Over the following few weeks, Special Inspector Max Hennessy was a regular visitor at the American-style waffle house Georgia Spring, often in the company of Corbin, who has become a good friend. The waitress with the blonde curls has also become quite friendly with him and remembers his usual orders, despite being forgetful of many other things.
Usually, Hennessy and Corbin would discuss official business and new information they've come across related to the investigation. However, there would also be times when Corbin would bring Illey along, at which point Hennessy would refrain from his usual liquor and opt for a glass of juice instead (mixing in but a few drops from his personal flask, of course), while the waitress would delight in giving little Iley some free ice cream. Two weeks come and go, and the team of seasoned Irishman and young Brit support officer feel no closer to finding their culprits: Neither the one who murdered Guinevere Flaherty, nor the supposed vigilante who did away with Hugh Hoskins.
Meanwhile, the doll maker continues to monitor Emi’s regular activities: her shift hours, including meal time and toilet breaks, as well as interactions with colleagues and that pesky security guard, for whom the burning jealousy has grown into a vicious hatred. He vows to find a way to dispose of him before he can lay his hands on his exotic plaything. Occasionally, he would hover in and around the cosmetic shop for a chance to strike up small talk with his newest object of obsession...
On one particular day, as Hennessy sets out from his flat and reaches the staircase, he spots the blonde waitress walking around the corner of the hallway headed for the same stairs.
"Well now, fancy seeing you here! Don't tell me ye live here too?"
"That's right! Right down the hall over there. Wow, haha, I can't believe you've been here two weeks and I'm just now finding out we live in the same flat!"
The blonde chuckles and extends a manicured hand.
"I suppose a formal introduction as neighbors is in order: Cynthia Luran."
"Pleasure, Cynthia, ye can call me Max. Some of me friends call me Henny, whichever one ye prefer."
The pair exchange pleasantries and walk out together.
In the mall, Emi Rin is exiting a one-person toilet from the staff area. As she emerges, she almost bumps into the middle-aged doll maker, waiting to go in after her and standing way too close to the door.
"Oh! Pardon me..."
She greets politely with a slight grin and quickly moves on. The doll maker watches her before entering the toilet and bolts it shut, then, taking out the handmade doll in the likeness of the dark-haired oriental beauty, does the same thing with the doll as he did on the plane: Stooping down, he takes an exhilarating whiff of the toilet seat where Emi had planted her soft ass cheeks just moments ago, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume and feeling the warmth of her body heat lingering. Then, picking up the doll, he wipes it slowly across the bowl, murmuring some low-pitched incantation.
Later that evening, Hennessy makes his way down to the basement where the laundry room is. As he reaches the door, he comes across a used pair of nude-colored stockings discarded on the floor.
“Who would throw this on the floor like that?”
Hennessy makes a grimace while picking it up and pushes open the door to the laundry room, where he sees Cynthia putting dirty clothes into a washer.
“Oh! I was looking for those!” Cynthia sees the stockings in Hennessy's hand and exclaims with an awkward blush.
“Where did you find them?”
“These are yers? I thought somebody was throwing them away!” Hennessy holds them toward her nonchalantly with a chuckle.
“They were in the hallway, by the entrance.”
“They must’ve fallen out of my basket!” Cynthia’s cheek flushes a bit, obviously flustered.
“I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing!”
“No bother, here ye go.” Hennessy maintains his composure and hands the rattled blonde her soiled undergarment.
“Got me own laundry to do.”
Cynthia takes the stockings from his hand and flashes him a modest smile, grateful that he didn’t make a fuss over her untidiness.
The next day, the doll maker watches from his toy stand as Emi is talking on her mobile phone. He looks to the left and right, making sure there are no passersby, and takes out the doll. Holding it below his chest just behind the toy stand, he begins to chant incoherently, then reaching his hand under the skirt of the doll, begins to rub slowly. All the time watching how the oriental lass will react.
