Cupid's Revenge Pt. 01

By DG Hear &

Jake Rivers

Jake and I have written a few stories together and also have used songs to write opposite stories. In addition, both of us have written stories along with other authors using different song titles. This story is a collaboration with us each writing this story using our own thoughts. We want to thank LadyCibelle and Techsan for their editing of this story.

Prelude: The dealer of death stood in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet. A man of no conscience, he mused once again what a great business selling drugs had become; you just had to get them hooked and they were forever customers until they died. Lighting up a smelly black cheroot, he thought he saw a ghost of movement on the rooftop across the street.

Being in a chancy business, he was always cautious, and blowing out the match, he backed deeper in the doorway. He stared hard at the roofline, seeing nothing, but ... a glimpse of streetlight reflecting on something in the air and ... pain. A sudden intense, choking pain in his throat brought him to his knees and his last fleeting thought was a realization that he had been hit with an arrow. An arrow, by God, when his enemies were loaded with enough arms to start a revolution in a small third world country!

His death leaked to the ground in rapid red pulses. This dealer of death was out of business, and lying in the gutter in a pool of what had been his blood. This was Cupid's first revenge and it occurred in the early morning hours of Valentine's Day.

*

Part 1

Here we were, waiting for the captain to start our morning meeting with all the detectives, undercover officers and patrolmen in attendance. This was a regular morning ritual. We sat and the captain gave us our daily log. Why did I feel today would be different? I was a guy so I didn't have women's intuition. Must just be something in the air. It was only a month to Valentine's Day and someone was going to get the shit assignment. It's happened every year for the last three years.

The captain entered the room; he always started our day with something interesting or funny.

"Everyone be seated and we'll get this meeting under way. We have a lot to discuss this morning," said the captain.

"There was another case of underestimating the ammo requirements." The captain looked like he was reading from an official paper. "As reported earlier this week, some dirt bag that got pulled over in a routine traffic stop in Florida ended up shooting the deputy who stopped him. The deputy was shot twice in the chest but luckily was wearing a chest protector. The assailant left the officer lying there and fled the scene. The officer made it back to his radio and called it in."

All of us were sitting there shocked; hearing that one of the good guys was injured.

"The officer is okay but had severe chest bruises from the bullet impact. He is back on the beat," remarked the captain. "Good men are hard to keep down."

We all clapped knowing one of our own was okay. "What happened to the assailant?" asked one of the officers.

The captain continued, "A statewide manhunt ensued. The lowlife piece of human garbage was found hiding in a wooded area with his gun. SWAT team officers fired and hit said low-life sixty-eight times. "Now here's the kicker: When asked why they shot the guy sixty-eight times, Polk County Sheriff Grady Judd told the Orlando Sentinel ... get this, 'That's all the bullets we had.' God bless Sheriff Judd!"

We all laughed after we realized it was a joke. The captain had a way of telling a story and making it believable.

He continued his meeting. "We have our usual problem this year trying to find Cupid. As most of you know, he has been killing people for three years now and has to be caught. I am assigning Jim Hartly and Charlie Weaver to the case."

Aw, shit! I'm Jim Hartly and I got the assignment nobody wants. This Cupid fellow has caused the city havoc for the last three years in a row. Every year he kills one or two scumbags. He only does it on Valentine's Day each year. That's why it's so hard to catch him. To the best of our knowledge, he only does it on that day and only kills scumbags.

The captain added, "We all know that being a vigilante is wrong, but this character does what the rest of us can't. Shoot first and talk later. In his case, talk never. The clues have been pretty dry."

The odd thing and the reason we call him Cupid is that he does his killing with a bow and arrow. The person who catches him will be both cheered and booed. I really didn't want to be the person to catch him, but now it was my assignment.

"Captain, who's this Charlie Weaver fellow and why is he assigned to this case?"

"It's a detective coming in from the fifth precinct - supposedly an archery specialist. I hear that she won the archery competition two years running and is one of the best in the state."

