“Mind if we talk, Hadi?” the suit with black hair suggested. Hadi folded his arms across his chest and smirked.
“We are talking.”
They did not like that answer, two of the three arching brows while Lindy and Amir bit back grins of mirth. Hadi did not move from his spot, however. The badges that the men flashed were not police or FBI; Hadi watched enough television or read plenty to know what those looked like. Whoever they were, they were not actually there for the stove.
“Hadi, how long have you lived here, in the States?” Black Hair asked. He stepped further into the bar, removing his Ray-Ban sunglasses. He had dark, piercing eyes and eyebrows in desperate need of a good weed whacker. The other two stood their ground, present for effect rather than necessity.
“Almost two years, I guess,” Hadi shrugged.
“You have proper documentation, I assume.”
“I sponsor his work visa,” Tamara interrupted. “What is this about, gentlemen?”
“This says you have dual citizenship in France and … Iran,” Black Hair continued, still ignoring Tamara. Even Lindy and Amir noticed, both of them losing their mirth in favor of annoyed, defensive frowns.
“I do. I was born in Iran and lived there until I turned seven. We moved to France right after my
brother turned one so I know France more than Iran. My parents and sister are still there.”
“Is that your brother?”
Hadi glanced at Amir but refused to offer an answer, narrowing his eyes at the idiot with Burt Brows.
“Gentlemen,” Tamara interjected, rising to her feet. She effectively blocked the path between Black Hair and Hadi. “Unless you’re here to take pictures of my busted up stove - which is sittin’ out back, mind - or to ask about the actual fire that nearly blew my staff up, I suggest you take your leave. I won’t have no one harassing my employees just cuz they wearing fancy suits and ties with your knock-off Ray-Bans.”
“Ma’am this is part of an ongoing investigation,” Black Hair tried.
“My big tits it is,” Tamara cut in. “I am a very strong and confident black woman, Mr. Ray-Bans but I know racial profiling when I see it. You’re not here for my stove. Now I don’t care what you think you came in here for, I’m done entertaining your stupidity. Please leave before I call the cops.”
“Ma’am, our jurisdiction supersedes the local police.” Black Hair sighed. Hadi remained placid.
Tamara was a nettle of thorns. Poor Lindy only looked concerned as did Amir; he’d only just arrived.
“Tam,” Hadi said easily. “It’s ok. Guys, have I done something wrong?”
“That’s what we’re here to determine, Mr. Shahir,” Black Hair replied. “Where were you last night?”
“Working,” Hadi said calmly though he felt his stomach twist in knots all the same.
“Can anyone corroborate that?” Black Hair asked. Hadi arched a brow.
“I can,” Lindy replied. “We was both here ‘til ‘bout 4am.”
“And after?” Black Hair pressed. “Can anyone account for your whereabouts after 4am, Mr. Shahir?”
“What is this about?” Hadi asked.
“Just answer the question, sir,” Black Hair insisted. Now, Hadi was angry. He could feel the burn at the pit of his stomach and swallowed hard against the desire to light the asshole’s pants on fire.
“We was upstairs, ya manner-less asshole,” Lindy continued. She stood as well, planting hands on hips. “Your momma must’ve had a field day with you. Shoulda taught you better manners - and how to manscape. You got somethin’ wild goin’ on in your brow area there; hope it’s not the same in your pants. But for your insistent information, I helped Hadi get his brother’s room ready after work, we fucked - since you seem to want juicy detail - went to get pancakes at Maddison’s - go ‘head an’ ask her, cuz she waited on us personal - then went to the airport to pick up his brother; in my car ‘fore you ask. We brought Amir back home, took a nap, fucked again, and then came here for lunch. Do you need more detail than that for your recordin’ device you got in your pocket or are you good?”
Black Hair had nothing to say. Hadi palmed his face, feeling his face go so red he very nearly burst into flames on the spot. The other two standing with Black Hair cleared their throats nervously and stared at the floor.
“No,” Black Hair finally conceded. “No, that’ll do. If we have more questions, we’ll call on you.”
“Doubt it,” Lindy intoned with full Texas sass behind her words.
