Chapter Fifteen
To my amazement the Phoenix Police Department’s surveillance van was an old motorhome which had been retrofitted with high-tech monitoring equipment. The luggage rack on top concealed the radio antennas and a 360-degree periscope camera. The microphones were so sensitive they could pick up a whisper at a thousand feet. We simply drove up to the meatpacking company and parked.
The SWAT team’s armored vehicle was idling one street over, awaiting orders to breach the building.
I quickly checked on Tinkerbell who was curled up on the bottom bunk bed in the rear compartment. Poor little thing was tuckered out from all the excitement today. I grinned. Her snoring was almost as loud as my Dad’s.
Dutch called, “Is that awful noise coming from that itty-bitty dog?”
“It is.”
“For Christ’s sake, close the door.”
I slid it shut and walked back into the command area.
On the CCTV monitors the setting sun cast an ominous glow over a big, rusty metal building surrounded by a security fence lined with razor wire. Lopez Meats had seen better days. So had the four skinny pit bulls guarding the business.
Behind the slaughterhouse was a large stockyard filled with several hundred agitated cattle. They milled about, mooing pitifully. An aura of death hung over the area. Was it from all the slaughtered cattle or something more?
I took a quick mental peek. Crap. There were human corpses inside the building. Or what was left of them. “I know where Dead Maria’s sister is.”
All the officers in the surveillance van turned and stared at me.
Dutch rubbed his face. “Let me guess. The slaughterhouse?”
“Yes, and I sensed more bodies.”
Lieutenant Wilson, a distinguished looking, older black man, asked, “Let me get this straight. Not only can you communicate with animals, but you’re a medium too?”
“It’s a new talent,” I responded modestly.
The Lieutenant steepled his hands and examined me for a long moment. “How many bodies?”
“At least three,” I answered.
“Kandi was able to summon Maria Torrez’s spirit and get the details of her death,” Dutch stated.
“Without proper training, conjuring the dead can be dangerous, but all we need is the location of the bodies. Once you’re on the esoteric plane, find out where they’re buried and get out,” Lieutenant Wilson instructed.
“Yes, sir.”
Dutch added, “Don’t take any risks.”
“I won’t.” I hated the hint of nervousness in my voice.
“Good. Let’s get this show on the road,” the Lieutenant said and handed me a cross. “It’s been blessed by the Pope.”
A sensation of peace radiated from it. He hadn’t gotten this cross off eBay. Holding it tightly, I opened my psychic senses and cautiously reached out.
The esoteric plane was a cold, frightening void. An unearthly stillness surrounded me. I had visited this plane of existence once with Grandma Hester’s psychic guide. I didn’t remember it being quite so alien or hostile.
The quiet was abruptly shattered by the hideous howling of the damned. Out of the darkness dozens of tormented spirits rushed me. Horrific scenes of their torture and murders slammed into my head. I screamed as their agony became mine.
In a dim corner of my mind, I heard Dutch calling my name, but I couldn’t break free of the apparitions “Go into the light. Go into the light. Go into the light. They’ll be punished. I promise. They’ll be punished,” I yelled, but no doorway appeared. What had I done wrong? How did I fix it?
The spirits wailed in despair.
The cross heated in my hand. I drew heavily on its energy and reached out, searching for any kind of help. I couldn’t find Grandma Hester, or my great grandmother Anastasia or any heavenly entities. “Please, I need your help. Show me how to free these trapped souls. My strength is fading. If I don’t break free soon, I’ll join them in this unending hell.”
I shrieked as the ghastly murders assaulted my mind, one by one. The pain was overwhelming. “Please help me break the cycle. Please. I need that friggin’ doorway to the other side.”
Crackling white energy suddenly danced around me. Seconds later a wondrous power flowed into me and a gentle female voice said, “Miraculin sepulcrum ibidem solus novum.”
I repeated the words and a portal appeared.
The doorway’s iridescent glow drew the lost souls like a magnet.
“Go! Now!” I cried.
The spirits obediently ran into the light.
Pain erupted in my cheek. “Kandi! Snap out of it!” Dutch shook me. “Kandi.”
My psychic connection with the esoteric plane snapped abruptly, and Dutch’s worried face came into focus. I grabbed the front of his shirt. “People have died there. Horribly. So many people. And the animals. The things they do to the animals. They have to be stopped.”
