Hybrid

by Ballan, Greg

  The man had long jet-black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The white V-neck T-shirt did little to hide a well-developed upper torso and powerfully developed arms. Denton judged that his associate spent a great deal of time doing some kind of serious physical training. His build was not what would be associated with a body builder by any means; he lacked the sheer massive size that weight lifters possessed. His body seemed to be the build of an athlete—lean and muscular, but without the excessive bulk that could hinder mobility.

  The man studied some reports intently, his eyes riveted on whatever the page said. Denton's eyes immediately fell upon the shoulder holster that held two auto pistols and four spare clips. Denton knew this was a formidable man.

  Denton continued his scrutiny of the man as he sat behind the dining table with papers and photographs spread haphazardly in front of him. The man looked up and stood to meet his guests.

  “Martin, come in, have a seat.” He gestured to the table covered with papers and pictures. The man in the suit stood quietly by the entryway, his face expressionless as he assumed a guard position.

  “How did we make out?” Denton asked anxiously as he took a seat.

  “I think I have enough for you to make our friend very, very uncomfortable, but nothing that could be totally admissible in a court of law.” He paused. “But the court of public opinion may be something different.”

  Martin Denton let out a long sigh of relief. He knew that if anyone could infiltrate Medcorp Industries, Erik Knight would be the man for the job.

  Erik Knight was in his early thirties. His eyes were sky blue, and seemed to have a haunting look that spoke of some unknown past torments and horrors. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head while yawning. His muscles writhed and flexed as his focus returned to the matter at hand.

  Knight had been referred to Denton almost two years ago when he needed a special operative to penetrate a mob-operated stronghold in Chelsea. Denton was impressed with the quick, efficient manner in which the job was done. What impressed Denton even more was how inexpensive the services were. Denton admired skill, but knew that a more seasoned man would have much higher rates. Despite his concerns, Denton continued to utilize him, and was always amazed at how effective the young man was.

  Normally, Denton would never travel to meet a contractor, but he was curious about Knight, and curiosity was something that would gnaw at the old man until he could satisfy it. Something about this young investigator didn't seem to add up. Denton couldn't quite place it. Seeing a family photograph only added to the mysterious equation that Denton had built up in his head.

  People in Knight's line of work were all of the same paradigm: wild and reckless, usually foolhardy with money, a taste for expensive liquor and cheap women. His study of Knight indicated that the young independent was in some dire financial straits, but nothing too extreme. From his own gatherings he knew that Knight didn't drink and seemed relatively tame in comparison to other contractors the firm utilized in prior months. Erik Knight was an enigma, a stand-out from other independent operators.

  Denton liked that for some reason. He found the private investigator to not only be deadly efficient at his work, but to possess a keen intellect and incredible instincts.

  The investigator leaned forward slightly and began recounting the past events of his case. “I penetrated corporate security and got the accounting files that you requested, but couldn't find any information pertaining to the rumors we discussed,” he began. “I figured that what we were looking for was in his personal safe at his compound in Weston.”

  “Go on,” Denton remarked.

  “I got in a couple of nights ago,” Erik continued. “He always leaves his third story window open.”

  “Please elaborate,” Denton urged. The older man loved details.

  “I knew from a source that Hegart would be at a Political Action Committee fund raiser. I waited outside the estate until I saw his Rolls Royce leave the gate. I waited another half hour to make sure he was actually on his way. He has a habit of leaving and then returning five or ten minutes after leaving.” Erik paused as he adjusted his position on his seat. “I can only assume that he's absent-minded and forgets something or other.

  “I used a frequency blanket to interfere with the monitors as I scaled the outer wall of the estate. As far as the guards could tell, there was some momentary static in the system, just enough time for me to clear the wall.”

  “How did you actually get into the estate house?” Denton asked curiously.

  “Your nemesis is very fond of clinging ivy. It grows up the side of his house, particularly where the open window is,” Erik explained. “It was a simple matter to climb the ivy and the lattice, and then slip into the window. It took me about twenty minutes to find the safe and another fifteen minutes to open it. I was in and out of the estate in less than two hours,” he remarked with minor self-gratification.

  “You are very lucky, my young friend,” Denton responded.

  Erik gave a shark-like grin. “I believe that we make our own luck, Mr. Denton. This ‘luck’ was the result of careful planning and surveillance, and a disgruntled servant.” Erik reached for a stack of photographs and papers. “Here's what our friend has been hiding in his bedroom safe.” He pushed several photographs toward Denton.

  Denton carefully studied the pictures of ledger pages, references to offshore bank accounts, bank statements and other various financial references that had been meticulously photographed.

  “What are these papers?” Denton asked.

  “Letters,” Erik responded evasively. “Let's just say I figured you'd like another ace in the hole during your dealings with our friend.”

  Denton took one of the letters and started reading, then another. He put the other letter down, digesting the information.

  “This is perfect.” Denton's face adopted a wolfish grin as he gathered up the photographs and letters to put them in his briefcase.

