Burning Sky

by Weston Ochse

  Several thuds were followed by a sickly smack against the floor, then the sound of boots running his way.

  Then more thuds, followed by a pathetic whimper.

  Joon grabbed Starling by the shirt. “It’s his organs. His father made him for his organs. He arranged for his sperm to be donated to me so that I could raise him and watch over him.”

  Lore pushed open the door. She was now wearing a security jacket and a smile. “We need to get going.”

  Starling couldn’t take his eyes off of Joon’s imploring face. Made him for his organs. I watch over him. Was she a mother or an organ caretaker? How could she be either of those things? Disgust, hatred, and confusion washed through him in a sick rainbow.

  Lore grabbed his shoulder. “Now!”

  Starling’s eyes narrowed, then he shook he head. He put his hands around Joon’s wrists and made her let go of his shirt. “You take care, now,” he said in a dead voice. Then he slipped into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Nine

  CONFUSION REIGNED BACK by the nurse’s station as men and women argued about what to do. The doctor who’d caused the trouble earlier seemed to be at the center of everyone’s attention. When he saw Starling, he shouted and pointed.

  Still wearing only the security guard’s leather jacket, Lore led the way as they raced down the hall. At the end, when they turned the corner, they saw a police officer heading their way. They backtracked and found a flight of stairs down a side hall. Instead of going down, they went up. Footsteps rang from below, heading up as well. They only had two stories to go to get to the roof. Starling pushed open the door, let Lore through, then closed it. He spun, searching for a way off the roof, but all he could see was the door they’d entered from, the electrical boxes for two elevators, and a helicopter to which Lore was already running. Everything else was dark LA night.

  “Can you fly it?” he asked, not remembering any flight experience in her records.

  “No, but we don’t have to.”

  She rifled in the back of the chopper and came out with a hundred foot rope with D-rings attached to each end. She began to tie off one end to the helicopter skid nearest the edge.

  “Hey, you!”

  Starling spun. A police officer had his gun drawn and was pinning him with the beam of a flashlight in his other hand.

  “Stop where you are.” Into his microphone the cop said, “Two of them on the roof. The others’ whereabouts still unknown.”

  “Ready, Lore?” Starling asked.

  “Ready.”

  “Ladies first.”

  When the cop saw what she was preparing to do, he straightened. “Hey! Stop right there.”

  “Later, Slater,” Starling said with a wave, then backed away and ran towards the helicopter. He felt an itch in the center of his back where the cop was aiming but was fairly confident that the man wouldn’t shoot. After all, it wasn’t as if they were murderers or anything. All they’d done was crack a few skulls.

  He grabbed up the rope from the ground as he ran. When he got to the edge of the building he leaped, wrapping the rope around his side and pulling a loop through his legs as he started to plummet. But the rope caught him and he was soon hurtling to the side of the building. He brought his feet up to stop the impact but slammed into the building on his back, breath shooting from him. Although he couldn’t breathe and every bone in his body now hurt, he managed to turn around and set his feet. Then, in five great leaps, he rappelled down the side of the building and onto the roof of a one story structure, where he fell heavily to the ground.

  Lore was already halfway across it.

  Starling limped after her.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, or rather the guard’s phone. He answered it while running.

  “Meet me on the east side,” McQueen said.

  Starling scanned the horizon. They were going the wrong way. He glanced back and saw the cop beginning to descend the rope.

  “Can’t do it.” He spied a sign down the road, big and red and bright. “Meet us at Tommy’s Burgers.”

  “You finally hungry?”

  Starling grinned. “Actually, yeah.” Then he tossed the phone to the ground.

  It was nothing to slip off the single story and onto the grass. A bum sleeping in the bushes complained about the noise. They ran around the corner of the building, then came up short.

  Five Korean men in tracksuits and dress shoes stood by one of the doors looking like they were ready to make a Bruce Lee movie. Three were smoking while the others were eagerly staring at the exit door. While Starling thought that he and Lore could probably take them, he couldn’t spare the time. And it looked as if they didn’t have to. A police car skidded to a stop at the curb and two cops got out.

  The five thugs immediately straightened and threw on their I’m not really a gangbanger smiles.

  The cops barely gave them the time of day as they pushed past them.

  Starling took the opportunity to sprint across the grass to the sidewalk, then ducked behind a panel truck stuffed with ladders and painting supplies.

  Lore was right behind him, but it seemed that they’d drawn the interest of at least one of the bangers.

  Starling nodded to Lore, who peeled away, sprinting low into the parking lot, using the truck as a visual barrier between her and the men at the front door.

  A Korean rounded the corner of the truck.

  Starling looked over at him, adjusting one of the ropes holding down a ladder.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  Lore had already gone to ground so there was nothing for the Korean to see.

  He glanced at Starling, then sneered. “What you looking at?”

  Starling lowered his gaze and went back to pretending to adjust the rope. “Sorry,” he said loud enough to be heard.

  The Korean watched him for a moment, then snorted.

  Starling counted to five after the guy left, then sprinted as best he could after Lore, remembering when he’d done this without all the extra pounds. God, did he feel fat.

