As soon as I stepped into the kitchen I knew something was wrong. It was dinnertime—this place was usually packed at dinner. There were pots boiling over on the stove and meat frying without any supervision. I picked this place for a very specific reason; I should have thought about the possibility of crime in the neighborhood.
Fine. You want to cost me dinner? I’ll take it out of your hides.
I went into stealth mode, instantly moving against the wall to avoid the little window in the door to the dining room. Once there I peeked out to see what the situation was.
Alessandro was held at gunpoint by two thugs with red bandannas wrapped around their heads like this was a 1980’s action movie. His wife, Jahaira, was pushed face down on a table while the apparent leader of this little band held a knife to her throat and threatened them. I didn’t see any customers; they must have scared them off along with the other two employees. But there would be no local authorities riding to the rescue. This was clearly a shakedown. Local gangs wanting their “protection” money.
They would have gotten away with it too if I wasn’t here. I took one more glance to make sure there weren’t any hidden surprises, then went with my plan. I grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge, pulled the tab, took a long swig, dumped some on my clothes, then pushed my way into the main room, swaying a little as I drank the last of the beer.
I froze about ten feet from Alessandro. His eyes pleaded with me to run.
“Who’s this? I thought you said no one else was here old man?”
Old? The dude’s barely fifty and his wife could still pass for her thirties. Punks.
I had to remind myself I couldn’t kill them. It was a weird thing to have to do, especially since a part of me was noticeably disappointed about it… which was really… disturbing. I know I tend to have a very clinical view of this. Bad people do bad things and they deserve to have bad things happen to them in turn. I could wait for fate or karma to take care of it, but I’m an impatient person by nature.
“She’s nobody, our tenant, she isn’t part of this, let her go.”
The man holding Jahaira laughed and pushed her down on the floor. He took two steps and slammed his fist into Alessandro’s stomach causing the kind man to collapse. I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t stabbed. I put the beer down on the nearest table as I passed, heading right for the leader. As I expected, they saw no threat in the sudden appearance of a drunk black girl.
“Okay honey, if you’re real good we’ll trea—”
You know, I had this big plan about convincing them I was harmless and then taking them when their defenses were down. But this…
“Frag it,” I said. I hopped up and shot my booted foot out with blinding speed. The heel caught him in the chin, snapping his jaw shut with a spurt of blood as his teeth severed his tongue. I followed through by spinning and switching legs to kick number two right in the chest. He flew through the air and slammed into the pillar dividing the dining room. The final guy shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
That was okay, I didn’t need him to. I leaped forward and brought my fist down on his jaw, spinning him around and knocking him out with one blow. I’d like to say it was my technique, but no, it was my Wraith strength.
Even as they fell, one right after another, the first hitting the ground a second before the third, my blood screamed out at me to finish them, kill them now before they became a problem. I found myself picking up the discarded knife and kneeling down on the leader’s chest, pushing the five-dollar discount blade against his throat.
Blood and broken teeth leaked out of his mouth as he tried to speak. I had the blade an eighth of an inch into his throat before I stopped myself. As much as I wanted to, I had a plan and killing him would mean having to find a new place to live. And this felt wrong.
“It isn’t,” Sara said from beside me. She knelt in one of her school uniforms, her finger tracing the path along the scumbag’s throat. “Cut here. He’ll be dead and you’ll feel great.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to kill him just yet, Spice. And when did you get so bloodthirsty?” I asked her.
“He might as well be one of the men who killed me Madi. You remember that don’t you?”
I closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, she was gone.
“Don’t kill me,” the gang member said.
I looked at the knife I held and saw how close I was to killing him—as if he wasn’t a person. I didn’t feel bad. Not at all. I could snuff his life and move on to the other two as smooth and easy as the beer went down.
What’s wrong with me?
I leaned down real close to him and whispered, “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you and everyone you care about. Do you understand?”
He nodded, his eyes going scary wide as a primal fear he’d never felt before invaded him. I knew that fear well; after all, I was the one causing it.
“Good. Now get out.” I climbed off him, kicking his stomach as I did, and walked over to Jahaira. “You okay?” I asked as I helped her up. Neither one of the Peruvian immigrants spoke as the three gang members shuffled out.
Once they were gone a wave of relief fell over Jahaira.
“You just made it so much worse for us,” Alessandro said. His wife slapped him so fast I didn’t even register the movement.
“They would have hurt me,” she said.
He hugged her close and looked up at me. His pride was hurt; he couldn’t protect his family. I got it. I know the feeling.
“They won’t be back. I promise. At least, not looking for you. Now, any chance I can get some Ceviche?”
After several bowls and more beer than I should have consumed, I made my way upstairs. My original plan was still on my mind but with each step my legs grew heavy and my eyes shut for longer and longer periods.
“You should have killed them. If you had, this wouldn’t be happening,” Spice said from the top of the stairs.
I was so deliriously tired I couldn’t tell if she was real or a figment of my imagination.
