Black Lotus Page 8

  Something about it nagged at Wolf, so he did a quick Google search of Margaret Stone. The usual stuff popped up about the mayoral campaign and her charity work around the city. One of the links led him to a website that had high school yearbook pictures of her. Back then she was a rather plain redhead with acne, and didn’t look anything like the regal older woman she had become. While scrolling through the pictures, one in particular made Wolf do a double take. It was a shot of Margaret dressed in a cheerleader’s outfit. Her arms were draped around a beefy young man in a football jersey, kissing him on the cheek. He was more fit back then and had a head full of hair, but Wolf would know Captain Marx anywhere. It appeared that they had been high school sweethearts. That might explain his concern about the case: maybe he was covering for an old flame. The photograph gave him some new insight into the case, but it was the ID tag underneath that hit him like a slap. Stone was Margaret’s married name. Before meeting her husband she had been Margaret Fleming.

  CHAPTER 10

  What are you doing out here, honey? Did the barking dogs wake you?” Dirk Stone asked, his voice thick with sleep. When he had awakened in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he found her in the living room of their town house, staring out at the front yard.

  “No, they didn’t wake me, I just couldn’t sleep,” Margaret lied. She had received a very disturbing phone call earlier that day and had been rattled ever since, but she didn’t want Dirk to worry. She kept her eyes fixed on the two male Dobermans that guarded their property. Something had them agitated. It was probably the neighbor’s new poodle. Whenever the neighbor let the dog out and the Dobermans got a whiff, it seemed to make them crazy. They were typical males.

  “If you want I could have Carl and Eddie put the dogs away for the night,” Dirk offered. Carl and Eddie were the two bodyguards who lived on the property with them.

  “The dogs are fine, honey. Leave them be. They’re not what’s on my mind,” Margaret said.

  Dirk walked up behind his wife, slipped his arms around her waist, and kissed her on the back of the neck. “Still thinking about what happened earlier? I keep telling you that when you’re in the limelight you have to learn not to be bothered by the shenanigans of the media.”

  Earlier that evening Dirk had accompanied Margaret to a ribbon-cutting ceremony at a domestic violence shelter that her organization had helped to build. During the press conference there had been a journalist from some magazine who had been firing off some very uncomfortable questions. She seemed more interested in Margaret’s time working in the DA’s office than the ribbon-cutting ceremony. When she asked Margaret about accusations of evidence tampering and filing false reports, security had removed her, but the damage was already done. Soon the focus of the press conference shifted and they had to end it early. Margaret handled it with tact and grace, but her husband knew it had upset her.

  Margaret placed her hands over his. “I know, but I can’t help getting upset when people like that try and cast a negative shadow on the positive work I’m doing. I’m not perfect and I’ve made some mistakes in my life, but I’m trying to make a difference.”

  “You’re doing more than trying, you are making a difference. We’re going to conquer the world, one opinion at a time. You wait and see,” he promised, and sealed it with a kiss. “Now, come back to bed. I want to show you just how much I appreciate what you do.” He tugged at the belt of her bathrobe.

  Margaret allowed her husband to pull her closer, and they began kissing passionately. They were just about to go to the bedroom to finish what they’d started when she stopped suddenly.

  “What’s the matter?” Dirk asked.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly. The dogs have stopped barking.”

  “Maybe the poodle went back inside,” Dirk suggested. As soon as the words left his mouth, they heard the gunshots.

  * * *

  “I hate those fucking dogs,” Eddie said, taking deep drags off his cigarette.

  “Me too. All they do is bark, but what are we gonna do? Bossman loves those mutts. He’d get rid of us before he got rid of them and I don’t know about you, but I need my job,” Carl said. He was leaning against the front of the house, watching the dogs and waiting for Eddie to finish his cigarette. The larger of the two Dobermans, Brutus, spotted something on the far side of the yard that sent him galloping away and barking his head off. Caesar, the smaller of the two, followed. “Where are those dumb-ass dogs going?”

