by Adair Rymer
“Sure,” I said and followed him to man with a cart who sold only hot tea.
“You look like hell, Natasha. When was the last time you got any sleep?”
“I slept last night.” Sort of. The thought of it made me sick and angry. When was the last time I slept that wasn't drug-induced? I changed the subject to avoid more questions I wasn't prepared to answer. Besides, I did come here for a reason. “Why all the subterfuge, John? It's always nice to see you outside of a uniform or the hospital, but couldn't we have done this on the phone? I have a lot going on right now.”
I had too much crazy on my plate with the Shadow reaffirming that the love of my life was still dead. I didn't need any cloak and dagger stuff from my partner too.
John paid the vendor and had his ceramic “Number One Grandpa” cup refilled. It was probably what kicked off the conversation with the Japanese man. I was one of the few people who didn't bring their own mug so I had to buy one in addition to the tea. I guess I needed a new one anyway after breaking the glass this morning.
That was another thing! My apartment was still wreck. What the hell was I going to tell my landlord about the window?
We found a few empty chairs next to some men passionately arguing in Cantonese.
“I know why a task force was assembled to take down the Shadow,” John said quietly, as he brought the cup to his lips. “Dirty cops.”
“Where? In our precinct?” The accusation hit me like a blow in the ribs. Ethical lines were blurred occasionally. A few repeat offenders get roughed up once in a while during an arrest if we caught them with their hands in the cookie jar, but I didn't think we had anyone fully on the take.
John eyed me like a rookie, then flashed his glare down at my mug.
“Does the captain know about this? Don't tell me he's involved in this too?” This time I followed his example and took a sip to cover my lips. And so the rules of our meeting were set. We talked only when we sipped. Yet another reason why I needed to listen to John more often. “How high does the corruption go?”
“Not that high, fortunately. From what my contact in the FBI says, it's probably just a few grunts, maybe a sergeant or two max.” He used a cough to glance around and see if anyone was watching us. John was good. If the members of the force were in the pocket of O'Neil, then it paid to be extra careful.
I did the same only I wasn't looking for regular men.
You never knew when interested eyes were watching.
So the feds were organizing a task force to bring down a man who was killing mobsters, but not one to bring down the mobsters themselves? I swear... the people in charge were so shortsighted it made my head ache.
“A little bird also told me that O'Neil flew in last night. Apparently the crime boss is none too happy about his New York branch being pruned.”
He must be the Shadows real target! It was starting to make sense. The Shadow was killing the Irish to draw O'Neil out of hiding. Looks like it worked. What I still didn't know was why...
Logan is dead.
And it was Irish mobsters who killed him and his entire family. All because Logan's father owed money to the wrong people.
Could Logan Drake be the Shadow?
No. When I became a cop I pulled up his death certificate. Logan Drake was dead.
But was he still dead?
I felt like a crazy person for even humoring the thought. Death wasn't a two way road. It was impossible to come back from that. I was thinking a lot of things were impossible lately, but that didn't stop any of them from happening.
The department had been corrupt before. What if Logan never actually died, but a death certificate was forged to make it look like he died.
I thought back to the notes I'd taken on those audio files. Two names, a date and a time popped up over and over again in my notes, but when I stopped into the station on my way over here I couldn't find any record. I knew when something was going down, but I didn't know who the two big shots were that everyone was talking about.
“Does the names 'Grimes' or 'Michonne' mean anything to you?” I asked.
John thought on the words, saying them forward and backwards in his mind. Finally he shook his head and shrugged. Damn. Well, it was long shot anyway—
“Oh.” He snapped his fingers “Kirkman's fish packing plant.” John saw my look of confusion, then clarified. “'Grimes' and 'Michonne' are street names. Kirkman's used to sit right at those cross streets about a decade ago. No idea what's there now.”
That's why I couldn't find anything in the police database. I was looking for people. Hell, I even scoured the recently dead and still came up with nothing. That was Dragon's territory. Then it all clicked. O'Neil wasn't drawn out because he was angry. He came back as bait. They were going to ambush the Shadow!
My first instincts were that I had to warn him. Did I though?
I was tired of this indecision. One way or another I had to make a damn decision. Do I try to help the man who saved my life or do I let the killer of killers and attempted murder get what's coming to him?
The Shadow could've killed me, but didn't. I saw the look of horror on his face when he realized what he was doing. There is a good man in there somewhere. It might even be the man I loved. Why else would he be watching over me?
Who knows what gave him those special powers. God? A freak accident? Genetic evolution? Maybe an alien parasite took over Logan's body and he's fighting it for control. Who knows? This is New York, crazier things have happened.
OK, no. Any of those would be the craziest thing to ever happen, but if there's even the slimmest chance the Shadow might be Logan, I had to help him.
“What is it?” John asked. If he was already this paranoid, then he must've had a reason. Maybe he found someone watching him or his family. He took a big risk by even telling me.
“Nothing.” I shook my head and stood up to leave. I'd already got my partner shot, I wasn't going to drag him into any more of my craziness. That's not to say I was alone in all this. Outside of John it looked like the captain was the only one I could still trust, so that's where I was heading next.
