The XXX Files Season One (Episodes 1-4) Page 2

  Grayson shook her head. “Not at all. Keeps me honest, which is what you need to be when working Division 13.”

  “Ah,” Brad said smiling, “I see what you’re doing. You wouldn’t say it even if you did care. You think we’re actually being watched right this second.”

  Brad looked into the rearview mirror, raised his middle finger to whoever might be watching, not that he thought anyone really was. For as paranoid as his partner was, Brad knew that budget cuts meant that it would be impossible to track them to such an extent unless there was good reason to do so. Sure, their phones and computers were tracked, traced, and recorded, but nobody gave a shit what they were doing in their car. Hell, of those who even knew it existed, few even cared about Division 13.

  Division 13 was a mostly secret division within the FBI that investigated paranormal sex crimes. Oftentimes they worked hand-in-hand with Division 51, which investigated non-sexual paranormal cases. For some reason, Division 51 was a respected group which many agents aspired to join, while Division 13 was considered something of a joke, since most paranormal sex cases turned out to be of the delusional crackpot variety. Most, but not all.

  And it was the real cases that made the work rise above being a joke. Cases where they could help bring closure to people’s lives or help the guilty to justice.

  Sex was the one thing in the world that everyone was interested in. Yet few admitted exactly how much they were interested, which meant it seeped into every crevice of life, and bubbled beneath the surface like a brewing volcano. It was in that soft, pink underbelly where Hammer and Grayson got most of their cases. Sure, they had to deal with horny ghosts and aliens, and even a Bigfoot in heat every once in a while, but those were the sorts of cases that were reported at the fringes, then dripped into the culture, schlocked up, with their truth twisted into unbelievable tabloid cover stories, Internet B-Movies, and trashy eBooks.

  Division 13 had plenty of more ordinary cases, too. The sort where the circumstances of the sex crime were just odd enough to defy explanation, like the case they’d been brought to Atlanta to solve.

  They arrived at the hotel just as the sun peeked out from the clouds for the first time since they landed at the airport that morning.

  No one could explain the crime scene, but anyone who had seen the far side of puberty knew what they found in the hotel room wasn’t humanly possible. At least not human alone.

  “Got nothing to say?” Grayson turned to Brad, wrapping up their ‘Agent Ball-gag’ conversation. “Have I really finally shut Agent Hammer up? I thought you were the man with the 10 mile tongue.”

  Brad grinned like the rascal he was, then said, “No chance, Grayson. I was just thinking. I do that every once in a while whether I need to or not, you know, just to keep the gears moving.” He tapped the side of his head.

  Grayson tried not to smile, but Brad saw it anyway. She turned the Lincoln into the hotel roundabout, then pulled up to the front valet. “You ready for this?” she asked, gesturing toward the mob of cops and reporters crowding the entrance of the St. Regis Hotel.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Cool it, Hammer.”

  Grayson had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like he would charge from the Lincoln and start clocking reporters. Not again, anyway.

  “I’m fine,” he said, loosening his tie and scowling out the window. “But this is the sorta shit that makes a hard job a helluva lot harder. I’d like to know why we can keep pregnant werewolves from hitting the six-o’clock news, but this pedestrian crap gets the paparazzi posse? Is it so hard to keep simple shit quiet?”

  Grayson didn’t need to say a word, Hammer already knew what she was thinking. Of course it was hard to keep the simple shit quiet. Much harder. It was as easy to clean up a pregnant werewolf as it was to bury anything paranormal. It was easy to discount witnesses of paranormal events as crackpots and often just as easy to convince witnesses that what they ‘thought they saw’ wasn’t what they really saw. And if the news agencies happened to get some scent of truth, Division had a way of burying most stories. Everyone had skeletons in their closets, even reporters. And those that didn’t, well, they usually had a friend or family member with skeletons. In other words, everyone had something they wanted to keep quiet, and most times that was enough to shut down the stories.

  But stuff like this, news that got out ahead of them, was the shit that made their job harder. There was no way to control a mob of reporters.

