Tracking Evil: Bucharest Pt. 04

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil - Bucharest Part 4

Note: While some characters in this tale appear in the series Tracking Evil: a Podcast. It isn't necessary to have read that series to enjoy this story. This story is set a few months after the events in the final chapter of Tracking Evil: a Podcast.

Chapter One: "Doubts are more cruel than the worst of truths." Moliere

Denisa was having a new experience. She didn't care for it much although she saw the sense in it. The website that offered 'simple easy to follow steps' was guilty of false advertising. There had to be easier ways to make a last will and testament. Frustrated she gave up, turning off the laptop and settling back in the chair to take another drink of coffee.

She was sitting outside a café, a hundred yards from where she sat, the building that Malo used as a home stood. Unlike the fashionable and expensive looking house that his late partner Lukeba had lived in, this residence was hideous. It had been built around the 1950's or 1960's, at the height of communism's grasp on Romania. The architecture was blocky, grey, uninspiring, looking more like a squat office building than a home.

For all its aesthetical shortcomings, it was going to be a bitch to get into.

Denisa wasn't sure if the security she could see had always been in place or if it was as a direct result of her actions these last few days. She'd killed six members of this criminal organisation. Four had been mere foot soldiers, one might have been considered an officer. The sixth though had been one of the bosses, Lukeba, the brains to Malo's brawn.

She ran the obstacles through her head again, mentally ticking them off as she did so.

• Two guards outside the front door, day and night. A third guard stationed inside the door with a clear view of the others.

• Two guards working as a roving patrol, circling not only the building itself but alternating their route at random to include the entire block of buildings that Malo's home stood among.

• Security cameras covering every approach and angle to the building.

• Ground floor windows covered with security shutters.

• First and second floor windows alarmed from what she could see. Denisa had purchased an SLR camera with a high-powered lens, posing as a tourist. The zoom of the lens had shown her the alarm sensors on each and every window.

On top of this, she had yet to see Malo himself. There was an underground garage, accessed only through the building and the street entrance had a steel roller shutter. If he had been leaving the building, he'd done it via one of a number of SUV's she'd spotted coming and going. The occupants had been hidden from view behind tinted windows, so she had no idea what the man looked like beyond an obscure description, that he was a 'huge monster.'

So, she couldn't get in by stealth. Even if she could get in, she had no idea who she was looking for and between guards and other members of the organisation, there could be anywhere from ten to thirty people living and working in that building.

Two days spent drinking coffee and surveilling the building and that short list and the depressing conclusion was all she had to show for it.

That's why Denisa had spent the last hour trying to write up her will in the event of her death. As of right now she couldn't see any other outcome if she went on the attack. She drummed her fingers on the laptop, eyes half closed as she thought deeply... fuck it, none of her clothes would fit her friends and anyway their taste in fashion was for shit... screw it, she wasn't going to bother leaving them anything.

She signalled for the waiter to bring her the bill. The only good news she had gotten was from Vlad. He'd been keeping his ear to the ground for her, all sorts of people frequenting the gym where he worked out. The day after she'd executed Lukeba, a couple of hard-faced black men had shown up. They'd questioned everyone, looking to know if a small group had shown up at the gym in the last week or so. Foreign, good shape, possibly ex-military. Nobody had been able to help them so they'd moved on, leaving contact details should anyone hear anything.

The organisation was shaking the trees it seemed. It appeared they were working off the assumption that a rival gang had recruited a specialist team to attack them. The sheer arrogance of these men meant that they considered that only well-trained military personnel could have taken out their men in the club and at Lukeba's home. They weren't looking for Denisa, they weren't even considering a woman as part of the 'team' sent against them. Despite one of the slain men being killed, literally with his pants around his ankles.

That worked in Denisa's favour, about the only thing that was going her way right now.

