Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers)

by A. D. Phillips

  The gymnast’s harness belt was the only part of her outfit connected to the cables. Other than that, she had total freedom of movement. Wire lengths - and thus waist height - were controlled by winches integrated into black, disc-shaped suction pads. There were four anchor points altogether, arranged in a diamond pattern on the ceiling. Digital timers on the discs ticked down the seconds. Whenever they reached zero, a loud beep signified the end of one gymnastic routine, and the beginning of the next. Each time the woman moved, her actions were replicated in real-time on a giant television screen below. A wireframe avatar mimicked every subtle muscle movement and chest heave.

  The staff were engrossed in their work, too vested in bringing Crimson Shadow to life to notice Lucy enter from the corridor. Her eyes widened in awe as she watched the harnessed woman execute a perfectly-timed, sliding kick. The gymnast’s outstretched foot shot forward in a straight horizontal line, creating the illusion of ground below her. Then the artist ‘leapt’ up into a standing position, and slashed her katana in an upward arc.

  Lucy was so absorbed in watching the Lycra-suited woman she didn’t notice Adrian come in behind her.

  “This is the project room,” he said, glowing with pride, “where the little people bring my ideas to life.”

  “The little people?” Lucy’s harsh response hinted at displeasure. “Is that how you see the rest of us?”

  “Of course not,” Adrian said with a smile. “That was a joke. You haven’t lost your sense of humour completely since joining the cops, have you? What… You think I don’t value my staff?”

  Lucy walked down the aisle, and observed sketches on the workers’ tables. One was a series of musical notes on lines, quavers and crotchets drawn in classical style.

  “Do you?” Lucy asked doubtfully. “Norris worked on the project, and you fired him. You two obviously had issues.”

  “Norris had financial issues. I don’t have any control over how my employees spend money.”

  Lucy glanced up at the gymnast, who performed another somersault and katana slice. “And you like to have control, don’t you Adrian? Over peoples’ lives? Your employees, your women.”

  “If only it were that easy.” Adrian gazed wishfully at the artist above. “We are living in the twenty-first century. The modern woman is tough.” His eyes dropped to Lucy. “Independent. Quite prepared to dump men she doesn’t approve of.”

  Right on cue, the gymnast kicked high - a powerful strike at an imaginary opponent. With uncanny synchronisation, a Crimson Shadow character on a designer’s screen sent a robed, bald-headed monk flying off a sheer-faced cliff. With nothing to break his fall, he plummeted into a roaring river below.

  “Nice analogy,” Lucy said. “Not sure I buy the changed man act, but I am impressed with your people. The girl’s got excellent form. Who is she? I didn’t see her at the presentation.”

  “That’s because she didn’t know Sophie. The lady performing miracles up there is Jenna, a professional motion capture artist. We had to pay extra to hire her on a temporary contract, but she’s well worth it. Our usual woman’s got more important things to work on.”

  “Two healthy young ladies that wear catsuits to work? I may as well quit now.”

  “Don’t be silly. The other girl is only—” Adrian relaxed when he saw Lucy’s grin. “So you do remember how to have fun. When you’ve finished being nice, we should get back to the tour.”

  ***

  Gordon Levitt sat before a wall of monitors that streamed live surveillance footage. Cameras were installed almost everywhere in the Taurus tower: the lobby (with views from four different angles), elevator tubes, the server room, and a whole series of near-identical, cubicle workspaces. The screen showing Adrian’s office was in the middle. Some viewpoints remained static. Others changed as cameras swivelled or moved along rails. External footage covered the front entrance, roundabout approach, and emergency exits.

  Conspiracy theorists and civil liberties campaigners would no doubt be horrified by the intrusive security measures, but Levitt seemed more interested in munching his doughnut than voyeurism. He put his feet on the coffee-stained desk, reclined back, and took an enormous bite of pastry. Levitt was still licking sugar from his lips when Ron stormed in.

  The detective rushed to the security screens. “Where’s Lucy?” he demanded to know.

  “Who?” Levitt replied dumbly.

  “She’s my—” Ron gave Levitt a repugnant glance, and watched the guard calmly chew his doughnut. “Forget it.”

