The Arx Read online

  Larry

  “What’s it say?” she said.

  “I’m taking these,” Frank said.

  “Those are mine,” she shouted, stepping toward him. “Larry gave them to me. You got no warrant or anything – you got no right…”

  She grabbed at the box. He blocked her and held the box behind him, out of her reach. He held out the slip and let her read it. Her eyes bugged out of her head.

  “But what is it?” she said. “You can’t just take it…”

  Frank shoved the slip and the flash drive in his shirt pocket, handed her the box and the bracelet, and headed for the door.

  She chased him into the hallway, shouting. “Those are mine! Hey, I want to see your badge again, asshole! You’re not a real cop!”

  He ignored her and kept on walking.

  “Well, screw you,” she yelled after him. “Good riddance to both you bastards!”

  Retigo has a Journal

  Back at home, Frank plugged the flash drive into his computer. On it were two Word documents – one very small, the other much larger.

  He loaded the smaller document, readthisfirst.doc:

  Lawrence Retigo – Reporter, CityLine News – May 10th

  I think I’ve stumbled onto something big. I don’t completely understand it yet, but whatever it is I think it’s going to be the scoop of a lifetime.

  It started with the woman in the swanky new apartment building across the street. I’d seen her around and thought she had a hot body, but I never had the nerve to talk to her.

  I figured a woman that gorgeous would attract a lot of low-life scumbags, so I decided I’d look out for her. From watching the lights in the windows I worked out what unit she was in. I snuck into her lobby behind the mailman, and found out her name is Catherine Lesko.

  One night I was in front of my building locking my car when her apartment lights came on. Her bedroom curtains weren’t completely closed. I could see her moving around inside. I moved behind a tree. While I watched she got undressed, walked away naked, I guess to the shower, then came back and got changed. Wow! After a while she left and drove off somewhere.

  That first night a potted plant on her window ledge blocked my view, so the second night I climbed the tree I’d stood behind before. She got undressed and showered, like before. She was fantastic!

  I know how it sounds, but it’s not like that. A woman that hot needs protection. It was my duty as a good neighbour to keep an eye on her.

  I went again a couple of nights later, but some asshole jogger spotted me in the tree, mistook me for some kind of pervert, and threatened to call the cops. I climbed down and took off before he got a good look at me.

  At least three or four nights a week she’d get home, shower, change, and go out again – like clockwork. I got to wondering where she was going at night.

  Finally I had to know – my reporter’s instinct, I guess. I followed her to a massive property in Point Grey. I couldn’t see much – it was dark and the place was surrounded by a three meter hedge. I did it a few times. She always went to the same place.

  One night I decided I had to know what was going on. I waited until she went in, found a spot away from the gate, and climbed the hedge.

  The place was gigantic, three stories tall, with stone walls, like a castle. I didn’t know they even had places like that in Vancouver.

  Massive plate-glass windows were set into the ground floor walls, but they had venetian blinds that were swiveled almost shut. For the first of many times I thought about getting the hell out of there and not coming back. I couldn’t see anything anyway.

  Then I spotted a good solid tree that overlooked one of the windows. It was easy to climb and had lots of leaves to hide behind. When I got to the right angle I could see through the partly-open slats. I was looking down into a huge mansion-sized living room, with lots of couches and coffee tables.

  That was the first time I saw them. Women, of all ages, walking around – like they lived there. Some, dressed in work or business clothes, drifted in and out. Some, like my neighbour, Catherine Lesko, were in formal evening dress, sitting around on the couches talking. Through a door on the south wall was some kind of boardroom. Inside, people sat around a massive table.

  All this time I never saw any men. After about twenty minutes an older guy with long gray hair walked out of the boardroom. He was tall, thin and distinguished-looking. He checked out the women lounging on the couches, and finally strolled over to Catherine Lesko.

  She was in the middle of talking but he didn’t care. She noticed him and looked up. He lifted her hand like he was going to kiss it, but he didn’t, he just lifted, and she stood up.

  He led her around to the back of one of the couches and draped her over it, face first. She didn’t object. She was wearing a long evening gown. He hoisted up her dress, pulled down her panties and started fucking her right then and there!

  His face was all contorted like he was screaming. His hands were wrapped around her breasts. Her mouth was open like she was gasping for breath. The other women just sat there talking like it happened every day!

  I’ve got to admit it was a turn-on. It was tough maintaining my reporter’s objectivity with the bulge I had in my pants. In a few minutes he finished the job. He zipped himself up and walked away like nothing happened. I freaked! I took off out of there. I found a tree near the hedge and used it to climb over. I could hardly walk on the way back to my car.

  I know what I did was illegal, but hey – it’s my duty as a reporter to uncover the truth. And something outrageous is going on in that place.

