Chalk Man

by Tony Faggioli

  The elevator bell dinged, signaling they were finally at the ground floor.

  But the doors did not open.

  “You gotta be kidding me!” Klink said.

  Corporal Billings made a sickening sound that took a second to register; it was the sound of a choking man, trying to laugh. When he spoke again, his voice was clogged a bit with phlegm. “Your buddy’s pretty scared there, Mr. Man! Yessirree.”

  “Let us go,” Parker said under his breath.

  Solomon began punching the “open door” button on the elevator.

  “You’re military. You served, didn’t you, Mr. Man?” Corporal Billings said, glancing at Parker with his fading gray eyes.

  Parker nodded.

  “I can tell. You got it, ya know?”

  Klink was using his fingers to pry at the door, but Parker knew it was all in vain. The only way out of her was if Corporal Billings allowed it.

  “Got what?” Parker replied.

  “Parker! What the hell! Quit talking to yourself and help us pry the damned door open!” Klink yelled. Parker ignored him.

  “The taint,” Corporal Billings said after repeatedly trying to clear his throat. “Your soul, I mean. It’s tainted by it.”

  “By what?”

  When Corporal Billing looked at him it was no longer with a face haunted with fear but one of sadness. “War.”

  The elevator began to rattle and shake before it suddenly shifted and dropped a few feet. Klink and Solomon were both at the doors now, digging their fingers in and trying desperately to pull them open.

  “Funny thing is . . . ya know, I was a spotter in the war. Korea. A spotter. So, ya know, I shoulda seen what the devil was doin’ to me. Do you know what it was?”

  Parker froze again—a spotter was the second man on a two-man sniper unit—then shook his head.

  “He triangulated me. I mean . . . perfectly. He took my pain, and my pride, and then my jealousy . . . put me right in the middle of the kill zone . . .” He paused and looked around nervously, as if he were afraid someone was listening. “Then he said ‘Go to glass,’ and blew me away.”

  Nodding, Parker turned away from the doors and towards Corporal Billings. He could feel Klink and Solomon turn to stare at him as he did so, but he ignored them both. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, “I am. But that’s not on us. You gotta let us go.”

  When Klink spoke next, he sounded absolutely terrified. “Parker. Who are you speaking to?”

  Amazingly, Corporal Billing nodded. “I will, Mr. Man. But, ya see, I been waiting a long time for someone like you to come along. Someone who would understand what it’s like to kill under orders. Who knows what it’s like to want to see those bodies in the ice cubes in your whiskey. I made a deal with the devil but now I wanna make another deal, got it?”

  “What?” Parker said.

  “You tell your friend I want outta here. I did wrong and I’ve done so much wrong since then, but please . . . please get me out of here. He can do it. I’m not damned yet, because I’m still here. I’m sorry for all I’ve done and . . . you tell him . . . I’m begging for his help, okay?”

  Parker nodded once. Firmly. It was enough. The elevator doors opened.

  The three of them scrambled out of the elevator, across the lobby and out the double door to the street beyond. Evidently, the cap was just on the verge of storming the hotel. All pretense of covert action was gone; four black-and-whites were parked out front, their red and blue lights whipping across the surrounding glass and concrete buildings, with six patrol officers armed with either their shotguns or long guns from their trunks. “What in the world happened up there?!” the cap shouted at them. “Why did you go radio silent?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Klink said, coming up and standing to Parker’s left as Solomon, looking sick with relief, walked over to a nearby cruiser and leaned both hands on the hood.

  The cap twisted up his face with anger. “The hell I don’t! I was just getting ready to storm the castle.”

  But Parker was still lost in some of Corporal Billings’ words. Not the ones about the devil or Napoleon. No. Those were easy enough to understand. Straight up and clear. Instead, Parker was focused on a key part of Billings’ confession. Especially the part about his role in the military. What were the odds?

  Billings had been a spotter . . . and they were looking for a guy who’d been a sniper.