  Soon they were in the back of a panel van that said Chu’s Glass Cleaning on the side and going through the Tommy Burgers’ drive in.

  “Not exactly a generic van, is it?” Starling said.

  McQueen nodded. “Watched a young man take his wife into the emergency room in labor. Left the keys in the ignition and the engine running. He’s not going to miss it anytime soon.”

  “What happened to Joon and the kid?” McQueen asked.

  “I was going to ask you. What was it she was saying?” Lore asked.

  “Had to leave them behind. There was no way we were getting them out of there.”

  “We going to get them back?” McQueen asked.

  The perverted idea of a man birthing a son just so he could have spare parts had been boiling in Starling since he’d first heard the poisoned words. He wanted to be mad at the mother, but he couldn’t. She’d done nothing other than be the mother she could be under the circumstances. But the father and Larrson were other matters entirely. Starling wanted to punish them. He wanted to hurt them.

  “I said, we’re going back to get them, right?” McQueen said again.

  Starling let out a breath. “I’d like to, but I can’t figure out a way to do it.” Then he relayed what Joon had told her about the son being an organ storage facility for the father and explained Larrson and his connection to the vile enterprise.

  McQueen cursed.

  Lore got a sick look on her face. Then after a moment, she said, “Give me the phone. I have an idea.”

  While McQueen pulled forward and got their take-out order, she tried several times to call up a number from memory but with no success. Then she dialed 911; when it was answered, she asked to be transferred to the non-emergency line. There she asked to be put through to Lt. Danny Mayorga. While she was on hold she told them, “He works in the LA gang unit. It’s a stretch, but maybe… just maybe.”

  After a few mome
nts, she spoke, “Danny, it’s me, Lore. Yeah. I know it’s early, but—and I’m sorry I stood you up, but—” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I should have called, but—right. You’re definitely right. I just thought I’d call and give you a scoop. Okay, you’re not a newspaper. A lead, then. Right. A lead. That’s what you law enforcement types call them, right?”

  She spent the next ten minutes explaining everything Starling had told her, including the fact that Joon and her son were probably currently being held by the police at Corona Regional Medical Center. There was a small window of opportunity for him to get to Joon, because if she was released, she’d be disappeared and the kid would be in the wind. When Lore got to the point about the kid being an organ factory, she had to hold the phone away from her head because of Mayorga’s angry cursing. When it died down, they talked for another five minutes, then she disconnected.

  McQueen glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

  Starling stared openly. “So what’s going on?”

  Instead of answering, she rifled through the food bags and found her hamburger, which was already cold. She unwrapped it and took a huge bite, her eyes rolling into her head as she groaned with the unmitigated pleasure of biting into a burger. She chewed heartily, then ripped another equally impressive bite free, much like a hyena might from the hind of a downed wildebeest. When she was finished with that bite, she wiped her mouth clean with the sleeve of the security guard’s jacket she was still wearing, found a Coke, then took a long sip.

  Finally, she came up for air.

  “Sorry, boys. You ate your food while I did all the work.”

  “So what gives?” Starling asked.

  “They’ve been trying to get to this Larrson character for years. Danny thinks this is the perfect opportunity. He already called and arranged for Joon to be held while I was talking to him. If everything works out, he’s going to get them into protective custody.”

  Starling felt an overwhelming sense of peace when he heard those words. Joon’s constant comments about how he’d previously hurt her and done things to her had engendered in him a feeling of ownership for her future. He’d left her in the hospital knowing it was the only thing he could do to get away. Now that her safety was assured, he felt a great weight lift from his soul, if only knowing that he wouldn’t do to her again what she’d said he’d done before.

  “Happy now?” Lore asked, shoving a handful of fries into her mouth.

  “It’s a little better,” he said, reaching over and grabbing a napkin. He dabbed at the right corner of her cheek where a dollop of ketchup had found a home. “I’ll really be happy when we figure out what’s going on.”

  “You mean the girl and the goat,” she said.

  He nodded. “And why you kept quoting a thirteenth century mystic.”

  She took a slow contemplative bite from one of her fries. “Yeah. That.”

  Chapter Ten

  I-10 heading East

  THE SUN ROSE over the continental United States as they approached Indio, California, and with it, morning commuter traffic heading into Palm Springs and Los Angeles. Their progress slowed to a crawl as they moved east along Interstate 10. They decided it would be a perfect time for a new vehicle. Trading the panel van for a black Chevy Tahoe wasn’t difficult in the airport long-term parking lot. At the exit, McQueen apologized for not having a ticket and slipped the nice man behind the glass a fifty to assuage his concern.

  Up and over Chiriaco Summit and past the home of World War II hero General George S. Patton, they made Blythe two hours later. It wasn’t hard to find a Walmart. They each needed a change of clothes and hygiene products, as well as enough gear to get them back to the box. McQueen and Starling took turns going inside, each of them grabbing what they needed along with duffle bags to carry their stuff. McQueen also got enough clothes for Lore so that she could go inside and do the same.