"She? Did you say she, Captain?"

As we were talking, a woman walked into the meeting room. She was a real stunner with frizzy hair the reddish-orange of a sunset and a body that would give you a hard-on just to see her. Rather than movie star pretty, she had the sweet girl-next-door type of loveliness. My mouth dropped open just looking at her. I thought she looked too young to be a detective but I found out later she was just a year younger than me.

"Captain Shivers, I'm Charly Weaver. I've been assigned to your precinct to help bring in the Cupid killer."

"Welcome, Detective Weaver. You'll be working with Jim Hartly here if he can get his mouth closed."

I felt a bit embarrassed, "Captain, isn't this assignment pretty dangerous to have a woman in the part of town we'll be in? Especially one as attractive as Detective Weaver? We have to go door to door and talk to lowlifes who knew some of the victims."

"First off, my name is Charly with a 'y' but my friends call me Charlie with an 'ie' on the end. Second, if that was a compliment, thank you, but I'm very capable of defending myself, even without a bow and arrow," she smiled.

Wow, this gal had it all. It would be interesting to work with her as long as I could keep my thoughts in the right place. I apologized to her, trying to explain that it wasn't that I didn't think she wasn't capable, but I was just concerned about the areas of the city we would be in.

After the Captain's meeting, Charlie and I headed out to our unmarked vehicle. Funny they called it unmarked, but every scumbag in the city recognized our vehicles. The other detectives teased me as we left. It just put a smile on Charlie's face.

We headed over to the donut shop (yes, we eat donuts) to discuss the case. Charlie just had coffee while I ate a cinnamon roll with my morning dose of caffeine.

"Have you read up on the Cupid character?" I asked Charlie.

"I've been following it for years - three years to be exact. It's almost sad taking out a person who is getting rid of the scumbags for us, but the law is the law. I've read the histories of the victims. Every one of them has been involved in violent crimes: murder, rape and drugs to name a few. That probably means that we are going after a revenge killer but he probably is connected to all three cases. We need to go back to the beginning, ... back to the first case and see if we can get clues from there," replied Charlie.

Damn, I thought; a body, brains, and looks. I wondered where she had been all my life. I wanted to know more about her. I knew, since we were going to be working together, that we should know about the other's background and how to protect each other's back.

I came up with an idea that I would review the first two years' worth of cases and Charlie would go over last year's case. We would then get together to compare notes and voice our different opinions. She agreed that it would be a great way to start. We headed to our archives building and pulled the files on all three years' worth of Cupid murders.

We were surprised that there was so little information. We figured that the different agents reviewing the cases didn't have their heart in it. After all, Cupid was doing us all a great favor by getting rid of the scumbags.

---------------

A little background on me. I enlisted in the service right out of high school. I trained to be an Army MP, (military police). I enjoyed it. For a young guy, it made me feel a little powerful. I know a lot of people won't like that statement but I'm just being honest with you here. After returning home, I trained at the local police academy. With my background as an MP, I was pretty much prepared for the training.

I started on the police force at twenty-three years old. My parents were proud of me. I came from a middle class working family. I had three sisters: two older and one younger. We fought a lot when we were kids but as we grew up we became close and I was kind of their protector. Maybe that's where wanting to be a cop started.

I'm now thirty-five and work as a detective. I went undercover for two years and it just wasn't for me. I've been married twice, both ending in divorce. My first wife, Sandy, was kind of my girlfriend in high school. She wrote me while I was in the service. For everyone in the service, letters from home were a Godsend. When I returned home, we were married inside of two months.

We were too young and immature to be married. I started on the force and got the really shit hours. She wanted me home more and that just didn't happen. We argued more than we made love. We only lasted two years. Thank God, we didn't have any children. Don't get me wrong; I like kids, but I believe they need a secure family with both a mother and father at home.

