Keeper of the Faith: Finnegan #3 (The Midnight Defenders)

by Joey Ruff

“Yeah, yeah. No need to thank me. I’ll catch you on the other side.” As he said that, a black limo pulled into view and started to drive the long way around the square. “That’s our cue. Go flirt with the cop chick in yoga pants. When the shit goes off, just get your ass in the hotel and lay low.”

  I nodded and moved toward the hotel at a brisk pace. As I neared the edge of the Square, I saw the undercover woman with the dachshund. She was pretending to check her phone, but looked up at me as I approached. I caught her eye and waved, but she answered with disgust and looked away.

  The limo crawled around the corner of the square, slowing as it approached the hotel. I took one last glance back at Coyote, who had apparently vanished again, and then jogged across the street. As I hit the other curb, the doorman was looking anxiously at the limo. For a moment, I felt a pang of anxiety. I didn’t know what to expect from Coyote. He didn’t exactly stay in one lane, ranging anywhere from a game of cards to an exploding body and a beating heart in the middle of a Nebraskan highway.

  The dachshund began to bark as I neared, and the woman looked up at me hesitantly, an awkward smile playing across her lips.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Would you happen to have the time?”

  Before she could answer, two things happened simultaneously.

  The limousine pulled up to the curb outside the hotel’s main entrance. The doorman stepped to the back door, reaching for the handle.

  And a familiar-looking blonde in a pink sweatshirt brushed past me, her soft, straw-like hair spilling out of her hood at either side. As she shoulder-checked me, she gave me a quick wink over top of her giant-lens sunglasses and mouthed the words, “Here we go.”

  Once she’d passed, the cop in yoga pants said, “Wait, was that…?”

  The doorman opened the limo door.

  The blonde began singing softly to herself, “You, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me…”

  An African American male in his late thirties stepped out from the limo. He wore a red leather jacket and too many gold chains around his neck.

  “Oh my god, that’s…,” yoga pants said behind me, never finishing a thought.

  The blonde began singing louder, “You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard

  calling me out when I'm wounded….”

  “Right this way, Mr. West,” the doorman said, motioning to the hotel.

  “You, picking on the weaker man,” the blonde sang, almost screaming at this point. The doorman, who had become aware of her previously, glanced over at her, visibly nervous.

  Then she pulled out a sawn-off shotgun.

  Yoga cop swore.

  Her dog barked.

  Mr. West turned to see the blonde and said, “Yo, Taylor…,” before noticing the shotgun in her hands.

  Yoga cop shoved me to the side.

  Taylor pulled the trigger.

  Mr. West was thrown back by the power of the buckshot, spinning as he caught the corner of the door. His leather was a more vibrant color of red, the shirt beneath shredded to ribbons.

  He was dead before he hit the concrete, but for good measure, the blonde loomed over his body and fired off the other shell, point-blank range. Dental records wouldn’t be able to identify the body.

  It took me a minute to shrug off the initial shock of what I was seeing. The dachshund was still barking, the yoga cop tackled the blonde to the ground. Above it all, an unseen woman was shrieking hysterically from inside the limo, and the doorman just stood there, dumbfounded, with a growing dark spot in the crotch of his uniform.

  The yoga cop had Taylor firmly against the ground, her arms wrenched behind her back as she slapped cuffs on, but the blonde continued to sing, nearly hysterical at this point, “Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

  In the next breath, the entry doors of the hotel exploded open and a cacophony of bodies, both uniformed and plain-clothes officers, along with hotel staff, and curious gawkers all came pouring out, filling the sidewalk. Not a single eye was left on me, and I didn’t stand around waiting for a better invitation. I was all but invisible entering the lobby amid the shouting of hysterical teens, frantic officers attempting to get a hold of the situation, and a business man yammering into his cell phone that Taylor Swift just killed Kanye West in cold-blood.

  If there was a bigger story than the Pope’s assassination attempt, this was it.

