Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense by Fynn Perry (popular romance novels TXT) 📗

“That’s pretty much the size of it. Except I have my doubts that the counterfeit one is made by a different manufacturer. The heroin is so pure in both, and the look is so exact, that I think the pills could have come from the same place.”

Lazlo pondered this for a moment but was unable to find any good reason why anyone would want to produce a dangerous counterfeit of their own product. He looked at Genna, who by his expression had clearly also drawn a blank. “Good work, Richard. Send me a copy of the film, please.”

Lazlo left the lab. Despite the effects of the drink still not having fully worn off, he now had a moment of clarity: Mark Kendrick must have taken one of the rogue pills. His sister’s account of witnesses reporting his aggressive behavior at DNA, together with the signs on his body at the crematorium, that he had been violently restrained seemed consistent with this theory.

Fifteen

John waited until 11:00 p.m., before setting off to Mayhem. He had been to the Meatpacking District before and knew it to be an area of Manhattan where former slaughterhouses had been converted into trendy bars and shops. They appeared edgy, vibrant, and exciting because some of the old buildings were still there, standing shoulder to shoulder with the new, reminding visitors of the murderous, crime-ridden history of the place. And its spirit legacy was thriving amid the nightlife buzz.

He felt his heart racing, as he had no choice but to go through the crowded streets, avoiding the possessed and threatening spirits that seemed to appear at every turn. He needed a host in order to feel safe, but he had to first get closer to the club to pick a host who looked on the point of entering it.

Mayhem deserved its description as one of the largest clubs in New York. Another former meat-production facility, it was located on a corner, with its brick façade extending nearly a block in each direction. He walked closer and saw a queue had formed outside the main doors. It was still early and the serious club-goers hadn’t joined yet, so the line wasn’t long. He didn’t want to possess anyone right there and then on the main drag, so he looked down one of the side alleys and noticed a couple walking toward him with no spirits nearby. They looked dressed up, in what was mainly preppy attire, which suggested they were heading to a club. John moved closer to them to find out for sure.

“So, you definitely told them Mayhem?” the woman asked.

“I did,” the guy said, his tone sour with annoyance.

John had heard enough and possessed the guy a second later. His new host’s back stiffened momentarily.

It happened just long enough for his partner to notice. “What’s wrong with you now, Mike?”

“Nothing!” John’s host retaliated. John could feel that a sense of resentment towards his partner was emerging.

The couple weren’t well-known enough to get in without queuing. The only positive about this was that it gave John enough time to assess the doormen and to ascertain that they were not possessed.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, they finally were let into the club. The previously muted sound of energetic dance music now hit them in bursts, at full volume, every time someone passed through a set of swinging doors at the end of a brick-lined passage, where John’s host paid the admission fee at a small window.

On the other side of the doors was a darkened, expansive area marked by a row of enormous, connected screens running along its perimeter walls––all showing the same abstract pattern of white lines on a black background which seemed to change in rhythm with the sledgehammer bass that reverberated through the floor. The huge dance floor was already over half full with a mass of bobbing heads and raised arms, illuminated by the sweeping beams of overhead searchlights. Above the crowds of dancers hung a gigantic neon sign. It was a depiction of an ascending Christ but with one significant change–––instead of displaying open palms, this messiah was holding an Uzi machine gun in each hand. John would have found the blatant nod to El Gordito’s criminal activities amusing had he not thought immediately of Juan Santiago and Jennifer’s description of his features as being Jesus-like.

John’s host and his girlfriend walked along the edge of the dance floor and through a doorway to a quieter side area with better lighting and an extravagantly long bar. The walls were bare brickwork and the floors and ceiling covered in reclaimed wood, which Jennifer had read had originally come from one of the iconic water towers in the district. Hanging from the ceiling were rows of antique meat hooks, each carrying a soft-glowing lightbulb, and the bar itself seemed to be made from salvaged wooden butcher’s blocks. More of El Gordito’s black humor, John thought.

Perching themselves on wrought-iron stools, the couple ordered drinks. John tuned out from their mundane discussion, taking the opportunity to look around whenever Mike sneaked a look at other women.

A text arrived on the guy’s phone, announcing that their friends were late and would arrive in forty minutes.

An hour passed and there was still no sign of them. John’s host needed to go to the restroom and both he and John were glad to avoid further conversation.

The club had filled up now and Mike was in closer proximity to more sweaty bodies, and John to more spirits than they would like, as his host approached the corridor to the restroom. To one side of this corridor, pressed up against the wall, John noticed a guy in a long coat carrying out a succession of what looked like hand-to-hand dime bag transactions with a queue of willing buyers. The handover was fast and the drugs remained well hidden each time until one less-dexterous buyer dropped his purchase and