We divided what little we had in the way of assets and each went our own way. Sandy really was a sweet girl but we just weren't meant to be. She ended up getting married about two years later to a guy who worked in a credit union. I see her from time to time and we talk a little. I guess there is always a spot in our heart for old flames. She's the mother of two kids now, and seems very happy.

Monique was my second wife. After my divorce with Sandy, I began going out a lot. Monique was a hostess in one of the establishments I frequented. She was a combination hostess/waitress. We started dating and after about six months, we flew to Reno and got married.

Our life was pretty good for the first two years. It was then I took the undercover job. I stayed in another city and came home to see Monique whenever I could. She didn't mind me taking the job at first, but it got old to her pretty quick, always being home alone.

Most readers can figure out what happened. I came home unexpectedly one day and Monique wasn't alone. She was with some guy from the club. They were sitting and drinking on the sofa. They still had most of their clothes on but there was no mistaking what had been about to take place.

A very scared Monique started crying as I grabbed her date and with his arm behind his back threw him out the door and onto the lawn. He had trouble getting up since his trousers were undone and fell to his ankles. I told him if I ever saw his sorry ass again, I'd kill him. Those were my exact words.

We lived in a rented apartment. I told Monique that I was going to my parents' to stay. She wanted to talk but I told her there was nothing to talk about. She chose to be with another man and it didn't look like she was being forced. I told her to take whatever the hell she wanted. The next time I came home, her sorry ass better not be there. She was crying as I walked out the door.

She was totally wrong in what she did, but I had to wonder if my job and not being around led her to finding love in the arms of another man. She tried to talk with me, but I couldn't be with her anymore. I cared for her; I really did, but I knew I could never trust her again.

I actually cried after our divorce. I just couldn't make it work. I realized my job didn't mix with being a husband. After I finished my last undercover job, I applied to be a detective. I've been one for two years now. I didn't keep regular hours, but I didn't have anyone to come home to anyway. I stopped by to see my parents regularly and also my sisters and their families.

I do date, but do my best not to get serious about anyone. I let them know right off the bat that my job and marriage were not a compatible combination. The detectives and officers who make it work have my utmost respect.

-----------------------------

I kept going over the information on the first two murders. The crime scene and information was so similar. Granted, the killings were done with a bow and arrow, but there were witnesses in the second murder. They weren't good ones but they were witnesses.

In the first killing, a man was killed standing in a doorway. We knew that he was a drug dealer. The victim was supposedly alone and found by passersby. No witnesses whatsoever. The crime scene investigators said that someone must have been on the roof of the buildings across the street from where the victim was standing. He received an arrow straight to his throat.

The roofs were checked but no identifiable prints were found. The killer didn't even leave shoe prints at the first murder site. He must have put some type of painter caps over his shoes. There were no leads at all. As explained, the murder was done on Valentine's Day.

All the family members were talked to, but no results. What friends we found out he had were mob connections and, as usual, no one was talking. The police even waited for a few of the victims' contacts to show up and arrested them for trying to buy drugs. No one cared for this scumbag but no one had a clue as to who killed him.

The second killing was different. The MO was similar but it didn't seem right to me. This time the dope peddler, our so-called victim was also a pimp. Again, the killer was on the roof across from where the victim got out of the car to talk to one of his ladies. Now there was a witness. Only, all she saw was a person dressed in black who disappeared from the roof immediately. She had no other information to share other than the victim was her boyfriend.

The crime scene investigators found boot prints this time. They came from a size eleven boot that could match a million pairs of boots. It was a common type that could be bought in any shoe store, albeit it was an expensive boot. We did have a picture of the print in case we ever got lucky. We also had a cigarette butt but didn't know if it belonged to the killer. The butts were squeezed and smashed, the filters torn off so we couldn't even get any DNA off of them. The killer must have taken the filters with him.

The arrow that was used to kill the second victim was a different type. It was something that I would have to discuss with Charlie. I knew nothing about bows and arrows other than when I watched an old cowboys and Indians flick. I had to wonder if whoever killed the second victim was the same one who killed the first one. I was ready to discuss my findings with Charlie who was going over the last killing.