  Corporal Billings had been nervous, only one time, in the entire conversation. The spirit looking for redemption, who needed saving, had been afraid when he’d said . . .

  The three words came to Parker like coins hitting a hard surface: Go. To. Glass.

  A spotter’s final acknowledgment to his partner that it was time to take aim.

  Time to kill.

  As if he were warning Parker that . . .

  That’s when Parker saw it, barely out of the corner of his eye: a tiny red dot snaking its way up Klink’s chest before halting on his forehead.

  Training. The night had started with it and the night would end with it. Without even thinking, or explaining, or taking a split second to shout a warning, Parker simply shot his left hand out as hard as he could, striking Klink in the right shoulder and sending him stumbling sideways with a shocked look on his face.

  It was just enough, in just enough time.

  The brick that had been six feet behind Klink’s head exploded with a crack, shards of it going everywhere, the sound of the gunshot following right behind, echoing through the night air with murderous intent.

  “Sniper!” the cap yelled.

  After that, it was no training and all panic as everyone scattered for cover.

  Chapter 16

  One patrolman, Parker recognized him as a guy named Hobbs, wasn’t quick enough and barely lucky enough. The second shot from above rang out as he ran for cover behind his cruiser, tripping on an uneven patch of asphalt along the way. The trip spared his head from being blown apart like a watermelon. Instead, the bullet caught him in the right shoulder, the impact still strong enough to send him spinning in a pirouette, like a drunken ballerina, the rest of the way to the car. Hobbs cursed in agony and dove headfirst with reckless abandon behind the car as a second shot gouged into the front corner panel with a deep plunk.

  Meanwhile, Klink, already knocked over by Parker, low-crawled and then dove frantically for cover behind the front end of a police cruiser to his left.

  Parker had taken cover behind an unmarked detective’s car. “Nap? You there?” he said in his head. “Twice now. We got lucky twice. And based on the speed of that third shot, and his determination to get Hobbs, this guy’s not playing around.”

  Relief swam over Parker when he heard Napoleon’s reply No. He’s not.

  From his position on the ground, Parker looked up and used the large window over the lobby to get a good look at the buildings across the street, where he was sure the shots were coming from. It was a typical Downtown LA street with the exception that the office buildings on this side of town were older and covered with a half-century more of grime. Since it was nighttime, colors were harder to discern, but there were two non-descript lighter buildings, a dark building, which was the tallest, and two buildings lit with signs. One said: Ferguson’s. The other: Worldwide Imports.

  The cap had taken cover behind a separate cruiser with two policewomen. One, who had ebony skin and her hair tight under her cap, had drawn her service revolver out of instinct and was working her way to the back of the car. Her uniform nametag said “Trenton.” The other, named “Benoit,” had a blond ponytail and a look of shock on her face as she squeezed her body against the car and began popping her head up to look around and—

  “GET DOWN!” Parker screamed.

  The woman ducked just as another bullet ripped through the window where she’d been about to look through.

  “For shit’s sake!” the cap yelled. “Everyone stay the hell down until backup arrives!” Looking at Parker with pure bewildermen
t, he fumbled with his radio and put the call in. Officers in need of assistance. Sniper situation.

  A bullet struck the rooftop of the car Klink was hiding behind and the clang rattled through the air. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed, to no one in particular.

  The radio call would bring the SWAT unit, for sure. Parker thought of his friend Sergeant Davenport who ran one of the tactical units, and was both relieved for her sake and sad for his own when he remembered that she was on vacation in Bali right now. Meanwhile, Parker returned his gaze to the window. That shot was from the left, he thought.

  Another shot rang out, this one blowing the flashing lights of one of the cruisers to pieces.

  This time, Parker saw the flash. He was using a muzzle, so it was faint, but there was no doubt about it. “Tell them he’s on top of the Worldwide Imports building, Cap.”

