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

by Blou Bryant

  All three tensed as they reached the first floor, and the doors opened. There was a skinny blonde woman with a Chihuahua sticking out of a jewel encrusted pink purse. She looked at them with dead eyes.

  “Going down,” said Wyatt. He put a hand out to stop her from joining them as Seymour stepped out and walked away quickly, without a look back. Hannah was already pressing hard on the close door button.

  Soon they were in the van, Hannah at the wheel this time. She left the van on automatic, but kept both hands on the wheel, ready to take control at a moment’s notice. They rounded corner after corner as they climbed from the 4th basement level to the exit.

  “Where to?” Hannah asked.

  “Back to the restaurant,” Wyatt said. “We need to warn Patterson and Custer.”

  Hannah entered the address in the GPS. “Should we call them? How bad is this? She knows everything.”

  “We can’t trust the phones and, I don’t know how bad it is,” he replied. That’s what scared him most.

  Chapter 16

  They barely made it out. As the van exited the parking garage, it had to pull over and stop to allow three police cars right of way. It was a tense moment for the pair as the police blocked off the exit to the tower, directly behind them.

  The painters’ van sat there, only twenty feet away, but the police didn’t come for them and after what seemed an eternity, the van started up again and slowly, too slowly, left the scene. That was a relief. “Jessica doesn’t know everything,” he said, “for instance, she didn’t know we arrived in this van.”

  “You better hope so. Just because they aren’t here yet doesn’t mean they aren’t coming. What she knows depends on what Joe—it—shares with her.”

  “How the hell does that work?” he asked. “I mean, how much of him downloaded into her, and how much she does she control him.”

  Hannah shrugged. “I have no idea, but I bet that’s how she’s became so powerful so quick, she’s working with an AI, it’s how she knows so much.”

  “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “But the way they went back and forth; I don’t think she gets everything she wants. I suspect his original programming is still intact, at least partially.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If she had control of him, full control, she would have found us years ago. We’d be dead already. He mentioned our agreement, so he’s kept that, it’s gotta be him, because she wouldn’t, she’s a psychopath, she’d lie, she’d break any deal that wasn’t any good for her anymore.”

  The van made a turn, and they closed in on the restaurant. Wyatt was still thinking about how it might work inside Jessica’s crazy head. “Joe wanted everyone to be happy. That was the core programming, it was how the military thought they’d keep him under control, but it’s also what drove him crazy.”

  “He still is crazy. That was freaky, her arguing with him like that.”

  “At least they’re arguing, not that she needed to be any more nuts than she already was,” he said as the van turned the last corner. “Stop here!” he ordered the car.

  The restaurant was surrounded, police cars only yards in front of them. He took in the scene, pushed the off button and got out. None of the police noticed him, their eyes and guns were trained on the front of the building.

  “Come on,” he said to Hannah, who hesitated, still in the seat, her eyes on the blockade. She looked at him, her pupils large, and clambered out of his side. As they left the car behind, he took her hand and walked them away from the restaurant, and across the street. They took a spot among the crowd that had gathered to watch the confrontation.

  “What’s going on?” he asked two twentysomethings.

  “Dunno. Cops screamed up, like ten minutes ago. Four guys left and were arrested right away,” the girl said and pointed at two of the police cars. Wyatt saw Henry and Nick in the back seat of one. In another car, he saw the two painters. He hoped there was more than a couple dollars on the cash cards he’d given them, they deserved it.

  A warm rain started to fall, but the crowd remained. Everybody wanted to see how it would end. Wyatt was torn. They should leave but Patterson and Custer were inside, about to be arrested, or worse.

  Hannah poked him and held out her phone. “The twins are in trouble.”

  He looked down, a text on the screen only said, “911. Police @ park.” With a curse, he looked back to the restaurant. Some of the officers were moving, getting into position to storm the restaurant.

  “There’s nothing we can do here,” she said. “We should go.”

  He shook his head and pointed to where the police were moving, two lines of armored officers inching forward on each side of the restaurant. “We’re staying.”

