Dirk Garrick Occult Detective #2: Ded Girls: Dirk Garrick Occult Detective, #2

Ded Girls

Samuel Morningstar

A Dirk Garrick Occult Detective Novel

Erebus Publishing

www.samuelmorningstar.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

A Dirk Garrick Novel

Ded Girls

Nightcap

Dedication

Copyright

About the Author

Dirk Garrick is a hard-drinking, womanizing Kansas City private eye. He tries to specialize in missing person’s cases, but his growing psychic powers draw him deeper and deeper into the shadow world of secret societies and occult crime.

In DED GIRLS, Garrick investigates the disappearance of a softcore/fetish modeling website’s chief photographer. After being attacked by a gang of zombie strippers down in the sewer, Garrick realizes that someone with psychic powers far greater than his own is stalking the underworld of Kansas City. Garrick must find this mysterious sorcerer before anymore people come up missing.

DED GIRLS

A kinder, gentler Dirk Garrick.

That’s how Sophia Serafine was describing him these days, which irritated the piss out of him. He’d spent the better part of the previous year falling deeper and deeper into a whiskey bottle. Memories he’d been pushing away for a decade had spilled forth like the blood being shed by the weird killer who called himself Vertigo. If he’d known that getting involved in one of the strangest murder cases of his entire career would provide a cathartic release for the pain he’d been carrying for ten years he’d have…

Well, he would have kept on drinking. Not being inclined towards introspection, he preferred to deal with having had his fiance murdered by pretending it never happened. This action, of course, internalized the pain and soured his general outlook on life. He’d been encouraged to seek therapy by any number of acquaintances, but he knew talking it out wouldn’t help. There were no words to describe what he’d been through, no words to help him deal with his pain.

But, being forced back into the murder game had released the guilt he’d refused to acknowledge he’d been carrying. He’d likened it to having a thorn pulled from his paw. Sophia had shaken her head and stated the end result was closer to a large stick being removed from his anus. Garrick had stomped around a bit after that commentary, but Sophia had ended his rant by removing her clothes.

She won quite a few arguments with that incisive tactic. One would think after awhile Garrick would have become immune to her charms and found a way to stick to his guns during a fight. However, Sophia sans clothing caused Garrick to lose his train of thought. In the warm afterglow, he could always console himself with the knowledge that he’d been winning whatever the fight had been about and getting naked was a way for her to lose gracefully.

But, he had to admit she was right in this instance. He wasn’t anywhere near as grumpy and cynical as he used to be and had cut his drinking down to one whisky bottle a week; which, in Garrick’s mind was pretty damn close to going cold turkey.

And then there was his gifts…

Garrick had always had the gift of clairvoyance; he could close his eyes and see into other rooms, could catch scenes from the past, and even intuit future events, albeit on a small scale.

The most useful of his third-eye-open talents was his ability to see a person’s bio-energy. Once he got a taste for how a person’s energy felt, there was no place on Earth they could hide from him. At one time, he’d almost been driven mad by these gifts, but then a mysterious man named Daemon Kincaide had come along and taught him to control his powers. Garrick was grateful for Kincaide’s intervention, but being a grump and a cynic, was still suspicious of the man’s motives.

A car horn honked nearby and Garrick jumped. He came to the uncomfortable realization that he’d been standing on a sidewalk staring blankly like a zombie for a quite some time. He was in an older part of Kansas City, Missouri, two miles or so away from Union Station and the heart of Downtown. This area wasn’t quite as dilapidated as some areas, but it had more than it’s fair share of crumbling bricks and peeling paint. Most of the big businesses had moved South, into Olathe, Kansas, or further up North where some of the smaller communities offered bigger tax breaks.

He was a half-mile away from City Market, which Sophia frequented every weekend when the Farmer’s Market was open with fresh fruits and vegetables. She was on another New Age health kick, so Garrick had to eat alone if he wanted a cheeseburger with chili fries, which he almost always did. The June sun was making him regret his suit and fedora, but he was an old-fashioned detective and had an image to maintain. No one took detecting seriously if the Dick showed up in comfortable shorts and flip-flops. He used a handkerchief to wipe some sweat off his brow.

The little business district he was in was home to artist studios, modeling agencies, and marketing firms. These were older, smaller red brick buildings that made commerce almost warm and inviting, not like the cold steel monstrosities downtown. He found the glass door he needed, noting the fresh logo painted to appear as dried blood, at least, if blood came in lavender:

DED GIRLS

BEAUTY FROM THE DARK SIDE

Garrick smirked and went inside. A staircase to his left led up to a photography studio, if the small sign on the wall was to be believed. Beside the stairs was a dimly lit hall which Garrick knew from past experience led to an embarrassingly large room. This great room had vaulted ceilings zig-zagged with track lighting, framed posters of scantily-clad goth models along the walls, several rows of seats, a couple of worn couches, and a semi-circular counter behind which the receptionist of the week sat and got paid to surf the internet. Garrick strode forward. The couches had been replaced, as had the receptionist, since his last visit, but otherwise things were the same. There was an office in the middle of the hallway, but Garrick had never seen that door open, and had met the woman who squatted in that office only once. Everyone called her Madame and she was apparently the best model handler in the Midwest. Madame could have had her pick of jobs, but seemed to like Ded Girls. Of course, the fact that the owners were her niece and nephew made a difference. She could curse out her bosses on a daily basis and not get fired.

