The Hunt Read online

  "Wow." I was both intrigued and saddened by this news. I loved Gabin and Augustine together, to hear of something like this broke my heart. I was a sucker for a love story and theirs was one that deserved a happy ending.

  "You're in the Crystal section tonight," Elise said as she lightly patted my arm. "They could be at this for hours; we better rock tonight or Auggie will likely fire us in a fit of rage." She wasn't wrong, we’d seen it happen.

  Augustine's was always booked. You had to reserve a table at least six months in advance and attire was just on the cusp of formal.

  Whenever I walked through the doors it was like stepping onto a stage. I had to put on a performance, play my part, because the real Andy Shay liked to sit on his couch in his mismatched socks, hole covered clothes, and play video games with Francis most nights. I bought food that was on sale and shopped at Goodwill. At Augustine’s I was Andrew Shay poised and proper. No holes, no mismatching, all smiles and sophistication.

  "Welcome to Augustine's, my name is Andrew and I will be your server this evening. May I offer you a cocktail, aperitif, or beverage?" This was how I greeted all customers. I had to look up what an aperitif was when I started working here, and I Googled a lot, too. I had no idea if Gabin would be doing his sommelier duties tonight, but I couldn't let that concern me right now. If they wanted wine, I'd have to figure it out.

  It turned out being a stressful night. Gabin did work but not until an hour into food service. Trenton was fired and I was sure some sort of lawsuit would come from that. Elise was forced behind the bar leaving me my section and hers to cover. My feet were throbbing, my back ached, and the headache dancing behind my temples was sure to be a doozy by the time I trekked home.

  "Need a ride?" Elise asked as we stepped out into the clear night.

  "Nah, I can still catch the bus and after tonight, I just want to pop in my ear buds and decompress."

  She waved me off with a tired smile. I didn't hate my job, but I didn't love it. It was a job that paid my rent, kept the lights on, got me out of debt finally, and put food in my belly. It paid higher than a fast food joint, and the tips were way better, but unfortunately, I couldn't live in the section of the city I worked. Not yet anyway.

  I lived on top of a laundromat with my roommate, Francis. It was four rooms. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a tiny living room, and then we shared a bathroom. We each paid three hundred toward rent, split the bills, and it was a bonus we liked each other.

  It was also a perk that we were roughly the same size. He was far prettier than me and not all elbows and knees, but we were close in measurements. So, we shared clothes and often our closets were a mix of each other's.

  The bus stop was a few blocks from the restaurant, so the walk wasn’t that bad. I took a relieved breath when I got on the bus and saw it was mostly empty. No chance of a crazy lady wanting to talk about her cats or a man asking if I could help him find his teeth.

  With music in my ears, I leaned my head against the cool glass and watched as the scenery turned from posh to poor.

  The bus stopped across from my place, and I dragged my weary body to the door and wasn't shocked when it stuck. With what little energy I had, I pulled it open and winced at the smell of mold. This place should probably be shut down, but then where would I be? Sure we could get a better place right now, but we didn’t want to settle. We wanted to be able to live not worrying that if we lost a job we’d be forced right back here.

  There was no elevator, but fortunately it was only a flight of stairs to climb. The music made the dreariness of the building a little more bearable, and when I reached the apartment door, I almost cried with joy.

  Joy turned to confusion when I went to push the key in the lock, and it opened without me turning it. Immediately, I pulled the buds from my ears.

  "Francis?" Probably not a great idea shouting his name, but for all I knew he had someone over and was fucking on the couch. We usually hung a sock on the door if we had company, and the lack of a sock sent a jolt of fear through me.

  "Francis?" I yelled again as I so very slowly pushed the door open.

  The apartment looked normal. No signs of distress, and when I peered around the corner to the kitchen, the light above the stove cast a welcoming glow. Francis often left it on for me when I worked late so I wouldn't bang into things. My clumsiness wasn't something either of us enjoyed.