  “They probably spotted a raccoon or something. We’d better go get them before they get scratched. I don’t want to be the one to have to take them to the vet for the rabies shots,” Eddie said.

  “Good point,” Carl agreed. But before they could investigate where the dogs had disappeared to, the barking abruptly stopped. There was a low growling followed by two high-pitched yelps. Carl looked at Eddie and they were both wearing the same facial expression. Something was wrong.

  “I’ll take the point, you back me up,” Eddie said, drawing his 9mm from its holster and venturing out into the darkened front yard. He and Carl crept across the lawn, weapons out and ready. Eddie turned to say something to Carl, momentarily not paying attention to where he was going. He tripped over something in the yard and fell face-first to the grass. When he looked to see what he had stumbled over, he found Caesar’s lifeless eyes staring at him. Brutus was stretched out a few feet away. They had both been gutted and their intestines were spread over the grass around them.

  The moment Carl’s eyes landed on the murdered dogs, he began sweeping the yard with his gun. By now, Eddie had made it back to his feet and was standing beside him. Something moved in the bushes and Carl opened fire without giving it a second thought. There was a shriek, letting him know his bullets had found their mark. With Eddie covering him, he jogged across the yard to see who or what he had hit. When he pushed the bushes aside, he discovered that he had killed the next door neighbor’s poodle.

  “Fuck,” Carl said, peering down at the dead dog.

  “Nice shot,” Eddie said sarcastically. “Maybe next time you can—” His words were cut short and his eyes went wide. His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak, but instead of words, blood came out. There was a sickening sound of a blade being pulled from flesh, before Eddie’s body fell to the ground. Standing behind him was a figure clad in all black, its face covered by a black mask. On the forehead of the mask was a black flower.

  “The Black Lotus,” Carl gasped. He had never met the killer, but he’d heard the horror stories about the assassin during his days of working Special Forces in the Marines.

  “If you know my name, then you know the gift I bring,” the Black Lotus spoke. The voice sounded mechanical and distorted as if coming from a navigation system.

  “You take one more step and I’ll blow that mask off your face,” Carl warned. The Black Lotus stopped moving. “Now let me see those hands.”

  “Ask and you shall receive.” The Black Lotus flung both hands forward like a magician casting a spell, and a chain appeared out of nowhere, streaking toward Carl. He managed to get off a wild shot, as one of the metal hooks bit into the back of the hand holding the gun. With a tug, the Black Lotus dragged the hook through the muscle and tendon of Carl’s hand, rendering it useless and causing him to drop his gun.

  Carl kneeled at the feet of the killer, clutching his ruined hand and staring up at him murderously. “If you want me to beg for my life, it ain’t gonna happen. So do what you gotta do,” he spat.

  The Black Lotus pulled a black folding fan from a thigh scabbard and flicked it open so that Carl could see the razor-sharp metal where the paper folds should be. “Asking you to beg would be to give you a false sense that you might actually survive this encounter.” In a swift motion the fan divorced Carl’s head from his body. Kicking Carl’s head along like a soccer ball, the Black Lotus started toward the house and his next target.


  * * *

  Detective Wolf’s truck pulled to a screeching halt in front of the residence. Margaret Stone and Captain Marx were the last two people on his list of players in the game, so he had given it a fifty-fifty chance that she would be the next target. From the bodies stretched out on her front lawn, he knew he had guessed correctly. One of the dead men there in front of the house was missing his head. It was definitely the work of the Black Lotus. He only hoped that he hadn’t arrived too late to save Margaret Stone.

  With his gun drawn, he made hurried, yet cautious steps toward the entrance. On the front steps he found the missing head, mounted on the banister with the skin of its mouth carved to make it look like he was smiling. The head looked like a jack-o’-lantern carved out of flesh. Wolf hoped that the carving had been done postmortem, because he hated to think of the pain the man would have felt if it were done when he was still alive.

