Marty Phillips (Book 1): Life Slowly Faded

by Double, Kieran

  “Yes, I am,” said Trix, then she hesitated. “But I didn’t do that to Marty. It just happened. Sometimes things like that actually happen, Phillips. It’s called magic. It doesn’t make sense, maybe it never will, but it is.”

  Ashley brooded, pacing. Then she spoke, her voice full of hatred and contempt, “How the hell did you get here? Are you a spy?”

  When Trix spoke again, after a pause, her voice was soft, subtle even. Far from anything I had ever known to come out of her mouth. “We were running, when I was younger. My mother had got into a fight with my grandfather. I barely remember him. Mom always said what they had been doing was wrong, and that the Verstecktvolk deserved to be free. She wouldn’t support my grandfather, and the way he treated the Verstecktvolk. Don’t judge me for my ancestors. You don’t even know me yet.”

  “No, I don’t, and I never will,” Ashley said, brooding. “But I can’t get rid of you yet. We need to call a meeting of the Huntsmen. We’ll decide what to do with you then.”

  10

  Seattle Underground

  But of all these also, none came home again, none were seen again. From that time forth, no one would venture in the forest, and it lay in stillness and solitude.

  (Iron Hans)

  “She… the woman you were talking to the other night at the bar?” said Schlaukopf, tilting his head out the door towards Trix.

  “Yeah. Apparently, she’s a princess. You know, our kind. Sehervolk,” I said. I was lying down on a hospital bed. They said they’d discharge me the next day. Just a flesh wound.

  “A princess! She’s a prostitute, Marty,” said Schlaukopf.

  I shrugged. “She and her mother were running away from her grandfather. Her mother didn’t agree with him being a dictator.”

  “Ashley must be pissed.”

  “You telling me. She’s furious” I changed the subject. Ashley’s temper wasn’t exactly my favorite. “Where’s Susie gone off to?”

  “She’s getting you coffee, Marty. She’ll be back in a sec.” Schlaukopf’s voice was nervous.

  I nodded, anxious to see her while I was conscious.

  Susie took her time.

  “Marty, good to see you awake,” she said, putting down a cardboard cup of coffee on the bedside locker. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.”

  “Then you should get some rest.” Susie sat down on the bed. She put her hand on my thigh affectionately. “I brought you something to read while I do my homework.” She produced an illustriously decorated copy of the Grimm Brothers’ Children’s and Household Tales.

  “It was my grandmother’s. She made it herself.” She leaned in as she spoke. “Don’t look at the pictures, though. It was written for the eyes of a Wolfmann, and some of the stories… they’re our version, which means they’re probably nearer the truth.”

  I flicked through the wide book. The tips of the pages were gold-leafed. On every page, there was a colorful illustration, meticulously drawn. Some of the pictures were… twisted. The Huntsmen didn’t save Red Riding Hood and her grandmother. The wolf’s pack gobbled the Huntsman up, as revenge for killing his mother. The text was handwritten, in a flowing, easy-to-read, script.

  “Thanks, Susie.”

  “You’re welcome, Marlowe.”

  Schlaukopf’s wife took Susie to school the next morning. I was there to pick her up, in the slightly less bashed up Jag. Some of the bodywork had been replaced, but spare E-Type parts were hard to come by. It would take a few days. Susie laughed at me when our eyes met.

  “What?”

  “You really love this car, don’t you? Even bashed up.”

  “Yeah, I do,” I said, revving the engine. Susie turned up the radio volume, blaring out Linkin Park from my iPod. One good thing her parents had left her, a good taste in music. Driving was something of a chore with a bashed up shoulder, but I struggled on.

  We were just leaving the city center, a few minutes from my apartment, when I noticed were getting tailed. A black sedan, slowly weaving in and out of traffic, never more than a hundred feet away, never nearer than fifty feet. I looked around skittishly.

  “You noticed our company?” Susie said coolly “One in front, one behind. The side-streets are probably blocked off too”

  “Yeah, Susie. What should we do?” I said anxiously. Another black sedan, coming head-on, swerved across the road. It blocked the way. I’d have to go down a narrow alleyway.

