First Circle Club

by Alex Siegel

  "Ugh," Sara said. "That stench again."

  Virgil sniffed. "I like it."

  "Let's just hurry."

  The group arrived at the room with the hatch leading to Limbo. Two giant stone barrels stood on the floor, and demonic writing was carved into the stone.

  "I'm not sure what to do next," Sara said. "How do I give a mud transfusion?"

  "I don't know," Virgil said. "Just dump me in."

  "That's an extremely disgusting idea, but sure. In you go."

  She and Alfred lifted Virgil over one of the barrels and dropped him. He splashed into black, sticky gunk with the consistency of hot tar. Almost immediately, the material started filling his wounds. His body absorbed it like a sponge.

  "That feels great!" he said.

  "It's working?" Sara said.

  "Like a charm. Go get Lisa. She'll love this."

  Virgil allowed himself to sink into the barrel until the warm gunk closed over his head. It oozed down his throat and filled his chest. He exhaled a few last bubbles of air. He wondered if this was how babies felt in the womb. The experience was thoroughly enjoyable.

  * * *

  Virgil heard a knocking on the side of his cask. He reluctantly pushed his head out of the gunk. It took forceful blinking to clear his eyes.

  Sara and Alfred were back, and Haymaker had accompanied them. The detective was throwing up in the corner.

  Virgil coughed up messy blobs of goo. Finally, he said, "What's wrong with him?"

  "The stink in here is a little overwhelming," Sara said. "How are you feeling?"

  "Great! I'm fully healed. That didn't take long."

  "It's been eight hours."

  "Oh," he said. "I lost track of the time. I was almost sleeping for the first time in decades."

  "Wake up. We've already wasted a good part of the day."

  Sara had changed into casual clothes and was wearing a backpack. She looked like a typical tourist. Alfred also had a backpack, and Virgil wondered what his friends were carrying.

  Virgil climbed out of the barrel and hopped onto the floor. The remains of his clothes provided some modesty, but gunk covered his skin anyway. He realized taking a shower was his top priority.

  He discovered to his horror that his phone was still in his pocket. It was probably ruined.

  Lisa climbed out of her barrel. The shiny, black slime accentuated her perfectly formed body like a silk dress. She healed very nicely, too, Virgil thought.

  Haymaker looked over and stared at her.

  "Let's get you guys cleaned up," Sara said.

  "Wait," Virgil said. "Let's put the lids back on the barrels before we go. We might need them again."

  He, Lisa, Sara, and Alfred worked together to lift the solid stone lids. They placed the lids on the barrels but didn't make them too tight.

  "Now we can go," Virgil said. "You have a way to clean us up?"

  "We found some water," Sara said. "Follow me."

  The whole group walked through the basement. Virgil and Lisa left a trail of sticky, black footprints, but he couldn't do anything about that. Haymaker stayed upwind.

  They went down a flight of stairs which surprised Virgil. He hadn't expected it was possible to go any deeper. He heard dripping water and electric motors.

  It was dark down below, but his excellent eyes allowed him to see with the little light available. He was in a room full of giant pipes, valves, and pumps. Leaks had flooded the floor with two feet of water, but it was moving. Apparently, equipment was sucking the water out as fast as it flowed in. The water was brown, but it was a lot cleaner than he was.

  Virgil stripped off his torn, ruined clothes and dived in. He stayed under and shook his head to clean off the gunk. Eventually, he stood up. The water in the pump room had become visibly darker.

  "Try harder," Sara said.

  She shrugged off her backpack, took out a bottle of shampoo, and tossed it to him.

  After several rounds of lathering and rinsing, both Virgil and Lisa were finally presentable. It felt good to be clean.

  Sara and Alfred had brought fresh clothes in the backpacks. They also had replacement phones, cash, and wallets with fake identification.

  "You guys thought of everything," Virgil said.

  "We had plenty of time," Sara said. "Now get dressed so we can get out of here."

  "Where are we going first?"

  "That's a good question."

