Dawn

by Eldon Farrell

  Tommy took a swig off the bottle and Nathan held out his hand for it. Tommy passed it over and Nathan tipped his head back. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “I'd feel better about this whole party if Malachy hadn’t escaped the Oreiller.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy agreed.

  The fireworks culminated in a crescendo of light and sound that did nothing to uplift Nathan’s spirits. He cocked his head toward the crowd of partygoers on the other side of the glass. “Who’s the blonde with our esteemed Commissioner?”

  Tommy glanced their way and whistled. “That there is the future ex-Mrs. Roc.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t get next to the likes of her with a genie and three wishes.”

  Tommy feigned hurt. “You wound me, boss.”

  Nathan bent his head closer and lowered his voice. “How we doing on our theory?”

  “I think it’s got legs.”

  Nathan cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve got proof?”

  “Not yet,” Tommy said, “and not here. For now, let’s just say I found enough to cast suspicion on city management.”

  “His honor?” Nathan pressed.

  Tommy took another pull off the bottle. He wiped his mouth and said, “With a little more time, we’ll nab Vargas on something.”

  The glass door slid open. Lucy Miller stood with her hand on her hip and her leg extended out the slit of her gown. The click of her heels brought her closer. “I hope you boys aren’t talking shop out here.”

  Tommy pursed his lips and shrank back against the railing. “Uh-oh, busted.”

  Nathan smiled at his wife. He wrapped an arm around her bare shoulders to keep the night chill off her and planted an affectionate kiss upon her lips. She tasted of strawberries. Her perfumed scent of vanilla and lavender inflamed his desire.

  Nathan pointed toward Commissioner Logue and said, “We were actually wondering who the blonde is?”

  Lucy snuggled in closer to Nathan’s chest. She glanced where he was pointing and answered, “Maybe the future Mrs. Logue?”

  “That sonofabitch can get in line,” Tommy said with a grin.

  “Will you tell this deluded fool he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance?” Nathan laughed.

  “You’re charming, Tommy, but the good doctor might be out of your league.” Lucy chuckled. “Besides, what do you want with another ex? It’s not collect them all, you know?”

  “Hahaha,” Tommy stuck his tongue out at her.

  “You know who she is?” Nathan asked.

  Lucy clung closer to his warmth and said, “I met her earlier tonight—Dr. Samantha Rory.”

  Tommy leered at her. “I could play doctor with her anytime.”

  “Stow it, Roc.” Nathan squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. “Do you know what kind of doctor?”

  “A researcher, I think. I glazed over when she started talking . . . robotics?”

  Nathan stared at Rory through the glass. She carried herself with grace and elegance and had Logue wrapped around her seductive finger. Nathan muttered under his breath, “What has Logue so interested?”

  Tommy pushed off the railing and said, “I think that’s obvious, boss.” He gave Nathan a light shot on the arm. “I’ll leave you two alone. Back to the party and my future ex.”

  Nathan saw him wink as he walked away.

  Lucy wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face against his chest and turned him so he blocked the wind. “Can we go back inside, too? It’s freezing out here.”

  Nathan tightened his grip on her. “Don’t I always keep you warm?” He looked deep into her eyes and tilted her chin up with his thumb, planting a long kiss on her red lips. His hands roamed down below her waist and cupped her buttocks. Breathing her scent, Nathan rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “Forget the party. Let’s go home and I’ll warm you up.”

  Lucy asked, “What about all the hands to shake? This is your party.”

  Nathan nibbled on her earlobe before moving down to the hollow of her neck. Lucy released a slight moan as Nathan said, “This is their party. I don’t do it for the accolades.” He kissed her again on her wet lips. “Besides, what are they going to do? Fire the hero cop?”

  He squeezed her buttock and pulled her close enough to feel his excitement. “What do you say, Mrs. Miller?”

  Lucy kissed him back, and he felt her tongue slip between his teeth. When she came up for breath, she said, “Warm me up, Mr. Miller.”

  “Time to ante up, boys.”

  Nathan tossed two green chips into the center of the felt table and shuffled the deck.

