Chapter 7- Three little pigs

Dawn arrived with the familiar clatter and noise of the city's hustle and bustle resumed. Tom departed from the hotel after a simple breakfast and a cup of coffee. His first destination was the police station, where he intended to inquire about any files they might have on Katya.

Initially hesitant, the police eventually relented after Tom mentioned his employer. "That wasn't the only disappearance within this city," one police officer remarked while passing over the files. "There've been others, and try as we might, we're no closer to figuring them out."

"I'm telling you, Gavriil, it's ghosts," interjected another officer. "My gran told me all about them."

"Oh, shut up, Lev. Ain't no such thing as ghosts, and you know it," Gavriil shot back.

Out of the various disappearance sites, Tom narrowed his focus to three key locations. The first was an old man's house on the grittier side of the city. He lived alone and was known to be quite the alcoholic. The second was a man named Mikhail, a middle-aged working-class individual who had vanished on his way home from the pub, leaving behind a wife and two kids. The last case involved a woman residing in the red district; she was reported missing after failing to show up for work three days in a row without calling in sick, a cause of concern among her coworkers.

Having gathered all the information he could from the police station, Tom left and headed to the nearest disappearance site—a dark, dingy home with the faint smell of beer lingering in the air. He began his search, eyes keen and wand at the ready, scanning the surfaces for any clues.

Vampires (He was sure was the cause) often left traces of their victims behind, especially the newer ones, he was sure he was dealing with a fledgling. Try as he might he found no signs of struggle or even blood from feeding.

The light of Tom's wand scanned the ground, revealing a trail of beer bottles littering the floor—a clear sign of a drunk. It would likely have made it easier to convince the victim to let the vampire in. Tom took notes of his findings before finally leaving the first location, heading to the next one.

The second site was a nice one-floor home where the victim's children were present, but unfortunately, the wife was not.

"Do you know when your mother will be home?" Tom asked with a friendly smile.

The older of the two children shook his head. "She said soon, maybe try coming back later."

Tom nodded, jotting down a reminder for himself, before making his way south to the city's red district.

The area was both crowded and sparse, with half-naked women lining the streets and blowing kisses to passing men. Tom ignored them, choosing to head to one of the buildings. It was old, like most structures in the city, with a blinding red light emanating from the interior. The sign read, 'The Crimson Silk'.

Tom entered the building, a loud slow jazz music filled the room drowning out the sound of moans from the people within.

As Tom crossed its threshold, he was engulfed by the seductive strains of slow jazz, drowning out the background moans of patrons. A wry smile played on Tom's lips as he mused, 'Sex, the world's oldest profession.' He walked over to one of the prostitutes waiting on the couch.

"Excuse me, would it be possible to speak with your manager?" 

The woman, dark hair with darker eyes. Her face, pale and gaunt, framed cheeks that seemed almost sunken as she casually puffed on a cigarette, exhaling wisps of smoke. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing to slits, "Is there a problem?"

She blew a puff of smoke into his face. Tom calmly waved it away. "It's about the missing woman. I'm a private investigator," He explained, locking eyes with the prostitute.

A brief pause hung in the air as she scrutinized him. Eventually, she rose from the couch. "I'll be back," She stated, her dark eyes curious. "Wait here."

Tom sighed and let himself sink into one of the plush cushion seats, his eyes wandered the room taking in the sight that surrounded him.

Naked women in the dimly lit space, were scattered across the room. Some stood while others lay reclined on the cushions waiting perhaps for a customer to take them into a room.

One of the women eyed him with a sultry gaze, she began moving over to him a coy smile on her lips, just as Tom was about to decline, she leaned in, her warm, ashy breath caressing his ear, and whispered. "If you're here about Alina, then come around later at thirty after five."

She turned back on her heels, seamlessly slipping into conversation with another of her coworkers. Tom's gaze lingered for a moment before being interrupted by the return of the dark-haired woman. This time, she had a man in tow.

