Logan’s Gun
Darren G. Burton
Published by Darren G. Burton at Smashwords
Copyright © 2010 Darren G. Burton
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Cover Design: Darren G. Burton
1
Wade Daniels had his car stereo blasting a rock tune as he sped along the M1 in his Ferrari F430 Spider convertible. The intermittent street lighting gleamed off the metallic charcoal duco as the night breeze whipped at his hair.
He was in a very good mood, as he always was after visiting his favorite nocturnal haunt; a classy strip club/brothel in the centre of the city. Feeling extremely satisfied that he’d had his fix of gorgeous female attention, and ultimately sexual relief, he was looking forward to getting home and relaxing in his spa before retiring for the evening.
Wade lived alone, had never been married, preferred not to be involved in any steady relationships. Would rather have the freedom to live the bachelor lifestyle. With his job as a bank manager, he could afford to buy all the female company and sex he wanted, whenever he desired.
And he liked it that way.
Who wanted to be tied down? Not him.
His mother thought it strange that he was still single at the age of thirty-eight. She’d even hinted a couple of times that it would be okay to admit to her if he was gay. He wasn’t gay in the slightest. Just enjoyed his freedoms. And variety of women.
The Ferrari roared down an off-ramp, where it hugged a gradual curve in the road. Reluctantly he had to brake and pull the powerful beast to a stop for a red light. The motor hummed behind him, waiting for him to plant his foot on that accelerator the moment the light changed to green.
He didn’t let the car down. It took off with the speed of a cougar, rubber howling in protest against the bitumen. Wade whipped it carelessly around corners as he weaved through the estate towards him home. The sports car was maneuvered into the driveway of a two story home, where Wade brought it to a sudden halt as he stomped on the brakes. He didn’t bother parking it in the garage. No one was going to touch it in this neighborhood. He killed the engine and got out.
And that’s when it happened.
A shadow unfurled from the bushes beside the driveway. Wade just managed to catch a brief glimpse of it before he was shoved violently in the back. He fell to the concrete, his car keys skittering away towards the garage door. A moment later he felt a searing pain in his back, agony like he’d never experienced before. He barely had time to come to grips with the first blow when excruciating pain struck him again, this time further to the side.
Totally dazed and confused by it all, Wade somehow managed to roll onto his back. He could feel a sludgy puddle forming beneath him. The figure hovering above him was dressed all in black, the face hidden behind a black balaclava. The streetlights glinted off something shiny in the person’s gloved hand. Losing strength and consciousness fast with the blood gushing from his body, Wade made a feeble attempt to ward off his attacker as the knife dropped towards him. The business side of the blade sliced his forearm on its way down, where it was buried up to the hilt in his chest, just below the heart. A coppery taste immediately entered his mouth and blood bubbled on his lips as he fought hard to take a breath.
The assailant showed him no mercy as the knife was thrust into his chest and stomach repeatedly. The final blow, the one that ended it all and put him out of his misery, landed right in the centre of his throat; where it sliced through the soft flesh all the way to his backbone and severed the spinal cord. The last breath of life gurgled through the hole in his throat, then Wade was silent and still.
The attacker quickly checked for a pulse, then fled into the night.
* * *
Homicide Detective Morgan Slade was completely bald and the portable lighting set up around the crime scene glinted off his shiny pate. It gave his head the appearance of a walking moon. He glanced at the Ferrari, then down at the ground near the garage door where the lifeless body of a man lay covered in blood. The dark life fluid had spread out in a gruesome pattern around the corpse.
Several uniformed police officers were cordoning off the area with official tape. A white van came to stop on the road in front of the driveway and two people from Forensics got out. As they rummaged around in the back of the van for the gear they needed, Slade approached a younger detective who was hovering over the body.
“What have we got, Malone?” Slade asked him.
Detective Bobby Malone stood up and spoke to the senior detective without taking his eyes off the body. “Deceased male named Wade Daniels. Aged thirty-eight. Single. Works as a bank manager downtown.”
