Mortis went for the trunk of his car, he opened the trunk to reveal a costume made organizing space to hold various cases in a very orderly and efficient manner. Mortis went through one of them and pulled an old fashion single shot Mortar and a series of white mortar grenades embroider with holy cross symbols. Mortis opened the Mortar, loaded a grenade inside, checked his gun, holstered a few more grenade bullets and closed the trunk.
Everyone surrounding the scene looked at the Detective with awe and dread, not sure what was really going on. Jimmy, of course, was the first to vocalize this feeling with his colourful language and deep seated anger.
"Are you planning to blow the place up!" Jimmy turned desperate to the don "He will blow the whole place up boss!"
Mortis rolled his eyes, he was not in the mood to argue, so he figured to be safe rather than sorry.
The Detective showed a bullet to Stonewall, Iron and Jimmy, the rest of the men tried to have a peek, but Jimmy kept them in place. "This is a salt shot, made with blessed salt from the Dead Sea, one of this can cost you upwards of five hundred dollars if you know the right people. It won't blow the place up, just season the whole area and dissolve any spirit it touches like a slug in a salt factory. The format makes it easy to spread on big or wide targets. Any questions?"
Mortis looked around in search of volunteers to his rhetorical enquiry, instead he saw heads shaking, Stonewall shrugged impressed. "Guess that explains it."
The Detective turned to his car, he gave a high pitched whistle and from the open door Cicero jumped out, fresh and ready. Obediently the dog closed the door behind him and stood besides his master, who patted him kindly.
"Let's get to work" Mortis opened the jar with the larva inside, there was a loud pop, as pressure was released, and the mourns of the maggot escaped as did a soft yet poignant smell of rotten flesh accompanied by small high pitched moans. Many of the mobsters stepped back, even Jimmy leaned backwards slightly, only old Stonewall leaned forward trying to see as the Detective handed his partner the jar to sniff. Cicero sniffed the stench confident the dog turned to the building as he barked, indicating that he had a scent. Mortis closed the jar and tossed it to Jimmy, who caught it like a man caught a live grenade.
"Watch it you bozo!"
"I should be back in ten minutes with your answers Mr. Stonewall".
Mortis let Cicero lead, both swallowed by the darkness of the main warehouse.
The Main Warehouse was a huge complex of boxes and columns, the place was the place where most quality textile products were stored to be distributed to major retailers across the Nashville area and nearby towns and cities, fortunes of luxury and high end goods sat there, guarded by some of Nashville nastiest 'legitimate businessmen', and now a sole man stepped in to deal with whatever kept men known for gutting the competition in the most literal sense, out of their own warehouse.
Electric lights where unreliable inside the complex, mass concentrations of spirits messed with electrical equipment, the more powerful the gathering the worst the electrical issues. No one is one hundred percent sure why ghosts and supernatural energies mess with electricity; the leading theory among the supernaturally inclined is based on the Shelly/Frankenstein idea that the the elements, the spirit and the soul are linked to electricity, or something that used electricity as a conductor, creating an interesting scenario where weaker ghosts can be literally swallowed by electrical currents, while stronger ghost can feed and even thrive on them. There is no real definitive answer, but the leading possibility does not explain why ghosts other supernatural phenomena messes with old school film cameras.
Mortis did ponder about spirits and their relationship with electricity, not because he wanted an answer, but because he needed information, mostly the fact that the darkness was the ideal place for the spirit. Keeping track of when lights blinked erratically or went off allowed Mortis to triangulate the position of what he was looking for. Following the pattern absent light Mortis found himself near the centre of the warehouse, flanked upon rows and rows of fashion destined to drain he pockets of anyone foolish enough to think that any mass produced product is worth something more than a few dollars. When Cicero stopped, so did Mortis, he saw his four legged pal look up and Mortis followed suit, Mortis had trained Cicero to be quiet when he was near as a way to not alert enemies of their presence when tracking, something that also applied to spirits, spirits may not follow all rules of nature, but they are aware of when they are being observed, and do take their territory very seriously.
One thing Mortis noticed before looking up, was the relative scarce amount of human-faced maggots crawling the floors, the place would usually be crawling with the little freaks when they grew strong enough, that is unless thing were worst than Mortis imagined, which could be confirmed by just looking up. On the ceiling Mortis saw that things where indeed worst than he once thought. Perched on the ceiling, illuminated by the night lights peering through the door, nested a moth big enough to make meals of men, with white translucent wings and green lines akin to rotten ham, but the most distinctive feature was the large human face protruding from its thorax; it was no pattern, but an actual face partially torn to reveal what appeared to be a human skull underneath. The moth stood quiet as five large cocoons hang surrounding the large creatures, two of them open and crawling with the strange maggots.