  One officer on each side leaned in and stuck a small device on the window. With the push of a button, an explosion blew it out. Two officers fired into the restaurant with devices that looked like small rocket launchers. Seconds later, there were two loud bangs and flashes inside the building and the officers stormed in.

  Wyatt felt like he had been punched in the stomach as the sound of gunfire - pop - pop - pop - came from across the street. “Oh, God,” was all he could manage. The crowd made oohs and aahs as if watching fireworks on the fourth.

  He pushed forward, past the crowd, ignoring complaints as he forced his way through. One man turned to him with anger and backed down at the look in Wyatt’s eyes. As he cleared the crowd, a large hand stopped him. He took his eyes from the restaurant and was shocked to find himself staring at the officer he’d seen earlier in the day.

  “Stay back,” the other man said, hesitated and stared at Wyatt for a moment. “You’re the cleaner. From the office.”

  Wyatt held his breath and tried to think. That didn’t work.

  “What are you doing here?” As he took in Wyatt’s clothing, he asked, “So, you were a janitor in the morning, now you’re a painter? Industrious.”

  Wyatt started to reply, then stopped. He still had no clue what to say, so instead counted to five. That didn’t work, so he did it again and took a deep breath. “Hi,” he said. “No, you must have mistaken me for someone else.”

  “That’s not likely,” Vincent said. “I never forget a face, but I didn’t get your name earlier. Who are you?”

  “No,” replied Wyatt. There wasn’t time for this, and he looked frantically back to the storefront. Custer was being dragged out, his hands handcuffed behind his back. He was screaming something towards the restaurant, as the police holding him struggled to keep him moving.

  The cop holding him wasn’t watching. “Answer the question, what are you doing here?”

  Hannah joined them, “Honey, what’s going on?” she asked in her most innocent voice.

  “You know him?”

  “Sure, Officer. He’s my boyfriend.”

  “What’s his name, he’s not talking.”

  “Oh, he’s a bit autistic. Not always good at social interactions,” she replied. “Jeff. He’s Jeff, my boyfriend, Jeff,” she lied.

  Vincent glanced back and forth between them. “Uh-huh,” not buying it. “You’re a painter too?”

  Hannah blanched at that, recovered and tugged at Wyatt. “Yes, both of us are. Gotta go to work. Come on, honey, let the nice police officer do his job.”

  Wyatt didn’t move and stared as Custer was forced—hard—into the back of a police car. When a stretcher was wheeled into the restaurant by two paramedics, he pushed past Vincent and yelled, “No.”

  The Officer grabbed him by the arm and spun him back, he was stronger than Wyatt expected, despite his soft belly and scruffy appearance. “You can’t get to him, and even if you could, trust me, you don’t want to.” He took Wyatt by both shoulders and pulled him close enough that they were eye to eye.

  Wyatt struggled and looked at the other man with anger, hatred even. “You crooked cops shot my friend, fine, hold me back, but I’ll make you pay.”

  “Crooked, eh? Tell me, loudmouth, the gu
ys in the restaurant, are they friends of yours? How do you know them?”

  “You know that I do, don’t you?” Wyatt replied, feeling nothing but hate. “It’s why you’re here.”

  Vincent held him firm, but gave him a puzzled look, “What the hell does that mean? What do you think’s going on?”

  Two paramedics rushed a stretcher out of the restaurant. Patterson was on it, a third paramedic on top of him, his hands pressed down on the old man’s chest. They were moving quickly, two police officers jogging next to them, one with his weapon still drawn. Wyatt twisted out of Vincent’s grip and tried to run towards his friend, but was grabbed and tossed to the ground. In only a couple seconds, his hands were behind him and the Officer had one knee on his back. He felt cuffs snap shut on each wrist and despite his struggles, he couldn’t move.

  “Don’t fight, it only makes it worse,” Vincent said, and Wyatt could feel him lean in. In a quieter voice, “I’m old, mean and been doing this for almost thirty years. Don’t fight me.”

