Soulburn - The Complete Edition (Frailty) Read online

  On the other end of the phone call, Dwayne timidly held up a severed hand by two fingers and grimaced. “Large, sweaty men. Sounds like your gig.”

  “Given what Micky said, I'm worried these two are in danger,” Laura explained, casually brushing off one of the on-lookers as he stepped up beside her and motioned towards himself flirtatiously. “Someone is playing a sadistic game,” she said, trying to keep her attention on the conversation with Dwayne, “and it's only going to lead to more bodies.”

  “I got a body for you, baby,” the persistent man said smugly, totally disregarding Laura's use of the phone.

  Phone pinched between her ear and shoulder, Detective Stenks dug through her purse. “Hold on a second, Dwayne.”

  Holding out some money, the guy waved it in front of her ambitiously. “Just name your price, sweetcakes. My buddy and I are looking for a pro, and you just got nominated.”

  Finding her badge amidst the clutter, Laura flashed it at the annoying man, while making a mental note to clean out the bag when she got back home.

  “Oh, shit.” The man's buddy grabbed him by the arm, and the two made a break for it, distancing themselves from the detective as quickly as possible.

  I definitely needed that. Satisfied, Laura wrapped up her conversation with Dwayne. “Okay, I'm off to find a place to stay.”

  “Take care,” Dwayne signed off.

  35

  Inside his room in the Rio Hotel and Casino, Roofy, clothed in his wrestling outfit, toiled to lace up his boot as though it were a chore. The uniform consisted of tights, a t-shirt, and boots in red and yellow, with the two colors alternating between primary and trim. Roofy had insisted the symbol of the former Soviet Union, a hammer and sickle, be added to complete the Russian impression. Even though he had not played the age-old evil foreign adversary angle, he felt it would be more recognizable to the viewers.

  “Someone's awfully quiet out there,” Constance called through the slightly opened door of the bathroom. She had kept a vigil on the big man since they had woken up, and he had been very quiet and distant, despite her efforts to take him out and show him around the city. There had been no mention about the previous day's incident, and no response to her current statement, which worried her. “Roofy?” she asked, peaking out the door.

  “I am okay,” he answered. With one hand, he reached up and touched a spot near the temple on his head.

  The words had no weight behind them, and Constance watched the distracted Russian stare at his hands. She decided to try another tactic to get his mind off things. “Hey, what do you think?”

  “Wow,” he exclaimed, giving the response more out of reflex to having been asked a question than actually being vested in what Constance was showing him. It was not that she did not look stunning in the costume, shimmering in the room's soft light. The satin white teddy clung loosely to her young body, accenting her curves, and like the first time he had seen her in it, she had accessorized it with white pantyhose and boots, wings, and a halo. Scared for his life and soul, he was preoccupied with the demon he had seen.

  The sexy pose Constance had assumed was not working. She was not sure she could be upbeat enough to actually break his doldrums, and the option that he may need to go home was becoming a very real and unwanted possibility. What did he have to go back to, though? His wife and friend were dead, the police were after him, and he was obviously hiding some serious condition. More importantly, what did she have to go back to? Shouldn’t life be about more than going through the motions? How could things be any better for Roofy than to stick through this adventure with her?

  “So much better than the comic,” she mocked at being seductive. “Lady Angel, in the flesh. Ready to fight crime with her irresistible good looks and her super power, The Blessing.“

  Barely a smile, and I thought I looked good. It was in his eyes, or rather, it was what was missing from them. His spark for life was gone. She conceded to the serious, direct approach. “So, how bad is it?” she asked, taking his hand.

  The big man dropped to one knee, so that he could talk to Constance face to face. She deserved to know the truth; to know what she had gotten herself in to. “The doctor say it is tumor in brain.”

  “That's the demon you said was inside of you?” she asked, fighting against the knot forming in her stomach. He had been the opportunity she had waited for. They were a perfect match; both being able to supply what the other needed. It was not fair that it might end now.

  “No, it is demon. It is, how you say, wanting control of me.” The words sounded far-fetched as they came out, and he would not blame her for thinking he had gone insane. If anyone could believe him, though, certainly she would. She had to.

  “Roofy, I know the visions may seem real,” she said sincerely, “but it could just be side effects from the tumor.” Roofy's defeated look told her she was doing little to help. Believing in demons was a stretch, and she did not think that lying to him by telling him she agreed with his reason would be the best approach. It had to be faced head on, and that meant asking the one question she dearly wanted to avoid. “How long do you have?”

  “Not long,” Roofy answered, skirting around the true number. He was not sure why, but it was as if saying it would make the mortality of his fleeting lifespan truer, as if this were all just a dream.

  “Long enough to still have some fun,” Constance suggested. They had come so far, and she decided there was no way she was going back. The teen was happier than she ever had been, and she was sure sharing that would make what time he had left great.

  “Oh, yes, costume party,” he said flatly, rubbing the back of his head as he stood.

  Constance watched him reach robotically into his travel bag. It was not worth him going along with her if he was forcing himself to go through the motions. She had to snap him out of it. “Roofy, stop. Look, maybe you should call your doctor.”

  “It will not do any good.”

