Carnal Instinct by Nicholas Dean - HTML preview

CARNAL INSTINCT

CHAPTER ONE

The stale, smoky air of the bar eddied around me as I walked out into the cool night air. The door slammed shut behind me, blocking out the blaring music and conversation that had left me with a dull headache.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After a long drag, I watched the smoke drift off to pollute the air. I hated smokers, which often made me wonder why I had ever started in the first place. I guess bad habits die hard.

I saw myself in the window as I stamped out the butt. Why was it that whenever I saw my own reflection I expected to see shimmering dark mist hovering around me? Was my dark persona noticeable to anyone but me?

I consider myself a fairly, good looking guy 5’11”, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, medium build, slightly softened but still fit but in no way anyone that would stand out in a crowd. I was reasonably certain that my inherent inner turmoil continued to be adequately concealed from everyone else.

I strolled down Main St. toward Lincoln Park. The street was dark, enveloped in menacing shadows cast carelessly from the dim streetlights. It was refreshingly quiet except for the gentle breeze rustling an empty trash bag along the curb.

I turned the corner at East Avenue B and encountered three men hovering over a car. Two of them quickly turned around, the other leaned casually against the door.

Intuition told me that there was something wrong. This part of town was not known to have much crime, but it wasn’t unheard of.

To my left stood a large black man. He was about my height but thick. I quickly estimated him at three hundred pounds, well over my own one-ninety. On my right was his exact opposite. Tall, lanky, and white; a thin pair of glasses sat precisely on his nose. He looked like he had just come from a weeklong computer convention and was grossly out of place. Sandwiched between them, still leaning gently against the car, stood a stocky Mexican who looked slightly familiar. His eyes were beady like those of a rat. He looked in desperate need of a bath.

“What’re you lookin’ at, honky?” the black man growled. If the word honky had offended his companion, he hid his anger well.

