For Now, page 5
Morgan glared at him, her hand still on Skunk's head. "It is my business if it has anything to do with Amos Lorenzo or Mary Jenkins," she said firmly.
"This is about the old man?" he said.
"You know Amos Lorenzo?" she pressed, watching him closely for any hint of a reaction.
"Yeah, I know where that crazy old guy is staying. I can take you to him." He paused, glancing at the gun still in Morgan's belt. "In exchange, you don't tell anyone where I’m crashing.”
Morgan hesitated, weighing her options. She couldn't trust this man, but she needed to find Amos Lorenzo. Biting back her anger at his treatment of Skunk, she nodded her agreement.
"Fine. Take me to him," she said, keeping her tone level.
"Your dog'll be okay," the man muttered, casting an uneasy glance at Skunk. "I didn't hurt him or nothin'."
"Good. Because if you had, we'd be having a very different conversation right now," Morgan replied icily, her eyes never leaving the man's back as they moved through the dilapidated building.
The building was a maze of broken walls, piles of debris, and flickering fluorescent lights. Morgan followed the man's lead, her gun still at the ready in case of trouble. Skunk stayed close to her side, his ears perked up and his tail low.
As they walked, Morgan couldn't help but wonder how this man had ended up here. Was he involved in the murder of Mary Jenkins? Or was he just a low-level criminal trying to survive in a harsh world? She didn't know, but she intended to find out. If he could lead her to Lorenzo, then great--but that didn't mean he was off the hook.
Morgan watched him warily as they found their way to the exit. A man squatting in Lorenzo's old building might be too much of a coincidence for her to ignore. Morgan reminded herself to stay sharp.
This man--whoever he was--could be the one who killed Mary Jenkins too.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off the cracked pavement as Morgan followed the man through a rougher part of Dallas. The neighborhood was filled with dilapidated houses and overgrown yards, making her feel like she had stepped into another world. She cast a side-eye at Skunk, who stuck close to her side, his ears perked and alert.
"Hey man, slow down," Morgan called out to the addict, who was walking ahead of her. He glanced back at her, hesitating for a moment before slowing his pace.
"Sorry, just... I want this to be over with, you know?" he replied, scratching nervously at his arm.
Morgan nodded. She weighed the pros and cons of calling for backup. Two suspects, both unpredictable and dangerous in their own ways. She felt like Amos Lorenzo was a much stronger perp than this guy, but she couldn't deny that finding a criminal man squatting in Lorenzo's old dentist clinic was a coincidence. It was an odd place to squat, surrounded by all those reminders of... teeth, everywhere.
But in the light of the day, Morgan could also make out more details of the man. He was very wiry and thin, and she doubted he would even be capable of transporting even a small elderly woman's body. The only reason he'd gotten the upper hand on Skunk was because of the knife, but Morgan knew for a fact that Mary was killed in her bed, then moved to the sandbox at the beach.
Stranger things had happened, though, and she had to keep her wits about her. If she called in backup, the element of surprise would be gone. She made a silent decision to hold off on the call, hoping it wouldn't come back to haunt her.
"Almost there," the man said, turning down a particularly rundown street. As they moved, Morgan noticed how the few people they passed avoided eye contact, clearly wary of strangers.
"Easy, boy," Morgan murmured to Skunk when he growled at the addict. She could sense his unease, which only heightened her own. This wasn't their territory, but they needed to find answers.
Feeling the tension in the air, Morgan studied the man’s face as he walked.
"What's your name?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
"Skipper," he responded with a grin that revealed his missing teeth. "That's what people call me."
"Alright, Skipper." Morgan nodded. "What were you doing at that old building?"
"Best spot for me," he replied, shrugging his bony shoulders. "The crazy old man who owned the place, the dentist, can't afford it no more. But the state ain't sold it yet, either. It's my hideaway."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the mention of Amos Lorenzo once again. "Tell me about this dentist. What do you know about him?"
