by Elle Gray
“Who are you?” I ask.
Putting the photos aside, I pick up the first of the files and see that it’s got a lot of research on Lomtin Laboratories and its product, Xytophyl in particular. I’d thought this line of inquiry was a dead end, but it looks like Veronica was digging into it up to the day she died. There are a lot of other files and some thumb drives. I see a lot of medical reports as well—things I have absolutely no expertise in. Which means I’m unfortunately going to have to trust somebody enough to let them into the loop.
I pack everything into my briefcase and clear out the box entirely. I’ll take them back to the office and dig into them later when I’m able to give it all my time and attention. After putting the box back into its slot, I close the door then turn and pick up my briefcase. Using the code Grenier gave me, I let myself out and nod to the manager as I cross the bank and head out into the morning sunshine.
As I stand on the sidewalk, watching the morning crowd hustle by on their way to the office or maybe just getting a cup of coffee to deal with being in the office, I feel like momentum is starting to build on the case. It’s slow and tentative right now, but I definitely feel it starting to pick up some steam. Thanks to Veronica, I now have a direction to run in. The first thing I need to do is ID the man in her surveillance photos. If I figure out who he is, other pieces may start falling into place.
While I’m standing there trying to put it all into order in my head, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s not a feeling I get often, but I always pay attention when I do—since it means I’m being watched.
Ten
Outside the Emerald Bay Loan & Trust; Downtown Seattle
I’m not a superstitious man. I don’t get cases of the heebie-jeebies, I don’t give into paranoia, and things that go bump in the night don’t send me into a panic. But experience has taught me that my gut rarely steers me wrong. My instincts have helped keep me alive and helped me to avoid some hairy situations. So, when I feel that prickling on the back of my neck, I learned to pay attention to it. And right now, those red flags are waving in my head and the alarm bells are sounding.
As casually as I can, I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend to look at it as I survey the area around me through my peripheral vision. At this time of morning, the sidewalk isn’t packed, but it’s not a ghost town either. There’s a decent amount of foot traffic passing by in front of the bank. Even still, it doesn’t take me all that long to spot the first man.
He’s about thirty yards down on my right, leaning against a car. He’s big. Six-two or six-three at least, with a short flattop haircut. He’s got an athletic build and his bearing screams former military to me. Or perhaps even current military, for all I know. I’ve really got no idea what I’m up against right now, but the man I spotted looks formidable. He’s dressed in black from head to toe and I’m positive he’s going to have a couple of guns hidden on him somewhere.
The second guy is about twenty yards down on my left. Like the first guy, he’s dressed in black and is casually leaning against a car. He’s bald, and though he’s probably only five-nine or so, he’s got that same athletic build and military air about him. These guys are operators who do the wet work for whoever their employer is. No doubt about it. I have no proof and obviously can’t say it with any certainty, but my gut is telling me these guys were involved with Brian Takahashi’s death. Possibly even Veronica’s.
I spot two more guys in a car across the street. They’re parked a few spots down from mine, making me wonder if they knew that was my car or it was just dumb luck. Either way, it means I can’t head for my car without getting involved in some sort of confrontation. Since the last thing I want to do right now is risk losing the precious cargo I’m carrying, my options are pretty limited. I could go back into the bank and hide out, hoping they leave. Or I can try to shake them myself. A third option is to call the police, but since I’m not exactly SPD’s favorite guy right now, I’ll consider that a last resort.
Since I’ve got zero interest in spending hours in the bank and have no desire to call the police, I guess I’m going to be playing hide and seek with these guys for a bit. Not the best or most dignified way to start a day, but since I’m not aiming to lose what’s in my briefcase—which I have a pretty strong suspicion is what they’re after—I’m going to do what I have to do.
A knot of six people passes me, so I turn and walk along with them, trying to lose myself in the small cluster. Looking back over my shoulder, I see the smaller of the two guys fall into step. He’s still about twenty yards behind me, but he’s picking up his pace. Before we reach the other guy, we pass an alley between two storefronts. Moving quickly, I peel off from the group I’m using as camouflage and dart down the alley. I run by dumpsters that are overflowing with garbage, piles of cardboard boxes, trash bags, and sleeping people.
Behind me, I hear the heavy footsteps of the two men in pursuit. I don’t even need to look back to know it’s the men in black I saw on the street. I make it to the other end of the alley and out onto the street. From there, I turn and walk quickly up the sidewalk, trying to avoid drawing too much attention to myself. Cutting a glance behind me, I see my shadows exit the alley. They look around and spot me and begin the pursuit again.
The two men are walking quickly but almost clumsily as they slam into other people on the sidewalk in an attempt to close the gap between us. Acting on instinct, I turn and dash into a parking structure and quickly find a set of stairs. Throwing open the door, I run up to the second floor just as I hear the door below me crash into the wall behind it. I exit the stairwell as quickly as I can, shadowed by the echoes of two heavy pairs of boots. I cut a corner away, trying not to give my location away, then hunker down between a pair of cars and press myself back against the retaining wall.
