Sonatorrek: Reginsmál - 6

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Kane returns to his hotel room to have a disturbing encounter waiting at his door, and a much worse one inside.



Garrison juggled the bag of takeout food with the files that he’d taken regarding the bush party site. The local greasy spoon looked like a heath disaster but the portions were huge and it looked a lot better than the Burger King on the highway. He was trying to figure out how to get to his keys when he heard the light laughter behind him.

“You need a hand, Mister Kane?” A young teen with short brown hair and a spate of freckles across her nose appeared at his elbow. “Thelma always overloads the takeout. Lars says that’s how they lose money, but really, they think that’s his excuse for getting fat.”

“Sure, uh-“ Kane stepped back as the girl passed him. “I-“

“Jane Foster. My dad owns this motel. Which makes me the poorly paid yet unable to quit help.” She smiled and fished out a master key. “Uncle Arnie said you and the green haired Agent were from the FBI. Is that the case? Is she a mutant?”

“Agent Brand and I are FBI and we’re mutants. Boggles the mind.” He moved the bag so the heat wasn’t pressing into his forearm. “You’re Chief Snorinsen’s niece?”

“Oh, no. He and my dad are old friends. They played football together in high school, which makes them blood brothers or something. Are you guys here because of Donny Blake?”

“News travels fast here.”

“Small town, Mister Kane. There are no secrets, at least not for very long. For example, I know that you have two orders of meatloaf with all the sides, extra gravy, two slices of pie, and a Cobb salad in there.” She gave him an impish smile. “Thelma thought there had to be more than two agents, and asked him if they had a gangster secretly hiding out in one of the rooms.”

“I’m starting to think the safest bet would be to deputize you, Jane. And call me Garrison.”

“How about Gary?”

“Only if you want to be wearing two orders of pie.”

“Understood, Mister Agent Man. Let me- what the-“ When they reached Kane’s room, she recoiled. There was a strange set of daubs on the door, and a decapitated raven lay on the threshold, obviously the source of the blood used to make the marks.

“Jane, hold these.” Kane said, passing over his bag and files, and moving her behind him. His gun was in his hand, pointed down, as he tested the door. It was still latched, and the window showed no signs of tampering. He took the key from her and sent her back to the front office to lock the door and wait for him. Carefully opening the door, he crept into the darkened room, but a careful search revealed nothing. Whomever had done it hadn’t gotten any further than the front of the door. He holstered his gun and headed back down to the rental office, getting Jane to let him in.

“What did you see? Tell me everything! I can take the gross stuff. I’m going to be a doctor.”

“Jane, calm down. Looks like it was just a sick prank. But tell your dad to keep an eye out for anyone hanging around who isn’t a guest, eh?”

“Oh yeah, we do that. There’s a 12 gauge under the check-in desk.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“This is Minnesota, Garrison. I bagged my first deer at twelve.”

“Touché. I’m just an old city boy.” He collected his dinner and files from her. “It’s likely just a bad joke, but you can’t be too careful.”

“I’ll tell Uncle Arnie. He’s already cracking down on pranks. This is going to piss him off.”

“I see you’ve been to charm school, Jane. I can tell these things.”

“What, I didn’t say fuck once. I’ll get someone to clean that door later tonight.” She grinned at him and settled back behind the desk as Kane headed back upstairs. He stopped to take several pictures of the markings before stepping inside and putting the bag down on the desk. Almost on cue, Brand appeared in the doorway.

"I see someone's been decorating," she remarked, indicating the door. "Are you all right? It looks like someone doesn't like us being here."

"At least me. I'll send the photos along to the Bureau, see if it means anything other than 'fuck you Mister Fed'." Kane pulled off his suit jacket and hung it on the rack. "I got you a salad, but this place looks like they probably fried it first and then topped it with gravy."

"I wouldn't be surprised." She closed the door behind her as she came in, careful not to touch the outside and add prints. "Still, beggars can't be choosers." She slipped off her own jacket, hanging it beside his.

Kane just grunted in reply, pulling out the takeout containers and dropping them on the desk with the utensils and condiments. His own pile was considerably larger than her as he dug in. The radio finished with Van Halen and the Animals came on quietly behind them. "So, Blake is one scary fucker. I think he's got muscles that I haven't evolved to possess yet."

"'Scary' is one word to use. I can think of some others." Brand picked up her salad and sat on the edge of the bed, toying with the plastic fork but not opening the container just yet. "I wouldn't count you out just yet, though. You have your own... charms."

