Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

Lazlo introduced himself. They contrasted strongly in appearance; he was over six feet and had sun-kissed olive skin; she was barely over five feet with sun-shy, milk-white skin.

“Siobhan Kendrick,” she responded, still flustered.

Lazlo could see the woman was about to bombard him with a number of questions. He lifted his hand to show she should stop, and then turned to the desk sergeant and asked, “Which club?”

“DNA,” came the reply.

At this, Lazlo became very interested. He knew DNA was owned through a convoluted company structure that could ultimately be traced back to Miguel Vargas. “Ben, it’s OK. Let her through. I’ll take this one.”

“Ma’am, this way please,” Lazlo said, leading her from the foyer to the detectives’ bullpen.

He went to sit behind his desk, gesturing for her to take the seat in front of it. Lazlo heard about cases like this many times a week. NYC was full of clubs, and the reasons why doormen beat up clients were many. Most people who went missing, in his experience, did so for a while to lick their wounds after a fight. More often than not, they turned up before the ink on all the paperwork had dried, and cops had plenty more serious cases to deal with in the meantime. Lazlo knew all this, but because the DNA club was involved, he was keen to see if the woman’s case might lead to something bigger that he could use against El Gordito. Maybe this was a thread he could start pulling . . . and something larger would unravel.

He listened intently to Siobhan Kendrick’s story. Her voice was sharp and her tone demanding. Her nineteen-year-old brother, Mark, had gone to DNA with a group of male friends who liked to drink and party. It was expensive, so they didn’t go often, but when they did, they partied hard. She had said this with a slight smile, suggesting to him that she and her brother were close. When he asked if her brother took drugs, she admitted that he did occasionally. His friends had told her they had lost sight of him around midnight after they’d all tried a new drug people raving about––some pills one of them had bought at the club, but that they’d spoken with a girl Mark had been talking to earlier in the night who told them she had seen him fighting with the two security men around 2:00 a.m. When his friends approached the club’s security to ask questions, they were told he’d been thrown out for aggressive behavior.

Siobhan made a point of stating that her brother was not a violent man and could handle his drink. He would sometimes stay out all night after hooking up with someone at a club, but this was now the second night with no contact from him, and this had never happened before. She had just come back from trying to find him at all of his favorite nighttime haunts, but with no success.

To Lazlo, it seemed on the surface like an isolated act of violence. Because of that, her belief that the police would not do anything to help was not misplaced. However, in this instance, because of the wider case, he would follow up. He asked for a recent photograph of her brother and after scrolling through images on her smartphone. She presented him with a photo of a man in his thirties with a narrow face who wore his hair long and was saved from looking feminine by a strong chin.

It was nearly 1 a.m. when Lazlo walked Siobhan Kendrick back to the entrance lobby. After she’d left the precinct, he stopped by the desk sergeant on his way back to his desk. “Where are we on these types of incidents compared to last year, Ben?”

“I’d have to say it’s up about five times on the average for last year.”

“On beatings by bouncers and incidents related to bouncers?”

“Yeah, but not just that. There’s a lot more violence, including domestic violence. And in a lot more of the cases, we’re finding the attacker was high and extremely aggressive.”

“When did the increase start?”

“I guess around a month ago,” Ben stated.

“Any idea why?”

“Not really, but I heard there’s a new drug on the street and it causes paranoia and violent behavior.”

“Christ! That’s all we need.”

“Hear that.”

“Have a good one, Ben,” Lazlo said as he returned to his desk. Sipping his coffee, he scanned some more papers, intermittently thinking about the dangerous side-effects of the new drug Ben had just told him about.

An hour later, Lazlo decided to call it a day and got into his car, a silver Audi sedan with sports tuning, which he always drove, even on police business. It was a point of contention with his captain, but he favored it over the department-issued, unmarked Crown Victorias, which were underpowered, poorly-maintained, had no style, and reeked of cop-on-the-streets. As he drove off, he was convinced there must be a connection between the appearance of the new drug, the upturn in violence, and the disappearance of Kendrick at El Gordito’s club.

He took Thomas Boyland Street and then turned onto Sutter Avenue. The dimly lit streets were deserted, with only a few cars passing. As he approached some metal stairs leading to an elevated subway station, he saw that a fight was in progress between two youths. One, despite being smaller, was overpowering the other, beating him almost senseless against a wall.

Lazlo took out his phone and called it in to dispatch. “NYPD!” he shouted after getting out of his car and starting to run toward the youths.

He came up behind the attacker and tried to pull him off, but the smaller youth elbowed him in the chest with such force that he fell backward, winded and gasping for breath. He then lunged back onto the man’s prey, who had slumped to the ground and was curled up, trying to protect himself from an