Dean let himself sleep in to early evening before doing a run through the construction yard. He practiced doing different vaults over the various fences before doing a set of deadlifts with cinder blocks. He ran the fight at Mu Theta Pi house through his head. He needed to improve his striking. Maybe he could practice on Dillon Dawley.
For his second hour of exercise, Dean went to a coffee shop. As he checked mug shots over a cup of coffee, he practiced his eavesdropping. He picked random patrons and focused in on their conversations without looking up. He practiced his shoulder surfing technique, trying to guess what people were typing on their laptops by the movements of their fingers.
Several of the Mu Theta Pi brothers were among the mugshots. Their charges ranged from resisting arrest to minor in possession. There were no charges that looked related to Alana Favors, but the high bond amounts implied that the arresting officers were investigating them for further charges. He made a note of the names of the ones he fought. Quinn Fleming, Aaron Watkins, Jerome Russo. Three he had fought weren't arrested, and looked like several others he didn't recognized were caught up. He couldn't be sure everyone at the house shared in the responsibility, but those that knew what was going on joined Cody Bianca, Michael Bailey, and Dillon Dawley. Dean recorded their faces and memorized their names.
They were getting out of his city one way or another.
There was an article about an officer injured in a campus area shooting, but neither Mu Theta nor Alan Favors was named. The police had not named a suspect. A local warrant check showed negative for Dillon Dawley, but first degree felony warrants were not public record. He looked Dawley up on the District Clerk's website to exploit a loophole. His name showed an entry, but the record was blank. This showed that they created a record on him, but that it was confidential, meaning either a search or arrest warrant.
The heat was on Dawley. Dean turned his attention to Bianca and Bailey. There was no activity on Bianca's laptop or Bailey's phone. The keylogger installed on the laptop in Bailey's jeep had some activity. The program only showed which keys had been pressed, not mouse movement or screenshots. They tended to reveal outgoing emails, instant messages, and browser search terms.
14:02 vccu atms
14:05 sport stores victors crossing
14:07 baseball bats
14:15 need show id to by ammo
14:16 in victors crossing
14:20 hardware store victors crossing
14:31 sm gear victors crossing
There was no activity in the last six hours. Dean packed up and left the coffee shop. On the way home he listened to the recorder he had placed in Bailey's jeep. The recorder was voice activated.
Sintalia: "Fuck! Fucking, gah!" A horn rang out several times, followed by weeping.
Sintalia: "Learn to fucking drive!"
Sintalia: "Oh god. Oh my god."
Sintalia: "Hey, baby. Yeah, Sin. Who says I want anything? I just wanted ... yeah, look. I've had a rough night and I haven't slept, and I just don't want to go home right now. I just wanted to...fine. Yeah. Fine. Fine! Fuckin.."
Sintalia: "Hey, girl, it's Sin. Is it cool if.. fuck you, too, dyke!"
Sintalia: Crying. "Please, don't hang up. I've been in this house and they chained me up like a dog and I had to crap on the floor and like half a frat house raped me and I think he was a bum but he let me out and .. OK. OK. Yeah. Thank you thank you thank you."
Sintalia: "..better left some fucking cigarettes after all that."
Unknown female: "If you're not going to get rid it, park it somewhere else."
Sintalia: "What, like they're going to report me? Fuck them. What's this?"
Unknown female: "Find anything?"
Sintalia: "Muthfuckin' payday!"
Sintalia, sirens in background: "Shit shit shit shit"
Male voice over a bullhorn: "Driver, step out of the vehicle."
Michael Bailey: "Goddamn it! That fucking bitch!"
Michael Bailey: "Yeah, it's gone. What, you want me to ask the fucking police where it is? Either the police, the hole, or the guy that took your car. How the fuck is this my fault? You were there! Jesus, chill out. Dude. Dude, chill. Bro. OK, that's fucking crazy. I'm out, this is not my problem anymore."
Michael Bailey: "Jesus!"
Bleeding Skull: "Hello, Michael Bailey."
