The Predator and The Prey

by K. C. Sivils

  “Yeah, and Sullivan did us a favor by blowing his brains out,” Markeson snapped. “I didn’t spend a month following that stimhead around on the Rim Planets sniffing out his contacts just to leave him around to cause problems.”

  Governor Rankin redirected his gaze to the men in the meeting room, fixing each one at a time with his hard stare. “What about his partner?”

  “He won’t be a problem,” Markeson answered.

  “Make this work Markeson.”

  “Governor, by the time the hearing is over and the media has been filled in, the good people of Capital City and Beta Prime will be screaming for Inspector Sullivan’s head.”

  “The media?” Devereaux glared at Markeson. “Not one word of what you plan on having the media tell the people is true!”

  “Devereaux,” Rankin laughed cynically, “the media’s job is not to uncover the truth and report it. Their job is to tell the public what we, the elites, want the people to think.”

  Some of the color began to return to Xue’s face upon hearing Rankin’s words. “Yes, it will work. The media will shape the public’s opinion. All that matters is the story be entertaining. The truth comes in handy only in the details of the telling of the story.”

  “You see, Mr. Devereaux,” Markeson added, “There is plenty of blood and gore for the little people to focus their attention on. Even better, that part of the story is true.”

  Governor Rankin checked his chronometer. “Gentlemen, if Captain Markeson is true to his word, that leaves us with only one additional problem to resolve.”

  PAULO, THE OLDEST REMAINING boy in the group, watched with interest as the priest Toby had entrusted the kids to cooked breakfast. Long ago Paulo had learned to read people. It made it easier to identify the easy marks.

  The priest’s heart was heavy laden.

  Paulo knew then Toby would not be coming back to lead them. Neither would Anna or Lucy.

  Standing slowly, the boy walked over to the priest without making a sound. His gentle touch of Father Nathan’s elbow startled the priest. He smiled at the boy for a brief second and turned away, fearful his sadness would show through before he was ready to tell the children.

  “It’s okay Father Nathan,” Paulo said gently. “Toby knew what he was doing. Every time we leave to work the streets we all know it could be our last day. Anna knew it. Lucy knew it. It’s not your fault.”

  The priest dropped the wooden spatula he was using to scramble eggs and sank slowly to the floor, sobbing, letting some of the sorrow and pain out. The kindness of Paulo’s words broke his will to continue the fight to control his emotions.

  I FINALLY GAVE UP TRYING to get any sleep. My mind was racing with the new evidence and the possibilities suggested. I got up and headed for the shower. I figured a little hot water might help me sort things out.

  I also wanted to avoid dreaming and could only do that by not going to sleep. The message from the young woman I'd been trying to find cut deep. It brought back painful memories I tried hard to bury and keep hidden.

  Just how similar the two shootings were was not lost on me. In fact, I’d realized the tragedy caused by my hesitation was why I never gave the perp a chance at the spaceport in Capital City.

  It came to me in that moment of clarity how I would mount my defense at the hearing just a few hours from now. I stepped out of my shower and dripping wet went into my room to get my comm.

  Three comm links later and everything was ready. If luck was on my side and Josephson was any kind of an officer, a lot of things would be resolved before the end of the day.

  I dried off in a hurry and got dressed. I still had some last minute details to take care of before I left for what would either be a fair inquiry or my final show trial.

  HE HATED THE INJUSTICE of it all. She was to be his special prey, his alone. His masterpiece. Now he had to rush the hunt, ruining his opportunity to savor the hunt, the kill. He thought for a moment of suspending his hunt. When enough time passed, he could return. Take his time. She was worthy of a proper hunt. Time with her alone would be special and more than any of the other prey he'd putrsued she deserved the respect he would show her before ending it.

  Twenty-four hours was the time he’d set for himself. Just over one hour had passed, leaving him less than twenty-three remaining. The Cowboy took another glance at his chronometer and shrugged.

  There would be another special one.

  He glanced at the horizon, noting the lightening of the sky on the horizon as Beta Prime's sun began to rise. The morning fog, particularly thick this morning, rolled in, wrapping itself around every object, obscuring it from view. Visibility was more limited than usual. Standing across the street, he glanced down the intersection, watching the first battered hover cars leaving the neighborhood, heading for the onramp to the hover way.

  A harsh gust of wind swept down the street, shifting the fog, forcing it to move like a master shooing his dog from a favorite chair. He caught a glimpse of the pinkish red of Joe’s retro signage. It was only for a split second, but it was enough.

  The Cowboy glanced in both directions before crossing the street toward Joe's. A second gust of wind parted the fog again as he stepped up on the sidewalk outside Joe's. In the distance, he recognized the determined stride of a particular slender woman.

  The hunt had begun.

  “ARE YOU SURE?”

  The taller of the two beat cops waved his torch back and forth.

  “No, I’m not sure. But the tip said we’d find two stiffs around here.

  “Explain to me again why you volunteered us to find these supposed stiffs?”

  The taller cop pulled down his fog vision goggles, wincing as the cold form-fitting device closed itself around his facial features.

