by Daniel Gage
Emma thanked him and trotted past the exodus of shift workers, ignoring the occasional cat call and innuendo. It had been a long time since anyone other than Michael had looked at her with lust in their eyes, and for a moment, she enjoyed the attention.
Then she remembered she would never want to be with pigs like these men, so she set her jaw and strode past them.
Once she was through the entrance, finding the trailer was easy. The yard was empty, save for a few stragglers, and there was only a single trailer sitting off to the side.
“Yeah?” a voice called after she knocked on the door. “What the fuck ya want?”
Emma grinned to herself and eased open the door. She peeked inside and saw a man seated behind a desk, his face buried in paperwork. He looked exhausted, as if he had been working all day alongside the rest of the workers.
“Excuse me,” Emma said, attempting her sweetest voice, “I’m looking for someone. Can you help me?”
The man’s head shot up, and he immediately turned pale. He scrambled to his feet and almost tripped moving around his desk.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize … My name’s Henry; how can I help you, Miss …?”
Emma shook his extended hand. “Emma Jennings, a pleasure. And no apology needed; my dad worked construction. I’m no stranger to that sort of language.”
Her dad had never worked construction, far from it. But she had the lie preloaded to forge a connection with this man, as she didn’t want to come up short again.
“Of course. I just didn’t realize we had a visitor. I’m used to the guys coming to ask—” Henry shook his head, cutting off his own sentence. “You said you were looking for someone?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “I’m looking for Cameron Briggs.”
Henry let out a huge sigh and leaned against his desk. “What did he do now? I knew something was up when he didn’t show today. I was actually down five men today, made for a very long day.”
“Oh, no, not like that,” Emma said, allowing herself a small laugh. “I’m his cousin. Do you know where I can find him?”
He looked up at Emma, as if he was appraising her. She had to be careful, the lies were coming too easily. If she pushed it too hard the ruse would be up, and she wouldn’t get the information she needed.
“Did you try his house?” Henry asked.
“He has a house?” Emma asked. “I tried his apartment, but no one answered. His phone seemed to be off too.”
“Right, his apartment, that’s what I meant,” Henry said as he shook his head. “Sorry, Emma, he didn’t call or show up today. Other than his home, I wouldn’t know where he is.”
“Thanks, Henry,” Emma said with a smile as she turned to leave. “I appreciate your time.”
“If you find him, tell him to at least let me know he’s okay,” Henry said. “He can quit, but he’s got to let me know he’s still alive. It … it would be pretty fucked up if he died.”
Emma faced the man, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“He saved my life a few days ago,” Henry said. “I fell, and he risked his life to save mine. If something happened to him so soon after saving me, making sure I can see my kids again … I can’t think of anything else that would prove the world is messed up.”
She let the words sink in before nodding. “I’ll make sure he gets your message when I find him. Thanks again, Henry.”
**********
Emma exhaled as she sat back in her car, wondering what to do next. There wasn’t much to go on about this Cameron Briggs fellow; what little information she had was sketchy, at best.
But it seemed odd that he had disappeared shortly after his birthmark had been discovered. He had just saved a man’s life, and it looked like things were going well for him. Did he manage to fall back into a life of crime? His file showed he had done time, which wasn’t uncommon for Unborns. But that would be an awfully convenient coincidence.
She shook her head. No, when it came to Second-Life dealers and birthright theft, there were no coincidences.
Emma sat up straight. That was it. His good deed, that could have been a trigger. And if they got paranoid about it …
“Colton, it’s me,” Emma said as soon as the call connected. “Trail’s gone dry. But the Unborn may have done a good deed; can you check on something for me?”
“Emma, what the hell?” Colton whispered. “Agent Sapien is going ballistic. He’s livid that you haven’t returned his calls. He’s been yelling at everyone all evening. You’re lucky he stepped out of the room. I can’t keep this a secret for much longer.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll take care of Michael,” Emma said. “But I can’t find this guy. I need you to look something up for me. Anything happen in the vicinity of Cam’s apartment?”
Emma heard Colton tapping on his keyboard, followed by a few seconds of silence. “There was a media alert earlier today,” he said. “A violent gang attack in the hover station near the address we have for Cam’s apartment. I found it when Mic—Agent Sapien started going nuts. They took the survivors under police custody to Boston General.”
“Thanks, Colton,” Emma said. “Give me another hour and I’ll call Michael.”
She pressed end on her phone and started the car, then plugged in the location for Boston General into her car.
Emma let the car drive itself to the hospital while she made sense of Colton’s words. Specifically, Michael’s behavior. Why would he go off on everyone for Emma following up on an Unborn sighting? They usually turned out to be false rumors, so why would this one be different?
Michael was awfully possessive, though. Maybe he felt that Unborn tracking was his thing, like how Emma usually handled the tactical aspects of their job, so perhaps he felt she was encroaching on his responsibilities.
Not that she had been all that great with them lately, especially with the host of failures they’d had. Now that she thought about it, she was surprised Michael hadn’t tried to take over the field missions. He was a proud man, a man who hated to lose. But Michael seemed to have an easy time shrugging everything off when it was her running the show.