  Grayson put the car in park and turned to Brad. “Seven dead humans, all naked, in a $800 a night room, with all four walls completely covered in cum? You know the local cops couldn’t keep that quiet, Hammer. Someone was gonna talk.”

  The agents stepped from the Lincoln, then flashed their badges to the cop standing guard in front of the hotel and entered the lobby.

  “Top floor I imagine?” Brad said, half-way to the elevator.

  Grayson nodded.

  They crossed the hallway, nodded at the two officers standing guard in front of the private elevator, then rode the lift to the top floor. They sent the two officers standing in front of the hotel room door downstairs, then repeated the order for the four inside.

  Both agents had seen a lot of crime scenes, some with enough DNA evidence to blind you when you clicked on the black light. But they’d never seen anything like this.

  “You ever seen anything like this before?” he turned to Grayson.

  She looked around the room, shaking her head.

  “Not even when you worked Utah?”

  Agent Grayson shook her head. Her eyes were fixed on the wall. She walked across the room, stopping just inches away. Then she put on her gloves and ran her pointer finger in a long line down a six foot length of hardened semen.

  Brad muttered, “What the fuck?” under his breath, then started combing the room.

  The room smelled like gallons of sex and a sprinkle of death. There was semen everywhere, coating the inner thighs of all six female victims, along with their breasts and mouths. It even glazed the face of the man in the middle of the harem, the scientist who had to be the center of it all.

  They wouldn’t know without lab work, whether all the spunk had been shot from the one scientist’s sack, but there were no other men in the room, and the hotel had no record of anyone else coming or going from the private elevator.

  Grayson was kneeling next to one of the women, a leggy blond with store-bought tits. The agent’s face was in her pussy, until she turned around and looked up at Brad. “Have you seen this?” she asked.

  Brad squatted, then whistled. “Looks like salmon pounded with a mallet.”

  She shot him her usual look, ignoring the crude remark.

  “How many times would you say this guy shot his wad?” Hammer asked.

  “That’s what I can’t get my head around,” Grayson said. “Several dozen at least. But there had to be other guys in here. An orgy gone wrong?”

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so. Usually with orgies, you’ve also got lots of food, drinks, drugs, and other stuff laying around. These people look like they were here to do one thing and one thing only.”

  “It could’ve been ghosts,” Grayson suggested.

  Brad shook his head again. “That doesn’t make any sense. The girls were too willing. No signs of resistance. Besides when have you ever seen spectral spunk that thick? It looks like they were filming Big Bang Bukakee Seven and Eight back-to-back in here.”

  Grayson shot him another dirty look. Brad said, “What? You don’t like the series?”

  “No,” she said dryly, “I stopped watching after Number Four. After a while, it just felt like they were recycling plot-lines.”

  Brad laughed, then held up the locked black briefcase, the only thing in the room not covered in cum. Brad had found it tucked neatly in the back of the closet. “I’m sure the answer’s in here. So do we report the briefcase to Division, then head over to Helix, or do we forget for a little while, until we see
how deep we can dig.”

  Brad was hoping Grayson wouldn’t think it was worth the fight. For once, it wasn’t. She didn’t even reach for her cell. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, heading toward the door. She called the Division’s lab geeks, who had been held up at the airport to see when they’d get there.

  “Forensics will be here in about 20 minutes, and I don’t feel like waiting, so let’s get going. We’ll catch up with them later.”

  Brad followed Agent Grayson out the door, to the elevator, and out of the hotel, happy to leave the company of six naked women for the first time in his life.

  XXX

  The male victim’s name was Richard Madsen, a 58 year old employee of Helix Pharmaceuticals and Advancements, just as he had been for the last 29 years. Helix was one of those giant corporations with their hands in everything from medicine to military defense, so Brad could already feel the clusterfuck it would be working the case. Companies with that much money, power, and connections, didn’t exactly play by the same rules as everyone else.