“They will be. You have my word. They’re all going to prison for a very long time,” Dutch replied and wrapped his arms around me. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’m not making any promises.” I clung to him as tremors shook my body. “The spirits made me relive their deaths again and again. If it wasn’t for the Lieutenant’s cross, I wouldn’t have survived the ordeal.”
“It sounded like you were being killed. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Other than a headache, I’ll live.”
“No more talking to the dead until you know what you’re doing and have more control,” Dutch stated, rubbing my back soothingly.
“You won’t get any arguments from me.”
Lieutenant Wilson asked, “Do we need to call the paramedics, Callaghan?”
“No. She’s okay.” Dutch released me. “Promise me you’ll keep your powers locked down for now.”
“Promise.” I noticed the other officers in the motorhome eyeing me warily as if my head would start spinning at any moment.
I sighed. “You don’t need an exorcist. I’m psychic not possessed.”
Lieutenant Wilson handed me a chocolate bar. “This always helps my wife’s sister when things go badly.”
“Thank you.” I tore off the wrapper and practically inhaled it.
Another cop handed me a bottle of pop. “Sugar’s good for shock.”
“Thanks.” I took a long swallow, enjoying the ice-cold liquid sliding down my throat.
Dutch placed the back of his hand against my forehead. “You’re still a bit overheated. Drink all of it.”
In the helicopter Dutch had made me drink four bottles of water. I seriously needed to pee now. I drained the bottle. “Bathroom?”
Dutch pointed at the narrow hallway. “First door on your right.”
“Thanks.” I gave the men an embarrassed smile and hurried into the tiny bathroom. Surprisingly, my shrieks hadn’t roused Tinkerbell. She still sounded like a hibernating grizzly bear.
After taking care of business, I washed my hands and glanced at the mirror. Holy shit! I looked like I had been to hell and back. In a way, I had. My eyes were haunted, I was white as a ghost, and crap, I was crying. The horror of what I had seen replayed in my head and a sob broke from me.
Dutch knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Hunky-dory. Peachy keen. A-OK. Copacetic.” And seriously freaked out.
“How many souls did you help today?”
“I didn’t count them,” I answered. Sucking in a deep breath, I fought for control. Lopez and his ghouls were going to pay for what they had done.
“If you’re not up for critter control, we’ll give the SWAT team the go ahead,” Dutch stated quietly.
“No! I just need a minute.”
“You’ve got it.” There was a wealth of concern in Dutch’s voice.
Grandma Hester said God gave us our gifts for a reason. My new power had helped the poor victims cross over, but how many lost souls were still out there? I would do whatever was necessary to stop those sick, twisted bastards from ever harming another innocent. I wiped the tears off my face. It was time to suck it up and help the police shut down the slaughterhouse and the cage matches. I opened the door and bounced off Dutch’s chest. “Ooops! Sorry.”
Dutch backed me into the bathroom. “I was wrong to force you to help me.”
“I want to do this. I need to do this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very sure,” I said with grim determination.
“That’s my girl.” Dutch kissed me gently. “Ready to kick some butt?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
“Let’s do this.” Dutch escorted me to the command center.
Lieutenant Wilson looked me over. “Feeling better.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We have thermal imaging,” Dutch advised. “Do you have an idea of where the bodies are buried?”
My stomach roiled. “They weren’t buried. They turned them into hamburger meat.”
“Sonovabitch!” The Lieutenant threw his burger in the trash.
The color drained from Dutch’s face and he stared down at a sack of burgers he had just picked up. “Hamburger meat? Like they put in Rocket Burgers?”
“Yeah, that kind. I think Lopez ships the meat south of the border. Fewer health inspectors, but I could be wrong.”
The lieutenant turned to the tech guy. “Any way you can track their shipments, Jerry?”
“Hell, yes.” Jerry’s fingers flew across his keyboard.
“They ran Dead Maria’s sister through their meat grinder. Her remains are in the freezer, along with a couple of losers in the cage matches,” I added.
Dutch growled, “Those sick fucks are going down.”
“It’s enough to turn you into a vegetarian,” an officer muttered.
Lieutenant Wilson asked, “Can you identify the victims?”
“Only the ones killed in the last couple of days. Maria and two men,” I said.
