Chapter Eighteen

Oh yes, she had pissed Len off. Her nostrils were insulted by the smell coming from the package before her. Despite the negative hazard reading of her scans, she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves before she picked her present up.

The 'present' was a sculpture made of human body parts and staked to a wooden base. Len had obviously worked hard on this one. The centrepiece of the figure was a human hand, its rotting flesh peeling away from bone, small flakes covering the base. Clutched in its fingers was an eyeball, staring up at her, pupil dilated. The colour was a close match to her own. A viscous white liquid covered the palm, giving the overall thing a grotesque sheen.

Picking up the camera, she took photographs, marvelling at the way the eye seemed to follow the camera. If asked, she would have to admit that she was impressed with that little trick, knowing how Len would have fussed to get it in just the right position. Quite a neat trick.

Riddick shifted nearby, drawing her attention back to him. Sighing mentally, she wondered why she hadn't killed him when she had ample opportunity. Doing him in was turning into an attractive option. He made her nervous and he was a liability. More than enough reason to kill him now without remorse.

Now was just not the time for her to grow squeamish at the thought of cold-blooded murder. But despite the constant threat he could pose to her case and her life, she couldn't do it. It was stupid - stupid indeed, when one was going to be bunking with a killer - but she would not, could not kill him. Well, maybe if he provoked her…

Another internal sigh. If she could loose him, she would. There was only one person who was going to die in this hellhole and his time was ticking away second by precious second.

Riddick shifted again and she looked up, annoyed at him and at the universe in general and allowing the emotion to show on her usually impassive face.

"What?"

"I was just wondering when you were going to answer my question."

"Which one was that?" She bloody well knew which one, but he could work for his answers if he wanted them.

He didn't seem perturbed by her selective amnesia, which irked her even more.

"How does your target know where you are staying and the very alias you check-in under? Seems a little odd to me." He folded his arms and did what Casteel thought was a pretty good impression of a tough guy, "you know what I think?"

"No, and not interested either," she said, turning back to the job at hand. If only it could be that easy to turn away and hope he would get the hint.

"I think that you know this man, well enough for him to know where you stay and what name you use. What else does he know? Where do you know him from?"

"I think that you are reading too much into this."

Fuck. He was asking all the right questions. He reminded her precisely why she hated intelligent criminals. Casteel tried to think of possible stalling tactics and came up short. He wasn't going to like anything that she told him...not unless she severely edited her answer.

Now there was an idea.

Casteel had so far managed to avoid his question. But he was nothing if not persistent. So, he had asked again. In his mind, it was a foregone conclusion that she and Len had some sort of prior relationship. His instincts told him he was correct and he trusted them. Other possibilities lurked around, but only one could support the evidence at hand - Casteel knew Len and Len knew Casteel. But how? When? Where? Why?

So many questions and zero answers. He felt like tapping his foot like an irritated parent - she had to answer his questions sometime.

She looked up at him suddenly as if he had spoken his thoughts and she studied his face for a full minute before she spoke.

"Len and I used to work together. We were a good team and we put a lot of sick bastards away. We split due to a ...difference in opinion. I had no idea he was even wanted until I was hired to track him down and that's what I have been doing for quite some time." She began to pick at the hand with tweezers and scalpel, taking samples and sealing them in plastic bags, "and that brings us to this…cosy little arrangement that we have here."

Riddick listened attentively, taking it all in his stride. It couldn't get any more complicated then this and he supposed that should be a good thing. He digested the facts presented to him. Len, former Merc now fucked up killer freak, had been Casteel's chummy partner and together they traversed the universe putting Riddick's own kind away. Correction - not his kind - he wasn't an SRM - he would never take any one by force, had never had to.

So, they put sick fuck's away. Then came their split after which Len became unstable - or was he already unstable? - and began his little killing campaign.

"Why'd you split?"

Her eyes met his again. "He liked the job a little too much."

Uh huh - "He liked the killing?" All Merc's liked the kill - but some went a little further than others - take one Mr Johns for example. That had been another fucked up individual.

"Yes." And that's all he was going to get out of her for now if her tone was anything to go by. She hadn't told him everything…his instincts speaking to him again, but it was enough…for now.

She was surprised that he had given up so easily with only the limited information she had supplied him with. Label that odd, she thought. Screw it…if he was going to let it go for now she would be stupid to argue, after all, she hadn't wanted to answer his questions in the first place.

She looked at the hand, mulling over it a little. The eye stared back. She looked a little harder, frowning. The eye was near perfect and not decaying. It had been cleanly cut while the rotting hand had been hacked up. Len did not posses the skill to remove an eyeball without causing significant damage and he wouldn't have had the time to do so recently.

The black market…

"Where would you go to get a human eyeball removed with surgical precision?" she asked herself.

Riddick surprised her by answering, "a hospital, a butcher's shop. Mortician." He crouched down to look at the sculpture and she knew that he had caught on to her train of thought.

"Tomorrow we're going on a field trip."

He didn't argue and Casteel flinched inside at her unconscious use of the term 'we'. She couldn't be getting comfortable with this situation already, could she?

"And Jack?" He was focused on her now - at least she thought he was - he was wearing those damn goggles again.

"Tomorrow. There are a few things about this hand that are bothering me and I want to get it sorted out first."

"You would be referring to the semen in the palm?"

Yes, that had caught her attention, but she already knew that was Len's and she said so.

"Sends you body parts he's jerked off on often?"

Casteel didn't even try to dignify his jibe with an answer.

"What really bothers me is the hand itself. None of Len's victims have been missing a hand and no one on the black market would sell a hand so obviously imperfect. I'm beginning to wonder if Len doesn't have another kind of hobby that I don't know about."