With Vlad's help, she'd tracked down some former members of her father's old special forces group. Not wanting her father to be brought into things, she'd cautiously felt them out, wondering if any of them had gone mercenary or had links to some weapons dealers even. She needed back up and she needed firepower. None of them had been able to help. Unlike her father, they'd put their former careers behind them, all of them content and growing fat, full of memories but no answers. All had been happy to see her, welcoming a trip down memory lane as they'd reminisced about her father. An entire afternoon had been wasted on them, Denisa bitterly disappointed that they'd let their skills and training go to seed in this fashion.

The waiter came back with the bill, Denisa smiled her thanks, dropping the money and a decent tip onto the plate. She still had half a cup of coffee to go, but she wanted to be ready to leave if needed.

There was one avenue left open to her. One last thing she could do.

She genuinely couldn't believe it had come to this, Denisa putting the phone to her ear as she waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Erica Anderson speaking," the pleasant-sounding voice answered the phone.

"It's me," Denisa said.

"Me... who?" Erica asked.

"Denisa..."

"Ummm, do I know a Denisa?"

"Okay, fuck off. This was a mistake..." Denisa growled irritably, looking to hang up.

"Wait.. wait, wait, wait. I'm only joking," Erica's happy voice called out, Denisa scowling at the phone even though she knew Erica couldn't see her through it.

"Can you talk?" Denisa asked. Her serious tone quietened Erica's merriment.

"Sure. Sorry, I forgot. How was the visit home? Everything okay there with your friend's grandmother?"

"Yeah, it's about that..." Denisa took a few minutes to walk Erica through the events of the past few days. She heard the young woman's intake of breath as Denisa described the club, the house pets, no doubt remembering non to fondly her own undercover period, posing as a homeless person before being recruited into a porn ring. Denisa then took her through the final hurdle, getting to Malo, killing him and somehow getting away again.

"Wow! That's, that's a lot to take in..." Erica had her 'thinking voice' on, Denisa remembering the way the reporter would adopt a slightly addled tone, her brain sorting through a problem with the kind of clarity and attention to detail that Denisa could only envy, never emulate.

"Are you looking for back up? Sondra's not able to fly, too far gone in her pregnancy but I can get Arlene booked on a flight. Or I can tell your dad?"

"NO! No, I mean, don't tell him. I know what he'd say. He never knew Maria or Ioana. To him, they are strangers. To me, they are family. He'd want me home and I'm not leaving the job half done."

"I know... it's what we do," Erica said in a sad voice. She'd had her own brush with vengeance, almost breaking her mind in the pursuit of a serial killer. Even now, heavily pregnant, she was still working behind the scenes, other killers still at large.

"So, what do you need from me?" Erica asked, back to business.

"A plan. One where I don't die would be good!" Denisa said exasperated. Not with Erica, with herself for having to call Erica. Her doubts were back though. The same ones that had led to her having a panic attack in a church while figuring out how to kill Lukeba. Denisa was like Malo, an enforcer, a killer. She needed a brain, that was where Erica came in.

"Well, I don't know about a plan but I can give you two things. First is some advice."

"Go ahead," Denisa opened up her laptop as she spoke to Erica, ready to take notes if needed.

"The advice is this. Stop thinking about the end. You are jumping two steps ahead of yourself. Go stage by stage. You need to identify this Malo guy and figure a way into his house. So, work on that. Do what I did, get facts, get details, find someone who knows and get the information from them. Then come up with a plan for the next step. Stop over thinking it."

"That's not a plan!" Denisa protested, pissed off that she hadn't thought of that herself.

"I never said it was a plan, I said it was advice," Erica's voice became strident, Denisa always able to get under her skin.

"Fine. What was the second thing?" Denisa heard Erica taking a calming breath on the other end of the phone before answering.

"Okay. The other thing. Who are you?"

"What? That wasn't funny a minute ago, it's fucking un-hilarious now," Denisa grouched.

"Who are you?" Erica pressed.

"Denisa," came the reply.

"Nope. Who are you?" Erica asked again, not satisfied with the answer.

"Denisa fucking Teodoroiu!" Denisa snapped back.

