by Peter Hartog
My world burned black and red. The Insight’s distant thunder had been rumbling in my ears since Besim started talking. Now it roared, drowning out whatever Besim said next.
“Don’t you dare bring her into this!” I shouted, angry tears streaking my cheeks.
I rubbed the scars, painfully aware of the puckered flesh beneath my trembling fingers. The Insight seethed, but I exerted my will and refused to let it overtake me. I had no desire to see Besim as she truly was right now, or anything else, for that matter. All I wanted to do was crawl down some deep, dark place, curl up, and never be bothered by murdered girls, vampires or tattooed Vellans again.
“She’s none of your goddamn business,” I jabbed a finger at her. “You got that?”
“As you wish,” Besim replied. She placed the fragment atop the Wrigley-Boes pamphlet.
Although the rain hadn’t lifted, the early morning gloom settled into a somber shade of dull gray heralding yet another soggy day. Myrna and Mortie were engaged in small talk, but I could feel their eyes on me. Their voices carried through the open service window separating the counter space from the kitchen.
“Rumpelstiltskin remains at large,” Besim said quietly. “He must be stopped before others suffer the same fate as Vanessa Mallery.”
“On that we agree,” I stated, my anger settling into a dull rage as I drank the last of my coffee. “I’ll finish this, and then I don’t want to see you, or any of your people ever again.”
I pulled out my phone and called Leyla.
“What’s up, Doc?” I heard the concern the moment she spoke. “You okay?”
“Yeah, kiddo,” I replied with false cheer. Besim regarded me, her expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Listen, I need you to pull up every Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals facility in Empire City, owned, rented, triple-net, vacant, you name it. Specifically, any of their properties containing laboratories or distribution centers.”
“Got it,” Leyla replied.
Several seconds passed while I waited.
“There’s five,” she piped up with excitement. “The main corporate office is in the Financial District. Now what?”
“Downtown, eh?” I said, eyes narrowing in thought. The Insight dimmed as I focused my attention on the conversation. “Anywhere near the alley where Vanessa was murdered?”
Leyla sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy shit, Doc! It’s two blocks away!”
“What about former R&D sites?” I spun the fragment on the pamphlet, watching it twirl before it slowed and stopped. “Distribution centers, old offices? Where are those?”
“Let me see…” She hummed a tuneless melody while she worked. “Oh, here’s something. There was a fire last night in Hoboken. I’ll send you this morning’s feed.”
The holo played above the display of my phone. A pretty, brown-eyed reporter wearing a raincoat and carrying an umbrella stood before the smoldering ruins of a windowless one-story building.
“A three-alarm fire destroyed this building last night down in Castle Point,” the reporter explained in a perky voice, as new footage appeared showing the property engulfed by flames. “Firefighters responded to the call shortly after midnight, battling the blaze for several hours. The cause of the fire remains unknown, although arson is suspected. A spokesperson for the building owner, Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals, issued a statement that the building had been vacant, and was up for sale. Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals is a manufacturer and seller of healthcare and nutritional supplements, with headquarters—"
I killed the feed with a sullen swipe of my hand.
“Isn’t that convenient?” I muttered. “Credits to donuts that’s where Rumpel hid his secret lab. Now what?”
My eyes strayed to the pamphlet on the table, lost in thought.
“I’ll search the other buildings,” Leyla replied.
Rumpelstiltskin had been a ghost, evading everyone for years. Once he realized we were closing in on him, he’d covered his tracks and melted into obscurity to start all over again. There had to be some way to catch the slippery son of a bitch. Something I’d missed that could bridge the gap, bring me closer and take him down once and for all.
But what?
“Check this out,” Leyla said. “All the buildings are for sale, even the corporate headquarters. There’s been an ongoing battle between the Wrigley-Boes parent company and another corporation attempting a hostile takeover of its pharmaceutical operations. I bet the lawyers’ fees are astronomical!”
I shot a glance at Besim, who watched me with hooded eyes.
