1
Saying goodbye to Sky, the couple drove to the Wolfpack despite Dia's objections.
"Cord, this is nonsense!" she admonished her boyfriend. "You need to go to the hospital!"
"Yesterday I promised to visit them today and pay for the damages. And I kind of injured someone… In short, it has to be done."
"But you can do it after the hospital!"
"I can, but I don't know how long the doctor will detain me there. And here it will be fast."
Although not too pleased to have Dia going with him to see the bikers, Cord knew that getting rid of her would not work: she was a very empathetic person and genuinely worried about Cord.
***
At about one in the afternoon, they arrived at the bar. It was not very crowded there, which is understandable—life in such bars begins in the evening—but Cord saw familiar faces. Behind the bar stood the establishment owner, opposite him was Mort, and at a table not far away sat the guy who almost turned Cord into minced meat.
"Cord, buddy, you're alive!" Mort cried happily as soon as he saw the visitor.
"Hee-hee. I'm tenacious," Cord chuckled wryly. "I came to pay my bill. By the way, this is Dia."
"Hello!"
"I'm Mort, and this is Tusk. He's in charge here," Mort auspiciously introduced his boss.
"Nice to meet you!" said Tusk.
Dia and Mort stepped off to the side, and she began to ask Mort about biker life. He answered her questions with great pleasure. Cord, meanwhile, walked over to the bar.
"I didn't think you'd come back after yesterday," Tusk said, shaking Cord's hand. "In any case, alone. That is without a Special Capture Group or something like that."
"Hmm… Why would I do that?"
"Well, you are the law—"
"But I'm not scum," Cord chuckled. "I provoked them myself, so I will bite the bullet myself. That's okay."
The little man heard their conversation and approached them.
"Hello!"
"Hi!"
They shook hands.
"How are you? Are you okay?" asked the little man.
"Yes, everything seems normal," said Cord, "but my girlfriend insists on me going to the hospital. How about yourself?"
He unbuttoned his shirt and showed him a huge purple bruise right in the middle of his chest.
"Cord, did you do that?" Dia was surprised.
"Yeah," Cord chuckled, "but then he got me. I think we're even."
"Hell yeah, he knows how to give change!" the little man smiled. "My name is Tankman. Pleased to make your acquaintance!" saluting goodbye, he returned to his table.
"So, how much do I owe?" Cord returned to the matter at hand.
Tusk named the price.
"I kind of injured someone yesterday, too, didn't I?"
"Huh? Yeah, Belly. You tore his cheek open with a dart. But he is not one to make claims and told me to pass that on."
"Cord!" Dia scolded. "So now what's the reason for such cruelty?"
"Well, he tried to break the wall with me."
"Young lady, don't worry, our guys are used to this stuff. Your man is no crueler than any of us," Tusk stated.
Dia nodded, reassured.
"But I want to pay for his treatment," continued Cord. "Did he say how much it cost?"
Tusk named the amount. From the money that Cord had taken with him yesterday, although it was enough for everything, all that was left was enough for travel, and even then, only by bus.
2
He was reminded yesterday that he had actually planned to study Pink Flaminga's writing. However, for the whole of September, he had not read a single line. Still, Dia, being the fine person, had not forgotten and had noted and saved all the texts by the journalist with colored bookmarks.
Cord began studying them, starting from the June issue—a month before the first murder. Nothing too exciting. The three pieces that Dia had brought Cord at the detention center were neatly cut out, but the same issues contained other texts by the journalist in question. Mostly all of them were full of female nonsense, but at the end of each issue, something was interesting—chapters from an erotic novel by Flaminga. Hee-hee! A creative person, by the way!
The first interesting text connected to the case was found by Cord in Issue No. 18, September 6, 1993.
__________
An Invisible Killer?
Hello, my beloved readers!
Soon it will be a month since the day of the massacre in hospital number six of our marvelous (now dangerous, isn't it?) city. A month during which the valiant police were unable to find or identify the killer.
"The investigation is in progress" and "we are actively working on this case": How many more times will we have to listen to these excuses? Probably a lot. Judging by the fact that they do not share any information, they really have nothing to say.
Just last night, I was struck by one thought. It is known that the victim was a professional long-distance trucker. What if he just crossed someone's path? Or is it more correct to say, stepped on someone's toes?