  Ron turned his attention to the monitors, and moved a pointed finger from left to right. He stopped when he spied a familiar man in red-tinted glasses wandering the corridors.

  “Fitzroy.” Ron slapped the screen. “So he is here. That bastard was under our nose this whole time.”

  “Hey.” Dough melted in Levitt’s open mouth. “I know that guy. I think he works here.”

  “He used to,” Ron corrected him. “Which part of the building is he in?”

  Fitzroy turned left at a T-junction. He vanished from the monitor and immediately appeared on the one to its right.

  Levitt gormlessly scanned the footage. “I think that’s the project office.” He sounded more speculative than decisive. “Where they do… You know, stuff with graphics.”

  “The security budget must really be tight if they hired an airhead like you,” Ron muttered.

  “Huh?”

  A report came through a two-way radio on Levitt’s desk. “We got a dude acting crazy,” a hoarse-voiced man said. “Making threats against the boss. Someone named Fitzroy.”

  Levitt reached for the walkie talkie, but Ron got to it first. “Detective Wallace here. You sit tight. Me and Deputy Dumbbell are on the case.”

  Fitzroy marched down an otherwise-empty corridor, unwrapping the plastic bag while he walked. The camera panned to the left, past him. Ron caught a glimpse of something black and metallic, but the object was unclear. He tapped the monitor screen impatiently. When the camera rotated back to its former position, Fitzroy could be seen gripping the pistol.

  “Gun!” Ron tossed the walkie talkie to Levitt and unholstered his own weapon in one swift move. “Tell your men to seal off…” He checked the time and location stamp on the screen. “…Floor eleven.”

  Levitt sat there unresponsive. His greasy palms smeared the radio.

  “Now!” yelled Ron.

  ***

  Lucy and Adrian concluded their tour of the project room, and finished up at the door. They stood close together, side by side.

  “Well,” said Lucy. “You’ve given me a few leads that are worth pursuing.”

  “Which of them is most promising?” Adrian propped his back against an empty desk.

  Lucy paused to weigh up her response. Before she was able to reply, Fitzroy burst into the room and waved his gun in the air. A male employee spotted him and jerked back, almost falling off his seat. The motion capture artist gasped in terror and lost concentration. Steel cables ensnared her legs as she spun around helplessly.

  “Nobody move!” Fitzroy screamed.

  Lucy reached for her sidearm and moved across to shield Adrian. Fitzroy trained his weapon on her. She froze, hand still inside her suit. Nobody risked vacating their seat. Jenna let gravity take over, and swung upside down as the timer beeped. Sensors captured her uncontrolled somersault.

  “We can talk about this,” Lucy said.

  Fitzroy’s sweaty fingers twitched. He side-stepped to get a clearer shot at Adrian, and aimed at his exposed head. Despite jittery spasms, the gun was surprisingly steady in Fitzroy’s hand.

  “Why did you let this man go free?” he asked Lucy. “He’s guilty. I can prove it.”

  “This guy’s crazy,” Adrian said. “He’s been hounding me ever since he left Taurus. You should read some of his reviews, or his fan fiction. It’s garbage. A load of dramatic hyperbole.”

  Fitzroy’s finger half-squeezed the trigger. He breathed out through closed tee
th. Jenna put her hand over her mouth filter, ready to suppress a scream.

  “Be quiet, Adrian,” Lucy said firmly. “No need to provoke him. Where’s the proof, Fitzroy?”

  “All around you.”

  Fitzroy’s glasses reflected Lucy’s poker face. Hand on holster, she was ready to move at the slightest opportunity.

  “Look at his work,” Fitzroy went on, though Lucy didn’t comply. “It’s all sequels and clones. Pryce is killing the industry.”

  The door swung inward. Black glass throbbed as it slammed into the wall. Ron charged in, weapon drawn. Scared gasps echoed round the project room. Steel cables creaked around Jenna.

  “I got you covered,” Ron told Lucy. “A clear shot. Just give me a reason to take it, asshole.”

