Chasing Robes & Shadows

"Yeah... but there is someone who might know something."

"Who?"

"Her name's Anna. Hell of a costume that night, reddish-blonde hair, medium length, port wine stain half her face, pointed ears, yeah, pointed, a really weird garment, like a sari, flashed her tits at the bartender... and they were pretty awesome by all accounts. Top shelf whiskey only. Had a couple of goons along and a beauty queen driving her around."

"You told me that next day you'd seen someone but made me promise to say nothing to Richardson... and no one like that in the pictures."

"Remember the fuzzy ones?"

Brenda's brows furrowed but then lifted as she held her mouth open a bit and she nodded.

"Coincidence, I'm sure..."

"Shit. What about those black robes you told me about? You didn't bring them up either. That Nevada legislator was one of them, you told me that but not Richardson or Rourke. They found his body, right where you said you told Pearson."

Forty people dead but only fifteen missing persons reports. The Mongrels had quietly confirmed the half dozen members they'd lost, all of whom they'd stated had been in the warren of floors and rooms where the fire had started. Arson investigators had determined the fire had started on some upper floor and had involved an accelerant. But whether intentional or an accident was not clear and the Mongrels had refused to discuss in detail beyond 'hey, we had lotsa shit in there.'

The reported missing persons had slowly been matched by mostly dental records, others IDed as well but their families had seemed to already know. And mostly not care. One who HAD been reported had turned up in the burn ward, in a coma and with his clothing and ID lost. A handful of the reports were quietly canceled as the subjects made contact with their loved ones from hiding.

A staff member of the dead politician from the state next door and a couple of others had been arrested for run-of-the-mill drug and other dealings with Mongrels in both states and official law enforcement had been satisfied that explained his presence and a corrupt politician kept most reporters happy enough. His estranged wife went public with lurid tales of increasingly debauched drug-fueled orgies, she'd implied she'd been fine with run of the mill group sex but he'd crossed a line and she'd left. She claimed she'd stayed silent hoping to protect their teenage children, but with that blown she wanted the truth out. Her story resonated with the drug angle. Her description of his 'descent' didn't necessarily imply human sacrifice would be next but clearly he'd been diligent about chasing bigger thrills.

A couple of ambitious reporters had sniffed further than him but the complete disinterest in the subject from the public at large beyond the minor tempest of a corrupt politician saw any further exposé simply fizzle. Most just felt a bunch of low-lifes had simply gotten their due.

With Peter gone only Joyce and Brenda and two young petty criminals knew the fuller story that hadn't been uncovered. Joyce's reticence hadn't been only to protect herself and Peter Miller. She knew that young man would've kept his silence, he knew how the criminal world worked. But if word about their deed made it to the Mongrels those other two youngsters would find that Peter's brother Jed would burn them in a minute to save his own skin. And for some inexplicable reason she didn't dislike them. He sold grass and more and she'd lift anything she could carry but they avoided the rough stuff. Maybe they'd make their way to better lives like Peter had.

Had been.

"There's one woman reported missing and never been accounted for," Joyce said, "didn't match the demographic for that night so I'm guessing she was one..."

She looked over Brenda at the glass-walled entrance forty feet behind her. There was one more who likely knew most of the real details.

"Hey, girl, come back," Joyce blinked twice and gave Brenda a closed-mouth smile before she shifted sideways.

"Gotta talk to Pearson, got a plan. I know who to hit up about some of the society sex parties, just need a boost. I had some hints back at the turn of the year about this woman, word has it she's back in town finally and likes to hang out with those perverts. At least satisfy myself she's not involved. Couple weeks leave I can use."

"Joyce, sit down," Brenda reached over and lightly held Joyce's arm, "when's last time you ate? A real meal?"

"Um, some crackers last night..."

"Sit your ass down. Pearson will be around later and your boy, well, the air will be just as thin an hour from now."

Joyce stood still a few seconds then obeyed. Brenda scanned the room and found her target.

"Hey, Val, we're ready!"