  I moved quickly through the lobby, finding an abandoned luggage cart stacked with suitcases. I grabbed it and wheeled it along, trying hard not to hurry too fast and look suspicious. Just past the bank of elevators, a hallway cut to the right. A short, round black woman bustled past me in a maid’s uniform and made a bee-line to the front entrance. I abandoned the luggage cart and walked down the hallway, finally satisfied that I was safer here.

  Halfway down the hall, parked just outside an empty room, I found the maid’s cart. Right there on the top was a keycard on one of those bright orange scrunchy armband things. A master keycard. It would open any door in the place. I took it.

  Then I moved the cart further down the hallway and slipped back into the empty room. I shut and locked the door behind me and spread the blueprints out on the bed. The layout was pretty standard for a hotel. There weren’t any hidden tunnels or anything like that.

  Except the back entrance. The reason this hotel was chosen for the Pope, and other celebrities that came to town, was because of its private entrance. And that entrance was only accessible by certain employee-only hallways, and an elevator that went straight up to the penthouse.

  I traced the hallways with my finger from where I was to where I needed to be, found the nearest door at the end of the hallway I was in. I took a minute to memorize the path and tossed the blueprint roll into the dresser drawer, along with my disguise.

  Opening the door, I stuck my head out, judged the coast was still clear, and walked briskly to the opposite end. The door there had a small sign that said Laundry. I swiped the keycard and waited for the red light to flash green before turning the handle and slipping inside.

  I followed the memorized path which led through laundry facilities, the kitchen, down a utility stairwell, and into a back hallway of offices before dumping out into the foyer of the back entrance. The area here was ornately decorated, marble-tiled floors and a golden chandelier, with a mirrored wall where the elevator stood. To the left was a glass wall with doors that led to an underground parking garage, and to the right was a small, unmanned computer kiosk.

  As far as I could tell, the parking garage was all but empty. I checked around, finding nothing out of the ordinary, trying to keep my face from being captured by the security camera in the corner. When I realized there was nowhere to go but up, I pushed the elevator call button.

  After a minute, the doors opened. I had expected the elevator to be empty. I was surprised to find a bearded man in a suit. He hadn’t expected me either, but as we saw each other, there was a moment of sudden recognition. Then panic.

  I knew the man from the security video of the attack. He was the third guard to arrive. The one who wasn’t a real guard, but a shape-shifting impostor. He recognized me immediately, as well, as the face of the attacker. I could see the confusion settle over his face as he stepped off the elevator. He hesitated.

  I kicked him. My boot swung up and planted against his lower gut, just below the belt buckle, forcing him back into the elevator and slamming him up against the back wall.

  As he rebounded, I pulled one of my Colts and took aim. Before I could get the shot off, he threw his tongue at me, like a human frog. I hadn’t been prepared for it. He opened his mouth and it shot out as if it were spring-loaded, wrapping around my wrist like a wet whip.

  He jerked his head to the side, moving my arm with it. As his tongue slid from my arm, it coiled around the barrel of my Colt and pulled it from my hand.

  I was just a little dumbstruck when he pounced, kicking
off the back wall and diving toward me. The attack only barely registered, and I fainted back just as his hands hit my shoulders. Claws had appeared on his fingertips, but they only barely punctured my skin.

  I hit the ground on my shoulders, rocking back with the momentum, and kicking him back and over me. He hit the other wall and rebounded quicker than I was able to. I’d just started to stand as he came at me again, swiping the claws at my chest. I ducked the first swipe, and grabbed his wrist on the second, twisting it. My boot found his stomach.

  He punched my jaw, which released my hold on his wrist, and followed through with a left hook, which spun me back into the mirrored wall. I pulled my second Colt, but as I brought it up to fire, I heard the creak of the door, and looked to see the entrance I’d come through smashing inward against the office hallway. The shape-shifter was sprinting past the closed office doors. I fired two shots, shattering a wall sconce just above his head with the first and the closing door on the second.

