by CW Browning
“Do you see anything?” she called.
“I see everything from up here, but nothing that can help us,” John retorted as he moved carefully along the wall on his knees. He glanced into the haunted maze below, snaking around the prison yard. “You guys really went through there last night?”
“Yep,” Stephanie answered. She followed John along the wall as he moved slowly, examining the top of the wall as he went. “It was fun!”
“It looks pretty lame.” John's voice was muffled as he glanced down at something inside the wall. He paused, leaning forward to examine it, then shook his head and continued on slowly. “Are we letting them open it tonight?”
“We finished in there and came up with nothing, so I gave the green light,” Stephanie answered. A brisk wind hit her in the face and she shivered, wishing she had her jacket. Now that the afternoon was moving on, the temperature was starting to drop. “No one will be allowed inside the prison, and I told them they couldn't use the front yard for the ticket stand. I also blocked off the Warden's House. There's a corridor that leads from the house to the prison. It's kept padlocked and rarely used, but I'm not taking any chances.”
“You're a sucker.” John glanced down at her with a grin. “Admit it. You like Halloween.”
“I'll admit it freely,” Stephanie retorted. “I love this time of year. It's fun, and I don't see why I should shut down the main attraction of the year for this museum unless I have a good reason for doing so.”
“An arm isn't high on the good reason scale?” John asked. He paused in his progress to glance up at the Dungeon window. “I'm moving out of range of the window.”
“What do you think?” Stephanie backed up a few feet and tried to see the Dungeon window from her position on the ground. “I can't even see it from here.”
John held onto the side of the wall with one hand while he aimed the laser gun at the window and pulled the trigger. A red beam sliced across the prison yard and came to rest on the opening that was smaller than all the rest. He glanced at the measurement.
“Well, it's certainly within range of any decent shot,” he said, glancing down at her. “It's a somewhat clear shot from here. I think it would be easier from further back, but only to an experienced shooter. Either way, it's a challenge. They would have had to balance themselves and make a moderately difficult shot at the same time.”
“What about a pathway to the window itself?” Stephanie asked after a moment. “Can you see a way to climb to the window?”
“Again, not unless they were Spider-man.” John lowered the gun and ran his eyes along the wall to the prison itself. “Unless...”
“Unless?” Stephanie prompted when he didn't continue.
“If they went up on the other side of the yard, they could have gone across the top of the Warden's House and crossed over to the prison roof.” John glanced down to her. “Once on the prison roof, they could drop down to the window.”
“You're really going along with this whole superhero thing, aren't you?” Stephanie asked dryly. John grinned.
“Hey, you asked,” he retorted.
“Do you see any signs up there of someone else going along there recently?”
“Not on this section.”
“Ok, Spidey, come on down.”
Stephanie sighed and turned to walk back to the ladder they had rested against the wall. John cautiously turned himself around on the narrow ledge and started moving back toward the ladder. Stephanie's eyes rested on the upper branches of a tree visible over the wall near the back corner.
“Can you see the tree near the wall on the other side of the yard from where you're at?” she asked suddenly.
John paused in the act of stepping onto the ladder and glanced across the yard.
“Yes,” he answered. “Why?”
“Does the maze block the tree in?”
“Not really.” John stepped onto the top step of the ladder and looked across the yard at the tree in question. “The maze kind of skirts it, and there's a path running along the back wall. What are you thinking?”
“Could someone have come up this side of the wall, gone down this tree and gone over to the other tree?” Stephanie shaded her eyes and tilted her head to gaze up at John.
“Yeah, they could have gone around the back of the maze and along the back wall,” he answered, looking to his left. John glanced down at her. “But if they were going to do that, why not just go over the wall on the other side to begin with?”
“It's more exposed than this side,” Stephanie replied, echoing Alina's words. “With the police station right behind it, it would be too risky. It faces the road.”
John backed down the ladder and dropped to the ground beside her.
“True. This side is more secluded, especially at night,” he agreed. “I just think the whole thing is a little far-fetched, though. People scaling prison walls and going up and down trees with an arm in tow? Do you know how awkward that would be?”
“I know.” Stephanie sighed again and turned to walk toward the front of the prison. “But they got it in there somehow, and our resident expert seems to think the wall and window are key components of the 'how.'”
“Our resident expert isn't normal,” John muttered. He stopped and looked back along the high prison wall thoughtfully. “I guess I can see her point, though,” he murmured. “If they didn't bring it in through the front door, and they didn't go in through the back door, that really does only leave the wall.”
“Why here?” Stephanie wondered as they turned to continue toward the front of the prison again. “Why a prison?”
“Why just the arm?” John retorted. “And where's the rest of him?”
“This whole thing just doesn't make any sense,” Stephanie complained as they rounded the front corner of the building. “Let's wrap it up here. I can't think anymore under the shadow of this place. Did you get the footage from the cameras inside the prison?”
“Yep.”
“Ok. Let's go back to the office and take a look at it.” Stephanie paused at the front steps to the prison. “And get someone up on a ladder inside that cell. I want some close-ups of the window. Have them measure it while they're up there.”
