The Corpse Whisperer

by H. R. Boldwood

  Rico fell silent, staring at the warehouse, eyes narrowed and face frozen. I’d seen that look before. The hamsters in his brain were working overtime. It wasn’t long before his lips curved into a thin smile.

  “Look at the top floor,” he said. “The one where they’re holding Leo. The electricity’s turned off, right? But there’s a light up there. It’s dim, but if you look close, you can see it.”

  Sure enough. I squinted and he was right. There was a faint glow inside. That made sense. Whatever light source they were using had to be dim, to keep from attracting attention.

  “You think they’re up there, hanging out with Leo?” I asked.

  “Could be. Or maybe they’re still where they were earlier, and we just can’t see them from this angle. When we got here this afternoon, I checked the place out. There were broken windows on every floor and a ledge running beneath them. The side of the building closest to us had a fixed ladder.”

  He hesitated, like he was putting the finishing touches on his plan. “There was one perimeter guard, right?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. But who knows how many are camped out there now.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll do a little close-up recon before we go in. If everything’s copacetic, we’ll wait until the guard moves to the opposite side of the building. Then we’ll climb the ladder to the fifth floor, work our way across the ledge, and crawl inside through one of those broken windows on the back side of the building. That way, we won’t be dropping in right on top of them. If we’re quiet, no one will even know we’re there. We rescue Leo, you dose him up, and we’ll all be on our way.”

  Climb the fire escape ladder? Fifth floor?

  “Ah, nope. That’s a big negatory. No can do.”

  “It’s a good plan. What’s the problem? ”

  “Ladders and heights, well…mostly heights.”

  Rico laughed. “Heights? Of all the shit you do, you’re afraid of heights?”

  My cheeks blazed. “Yeah. That and public speaking. Remember? Want to make something of it?”

  “This is the only plan that makes sense. Getting up to the fifth floor will be the easy part. Time to grow a pair, Nighthawk, and be the cast iron bitch everyone thinks you are. Like it or not, you’re going vertical.”

  Holy shit. Just the thought of being five stories up had me sweating like a pig. “But…but what if they’re all on the fifth floor, like you said?”

  “They might be. Rescues are highly fluid situations. We’ll have to play it by ear. At least this way, we’re both inside, backing each other up. Get your ass in gear,” he said. “This was your idea. Remember?”

  My phone vibrated. I was thankful for the reprieve, until I looked at the call display. It was Jade Chen. I answered anyway. Not because I wanted to talk to her, but because I was curious why she was calling me. And besides, every minute I was listening to her, I wasn’t climbing that damn ladder.

  Even so, my greeting came out a little cold. “What?”

  “Nighthawk, something just came across the wire. Your guy at the European CDCP, Dr. Christian, is reporting that there’s been a 1.3 percent rise in the spread of the zombie virus across the European Union. And he confirmed that the virus was manually manipulated. What’s your take on that?”

  “I’m a little busy here, Jade.”

  Rico jerked his head at the sound of her name.

  “With Sandy gone, Christian is probably the world’s leading authority on carovescology. If that’s what he’s reporting, go with it.”

  Jade wouldn’t let it drop. “Think about it, Nighthawk. 1.3 percent. Do you have any idea how many new cases that is? Something strange is going on, and I’m betting you know what it is. Spill.”

  Of course, I did. To a point. Christian had already confirmed that the virus had been manipulated. He just hadn’t released that information to the public. The list of possible suspects who were capable of bioengineering the Z-virus was limited.

  With Leo’s kidnapping, I hadn’t had time to dig into that yet. And Jade would be the last person on earth I’d toss conjectures to anyway. I didn’t trust her any further than I could throw her. Not to mention, she hated my guts. I didn’t have time for kibitzing.

  “Sorry, Jade. Talk to Christian. I gotta run—”

  “Wait! Let me talk to Rico.”

  “What makes you think I’m with Rico?”

  Rico rolled his eyes and motioned for me to wrap it up, but Jade wasn’t finished.

