Someone get here now, please! “Has anyone called 9-1-1 yet?”
“I did.”
“Me too.”
“Agent Shaw,” Russ said in a raspy voice. Blood bubbled from his mouth. “Getting shot hurts like hell.”
“Don’t talk. Try not to talk. Save your energy.”
“I need to tell you something, in case I don’t make it.” He convulsed and twitched. “Aw geez, it hurts.”
“Don’t say anything,” she said, cocking her head. Sirens. Loud and clear. Hurry! She bent closer. “Just hang on Russ. Can you do that for me? Hang on.”
“I’m trying.” He coughed blood.
“Dude, that’s sick!” the young man said. “Get closer on that. It’s awesome.”
Sidney clenched her jaws and checked Russ’s pulse. It slowed. He was losing lots of blood. Please don’t die.
“Agent Shaw, you must listen,” Russ croaked out. “They’re watching. They’re always watching.”
Who’s watching? She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. Not when his last moments were upon him. She needed to save him. Why shoot him and not me? “Save your strength. Help’s here. They’re going to take you to the hospital and save you.”
“I’m already saved,” he said. His eyes fluttered. “And I hate hospitals. Fight the good fight, Agent Shaw.” He reached up and touched her cheek. His eyes were glassy. “I just wanted to help.” His bloodstained fingers slipped down her cheek.
“Dude, did he die? Did he die?” one punk said. “Did you get it?”
The ambulance pulled in, and the paramedics pulled out. Police officers took control of the scene.
“Miss,” said a paramedic in a blue EMS uniform. “You’ve done all you can. We got this.”
She backed off as they loaded Russ onto the gurney. He wasn’t moving. Into the ambulance he went. They shut the doors, and the vehicle sped away. What just happened?
“I got it all, dude. I got it all.”
She whirled around and faced the pair of young men. “Excuse me.” Try reason, Sid. “That man’s a friend of mine who may or may not have just died. I’d appreciate it if you’d delete that video.”
“Sorry, lady, but stuff like this is too hot.” He eyed her up and down, nudged his friend, and thumped his nose. “But maybe we can work something out.”
She closed in, looked him in the eye, and said, “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”
He rubbed his lower lip with his index finger, licked his teeth, and said, “I was thinking…” He grabbed her arm.
Perfect. She grabbed him by the wrist, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him into the pavement.
“Ow! What’s the deal? Get off me!”
She took out her badge and stuck it in his face. “You just assaulted a federal officer. That’s the deal, worm!”
The other young man took off running. She held her badge up and said, “Officers! That man’s a suspect in the shooting.” She drove her knee into the punk’s back and said, “So are you, maggot.”
“Hey, I didn’t shoot anybody!”
“That’s not for me to determine. That’s up to the courts. You don’t have any priors, do you?”
“A couple.” He struggled. “Look, I’ll delete it. Just let me go. I don’t want any trouble. I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry.”
“Do it,” she said, lifting her knee off his back.
Chin on the ground, hands holding the phone in front of his face, he pulled up the video. He hit the trash bin icon. “There, it’s gone.”
“Let’s hope, but this isn’t the end of the investigation, just the beginning. It’s gonna be a long day, bub.”
“But I have class.”
“No, you don’t. And that’s not my problem.” She pulled him up to his feet. “Did it even enter your mind to do something to help the man?”
“Why? He probably wouldn’t do that for me.” His eyes grazed over her body. “I’d help you out though.”
Loser! “Officer!” She flagged a cop over. “This one’s ready to make a statement, and so am I when you’re ready.”
***
It was late Friday morning, a day after the shooting at the gym. Sidney sat inside the Wayfarer’s Way, sipping coffee and picking at her plateful of eggs and bacon that was pushed off to the side. She had a newspaper under her nose. There was a little blurb about the shooting. It said Russ Davenport was in critical condition. The police blotters had it down as an accidental shooting.
This is crazy.