  “How are you going to use that? You know you can't introduce it in court; it wasn't exactly obtained by legal means,” Erik inquired. “He'll realize that the letters are missing, eventually; but judging from the dates on the letters, the affair ended over a year ago.”

  “You're right, of course,” Denton answered, “but I can mention that we have knowledge of potential evidence, both professional and personal—enough to make them nervous. Even the threat of a financial subpoena would serve our purpose in this case. Even though we can't claim enough here for a judicial decision, there's enough incriminating documentation to make them settle. Plus, if word of an extra marital affair leaked out, the negative publicity would cause more damage to his lily-white image than he could afford. It would save our clients a great deal of time and money—”

  “And increase your firm's profit margin by eliminating the costs involved in a trial,” Erik interrupted.

  “There's that too.” Denton nodded in agreement as he finished gathering his evidence.

  As he opened his briefcase, he pulled out a letter-size envelope and tossed it onto the table in Erik's direction. Erik smiled slightly and placed the envelope in the duffel bag next to him.

  “You're not going to count it?” Denton asked.

  “Mr. Denton, I've done four contracts for you in the past eighteen months, and you've honored the terms of each one. I will not insult you by counting payment—in front of you, that is.” Erik smiled another half smile. “We should almost trust each other at this point.”

  The old man paused, considering Knight's words, and then laughed aloud. “Mr. Knight, I do indeed like your style.” He laid down a large roll of hundred dollar bills onto the table. “Consider this a bonus for another job well done.”

  * * * *

  Erik nodded toward Denton and escorted him to the hallway. He watched through a small window as Denton and the man accompanying him departed the diner. Erik picked up the roll of bills and counted out thirty, one hundred-dollar bills. H
e took twenty of the bills and tucked them into his wallet, and then palmed the other ten. He carefully removed his gun vest and placed it into a small wall safe. The detective gathered up the envelope from his contract and headed toward the main room of the diner. Erik walked up to a tall middle-aged man with wavy blonde and gray hair.

  The lean figure looked Erik up and down and then smiled. “I trust everything went well?”

  Erik nodded and placed the ten bills from his hand on the counter next to him. “Thanks for giving me the extra time to wrap this up, Jeff. We're square for last month and this month now.”

  “I know you, Erik, and I know you're always true to your word.”

  When business in his diner had slowed two years ago, Jeff had let Erik use the back room in addition to a small one-bedroom apartment behind the restaurant. Erik paid him a modest amount in rent, and used the back room as a base of operations for his business. Erik helped cleaning dishes and sweeping during business and closing hours as thanks for paying such a small rent. Real estate, like everything else in Hopedale, was pricey, far too pricey for the investigator's limited finances.

  Erik took his leather jacket off the coat rack and headed for the door.

  “Make sure you're back for the dinner crowd!” Jeff barked in his motherly tone. “I could really use the extra help tonight.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Erik replied as he made his way out the door.

  * * * *

  Erik pulled his truck into the long driveway at the wealthier end of Hopedale. He always felt uncomfortable in this area, but his ex-wife and daughter were doing well here and his daughter received all the things he was unable to give her. He walked up the meticulously laid brick walk and rang the doorbell. A young girl opened the door and her eyes immediately lit up when she saw him.

  “Daddy!” She screamed with delight as she jumped into his arms.

  “Hey, Munchkin!” he answered as she settled into his arms. “Where's Mommy?”

  “She's out back with Ricky. They have company. Some goofy business people.” The little girl rolled her eyes upward.

  “Brianna!” a voice interrupted. “You know better than to talk like that.”

  Brianna giggled as she jumped down from her father's arms and headed out into the back yard.

  “Hello, Margaret,” Erik began. “You're looking beautiful, as always.” He tried his best to sound pleasant.

  “You still look.... “She paused, letting her eyes study him. “Blue collar, as always.” She finished with a small tone of contempt in her voice.

  Erik felt a quick pang of hurt at her remark. Margaret was never happy with his trade, or the amount of money he earned. He was sincerely glad she finally got what she wanted. She seemed truly happy, and looked upon him as her biggest mistake.

  “Easy,” he said as he put his hands up. “I didn't come here to start an argument.” He reached into his wallet. “I have the support payment for this month and next month.” Erik pulled out six hundred dollars and handed it to her. He put his still-flush wallet back into his pocket and looked at Margaret.

  “Where did you come across this much cash on such a short notice? The last time we spoke you didn't have two nickels to rub together.” She studied the crisp bills.

  “I just finished a case; that money was part of a bonus from my employer. You know I've been working a case for the last three weeks.”

  “Doing what?” she asked sarcastically. “Finding missing poodles?”

  “No, I really can't discuss it,” he answered evasively, deliberately ignoring the venom in her tone.

  “Please!” she commented. “You're just so important that you're working on secret cases now. I find that difficult to believe.”

  “What's the matter with you?” Erik said louder than he intended. He let her know she hurt him; she seemed to revel in that. “I didn't come here looking for a fight. Why are you treating me this way? I haven't done anything!”