"This night keeps getting interesting" muttered Mortis, then the Detective took a small stone from his trench-coat and addressed his four legged companion. "I will handle this Cicero. Go look for the source of all this mess" obediently the dog nodded, and began sniffing the various crates.
Mortis checked his grenade launcher once more time, sure that he had missed nothing, he never did, but still it never harmed to be certain at the last minute, then calmly he took centre stage and raised the small stone in his left hand, and the small stone did the rest as a soft glow emanated from the stone which quickly raised into a beacon of white light within the large complex. The light hit the gigantic moth not harming it, it instead made the large face on the thorax gesticulate, moving as if muttering, the large moth then shifted between being translucent enough to see through and reveal two smaller moths hiding underneath the larger one, and thick enough to be a solid object, an effect not uncommon with ghost, as Mortis knew, particularly when related to entities that have grown powerful enough to influence the material side of the physical world. Slowly the moth moved its legs, and went from calm to curious, moving large and feathery antenna.
"That is it big guy, you really want this". Casual observers would be forgiven for not understanding why Mortis did not just shoot the thing off the ceiling, a classic mistake people made in this scenarios. First it is because the grenade would spread salt, and in the Moth's current position it would prove to not hit enough of the target to destroy it; second, the target may fall on him, potentially crashing him, giving the smaller moths enough time to escape, and thirdly, Mortis wanted to waste the least salt possible killing this thing,. Mortis estimated a minimum of two rounds to do the job, which he preferred to maximize his profit, after all, in his line of work every penny counts.
The Moth finally became active and curious enough to descend from its location, the large translucent wings fluttered with grace, yet did not agitate any wind, Mortis needed the wings not to be tangible to do his job, and so he would. The large creature tried to flutter down, but as a spectre the laws of physics meant nothing, and thus the creature hoovered down. phasing through steel beams as it did, turning its attention to Mortis's little stone, like a moth to a candle flame. There the creature revealed itself in all its horror, if the face on its back was disturbing the one in its front was horrific, part human corpse, part melted insect, the creature was a vengeful spirit if Mortis had ever seen one, empty eyes and torn jaw seeking out as a moth's tongue protruded without knowing its place or function in such bizarre fusion of corpses, a true mockery of creation itself.
"You are one ugly customer" said Mortis as he aimed the grenade launcher toward the ceiling and shot the grenade. The bullet flew swiftly in an upward trajectory, reached the space between he two smaller moths, and exploded with the power of a large firework. The white powdered salt blasted into a massive cloud of dust that covered the smaller moths, it pushed through the smaller ghostly creatures like a powerful blast of steam on a man's face, grating the creatures into pieces, destroying them in the process. The partially dissolved ghostly entities felt to the ground, their bodies landing heavily on the creates, indicating they had absorbed quite a large amount of life energy to access mass and density. The salt followed after the fallen moths, snowing over the area like a winter day.
The loud sound of the exploding grenade alerted the ghostly entity of what was going on, but by the time it noticed it was too late, for as its offspring had fallen, deciding then to go from mesmerized entity to ferocious spectre, Mortis had had more than enough time to load the second grenade and shoot it straight onto the creature's face. Usually a ghost would phase out a projectile as a reflex, even if it was not in danger, but blessed things messed with a spirit's constitution, the power of faith poured into the objects, the energy of the spirit, allows the physical to interact with the spiritual, the salt is used for its spiritual connection with purity, purification, life, and value, when touches the ectoplasm and negates its decaying property, destroying the spirit's anchor in reality, allowing Mortis to blow a ghost Moth with a salt bomb and dissolve them. When Spiritual Meaning meets Science.
