by Joe Nobody
Given the late hour, darkness, and lack of local traffic, he decided to take a chance and get a closer look. It was risky, the captain and DA sure to blow a fuse if he were caught snooping around a still active case and potential witness.
He knew the suicide kid’s father had settled with a ton of cash, the police union representative and city manager making their displeasure clear to the chief. Shit rolled downhill in the police force hierarchy, the avalanche of manure soon passing through the captain and landing directly on Jim’s head.
“Did you take your millions and move to Hawaii, Mr. Chase? Or did you invest those ill-gotten gains in drone technology and night school computer classes?” Jim asked the apparently empty house.
With flashlight in hand, he exited his private vehicle and made for the modest but dark home.
He entered the backyard via the side gate, a strategy designed to prevent nosey neighbors from spying a strange man peeking in their friend’s windows… and calling the cops.
He found the lawn well maintained, the bushes trimmed, and the back windows closed and locked. But the drapes were open.
Jim flashed his light inside, finding a humbly appointed home that was particularly neat and tidy. He could see in the kitchen, noting no dirty dishes resided in the sink, no loaf of bread or bowl of fruit on the laminated countertop, no coffeepot on the stove. The only sign of life consisted of a series of small mounds of mail. Piled in several neat, short stacks, the system seeming to indicate some nice person next door was checking the box while the homeowner was out of town.
“I bet you’re spending your dirty money traveling the world, Mr. Chase,” Jim whispered to the manicured backyard. “Wherever you are, it sure doesn’t look like you’re living here. One down, two to go.”
It was almost midnight as he drove out of the Chase’s subdivision. The next name on his list lived not far away, and the benched cop was still too keyed up from his backyard invasion for home or sleep. “Can’t hurt to scout it out before tomorrow’s detective work,” he convinced himself.
Chip and Amanda’s home was still clearly occupied. Driving to the unassuming abode surfaced old memories of that night. Marwick didn’t feel any regrets or guilt. His only emotion was a curiosity regarding why his instinct had failed him on that occasion. He would have sworn the basketball star was up to no good. “It happens. No one is right 100% of the time,” he reconciled. Self-confidence had never been an issue for Big Jim.
Pulling his car off at the end of the street, he sat and scanned the residence, the blue flashes of light visible through the curtain a sure sign someone was home and up late watching the TV.
Satisfied he had work to do tomorrow, Jim put his car in gear and proceeded home. “I’m going to find you Mister Archangel, and when I do, I’m going to pluck those wings off your body nice and slow and painful like. You are going to regret the day you fucked with Jimmy Marwick and the Houston Police Department.”
Sunrise saw Chip and Amanda’s sleepy street was again blessed with the presence of one James Marwick. Sitting with two sandwiches, a thermos of coffee, and a reasonable quality camera, Big Jim was ready for a day of observation.
He’d arrived early and prepared, having no idea where his suspects worked or what time they normally left for the daily grind. Houston’s traffic was notoriously nasty for those commuting to work or school, some suburban drivers leaving hours before the normal workday began. Jim didn’t want to miss anything.
He remembered the teenage girl from the incident, watching her bound to the curb and smile at the approaching bus. She hadn’t changed much.
The wife was next, backing out of the driveway in an apparent rush for the office… or store… or wherever she worked. Jim didn’t remember her from that night, had no background information on her whatsoever.
And then there was nothing. His primary target was either off today, unemployed, or working from home. A little disappointed, but not discouraged, Jim refilled his coffee cup. He watched the steam rise from the Styrofoam container and dissipate into nothingness. “That’s just like all the bullshit that Mr. Goody Two Shoes Archangel is throwing at me,” he whispered. “It all seems hot and important at first, but soon it will disappear without leaving a trace.”
Chip had helped Amanda get Manny off to school, the two parents fussing about the lack of frontal lobe development being displayed by their absentminded daughter.
After both of the girls had finally made it out of the house, he was clearing away the breakfast dishes when Gabe’s caller ID flashed with his cell’s display.
“Good morning, boss,” he answered cheerfully.
Gabe was excited. “Hey, Chip. Sorry to call so early, but I’m kind of pumped up and anxious to run a test. I finished the G-3 a few hours ago, and I think it’s ready for an extended flight.”
Smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm, he replied, “Very cool! I am at your beck and call, sir. When and where do you want me?”
“Are you home right now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just stay there, and keep an eye out over your backyard. I’m going to send our newest Gripen over to visit. We can run a few tests then.”
“Should I make it an extra cup of coffee? How does it like its eggs?” Chip teased.
After chuckling for a bit, Gabe said, “It likes 115 volt AC, black… no sugar or crème.”
“I’ll brew up a fresh jolt. Talk to you in a bit.”
Chip continued about his morning routine, mentally calculating the G-3’s flight time. Two pieces of toast and a quick load of the dishwasher later, he was sitting on his back stoop, scanning the heavens.
It was amazing how close to his home the drone managed before he saw it. Gabe had modeled the grey and blue paintjob after the camouflage used on WWII fighters. It blended well with the background sky.