  “Because, you paranormal freak, if he weren’t there with you, he’d be here with me. I’ve got him wrapped around my finger so tight he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”

  Oh no, she di’nt.

  I went in for the kill. “Sorry. You were breaking up. What’d you say?” I pushed the speaker button on my phone.

  “I said if he weren’t there with you, you freak, he’d be here with me. He’s wrapped around my finger so tight, he’ll do anything and everything I ask him to. Now give him the damn phone.”

  Nighthawk: One. Jade: Zero.

  Amateur.

  Rico’s face flushed. He pressed himself up against the car door and waved his arms, warding me off.

  I considered tossing him the phone anyway, but we didn’t have time for fun and games. We needed to rescue Leo.

  “Maybe you don’t know Rico as well as you think you do,” I said. “He isn’t here, Jade. Gotta run, now. Bye.”

  I hung up and smirked at Rico. “It’s all right. I’ll buy you a new pair of balls for Christmas. There’s always a BOGO sale somewhere.”

  No sooner had I hung up, than Rico’s phone vibrated. Guess who? He glanced at the lit display in the dark.

  I could almost see his thoughts scramble: To answer or not to answer? That was the question.

  He raised the phone to his ear and I groaned. Bad choice.

  “De Palma.” His tone was pancake flat.

  I couldn’t hear her exact words, but she had the lilting voice of a woman who had no idea she’d busted herself. He let her ramble a bit and then cut her off mid-lilt.

  “Jade, honey. I’d tell you what you want to know, but well…people might think you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger. They might even think I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. You should probably ask some other shmuck.” He started to hang up, but had second thoughts. “Oh, yeah. One last thing. Lose my number.”

  He disconnected, set the phone on vibrate, and slipped it into his pants pocket.

  I didn’t say a word.

  He leaned back against the head rest. “Somehow, she found out we were thrown off the case and wanted me to comment.”

  He grabbed some extra mags from the glove compartment and shoved them into the pocket of his jacket.

  Before I could tell him how lucky he was to be rid of her, my phone went off again.

  I checked the number, then turned toward Rico and bit my lip. Jade, no doubt mad enough to claw me a new one with her acrylic nails.

  I sent her call to voicemail, turned off my phone, and shoved it into my back pocket.

  Rico got out of the car and started to slam the door, but stopped. We were officially in stealth mode now. Phase one of Operation Nighthawk had begun.

  “Shit,” he whispered. “Look up the street. Two black sedans on the opposite side. Looks like the Fed’s advance team beat us here.”

  He eased the door closed, with his finger to his lips, as I climbed out of the car, still amused at having bested Jade Chen. Who was the uber-bitch now?

  Rico walked over, fixed me in a steely-eyed stare, and murmured. “Go ahead. Yuck it up, Nighthawk. Get it all out of your system now. Because once that guard is out of sight, your ass is going up that ladder.”

  Son of a bitch. I was hoping with everything that had just happened, he’d have forgotten all about his ridiculous high-rise rescue idea.

  Didn’t it figure? Me, five stories up with no net. Pretty much the story of my life.

  21

  Ain
’t Nothing But A Thing

  The mob lookout, not twenty feet from the ladder, lit up a fresh smoke. Rico and I crouched behind a truck parked along the curb, waiting for him to finish. Damned if creeping down 14th Street, ducking for cover, didn’t bring back memories of my qualification test at Perptown. That same adrenaline rush coursed through me now. It would be easy to move too quickly. To get careless. This time, there could be consequences.

  I studied Rico in the moonlight and wondered if his heart was hammering like mine.

  He focused, peering through the darkness, fingers moving to unsnap his holster, without as much as a glance. He was cool. He was ready. The kind of ready that comes with training. Although I’d never tell him so, we made a damn good team.

  When the scumbag finished his smoke and rounded the corner, we scrambled from the edge of the street and sprinted through the parking lot, to the side of the building.

  “Show time,” Rico whispered. “Ain’t nothing but a thing, Nighthawk. Don’t look down.”

