Deicide

by M. K. Gibson

  Jessie took a step forward and lifted her head to meet the taller woman’s eyes. “You’re not scary.”

  “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

  “You failed.”

  “What?” Cross asked. “Did you think because I’ve been a little nicer that we were going to have some some stupid womanly rom-com heart-to-heart in a basement hallway? Just you and me, sharing our feelings? No. We’re cops. We fuck with one another. You’d know that if you were on the job longer than it takes to get through high school. We see one another’s weaknesses and attack them. Wear them down. Build up calluses. Because out there, there’s no room for weakness or insecurity.”

  Jessie was sick of being talked down to. Especially by a fake-titted bathroom bimbo like Cross. She narrowed her eyes at the taller, older woman. “No insecurities?”

  “None.”

  “So your hair or those ridiculous beach balls you had sewn in are fair game?”

  Cross’s fist cocked back and Jessie instinctively stepped back into an academy-drilled ready stance.

  “You ladies done?” an older woman’s voice asked. From the corner of her eye, Jessie saw the hag-like crone standing there with her mop. “I’m trying to clean the floor.”

  Jessie relaxed slightly. “Sorry.”

  The crone gave her the middle finger.

  Cross chuckled. “I see she knows you.”

  “Yeah,” Jessie sighed as she waved at the crone. “Sorry ma’am.”

  The crone set her mop aside and used her free hand to give two wart-covered, boney-knuckled middle fingers.

  Jessie shook her head and turned back to Cross. “Look, I stepped over the line. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your BFF, but if we’re going to work with one another, then—”

  “I don’t want to work with you at all,” the crone said as she was suddenly next to them.

  “This is a private conversation, ma’am,” Jessie said.

  “I see you haven’t met any more vampires,” the crone said. “Maybe this new partner will do what your old one couldn’t?”

  Jessie nodded. “Give her time, we just met. But you’ll be happy to know I was almost killed by a weretiger yesterday.”

  “Well, that’s a start,” the crone said, then looked up at Cross. “Don’t trust this one. She’s a nasty little b-word.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that,” Cross agreed.

  The crone smiled, then brushed the back of her hand under her chin in a forward flicking motion at Jessie and walked away.

  “You too ma’am,” Jessie said with a sigh and a wave, then turned back to Cross. “So as I was saying—”

  “Save it,” Cross said. “We don’t like each other. Fine. But we’re cops and we have a job to do. So let’s swallow that emotion and deal with it later.”

  “So we deal with the repression with alcohol, ulcers, aneurysms, sex, or therapy?” Jessie asked.

  “Dealer’s choice,” Cross said as she started to head back into the observation room. Then she paused. “Look DeLeon, I’m sorry that Arby said what he said.”

  Jessie shrugged. “It’s true. Nothing you can do about it.”

  “No, there’s more to it,” Cross said. “Arby is . . . he’s smarter than he acts. And he hides it behind stupid humor.”

  “I’ve picked up on that.”

  “Yeah.” Cross nodded. “But it’s why he does it. When he was a kid, him and his brother used to run with some gangs. Long story short, his brother was shot and crippled. Arby . . . well, he never got over that. He hides his intellect behind humor. And since then, he pushed himself to become a cop. He’s always thinking and always pushing people in the right direction. In his own way. So, him mentioning you being an orphan was him opening the door to the taboo. Trust me, he’s done the same to me.”

  Jessie nodded, and gave her a weak smile. “For what its worth, I thought you looked good without the wig.”

  Cross’s face softened slightly. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said. “It’s like you and Messer say, I’m honest to a fault.”

  “So, you ready to go back in there.”

  “Depends. You have any liquor on you?”

  “I do,” the crone said from down the hallway as she shook a flask in front of her face. “But none for you. You’re a b-word.”

  “Dios, that woman hears like a bat,” Jessie said.

  “Thank you ma’am, but we’re still on duty,” Cross said.

  The crone shrugged. “More for me.”

