by Alex Siegel
Grim Reflections
Alex Siegel
Grim Reflections
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2013 Alex Siegel
ISBN: 978-1-304-04691-8
Revision 5/23/2013
For information about this book and others in the same series, please visit:
http://www.grayspearsociety.com/
The Gray Spear Society series is a long-running saga. It is recommended that the books be read in a specific order. The current list is:
1. Apocalypse Cult
2. Carnival of Mayhem
3. Psychological Damage
4. Involuntary Control
5. Dead Weakness
6. The Price of Disrespect
7. Tricks and Traps
8. Politics of Blood
9. Grim Reflections
10. Eyes of the World (COMING SOON!)
11. Antisocial Media (COMING SOON!)
Chapter One
Aaron watched Sheryl lift her golf club as she prepared to swing. She looked adorable in a pink shirt, white shorts, and white tennis shoes. The shorts were a little too tight on her muscular butt, but that was probably intentional. She always sought ways to show off her body. Unlike most members of the Gray Spear Society, she loved having an appreciative audience.
When Sheryl had joined the Society back in June, she had been a beautiful woman but thin and weak. It was December now, and she was no longer weak. A brutal daily training regimen had carved away all her fat to expose a body sheathed in taut, flexible muscles. She wasn't a fully trained legionnaire yet, but by normal standards, she was an exceptional athlete and fighter.
She swung her club. Her luxurious, brown hair swirled around her head. Aaron could tell from the sound that she hadn't hit the ball cleanly. It turned hard left and struck a wall. He frowned. He didn't like to see poor performance even when they were just playing a game.
They were golfing in the Golden Oaks Golf Dome which was about twenty miles east of Chicago. The dome was made of white plastic and held up by internal air pressure. The golf range was a hundred yards wide, long, and tall, big enough to practice realistic shots as long as he didn't use a driver. Targets suspended from the ceiling provided a fun way to work on accuracy.
The heated, humidified interior reminded him of a summer that was now a distant memory. Winter had come to Chicago with a vengeance.
Their two companions clapped politely despite the poor quality of the shot. Aaron did the same just so he wouldn't look rude.
He turned to look at them. The Mayor of Chicago, Kevin Daley, was a short, stocky man with a flushed face. A perpetually unhappy expression made him look constipated. His light brown hair was thinning badly on top and needed to be combed. He wore a blue shirt and beige slacks.
Their other companion was the Chicago Chief of Police. He was an African-American with skin the color of coffee beans. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard.
"You're next, Kevin," Aaron said.
"I'd rather watch your assistant play," the mayor replied with a smirk. "I like the way she strokes the ball."
Aaron gave him a stern look.
"Sorry." The mayor walked over to the hitting station.
Sheryl stepped back. She didn't appear embarrassed by his inappropriate comment, but she was good at hiding her feelings. He certainly wasn't her type. She preferred to sleep with young, beautiful women like herself.
Aaron instinctively checked his surroundings for threats. Six police officers stood in a semi-circle to form a protective perimeter. Their assignment was to keep the public away from the mayor. There were other people in the dome, but they were more interested in practicing golf than being a nuisance. The cops looked bored. Aaron didn't see anything suspicious.
The mayor hit a ball and sent it flying high in the air. It landed near a flag in the middle of the range.
"Nice shot," Aaron said. "By the way, I've been seeing you on the news a lot lately."
"It's this damn gun control legislation," the mayor said. "Every idiot and his cousin has an opinion. It seemed like a no-brainer when I proposed it, but now I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. My advisors warned me, too. I was too stubborn to listen."
He hit another ball, and this one hooked slightly.
"I've never quite understood the controversy. The answer seems obvious to me."
Sheryl gave Aaron a curious look. She seemed eager to hear his opinions on gun control.
"What do you mean?" the mayor said.
"The problem isn't guns," Aaron said. "The problem is criminals and lunatics with guns. You just need a stringent gun licensing program that includes deep background checks and tests for mental illness. Mandatory safety training wouldn't hurt, either. People should have to prove beyond a doubt that they can safely own a gun before they get one."
"What about criminals who are caught with illegal guns? What happens to them?"
"Cut off their trigger fingers."
"Huh?" The mayor raised his eyebrows and faced Aaron.
Sheryl snorted. The chief of police grinned.
"The punishment has to be a strong deterrent," Aaron said. "You want crooks to think twice before they pick up a gun. On the second offence, they lose a hand. I promise gun violence would go down in a hurry."
"No doubt," the mayor said, "but for some reason, I think I might have some difficulty getting that proposal passed by the City Council."
Aaron shrugged.
The mayor went back to hitting balls.
The chief of police glanced to either side, leaned towards Aaron, and whispered, "Thank you."
Sheryl came over so she could listen.
"For what?" Aaron said.
"The Spilotro corruption trial," the chief mumbled.
"Yes, I heard there was a break in the case."
"The defense attorney confessed to intimidating witnesses and bribing jurors. Somebody got to him. I assume it was you."
"It's possible we had a brief conversation," Aaron murmured.
"What the hell did you say to him?"