  The man’s breath, a mix of tobacco and breath mints with undertones of rot, made Wyatt want to recoil. Instead, he said, “Have you been crooked for thirty years too? Been shooting people to protect your drug business for that long?”

  The other man hesitated for a moment and rolled Wyatt over, still straddling him, preventing him from moving. Eyes that Wyatt had thought were dull and dead now had a sparkle to them. “What drug business?” he said in a low growl.

  Wyatt returned the stare, and wondered, was Vincent not part of the conspiracy? Could he tell him what was going on, could he trust him? He looked around, several people had their phones out, but they focused on the restaurant. A shooting and explosions won out over a routine arrest.

  As he considered sharing, over the cop’s shoulder, he noticed Hannah had moved close, one hand out as she prepared to incapacitate him. Wyatt caught her eye and shook his head. To Vincent, he asked, “Is your partner here?”

  “He’s leading the operation,” the other man said and hauled Wyatt to his feet. He looked back behind him and pushed Wyatt away from the scene. “You got something to share, but not in front of people?” he correctly guessed. “Nobody’ll notice if I’m gone for a few. You too, girl.”

  The three rounded the corner and then ducked into an alley. There was someone against a door, wrapped in a sleeping bag. Vincent gave him a kick. “Get out of here,” he said and the homeless man gathered his bags and skulked off, cursing under his breath. “What’d you say?” Vincent called after him. “Find a toilet and wipe yourself down, you piece of crap.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” asked Wyatt. He didn’t like this guy.

  “Whatever. Tell me about the drugs.”

  Wyatt leaned against the wall to get as far back from the cop as he could. It wasn’t far enough, the hot breath washing over him. Still, a bad ally was better than none. “Your partner runs with dealers. I was following them and that’s when I met you, outside the room where they were taking drugs from him.”

  “I don’t believe you, he’s too much of a pussy to be a dealer.”

  “Wrong. He’s in charge of them.”

  The cop laughed. “Now I know you’re an idiot. He’s not in charge of his own ass, much less a drug business, he’s a follower.” With a hard jerk, he pulled Wyatt off the wall and dismissed him, “You’re just a dumb kid, you don’t know nothing.”

  Hannah put a hand on him and he looked down at her, dismissively. “What are you going to do, sweet cheeks? You got a weapon on you, going to take me on?”

  “You’re revolting,” she said and closed her eyes.

  Wyatt pushed in-between them, breaking her connection. “Okay, perhaps he’s not in charge, but the bags they bring have tons of cash and cash cards. We took one, it had drugs in it too. Lots of Nytro. The guys he met with deal it, they’re taking over from all the other gangs. I haven’t figured out how your partner is involved, but they’re bringing him something.”

  Vincent pulled him close and stared deep into his eyes as if he could find the truth in them. He thought about it and said, “Cash, eh? That makes more sense. So, what’s your part in this? I don’t figure you for a rival gang.”

  Wyatt considered being obstinate, his go-to reaction but the cop could be of use, so he lied, “The gang hurt our brother and we want payback.”

  “That’s a good story, probably not true, but I don’t care. What about the restaurant, why are you here, why did he raid it?”

  Wyatt didn’t have a lie ready and looked to Hannah for help. She said, “Your corrupt friend works for people in high places, they went after the owners ‘cause they helped us.”

  The cop nodded. “Now that sounds possible.” He pulled a bubble gum wrapper out of his pocket, wrote a number on it and stuffed it into Wyatt’s pocket. “If you find anything, give me a call.”

  “And why should I? Why would you bother doing anything, or do you want the money for yourself?”

  “Stupid kids, you don’t care, but believe it or not, there is right and wrong in the world. If my partner is dirty, he deserves to be taken down.”

  With that, he turned Wyatt around and uncuffed him.

  “That’s it? You’re letting us go?”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “What did you think would happen?”

  “I reported a crime.”

  “What, do you figure I’d run over there and arrest my senior partner on your say-so? You got a lot of learning.”

  “So you’re going to do nothin?”