  Fitzroy kept his pistol aimed at Adrian’s head. He showed no sign of backing down.

  “Ron!” Lucy shouted out. “I got this. What about Crimson Shadow, Fitzroy? Looks original to me.”

  “Recycled trash. It’s nothing new, just a cash in. Another game sold with sex and violence. That’s all Taurus does. I sent letter after letter to Pryce. Published review after review. I offered him guidance, told him how to save himself. But he ignored me.”

  Fitzroy’s hand shook with rage. Adrian remained silent in the face of the accusations. Jenna and the avatar had both stopped moving, legs twisted awkwardly.

  “Norris saw the truth!” Fitzroy yelled deliriously. “That’s why he left. The girl - Sophie - Pryce was in love with her. But they both rejected him. And that’s why he killed them. Can’t you see? This man’s the devil.”

  Fitzroy took off his spectacles and threw them away. His exposed eyes were wild as a rabid dog’s. “Tell her what you did,” he ordered Adrian, stepping within point blank range. “Tell her!”

  “All right!” Adrian conceded. “All right. It’s true. I killed them!”

  Jenna and several employees all gasped at once. Lucy stared in disbelief. Ron retained his aggressive stance.

  “I was right.” Fitzroy stepped away, lowering his voice. “I knew it. I solved the case. I’m a hero.”

  Overcome with emotion, he relaxed. Adrian took advantage and grabbed the pistol. The two men struggled and twisted around. Each attempted to direct the gun.

  Adrian blocked Ron’s view of Fitzroy. Lucy’s suit flapped as she swiftly drew her weapon. She had a clear line of sight, but seemed reluctant to fire.

  “I lied!” Adrian groaned. “It’s a trick. Shoot him.”

  Fitzroy kicked Adrian in the knee and shoved him back against the wall. Lucy fired before Ron, emptying three bullets into Fitzroy’s chest. Jenna screamed as blood oozed from the wounds and dyed white shirt stripes crimson.

  Fitzroy squeezed his weapon’s trigger as he fell back. Adrian ducked instinctively. But there were no gunshots, only a high-pitched laser sound effect.

  Fitzroy fell beside his replica gun, and smiled up at the light overhead. “I showed you the truth,” he croaked. “I’m a hero.”

  He lay still, eyes frozen in a deathly stare. Ron slowly lowered his gun. Adrian ran to the shell-shocked Lucy. Jenna spun back upright, and slowly untangled herself from the cables.

  Lucy couldn’t take her gaze off the dropped ‘pistol’. “It was just a toy,” she said, mortified. “I killed him over a toy.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Adrian comforted her. “It looked real enough from where I was standing. As far as I’m concerned, you saved my life today. Never mind what that nutcase said. You’re my hero, Lucy Duvall.”

  Adrian threw his arms around Lucy, and embraced her in a tight, appreciative hug. She patted him weakly on the back, struggling to hold onto her firearm. Ron looked on with concern. Behind him, a Taurus employee snapped a picture with her cellphone camera.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Detective girlfriend saves murder suspect,” roared Blake. “Sound about right?”

  He slammed the morning newspaper on his tidy, traditional desk. The actual headline was much kinder: HERO POLICEWOMAN RESCUES TAURUS PRESIDENT.

  “That’s not what it says, sir.”

  Lucy stood on the green carpeted floor - wearing a clean, slate-grey suit and trousers - with no furniture between her and Blake but the desk. There was only one chair: a throne-like, leather-backed antique with intricately-carved wooden arms. And that was reserved for the boss.

  The Lieutenant’s office could be mistaken for a library with its varnished, oak panel walls, marble corner pillars, and brass lamp fixtures. Ceiling-high bookcases stocked police procedural manuals, city guidebooks, and gumshoe detective novels. The Venetian window blinds were lowered, lead-ball-weighted cords dangling at the sides. Detectives working in the room beyond the closed door were distorted to polygonal blurs by frosted glass. Only Blake’s name and rank - etched in gold - were clearly visible.