Aaron smiled. "The details aren't important. What matters is that the man saw the light eventually." Or the darkness, he added mentally.
Tawni had been with him during that conversation. Her gift for controlling shadows and slicing things with her sword had made a strong impression on the lawyer. The meeting had taken place at two in the morning in the man's bedroom. He had soiled his sheets before it was over.
"It's probably better I don't know," the chief said. "The city owes you one."
"Yes," Aaron said. "Add it to the list."
The mayor finished hitting balls, and Aaron took his turn. He placed a ball on the fake green grass. He sighted on the flag furthest away, drew his club back, and struck the ball. It sailed straight and true towards the target. The ball rolled to a stop just two feet from the flag. God had given him the ability to spit corrosive acid, and at the same time, Aaron had acquired supernatural accuracy. This talent extended beyond mere skill with guns. He was accurate at everything.
"Gorgeous," the mayor said. "I'd kill to have your game. You really should think about going pro."
Aaron shook his head. "My current profession pays too well."
"I didn't know the pest control business was so lucrative."
"Depends on the pest. Kevin, you know I don't like to talk about work during golf."
"The only time we talk at all is when we're playing golf," the mayor said.
"That's not quite true. As I recall, you called me a few weeks ago with a rather nasty pest problem of your own. Do you want to discuss that now in front of the chief? I'm sure he'd be fascinated by the details of you
r colorful personal life."
The mayor frowned and looked into the distance. "No."
"Let's get back to the golf game."
Aaron hit nine more balls to finish his turn. He produced a nice, tight spray pattern around the target flag. It made him wonder if there was a way to turn a golf club into a real weapon.
The chief of police went next, and from the first shot, Aaron could tell he was off his game. Balls flew left and right randomly. The chief threw his club down in frustration before he even finished his turn.
"Something wrong?" Aaron said.
"Yeah. I can't stop thinking about a murder case. It happened last night. I thought I had seen every kind of sick shit the city had to offer, but this is the worst yet."
Aaron perked up. "Now I'm curious. Tell me about it."
The chief faced Aaron. "This guy broke into the apartment next door and attacked a lone woman. He didn't just rape or murder her. He ate her. He ripped the muscles off her bones with his teeth while she was still alive. The examiner estimated he put down ten pounds of raw meat."
"Cannibalism?" Aaron furrowed his brow.
The chief nodded. "The detectives found a lot of animal bones in the perp's apartment. It looks like he was snatching pets and eating them. I heard the smell was pretty rancid in there. The woman was his first human victim, we hope."
"What happened to the perp?"
"Neighbors heard the screaming, called 911, and units responded. He was shot and killed at the scene. He kept eating right up until the end."
Aaron looked over at Sheryl. She appeared horrified and resigned at the same time. They both knew how they would spend the rest of the day.
"Where was this?" Aaron turned back to the chief.
"Up north near Edgewater Beach. The media is already running with the story. I'll probably have to call a press conference when I get back to the office."
"Good luck." Aaron patted the chief on the shoulder. "I hope you have your best people on the case."
"You don't want to... help?" the chief said.
"Sorry, no. Let's not talk about cannibalism anymore. It upsets me, and we're supposed to be enjoying ourselves." Aaron smiled at Sheryl. "I think it's your turn next."
Chapter Two
Aaron met Sheryl in the lobby of the golf dome. She had changed into a bulky, gray parka, ski pants, mittens, a wool scarf, and a knit cap that covered her ears. Aaron's concession to the bitter weather was a heavy coat, snow boots, and gloves. He prided himself on being "Chicago tough," but it had been an ugly winter so far.
They went outside. A blast of freezing wind whistling past his ears made him wish he had worn a cap like Sheryl. A solid layer of clouds covered the sky like a steel lid. Snow had been plowed to the sides of the parking lot to form piles big enough to sled down. A layer of dangerous, crusty ice remained on the asphalt. Road salt created pools of slush in spots.
"Fuck," Sheryl said. "Are all the Chicago winters like this?"
Aaron shook his head. "No. This is the worst I've ever seen, and I've lived here my whole life."
They ran over to a small, blue sedan parked nearby. He checked the car carefully before getting inside despite the cold. He sat in the driver's seat, and Sheryl sat on the passenger's side. When he turned the key, the engine made an unhappy scraping noise before it finally started.
"Even the car is miserable," she muttered.
He slowly pulled away. He could feel the wheels slipping on the ice as he maneuvered out of the large parking lot. He reached the main street, and the traction improved, allowing him to accelerate. Dirty slush covered the road, but at least it wasn't ice. He wished the car would warm up quicker.
"Cannibalism," Aaron said with a sigh.
"I'm queasy just thinking about it," Sheryl said.
"You're going to be a lot queasier before this is over."
"Do we really have to investigate this, sir? Can't we just let the police take a shot at it first? Isn't that their job?"
He shook his head. "When bad things happen to good people, we must understand why. I'm hoping this is just a freak occurrence, and it means nothing, but I have to be sure. With the twins so close to finishing their project, we can't leave anything to chance."