I turn my briefcase flat and slide it under the car to my left as I hear the door to the second-floor crash open. Holding my breath, I strain my ears to listen. There’s only one set of footsteps. The echoing in the stairwell had obviously distorted the sounds enough that they didn’t know which floor I exited on. I like my chances one-on-one a whole lot better. But I know I have to be careful. The guy who went to the third floor will undoubtedly be circling back down to this floor as the pair tries to catch me in between them. It’s a smart plan. It’s definitely what I would do in their place. But it’s not going to work.
Moving slowly and as quietly as possible, I creep forward and peek through the windows of the car. I can see the five-nine guy standing there looking right, then left, and right again, sweeping the floor of the garage for me. I pick up a discarded beer bottlecap on the ground near my foot, and keeping an eye on the guy, I fling the bottlecap as hard as I can and duck back down. It bounces off one of the cars with a loud ping.
The guy looking for me spins and starts walking forward. His hand is at his waist, no doubt hovering over the butt of his weapon. His back is to me, and he’s crouched down, looking under the cars in the row of cars across from my hiding spot. Moving slowly, I get to my feet and step forward. He seems to feel my presence though, because the man spins around and in one fluid motion, starts to draw his piece.
My body reacts, and as his weapon clears his holster, I lash out, driving my foot into his wrist, putting as much force behind it as I can. The man let out a brief grunt and moan of discomfort as I hear something snap inside his wrist. The gun hits the ground near my feet with a clatter and I step forward and launch it across the parking lot with a powerful kick.
As I’m doing that though, the man is in the process of launching his other fist forward. Pain explodes in my face and my vision fills with bursting points of light. My head snaps backward and I stagger back a few steps. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. I feel it trickling out of my nose.
The man presses his advantage and closes on me, delivering a vicious blow to my midsection that doubles me over and drives the air from my lungs with a loud grunt. He grabs me by the hai
r and pulls my head up.
The sound of his fist connecting with my face reminds me of a baseball hitting an old leather mitt and my vision starts to waver as I drop to my hands and knees. He grabs hold of my hair again and yanks my head back so I’m staring him in the face.
“Where’s the case,” he hisses. “Give me the case and this is all over.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when without warning, I drive my fist forward, connecting with his groin with as much power as I can muster behind it. His grip on my hair loosens as a strangled gasp bursts from his throat. My ears are still ringing, but I move quickly and get back to my feet. I lunge forward, pinning the man between my body and the car behind him. I drive my fist into his face over and over again, each connection landing with a wet, meaty thud. Blood flows from his nose and mouth, and when I deliver a wild haymaker to the side of his head, I feel his entire body go limp.
I step back and let him drop to the ground, but as I do I hear the faint scuff of a boot on the pavement behind me. My instinct takes over and I spin to the side a moment before the passenger’s side window of the car I’d been standing in front of explodes in a high-pitched hail of glass. I dive forward and grab the man’s arm. He tries to yank away from my grasp, but I bend his wrist back awkwardly, drawing a pained yelp from him. The gun hits the ground with a clank, and still holding his wrist, I kick the gun away from him. It slides beneath a car a row over with a metallic hiss.
“You’re a dead man,” the guy growls at me.
He leans into me and spins to the side, breaking my grip on his wrist. As I let go, I feel his meaty fist crash into my ribs and a shockwave of pain washes through me. The air is driven from my lungs again, but I manage to dance backward, out of his reach. His second punch slices through empty air, but he rounds on me, a snarl upon his face. He closes again and throws another punch followed by a driving kick aimed at my midsection. I’m able to parry both.
We trade blows and blocks for a few moments, both of us are starting to lose steam. Our punches grow sloppier and aren’t quite as hard. But we keep at it, neither of us gaining an advantage over the other despite, his weight advantage.
“Give me the case,” he growls. “Give it to me or I swear you’re going to die right here.”
I wipe away the blood trickling out of my nose with the cuff of my shirt, then spit a large red glob at the man’s feet.
“You want it, take it off my dead body. I’m not giving you anything,” I growl.
A wicked grin touches my lips as he rushes me, his face twisted with rage. He throws a punch and I duck to the side, but not fast enough. It glances off my jaw, sending a bright flare of pain through my entire face. Thankfully, I didn’t take the worst of it and manage to keep my feet. My attacker stupidly overextends himself and I grab hold of his arm, quickly wrenching it behind him. I give it a firm twist upward and hear something crack.
His scream of agony echoes throughout the parking structure and his arm goes limp in my grasp. Quickly letting go of his arm and letting it dangle uselessly at his side, I grab the sides of the man’s head and bring it down as I bring my knee up as hard as I can manage. It connects with his nose with a sharp and loud crunch. My attacker falls in a boneless heap to the ground and lays still.
The sounds of tires squeaking on the concrete structure and the hum of an engine fill my ears. It’s followed by the sound of alarmed voices and the echo of hurried footsteps. The sound of our struggle and the shouts of pain obviously attracted unwanted attention.
“Great,” I mutter.
