The door blew open in a flurry of brown hair, scarves, and sketch papers. “Hey, Marcy!” the brunette said, wrapping him in a quick hug before she bounced back across the room and sat down at a desk filled with computer screens. “Sorry about forgetting to buzz you in,” she said pushing her glasses back with her middle finger. “How can I help you?”
“I need some info on some property out in Black Forest,” Marc said. “The land is owned by a shell corporation and I don’t have the skill or expertise to backtrack it.” He pulled a piece of paper with the information on the property out of the right inside pocket of his jacket. “Money’s kinda tight right now, but I can give you your regular fee in a week or so.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gracie said, grabbing the piece of paper and sticking it to a tack board and typing the information into her computer. “You’ll just owe me one.”
“I’ll owe you big,” Marc said, smiling. “There’s one other thing I could use.”
“Shoot,” Gracie said.
Marc laughed nervously. “I’m not being creepy or anything, but I kinda insulted this Russian girl earlier today and I’d like the chance to apologize to her better.”
“What do you know about her?” Gracie asked, trying not to giggle.
“All I know is she’s Russian, about our age, and her first name is Yelena,” Marc said. “I’ll see you for dinner on Sunday, alright?”
“Sounds good. I’ll see what I can do about your Russian hottie. Close the door on your way out.”
Marc turned to go, then tapped a sketch on the wall. “This looks good. You captured him pretty well.”
“I miss him too, Marc.”
Marc walked out the door without saying anything else.
***
Detective Jason Pine walked outside the Colorado Springs courthouse and started walking toward his car just as the sun started to set. Marc fell into step behind him, keeping back several yards from the detective. Marc followed the other man all the way to his vehicle. Pine pulled his keys out and put them in the lock, opening the driver side door and pulling a Berretta 9mm pistol out of a holster on the side door and pointing it at Marc.
“Take it easy, kid,” Pine said, cocking the pistol.
Marc stopped, lifting his hands away from his body. “Chill, Jason. It’s Marc Daniels.”
“Damn it, Marc!” Pine lifted the gun and stuck it back in the door. “Now is not a good time to be following cops around in the dark.”
“I heard you ran out of leads on who killed two of your officers two months ago.” Marc put his hands down, pushing his goggles back on his head. “You interested in new information?”
“Like hell,” Pine said quietly. “I won’t take anything officially. One of our guys found a folder with pictures of his family at school and his wife’s job.”
“I’ve got a lead, Jason,” Marc said, walking over to stand next to the detective. “I’ll do what I can to keep your people out of it.”
Pine rubbed his hand across the stubble on his face. “Do you still carry that machete with the saw blade on the back edge?” Marc nodded. “Find out who’s running the Russian operations in town and you’ll have our answer.”
“I just can’t get away from them today,” Marc muttered under his breath. Pine gave him a funny look, but Marc waved it off. “Don’t ask. If I can get some solid evidence, can I count on the PD to help me out?”
“If we can get the bastards who killed our men, we won’t even need solid evidence,” Pine said quietly. “Call me at this number.” Pine held a card out the door. “And we’ll come running. Don’t forget to beat the dust, alright?”
“You too, Jason,” Marc said.
Marc watched Detective Pine drive off, turning the card over in his hands. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and entered the number, using a fake name of a different kind of tree to hide it. Pine was pretty well known on the streets as a straight cop. It wouldn’t go well for Marc if someone who didn’t like straight cops saw Pine’s name under the contacts in his phone. Marc walked over to Tejon Street, where he could find a good mix of clubs and bars to pass a few hours. He stopped at a twenty-four hour kiosk to check his messages. A document with the information from Gracie was sitting third down, with two junk messages featuring suggestive messages from women with names like “Anya.” Marc deleted those messages, and opened the one from Gracie. He skipped past the information about the Black Forest properties and went straight to the information about his mystery girl.
The information looked like it was taken straight out of a police bio. Full name: Yelena Sokolov. Her parents died in St. Petersburg on Impact. She hadn’t been there because she had just started school in Seattle. She moved to Denver a year later, then down to the Springs shortly after. She was living with her uncle. Marc cursed quietly under his breath when he saw her uncle’s name. He had stopped believing in coincidence a long time ago, but this would have made up his mind if he was on the fence. Marc looked for the list of Yelena’s favorite hangouts, and noted the two that he could use. People like him weren’t commonly allowed anywhere near the super-elite Broadmoor Hotel anymore, but nightclubs and coffee shops were a different story.
Before he logged out he double-checked his inbox again. A new message had popped up from an old friend. “Heard from the tree-hugger that you were checking out some mutual friends. He thought you might need some help. Give me a when/where to meet you so we can catch up.” The message was signed “C.K.” Marc replied with the name of the club he was going to that night.