“How did you find all that out?”
“For starters, his wallet.”
Slade nodded. “So this wasn’t a robbery then.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Nope. Keys to the Ferrari are still lying on the concrete over there.” Malone pointed to the spot. “Looks like a frenzied knife attack.” He paused briefly and looked into Slade’s eyes. “Just like the others, Sir.”
“Bit early yet to assume it’s connected,” Slade was gruff.
“I’m just saying it looks very similar. That’s all.”
This was the third fatal stabbing in just over a week, and all three victims were men who weren’t short of a dollar or a comfortable lifestyle. However, robbery didn’t appear to be the motive for any of the killings.
Slade looked around as Forensics set to work placing yellow markers near the evidence. A police photographer moved in and commenced snapping off shots of the grisly scene.
“Who found him?” Slade asked Malone.
Malone nodded to his left, where an elderly lady sat on a low-rise concrete fence while being interviewed by a uniformed cop. He then pointed to the house to the right of Wade’s.
“She was looking out an upstairs window when it happened. She couldn’t see anything because of the trees, but heard a scuffle, some cries of pain, and saw what she thinks was a man running off down the road dressed all in black.”
“Murder weapon?”
“None found yet, Sir, but looks like a knife was used.”
Slade nodded. “Get a statement from the old lady, and have the uniforms canvass the area.” As Malone walked over to the witness, Slade added, “And dig into the backgrounds of the victims.” Slade then squatted down beside one of the crime scene investigators. “Any early prognosis on the murder weapon?” he asked the man.
“Definitely a knife, and quite a long-bladed one judging by that neck wound. It’s hard to tell until a more thorough examination of the body is performed, but the wounds look very much like those on the previous two victims.”
“A Natchez Bowie Knife,” Slade said with a heavy sigh.
“That’s what I believe at this early stage.”
“Great.” Slade stood up and sighed again. “Looks like we’ve got a fucking serial killer on our hands.”
2
The bathroom was filled with steam as the shower poured out a constant, powerful jet of hot water. Even though it was spring, he liked his showers hot. Many people felt more invigorated by cold water, like a cool swim on a hot day. But not him. He found hot water did the trick and really got the blood pumping.
After ducking his head under the stream of water one last time, Don Logan turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower onto a bathmat. He tried to see his reflection in the mirror, but it was hidden from view by the intense fog he’d created. He pulled open the bathroom door and the steam immediately started to dissipate. Gradually the mirror materialized and he could see himself.
His skin was lightly tanned with a healthy glow. Logan patted his flat stomach and was pleased to see that his defined and athletic physique wasn’t starting to deteriorate at all at the age of thirty-five. He had short, light brown hair that topped a face women had always found fairly attractive without considering him gorgeous. More ruggedly handsome. At least he liked to think so. His jaw line was quite defined, his nose and ears weren’t too big, and his eyes were a deep shade of sapphire blue. Rarely was he clean shaven, only about once or twice a week to stop his stubble growing into a fully-fledged beard. He preferred a bit of stubble. It suited his image and, in his line of work, added a rougher edge to his appearance which was sometimes quite handy. He wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t short either; a little above average height.
Logan toweled himself dry, brushed his teeth and hair, then figured he was ready for the day. Once he was clothed, of course.
He went into the adjoining bedroom and rummaged around in a wardrobe for something to wear. Today, so far, he had no work on.
Don Logan worked for himself as a private detective. Yesterday he’d just wound up a very boring surveillance case; the usual suspected cheating spouse deal. He hated those. Found them tedious and mind-numbing. Turns out the husband wasn’t cheating on the wife after all. He was arranging a special surprise for her upcoming thirtieth birthday: A reunion of all her childhood friends. In a way Logan was glad it turned out that way. No one was doing the dirty, he got paid regardless and, with some discreet investigative work, the husband was none the wiser that his wife had hired a private investigator to put tabs on his movements. Hopefully the woman now had more trust in her thoughtful husband.