  Frank loaded the second document, titled cult.doc. It looked like some kind of journal or diary, with dated entries. He started reading:

  Lawrence Retigo – Reporter, CityLine News – May 19th

  I knew it was dangerous to go back to the mansion in Point Grey. I had no idea who these guys were, but even from what little I’d seen it was clear they weren’t like other people. Something told me I’d be up shit creek if they ever caught me there. I was lucky the first time, and I was probably crazy to go back, but I couldn’t help myself.

  I followed Catherine Lesko again and climbed the tree by the window. A waste of time – nothing happened, just a few women sitting around talking. After about half an hour, I heard footsteps. I was up this tree and not that well hidden. All anybody would have to do is look up…

  A guy walked around the corner of the building and headed straight for me. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. My heart was pounding so hard I thought my chest would burst, but he didn’t look up, just kept walking and disappeared around the far corner.

  My balls were in my throat. As soon as I was sure he was out of sight I climbed down and took off out of there.

  Lawrence Retigo – Reporter, CityLine News – June 2nd

  The other night scared me so much I didn’t even think of going back for more than a week, but after a while the urge took over. Even then it took a few days to get up the nerve. I don’t know what’s driving me – it’s some kind of compulsion.

  It was like most of the time Catherine Lesko only went to her apartment to get changed – like the place she really lived was the mansion. I didn’t get it.

  I snuck in again and climbed the tree, keeping an eye open for the security guy. I was hoping I’d see another fucking session like the one before (to record it on my cell phone – as evidence), but for a long time it was pretty boring. I was about to take off when something happened – something so outrageous I’ll never forget it.

  It was the usual scene – a few women lounging around on the couches and chairs, talking. There are always lots of women in this place, but I’ve never seen more than a handful of men. The old guy walked in, the same guy from before.

  He inspected the women like he’d done the first time. I knew what he wanted. He picked one – not my neighbour this time, but one just as hot. He took her hand, lifted her up like before, and started leading her away. I was pis
sed – it looked like he was going to take her to some other room where I couldn’t see.

  But then something happened. This other younger guy showed up. Early twenties, tall, dark and muscular, with close-cropped black hair.

  It looked like Junior had decided he wanted the same woman Grandpa was after. There were two or three others there that were just as gorgeous, and from what I’d seen these guys could take their pick. I think he was just being an asshole – trying to throw his weight around, trying to challenge Grandpa’s authority.

  The old guy said something to him. Of course I couldn’t hear, but from the body language I think it was something like – ‘go find your own woman, sonny – this one’s taken’. But Junior didn’t want a different one – he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Grandpa let go of the woman’s hand and faced the young guy. The other women rushed into a corner, and the one they were fighting over ran and joined them. Grandpa and Junior circled each other like wild animals, then started going at it.

  Grandpa moved around the floor like a dancer, maneuvering his body into position and striking with unbelievable speed – step to the left, drive a fist into the side of Junior's head; step around behind, deliver a kick to the kidney – all with the precision of a surgeon.

  They both fought like that. They were like Ultimate Fighters with Ph.D's, analyzing each other’s strategy and staying one step ahead – but it happened so fast I could hardly follow. It was more like a chess match than a cage match.

  Junior was good, but Grandpa was a master. He didn’t even break a sweat. He systematically took Junior apart like he was dismantling a fine mechanical watch. He'd avoid the punches and kicks, or at least block them or move to minimize their impact, wait until Junior had committed himself, then strike so fast it was a blur.

  Junior started to look worried. The cocky expression on his face when he first came in was dissolving fast. But then Grandpa made a mistake. He was a bit slow getting out of the way of one of Junior's punches, and it caught him squarely on the jaw. He staggered backwards for a split second. Junior moved in for the kill. He pulled a knife and made a sweeping cut across Grandpa’s chest. A diagonal line of blood soaked into the old guy’s shirt.

  The old guy looked like he was finished. He was stunned, but he snapped out of it and caught Junior with a punch to the head. Then he drew his own knife. A sneering smile swept over his face.

  Junior still thought he had the upper hand. He raised his weapon for some kind of death blow, but Grandpa reached up under his guard and drove his knife up into Junior’s chest from below. The young guy’s eyes bulged out of his head and the knife fell from his hand. Blood gushed from his chest big time. He looked down like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  I’ll never get the image of what happened next out of mind. Grandpa lifted the poor bastard right off the ground, still impaled on the knife! The old guy had this evil smile on his face. He looked Junior in the eye and shook him like a dog shaking a dead rat.

  Junior hung up there for at least thirty seconds at the end of the old guy’s arm, the life draining out of him. He was a big man, too.

  Finally, Grandpa dumped Junior on the floor in a bloody heap and walked away. The women were still standing there watching. They didn’t even seem fazed by the whole thing. A couple of them left the room, came back with a plastic sheet, and wrapped the dead guy up. Two of them carted him away, while a couple more got buckets and mops and cleaned up the mess. None of them seemed upset – you’d think somebody had spilled a bowl of spaghetti on the floor or something.

