Chapter 28
Should I stay, or should I go? I know I should go. I have to. He's crazy. Yeah, he's crazy. It's heavy, but he's my brother. I don't know what else he would have done, had I not... We have to stay free. If they catch us, we'll go straight to hell.
Somebody got murdered again. People died. Cibrán murdered them. No. No, I was with him. I killed them, too. It was Cibrán, but I was there, too. And last night, I had to. Or else Cibrán would have gone mad. I know he's suspicious. He's always been like paranoid or something. He thinks I haven't noticed, but I have. He's mad at me, too. I had to... I had to show him I won't betray him. I needed to...
I don't want him to kill me.
And maybe we don't have the police on our backs, but there's those two. They're... strange. Hateful, apparently. I guess Cibrán is right, they're trouble. What will they do to us when they get a hold of us? We need to stay free.
One more time, that's what he says. Just one more. But it's always 'one more time'. He won't stop. Unless... NO! I can't! I can't do it on my own. I CAN'T!
.
"Merde, zut alors! I can't believe it! We visited all the hotels and they're nowhere to be found!"
Hannibal grinned at the French profanities Clarice uttered. The time spent in multilingual Europe were rubbing off.
"It seems our attention on their persons has made them alter their choice of accommodations."
Clarice turned at him, her eyes blazing at first, then slowly the fire in them kindled down.
"No shit," she finally said after maybe two minutes in which she reigned her fury, not allowing herself to project her frustration on Hannibal. "So, what do we do now? Visit all three star hotels?"
"That's an option, but I think we should look into possible routes first. They only kill once in each city, we should go proactive again and try to head them off."
"Hrmph... " Clarice grumbled, frustrated at their lack of result. "Okay, right. Get the map and we'll have a look." [MB]
Luckily, or rather very unluckily, depending on one's perspective, their need for a map became less urgent as a breaking news story interrupted the classical music they'd been enjoying on low volume in their rental.
"Messer, doesn't that mean knife?" Clarice asked as the reporter finished the quick sixty second update.
Hannibal nodded and put the car into gear. "Seems our boys struck mere blocks from where we dined."
"You were right last night. They didn't have the patience to wait until they moved on again," she said.
They cruised by the scene, a very narrow slot between two restaurants, too slim to even be considered an alley. They noted its proximity to a nearby hostel, the kind of place where one brings their own sleeping bag. The victim's body had already been removed. Police tape sectioned off the area and a handful of looky loos hovered nearby as two uniformed officers continued to work the area.
"No four or even three-star hotel. They're changing their patterns, expecting our pursuit," Clarice said.
Hannibal grinned. "Makes it a bit more fun, don't you think?"
She gave him a sideways look and sighed. "I suppose. Fun for us, not so much for others."
He reached over and squeezed her hand. After several blocks he pulled into a nearly empty lot. "What now, Mevrouw Spreeuw?"
"I think that's it exactly."
He looked at her, his brow arched in a question.
"It's time you and I return home, Dhr. Spreeuw."
"Really?" he asked.
"Yup. Think about it. They spent last night in that hostel with a bunch of tourists, college kids touring Europe. They've largely been following a tourist path, really, cutting across the Continent so to speak."
He nodded. "Spain, France, Italy, Germany. So they go west?"
She smiled, "Exactly!"
"Well then, my lady, we're homeward bound." [D]
"I'll betcha Amsterdam is where they'll turn up."
"It's not a bet, my Love, when it's evident."
Clarice grinned. "I know. I always used to warn people never to bet with me: I only do when I'm sure."
"Well, Amsterdam is just around the corner. I'll call Teuni and have her prepare the house for our arrival tomorrow."
"We have the rest of the day to ourselves, right?" she asked, and playfully traced her index finger over his shoulder.
"Yes, we have."
"I think I'll fill the tub, then..."
.
"You heard? Conny's been murdered, too!"
"What?"
"No, really! Just like Daniel, ya know? Got cut up, a bloody mess, I swear! They say it looked..."
"Hau ab, Michael. Man, what's this crap? Someone after us homeless people?"
"Yeah, that's what they say. Scheiße!"
The two paupers shook their heads. As if life wasn't hard on them already. When footstep approached, they looked down the street and saw a single man walking.
"Hey, man, got a quarter?"
The man walked on, pretending not to hear the call.
"You ain't got nothin' that's OK man, that's OK."
The man ignored them as he walked by, not even sparing them a glance.
"God bless you anyway!"
"Characters, man, a lot of characters," Michael spoke to his peer when the man was gone.
"Tell me. Yeah, I... I use to live uptown once before too, you know. No, no, I did, really. Use to come down here and look at all the characters. Never thought I'd be one of them though."
"Shit happens."
"Sure does. And now this. Police is doin' nothin', as usual. All they do is bury the poor soul, say they'll keep their eyes open and hope it'll pass. Who knows they think one of us did it!"
"I betcha they do, Jens."
"Bastards. All of them. Cops aren't any better than that killer. People are crazy." [MB]
.
"People are crazy." Frederico spoke aloud, struggling to work through his jumbled thoughts. "But Cibrán's not crazy."
He was something else. He had only just realized it this afternoon.
Un sociopathe.
They'd needed to get out of the city, and quick. Two dead bodies would undoubtedly bring the persistent couple around, and both he and his brother would much rather avoid another confrontation. His brother thought they must be some type of bounty hunters, paid mercenaries, and he valued his freedom and indulging his appetites too much to risk capture. Frederico wanted to avoid them for simpler reasons. He was a coward.
In a hurry and reckless, they'd stolen a car. It had sat idling in a small marketplace's parking lot. They were a kilometer down the road before they realized a sleeping infant was in a carrier in the backseat.
"Christo! What kind of parent leaves their baby alone in a parking lot?" Cibrán asked, outraged.
Two kilometers later, he pulled over and killed the child.
Frederico sat stunned in the front seat, too shocked to move, to protest.
Cibrán had done it so quickly, with such little fuss. He'd been gentle, murmuring soothing words to the baby and then reaching down to twist his neck. Frederico had heard the tiny bones crunch. After his paralysis broke, he'd lurched from the car and vomited in the weeds. Cibrán had laughed at him.
Yes. Un sociopathe. [D]
