by Justin Sloan
“Bull!” Sgt. Cline shook his head and tried to push himself back up.
Wallace reached out and shoved him right back down. “Karl, grab the keys.” Sgt. Cline opened his mouth to argue, but Wallace rolled his eyes and pulled out his pistol, aiming it at the man’s knee. “Any day, Karl.”
“You’re a Sergeant,” Cline said. “Not some dictator of this place!”
“By the power appointed to me by Valerie, I give you the right to shut the hell up.”
Cline growled and moved to strike, but before he could move a step closer, Karl brought a knife-hand to the man’s throat, dropping him to the ground in a coughing fit.
For a moment, he looked at Wallace sheepishly, but when Wallace nodded approvingly, the young cop beamed.
“Glad to have you with me,” Wallace said as Karl tossed over the keys. They went to the fourth room on the left, where Karl’s snooping had revealed Peterson would be, and quickly worked the lock.
“You better not be naked doing weird things to yourself in there,” Wallace called out, then pulled the door open.
“Taking your time, I see,” Peterson said. He looked like crap, only wearing a white T-shirt and his cop pants, no shoes or anything else.
“Honestly?” Wallace frowned. “I kind of thought you’d left us to go with Ella.”
“Partner.” Peterson took Wallace in a handshake and then a hug. “I would never dream of abandoning you to this hell hole alone. I told you that.”
Wallace introduced Karl, and kicked the other cop on the floor in the ribs as he passed, but then froze at the turn in the hallway.
Colonel Anderson stood tall with Major Donnoly and Buland at either side, a dozen more cops behind them.
“So it’s happening now?” Wallace asked. “This is it?”
“This is it,” Anderson said with a nod. But Donnoly’s eyes shifted, and Wallace knew he wasn’t fully on board.
Perhaps this could work after all.
“Colonel Anderson,” Wallace stood tall, hands behind his back, one folded into the other, “in the time of Commander Strake, you were his man, were you not?”
“How dare you?” The Colonel’s nostrils flared.
“There was no one else between him and the police force, I’m quite certain of this fact. So certain, because I remember quite vividly seeing the two of you dining together on a number of occasions.”
“I am your superior officer,” Colonel Anderson said, hand on his pistol. “You think I’d stand by and let a lowly Sergeant run things?” He laughed and motioned to the cops behind him. “Throw him in with the rest. Him and his two friends.”
“I do not hand over authority,” Wallace said, his voice full of such command that the others halted in their advance. “Not to you, anyway.”
Anderson’s eyes narrowed.
The other cops looked around, confused.
“There’s not a cop on the force who would vouch for your honor,” Wallace said to the Colonel. “Major Donnoly, however, is a prime example of what it means to serve on the force.” He turned to Major Donnoly and nodded, hoping with all his body and soul that this man would make the right move here. “You, sir, are why I became a cop to begin with. It was your speech at Capital Square, on the city’s twenty-fifth anniversary of having rebuilt, that I knew I’d one day wear the blue.”
“Enough ass-kissing here,” Anderson said, but then Donnoly held up a hand, cutting him off.
“Let the man finish,” Donnoly said, and the Colonel stared at him like he’d just eaten his firstborn, but didn’t speak.
“You, sir, have honor,” Wallace continued, “and that’s why I will peacefully hand over command, as appointed to me by Valerie and all of her kind, what we’ve now come to know as the UnknownWorld, and the authority for which their kind represents. I will hand over command, but to you alone. Provided the other members of the force agree, and Colonel Anderson resigns.”
“What a preposterous proposal,” Anderson said, scoffing. “I’ll have your throat torn out, you little—”
“Agreed.” Donnoly gave a nod to the cops behind them and said, “Take Grady Anderson into custody and see that he either resigns or is thrown behind bars. He no longer holds the rank of Colonel here.”