Emi, feeling the remote stimulation, begins rubbing her thighs together sensually with a soft moan, behind the cash register counter and hidden from view.
"I'm sorry, Miki. Something came up. I need to go. Ciao~~!"
Unable to endure the growing arousal, Emi quickly ends the call, and then, looking about to make sure no one is around to see what she is about to do, reaches under the counter between her legs and pushing aside her white cotton knickers, begin rubbing her own slit, letting out a soft moan as she pleasures herself.
The doll maker, seeing the stimulation taking effect, prepares to approach Emi to "help" her with this little issue. However, before he could make his move, he catches a glimpse of that pesky mall security guard approaching Emi. The horny cosmetic shopkeep, seeing Shane coming, quickly retrieves her hand and tries to act natural.
"Hey there, Emi. Just making the rounds. Thought I'd pick up a few pops along the way. How's business today?"
"Oh... you know. Same ol' same ol', can't complain, haha... But you know, you came at a good time, Shane... I might need you to do something later..."
The doll maker watches in envious rage as Shane hands one of the two cans he has in his hand to Emi and then engages in cheerful conversation, sharing a playful laughter and gesturing toward the food court. Emi nods in agreement, with more eagerness than previous times, then quickly leaves the cosmetic stand with Shane. The doll maker, now filled with blind fury, approaches the chair Emi has been sitting in just a moment ago and takes a big whiff. As he raises his head, he spots the open can of pop left behind by Shane. A glimmer of wickedness flashes in his eyes. He brings a new doll, already fashioned in the appearance of the likeness of the mall security guard, and wipes its head over the opening of an aluminum can that Shane had drank from.
About a half hour later, in the single-person staff area toilet, Emi has her hands propped up against the sink and moaning in heat with each thrust from behind. Her short black skirt is hiked up to her milky hips and her white knickers pulled halfway down to her knees to allow a more accessible rear entrance for Shane’s throbbing meat.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I could get used to this.” Shane huffs while continuing his rhythmic thrust.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me, either. So don’t expect this to become a regular thing.” Emi gasps and moans while her body gyrates to his propulsion.
“Then I guess I need to do my best to make you not regret it.”
Shane begins to thrust harder. Emi, unprepared for the sudden increase in force, lets loose a soft squeal.
“You like that?” Shane continues his increased power and speed. Emi looks back at him and ekes out a giggle but doesn’t deny it.
Suddenly, a knock on the toilet door brings the two fornicators to an abrupt halt. They stay silent and motionless for a moment. The knock comes again, this time with the sound of doorknob jostling: Good thing they had locked it before commencing their little romp.
“Someone’s in here. Come back later please.” Emi glances at the door and calls out.
A moment of silence. No response, but no knock and doorknob turning either. Shane again drives his throbbing erection into Emi’s unsuspecting vagina, forcing out a soft yelp.
“Hey!” Emi whispers harshly and reaches back with one hand to softly slap his exposed thigh.
“What? Whoever it was probably already left.”
“This was a bad idea. If we get caught we might both get in trouble.” Emi begins to reach for her knickers around her knees.
“Let’s at least tidy up.” Shane suggests.
“Okay, fine. Five more minutes.” Emi consents reluctantly. She pulls out her makeup kit and begins applying lipsticks in the mirror while Shane continues plowing away from behind.
Suddenly, Shane's whole body seems to freeze. His left arm stiffens, then slowly reaches for a box cutter tucked at his belt.
“What are you doing, Shane?”
“I don’t know. It’s not me.”
“Stop it. It’s not funny.”
“Really, I’m serious.” Shane’s left hand, seemingly with a life of its own, has drew the cutter and is slowly raising it to his throat.
“Shane? Please stop it.” Emi’s voice quivers with nervousness. She could tell by Shane’s ghost pale facial expression that something was wrong.
And then... slash!