"Amos? Not much," Skipper admitted, scratching at his scraggly beard. "He was a dentist. I guess not a very good one. Now, he stays at one of the squatter houses nearby. Don't go out much, which makes sense, considering...well, you'll see."
"Considering what?" Morgan pressed, but Skipper simply shook his head, pointing to a dilapidated house down the street.
"Over there," he said cryptically, and Morgan knew she'd have to proceed with caution.
Morgan stared at the dilapidated house before her, the broken windows like dark hollow eyes and graffiti covering the crumbling walls like scars. She couldn't believe that Amos Lorenzo, once a respected dentist, could be living in such a place. Deep down, a nagging suspicion gnawed at her – was this a trap?
"Can't say it's the Ritz, but it's home for some," Skipper mumbled, his voice shaky as he scratched at his arm. "Amos is in there."
"Stay here," Morgan ordered. She glanced down at Skunk, who looked up at her with concern. The Pitbull seemed to sense the tension in the air. "You too, Skunk. I don't want you getting hurt."
As she took her first step toward the house, Skipper suddenly bolted, sprinting down the street as fast as his emaciated legs would carry him. Skunk barked, straining against his leash, but Morgan held him back.
"Easy, boy." Morgan's eyes followed Skipper's retreating form, weighing her options. If the man she really wanted to see was in this building, then she had to talk to him now... at the same time, Skipper was getting away, and Morgan didn't even have a real name. She bit her tongue in frustration before she decided that Skipper wasn't worth the trouble. He was a frail drug addict, not the sick criminal mastermind she felt she was looking for...
She just hoped she was right.
Skunk whined but obeyed, his sharp gaze still on Skipper. Morgan took a deep breath, trying to quell the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew she had to proceed with caution, but something about the house – or rather, the possibility of what lay within – frightened her more than she cared to admit.
"Okay, Skunk. You stay here. I need to do this alone, and I can't risk you getting hurt again." Her voice wavered just slightly, betraying her inner turmoil. Morgan steeled herself, pushing the fear aside. She'd faced far worse during her time in prison – whatever awaited her inside that house, she could handle it.
Morgan faced the house, its broken windows and graffiti staring back at her like a gaunt, haunted face. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nagging feeling that this could be a trap.
"Skunk, I said stay here," she commanded, her voice firm but gentle. The loyal pitbull looked up at her with concern in his eyes and whined softly. Morgan reached down to give him a reassuring pat on the head. "I'll be careful, buddy. I just don't want you getting hurt."
With Skunk obediently waiting outside, Morgan raised her gun and cautiously stepped into the house.
The door creaked open, revealing a dim, dusty interior. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the heaps of trash strewn across the floor and the stained mattresses haphazardly piled in one corner. A syringe lay discarded next to one of them, and a burnt spoon rested nearby – unmistakable evidence of heroin use.
"Damn," Morgan muttered under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. This place was clearly a haven for addicts, and she couldn't help but wonder if Skipper had led her on a wild goose chase. But she couldn't afford to dismiss the possibility that Amos Lorenzo might be lurking somewhere within these walls.
As she crept further into the house, Morgan's mind raced with thoughts of the gruesome fate Mary Jenkins had met. Could Amos really be capable of such a heinous crime? And if he wasn't, who else could be responsible? Every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sent a shiver down her spine, and she fought to keep her focus on the task at hand.
Silence answered her, but Morgan refused to be deterred. She would search every inch of this wretched place if she had to.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. Morgan wrinkled her nose in disgust as she stepped carefully over a pile of discarded needles and syringes. The stench of drug use was unmistakable, and it made her stomach turn.
But despite the evidence of drug use, there was no indication that someone like Amos Lorenzo had ever been here.
Morgan frowned in frustration, feeling her earlier optimism slipping away. Was Skipper leading her astray? Why would he take her this far if he wasn't telling the truth? She didn't have any answers yet – only more questions.