Meetings & Matings

[June, 1981]

Joyce sipped at her red wine, she'd watched the handsome man with the mustache uncork the bottle before she'd accepted it. Her breasts only filled a 'C' cup but the latest in push-up bra engineering gave her deep cleavage that her long-sleeved second-skin sky blue gown flowed around, before it emphasized hips and an ass that got her plenty of stares and her accidental companion didn't hide his gazes. Long slits allowed her toned legs to show through the ankle-length cloth.

She'd promised this Victor she'd find him again during the evening in the sprawling house isolated in one of the narrow V-shaped canyons that surrounded the broad and flat valley that held the City and its suburbs and sealed that with no more than a deep but short kiss. She hadn't counted the rooms but this floor was level with the road and a half floor sat above that. From the road the hillside dropped away and two more house levels followed the hillside down to a flat spot before it plunged a hundred feet. She knew the canyon well enough but guessed at that last part, word of this location had come to her only a couple of hours ago so she'd not been able to scout it, her recent fake arrest had convinced a contact that while she wasn't a dedicated pro she was wanton, a woman and single, a trifecta for this kind of party.

At least she hoped the house sprawled enough to allow her to avoid him as long as her task required.

She'd noted this was a new house on the circuit. She'd not yet found her target and it had only been rumor that the last puzzle piece from the Church fire would be here. Fortunately her squad hadn't had reason to send anyone in, she'd already spied a couple of professional gals and a man she knew about who had very flexible sexual tastes, he called himself Henri. She knew that wasn't his real name but had no reason to pass that information on, his and the gals presence wasn't unprecedented, many of the 'normals' in this City needed a bit of priming before stripping down and fucking in front of others or as a crowd chattered outside their bedroom.

The pros primed the pumps. Henri's presence meant no combination was out of bounds tonight and they expected to get paid something, any extras they might earn could make it a very good night.

Legally, all borderline. She'd been instrumental in a few busts of gatherings in her time with the force but those had involved clearly underage or unwilling participants. These pros weren't those kind and although coy that was the script and the other attendees had passed the age of consent decades previously. Another hour to let the normals absorb more booze and coke and the pros would pretend to be seduced to give the regular Joes and Janes permission to follow suit.

The coke, well, she wasn't here on official duty. And plenty of the normals had positions in society that didn't expect or for that matter accept much interference in their activities. She'd note the attendees for her squad's 'watch quietly' list but for now had no reason to break cover.

And if a bunch of pasty, overweight middle-aged horndogs wanted to snort blow, get naked and fuck in a pile, that was their concern. She just wanted, no, needed to ask one person some questions. Not being on duty nothing said she couldn't look up her wine friend, although older than her he was one of the younger and definitely fitter male attendees. But would she?

Peter and Carole had disappeared not quite a month earlier and it had passed from the thoughts of both officialdom and wider society. Not even rumor tied his gangster brother to it, that man even seemed shocked. She secretly hoped that asshole had at least some admiration for his little brother who'd forged a legal path through life.

From Bonnie and the Wolfman she'd learned the true story of the fire. Peter's role had been to deny black robed sex-death cultists their revenge on that thin brunette, Shaw wanted to find this woman and discover if the black robe cult's ties to the Mongrels might've played a part in his disappearance even though this one had apparently been nowhere close to Peter's fight. The Mongrels had as usual employed patsies to deal directly with the dead legislator and it didn't seem they had any more interest in his death than in any others that night who weren't members of their little club. She'd even heard rumors a couple of older Mongrels had expressed dismay at the news. Peter's youth had been... interesting. But it was a loose end.

She didn't like loose ends.

She perked her ears up as she wandered into a large basement rec room. One wall was all glass and looked out onto a broad patio where the hillside flattened before it dropped again. Widely spaced lights allowed her to see people around and in a pool and deck where a naked couple hadn't needed the prompting of the pros. A woman was on her back with her legs wide as a man fucked her with rapid thrusts on a chaise lounge folded flat that shook from their efforts. A few couples and singles stood around and cheered them on while others appeared more intent on building up their own courage to follow suit.

Her attention was drawn by a clear voice that wasn't loud but distinct from the otherwise undistinguished American voices with traces of Valley Scandihoovian, the local dialect of English with the merest trace held over from the heavy influx of Scandinavian immigrants. She sipped her wine as she sidled toward a stone fireplace that was striking enough to give her an excuse to stand near the speaker.

