Death, by Any Other Name

Death came as the night, silent and deadly. Sticking to shadows when needed, but invisible in the light. As beautiful as a flower, as plain as its stem, or as deadly as its toxin.

Marigold.

It was a calling card and a name. Hiding in plain sight.

***

Josh McAllen walked the alley. It was his nightly ritual. The deposit from the club had to get to the bank, and despite the late hour and the deep shadows of the passage behind the buildings, it was the fastest way. The boss had told him time and again to take the longer route, along the sidewalk… “You’re getting paid by the hour, Josh,” he always sad, but Josh detested the long walk all around the block, when it was a quick dash through the alley, popping out next to the night deposit.

It had been a good night, but Wednesday always was. Ladies Night and the feeling was right. Big crowd, lots of drinks. Bring in the women, and the men flock like moths to a flame. And they brought in the women. Drink specials, dancing.

As he walked through the alley, he never felt nervous. Josh was a big man. Before managing the club, he’d been a doorman. Bouncer. The boss said he had gravity. He had thought he meant gravitas, but he meant gravity. A door generally measures six-foot-eight high and three feet wide. Josh could cover both of those. He also had three-hundred and fifty pounds of bulk to back it up. Rippling, fat-free bulk. Biceps like thighs.

When his thunderous bass voice asked the young ladies for ID, some swooned, others feared. If two guys were thinking of taking their words to the level of action, a glance and a raised eyebrow from him usually put a stop to it. If not, one of his giant paws slamming into them did.

No, he didn’t fear walking through the alley. In Josh’s mind, the shadows of the alley should fear him.

***

As the light of the day crept into the recesses of the alley, the dishwasher from the Mexican restaurant found Josh laying against the wall, a single marigold clutched in his bloodied hand. He ran screaming back inside and called the police, the trash bag left where it fell when he made the discovery.

“What’s with the flower?” Detective Andover said, peering down at the large man holding it in his dead hands.

“No telling. We’ll have to run it through the database. See a gunshot wound?” Captain Shriver replied.

“He’s a big guy, but it looks like he got manhandled back here. There might be something hiding, but I think he was beaten to death,” Andover said, shaking her head.

The coroner’s team was waiting for the go-ahead to move the body, Crime Scene having finished the photos. When they got the nod, they proceeded to bag him and roll him onto a stretcher.

“Little help here?” one of the techs said, grunting. Two men were trying to lift the body, and it wasn’t working. The two police investigators gave them a hand, wishing it would speed up the coroner’s report.

***

“I actually have a hit on the marigold,” Shriver called from his office. “Contract killer used it as a calling card years ago. Rumor is he died in the 90s, though.”

“Any kin? Maybe someone decided to pick up the family business,” Andover said.

“Yeah, get this… Mary Gold. Local, too. Thirty-five, single, no priors. I don’t see her as a likely, but I can go have a conversation with her.”

A few minutes later, the captain was grabbing his jacket and heading out the door to surprise Miss Gold. He didn’t think anything would come of it, but it was a lead to be chased.

Arriving at the door in the middle of the afternoon, he was greeted by a slight woman. Medium height, five-six, he thought. Maybe one-thirty. As he spoke briefly with her, he noted her brown hair and eyes, fair skin and unremarkable face. He explained that they were working a case that had some similarities to her father’s MO twenty-five years prior.

“You probably know that my dad died back in ninety-eight. Heart attack,” she said, her voice flat, but her eyes expressive. “But he did leave marigolds with his victims.”

Captain Shriver was a little surprised at her candor. He father had never been convicted of a single murder. Barely more on his record than a parking ticket. But he was connected to thirty murders in fifteen years. All thought to be contract hits.

“Yes, Captain, I know who my father was, and what he is said to have done. He was still my father, though. I never saw that side of him. Nor did my mother. She passed away earlier this year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Gold. Do you know of anyone that would pick up his mantle?”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” she replied. Seeing that the interview was over, she rose and escorted the captain to the door.

***

Bruno Webber almost felt guilty opening the club up Friday night. The loss of Josh had been surprising, even though Bruno had repeatedly told him the alley was bad news. But business was business, and there was a lot of money that needed to be recouped after his man had been taken down. To make matter worse, in his mind, he’d offered to pay for the funeral for his employee.

The doors opened at eight, but they didn’t even start playing music in the dance club until nine. The DJ wouldn’t start spinning until eleven. By then, the club would be packed, everyone dressed to the nines and throwing money around like it had an expiration date… each trying to outdo the last to show how loaded they were.

Skin, sin and cash. Guys in flashy suits tossing cash around, and women in slinky or skimpy dresses, soaking up the alcohol and drugs the money paid for. And Bruno, catching every bit of it he could.

