Betrayal: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 2)

by Blou Bryant

  After a little over two hours, Jeff reappeared. Wyatt assumed it was to check his work, but instead it was to find out why he wasn’t on break.

  “I’ll just keep going,” Wyatt said.

  “Can’t do that, gotta take a break, it’s in the contract. Thirty minutes.”

  “But…” Wyatt started to say when Jeff took the mop from his hand and pushed the bucket into the janitor’s room. He shrugged when they passed by Hannah and said, “So, thirty-minute break?” Jeff looked at him like he was a bit slow.

  The cafeteria was a large open room that bustled with police, lawyers and their clients and various workers. He got a coffee and sat in a corner with the other cleaners. The cooks sat at a different table as did a group of construction workers at yet another. It was as if he’d never left high school.

  Two of the other cleaners tried to engage him in conversation, but he kept quiet, preferring to enjoy feeling normal. So this is how people live, he thought to himself as he listened to them talk about wives, husbands, sports teams and shows they’d seen online. Their worries seemed so trivial; he was jealous.

  As he picked at a dry muffin, he glanced around but didn’t see anyone in the room who looked like the people he was searching for. He had started to wonder if they should give up when Hannah’s voice came through his earbud.

  “I’ve got some. Get back here,” she said.

  He stood up and excused himself, pointing to his phone when Jeff asked where he was going. “Got a call to make,” he said.

  “Who, where?” he whispered to Hannah through their phones. At the stairs, he took them two at a time, got to the top and paused. Oops, he thought, realizing he hadn’t followed his usual pattern. He ran back down and started over. He took the first, and then skipped the even numbered stairs.

  “Phone identified him as Jason Garnett, I recognized him from yesterday.”

  “Did he spot you?”

  “I pulled my hoodie up when I saw him walk in. Two other guys with him.”

  Wyatt had reached the main room. He stood in the middle and looked around.

  “Get your bucket, you’re too obvious,” Hannah said in his ear, “And don’t run.”

  Despite being filled with nervous energy, he forced himself to dawdle back to the closet where he filled his bucket as quickly as he could. “Which ones are they?” he asked her as he waited.

  “No,” she said.

  “What?” asked Wyatt, confused.

  “Please leave me alone.”

  “But you said…”

  A moment later, she said, “Sorry, some guy sat down next to me. Creepy, so I moved. The guys I saw are all in black. Wearing slacks, leather jackets and dress shoes, no ties. They went through the second door on the right before the end of the hallway. Ugh.”

  “Ugh?”

  “Creepy guy is still staring at me.”

  Wyatt pushed his bucket back into the hallway and returned to the waiting area. After a quick scan of the room, he whispered, “Green jeans and a black hoodie?”

  When she confirmed it, he lazily swung his mop back and forth across the floor. He watched the people coming and going, pacing himself. When he saw two officers come in through the door, he let the mop go too far, and sloshed water over the guy’s runners and up his pants. “Oh, God, sorry, sir,” he said.

  “What the hell?” the man said and got up, angry.

  “Didn’t mean to, you had your feet out.”

  “You stinking piece of dirt,” the man said and gave Wyatt a shove. Wyatt stepped back and was rewarded when, seconds later, the two officers threw the man to the ground. He struggled, yelling that Wyatt had got him wet and received a taser to his back for his trouble. It was all over in seconds, his twitching body quickly pulled away by the officers.

  A third policewoman arrived and asked Wyatt if he was okay.

  “It’s my first day, does this happen often?”

  “Sure it does, barf and bucket, you get all the special ones,” the officer said. “Do we need to file a report before you leave?” Something in her voice said she didn’t want to file a report.

  “Leave? A report?”

  “You’re not going home?” asked the officer. “Usually people go home if something bad happens. Gotta file a report to leave on stress or injury.”

  “But… I’m not stressed or injured. Why would I go home?”

  She raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine by me, can you send me an email later saying that I offered, and you chose to stay at work?”

