Pookie looked up from the article. “I don’t get it. This is a multiple homicide, one of the biggest ever, and that symbol isn’t common knowledge in the department?
Bryan looked to the corner of the clipping. The
He pointed to it. “Maybe the
Mr. Biz-Nass smiled. THAT’S A GOOD IDEA. LOOK IN THE ARCHIVES.
Bryan stared at the faded newsprint-photo of the symbol. There it was in black and white. It had been in a major metro newspaper, for one of the biggest cases ever, and yet that wasn’t recorded in the SFPD system?
Black Mr. Burns had discovered deleted information, but this … this was another level entirely. Was someone protecting a serial killer? Protecting this Marie’s Children cult? Or even both at the same time?
PARKMEYER LIED ABOUT THE ARROW. I TALKED TO RAMON JOHNSON. HE’S DEAD NOW
Biz-Nass took the scrapbook and flipped to another page. He handed it over.
Bryan noticed the dateline — May 5, 1969. The headline read, WAH CHING MASSACRE. Below the headline, a faded, yellowed, black-and-white photo showed three dead men covered in black-spotted white sheets.
The black was blood, and there was a lot of it.
On a wall behind the bodies, slightly out of focus, Bryan again saw it — the circle and triangle symbol from the Oscar Woody murder, the symbol from the Jay Parlar murder, the symbol from his dreams.
What the hell was he supposed to make of this?
Biz-Nass took the scrapbook, closed it and put it back on the shelf. He walked back to his throne and sat. I’VE GIVEN YOU INFORMATION. I’M DONE.
“We need more,” Bryan said. “We need
Biz-Nass shook his head. I CAN’T. I GAVE YOU MORE
The man had given great info, but now the fear was back in his eyes. What was he afraid of? Bryan looked to Pookie.
“Biz, baby, this is great,” Pookie said. “You gave us a lot, and we thank you.”
Biz-Nass nodded.
“Give us one more thing,” Pookie said. “This thing I ask for, it’s like nothing. You researched this, so I’m betting you know what these symbols mean.”
Biz-Nass thought for a moment, then leaned forward and looked closely at the photos on his table. He used his right index finger to trace parts of the symbol as he talked.
He started with the slashed curve that was part of both drawings.
He pointed to the symbol that showed a lightning bolt going through a circle, with the two half-circles on either side.
THE CENTER CIRCLE REPRESENTS THE EGG FROM WHICH THE WITCHES WERE SPAWNED—
[
—THE HALF-CIRCLES USED TO BE ARMS REACHING OUT TO PROTECT THE EGG. SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE THEY WERE SIMPLIFIED. THE JAGGED LINE REPRESENTS HUMAN BLOOD. THIS IS THE SYMBOL OF MARIE’S CHILDREN.
Bryan leaned in. “So, the symbol at the site of the murders means Marie’s Children killed the boys?”
THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT IT MEANS.
“I don’t get it,” Pookie said. “The boys were in a minor gang. Why would Marie’s Children go after them?”
Mr. Biz-Nass shrugged.
“We think the killers might be wearing masks,” Pookie said. “Costumes and the like. That ring any bells?”
STORY GOES THAT MARIE’S CHILDREN DRESSED UP TO LOOK LIKE MONSTERS, TO TERRIFY VICTIMS BEFORE KILLING THEM.
“I knew it,” Pookie said. “Hear that, Bryan?”
Bryan said nothing. Costumes could explain what he’d seen in his dream, what Tiffany Hine had seen, but could it explain what Robin had found?
Pookie picked up the photo of the lightning-bolt symbol. “Biz, you
MOST CERTAINLY. OR MAYBE SOMEONE THINKS
Bryan touched the picture of the triangle symbol, the one that scared him so bad it was like touching a blow-up photo of a spider that might come alive and bite you. He pushed it toward Biz-Nass. “And what about this one?”
“Demons?” Pookie said.
THE SAVIORS. IT IS A SYMBOL OF PROTECTION AGAINST THE SAVIORS.
Bryan remembered the fear from his dreams, could feel it even at that moment, a cold fist below his heart. “How about that. The killers have a boogeyman all their own.”
I HELPED YOU. NOW LEAVE.
Bryan started to ask for more, but before he could Pookie shook hands with the fortune-teller.
“Biz-baby, you’re a good man,” Pookie said. “If we have more questions later?”
Biz hesitated, then reached into his jacket and handed Pookie a business card. There was nothing on the card but a number.
THAT IS A PREPAID PHONE. NOT TRACEABLE TO ME.
“A prepaid phone?” Bryan said. “What are you, a drug dealer?”
IT’S MY BOOTY-CALL PHONE. A LOT OF LONELY HOUSEWIVES COME TO GET THEIR FORTUNES READ, IF YOU
Pookie nodded respectfully. “A playa’s gotta play, Biz, a playa’s gotta play. Thanks again. We’ll be in touch. Bryan, let’s go.”
Pookie quickly walked to the door and held it open. Bryan hesitated, staring at this charlatan who had surprised him with real information. He knew that Biz had more to share, but maybe Pookie was right — maybe this was all they could get for now.
Bryan walked out the door and headed down the stairs to Columbus Avenue.
Bryan watched Pookie slide a fork into his second piece of yellow Sacripantina cake. He put the fork in his mouth, then hummed as he chewed.
“This is so good,” he said. “It’s like a Twinkie on steroids. Sure you don’t want a piece?”
Bryan still regretted the kielbasa that sat like a sour brick in his stomach. He could smell the sugar, the flour, even the lemon flavoring in Pookie’s cake. One bite of that and his swirling stomach would rebel. He shook his head. “I’m tripping, Pooks. Our best lead, and what do we have to work with? I mean, a witches’ coven? Mob hit men? A hundred-year cover-up of some kind? Come on.”
“Why not? There’s a reason Oscar and Jay were killed. Some kind of occult connection is as good a lead as anything else. I’ll start digging into the Golden Gate Slasher case. And by
“Do you ever do your own detective work?”
“Yes,” Pookie said. “I can detect cock-knockers. Wait … I detect one sitting across the table from me now.