“You little piece of rat puke,” Anderson reached for his pistol, but two cops standing next to him moved in and pinned him to the wall, while a third took his pistol and arc rod. “This is mutiny, you’ll all hang. I’ll see to it that your mother’s look upon their son’s lifeless eyes, I’ll—”
Wallace interrupted him with a punch to the nose. As the man fell limp in the other cops’ hands, Wallace took off the rank insignia and handed it to Donnoly.
“I look forward to serving you, Colonel Donnoly.” The others were all looking between the three men, unsure, but when Donnoly accepted the insignia and removed his old ones, the tension eased.
“What are you waiting for?” Donnoly asked the two men still holding Anderson. “Remove him for debriefing, and then let him make his choice. I’ll be along to see to him shortly.”
As they dragged the defeated former Colonel away, Donnoly turned to Wallace with a puzzled look on his face.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked. “I pegged you wrong, apparently. Thought you’d put up a fight.”
“Sir, I was a street cop.” Wallace clasped Peterson on the shoulder, who nodded approvingly. “Me and my partner here. I’ve only ever wanted to be out there serving the people, and we must all play to our comparative advantage.”
Donnoly nodded. “You realize that, in this new climate, you’ll never be just a street cop. Not anymore.”
“As long as I can play the part, I’m happy to serve additionally in whatever capacity you see fit, sir.”
“Very well, consider your reassignment in effect as of this moment.” He looked around at the rest of them, then started walking off in the direction the other two had taken Anderson. “The rest of you on me. We have to be ready in case that bastard Anderson has a card or two up his sleeves.”
When it was over, Peterson rubbed his head and stared at Wallace in awe. “I don’t know what the hell that was, but, damn.”
Karl looked back the way the police went with Anderson, “I thought there’d be blood for sure,” he murmured.
“Hopefully not wishing for it though, right?” Wallace asked.
Karl turned to look at him, “No, sir.”
“Good. Remember that blood isn’t the only answer, and often isn’t the best. I wasn’t meant for leadership, or not the administrative type anyway. Most of the string pulling is done out of the spotlight, after all.”
“Is Valerie going to like this?” Peterson asked.
“She’s gone into the shadows herself,” Wallace said. “She’s out there, your sister is out there… I thought it only fitting that we get ourselves out there too.”
“That’s why I love having you as a partner,” Peterson said with a chuckle. “And you,” he said to Karl, “I have you to thank for finding me?”
Karl nodded.
Peterson smiled and nodded toward the doors. “There’s not a rule about patrols being limited to two in a partnership. Come on.”
“You mean it?” Karl asked, looking between the two men, a smile on his face.
“Hey, if he says it, he means it.” Wallace laughed. “Let’s go out there and serve the people.”
“Don’t you think we ought to brief Valerie on this?” Peterson asked.
“Ah, you wouldn’t have heard yet,” Wallace said, still having a hard time believing the words as he said, “she’s gone. Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”
Jackson’s Restaurant
Jackson was practically soaked right through by the time he reached the restaurant his uncle had operated for over thirty years, the same restaurant where he knew he’d find his top leaders at. Rain had soaked through even to his underwear, and his toes sloshed in his boots.
Not even bothering to apologize for his ap
pearance, he walked right past Bill the waiter and went to the backroom. It was a good thing he’d eaten recently, or the scent of almost crusted lamb would’ve been damn tempting. He pushed aside the yellow-beaded curtain at the back of the room and then proceeded to descend the stairs beyond it.
At the bottom of the stairs, half a dozen men and women stood in the center of a large room, a couple dozen more at the bar on the far wall, and several more lounging about on the couches.
As always, a pleasant melody played from the grand piano in the corner, where the twins he’d hired took turns at the keys.
He took a step toward the small group in the room’s center and the woman, wearing a long, green dress that complimented her wavy red hair, turned to him and nearly snarled.
“Look what the storm so graciously tossed our way,” she said.