  Wyatt agreed, took the officers card and returned to his mop work with a brief smile in Hannah’s direction. “Better?” he asked.

  “I could have dealt with him,” was the whispered reply, “But thanks. What are we doing about the others?”

  “Do you have their pictures?”

  “Somewhere, but I don’t know how to find them on the phone or send them to you. They’re in the back somewhere, we have to wait for them to come back out.”

  That didn’t work for Wyatt. He wasn’t there to find them; he knew how to find dealers, he knew where their base was and he knew at least two places they dealt from. What he wanted to know was who in the police ran them.

  He worked his way towards the end of the hallway and slowed as he approached the door that Hannah had identified. A quick pull on it revealed it was locked, so he swiped his badge, but the reader showed red. He wasn’t authorized.

  No matter, he thought and slowed his work, focusing on an imaginary spot on the ground, pushing the mop back and forth. He was rewarded for his patience when the door opened and two officers stepped through. He held it open for them and kept his head down, not that it mattered, they didn’t even acknowledge him. As they left, he walked through the open door.

  “Describe them,” he whispered to Hannah.

  “Are you crazy? Where are you going?”

  “That’s not a description.”

  “You really are. Tall, all three. Young, our age, hair full of product, clean shaven. I don’t know, just guys, they looked like jerks from school, you know the type, they think they’re some big thing, but they ain’t.”

  Wyatt wandered the halls, using his mop to push the bucket in front of him as he glanced as nonchalantly as possible up and down the rows of cubicles. None of the cops paid him any attention. As he rounded a corner, he almost ran into an old man pushing an identical bucket.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Wyatt blanked out.

  “Lunch time already? You’re new, where’s Ivan?”

  “Ivan?” asked Wyatt and then recovered. “Jeff said you could use an earlier break, so he sent me up.”

  The old man shrugged his slumped shoulders and said, “Get the bathrooms, will you?” He pointed down the hallway. “They’s messy today, was going to leave them for Ivan.”

  “Okay.”

  “Still, seems early for lunch.”

  “Take a long one,” Wyatt said. “I guess they’re working the new guy extra hard.”

  “Huh. Suppose so,” the other man said, pushed the bucket against the wall and with that, walked off, leaving it where it sat.

  It took another five minutes to find the three he was looking for; they were visible in a side office through half pulled shades. A bitter looking plain-clothes officer stood outside the door.

  “Identify,” Wyatt whispered.

  Frank Vincent, fifty-four, Investigator, Detroit Police Services. Divorced, frequent pornography user.

  Nice, thought Wyatt and said, “mark” under his breath. He slowly cleaned the hallway, listening as best he could. The office wasn’t soundproof, but he wasn’t able to hear any details of the conversation, and couldn’t linger as long as he’d like. Someone sounded angry, but he couldn’t see who it was. Vincent stepped back as Wyatt mopped the floor he’d been standing on.

  “How’re you doing,” he asked, his voice high and reedy.

  Wyatt glanced up, surprised. This was the f
irst cop to notice him other than the one who’d left him alone when he’d agreed to not file a complaint. “Um, good, thanks.”

  “Looks clean already.”

  Wyatt stopped. “Well, I suppose I have to clean it anyway.”

  “I suppose you do.”

  The door opened and the three men in black stepped out. Wyatt didn’t bother capturing them with his camera, he was too close and would be heard no matter how quietly he said, ‘identify.’ He didn’t recognize them, but it wasn’t important anyhow, Hannah would already have them on her phone.

  The one in the middle pointed to the officer still in the room. “Next time, do it right, do you understand? Do it like I told you.” He turned to leave and saw Wyatt staring at him. “What the hell are you looking at?”

  Wyatt didn’t reply, looked to the ground and listlessly swished his mop back and forth.

  “Stupid janitor, learn English,” he said and walked past Wyatt, letting his shoulder make contact. “Loser.” The three stalked off, two of them with bags in hand. Black ones, like the one Ira and Ari had taken the day before, both stretched wide, full of something. Money, thought Wyatt, or drugs.