  Vincent spat on the ground and grunted. “Kids,” he said and walked away.

  Chapter 17

  It’d been five hours since Ari and Ira had returned from the restaurant, and a grab bag of spy tools and weapons was stashed behind a ceiling tile in the HUC. They’d wandered to the park to see Shazam, only to find themselves, and everyone else, surrounded by police.

  Ira didn’t turn, her eyes straight ahead at the mass of people in front of them, but she let her sister know she was angry through the mental connection that was ever present between them. Pathing, as they’d called it since they were young, worked best with feelings and impressions—details were harder. She whispered under her breath, “Didn’t you tell them there was trouble?”

  Ari whispered back, “Yes, I did and they didn’t reply. Do you need to look to believe me?” She held out the phone and responded with a wave of exasperation.

  Ira hated when her sister pathed like that, it was like a mental whatever. A grubby man pushed at her from behind, either to cop a feel or to get to the front of the mob, she didn’t know. She pivoted, and her elbow deliberately connected with his gut. “Oh, sorry,” she said and stepped away from him.

  The anger was brief as her sister switched to confusion. Ira understood that and returned the feeling, she felt the same. They weren’t always aligned, they often weren’t, but this was as good time as any for confusion.

  The police had only surrounded the park thirty minutes earlier and were now moving in. Dressed from head to toe in black riot gear, they were ready for a fight. The front row had night sticks in one hand and large clear shields in the other, banging the first into the second, creating fear and confusion among the residents of the park. Over a bullhorn, one had told the residents of the park to disperse. “This is a reclamation zone, disperse at once.”

  “Bullshit,” someone yelled. “It’s an abandoned zone, you ain’t reclaiming nothin. You left it, and now it’s ours!”

  “It’s our home,” someone bellowed over a bullhorn. Ira recognized the voice, it was Shazam. How’d he got a bullhorn, she wondered. It didn’t take her long to spot him, even in the mass of people, he was held up by two men close to the front of the mob.

  “What’s he doing?” she asked her sister.

  Ari shrugged and walked towards him, pathing her sister to follow. The two weaved between citizens of the tent city, many of whom were gathering up whatever belongings they had. Others had makeshift
weapons in hand, ready for a fight.

  Ira found herself woozy all of a sudden. The neural enhancing pills they’d taken minutes before were kicking in. Wobbling, she pushed forward, caught up and grabbed her sister’s shoulder to hold herself up. Not a bad thing, the drugs kicking in. The things were good for partying but were also used for concentration by students and bankers and almost everyone who could get their hands on them.

  The people around them came back into focus, this time brighter and clearer. Conversations she’d processed subconsciously were now available to her conscious. Everything going on was clearer. It wasn’t all good though; her enhanced senses helped her smell the citizens of tent city much better now.

  “Pinkies kick in?” asked her sister.

  “A little jolt, like always, you?” she said and kept walking. She pushed one large guy out of the way, when he turned to her in anger and saw a young, pretty woman, he grinned dumbly. Given nothing more than an angelic smile, he pushed two of his friends out of the way to make room for her to pass. Goddamn but men are idiots, she thought.

  As they moved, Ari replied that her pinkie had kicked in as well and, over the beat of the cops, asked, “Where are we going?”

  “I wanna see what Shaz is doing,” she said.

  They arrived at his side moments later. Joshua was next to him, with two of his guards holding Shazam up. “Tell the cops it’s our place,” the director yelled up.

  “It’s our place,” Shazam said through the megaphone.

  “Tell them it’s our home.”

  “It’s our home.” The words echoed out over the massed crowd.

  “And we’re not leaving. They’ll have to kill us.”

  Joshua noticed the two girls and turned to them with a broad grin as Shazam repeated his lines. “You’re with us, I’m so happy to see you here, and we sure can use people like you.” With a glance behind them, he asked “What about Wyatt?”

  Ira shook her head. “He’s in town,” she said, annoyed, she wanted him here too, he’d know what to do. “What’s going on?”