Replacing Josh hadn’t been easy. Luckily, he already had a B-team, and he just needed to move some pieces. Jocko Morton wasn’t Josh’s equal in many ways. He was less massive, less smart and less inclined to mix it up with a customer. But he took orders, and he looked the part.

Friday night was looking up, Bruno thought. The club was hopping. He’d even managed to spend a little time in the VIP suites. The night was going well.

Bruno stepped back into his office to drop some cash in the safe. A moment later there was a knock on the door. A stunning brunette stepped around Jocko; her smile wide. Bruno’s girl. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. He was glad she hadn’t been there half an hour before as he had been cavorting with a young lady in the VIP, but he didn’t mind her being there now.

“Shall I stay, Boss?” Jocko asked.

“Naw. Lizzie is my girl. Keep an eye on the bar, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Lizzie walked across the office, although “slinked” was the word Bruno would have used. Long legs and a short skirt, and when she peered into his eyes, he forgot, if only for a moment, of all of the willing women on the dance floor.

“Hi, Bruno,” she said, her voice soft, as she stroked his tie with his hand, her other hand stroking his cheek. “What have you been up to tonight?”

“Just the usual,” he smiled.

“Uh-huh,” she said, her voice not betraying what was to come. “So, just screwing sluts in VIP?”

“No-“ he managed to choke out before his tie constricted his throat. Lizzie had grabbed his throat, pinching off the flow of blood to his brain, and pulled his tie, wrapping it in her fist.

“Don’t give me that crap, Bruno. I know what you’ve done,” she told his bulging eyes. His arms flailed and in the brief moment before he lost consciousness, he wondered why he couldn’t overpower her.

She dropped him to the floor, then punched his windpipe, collapsing it. She reached into her purse and pulled out the flower, gently placing it in his hand, before walking to the door.

Unexpectedly, as she swung the door open, Bruno laying dead on the floor just a few feet away, Jocko reached up to knock. His eyes widened as he saw his boss laying sprawled on the floor. Before he could reach, Lizzie reached out and grabbed his lapels. Kicking a leg up on the door frame, she pulled him in and spun him around, using his own bulk to throw him over a chair. His head slammed into the desk, dazing him. A moment later, she delivered the final strike, a punch to the temple that ended his life.

She didn’t mourn that the second man had to die. He was collateral. But he wasn’t innocent. She slipped a second flower from her small purse and placed it in his large, meaty hand.

Grabbing a drink from the VIP bar, she walked like a cat through the club, eyes drawn to her as she made her way to the exit.

***

“Do we have anything? Is there a mob connection? It can’t be a coincidence that we have three DBs from this one establishment in three days,” Captain Shiver said, his voice rising.

The Crime Scene Unit was processing the office and the two victims.

“The question is how did he get this close? I don’t think he could have taken both of these guys at once unless he is a superhero or a UFC fighter. Even then, both were carrying, but never even reached a gun. Hell, there is a forty-five on a rack under the desk. Webber was right there. If someone came through the door that didn’t belong, he would have had it in his hand before they could get close,” Andover commented.

“Do we have security footage yet?”

“It’s on the way to tech for processing, but all I saw was a little number walking out an hour before the DBs were found. She couldn’t have gone one-thirty, in a tight little dress. I really don’t see her being our perp,” Andover replied. “Not sure she was even all the way back here. She looked like she was primed for the VIP area.”

“Hair color?” Shriver said.

“Dark is all I could see from the video. And maybe five-ten in those heels, so five-five I’d guess.”

“You know that just from looking?”

“I have a pair just like them,” Andover said, blushing. “They are gorgeous, but every time I wear them, I wonder what I was thinking.”

Shriver shook his head. For the briefest moment, he pictured Martina Andover in heels and a dress. It wasn’t a bad picture. Then the moment was over, and it was time to head back to the office.

***

“Andover, did you get that profile done on Gold?” Shriver asked.

“Yeah. I have it right here. “Mary Elizabeth Gold. Thirty-five, single, no priors, like we found earlier. Her father was Antonio Gold, reputed hitman, but never charged. Mother was Elizabeth Marie Webber.”

“Webber? Any relation?”

A few minutes later the search turned up that Mary Gold was Bruno Webber’s niece, although reports were that Bruno and his older sister Elizabeth were not blood relatives, Bruno having been adopted.

“Andover,” Shriver asked, “do you think there is any way a woman your size could take out guys like these without a weapon?”

“I was a Marine, sir, and if pressed, I think I might have been able to hold my own against Webber, maybe Morton… but then to walk away looking as fresh as the morning dew? Probably not. And McAllen? One hit and I would be done.”

“I just wonder.”

This was Summer fiction Series challenge #4. Check out #5 below...

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