"Good then start fucking acting like it Zoomer. Stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself. You saved my life a few months ago, running down underground tunnels shooting at serial killers. You've killed six criminals in less than a week, basically unarmed. You're Denisa fucking Teodoroiu, not some whining little girl. Now put on your shit kickers, kill that motherfucker and get your ass back stateside... oh and if you see something cute in Bucharest for a baby, bring two back for Sondra and me."

Denisa stared at the phone, a grin slowly working its way onto her face, lifting her from attractive to beautiful just like that.

"You got it... and, thanks. I needed that," Denisa spoke into the phone before adding a final barb, "pig fucker."

"HE WAS A PIG FARMER!" she heard Erica yell into the phone just before Denisa hung up on her.

Time to get her shit kickers on.

Chapter Two: "Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference" Winston Churchill

If you want information, best place to get it is from the source. Denisa didn't know if that was an actual quote but it sounded good in her head at least. She figured that one of the guards at the house was going to be her best chance of getting information, what Malo looked like, where he was inside... that kind of thing. Since her slutty outfit had worked so well last time, Denisa decided to use that tactic again. This time she wasn't looking to draw a guard away, just get him interested in her, maybe arrange a 'date' for that night or the next day.

She'd seen a store that carried some of Phillip Lim's clothing line, Denisa figuring she might as well splash out a couple of thousand dollars on an outfit, after all, tomorrow she could be dead. Now she admired her reflection in a store front, just around the corner from Malo's lair. Denisa had bought a pair of black denim style cotton pants that were extremely high waisted, elongating her petite silhouette and accentuating her trim waist. Of course, it helped that they looked great over her black boots. It was a warm night, so she hadn't bothered with a jacket, choosing instead to go braless beneath a khaki-coloured open back Cami. Sleeveless and cropped, the square neckline and twisted front drape suited her cleavage and the open back with its thin straps showed off the toned muscles of her shoulders and back from years of swimming.

She looked hot and thanks to Erica's pep talk she was feeling confident.

That confidence stayed with her all the way up to the point where she neared the street where Malo's house lay. A group of buskers, four women playing violins and a cello were on the pavement before her. The haunting air of Queen's 'Who wants to live forever' filled the evening and the lyrics came to Denisa's mind without effort, the song a favourite of her father. Thinking of him, she regretted not texting him that day. She wasn't intending this to be anymore than a reconnaissance patrol, hopefully risk free. But she still felt bad not telling him that she loved him, just in case.

There was nothing to be done about it though, she'd left her phone behind her in the hotel. So, she simply crossed to the pavement that the target house stood on, walking unhurriedly towards the main entrance. There were two guards out front, her objective was to engage with one of them, get them talking, maybe arrange a date. Somehow, she needed to get information on the internal layout of the house, some sort of idea when and where to find Malo.

The two men, both black, were wearing Addidas tracksuits as had the two men she'd encountered at the club. Denisa was getting an idea now of how the organisation worked. The 'officers', higher ranking members, they wore suits and dressed respectably, all the better for the business deals they might be involved in. The street level soldiers seemed to have adopted tracksuits as their uniform, Red and Blue the preferred colours. There was also the matter of the tattoo's that each member bore on their chests, Denisa suspected that this was some sort of rite of passage, marking them as official members of the organisation. She didn't know enough to draw any other conclusions than that at present.

Neither of the guards were her type. One was as short as herself, the other obscenely overweight. However, beggars couldn't be choosers, she'd just have to swallow her personal distaste and get the job done. As she approached, she could hear them arguing in French, almost oblivious to her approach which indicated their unsuitability as guards but perhaps their suitability as unwitting informants for her.

"Stop calling me fat," the big one was saying.

"I'm just saying, the shadow off your ass is fifty pounds," the smaller man said grinning.

"It's water retention and relaxed muscle... I'm not fat, just strong," his larger friend said in a defensive tone.

"Shit, if that muscle in your ass relaxes anymore, you won't find clothes to fit... just saying," the small man flinched away as his friend raised a pudgy fist. It was at this point that the smaller man clocked Denisa's approach, standing out from the steps leading to the front door, openly admiring her with his eyes.

"You're late," he said to her in Romanian. Denisa did her best to hide the look of confusion that rose within her. Late for what?