  “You don't know that, and you said he had tried to call you.”

  He took the phone Constance had held out to him and watched the girl walk off to the bathroom. Perhaps she was right. Maybe the treatment the doctor had suggested would work.

  “I'm going to get changed and get our stuff together.”

  For Roofy, the words had finality to them. “Constance,” he asked, causing her to pause before closing the door, “why is it you have come here with me?”

  “Because, I wanted to, Roofy. Some things are meant to happen. Together, we are alive.”

  Roofy thought she looked angelic standing in the doorway, back-lit by the bathroom light that glistened off her silky costume. The door closed as she entered the bathroom, leaving nothing but the click of the latch to ponder on. He dialed the doctor.

  “Hello, this is Doctor Laranitis,” the physician answered.

  Roofy held the phone out in front of him, struggling, only briefly, with his decision. Constance was right; he felt alive for the first time in many years. Anything the doctor would do was a long shot, but even if it did work, what did he have?

  “Mr. Reiner, is that you? Are you there? I recognize your number. Are you in trouble?”

  “Constance, wait,” Roofy yelled out resiliently, ending the call and tossing the phone to the bed. He would rather die happy than live miserably, and he could bring her happiness in the process. It had been a long time since he made someone's life better.

  “Yes!” Constance exclaimed, excited, flinging the bathroom door open.

  “I...,” Roofy started but was stopped by the nearly naked visual of the teen, clad only in white pantyhose. “What is it with you and clothes?”

  “We're staying, aren't we? I'll get my costume back on!” she exclaimed, proud that her reverse psychology had worked so well; not that she expected it to fail.

  “Good idea, I think.” Roofy said out loud to himself, exhaling deeply as the girl disappeared behind the closing door.

  36

  Sin City Pawn shop was a lo
ng standing family owned and operated business in the Las Vegas area. It thrived by providing a two-fold service. First, it supplied money to desperate travelers who had lost it all and needed to sell off belongings in order to get home. Second, it attracted buyers from all over who wanted to get their hands on the valuables that the tourists had parted with. It was not uncommon, due to this cycle, for rare antiquities to make their way into the shop keeper's hands.

  It was knowledge of this that brought Detective Laura Stenks into the store. She had been tracking a specific item for a number of years, convinced of its existence.

  The clerk, a mid-forties man with receded hairline and a large, bulbous build, stood defiantly, as she addressed him.

  “Look, I know an object fitting the description of the Kladenets was seen here,” Laura insisted aggressively.

  “Lady, where in the hell would I have gotten a mythical Russian sword from?” the rotund man asked, responding to the finger being pointed at him by pointing right back at her.

  “Don't bullshit me!” The clerk's audacity only infuriated her more, and she was definitely not backing down. She was trained on how to handle tough guys, and it was not by showing weakness. Well, at least that was how she did it: take what they did and one up it until they broke.

  Surprised by the finger stabbing him in the chest, he leaned back a little.

  She started to go on the attack again, but her cell phone, which was in her purse, rang and halted her. Having retrieved it, she held up one hand to the clerk, gesturing for him to wait, and answered the call.

  The big man behind the counter threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Hello. Yes. You got his phone? Rio Hotel? Way to go, Dwayne.”

  The clerk hoped the hint of levity in her words meant he was off the hook, but with a rigid look, she crushed his enthusiasm.

  “This isn't over,” Laura stated emphatically as she headed for the door.

  Behind her, the big man waived her off. “Whatever.”

  37

  Roofy and Constance entered the ballroom by way of an ornate staircase that connected the room to the second floor. Covered in carpet that matched the color and design of the building’s exterior, the extravagantly long set of stairs was meant to serve as a vibrant and regal backdrop for the entrance of persons of importance during special celebrations. At times like these, it doubled as a high-traffic alternative to the main ballroom entrance.

  The massive room was packed with people dressed in all varieties of costumes. Waitresses, garbed in 1930's style attire, served food, while a DJ, dressed like a pirate, complete with shoulder parrot, spun tunes. Party-goers danced, admired each other's wardrobe, and drank generously from the open bar. Overshadowing it all was a room length banner, running from one wall to an enormous chandelier and on to the other wall, that read “Welcome to Halloween Fest!”

  “Wow,” Constance chided, sounding almost unimpressed, “a glamorous crowd of people, all hiding who they are behind masks.”

  The two hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and looked around, soaking everything in.

  “You do not approve?” Roofy asked, confused.

  “On the contrary, I think we fit right in.”

  They strode to the bar, and Roofy grabbed a bottled beer from the ample selection that had been set out.

  “Yes, I know saying. We all wear the masks,” the Russian said, sipping his beverage as they mingled.

  “No, I meant...,” she had begun to explain to him, but the words were cut short by the site of a lanky man wearing bell-bottomed pants and a flashy shirt, that was unbuttoned most of the way down. He carried a Gibson guitar and had women swooning over him. Constance pointed him out to Roofy. “Check that guy out. He looks just like Jimmy Page!” She barely gave the Russian enough time to glance, when she jerked him in another direction.