Following the previous situation a grenade blast of blessed salt would be an instant end to any spirit, not this time. Yes, the shoot was perfect, going into the mouth, melting the creature as the salt falling from the sky acted like acid rain on a forest, but what Mortis forgot to factor was the fact that the open maw would allow the salt blast a way out, and instead of melting the gigantic creature immediately, it lead to the creature having its mouth and lower abdomen dissolved by the blast of holy salt, weakening the creature to eventually drive it to a full exorcism, key word being 'eventually', yes, it would be exorcised, but before that it would have a dozen or so seconds to do some major damage to whoever it could ram against, and its primary target was Mortis. Mortis knew, so Mortis leapt back as the monstrous moth fluttered and twisted in agonizing pain, the pain forcing the wings solid, and banging against pillars and breaking boxes. Mortis kept his cool, he was a professional after all, so he knew what to do, and was ready to do what was necessary. Swiftly Mortis discarded the grenade launcher, and pulled a large metal gauntlet on his right hand, the back of the glove had runes inscribed on it, with a series of runes encircling a crucifix on the back of the palm. This was one of Mortis's custom weapons, a gauntlet design to fight specters with divine power, the crucifix was a holy relic known for its prowess, the runes where to protect the relic from impact, and empower Mortis's already powerful punches, all his own personal design.
You see, Mortis has always been able to tap onto supernatural forces, only instead of casting spells he inscribes them, for he is a Runmaster. Unlike spells, which are chanted as a way to channel, shape, and change the forces of the spirit and aether into what the casters desire, runes are inscribed, solid manifestation of magical abilities, channeling power into a predisposed outcome, like a road leading to a particular destination, once a rune is inscribed it cannot be changed, only erased, making them less versatile than regular spell-casting, but far more powerful for those who actually knew the meaning of preparation and anticipation, and Detective Sebastian Morits, protector of Nashville and guardian of Tennessee was a master in that regard. As the Moth rammed forward Mortis put his strength on his right arm, pouring the energy of his soul into the gauntlet; the runes surrounding the crucifix glowed with purpose, and the crucifix followed suit; in a fraction of a second an already might fist had been empowered. The Phantasmagorical moth charged, Mortis sprinted and let his right arm swing empowered by resplendence light. A light construct materialized for a second, a fist larger than a bull's head hit the spectre dead centre, blasting the agonizing spirit into smithereens, ectoplasm flew everywhere behind the moth, landing with loud splats, and then foamed away as the last of the holy salt did its job.
Annoyed with his mistake Mortis took off the gauntlet, and checked his grenade launcher for any damages, he huffed at the idea of having to do a full check-up of the weapon again to avoid any issue could be fatal in the next case. With all his equipment secured he then checked the damage caused by the uncanny pest to the Mafia property, and with a few crates broken Mortis put it as a bad performance, which he would not tell the people outside.
"Woof!" Mortis turned his head, his partner had found the remaining pieces of this case.
Outside the main warehouse members of the Tennessee Mafia waited in unease, Stonewall kept warm inside his car as the men tried their best to patrol, but even with Jimmy's scowl on them most men kept looking back at the entrance of the warehouse to see what was of the Detective. Finally patience paid off as Mortis exited through the main entrance, with Cicero leading the way, and carrying with ease over his shoulder a crate that would take two men to barely lift off the ground, causing an outbreak of stares on his person.
"What in God's good name that?" asked Jimmy feeling emasculated at the sight of the Detective carrying such a large box nonchalant.
"I dare to say, a good reason not to take the man lightly" pointed Iron, he quickly opened the door of the car to alert his grandfather of Mortis's return. The old Mafia boss decided to stand up this time to greet the Detective, and at the display of Herculean strength felt ready to sit down again.
"Detective, emr, I assume you have been successful in your endeavour?" asked Stonewall with a soft smile that hid childish glee, the veteran Mafioso could not stop being amused by Mortis.
"You assume correct, the ghost has been exorcised, although I am sorry to say your men are lost for good, you will find their corpses lined up in the middle of the warehouse, my condolences" expressed Mortis with professional sincerity.
"And the box?" asked Jimmy pointing at the crate Mortis's carried.
"I believe when it is that big it is a crate boss" said a slightly more literate grunt, who remained anonymous when Jimmy scowled in his general direction.
Mortis tapped the crate "This? This contains the source of your problems, at least the immediate one". The Detective looked around "Anyone here has a crowbar?"
Heads turned and Mafia grunts asked each other for the tool requested. Mortis added "Axe will do too", which caused two men to eagerly volunteer.
Mortis dropped the crate in front of Stonewall and Iron, the loud sound of the heavy wooden container dropping startled the onlookers. Mortis then stepped back, letting the lower members of the Mafia group to have fun, and in their own heads maybe hope to impress the man of the trench-coat, and undertaker hat.