I shrugged. “You got a cigarette?” The Mexican pulled out a Camel and lit it. He shook his head as he blew the smoke in my general direction.
There was no traffic. The silence now took on an almost unnatural quality. Time froze, leaving most of the street engulfed in shadows.
“B-bbeat it,” the white man stammered, his voice not quite up to the obvious threat that was intended.
I smiled. “Michael Jackson.”
Whitey looked dumbfounded at the black man who was obviously quicker than he appeared. He took a step closer, carefully balancing himself into a fighting stance.
“You’re a real wiseass,” he said.
“I try.” I let myself relax and waited patiently for his first move.
He stared at me hard for a moment before his features softened slightly into a forced smile. Most of his front teeth were chipped or missing. The two left in front were both covered in gold, no doubt the only reason they were still there.
“Get outta here,” he mumbled.
“Now that’s the problem,” I said. “You looked like you were about to break the law and I just can’t allow that.”
“W-w-who the hell are y-y-you, the fuckin’ n-n-neighborhood w-wwatch?” Whitey demanded. The curse words sounded foreign coming out of his mouth.
Behind him, the Mexican sniggered. “More like Peter Pan.” His voice was rough, gravely as if scraping across sandpaper on the way through his throat, no doubt a cause of his addiction to cigarettes. He had no ethnic accent, but instead, sounded like he was from South Florida.
“More like your guardian angel,” I said.
The black man came in fast with a hard right. I stepped aside and brought my knee up, connecting with his stomach. For all his size, he was soft. He doubled over and fell to his knees.
I let my momentum carry me around into a spin kick that hit Whitey in the jaw. He stumbled sideways, falling over the black man who was trying to get to his feet.
Everything had moved so fast that the Mexican hadn’t even started to move yet when I hit him in the nose with a left cross. I felt the bone under my fist turn to mush with a sickening crack. His hands instantly went to his blood splattered face. I could tell by the tears flowing from his eyes that he was out of the fight.
I whipped around to face the black man as he began to charge, screaming like a wild banshee. I spun out of his way and brought my elbow down hard on the base of his neck. His velocity sent him crashing into the Mexican who slammed back against the car door, shattering the window.
I turned quickly in a tight circle, ready for another attack. Whitey was lying on his side, hardly moving, his glasses missing. The black man was piled into a motionless heap next to the car. The Mexican was on his knees, doubled over, hands still covering his face as if he were trying to keep his mangled nose from rolling into the gutter.
I pushed the Mexican away from the car. He looked up at me, fear etched in his tear filled eyes.
“Peter Pan,” I said dryly. “That was cute.”
I reached inside the car and unlocked the door. The door popped loudly as I opened it and got in. The car immediately started at the turn of my key.
I leaned out the window, “Next time don’t try to steal a cop’s car, dumb ass!”
I slammed the shifter into gear and rocketed away from the curb with a squeal of hot rubber. I let the speed climb to near sixty before I let off the accelerator. I looped around the park then turned back onto Main St. and headed for I-475.
I stomped on the accelerator as soon as I hit the ramp and felt the car surge forward with power, not letting up until the speedometer stood at over one hundred.
I was irritated. Adrenaline from the fight was still pumping furiously through my veins. The night air was forcing itself through the opening left by the broken window. It whipped past me, whirling through and cooling off the interior of the car, which only infuriated me more.
I had bought the car six years previously from a kid who had beaten the car nearly to death. It was a ’69 Mustang Mach One, the love of my life. I had purchased it for only five hundred dollars because the kid had no idea of the real value of the car.
That was a lot of time and money ago. Now I had the car nearly restored. It still needed a paint job and a little tweaking, but I loved it. It was the single possession I owned that I cared about.
I put the car through a vigorous test, varying my speed as I roamed the interstate system. I merged with I-75 and headed north towards Brandon. I needed to burn off more steam before I headed home.
The clock on the radio showed just after midnight. Joanna should have gotten off work at eleven. I smiled at the thought of a better way to blow off steam.
Joanna Wilcox was my current girlfriend. She was an exotic dancer, which made it slightly awkward since I was a cop, but most of the guys at the station envied me. We were close but I knew that I wasn’t “in love” with her. She was everything most guys could ever dream of and I cared about her deeply, but not enough to take it beyond where we currently were.
I knew this presented a problem for her since she had already brought up settling down and quitting her job. I had avoided the rest of that conversation by spending the weekend tearing into the dash of the Mustang in search of a mysterious faulty wire that truly did exist.
I turned around at Bausch’s Truckstop and headed back toward town. I realized that I was no longer pissed off though my head still ached from the noise in the bar.
I didn’t feel guilty about the fight since they had been trying to steal my car. I hated violence, but at the same time enjoyed it. The thing that I really hated though was the darkness. Always wary to never let it loose. I don’t like to not be in control.
My cell phone rang, bringing me back from my musing. I flipped the phone open hoping it was Joanna. It wasn’t.
“Where are you?”
I instantly recognized the voice of Harry McKormick who had been my partner for four years. I also recognized the tone of his voice, which told me that my night was about to get worse.
“I’m on I-75 headed into town. Why?”
“You need to come down to the Rose,” Harry said.
I waited for him to say more, but I was met with silence.
“Why?” I prodded. “What’s up?”
“Just get here. Fast.” Then Harry was gone.
Joanna wasn’t there, so I guessed it had to be another fight. Two months ago, two customers had quarreled over one of the dancers. One had a knife, the other a broken bottle. Lots of blood and one hell of a mess later, one of them was dead.
But why would Harry be so uptight about a dead patron in a strip club unless that somebody was important.
I sped up and took the next exit. The Wild Rose was located on the outskirts of an industrial section in the southwest part of town. It was a freestanding building that had previously been a tire factory. The current owner of the Rose had bought the building five years ago and converted into what was now the most successful strip club in town.