  She shrugged. “It’ll come to you, Marty.”

  It did. I turned, as if towards the alleyway, where another car was waiting, then did a U-turn. The black sedan that had followed us was swerving, but the Jag was nearly past it. That’s when Susie screamed.

  “Marty! He’s in the car!”

  I turned around. Michael Merkel, a hulking mass of muscle, with brown hair and blue eyes, was clambering up the back of the E-Type. He must have jumped out of one of the sedans. I pulled out my Glock and fired a few times. Nothing happened. I put my foot on the floor. The other cars were far behind already.

  Merkel changed. And this time I was scared. Susie’s form was nothing to her father’s. He was salivating, saliva everywhere. His ears were long, pointed, his eyes wild with determination. Merkel’s nose had elongated, hairy and wolfish. The bristles of his face were that of a wolf, and I realized how much Wolfvolk deserved their name.

  I took another shot. Merkel dodged.

  “Take the wheel,” I told Susie. She didn’t argue.

  We were coming up to Pioneer Square now, along Yesler Way. I jumped into the back. Merkel smiled. I fired. He just dodged the bullet, then leaped on me. We rolled around for a few seconds until Merkel pulled both of us out of the Jag, and onto the sidewalk. If I had been on the bottom, I would have been killed, but Merkel broke by fall.

  He got up, completely uninjured. I swore, running after him. Somehow I managed to keep up for a few blocks. Merkel ran down into Bill Speidel’s Underground Tour. He hopped the queue, waving a semi-automatic pistol around. I followed him, flashing the ID Schlaukopf had given me.

  “Out of my way, police business!” I shouted frantically.

  I’d gone on the Underground Tour before, with Annie a few years before Merkel murdered her. It wasn’t exactly a memorable experience. The tour guides were interesting, but Underground Seattle was pretty simple. Some ten feet concrete walls. What did people expect after a hundred and thirty years? The ravages of time cared little for aesthetic beauty.

  I had caught up with Merkel, moving faster past the crowd than he had, but there were only a few feet in it. He could easily get away. I lunged at him. That was a mistake. He was too strong. The Glock was knocked out of my weak hand. Merkel grabbed me, heaving me towards the concrete wall. My head rang with pain. He pulled me back to the floor, kicking and punching. Merkel took my gun, standing over me.

  I winced, waiting for the shot. But it never came. Merkel, underneath all that wolfishness, smiled, and it was a terrible smile, all teeth. He said “I’m not going to kill you, Huntsman. Not yet. You’ve something that belongs to me. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Good. Because I’m coming for you. You killed my wife, you bastard,” I said, dragging myself off the ground.

  Merkel nodded. “I did, and I enjoyed it, Phillips. Boy did I enjoy it. She squealed like a pig, even when the end was near. I slept soundly that night, dreaming of that moment.”

  I raised the Python. Merkel kicked it out of my hand. He grabbed my shoulder, pummelling my chest with his free hand. He whispered, “Tut, tut, Phillips. That was never going work. I’m Wolfmann, stronger than you weaklings. Like your wife. Proud bitch. My husband’s a Detective, you bastard, she screamed, as I tore her clothes off. But she didn’t stop making noise. She whimpered like an animal.”

  Then he turned and stalked away. I stumbled to my feet, dizzy from the beating I had taken. Merkel was gone. I swore.

  “Marty! You’re alright,” Ashley exclaimed, embracing me with an iron grip. “Come here, little br
o”

  “Whoa, Ashley. Since when were we so close?”

  “Oh, shut up, you fool.” She released me from her grip. But then she slapped me. When she spoke again, she was shouting, “What the hell were you thinking? Going after him alone! And leaving Susie in the Jag, alone. His men could have taken her. So reckless. You could have been killed!”