  “Is everything okay, darling?” a voice asked, thick with contempt.

  “Everything is fine, Richard,” Erik spat with equal loathing.

  Richard walked up to Erik and stared at him momentarily. “Oh, it's you.” He looked at Margaret. “I gather you've told him our intentions.”

  Erik noticed that Margaret's face suddenly became red and she looked uncomfortable.

  “Richard, go back to our guests. I'll be with you shortly,” she whispered.

  Richard, however, did not leave. “No, I should be here when you tell him. I want to see the look on his face,” he insisted.

  Margaret looked into Erik's eyes, and he saw the fear. He sensed something was coming—something big. He could read it in her body language, all the subtle physical indications of discomfort. He could feel his ex-wife's emotions, her sudden panic and anxiety.

  “Richard wants to start proceedings to adopt Brianna,” Margaret began. “His attorneys will be mailing you a form to sign over your paternal rights. Before you say anything or go on a tirade, you can see her anytime you want instead of what the old court decree says,” Margaret announced softly, not looking up from the ground. “Richard really wants us to be a family.”

  “No,” Erik said in a soft, deadly voice. He looked at Richard with hate-filled eyes. “You have my wife, you already have my daughter under your roof; the first one you can keep, but you'll never be Brianna's father. I'm her father. Me, Erik Knight, and I won't give that up, not for anything.”

  * * * *

  “No one is asking you to give that up,” Margaret began. “Biologically, you are her father, but face it Erik, you're rarely here. Richard, for all practical purposes, is Brianna's father. She's been with us for the past seven years. I wanted to talk with you about this at a more convenient time.”

  She gave her husband an annoying glance. “But now that it's out in the open, I'll say my piece. Brianna deserves a father that's home every night, someone that can provide her with the finer things of life, giving her the opportunities that you simply can't. She doesn't need someone who's only around every other weekend or off at all hours of the night playing Sherlock Holmes, or whatever it is you call what you do.” Margaret paused, studying her ex-husband.

  She could see the fury building up within him, she had been with Erik long enough to know that there were limits to his tolerance. Deep down, she knew doing this would emotionally cripple him. She had crushed his spirit when she filed for divorce, this would be the finishing blow.

  Erik's shoulders slumped and his face tilted slightly as he considered his response. He looked sharply into her eyes, and she could see the blazing intensity that burned there. “You two are really something, you know that? Your high-priced lawyers set the terms for my visitations after you smeared my reputation. I'd love to spend more time with Brianna; only you two have seen to it that I can't. I'm surprised I'm not in jail, thanks to the smear campaign you pulled at the divorce hearing.

  “As it stands, I get two weekends and four nights a month. In the six years that this arrangement has been going on, I've never missed my visitation. For God's sake, Margaret, she's all I have left. You've got everything you ever wanted; don't take the one thing I have left away from me,” he said in a soft whisper. “Have you discussed this with our daughter? Is this something that she wants?”

  “What she wants or doesn't want is irrelevant,” Richard broke in. “It's time for us to become a real family, and quite frankly, you're getting in the way of that. Brianna mistakenly puts you on a pedestal. She doesn't understand you like I do. You have no real future; you're a blue collar PI with no real clientele and no real experience. How long do you think you can earn a living doing surveillance and security work? You need a plan, only you're not smart enough to realize that. No one wants an investigator who works out of the back room of a low-brow diner,” Richard said with a self-righteous tone.

  “My personal finances are my business,” Erik replied darkly. “Unlike you, I don't make money off the misery of others, you slum lord. I've alrea
dy checked you out, and I know all about you. You inherited everything you have. You've earned nothing. You make money off real estate law on property that should be condemned and you pillage land with your shady development and mining operations across the country. I may not have much, but what I have I've achieved on my own.

  “As for my office space, I like where I am. I like to associate with a better class of people than I'm associating with now. I'm accessible to people. I don't hide myself in an ivory tower eighty stories above the ground, or surround myself with black iron fences and gates. I'm not afraid of regular people like you seem to be.”

  “Spoken like the true riffraff that you are.” Richard's face adopted a smug look. “Mr. Knight, you barely make enough money to get by, you have no real address and you have no place for your daughter to call home. My attorneys could do this in court, but I don't think that is in the child's best interest.

  “If you don't want to abide by our wishes, I'll see you in court. I have enough power and influence to see that you lose all rights to your daughter. Plus, I'll personally see to it that you never have another client for your ragtag business. I buried you once before, don't force me to do it again,” Richard added with an unmistakable loathing in his voice. “Do we understand each other?”

  Margaret groaned inwardly, she knew her husband had just made a critical mistake. Threatening Erik was not going to solve anything, except make him furious. She could see the intensity burning inside her ex-husband. She knew Erik would respond, most likely with force.

  Erik responded to the threat as his ex-wife predicted. Moving with astonishing speed, he grabbed Richard by the lapel of his Italian jacket and lifted him a foot off the floor.