In fact, he heard the machine before he saw it, gazing upwards as the flying robot slowed into a hover, about 50 feet above his lawn, closer to the tree line. Chip smiled when the Gripen waggled its greeting, an obvious “hello” from Gabe at the controls.
Smiling, Chip waved back, using a middle finger. His phone rang a moment later. “I saw that,” the laughing voice scolded.
“I just wanted to make sure the camera was in focus,” he teased in return. “How many fingers was I holding up?”
“The flight went off without a hitch, but that’s not really what I wanted to test. I’ve installed a new capability in this model. It’s called, ‘Follow me.’”
“Huh? I don’t get it.”
Gabe continued to explain the upgrade, expanding gradually in simple terms. “You can select a target, like a person or a car or even a horse. Once you do that, the drone will track it no matter where it moves. Unless it can outrun the Gripen, it should stick like glue.”
“You should call it ‘Shadow mode,’” Chip mused. “That name sounds more spy-like than ‘Follow me.’”
“I didn’t name it,” Gabe answered, snickering at his friend’s observation. “The option is becoming a standard with drone technology. Guys want their little flying buddies to follow them as they mountain bike or downhill ski or whatever. From what I’ve seen on the internet, it allows for some really impressive video recording and unique action shots.”
“So how do we test this hound dog’s nose?” Chip asked.
“I’m going to scan your neighborhood real quick and make sure no one is out and about. If the coast is clear, then I want you to take a walk for a few blocks and see if the Gripen will follow you around.”
It was Chip’s turn to laugh. “I’m going to ask for a raise. Manual labor? This job is too rough. You’re a slave driver.”
Gabe didn’t respond, his focus now on the Gripen’s controls. He elevated the machine to 250 feet and began scouting the vicinity of Chip’s house.
Caught up in the jovial mood and pumped with the excitement of his new model, Gabe couldn’t help but throw out a little of his own cornball humor. “Hey, Chip,�
� he stated, as if something important was to follow. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re going to need a new roof soon. Your shingles are looking pretty thin.”
“Really? Shit! I just put that on about 11 years ago,” his comrade replied with a serious tone.
Shaking his head, Gabe decided he should leave the comedy up to his friend. “Nah. I can’t tell a good shingle from a bad one. I was just messing with ya.”
Now curious about what the infrared camera would show, Gabe flipped the control, watching as the image on his monitor turned into the lava light colored display. He was trying to determine if he could judge the thermal integrity of Chip’s roof when something caught his eye.
There was a hotspot just down the block from Chip’s home, the car’s engine nice and cool, but the interior glowing bright with heat.
The visual didn’t make sense to Gabe’s logical, engineering brain. If someone had just arrived and parked, then the car’s motor would be very hot. If someone had just entered the car and was preparing to drive off, then the interior wouldn’t be saturated in heat.
“Everything okay?” Chip’s voice sounded over the cell.
“I don’t know. There’s a strange vehicle two blocks north of your house. Is there any way you can take a peek without raising their suspicions? I know someone is sitting in it.”
“Sure, I’ll go upstairs and spy from behind the curtains. Can I have a secret designation, like 007 or something cool like that?”
Gabe didn’t bother to answer, his attention now back on controlling the Gripen. Something about the vehicle was troubling him.
He took the G-3 high, ordering the autopilot to 390 feet above the ground. He then commanded his machine to slowly move at an angle so he could view inside the car. Gabe knew motion attracted the human eye, and he didn’t want some nosey neighbor calling the cops with claims of alien invaders getting ready to destroy her neighborhood.
Chip’s voice came back, “I see the car, but can’t tell who’s inside. I’ve never seen it around here before, but that doesn’t mean shit. I’m not the type of guy who logs every Ford or Chevy that rolls past on the street.”
“Hold on a second. I’m positioning the Gripen to get a view.”
The thermal was useless, as it lacked the ability to peer through the glass windows of the suspicious car. The regular-light camera worked just fine, however, Gabe keeping the drone at a great distance and using the zoom.
It took a few moments, the outline of the driver finally visible. “It’s Marwick,” Gabe announced with a chill running down his spine.
“No shit? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Gabe replied, his tone cold and tight. “I’d know that son of a bitch anywhere,” he continued, just for a moment pondering a confession of his rifle-stalking stint. But he didn’t, instead choosing to close the thought with only a strongly stated, “Believe me.”
“What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Gabe sputtered, trying to work it all out. “I guess we need to make sure he’s watching you.”
“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Chip stated.
“Why don’t you run down to the corner store and get some milk,” Gabe started. “I’ll fly the Gripen along and see if he follows you.”
“And if he stalks me into the parking lot and then crushes me under his car as I’m walking in, what then?”
Gabe had to laugh, even though he wasn’t sure if Chip was joking or not. “Don’t worry, I’ll have it all on video, and I vow to avenge your demise.”
“Thanks for that,” he answered curtly. In a moment, he quipped, “Give me a minute. I’ve got to make sure my ‘tightie whities’ are clean. Mom always drilled me to wear clean underwear in case I got hit by a car and had to go to the hospital.”
“Smart woman.”