He was a couple of inches over six feet. His white hair was a shock, a slightly grown out crew cut. He was only a few years older than her, if he was forty she'd be surprised, meaning that other than her and the pros he was the youngest here. At least for now. Irish-Americans weren't rare in the City but this brogue was Old Country. She guessed he'd kicked it up a notch to impress his companion, a very attractive fiftyish blonde, but at base it was natural, her skill at picking up vocal nuance was one way she'd endeared herself to her bosses. His tight button down light yellow shirt showed he was solidly built, black slacks did nothing to deny that.

The blonde who stood against and pawed at this handsome foreigner was the wifely half of the couple who owned this house. Sheryl. Sheryl Grace. Shaw knew that only from what scant research she'd managed, family pictures and mementos had been carefully gathered and kept out of sight but marks on flat surfaces gave away their existence where they weren't covered by bowls of condoms and lubes. The woman's silver gown was cut similarly to Shaw's and the policewoman hoped she looked as good in two decades although the older woman's extra cup sizes gave her an additional advantage in such a dress.

"I'm so happy you made it to town yesterday, Patrick, last night was... nice," Shaw stood half turned away and squinted with the eye out of sight of the couple, from his expression she was sure that wasn't his name. He slid his arm around the woman's waist and although out of sight Shaw was sure she'd brushed his crotch.

"Can't say how much I enjoyed last night myself, Sheryl my love," he definitely used the voice as a weapon, "I'd have been here earlier but you were away."

His tone at the end implied her travel was a secret. Or at least separate from her dealings with him. And he wasn't happy about that. Interesting.

"And you did promise Cherry would be here. I've so wanted to meet her."

Two things happened. Shaw fought down her reaction but she still tensed and Patrick glanced for an instant at her. She moved, approached an abstract sculpture that an unattractive couple stood next to. Patrick's attention went back to Sheryl. But Shaw swore she felt an eye on her back.

"All will be clear soon. My word is good, if I must share you...," a pout in Sheryl's voice.

"I don't want to disappoint any American lasses," a slight laugh, "now, how about some wine?"

A woman's laugh behind her and Shaw managed to avoid the attention of the couple with a hard left. She joined plenty of other eyes that watched their hostess and an apparently favored guest find and climb the stairs. Cherry, Cherry Powell was the name of the last missing person report from the Church fire. A few remains had never been identified but those had been negative for being the missing young woman. Easy enough, only one had been female and none had matched for height. Teeth had simply confirmed.

Why would a visitor from another country be interested in that young woman? Especially if he's already a rich woman's boy toy? Background had Cherry as the black sheep of a local family with plenty of money and bishops and Counselors in the majority faith rife among relatives close and distant, a great-grandparent had been on the Council of Twelve. It made enough sense. This couple weren't 'of the faith' but money was as important a determinant and there'd likely be connections between the families. Cherry's family had told Pearson and Smith she'd fallen in with a charismatic 'cult,' information that wasn't supposed to go further than those two. Shaw had no plan to pass it on.

Such a cult could've been the Black Robes as clearly Cherry hadn't hewed to their faith's prohibition on premarital sex and she'd been quite popular at plenty of parties like the current one the last few years and her juvenile record before that indicated a bit of violence wouldn't be out of the question. Her behavior had blown well past 'standard teenage rebellion.' That certainly fit with the two cultists she'd seen trying to kill that Bonnie girl. Twenty-three now, Cherry had failed out or been kicked out of multiple colleges and universities.

Shaw wasn't sure if her family wanted her found to assure themselves of her safety or because they worried she'd reappear and her true nature made public would stain them. It seemed she was alive but wasn't excited about announcing that.

Thirty minutes later Shaw stood on a deck that overlooked the swimming pool and yard. She glanced through the wide windows either side of the door to what was a formal dining room and parlor, with comfy chairs and a love seat along with a beautiful oak table and chairs. She saw one of the pro women, Shaw was pretty certain she went by Gypsy Rose, as she stood in the center of a mostly-seated mixed group of civilians. Many of the women she encountered in the trade were addicts but there were also the others. Bright, well-read, even the odd Uni student or graduate earning extra spending money or just because they liked the thrills. Gypsy Rose's eyes had that glint of calculating intelligence and she'd likely chosen her name after reasoned consideration. And that was why she was here.

