by Domino Finn
Evan, well, he was a practical guy. I was sure he would come around. Just not right now.
He shook his head. "I'm happy to hear that, honey. But what if your power was what put you in that position in the first place? Would you have jumped in that van if you didn't have null magic?"
"To save Nicole?" she asked incredulously. "Yes!"
"You're in sixth grade!"
"And she's not a crime fighter," I stressed, to parent and child both. "And she absolutely won't take part in our offensives."
Fran's face soured. "But—"
"NO EXCEPTIONS!" said the three of us at once.
We looked at each other and almost chuckled, but we weren't quite there yet.
"I was gonna tell you," I said, mostly to Evan but giving a nod to Emily as well. "I was just wrapping my head around it. Waiting for the right time."
He pressed out his lips and looked at everything in the room besides me and Fran. He nodded slightly. His gaze lingered on Kasper, relaxing with a bottle of ale. "I know," he said begrudgingly. "I need a beer." He stomped to the kitchen. You see? Practical.
I took a relieved breath. Months of stress and the worst of it was done. Fran beamed at me. I crooked only the corner of my mouth. I didn't want to gloat.
Her mother doted on her some more as Evan dug through my kitchen. I scratched my head and retreated to the balcony, unsure what to do with myself but glad to be done with the conversation. Longer ones would follow, I knew. Ground rules would need to be set. Everything was changing so fast—I just wanted to stop and breathe.
Leaning on the railing, feeling the cool breeze high over the streets, was therapeutic. I took in the city lights, the current of the river. Seagulls dove and dipped. An owl passed over the moon. People scurried in the distance. Miami was alive with energy tonight.
Having everyone here was a boost to my mood as well. I turned and rested my back on the railing, watching my people through the window with a stupid grin on my face. The moment was almost perfect.
A hard knock on my door invaded the fantasy.
Evan set his beer down and drew a Colt Diamondback. I rushed past him. "Easy. We're safe in here." Despite my reassurance, everyone took appropriate precautions. Emily pulled Fran and John into the rear hall and Kasper peeled himself out of the massage chair.
The knock came again, heavier. I slipped my eye to the peephole and exhaled. I waved everybody off. "Don't worry. It's cool." I swung open the door and smiled at Milena.
"You never gave me the gate code so I had to park on the street—" She paused in the doorway as she noticed the congregated audience. "This looks like a party. I thought we were gonna have a 'chill platonic bros' night."
Evan snickered. Well, that was embarrassing.
"Show's over," I snapped, waving them away. I shut the door and led Milena toward the balcony.
"Hello, hello," she mumbled, passing everyone with a wave. Milena gave Fran a kiss on the cheek. "You're getting so big, girl." Her eyes lit up at little John McClane. "Ay, que cute!"
Great. As soon as she started playing with the toddler, I knew it was over. There was zero chance to get Milena alone for a minute now. I secured the balcony door and sat at the bar with Evan, eyes on Milena lighting up the room. She was probably the friendliest person I knew, and it was infectious. As promised, she was dressed for a casual night in. Jeans, a tight red shirt that showed a respectable amount of cleavage without advertising. Her long hair was wavier than usual. Milena flashed me a wink between playing with the kids, smile from ear to ear, unable to help being beautiful. She went over and gave Kasper a kiss on the cheek before settling beside Emily on the sofa.
"The Avengers are assembled," said Evan.
I admired the room. "They are, aren't they?"
He chugged deep and sighed. "Somehow I thought it would feel different."
"We'll get there." I held up my bottle. He clinked his against it with a nod. I had time to finish half the beer before Evan got a couple of urgent texts preceding a phone call.
"Now?" he asked gruffly. "Where?" He stood and paced to the others. "Turn on the TV."
I grabbed the remote and flipped to the news. Two news anchors were discussing a new development. A photo overlaid the background with the caption "Manifesto Killer."