In a drawer he removed some underwear and slipped them on. Stashed at the back of the drawer was a silver handgun, clips, boxes of bullets and a shoulder holster. Logan briefly placed his fingers on the cold steel of the weapon, then removed his hand. He wouldn’t be needing that today.
Jeans, a tan button-up shirt left untucked and some casual shoes were put on, then he went into the kitchen of the two bedroom, modern and spacious apartment to make a coffee. He’d recently purchased a quality espresso machine – the kind that had to be plumbed in – and made himself a strong flat white coffee. He’d become quite adept at making rich, creamy coffees now and found it hard to drink coffee at a cafe, as they never seemed to make it exactly the way he liked it.
He took his coffee out into a courtyard area complete with hot tub and a comfortable outdoor setting. Palms and various other plants decorated the courtyard and, being on the top floor of a twelve storey building, Logan had a great view of the city skyline. The morning sun shone brightly in a clear sky and in the distance, off to his right, he could see gentle waves rolling in to the beach.
Logan didn’t make that much money as a private detective to be able to afford a penthouse apartment in the centre of town. He’d been lucky. Extremely fortunate. An impulse buy of a ticket in a shopping centre had ultimately led to him winning first prize in a competition; consisting of the penthouse, as well as fifty thousand dollars cash.
With the money he’d seriously thought about upgrading his car to something a little flashier, but then thought better of it. In his line of work it was often more beneficial to drive around in a nondescript vehicle; one that didn’t stand out and certainly wasn’t memorable. So he’d stuck with his ageing black Ford. The fifty K was still in the bank. Maybe he’d use it for a well-earned overseas holiday? Or a cruise? He hadn’t made up his mind yet.
His coffee was only half consumed when he heard his cell phone ringing inside, and went in to answer it.
“Hello? Don Logan.”
“Mr. Logan,” a female voice replied. “My name is Sheridan Mortlock. I’d like to make an appointment to speak with you regarding your detective services. Are you taking on any new cases at the moment, or are you too busy?”
He smiled and went back out to his waiting coffee.
“No. You’ve called at a fortuitous time. Right now I’m case-free. What can I help you with?”
“I’d rather not discuss details over the phone, as I’m sure you understand. Are you available to meet with me today by any chance?”
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “We can do that. What time suits you?”
“How about one PM in my office?”
“Sure.” He went back to the kitchen bench where a pen and paper were handy. “What’s your address?” She told him but he didn’t bother writing it down. “I know the place.”
“Excellent,” the woman replied. “One more thing. And this is very important. Are you single?”
Unusual question, he thought with a frown. “Yes, I am. Why?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. So no steady girlfriend even?”
“No.”
“So there is absolutely no one who could possibly create any jealousy issues that may compromise the case?”
Logan still wasn’t sure what his relationship status had to do with anything. “No. Absolutely no one,” he assured her.
“Excellent,” Sheridan said again. “So I’ll expect you at one PM sharp then.”
She hung up before he could reply.
What was with all the insistence about his personal life? he wondered. Was she hoping to jump his bones or something?
He shrugged. “Guess I’ll find out when I get there.”
And he drank the rest of his coffee.
3
“Mind if I smoke?” Sheridan Mortlock said from behind her large wooden desk.
Logan shrugged. “It’s your office.”
The woman removed a cigarette from a gold case and lit it with a matching gold lighter. She blew smoke towards the ceiling through sumptuous lips that were coated ruby red. She was an attractive woman in her forties. Or so he guessed. Her hair was short and blond, and the glimpse he’d gotten of her figure in a hugging red dress made his hormones stir. As did her voice, which was smooth and rather sensual.
“Would you like one?” she offered, opening the case to him.
He waved her away. “I don’t smoke; except the occasional cigar.”
She smiled then. “Probably a wise choice. I’ve been a slave to the habit for over twenty years.”
Logan nodded. “That’s unfortunate, but I’m sure you didn’t call me in here to discuss your vices.”
She rolled the end of the cigarette around in a glass ashtray to remove the ash, and idly watched it smolder.