A short time later, Gabe caught Chip’s silhouette on the corner of the monitor, the bait casually sauntering out to his car. Flicking to the thermal, he realized Marwick’s engine was now running, the white-hot exhaust and bright spots under the fenders making the identification a no-brainer.
Chip backed out, heading in the opposite direction from where his stalker was parked. Sure enough, Marwick followed. The Gripen’s master redialed his friend.
“He’s behind you. So now we know,” Gabe informed the prey. “Been nice knowing you.”
“Seriously, what do I do now?”
“Just park; go in; buy milk. Then pray and go back home as normal. Don’t act any differently. Don’t look around or try to be sneaky or do anything stupid. If he realizes you’re on to him, he’ll be more cautious, and we’ll have a harder time finding him.”
“Okay, but if he kills me at the store, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Fair enough. Oh, and don’t do too much shopping. The Gripen’s battery is running low.”
“Thanks. I’m soooo happy to hear that. Bye.”
Gabe watched Marwick follow Chip into the strip mall’s lot and park some distance away. He was relieved that the burly officer never exited his car.
Ten minutes later, Chip was back safe and sound in his home, and dialing his boss. “How do I explain the extra milk in the fridge to Amanda, Mr. Know-it-all?”
“A craving? I am bringing the Gripen back home. If I have a headwind, it’s going to be close.”
“Where’s our friend right now?”
“He’s down the street. Not in the same spot, but close.”
“Manny will be home soon. He wouldn’t….”
Gabe thought about that, sure Marwick was only trying to find the Archangel. Still, there was no way to predict the crazy cop’s intentions. “He’s just looking for the Citizen Observation Committee, not school girls. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“I’ve got my skeet gun in the closet. I think it’s time to get it out… just in case.”
Again, Gabe had to pause, his friend’s reaction a bit of a surprise. “Up to you, I guess. I’d probably do the same. Just keep in mind, he’s looking for someone related to the drones and the video. He’s suspended, pissed, and desperate. If you don’t give him anything to make you a suspect, then pretty soon he’ll move on.”
“Great. Just what I need. A pissed, desperate, frustrated Goliath parked right down the street. Nice.”
“Just go about your business as normal. I bet he’s gone after two or three days.”
Indeed, Gabe’s prediction had been correct. After watching Chip’s home all of the following day, Big Jim decided to move on.
But the third candidate on his short list proved a non-starter. The guy had succumbed to cancer two months before.
Now the exasperated, suspended officer found himself in a quandary. He was still convinced the Archangel was at the root of his problems, but didn’t have any good leads.
After placing a round of calls to everyone on the force he still counted as a “friend,” an internal rage started fueling Marwick’s impatient perspective.
The DA was making noise about a trial, his attorney receiving the preliminary requests for depositions just a few days ago. It took longer and longer for his representative from the patrolman’s union to return his calls.
Paranoia became a frequent visitor to the exasperated cop. Once he thought someone was following him, backtracking the offending sedan and accosting the driver, accusing the shocked civilian of being “a blood sucking, internal affairs cocksucker.”
He nearly shot a pizza delivery boy, unaware that Junior had ordered a pie.
With that mindset, Jim easily convinced himself that he needed to revisit every fact, including the people he was sure were involved. Chip was at the top of his list.
“He’s back,” the call came to Gabe. “I can see his car sitting just across the street. He’s getting bold.”
After pondering the new information, Gabe responded, “He’s just trying to pressure you into making a mistake. I wish there was a way to keep a Gripen hovering over your place – just
in case he got frisky. But we can’t. The batteries just don’t provide that kind of air time.”
“I’m sick of this,” Chip replied. “There has to be some way to turn the heat around and chase him off. He’s suspended, so why don’t we call the cops and report a suspicious vehicle? I bet he’s violating some cop rule by stalking me.”
“I suppose you could. Wouldn’t hurt. At least he’ll know someone’s on to him and maybe that will be enough.”
The call to 9-1-1 proved difficult for Chip to dial. He now found himself trying to maneuver through a waist-deep current of stress, every step seemingly life-altering important and irreversible. He procrastinated over making the call, idling around the house, watching TV, and peeking out the drapes every few minutes.
It was madding.
Yet every time he picked up the phone to punch the numbers, he hesitated. “Maybe he’ll give up and go home,” he moaned, inventing any excuse to avoid escalation.
After several hours and the impending nightfall, Marwick’s presence outside his home became intolerable, overriding any worry over provoking the husky cop.
He texted Gabe, “He is still there. Can’t take it anymore. Calling 9-1-1. Been nice knowing you.”
Next came the actual call to emergency services. With a cracking voice, he reported the address, telling the female voice on the other end that a suspicious man had been sitting outside of his home all day. The dispatcher promised to send a car.
Officer Kirkpatrick received the call, including the address and description of the vehicle. He didn’t connect the dots with the incident at the same location until he rolled onto the street. “Shit,” he mumbled. “What the hell is Marwick up to now?”
He pulled up behind Big Jim’s private car, skipping the normal procedure of using his spotlight to illuminate the suspicious vehicle. “What’s up, Sergeant?” he greeted after approaching the window.