"Gosh, thanks." he said sourly. "You get a hold of the blood sample?"

"Sample yes. Results of the tests, no. I asked them to fast track, but you know how squints are." Brand rolled her eyes. "All, 'this isn't CSI and you can't expect things to happen instantly'. Whiners."

"We better hear back soon. A mutant gang war is bad enough. But if Blondie's Thor obsession takes another right turn further into the crazy, we could have all kinds of madness. If Snorinsen is right about his strength, he's one of the most physically powerful mutants we've encountered." Kane pointed out as he quickly polished off the first order. "If the god thing gets out, we could have the start of a cult or something here. Don seems pretty certain he's a god."

"Not to mention our mysterious black-helmeted Son of Hel. You get anything more on him?"

"Almost nothing. ATF has a report that about a year ago, the former President of the Sons of Hel had his leadership challenged and then disappeared. According to their sources, the President and the challanger likely walked off to a remote clearing somewhere and had a knife fight over the leadership. So they figure he's long been crow's food now. The current leader is a total mystery; no name, no pictures of his face, nothing."

"Now that? That is weird." Brand lay her spork down on her unopened salad and got up, moving over to Garrison's wall of evidence and, not-so-coincidentally, where Garrison was sitting. She leaned over him to look at a surveillance photograph of the Sons of Hel, apparently unaware that she was in his personal space. "No identifying tattoos or scars visible, either. For a biker, that's just unnatural."

“Good point. Although, that doesn’t necessarily mean that Blake isn’t tattooed from the collarbone down.“ Kane leaned back as she pressed past him. “There’s an angle here. I mean, you heard him. He’s got a vendetta with, what, Loki? And now you have this rival gang. Does that mean the Sons of Hel leader is Loki in his mind? Or are they connected? There’s a lot of questions there.”

Kane indicated the file on his desk. “Snorinsen took me out to a bush party from last night. They found it because nearby, a woman was accosted by a couple of teens at a gas station. They tried to get her into the washroom and pull her clothes off, but she maced one and they ran. Anyway, looks like the local kids like crazy death metal and ritual sacrifices of animals.”

She leaned back from her perusal of the wall to look at the file on the desk. “Nice,” she said, lip curling in disgust. “Death metal, biker wars and dismembered animals. This is a real party town.” Closing the file again, she turned and leaned back against the desk. “You think there’s a connection with the Valhallas or the Sons?”

“It seems like there should be, but that might just be because it would be easier if that was the case.” Kane rubbed his beard contemplatively. “There’s a really off feeling here, you know? Like there’s something else going on that everyone is hoping we’re not going to notice.”

“You mean beyond the usual small town secrets? Farmers molesting their cattle and the town librarian making sex tapes out of her basement?” Brand shrugged. “Maybe there’s something else here. Maybe it’s the usual ‘you aren’t from around here’ vibe you’re picking up. These sorts of places, they’re pretty insular and paranoid.”

“Is this from your hidden background growing up in rural North Dakota or something, Abigail?”

“You only wish, Garrison.” Her expression turned calculating. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Boy Scout.”

“Uhuh. I grew up in the middle of Toronto. Lots of healthy smog for a growing boy.”

“And here I thought Canada was prairies and moose from end to end.” She shifted so she was sitting on the desk, the hem of her business skirt rucking up. “Are you telling me American television lied to me?”

“You’d be surprised. We have electricity and everything. It’s really great.” Kane said, eyes following the bottom of her skirt against her legs.

“Next you’ll be telling me all those stories about Mounties aren’t true either.” She crossed one leg over the other, showing a glimpse of stocking top. “Don’t you always get your... man?”

“I-” Kane paused. “We’re pretty good at what we do.”

“Are you?” One stockinged foot came up and rested on his knee. “I think I need proof of that, Inspector Kane.”

“Uh-” He looked at the foot on his knee. “Abigail, we don’t- uh”

“We don’t what?” Brand arched one green eyebrow at him. “Come on, Kane. You can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

Normally, that was exactly what Kane told her. After all, she’d been pushing him every seen she’d come on board. He saw it for exactly what it was; her way of getting leverage over others. Except, right now, he didn’t really have a good excuse not to. He was alone, in a way that he’d never been before, and as bad an idea as it was, his body was reacting to her. No doubt it would be stopped by a burst pipe or a fire in the bathroom or something, but right now, he just wanted something that felt like a connection to other people, even if it was the double-edged sword of Abigail Brand.

He curled his fingers around her heel, and pulled her foot closer down his thigh.