  Jon Cruz smirked and flicked two chips into the pot. “So tell us, Roc, how’d you make out with the doctor last night?”

  Tommy smiled and showed him his middle finger. He tossed his own ante into the pot amidst raucous laughter. “I didn’t have time for her anyway,” Tommy placed his tongue against his cheek, “your wife keeps me pretty busy.”

  Jon stopped laughing. His eyes turned to slits focused across the table on Tommy.

  “Relax,” Nathan said. “Nobody wants to touch your wife, JC.”

  More boisterous laughs.

  Mitch Buchanan threw in his own ante, and Nathan dealt. “Game is five-card draw, straight up, no wild cards.” Nathan gave his hand a look. The king of diamonds, seven of clubs, nine of hearts, and two fives. He placed his cards face down on the felt.

  “Raise a hundred,” Jon said.

  “You ever going to learn finesse, JC?” Mitch asked.

  Tommy elbowed Mitch and said, “That’s his wife’s chief complaint, Buck. He’s always in a hurry.”

  Jon rose from his seat. Nathan stared at him until he lowered back down. “Cut the shit, all right?” Nathan asked. “We here to play or rag on JC’s wife all night?”

  Mitch glanced down at his hand and shook his head. “I’m out.”

  Tommy tossed a black chip into the pile. “Call.”

  Nathan matched Tommy’s chip and turned to Jon. “What’ll you have?”

  Jon said, “One card.”

  Nathan dealt him one and turned to Tommy, who smirked and said, “I’m good.” Nathan took two cards and betting started again.

  “Raise two hundred,” Jon said, adding to the pot.

  Nathan checked his new hand. The seven and nine gone, he replaced them with another five card and the ace of spades. Tommy called without hesitation. Nathan lifted two black chips. He held them between his fingers a moment before adding them to the pot.

  “We need to talk,” Nathan said. His eyes held each member of his team for a single beat. “And what’s said doesn’t leave this den.” Each man nodded.

  Nathan held the deck out to Jon. “How many?”

  Jon held up a lone finger and Nathan dealt him one card. He said to Tommy, “Trust you’re still good?”

  Tommy stared at Jon and smiled. “Yep.”

  Nathan took one card and set the deck aside.

  “What’s up?” Mitch asked.

  Nathan spied his last card. The ace of hearts replaced his king—full boat, fives and aces. He looked at Mitch and said, “Roc and I wanted to bring you guys into a theory we’ve been working on everybody’s favorite piece of shit, Malachy.”

  Jon nodded and tossed four black chips in the pot. “Raise four hundred.”

  Mitch whistled and Nathan said, “There’s something off about the way he slipped away from the Oreiller. We had the place locked down. Every way in or out covered by our finest and yet, somehow . . .”

  Jon asked, “You think he has a man on the inside?”

  Nathan glanced at Tommy. “You want to field this one, Roc?”

  Tommy played with his stack of chips, lifting the top of the pile and letting them click back into place. “The only way he gets out of that hotel is if someone lets him out. Check and raise a hundred.”

  Nathan rapped the table for a moment, then tossed in one purple chip.

  Tommy said, “And this goes beyond the clubhouse. Malachy
has tentacles in city hall.”

  Mitch furrowed his brow. “You mean Vargas is in league with a terrorist?”

  “You see why this doesn’t leave this room?” Nathan looked at each of them. “More than careers are on the line in going after Vargas.”

  Jon asked, “You have anything on him? Or just idle speculation?” He sneered and tossed in three more black chips. “Check and raise two hundred.”

  “If we had anything on him,” Tommy said, “I’d be slapping the cuffs on myself.”

  “Then why do you suspect he’s working with Malachy?” Mitch asked.

  Nathan leaned back and cracked his knuckles. “Gut instinct—”

  “You want us to go after the mayor based on gut instinct?”

  “The man wasn’t finished, JC.” Tommy shook his head. “Keep your trap shut, you might learn something.”

  Nathan held a hand up to quiet Tommy. “Gut instinct and abnormalities in the paperwork.”

  “Abnormalities?” Jon scoffed, “What’s fucking normal about this city?” He laughed at his own joke and said, “You in or what, Roc?”