  “I hate these things. They are beyond cold and they give me headaches. It’s no wonder nobody ever uses these things.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” the shorter officer complained. “There’s a major cold front moving in this morning. Supposed to dump a lot of snow and freezing rain.”

  “Exactly,” his partner replied, moving quicker as a result of the fog vision goggles, "and we're going to be inside, filling out lots of paperwork. I might add, doing a better than usual job of writing our reports. I would think it will take our entire shift to do the job properly.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so this morning before we left,” the shorter officer complained.

  Not watching where he was going, thinking of getting out of the bitter cold, the shorter officer bumped into the back of his partner.

  “What? You find something?”

  The taller officer didn't respond. After a moment he slowly pulled the fog vision goggles off, letting them drop to the ground. With equal slowness, he pulled his comm off his shoulder and sent a link.

  He spoke slowly in response to the precinct dispatcher’s query.

  “Send a forensics unit and the meat wagon to these coordinates,” he said slowly. “Tell them to bring a lot of evidence bags. Who ever did this took his time and tortured the victims. The forensic guys are going to be busy.”

  The tall officer broke the link and dropped his comm to the ground, striking the fog vision goggles and rebounding off into the darkness.

  “You okay?” the shorter officer asked.

  Sounds of retching coming from the fog just inches in front of him answered the short officer’s question.

  WIPING THE SWEAT FROM his hands on his greatcoat, Josephson swallowed and looked at the electronic warrant on his tablet. He'd done as Sully had ordered, waking a judge and explaining the confusing situation. If the raid did not go exactly as planned, his career as a detective would be over before the next morning. Of that, Josephson was certain. Interrupting a judge spending the night with his mistress was a guaranteed way to end a career.

  The commander of the tactical team was only slightly less enthusiastic. Launching a raid as a major storm rolled in made a dangerous job even more s
o. Josephson had never led a raid before, much less participated in one.

  Sully was counting on him. Lady Justice was counting on him. Josephson made his decision as he pocketed the warrant and began pulling on his gloves.

  "Captain Melancon," he shouted, getting the attention of the tactical unit's commanding officer. He waited as the man took his time strolling over from the large, armored hovercraft they would be taking to the raid site.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  Josephson fought back the surge of anger he felt at hearing the condescending tone of the Captain. He reminded himself the raid had to succeed.

  “Captain, this raid has to go off without a hitch.”

  “You think so, Detective?” the Captain grunted.

  “Look, we both know for that to happen, you need to be in charge, not me.”

  Josephson retrieved the warrant device and handed it to Melancon.

  “I just need to be there when the raid goes down. If I find what I’m looking for, I’ve got to secure the evidence and go. I will fill you in on everything I know on the way over. It’s your plan, your raid.”

  Surprised by the young detective’s relinquishing of command, Captain Melancon stepped back and appraised Josephson, looking at him in a different light.

  “Very well, Sergeant. Wise move on your part, I’ll give you that much credit. Let’s go. This weather is not going to help matters and time is wasting.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  INTERNAL AFFAIRS HEARINGS are no fun. Well, that's not true. They're fun for the Internal Affairs guys. Let's face it. It's their job to catch bad cops and send them to prison. The problem is, experience has taught me that's seldom how things work out. It's not so much the IA cops are crooks themselves as most Internal Affairs departments are highly politicized. They serve the powers that be, not the people of the planet who deserve an honest police force.

  I was sent to Beta Prime to clean things up and get a handle on the growing crime problems. Police corruption on the scale I'd been led to believe existed in Capital City meant Internal Affairs was not just politicized, it was as corrupt as the crooked cops it was supposed to catch.

  As I walked toward the room my hearing was to be held, I was certain of a few things. First, my hearing was a means to an end. Namely, something had to be covered up. Second, the outcome, unless I could turn things around, had already been determined. Last of all, Markeson was up to his ears in this farce.

  I sat down in the seat for the officer under investigation. I was alone and glad to be that way. If what I had planned failed, I wanted to go down alone.

  Looking around, I began to get a feel for what I was up against. Sitting in the back of the room was Chief O’Brian. He sat staring straight ahead, expressionless and disinterested. I took that as a good sign. At least he was neutral.

  Markeson was smiling and walking around, shaking hands with everyone filing in to watch. Just like the slimy, self-centered politician he was. For some reason, my hearing was drawing a lot of attention. Off duty officers who were curious, or who had been ordered to be present, and vultures from the media, there to do the bidding of whoever was orchestrating this farce.

  Everyone began to sit down and Markeson made his final rounds among the vultures, making it clear he had a hand in what was about to happen. If I hadn’t been watching Markeson out of the corner of my eye, I would have missed the entry of three individuals.

  Devereaux, the man who’d filed the complaint that had turned this fiasco into a full blown hearing instead of a review of use of deadly force, came in and walked to the front and sat down.

  The other two quietly made their way to the back of the room and sat down in the corner opposite Chief O'Brian. Their presence made things clearer for me. How often do the governor of a territorial planet and the mayor of a major city come to proceedings like this?

