Dexter at Dawn
Chapter 10
by Technomad
As it turned out, Caroline Sula went to the same school as Arya, Astor and Cody. They just hadn't interacted before, since it was a large school. Now that they knew each other, Caroline began coming over in the afternoon, on weekends. She and Arya would talk fencing, and Astor would show them the latest judo moves she had learned. Astor's judo teacher had told us that she was learning fast, and Astor herself was proud, in her quiet way, of the progress she had made.
When Rita found out, she was delighted. "Oh! I'm so glad! Girls need other girls as friends! I just wish Cody could come out of his shell more!" While Cody was in Cub Scouts, he detested the uniform, feeling that short pants were beneath his dignity. He would go to the meetings, but he was still very stiff and uncomfortable, and as far as I knew, had not made friends with the other boys yet. He'd been damaged worse than Astor had by their father's shenanigans, in the old days.
We were working hard on trying to raise the money to bail Rita out of jail and get her home to Miami. The house was already mortgaged, though, and no banker I talked to was willing to refinance it so we could get the money, even after I got Rita's power of attorney.
"We're terribly sorry, Mr. Morgan," one of them told me, "but our hands are tied. We just can't extend the credit you need to get the money to bail your wife out. We feel for you, but there's nothing we can do." The thing is, I was sure he meant every word. While I do not have normal human feelings, I have dealt with humans enough to know when they're on the level and when they're not. I could tell that he was sincere. He had looked into our backgrounds enough to believe the charges against Rita were utterly bogus.
As I left the bank, I fumed against Paul Bennett. Even though I had not a shred of proof, I was morally certain that he was behind all that had happened. Had I been able to stretch Harry's Rules enough, he would have been at the top of my playmates-to-be list.
Of course, that would have presented other difficulties. My previous playmates had had no discernible connection with me. Even if my colleagues had figured out that they had been murdered, instead of just disappearing, they would have had no reason to look at Disingenous Dexter. But if anything happened to Paul Bennett...even if I had had nothing to do with it...I'd be one of the first people they'd be checking out, and I doubted that even Disguised Dexter could stand up to a full-court police investigation in the wake of a murder.
Reluctantly, I put the idea of visiting Paul some night and doing a Dark Dance with him out of my mind. At that time, it just wasn't possible. But there were other things to do.
Work went on, as always. Crime in Miami never goes away, never sleeps, and keeps me, and a lot of my colleagues, gainfully employed. One day, Deb called me out to accompany her to a murder scene. "I need your insights, brother," she told me. While she knew I was a sick and twisted monster, she knew I often had insights into the motives of other sick and twisted monsters that she found very helpful.
At the scene, Angel-no-relation and Camilla Figg were both busy, and Deb and I joined them. Since there was a lot of blood splattered about, I got out my tools and began the long job of making it all make sense. Oddly enough, I dislike blood...I have my reasons...but I enjoy my work.
As I worked, Deb was prowling around, questioning witnesses and potential witnesses. When I was done, I came over and helped out, since several of the witnesses spoke little English, and Deb, for reasons I had never understood, had taken French instead of Spanish in school. This was, at best, an eccentric choice. Even then she had had a burning ambition to join the police force, and in our bilingual city, mastery of Spanish is enormously helpful to law enforcers.
Deb is also not a people person, to put it very mildly, and I found myself, once again, in the role of Diplomat Dexter, smoothing things off enough so that people who were often legitimately wary of the police would talk to us. After a lot of back-and-forth, Deb got her information, and the witnesses went off, clearly glad to be out of range of her temper. Deb was getting good and steamed, and I braced myself for one of her savage arm punches.
"Well, it looks like we're at a loss, Dex," she said, deflating visibly. "There are times when this job gets to me."
I had to agree with her. Barring a sudden recovery of memory by one or more of the people whom we knew had witnessed what had gone down, we were stuck. Officially, that is. But there were other ways to deal with this situation.
I had a pretty good idea of who had done this. By an amazing coincidence, it was the potential playmate I had been researching with Arya. The corpses were people who had owed him money, and we weren't far from his normal stomping grounds. Since some of the corpses were young...not children, but awfully young to have died...I moved him up on my list of priorities.
Arya was very interested in my news, when I shared it with her. We were driving home from her school, and while dodging through traffic, I told her all about my day. She was a good audience. She was even harder to shock than Deb or Astor or Cody, and knew when to keep her mouth shut. I knew I could trust her to be discreet about what news she shared.
"A girl thinks that this person has lived much too long," she commented, when I had run down. "A girl thinks we should see to it that this person does no more damage."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," I said, sincerely. While I planned to do the heavy lifting on this little project, I knew that Arya would be very useful in many ways. She'd be less suspect than I would be scouting the venue out, and an extra pair of eyes would come in handy on the Big Night. But the full moon was a couple of weeks away still.