“No. I have something far more urgent to sort out, Mr. Logan.”
“Don. Please.”
They were seated in the office of her establishment, which just happened to be a popular strip club and brothel called Jezzebel’s. Logan had been to the club a few times over the years, just for some eye candy. Never for a private dance or sexual favors.
He’d had to go through the club to get to her office. The place was open to cater to the lunchtime crowd. Which didn’t amount to many patrons. Most of the action took place at night.
Sheridan looked very serious, her hazel eyes locked on his. “You’ve heard about this murderer? The one the police have now labeled a serial killer.”
Logan nodded. “Weapon of preference a Natchez Bowie Knife. Stalks wealthy businessmen and slashes them to bloody pulp in frenzied knife attacks.”
Sheridan stabbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another.
“Such a colorful way with words you have,” she noted.
He shrugged. “What about him?”
“What makes you so sure the killer is a man?” she wanted to know.
Logan sighed. “At the risk of sounding like a sexist Neanderthal, I’d say a woman wouldn’t have the strength to carry out those attacks. Besides, serial killers are very rarely women.”
“Then why are the police investigating all the girls in my club?” Sheridan asked pointedly.
He shrugged again. “That I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
“A Detective Morgan Slade from Homicide has been around to see me, and he’s had his subordinates interviewing all of my girls and all of my staff. Since that third murder last week they’ve found a common thread between the three victims.”
She paused and smoked some more. Logan waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he prompted, “And?”
Now Sheridan sighed heavily, accidentally blowing a puff of smoke across the desk in Logan’s direction. “They were all regular clients of my business. Not just patrons who came in here for a regular perve, but businessmen with cash to burn on my girls. Men who often paid for a complete service.” The faint hint of a smile stretched her lips when she looked at him. “If you know what I mean?”
“Yes. I believe I do.” He raised his hands. “But how’s that tie the murders to your club? All three might have also shopped at the same supermarket, or purchased fuel at the same service station. It’s not definitive proof that the killings are even remotely associated with your business.”
“I realize that, Mr. Logan. Sorry, Don. But this Detective Slade seems pretty convinced that there is a connection with my club somehow. He strikes me as a man who’s like a dog with a bone once he gets an idea into his head and starts to sink his rabid teeth into it.”
“So you want me to look into this and see if I can discover who the killer is and clear your club’s good name.” He spoke the last few words with a hint of sarcasm, and Sheridan was sharp enough to pick up on that. He could see it in her eyes as they darkened just slightly. However, she didn’t bite.
“Either or. If these killings do have something to do with my establishment, then obviously I want the killer stopped. It’s not good for business. And neither is killing off my valuable clientele.”
“And even if the killer doesn’t have anything to do with this place,” Logan said, fixing her with a firm stare, “it would still be a good idea to catch him and stop him, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Sheridan agreed and puffed tenaciously on her cigarette. “I didn’t mean to come across as being totally narcissistic and self-serving.”
“I still don’t think it’d be one of your girls doing this,” he said.
“Probably not. But it could be someone they know.”
“Do any of them have steady boyfriends?”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “Not the ones that do the full-service escort work. It’s too hard to hold down a relationship while doing that sort of, shall we say, intimate work.”
“And do all the girls who work here do intimate work?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Some are strippers only. And then there’s the female bar staff and waitresses. Most of them have steady partners.”
“And what about the guys that work here? The security staff. Any of them dating any of the girls?”
“Not the call girls, no.”
“What about those that are just strippers, or the bar and wait staff?”
“Only one that I know of. John. He dates Katie, one of the bar girls. But I don’t see any reason to suspect him. He’s a gentle giant and seems very fond of her and her of him. Besides, she just pours drinks and occasionally waitresses. Nothing else. No call for a jealous, blood-thirsty rampage there.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. So what exactly is it you want me to do then? Why all the questions on the phone this morning about my relationship status?”
Sheridan nodded and leaned forward on the desk, tenting her hands beside an open laptop computer. She didn’t yet reach for a third cigarette. Which Logan was thankful for. The room was starting to get a little smoggy.