Just like that, a quick splatter of blood shoots across the white porcelain walls, sink, and glass mirror, with a few splotch landing on Emi's horrified face. Shane lets out a gurgle as a fountain of blood erupts from his severed carotid arteries. His body twitches violently before collapsing to the ground with a thud, the cutter still held tightly in his left hand, dripping with fresh blood.
“Shane…? Shane?! Oh my god!”
Emi quickly wheels around and pulls up her knickers, then stoops down over him to inspect. As Shane lies convulsing on the floor, with blood flooding out of his neck wound and foaming red bubbles at his lips, his eyes roll back lifelessly. Emi, her whole body trembling, quickly rips out handfuls of toilet paper and presses them to the bleeding wound, only to have them soaked through almost instantly.
“Oh my god! Hold on…Hold on…” Emi panickingly springs to her feet and opens the door, bumping squarely into someone waiting just outside.
“Oh my god! It’s you! Please help him! We have to call an ambulance.” Emi quickly leads the man outside in to see Shane.
“I don’t know if he’s alive. We need to call for help!”
Without responding, the man seems to ignore her pleas as he turns to close the door and locks it. Emi gives him a perplexed look.
“Wh…what are you doing? We have to get him out of here!”
Emi jumps up to unlock the door, but the man grabs a handful of her black hair and violently thrust her head into the toilet bowl. A startled Emi struggles, flailing her arms and legs around, but to no avail as the assailant easily overpowers the petite young woman. A gurgling Shane, looking on with fading eyes, limply reaches out to grab at the attacker's arm. Without releasing Emi, the doll maker briefly shifts his attention to the dying man and gives him a good stomp on the neck for good measure, smashing his head against the wall before it slides to the floor with a trail of blood smear.
As Emi continues her desperate struggle and finds herself running out of air, she feels a hand viciously yank her panties down to her knees, followed by a thick, warm meat thrusting into her anus. With her head still dunked in the toilet, her assailant props up her hips with one arm around the waist and begins to violate her, rocking her body back and forth as her arms grabs desperately at the hand pinning her head down. After several minutes, her arms and legs go limp as the fighting begins to die down. The doll maker continues to plow the limp body and finally, with a strangely high-pitched grunt, ejaculates into the poor woman's ass before letting her knees fall limply to the blood-covered floor.
By the time the police arrives, having been called in the following day by the cleaning staff, the two bodies have gone stiff and the blood have darkened and dried. Shane lies against the bathroom wall, his member cut off, leaving only a severed bloody knob. Emi is still buried head-first in the toilet, her panties pulled down to her knees and a cluster of crusting white fluid clinging to her buttocks.
"Looks like a murder-suicide, sir. The security guard killed this lass and then slit his own throat, it seems. We'll have to run a DNA test of his blood and this crusted fluid right here."
A forensics officer glances up at Lyles, who turns to Faisal, standing at the door with Hennessy and Corbin. Faisal in turn looks to the two men in his entourage and points to the dead man leaning against the wall.
"What do you two think? Is this our killer? Maybe he was the one who also killed the stewardess? Got a guilty conscience and offed himself?"
"Nay, I think not." Hennessy quickly dismiss the idea with a shake of his head, then steps forward to examine the wound on Shane's throat.
"At first glance, it seems quite clear that this lad slit his own throat. I've seen something similar back in Dublin, where a man appears to have drowned his lover before offing himself."
"Right then, what you're saying is...?"
"The real killer probably came from Dublin. Maybe even the same flight as the previous victim..." Hennessy looks up at the lieutenant.
"If we could get a list of passengers who flew in on that flight, that might help us find the killer."
"That would take some time. We would need to get the records from the National Air Traffic Service." Faisal nods thoughtfully before looking up at Hennessy.
"You would need to ask Deputy Inspector Stewart Cunningsley. He is in charge of coordinating with external agencies."
"Where can we find him now?"
Though slightly surprised by Faisal's response, Corbin and Hennessy nevertheless set out quickly to find their liaison personnel.