He stopped there. Sintalia found something of value of Bailey's jeep, probably drugs. From the sound of it they belonged to, or were paid for by, someone other than Bailey. Probably Dawley, based on the texts he had seen earlier. Bailey is looking to buy baseball bats and ammunition. It could be to defend himself. Or to go after Sintalia.
Dean got off the bus at the next stop, outside of a strip mall. He logged into the wifi using the password "guest" at one of the nearby businesses and checked the GPS history from Bailey's jeep during the period of time Sintalia had it. From 8 AM to 2 PM it was parked outside of the Canterbury Downs apartments. Dean checked the bus schedule.
He set up on the third floor of a parking garage that was under construction across from Canterbury Downs. Bailey's jeep was not in the parking lot. There was a separate entrance and exit, both with automatic gates. Based on the recordings, this was likely the residence of one of Sintalia's friends, and where she stashed the goods from Bailey's jeep. Unless she'd moved it, or safer yet left town. But in case she hadn't, Bleeding Skull would keep watch for at least that night.
He watched the parking lot through binoculars. He scanned faces entering or exiting cars for anyone familiar. Residents stepped outside their apartments to smoke cigarettes or talk on the phone. An argument broke out at the swimming pool. There was a minor fender bender as a driver entered in the gate code.
The activity had waned by 2 AM. Dean trained himself to recognize the sound of the whirring motors of the automatic gates. He rolled his hoodie into a pillow and caught some sleep.
Three cars entered before 5 AM, each time snapping him awake. Still no sign of Bailey or Sintalia. Traffic exiting the parking lot began to pick up. Dean tried passwords until he was able to log on to a resident's wifi. He checked the keylogger on Bianca's computer.
03:49 mbianca94@vcu.edu
03:49 mikeDominus1
03:55 Thats some gayass shit! Ur fucked up, Dillon. Srsly dont ever contact me again!
04:02 mbianca94@vcu.edu
04:02 mikeDominus1
04:02 dumassdd1
04:02 dumassdd1
Bianca was paranoid enough to change his email password, but not enough to check for spyware. Dean logged into the VCU webserver and checked through Bianca's email. There were a couple of notes from his classmates wanting to know where he was, and a message to contact the student advisor immediately.
Nothing in his inbox or trash, but Bianca forgot to delete his sent items.
From: mbianca94@vcu.edu
To: domicidekilla@woef.com
Thats some gayass shit! Ur fucked up, Dillon. Srsly dont ever contact me again!
From domicidekilla@woef.com 02:07 AM
CHECK THIS SHIT OUT1 I GOT HM SO HE PISES IN HIS MOUTH!!!
attachments:
upurassfag.jpg
pissfacelol.jpg
vanguishedhole.jpg
Dean switched back to the keylogger on the laptop in Bailey's jeep.
21:23 how to widen asshole
21:43 baseball bat asshole
21:46 baseball bat ass fuck
22:05 can you die from up asshole
22:10 perforated colon
22:13 signs of perforated colon
22:15 how long can you hang upside down
22:16 die from bondage
22:32 forced urination
22:36 forced urnation how to
23:05 upurassfag
23:22 pissfacelol
23:26 vanguishedhole
02:07 CHECK THIS SHIT OUT1 I GOT HM SO HE PISES IN HIS MOUTH!!!
The same email to Bianca. Dawley was using this computer.
03:11 what can turn u gay
03:32 can u turn into a fag
03:40 signs u are gay
04:15 FUK U!! UR THE FAG!!!! ILL FUCK YOUR ASS RED FAGGOTY!!!
04:36 how to stop anal bleeding
Dean shut his netbook and scaled down from his perch. He ran to a bus stop across the street and reconnected to the keylogger.