  He started up the ladder and I followed close behind, hands sweating, stomach lurching. I swallowed the urge to puke with every step, eyes glued straight ahead, spotting the mortar lines between the bricks to keep from falling, but my vision started to swim.

  And then the brain bitch started flapping her gums. You lily-livered pussy. You spineless weasel. You gutless...

  “Fine. Okay. I’m a wussy,” I said. “Now get the hell out of my head before you make me fall.”

  Rico glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Sorry. Never mind.”

  See? Shut up you little buttinsky before you get us killed.

  You should be ashamed of yourself, Alliyah Marie Nigh...

  You know how much I hate that name.

  Whatever. Care to look where you are? Take a moment. Enjoy the view, Alliyah Marie.

  Holy shit. I was two flights up already. Every rung under my belt meant one less rung to climb. Three flights down and working on number four.

  What do you know? I can do this.

  You’re welcome.

  God, she’s a smug little witch.

  Four flights up, I started feeling my oats. “Think the Feds are watching?”

  Rico stopped and turned his head. “Yeah. But that’s all they’ll do. The Director’s no fool. They could blow the whole operation, trying to stop us now.”

  The visual of Director Dickhead blowing a gasket made me laugh. My left foot slipped off a rung and dangled in the air.

  I tried not to pee my pants. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “You okay down there?”

  “I hate you, De Palma. I hate you. I hate you.”

  “Just checking,” the bastard said, not even hesitating on his way up the ladder.

  When I caught up to him at the fifth floor, he motioned toward the fourth window on the left, broken, with most of its glass gone.

  “We’re going to climb across this ledge right here and slip into that window,” he said. “The ledge is straight across from this rung. Just step over, then slip into that window. Easy-peasy. You with me?”

  I threw him an icy stare. “Well, I’m sure as hell not climbing back down the ladder.”

  “Watch me. You can do this,” he said, creeping across the ledge to the window. “See? Step with your left leg out to the ledge, use your left hand to grip the wall, then bring your right leg out to the ledge, and your right hand to the wall. From there it’s just left-right, left-right until…”

  “Shhh,” I whispered, “Someone’s coming.”

  Rico tucked and rolled inside the window.

  There I was five stories up, one foot on the ledge, the other on the ladder, butt sticking out like a nun in a whorehouse.

  The guy stopped right beneath me, yapping on his cell. “Joey. It’s Dom.” Dom went quiet, like Joey was giving him an earful.

  Stick a sock in it, Joey, I thought, glancing down at Dom’s bald head. I can’t be hanging here forever.

  “Dude. Shut the fuck up already,” Dom said. “I got something important. Snowflake called. The Feds are coming at one. We’re outta here. Got it?”

  Snowflake? Who the hell’s Snowflake?

  Dom shoved the phone into the pocket of his hideous, canary yellow sport coat and walked toward the corner of the building.

  My right hand had gone numb, so I adjusted my grip on the ladder. My foot slid on some loose concrete, near a chipped section of the ledge. Tiny concrete pebbles showered to the ground below.

  Dom spun on his heel, drew his gun, turned left, then right, and peered through the darkness.

  Don’t look up. Please. Don’t look up.

  He chuckled and shook his head, then holstered his gun and continued walking, until he finally rounded the corner.

  Rico’s head popped out of the window. “That was close.”

  I pulled my right leg to the ledge, then flattened myself out against the side of the building and wriggled, Flat Stanley style, toward Rico. He stuck out his arm and pulled me through the window.

  I did a face plant onto the floor and was surprisingly relieved, until a rat scampered past my face. At least my butt wasn’t a bullseye, waving in the breeze for target practice, anymore. I might never have gotten to my feet again, but Rico’s phone vibrated.

  He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the display and sighed. He didn’t say a word, just held the phone to his ear, wincing periodically, and eventually mouthed the word, Cap.

  “You can yell at me later,” Rico murmured. “The mob knows about the raid. Uh-huh,” he whispered with a nod. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I know. I will. Uh-huh. Bye.”