Chapter 38
The talking heads consulted with a legal expert. I switched stations until I found one showing the action. An evening scene on the street with the word "Live" in a border graphic at the bottom.
"Once again," said a male voice-over, "this is the horrific scene just twenty-five minutes ago when a man interrupted a live broadcast with a gun. Here it is in full and without interruption."
The recording showed a female field anchor interviewing an elderly woman on the sidewalk for the evening news. Storefronts and light foot traffic created the backdrop.
"That's Miracle Mile," noted Evan.
Off camera, a car swerved and skidded, drawing the attention of the news staff.
"Watch your equipment," said the anchor with practiced efficiency, pointing behind the cameraman. The camera sidestepped but didn't swing the focus off the interview. A moment of puzzlement gave way to fear. The news anchor let out a hurried yelp as Manifesto appeared onscreen and forced a pistol to her head.
"Is this live?"
"Please," she begged.
"Is this live?" he snarled.
She nodded. Both women were paralyzed with fear. Manifesto yanked the anchor by the shoulder and held the gun to her head. "You keep rolling or I blow her head off, is that understood?"
"Y—Yes," came the muffled voice of the offscreen cameraman.
Manifesto still wore the gray Dolphins hoodie. He looked straight at the camera, regular eyes but stressed features. Just a normal guy with a gun.
"I can't force the truth on you," he said, voice harried. "It's something you can only accept after searching your soul. But I damn well will scream to get your attention if I need to." He shook the trembling news anchor by her hair. "I'm murdering Miami's best and brightest magicians and your authorities are hiding the truth from you."
Evan dropped his phone to his side and traded a glance with me. Everyone leaned toward the seventy-two-inch screen.
Manifesto scouted the street for a moment before again facing the camera. "The police know about me. The newspapers refuse to print my letters. The FBI has already named me the Manifesto Killer. Yet why haven't they told you?" He stepped closer and the cameraman's hard breathing became audible. "All you need to do is open your eyes. See what I see. Accept your salvation." There was a dead moment while Manifesto switched his gun hand and dug into his jacket pocket.
Milena grumbled. "Why do I get the feeling everybody's not here for a super awesome adult slumber party?"
I snorted. "Never a dull moment."
"I should have known." I could've sworn she smiled.
Manifesto withdrew papers into view. "My ciphers," he said, unfolding one. "Unlike the authorities, I kill out of necessity. And I bring you proof." He held both edges of the paper so it was unrolled. The first cipher. "You have that?" he asked.
Barring the jerky movement of the nervous cameraman, the focus and zoom adjusted to capture the cipher perfectly, a handwritten strip of paper that looked well worn.
"Next one," said the killer, cycling to another. "And the last." He flashed a third cipher, which to my knowledge hadn't been released yet. It was also worn, which meant he'd planned these long ago. Manifesto stacked the papers and shoved them into the news anchor's chest. "Take these," he demanded. "Refuse to shut your eyes against the cold light. Take these, know the truth, and live."
She nodded frantically. Manifesto looked around again. People scrambled in the distance. The killer reached toward the camera and jerked it. "You—you're coming with me." The view swung to the sidewalk.
"No... Please!" said the man.
"Come. With. Me!" The video flashed to black.
As the program returned to the stud
io, the two anchors took a heavy breath and turned to each other with practiced concern. "It's... it's uncanny," said the female host.
"That it is," said the man who'd introduced the segment. "And the latest word from police is that this Manifesto Killer is still at large with the kidnapped cameraman as a potential hostage."
"Our hearts go out to his family."
"Yeah," said Evan, phone back to his ear, "I've seen it. Did your perimeter go up in time?"
I lowered the TV volume as Evan spoke. It sounded like he was going through the police grapevine more than official channels, but his info was likely to be better than whatever the media reported. Besides, the talking heads were just speculating now. They returned to live coverage of the scene. Several police cars lined the block, red and blues flashing. The camera zoomed in on Special Agent Rita Bell asking the locals questions. This was turning into a shitshow, and the FBI's immediate presence all but confirmed Manifesto's claims. The media was gonna have a field day with this one.