04:41 how much blood human body
04:46 in a jiffys victors crossing
04:48 24 hour chinese victors crossing
04:50 Wok A Wokka
04:52 10402 Preutt Ln
04:52 victors crossing 25178
04:52 241548228
04:53 Michael Bailey
04:53 7456228678749865
04:53 997
04:53 Call at door
Dawley had ordered delivery on Bailey's credit card. Doesn't look good for Bailey. Dean made an anonymous 911 call on a disposal phone. "Dillon Dawley shot a cop yesterday. He's at 10402 Preutt." He hung up before the questions.
He planned a route by bus. One transfer from downtown would do it. Three minutes until the next bus came, another seven minutes to get off downtown. Dean found another wireless connection and did some recon. 10402 Pruett had been a carpet wholesaler. There were several real estate listings, but no evidence it was currently open.
Twenty minutes on the next bus. He got off two blocks from his destination, and noticed several police cars prowling the area. Meaning they hadn’t found him yet
"Call at door". If Dawley wasn't at the closed carpet wholesaler, he was nearby. Or drove and parked his car.
Dean sat under the bus stop rain shelter and tried to get another connection. Only two networks, and the usually lazy passwords didn't get him in. He checked the list of Lloyd Dawley's real estate listings he had on his hard drive. Nothing in the area. All of the listings were residential. He could have more property under a business or trust's name.
Dean left his hood down and shuffled away from the bus shelter. VCPD were looking for a college student, so a homeless addict would fly under the radar. He walked in a decreasing spiral starting four blocks away from the carpet wholesaler. Most of the properties were commercial, but no storefronts. A print shop, an herbal remedy wholesaler, an incense distributor. Many empty properties and leasing signs.
He found an warehouse with a sign: For Lease, contact Dawley and Fletcher Properties. The front windows were boarded up. Dean circled to the back. Michael Bailey's jeep was parked behind a dumpster. He came back to the front and looked for the street address. He called in another tip to 911 and gave the front entrance a couple of strong kicks. "VCPD! Open up!" Dean unfolded his mask from his rolled up jean’s cuff and pulled it over his face.
Bleeding Skull ran around the outside of the warehouse again to a broken out window covered with a tarp. With a running start he drove himself through the tarp feet first, landing hard on the cement inside. He crouched low and took in the room. He was in an office off of the main storage area, bare except for some flattened cardboard boxes and cobwebs.
Bleeding Skull darted through the doorway out into a maze of rotting crates and pallets. He heard shuffling footsteps and murmuring coming from the entrance, moving towards the noise he had made in his entry. Bleeding Skull silently circled around, keeping stacks of crates between him and the movement. He heard some muffled groaning from the center of the warehouse. Tracks in the dust showed the crates had been recently relocated, creating a nest. He vaulted over a stack of crates and landed in something wet. He found Michael Bailey.
A length of chain hung from a rafter. The other end connected to a series of chains and straps that suspended Bailey upside down, arms behind him, legs akimbo. Bailey was naked. His mouth was covered with a strip of duct tape. One eye was swollen shut. Crusting blood dried over much of his body. A handle of a baseball bat was sticking out between his legs.
Bleeding Skull tentatively took hold of the bat, but the slightest touch started muffled screams, Bailey's one eye opening wide.
"I can't get this out without hurting you," Bleeding Skull whispered. "Help is on..."
Dillon Dawley burst through a stack of boxes. He was wearing boxer shorts and a pair of socks. Something was wrong with his eyes. His skin was smeared with something. He pointed a revolver at Bleeding Skull.
Bleeding Skull threw himself away from Bailey, into a stack of cardboard boxes that proved to be empty. The revolver roared, followed by metallic clatter and a string of curses from Dawley. Bleeding Skull picked himself up on the other side of the nest and started running. He grabbed a rotting pallet and flung it at the ceiling, shattering a row of bare fluorescent light tubes.
"I'll fucking kill you!" yelled Dawley, stumbling over the pile of cardboard boxes, revolver in hand. Bleeding Skull had turned two corners by then. A crate went up into another row of lights. The only remaining light in the warehouse came from the sides of the tarps covering the windows.
