The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1)

by Brendan Walsh

  “Just wake us up if you need anything. It’s the least we can do for you.”

  The bat responded with a friendly wave. Patrick took that as an ‘OK’ and joined his friends on the main floor. All he wanted was a thorough sleep that would get him through another day of mayhem. Unfortunately, the other three had taken all the cozy spots.

  Detective Guajardo and her team of investigators were swamped. The noon sun filtered through the blinds of her office window, and the last batch of the morning coffee was in dire need of a refill. The Doctor Black case brought more work to her team than she ever had in her full decade of policing.

  A youthful junior officer stumbled into her office. “Just here to update. No new sightings of the raven gang.”

  She downed the last of her coffee. “I’m not surprised. Striking now wouldn’t be consistent with their profile as nighttime-ers.”

  “But we have a lot of calls coming in. Don’t worry mam, if they have even so much as had a ray of sunlight touch them in the last twelve hours, we’ll find them.” He gave a confident nod and left the room.

  Since they didn’t have a lot to work with, the department was on full alert, eagle eyeing the raven gang to dust. So yes, the department was hoping for another crime to occur. At least with that much they would have an influx of new intel. Not to mention that some of the calls coming in from frightened civilians were just plain nonsense.

  Above the regular hustle and bustle of footsteps down the wood paneled floor, Guajardo asked an assistant to fetch another pot of coffee. It would at least let her hang on for the afternoon, and there would be some for the other officers to have as well. The detective rose from her chair, stretched out her arms and yawned as her body arched into an obtuse angle.

  “Damn this stress,” she organized some of the clutter on her desk, putting herself at ease. “I knew I should have been a psychiatrist.”

  A new head peeped in through the doorway. The tired eyes of the man, whose body the head belonged to, met hers in a confident stare. It was always like him to be suspenseful.

  “Any coffee?” asked detective Hunter.

  “I just asked the assistant to bring some more.”

  “Good. Any luck with news?” he asked, finally putting both feet into the room.

  “Nope. No useful leads.” she sighed. “But we’ve had quite the massive flow of reports that lack information. Apparently some people think they saw their stolen Volvo driving around Eckard Avenue down south, and at the same time someone thinks they see four gunmen around Mannard Park ten miles away. Granted, some of these may actually be them, but when we send officers there, we can’t get there in time, or even find anything.” she paused her tired speech to finish stacking files by the top edge of her desk and released another yawn.

  He grunted. “It’s pretty much been that way for me too-”

  “And then there are some weird ones that have nothing to do with the case. There was one genius who panicked because his body temperature was apparently 800 degrees, and there were two people from inside a local hospital who claimed to have seen a giant bird fly down the hall. Granted, they were heavily sedated, just out of surgery, but the increasing reports of strange events is definitely surprising.” she softly chuckled. “I’m starting to think we should rethink our whole ‘easy access police’ policy.”

  “Hmm, yes that’s strange, but you can forget all that for now.” he stated, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “We have an I.D.”

  “What? Why didn’t you begin with that?” she could hardly keep still, forgetting her exhaustion. “Forget that, just give me the scoop.”

  “It’s been a few days since we got the case and we still didn’t have anything, so I and a couple officers went back to the house. Upstairs in the bedroom we found a shirt soaked in blood, and just to be sure it was Black’s, I ordered it analyzed immediately. As fate would have it, there’s another match”. Hunter handed her a thin yellow file. He continued his story as she flipped through its contents. “Meet Gary Frost, twenty years old, a junior at Weller College. He’s a bright student, full boat and all that, but get this, he’s got a novel of a rap sheet. He’s been associated with drugs, drinking, assault and theft. He lives by himself in a campus apartment and has been in and out of foster homes most of his young life. Parents both died in a car crash before he even graduated from kindergarten.”

  “Can’t believe he got into such a good school with that record.” Detective Guajardo perused the pages. The kid in the photo looked like a punk, but not a violent murderer. She wasn’t convinced. “Okay, the blood just proves that he was at the party, it may not even be enough for a warrant.”

  “Even if we got one, where would we look? The kid hasn’t been spotted since the night of the party.”

  “Well that’s pretty damning evidence.” she was becoming more intrigued.

  “But that’s not all: I went and talked around on the campus, apparently he’s not the only one who’s missing”. He paused once more and shoved her three more files. She organized them neatly on her desk, so she could read through all them at once. “Patrick Buchanan, Slate Kilroy, and Johnny Mars, all students of the same school, all go missing at the exact same time. One, two, three, four.” he counted with his fingers. “That makes four of them. If I’m to state the obvious, I believe that we have identified the raven gang.”

  Guajardo kept her focus on the files. It seemed too easy to be true, but it was the best they had. “John that’s amazing! Why didn’t you take me with you?”

  “I figured you needed some sleep. Since the birth of my two kids I’ve been able to live off caffeine and sugar. It’s probably taken some years off my life, but I’ve gotten much more work done.” he chuckled. “And that’s what counts right?”

  She smiled. “True. Want to take a break?”

  “Good golly, yes.”