  He considered for a moment. "We need guns before we do anything else. Big guns. It's time to take the opposition seriously."

  "That drug dealer gave us a tip," Lisa said, "remember? We can buy guns at someplace called Solid Smoke Shop, but we'll need cash."

  "The money bag is in the trunk of the car," Sara said.

  * * *

  Virgil parked the car in front of Solid Smoke Shop. It was a corner store in a rough part of Chicago where the buildings were packed close together. There was no grass, but a few spindly trees grew out of holes in the sidewalk. At least he didn't see any broken or boarded-up windows. Urban decay hadn't completely taken hold.

  The smoke shop had a security grate across the entire front with only a space for a door. Signs for products covered the windows making it hard to see inside.

  "I think I'll stay in the car," Haymaker said. "I have a problem with shopping for illegal arms."

  "Fine," Virgil said.

  He, Alfred, Sara, and Lisa got out of the car. Sara opened the trunk and took out the bag of cash and gold.

  They entered the store. The bright colors and variety of products surprised Virgil. In addition to the expected cigarettes and cigars, he saw bongs, vaporizers, papers, ashtrays, lighters, jars, tins, and scales. Some of the items were clearly intended to be used with marijuana.

  A big African-American man stood behind the counter. He was wearing a black sweat suit with a hood. A second man was sitting inside a clear plastic booth in the corner, and Virgil guessed the plastic was bulletproof. Instead of greeting their customers, the shopkeepers just stared with deadpan expressions.

  With a pleasant smile, Alfred walked up to the man behind the counter. "We're here to buy some merchandise."

  He was using his special voice, and the shopkeeper immediately relaxed.

  "It's all on display," he said, nodding towards the shelves.

  "No," Alfred said. "I'm talking about the special merchandise in back."

  The shopkeeper shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

  Alfred took the money bag from Sara. He pulled out a thick wad of hundred dollar bills.

  "Does this spark your memory? You can trust us. We're not cops. We're just here to do some shopping, and we'll pay full price." The musical quality in his voice reminded Virgil of a harp.

  The shopkeeper walked over to the door and locked it. He turned the OPEN/CLOSED sign around.

  "Right this way," he said.

  He led his customers through another door and into a storage room. He used a broom handle to bang on a spot on the ceiling.

  "Tyler!" he yelled. "Open up!"

  A hidden panel popped open, and then a metal ladder slid down. Virgil raised his eyebrows. Cute, he thought.

  Everybody climbed up to a narrow room with a steeply angled ceiling. Virgil guessed it had been part of an attic. Many pistols were on shelves along with assault rifles, shotguns, ammunition, body armor, and knives. He recognized many models from his day, but some were new to him. Plastic grips and stocks were apparently in style.

  "Who are these assholes?" another black man said. "I never seen them before."

  He was skinny, and acne scars pockmarked his face. He was wearing a vest and carrying a pistol.

  "We have a lot of shopping to do," Alfred said in his special voice. "Can we skip the introductions and get right down to business?"

  "Uh, sure."

  Virgil and Lisa had the most experience with guns, so they took the lead. Tyler turned out to be a great source of information about the latest weapons. Every ti
me he opened his mouth, it was an education in the technology of violence.

  By the time they were done shopping, they had spent all their cash, although they still had plenty of gold left. Military-grade equipment filled four green duffle bags. Virgil hoped there was enough room in the trunk of the car.

  He and his teammates left the store. Virgil carried two duffle bags, and Alfred carried the other two.

  Haymaker was standing by the car. "That took a while," he said.

  Virgil hefted a bag. "We bought plenty."

  "I see that. Are there any guns left?"

  "Only the ones not worth taking. Let's go."

  Everybody got into the car. The trunk only had enough space for three duffle bags, so the fourth went across the laps of Lisa, Sara, and Alfred who were in the back seat.

  Virgil started driving.

  "Where are we going now?" Haymaker said.

  "Back to Chinatown to drop off some weapons at headquarters. We have too much stuff to haul around all day."

  "Then where?"