No. She needed to find this Unborn. She needed a win, to prove she was still capable at her job.
**********
It only took about fifteen minutes for her to get to the hospital, but night had rapidly descended over the city. By the time Emma walked through the building’s main entrance, the sky was completely black.
She approached the front desk and flashed her credentials.
“Where can I find the survivors from the attack earlier today?” she asked.
“Third floor is the police floor,” the receptionist said. “Ask for Sergeant Mullins.”
“Appreciate it,” Emma said as she headed to the elevator.
“Hey, one second!” the receptionist called back.
Emma turned to see him waving her back. She furrowed her brow as she tentatively walked back to the desk.
“Are you investigating a Second-Life threat?” he whispered when Emma was close.
Internally she cringed, and Emma hoped it wasn’t shown on her face. Not many people knew who the Agency of Family Continuity was, but there were plenty of fringe elements out there that knew just enough to be dangerous. Or annoying.
“Why do you ask?” Emma asked. She didn’t change her tone or reduce it to a whisper, refusing to play this man’s game.
“Because I see things, know things,” he whispered. “You look for tattoos or something, right? It shows if they’re part of the Second-Life movement, right?”
Emma didn’t answer, but instead raised an eyebrow.
“Listen, I’ve seen some of those tattoos,” the receptionist said. “I can give you some leads. I can help you.”
“Sorry, I’m here for another reason,” Emma lied as she pulled a card from her coat pocket. “If you think you know anything, call our tip line.”
She tossed the card on the desk and immediately headed for the elev
ators, before the receptionist could hold her any longer.
Sure, some of their best tips came from people like him, but Emma had to be careful about what she gave away. The receptionist may not even be malicious, yet if he spilled the sighting of an Unborn out on the Internet, it could end up a disaster, like they had a few years back.
And as the elevator doors closed, Emma shook off that thought. They had security controls for a reason, and while there were several functions served by her agency, birthright theft was the only one that operated in the shadows.
Within seconds she was on the third floor, and as soon as the door opened, she was greeted by an officer.
“Can I help you?” he asked, immediately impeding her progress.
Emma calmly produced her ID and handed it to him. The officer took it, looking from her to the picture on her ID a couple of times before handing it back.
“How can I help you, Agent Jennings?” he asked, holding his position.
Emma liked this officer. He held his post with an air of pride, not breaking rank just because someone with a stronger title approached him. He still cared, which was a rarity these days.
“I’m looking for Sergeant Mullins,” Emma said. “It’s about the assault this morning. One of the suspect’s description fits that of someone who abandoned a child in a swamp.”
“He’s down the hall, guy with the gray mustache,” the officer said as his face twisted into one of disgust. He stepped aside and let Emma proceed. “Just make sure he pays, okay?”
“I will,” Emma said.
She hated lying, but it was part of the job. If people knew she got paid to prevent something most governments wouldn’t acknowledge existed, her job would be next to impossible to do. It would also make her a target against the moles planted by the network of Second-Life dealers.
And she might be locked up in an asylum, if she told the wrong people.
As she walked down the hall, she bore witness to a host of people under police supervision, several screaming profanities to others lying still and covered in bandages. But what really caught Emma’s attention was the fact that there were so many here.
This floor was stuffed with people being treated before they faced potential prison time.
“Sergeant Mullins?” she asked as she approached a trio of men.
The men turned, and the one with gray hair and a mustache spoke.
“That’s me,” he said, his voice filled with gravel from several hard-lived years. “How can I help you, Miss …?”
“Agent Jennings,” Emma said curtly, again flashing her ID. “I want to speak to you about the assault at the hover station this morning.”
“Will you excuse us?” Sergeant Mullins said to the other two men. He waited until they were gone before they continued. “It’s quite a case, Agent Jennings. The situation isn’t, but the outcome, well, here.”
He grabbed a file from the desk and handed it to her. Emma opened it and started flipping through the papers, which were a collection of photos from a remote camera, and pictures of those involved.
“We see this sort of thing often, people getting jumped in stations, alleys, you name it,” the sergeant said. “But it usually doesn’t go this way.”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked as she stared at the pictures.
“When we get a five-on-one situation, usually the one ends up in the hospital. Or morgue.”
Emma stopped looking at the file and turned her attention back to Mullins. She understood now why he was so forthcoming with a stranger. This was a man who seemed to have had a long career in law enforcement, who had seen everything. Or so he had thought. And he needed help making sense of it all.
“This time, the man who was assaulted put two in body bags, and three in the ICU,” the sergeant said. “He had some minor injuries, as well as exhaustion. And best we can tell, he was unarmed when it all began.”
“Who was it?” Emma asked, but she already knew the answer.
“His name is Cameron Briggs,” he said. “He has priors, and even served time before. But we can’t find any connection between him and his assailants. And his story fits the rest of the narrative, that he was just on his way to work.”