"The human maggots where shipped in that box?" asked Jimmy.
"Something worst" indicated Mortis.
The crate was opened, the men pulled the broken pieces of box out to reveal a collection of out of season Blue Jeans.
"Are you telling me that the jeans are cursed or something?" inquired Jimmy with a sarcastic smile. A few men chuckled, others noticed something off in the air. Iron could feel the whiff of something off and Stonewall noticed his grandson's discomfort.
"What's wrong boy?" asked the grandfather.
"Is a strange smell, like stale ginger mixed with old spices" pointed Iron.
Mortis took the axe from the hands of one of the mafia men, and swung it one-handedly to the side of the crate, cracking it open, making the jeans to flow out like a designer's avalanche.
"What you doing? You will ruin the merchandise" protested Jimmy.
Mortis limited himself to point to the pile and say: "Look."
The crowd held its breath as a pair of human feet stuck out of the pile of clothes, Mortis returned the axe to its owner and proceeded to pull the corpse with a single hand effortlessly. The corpse in question was a partially mummified man, bounded and gagged, inside a transparent plastic bag. Its body was covered in salt and talismans, the most important talisman being one that reassembled a butterfly, and his expression was one of pure suffering.
"My God" was the expression used by Stonewall to summarize what the group was feeling. Of all the things they could have expected this was not even top ten.
"Congratulations Mr. Stonewall, someone is really trying to ruin you and your posse".
One of the axe men poked the corpse with his axe and asked "Why did they put all those papers like that?"
"Talismans, seals to prevent the curse from activating until the designated time has passed" Mortis knelled to examine the corpse, he tore the bag open and the scent of cured meat and putrefaction engulfed the area, Cicero winced at the odour, people backed down at the smell, some of weaker constitution lost control of their bowels and barfed.
"Holy shit! That thing smells like rotten ham!" complied Jimmy.
"This man was heavily tutored, nails and hair pulled, skin grated, all designed to inflict as much misery on the poor bastard as inhumanly possible" stated Mortis.
"Why?" was the question coming out from most lips, it was the wisest among the mafia men, who also happened to be their leader, who used reason rather than confusion.
"He was the source of that thing attacking my men, haunting my warehouses" reasoned the elder Mafioso.
Mortis nodded and explained: "They sacrificed him to demons that were no gods, they sacrificed that man to make that ghost happen. Most probably he saw his entire family being tortured, driven mad until he did nothing but curse life itself, ripen to become a powerful cursed spirit ready to harm anyone he though of as foe, then he was sent to you. The poor soul" Mortis cross himself as a sign of respect for the departed soul, so did a few of the men around.
"Isn't all of that a little too elaborate? Why not try to run us out or buy us out?" asked the more orderly Iron.
Stonewall coughed "Clearly they want to weaken us, demoralize us, make us waste resources somewhere else as they wiggle their way into our less secure holdings. Make a note Iron to have take census of our territory, see if any of our holdings is begin threaten by a rival group" ordered the elder man then he looked towards the Detective. "Should we look for someone in particular?"
Mortis paced around the wooden crate and found the name of the supplier, 'Milan Threads', a corny name, most probably not Italian, but one of those many Asian companies that try to come up with names more appealing to Western ears.
"My money is either on the Triads, the Yakuza, or whoever runs the Korean underground, this is more in their home turf" said Mortis.
"Okay, we flush any Chinese out until one tell us who put the body in" said Jimmy.
"If you want to start a war, sure. If you don't just make sure to inspect all crates coming and going, make lists of all supplying companies you can find and see if the product is coming like this from overseas or it has been added on this side of the Pacific" suggested Mortis.
"Anything else constable?" asked Jimmy with an irritated twitch.
"Yeah, check the paperwork, see if the box is part of the records. Someone could have been bribed to sneak it in" Mortis expression was calm and serious, which made Jimmy's left eye further twitch in anger.
"You fucker! Are you suggesting one of MY men is responsible for it" said Jimmy as his face went from lightly tan to dark red very fast.
"Gentlemen, please" Iron tried to come as a mediator to not avail.
"I am just telling you what to look for, no stone must be left unturned" said Mortis.
"You piece of Shit!" enraged Jimmy pulled a knife and threatened Mortis with it, the Detective was not even amused by the display, he did not have time for this. Some of Jimmy's men imitated his superior and pulled out their weapons while others hesitated and looked towards higher power for answers.