I rewound the TV to catch the ciphers again. I paused on the first. It was grainy.
"That's the one we already have," said Fran, pulling out a folded paper.
"Where'd you get that?" asked Emily.
"You were all looking at a stack of them the other night," she said. "I've been trying to solve it for the last two days."
"Fran!"
I printed the second cipher from the image on my phone. I handed the paper to her. "Kasper says the more ciphers, the better." Emily didn't look happy. I paused the TV on the second and confirmed the match—Manifesto was showing these in order. The chronology was important. I played to the next one and paused several times, failing to get a good image.
"Don't bother," said Evan, rejoining the group. He was browsing on his phone. "The three ciphers are all over the internet. There's already a 4chan group trying to crack it. This was a bold move that got a lot of attention, which is exactly what Manifesto wanted. With this kind of mystique and the group computing power of the internet, it's only a matter of time before the ciphers are solved."
I gritted my teeth.
"He's right," said Fran. "Look, the third one's right here." She held up her phone too.
"Are they gonna catch him?" I asked Evan.
He worked his jaw. "Ten square blocks are closed off. The problem is it's a busy area with lots of pedestrians. It won't be easy to find anyone in there."
"What about us?" asked Darcy, suddenly motivated by the development. "We can go find him."
He scoffed. "Nobody's going in right now. This is a citywide emergency."
"He's right," I said. "Let the police find him."
"But—"
"We know he's not going down without a fight," I explained. "It's kill or be killed for him now."
Evan shook his head. "With the amount of heat out there, he doesn't have a chance."
"I think our focus should be the ciphers. We need to solve them before anybody else."
"Fat chance," said Kasper. He reclined the massage chair just as someone knocked on the door again.
"Ooh, more party peeps," said Milena. "I'll get it."
"Wait." I furrowed my brow, going over everyone here. Who else could it be?
Milena cocked her head and glared. "You didn't invite a date to a 'chill platonic bros' night, did you?"
"Would serve you right for that Gavin stunt," I quipped.
"Ha, ha."
I approached the door just in time to hear a rustle. I checked the peephole. It was blocked. "Who is it?" No one answered. I peered through again. While I couldn't see the hall, I could make out light straining through some kind of covering. A paper was stuck to the door. "I swear, Carmela, if I get one more HOA warning..."
I flung open the door. The landing was empty as she rounded into the elevator. On second thought, I'd never seen Carmela wear solid black before. I arched an eyebrow at the paper taped to the door exterior. The scrawl wasn't on the usual HOA stationary.
"What the... Carmela?"
I stepped into the hallway and approached the elevator. As the doors closed, I locked eyes with the lone passenger. Wide eyes, like dinner plates.
Chapter 39
I lunged at the double metal doors, but they shut on me.
"It's him!" I warned.
I tickled the shadow. Two hooks grabbed the doors and forced them open. The elevator car had its own set of doors and rapidly descended. I reached at it with another hook but it dropped below the floor.
My friends spilled into the hallway. "Who?" cried Evan, pistol in hand.
"Manifesto."
"Here?"
"Yes!" I pounded the call button and watched the floor indicators to see where he stopped. The elevator plummeted toward the ground floor. The second elevator was also descending but stopping at every floor on the way down. "He must've pushed all the buttons and sent an empty car down before calling the other. We're stuck here."
"You're sure it was him."
"Yes. Except he had a black jacket on. No more hoodie."
Evan was immediately on his phone and reporting the development.
Milena huddled at my door, afraid to come out. "We just saw him on TV. How could he be here so fast?"
"That was half an hour ago," pointed out Darcy. "He fled the police raid, freaked out, and did the first thing he could think of to get attention."
I nodded. "I agree that he's desperate—he wouldn't come here if he wasn't—but this isn't panic. He had forty minutes to gather his resources. He had that third cipher ready. This is part of something."