“Bullshit.” John called my bluff. “I just watched you go through half a dozen emotions. What are you going to do?”
I smiled, feeling confident with my new resolve, “I'm going to help a friend.”
Chapter 8
Shadow
The breeze that rolled in off the ocean did wonders to clear my troubled mind. The air on the top of the Verrazano Bridge was different than down on the street, especially now at dusk. It cleaned off the grime that coated my soul every time I took a life from someone who didn't deserve to have it.
But that wasn't what troubled me this evening. I'd spent all day replaying what happened at Nat's apartment last night. What...I did. The monster inside me took control for just a second and nearly killed the woman I loved.
It was a good thing I didn't need to sleep anymore. I could only imagine the fucked up nightmares I'd have. Unfortunately, that gave me a lot of down time during the day. I mostly tried to just stay out of sight. Even with how stealthy I was, it was harder to disappear while it was light out.
Bridges like these were little pockets of calm for me in the bloody chaos of my life. People could pass through them, but outside of traffic they never really lingered. They were both a part of the city and not at the same time. That's how I felt. I was human, but also not.
Logan Drake, but not.
I'd come up here a few times since returning. It was the only place I could clear my head. The only place where the serum inside me couldn't remind me of the monster I had become, or what I still had left to do.
Ever since I came to this city as a kid, I felt like I belonged here. When I was initially taken into the Veidt Group, after my parents were murdered, I was sent all around the world for martial arts, stealth and tactical training. Now that I'm back home I realized New York really was the greatest city in the world, at least to me.
&nbs
p; I think it had something to do with the skyline. Our apartment growing up was just tall enough to afford me a view of the river and Manhattan beyond. There was so much history and architectural prowess in that mountain range of steel and rebar. The Chrysler building, the Empire State Building, the New York Life Building, the list went on, and when the sun set behind them, I swear those buildings would sing to me.
The only thing I didn't like about the jagged, yet flowing view, was the massive, jutting monstrosities that were tall for the sake of being tall. Pillars of vanity with logos or letters on them, like the M Hotel. Those were the McMansion of the skyscraper world. To me, they looked like giant cocks, desperately trying to fuck the sky.
I stood tall on one of the two massive towers, letting the cold, uncaring metal sway me back and forth. It was enough to throw a normal to his certain death. I didn't have that problem. I balled my hands into fists that could crumble rock, then dove off the side.
All this power and I was still so weak when it came to her.
I overshot the landing I was aiming for and landed on a steel cable that connected two towers, then I ran back toward the city. Lucky. If I missed that cable...
Well, I doubted my regeneration could bring me back from being turned into paste. Of all my abilities I still had trouble with leaping. Arc, trajectory, wind, the farther I jumped the more mental math there was involved.
And I was always a terrible student.
Balance and dexterity on the other hand, I had in spades. I ran with ease down the length of the cable, considering the task ahead of me tonight. I had cracked enough skulls to know that O'Neil, the head of the Irish mafia, was back. No one seemed to know exactly what he had planned, but I was going to find out.
The last of the sun dipped below the Narrows River as I passed within eyesight of Nat's apartment. I could've gone a hundred different ways, but here I was. Why did I always come back here? She had such a powerful hold on me that not even the serum could suppress it.
If I hadn't come back to kill the Irish, I would've come back just to protect her.
The lights were out. She was either asleep or out where she shouldn't be. Knowing her, it was definitely the latter. I felt a renewed drive to get to the fish-packing plant, because if there was trouble tonight, then that's where it would be.
I was a breath away from leaving when I saw her shattered window. I still felt bad about that. I checked my watch. There was still a few hours before the Irish thing kicked off. I checked my pockets, then bounded the two blocks to get to her window. Six seconds. Was I getting slower? So much of my transformation was experimental, there was no way of knowing what my new normal was.
I fished out all the cash I'd taken from the thugs at the Four Leaf, most of the bills weren't covered in too much blood. I had taken to donating the money I’d collected from scumbags, but tonight I'd leave it for Nat. Hopefully it'd be enough to cover the cost of the window.
On my way out I noticed it. There was a white envelope taped to the outside of her window, above the fan. It was addressed to me, of course. I tore it open and read it.
She prefaced it by saying she forgave me for what happened last night, but not for breaking the law. I was still a murderer who needed to be brought to justice.
This girl didn't quit with the whole justice thing! Why couldn't she understand that the system didn't work? Some men were just rabid dogs who needed to be put down.
I wasn't expecting to read that she forgave me... It was nice that one of us did. Her look of horror was tattooed in the back of my eyelids, I relived it for a split second every time I blinked. I deserved that pain and more.
I read the rest. I knew O'Neil was back and that the Irish had absorbed the Dragons. I'd even heard about the fish-packing plant. She warned me it was a trap. That I shouldn't go.
The Irish mob and the Dragons all in one spot in a secluded area, devoid of civilians? That was the best news I heard all day. The dominoes had set themselves up for a change. All I had to do was knock them all down.