  “Wait,” she stopped as her eyes landed on Patrick’s file. “Buchanan? No, he couldn’t be?” She mouthed the name to herself as she searched the name into the department database. On the bottom of the first page she found what she was looking for. “Ah-ha! Patrick Buchanan, our suspect, is the son of one of my favorite writers, George Gordon Buchanan. What are the odds?”

  Hunter’s eyes bloated like a pufferfish. “Probably very small. Wow, what kind of stuff did he write?”

  “Mostly science fiction-”

  “Ha! Nerd.”

  She snorted. “But he dabbled in fantasy and fairy tales too. Timeless stuff. He really knew how to tell a story.”

  “Knew?”

  “Yeah, he died a while back. We were all pretty bummed about it. And he was such a great person too. He even founded his own publishing company: Presidential Printing. I can’t believe his own son would get involved in something like this.”

  Hunter paused a hay second, regaining his own train of thought. The name had sprouted seeds in his mind and memories began to surface. “Yeah, Gordon Buchanan, I do remember him. I never read any of his stuff, though there was this nature book that he co-wrote with a biologist.” He paused anxiously with his eyes arched towards the ceiling. “Ugh, this is going to keep me up all night, what was the biologist’s name? I’ll just check during the next break.”

  “I heard that one was pretty good. Apparently Gordon Buchanan had quite the fascination for bats. I heard a whole six chapters were just about them. Very intriguing stuff. Anyway, I’ll have to get to that one soon.”

  The team thought they could relax for a while, now with the major breakthrough. A couple officers were cleaning their offices, ready to go home early. Hunter was especially pleased, considering the fact that the criminals attend the same college as his daughter. Their obvious connection with Lindsey could potentially put her at risk, and that would not happen on his watch. He knew it was only a matter of time before the villains were all in cuffs.

  “So, want to schedul
e another press conference for tonight?”

  While the detectives were planning their next statement, the real villains were gathered by the beach in one of their many bases. Elder stood alone with the sound of seagulls swarming back out into their pre evening formations heading westbound. The sensation of the setting sun with the ocean breeze was alleviating.

  It made him feel alive, which was more than he could say about some people he used to know. A man approached from behind, he knew who it was. The same captain who beamed from miles away to his home days ago.

  “And how are you today, sir?” the man greeted, almost malevolently. If someone had never met him before, they’d still have no trouble figuring out he was up to no good.

  “As I’ve been since Black was dried like a raisin, Captain Patane.”

  “And that would be, irksome?”

  “Just a little edgy and irritated when little scumbags tamper with my equation. But all in good time captain.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  “Good to see you are still as sure as ever.” Patane snickered. “Some would kill for your type of confidence. How did it go with the police?”

  “I told them the truth.”

  “How much of it?”

  The doctor surveyed the area with arrogant glare, getting lost in his pride. “Just about the initial objective. About the microchip that could cure anything.”

  “But you didn’t mention the results? I must say, sir, humility doesn’t really suit you.” Patane wagged a finger sternly.

  Elder reached into his white suit’s breast pocket and extracted two cigars. They were privately ordered from the finest rollers in Cuba. If there was one thing that he learned in his career so far, it’s that there is nothing money couldn’t get you, and loyalty and lives were no exception. He proudly handed his companion one of the cigars and kindled the tip. He did the same for his own as he enjoyed the gaseous flavor of the tobacco.

  He exhaled and watched the bay breeze sweep the smoke away. “Everyone will know of our success shortly. Besides, our uses for it so far have been much more creative. Now, back to why we are all here.”

  They entered the building side-by-side. An impressive display of uniformed soldiers formed a straight path to a wooden structure. As both the captain and doctor silently strode through the path they were greeted by all the men with their organization’s signature salute. The armed grunts removed their patched hats and respectfully held them over their chests while their knees fell buckled to the floor as they sat on their heels.

  The ordered line of soldiers came to an end, and the two superior ranked leaders were met by another kneeling man. But this one was a bit more restricted, and he wasn’t at all kneeling.

  The man whose neck hung lazily before everyone was a first class private in Elder’s army. He was the driver assigned with his late partner to apprehend the gang and properly dispose of them. Failure wasn’t his crime. After seeing the winged creature he was assigned to kill, he ran away. It took days for the organization to find him. When they did he was blending in with the common folk down at the Fisherman’s Wharf. He had to be sedated to cooperate. Even that wasn’t all enough, as dried blood stuck under his nose.

  Elder and Patane stopped as their feet entered the man’s limited view. With his cigar clenched tightly between his teeth, the doctor again reached into his breast pocket. He unraveled a note, took the foreign tobacco out of his mouth and flicked away the loose ash. The speech had become timeless, something he couldn’t remember how many times he’d recited it to deserters.

  “Private Johann,” he cleared his throat. “In accordance with the laws upheld by our organization banded together for the benefit of all mankind, you are condemned to death by means of decapitation. You ran out on an objective of highest importance and for that we are permanently releasing you from our jurisdiction. Now that you have heard your charge, do you have any final words?”