  I didn’t think, just followed.

  As I entered the hallway, he was nearly at the opposite end, right about to enter the kitchen. I knew I wouldn’t reach him in time, and fired three shots. One struck his back, just between the shoulders, another hit his left thigh. The other struck the door just beyond his head.

  The shape-shifter fell and somehow, as far as I could tell, vibrated in place. It was a very quick motion, lasting only about a second, but as he stood again, I saw both of my bullets fall away from his clothing and land on the carpet.

  I fired again and again, advancing slowly. His hand was on the door knob when he fell the second time. I was only halfway down the hallway, my gun still trained on him. As he vibrated this time, I saw the imbedded white box in the hallway just beside him, right under the sign that said, Break Glass in Case of Fire. Remembering the trick I pulled back at the conference center, I changed my aim and squeezed the trigger.

  White foam gushed from the cabinet, quickly coating the far end of the hallway, making it look like the interior of a snowglobe that had been all shaken up.

  The faux Templar, hand reaching for the doorknob, was frozen in place at the center of it all. I moved next to him, stepped carefully through the foam, and grabbed him by the throat. His eyes fixed on my face, and he tried to say something, but the only noise that escaped his lips was a guttural sigh.

  His skin was very cool to the touch, and as I squeezed his windpipe, patches of skin on his face began to change in texture. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said the skin was cracking from being too cold and dry (and maybe that was part of it), but he was slowly turning back into his scaly, lizard-like self.

  I squeezed the barrel of my Colt tight against the side of his head. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and I couldn’t stop myself. “This is for robbing me of my meeting, you son of a bitch!”

  I was only vaguely aware of another presence as I pulled the trigger, and once the Naga’s stiff, cold form collapsed onto the floor, I saw the man in the suit at the other end. Maybe he had come off the elevator, heard the noise, and come to investigate. My first thought was that he was a hotel employee. Judging by his black suit, I would have guessed a manager. Even though he was six and a half feet tall and solid muscle. He looked more like a bouncer.

  Remnants of foam still hung in the air, and as I stepped forward and got a better look at him, I noticed his beard, and the light that slowly faded along the small blade in his right hand.

  For a moment, both of us were completely still. I didn’t know what to say, what he would believe, what he already knew. His countenance was measured, controlled. He didn’t appear to be the kind of man to act rashly. As he surveyed the scene before him and judged my role in all of it, I released the grip on my handgun and let it dangle upside down on my finger, showing him that I was no threat to him.

  The silence lasted far longer than I was comfortable. Eventually, he held his dagger up and pointed the tip directly at me. “You aren’t him,” he said.

  I didn’t readily speak.

  “You aren’t the assassin that was here the other night. Are you?” I noticed that he had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. Eastern European, maybe?

  “You know I’m not,” I said. “I’m not…the enemy here.”

  He nodded and lowered his blade. “I needed to hear you say it.” He relaxed his stance just a fraction. “I can hear the truth in your voice.”

  I watched him.

  “My name is Barrett. I’m Pope Innocent’s Regent.” He paused. “Who are you?”

  “Austin Finnegan. Until a few months ago, I was a priest. I was hoping to talk with his Holiness.”

  “About what?” It wasn’t just his tone, but everything about the man was intimidating. He was built like a Mack truck, and I had no doubt that he could crush my skull between his forearm and bicep just by flexing, like a nutcracker. Coyote’s words ran through my mind, and I knew they were equally relevant in this moment, for this man, “Right now, I am the police.”

  I hesitated. “Back in Seattle, something happened. With a confession…”

  “You broke the oath?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled, knowingly, and any uneasiness he had simply melted away. “Everything about you makes sense now, Mr. Finnegan. I feel that something is not quite whole in you, and now I understand why.”