  I figured Francis either forgot to lock the door or there was something wrong with the lock. I turned to return to the front door to shut it when a crashing noise came from Francis' bedroom.

  "You ok?" I yelled. There was no response, just a thud.

  Shit. He probably fell. Drank too much and was fucking around and fell. I quickly shut the front door and rushed to Francis' room.

  "I'm coming in so get as decent as you can in your drunken state, asshole."

  I opened the door with a flourish, ready to tease the shit out of him when I stopped dead in my tracks. It was like my limbs seized up and fear owned my entire body. Francis lay on the ground naked in a pool of blood. His eyes, gone, something was carved into his chest, and... oh god... his penis. I wanted to shout, scream, run to him. I couldn't—I was locked in place.

  I heard hangers clang in his closet and everything inside urged me to run. Whoever did this was still here. I had to call 911. I knew Francis was dead, but I had to call for help.

  It wasn't until Francis' closet door burst open that I was able to feel my legs. The killer. I couldn't see their face, only their eyes. They were covered head to toe in black, and there was a medical bag hanging from one hand. It was the vicious looking knife in the other that had me backing out of the room.

  Run, Andy, fucking run. My brain was screaming and finally the rest of me caught up, and I made for the door as fast as I could. I heard the springs on Francis' bed, so I knew he jumped on the bed and I was being pursued. I hadn’t locked the front door, so as soon as I opened it I began shouting for help.

  Footsteps behind me had my heart racing and in my clumsiness, I tumbled down the stairs. My back slammed against the wall at the lower level, and when I raised my eyes, the killer was at the top of the stairs. Staring at me. Fuck.

  "Help!" I frantically rose and pulled on the door. Stuck. Goddammit! "Someone call 911." It was a piece of shit neighborhood and no one wanted the cops around, but maybe someone would come out of their building.

  The killer began rushing down the stairs just when I got the door open. I pulled out my cellphone as I ran down the street still calling out for help.

  "911 what's your emergency," the dispatcher asked.

  "My roommate, he's dead, killed, I'm being chased down Chopsey Avenue toward Don's Café. Please help me."

  "Calm down, sir, get to the café it's twenty-four hours. I will dispatch a car there, and what's your address where you live? I will have cars and an ambulance sent there."

  I was quickly running out of breath, but I could see the lights of Don's ahead. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the killer was still chasing me.

  "I live above Tumble Dry Cleaners, apartment one."

  "Police are en route, are you at the café yet?"

  I’d just entered the café when she asked. There were a few patrons who all turned to look at me when I entered.

  "Just got here."

  "Are you still being pursued?"

  I sat at the furthest booth and searched the night through the window. Nothing. No one was there.

  "No, they're gone."

  "Okay, sit tight, police will be there in two minutes. Please stay on the line...."

  It was all I could hear. Everything was catching up with me. Francis was dead, mutilated. Fear and despair battled in my chest. With my head in my hands, I began to sob. No one paid me any mind. Why would they? I don’t know how long I sat there crying, but I knew there was one question I needed to figure out. What the hell was I going to do?

  2

  Ray

  I shoved a book under the leg of m
y desk; I swore the floor started to sag more every day. Six months had passed since I took that bullshit deal the D.A. offered so that I could keep doing what I was good at. He’d told me I could take an early retirement and leave quietly. The one thing a D.A. doesn’t want to deal with is having every case his office tried come under scrutiny. I never thought I’d see the day where I had an office with Ray Clancy, Private Investigator on the door in a building one foundation crack from being condemned. New West City wasn’t a booming metropolis, but it had all the cesspool dynamics of a big city.

  It wasn’t like I’d ever be out of business but following around cheating spouses most of the time wasn’t my idea of a good time. To be honest, it barely paid my bills. If I wasn’t careful, my shitty office would become home sweet home.