Two bullets in the lungs in a full parking lot wasn’t an accident. Witnesses said they’d seen a car drive by, chasing after another. Both of the vehicles were SUVs, dark paint, big rims. She hadn’t noticed the vehicles at all. Everyone figured it was a gang, but she knew better.
She folded up her paper and pulled her plate of food over. The portions were huge. No wonder Ted likes to meet here so much. She figured he dreaded meeting her anyway, but he had to, given the nature of yesterday’s incident. Her name, tied with the agency, was all over the blotters. But her name wasn’t in the paper. Not that it should be, but it very easily could have been. The FBI didn’t want that kind of local attention.
“Can I freshen you up, honey?” asked an older woman holding a steaming pot of coffee over the table.
“That would be great, thanks.” Sid shoved her mug over and watched the woman fill it to the brim.
“No cream or sugar?”
“No.”
“There you go. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
She checked the clock on the wall. 10:32 am. Ted was late, and he wasn’t normally late. She shifted in the booth and pulled up a website on her iPad. www.nightfalldc.com. It was more of a tabloid than anything else, but it had a strong following. There were stories about crimes that never got reported. Strange happenings at the nightclub scene. Sidney had spent a couple of hours scanning the past year’s worth of articles and stories. Russ Davenport’s name was on most of them, but that wasn’t all she learned. Russ Davenport wasn’t his real name, rather a pseudonym. And to make things more interesting, she still didn’t know what his real name was.
A text popped up on her iPad from her sister, Allison. It read:
Can you watch Megan this weekend? Need serious help. Mom and Dad in Florida.
“She must be joking.” Sid started to reply no but pulled back. A weekend with Megan might be just what she needed. She didn’t want Allison to know that, but why punish the kid? Megan probably needed a break too. She texted back.
I’ll think about it.
Great. It could be a career-defining moment. Thanks, Sis.
That’s odd. The nature of the text almost seemed cheerful. Positive. She’s probably high. Sidney sighed. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. She checked the time. 10:36. Where is he? He could at least text or something. She took out her phone and pulled up Ted’s number. Screw this. I’ve got things to do. A bell rang on the old restaurant’s front door, and a man in an overcoat, suit, and tie entered. Sidney frowned. It wasn’t Ted, it was Cyrus Tweel.
CHAPTER 7
Cyrus sat down in the booth and dropped a paper satchel on the table. “Hey, Sid.” He raised his finger up and half-shouted at the waitress. “Coffee. Two creams. One sugar.” He drummed the table and settled himself into the booth. “I hate this place. Smells old. Feels old. Never understood why Ted’s so fond of it.”
“Probably because people like you don’t come here.”
“Oh-oh,” he said, drumming the table. He pushed back his round wire-rimmed glasses. “Why the frosty reception?”
“I was expecting Ted.”
“Ted was called into something bigger—we can only assume—and hence, he dispatched me, your supervisor, to have this little meeting with you.” He plucked a piece of bacon off of her plate and bit into it. “Man that’s greasy.” He dropped it back on her plate and wiped his hands off. “You should switch to turkey bacon or no bacon at all. That would be wise.”
“And you should keep your hands to yourself.” She straightened up in her chair and locked her fingers together and rested her hands on the table. “What’s the meeting about? I assume it involves the incident from yesterday?”
“Never assume anything,” he said, smiling. “No, I’ve been briefed on the incident and so has Ted, but this is entirely different.” He shoved the paper satchel her way. “It’s the next Black Slate assignment.”
“Really?” she said, staring at the file. She fixed her gaze back on him. “You seem almost chipper about it.”
“Oh, not really. Look Sid, I’ve gotten wind of some of the reports, and maybe I haven’t been very clear about what I think, but I will be now.” He pecked his index finger on the file. “This is a career killer. Get away from it.”
“It’s my assignment. I’ve been picked for some reason, and truth be told”—she pulled the file toward her—“I like it.”
His face deflated a little and he said with a shrug, “It’s your career.” The waitress delivered his coffee and set it on the table. He took a long sip and made a sour face. “Good lord, this coffee tastes as old as the building.”