  “I was reading between the lines,” the Lieutenant said. “That’s what people will say. And once the honeymoon is over, it’s what reporters will write. That stunt you pulled yesterday made you a celebrity, Duvall. The press like to dig up dirt on celebrities. How long before they find out Pryce saved your life four years ago? That you two were already lovers before your heroics?”

  Blake gave the newspaper a forceful prod. The picture under the headline showed Adrian hugging Lucy, her head nestled behind his.

  “Integrity,” Blake went on. “Professionalism. Honesty. Common sense. You understand those qualities, right?”

  Lucy had no answer.

  “What were you thinking?” Blake scolded her. “Palming the legwork off on your partner while you rekindled the fire with your college sweetheart. I’ve read the witness statements. Twice. I can’t believe they’re talking about Lucy Duvall. Acting all warm and cuddly with a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “He provided us with an alibi, sir.”

  “He was still a suspect! Computers can do crazy things these days. But it seems your… intuition…” Blake put condescending emphasis on it. “…about him was correct. That’s what you bet your life on, Duvall. Intuition, not evidence.”

  Lucy’s chin fell. Confidence drained from her cheeks. She had no excuses to offer.

  “I don’t get it,” said Blake. “You’ve always been career first, focused one hundred percent on the job. You never had any time for socialising, romance, guesswork. No soft spots for bad guys to exploit. Now you’re acting all soppy. And on top of that, I got to explain why we shot a guy armed with a toy gun.”

  “With respect, it looked real.”

  “Well - with respect - you’re not the one who has to deal with the press and internal affairs. Luckily Fitzroy was a white kid, so the networks got no race card to play. And it’s the season to be jolly, so we might avoid rioting in the streets. But I’ve still got to answer some uncomfortable questions. And so do you. Maybe if you’d had your head in the game, we could have detained that psycho before he got near your boyfriend.”

  Blake held out his hand, palm side face up.

  “You know the routine, Duvall,” he said. “Badge and gun. Hand them over.”

  Lucy stared across the desk in disbelief. “You’re suspending me? In the middle of a murder investigation?”

  “The investigation’s over. We got our guy. Thankfully, we got an impartial witness who can testify to him threatening Pryce. Forensics are analysing Fitrzoy’s computers. There were a lot of them in his apartment, so it may take a while to find something to tie him to the murders. It’ll work out, but his gun was still a toy, and a Philadelphia PD detective still shot him. Someone’s head has to roll, and it won’t be mine.”

  Blake beckoned impatiently. Duvall walked slowly across to his desk, and removed her gun from its holster. She held the weapon above Blake’s palm.

  “Fitzroy doesn’t fit the profile,” Lucy said. “Or the M.O. The guy we’re looking for used a computer cable to strangle his victims. Fitzroy was deranged. Completely out of his mind. Our killer’s precise, calculating. He wouldn
’t barge into a building swarming with cops, announce he was about to kill somebody, and wave a gun around.”

  “A toy gun,” Blake reminded her. “Thank you for your psychological profile, Ms. Duvall. But I’d rather get an opinion from a qualified professional.”

  Lucy slapped her weapon down in the Lieutenant’s hand. She took out her wallet, pausing to look at her reflection in the detective shield before she unclipped it.

  “You’re making a mistake,” she warned. “The killer’s still out there.”

  Blake plucked the badge from Lucy’s hand. “I don’t think so, but if that’s what your intuition tells you, go be the armchair detective. Just get your ass out of my office. I’ve got a press conference to prepare for.”

  ***

  Lucy walked through long shadows cast by the setting Sun. Light didn’t shine on her once - not even a glimmer - but she kept her chin up as she strode along the pavement outside the precinct. There were no tears, no foot stomps. No angry glance up at Blake’s office window. If Lucy had any feelings, she didn’t show them.

  Ron waited by her trashy car, obstructing Lucy’s path to the driver’s door. “Sorry if you got chewed up in there,” he consoled her. “You got a raw deal. Some lunatic aims a gun. What are you supposed to do in a situation like that? Wait and see if it fires real bullets? It’s all political bullshit, Blake vying for his promotion.”

  “Guess I asked for it,” Lucy said. “This charming personality. Being the nice girl on the team. It doesn’t really suit me.”