Getting into a nightclub when you don’t have good clothes or a fashionable ride is rather difficult. Fortunately, Marc knew a guy. The deep bass could be heard in the kitchen of the club, making a rhythm to which the employees unconsciously worked. Marc had barely stripped off his overcoat when he was wrapped in a massive hug by a huge chef.
Marc coughed. “Danny, I can’t breathe,” he said tapping the chef on the back.
“Oh, sorry,” Danny said, releasing Marc. The chef loomed four inches taller than Marc, with a thick body without much fat on it. “It’s damn good to see you, buddy.” A huge grin split Danny’s face.
“Likewise,” Marc answered. “Thanks for getting me in.”
“It’s no problem. You should really come by more often. I’ve got this great new sauce I’ve been waiting for someone to try.”
“I’d love to stay and test your latest dishes, but I’m here on business. Things might get a little hairy.”
Danny’s face fell. “I can’t afford to lose this job, man.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Marc said. “All I needed was to get inside. Keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”
Danny sighed in relief. “You owe me for this one.”
“I know,” Marc said, smiling. “I promise to swallow the next seven things you put in front of me.”
“Just get moving,” Danny said, turning Marc around and shoving him toward the door to the club. His fake kick just grazed Marc’s behind.
The music’s beat throbbed in Marc’s head as he wove his way through the crowded nightclub. The shrill Russian soprano was almost drowned out by the grating English throat singing. Current fashions tended to lots of skin-tight leather that stretched all the way down the legs and turtlenecks. The dance styles hadn’t changed much since the Impact though. Lots of grinding and gyrating; working his way through the crowd was an art form. Across the dance floor he could see the VIP tables loaded with the remnants of East Coast Royalty, West Coast renegades, and European refugees.
Marc saw the girl he was looking for seated in an end booth, with two very large men that were obviously bodyguards standing with crossed arms in places where they could watch the approaches to Yelena Sokolov. Marc pushed his way into the path of a waitress, making the girl stop and handing her a note wrapped around a silver dollar. Trying to talk over the sound of the music would have been a waste of time. The only way the club staff was able to communicate was by sign language m
ost of the time, many of them wearing earplugs to keep their hearing. Marc pointed at Yelena so the waitress would know who the note was for, then showed her another dollar and waited for the girl to nod her head before letting her go. He watched as the waitress wound her way up to the VIP tables. She walked right by the bodyguards and handed the note to Yelena, pointing at Marc across the room.
Yelena looked at him, locking eyes with Marc, who nodded once before making his way to the bar. He ordered a beer from the bartender, paying with a gold piece and getting several silvers back in change. He left a silver on the bar as a tip and pressed another one into the hand of the waitress as she walked by him toward the kitchen. The waitress smiled at him, then tilted her head to the side and motioned behind him with her eyes. Marc glanced in the mirror and saw one of the bodyguards headed his way. Marc mouthed a thank you at the waitress and motioned for her to keep moving.
The bodyguard tapped Marc on the shoulder, and Marc slapped three more dollars down on the bar. “Whatever he wants,” Marc shouted, gesturing at the bodyguard.
“I can’t drink on duty,” the bodyguard shouted in Marc’s ear.
“Then have a soda,” Marc shouted back.
“I am going to have to ask you to leave,” the bodyguard said again.
“Can I finish my beer?” Marc asked. “What’s your name, man?”
The bodyguard almost smiled. “I am Titus, and you can take your beer to go.”
Marc grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Believe me, I am doing you favor,” Titus said. “Either you walk away, or you get carried out by bouncers who will break bones in back alley.” Titus picked up the soda and slipped a piece of paper onto the bar. Marc covered the paper with his hand. “Have a good evening, Slasher,” Titus said.
Marc smiled, slipping the paper into his pocket as he pulled his jacket tight. “It was good meeting you, Titus.” He walked back toward the kitchen, with Titus close behind him. Marc didn’t bother trying to get away. He and Danny avoided looking at each other as they passed. As Marc pulled his overcoat down off the wall, he turned and spoke to Titus.
“Just one piece of advice, Titus,” he said. “Don’t ever call me Slasher again. You got one freebie.” Titus just stood there and nodded once, then opened the door to the outside. Marc shrugged into the coat and smiled. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said, walking outside. The door closed behind him.
The wind gusted along the back alley, lifting the dust and slamming it into the red brick buildings of down town. He pulled his goggles down and bandana up, blocking the dust out of his face. He walked two blocks before he felt a smile come over his face and he started whistling. The sound was whipped away by the wind before it ever reached another person’s ears. Marc saw a group of teenagers huddled in the shelter of a burned out store front. Pulling his overcoat around him, Marc pushed his way around the barrel that held a strong fire. One of the teenagers didn’t like the stranger stealing his warmth.