"Hello Mr. Schastlivyy, I'm Fyodor, private investigator." Tom greeted shaking the man's hand.

He wasn't what Tom had been expecting, he'd been picturing an older-perhaps middle-aged man, instead he was younger, in his early twenties most likely, he was of middling height with dark black hair slicked back. He looked handsome enough, his sharp cheekbones coupled with his pale blue eyes added extra points.

The man smiled, "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for my uncle. Call me Lev."

Tom blinked, "Ah Mr. Lev. Where is your uncle?"

"I'm afraid he's not around at the moment," Lev replied, gesturing towards the space behind him. "But we can move to a more private area to discuss this."

Tom let out a resigned sigh. "I suppose so, Mr. Lev. Lead the way," He conceded.

Tom followed Mr. Lev through the building's corridor, where on both sides, rooms echoed with the sounds of pleasure and moans as they passed by. 

Lev led Tom up a flight of stairs, away from the noise and into his office.

In the dimly lit office, Lev motioned for Tom to take a seat in front of his desk. The room was adorned with plush red velvet furniture.

Lev leaned back in his chair, studying Tom with an appraising gaze. "So, what is it you wish to know?" he inquired, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the polished surface of the desk.

Tom explained the situation, detailing the odd disappearances. Lev listened attentively, his expression remaining neutral. As Tom spoke, Lev's eyes flickered occasionally towards a large framed painting on the hanging on the wall, featuring him with an older man with bright blue eyes, who Tom assumed was the uncle.

When Tom finished recounting the information he gathered, Lev sighed and ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. "This is troubling news, Mr. Chelova. I had no idea the situation had escalated to this point." He paused, seeming deep in thought before continuing, "My uncle is out of town at the moment, but I'll do whatever it takes to assist you in this investigation."

Tom appreciated the willingness to cooperate but couldn't shake the feeling that Lev was holding something back. "I appreciate your help, Mr. Lev. Now, if you could provide any information about the missing woman, it would be a significant step forward."

Lev hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Her name is Alina. She was a worker here at The Crimson Silk. She vanished without a trace, and it's been causing quite a stir among the girls. We were quite worried."

He did look worried, at least he got the facial expression right. Mouth turned down, brows arched upwards, a distinct crease in his forehead.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why would her disappearance cause such concern among the workers?"

"Alina was no ordinary worker. She had a unique talent—a certain charm that drew people in. She had a way of making clients forget their worries, if only for a short while. It's what made her popular here."

Looking up from his notes, "And if I may ask? Why exactly did it take so long for her to be reported missing?"

Lev leaned forward, his eyes meeting Tom's with a newfound intensity. "Well.... this isn't what you would call the safest work environment, we assumed she left."

"Without mentioning it to someone?" Tom's eyes bored into the man's own.

"Wasn't the first time that has ever happened, doubt it'd be the last." Lev shrugged.

He leaned back looking unbothered by this, he offered a small smile to as though to apologize for to him for this. Tom flipped through his notes to an empty page and began to jot down notes.

As troubling as this tale was, there wasn't any proof that anything supernatural had a hand in this, it was quite possible that the girl was simply kidnapped by someone who wished to make use of her....talents. Either way the girl's probably long gone by now.

Tom glanced up to find the man's eyes staring to the left were the painting stood. Lev quickly veered back to Tom, an even wider smile on his lips than before.

Tom glanced towards the painting, the man was bald on the top, with grey hair on the side, he was fat, but in the way old men tended to be, wrinkles and aging spots covered his face. Yet, beneath the weathered features, remnants of the once handsome youth lingered perceptibly

His eyes roamed the painting till it rested on his eyes, the looked like twin black holes that seemed to bore into the soul.

Pointing towards the painting he looked back at Lev, "Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I seem to recall the painting having eyes, Mr. lev."

"Hmm?" Lev hummed, "Oh, that? A trick of the mind, it was part of the design when my uncle had it made, your mind simply sees what it expects."