“I’m real. Only you can see or hear me though,” she said.
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
She laughed. It sounded just like my Spice. Sara had an infectious laugh. She was dead though—this couldn’t be her. Could it?
“I can’t read your mind, but it’s an obvious question to ask. Let me help you,” she said as she bounced down the stairs and slipped under my arm. I could feel her, smell her, hear her, and see her. She was also strong, far stronger than Spice was in real life.
As a model I never weighed more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds. I stayed rail thin for the job. Since I’d met Joseph, I’d packed on almost forty pounds, all muscle. Even with the Wraith superpowers I needed the muscle memory, the reactions, the endurance that muscle brought. Besides, while I could shadow step whenever I wanted and see in the dark to some degree, the strength and speed only seemed to come after the rush of killing someone.
We made it to my room, and I managed to get the key I the door on the third try. Once open, she guided me into the bed and I collapsed in a heap. With an effort I rolled over and looked up at her. “You going to be here when I wake up?”
“Nope,” she said. Then I blacked out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You okay, boss?” Zim asked as Bill sat on the end of the ambulance with an oxygen mask on his face. He was stripped down to the waist so the EMT could tape ribs. Thankfully, the rain had finally stopped and now it was a balmy sixty-five as the sun went down. His ribs ached like a son of a gun, but other than that he was okay.
“Yeah, any idea who that was?”
Zim shook his head. “I checked the database; no record of her from what I could tell. Rico’s going over the footage right now, seeing if he can isolate her face. Between the red mask and the glowing eyes though…”
Bill nodded. The government database of superpowered people was woefully inadequate f
rom a law enforcement perspective. The only time anyone made it into the files was when they were arrested or volunteered to register.
“She’s an operator, whoever she is. I don’t care what powers she has, nobody moves like that by accident,” he said. Zim nodded, letting his boss talk without interrupting, knowing he was just working things out. “Probably a Navy Seal or Army Spec-force… something like that. Start there. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, so start with the dropouts or the people who didn’t complete for medical reason and go from there.
“On it,” Zim said as he headed back for their van.
Whoever she was, she had killed at least twenty armed and dangerous gang members and arms dealers tonight. She also saved Bill’s life. Instead of an ambulance he would be in a coroners van.
“Sergeant Farrell?” a woman with a sweet soprano called out to him.
“Master Sergeant,” he said automatically. He liked to make sure civilians knew who was in charge, and if she were local law he didn’t want a jurisdictional pissing match. When he looked up, though, he realized she wasn’t a cop. If he had to guess, the attractive woman with the brown hair and green eyes was a reporter.
Great.
“Master Sergeant, I’m Krisan Swahili. I’m covering stories of vigilante activity in the area. What did you see tonight?” she asked. Her eyes had the quality of an intelligent woman—one who knew how to ask a question.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Swahili. I’m not at liberty to discuss ongoing operations.”
She smiled. “Of course. I’m not so much interested in what you are doing here, Master Sergeant—”
“Call me Bill,” he interrupted with a wave of his hand. She wasn’t aggressive, angry, or entitled; she was far more likely to have a civil conversation and he was too tired to turn this into an argument about security clearance.
“Bill,” she said with a smile. He liked her smile. Shaking his head, he ran one hand over his face and through his crew cut. Bill was easily a decade older than her and he felt his age at the moment. But damn if she wasn’t attractive. “Can you tell me if you saw… how should I put this, anything strange? Unusual?”
That piqued his interest more than her very pretty face. He thought for a moment, trying to decide what he could and could not say. After all, the vigilante, whoever she was, wasn’t part of his operation. No opsec would be violated by talking about her. She did save his life though, which made him want to protect her.
“I’m pretty good with people, Bill, and I can tell you’re warring with what to share. Let me make it easy for you; how about I tell you what I know, then you can tell me?”
He nodded. Damn, he liked this woman.
She smiled. “Great. There was some kind of arms buy here tonight. Since you’re here, I’m guessing it was Army surplus— don’t worry, I have no intention of putting that in my story, or you and your men. Like I said I’m here for another reason.”
He nodded again.
“One of the factions was likely part of ISO-1?”
He cocked his head to the side. This woman should be working for Army Intelligence.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said with a smile. “The other side was probably Russian or Ukrainian. Sometime during the buy a woman appeared. Maybe she was here before and you didn’t notice, but either way, she started killing them,” she nodded over her shoulder to the line of bodies in black bags that looked like something out of a plane crash. “When it was all said and done, she vanished into thin air. Is that about right?”
“Close. She took someone with her. I think it was the leader of the ISO faction. We’re not sure since that isn’t why we were here. She also saved my life.”
Her eyebrow shot up and she smiled even bigger. “Oh good. Tell me, Bill, was our friend black with dreadlocks and a red scarf?”
“That’s the one. You know who she is, don’t you?”
Krisan nodded. “Tell you what, Army boy, you buy me a drink, and maybe dinner, and we can compare notes.”
Bill liked the sound of that.