Garrick could admire that. Madame’s office had so much smoke coming from behind the closed door Garrick wondered if KISS were about perform a show in there. Garrick stepped out of the dark hall into the bright lights of the great room, his footsteps echoing ahead of him.

Can I help you?

This receptionist was quicker than the last one. In keeping with the theme, she could have passed for a Victorian ages vampiress. Garrick, being a lover of women regardless of politics, religion, height, weight, or fetish, approved of the pale skin and purple lipstick. He was disappointed she wasn’t wearing fangs, but that probably made it hard to answer the phone without sounding like Daffy Duck.

I have an appointment with Joan Huske. Garrick said, cocking an eyebrow.

The girl sucked in a sharp breath and stared wide-eyed. Garrick kept a straight face.

I don’t know if you know this, the girl stammered, But she doesn’t like to be called-

JOAN! Garrick yelled. Hey, Joannie! Get out here!

A door slammed in the back and the receptionist jerked as if internally debating on diving under the counter. A pair of old combat books came stomping down the stairs behind the desk. A buzzcut scowled at him from the bottom step.

Garrick grinned at her.

Goddamit, Garrick. I thought my fuckin’ father was in here again.

Again? I thought he was doing ten up in Hutch.

Paroled for good behavior. They’re getting too many violent offenders, so the small-time dealers are getting released early.

Well, maybe he’ll beat up a crack fiend and go away for longer.

We can only hope. She noticed the bewildered expression her receptionist was giving them. Traci, this is Dirk Garrick, private detective. We went to high school together, which is why he can call me by that hated name and keep his balls.

You know my balls have always belonged to you, Joannie. Garrick said.

Sophia may beg to differ, she smirked. C’mon up.

Garrick followed Joannie up the stairs, admiring the view as he climbed. Joan Huske had never worked out a day in her life and ate snack cakes like they were crack, but somehow managed to have a perfect heart-shaped ass. She hated her given name, preferring instead to be called 3B. The nickname came from high school, when she insisted - at the top of her lungs - on proclaimed herself to be a Bisexual, Buddhist Bitch. People had started calling her 3B as a joke, but she took to it and had somehow even convinced the DMV to allow it on her driver’s license. As far as Garrick knew the bisexual part wasn’t true, but 2B’s and 1L didn’t have the same ring.

Her office, as usual, looked freshly burgled. 3B ran Ded Girls with her younger brother Alan, who now insisted everyone call him by his pick-up artist handle, Silke. Most people would wonder why a guy that owned a softcore pornographic/fetish website would need to study the art of picking up women, but Garrick understood. Alan was painfully shy and having his aunt and sister constantly screaming at him not to mess with the talent probably didn’t help his confidence any. The Ded Girls administration was Ded Simple: 3B ran the finances, Silke worked the computers, and Madame hostled the models.

3B and Silke had started Ded Girls as a goth fetish magazine back in the mid-nineties, when Marilyn Manson had been all the rage. It had had a decent circulation, but faltered once the internet took over the world. They made the move to a subscriber website and were now doing a booming business, thanks to the proliferation of zombie, vampire, and ghost books and movies that were all the rage.

Garrick moved a stack of naked babe 8x10’s off a wooden chair and sat. 3B went behind her desk, dropped into her chair, and sighed. Thanks for coming so quickly.

Not that I don’t like catching up, but I have six cases I’m working on right now. If you weren’t the love of my life, I wouldn’t have time to come by.

3B smiled through thin lips, but her eyes had bags under them. I wouldn’t have called, but I’m not sure what else to do.

Garrick raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.

Our chief photographer, Eddie, is missing. 3B said. Three days now. No contact. We called the police, but there’s no evidence of foul play.

Maybe he just quit, Garrick said. I’ve walked off jobs before and forgot to tell anyone to fuck off.

3B shook her head. Eddie’s not the strong silent type, like you. Usually, I get ten to fifteen text messages an hour from him; I swear the fucker texts in his sleep. I have a key to his loft, so I dropped by. He hadn’t gotten his mail or fed his cat. Damn furball nearly gnawed my leg off when I opened the door.

Family?

None that I know of.

Friends?

Five thousand acquaintances, but I think me and Silke are the only real friends he has. He’s one of those guys that’s the life of the party, always on the go, having lunch with this group, meeting another group for a movie. But he always goes home alone. Nobody gets too close.

I can relate, Garrick said. Girlfriends?

3B shook her head. One of things that made him such a great photographer is that he didn’t try to fuck every girl who posed for him. For a while, I thought he was gay. But, the truth is, after I got to know him he confided that he loves people, but has always felt a wall between him and others. Something in him pushes people away if they get too close. He created a high-energy, uber-friendly persona to cover, but it’s just a mask. I think that’s why he was drawn to us. He may look like Mr. All-American, but he’s weird, deep down. We’re weird and we’re the only ones who really know him.