But despite the fact that she hadn't found what she was looking for, Morgan refused to give up just yet. She'd come this far – there had to be something hidden inside this decrepit building that could lead her closer to Mary Jenkins' murderer. She still had to look upstairs.
Morgan's footsteps creaked on the rickety staircase, each groan of the aged wood amplifying her unease. The stale air that enveloped her was thick with the acrid smell of decay and neglect – a far cry from the sterile environment she'd expect from a former dentist.
She reached the top of the stairs, her gun still raised, and squinted in the dim light filtering through a grimy window. A faint sound caught her ear, drawing her attention to a door slightly ajar down the hallway. Her pulse quickened as she approached, the strange noise growing louder. What the hell is that? she thought, trying to identify it.
"Get a grip, Morgan," she whispered to herself, steeling her resolve. She exhaled slowly and pushed the door open with the barrel of her gun.
The sight that greeted her sent a chill up her spine.
CHAPTER SIX
Morgan's eyes adjusted to the sight in front of her. A man hunched over what appeared to be a makeshift surgical table, completely engrossed in his work. He seemed oblivious to her presence, his movements almost robotic as he meticulously molded and painted fake dentures. The room was filled with them, covering every available surface in a macabre display of artificial teeth.
Morgan's heart raced as she watched the man, trying to discern if he was Amos Lorenzo. It was hard to tell – his face was obscured by a shadow, and she could only see his profile. But the way he moved, the precision of his actions, made her think that he wasn't just some random addict in a dilapidated house. And the teeth. So many teeth.
She cleared her throat, raising her gun just a little higher. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands.
The man didn't turn around at first, his movements slow and methodical as he finished the denture he was working on. Finally, he placed it carefully in a plastic bag and turned to face her.
Morgan's breath caught in her throat. It was Amos Lorenzo.
"You shouldn't be here," he said calmly, his voice surprisingly steady given the situation. "I don't like visitors."
Morgan took a step closer, trying to keep her composure. "I have some questions for you," she said, her eyes flickering over the rows of dentures that surrounded them. "About Mary Jenkins."
Amos raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by her audacity. "Why do you want to know?"
"Mary Jenkins is dead," she said flatly, watching him for any sign of reaction. "I think you had something to do with it."
"Interesting," the man mused. His eyes were cold and devoid of emotion, chilling Morgan to her core. "And what makes you so sure?"
"Because," she said, swallowing hard and forcing herself to maintain eye contact, "I've seen what you did to her teeth."
The man's lips curved into a sinister grin, sending another shiver down Morgan's spine. And though she couldn't be certain, something about him seemed to fit the twisted image of Amos Lorenzo in her mind. Morgan studied the man's face, her heart pounding in her chest. He looked like a shell of his former self, aged and emaciated. She steeled herself, pushing past the fear that threatened to paralyze her.
"Amos Lorenzo," she said, leveling her gun at him, "I'm Special Agent Morgan Cross with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Stand up. You're coming with me."
An eerie smile spread on his lips, his eyes devoid of any warmth or humanity. "It's been so long since I've seen a patient," he said, his voice cold and distant, as if he were barely present in the room. "What brings you here, Agent Cross?"
"Stand up," Morgan repeated, her patience wearing thin. "You're going to answer some questions about Mary Jenkins."
He met her gaze unflinchingly, making no move to comply. "You'll have to help me," he said calmly. "I haven't been able to get downstairs to eat in days. The usual people who help me aren't around, and I am not sure where they went. Perhaps they had no use for me anymore..."
Morgan hesitated, her mind racing as she tried to determine the best course of action. She knew she couldn't leave him there to starve, but touching this monster made her skin crawl. Still, she had a job to do.
"Explain yourself," Morgan demanded, her frustration mounting as she glared at Amos. "What do you mean people usually help you? Who are they?"
Amos didn't respond, his gaze drifting to a corner of the room as though lost in thought. His disinterest only served to fuel Morgan's anger. "I know about Mary Jenkins," she spat. "What do you know? What did you do to Mary?"
