found a sixth sense and turned to watch April Monday crossing the room toward him but never noticed anybody else in the place going about their business. It was like the restaurant had blacked out and a single spotlight followed April's path toward him.
“Sal.” Finn ran his hand down the length of his face. “Detective Renner wasn't WITH us in Phoenix.”
“I know, Finn. That's why I feel so stupid.”
Roberts' gaze locked onto April's and he almost told her there was bad news telepathically. Her walk began a slight jog and she found herself rushing toward the Special Agent, mouthing the word What? and all sorts of variations. Roberts raised a solitary finger asking her for a moment.
“If Renner wasn't in Phoenix...” his eyes never left Aprils' and within an instant she seemed to begin to understand, “...how did his prints get on our Jane Doe?”
Staring at a monitor in the FBI's Quantico facility, Salvatore Salvatore stared in the face of the ID he'd just made on his partial of a partial. His gaze was deadlocked with Detective Seth Renner's. A homicide detective from the Albany police department. A man who'd applied to the FBI thirteen times and was rejected each of those times due to health reasons. A man's whose partial of a partial fingerprint was found on the inner thigh of a Jane Doe who'd been sexually assaulted and had her hand lopped off at the wrist in the From the Ashes nightclub in Phoenix, Arizona.
“That's what we need to find out, Finn. I think Renner has something to do with this.”
In Portland, Oregon, April Monday found her knees beginning to grow weak and her legs shaking beneath her weight as her eyes ransacked Finn Roberts' soul for all the information he was worth. Instinctively, Finn grabbed at April's elbow, supporting her weight while he made the deductions inside of his head.
“That, Sal, might be the understatement of the fucking century.”
Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds – Red Right Hand (Let
Love In, 1994)
You'll see him in your nightmares,
You'll see him in your dreams
He'll appear out of nowhere but
He ain't what he seems
You'll see him in your head,
On the TV screen
And hey buddy, I'm warning
You to turn it off
He's a ghost, he's a god,
He's a man, he's a guru
You're one microscopic cog
In his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
His red right hand
Designed and directed by
His red right hand
Designed and directed by
His red… right… hand…