Cujo III Reloaded – This Time It's Personal
Chapter 3
Okay, here's the next. It's a bit shorter but it seemed a good place to end this chapter. Imaginary Beta gave this a very quick once-over. Perhaps between her and spell check nothing too egregious escaped to wreck the story.
Sincere thanks for your comments, follows and favorites. Loved hearing from you and hope you recognize your input in this and following chapters. If I can't seem to please the entirely unpleaseable ninja cats, perhaps I can do a better job with you guys. At least you all don't insist on sitting on the keyboard while I'm trying to write.
Disclaimer: Writing this for the hell of it. No money being made. Don't own anything but a couple of mangy cats, (okay, okay, I realize it's the other way around).
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Pastiche
The sun had set in its normally spectacular way several hours ago and though it was near midnight, the warm breeze that blew through the Camaro was soft and fragrant. Tired and frustrated, they'd called it a night. Danny rolled his eyes at his partner before eyeing the animal clinging to the dashboard.
Tonight, Danny was actually driving his own car after refusing to have the saber-toothed time-bomb directly under his nose as they made their way to McGarrett's house so he could drop off his passengers. The little animal was now too large to ride on the cowling over the steering wheel but he could still securely cling to the dash on the passenger side - which was his preferred method of travel. The faster the better. The furry buzzsaw's last name wasn't McGarrett for nothing.
"Tell me again why your wolverine has to accompany us?" asked Danny, not allowing himself to relax one iota until the cat was out of the car and he, himself, was safely on his way home to crawl into his own bed to become dead to the world. At least until it started all over again tomorrow, err make that later today.
"That maintenance guy, Bob, has to polish the floors overnight at H.Q. for the next couple nights and he's afraid of Cujo. He asked if I could take him home with me until he's done."
"Gee, I wonder why anyone would be afraid of 'Stevie's little kitty'?" snarked Danny, taking his life in his hands to even utter the phrase.
"What did I tell you about using that name huh!" growled Steve actually amazed that Danny would even go there. "You choosing to ignore the warning? What did I tell you?"
"You said that if we addressed you as 'Stevie', the wrath of SuperSEAL would be upon us and we'd be pulling 'shit duty' - or whatever they call it in the Army." replied Danny; not the least bit intimidated by the glare that could probably melt glass at this point.
Ignoring the 'Army' remark Steve countered, "Staking out a coffee shop from an overheated parking lot is in your near future . . . just so you know."
"Uh uh. I didn't address you that way; I was talking about El Gato del Diablo and even if you did make him an official member of Five-0, he doesn't outrank me. Plus he's only a stupid cat and he doesn't have the authority to order me to stake out so much as a mouse hole." smiled Danny in unknowingly mistaken triumph.
"Yeah, well, I know where you live. Maybe Detective C.D. McGarrett will be making a visit."
"If your grey mamba gets within a mile of my place, you'd better have picked out his coffin or shoe box or whatever already. I will take no prisoners."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure he won't either.
"What are you gonna do when Cujo and your mom are in the same living space together? That's pretty scary."
"What do you mean? Cujo isn't scary."
"Wasn't talking about the cat."
"Are you saying my mom is scary?"
"Babe, everyone says your mom is scary."
…..
It was going to be a hot one today. The sun blasted down from the cloudless sky and Danny could already feel the sweat dampening the back of his neck.
Steve grimly gripped the wheel of the Silverado as they steered their way to murder scene number one. The meeting with Denning had gone as predicted. Steve stood mutely as the man unloaded on him about the slow progress made on the coffee shop murders.
There really wasn't anything much to tell. They'd only been on it for two days and none of their theories had as yet yielded any results.
"Commander, the State of Hawaii can't afford this. With the current state of the economy, every tourist dollar counts. If people think that coming here is tantamount to a trip to Kabul, it's going to seriously affect the pocketbooks of our citizens!"
Steve tried to listen to the tirade, really he did, but he'd entirely too much practice in blocking out what he considered unnecessary verbiage. He knew the governor was too savvy to give any ultimatums. If Five-0, the best investigative team in the state if not most of the rest of the country, couldn't find the killer in only a little over forty-eight hours; there weren't many who can. Steve had already spoken to one of the FBI's profilers – a personal friend – and had already emailed the files to her. He expected a reply from her by tonight.
He figured his job at this moment was to provide a 'tension target' for the head of the State of Hawaii. It wouldn't solve the case any sooner but it would make Denning feel that he'd exercised his authority to make something happen. Steve wondered who was putting the screws to the man. Probably the head of the coffee shop chain, he thought. Oh well, shit runs downhill. Unfortunately, he was somewhere near the bottom of the slope.
…..