The three men turned and left, practically stepping over themselves to get away. Once the bell had stopped jingling, Tamara turned to face Lindy, hands on hips as well and smirked.
“Lindsay-Rae Michaels,” she scolded gently. “You kiss your momma with that tongue, missy?”
“Momma’s dead,” Lindy threw back. “Kiss my daddy though. The hell they think they are?”
“A.E.C.,” Tamara sighed. “S’all I need. Boy, I love you like you was my own. You’re good people, but if you got a secret I need to know about, spill it now ‘fore I got more of them assholes rolling up into my place of business.”
“A.E.C.?” Amir asked.
“Agency for Evolved Control,” Tamara said while looking directly at Hadi. How or why she knew the acronym was not something Hadi was willing to ask. She fixed him with a look that made the temperature drop at least five degrees. He swallowed hard, glanced over at the door, then at Amir, and finally snapped his fingers. A small flame burst to life in the palm of his scarred hand, dancing in blue and orange hues. He did not let it linger long, extinguishing the flame almost as soon as it rippled to life. Tamara only stared for a moment, releasing a long sigh as she hung her head between her shoulders.
“Ok,” she said. “Ok…”
“Tam…” Hadi began. His stomach was in so many knots he felt nauseated. He wanted to apologize or explain but Tamara held up her hand and forestalled him.
“I don’t wanna know, Hadi,” she said, using his actual name rather than the nickname that had become so normal for him to hear. “Lord Jesus, I do not want to know. Now, you’re gonna pour me a glass of bourbon and we’re gonna forget this ever happened. You’ve been good to us so I will return the favor, but boy, you bring trouble to my door…”
“I won’t, Tam, I’m-”
Tamara held her hand up again, cutting Hadi off. She only shook her head and gestured for the drink she requested. He gave it to her just how she liked it: two ice cubes, tumbler half full. She drank it all in one gulp, the ice cubes clattering in the glass as she set it back down on the bar.
“Your shift starts at 6p tonight,” Tamara said. “Joey’s got a part in the school play. Don’t blow up any more of my stoves. Welcome to America, Amir.”
Tamara said nothing else, shaking her head as she left the bar. Hadi wanted to hide under a rock. Both Lindy and Amir stared at him with mixed concern and sympathy on their faces but the damage was already done.
They knew his secret.
They knew what he was.
~
Sparrow pillowed her head against her folded arms while Duck delivered his report. Angelo Gustavo, also known as Duck, was a decent enough agent, but not the best at interrogation. He was too gruff, lacked a certain finesse required when dealing with Evolved. Most were secretive about their abilities, fearing retaliation from loved ones or neighbors if their secret was known. Yes, there were a few public figures like Zephyr or Ronin - both of whom stood in the crisp white room while Duck delivered his report - but, for the most part, Evolved were just normal folks with a terrible curse on their heads.
The antiseptic brightness of the room made Sparrow’s head throb. Duck’s droning voice made it worse. He was over-zealous and quick to jump to conclusions. No finesse at all.
“…rather protective of him,” Duck concluded. “I think they’re hiding something. He’s definitely-”
“Some poor kid you probably just scared the piss out of, Duck,” Sparrow groaned.
>
“Are you suggesting the girl’s story checks out?”
“Duck,” Sparrow said, sitting up with her hair falling in her face. “A woman will not expressly admit to fucking unless she’s angry with you, in which case, she’s not going to lie about the act and wouldn’t use that vernacular unless you’ve really pissed her off.”
“She’s got a point,” Zephyr said. Her British accent still grated on Sparrow’s nerves but, oddly enough, it was fitting for the woman in Valkyrie armor as opposed to the woman in the tailored suit. “He may be Evolved - and will need to be watched - but he didn’t set the fire last night. That doesn’t mean he’s off the hook.”
“Agent Falcon is on his way in from Arizona,” Sparrow explained. She had worked with James Kendall before; they were close. Many teased them for having a relationship, something expressly not allowed amongst fellow agents, but it was only a tease. Valerie’s husband, Patrick, had insisted that James stand in as Valerie’s ‘man of honor’ during their wedding. Yes, they were close. Valerie needed him nearby now when things were so chaotic in Chicago.
