She didn’t quite know where this skill at train jumping had come from, but it had helped her out more than once. If she hustled she could make the Third Street crossing with time to spare.
* * *
The trestle over Third Street was ancient, flaking black iron. It carried a single track and you could look straight through the ties to the rails of another track passing directly beneath it. It had its share of graffiti, but mostly its only visitors were Ariel and the trains. Ariel had been perched on the parapet of the trestle for five minutes.
Damn trains. Nothing runs on time anymore. But then the vibration started. She could feel it through her feet which were currently bare so she’d be able to get a good grip when she jumped. There were always empty or partially loaded cars these days and the railroad usually forgot to lock the roof hatches. She liked train travel, you just had to know when to bail. With all the Homeland Security stuff there were more guards in the train yards than there used to be. Better to get off before you got there.
Ariel looked over her shoulder. The bright Cyclops eye of the engine was bearing down her. The train was only going 20 miles an hour, but that was fast if you had jump on as it went by. Ariel let the engine and maybe twenty cars pass under her. She could see some open car carriers coming up with more wooden freight cars behind them. The first freight car behind the carrier was her target.
Springing from the trestle she hit the roof of the car on all fours. The talons on her fingers and toes dug into the old wood as the car began to sway around the curve that took the train behind a neighborhood of tenements and rundown buildings that made up part of the south side slums. This was always the worst part of the ride. It brought Ariel even with the third floor windows in the back of some of the buildings. Sometimes a light would be on inside and she could see the shabby, hopeless rooms with their shabby, hopeless occupants. People shouldn’t have to live like that.
Scrabbling forward she made her way across the top of the car. It had a hatch in the roof, she could ride inside if she wanted to, but she had a much better target in mind-- a whole carrier full of expensive comfort on wheels. They were just sitting in their little racks, noses pointed slightly to the sky just like the upper class people who would eventually buy them.
Ariel swung down the ladder at the front of the freight car and leaped the gap between it and the carrier. Climbing up the rack, she picked the biggest car. A silver Mercedes with a huge back seat and an awesome satellite radio and CD player. Pulling a flat strip of flexible steel out of her sleeve she easily popped the door lock, opened the back door and slid into the plush, all leather backseat. She found a station she liked on the radio, lowered the volume to a comfortable level, set her internal clock for the appropriate wake up time and let the cadence and sway of the train rock her off to sleep.
* * *
At five a.m. the sky was barely tinged with light, so Ariel risked a short flight from the edge of the train yard where she’d glided, unseen, off the top the carrier to the flat, tarred roof of the Dojo. She folded her wings and used a convenient steel ladder to climb down the fire escape to Tomas’ bedroom window. She tapped on the glass. She could have popped the lock and slipped into the room without much trouble, but Tomas was a Raptor and she didn’t want to lose her head before she’d had a chance to explain what she was doing there.
The bottom of the window rose slowly on its sash. No one was visible on the other side. It was an invitation, but if she were Tomas she’d be flat to the wall on one side of the window with something large and pointy in one hand and extended talons on the other.
“Tomas? It’s me, Ariel. I need to talk to you.”
“Ariel?” Tomas dropped from the edge of the roof onto the fire escape rail behind her. She spun around. What was she thinking? Tomas’ first rule had always been ‘surprise the enemy’.
He dropped into a crouch, perching on the rail. He was dressed in black, string-tied cotton pants and no shirt. She’d obviously gotten him out of bed. His bare chest was an anatomical lesson in musculature, each one lean, taut, and defined.
“Are you crazy?’ He hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“Fine, thanks. And you?” Ariel hated being snuck up on.
Tomas cocked his head and gave her his best Boot Camp instructor stare.
“Okay, I have a problem.”
“You sure do if the Guardian finds out about this. We’re not supposed to cross territories unless we have orders.” Tomas jumped lightly from the rail and motioned Ariel through the window. Following behind her he switched on a bedside lamp as he walked past it.