  Jessie followed Cross back into the observation room, where Messer, Gabby, and Arby were talking to another person wearing a similar white leather trench coat. Another agent?

  The man had thick, chin-length dark brown hair. He was handsome, of mixed Asian and Anglo heritage, with an easy-going smile. But then she noticed something odd. His hands seemed to be two sizes too big, as were his feet. Which were completely bare. But while those were oddities for sure, it was his tail that caught her eye.

  It was covered in similar dark brown hair, and seemed to move of its own accord.

  Arby was telling a story while the stranger, Messer, and Gabby listened.

  “So there I was on top of a speeding SUV,” Arby said. “And this weretiger is shooting armor-piercing rounds, trying to kill me.”

  “Really?” the man asked.

  “If I’m lying, I’m dying,” Arby said, crossing his heart.

  “So how’d you stop him?”

  “It was Cass. She had the idea of shutting down the ley-line junction. She and Messer rolled up in his truck, and I hopped off just before Mr. Whiskers slammed into the portal.”

  “Not bad,” the man said. “But you know all modern vehicles have kill switches in their on-board computers, right?” the newcomer said, giving the slightest sideways glance towards Cross. “In the event of an emergency, like an accident or a theft, the police can requisition the command code from the manufacturer without a judge’s written consent.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Arby said.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll learn all kinds of neat tricks if you stay with MORTAL,” the stranger said. This time, he turned directly towards Cross. “Next time, you won’t cost the city tens of thousands of dollars due to an unnecessary transit portal shut down.”

  “Kyle,” Cross said. “What are you doing here?”

  This . . . Kyle smugly looked down at his coat, then back up at Cross. “For a detective, you miss a lot.”

  “You know, I said the same thing not more than twenty minutes ago,” Arby said.

  “I work here, darling.”

  Cross nodded. “How rude of me. Kyle, this is DeLeon. Before her reassignment, she was a member of the UTF.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said with a smirk. “I can tell by her uniform.”

  “The best thing about keeping her in that uniform is that she’s basically a Swiss army knife of useful gadgets. Like this one.”

  Cross quickly grabbed the taser from DeLeon’s hip and fired the weapon. The leads struck Kyle and she released the full charge. His body locked up and fell off the desk, hitting the ground hard. When his twitching stopped, Cross handed her back the taser.

  “Who is he?” Jessie asked, accepting the weapon.

  “Kyle Ito,” Cross growled. “My ex-husband.”

  “And that . . . is why I’m single,” Arby said with a shake of his head.

  “Enough screwing around,” Messer said. “Ito, get up. We have work to do. Ito . . . Ito?”

  “Hang on, Jim. I think I peed a little.”

  “Fine. Get cleaned up and meet back at the briefing room at 2:30.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  14 May - 2:30 pm

  Transit Authority Central Office, Room B-117, District of Axis Mundi

  Messer shook his head in frustration.

  Cross, Deacon, and DeLeon sat together at one table while Ito sat by himself at another. His new recruits were not only overtly shunning the veteran MORTAL agent
, but they’d also taken the entire box of tacos and every bottle of water.

  All the while, Ito just sat there with his hands behind his head and a content smirk on his face.

  “Hungry?” Cross asked.

  “I could eat,” Ito said.

  “Then there’s a taco truck parked outside.”

  “You know, never mind. I’m good,” Ito said. “Unlike the rest of you, I enjoy being able to see my toes. I don’t want a gut, augmentations, or a massive ego in my way. I’ll let y’all figure out who’s who.”

  “Okay, enough of this,” Messer announced.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarge,” Cross said. “We’re just enjoying our lunch.”

  Arby set his taco down. “Do we have any salad?”

  Ito chuckled.

  “I get that this may have been a surprise for some of you,” Messer said, “but get over it. I don’t give a crap about your personal lives. I care about the job. Which is why I asked Detective Ito to sit in on this brief. He’s one of our top agents when it comes to narcotics, and I wanted his opinion on the case.”