“James Kendall,” Zephyr read off a dossier in her hand that Duck provided. Overly thorough prick. “Former military. No family? You’re listed as his next of kin, Agent Sparrow.”
“James and I are close,” Valerie explained, daring to use his actual name in front of others in the agency; it was not normally done. “He’s like my brother. He’s an only child, both parents deceased. We were recruited together.”
“There’s a red flag on his medical record,” Zephyr pointed out, looking to Valerie for an explanation. Sparrow glared at the brown-haired Brit. “Is he fit for duty?”
“He’s fit,” Sparrow said. “He was diagnosed with MS five years ago. It hasn’t impeded his work and he is regularly checked out by A.E.C. physicians. I don’t even know why that’s in there.”
“Because it needs to be,” Zephyr snipped back, snapping the dossier closed. “I want to speak with him when he arrives. Duck, set him up in the building across from this bar you went to - almost all of them in this gods awful city have tenement housing above the shops.”
“Dono teido made,” the woman in all black, known as Ronin, said. Sparrow couldn’t understand her but she very obviously understood English. Now she really wished James were there with her. He spoke almost everything.
“Because the young man Duck failed to interrogate is still an Evolved, and most likely a fire manipulator. Until we have proof otherwise, he sits on the top of the suspect list. I want Agent Falcon on him like white on rice. The rest of you, find me that bloody fire manipulator. There’s got to be more than one in this city. Flush them out.”
04
“Just be careful how you handle it, Val,” James said as he stood on the sidewalk in front of his new apartment building. He held a pack of Camels in his hand, pounding them as any good nicotine addict would, his cell phone tucked into his back pocket and Bluetooth ear piece blinking steadily in the waning light. “Yeah, I know his history, that’s why I’m telling you to be careful. Duck’s screwed things up more than he’s made them better and he doesn’t really take kindly to women giving him orders. For Christ’s sake his call sign is Duck. - - I didn’t pick it. - - Fuck that, I wanted your name. - - No, I got my truck unloaded this afternoon. It’s box city up there right now. The rest of it doesn’t come in until Wednesday. - - Yeah, that’s next on my list. I don’t even have ketchup. - - Heh, nah, I’ll be good. The bar across the street looks promising. - - Well that’s where this guy works, right? Might as well get a jump on things. Don’t got nothing better to do. Can’t believe we’re dealing with two of these bastards. - - What? No, I’m not smoking. - - No..- - I’m not smoking! Shit, woman… - - Never. Seriously, though, I’m glad to be here. I’ve missed you. - - Love you too; kiss those kids for me. - - Later.”
James Kendall finished pounding out the new pack of Camels before popping one of the cancerous sticks out of the fresh packaging. He hadn’t lied to Valerie; mostly. He lit up as he jaywalked across the street to the bar with the rustic looking sign that read “13th Hour” in neon blue with the curve of the lower case ‘h’ burnt out. He could smell the food from across the street, delicious scents of deep fried onions and greasy burgers. He wanted it all after the work he’d put in that day. Everything he brought with him was on the third floor of a brick building in the East Side district of Chicago. It was probably more than he should have done, all things considered. He could feel the twitch in his right arm, forcing his hand to flex a few times as he smoked his beloved cigarette. There were too many differences from Arizona. The weather, for one, was a bit too cold for James’s liking and the wind was killer. ‘Windy City’ was an understatement in his opinion. Still, it was now ‘home’ so he would endure as he did when he’d been moved to the sweltering Hell hole of no-man’s land Arizona.
He finished off his cigarette, giving his cell phone one last check to make sure things had not changed as he crushed the smoldering butt into the pavement before entering the 13th Hour. A tiny bell above the door jingled as he entered the bar. It was dimly lit with booths and a few high tables. The bar itself was long, wrapping around the back end of the establishment with an impressive collection of liquor bottles on wood shelves. There were a few patrons, each of them too entrenched in their own conversations or lives to bother with James. He didn’t mind at all, swinging himself over one of the barstools a few seats down from an elderly gentleman with a tumbler full of bourbon.