"Am I?" She replied innocently, miming looking at a watch that she wasn't wearing. If you want people to think you belong, act like you do. That was the secret to the game.

"Yeah, I think the others already showed up," the small man said.

"Wait," the fat guard protested, "How do we even know what she's here for? You just saw her walking by." He began to climb the steps to the door while Denisa watched him depart, turning then to the smaller man who was indeed looking a bit sheepish and suspicious.

"Why are you here?" he questioned her.

"Malo ordered it," she said, taking a risk. It paid off, the small guard nodded brusquely.

"She says she's here for the meeting," he called up in French to the big man who waved in acknowledgement before opening the door to speak to the third guard inside.

"We missing a visitor?" Denisa could just make out what the guard was saying.

"Fuck, I don't know. Maybe. Most arrived through the garage entrance," came the reply. As Denisa waited, a third man appeared, also in a tracksuit but having a slightly more intelligent look on his face. He crooked his head to one side as he considered her.

"Must be legitimate. Why else show up here? Okay, let her in."

Denisa was waved up the steps and through the door. The third guard pointed her towards a flight of stairs, simply saying 'next floor up' before turning away and resuming his station.

She was in... she hadn't planned on this, not at all. As Denisa began to climb up the stairs she was in two minds if this was a stroke of good fortune or a dumb assed move by herself. Fine, yes, she had managed to bluff her way past the guards. But they were clearly low grade. What would happen when she reached the next floor and had to answer specific questions as to her purpose here? She grinned, nervous but fired up all the same by the thrill of the unknown. If she was asked questions or suspicions were raised, she'd play the air headed young girl trick... 'OMG for real? Like this isn't Sasha's party? OH-MY-GOD I am like...TOTE's embarrassed!' Yeah, she could pull that off in her sleep.

Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, Denisa was greeted by the sight of another guard, alert it seemed for her arrival. Again, he seemed a bit more professional and Denisa wondered why the more efficient guards were inside rather than outside. He took her by the elbow, she didn't like that, and led her towards a big set of double doors. Opening one, he steered her inside.

If the house's exterior had seemed like an office block, this room at least looked more like a huge reception room in a stately home. There was a big fireplace on one side of the room, all marble and with a huge old-fashioned mirror mounted on the wall above it. The floor was carpeted and a host of deep rugs of different designs littered the floor. Directly opposite it, on the external wall were three big plate glass windows, heavy red curtains framing them. There were seats for twenty or more people, a mish mash collection of chaise lounges and deep armchairs, all in a variety of styles, colours and upholstery types. It was as if a legally blind interior designer had collaborated with a person of extraordinary bad taste to create a room that was on one hand expensively furnished and on the other, done in a manner that had no sense and less appeal.

A bar lay to the far left, at what could be deemed the top of the room. Six feet long mahogany wood counter lined with glasses and bottles galore. In front of it, probably the tackiest item in the room was a giant globe of the earth. It was opened up along the equator, it served as an additional drink cabinet, heaving with expensive looking bottles of whiskey and cognac. On the wall beside the bar was a gun rack, again wholly inappropriate for the rooms setting but at least it appeared that Malo had good taste in weaponry. Denisa's eye was drawn to a Saiga 12 Russian army automatic shotgun, fitted with a ten-round magazine. Above it, a PP-19 submachine gun, an AK-74 assault rifle, an FN P90 and a HK416 Assault rifle. From these, Denisa suspected that Malo, or some of his men, had seen service with the French army. A large glass bowl on the bar contained RDG-5 Russian fragmentation grenades. Malo might be one of the pigs who had killed Maria but Denisa liked his style.

Furniture and weaponry aside, the room was busy with people. A group of women stood to one side, for the most part a dejected and solemn looking group. Scattered then around the rest of the room, seated and standing, were about a dozen or more organisation members, all in tracksuits and drinking. Denisa walked over to where the women stood, barely paying them any heed as she scanned the men, trying to see which might be Malo. None seemed to fit the bill. Where the hell was he?