Emma’s skin crawled with excitement. She hadn’t confirmed the birthmark, but she seemed to have found one. Only an Unborn had a chance to fight those odds and win. At least, from what little she knew of the Unborns, from what Michael had told her.
“That’s crazy,” she finally said. “Do you have the security tapes?”
“We do,” Mullins said, gesturing for her to come behind the desk, “but it’s time lapsed. It only gets a frame every few seconds. But take a look.”
She stepped to where he indicated, and once she was in view of a monitor, the sergeant hit play. Choppy footage played, but Emma could clearly see someone sit on a bench in an otherwise empty hover station.
“That’s Cameron,” Mullins pointed out.
The video continued, and Emma watched as five men trotted their way into the station and walked toward Cameron with a purpose. They exchanged a few words before the first one pulled a gun on Cameron, who still hadn’t moved.
Then everything went to hell.
Cameron was a blur on the low-quality footage, but he moved faster than any of them. One at a time, he took the thugs down, even the one who threw him around like a doll.
“I know you AFC folks see some crazy stuff,” the sergeant said. “Have you ever seen anything like this? I swear, this Cameron guy gets cut up, but he only needed a few stitches. And the video is shit, but I would swear he dodged bullets.”
“Has he said anything?” Emma asked, attempting to dodge the sergeant’s question. She didn’t want to have to lie to him. Not only was he very forthcoming with information, he was also a seasoned veteran of the street. Even with her skill, she doubted she could get one by him.
“Nope,” Mullins said. “He knows his rights. We’re not charging him, but he’s acting like we would. With his rap sheet, it’s no wonder he won’t tell us anything.”
“Mind if I give it a try?”
“Why not?” Mullins shrugged. “Once the doctor clears him, he’d be walking out the front door anyway. He’s in room 312.”
Emma thanked Mullins before he called down to the officer outside Cameron’s room, telling him that Emma was cleared to enter.
She pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. The busy hustle from the hallway faded as the door glided shut, replaced only by the soft noise of the television. She took a couple steps in and saw Cameron sitting up in his bed, his attention glued to the news broadcast.
“… the chase ended in the death of the car thieves,” the reporter said, “but the assailants have yet to be found. The police believe they encroached on a rival’s territory, but they’re still investigating.”
“Yeah, right,” Cameron mumbled as he turned off the television.
“Know something about that?” Emma asked, moving to the foot of the bed.
Cameron looked at her, his face blank. “Are you a cop, Pants Suit?”
Emma’s blood instantly started to boil. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if you’re a cop,” he said. “I don’t tell cops more than I have to, and I’m sure you’re friends outside told you everything already.”
“I’m not a cop,” Emma spat. “I’m with the Agency of Family Continuity.”
Cameron slid off the bed and looked her up and down, appraising her probably as much as he was checking her out. After a moment, his eyebrows raised in seeming approval.
“That explains the fancy pants suit,” he said. “The Agency of Family Continuity. Isn’t that the agency that deals with identity theft and people who abandon kids?”
Had she been on the market, Cameron might have caught her attention. He had short, brown hair and a few days’ worth of stubble. He appeared to be just over six feet, but sported solid muscle throughout his arms, legs, and torso. And despite the unappealing hospital gow
n, he was an attractive man.
Except for the fact that he just called her Pants Suit. Or was it Fancy Pants Suit? Emma was so flustered by his disrespect that she couldn’t think straight. She took pride in her appearance, and had little patience for those who couldn’t appreciate a woman who took the time to appear professional. On top of being a two-time felon, her logical mind realized anything with this man beyond this room would be a disaster.
If she wasn’t required by her job to see him, she would have already left.
“Among other things,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re Cameron Briggs, right?”
“In the flesh,” he said. “And you? What’s your interest in me? I don’t have any kids, and I haven’t stolen any identities. I’d definitely pick a better one than this.”
“I’m Emma Jennings. Are you aware of what else we do, Cameron?” she asked.
“Nope,” Cameron said. “And unless you’re charging me with something, I don’t care.”
He turned away and moved around the bed, but before Emma could chastise him for his horrid attitude he pulled the hospital gown off over his head, exposing his naked backside to her. He clearly had no more respect for boundaries than manners.
But only short gasps came out of her open mouth instead of words, and instantly, her face was on fire. The room was poorly lit, but she was convinced Cam would even be able to see her blush through her makeup. Emma turned away abruptly, her brain yelling at her for reacting the way she did, having long-dormant feelings stirred by a man who talked down to her before he even knew her.
Yet Emma couldn’t help but shoot a quick look back over her shoulder.
And through the scars and muscle, she saw it. It was faint, but it looked like the birthmark she was sent to find. It was difficult to tell if he was really one of them, but usually, the birthmark was a dead giveaway.
“Is that a tattoo?” she managed to ask before he dressed.
“What?” Cam finished pulling on his shirt and turned to face her. “No, it’s a scar. I call it my birthmark, but it doesn’t look like one. Some people say it looks like writing, but it’s nothing I recognize.”