Five minutes later, I pulled up in front of the Rose. The street was brightly enveloped in neon. I showed my badge to the officer manning the tape, and he pointed me to a group of officers gathered at the mouth of the alley between the Rose and the abandoned building next door.
I pushed through the group, spotting another cluster of people further down the alley that was composed of detectives and forensic people, all of which I worked with. I saw Harry peel away from the group and head my way.
Harry was shorter than I was and slightly thick around the middle. His peppered, brown hair was sparsely spread across his head. We got along well, though we often didn’t see eye to eye on procedure. I attributed that to the fact that he was in his early fifties - nearly twenty years my senior
- and did everything old school. For the first year of our partnership he had referred to me as “Jit”, but since I had saved him from taking a bullet, he treated me more like an equal.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Double homicide,” he responded quietly.
By the tone of his voice and the look on his face, I knew something was seriously wrong. I could see the two black tarps that the forensics team used to cover up bodies until the morgue came with body bags to collect the victims. The nearest was not far from the backdoor of the Rose.
I began to move toward it, drawn by some mysterious power. Harry stepped in front of me as if to stop me, then let me pass, reluctantly following.
I stooped down and pulled back the tarp revealing the bloody mess of a corpse that used to be my girlfriend. Her finely honed features and exquisite figure had been mangled and slashed. What was left was nearly unrecognizable.
My head began to spin, the headache I previously had evaporated and was replaced by confusion. Why? The questions began to roll through my mind before finally resting on one. Who?
I wasn’t shocked like I thought I would be. Everyone goes through periods where they wonder how they’ll react to the loss of their friends and loved ones. My reaction was not something I would have expected.
“You okay?” Harry asked.
I pulled the tarp back over her and stood. I raised my face to the sky and closed my eyes, taking several long, deep breaths. I could still see her torn flesh as if it were etched into my eyelids. The darkness inside me began to churn. I felt like I was going to vomit. I wanted to scream, but I fought back the urge to do either one.
“What happened?” I finally managed to ask.
Harry shrugged. “We’re not sure. One of the other dancers left early and came across both bodies.”
One of the group, a detective named Fred Melbourne, caught sight of me and made his way over.
“Get him the hell out of here,” he yelled. “I don’t want his attachments messing up myinvestigation.”
Melbourne had been a detective for the last fifteen years, thirteen of which were spent in homicide. He acted like he was in charge of the division and, with the exception of me, no one really challenged him. We were never friendly, hardly civil. He thought I was too young to be a detective since he hadn’t qualified until he was in his mid-thirties. I thought he was jealous.
“Leave him alone, Melbourne,” Harry mumbled. “He’s not hurting anything.”
I felt my body going numb. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the tarp knowing that the lump under it was what was left of someone I cared about. Although I knew she wasn’t “the one”, we were still close and the loss was hitting me hard.
Melbourne grabbed my arm and began to steer me toward the mouth of the alley. Normally I would have had a strong urge to punch him, but I was finding it hard to have any feelings about anything, one way or the other.
Harry brushed past him and escorted me himself. Once we had gotten past the police tape and crowd that had gathered around it, he let go of my arm. We walked together in silence until we stopped next to my car. I could tell that he was struggling to find something to say to break the awkwardness.
I, on the other hand, was fighting the inner turmoil that was trying to break through the surface. I could taste acid bile in the back of my throat.
“Are you okay?” Harry finally asked again.
I kicked my front tire. “Damn.”
“Can you drive?”
I felt my shoulders shrug. “Sure.”
I really didn’t think the chances that I would make it home alive were very good. I also found that I really didn’t give a shit.
Harry looked at my broken window for a moment, but decided against making a comment about it.
“Go home,” he said. “Get some rest. Captain Taggert already assigned this to Melbourne and told me to tell you to take a few days off.”
I got in the car then Harry slammed the door. I was operating on remote control as if I was just someone’s toy. Push my buttons and watch what I’ll do. I was feeling sluggish though. My batteries must be getting low.
“What happened to your window?”
Good Ol’ Harry. The inherent investigator in him just couldn’t let it go.
“Anti-theft device,” I mumbled and started the car.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nodded then pulled away.
The drive home was dull and uneventful, which was good since I drove in a daze. I hadn’t even realized that I was there until I found myself staring out the window at my building, the car already parked and shut off.
I got out and closed the door, spending a moment to look at the gaping hole that used to be my window. I found that I didn’t care if it rained or even if the car was stolen. The missing window should have bothered me. It didn’t.
I let myself into my apartment without bothering to check the mail. Most of what I got usually were bills and junk mail, neither of which I felt like dealing with at the moment.
I went into the kitchen without turning on any lights. The microwave over the stove flashed twelve incessantly; obviously the building had yet another power lapse, which was beginning to become more and more frequent.
My apartment was located in a former coat factory that had been converted into loft apartments. It was just outside the heart of downtown, which meant I didn’t have far to go to work. A kitchen and bath were neatly tucked in one end of fifteen hundred square feet of open space. Brick walls, hardwood floors, and a wall of windows that overlooked the park across the street rounded out the flavor of the space. It tended to smell musty during the rainy season, but I liked it.
I opened the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels that I kept stashed there. I thought about Coke and a glass, but instead took the bottle to my favorite chair by the window.
I unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. I could feel the heat of the liquid as it flowed through my chest. I lit a cigarette and let it sit in the corner of my mouth without bothering to take a drag.
I sat back and stared out the window, surrounded by darkness, both inside and out.