“Morgan! Always a pleasure.” He stopped approximately two strides away from them, and noticed his left arm was twitching involuntarily. Annoying, given the timing. “Do you have any idea the shit-storm you’ve just bit into?”
Morgan just frowned. “I have no idea what you just said.”
The others in the center of the room had turned to him now too. They were glancing amongst themselves nervously, and whispering about him, he was sure.
“The bombing at Enforcer HQ,” Jackson said. “Who was it?”
Morgan just stared at him, giving nothing away.
“Fine, I don’t need to know.” He paced the room, making eye contact with each of the leaders. “But know this. There will be a reckoning.”
“You threaten us with stories of the undead?” a female voice said, one he was sure he recognized but wasn’t sure where from. When he turned to the couches, he saw her there, sitting on a footstool in the center.
Ella.
She looked different without a uniform on. Here she wore jeans with a long black coat over a green sweater, and her hair, normally pulled up in a bun, hung around her shoulders.
“So this is where you’ve taken to hiding?” Jackson asked, glaring.
“Hiding?” She stood finishing her glass of beer and handing it to a man sitting nearby. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Filling a seat while you were gone is more like it. Problem is, the seat has grown mighty comfortable. I’m not sure I feel like giving it back.”
“I’m going to assume you’re talking about that footstool back there, because any sort of metaphor that refers to my leadership being challenged will not end well for you.”
“You sound confident, for one who’s been sleeping with the enemy.” Her smile was a mischievous one, and when the whispers and suspicious glances his way picked up again, he knew she’d told them everything.
“So you don’t deny it?” Morgan said, moving to stand beside Ella. “You’ve not only been siding with the people who killed our dear friends, Ackers and Wilson among them, but… you’ve slept with this monster? This abomination?”
“We attacked her, she defended herself.” He assessed the room, looking for any allies. Judging by the looks on their faces, it was going to be a tough crowd. “That’s all there is to it.”
Morgan scoffed. “And why should we believe you?”
“Because it’s true,” a new voice said, soft and high pitched.
They all turned to see Lorain, the teenage fighter who Valerie had confronted Jackson about after first learning he was Mercer. Lorain stood tall at the bar, several young men around her—young men who, Jackson hoped, would jump to defend her if needed.
“What do you know of it, girl?” Ella asked.
“No, stay out of it,” Morgan said to Lorain. “Sit back down and shut your trap.”
“I won’t.” Lorain came over to stand beside Jackson, and he was glad to see that at least two of the young men stepped forward as well, even if not all the way. “She’s not this monster you have all been making her out to be. I met her, and she spared my life. It wasn’t like she was out for a blood-bath, and she certainly wasn’t sucking blood and flying through the air like some of the bullshit stories I’ve heard this night.”
“Tell that to the families of Ackers and Wilson!” a man in the back shouted, and Morgan beamed.
“Point me in the right direction and I will,” Jackson said.
Lorain nodded. “Me too. I’m not afraid, because it’s the truth. Valerie was caught in the middle of our battle, and to her, we were the attackers! We took out several of the faction leaders, and others are on the run. That was our goal, was it not? And we knew there would be repercussions.”
“Ackers especially knew this,” Jackson chimed in, noticing the shake in the girl’s voice. She was being brave, but it took an effort. “And to set this straight, we have Valerie to thank for removing Strake, for giving us the freedom to set this city right again. To make it great, like it once was.”
“Who says it was ever great?” Ella motioned around to those in the room. “Has anyone here ever seen it great? No, we live wondering when we’ll be attacked again, whether from the inside or outside. Who the hell knows. There are druggies who are lost to us, children who’ve seen more torment than we’ll ever experience in a lifetime. Make it great?” She laughed. “Maybe you’re talking of the days before the great collapse, huh? This mythical world where everything was hunky-dory and the streets were made of fucking gold? Well I don’t buy it! I say we make it great on our terms, and I can damn well assure you, that doesn’t include allowing vampires and werewolves to roam the streets!”