  Tommy glared at him and added eight green chips to the pot. “Call.”

  Nathan leaned in and held Jon in his gaze. “After every attack by Malachy, the city has awarded the reconstruction contract to Ace Construction. The same Ace Construction founded by Vargas back before he came into office. Officially, he’s cut ties with them, but we all know what goes on behind the scenes.”

  “You’re suggesting he’s giving Malachy free reign to profit on the rebuild?” Mitch said with a nod.

  Tommy touched a finger to the side of his nose and swiped it toward Mitch. “Bingo.”

  “The paperwork must be pretty fucking abnormal to support that claim,” Jon said.

  Nathan narrowed his eyes at him. Jon bristled under the weight of his gaze. “We’ve discovered untendered contracts on file. And when they were tendered, the companies that bid against Ace turned out to be fronts.”

  “Then we’ve got him breaking the law,” Mitch said.

  “We’ve got his office breaking the law,” Nathan corrected. “But let’s get real, in this city, that’s a slap on the wrist. I want more.”

  “What’s the play?” Jon asked.

  Tommy answered, “We put the screws to someone on the inside.” He smiled wide. “Make them turn.”

  “We can either go after someone in the mayor’s inner circle, or someone in the know working for Ace.” Nathan tapped his chips. “Smart money is on Ace. We put the hurt on the money guy and make them squeal.” He looked at Jon. “I call. What do you have?”

  Jon smirked and turned his cards over. “Diamonds are my best friend. Flush, queen high.”

  All eyes turned to Tommy next. He laughed and turned over a pair of eights.

  “What the fuck, Roc?” Nathan asked. “You got nothing. Why didn’t you take?”

  Tommy shrugged. “It’s called a bluff.”

  “It’s called stupid raising on a pair of eights.” Mitch chuckled and slugged Tommy’s shoulder.

  “Turn them over,” Jon said to Nathan.

  “Fives over aces.” Nathan smiled and raked the chips toward him. “You lose.”

  Jon slammed the table. “Son of a bitch!”

  Tommy needled Jon. “Score one for the boss.”

  “Fuck off,” Jon snarled.

  “Relax, JC,” Tommy said. “You got the rest of the night to lose what’s left of your money.”

  Nathan gathered up the cards and said, “Let’s shuffle up and deal.”

  Cobham Street station bustled with activity. Nathan descended the steps into the morning rush below ground. Commuters crowded the platform, their voices mingling in a cacophony of noise.

  Nathan sipped his coffee and elbowed his way through the crowd to the edge of the platform. A HoloSphere projected the latest news on the brick wall across the subway tracks. He frowned at the images.

  A Sky Network reporter stood in front of the smoking ruin of the Rouge Oreiller Hotel with the headline HOMEFRONT BOMBS HOTEL splashed across the bottom of the screen. Nathan strained to hear the report over the roar of the station.

  “A scant two weeks since Malachy stormed this hotel on New Year’s Eve, to be foiled by the UCPD, Homefront returned for their retribution. Early reports claim a lone bomber entered the lobby of the Rouge just after ten last night. He detonated the vest he wore and as of last count, killed forty-six people, including himself. Scores more are injured at this hour.”

  The reporter turned to the side to give a better view of the wreckage. “As you can see, the building is still smoldering and considered unsafe to enter until its structural integrity can be determined. A press conference has been scheduled for later this morning where we hope investigators will share any further developments.”

  Nathan felt an elbow in his side from the man next to him. “Fucking unbelievable, huh?”

  Nathan grunted.

  The man shook his head. “You’d think with the taxes we pay, the gutless police could catch one asshole with a bomb fetish. This shit has been going on too long. I work in a result-oriented business, and I can tell you, if I fucked up as much as the UCPD has, I’d be fired.”

  Nathan turned his head and narrowed his gaze upon him.

  The commuter straightened his tie and gave a nervous laugh. He cocked his eyebrows and said, “You look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? What line of work are you in?”

  Nathan smiled thinly. He pulled his trench coat open and revealed the gold badge clipped to his belt. The man’s eyes widened, and he swallowed. Another nervous laugh, and the man made his excuses to leave.