  An officer came to the door and waved Vincent in. “We’re done, wipe the sourpuss look off your face.”

  Wyatt whispered, “Identify.”

  Yanik Ultov, forty-nine, Sergeant, Detroit Police Services. Married, good credit.

  The door closed and Wyatt wheeled his bucket back to the exit. “Hannah,” he said. “Can you text Custer, get me out of here?”

  “You’ve got five hours left on your shift,” she replied with a chuckle.

  Wyatt gave her a scowl as he returned to the main hallway. She smiled primly back at him. Despite her comment, she’d followed through. It was only minutes later that Jeff showed up, a scowl on his face to match Wyatt’s own. “I got a text from the union. We gotta let you go, follow me,” he said.

  The two returned to the bowels of the building, Jeff apologizing as they walked. “It’s probably just politics, I bet they’re trying to teach whoever got you the job a lesson. Not your fault.”

  Edward was equally apologetic. Wyatt signed a couple forms, they promised that he’d get his three hours’ wages deposited in two weeks, and after taking his identity card back, they escorted him to the back door. It was strange to him, he felt shamed as the older man walked him out. “I’m sorry, guys, I tried to do my best.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. You’ll land on your feet; someone has your back.”

  With a handshake and a sad smile, Edward let Wyatt out the back door.

  Chapter 14

  Hannah met him out front of the police station and the two quickly found a bus to take them back to the restaurant. It was deserted even though lunch was only a half hour away. Henry flashed them a big smile when they arrived and brought coffees over to Custer’s table.

  The large man was firmly ensconced in a pile of newspapers with a heaping plate of french fries in front of him. “You’re back early. I hear you got fired,” he said with a toothy grin.

  “Thanks,” replied Wyatt, “I wasn’t looking forward to another four hours of cleaning vomit.”

  “It’s good for you,” said Patterson wryly as he joined them.

  “I know,” said Hannah, “I told him he should finish his shift.”

  “Funny, funny,” said Wyatt. “I got pictures—well, we did—what’s next?”

  Patterson pointed to his tablet. “Already downloaded.”

  “And…”

  “Well, you two marked a lot of people. Here…” he said and passed the tablet to Wyatt. “Which ones?”

  Wyatt flipped through pages of pictures, the five he was looking for were among the last. When he got to the three black-clad men, he tapped on their pictures. “These guys.”

  Hannah pointed to the smaller of the three. “I saw this one at the laundromat. The other two I don’t recognize.”

  Wyatt flicked the page twice more and tapped the two police officers. “This one’s involved somehow, they met with him. It didn’t seem like he was the boss, though, from the way they were talking to him.”

  “I recognize the other one, it’s Frank Vincent,” said Custer.

  “I don’t think he’s part of it, they kept him out of the room while doing their business,” said Wyatt.

  “Really, he always struck me as a bit of a crook,” said Custer with a shrug.

  Patterson highlighted the five pictures, pulled down a menu on the app and selected two options. “This is an app that my friend Seymour made for me to search databases for information about people. It’s what was whispering in your ear when you were scanning people.”

  Wyatt leaned in to look. “It’s creepy,” he said, remembering how some of the targets were categorized earlier. “The thing knows way too much and the way it labels people is freakishly weird.”

  With a sip of coffee, Patterson nodded in agreement. “Here we go,” he said, and the screen filled with information about the first candidate. He scrolled down. Wyatt tried to read the information upside down, but it moved too fast. It didn’t matter though, suddenly the screen went blank. Patterson swiped right, left, and looked at his tablet, puzzled. “Huh,” he said.

  “What?” asked Hannah.

  “Stopped working,” he said, and then his phone rang. Patterson raised an eyebrow and glanced around the bar. He slid the bar to the right, took the call but didn’t say anything at first. In the relative silence, Wyatt heard another voice but couldn’t make out what the other person said. When Patterson held the phone up and turned it in a slow circle, he figured out who it was. Seymour.