“On it.” John started up the steps to the front door, then paused and glanced down to her. “Are you heading to the office now?”
“Yes.” Stephanie turned toward the road and her car. “I'll meet you there. Bring dinner back with you. It's going to be a long night.”
The silence in the condo was broken by a quiet ding from the laptop on the dining room table. Damon swiped the touch screen and clicked on the button to close the connection to the external hard drive. Lifting his eyes from the laptop and stretching, he reached his arms far behind his head and yawned widely. His eyes fell on his empty plate and glass from a hasty dinner a few hours earlier and he sighed. He was hungry again.
Standing, he picked up the plate and carried it into the small kitchen. Now that his files were transferred, he could relax and make himself something more substantial to eat. He thought about the worthless white bread waiting for him at Alina's and smiled faintly. While he was on board with most of her healthy eating habits, the two indulgences he allowed himself were beer and white bread. Like Viper, Hawk firmly believed his body was his greatest weapon and he took care of it accordingly. He stayed away from preservatives, artificial coloring, any meat or produce that was not organic and GMO-free, and he avoided any and all soda like the plague. However, he also firmly believed that the only reason he was still sane was because he allowed himself beer at night, and white bread and real butter with his eggs in the morning. Alina had started to warm up to the beer in Washington, but she still called the white bread “refined cancer in a loaf.”
Damon was putting his plate in the dishwasher, the smile playing around his lips, when something caught his attention. It wasn't a noise, exactly, but more of a sensation. It surrounded him, gripping his gut, and Hawk straightened up abruptly. T
he faint smile vanished from his face instantly. He closed the dishwasher and stood perfectly still, listening.
Silence surrounded him, but something had disturbed the peace in the small condo.
Hawk reached out and flipped off the kitchen light, reaching behind him to pull his constant companion out of its holster. Moving to the kitchen door, he glanced around the small dining room before silently crossing the room to flip the switch on the wall. The dining room was plunged into darkness and Hawk waited, listening. Silence still surrounded him, but something was wrong. All his instincts were humming. Setting his back flat against the wall, he moved along slowly until he was between the dining room and front room. The small living room was dimly illuminated by a single low-watt lamp, burning on an end table. Hawk glanced down the short, dark hallway that led to the bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness easily.
He stood perfectly still.
There! Something rustled outside and Damon cut his eyes to the front window. He flipped off the safety on his modified 9mm Beretta and watched the front windows, his ears straining for further sound. There was nothing. He frowned, glancing toward the sliding door at the other end of the dining room. All was silent again.
But he knew someone, or something, was outside.
Hawk moved swiftly and silently across the room, coming to rest with his back against the wall next to the living room window. All was silent as he stood perfectly still, his breathing even, waiting for something to happen. When there was no further movement outside the window after a few moments, Damon exhaled slowly. He turned his head and was about to peer behind the blinds when, suddenly, there was a loud rap on the glass. The sound was immediately followed by more rustling, and everything fell silent outside again.
Pressing his lips together grimly, Damon gently pulled on the blinds, glancing outside. There was no face peering back at him. His motorcycle was parked in its spot, unmolested, and the night was quiet. Frowning, he cast his eyes along the edge of the parking lot and watched as a crossover pulled out of the lot. The tires squealed as the driver hit the gas and sped off into the night.
Flipping the safety back on, Hawk tucked his Beretta back into his holster and stepped away from the window. He was turning away when he suddenly swung back and flipped up one of the blinds. Something was just outside the window.
Hawk dropped the blind and strode to the door. He glanced out the peephole before opening the door and going outside. It was late and the residents of the development were ensconced in their homes, their dogs walked, settled in for the night. He rounded the corner of the front alcove and stopped dead. His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed as he glanced around the darkness quickly, looking for any movement, but everything was dark and silent. Everything was as it should be.
Except for the head, impaled on a long pike, stuck into the ground next to his window.
Damon stared at it, his mind blank. Was it real? He moved up to the monstrosity, staring at it in disbelief. He judged the owner of the head to have been of Latin American descent and in his late twenties. Pressing his lips together again in a grim line, Damon stared at a pair of dark eyes, peering back at him lifelessly from a gruesome face.
It was real, and it was a grisly warning.
“You found a what?” Alina closed the refrigerator door, her phone pressed to her ear, and stared at the stainless steel in disbelief.
“A head,” Damon repeated, amusement threading his voice. “If it sounds gruesome, that's because it is.”
“First an arm, now a head,” she muttered. “I'm seriously starting to rethink Jersey.”
“An arm? What arm?” he asked sharply.
“They found an arm in the old prison in Mt. Holly this morning,” Alina explained, turning away from the fridge and carrying a bottle of water over to the bar. She perched on a bar stool and sipped the water. “It belonged to one of Stephanie's informants.”
“Where's the rest of him?”
“They don't know.” Alina set the bottle down and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I wonder if you have his head?”
“Who was he informing on?” Damon demanded. “Was he Latin American?”
“I don't know,” Alina murmured. “His name was Frietas, so probably. Rodrigo Frietas, I believe.”