At the mention of the name, Amos's eyes snapped back to hers, and she saw a flicker of recognition in their depths. "Mary?" he murmured. "Sure, I remember her…”
"Mary is dead," Morgan said, her voice cold and unforgiving. She watched him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. "And I suspect you already knew that."
"Dead?" Amos repeated, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile. "Well, if she's dead, she had it coming. The crazy old bat."
"Enough!" Morgan barked, her patience at its end. "Stand up and come with me. Now."
A chilling laugh echoed through the room as Amos pushed himself away from the desk. Morgan's eyes widened in shock as she noticed, for the first time, the wheelchair he was seated in. His legs were twisted and disfigured—it was very obvious that he couldn’t walk.
"Someone did this to me years ago," Amos said, his voice dripping with bitterness. "The husband of a patient I performed jaw surgery on. Quite ironic, don't you think? I had tried to help... only to be punished for it."
Morgan's mind raced as she tried to reconcile the man before her with the gruesome crime scene she had encountered. He was creepy, obsessed with teeth – but with his disability, would he even be capable of such a heinous act? There was no way Amos could have murdered Mary Jenkins or maneuvered her body without assistance. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
"Agent Cross," Amos spoke up, sensing her internal struggle. "You seem...conflicted."
"Of course I am!" Morgan snarled, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I need to know the truth about Mary's death. I thought you might be the key, but now..." She trailed off, unable to find the words to express her doubt and frustration.
Amos studied her face closely, his icy blue eyes boring into hers. "The world is full of unexpected surprises, isn't it?" he mused, his voice cold and distant. "Whoever killed Mary, they must have had their reasons."
"Reasons?" Morgan spat, her anger flaring. "There is no reason good enough to justify what was done to her!"
"Perhaps not," Amos conceded, fixing her with an unsettling grin. "But then again, perhaps there's more to this story than meets the eye."
"Enough of your riddles," Morgan growled, clenching her fists. "Do you know who did it? Who targeted her? Was it Skipper?"
Amos shrugged his shoulders, a wicked glint in his eye. "I wouldn't know, Agent Cross," he said, his voice now taunting. "But if you really want to solve Mary's murder, you'll have to dig deeper."
Morgan's eyes narrowed in suspicion. She had a feeling that Amos was holding back on her, but she couldn't be certain how much he knew. She decided to play her cards close to her chest for now.
"You're coming with me," she repeated, her voice low and menacing. "We'll be taking you in for questioning."
"And what if I don't want to go?" Amos challenged, a twisted smirk tugging at his lips.
Morgan raised her gun, her eyes flashing with anger. "Then I'll make you," she snarled.
Amos merely laughed, his expression twisted with mirth. "Oh, Agent Cross," he said, his voice now dripping with derision. "You really have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"
Morgan's grip tightened on the gun as she advanced on him. She was going to get answers, one way or another. She was determined to find out who had killed Mary Jenkins, and if Amos was involved, she would make him pay.
"It doesn't matter," Morgan said. "I'm taking you in."
"By all means," Amos replied calmly. "But do remember, Agent Cross, that every action has consequences. Even for people like us."
"Mary Jenkins was murdered," Morgan said, her voice steady despite the sick feeling in her stomach as she looked at Amos's unsettling grin. "Her teeth were removed and stuck back into her mouth. Do you know anything about that?"
Amos furrowed his brow for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm not sure who would do such a thing," he replied, his eyes distant. "She was an abrasive woman, highly erratic at times. But she had such nice teeth, all natural even in her old age… I remember that.”
Morgan clenched her jaw, studying Amos's gaunt face and lifeless eyes. She needed to get out of this room, away from his unnerving presence.
She needed backup.
"Stay here," she ordered, turning on her heel and striding out of the room. The air felt heavy, oppressive as she made her way downstairs, Skunk's whines echoing in her ears.
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