“Shut up!” a young man said as he came from the double doors to the kitchen carrying a plate laden with a heaping pile of French fries and two onion rings. He set them down in front of the elderly gentleman and smiled. “Fries and onion rings, as requested.”
“Thanks, Haze,” the man slurred. The bartender nodded then looked towards James. He had the most stunning hazel colored eyes and dark olive skin. It was an enticing contrast that made James flush in spite of himself. He was here for dinner, not a date.
“A new face to my bar,” the bartender said. “Curious. What’ll it be, new face?”
“James,” he offered. “Guiness. On draft, if you’ve got it.”
“If I’ve got it,” the bartender said in mock offense. He pulled a chilled glass from a freezer and poured out the requested drink like a pro, setting it down in front of James with a smile. “From where do you come, James?”
“Arizona,” James answered, enjoying the conversation with another human being. It had been a very long and boring drive.
“Ugh, too hot,” the bartender groaned, waving it all off as if doing so would banish the state back into the pits of Hell where it belonged. “Work move?”
James grinned and nodded, taking a blessedly long drink from his glass. It was the best beer he’d had in a long time. Logically, he knew that was a lie but in that moment, it was exactly what he needed.
“HAZE!!!”
The booming voice made James look over his shoulder. A beast of a man walked in, arms raised in a ‘V’ that was mimicked by the bartender.
“My man!!” the newcomer bellowed.
“I’ll get your brick into the fryer right now, V,” the bartender said.
“No, no - think I’m gonna change it up a bit. Parole officer says I need to change my diet.”
“Wait, wait, wait - MOOSE!!” the bartender hollered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and aimed it at the new comer. All the other patrons stopped to watch the debacle as well, some smiling or whispering as they waited. Another very large man, this one dark of skin and much older, came out of the kitchens with a greasy towel in hand and an apron wrapped around his girth. “Ok, V, go ‘head.”
“Serious?” the man named ‘V’ said. He looked at James who only offered a shrug, smirking at the antics around him. The bartender was his target, he knew that much, but, so far, the kid was just that - a kid, probably no older than twenty-four with a lot of regulars he seemed to genuinely care about. “Anyway, so Banrae said I’ll die
of a coronary before my parole’s up if I keep eating them bricks. So… I’m switchin’ to fries. Potatoes are a vegetable, right?”
The entire bar burst out laughing. Even James had to chuckle despite hearing Valerie’s name. The beast of a man was one of Valerie’s parolees. Good grief! He hoped she never had to deal with that during a tirade. The cook went back into the kitchen to get the fries while jokingly commenting that he would add some parsley to the plate so there was something green on it. The bartender punched the order in, still chuckling and smiling, when he turned back to check on James.
“Hungry? Or you good making love to your beer?” the bartender asked. James laughed. He liked the guy. His words had a slight accent to them that was hard to place: not quite French but enough of it to make James think that at least part of him was French or else he’d spent a great deal of time there. He hadn’t read the full dossier yet.
“God, I’d kill for a burger and fries,” James admitted. He knew that he probably would too, if it really came down to it. His stomach agreed, rumbling loudly right at that moment. “See?”
The bartender laughed as he turned to punch in the order on the touch-screen register behind him. “Everything on it?”
“Yes, please,” James said, taking another long drink of his beer. He let the silence that followed wash over him, cracking his neck or letting his head hang down to his chest if for no other reason than to stretch the muscles in his back. The burger and fries brought him back around to reality complete with another hangry rumble of his stomach and salivating mouth. He dug into it with a barely mumbled thank you, not even noticing the refill on his beer until the plate was mostly empty. The bartender, whose name was Hadi, James learned, only smiled and offered conversation when James was not stuffing his face with food or chatted with the big guy who they called ‘V’. He ordered another round of fries and something called a s’mores pudding pie that was simply to die for.
“Alright, so where are you from, New Guy?” ‘V’ asked, shifting on his bar stool to look at James. James wiped his mouth and snorted.
Hellfire Page 3