CHAPTER TWO

By seven the next morning the sun was beginning to light the way for a new day. I sat in my chair watching the city come alive as people began to scurry to work in hopes of beating rush hour.

I still held the bottle of Jack, which was empty. The alcohol had helped to steady my emotions by making my mind nearly lucid. I hadn’t moved, preferring to spend the night awake in an attempt to rid myself of the last images of Joanna that were incessantly flowing through my head.

I had tried to think of the times we had shared, but every time a good memory came to mind, all I could see was her bloody, savaged corpse half-covered by a black tarp. I finally had given up and decided to just drink myself into oblivion, but even that had failed. Though I was currently placid, I could feel the turmoil boiling just beneath the surface.

There was a soft knock on the door. I didn’t want to answer it but got up anyway. The walk to the door was a challenge, but I managed with only a slight waver in my step.

I opened the door and was surprised to find my mother on the threshold. She walked in and took me into her arms. Although a grown man, I couldn’t deny the comfort I felt of my mother’s touch. She pulled back, brushing her lips across my cheek.

“I heard about Joanna,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”
I shut the door. Realizing I was still holding the bottle of Jack, I walked over to put it on the kitchen counter. I tried hard to keep the stagger out of my step.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was tight with concern.
“I’m fine.” I was desperately trying to avoid eye contact.
She looked toward the bottle of Jack. “You don’t look fine.”
“What do you care? You and Dad never liked Joanna anyway!”
I had never before spoken to my mother in that tone. The pained look she gave nearly broke my heart.
“I’ll admit that we weren’t happy about her profession, but that didn’t mean we didn’t like her as a person.” Her voice cracked slightly with emotion. “You cared about her and that was good enough for us. And she thought theworld of you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I always had the impression that they hadn’t liked her. Maybe that was one of the reasons I had always held back in the relationship.
“I wouldn’t have wished what happened to her on my worst enemy,” she continued.
I remembered back to when I was seven and the conversation we had when my dog was killed by a car. She had that same look in her eyes, same tone in her voice: caring and tenderness.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Her eyes flashed to the bottle again.” Don’t do this to yourself again. Please.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really, I just need time.”
She nodded. “Your dad and I love you very much, Michael. If you need anything.”
“I know, Mom.” I smiled slightly. “You guys have always been there for me.”
She turned and opened the door.
“We always will be,” she said.
“I love you.”
If she was shocked to hear the words that I had failed to say for years, she gave no indication.
“I love you, too.” With that she was gone.
I turned and saw the little red light on the answering machine blinking at me insistently. I walked over to it and was about to push it when the phone rang. It was Harry.
“We need to talk,” he said. He sounded as tired and frustrated as I felt.
“So talk.”
“Can we meet somewhere?”
I glanced at the bottle of Jack. My stomach did a little flip-flop to remind me I hadn’t eaten.
“I can’t really leave right now. What’s up?”
There was a long pause before Harry finally spoke. “They just finished the preliminary autopsy,” he said. “I figured I’d tell you before you heard it from somewhere else.”
“Okay.” My mouth was dry, my head throbbing from the alcohol.
“Mike,” Harry said quietly, “Joanna was pregnant.”
The world stopped moving. I felt something inside me crack. Nothing mattered anymore. The darkness was burning through me at a quickening pace.
Harry was saying something else that I couldn’t quite make out. It was as if my body no longer operated like it should. I shut the phone off and dropped it on the floor.
The light on the answering machine was still calling me. Although at the moment I really didn’t care what it said, something was drawing me to push the button. So I did.
It was time stamped eleven o’clock the previous night.
“Hey sexy,” Joanna said, her voice crisp with excitement.” I just got off of work. I can’t wait to see you. I have something special to tell you. Call me when you get home. Love ya.”
It was like listening to a ghost. Her voice danced through my mind leaving nothing but haunted memories.
Pregnant.
I yanked the machine off the counter and threw it at the wall, shattering into several pieces that scattered across the room.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Vodka, then returned to my chair by the window. After several long swallows I noticed what a bright, beautiful day was beginning to come to life outside.
Pregnant.
I took another swig and let the darkness take me. Then I did something that I hadn’t done since my dog died when I was seven. I cried.

CHAPTER THREE

I sat watching pigeons pick through the drains in search of food. They seemed oblivious to the cars that sped by them as the afternoon drifted closer to rush hour. The sun was still high in the sky and hot, causing the car to feel like a sauna.

Harry sat next to me with his seat back and eyes closed. I could tell he wasn’t asleep by the way he was breathing. Harry had a strong tendency to snore. It had been a long day of surveillance and the heat was beginning to take its toll.