  “Copy that,” the cap barked back, before he instantly relayed this message over the radio.

  Parker tucked his back against the car and reminded himself to breathe. “What next?’ he asked Nap.

  I dunno. This whole street’s gone dark.

  “And by that you mean . . . ?”

  The evil I sensed earlier, that was hiding things from me? It’s spread out now, like a shroud. But that’s got to be our guy up there: Alex Roland.

  Parker sighed. Back to training. Deep breaths. Calm down. Chill out. Assess your environment.

  From his position he could see most of the rest of them. Hobbs was injured to his left and holding his shoulder. The cap was to his right with the two other officers. Glancing around, Parker saw two more patrolmen, each behind the trunks of their cars and huddled beneath the bumpers. Solomon had taken cover behind a large planter that was to the right of the hotel entrance, but it was still barely enough cover. That only left Solomon’s partner, Detective Ruiz, who was missing.

  Parker locked his mind down. First, tend to the wounded. “Keep direct pressure on it, Hobbs, until help arrives. You got it?”

  Hobbs looked at Parker and nodded.

  Then, address the missing. “Anyone know where Ruiz is?”

  Everyone looked around and then to Parker before shaking their heads, but not Solomon. He looked instantly concerned. “Ruiz!” he shouted. “Ruiiiz! You there?”

  No reply.

  Finally. I can help, Napoleon said.

  “How’s that?”

  Napoleon was shaking his head. Ruiz. He saw the first shot go off. He ran across the street and went inside the building.

  “Shit. Alone?” Parker said aloud by accident.

  “What was that?” the cap yelled.

  Now he’d gone and done it. And this was always going to be a wrinkle in their relationship. At times, like now, information he had no right knowing was going to come his way when he had little or no time to figure out how to share it without looking like a) a crazy person or b) a psychic. Regardless, this was information that had to be shared.

  He looked at Nap. “Are you sure?”

  Nap nodded.

  Parker sighed. “I said I think I saw him run into the building our guy’s perched in.” His voice sounded flat.

  “You saw him?” the cap said.

  “Yeah. He ran into that building with the Worldwide Imports sign.”

  “And you’re sure our shooter’s up on top of it?”

  This time, Parker didn’t have to lie. “Yeah. I’m telling you, I saw a muzzle flash in the window. That’s where he’s at.”

  “I’ve gotta go after Ruiz,” Solomon said, rolling over and getting on one knee.

  “Solomon! You stand down. Now!” the cap yelled.

  “He’s right, Detective,” the black officer said, her face filled with resolve. “He’ll clip you before you even take two steps.”

  Frustration masking his face, Solomon stared at her for a second before he eased back down behind the planter.

  I’m going in after him, Napoleon said.

  Parker was stunned. This time, making sure his voice was only in his mind, he replied, “What?”

  Someone’s got to. There’s no way any of you will make it across the street and into the building.

  “Can’t you . . . I dunno, man . . . open a portal or something, like The Gray—”

  Parker, I keep telling you, I have nowhere near his powers and abilities. And for the record? I’ve got a ways to go before I even get close.

  “Yeah, but—”

  Let me put it in terms a jock like you might understand: you’re asking a rookie quarterback to play like a twenty-year vet. Except The Gray Man? He’d been at it for over sixty years.

  “Fine,” Parker said, shaking his head in frustration. “So, what can you do to help Ruiz, then?”

  I dunno.

  “You . . . ‘dunno?’ Are you serious? Because”—Parker set his chin and glared at Napoleon—“I may just be a dumb jock, but I can still follow basic logic, which tells me that if you aren’t as experienced as a guy with sixty years in the game? How do you plan on taking on this Chalk Man guy, who’s been at it for thousands of years?”

  Parker did not at all like the look that came over Napoleon’s face; it was a mask of pure uncertainty.

  His old partner shrugged, looked at Parker with a reckless smirk that was obviously meant to irritate, and said it again. I dunno.