Garrick sat back. His forehead throbbed, soft and gentle. He hated using his gift on friends, but sometimes it helped get to the heart of the matter. You don’t think he’s missing. You’re worried he went off and committed suicide.

3B dropped her head into her hands, weeping. Garrick found this a bit discomforting. 3B was the strongest woman he’d ever met. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, he imagined she’d be at the forefront with a machete and woe to any member of the undead that tried to eat her.

He’s been depressed the last few months. Wouldn’t tell anyone why. I even had to have him redo a couple of shoots because the pics weren’t good. Never had to do that with him before. He started complaining of strange dreams.

That made Garrick sit up straight. What kind of dreams?

"The really fucked up kind, recurring. He’d dream that a dragon was eating him, but as it did, his perspective would shift until he was the dragon. Or he had another where he’d push his fingers into his chest, rip his rib cage apart, and a dragon would emerge. He went to a shrink once for help. She shuffled papers on her desk, found a post-it, and peered at it. A Dr. Byron-"

-D’Annunzio. Garrick finished, rolling his eyes. Of course the missing guy went to D’Annunzio. Garrick had the sinking feeling in his gut that this case just wandered over into the Twilight Zone. Or perhaps into the Outer Limits. It was hard to tell where the line was sometimes.

Yeah, 3B said. Know him?

We’re in the same coven.

3B tilted her head. I never know when you’re joking, Dirk.

Let’s just say we have some things in common. Garrick said. Did Eddie do his shoots here?

Some of them. 3B stood up and nodded her head for Garrick to follow her. They went down a hall to a thick door marked STUDIO. A green light bulb above the door cascaded the hall in an emerald aura. A red light next to it was unlit. 3B shook some keys loose from her belt and unlocked the studio door. The studio featured a 4-poster bed, multiple background stands, enough leather wear to outfit three Judas Priest cover bands, and more gothic paraphernalia than Garrick had ever seen collected in one place. If he ever needed a leather corset adorned with little silver skulls he knew where to come.

We use this for promo shots and initial shoots. If the girls become popular enough for us to do feature shoots, then Eddie might take them on location. He also has a studio set up in his loft, although he rarely used it unless there was a chaperone. He was paranoid that some girl might accuse him of rape.

I’ll need a list of girls he shot going back about two weeks. And I need to see his loft.

I’ll take you there. 3B said.

They took Garrick’s blue ‘93 Chrysler Imperial away from the little business district that Ded Girls inhabited and into the heart of Kansas City. Downtown KC was littered with lofts, most of them abandoned. Garrick used to remark that most of the downtown area looked like it had already been hit by a zombie apocalypse. Entire city blocks were filled with crumbling, abandoned buildings. Drug fiends shambled through dirty alleys, glassy-eyed with ripped clothing. It was almost a different world down here. Garrick himself hailed from the suburbs of South Kansas. Urban life came as a severe culture shock to a kid who’d spent his life in the land of outdoor grills and trust funds. Garrick had fallen in love with the stories of Raymond Chandler as a kid; being a detective was all he ever wanted to be. He’d become a homicide detective just long enough to piss off a serial killer, who took his rage out on Garrick’s fiancee. It was during that case that Garrick discovered not only could he use his gift to find people, but to kill them from a distance. He’d never used that particular variation of his gift since, wasn’t even sure how he’d managed it the first time.

He pushed that particular past away and focused on 3B. She was trying to talk about high school hijinks, but half-heartedly. She was telling him things they’d talked about the last time he’d run into her; who had gotten married or divorced, births, surgeries, the usual run. Garrick let her talk. Finally, she wound down.

So, how long have you and your receptionist been a couple? Garrick asked.

3B glanced at him sharply. I know you’re a detective, that’s just fuckin’ spooky.

Garrick laughed. Nothing special there. You’re both wearing the same style promise ring.

3B pulled up her hand as if she hadn’t realized she’s been wearing a ring. Oh. Most people don’t catch that. We’ve been on for a year now. She’s working up the nerve to tell her parents. They don’t mind she dresses like a vampire, but falling in love with another woman? Blah. She stuck out her tongue as if even the thought of prejudice tasted bad. Maybe it did. Being a white male, Garrick had no idea what it was like to have people hate him for anything other than his abrasive personality.

Garrick parked. He missed his air conditioner the second he got out of the car.

3B told him Eddie’s loft took up the entire second floor of an old, small manufacturing warehouse. The main floor boasted several vintage cars, some in various stages of repair. Eddie owns the building. He rents out the ground floor to a guy who remodels old cars. She unlocked the main door, which creaked like they were entering a haunted house.

Three old cars took up the majority of the downstairs, in various states of disrepair. Garrick could appreciate the craftsmanship, even though his interest in cars was non-existent. Plenty of dusty light streamed in from the windows, allowing them to pick their way to the elevator. The place smelled like old oil and paint. The ceiling was apparently where spiders came to raise a family.

They boarded the freight elevator, which sagged a bit under their combined weight. 3B inserted another key into the control panel and twisted. The elevator jerked to life, almost tossing Garrick back out the door.

A tingling wave passed through Garrick, cold and slow