  Rico leaned in close. “Let me see if I got this straight. You and I are toast. I’ll be riding a safety patrol car, by the time Cap’s finished with me, and you’ll be raising the dead in Hoboken. The Feds I saw out front have called in the cavalry. Oh. They also video’d you hanging from the ladder, and made book on how long it would take you to fall.”

  Masochistic mouth-breathers.

  “I see. Anything else I should know?”

  “No. Those were the, ah…salient…points.”

  “Then move your ass.”

  Rico led the way, gun at the ready. I pulled Hawk and held him high, fingers wrapped around the grip, thumb forward, right hand stabilizing from beneath. No way, no how, was this gun coming out of my hands. Not this time.

  Creeping through the warehouse was tough, with only the moonlight and the dim glow of Rico’s phone to guide us. The concrete floors, cracked and worn, were littered with debris and animal scat. Tangled wiring hung from the ceiling, like snakes slithering across our heads. And Jesus. The smell. Even on a chilly spring night, the musty odor of mold, mildew and animal feces made me gag.

  I walked through a ginormous spiderweb, and had to shake the urge to squeal like a little girl. The brain bitch must have been sleeping. God help me if she ever got wind of that.

  We’d advanced maybe thirty feet when we got our first glimpse of light ahead. That had to be where they were holding Leo. Another forty feet further and we heard voices.

  Rico doused the light on his phone, and we listened in.

  “How the hell are we supposed to move this schmuck? Is he even breathing?”

  I looked at Rico and bit my lip.

  “Like I know?” came another voice. “Check his pulse, moron.”

  Seconds later, “Yeah. He’s breathing. Throw some of that water on him. Wake his ass up. I ain’t carrying him down five flights of steps.”

  Rico and I crept forward, hugging the wall, and positioned ourselves on opposite sides of the doorway to the holding room.

  A low moan broke the silence.

  Leo.

  My heart leapt. Footsteps trotted up the stairs and echoed off the walls. We leaned back in the shadows, out of sight.

  Someone asked, “He give anything up yet?”

  I knew that voice. It was Dom, the ugly yellow jacket guy.

  “Nah. He’s half-dead,” said
voice number two.

  “He ain’t giving up shit,” came a third voice. “Tough guy, this one. Got some big stones on him.”

  Rico held up three fingers, signaling three bogeys in the room.

  “Save yourself some grief,” Dom said. “Spit it out now, dumbass, and I’ll do you quick.”

  Leo croaked, “Go spit.”

  Next came a loud crack, and what sounded like a chair crashing to the ground.

  “You stupid mother. The only thing keeping you alive is knowing that if I kill you, before you spill what you leaked to the Feds, I’ll end up in the same block of cement as you. That don’t mean I can’t use you for a little target practice in the meantime.”

  Rico nodded at me and burst through the doorway, taking out Dom, then sliced left and shot again. The second bogey went down. I sliced right through the doorway, as the third skell drew a bead on Rico.

  I leveled my gun and said, “Over here, D-bag.”

  The bogey spun, raised his Colt, and pointed it at my face. Not today, ass-munch. I squeezed Hawk’s trigger, and drilled him between the eyes.

  Three down. Who knew how many more to come? But one thing was for certain. The element of surprise was gone.

  Rico slammed and locked the door behind us. “Thanks. He had me dead to rights.”

  I nodded and dashed toward Leo, tied to a chair, in the center of the room.

  My knees hit the floor beside him. I didn’t want to look. But I did. Face and clothes drenched with blood, eyes swollen, cheeks split and teeth missing.

  Jesus.

  “Leo. Leo. It’s Nighthawk. Can you hear me?”

  He moaned, but didn’t open his eyes. Foam bubbled out of his mouth and he began to seize. Even if the medicine worked, no way he was walking out of there.

  Rico crouched on his haunches, shielding Leo and me from anyone who might come through the door.

  Then he called Cap. “We’ve got Leo,” he said. “They did a number on him. We’re going to need help getting him out of here.”

  Someone kicked at the door.

  “Soon, would be good,” Rico said, hanging up.

  Unable to do anything more, he leveled his gun at the door and waited for the inevitable.