  “Thank you, Detective Sergeant. Okay kids, story time with Uncle Kyle,” Ito said as he clapped his large hands together. “Gabby, would you be so kind?”

  Gabby nodded enthusiastically and turned the lights down.

  Ito used the remote to activate the briefing room’s monitor. The screen flickered to life and scrolled through several images of naked college kids screaming and going crazy, people on the street acting equally insane, and several types of myths on similar display. Ito reached into his pocket and produced the vial with the white substance.

  “MORTAL has been tracking a new drug on the street for about a year now. This little bastard is officially known as ‘Vitae’. Street names include ‘V’, ‘V-Life’, ‘H-O-L’ or ‘High on Life’, ‘the Tae-Tae’, and ‘Lantis Lucky’. Problem is, every time we get our hands on some, the product evaporates after a few seconds of contact with air. When ingested by a mundane, it’s like super cocaine. People feel extremely energized, to the point of burning up. Which is why some users end up naked.”

  “And when ingested by a myth?” DeLeon asked.

  “Good question,” Ito said. “While specifics vary, each recorded case shows that for a brief time, it either supercharges natural abilities or manifests latent talents. And that’s in addition to going bug-fuck crazy. But extended use seems to have the same result.”

  The screen clicked over to several scenes of gruesome deaths. Dead bodies, both myth and mundane, had skin that looked like they were cooked from the inside out.

  “So you think Vitae is what killed Hermes?” Cross asked.

  “It’s likely. Similar product, similar vial. So far, we haven’t had a case of a god ingesting this stuff. So either he’s the first. Or . . .?”

  “Or the gods have been taking the stuff, getting power boosts like Hermes, but keeping quiet about it,” Deacon said.

  “Bingo,” Ito said with a quick double snap and point. “That’s my guess as well.”

  “Then why did he blow up?” DeLeon asked. “If the working theory is that gods have been secretly taking this stuff, why haven’t we heard of other gods blowing up? Or anyone else for that matter? Has MORTAL covered that up as well?”

  “No,” Messer said. “Hermes was the first.”

  “Maybe Hermes got a bad batch,” Ito theorized. “Or overdosed, or he was given a tainted product? There are too many variables. But long story short, we’ve been trying to find the source of this stuff. And thanks to you, we have a good lead.”

  “So what is this drug anyway?” Cross asked. “What’s it made from?”

  Ito looked at the vial and smiled. “Souls.”

  The room went quiet. No one spoke. Ito sighed.

  “Come on guys, this is where you say something like ‘What, how’s that possible?’ and I dazzle you with our discovery.”

  “Dazzle us later,” Messer said. “Just give us the facts.”

  Again, Ito sighed. “No sense of showmanship, Jim. So up until now, anytime we got our hands on this stuff, all tests came back inconclusive. There were trace amounts of cocaine and heroin, but that was it. Potent, sure, but not enough to whip junkies into a frenzy. There was an additional additive we couldn’t identify.”

  “Until now,” Messer said.

  “Yup. What you brought in was something else. A purer batch. The coke and the smack were in there, sure, but there was a greater concentration of that unknown additive. We ran test after test, both chemical and magical, looking for something addictive and evil. And nothing. But then it dawned on me—what if it wasn’t evil? What if it was something good? So good you had to have it. I called in some of the holy rollers we have on staff, Tennins, minor celestial beings, clergy, you name it. And what we discovered was that this unknown additive is concentrated soul.”

  “That makes sense,” Messer said.

  “It does?” Deacon blurted out. “That makes no sense!”

  Messer shrugged. “A drug that makes you feel empowered? And in some cases actually gives you power? The gods have been without soul-powered adoration for some time. So yes, it makes sense.”

  Deacon shook his head. “How in the ever-loving shit do you siphon, harvest, process, and condense soul? That breaks every law of physics!”

  “I trust Ito,” Messer said. “If that’s what the test came back with, then that’s what it is.”

  “Arby, I know it sounds strange,” Ito said.

  “No, it sounds like bad fiction.”