“Wrigley-Boes is owned by somebody else?” I asked suspiciously.
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Leyla laughed. “Their parent is Orpheus Financial Group, a private, multinational holding firm engaged in pharmaceutical and disease research, development, marketing, and distribution. Three guesses who their CEO is.”
The image of Tamara Ettelman appeared above the phone, mocking me with her dancing eyes.
“Her name is M. Fatima,” Leyla said. “Not sure what the ‘M’ stands for, and her bio is really thin. I mean, like there’s just her name, an image and not much else other than she grew up all over the world.”
“What’s the name of the company trying to take over Wrigley-Boes?” I glowered at the Vellan.
“Azyrim Technologies,” Besim replied in a thoughtful voice before Leyla could respond. “Azyrim is a privately-held European-based company. They maintain a strong presence here. It is curious to see them thus engaged.”
“Why?”
She folded her hands on the table. “Azyrim holds controlling interest in various industries including energy, waste disposal, food production, and holo-technology. Billions of their credits are engaged in subsidizing and sustaining governments and their infrastructure. As a result, Azyrim-branded products proliferate throughout Empire City. Until now, pharmaceutical manufacturing has not been within their spectrum of investments.”
“Well, I guess Azyrim decided to branch out,” I said, my anger at the Vellan fading as I returned my focus to the investigation. “But it sure as hell could explain the advanced technology that built Marko.”
“It might,” Besim murmured, almost to herself.
“Leyla, I want you to hack into the Wrigley-Boes personnel files,” I began.
“Wait, you’re asking me to commit a felony?” she interrupted, barely containing her excitement.
“There’s always a first for everything, kiddo,” I suppressed a smile. “Bring up anyone in research and development over the age of fifty who’s still on the active payroll or receiving retirement benefits within the last twenty-five years.”
“Why twenty-five?” Leyla asked.
“Because that’s how old Vanessa and Patricia are,” I stated with cold certainty.
“Then why fifty?” the hacker asked.
I was about to answer when the transmission cut off. The bell above the front door jingled. A man in an overcoat and hat stepped into the diner carrying an umbrella under one arm. Something in the way he moved caught my attention.
“Get down!” I shouted in alarm and ducked beneath the table.
Bullets erupted above my head, shredding the back of the booth. I rolled to my left, and opened fire, but the assailant had already moved away from the door. A quick glance revealed Besim crushed low against the window and booth, fear spreading across her face. I pushed over the heavy table next to me for cover. More bullets ricocheted off its surface. Thank goodness Uncle Mortie had stuck with heavy-duty steel tables instead of the old wooden kind. Otherwise, I’d be Swiss cheese.
Cold sweat beaded my brow. I hoped there were enough regular rounds remaining, or this was going to be a very short day.
A second barrage bounced off the table’s surface. My makeshift barricade wasn’t going to last for long.
Suddenly, Uncle Mortie appeared at the kitchen door brandishing a wicked-looking butcher knife.
“Get outta my place!” the old deli owner shouted.
>
“Mortie, no!” I yelled in desperation, but I was too late. The gunman fired twice, and Mortie fell away, blood staining the door behind him.
Myrna shrieked.
“What kind of a fucking moron brings a knife to a gun fight?” a familiar voice derided from the other side of the room. Two tables crashed to the floor.
“Flanagan!” I howled in fury.
As I leaned around the table edge, several more bullets smashed into its top. I jerked back and covered my head with my hands as jagged table shards burst around me.
Desperate, I tried accessing EVI to call for backup, but my connection was cut off.
“Holliday!” Flanagan shouted. “You goddamn, self-righteous son of a bitch! You should’ve stayed at the 98th! But no, not you! You had to get involved! Well, guess what, asshole? It’s going to cost you, and I’ve come to collect.”
“That’s the kind of bullshit all desperate people say, Flanagan!” I retorted, stalling as I assessed the situation.
Besim looked to me, but I gestured for her to stay put.