  “Run along,” Nathan said to his back.

  A loud beep rose above the crowd noise. An automated voice said, “The train will arrive soon. Please step away from the edge. The train will arrive soon.”

  The crowd moved back as the rails below whistled. Nathan looked into the tunnel and saw the approaching light out of the darkness. He stepped back as the train roared into the station. Air hissed and steel squealed as the train slowed to a stop.

  Hydraulics released, and the doors slid open. The crowd surged forward around Nathan before the cars could unload their passengers. Nathan held his coffee over his head to keep from spilling it in the sea of people.

  As the throng jostled for position, Nathan noticed a lone figure standing near the end of the platform. Something about him seemed off and caused Nathan’s hackles to rise. He moved closer, pushing against the stream of people.

  Nathan could only describe him as shifty. His eyes kept moving and his hoodie and torn jeans marked him as out of place amongst the group of professionals. Over the crowd they locked eyes before the figure looked away. He bent over and then bolted for the train car.

  Another beep warned of the train’s imminent departure. Nathan found a basket and tossed the remains of his coffee before boarding the same car as the figure.

  Passengers occupied every available seat and clung to the poles down the middle. Nathan lost sight of his target for a moment. He shuffled forward and stumbled as the train jolted to a start. Nathan reached out for a pole to steady himself and saw the figure seated at the front of the car. A seat opened to Nathan’s left, and he sat down—receiving angry looks.

  The train shot through the tunnel. Lights affixed to the walls flashed by the windows at a breakneck rate. They arrived at the next station in minutes and again came to a halt. The doors opened and a flood of passengers switched off with new riders.

  Nathan kept watch on the figure. He appeared calmer and remained seated as passengers around him disembarked. Nathan was about to turn away when he saw the backpack stuffed beneath the figure’s seat. His hands played with the strap. The doors slid shut, and the train lurched forward again.

  The figure stared straight ahead. He remained stock still except for his lips. Nathan couldn’t make it out over the train noise, but he appeared to be whispering to himself. Nothing ab
out him sat right with Nathan. He moved his right hand closer to the small of his back and his on-duty weapon holstered there.

  The rail sparked beneath them as the train rounded a turn. Nathan felt a passenger lean into him. He took his eyes from the figure long enough to shift over. He glanced back and saw the figure on his feet. Nathan caught his breath at the sight of a trigger in his hand.

  He leaped to his feet as the figure raised his hand, and shouted, “Harar 'amrika!”

  Nathan charged him, but he couldn’t reach him through the crowd of shocked and confused people. He drew his weapon and heard the beep. A blast tore a hole through the side of the train, knocking it off the rails. Fire whooshed back through the subway car in the wake of the blast. Nathan felt the heat burn him dry before the sound of the blast burst his eardrums, and the world fell away.

  Samantha Rory tied her hair up in a ponytail as she exited the change room at the Salem Hills Racquetball Club. She nodded once to her vanquished opponent, hefted the duffel bag on her shoulder, and strolled across the lobby.

  The space smelled of lilac, from the bushes planted near the front windows, mingled with strong cleaning solution used on the floors. Bright sunlight shone through the glass, offering the promise of a glorious day.

  She placed Gogz on her head, to check her messages as she walked. The sleek heads-up display glasses synced with the HoloSphere in her bag and showed her seven missed calls. With a sigh, she took the Gogz off and shoved them back in her bag.

  Samantha heard a collective gasp from the few people clustered around the lobby and followed their attention to the HoloSphere projection on the far wall. Sky Network was broadcasting the chaos at the Brandon Avenue Subway Station. Black smoke billowed up from below ground as terrified people ran to escape. A headline beneath the image read SUBWAY EXPLOSION ON M LINE.

  Her hand covered her mouth. That’s not far from here. Four blocks at the most.

  Samantha moved closer to the front windows but couldn’t see any sign of the unfolding disaster.

  “You played a good game, Dr. Rory.”

  She started and turned to see a vaguely familiar face watching her. He sat in one of the overstuffed chairs near the HoloSphere projection and offered her a smile.