  The door was ajar and Wolf could see a smear of blood on the doorknob. Carefully, he pushed it open and crossed the threshold. Inside the foyer he found the body of Dirk Stone. His throat had been slit and a small .22 was clutched in his dead hand. From the look of things, he had tried to protect his wife when their bodyguards had failed and hadn’t fared much better.

  The sounds of struggling and breaking glass in the next room drew Detective Wolf’s attention. As quietly as he could, he crept to the mouth of the living room and peered inside. Margaret Stone was on her knees, bloodied and beaten, but still alive. Hovering over her was the infamous Black Louts. The assassin held what looked like a short sword over the woman’s head, prepared to deliver the killing blow.

  “Don’t move,” Wolf demanded, aiming his gun.

  The Black Lotus paused, and turned to the detective. “The infamous Lone Wolf James. I expected that our paths would eventually cross, but not before my work was done, detective.”

  “Well, I hate to piss on your parade, but this is a job that you won’t get to finish. Put the blade down,” Wolf said.

  “I think we both know that’s not possible. I have no claim on your life, but judgment has already been passed on this one. She must answer for the crimes she’s committed.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” Wolf adjusted his grip on his gun.

  “And I can’t let you stop me,” the Black Lotus shot back. “Put down the gun, detective, or she dies.” The Black Lotus adjusted the blade at her throat.

  “Okay, just don’t do anything rash.” Wolf slowly bent down and put his gun on the floor.

  “Now kick it away,” the Black Lotus ordered.

  Detective Wolf reluctantly complied. “Why are you doing this?”

  “The fact that you’ve come here means that you already know. She, like the rest, must atone for her wrongs. They are the unclean and I am the purifier.”

  “Please, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t. You’re making a mistake,” Margaret Stone spoke up.

  “The hand of the Divine is without flaw when guiding the sword of justice,” the Black Lotus snarled, applying enough pressure to the blade at her neck to draw blood. “For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.”

  “Luke 8:17,” Detective Wolf blurted out.

  This gave the Black Lotus pause. “You’re a believer?”

  “At one time, I guess you could say that I was. I spent a lot of time in church as a kid. These days I’m not sure what I believe in outside of justice.”

  “If you believe in justice then you of all people should understand what I must do here. She’s got to pay for what she’s done.”

  “I keep trying to tell you that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Margaret pled.

  “Liar!” the Black Lotus raged, and delivered a vicious slap across her face. “Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night? Your lies will end today, and the sword of God shall prevail where the law has failed. Justice must be done.”

  “And what does a mercenary know about justice?” Wolf asked, gradually inching forward.

  “Is that what you think I am, a common assassin for hire?”

  “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? The Black Lotus sells death to anyone who can afford it.”

  “You’re right, I am paid to take lives, but this killing has nothing to do with money. This contract was paid for in suffering, which I intend to inflict on Margaret for her role in what happened. You are blind to the truth, detective, but I see it clearly.”

  “You can’t hold her accountable just because she’s related to the priest who killed Johnny,” Wolf said, to the surprise of Margaret. She’d thought her secret safe. “Yeah, I know that you’re a relative of Father Fleming and that you signed off on the paperwork that tanked the case. You’ll get what’s coming to you, but not like this.” He turned his attention back to the Black Lotus. “The priest and the others who were involved are dead. I’d say the scales are balanced. Why don’t you let the lady go?”

  The Black Lotus laughed. “It’s obvious that you’ve only found some of the pieces and have not yet assembled the puzzle. If you had, you wouldn’t be trying to stop me from killing her; you’d be fighting me for the honor of doing it yourself. Would you care to fill him in, Margaret?”

  “I never touched that boy, I swear,” Margaret sobbed.

  The Black Lotus slapped her again. “No, but you ushered the lamb to the wolves. Tell him!”

  “What’s he talking about?” Wolf asked.