“With Rumpelstiltskin’s goldjoy operation out of commission, your gravy train’s run out of track,” I continued, eyes darting around. “The way I see it, your options aren’t pretty. Give yourself up, turn state’s evidence, and maybe the DA will go easy on you.”
“And give up my life of luxury?” she barked back. “Fuck you, Holliday! Oh, and good luck calling this one in. I’ve disabled EVI and every other device in the building. Including the sensors in that little gun of yours.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. If she had something similar to what Marko had used in the alleyway to take out our tech, it would explain how her movements stayed hidden from ECPD. A flick of the switch, and the signal from the microchip in Flanagan’s head would vanish in a puff of smoke. And with her rank, she had access to sensitive systems and material, the perfect inside man. She could feed Rumpel everything, and no one would be the wiser.
Which is precisely what she’d been doing.
I had never liked Flanagan. Every day, the fat bitch complained to anyone who’d listen how I was taking up some better cop’s spot at the precinct. To her, I was a washed-up has-been, little better than the criminals we booked.
Her hypocrisy sickened me.
“What? No witty comeback, Mr. PhD?” Flanagan taunted as she reloaded her gun. “Thought maybe you learned something from that halfway house for jerk-offs and addicts. Your ’joy-whore girlfriend probably killed herself just to get away from you. Hide it all you want, but deep down, you’re dirty like me.”
“At least I use soap,” I shot back. “By the way, nice job using my badge to steal Vanessa Mallery’s body from the morgue. Didn’t want to pay for sex anymore?”
“Fuck off, Holliday,” she retorted. “All I did was give the badge to your eyewitness. She did the rest.”
“Oh yeah? Well, she doesn’t work for Rumpelstiltskin,” I laughed derisively. “I’m sure your boss won’t be happy when he finds out about that. Better pack your bags, Flanagan. I hear New Riker’s is nice this time of year.”
“Bullshit!” she shouted. “I’m protected, Holliday. I got too much on everyone. They need me, or I’ll blow their whole operation.”
“Whatever you say,” I said. “From where I sit, there’s not much of an operation left, so I wouldn’t strike up the band just yet. You’re going down with the rest.”
This stand-off was pointless. Somebody outside must’ve heard shots fired and called 911, right?
Yeah, and if wishes were fishes, we’d all live in submarines.
In the meantime, I had to do something. I needed a distraction.
Flanagan had a helluva lot more bullets than I did. I recounted the number of shots I’d fired since I first used the SMART gun. I took an inventory of everything on the floor next to me. A salt and pepper shaker. Ketchup. Deli mustard.
I grinned.
Good ole Uncle Mortie and his penchant for keeping things classic at the diner. He employed an old-fashioned deli meat slicer in the back. His cooking surfaces were the same his forefathers had used, with an ancient cleaning system that was in disrepair more often than it worked.
And he filled his homemade kosher mustard in small glass jars.
I stared at the mustard, calculating angles, distances and trajectories as I once had back at the academy for ballistic classes. Flanagan couldn’t be more than thirty feet away. If I timed it right, I could get one shot off before she realized what was happening.
It wasn’t my brightest plan, and would probably get me killed, but desperate times, right?
I hefted the mustard jar.
Breathing deeply, I unleashed the Insight roiling around inside of me, waves of power fueling all my senses. My body tingled with raw energy. It suffused my muscles with vitality, sharpening my sight, my hearing, my touch, the way I breathed, and quickening my reflexes to something beyond human.
Reality crystalized. I noticed the finest detail in everything, from the individual rolls of paint on the walls, down to the hairline crack fissuring the jar in my hand.
With my back to Besim, I switched to a half-crouch and tossed the jar toward Flanagan’s position. I watched it fly in slow motion, catching the fluorescent ceiling light on its glossy surface, knowing it would reach its intended mark. It crashed to the ground in a shower of glittering fragments, smearing the floor a dark yellow.
I stood up, moving with a preternatural celerity, and reached the makeshift barricade Flanagan had made, faster than thought. I overtook her before she could react. She fixed me with an expression of loathing and fear.