  No one was willing to say what Madsen had been working on at Helix, at least not over the phone. They were sure as shit trying to hide something, which irritated the holy hotbox out of Grayson, but Brad figured the climax was always better when you had to work it.

  Sure enough, the agents were expected. Before Grayson even killed the engine, there was a tall man with a beaming smile and floppy hair trotting toward the Lincoln to meet them.

  “How do you do?” he said, running his left hand through his hair as he held out his right. “I’m Arthur Rothstein, Head of Public Affairs for Helix. Truly terrific to meet you. I regret it’s under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  Brad stepped in front of Grayson and gave Rothstein his right hand. “I’m Agent Hammer,” he said. He turned to Courtney. “This is my partner, Agent Grayson.”

  “Thank you for helping us out with this,” Rothstein said, as though the agents had agreed to help him move a sofa. “We’re all so distraught about what’s happened with Dr. Madsen. If there’s anything any of us can do, please let us know.”

  Brad said, “Well, first we need a list of employees who worked in any capacity with Mr. Madsen, along with contact info.”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified information,” Rothstein said. “I can however introduce you to the employees who worked closest with Mr. Madsen. I will, however, need to be present, to make sure no confidential information is revealed.”

  “Of course,” Brad said offering a thin smile. This guy seemed more lawyer than PR douchebag, and Brad could tell things were gonna get ugly quick if he didn’t bite his tongue at least a little more than usual.

  “I’m certain you understand the need for discretion, Agent Hammer. Our research here is quite sensitive and much of it’s classified.” His smile thinned. “I’m quite sure things are similar where you come from. I assure you that classified materials aside, we at Helix are at your disposal.”

  Grayson thanked the PR douchebag.

  Rothstein said to follow him, then led them to Dr. Madsen’s research team and nearly four hours of bullshit interviews that didn’t yield a single minute of anything worth giving a fuck about.

  After finishing an interview with a dipshit scientist who looked slightly older than Bob Hope and nearly as dead, wasting nine minutes Brad would never have back telling him about Helix’s first experiments back in the 60‘s. He surrendered, thanked the scientist for his time, then stepped from the lab and turned to Grayson.

  “Listen, Grayson. I don’t want to argue about this so I’m just gonna do it. You can yell at me on the way back to the hotel. But something is going on here, and whatever it is got Madsen killed. I want answers, and they’re going to be infinitely harder to get once we leave here. They were prepared for us this morning, but not nearly as prepared as they will be when we return with a court order. I need you to cover for me, it’s now or never.”

  Because Grayson knew she couldn’t argue, she didn’t. She went on with the interviews while Hammer slipped back into the lab, asked the receptionist to show him the bathroom, then entered the little boy’s room feeling the eyes of the receptionist, a few wandering scientists, and the hallway cameras on him.

  Brad took a piss in the urinal, then left it stewing at the bottom just to prove he had been there, then headed back to reception, patting himself down and slapping a worried expression on his face.

  “I left my cell in the lab,” he said to the receptionist. “Would you mind going and getting it for me?” She eyed him suspiciously.

  “Look,” he leaned across the reception area with his arms on the counter. “I know you’re just doing your job, and I don’t want to get you in any trouble. So you don’t have to let me in. But I’m positive I left it on the lab table in Dr. Foster’s hall. It was stupid, really. I shouldn't have taken it out of my pocket, not during the interview, but I was expecting a call from my mom.” Brad met her eyes, and held them. “She’s a little sick right now and I’m expecting some news. Anyway,” he shook his head, “I can’t leave without my phone. My life’s on that thing, plus the casework. I could lose my job.”

  She said, “I could lose my job if I leave the reception desk.”

  Brad leaned in closer and gave her the look that hadn’t failed him once since mid 2008. “It’ll take two minutes,” he said. “Tops. If it’s not where I think it is, I’ll leave immediately.”

  The receptionist smiled, said okay almost like she didn’t have a choice, then buzzed Brad into the lab. Of course it was on the lab table in Dr. Foster’s hall, exactly where he set the dummy cell phone he always “accidentally” left behind.