  "That's a good question," Virgil said. "We need to start putting you out as bait, but it can't be too obvious. You have to act natural."

  "Then I'll continue the investigation as I normally would. I want to go back to Sebastian Miller's house. I have unanswered questions about that place and about him."

  "Fine by me."

  * * *

  Virgil parked the team car a block away from the house. Haymaker pulled up behind in his own white Ford Taurus. Virgil got out and jogged back to talk to the detective. Haymaker rolled down his window.

  "Give us time to get into position," Virgil said.

  Haymaker nodded. "No rush. I'm not in a hurry to put my life at risk."

  Lisa, Alfred, and Sara got out of their car, and everybody gathered together.

  "Lisa and I will watch the front," Virgil said. "Alfred and Sara, circle around to the back."

  His teammates nodded.

  Virgil and Lisa headed up the street. Sebastian Miller lived in a lovely neighborhood, or at least the man who called himself by that name did. Virgil would definitely miss the sight of the handsome homes when he was back in Limbo. They were the perfect size for large families, and they made him think about the children he had never had. The lifestyle of a U.S. Marshal wasn't conducive to being a father. He had lived on the road more often than not. He had spent weeks or even months engaged in undercover operations. Just giving his wife enough attention had been difficult enough. He wondered if she were still alive.

  Familiar weight on his chest and hips also reminded Virgil of his days as a marshal. He was wearing a vest under his shirt. His body could take a bullet, but a little extra protection never hurt, and his experience at the factory had taught him he wasn't immortal. He had two concealed guns: one strapped across his belly and one on his ankle. The gun on his belly was a Smith & Wesson 460XVR Revolver, supposedly one of the most powerful handguns ever made. He hoped it could slow down Daniel. A light leather jacket helped hide the gun bulges. Furies' Bane was hanging from a shoulder strap.

  Virgil saw Miller's massive home up ahead. The granite exterior looked sharp in the bright sunlight. A "FOR SALE" sign was posted in the front yard.

  Virgil frowned. He didn't see anybody else around. The street was quiet.

  "Let's hide," he said.

  He and Lisa went across the street. They made their way from house to house, using whatever cover was available. Virgil was still enjoying the great agility of his demonic body. He could bend and twist in ways that would dislocate the joints of an ordinary man. He could slither through grass like a snake or leap like a gazelle.

  The two of them took up a position on the flat roof of a detached garage. The location provided a good view of the area, and a convenient oak tree helped conceal them.

  Virgil took out his phone and called Sara. "We're ready," he said.

  "So are we," she replied. "Call Haymaker."

  The detective was carrying two phones. One was his official phone which the bad guys presumably knew about. Mei had given him a second phone that morning to use for secure calls. Virgil dialed the second number.

  "Go," he said.

  "OK," Haymaker replied.

  A moment later, Haymaker's car arrived at the house and parked in front. The detective stared at the "FOR SALE" sign for a moment. Then he walked through the open front gate. He tried the front door, but it was obviously locked. He went around to the side and entered through the window Virgil had broken last night.

  Virgil watched and listened closely. He only heard a slight breeze and dogs barking in the distance. A red sedan drove past. He glanced at Lisa. She was watching with the attentiveness of a cat stalking a mouse.

  Fifteen minutes later, Haymaker came out of the house. He sat in his car and drove off. Virgil watched to make sure nobody was following.

  "Let's go," he whispered to Lisa.

  They retraced their path back to their car. Along the way, Virgil called Sara to tell her Haymaker had left.

  The team reconvened at the original parking spot. Haymaker was standing there.

  "Did you see anything?" Virgil said.

  Haymaker shook his head. "The house was cleaned out. Not a stick of furniture in the entire place. The rugs were vacuumed. Even the windows looked clean. I went up to that secret room on the third floor, and it was completely empty."

  "And the factory was burned down last night. Our adversaries are making sure we don't have any leads to follow. I imagine 'Gina Miller' has similarly disappeared. I suppose we can talk to the cult in the white house again."