“So how’s therapy going?” Harry asked.
He hadn’t said much in the last couple of hours. His voice sounded a little raspy and dry.
I shrugged. “I’ve only had two sessions and both times I just sat there. I wasn’t sure what to say and she just stared at me like I was something to be examined.”
“So it isn’t helping at all?”
“I don’t see why I bother,” I said.
“Because you know you need it.”
I thought about that for a moment. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Noone wants to admit they’re on the edge of sanity. Maybe I should actually give it more of a chance at my next session.
“She’s hot though, isn’t she,” Harry said.
I looked over at him. His eyes were still closed, but a slight smile played on his lips. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want Harry to go into some fantasy about me having an affair with my therapist. Even though I reserved my comment from Harry, I personally thought she was smokin’. “You’ve seen her?” I asked instead.
“I know who she is.” He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about going into therapy myself.”
I laughed. “Why, because she’s hot?”
I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Harry sat up looked at me.
“I thought that you quit?” he mumbled.
“I did.”
He pulled the cigarette out of my mouth and threw it out the window. I hadn’t noticed before how tired and haggard he looked. I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t bothered to notice something had been on Harry’s mind.
I glanced up at the dark storm clouds that were quickly covering the blue sky, the effect making it look like an early dusk. Fat raindrops began to splatter the windshield.
“What’s up, Harry?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment before he turned to look out the side window.
I thought about rolling up the windows since the rain was beginning to come down harder, but the air was starting to cool as the fresh, damp air flowed through the car like wind tunnel.
Harry took a deep breath, which turned into a long sigh.
“I think Cindy’s having an affair,” he said.
“What?”
Of all things that could have been bothering him, that was the one thing I least expected.
“You guys have been married, what, twentyfive years?”
“Twenty next month.”
“Why would she do that now?” I asked.
Over the four years that we had been partners, I had spent a lot of time at the house… late dinners, holidays. I knew they didn’t have the perfect life, but I would have never thought that it would come to something like this. Cindy didn’t seem the type, but then who does?
Harry shrugged. “The other night I asked her where she was going. She told me she was going bowling with her friend Susan. About an hour after she had left, Susan called and wanted to talk to Cindy. I found out that they hadn’t talked in a couple of weeks because Susan had been out of town.”
Harry paused and we watched a young woman hurry across the street in front of us. She had on a short, tight skirt and a white silk blouse that was being assaulted by a rain that was gradually getting harder. After she turned the corner, he continued his story.
“When Cindy got home, I confronted her. She told me it was none of my business where she was, then went to bed. Rather than argue, I let it go. We haven’t said much to each other since.”
I looked at Harry for a moment trying to decide what to say. I was stuck between telling him my opinion of the subject and trying to support him as a friend. We had spent so much time together he was like part of my family, a brother. I hated to see him hurt.
“Look,” I finally said, “with this job, you’re hardly ever there, especially these last few months that we’ve been helping robbery. Can you really blame her?”
I waited for his reaction to that last part, but it didn’t seem to faze him.
“My kids don’t want anything to do with me,” he continued. “They act like I’m the antiChrist or something.”
“They’re teenagers.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s more than that.”
I wanted to say more, but I didn’t think he was in the mood to hear it. Although my life was in the dumpster, I hated to project negativity. I just hope that my luck wasn’t rubbing off on him like bad karma or some transferable disease.
Traffic was starting to pick up as it neared five o’clock. I had been hoping that if something was going to happen, it would happen before rush hour. I really didn’t feel like fighting through loads of people if something went down.
I watched a Camaro cut in front of a Volkswagen, almost clipping the front of the smaller Bug. The rain was nearly a downpour now. I finally rolled up the window, leaving it cracked enough to keep the fresh air circulating through the car.
My entire left side was wet. I assumed Harry’s right side was wet as well, but he gave no indication. I rolled his window up anyway.
“I should move to California and buy a condo,” Harry muttered, more to himself than me. “Get away from it all.”
“Why not buy a condo here? Move over to Clearwater or down to Ft. Myers. You can’t get away from anything in California.”
Harry snorted. “Can’t get away from anything here either. This town is really turning into a shit hole.”
Harry finally leaned back in his seat again, indicating he was done talking. I wondered where the California idea had came from but didn’t want to bug him anymore about it.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how right he was. The last ten years had been hard on Rockport. Located South of Tampa and East of St. Petersburg, Rockport sat snuggled up on the shores of Tampa Bay, two hundred fifty thousand residents and growing.
Rockport could compete with neither, but like the other two, continued to grow at an alarming rate. The whole Bay area was experiencing a boom, but Rockport was seeing very little benefit.
The whole state of Florida was being run over by tourists who decided to stay. It didn’t take them long to realize that it wasn’t just fun in the sun; life goes on like any other city. There were jobs to work - though in Rockport’s case they were becoming slim
- and bills to pay. In most cases the bills far outweighed the income.
I sighed a