CHAPTER NINE
Vaas stormed through the room, his eyes searching for something to smash. The TV was the unfortunate target. He pulled it down from the wall and slammed it into the ground. The screen cracked and he stomped on it, over and over until it was in a hundred pieces.
“Feel better?” Manuel asked from behind him.
“Yes.” Ignoring the mess he had made, he went to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out his secure cellphone. Only a handful of people had the number, including his high-level contacts—like the new District Attorney ISO had helped elect. He stared at the phone for a moment before dialing the DA.
Several rings later, Henry Williams, the city’s newest DA, answered. “I’m in the middle of something, call me—”
“I will talk to you now, puta. I own you, and don’t think for one second you have any say in this.” Normally, Vaas would have handled the man more delicately but today he was too furious. If Henry wanted to play power games, he would show the man what was what.
Several seconds of silence passed before Vaas heard Henry speak. “Yes, Mr. Mayor, I’ll get right back to you, sorry.” The phone on the other side clicked and Henry spoke to Vaas.
“You know you don’t have to threaten me; I’m on board with you guys. If you go down, I go down, and I don’t want that.”
Vaas ignored the man’s complaint. If he didn’t like it, tough. “Who was behind the raid and why didn’t you warn us about it,” he demanded. Vaas certainly wasn’t in the mood for this nonsense.
“I didn’t warn you because I didn’t know about it. The Army sent in a covert CID team. Technically they can do whatever they want but they’re supposed to contact us when operating in the city.”
Instead of appeasing him the information enraged him farther. “The Army? I lost good men on that raid. Shot dead in cold blood. That doesn’t sound like law enforcement. Was the Army behind what happened at the mansion?”
“No, of course not. It—”
“Shut up. If you want to stay in your cushy little position with your money, power, influence, and women, then you better start doing your job. We elected you. We can always find someone else.” Vaas slammed the cell phone down on the desk.
“Army, huh?” Manual said. “Don’t we have people in the Army who should have warned us about this?”
“How do you think we got our hands on that much C4? Of course we have people. Time to make some calls. I’ll talk to our point woman in the Army, you contact the council. Enough is enough. I want the Regulators up here.”
Manuel froze, his hand inches from his cell phone. “Uh, you sure man? That may not be the best move.”
Vaas waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “We’re up against something we haven’t seen before. This isn’t no Army cops or feds, this is more. It’s a rival gang and they are going to learn that we are the top dog here. Scour the streets; I want to know everyone and everything moving. Talk to the small gangs first. They tend to have their ears to the ground… What are you waiting for?”
Manuel nodded, turned and was on his cell phone before he was out the door.
CHAPTER TEN
Peter was a fountain of information. He didn’t know what ISO wanted with the explosives but he did have details on virtually every other operation in the city and a couple south of the border. There were two main parts to any of their operations: the drug smuggling into the US, and human trafficking out. According to Peter, and I believed him thanks to my uncanny powers, the drugs came in twice a month. They tried to pick days that weren’t obvious. This month it was the day before Thanksgiving. I guessed the thinking was everyone would be looking forward to the holiday and not paying attention.
Since they had succeeded in eluding authorities so far, I had to say they were probably right. But I wasn’t the authorities, was I? The tiny town of Jean Lafitte, population 2000, lies forty minutes south and west of New Orleans. Despite its relative proximity
to the Big Easy, it’s like stepping into an old movie. White plantation style houses, narrow streets, vintage cars. Their only claim to fame is the rich guy who lived there, John Baptist, and his private airfield. Now Mr. Baptist was currently was in the middle east, checking up on the progress of his film empire.
I would be investigating Mr. Baptist in the future. But at the time I was more interested in his private airfield. Of course, it wasn’t really an airfield; just a deep man-made lake, sitting on his thirty acres of private fenced-in property, patrolled by armed guards, dogs, and hi-tech security.
ISO-1 had their tricks. According to Peter, this one was to bring the drugs in via legitimate freighters then have their people raid the freighters during the night to “steal” the drugs and deliver them via skiff to the waiting seaplane, which would take off for a day cruise and fishing. It was clever and the authorities hadn’t caught on yet—or were turning a blind eye.
I sure wished people would do more of their illegal stuff during the night. These daytime meets were killing me. I guess that’s why Joseph trained me so hard; I couldn’t always rely on my powers. If I only had them, then I would have to wait for night to strike. As it was… well, I still struck at night when I had a choice.
I drove through the sleepy town with my windows up, listening to local talk radio. There’s a gentleman who does the crime beat and I hoped to find out who those guys were yesterday at the buy. Other than Army… of course.
“Welcome to AM 670, WYMYND, New Orleans, I’m your host, Carter Paul. Today we have a special, last minute guest. She showed up at our door an hour ago, and considering some of the awards she’s won for her crime coverage in Detroit, I couldn’t say no.”
No freaking way.
“Welcome Krisan Swahili, former star reporter of the Detroit Free Press, recently gone independent.”
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