  Alfred shook his head. "They don't know anything. When I was with them, I asked lots of questions and got no useful answers."

  "Frustrating," Haymaker said.

  "Yes," Virgil said.

  "I guess I'll go back to my office. The bad guys will certainly see me there and start following. I don't think they'll make a move inside a police station though. I should be safe until I walk out."

  "We'll hang out in the station and keep an eye on you, but we'll need good disguises."

  "I know a costume shop," Haymaker said. "We'll stop there on the way to my office."

  Virgil nodded. "Sounds good."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mr. Slattery was eating a corned beef sandwich at a deli.

  Chicago was a big city and certainly offered every possible kind of food, but surprisingly few dishes were considered specialties. Deep dish pizza was the most famous, of course, but the locals went for beef and pork. Slaughterhouses had been one of the largest industries in Chicago at one time. The tradition of top quality meat served in generous quantities persisted. Mr. Slattery was very much enjoying his sandwich. The meat was moist and fresh, and the cuts were thick. It was a meal that required both hands.

  His phone rang. He lovingly put the sandwich down, grabbed the phone, and put it to his ear.

  "Yeah?" he grunted.

  "Haymaker finally showed up," a man said. "He's at his office."

  "So late in the day? What the hell has he been doing all this time? Any sign of the others?"

  "No."

  "Just watch for now," Slattery said. "Keep a low profile."

  "Yes, sir."

  Slattery hung up and went back to his sandwich.

  * * *

  Virgil was doing his best impression of appearing busy. Fortunately, Haymaker worked in a big office, so Virgil had plenty of space to move around in. He was walking up and down the corridors, stopping at break rooms and coffee stations but not actually drinking anything. He wandered through the lobby. He checked out the evidence room and shooting range. He was wearing a cheap suit suitable for a detective, and he had folders in his hand. He looked official enough to avoid being questioned, but he had his state police badge just in case.

  Virgil made sure to look in on Haymaker at least once every fifteen minutes. The detective was sharing an office with another detective, but the room seemed hardly big enough for one office
r, much less two. Desks, filing cabinets, and chairs left little space to walk. Shelves and bulletin boards covered the walls. Papers littered the desks, but both detectives were focused on their computers.

  Back in Virgil's day, only technicians had used computers. Apparently, now everybody needed to be proficient. He realized he would need some training if he was going to spend a lot more time on Earth. Perhaps Mei would be amenable to teaching him. The more likely scenario was him going back to Limbo soon.

  Virgil was looking for suspicious characters, but he didn't see any. Men and women in police uniforms filled the station, and they all had the worn-down, jaded expressions of real cops. Virgil knew from experience that it was a job that eroded all hope, faith, and optimism.

  He realized the enemy might've planted hidden cameras. Judging by the high-quality yet tiny camera on his phone, the devices could fit into very tight spaces these days. That was smarter and safer than having spies in the office. Virgil wondered if he could get his hands on some high-tech bugs.

  The clock on the wall showed noon. By prior agreement, Haymaker would go out for lunch at this time. Virgil made his way to the lobby. When he arrived, he found Lisa staring at pictures of fallen officers hung on the wall.

  Both of them were in disguise. Virgil had used makeup to darken his skin a little, and he had a blond wig. Foam padding made him look fifty pounds heavier.

  Lisa's black skin was harder to disguise, but some creamy makeup had given her the appearance of mixed heritage. A wig with strands of gray and old-fashioned glasses made her look like a grandmother.

  A moment later, Haymaker walked past. Virgil and Lisa remained in place, waiting to see if anybody followed, but nobody did.

  Virgil frowned. The bad guys are playing coy, he thought.

  After waiting a reasonable amount of time, he and Lisa drifted out of the building. They knew where Haymaker was headed, so there was no need to rush and attract attention. They looked up and down the street.

  It was a busy avenue in the northern part of Chicago. Two lanes ran in either direction, but sun and weather had faded the lane markings severely. The area was a mixture of homes, small office buildings, and strip malls. A nearby sign advertised a laundromat and a dentist.