The slanting afternoon sun glared through the windshield as they made their way crosstown. Traffic was heavy at this hour and it didn't improve the mood of the vehicle's occupants, its driver in particular.
Both Steve and Danny were silent as they mulled over the minimal amount of information gleaned from, once again, going over what they knew so far about the now four 'Macchiato Murders'.
Always the first one to speak, this time being no exception, the blonde detective began: "There doesn't seem to be anything consistent about these murders. It's an entire pastiche of things."
"Pastiche?"
"Yeah, Steven, it means . . . "
The SEAL still very much annoyed from his meeting with Denning or to be honest, being ripped a new one, said testily "I know what it means Daniel! Why are you using it? Word of the Day again?"
"I'm expanding your vocabulary, you know with words that aren't: angle, trajectory, caliber . . . "
"You forgot velocity." growled Steve who was in no mood for one of his partner's rants. Right now it wouldn't be the least bit entertaining.
Ignoring the SEAL's ill temper, the blonde huffed, "Someone has to see to your education. I'm sure you're very well-versed in whatever it takes to invade small countries singlehandedly armed with only rubber bands and popsicle sticks but after being your partner for three terrifying years, I've come to the conclusion it's also my job to make you fit to live in the normal world - you know, the one that doesn't usually require hand grenades."
"Wow. Did you even take a breath in there anywhere?" spat McGarrett sarcastically.
"You didn't even absorb anything I said, did you?" huffed Danny
"Sure I did. I just sort of filtered out the bullshit . . . which was pretty much all of it."
…
The second location was still cordoned off by the ominous yellow crime scene tape. The door was locked which was no problem for SuperSEAL ignoring his partner's tirade about B & E's. A few seconds after producing a paperclip from one of his numerous pockets and a small nearly silent metallic click - they were in.
"You know, we could just have waited for someone, like maybe the person who actually has the key, to let us in don't you?"
"Why do we have to wait? Didn't need a key. I got us in didn't I?"
"Yes, you did; and I admire your restraint this time. See, you are trainable."
"What the hell are you talking about now?"
"You didn't kick the door in, didn't pick the lock with a bullet, and didn't even blow it open with a grenade. Good boy."
Steve only paused long enough to give him a withering glare as he proceeded into the shop. The blood, now dried to a dark purple brown, was still there on the floor. The clichéd but still used chalk outline where a body had lain was still visible as were the dark smudges of fingerprint powder on nearly every surface.
The vignettes of fading crimes were always so desolate thought Steve. In the military, it was just go in, do what needed to be done and then get out. He hadn't had that much experience with the vision of law enforcement's leavings. Of course, going into a bombed out village was desolation on a whole different scale but this was a more contained and intimate kind of desolation . . . kind of creepy.
They got to work. Chin and Kono entered a short time later. Steve assigned Kono to the storeroom to see if anything was amiss there. Danny was busy checking things out behind the counter and Chin had the seating area. Steve briefly checked the restrooms before standing back and running things through his mind from a more distant vantage.
Standing near the entrance, he pictured the patrons entering the shop and striding toward the counter to place their orders. He saw them getting their mochas, lattes and macchiatos from the other end of the counter . . . THE ONE WHERE YOU PICKED UP THE CUPS THAT HAD YOUR NAME WRITTEN ON THEM!
….
He watched the tall female carefully as she went to the box on the table in front of the glass that had the other cat in it – the cat that had no smell. She opened the box and took something out.
The thing was fascinating. It dangled and sparkled as she fastened it to her ear.
HE HAD TO HAVE IT!
She smiled at the other female who looked back from the glass and touched the other sparkly thing on the metal string around her neck before turning to go to the room with water in it.
She left the box open.
He immediately jumped on top of the long table and cautiously approached the box of wonderful things.
"Hey!" she yelled startling him in the middle of his investigation, "Get away from there cat!"
He hissed at her and then reluctantly scrambled off the dresser to scoot under the bed. Doris shut the lid of her jewelry box, fluffed her hair one more time and went downstairs.
As soon as she had gone, Cujo jumped back onto the dresser top. The box of shiny things was closed. Rats!
…
"Really?" said Danny as with gloved hands he picked through the eighteenth bag of trash in the dumpster behind the building. This one was really ripe and he quickly set it aside as he recognized it was from the seafood restaurant next door.
"Told you, no calling me Stevie big guy."
"You're such an asshole."
"Is that any way to talk to your boss?"
After two hours of sorting through the three simmering dumpsters behind the strip mall and lining up the empty white paper cups with the names marked on them with a Sharpie pen, they had several different stacks.
"Who in the hell names their daughter Desiree?" said Danny to no one in particular as annoying beads of sweat rolled off his face to drip off the end of his nose. "That's just asking for it." he said as he bent to place the last cup by itself next to the various stacks of Davids, Heathers, Jasons and etcetera.