“YEAH!” a chorus went up in agreement. Others pounded the bar with their glasses, while a couple stood, hands on weapons.
Jackson glanced over at Lorain with a look that said to be ready to run, but held up his hands for silence.
“Who do you think you’re talking to here?” he asked. “I’ve led you against the other seven factions of this city, seen you fed when Strake and his Enforcers, to include Ella here, I might add, did their best to keep us down. A foot pushes you into the mud, but the minute that foot lets up, you roll over to kiss it?”
The crowd muttered. A couple nodding in agreement. Good—this could work.
“If you can’t trust me, you can’t trust anyone.” He turned to the eldest man in the circle, who he’d known since he was a boy. “Talden, how long have we been at this?”
“Too damn long,” the old man hacked.
“All that time, you’ve been like a father to me.”
“And you, a son to me,” the old man said. His weary, blue eyes stared back, intensely, and then he turned to the crowd and said, “I stand with Jackson Mercer!”
The room erupted in new murmurs, and people stood, some moving over to stand by Jackson, others by Ella. More were coming to Jackson’s side, however, and he was just starting to feel confident when the back door rattled, followed by three kicks and a pound of a fist. Emergency.
“Get the door,” Jackson said, feeling his voice go horse as he said it. This was not the best time for emergencies.
Baxter the bartender, a large man with a widow’s peak and thick sideburns, grabbed an old arc rod he must’ve taken from an enforcer at one point, and went for the door. He opened it, but quickly stood aside.
“It’s just the boys,” he said, nodding to Jackson.
“Not quite,” one of the teenage boys said as he entered, holding a bag. Three other boys, also in their teens, followed and were dragging two larger bags. No, not bags, sheets. Bloody, rain-drenched sheets.
“What the hell is this?” Talden said.
Morgan, ever eager to make the first move, stepped up and took the bag in spite of the boy’s protestation. But when she looked inside, she dropped it and stepped back with a gasp.
The bag fell open and a head rolled out, stopping to face Jackson.
Not just any head, the head of his old friend, Edwardo. He knew without having to ask what was in the sheets.
“We found them along the retreat path,” one of the boys said. “Didn’t know what to do, so we broke into the nearest hous
e and just took these sheets. I mean, we couldn’t just leave them there, right?”
The room was silent, until finally Talden stepped forward and put an arm around the boy. “You did right.”
“They shouldn’t have been in this position to begin with,” Baxter said. At the looks he received for that, he held up the arc rod pointing it around the room. “I said so, didn’t I? I said Jackson would be back, and that we needed to trust him. That he wouldn’t lead us astray.”
“He slept with the enemy!” Morgan said, practically spitting as she spoke. “I’d say that’s a bit of a vested interest right there.”
“She’s not the enemy!” Lorain spat back.
“ENOUGH!” Jackson took the bag and covered the head at his feet. “I’m going to assume these two were responsible for the bombing on Enforcer HQ?”
“There were a few more responsible than just those two,” Baxter said with a pointed look at Morgan and Ella. “That Enforcer’s been getting all in their heads.”
“Then they’ve been judged and found guilty,” Jackson said, massaging his temple as he said it. He put his hands back at his side and stood tall. “This is a new world, not the one you all knew just a week and a half ago. This is a world where, if you harm others, or intend to harm others, you will face justice.”
“And where’s their justice?” Morgan shouted. “They didn’t deserve this!”
“Who did then, Morgan?” He pointed at Ella. “Or maybe you? Something tells me a lot more heads will roll before this is over, and I can tell you right now, those heads won’t belong to anyone else on my team. If you were involved with this attack, and by that I mean you were aware and supported it in any way, I want you out of here, now.”
Several standing near Morgan glanced at each other nervously, but she stood her ground. “You’ve abandoned your people. This is what your actions led to!” She pointed at the bodies.