  The phone switched to speaker. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re checking some names.”

  “Against my database? Stop.”

  “Why?” asked Patterson.

  “These guys are different, they’re protected and you’ll end up getting me into trouble if people know my software is looking them up.”

  Wyatt leaned over the table, his face up to the phone Patterson was holding out to the group. “Seymour, we need to know who these people are.”

  “Need, always with the need. You don’t need this. I erased you and your friend and gave you new identities. That’s all I can do.”

  “Is it all you can do, or all you will do? Our friends are hostages.”

  They stared at the phone as Seymour was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t know that. Still, lots of people want help and I can’t save them all.”

  Wyatt doubted that the man spent a lot of time on serving others. “Who do you help? Who have you saved? Anyone at all?”

  “Do you have any idea who’s after you?”

  “Yes, I do. Rich people. Criminals, gangsters, crooked cops. Powerful people who do whatever they want, and who see me and my friends as small obstacles to be swept aside. Well, I’m not going to go easily.”

  “Everyone thinks they’re a hero. Nobody really is.”

  “Three years ago they came for me,” he said, although that was stretching the truth. Wyatt stood and put both hands on the desk. “Hannah and I fought our way across three states. We broke into a military base and destroyed a super AI that went insane, taking down one of the richest people in America at the same time. Come on, join us, be a hero.”

  A long silence was followed by the phone clicking off. A moment later, a simple text arrived. “Stay there, loudmouth and keep your phone on.”

  “Loudmouth?”

  Hannah chuckled and poked Custer in the side. “We all know who he meant,” she said.

  The older man bellowed with laughter and waved to Henry. “Bring us a couple ploughman’s lunches,” he said.

  “So what, sit and eat?”

  Patterson shushed him. “Trust Seymour. He said to not talk about it.”

  The other three lapsed into a genial conversation about reality stars, new shows and who the best late night host was. Wyatt had no interest in any of it. When two plates of mixed che
ese, bread, and pickled eggs and onions arrived, he ignored them while the other three talked and laughed.

  He considered browsing the net, but everyone else had their phones put away and it seemed rude. Absentmindedly, Wyatt picked at the plates, taking some cheese and bread. This down, he popped two onions in his mouth and got up. Some lanky guy was racking up balls on one of the pool tables. “Want a game?”

  The other man looked him up and down and gave a half nod. “What’s the stakes?”

  “Nothin, it’s a game, for the fun of it.”

  The other man grinned and stretched out a hand. “Nick, and that’s my sort of stakes.” he said.

  Because why not, Wyatt responded, “I’m Wyatt.” He saw the others were watching. They gaped at him in alarm at his use of his real name, but he ignored them. “What do you do, Nick?” he said and chalked his cue.

  “Not much of anything. Today’s payday for nothing.”

  “For nothing?”

  “Equalization payment day… welfare,” he said when Wyatt looked confused. “Today’s the first of the month,” Nick said. “You work?” he asked, as if that was unlikely.

  “Nope.”

  “But no money?”

  “Meh,” Wyatt said and waved to the table as Nick stepped back, the balls racked.

  “You go, no cash on the table, you can break.”

  Wyatt laughed. “Too true.” Fair play was easier when there wasn’t skin in the game. He moved the white ball a touch right of center, took aim and opened the table. The mass of balls scattered. One high went to the top left pocket and a low to the middle right.

  “Nice,” said Nick.

  Wyatt looked over the table, the high balls were mostly all together in the middle, the low ones scattered over the table. “I’ll take low,” he said and walked around the table, planning out his next shot, chalking his cue as he walked. The four ball was sitting right by a side pocket, he touched it lightly and it dropped, the white rolling up the table, giving him a clear line to a corner shot.

  “Glad there’s no money on this,” his opponent said as Wyatt sunk the corner and spun the ball back across the table, giving him another corner. He hit it hard, sinking it and driving the white up table.