"Your uncle, put that down as something he would like?" Tom repeated slowly.

Lev offered another wide smile, "My uncle can be quite..." he paused, "Eccentric."

Tom nodded, "Of course, well I'll be on my way."

Lev got up with him, they shook hands and he was led out of the room. Just as he exited, Tom cast one more glance at the portrait. It's eyes were still black.

Tom left the building, his car was parked a few feet from the buildings entrance. He clambered in and slammed the car door shut and started the engine. It was midday and the sun was at its height bearing down on the city.

He drove through the city streets looking for a way to distract himself. The city was broken, piles of rubble and metal littered its streets. Marks and bruises reminding its people of their city's despoilation.

Eyes followed him in his wake, dead unblinking eyes lost to their mourning. He remembered the words of the woman, thirty after five. Which meant he still had some time to kill. The thought of heading back to the motel entered his mind, but he felt unsatisfied by the dealings of the day.

Quickly he made his way back to the second house. This time when he rung the bell, a woman answered, tall for her gender, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, she looked tired, other than that she was fine.

"Ma'am." Tom tipped his hat. "Your son told me you might be back."

The woman face fell, her eyes darted back and forth from Tom to the rest of the neighborhood.

"May I come in?"

"N- I mean, tell Yutilov I don't have the money right now," She blurted out, "But I swear I'll pay everything back."

"Ma'am, that's not-"

"Please." She pleaded, "Sir."

"Ma'am." I repeated, more firmly this time, "That's not why I'm here."

The woman's expression shifted from desperation to confusion as she regarded Tom with a furrowed brow. "Then why are you here?" She floundered.

Tom took a moment to assess her, noticing the weariness etched into her features and the tension in her posture. He softened his tone, adopting a more empathetic approach. "I'm here about your Husband, Mikhail?."

Her face turned to a mask of worried hope, "Have they found him yet?"

Tom shook his head his eyes downturned.

Her worried face turned to a look of stone cold anger, "That svoloch." She swore.

"Ma'am." Tom repeated once again. "May I come in?"

She blinked, "Of course, of course. Come in."

Tom followed her inside, taking note of the modest yet tidy interior of the house. He listened attentively as she recounted the events leading up to Mikhail's disappearance, her voice trembling with emotion at times.

"He left for the pub that night like he always did," she explained, her voice catching in her throat. "But he never made it home. I've been... I've been so worried."

"You say 'like he always did'," Tom quoted, "Am I to take it that your husband was a frequent drinker?"

"Da. He said it was to calm himself at first." She responded, at Tom prodding she continued, "His father died, as well as did his brother, the three were close, it was understandable at first, but it soon became too much, he spent all his time at work, so for the most part our chats were only half sober."

"And there was the gambling, and before you knew it, all that money we had saved-" She waved her hand, "gone."

She stared out the window, looking into the dark city. It always seemed dark, even in the bright day, there was something about it. That amount of suffering and death seemed to seep into the bones of the city.

She looked back to Tom staring at her, swallowing, she spoke, "I'm afraid I don't have much more to say, perhaps you should ask his drinking buddies."

Tom nodded understandingly, acknowledging her apprehension. "Of course, ma'am. Thank you for speaking with me." He paused, then added, "If you don't mind, could you provide me with the names of Mikhail's drinking buddies? It might help me piece together his whereabouts on the night he disappeared."

The woman hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, of course. There's Dmitri, Sergey, and Vadim. They often frequented the same pub together."

"The Moryak."

Tom jotted down the names in his notebook, making a mental note to check on that later. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll be sure to follow up with them."

With that, he bid her farewell once again and stepped out onto the street. The afternoon sun beat down upon him as he made his way towards his parked car. Sadly she wasn't as useful as he might have liked, but she had given him names, that much he could work with.

....