Sidney stared at the file. It was sealed shut. She began tearing it open.
“Ah ah ah,” Cyrus said, pinning the folder down with his hand. “You can look at this bullshit after I’m gone. I don’t want any of this supernatural crap rubbing off on me. I’ve got big plans for tonight.”
“Oh I see. You have a date then?”
He lifted his chin and said with a smirk, “As a matter of fact I do, and I’m pretty excited about it. She’s so interesting.” His eyes were fixed on hers. “Really interesting.”
Fine, I’ll entertain him. “And where did you meet her?”
“Work.”
“Oh, well, I think that’s a bad idea.” Not that I care. “So, what’s her name?”
“Rebecca Lang, and I believe you’ve met her.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “She seems nice. Good for you, Cyrus.”
He reached into his pocket and grabbed his ringing phone. “Oh, that’s her.” He answered. “Hey Rebecca. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Great. Eight it is.” He disconnected and got out of his seat. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back out on the street. I’m knocking off a little early today.”
“Wait a minute,” she said to him. “What about John Smoke? Isn’t he going to be a part of this?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He threw a buck on the table. “Read the file.”
***
Back home inside her apartment early that evening, Sidney sat on her sofa staring at the unopened Black Slate file. Something was different. The hand-off from Cyrus for one thing. The lack of discussion about Smoke for another. She picked at the clasp that held the paperwork inside.
What are you waiting for, Sid?
Her phone buzzed. It was another text message from her sister. It read:
I’m waiting.
Sidney texted her back:
90 min.
She’d agreed to watch Megan over the weekend, and that was part of her hesitation with the file. Once she opened it, she’d dive into it, and she just didn’t want to do that right now. But what if the contents inside required immediate action? And wasn’t Smoke supposed to be the bounty hunter, not her? She was just supposed to watch him. The phone buzzed again. It read: Pick up some dinner.
Sidney squeezed her phone. That’s just like her, not feeding Megan any dinner. It’s 7:10 already. Geez! I suppose I might as well stock up on some groceries. Deadbeat! She tapped the phone against her chin and stared at the file. The last two files had almost gotten her killed, not to mention all the mystery they had unfolded. What would the next file have in store for her? A vampire? The New Jersey Devil or a Mothman? The man from the cemetery who they called Boss had made light about one.
It’s not like you to be a chicken, Sid. Go ahead. Tear Pandora’s box wide open.
She ripped off the tape, peeled back the metal clasp, and dumped the contents on the table. The tab on the black folder read Mason Crow. After folding it open, she studied the portrait of a black man in sunglasses and mutton chops. “Oh Lord,” she chuckled, “it’s the Duke of New York.” She pushed the picture aside and glanced at the next one and blanched. “On steroids.”
The pictures were all labeled Mason Crow. The man was huge. Maybe seven feet tall and solid muscle. One picture was of him towering in the center of a group of men of several nationalities. They were in the bush and geared up like mercenaries. Mason Crow had an M-60 machine gun that looked like a toy resting on his brawny shoulder.
“I don’t even want to know what kind of monster this guy turns into.” She flipped through a few more pictures, and her stomach turned queasy. Mason Crow stood over a pile of butchered bodies with a blood-soaked machete in his hand. “He’s a monster already.”
CHAPTER 8
“Congressman Wilhelm? You’re kidding, Allison. Tell me you’re kidding?”
“No,” Allison said, picking up her luggage and heading for the door. “This job’s paying me seven thousand a month. I can’t pass that up. I can’t afford to pass up anything right now.”
Sidney tossed her duffel bag onto the couch and glared at her sister. Allison wore a business pantsuit and she still looked sexy in it, like an airline attendant you’d see on some billionaire’s private jet. “And David? Is he going to be there?”
“Nope,” Allison said, checking her hair in her mirror. “I’m done with him.” She smiled at herself in the mirror. “Wow, what a great view!”
“Seven-K a month seems a bit pricey for an internship,” Sidney said, rubbing Megan’s head. The little eyes were glued to the TV, watching cartoons. I might need to look into her pay stub. “And where are you going, exactly?”