Steve wrote the names down on a legal pad under the heading of 'Location No. 1' as Danny removed his gloves and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair.
"Okay, let's bag these up and get to scene number three." said Steve as Danny gave the tall man his own version of the glare of death.
"Do we think that this time we can also climb into the dumpster to help search, oh big kahuna?" said the detective with a more than slightly irritated tone.
"Depends. You gonna call me Stevie again?"
"You know what . . . .! " exploded Danny before he bit off the end of the sentence and took a deep breath before acknowledging defeat, "Okay . . . you win . . . no, I won't call you Stevie."
"Then I'll help you search the next dumpster." said Steve more than smugly. He'd actually been ready to call a truce and climb in with Danny on the next one.
"You're still an ass."
"I'm still the boss too. But okay, I think you've done your penance." he laughed as Danny, redonning his gloves while mumbling under his breath, tied up the last of the white plastic trash bags containing the paper cups and walked to the Silverado to toss them into the back
At least we didn't bring the Camaro, sourly thought the detective.
"If it makes you feel any better, D; Chin and Kono are doing the same thing at the second site. We're going to have to go to all three. I checked with the trash collecting companies and pick-up hasn't been made yet for any of the three locations."
"Steven, what makes you think the killer would use their real name anyway? Isn't that just wishful thinking?"
"Well, weirder things have happened. From your years as a 'real' cop", said Steve stressing the word ironically, (he knew HPD still considered him an outsider to law enforcement – and he is actually), haven't you seen perps do stupid things like that?"
"Yeah" smiled Danny in fond remembrance, "There was the time one guy used his own ATM card to buy a 40 at his neighborhood liquor store then stuck a gun in the clerk's face to hold it up." he chuckled. "That was the fastest bust I ever made."
"Well, maybe we'll get lucky with this one, though I kind of doubt it. I mean, the killer's pretty savvy not to have been spotted yet but maybe even if the name on the cup isn't his or hers, maybe they've used the same pseudonym at all the murders."
"Pseudonym?" smiled Danny "You've actually been doing your homework this semester Steven. Good boy."
"I hope the next sets of dumpsters haven't been sitting directly in the sun this time." remarked Steve as he opened the door of the Silverado and climbed in. "Gonna be really nasty in there if they have."
"Son of a bitch" muttered Danny as he brushed off only God-knew-what from the seat of his pants before settling in the truck on top of the towel Steve had placed on the passenger's seat.
….
Hours later, they'd finally gotten back to the air-conditioned office. At least there were showers available to the sweaty, dirty, Five-0's and they quickly took advantage of them.
The names on the cups had been tallied and there were at least a couple that had been repeated at all three locations. There was a lot more work to do.
The blonde, barefoot and now attired in a T-shirt borrowed from Steve's collection and a pair of board shorts he'd left in his locker a couple of weeks ago, casually leaned against the doorframe.
"What do you mean leashes aren't funny?" asked Danny
"What? What are you talking about?" said Steve distractedly as he signed another requisition for ammunition and stun grenades, (the previous week had been a busy one).
"Earlier, when we talked about you and Cath reproducing."
Startled, the tall man looked up at his grinning 2IC.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked sharply, brows knitted in annoyance, 'aneurism face' on display.
"Remember when I said your offspring - should you have any with Cath - would have to be put on leashes to keep them from hyperactively running off at a moment's notice – you know, like you do?"
Steve only stared at him a moment before saying in irritation, "Don't you have paperwork to do?"
"Done." grinned Danny with a self-satisfied smirk.
"How about cleaning your weapon? And I don't mean it as a euphemism for anything." said the irritated SEAL knowing his partner could twist his statement into any number of salacious meanings – especially considering his current lack of female companionship.
Ignoring the tempting opening, the detective innocently asked, "You trying to get rid of me?"
"How'd you guess?"
"Is it about leashes?"
Steve stopped his paper shuffling to give him 'the glare' before growling, "Not that I don't admire your persistence Daniel but GET OUT!"
"Hmm" said the blonde with a grin, not the least bit intimidated, "Don't think I'm gonna give this up McGarrett. You've got some sort of issue there and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."
"The only thing you're going to get to the bottom of is the Pacific Ocean if you don't drop it Danny" scowled the now more than thoroughly annoyed commander.
"Um hmm, definitely an issue there somewhere." With that, the detective dodged the five-hundred page weapons catalog that came sailing at his head. His laughter trailed behind him as the sound of his bare feet slapping on the granite tile faded down the hallway.
Shit! If Danny ever finds out about that I'll never live it down! He'll make my life hell! With that thought, Steve picked up the phone to call Doris.
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Next chapter in about a week. Apologies for not being a speedier writer. It's the best I can do.
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