  The whole office turned to face us. Muller muttered something about calmness under his breath. I didn’t catch exactly what. It must have annoyed Ashley because she stood on his feet. She grabbed me by the shoulder, leading me away. “We’ll finish this in Captain Schlaukopf’s office,” she said firmly.

  I closed the door behind us. “Ashley, he killed my wife. I know I shouldn’t have gone after him. But he killed my wife, and he killed a client of mine. I ’m not thinking rationally. Merkel’s men were far behind us by the time I ran after him, Susie would have been fine. And you don’t even care about her anyway.”

  “Perhaps, but she seems to mean a lot to you…” Ashley lapsed into silence.

  Schlaukopf turned to me. “Merkel had a chance to kill you, but he didn’t take it?”

  “No. He said I had something that belongs to him. Susie, I assume. Then he did some boasting about raping Annie. How she squealed like a pig, and whimpered like an animal.” My throat was dry. Saying this aloud just made it worse. “He said he’d kill me later, like I wasn’t even worth his consideration.” I added, “Merkel got my Glock, too.”

  “Marty…” Muller had followed us in. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. I lost my gun, Wil. You know what that means, I put a gun in the hand of a criminal.”

  “You’re not even a police officer anymore.”

  “You think that makes a difference to me? The Department still gave it to me.”

  The door opened. Susie said, “You’ll find him in the end, Huntsman. Don’t worry.”

  “Anyone tell you how freaky you can be?”

  “All the time. My people are part of the reason children are scared of the dark. And even when we are reformed, we are never human. Even to you Huntsmen, and you’re not fully human.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  She smiled, her lips curled. “Sharp sense of humor, Marlowe. I hope you don’t drown yourself in bourbon tonight. I hate carrying fully grown men on my back.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “What?” She looked very confident. And not like a child talking to some adults. “I’m a Wolffrau. We are very strong, even children.”

  “Remind me why we’re here, Wil.”

  “Walker needs help.”

  “What did he do? The wife leave him?” I asked, curious and slightly worried. I’d seen Detectives fall apart before. Hell, I was one of them. And Walker, for all our fighting, was a good Detective.

  “Yeah, last night. Andy’s pretty tore up about it,” Muller said, knocking on the door.

  “Why am I here then?”

  “Oh, come on. Remember you said the pair of you were talking in The Den. Besides, you have more experience with this kind of thing than I do. I’ve never been married. You have.”

  “I still am. And I don’t think you’ll get married any time soon, I suppose. Ashley doesn’t strike me as the marital type.”

  The door opened, a young woman emerged from inside. She had more than a passing resemblance to Walker. His sister, I assumed. “Wil, come in. Who’s this?”

  I held out my hand. “Marty Phillips.”

  Walker’s sister smiled softly. “Aren’t you the one he always had fights with?”

  “That sounds like me.”

  “No offense, but what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m not really sure. But me and Walker were just joking around most of the time. And Wil here has no experience with marital problems. I was… married.”

  Walker’s sister nodded. “Don’t just stand there on the doorstep. Come in. I’m Diana, Andy’s sister.”

  Walker lay in a heap on the couch. A duvet covered his slumped shape. A pile of beer cans lay around him. We sat across from him on another couch. Diana shook her brother awake. He muttered something drunkenly, then sat up. “What are you doing here, bastard?”

  “Good to see you too, Walker.”

  “We just came by to have a chat, Andy” supplied Muller.

  “About what?”

  “You know what,” I said.

  “Yeah, I do” Walker lapsed into silence. No one spoke.

  Diana broke the silence. “Do you two want anything?”

  “Just water for me,” answered Muller.

  “Bourbon, if you have any, Diana,” I said. “Especially Jack Daniels.”

  “No, Marty,” said Muller.

  “Why not? Who gave you the right to order me around?” I said.

  “Ashley will kill me. You know that.”

  “She’ll kill me too. D’you think I care?”

  “Marty…”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Water for me too, Diana.”

  When his sister left the room, Walker, grimacing from his hangover, said “So, let’s here this talk. Is it supposed to be some kind of intervention?”

  “You can’t have an intervention before the problem,” I said.