Tomas’ room was a lot like Tomas himself, stripped down to the essentials. Clean, neat with none of the normal clutter Ariel associated with men living on their own. Not that she’d had much experience with that.
Tomas retrieved a black t-shirt from a hook behind the door and pulled it on. It wasn’t modesty Ariel knew, it meant whatever it was she had brought to him it had better be business. “Coffee?” he asked. Ariel followed him into the small kitchen down the hall from his bedroom.
This apartment was Tomas private quarters. Students lived in a dormitory downstairs next to the practice room. When Ariel was there the students referred to the Dojo as “Boot Camp”, which was what it was. Get up early, stay up late. Get strong, be fast, face the enemy and survive. And: practice, practice, practice.
“You have any students downstairs?” she asked as Tomas set out cups and poured coffee.
“Not at the moment. Things are pretty quiet out there. We haven’t lost anyone for a while and there’s not much local activity. I haven’t gotten a new recruit or a letter in at least a month.”
Ariel fiddled with her cup trying to decide where to start. “Do you remember ‘before’ Tomas?”
“Ariel, if this is about us, that’s over. We’re Raptors, we can’t have that any more. It doesn’t work.”
“I wasn’t talking about us, Tomas. I meant before all this. Before we became whatever it is we are.”
“I only remember being what I am, El. There is no ‘before’ for me. It doesn’t help to imagine there was.”
“I still have the dreams, but I can’t see the faces. Not clearly, not well enough to know them. The other thing I remember is the darkness . . . and the pain.”
“We all remember that, El. That’s why the Guardian was there when you woke up. Someone has to tell the new ones who they are. Are you still painting?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea either. Maybe you should just let it go.”
“I blew my last assignment, T.”
“What?”
“That’s one of the reasons I came here.”
“You missed the target? Try again. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“That’s the thing, I didn’t miss him. I cut his head off. Green blood everywhere. He was dead when I left. Two days later he’s in court in a neck brace, big as life. I’m willing to try again, but he’s going to be really hard to get to now, and what if the same thing happens again?”
“Does the Guardian know?”
“Nope. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“You need to tell him.”
“I’d rather be plucked, battered and deep fried. There’s also something else. Over the last five or six years a lot of kids have just disappeared. Some younger, some older, some of them runaways. There’s a trail straight back to Tesslovich. What if I kill him before we find out why this is happening and what connection Tesslovich has to it? Maybe he’s the link.”
“Maybe that’s why the Guardian put out the hit on him? Did you think of that?”
“It doesn’t feel right, T. I think Tesslovich is just part of the picture. I think there are other demons involved. If I go after him again they might become impossible to get to.” Ariel looked straight into Tomas’ eyes. “They’re snatching kids, Tomas. What if we could find them? Get them back to their parents, wouldn’t that be worth the wai
t to kill one demon?”
“We do one thing in this world, Ariel. We kill demons. The rest isn’t any of our business. It has nothing at all to do with us.”
Ariel stood up. “Maybe it does. Maybe it has everything to do with us.” She reached into her coat pocket. “Twenty-two kids living in the Runaway Shelter downtown have disappeared in the last five years. The nun who runs it has pictures of most of them. She really cares about those kids, T. Even me, I care about at least one of them.” She set the picture down on the table in front of Tomas. “Because you see, I’m pretty sure that kid in the picture is you.”
- 14 -
Bishop was standing in the order line at Starbucks. He’d run out of coffee at home but somehow managed to get dressed and stagger down the street in a catatonic state until he found the nearest source of caffeine. It wasn’t hard. He could have staggered in any of the four available directions and found a Starbucks located equidistant from any of the others.
He was just telling the barista, “Triple espresso, no milk, no sugar, no flavors, no straw,” when cannons started to go off in his pants. He grabbed for his cell phone. He was seriously going to kill that little shit at the cell phone store for making his ring the opening to the 1812 Overture.
“Bishop,” he said, both into the phone and to the barista so she could write his name on the cup. He threw a five at her and retreated to the line for picking up drinks.