I hadn't forgotten about obtaining another car, or at least the use of another car. I began searching online car-sale websites, looking for a cheap car that wouldn't stand out in our target's neighborhood. Before too long, I had a list of possibles, and made a note to myself to check them out myself. If things had been different, I could have asked a lot of people at work for help. Many policemen and law enforcement workers are car nuts, and would be able to spot a lemon in a hurry.
Unfortunately, with the situation what it was, I couldn't ask for guidance. There'd be too many awkward questions about just why I thought I needed yet another car, and I couldn't come up with any good answers.
Unexpectedly, Caroline Sula provided us with a solution. "A girl hears that Caroline Sula's brother, Charles Sula, is going into the military," Arya told me. "Charles Sula has an old car that he wants to sell, but Mrs. Sula doesn't want 'that junker' on her property with a for-sale sign on it. Something called the 'HOA' would throw giant fits." She cocked her head on one side. "What is an 'HOA,' and why should its opinions concern a girl?"
"An 'HOA,' Arya, is a homeowners' association. It exists to make it easier to keep a neighborhood up to certain standards. If this car is in bad enough shape, it would make the neighborhood look less attractive. More like our target's neighborhood."
"Does this place have a homeowners' association?" asked Arya. I could see that she was thinking, hard.
"No, Arya. This area doesn't come under such an organization."
"Then why should we not kill two birds with one arrow, as we say in Westeros? Offer Charles Sula help in selling his car, and use it ourselves one dark night. If it is not ours, and is not registered in any of our names, it can not be easily traced to us, and it should blend in better in our target's home area."
When the Sulas were asked, they were delighted to be helpful. "Why, yes, Mr. Morgan, it's very thoughtful of you!" Charlene Sula said, when we telephoned her. "Charles leaves for basic training in a week, and we've been puzzling and puzzling about what to do about his car! Our HOA has given us trouble about him even parking it at our place, so putting a 'For Sale' sign on it would be a really bad idea! You can have it over at your place, and Charles can do the paperwork in advance so that when a buyer is found, you can just do the paperwork and bring us the money!"
I thought she was awfully trusting, but she did know that I worked for the police. She probably figured that if I did try pulling a fast one, she could report me to my superiors. Luckily for her, the ideas I had had nothing to do with cheating her son out of his rightful money.
The car turned out to be perfect for my purposes. It was a brown Toyota Corolla, half rusted out, but with a working engine and street-legal, although any cop that saw it would give it the hard once-over. In our target's neighborhood, it would not stand out at all.
Instead of having it at our place, I put it on a nearby public parking lot, with a "For Sale" sign on it with my phone number. I also wrote a price on it, rather higher than I thought it was worth, to keep potential buyers at bay until it had served its purpose.
Astor and Cody were curious about the car, but I explained to them that I was doing the Sulas a favor, and they accepted that story calmly. When I next contacted Rita, I told her that I'd taken on this project. "The Sulas have been good to us, and I wanted to do something back for them. Their son's about to leave for the military, and their HOA won't let the Sulas park it at their place while they try to sell it. We're able to help out, so I thought I'd do that."
"Oh, Dexter!" Rita gushed into the phone. "You're not just a hero, you're a helpful hero! I'm so glad I met you!" Since nobody else could see me, I rolled my eyes. How a woman who was so good at her job could be so naive about me, particularly after having experienced Paul Bennett, was something I could never understand.
I didn't tell Deb what I was doing, and Arya knew better than to bring it up around her. Deb, unlike Rita, is sharp and street-wise, and knows me better than almost anybody. She would have instantly picked up on this new project, and probably put two and two together. Not that she would have shed a tear to hear that our target was dead, but she did feel a duty to prevent such things if she could.
I took the car for several test drives, and it did run fairly well. When I went on a quick run through our target's home neighborhood, dressed to blend in, nobody gave me a second glance. I noticed that our target still lived in the same place. I actually got a good look at him as he came out of his run-down, paint-peeling house, standing on his porch in all his greasy glory, wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans and sucking back a can of cheap beer.
I also noticed that our target didn't seem to have dogs. That was a relief. Dogs, and animals in general, seem to sense that I'm a monster, and want no part of me. More than once, I'd had to find a way to neutralize a dog or dogs to get to a deserving playmate.
'
As it happened, the full moon came on a day when Arya would not need to be in school the next day. She saw me assembling my tools, and asked: "Is tonight the night, Dexter?"
I had always been as frank as I could with her, so I nodded. "Tonight's the big night."
"Can a girl accompany you?"