  Ito nodded. “True. But be that as it may, there is still so little we know about the myths. Gods got their power from faith and belief. How exactly, no one knows. But every test we run comes back with the same answer. It’s soul.”

  Deacon narrowed his eyes and rubbed at his chin in thought. “So, if that’s true, then—”

  “Arby,” Cross said in an accusing tone. “You’re wondering if you got more soul from a black person than a white person, aren’t you?”

  “Well, it had to be asked!” Deacon said, crossing his arms.

  “Do we know who the main distributor is?” DeLeon asked.

  “No,” Ito said with a shake of his head. “The only name we’ve managed to learn is ‘The Laughing Man’. And whoever this person is, they’re exceptionally good at covering their tracks.”

  ********

  15 May, 2:45 pm

  Trans-City Highway, Entering the District of Shadowlake

  The sudden ringing caused Dr. Harris to jerk the wheel of her luxury sedan. Correcting herself, she reached over to the passenger seat and fumbled through her purse, looking for the burner phone. Once she had it, she set the phone into the car’s hands-free cradle and pressed the speaker button.

  “H-hello?”

  “Doctor,” the Laughing Man’s modulated voice said. “You sound nervous.”

  “They were there!” Dr. Harris hissed. “The cops followed the trail from Hermes to the outreach center.”

  “I know, Doctor. Don’t worry.”

  “You never said anything about them knowing who I was!”

  “Learning about you was always a possibility.”

  “When I agreed to help you, I thought it was just to get rich. Do you how little money is in psychology? All the real money is in psychiatric work and pharmaceuticals.”

  “They have degrees,” the Laughing Man countered.

  “I have degrees! I’m a doctor!”

  “They’re medical doctors. You listen to people complain.”

  “Do you know how expensive med school is?!”

  “You’re panicking, Doctor.”

  “Damn right I am!” Dr. Harris said. She took a deep breath, then let it out. “What should I do?”

  “Nothing. Let me handle them.”

  “And if they come talk to me again?”

  “Say nothing about me.”

  “I don’t even know who you are!” Dr. Harris said.

&nb
sp; “Exactly,” the Laughing Man said. “Now, when I hang up, destroy the phone.”

  “I will.”

  “Goodbye, Doctor.”

  When the line went dead, Dr. Harris took the phone from the cradle, opened the glove box, and threw it into the car’s particle incinerator. In moments, the burner phone was deconstructed and separated into base materials for recycling.

  Dr. Harris had been so concerned with destroying the phone, she didn’t notice the black motorcycle with two large people in black coats and black helmets come up alongside her car. She turned her head in time to see the person in the rear pull an automatic pistol and fire a short controlled burst at her through her driver’s side window.

  The luxury car drifted across the lanes of the highway and crashed into the concrete dividers while the motorcycle sped off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  14 May - 4:58 pm

  1st Precinct Detention Facility, Interrogation Room 3, District of Axis Mundi

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Messer asked the prisoner.

  From across the stainless steel table, Vulcan leaned as far back in his chair as the enchanted chains around his wrist would allow. Vulcan may have been acting tough, but his eyes frequently darted back to the knife at Messer’s belt.

  “I mean, I don’t know who I make the vials for,” Vulcan said, trying to avoid eye contact. “Its like I told you. A while back, I got contacted by this mystery person.”

  “The Laughing Man?” Ito asked.

  Vulcan shrugged. “If you say so. They asked if I could make special enchanted vials. I told them I didn’t have the juice anymore to infuse them with power. So, the next day this delivery guy shows up at the shop and gives me a package.”

  “What was in it?” Ito asked from where he leaned against the back wall.

  “Why you doing this? Huh?” Vulcan asked, looking at Ito, then at Gabby before inclining his chin towards Messer. “Helping their kind? They’re the reason we ain’t running the world no more.”

  “Just answer the question,” Ito insisted.

  “Fuck you, mundy-lover,” Vulcan spat. “Damn race traitor.”