  I pushed a sigh through my compressed lips and reached for the bottle of antacids. After I twisted off the cap, I shook several onto my palm and popped them in my mouth. I chewed them and chased them with cold coffee. Whether it was my morning cup or the one from last night, I didn’t know and personally didn’t care.

  Replacing the cap, I made sure it was tight and tossed it back on my desk. The contents rattled as the container rolled across my desk and onto the floor.

  I rubbed the growing curve of my stomach. Luckily, it was still firm, but I was feeling and looking every one of my forty-five years. Hard living had taken its toll. It was there in the harsh angles of my face. The multiplying silver at my temples that stood out starkly against the dirty blond of my hair.

  With a deep growl, I pushed up from my desk and grabbed my jacket on the way to the door. Analyzing my looks wasn’t something I did.

  I jogged down the creaking steps and out onto the busy sidewalk. When I reached the curb I looked both ways, then ran across the street to the diner. Rudy’s was a staple of the neighborhood, frequented by criminals and cops alike. I opened the door and stepped into the rundown restaurant. The place was a mixture of decades. My gaze swept the room, I nodded my head at Finn Mac and a few of his enforcers glanced at me but went back to their meals. Mac ran the Irish Syndicate in the city. He had his fingers into just about everything except he didn’t deal in flesh or drugs.

  I couldn’t fault Finn. Criminal or not, he always stood behind his word. I couldn’t say we were friendly, but we’d developed a civil acquaintance. I respected his skewed moral compass. I didn’t know what that said about me as a cop or a human.

  I took an empty seat at the counter. Rudy poured me a coffee without being asked.

  “How ya doing, Clancy?”

  “Doing, man.”

  Back in the day, Rudy had briefly walked the beat, but after his old man Rudy, Senior had a heart attack, he’d left to run the diner.

  “You seen the paper?”

  “Not yet, I was following some woman for her husband. I’m running out of room on a page for the men she visits.” I slipped two fingers through the handle of the mug and raised it to my mouth. A sigh slipped free at the strong, bitter brew.

  Rudy pulled a paper from under the counter and laid it in front of me. I set my mug aside and picked up the newspaper, unfolding it to catch the headline.

  Has a Serial Killer Made New West Their Home?

  That got my attention and I scanned the article. Harry Simpson was a long-time crime reporter for the New West Gazette. The man had some shady contacts. I shook my head at the vague details, but what was there was too much like the past repeating itself. The killer went quiet when I’d gotten kicked off the force, but it seemed they were back to the grind.

  It wasn’t my business. I no longer had a badge, but my fingers itched to get my hands on the official file. Every cop had that one case that went unsolved, and this looked to be mine.

  “What’re your thoughts?”

  “No longer my place.”

  “We both know that’s a lie. You gotta have one helluva hard-on because,” Rudy tapped his finger on the black and white page, “no cop likes to have an unsolved.”

  I folded the paper and handed it back. “Doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. I’m not a cop anymore.”

  “Keep it, you can read it later. Once a cop, always a cop, you know that as well as I do.”

  “Isn’t my business.” It was a lie and I knew Rudy picked up on it.

  The killer was going after innocent kids. Kids, I snorted, when did I start thinking of twenty-somethings as kids? Just another clue that I was getting old. But my age didn’t matter, what mattered was I knew in my gut that the cops weren’t anywhere near figuring it out. Those pictures of the before and after, the files and reports still haunted me. Not just for the fact that I couldn’t finish it, but that this guy wasn’t going to stop.

  He didn’t leave any evidence behind. Everyone left a trace of themselves wherever they went, but this guy was smart enough to cover his tracks. The only hope was he’d make a mistake.

  “Want your usual?”

  “Yeah, I got time for something to eat before my client’s wife gets off work.”

  Rudy jotted down my order, and then turned to attach it to the spinning holder in the small order window. The older man wandered off to refill coffee mugs and wait on a couple who’d just walked in. As I let my mind wander, I lazily sipped my coffee.