I thought about it. There'd been times before when another pair of eyes and another pair of hands would have been very useful. "A girl certainly may, if she can do that face-changing trick."
"It shall be done, Dexter." Again, she seemed to turn away for a second, and when she turned back, she looked nothing like Arya Stark. "This way, even if a girl is seen by someone who should not be watching, she can not be recognized."
And with that, we were off. I could feel the Dark Passenger raising itself in my mind, preparing to take over when we got to where our target lived. It was late at night, and there was little traffic. We were not going anywhere near where the Sulas lived, so the chances of having the car recognized were very slim.
My researches on our new playmate had told me much that would be useful. Our playmate spent many of his evenings at a rather sleazy tavern some way from where he lived. However, since he had lost his driver's license some time ago, and his car had been repossessed by the bank after he'd missed several payments, he was forced to walk between his home and the bar, unless he could obtain a ride.
Arya and I parked a little way outside the bar, and awaited events. I had my bag of necessary items nearby, and Arya was crouched down in the back seat, hiding under a blanket. It was dark where we'd parked, and nobody would see us.
We could hear loud, raucous music and conversation from the bar, even though we were at some distance from it. I wondered why people liked going to such places. Arya muttered: "At the House of Black and White, a girl's best ally was often a target's own foolishness," and I had to agree with her. The House of Black and White sounded very interesting, and I wished I could see it, or, better yet, go through its training. Harry had trained me well, but learning things like that face-changing trick would have been incredibly useful.
After a while, an altercation erupted. We could hear voices being raised, and glass being broken. A woman's shrill scream echoed down the street. Shots were fired, and in the distance, I could hear a police siren. I was not happy. This was a wonderful opportunity to catch my new playmate, spoiled because he and his scumbag friends couldn't behave themselves!
I told Arya: "We may have to make ourselves scarce soon. If the police find us here, I have no good excuse to be in this neighborhood at this hour of the night. And many of the police know me by sight."
Before the police got there, though, the crowd spilled out into the street, running for cars and trucks to escape. Our new playmate apparently wasn't popular. Nobody offered him a ride, and he began jogging down the road to his home, right by us.
I rolled down the window. "Here! Get in! I'll get you out of here!" He gasped thanks, and jumped into the front passenger seat. We got out of there just before the police came, and I turned down a dark side street.
Just as our playmate asked "Hey, where are you taking me?" Arya popped out of the back seat and threw a cord around his neck. She pulled tight, and he gasped, clawing at his throat. She held the noose tight with one hand and drew another of her knives, prodding him just over his jugular vein. Sensibly, he went very, very quiet.
After a while, we brought him to the place I had found earlier. It was perfect for our purposes. It was a dark, quiet spot, where a construction project had been on hold for some time due to legal difficulties. It was also very near the water, and I had already tied up my boat nearby on a deserted dock. I checked quickly, and the boat was still there. All was in readiness.
Arya had been a trifle more enthusiastic with her garrotte than I would have preferred, and our playmate was unconscious. I checked, and his heart was still going, though, so once he was securely tied down, I nodded and Arya released her stranglehold. He coughed, choked, and his eyes flickered open.
"What...who...who are you?" he croaked.
"Nobody you need to concern yourself about. Maybe you should think of others." I began reciting the list of his known victims. Through her new face, Arya was listening, and I could tell that she was getting good and steamed.
"But...but you aren't the cops! I have rights! They had to let me go!"
"You're right that we aren't the cops. And since we can't bring your victims back, the least we can do is to send you on to where you can explain yourself to them!" With that, I set to work, while Arya kept watch to ensure that we wouldn't be interrupted.
When I was done, and had my microscope slide with its souvenir drop of blood all prepared and stored, we got to work. Very soon, our playmate was in nice convenient pieces, all bagged up, and we stored him aboard the boat. Dawn was breaking in the east, and the sea was calm. "Would you like to come along, Arya? I don't think you've been out on a boat since you got here."
"A girl would be happy to accompany you, Dexter." Very soon, we were heading out to sea. Arya noticed that I had my fishing gear aboard. "Are you planning to actually do some fishing, Dexter?"
"Yes, I am. After we make our delivery to Davy Jones' Morgue and Fish Feeder, I'm hoping to get some fish. If I do, we'll put them in the freezer at home until Rita's free. I know how to cook, but Rita's a mistress of the art and her cooking's much better." Arya gave me a rare smile as we went out onto the briny deep.
(Author's note: Dexter is not a bad guy in a lot of ways, but he is a serial killer. Arya herself could easily qualify as one based on her exploits in Westeros, and she is also still a medieval noble under it all, as well as a trained assassin. Neither of them will lose any sleep over this.)