“I want you to get close to my girls and see if you can find out any useful information.”
“How close?” he asked, although he already suspected the answer to that question.
“As close as a man and woman can get,” she said simply, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out for you. You’re a big boy.”
“You don’t know that yet,” he joked.
“I’m sure I soon will.” She held his gaze and smiled sweetly.
Logan felt a stirring in his pants. The look she was giving him was one full of lewd promise. Not to mention the fact that she was hiring him to bed all her gorgeous employees. And they were all pretty hot, from what he’d seen. Sheridan obviously had high standards when selecting the girls she hired.
“I’ll need quite a bit of expense money to get close to your girls in the way that you propose.”
“That’s not an issue. You’ll get whatever you need to solve this case and save my business. Word’s already circulating in the tabloids that Jezzebel’s has a connection to the recent spate of killings. That will no doubt affect business. I need this cleared up ASAP.” Now she lit that third smoke. “So. What are your rates?”
“Not too out there. Fifteen hundred a day plus expenses.”
She nodded. “Sounds more than fair. I’ll require receipts for all standard expenses. As far as keeping a log of what you pay for the girls is concerned, that’ll all be tracked by one of my staff.”
Sheridan fiddled around under the desk. Logan heard several beeps, then the metallic noise of a lock disengaging. Again she rummaged around, then the sound of the lock clicking back into place. A wad of cash was placed on top of the desk and slid across to Logan.
“There’s twenty grand there to get you started. If you need more expense money, just let me know. When this is solved we’ll square up the rest.”
“So how do you know I’m not just going to spend your money getting laid and not do anything else?”
“Two reasons. You come highly recommended as being very honest and conduct your business with the utmost integrity. Secondly, if you just use me and take advantage of the situation, I’ll have an associate pay you a visit to have your face reconstructed.”
Logan studied her features, trying to determine if she was serious about that last statement or not. In the end he couldn’t tell. He picked up the money and flicked through it.
“That’s a lot of cash to start,” he commented.
“My girls aren’t cheap. Besides, you’ll need to spend a bit of time with them other than just fucking them, or you won’t have the opportunity to extract any useful information out of them.”
“So why don’t you just want me to talk to them instead of going to all the expense of paying me to sleep with them?”
“You need to be discreet here. I don’t want anyone knowing who you really are or what it is that you are doing. Besides, the working girls don’t open up to anyone easily. You have to get close to them, charm them, get them to trust you.”
Logan grinned. “I’m starting to feel like James Bond.”
“Well, James Bond, I think my girls are going to love you. Fit, good looking young man instead of some fat, old has-been. I’d really like you to get started tonight. The sooner the better. But before you do, I’m going to give you a little bonus just to whet your appetite. Come round here and sit on the desk in front of me.”
Not quite sure what Sheridan was proposing, Logan slowly skirted the desk and sat on top of it directly in front of the woman. She didn’t hesitate and unzipped his pants, thrust a hand inside and searched out his already stiffening cock. She tugged it free of his clothing, smiled, then wrapped her hot, wet mouth around the head and proceeded to suck him to full hardness.
As she gave him head, she felt for his balls and pulled them free of his underwear, where she gently twirled them in her soft hand. Her fake nails lightly scratched the smooth skin of his sack. Her mouth plunged down his eight inch shaft until almost his entire length was buried down her throat.
Logan tilted his head back and groaned toward the ceiling. He had one hand on the desk to steady himself and played with her hair with the other, encouraging her to eat his meat.
Sheridan made loud slurping and sucking noises as she worked away enthusiastically on his dick. She sure knew what she was doing, and Logan wondered how many times she’d given a guy head in her lifetime. And how many different men in her line of business.
She was now expertly stroking his shaft up and down in her hand as her lips and tongue concentrated on pleasuring the very sensitive head of his cock. Logan had tingles of excitement running all through him. It felt like an army of tiny pleasure ants trekking through his veins and nervous system.