“Hey man, it’s Rain. You awake yet?”
“I will be as soon as Starbucks gives me my coffee. What’s up?”
The clerk called “Triple espresso.” Bishop took it over to a table where it was quieter. His first sip was vaguely unsatisfying after the espresso at the underground cafe.
“Feel like going to the track?”
“The race track? You know I couldn’t pick a horse if my life depended on it.”
“I got a winner for you this time, my man. Quantum Leap is racing in the fifth. That’s Zaki Keriyenko’s horse. This is his professional debut, but I hear he’s going to be hard to beat. His owner has a star box, but I’m sure he’ll be at the rail for this one. I thought you might like to check him out.”
“Pick me up in twenty minutes,” Bishop told him. “I’ve just become a horse race fan.”
* * *
Rain was dressed for a day at the track. His version of casual was a lime green silk polo shirt and perfectly pressed black slacks. Bishop had gone home, taken a shower, put on clean underwear and climbed back into what he’d put on that morning when he rolled out of bed, jeans, a blue t-shirt and a brown suede sports coat. Rain didn’t comment. Bishop knew his former partner had moved from despair over Bishop’s wardrobe to resignation a long time ago.
The track was surprisingly crowded. Diehard fans had suffered through the first two races and were poised for the third which was set to go off any minute. Rain had insisted on tickets for the second tier. Bishop had to admit the view was better there and they could order drinks from their seats. Rain had just managed to place a bet before the bell and he slid back into his seat as the horses in the third race burst from the gates.
“I put your pissant two bucks on Darby Sue to win.” He handed Bishop the ticket. “I was embarrassed. I had to tell the guy I was doing it for my grandmother who was on a limited income.”
“I am on a limited income,” Bishop told him. “It’s getting more limited all the time. I don’t get all the perks you vice cops get.”
“Hey! The hookers get older every year and the pushers get uglier. They should give those guys a dental plan.”
Darby Sue won by a length.
“Mmm, mm, mmm, mmm, mm!” Rain gloated over his ticket. He snatched Bishops out of his hand. “Allow me to collect your six dollars, big spender. You should have trusted the Rain Mann. You want me to roll it over into another bet?”
“I think I’ll stop while I’m ahead. There’s a Happy Meal with my name on it tonight and I’m going to spend my winnings on extra fries.”
While Rain was off placing his bets, Bishop settled back in his chair and looked around. He’d been to the track a couple of times with Rain when he was in Vice. One time they were following a big time drug dealer indulging his hobby, the other was so he could lose thirty bucks while Rain perfected his system. He knew horse racing was big business and that bettors were addicted to the adrenaline rush of watching their horse try to make it to the finish line ahead of a pack of other horses trying to do the same thing. Unfortunately, that was the best part. It was the long waits in between races that bored Bishop out of his skull. When the waitress came around he bought a beer for himself and a diet coke for Rain. He set the coke in the cup holder on Rain’s chair. He was now ten dollars in the hole, not counting admission. No large fries tonight.
Rain lost the fourth race. He tore up his ticket up in disgust and suggested they walk down to the paddock and see if they could get a look at Quantum Leap and hopefully his owner before the fifth race. That’s when things started to get interesting.
Rain and Bishop weren’t the only ones at the fence. Other race fans had obviously heard about the new entry and wanted to get a look at him before risking a bet. Bishop didn’t know much about horses, but he knew a beautiful animal when he saw one. Quantum Leap was more than beautiful, he was magnificent. His coat was a chestnut brown so dark it was almost black. Muscles rolled under his skin as he moved. He held his head high, tolerating the attention he was getting, disdaining to react to any of the other horses around him as he was prepared for the race. The horse and his jockey wore scarlet and silver. Bishop seemed to remember from his research those were Zaki’s corporate colors. Kiriyenko Industries logo was a scarlet disk with a raised, silver infinity symbol in the middle. Zaki obviously had plans for eternity.
“Wow.” Bishop said.