It was a little after six and Tom just came from another interview, this time with the woman from the brothel. She had given him nothing too important for his search, but she had brought to light, a trafficking business going on. He had promised to tell the police all about it, and told her to continue on as though she hadn't spoken.

The woman had looked visibly torn at this, as though she had expected him to launch a case here and then for the missing girls. But she had accepted this, choosing to speak no more of it.

Tom knew it would be a matter of time till he found his prey. He could feel the sure signs of the vampiric arrogance so commonly attributed to their kind.

He parked outside the motel's garage, locking the door behind him he made his way upstairs to Charlie's room.

Knocking thrice as was previously discussed, a sudden clatter and a shuffle, before silence.

Tom leaned in on the door, "Charlie?"

A small yes answered back.

"Open the door will you." 

Another shuffle and the door opened wide, revealing an empty space. Tom paused, quickly he withdrew his wand and with a flick, he blasted behind the door.

A scarlet stream of light burst from his wand, smacking dead center into the large hidden form of Charlie.

Instantly Charlie crumbles to the ground as the spell knocks him out straight into the land of Morpheus. Still clutched in his hand is the revolver Tom had given him.

"Dammit." Tom swore. Quickly he pushed the door shut, then pointing to the door and muttering, "Muffliato."

Another wave of his wand a chair and ropes appear. Charlie's body rose, bidden by Tom's will to rest in the chair, Tom then pointed to the ropes then to the seated Charlie, and the ropes snapped to life, tightly wrapping themselves around the unconscious fellow.

Tom stepped forward, and wrested the revolver from the man's tight grip. He looked him up and down, before noticing blood on the back of his head. Sighing he summoned a bottle of whisky and a cloth.

In a few minutes Tom had already stitched Charlie's wound. Waving his wand, another chair appeared with a pair of glass cups. He reclined into the chair, his face had already begun its transformation back as the potion wore off. 

"Rennervate." 

Charlie gasps his blue eyes wide in fearful anger.

He looks down at his bound hands, shocked at the sudden change of positions. Pulling at the bonds till his hands turned red.

"Stop that." Tom's voice snaps him back to reality.

"You know, you can't get out." Pouring whiskey into a glass cup he arched his throat back and drank it all in one clean swoosh.

Tom chuckled as he poured himself another round, "You almost got me you know."

Charlie said nothing, simply staring at him with hate in his eyes.

"This close." Tom said, raising his hand in front of Charlie and forming a small gap between his thumb and middle finger.

"If I had been a little more tired, a little less wary. I could have been gone." He snapped the two fingers together. "Like that."

"And ain't that a shame huh Charlie?"

"Its Charles." Charlie bit out.

Tom places the glass down, and stands up, with his arms outstretched, "Well I say its Charlie."

He raised his wand, Charles paled at the sight of it, his breath became labored and his voice began to rise.

"No," He pleaded, "Don't, please Tom, don't."

Tom said nothing, still pointing his wand at him.

"Just kill me already." Charles sobbed, "Don't, not again."

Tom's handsome features more clear now, it was null of any emotion. "I say its Charlie."

"Imperio." Tom hissed.

Not light burst from Tom's wand this time, but a noticable change came over Charles. His visage a cloud of fear and rage, melted into a trance like state.

"Charlie." Tom called, "Do you hear me."

"Yes Tom." Charlie's eyes were vacant, unseeing.

"As you were."

Charlie snapped out of this form, he looked around, and winced, the back of his head was still red with pain.

"What happened?" He asked.

Tom gave him a look, "What do you think happened."

Charlie looked away ashamed, "Him. I'm sorry."

Tom waved away the apology, "No worries Charlie, so as long as you're back."

Tom waved his wand, and the ropes disappear in a flash. "You tried to shoot me, you know."

"Did I?" Charlie said, sounding apologetic, "Perhaps its best you keep the gun, just in case."

"Yeah, I thought so too." He began to head out, before turning around, "Oh, we're leaving in a few hours, make sure you're ready."