The duo soon arrives at Chinatown, and enters on foot until they reach a seedy place with neon-lights and a neon sign that reads: Golden Palace. Once inside, they are greeted by the fragrance of herbal ointment and incense. A middle-aged oriental man sits at the counter, a half-smoked cigarette dangling out of his mouth.
“Cheers, Chaps! Here for a good time?” The boss greets the lawmen enthusiastically.
“Uh… no, sir. We’re looking for Deputy Inspector Cunningsley.” Corbin replies.
“Aha! Yes, Mister Cunningsley very regular customer! Very good for business!” The oriental man throws both thumbs up, then points down the hall.
“Last room on left side.”
The duo walk through a corridor lined with closed doors, with sounds of giggling and moaning coming from within- giving the impression of a place that’s more than just a massage parlor.
“Welcome to the dark underbelly of London.” Corbin squeezes out a wry smile and gestures about with his hands, almost ashamed of what he's partner is seeing.
“These are things that are kinda out of our hands.”
“Eh, Dublin ain’t much better, ye know.” Hennessy shrugs while lighting a smoke.
They open a door at the end of the corridor to see a shirtless man horizontal on a massage table with a scantily-clad young oriental woman sitting on his back and sensually massaging his shoulders. When the duo burst in unannounced, the man lifts his head, his eyes widen with astonishment.
“Inspector Cunningley...” Corbin clears his throat and attempts to maintain formality, despite the young oriental with long dark hair turning to examine him with her large black pupils, her teeth biting down on her cherry-colored lower lips ever so slightly.
“So this is what the Deputy Inspector does on his free time, eh?” Hennessy does not seem the least unnerved by the unprofessional setting, not surprising for a man known as the "Drunken Hound".
“What the devil are you two doing here?!”
Cunningsley pushes up his chest with a scowl and lets his young porcelain-skinned plaything slide off his back, obviously irate at the interruption of his privacy.
“Lieutenant Faisal sent us, sir. He said we would be able to find you here.”
“Did he now?” Cunningsley quickly throws on his shirt and buttons it up, sheepishly adjusting his collar.
“Did he tell you I’m on a special assignment?”
“To do what? Inspect foreign goods?” Hennessy scoffs nonchalantly and throws a glance at the half-dressed oriental masseuse.
“Pray tell, lad! Why the devil did you bring this insolent chap?" Cunningsley’s dirty-blonde mustache kicks up as he aggressively shoves a finger in Hennessy’s face. His face bright red with a mix of embarrassment and anger:
“How dare you mock my professionalism!”
“Actually, need ye to do us a favor, chap.”
Hennessy ignores his gobsmacked displeasure and intentionally mimics the word “chap” in Cunningsley’s tone, much to the Deputy Inspector's chagrin . Corbin looks on, subtly shaking his head.
("These two will definitely not get on well...")
Meanwhile, Kazelle is busy dusting off the instruments at Hard Rock Haven when Rahab walks in and drops a file on the register counter.
"How are you feeling, Gothic Ghoul?"
"I don't know, I can't remember anything after hunting down Hoskins. What happened to me?"
"Your body continued to decompose despite eating those brains. The z-serum takes a greater toll on your body than I originally predicted, so I had to put you through a week-long chemical rejuvenation. You should be good to go now. Here is our new Ripper."
Kazelle picks up the file and flips it open, seeing the photo of a middle-aged man with thinning hair and unkept facial stubbles, as well as crime scene photos of his two latest victims.
Barnaby O'Shank, also known as 'The Dollmaker'. Hometown: Dublin, Ireland. Current location: Celestial Empress Strip Mall near Chinatown.
"Now, before you set out- I think we'd better outfit you with some new weapons to help you on this next assignment. Fighting barehanded clearly puts a strain on your body that we can ill afford."
Rahab turns for the door and gestures for Kazelle to follow. Her curiosity piqued, Kazelle heads out after the devious nun.