“Really something, huh? Whoops. The odds are starting to change. Gimme a twenty,” Rain demanded, “You are placing a bet on this one.”
Bishop absently handed Rain a bill out of his wallet. The horse deserved a bet from him he thought, even if he lost. Rain hurried off to place their bets, Bishop stayed at the fence. All of a sudden there was a flurry of activity at the entrance to the paddock. Zaki had arrived with his entourage.
Zaki Kiriyenko’s facial features had been given to him by his Japanese mother. He had the eyes, high cheekbones and haughty demeanor of a Samurai. His Russian father had given him his height and breadth of shoulder. Zaki was at least six three and wore his straight black hair in an unruly Cossack knot at the back of his head. It was the sort of non-hairstyle actors and models affected to show they could be tousled but beautiful. It didn’t make Zaki look the least bit effeminate. Instead he looked like Genghis Khan in a custom made Italian suit.
Bodyguards, minions, track officials, and two exquisitely beautiful women trailed in his wake. Behind them, like pilot fish, came the people who’d been lucky enough to be invited to his private box to watch Quantum Leap run. Zaki ignored them all and so did Bishop. He watched as Zaki ran his hands over the horse’s neck, shoulder and flank as if feeling for the power he was about to unleash. The horse turned his head at his owner’s touch, and his eye met Zaki’s for a long moment, broken only by the jockey’s hurried approach to the mounting block. As the jockey settled into the saddle, Zaki leaned in and gave him a final instruction. The jockey nodded as the groom began to lead the horse toward the gate.
Bishop’s attention wandered to Zaki’s guests. He recognized two politicians, a couple of famous sports figures, an actor and his latest girlfriend, and a familiar stripped suit. He couldn’t believe it! It was the bandy-legged circus freak, the one who’d taped him to the chair in Tesslovich’s office and tried to rearrange his face and puncture a lung. He was standing beside Tesslovich himself. The lawyer had traded in his neck brace for a white bandage. Bishop could see it circling his neck above the collar of his shirt.
As if feeling Bishop’s eyes, the circus freak looked straight at, then past him. No recognition
at all. But Tesslovich turned his head at the same time, following the little creep’s gaze to the fence. Bishop ducked back into the crowd. Unless the decapitation had done something to Tesslovich’s memory, he was sure the counselor would have no trouble at all recognizing him. Still stunned and unsettled, Bishop hurried back to his seat to watch the race.
* * *
Quantum Leap was the third horse. When the bell went off he came through the gate like a steam locomotive, shouldering his way through the other horses with long, powerful strides that ate up the track. It seemed effortless. His jockey was neither holding him back to conserve his strength for a burst of speed at the end, or using the whip to drive him forward. He was just letting him run.
“Whoa!” Rain yelled in Bishop’s ear as they leaped to their feet with the rest of the crowd. “Look at him go! That jockey’s just along for the ride.”
Quantum Leap won by two and a half lengths, blowing past the finish line, slowing, then turning with a bit of a prance as he was urged toward the winner circle by his rider.
Rain was doing a little dance next to Bishop when he suddenly remembered he was cool, then he lost it again.
“Calm down,” Bishop told him. “You’re going to throw a clot or something.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” Rain yelled. “Daddy gets a new pair of shoes!”
“Jesus.” Bishop gave him a light shove. “Go collect your money. I haven’t seen you this happy since you caught Tony ‘The Horse’ Ciceroni in the mop closet of his neighborhood Sports Club with three kilos of coke and a transvestite hooker.”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember. He claimed the coke and the hooker were for personal use until he found out he’d just gotten it on with a dude.” Rain started laughing again. “I’ll meet you at the winner’s circle.”
Bishop wasn’t certain that was a good idea. He hoped he’d ducked away fast enough for Tesslovich not to see him. He didn’t understand why the little freak hadn’t said anything to his boss. The two of them had been fist to eyeball for at least ten minutes, he couldn’t imagine why the guy hadn’t recognized him. Maybe he’d gotten a new brain after the first one splattered all over the pavement.
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 7