  Silence settled over the audience as the door in the far front of the room opened and the three officers who would serve as the tribunal sitting in judgment of me came in and took their seats at the long table in the front of the room.

  I couldn’t help myself. I tried to figure out which two owed Markeson money and which one owed him a favor.

  ALICE WATCHED AS THE children silently carried all of their plates to the large restaurant style sink in the dormitory’s kitchen. The subdued expressions on their faces reflected the acceptance of the horrible news they’d had confirmed that morning.

  It angered Alice that children should be so accepting of tragedy. Three of their group had been killed, taken from their midst without warning. Two of them had been the leaders who had looked out for them.

  Ralph was sitting with Father Nathan who was holding it together for the moment. The priest had taken the deaths hard, almost like he was personally responsible for the murders.

  The children cleaned off what little bits of food remained on their plates and carefully placed the plates and cutlery in the large dishwasher. When they’d finished the boy Paulo led them back to the dormitory’s sleeping area.

  A quick glance at her cheap chronometer reminded Alice it was nearly time for her to start her shift at Joe’s. Ralph needed to be out and about in his taxi. She sat down next to her husband and rested her hand on his.

  “We need to get to work Ralph.”

  He nodded and stood up.

  “I’ll get these dishes, you go on and go.”

  Ralph leaned over and kissed Alice on the cheek and nodded in silence to Father Nathan. Alice listened in silence until the sound of a door shutting confirmed Ralph was gone.

  “Father, we’ll find a way to help the children. Don’t you go blaming this all on yourself.”

  “The children will stay here,” the priest said firmly. “I just have one problem that requires resolving before that situation becomes permanent.”

  “Father, I’m not sure I understand,” Alice answered, concerned by the tone of the priest’s reply.

  He looked at Alice with a hardness in his eyes that shocked her.

  “I don’t want you to. My only quandary at the moment is whether or not I involve our friend the Inspector.”

  SHE SENSED IT, THE presence of a cunning hatred, desiring to do harm. Cold fingers of fog wrapped themselves around her, chilling her to the bone. She’d felt a sinister spirit like this before in Capital City. This time was different. The evil was more focused. She wouldn’t be able to just brush by the manifestation and escape its notice.

  It was the same kind of cruel force that always hunted her. Hunted her sisters. She could sense the desire to kill, to cause pain. Sarah’s legs went weak beneath her, causing her to stumble and fall. Reaching out quickly for the building next to her, Sarah stopped her fall. The harsh, rough surface of the plastisteel scraped her bare hands, removing flesh. Alarmed, Sarah thrust her wounded hand into her pocket, fearful the smell of blood might fill the morning air.

  Predators could smell blood and this predator was sick with malevolence. It wasn’t simply looking for a meal so it could survive. This predator hunted to feed a diseased hunger. It needed its prey to fear it. To suffer before the end came.

  Sarah had no doubt who its prey was.

  IT WAS THE START OF the winter season on Beta Prime. Bad weather was one thing. The fog winter brought with it in Capital City was another. Josephson watched the fog follow the members of the raiding party as they each took up their designated positions. The fog seemed to take on a life of its own with small clouds of fog following each officer like a ghost bent on harming anyone it could.

  Josephson watched the eerie display unfold from the safety of the hover unit he’d arrived in. Captain Melancon, the leader of the tactical team making the raid had insisted he stay in the hover unit. Josephson had agreed without arguing the point. As soon as the tactical squad made its way inside, Josephson had no intention of staying put.

  Enough of Sully's paranoia had rubbed off on Josephson in the short period of time the two had been partners, that he had no int
ention of not supervising the collection of evidence once the warehouse had been secured. Sully was convinced somebody on the force was bent and involved in the smuggling of the melanothorazine. That was enough to convince Josephson.

  Explosions rocked the warehouse. Flashes of light so bright they were blinding could be seen through windows and cracks around the various doors of the service bays used to receive and ship freight. The flash bangs used by the tactical unit were enough for Josephson to decide to leave the hover unit.

  With phase pistol in hand, Josephson ran to the nearest entrance. A black clad member of the tactical squad waited. Josephson stood behind the officer while he watched through the door the squad had breached to make its entrance. Smoke from the flash bangs drifted outside into the cold to mix with the always shifting, searching fog.

  Josephson’s patience was almost gone when the officer motioned for him to follow and the pair made their way into the open space of the warehouse. The tactical squad was making short work of rounding up the workers present in the building. Guilty of any wrongdoing or not, they would all be cuffed, collected and made to lie face down in a prone position near the main entrance.

  Impressed with the speed and efficiency with which the tactical squad worked, Josephson carefully avoided getting in their way while they concluded the initial phase of the raid. What remained of the smoke had been sucked away by the buildings ventilation system. Groans and verbalization of protests could be heard as well as the concussion effects of the flash bangs wore off and the workers regained their wits.

  Still not wanting to draw attention to himself, Josephson decided not to wait for the forensics unit to enter the building and begin the search for evidence of smuggling, in particular, the presence of the stolen melanothorazine.