The drive back to the Rosemont Tower Hotel took twice as long as it should've. Traffic was crawling through streets coated with crusty snow and dark slush. The occasional traffic accident made matters worse. One car had taken down a light pole. Aaron had to fight to keep his temper under control. He had much better things to do than watch incompetent drivers struggle in difficult conditions.
Unwelcome snow was continuing to fall after days of heavy precipitation. He could almost believe God was making some kind of statement, but Aaron had no idea what it might be. He considered putting the question to the Lord directly. The twins, Bethany and Leanna, had His number on speed-dial. No, Aaron thought. I'm not going to bother the Almighty with petty questions about the weather.
Finally, he drove into the parking lot of the hotel. From the outside, the building looked like a featureless glass box. The windows were the color of a new penny, and they fit together almost seamlessly. There were no frames or other external ornamentation. The opaque windows made it hard to count the number of stories, but subtle cues suggested there were twenty, and that was what most people believed. In fact, there were twenty-two.
A parking garage was attached to the side of the hotel. Aaron entered the garage and enjoyed the experience of driving on clean, dry pavement. The garage was full of cars, as usual. A combination of reasonable prices, luxurious accommodations, and proximity to the airport meant the hotel was fully booked all the time. To get a room in the Rosemont Tower, one had to plan well in advance.
Aaron parked in a spot marked, "Reserved for Mr. Berrycloth." The location was isolated and surrounded by plenty of open space. Enemies would have a hard time ambushing him there.
He stepped out into frigid air, but at least he didn't have to trudge through slush. He and Sheryl hurried through the garage to a glass door leading into the hotel. When they stepped inside, the air felt hot, but it was a normal temperature.
They walked down a long hallway to reach the lobby. The carpeting had a pattern of interlocking, golden hexagons on a black background. Stone tiles covered the walls, and golden flecks in the tiles gleamed. Instead of a chandelier, a huge sculpture made of water and glass plates hung from the ceiling. The sound of trickling water mixed with classical background music.
When the doorman saw Aaron's face, he snapped to attention. The hotel staff knew Aaron as the owner, but that was all they knew.
"Mr. Berrycloth!" a man yelled. "I'm glad I caught you!"
Aaron turned and recognized Mr. Rosenblum, the general manager of the hotel. A wispy crown of white hair formed a partial circle on his otherwise bald skull. His silk suit was the color of caramel. A golden tie and a golden handkerchief in his pocket matched the carpeting. He wasn't wearing his usual glasses, and he squinted a little.
"What's wrong?" Aaron said.
Sheryl stood a polite distance away, but she was close enough to overhear the conversation. She began to strip off her winter gear.
"We found some cockroaches in the room where we store dry goods," Rosenblum said.
"There must be a good reason why you're annoying me with this trivial matter," Aaron said, "but I can't imagine what it could be."
"Yes, sir." Rosenblum cleared his throat nervously. "Last month, we shut down the hotel for two weeks for fumigation. They wrapped the whole building and charged us a pretty penny. We shouldn't have cockroaches. Maybe you should demand a refund from the exterminator."
"I'll consider it." Aaron turned away.
"It's funny, sir."
Aaron stopped.
"I visited the hotel during the fumigation just to see what was happening," Rosenblum said in a low voice. "There were a lot of workers and delivery trucks. They were going in and out of the building like honey bees. Some of their equip
ment looked very... technological. Not the sort of thing one would expect from exterminators."
Aaron stared at him. "They were performing security upgrades. It took two weeks to install all the new equipment. Satisfied? And I thought I told you I never wanted to have these kinds of conversations with you."
"Sorry, sir. My curiosity was overwhelming."
Aaron rolled his eyes and continued walking through the lobby. Sheryl jogged to keep up with him.
They eventually entered a small conference room. He turned on a television and entered a special code on a remote. The television switched to a mosaic of surveillance feeds. He studied the images to make sure nobody was following them.
"Why did you tell him that, sir?" Sheryl said. "That was supposed to be a secret."
"I wasn't going to insult his intelligence by lying," Aaron said.
"I'm surprised by your attitude. You're always telling me to protect our secrets."
He sighed. "I hired Mr. Rosenblum. I put him in a situation where he would see things he shouldn't. It's my fault he knows too much."
"Still, sir, it seems like something should be done about him."
"After the twins finish their project, we can begin the process of moving the team to Chinatown. Then what he knows won't matter as much. He's a good man and a good hotel manager. He deserves to be treated fairly." Aaron paused. "And it's not just Rosenblum. Most of the hotel staff knows something is up. I can't kill all of them. The only solution is getting the hell out of here."
He waved to a tall, abstract sculpture made of wood. Tiny wormholes riddled the piece.
The entire room rose up like a big elevator. He and Sheryl walked out into a concrete chamber with a domed roof. They entered another elevator. The conference room descended to its original position behind them.
The doors closed on the second elevator, and Aaron entered a combination on a keypad. The elevator shot up swiftly.
"I can't wait for the twins' project to be over," Sheryl said. "It's becoming a huge pain in the ass. Even Nancy is getting snippy."
"Bethany told me it will be another week or two."