  Then he infuriatingly blinked away, his image leaving a momentary shiver of tan in the air before it, too, evaporated.

  Parker was brought back to the moment as the cap clicked back onto his radio and began talking with the call center. Sirens were howling in the distance. A lot of them. Some from the east, others from the west. And they were getting closer.

  Parker couldn’t help himself. “Cap!”

  The cap finished his radio call first, then responded. “Yeah?”

  “That sounds like a lot of people coming to help . . .”

  “And you’ve got a problem with that?” Klink said incredulously.

  Parker ignored him. “All coming to a street that has basically become a turkey shoot.”

  “They know that, Parker!” the cap yelled back.

  “Yeah. But they’re civilians. With all due respect sir, you’re a vet too, and you should know better!”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “This guy. If he’s any good? He’s good up to fifteen hundred meters, Cap.”

  There was a long stretch of silence. Solomon cursed under his breath as the female officer with the ponytail shook her head in dismay. “They never taught us snipers at the academy, I’ll tell ya that shit, right here and now.”

  Despite every intention not to, Parker stifled a bitter laugh at her moxie. Sometimes, your nerves just got the best of you and it had been a long time since he’d been in this type of situation. If he were honest, he never thought he’d ever be in one again after the war. Snipers were normally war time creatures and incredibly rare in the real world.

  “Okay,” the cap finally replied, “what do you suggest?”

  “The street runs east and west. That’s his line of sight. Make sure they come in from the north and the south. He can still probably move around up there and shift his position, but the way he’s fixated on us? I doubt it.”

  The cap nodded in agreement and got back on his radio.

  The sirens were growing closer. They’d be barricading off the street, blocks away, but that did little to help with all the lights coming on above them as various residents of the hotel began to awaken and get nosey. Parker took a deep breath, filled with dread. Each one of them would be easy pickings from the rooftop across the street. All they had to do was poke their heads out, just a little bit . . . their outlines perfectly silhouetted by the room lights . . . and it’d be . . .

  Four more shots erupted in quick succession, all on Parker’s position. One creased straight through the trunk and pierced the rear tire. It exploded, only feet from Parker’s head, and the concussion nearly knocked him out. The cap was yelling something that sounded like t
he obvious: “Parker, get down!” Then another round came in, hitting the wall behind Parker and sending shards of brick and mortar over his head.

  Why? Why was this guy now determined to just get at him?

  He no sooner asked himself this question than the answer came to him: because Nap had gone in there. One spirit against another, or more likely, one spirit determined to protect his partner by threatening Napoleon’s partner.

  Parker had folded himself into a ball like a pill bug, close to the ground, between the front and back doors of the car. It wasn’t manly, but he didn’t give a crap. This guy was obviously firing armor-piercing rounds and Parker was hopelessly pinned. As the world stopped spinning and his head cleared, he heard Hobbs sobbing about not being able to stop his bleeding and the cap shouting into his radio. The world around Parker began to warp, back to that other place, back to the war. Big sun . . .

  No. No more.

  He quickly went to his anti-triggers. Trudy’s face. Trudy’s voice. Trudy’s kiss. Soft. And how her lower lip always lingered on his.

  Because the war and the desert were where he went to die, a long, long time ago.

  And Trudy was where his whole life was now.

  He was instantly back.

  The air went eerily still, as if the entire street were under a force field, and Parker was just beginning to think that Nap had done it. Somehow. Someway. He’d stopped it all.

  But then he heard Nap’s anguished voice erupt into his head. No!

  And that was when the blood-curdling scream of someone falling from the rooftop pierced the silence of the night, followed by the stomach-turning sound of flesh and bone colliding with the sidewalk below with a violent thud.

  The sirens were all within reach. The calvary was coming, probably all on foot, hugging the sides of each building as they made their way closer.

  After a few seconds Solomon shouted, with hope in his voice, “Shit! I think the guy offed himself!”