  Once in the lab Brad immediately looked for Dr. Jacobs, the one scientist who seemed like he had looser lips than the lab liked. Sure enough, it was only a minute back into the conversation when the good doctor spilled a lead.

  “Sorry to waste any more of your time,” Brad said, “but Arthur sent me back to follow up with a few questions. What were you saying the last time we spoke?”

  Brad looked at Dr. Jacobs patiently, waiting for him to pick up where he never left off. After a long couple of minutes, and a little more prodding from Brad, suggesting he might be able to lead him to someone closer to Madsen, Dr. Jacobs suddenly lit up and said, “If I were you I would check with Ms. Monroe.”

  “Ms. Monroe? You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Brad said, even though he was. “Why do you think we should check with Ms. Monroe?”

  “Because Willow and Dr. Madsen seemed especially close. She was his secretary and all, but a lot of us in the lab thought there was more going on than that, you know. Then she quit out of nowhere just a bit ago, and did it over the phone. That’s pretty weird, and a lot of coincidence you’d have to admit, considering what happened.” Dr. Jacobs delivered the last part in a whisper.

  Brad shook his head. “No argument from me, Dr. Jacobs.” He glanced up at the wall and noticed the red light on the camera aimed directly at him. He winked and saluted. He thanked Dr. Jacobs for his time, left the lab, and was met by Rothstein as soon as he stepped on the other side of the door.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Rothstein said, gently taking him by the arm.

  “Sure thing, Artie. No reason to get all handsy, at least not without a few drinks in me,” Brad said with a wink that painted Artie’s face in discomfort.

  Rothstein stood glaring, and said, “We have been extremely accommodating, Mr. Hammer, but our kindness ends here. If you don’t have a court order on you right now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”

  “I’m already gone,” Brad winked at Rothstein. “Come on, Agent Grayson.”

  Brad walked down the long hall, then stepped inside the elevator and rode it four floors to the lobby, then crossed the parking lot and climbed into the passenger side of the Lincoln, Grayson by his side the entire time.

  “I’m going back in,” Brad said as so
on as she slammed the car door.

  “No, you’re not,” she shook her head, started the engine, then pulled from the parking space.

  “They’re burying bullshit in there,” Brad said, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Don’t tell me you can’t smell it.”

  “Of course I can smell it,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to scrape it from my shoe while the world is watching. That’s the difference between me and you, Hammer. I’m discreet. You, well, let’s just say you’re not.”

  Brad ignored her, and told Grayson all about the scientist’s secretary, Willow Monroe, who had mysteriously quit over the phone. Grayson agreed it was a lead worth following, so Hammer looked up her address, then told Grayson to hit the highway and head west. Just as she pulled onto the onramp, Brad’s cell started to buzz. He looked at the screen. It was their superior, Mike Cooper.

  “Hammer here.”

  “Pack it up, we need you back at HQ.”

  “What? We just got here,” Brad said.

  “I heard about your little stunt at Helix.”

  “Wow, news travels fast, eh?” Brad said.

  “Forensics is on the scene, you did your interviews, just bring back what you’ve got, and we’ll handle it from here.”

  “What the fuck? I’ve got leads to follow, follow-up interviews, I’m not even hours into this and you’re acting like we’re a week in,” Brad said.

  “It’s not a request, Agent Hammer.”

  “Just let me follow up one more lead,” Brad said.

  “I don’t want you going back to Helix,” Cooper said, hesitating slightly. Cooper was a team player, and bowed at the first orders from above, but he had just enough balls to allow Brad a bit of leniency so long as it wouldn’t blow back on him.

  “I promise, I’m not going back to Helix. We’ve got a potential witness. We’re tracking her down now.”

  “I’m not authorizing this. I want you back here tomorrow. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal clear,” Brad said and hung up.

  Before Brad was even finished with the phone call, Grayson was merging over to pull off the highway.