"Got it," said Evan, hanging up the phone and uselessly pressing the elevator call button. "Help is on the way. I'm gonna go down and coordinate as they arrive."
"Not without me," I said.
"Suit yourself."
Everybody stood in the small landing and awkwardly watched the elevator light. Manifesto's elevator was already on the way back up. It finally arrived and Evan and I entered, telling the others to keep safe. On the way down, annoyed residents piled in, having likewise been blocked from elevator access the last few minutes. We smiled pleasantly but impatiently until everybody spilled out at the bottom.
The lobby transitioned from hip lounge couture to bustling command center very quickly. Police all over the city were alerted to the new threat and they made the spacious lobby look more crammed than the elevator had been. It was a madhouse, much to the dismay of the residents.
We approached another Lieutenant. Evan shook his hand. "How you doing, Lucky?"
"Not so lucky, actually. I was in the middle of taking a shit. They say you saw this guy?"
"I did," I said. "Right before the elevator closed."
Evan chimed in. "He's in a black jacket now. No hood."
"We got that," said Lucky. "It belonged to the cameraman. He's probably dead in the trunk of a car somewhere. What did our guy do up there?"
I shrugged and hurried for a cover. "He was trying to get in, I think. He made some noise and left. That was it." I realized I'd left the letter taped to the front door.
"Did anyone see him on the way out?" asked Evan.
"Not so far. We're checking security footage."
"The elevator stopped on the ground floor and the garage floors too," I added. "He was smart and covered his exit point."
"We'll check them all," he said with a nod.
"It also stopped on the tenth floor," noted Evan.
"You think he's still in the building?"
"It's possible, but it's more likely it was a random resident stop. It might be smart to track them down."
Lucky nodded. They continued discussing police procedure. I kind of tuned out at some point because I noticed Simon Feigelstock in the frenetic lobby. I stepped aside and made my way over. He waited for me in a quiet alcove beside locked glass doors leading to the street-front coffee shop. It was closed this late at night and gave us a nice spot to chat out of traffic.
"There you are," he said, frowning at me. "Look a
t this gong show."
"What can I do? The man practically knocked on my front door."
Simon hissed and watched officers march past. "The last thing we need is spectacle. You shouldn't have called the cops here. This is getting out of hand."
"I hope you're not blaming me," I warned. "You brought me into this investigation unaware you were being surveilled. You pulled me into Manifesto's crosshairs. One investigator's dead. One ran. That leaves me and mine as targets. My picture was in his apartment. Manifesto was already in the news. The police presence here won't change anything."
The Society enforcer almost apologized after considering that. I never got the pleasure because Carmela Flores ambushed us.
"Mr. Suarez, did you bring this mess to us?"
I sighed. "I didn't bring anything. The police are looking for a criminal."
"Is it you?" she snapped.
"Ugh," I said out loud.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of those strange people you keep bringing around. I've warned you about them. I could start eviction proceedings."
"You know, Carmela, that blond officer over there"—I pointed to Evan—"was asking to talk to someone in charge. He said he had really important questions for really important people with really important fake jobs. Like the head of a condo homeowner's association, for instance."
I'd already lost her attention by the time I got to the last part. She straightened and eyed my friend from a distance. "Oh, yes. I'd like to give him a piece of my mind about how to conduct oneself in a community lobby."
"He'd be really interested in that," I said, but she was already loping his way. I was so frustrated with her I almost sobbed in relief.
Simon snickered. "She giving you a hard time, huh? This kind of stuff is why you need to align with people like us."
"Not to mention perks like being hunted by a serial killer."
He pressed his lips together. "Have to admit, didn't see that one coming. Do the police have evidence of the organization?"
"No, but the dry cleaner is blown. Pics of Shen and Diana there and at a house. He caught me there too, but there's no proof of association. Right now I'm floating the theory that Manifesto turned on me while I was getting a shirt pressed. That should fly as long as nothing else gets revealed."