I should mention that all three of these cases were open. It's just that they happened only once a year and the evidence always came up blank. When it got near Valentine's Day, the press would always drag out the old press releases and ask if the department would be able to catch Cupid this year. The captain would assign someone to go over the case history again and hope they were able to stop it from happening again.

After the next morning meeting, Charlie and I headed back into the archives room to compare our notes. Damn! She not only looked good but she smelled good too.

We worked all morning on the cases. When we broke for lunch, I asked her if she would mind going to a small cafe where we could talk. I wanted to know more about her. She smiled and agreed to have lunch with me. She drove her car over to her place, which was not too far from the restaurant. She had a small bungalow that looked nice in the evening darkness.

I drove on over to the restaurant and introduced her to the owners as "a very good friend of mine." That seemed to amuse Charlie. When we got settled down at the table, she asked, "What do you want to know about me?"

"You know, just who you are and what's important to you. If we know a little about each other's life and experiences, it will make it easier to work together."

She smiled and brushed her hand over her short-cropped red hair, "I found that in the Army it was easier to keep it cut short. Being on the police force, it works out just as well." She paused and gave me a grin than curled my toes a bit, "It's not really as ugly as it looks. When I wear it long and take care of it, it's not all frizzy like this. It's actually my best feature -- I'm sure you'd like it. But you have to wait until I leave the police force before you can see it long.

"I get the red hair from a distant relative, Crispen O'Driscoll, who came to this country sometime around one hundred and fifty years ago. He was from County Cork in Ireland and settled in this area as a blacksmith. I guess from the stories he was a real hell raiser, ... always getting into fights and having the ladies chase him.

"When I was five ..."

Here I interrupted her, "I'll bet you were really cute back then with your freckled, button nose and fiery red hair. I bet you had a temper then, didn't you?"

She laughed at that, "Well, I still do. If you hang around me very much I'm sure you will find out at some point. I'll bring in some pictures from when I was younger and you can see for yourself.

"Anyway, when I was five I saw Stagecoach on our old black and white TV -- I didn't know about it being a classic and I had no idea who John Wayne and John Ford were. I was enchanted somehow with the Indians shooting at the stagecoach. Some of them had guns but the rest were shooting arrows from their bows. I was amazed how they flew through the air, almost like magic. I didn't realize then, of course, that they were just one more way to kill and that they were dangerous.

"I just knew that shooting arrows like the Indians did was what I wanted to do. I used a practiced combination of my sweet charms and my temper to make sure I got a bow and arrows for Christmas. It was a little bow without much power and the arrows had rubber suction cups on the end. I shot at everything in the house and generally made myself a nuisance. I wore that bow out, broke all the arrows, and for my birthday got a much better one with rubber tipped arrows.

"It just kept growing, and when I was twelve I joined an archery club and started winning competitions. Mostly it was age group competition against girls, but some of the tournaments were open to everyone. I lost more than one potential boyfriend that couldn't live with my whipping his butt. When I was seventeen, I tried out for the Olympics but just missed the cut. I've improved a lot since then, but I mostly shoot for fun. When I was in the Army in Germany, I competed a lot in local tournaments. I doubt I'll do the state championship thing again."

"What about the Olympics? Are you interested in doing that again?"

"No, I don't think so. I think with a lot of work I could make the team, but I'd probably have to leave the force for that. And I love what I do and get a lot of satisfaction from it."

I nodded at that. I felt the same way. I couldn't see myself doing anything else. "How did you wind up in the Army?"

"Well, when I was in high school I could see that we didn't have enough money for college for me. I talked to a counselor and, considering my experience, competing with what amounts to a weapon; he suggested that I should take a look at ROTC. I wound up spending my last two years of high school in the Reserve Officers Training Corps and they paid my way to college, plus they paid me a monthly stipend.