That’s when I saw the fetch.
It perforated her with foul coils of smoky darkness, concentrated around her heart, neck and head. Fathomless eyes glared back at me, while its lipless rictus twisted in a ghastly expression of joy, hunger, and need. It issued no sound, yet a soulless echo surrounded it, as if the creature was embraced by the cries of everyone it had feasted upon before Flanagan.
“Help me,” Flanagan gasped.
I jerked backward, aghast at the sightless horror drawn on the poor woman’s face. Knocking her out wouldn’t stop the creature. Its hold was too rooted within the fabric of Flanagan’s very being. The Insight revealed how the fetch had grafted itself to the lieutenant, someone who carried deep-seeded anger at being one of only a few females in a male-dominated department. Disgruntled and disenchanted, Flanagan felt that she had earned her place and deserved more. The creature had played upon her low self-esteem, fanning the flames of her bitterness. It had heightened every single dark thought Flanagan had, leading her down this path of self-destruction. She’d betrayed her fellow officers, losing pieces of herself over time under the influence of the vile creature. However, buried beneath the lieutenant’s gruff and brusque exterior lurked the real Joan Flanagan, trapped by the parasite devouring her. Stark terror now shone in her eyes, but the fetch held mastery, and she was powerless to stop it. And so long as that thing remained attached to her, any hope of escape was lost.
Pity at her plight welled in my heart. Knocking her out wouldn’t stop the creature. Its hold was too rooted within the fabric of Flanagan’s very being. And even if I could somehow separate the fetch from Flanagan’s body, there would be nothing left of the woman’s soul except madness and pain.
I recalled Deacon describing the fetch back when we’d first met at the precinct, how only consecrated weapons could harm it. Glancing at the SMART gun, I realized the creature was proof against it.
But the woman wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I shot Flanagan in the head.
The fetch shrieked in silence, severed from its dead host. It rushed away, sliding through the long window by the booths and out into the morning gray.
The Insight fled the instant Flanagan’s life left her eyes. An enormous weight crashed against my shoulders. I slumped to the floor opposite the woman who had once been my boss.
“De
tective?” Besim called out tentatively.
“Give me a minute,” I replied, enervated by the release of the Insight.
I noticed a small device next to the lieutenant’s nerveless hand. Levering myself unsteadily to my feet, I studied it with a dull expression, then stomped on it several times. It was probably a dumb move, but right then I didn’t care. The gun’s tactical flared to life as my connection with EVI returned.
Besim moved to the kitchen. Myrna sobbed while Besim spoke in quiet, calm tones to someone on her phone.
“Your uncle Mortie is wounded, but I believe he will survive so long as he receives appropriate medical attention,” Besim explained as she came to my side. “He avoided the worst of it by wearing a baking pan beneath his shirt. My people are on their way and will ensure his safety while they transport him to Empire City General.”
I staggered toward the door, unsteady hands holstering the gun.
“Then it’s time to go,” I stated with shaking breath.
“Where are we going?” Besim asked, eyebrow arched quizzically.
I gave her a level look.
“To find Rumpelstiltskin.”
Chapter 36
“You want me to do what again?” Father John Davis asked.
It was early, but I knew the pastor at the Holy Redeemer Church would be awake, preparing for the eight o’clock mass. Rain or shine, his morning ritual always included a brisk walk around the grounds of the massive cathedral located a few blocks from the waterfront down in Brighton Beach. We’d caught up to him as he was unlocking the front door. Once he overcame the shock of meeting a Vellan for the first time, he ushered us inside with a cordial smile.
I’d always known him as Father Jack. On the rare Sundays my dad was sober, the old bastard dragged me to the Holy Redeemer for morning mass. Maybe he thought I’d learn something. Or maybe it was just his goddamn stubborn pride getting in the way, like it did with everything else involving us. To me, it was another half-assed attempt at assuaging the shame he felt. I’m told abusing your wife and son can sometimes do that.