“Oh, some sort of conference in Houston, Texas. I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s pretty exciting. Do you think they still wear cowboy hats?”
“Sure, and the governor stables his horse at the capitol.”
“Really?” Allison checked her make-up. “I bet that’s fascinating.” She loaded her luggage onto her shoulder. “Cab’s waiting. Got to go. Kiss kiss, Megan.”
Megan waved her pink-sleeved arm up in the air. “Bye, Mommy.”
“Allison,” Sidney started to say. Her sister disappeared into the hallway, and the door closed behind her. “Be careful.”
“Are you worried about Mommy?” Megan said. She was leaning over the back of the sofa and looking up at Sid with her hands cupped under her chin. “Because you look worried.”
Sidney took a seat on the couch and Megan curled up into her side. “Your mommy is my little sister, so I’ll always worry some. Besides, that’s what women do, too much and too often.”
“Well, I’m not worried.” Megan turned the TV off. “Can we play dress-up now?”
“How about we eat first? I brought your favorite takeout.”
Megan clapped her hands. “Chinese?”
“Uh, no, I thought you liked Mexican.”
“That was last year. I’m ten now, and I’m all about some Moo Goo Gai Pan.”
“But you’ll still eat Mexican, won’t you?”
Megan shrugged her little shoulders and said, “I guess so.”
“Good.” Sidney got up from the couch and made her way into the apartment’s kitchen. Grimy dishes were piled high in the sink. She stuck them in the dishwasher.
“That doesn’t work anymore,” said Megan, taking a seat on the kitchen barstool. She held a white teddy bear in her arms. “The landlord won’t fix it because Mom’s behind on her rent. You won’t let them kick us out, will you Aunt Sid?”
“No, of course not.” Oh, great! Seven grand a month she says, and she can’t pay rent. “Well, you can still clean dishes with soap and water.”
“I know. But I’ve been feeling kinda lazy lately.” Megan stretched her arms out and yawned. “Plus, we’re out of dish soap.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Sid f
ound a stack of paper plates in the cupboard, but there were water stains on them. “I was talking about your mother.” She took the stryofoam containers of Mexican food out of the plastic bag and set them on the counter. “Looks like we’re going to eat in a less formal setting.” She fished some plastic utensils and napkins out of the bag. “Is that all right with you?”
Megan glanced at the trash can in the kitchen corner. It was stuffed with take-out containers. “What do you think?” she said.
The lukewarm food was good and the conversation light. Megan told her about school and her upcoming science project that she needed some help on. Sid noticed that Megan yawned a lot. She’d been with her niece plenty over the years, and usually, even later in the evening, she was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Normally, she’d be alert until she zonked out.
After they finished eating, Megan asked again if they could play dress-up, and they’d spent the last thirty minutes applying makeup.
Staring into the mirror, Megan said, “I look like a hooker.”
“What?” Sidney gasped. “No, no, you don’t.” She started rubbing off some of the blush on her cheeks. Morning Glory, I haven’t overdone it that much, have I? “What makes you think you look like a hooker?”
“Because I’m wearing a lot of makeup.”
“Do you know what a hooker is?”
“Mommy says hookers are women who wear too much perfume and makeup.”
“Well, not exactly. There are a lot of women who wear too much makeup, but they aren’t hookers.”
“Like old ladies that we see in department stores.”
“Well that’s one kind that aren’t hookers.”
“So what are hookers?”
Sidney grabbed a brush and began combing Megan’s hair. “How about we braid it? You always look so cute when it’s braided.”
Megan said, “Sure. So, what’s a hooker?”
“Well,” said Sid as she braided Megan’s soft and silky dirty-blond hair, “Hookers are women who sleep with men for money.”
The little girl’s jaw dropped, and her eyes filled with excitement. “Really? People will pay you to sleep with them? That sounds like a pretty easy way to make money. Sleeping’s easy, but sleeping with boys seems kind of gross.”
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