“Brazilian?”
“Got me. You'd have to ask her.” Alina's lips twitched. “But, honestly, I wouldn't suggest it. She already thinks you're trouble.”
“Me?” Damon snorted. “You're the one who gets embroiled with terrorists and psychos.”
“But you're never far behind these days,” Alina pointed out.
“Someone has to keep you in check,” he retorted, causing her to chuckle. “You have a knack for sniffing out trouble.”
“Well, I certainly didn't sniff out a head,” she shot back, a grin creasing her lips. “Where is it?”
“In front of my window, stuck on a pike of some kind.”
“I hate to mention this, but in some cultures that would be considered a warning,” Alina said thoughtfully. “What exactly were you doing in Mexico two months ago?”
“I already thought of that.” Hawk sounded absurdly amused. “How the hell did they find me?”
“I don't know.” Alina sipped her water, her eyes resting on the island in her kitchen. “Why don't you give me some data and I'll see what I can find out.”
“I have to get rid of this head first,” Damon retorted. “Any ideas?”
“Plenty, but none that would be appropriate,” she murmured, her eyes dancing. “Have the neighbors seen it yet?”
“No, and I have to get rid of it before they do.”
“You could tell them it's a Halloween decoration and throw some cobwebs on it,” she suggested. “Then you don't have to move it at all!”
“Until the birds start eating its eyeballs,” he replied. “You're not being very helpful.”
“I'm sorry.” Alina sounded anything but apologetic as she fought back a laugh. “My expertise is in severing the head, not disposing of it.”
“Some partner in crime you're turning out to be. You're supposed to pull up with a shovel and a bag of lime in the trunk,” Damon informed her with laughter in his voice. “You're from Jersey, for God's sake! This is what you people do!”
“I could call Frankie Solitto for you,” Alina offered, grinning. “He probably has exclusive dumping rights to a few landfills.”
“And owe the mob a favor? No thanks.”
“I'm sure he would settle for a trade.” Alina's shoulders were shaking with her laughter. “You whack someone for him, and he disposes of your stray head for you.”
“I'll take my chances,” Damon told her.
“Suit yourself.” Alina capped her water and realized with a shock that she was having more fun now than she had in a long, long time. “Don't say I didn't try to help. We make contacts for a reason. What good is one in the Jersey mob if you won't use it?”
“I think I can handle this,” he answered, his voice unsteady. “I just had an idea.”
“Wonderful! Just make sure you put your spare helmet on it. You don't want to get a ticket for having a head riding unprotected on the bike.”
“Thanks. I'll take that under advisement,” Hawk said with a laugh.
Alina glanced up from her laptop as a loud beep echoed through the house. Frowning, she looked at the plasma above the fireplace. The perimeter at the back of the property, where the trees backed onto a wide creek, was flashing. She closed the laptop and got up, swiftly moving to the fireplace and reaching her arm up into the chimney until her fingers closed around metal. Alina extracted a shotgun from the rack attached inside the chimney, flipping it open and checking inside the barrel. Holding the shotgun with one hand, she opened a wooden box on the mantel and extracted a handful of shells. She quickly fed two shells into the gun and dropped the rest into one of her cargo pockets. A minute later, she was out the back door and on the deck, her eyes searching the darkness behind the house.
When Hawk emerged from the trees ten minutes later, spotlights flashed on and he stopped short, staring down the length of a double-barreled shotgun.
“For the love of God, Hawk, why are you sneaking through the trees?” Viper demanded, lowering the shotgun.
“Evasive action,” he replied, his lips twitching. “A shotgun? Are you trying to harness Annie Oakley's spirit?”
Alina grinned.
“I think Annie O and I would have got along just fine,” she said decidedly. “Who were you evading?”
“That's the big question.”
Alina met his gaze, her smile fading, and nodded.
“You'd better come inside.”
She turned toward the house with the shotgun tucked under her arm and Damon fell into step beside her. As they crossed the light-washed lawn, he looked down at her and grinned.
“Why do I feel like I'm on the frontier?”
“Because you brought up Annie Oakley,” Alina replied immediately. “Come down into my command center and you'll forget all about shotguns.”
“Is that a promise?” he asked.
Alina glanced at him, her eyes glinting.
“Absolutely,” she answered.
“I think I like you, Annie Oakley,” Damon told her with a wink.
“Get your mind out of where it shouldn't be,” she told him. “You know that's not what I meant. Where's your bike?”
“Near the creek.” Damon glanced at the roof of the house as they approached the deck and caught sight of a black shadow moving along the gutter. “I left it inside the perimeter.”
“Good.” Alina stepped onto the deck as Raven dropped down from the roof. He landed on the banister, gazing at Damon with his shiny black eyes. “If anyone followed you, we'll know.”
“I won't stay here,” Damon told her, following her through the sliding door and closing it behind them. Alina glanced at him as she headed over to the fireplace and set the shotgun on the mantle.
“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “Of course you will.”
“Until I know who left a head in front of my window, I think it would be safer for you if I stayed away from you,” he said, turning to face her. He encountered a laughing look.