  As the tears flooded my eyes, I ducked my head. I felt suddenly very weak and didn’t understand why, but as my knees began to buckle, I collapsed against the wall. Then I started to cry.

  Barrett came forward and knelt down in front of me. He was chuckling to himself, but it wasn’t unkind or at my expense. He didn’t touch me or say anything for a minute. He was just there. I didn’t look at him right away, but once I did, I realized that he was praying. And I cried some more.

  It was the strangest thing that could have possibly happened in that moment, but it felt absolutely right. I cried and let him pray, and for the briefest glimmer of moments, I actually felt like my old self again.

  After a moment, he touched my shoulder and said, “I know who you are, Mr. Finnegan. I’ve seen the news reports. I’m very sorry you were brought into this.”

  I struggled to catch my breath.

  “I trust you to be an honest man, even if you’ve been misguided lately. I also know this is not the end of your story.”

  I managed to look at him, at eyes so kind and strong. This man had a presence that was both ethereal and familiar at the same time. “You must endure a little longer.”

  “Are all Templars like you?” I asked.

  He laughed. “So you do know.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re a hunter, I gather? Shanai? Cosa Nostra? Or one of the others?”

  “This morning it was Shanai. I’m…not entirely sure right now.”

  Barrett stood to his feet and extended his hand down to me. I took it, and he lifted me up like a construction crane. It felt like being pulled out of a pit. For what seemed like the first time, he looked past me at the half-formed Naga.

  “He wasn’t the enemy, you know.”

  “I…?” I turned and looked at the Naga, too. “You know what he is, right?”

  He laughed.

  I turned back to him and said, “He’s working with the other. The one that…borrowed my face.”

  He shook his head. “No. This one was working with us. He was a guard dog. Somehow, the Naga are able to sense their own. He was the best defense we had. Like an alarm system.”

  “I…don’t understand.”

  “His Holiness has a ring that enslaves…”

  “The Ring of Solomon?”

  “A similar thing to that, yes.”

  Shame flooded over me. I had to look away as I said, “I’m sorry. I was trying to help.”

  His hand found my shoulder. “I know. You couldn’t have known.”

  Suddenly, something dawned on me, something I hadn’t fully considered until this moment. “So then, the Pope knows? Abo
ut…” I motioned to the Naga.

  Barrett smiled and nodded. “The Jinn, the gods, Echidna’s brood. And so much you may not even realize.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped. His hand went to his ear, and for the first time, I noticed the wire that trailed down his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt. “Copy that,” he said.

  Barrett looked up at me. “You can’t stay here. The cops are on their way down. Employees have reported the gun shots. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  There were enough cops upstairs from Coyote’s distraction that it wouldn’t take them anytime to navigate the hallways and find this.

  I looked at Barrett. I knew he was right, but I’d come so close… “I have to talk to him. Please… Just five minutes?”

  Barrett considered me, but didn’t say anything, just handed me the dagger in his hand.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “I can’t get you in now. There’s too much going on. You and I know the truth, but the police, the FBI, they’re going to want their man, and right now, that’s you. I’m sorry. I have no doubt that the Pope will hear your story, but you’ll have to wait and come to him. He’ll be back in the Vatican next week. Come there. We have no extradition treaties. If you can get there, you’ll be safe. The dagger will serve as your invitation, so keep it safe.”

  I held the dagger in two hands, turning it over as I said, “How am I supposed to…?”

  Barrett held his hand up. “No time for that. Leave through the parking garage. My men are guarding it. They’ll let you through.”

  I nodded and moved past him to the elevator lobby, pausing in the doorway. I spun back and said, “Barrett. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Keep the faith.”

  * * *

  By the time I got back to my motorcycle, my phone was ringing. It was Cam.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Holy shit, Austin. What the hell is happening there?”

  “Well, I got him. One of them, anyway, and…”

  “Fucking Kanye, man. He’s been tweeting over and over for the past twenty minutes…”

  “Twen…that’s not possible.”