  “I was only trying to protect him,” Margaret finally broke down. “My father had always had a thing for young flesh. He never touched me or my brothers and sisters, but we heard stories about things he was accused of doing to other kids in the neighborhood—that’s why we moved around so much. Every time we’d get settled someplace, his urges would come back and the rumors would start. When we were older, my brother and I found a way for my father to satisfy his needs without anyone getting hurt. You’d be surprised how many street kids willingly sell their bodies for a few dollars and a hot meal. For a while I thought we had it under control—until I heard Johnny Gooden disappeared. My father could be rough sometimes, but never truly violent. I didn’t want to believe he had done it, but the minute I asked him about it and saw the look on his face, I knew. I called in some favors and directed all the attention away from my father. I swear, on everything that is holy, not a day goes by when I don’t think about Johnny Gooden, and it killed me knowing I played a part in burying the case. I knew my father was a sick man, but he was still my father and I loved him.”

  Wolf shook his head in disgust. Helping to sack a few cases, he could understand, because he had done it more than a few times. But her knowingly feeding her father children to hurt wasn’t something he expected to hear. He had a good mind to let the Black Lotus finish her, but he was still a peacekeeper and had taken an oath to enforce the law. “And what about your old boyfriend, Captain Marx? What part did he play in all this?”

  Margaret looked confused. “Tommy wasn’t my boyfriend, he’s my half brother. We didn’t know about each other until sophomore year in high school when he moved to New York. He was the product of one of my father’s first victims. It was him who came up with the idea of feeding Daddy the child prostitutes.”

  Just when Wolf thought the case couldn’t get any stranger . . . He had known Captain Marx nearly all his life. Growing up he had come to love and respect the man like a surrogate father, yet it was clear now that he was nothing more than a monster like the rest of them. Suddenly he felt very, very ill.

  “And there you have it, detective. So now you understand why she and the rest were marked for death,” the Black Lotus told him.

  “If they’re guilty then let me bring them in. Let the law handle it.”

  “Sadly, I have lost faith in the law, detective. This is God’s will, and so it shall be done.” The Black Lotus gripped Margaret’s neck to prepare for the killing stroke, and it
was then Margaret made a last desperate attempt to save herself by sinking her teeth into the killer’s hand. The Black Lotus let out an oddly high-pitched scream. Margaret scrambled away, giving Wolf the opening he needed.

  He launched himself across the room and tackled the Black Lotus, sending them both flying into the china cabinet and knocking away the blade. With both of them now unarmed, the fate of Margaret Fleming Stone would be decided by a good old-fashioned fistfight. The two combatants stalked each other, throwing jabs and feints, testing each other’s defenses. It was Detective Wolf who grew impatient and struck first. He launched a combination of punches at the assassin’s head. The Black Lotus moved faster than anything Wolf had ever seen, dodging the punches and countering with a straight jab to the detective’s mouth. He stumbled backward, blood spilling onto the carpet.

  “You’re making a mistake trying to stop me, Detective Wolf.” The Black Lotus danced like a boxer.

  “No, I’m not. For once in my life I’m doing the right thing. You wanna get to her, you’ll have to go through me.” Detective Wolf placed himself between the Black Lotus and Margaret.

  “So it shall be done.” The Black Lotus launched at Wolf.

  As they grappled, Wolf noticed that the Black Lotus was surprisingly lighter than he’d expected. The killer’s arms were coiled wires of muscle, but he had a very slight build. Wolf was able to use his weight against the assassin and press his attack. He hurled nonstop punches and his adversary backed into a corner. The Black Lotus’s defense was good, but Wolf was tireless in his attack. A powerful right hand broke through, knocking away the iron mask. The head and lower half of the killer’s face were still protected by the black cowl beneath the mask, but Wolf glimpsed eyes that were soft, brown, and familiar.

  For a split second Wolf hesitated, and that was all the time the Black Lotus needed to strike out with index and middle fingers, jabbing the detective in the center of his chest. Wolf gasped, as it felt like all the air was being pushed from his constricting lungs. He continued to try to fight, but his blows were slower and less coordinated. He threw an awkward overhand right, which the Black Lotus sidestepped, sending him crashing into an end table. The Black Lotus pulled Wolf to his feet, only to throw him face-first into the far wall of the living room, right next to the picture window.