  I knew guys that loved this private investigator shit, but I wasn’t one of them. My pride stung that I was mostly following around cheating spouses. Sneaking around in the bushes taking pictures. I was caught between wanting my job back and being bitter over the way I was forced out. My attention kept straying to the article, and I set my mug down so quickly the black liquid sloshed a bit over the rim.

  I picked the paper back up and quickly unfolded it. That time I read every word. Looked for clues between the lines, and the Brass was denying there was a serial killer. I still had my notes, and suddenly wanted to run back to my office to read over them.

  Other than the type of victim, the only other link was Club Epiphany. The suspect had to be young. Someone in their late thirties or forties would stand out. I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and dug out my notebook.

  I wrote down some notes. It wouldn’t hurt to ask around. I hoped I still had a few friends left on the force. Another project to focus on would break up the monotony of my carbon copy cases.

  “Not your business, huh, Clancy?”

  I raised my head and shook it at the big man’s amusement.

  “Fuck you.”

  “How many times I gotta tell you, Clancy, you ain’t my type.”

  Rumors ran rampant no matter how big or small the city, and it wasn’t a secret I was gay. I was surprised when it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Good, because you ain’t pretty enough for me,” I said with a smirk.

  Rudy snorted as he leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “So, talk it out.”

  “The higher ups are continuing with their bullshit of this not being a serial. If these are related to my last case, this guy isn’t going to stop.”

  “True. What else?”

  That’s what frustrated me the most. Warnings made people more aware of who they encountered and remaining quiet kept the victim pool deep and clueless. They hadn’t even released names or photos of the victims, and it seemed they were going to keep up with the same bullshit this round.

  “They should issue a warning. I mean, fuck, these young men have no clue who they might be taking home.”

  “Why do you think he’s picking them up? Could just see them. Tail them for a while and strike when the opportunity opens.”

  That was a plausible theory and at first, I’d agreed with it, but these kids were street smart. Survived by their gut instinct. “Hypothetically, if this is the same unsub as before. There’s no evidence of forced entry.”

  “Man, what about entry points? Some people get too damn comfortable, leave windows unlocked. With enough skill any lock can be picked.”

  All my theories had the what-if flaws. I
shouldn’t even be thinking about this case. I knew it was going to come back to bite me on the ass.

  “Yeah, but my experience tells me that this guy loves the game. Just striking when their defenses are down would be way too easy.”

  A bell chiming ended our conversation and I put my stuff away, my usual of a burger and fries was placed in front of me. I doctored my food with hot sauce and tried not to think about the heartburn that was sure to come later.

  “You’re getting old, Clancy. Should start taking better care of yourself.”

  I grunted as I took my first bite and ignored him until he left.

  I had an hour before I needed to be across the city to start tailing my current case, but my brain was occupied with the more interesting prospect of a New West serial killer. They hadn’t come up with a flashy name for him, yet. I knew it was only a matter of time before they branded him like some celebrity.

  It might turn out to be a mistake, but I needed this. I wanted back in the action even if I was on the outskirts in a civilian compacity. I made mental reminders to call in a few favors. My fingers were crossed that I had a few allies in the department. I didn’t understand my compulsion, but as with every aspect of my life, I played it by instinct.

  3

  Andy

  My body felt like I was hit by a truck. My bones ached, my muscles were sore, and my head pounded. The nurse who looked me over said it was due to adrenaline and how my body had initially locked up.

  Between the police and the hospital, I wasn’t released until the next day, late afternoon. There weren’t many people I could call for help. Normally I’d ring Francis, but…the thought caused a lump to form in my throat, and my heart felt like it was shredded. It was a jarring feeling to know someone was dead, someone you loved like a brother. I sat in that hospital bed staring at the ceiling remembering all his smiles. The good morphed into bad as I wondered how much pain he must have been in. That led to more tears and eventually vomiting.