  “The problem has already happened. My wife has left me, and taken the kids. It’s just a matter of time…”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  “There isn’t one, Walker. It’s not that simple. But I can tell you one thing, this, what you’re doing, it definitely won’t make it better. You got more chance of your wife coming back if you don’t completely collapse. Annie left me once, but she came back. Maybe your wife will.”

  “Maybe she won’t.”

  I smiled bitterly. “Yeah, maybe she won’t, maybe she will. There’s always a chance, Walker. Always.”

  “You’ve been watching too much fucking Harry Potter. Did no one tell you that Snape died alone? That he was not redeemed. That the woman he loved died by the side of another man? Good intervention, this.” Walker opened a can of beer, and took a sip. “I like it. It’s got… style.”

  “I’m glad you do.” I stood up and shook Walker’s hand. “I suppose we better be going. Merkel won’t wait forever.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “D’you think we were a bit too brief with Walker?” Muller asked, as we motored down a street in the Jag.

  “No. He doesn’t need us poking our noses in too much. That’d just make him more reclusive and selfish. It would only just drive him to drink.”

  “Does that mean it was our fault that you became an alcoholic?” Muller asked cautiously.

  “No, it doesn’t. The only person to blame when it comes to alcoholism, or addiction in general, is the person who is doing the drinking, or the drugs. And don’t you dare think otherwise” I said. We were both silent for few minutes, the sound of the Jag’s straight six engine. Then I asked, “You don’t mind if I drop you at Headquarters? I’ve… got something to do.”

  “Sure…”

  I drove up the driveway of my in-laws’ house. Susie was in the passenger seat next to me. She turned to me. “Why are we here, Marty?”

  “It’s my in-laws' house.”

  “And?”

  “When Annie died… when your father killed her, I couldn’t look after myself, let alone a dog. They took him, Buster. I… thought you might like his company.”

  “I dunno, Marty. My people can get very attached to animals. Very attached. Are you sure you want to let yourself in for that?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said, hesitating slightly. “I trust you.”

  “Let’s go in now,” she ordered.

  Margaret and Richard Edwards were recently retired, living alone with Buster. He was a King Charles spaniel, five years old. When I walked into the room, he leaped at me. His tail was bashing around the place. Buster sat as I rubbed his nose. I turned to my in-laws. “This is Susie
. I’m fostering her. I thought it might be good if she saw Buster. Her parents used to own a dog.”

  “You want to take him home again?” said Margaret.

  I nodded. “I think I’m ready now.”

  “Marty, would you help me get some coffee?” said Richard. He wanted to talk.

  I followed him into the kitchen. Richard fiddled with the coffee machine as he spoke. “Her parents are dead?”

  “Only her mother. Her father’s on the run, he murdered her.”

  Richard sighed. “And how did you get involved, son?”

  “Her mother paid me to find Susie,” I answered. “I did, but then she stayed behind to talk to her husband. She was dead a few minutes later.” I hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s been a break in Annie’s case.”

  “That’s brilliant. Do you know who did it?”

  “Susie’s father.”

  Richard raised his eyebrows. “And you’re fostering his daughter?”

  “Yep,” I smiled bitterly. “Don’t worry, Susie wants her father dead as much as I do. He wasn’t exactly a good father to her. She’s never said it, but I think he used to beat her sometimes.”

  “You with a kid. Now that’s something I’d thought I’d never see.”

  I smirked. “You and me both… But for some reason, I don’t feel as empty around her as I normally do. I miss Annie as hell, but I don’t feel like I can’t live without her anymore.”

  We went back into the sitting-room. Susie and Buster were getting on very well already. He had rolled over onto his back and his tail was barraging against the wooden floor. Susie was giving him a stomach rub. I smiled. “I see you two are getting on well.”

  Susie shrugged. “He’s a lot gentler than my father’s Alsatian. Do tell me, how was your fight with my father this evening?”

  “Susie…”

  “What? Answer the question, Marty. Don’t make it any harder than it has to be.”