  “And there's Hef,” she said, indicating the middle-aged man wearing an evening coat and puffing on a pipe. The look-alike had a few women dressed as Playboy bunnies hanging on him. “See, he has some arm candy.”

  The big Russian took a slug of beer.

  “What do you think? Bunny material?” Constance asked, posing.

  “You are much prettier than rabbit, I think.”

  The teen cupped her hands in front of her and wiggled her nose. “Hop, hop, hop.”

  “What were you speaking of before?” Roofy asked, taking another swallow of cold brew.

  “I was saying,” she paused, scoped the area, and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the dance floor, “let's dance.”

  Caught off guard, Roofy almost spilled his beer trying to set it down on a nearby table. “Zhdat.”

  Constance took his hands and pulled in close to him, beginning to slow dance.

  “Relax,” she told him, fairly sure that, if he were any more nervous and stiff, he would need to swap to a Frankenstein costume. Time to loosen the big man up. “Hold me close, so I won't fly away,” she said, having laid her head against his enormous frame and pulled one of his arms around her.

  As nimble as an oaken board and eyes darting around sheepishly, Roofy contemplated giving up on the dancing, but slowly, his tension eased. Now, all she had to worry about was him crushing one of her feet. Holding her tighter, he relished the moment. As large as he was, there was a feeling of floating on air.

  The two quietly shared the remainder of the dance.

  “Thank you, Roofy,” Constance said as the music ended.

  “What is this you are thanking me for?”

  Constance stepped back just a little. “For what you have given me.”

  “With you is where I am feeling happy.” Reasoning that he might as well do whatever he wanted given his short amount of time left, Roofy gave in to temptation.

  He had placed his hand under her chin and gently lifted up. Even though his touch was delicate, she could feel the strength he possessed, and it was intoxicating. Constance knew what was coming. It was one of those things that was almost tangible, giving the sensation that they were the only two people left in the world. She closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss that she had hoped for since they left Richmond.

  “May I cut in?” Detective Laura Stenks stood a few feet away, clad in her finely pressed outfit and duty belt.

  Constance knew the voice as soon as she heard it, and she resented the detective, watching on smugly, for stealing this from her.

  Surprised, Roofy was unsure of how to react in the crowded ballroom. They could not pull another stunt like the one at the hotel, and he was not quite sure how she had found him again, since he had been paying with only cash after the last altercation.

  “And, by the way,” Laura asked, pointing at the teen, “is she still a minor?”

  “Der’mo.” Roofy stuck his hands out, ready to be cuffed.

  “You're not taking him in,” Constance insisted.

  Laura found the situation a little too familiar, with the teen placing herself between the two of them. She had not come here to replay that scenario, though. Finding herself feeling unusually at ease, the detective replied, “You're right, kid. I'm not. I just need to talk to him.”

  “Whatever you need to say, you can say to both of us,” Constance issued.

  Roofy scratched the back of his head as he attempted to decide what to do.

  Any other time, Laura knew she would have gone on the offensive after a comment like that, but she mellowed in the presence of the big Russian. “Look, there's a lot of people around. This doesn't have to be a scene.”

  “I will hear what she wants to say,” Roofy interrupted the two, giving Constance a reassuring rub on the shoulder.

  The girl turned to debate with him, but he stopped her. “Is okay. Give me moment.”

  Laura was relieved that the daggers Constance stared at her were not real, as the teen walked off. With the girl out of the way, though, she could do what she had come here for, and it would go much smoother one on one.

  “Let's dance while we talk, big gu
y. We'll blend in better,” Laura insisted, pulling the big Russian in close before he had time to react otherwise. It was the best approach to the situation, and she knew it. She had also found herself wanting to touch him – to feel his strength. Energized, it was as if electricity was running rampant in every nerve. She understood why the girl wanted to kiss him.

  “That is not much of costume, I think,” he teased playfully.

  “'Cop' works everywhere.” She quickly changed subjects. “The girl seems attached to you.” Laura steered the conversation in a way that she hoped would lead to him suggesting they leave with her. People on edge cooperated better when they thought it was their idea, and it was a tactic she had used many times. Being honest with herself, she also wanted to help protect the Russian from the danger she assumed he was in.

  “She is good person. Has good heart,” Roofy said, gesturing with a glance in the direction Constance had walked off.

  “You think what you are doing is best for her?”

  “I force her to do nothing.”

  “Maybe you haven't, but you are leading her on. You brought her across the country. You're dancing with her and kissing. You are justifying her every move.” Laura noticed a hint of submission in the big man's expression, so she pressed on. “She's young. Impressionable. Her family is worried, but she won't go home without you or your approval.”

  “So, you are big hero, and I go to jail, like villain.”

  Laura had not expected such a defensive response. Sensing an opportunity, she turned on the charm and tried to reel him in. “Roofy, listen. We have evidence that could help prove you're innocent of your wife's murder. The pathologist established her time of death, and it was clearly after you had already left town. There are still questions we need answered, though, and you two could be in danger. Whoever is doing the killing could be after both of you, but I can't help you if you look like a kidnapper or continue to put Constance in harm’s way.” Laura was confident she had him.

  “You cannot ask me to force her.” Roofy responded.