  I heard a noise to my right. A group of the women had opened a door and were carrying the wrapped up body outside. There were several others with shovels. I almost shit myself when they turned in my direction, but then they veered away to an area under a tree near the driveway. I had to wait there, shaking in my own tree, while they dug a hole in some loose soil and buried the body.

  I looked down and cursed when I realized I’d been so freaked out I’d forgotten to use my cell phone camera. I waited until long after they’d done their thing and gone back inside. When the shaking finally stopped I climbed down and took off like my life depended on it – which it probably did.

  Lawrence Retigo – Reporter – June 17th

  I swore never to go back. I was fine for a couple of weeks, but it’s like something goes off in my head that I can’t control. Maybe it’s my natural instinct to get the story. I didn’t even care about the sex anymore. I had to know who these guys were and what they were up to. Whoever they are, they’re out there. One thing I’m sure of – if they ever found out about me, I’d be dead.

  At first I thought Grandpa was the top of the heap, but the other night I found out different. I was in my usual position in the tree. A bunch of the women were there, including Catherine Lesko. Grandpa was there, but I guess he wasn’t horny or he had something else on his mind. No hanky-panky that night.

  I was about to climb down when everybody in the room stopped what they were doing and looked toward the door on the west side. A couple of seconds later someone came through it. They wore a robe with a hood, so I couldn’t see the face very well, but it was definitely a woman.

  Everybody, including Grandpa, bowed their head when she came in. She talked to Grandpa for a few minutes, then left through the other door. I never saw her face, and I never saw her again.

  I tried to research who owns the place, but lately I’m so stressed out and preoccupied I can’t concentrate. I’m sure nobody at the mansion ever saw me, but they’re not normal people. I’m shitting my pants worrying they might know something.

  Frank continued to read through the file. Retigo never mentioned another death match, though he said there were skirmishes – always between men. The women didn’t fight. Nobody shed any tears over the losers.

  As the journal progressed, it got more and more disjointed and irrational. Retigo seemed to be losing it, raving about Satanist cults and evil conspiracies. If it was a religion, it didn’t sound like one Frank had ever heard of.

  He reached the final few entries:

  Lawrence Retigo – June 23rd

  Shouldn’t have gotten wasted before I left. I was in the tree with my cell phone out. Put it back in my pocket but when I got home it was gone. Must have fallen out when I climbed down or when I scaled the hedge. I searched the path to my car and even climbed back over and searched the grounds. Nothing!

  June 25th

  Passed Catherine Lesko on the street. She looked at me and sort of smiled. She knows. Somebody broke into my apartment. They didn’t take anything. No sign the door’s been tampered with. Stuff’s been moved. Like this crooked picture I hadn’t gotten around to straightening. Somehow it straightened itself. Why the fuck would somebody break in and straighten a picture?

  Got to get out of here – move to another city – another country – another planet! How far do I have to go? Whoever these guys are, they’ve got money up the ying-yang and they kill without remorse. How do you hide from somebody like that?

  The final section was dated just a week before Retigo died:

  June 27th

  They’re messing with my mind. Everywhere I go, they follow me. They don’t do anything, just look at me and smile. No matter how careful I am they find me.

  I now understand how fiendishly clever and unrelenting they are. At night, I see them lurking in the shadows on the street below, and hear them creeping down the hallway outside my front door. I draped blankets over my windows, but still they see inside.

  All thought of the story has been forgotten. All that remains is survival – survival and paralyzing fear. They are instruments of the devil. They know nothing of compassion, empathy, or love. They have stolen my livelihood, my life, my soul.

  They were inside my apartment again. I know they’re going to kill me, but they don’t – they’re playing this bullshit game. Why don’t they do something? Kill me! End the madness!

  The document ended. Frank w
asn’t sure what to think. Retigo had been on the edge, either headed for a breakdown or already in the throes of one, when he was killed. Was the journal the ravings of a delusional madman? How much, if any, of it was true?

  Dogan’s mansion existed, and he knew Catherine Lesko went there regularly – that much was certain. He thought about the sprawling property surrounding the place.

  You could do just about anything in there and nobody would know, he thought.

  Rebecca Visits Kaffir

  Rebecca felt a stab of guilt the evening after her meeting with Frank, as she dialed his sister Janet’s number. She was breaking her trust with him, and she’d sound like a fool, but she had to know. Either he’d been holding something back or outright lying to her. If that was the case, could she believe anything he said?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have much time,” Janet said. “We’re meeting some people for dinner.”

  “I’m sorry for calling you out of the blue,” Rebecca said. “Frank’s been helping me look into Gloria’s death. I’m a little concerned about whether he can handle it – psychologically. You probably know him better than anyone – what do you think?”

  “He was a detective…” she answered. “A very good one too, from what I’ve heard. Has he done something you’re worried about?”

  “He seems fixated on this conspiracy angle, but he won’t tell me anything about it.”

  “Oh,” Janet said.

  “What? Does that sound familiar?”

  “Well… Frank did go on for a while about the force conspiring to get rid of him,” she said. “But that was when he was still in the psych ward.”