“Ain’t you got some other place to be, punker?” the teenager said, elbowing Marc ungently in the ribs. Marc ignored the teen, pulling his coat tighter around him. The teen tried to make it an issue, nudging Marc again. “Why don’t you move along, wino!”
“It’s warm here, man,” Marc said grudgingly. “Did you earn the fuel for this fire?”
“Just get out of here!” Another teen said, pushing Marc away from the fire.
Marc stepped back up to the fire barrel. “I have just as much right be here as anyone.”
“Like hell you do,” the first teen said. “We don’t know you. We don’t give a damn about you. Just get the hell away from here.”
“What’s the harm in letting him stay?” a girl protested.
“Shut up, Strella!” the second teen shouted at the girl, pronouncing her name “Streya.”
Marc pushed the second teen to the ground. “Leave her alone,” he said harshly.
The other teen punched Marc just below the ribs. “What’re ya gonna do about it, punker!”
Marc gasped, trying to suck his breath back. He stretched himself up to his full height, trying hard not to grit his teeth. “Do not test me,” Marc said quietly.
“I’ll cut your second smile,” the second teen hissed, getting up and pulling a switchblade out of his pocket.
The girl stepped in between Marc and the teens. “Both of you just stop!”
“Screw you, Strella,” the first teen said. “He’s not one of us. Take his side, and you can sleep in his camp.”
“If he’s still in one piece when we’re done with him,” the second teen added. Other teens started to circle around Marc and the girl the teens called Strella. They pulled switchblades and clubs out of their coats, like wolves getting ready to make a kill.
Marc put his hand on Strella’s shoulder, pulling her close to him. “I really appreciate you standing up for me, but I think you should get behind me now,” he whispered in her ear.
“You think?” she said sarcastically. “Just get me out of here.”
“I’m trying,” Marc snapped back. “Hey! Kruger!” he shouted. “Feel free to step in at any time!”
“You seem to be doing okay,” a voice from the darkness shouted back. “You sure you really need my help?”
“Who the fuck is that?” The first teen spun around, trying to see into the shadows. About half the teens turned to face outward while the others backed away from Marc.
“Just get us out of here, Kruger.”
“Fair enough,” the voice replied. “Hey kids! You’ve heard of Crusher and Slasher right?” The teens started murmuring amongst themselves. “Yeah, I thought so,” the voice continued. “I’m Crusher, and the man you’ve got corned is the Slasher.”
“They’re lying!” the second teen shouted. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Show them the blade, Marc,” the voice shouted.
“Shit,” Marc muttered. Strella backed away from him as he reached underneath his jacket. The machete rasped against its sheath as he pulled it out. The blade cast a distinctive shadow against the wall because of the firelight.
The murmurings among the teens grew louder. “I’m out, man,” one said. “No way am I gonna face Slasher!” The group of teens dissolved into the shadows. Teen One and Teen Two were among the first to disappear. Strella stayed where she was, silently staring at Marc and the machete in his hands.
A short trim man in motorcycle clothing stepped into the light. He laughed as he walked up to Marc and wrapped the taller man in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, Marc.”
“Likewise, Kruger. I saw you in the club, but didn’t know if you followed me out.”
“It’s a good thing I did,” Kruger said. “It’s kinda stupid of you to join a teen ganger fire.”
“I was in a good mood.”
“Whatever,” Kruger said. “Hey,” he called to Strella. “Have you got a place to stay tonight?” Strella didn’t answer, pulling her arms close around her and backing away. “Marc, put the blade away, man.”
Marc slipped the machete back into its sheath. “You can’t stay out here tonight,” he told her. “Those guys are gonna hunt you down if you stay around.”
“Are you really Slasher and Crusher?” Strella asked.
“Yeah,” both men replied. “We’ve got to get moving,” Kruger added. “Before one of those gangers comes back with an SMG or shotgun or something and lights this place up like the End of the World.”
“I really appreciate you standing up for me,” Marc said. “Now let me return the favor and give you a place to stay tonight.” Strella didn’t say anything.
Kruger rolled his eyes and started to walk away. “I’m gonna get my car. I can give you a lift wherever you want to go, but we need to go. Now!” He shouted the last word over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkness.
“I know some girls you can stay with for the next couple days till you figure out what you want to do,” Marc said. “If you don’t want to come
at least let us drop you off somewhere.”
“Whatever,” Strella said. “Just…don’t get too close.”
“Fair enough,” Marc replied. “Let’s go.” He took a few steps then waited for her to start moving before he continued out into the darkness and wind. It didn’t take them very long to find Kruger and his old car. Jeeps were one of the most common vehicles on the road now, and Kruger’s hard top was something much sought after.
“Sorry about the seatbelts, Strella,” Kruger said as her and Marc climbed in. “I traded the ones in the backseat for some lead piping a couple months back.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “And my name is Estrella, not Strella. That’s what they called me.”
2013: The Aftermath Page 32