  Starling was happy to get out of his pink Come Yank at Hank’s shirt and exchanged it for a few generic polo shirts. He also grabbed a burner phone that he put to immediate use, calling everyone he knew at both Luke AFB in Phoenix and Davis-Monthan AFB in Tucson. Either place would have a bird heading to the Middle East and if they’d find answers anywhere, it would be there.

  Lore sat in the back seat with a mirror and some wipes and started working at wiping away the worst of her sigils.

  After a while, Starling put the phone in his lap and sighed.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  “Not at all. Either everyone I know is gone, or no one will give me the time of day because we’re out and not on contract.”

  “They don’t like tourists mucking around their war zone,” she said.

  “But we’re not tourists,” he replied, frustration evident in his voice.

  “If we aren’t working for the government in some capacity, then we are exactly tourists,” McQueen said from the front seat.

  “I’ve got a line on that, I think.” Starling rubbed his freshly shaved face. “You know who could help with that?”

  “Elon Musk?” Lore asked.

  “Bill Gates?” McQueen offered.

  “No, you dummies. Narco. Dakota Jimmison. He can help. He knows everyone.”

  Lore gave Starling a look. “He should, especially if he went back to dealing.”

  “Yeah, but he’s our guy. I didn’t see you complaining when you wanted to get antibiotics for the woman’s shelter in Kandahar. I didn’t see any of us complaining when he was able to get the three dogs at NKC that were going to be euthanized onto a C130 bound for Germany.”

  “Still, you have to admit he’s sketchy,” she insisted.

  “He’s our own Radar O’Reilly,” Starling asserted, resurrecting the affable, grape Nehi-drinking character from the old TV show M.A.S.H.

  She scoffed. “He’s nowhere near Radar O’Reilly.”

  Before Starling could comment, McQueen shook his head from the front seat and interrupted. “Save your breath, kids. He’s not helping anyone. He’s working off his latest DUI with the infamous Sheriff Joe Arpaio.”

  “That the guy who said eff you to the governor?” Starling said, remembering the brewha from a late-night TV news program he’d watched while tripping on meth.

  “One and the same. Narco’s girl called me asking for help, but there was nothing I could do.” McQueen shrugged but kept his hands on the wheel. “It’s his fifth or sixth, she said.”

  “How does he even get a clearance?” Lore asked.

  “He knows where all the bodies are buried,” McQueen said. “And what is it with you two? I noticed the last couple of missions that you and he barely speak.”

  Starling looked at Lore. Was that true? Why hadn’t he noticed that? He was usually up on team dynamics.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, staring out the window at the passing desert landscape.

  “Oh, it’s something.” McQueen grinned. “Did he hit on you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you hit on him and he declined?”

  She gave the back of McQueen’s head a sour look, then stared out the window.

  “Is that it?” Starling asked, trying to suppress the laughter that was begging to be released. “Did he turn you down?”

  She sighed heavily. “Listen, you two. Let’s keep this professional.”

  “Professional? Weren’t you the one who wanted to turn a professional relationship into a personal one?” Starling shook his head. “Seriously. I think it’s funny as shit that he turned you down, but I can’t have members of the team getting into any sort of relationship that interferes with our mission.”

  She sighed again.

  “What?” he said.

  “That’s what Dak said to me. He said even if he wanted to, you’d get pissed.”

  “He was right.”

  “But that’s not why she’s mad, boss,” McQueen said.

  Starling thought about it for a second, then he had it. His eyes widened. “Even if he
wanted to is what he said. So instead of a cold turn down, he couched it in better terms. That’s not so bad.”

  “But he smiles at me,” she said.

  “What does that have to do with anything? I smile at you, too. See? I just did it. So what?”

  “It’s not the same kind of smile,” she murmured.

  “What kind of smile is it?” Both McQueen and Starling asked simultaneously.

  “You or him?” she asked.

  “Him.”

  “It’s the Oh look, there’s that girl who wanted to date me but I had to let her down easy because she’s not pretty enough and not smart enough and not whatever the fuck it is enough for me to date her.” She looked each of them pointedly in the eye, then returned to itemize and inventory the cacti as they flew by.

  No one said a word for a full minute.

  Finally, Starling said, “I don’t think that’s the kind of smile he gave you.”

  She flicked her hand. “Whatever.”

  “No, seriously. That’s not it.”

  She turned to Starling. “Then what is?”

  “You’re not his type.”

  “Not his type?” She repeated, each word louder than the other. She held out her right hand and ticked off her attributes with her left. “One, I’m fit. Two, I’ve grown my own boobs and they’re more than adequate. Right, McQueen?”

  “I’m the wrong one to ask, dear.”

  “Oh, right. Three, I’m intelligent. I have a master’s degree in religious studies, for God’s sake. Four, I’m a better shot than he is, proven at least a dozen times on the range. And five, I think I happen to be pretty damn good looking. I’ve even been called hot, and not just deployment hot. So if he has a type, what part of me isn’t his type? Does he like short, flat-chested, obese dumb girls who can’t shoot?” Quickly adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with those sorts of gals.”

  Starling caught himself smiling and tried to stop but couldn’t. “All of those things about you are true,” he told her. “You’re also polite, sharing, caring, considerate, and will go out of your way to help a fellow human.”