If the police were outside, they would need probable cause to come in. He needed more gun shots. "Dawley!" he called out, mocking, then ran to change his position. Another shot roared out, followed again by clattering metal. Dawley was dropping the pistol with each firing.
Bleeding Skull let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He saw Dawley scrambling on the ground, then stomping back to where Bailey was hanging. Bleeding Skull heard a wet sound, muffled screams, and something pouring on the ground.
"Get out here, fag!" Dawley screamed. "I'll show you what happens when you face a conqueror!"
Dawley tripped over crates and boxes on the way to a window. He pulled a tarp down, lighting parting of the warehouse. He stalked the rows of crates, stained baseball bat held over his head.
Bleeding Skull waited for Dawley to pass underneath him before dropping down from the metal rafters, grabbing the bat on his way down. His hands slipped off the aluminum, a foul stench transferring to his fingers. He dropped hard on the floor, and as he stood up he was met by the bat slicing a glancing blow across his left temple.
Bleeding Skull rolled with the blow, rolled backwards on the floor, and came up prepared for the next swing. He caught Dawley's wrists and tried to trap his arms, but Dawley's slippery skin slipped out of his grasp. Bleeding Skull stayed in close quarters, too close for the bat, but too close to the upsetting fluids covering Dawley.
Bleeding Skull swiveled and alternated elbows into Dawley's jaw. Dawley barely noticed. He grabbed a handful of hair under Bleeding Skull's hood, tilted his head back, and raised his bat. Bleeding Skull tried to squeeze a pressure point in Dawley's wrist, but his thumb slid off. He gave up and kicked Dawley in the balls. Dawley ignored it and brought the bat down. He was too close, the bat came down behind his target.
Bleeding Skull took a step back, the hair straining at his scalp, and snapped a heart punch to Dawley's sternum. Dawley kept his grip. He snapped a forward kick into Dawley's armpit, almost knocking it out of its socket. Dawley barely grunted, but he lost his grip on Bleeding Skull's hair.
Dawley was on something. It would take time to bring him down. Time Bailey didn't have. Bleeding Skull pulled away and ran to a window, pulling off a tarp. It opened into the back parking lot. There were no police cars outside.
Dawley blinded charged, bat raised high. Bleeding Skull side stepped it at the last moment, letting the bat shatter the glass. He darted across the warehouse towards another set of windows, Dawley lumbering behind him in pursuit. He tripped on a pallet, his chin hitting hard on the cement floor. Bleeding Skull made it to another tarp. He ripped the tarp down and flung it towards Dawley.
Dawley swung his bat at the tarp, but its weight knocked it out of his slippery hands. He reached down to retrieve the bat. The new light from the exposed window illuminated his revolver on ground. He picked it up and scanned the warehouse for his enemy. The masked man was nowhere to be seen, but he found a new enemy in the police officer cupping his hands over his eyes at the window trying to look inside.
Dawley fired, the bullet shattering glass but hitting wide of his target. The revolver again slipped out of his hands. The police officer stumbled backwards as he drew his own pistol. More gunshots and broken glass. A door was kicked in.
VCPD was eager to take Dawley in. They didn't call in SWAT.
"Get away from the gun!"
"On the floor!"
"God, I'm doing it!"
"Down, now!"
Some scuffling and breaking wood.
"Jesus, what the fuck is this shit?"
"You cuff him, you've already got it on you."
"I submit!"
"Shut up!"
"Oh, fuck. Dispatch, we need an ambulance to 10300 block Industrial, ASAP. Joey, you got bolt cutters in your unit?"
"Yeah, I think so. Why do... Jesus!"
"Yeah."
"You think that's our tipster?"
"I think that guy's been there a while."
"What the fuck you do that for?"
"Joey, don't ask him any questions? Let him volunteer it so it's admissible."
Dawley's sobs took a turn to laughter. "Look at that fucking hole! Fucking fag!"
"Get him in the back of your unit so we can get ready for the EMTs."
"Fucking let go, fag! I'll fuck all your asses!"
"Calm down, tough guy. I thought you submitted already."