The absolute last thing I need is to stick around to be questioned by the police. If they are in bed with the people who killed Veronica and Takahashi, turning my briefcase over to them would be about the biggest mistake I could make. Not only would that material disappear into the black hole of SPD corruption, but I’m also sure I’d probably end up suiciding myself in my cell just like Alvin Perry did. I know Lee is trying to make some reforms to the department, but those changes aren’t going to come fast enough to save me.
I dash back to the car I’d stashed my case under and see the first man starting to rouse. His eyes flutter open and he starts trying to climb to his feet. I rear back and deliver a hard shot to the side of his head that sends shockwaves up my arm and into my shoulder. It does the job though: he slumps back to the ground, out cold.
I slide my case out from under the car and bolt for the stairs. Somebody is shouting for me to stop as I pull open the door and dart down to the first floor as quickly as I can. When I hit the street, some people are looking at me strangely—apparently, it’s not every day you see a man in a nice suit bloodied and beaten strolling down the street.
I cut through the alley and pass the bank again. Thankfully, the two men I’d seen sitting in their car earlier are gone. I scramble to my car, slide behind the wheel, and take off. I need to figure out who those guys are, and I need to find out quickly. If I don’t, I might not be able to fight my way out of the mess I’m in next time.
One thing is obvious: I can’t take the case home with me. It’s way too hot. I give it a moment’s thought and decide there’s one place I can stash it that will be inaccessible to anybody except me. The decision made, I take a right at the next street and head for my hiding spot.
Eleven
The Pulpit; Downtown Seattle
“Jesus, Pax,” Brody gasps as he slides into the booth. “What happened to you?”
“You should see the other guy,” I reply with a shrug.
Brody looks at me with concern in his eyes. After the incident in the parking garage, I ran home and cleaned myself up. I know a doctor who, fortunately, still makes house calls. So, after a shower and a change of clothes, I had him come over and patch me up. Nothing seemed to be broken and he saw no life-threatening injuries, but he still recommended that I go to a hospital to get checked out because he couldn’t guarantee I wasn’t bleeding internally.
Like talking to the police though, I’m not about to check myself into the hospital. Too many things can go wrong. All it would take is the wrong word to the wrong person at the wrong time and I’d be sitting in an SPD interrogation room facing all the problems I wanted to avoid to begin with. Since I’m not looking to end up in a cell waiting to go the way of Alvin Perry, it’s probably best I let my body heal itself. So, after he wrote me a prescription for some painkillers, I sent him on his way.
After that, I called Brody and asked him to meet me at the Pulpit, which in retrospect, wasn’t the brightest idea. I’m just so used to us getting together there for a drink, it’s almost like an automatic reflex these days. But all it took was one look from May to show me the error of my ways. The second I walked through the door, I caught sight of her and watched her expression immediately darken. She didn’t look mad, she looked hurt and disappointed, which was a thousand times worse. I can deal with somebody’s anger. But seeing the pain in their eyes and knowing I caused it is almost more than I can stand.
At first, I was tempted to turn around and walk out. I thought having Brody meet me elsewhere might be a good idea. I thought staying would only make things more awkward than they already are, not to mention engender some hard feelings. I really don’t want that. She’s not serving our table, which makes things a little easier. But every now and then, I catch her looking at me like a wounded puppy, which only makes me feel guiltier than I already do.
“Seriously, what happened?” Brody asks.
“Had a run-in with a couple of guys who didn’t want me to get my hands on the information Veronica left for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Takahashi’s dead,” I tell him. “I saw him at the morgue.”
“Jesus,” he mutters.
I fill him in on what happened at the ME’s office, including my conversation with Interim Deputy Chief Lee. Brody gets a small chuckle out of it.
“He’s going to be fun to work with,” he says.
“Well, according to
him, we’re not going to be working together, so we won’t have to worry about it,” I reply.
After that, I tell him everything I’d learned and everything that happened up to now. Brody drains his glass, paling as he listens, whispering more than a few expletives under his breath in surprise. And when I’m done, he sits back in his seat and looks at me in silence for a moment.
“Well,” he finally says. “Sounds like you had quite the day.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, you could say that.”
May stops by our table, a small frown on her lips. “Ashley’s on a break so I’ll be covering for her,” she says, and I see her eyes widen as she looks at me. “My God, Paxton. What happened to you?”
“Aerobics accident,” I tell her. “My Jazzercise class got a little out of control.”
A grin flickers across May’s lips, but she quickly quashes it, that look of cold detachment returning in the blink of an eye. She clears her throat and turns to Brody with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Can I get you guys another drink?” she asks.
Brody gives her a smile. “How’s it going, May?”
“I’m fine thanks. Nice to see you,” she says flatly. “Another round?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks,” he says uncertainly.
“Great. I’ll be back.”
I look down at the table, my lips pursed. When she leaves, I raise my gaze. Brody’s looking at me curiously.
“Brrr,” he says. “Is it me or is it unusually cold for this time of year?”
“Yeah, about that,” I say sardonically. “Last date didn’t end too great.”
I fill him in on what happened and he pales.
“Oh my God, dude. You screwed up.”