Without going into details, let me explain: the transport industry, especially the road freight industry, is one of the most important in our great country. After all, its length from west to east is over ten thousand kilometers, from north to south—over four. This is not a joke for you all! Of course, every citizen should be provided with everything they need: food, health, clothing, shoes, and much more. Not everywhere is it possible to deliver cargo by plane, train or ship, so the road system is essentially the circulatory system of the body of our country. Roads lead virtually anywhere, and on them, truck drivers can get to the most remote regions and points in our country.
As with the circulatory system of a body into which pathogenic bacteria can enter, so too can it enter into our highways system. In this case, the bacteria are called bikers.
As you know, our country is divided by two large groups, two gangs of bikers—the Wolfpack and the Polar Bears. No one talks about this (after all, we live in one of the safest countries in the world!), but the fact remains: many truck drivers are forced to interact with these "ghosts of the roads" in one way or another. Shadow trucking and the racket (the banal payment of monies to travel on certain sections of highway) are only a small fraction of what the above-mentioned bikers are involved in. However, catching them red-handed, let alone imprisoning them, is very difficult.
Forgive me for such a long excursion into other issues and let me get down to business.
Don't you think, dear readers, it is possible that the massacre in the hospital was staged by none other than a notorious "ghost"? Is it possible that he, on orders from above or for his own reasons, did such a terrible thing as murdering a man chained to a hospital bed? These bikers are degenerates (pardon any rudeness), and therefore, the killer, if he was one of them, could have very easily carried out such a horrendous deed.
And how did he get away from the scene of the crime? Maybe he had a motorcycle parked around the corner?
Think about it at your leisure. To the police—this also concerns you. I know you read me.
Forever yours,
Trying to do someone else's job
Pink Flaminga
P.S. By the way, I recently learned that the maniac who killed the girl in the park is now called the Villain. This came from me! I'm flattered!
__________
Cord scratched his head. It was all definitely a lot of nonsense. Flaminga does not know the whole context, that is understandable, but it is, in the least, strange to drag people in who are not even suspects. Maybe I am mistaken, and Force leaks nothing to her. Could she really be inventing everything herself?
At least now, it was clear why the bikers were angry at her.
Cord quickly skimmed through the other Flaminga texts in the issue. He also read the continuation of the erotic story, which oddly enough turned out to have a good plot.
Now it's time for "Women's Secrets" No. 19, September 20, 1993.
__________
A Deadly Masquerade?
Hello, my dear readers!
Remember, we talked about the Villain and how the police can't catch him? Two weeks have passed, and things are still the same. Have they checked my version? What do you think?
Today I want to talk to you about theater, but not modern theater but the ancient kind. As you know, the acting method differed from the methods of today. All the roles, even the female ones, were performed by men. The spectacularity of the performance was achieved through bright, colored costumes, and emotions were conveyed not by facial expressions but by the masks.
Masks… What do you associate them with? Probably fun, enchanting carnivals, possibly ancient theater, and some of you will remember the death masks. But you're thinking the wrong thing. It does not matter what the purpose of the mask was; what is important is that it was created to hide the person's identity.
And to whom would that not be more useful if not a murderer?
"That's right," you say, "but there are simpler ways to hide your face, for example, a balaclava."
You are not wrong, but I will correct you anyway: I was not talking about the face but about the personality. Do you know that modern silicone masks are very, even, I would say, incredibly realistic? Such a mask is able to repeat not only the details of the face, such as mimic wrinkles or freckles, but even the texture of the skin! Yes, one can recognize artificiality up close but from afar or in confusion…
Do you see what I'm getting at? What if the killer copied someone's identity and provoked the police to hunt for an innocent person? That's really the Villain, and you can't say otherwise!
Forever yours,
Lost in thought about doppelgängers
Pink Flaminga
__________
Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.
So many thoughts, and all about different things.
Flaminga, it turns out, is not at all stupid. If, after reading the first texts, Cord thought she was another exalted fool, now he had a different opinion. Not only do the texts become much smarter and more meaningful, but he still could not find fault from the point of view of working with sources. Cord did not fully understand whether she was working with Force or analyzing what was happening herself. Maybe she is the killer?
Nonsense. However, so little is known about the killer that it could be anyone at all, even a woman. Perhaps only Force can be excluded from being the killer simply because of his physique.
The second point, is her information about masks true? Are there really masks capable of copying a person's face in detail? This issue had to be investigated.
And what do doppelgängers have to do with anything? They are not related to masks but to the dark side of the personality. Does the journalist really know that the killer took on the guise of me? Maybe she is hinting: the killer is your doppelgänger, your evil counterpart…
Damn. My head is spinning.
Perhaps I am looking for meaning where there is none?