“We have eight missing persons reports on men we think Lopez used in his cage matches.” The Lieutenant opened a laptop and showed me a screen full of photos. “Any of these people in the freezer?”
I pointed at two Hispanic men. “They were beaten to death by a fighter in a red mask.”
“Gotta be El Muerte. My informant said he’s Lopez’s top fighter. His opponent tonight is Julio,” Dutch said.
“Julio doesn’t have long to live then. El Muerte wears brass knuckles with spikes. He enjoys making his opponents suffer. He wants them to beg for their lives while he beats them to death,” I interjected.
A burning rage flared to life in the Lieutenant’s eyes. “This ends tonight.”
Jerry swung his chair around and announced, “Lopez’s special shipments go to the Chapultepec Zoo in Mexico City, Lieutenant.”
We all heaved a sigh of relief. No people burgers had been served in Arizona.
“Good news. The media fall-out would have been a nightmare,” Lieutenant Wilson replied.
Dutch scowled. “Yeah, but all our evidence is gone.”
“The animals will eventually shit it out,” I replied.
“We need to contact the Mexican Federal Police as soon as possible. Send the Chief an email with all the data we have so far Larry,” Lieutenant Wilson instructed.
“Yes, sir.”
“S30 to command,” a male voice called over the police radio.
The Lieutenant keyed his lapel radio mike, “Go ahead S30.”
“There’s a lookout on the roof. He’s Hispanic, wearing a black hoodie and armed with a sniper rifle,” S30 advised.
A hoodie in this heat? I asked Dutch, “Who’s S30?”
“He’s a covert assault officer. He infiltrates the area and reports in.”
“Gotcha. You want me to disable the guy on the roof?”
Dutch nodded. “We do. Are you sure it’s safe for you to use your Dr. Doolittle powers?”
“Let me put it to you this way. That ability is on a different frequency level than talking to the dead.”
“Okay. Be careful. One hint of trouble, you close it down.”
I saluted Dutch. “Yes, sir.” Fighting down a bad case of the jitters, I dropped my mental shields and psychically scanned the area. I smiled. There were lots of critters to work with.
I would start with the feral cat on the roof to distract the sniper. Then use a barn owl to snatch his rifle and follow up with the eight skunks who lived under the foundation. They should clear out the building rather nicely.
“Y’all got gas masks?”
Dutch blinked in surprise. “We do. Are we going to need them?”
“Yep. I’m gonna skunk ‘em.”
“Take the sniper out first,” Lieutenant Wilson ordered.
“Yes, sir.” I focused on the cat crouched on top of an air-conditioner. Her litter of kittens were under a bunch of old crates the sniper was standing beside. “Bad man wants to hurt your babies. Protect them.”
As the hissing cat leaped on the sniper’s head, I summoned the barn owl and put the image of the rifle in his mind. “Get the big stick.”
“Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee!” The lookout cried as the feral feline clawed his face and head. Dropping the rifle, he did a wacky hip hop dance as he fought to dislodge the cat.
The owl swooped in, snagged the rifle and flew off.
Through the owl’s eyes I spotted S30 hiding in waist high weeds. “Drop the stick. Now,” I commanded.
The barn owl obediently released it. I watched as the rifle plummeted down and smacked the ground a foot from S30.
The camouflaged painted SWAT officer didn’t even flinch. He picked up the rifle and advised over the radio, “Sniper rifle secured.”
Lieutenant Wilson asked, “How did you manage that?”
“Owl delivery, sir,” S30 deadpanned.
Laughter filled the motorhome.
There was a burst of static on the radio and a male voice said, “S40 to command.”
“Go ahead S40,” Lieutenant Wilson said.
“Got a caravan of high dollar cars westbound on Broadway.”
“Copy S40.” Lieutenant Wilson touched my arm. “Kandi, hold off on the skunks.”
I nodded and linked with the cat again. The sniper was long gone, and she was nursing her kittens.
“Drink this.” Dutch handed me another bottle of soda. “You’re still too pale.”
“It’s been an interesting day.”
“That it has.” Dutch massaged my tense shoulders. “And it’s not over yet.”
I managed not to moan as he worked the knots out. God, did he have great hands.
Tinkerbell howled and scratched the door frantically.
“I’m right here. I did not abandon you.” I hurried down the hallway and opened the door.
Arf?
