Brutal Honesty-Part Nine

Treali Storm had done this. Only twenty-four hours ago, the notorious killer had walked into her mansion without invitation, after over four decades of absence. Storm had handed her the photocopies without a word, and then invited her, or blackmailed her, rather, to arrange a situation in which her hired killer would meet with Casie Schwartz. But why Casie, of all people? Because she had been assigned to this case?

The woman didn't know. She had three daughters, each of them crazy in their own sense. One had moved to Hollywood, one into the street, and the last to Washington D.C. She herself had felt the need to finish her life with a flourish, to end her bitter grudges-through murder. But why did someone she had never met, why did this infamous murderer wish a contract killer to meet with Casie Schwartz?

She might never know. The door opened, and her husband announced "I'm home, honey." She didn't respond. The tear rolled down her cheek and dripped off her chin. How could someone walk brazenly into her home and threaten her like that? Make her provide information she didn't want to give out? Well, Storm had had the papers. And she knew what they were. How could she live with herself if her husband and daughters found out what she had been doing her whole life? How they had accumulated the family wealth, little by little, over the years? For a moment, she regretted doing what she had done, but it was only a moment.

She wanted, more than anything else, to protect her family. And if certain people needed to die in order to do it, then so be it. But Casie Schwartz wasn't one of them. At least not yet. And hopefully, she wouldn't have to be. The woman was ruthless. But she wouldn't kill any more than she had to.

Casie Schwartz was sitting in a meeting room at the Hoover Building. She didn't know what to do, really. Well, now she knew who the killer was. But the more important question was who was behind the killer. Dimitri had been paid to kill these people. But why? And by whom? She looked up. Kelsy O'Donnell was standing beside her. She nodded, giving Casie the signal to begin.

"I'd like to start by thanking you all for coming here today," Casie said. The room was full of agents working on the case, and even a few reporters. How'd they get in here? Casie thought for a second and then moved on. "I would like to announce a significant breakthrough in the case you've all been following and working on so hard. We now know who the killer is."

The room was dead silent, despite the crowd.

"Dimitri Youngblood, a formerly innocuous citizen, has murdered five people that we now know of. Agents are looking at other unsolved cases in which we may have a similar modus operandi. Twenty agents have been assigned to find Youngblood, and apprehend him. Now we face an ever-more important question. Who is behind these killings? Dimitri Youngblood is a contract killer, a professional. That means he was hired to kill these people. Now our focus is on who hired Youngblood. And we will bring down that person with all the might we have before we do anything else. Thank you."

The reporters promptly left, speculating loudly at the implications of Casie's statement. When they were gone, Casie addressed the remaining agents.

"As this is a top priority case, I'd like results. Immediately. You find out what the results were on the license's fingerprint. And you two contact Interpol. Get a red notice issued on Youngblood. The rest of you are going to split into two groups-one to locate Youngblood, the other to identify and locate his employer." As the agents split off, Casie brushed by the Director, heading to find Natalie. Natalie hadn't been at the meeting. Why?

Natalie Schultz was sitting in a Starbucks, happily drinking an extra-large coffee, while thinking about the day's events. She didn't notice what, or rather, who, was behind her. The woman slid effortlessly into the seat across from Natalie and picked up a menu, effectively hiding her face.

"Marianne, you can put that down, you know," Natalie said. "It's not like I don't know who you are."

"Right," Marianne replied, putting the menu on the table, and absentmindedly running her fingers through her long black hair. She was nearly six feet tall, and already at least seven inches taller than Natalie. Her hair was drawn back from her face in a severe coiffure without a single strand out of place. Her face itself was severe, elegant, and yet haggard at the same time.

"Nice to see you, too," Natalie commented.

"Yes, a pleasure."

"I'm great. So is the investigation. So how are you?"

"Dealing. Life's been a bit stressful lately. I've had to deal with numerous loose ends."

"Loose ends?"

"Look, I think we need to talk." Marianne stared at Natalie.

"Talk?" She put down her coffee. "Why?"

"Let's just say that some complications have come up. We need to discuss this somewhere...private."

"Your place or mine?"

"Neither," Marianne answered rather abruptly.

"Where to then?" Natalie was genuinely puzzled. "Here?"

"No," Marianne said. "Casie Schwartz's house."

"If you say so," replied Natalie somewhat dubiously. "How soon?"

"How about now?"

Natalie stood up, drank the last of her coffee, tossed the cup in the trash, and grabbed her coat. Marianne took her purse.

"I'll take that for you, dear," she said without comment.

"Sure," Natalie said. "Just don't drop it. I have my new cell phone in there and it cost a lot." She looked left and right, and satisfied she hadn't missed anything, walked out the door. "Want me to meet you there?"

"No," Marianne replied shortly. "We can go in my car. You can come back later for yours."

"Whatever," Natalie responded. "I'll just lock it. How long do you think this will take?"

"Honestly, I don't know." Marianne opened the passenger door for Natalie and then walked around the other side, putting the purse on the floor in the back seat of the Mercedes-Benz. It was a beautiful and elegant black, reflecting perfectly the parking lot and Starbucks. They drove for ten minutes in silence, Natalie observing the surroundings from the passenger seat. Finally, they arrived at Casie's house. It was constructed in a Southwestern style, in white, and off-white tones. A gate in the front was closed, but Marianne simply got out of the car and inserted a key. The gate opened, welcoming in the two women.

Natalie walked with Marianne up the front stairs, and Marianne retrieved another key, opening the ornate front door. She ushered Natalie inside and politely hung up her coat inside the coat closet.

"Come in," Marianne said, almost as if it were her home too. But the modernly furnished home was a definite contrast to her own stuffy Victorian. Natalie sat down on the couch next to the fireplace. Marianne didn't take a seat. Instead, she revealed a gun, which she leveled calmly at Natalie's shocked face. "Don't look so surprised."

Marianne opened her purse, keeping the gun trained on Natalie while she retrieved a roll of duct tape and began to restrain her captive.

"Why?" Natalie asked. "Why are you doing this to me?"

<a href=http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp?articleId=281474977216519&nav=Namespace>Part Ten</a>