"That's enough boy!" ordered Stonewall with the voice of an angry schoolteacher, everyone paid attention, Mortis included, for no one wanted to get on the Mason's patriarch bad side.
"But Mr. Stonewall…"
It felt like a hail storm, that was like when the old Mafia Don glared with full intensity at Jimmy, even Mortis was taken by surprise by the destructive power of the gaze, it was the eyes of a man who had outwitted and killed so many people to get where he was. Jimmy did not dare defy his leader, he put the knife away and uttered a meekly "I am sorry" before becoming subdued, arching himself as if his body recalled the punishment attached to the transgression. Mortis had heard stories, and is the reason why the men of the Tennessee Mafia never take their shirts off in public places, marks are imposed upon those who transgress, not dissimilar to the Yakuza and the cutting of fingers.
The old man turned to Mortis, his gaze went from cold to affable, a skill of a man truly at the peak of his intellectual game. "I am sorry for my men's threats Detective, Jimmy in particular is quite zealous. I do hope it does not erode our current arrangement. If there is any way I can compensate you for such act do let me know".
Mortis nodded "I do not need any compensation Mr Stonewall, but I do need to ask a favour" stated the Detective to indicate no bad blood was among the groups, being forgiving is not something you want in this business, but to try and soften the blow and make others look good can take you far indeed.
"Anything my boy" said the old man with the confidence that he spoke to a reasonable and well adjusted human being, within the reason of his chosen business.
"There is madman running around the streets hacking people with a sword, it has targeted homeless people and a few random souls including a band of college students tonight. I need to ask you that if your men spot set madman tell them to not engage him under any circumstance, just call me and let me deal with it" requested the Detective, stoic and serious yet remaining humble, asking a King for a favour rather than talking to an equal, even though if truth could take place, the roles may be stranger than imagined.
Stonewall looked at his grandson and ordered "Give the word boy to all houses, be in the lookout for the madman with a sword" The elder Mafioso then turned to Mortis with a soft smirk "I assume that you would like to know if we find any bodies that have been hacked?"
"It would be appreciated sir" thanked Mortis.
"What about our John Smith here? What should we do with him?" asked Iron, pointing at the unfortunate man's corpse.
"You can drop it to the police if you want, or somewhere were it could be found. Though I do not think you people like the option" suggested Mortis.
"Out of the question, I want to keep this as private as possible" said Stonewall.
"We could dispose it at our landfill, no one would look for it there" suggested Iron.
"I would not suggest it, the only way to get rid of a corpse like this proper is to cremate it, ideally done in proper burial ceremony so that the spirit of the victim can find proper rest" said Mortis.
"I thought that is what you were paid to do right now!" jumped Jimmy, he noticed his outburst and shrunk again to avoid further punishment. "Sorry."
"I exorcised the ghost, the spirit may yet have to properly transition into the afterlife" Mortis pulled a card scribbled a name and a number and handed it to Iron. "If you want to properly deal with this man call this people and be specific about the corpse. Do not worry about them, they are professionals, they will keep things under wraps and give this poor soul a place to rest".
"You have our thanks" said Stonewall.
"Before I leave there is one more thing..." Mortis went to his car and pulled from the trunk a scary looking shear. Using disposable gloves he took one of the corpse's shriveled and rotten hands, cut a finger with disturbing ease, put the dismembered digit into a sterile bag, and stored the thing as evidence, then the Detective pulled all the tags from the corpse and stored them in a separate bag, much to the disturbing look of the Mafia people.
"This should help me find information about who did this, maybe the ID of our lost soul. On that note, I suggest you put the little bug in the jar under the sun, it may be made of a piece of soul of one of your men and may stop him from finding peace" pointed Mortis.
There were further exchanges of pleasantries, a handshake between Detective and Mafioso, and the departure of Mortis and Cicero from the warehouse into the Nashville night.
As Mortis drove the events of the night danced in his mind. Dead teenagers, tortured corpses, a summoning to meet Nashville's Richest and Most influential person. When going out of the city for a job work tended to accumulate, but rarely, if ever, like this. Mortis had a feeling something bigger was afoot, and it either all was connected, or too many independent pieces were moving at the same time; whatever the case may be The Detective would have to leave resting after he had dealt with the now, before things got out of control, as they tended to do when things humanity could not explain were on the loose.