“A trap,” I scoffed. What could they really do to me? If I let the serum take control I was unstoppable. If anything, once I arrived, they were all trapped in there with me.
I flipped the note over and read the last part about the anti-Shadow task force.
“A task force just for me, huh?” I couldn't help, but smile. “I'm honored.”
Lastly, there was a vague mention of potential corruption and that she was going to meet her captain.
Good. Hopefully her captain can talk some sense into her and keep her safe while I deal with the Irish.
I took a moment to think. I was still going forward as planned, but there were a lot more moving pieces than I initially thought. Between the Irish, the Dragons, the task force and corrupt cops, there was a lot to keep track of.
Ultimately, none of it fucking mattered. One way or another, tonight I was going to finish what I started when I came back.
I carefully folded the letter and brought it to my nose. I could smell Natasha's scent on it. It made my heart beat a little faster. God, I loved the way she smelled. I didn't truly understand just how much I had been missing her until recently. All those emotions that stayed with me during the darkest times of the transformation, the ones I couldn't place, those were all thoughts of her.
My mind fought to hold on to her anyway I could.
Crumpling the note, I tossed it back into her apartment then laughed at the cruel irony of it all. I'd been missing her my whole life and never even realized it until it was too late.
I left her apartment for the last time. I had one quick stop to make before finally completing my mission. They thought they were cornering me? They had no fucking idea. I was going to get my revenge for what they did to my family. The only thing that was important to me. A glimmer of doubt deep within me gave me pause about that.
It was the only thing that was important, wasn't it?
I hated feeling conflicted. But more than that, the serum should've made indecision impossible. It was designed to make me focus on only one goal, and complete it at all costs.
The only good thing about never seeing Nat again was that she wouldn't see what I had become. She wouldn't be around when the beast was fully released. She wouldn't have to witness me tear them all apart.
* * * * *
The fish-packing plant itself was huge, roughly half the size of a city block. It didn't need the giant sign to be easily recognized as condemned. The rust-colored building was a holdover from a hundred years ago, when the Hudson River actually had sea life. The building lived in a very poor part of the city. It was too expensive to be torn down so a fence had been erected around it to keep local kids out. The graffiti lining the walls spoke volumes about how effective it was.
Effective or not, I was willing to bet that with a gaggle of armed gangsters, patrolling the perimeter no one would want to tag any of these walls tonight. For such a big event, or whatever this trap was supposed to be, they only had a handful of men outside watching for me, and they were only packing pistols. Did they really think I was stupid enough to believe this was just business as usual, or did they really think I wasn't much of a threat?
Either way I was a little insulted.
I lingered atop the closest building, which was a similarly abandoned warehouse, and closed my eyes so I could pour my focus into listening for heartbeats. They had the five men outside for show and another thirty heavily armed men on the inside. Those numbers gave me pause, I should've brought heavier weapons with me tonight.
No, I decided. That'd only slow me down. If I needed anything more than my pistols or knives there'd be plenty laying on the ground to choose from.
Oh no...
I closed my eyes and focused harder. There was one heartbeat racing like crazy inside. Someone was terrified. That meant they had a hostage, maybe two. Dammit! So much for going in guns blazing. That would've been a nice way to end it all.
I had to think tactically. Fortu
nately I already had a backup plan in motion. Now I just had to get that hostage out alive. I did some quick math, then got to work. First things first. I needed to get in the building. I'd have just killed the enforcers outside and snuck in, but I couldn't risk the firefight leaking outside.
I would have to go down through the rotting roof. The hard part was getting up there. The height wasn't a big deal, it was the distance I was worried about. It was almost twice as far as I'd ever jumped before. I had to clear this parking lot, the road, and Kirkman's parking lot before I even reached the building. Then I had to hope I landed on a piece of the roof that wasn't too rotted away to support me.
I could fight and move like a motherfucker, but I still wasn't great at these long jumps. If I fucked this up they'd know I was here and they might kill their hostage. I limbered up, shaking out my arms and legs, then I lined up the jump. On the east side of the roof was a sturdy-looking slab of concrete, half the size of a basketball court. I'd land there, scout the area for the best entry point, then drop in.
It should work.
I slowly breathed in deep, then pushed all the air out in one burst, finding my resolve. “Fuck it, let's give it a shot.”
Four long seconds I spent sailing through the air. It's hard to adjust to weightlessness. All the work is done in the running and the jumping, everything else is just being along for the ride. Aside from the wind whipping at you, you're just nowhere until you're somewhere. Often violently.
I watched as the nice solid piece of concrete I was aiming for sailed by. I didn't account for wind! Shitshitshit! I grabbed at anything I could, but it was no use.
I careened through the remnants of a skylight, onto—and through—an active game of cards, and through the floor beneath the table. I finally came to a stop when I hit the concrete flooring on the bottom level. More than half the bones in my whole body had broken at least once, I was more puddle than man. Even for me it was tough to stay conscious enough to heal. It felt about as miserable as you'd think it would.