Picking the Yorkie up, I kissed her head. “I would never leave you.”
Arf? Arf?
“The detective is here too, and yes, he might lick my mouth again.”
Tinkerbell growled.
Dutch held out a bowl of water. “Thirsty, girl?”
Woof.
“Is that a yes?” Dutch wanted to know.
I grinned. “It is.”
He placed the bowl on the floor.
I put Tinkerbell down, smiling as she eagerly drank the cold water.
“Dogs usually like me,” Dutch commented.
“Give her time, she’s had a rough couple of days.”
Dutch opened a drawer and pulled out a pack of beef jerky. “Hungry Tinkerbell?”
Tinkerbell barked and danced around Dutch.
“I bet you are.” He broke off a small piece and held it out to the Yorkie.
Tinkerbell politely took the jerky.
“S20 to command, the caravan is now southbound on seventy-fifth avenue,” a female voice called.
Lieutenant Wilson keyed his mike, “Copy S20.”
As I drank my soda, I watched Jerry rotate the periscope camera over to the slaughterhouse’s parking lot. Me, the daughter of a mob enforcer, working with the police. Who knew Fate had a sense of humor?
On the monitors a line of expensive cars pulled into the lot and parked. I shook my head in disgust. “Do they know what happens to the losers?”
“I don’t think they care,” Dutch said grimly.
To my amazement, all the fight fans were dressed like they were going to some Hollywood gala instead of a bloody, death match.
A limo stopped. The driver jumped out and opened the back door. A minute later Vicente Guzman and a young Hispanic woman in a glittering red cocktail dress exited the car.
The El Jefe of the Mexican mafia was a scrawny old man in a three thousand-dollar suit and wearing a ridiculous pompadour hairpiece.
“Don’t tell me Guzman is an Elvis groupie?”
“He is,” Lieutenant Wilson replied.
Dutch inquired casually, “Any pigeons in the area?”
“No, but there is an egg ranch filled with hundreds of free range chickens,” I replied with a grin.
“How far can chickens fly?”
“Not as far as other birds can, but they do shit more,” I responded.
“Perfect,” Dutch said, pure devilry in his eyes.
The Lieutenant smiled. “Call them.”
“My pleasure.” I summoned the poultry. Soon the sky was filled with feathered warriors. I ordered, “Shit ‘em.”
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Chicken crap rained down on the parking lot. The fight fans shrieked bloody blue murder and ran inside the slaughterhouse.
“Bring the skunks in,” Lieutenant Wilson directed.
I sent the chickens home and linked with the female skunk. She had seven three-month old kits. “Defend your burrow.” I turned to the Lieutenant. “Skunks have been deployed.”
“Good.”
In my mind’s eye, I watched the loudly complaining, shit-covered fight groupies enter the makeshift arena. Julio paced restlessly inside the metal cage. Where the heck was Tomas Lopez and El Muerte?
A menacing squeal sounded. Everyone froze when they spotted the skunks. Several women screamed.
“Shut up,” El Jefe shouted.
The skunks raised their tails and stamped their front feet.
Smart people would know to back away slowly, but there’s always some dumbass with too much testosterone.
His hair piece listing to the left, Guzman pulled a Glock and fired at the skunks.
The bullet missed them by a foot and hit a fire extinguisher. A pressurized stream of fire-squelching nitrogen spewed out.
The skunks turned, aimed and fired back.
Guzman took the brunt of the sprays. Gasping for breath, he retreated, along with all the other horrified fans right into the waiting arms of the police.
“S20 to command. All suspects are in custody except for Tomas Lopez and El Muerte.”
“Copy. Perimeter teams move in.”
“Go back to your burrow,” I instructed the skunks.
Lieutenant Wilson studied the monitors. “Callaghan, I’m assigning your squad to check the freezers. I want everything documented carefully.”
“Yes, sir.” Dutch pulled on his ballistic vest. “Stay put Kandi,” he ordered, picking up a steel suitcase.
I rolled my eyes. Like I would get very far. “Don’t forget your gas masks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dutch grabbed his mask and followed his men out of the motorhome.
The Lieutenant’s cellphone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and grimaced. “I’ve got to take this.” He stepped into the rear compartment.
I watched Dutch’s team pull on their gas masks and enter the building. The detective wouldn’t rest until he got justice for the dead. I admired his dedication.