But the original holder of that name wouldn't likely have gone as far as her namesake would over the next few hours, that namesake leaned at the waist and flirted with a not too obese fifty-something man Shaw believed was a local bank president. And if her ID was right rumor held bound for the Council of Twelve in a couple of decades. Unless, of course, news about this and any similar evenings got out.

She turned her gaze across the yard and pool below. Water splashed around a skinny dipping couple who fucked in the pool. The couple on the chaise lounge had found the energy to go at it again as the woman straddled the man this time. She admired what looked like an underwater blow job for a third couple. The top of the man's torso and his thrown-back head all that was above water, dark hair splayed out from the submerged head that applied itself to his prick. It appeared five, no six, of the earlier spectators had laid out a blanket on the small swath of grass and men and women fucked in a pile of quivering flesh.

But no sign of Cherry and Shaw's game of dodge 'em with Victor had gotten old.

"You're a lovely lass now, what be your name?"

Shaw hoped her hair hid her sudden clenched jaw the brogue caused. A hand found the top of her left hip and a crotch pressed against the top of her right hip. She felt him. He was... impressive. She leaned into him and turned so they half faced each other.

"Patrick, is it?" He smiled, made sure she saw his eyes trace her cleavage.

"At your service, but you have me at a disadvantage."

"Jacqueline, but just Jackie," her longtime cover name, common enough for her age. The driver's license in her purse would confirm that, in addition it held only a single car key and wouldn't have held much else.

"Not your everyday American name, Jackie. Are you a friend of Sheryl's?"

"More a friend of a friend, Patrick, and I wouldn't want her to see us. Wouldn't want her to think I'm intruding."

He laughed as his left hand worked down her hip and onto her ass. She put her left hand over it but didn't force it away, his right hand slid over the strap of her tiny purse and pressed on her abdomen and rose until it cupped her right breast.

"Plenty of me to go around. Wouldn't want to disappoint any American beauties."

She pushed her hip harder than necessary into his crotch but he'd anticipated the move and arched backwards enough to simply absorb the pressure.

"Plenty is right. But what brings you all the way this side of the world? Long way from home?"

"I'm a man of the world, love," his mouth close to her ear, voice a whisper, "and I know you had your eye on me down the basement. And you have such a great arse."

She traced fingers on his bare arm below the sleeve to hopefully distract him. His tone wasn't... it wasn't innocent. It wasn't that he'd happily fuck her brains out like every other straight man here. He edged her against the railing. He was strong. Solid. It was two floors to the deck and the pool would require a decent jump to reach. No. He knew what she was. How? They'd traded a couple of looks during fleeting encounters since the basement, but those hadn't even been flirting. She'd engaged a couple one time in his sight, for them to 'invite' her for later as hoped for camouflage. Had she been on assignment she'd have backup but tonight while Brenda and Pearson both knew she was here neither was close by, they had assignments. And she'd not wanted to bring anyone else on the force in on this.

"Bonjour, Patrick," it was a male voice behind them, Henri's ridiculously fake French accent. The pressure against her lessened slightly as the big Irishman turned toward the caller.

"I'm busy," it was a tone of dismissal but it allowed Shaw to look down, work out the aim for a stiletto, adjust herself for leverage.

"Oh, Patrick," Shaw smiled tightly at that voice, she was able to turn enough to see Sheryl beside Henri, a young woman behind and to her right side, "you're not two-timing me?"

"Nice meeting you, 'Jackie,' eh," he kissed her cheek, "be seeing you around."

He squeezed her ass and her tit, his body hid that from the older woman. He slowly released her.

"You too, 'Patrick,'" no reason to not let him know she knew.

He exhaled hard as he released her and pushed past Henri into the room. She took a deep breath as she turned fully and let it out slowly. How the hell had he made her? How had he caught her unawares, she'd taken her attention off of the room for less than a minute. Who, what was he?