  The private, whose back was constricted between two wooden stakes, refused to speak. He slowly lifted his head until Doctor Elder’s stolid expression found his eyes. For a few intense seconds they simply started at each other. Satisfied that Johann didn’t have anything to say, Elder turned his back.

  “You’re going to lose.” the condemned man nearly choked on his words.

  The doctor twisted around. He crouched down, meeting the private eye to eye. He was no longer emotionless.

  “What?”

  “While I was gone, I did some research of my own. I know what you’re really up to, sir. It’ll never happen. You’re going to lose to them.” The damned man echoed a coughing laugh.

  The doctor was motionless.

  “It’s pointless. You’ve built your own grave.”

  Elder’s body became more rigid with every word he spoke. Deciding he wanted more to do with him, the soldiers’ leader raised an arm authoritatively into the air. “Release the blade!”

  As his words echoed down the metallic walls a sergeant to his left slashed a dagger through a knotted rope. A powerful blade was forced down, and it effortlessly sliced the man’s spinal cord in two. From where his head once was, blood burst out in an awkward spurt, forming a pool on the floor. The doctor turned away just as the red rush reached his boots. He marched back outside, gesturing his loyal soldiers to rise. Once outside, he found his companion already waiting for him with his cigar in hand.

  “I still think the guillotine is an odd choice. Very old fashioned, but I guess it gets the job done.”

  “It’s always been one of my favorites.” Elder replied, exhaling the flavored fumes. “War really brings out our creativity. We’re always thinking of new ways to kill people, but I’m a bit of a traditionalist on the issue.”

  For a minute neither of them shared any words. They methodically continued with their exotic cigars and savored the cool breeze that only the sea could provide. Their peace was interrupted by the buzzing of Patane’s phone. He dug it from his pocket and read the message.

  “Good news sir, it appears there has been a development.”

  “On which front?”

  “The watch. The pocket watch that has eluded you this past week. My sources say we will have its location by dawn.”

  “Excellent.” he smiled as smoke slipped between his grinning teeth. “Now we can focus on the more pressing issue.”

  “And what is that sir?”

  “Before we catch them, let’s show the world who the raven gang really is.”

  “You know what I’ve been thinking?” Johnny asked Gary, slouching by himself on his beanbag chair.

  “What?”

  “Well, you know how that Greek guy wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey a really long time ago?”

  “Yeah. What about that?”

  “People didn’t actually rediscover his writing until he was long dead, and so many people credit him with being a giant inspiration to the whole genre of fantasy. You know?”

  Gary shifted his weight until his whole body was facing Johnny, seeming all interested. His hands rested comfortably at his sides.

  “Sure. What’s your point?”

  “I mean; I was just wondering if maybe we’re all interpreting it the wrong way.” he arched his eyebrows at his fellow raven gang member. “I’m just saying, what if at the time the guy wrote it he was going for historical accuracy, not just myth stuff? What if all that stuff actually happened, exactly how he wrote it and we’ve all been ignoring it?”

  Gary smiled and crossed his arms. “You think that all that stuff with the gods and the Trojan war could be true?”

  He paused, tiredly rubbing his eyes with the sides of his palms. “I don’t really know. All I know is that I’ve seen a lot of weird things this past week. If you told me last month that I’d be a high priority fugitive hanging low in some cabin guarded by Count Dracula, I’d probably call you crazy.”

 
“Speaking of which, where is that batty guy?”

  “Who knows? Since we’ve been back he’s hardly been with us.”

  Footsteps from outside signaled the others’ return.

  Johnny smiled. “Finally! Food.”

  Patrick and Slate entered as dusk became fully settled. They both carried some bags stuffed with fried food which were nearly being torn by the flood of grease from within. Patrick flung the car keys onto the coffee table. He settled the greasy paper containers in the middle. Everyone charged his starving hands into the bags.

  “What took you guys so long?” Johnny asked, already stuffing his face with processed meat.

  Patrick swiped a bag of fries from a bag. “We parked out of view, in case the cops know the exact model of our car.”

  “Good thinking.” his eyes breezed through the bags’ contents. “Get any napkins?”

  “No.” Slate said. “Some kids were looking at us funny. We had to get out of there to be safe.”

  “Eh. No biggie.” Johnny made do by using his shirt’s sleeve to wipe ketchup from his cheek.

  Considering they weren’t exactly on vacation, the gang only had one set of clothes. They were in luck because downstairs in the hidden lab a closet full of clothes and a shower space were somehow already in place. It was strange, adding more mystery to the cabin’s history. All the clothes were exactly the same: black pants and shirts, both with purple pinstripes vertically stretching down. Slate was the only one who complained about it. It wasn’t his style.

  Now that they were together, it was time to discuss serious concerns. They had been in the cabin for days and their savior had basically abandoned them, only sticking around for a short while before flying away as if it wanted nothing to do with them. If they were going to get to the bottom of this, they needed to communicate with him. But they didn’t know where he was.

  “He didn’t go out with us.” Patrick said.

  “Well he should have.” added Johnny who waved a collapsing curly fry between his fingers. “He could have reminded you to get the order right. See this? You can’t dip this in a milkshake.”