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them left to shelters when the parents died.”

“I do not hear a question,” Tito replied.

“Well, do you know anything about it? I’m not saying you were, hell, I don’t care if you were, but do you remember anything about those murders? You were around then, had your finger in the pie of most operations. I just want to know if you might have something for me.”

I gave him as many details of the case as I could to try and kickstart his memory. From all accounts, it looks like this case was swept under a rug and forgotten about. But a man that lived through it might’ve had something more to tell.

He didn’t reply right away, tilting his head and searching his brain for an answer. I don’t know why Tito Lang was my first thought when it came to this case. He usually helped me with street thugs or drug busts—rarely anything else. But most of my contacts were young up and comers, more so than old-timers looking for a couple of bucks thrown their way. And if it took Jack and Aaron as long as it did to find any answers on this case, I couldn’t pretend that anyone else might know anything.

Thinking about it, Jack and I were alive during the 80s, and even we didn’t know anything about this case. There was only a hopeful wish that the oldest member of my staff would have anything to say on the case. If not, it was a wasted trip to the middle of nowhere and a few uncomfortable minutes in a horrible room.

“You know, I do remember something about that case,” Tito said suddenly, after his uncomfortably long pause. “There were a group of people, called themselves the Order of the Phoenix, or something stupid like that. I don’t know much about them, but their leader came to me for the good stuff.”

Tito gestured to his arm as if injecting a needle into it. “Said it helped him focus, helped him think, and helped him speak to God.”

He shrugged his shoulders, getting up from the armchair, walking from one wall to the other and back again. I waited for him to keep speaking, seeing on his face that he wasn’t quite finished yet.

“He’s not the kind of man you’d meet and forget, or meet twice for that matter,” Tito added, looking over to his muscle. The muscle, dressed in a tight black shirt, wearing sunglasses at night with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth, just shrugged his shoulders. “But that’s all I can remember, anyway. I don’t even know if that’s who you’re looking for, but their little group went quiet after my first meeting with them. They made some noise, annoyed some people, mainly the cops, and vanished off the face of the earth.”

The Order of the Phoenix, I thought to myself. Sure, that could’ve been them, but really, that could’ve been anything—some small group trying to kickstart a gang that never went anywhere. Of course, a leader of some shadowy cult-like organization would want drugs, and he’d reason it out. However, he chose to make those around him believe that his addiction was anything but.

It wasn’t enough to go by, and I felt a crushing disappointment not getting any more. We had a taste of what was to come, and I thought that maybe we’d have a little more. But Tito spent most of his life in prison, and the rest of it hopped up on some drug. How I thought he’d be of any real help was well beyond me.

“Thanks, Tito,” I sighed, making my way to the door.

With hopeful dreams dashed, I gave Jack a call and let him know that my search had no yield. His slurring words were enough to tell me that tonight was not the night for a chat about the case.

Chapter 11

Jack

The heavy thudding on my front door shook me out of my dream.

It was peaceful in the dreamscape. I was driving down the road with Gwen by my side, fingers locked in the center console. There was a panic in the streets, with a meteor descending to earth, a long green fire chasing behind it. We drove a simple car, a white Kia Picanto, with number plates that didn’t match any I’d seen before.

The world was coming to an end, but I found no fear, not with Gwen by my side and not on that road. I watched as the meteor came to the precipice of crashing, and my heart was filled with nothing but glee. For the first time in far too long, I was happy.

That serenity washed away at the sound of my door. The panic that jolted through me had me grabbing the revolver underneath my pillow and on my feet in seconds. I walked to the door, stopping for a moment to look back at the bed. In an instant, I yearned to return to the world that crumbled around me but experience that contentment. I wanted that happiness, not the feeling of dread that struck me now.

With a sigh, I pulled on my grey robe and made my way to the door. Checking a digital clock in the kitchen on passing, it was a little after 5 AM.

The sound of traffic piling up outside my window with honking horns could be heard, even from here. I expected the worst, holding my gun tight, finger on the trigger, ready for whoever was waiting outside. My gut instinct told me that this was going to be someone ready for blood. With all the threats that were sent my way, it wasn’t impossible.

After sending their letters and threats, it was only logical that whoever wanted Jane Dench and Spencer Williamson would stop at nothing to get their way. With me standing in that path, I was the first on the list

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