Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

  Listening to the lines of drivel spewing out of the spokesman’s mouth managed to irritate Jacque even more than talking to the colonel. When did hunting a terrorist become commonplace? He had no doubt this would appease the listener as well as the news outlets. They continued to salivate anytime a disaster, negative crime statistics, or mistakes made by his department became a blip on the evening news radar. He hated those guys. Going to them might possibly make it worse.

  His phone vibrated a text message waited for him. Thank goodness Cleo had her head screwed on tight.

  Where are you? Burgers are here. Joseph is trying to figure out how to kill it.

  For some reason the silver lining in all of this was his newfound friendship with two of the most unlikely people he never wanted anything to do with. Strange how things worked out. Although he couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than them, he felt much older. This fatherly sense of responsibility toward them annoyed him. Wind Dancer continued to be an accident waiting to happen, and Cleo struck him as a bleeding-heart liberal who wanted to save the world. Not a good combination. His stomach growled as he headed out to meet them at the Chicago style pizzeria and burger joint down the street.

  Entering the building with the peeling paint and too much information written on the scrubbed windows, he noticed the silence and the frozen glares of everyone at their table. Normally the place buzzed with loud patrons and calls to fill a new order. The smell of pizza always made him feel at home, but this time he detected trouble. Out of habit, he put his hand on his gun as he scanned the small dining room until his eyes fell on Wind Dancer standing nose to nose with a man a bit taller than himself. He could see the gang colors of the Fifth Street Marauders in the bandana he wore under his Chicago Cubs ball cap. Cleo sat paralyzed, in what he could imagine was fear, as things unfolded into ugly.

  Both men glared at each other as if by doing so would somehow make the other back down.

  “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” Jacque fished out his badge with one hand, careful not to take his hand from his weapon.

  They remained mute.

  He tried to get Cleo’s attention for the sake of clarification. She continued to stare at Wind Dancer.

  Jacque noticed a waitress picking herself up off the floor and stumbling toward the counter separating them from the kitchen. The owner and cook moved to assist her.

  “Get out of my way, chief,” the tattooed man growled as he jammed a fist against Wind Dancer’s shoulder.

  With lightning speed, Wind Dancer threw the larger man on the floor then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the door. A patron rushed to open it as the Pawnee threw him out onto the pavement, where he rolled to the curb. Jacque hurried to stand beside him as the man lumbered, dazed and shocked, to his feet only to level a warning glare at his attacker. He took a step forward but stopped, when Jacque exposed the inside of his jacket so he could see his holstered weapon.

  “You’re lucky today,” he fumed as he stormed down the street, bumping into several passersby.

  When Jacque shut the door, the room erupted into applause. Wind Dancer, as usual, tilted his head and surveyed the room filled with the sudden noise. When he shifted his gaze to Jacque then Cleo, who beamed a look of hero worship his way, he relaxed his rigid stance and nodded to the others in the restaurant.

  “I can’t leave you two alone for ten minutes without trouble finding you.” Jacque sat down then swiped a French fry.

  “I ordered for you, Jacque,” Cleo said as the waitress set a plate before him.

  “On the house,” she announced.

  The room filled with chatter as Wind Dancer watched Jacque and Cleo eat their burgers. With caution, he took a sniff then chomped down on his and chewed slowly.

  “Good.” A drip of ketchup escaped to his lips, and he immediately retrieved it with his tongue.

  The three continued to eat as Jacque informed them of the confrontation with the colonel.

  “It will not stop Neosho. You saw how strong and quick he can be.” He reached for a few more fries. “Then there is the skinwalker.”

  “What about him?” Jacque took a gulp of diet soda. “He’s a spook. No big deal.”

  Cleo locked eyes with Wind Dancer before nodding to the detective. “You should think differently about that. It is a big deal if he takes over your body.”

  Jacque shrugged. “Not goin’ to happen. I googled it and all I have to do is say his name then shoot him in the head. Easy. Peezy.”

  “Google? I do not understand. Is this some kind of magic?” Wind Dancer lowered his voice.

  The detective choked on his drink then wiped his mouth with several napkins. “You’re killing me with this stuff. I keep forgetting you’re a babe in the woods here in the twenty-first century.”

  He frowned. “I am not a baby,” he insisted.

  “What he means, Joseph, is you have a lot to learn in this world.” The corners of Cleo’s mouth curved up. “He didn’t insult you. Google is how we search for answers on a computer.”

  “Is this like praying to God?”

  Before Cleo could answer, Jacque entered the conversation. “You don’t know how close to the truth you’ve come, buddy.” He didn’t try to hold in his chuckle.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, Joseph.” She explained Google and computers in a simple fashion. Jacque hoped to drag out the line of questioning which gave him more enjoyment than he imagined possible.

  Wind Dancer directed his warning to Jacque. “You can use the Google magic all you want, but it will not protect you. He can be invisible until it is too late for you to know he is upon you. He means to destroy Neosho. Taking your body will get him there faster.”

  “Whatever. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for this guy. I thought I killed him. I didn’t. By some miracle he’s strolling about Chicago, scaring the dickens out of everyone, mostly you guys, and is hunting the same bad guy as us. The way I see it, we can use all the help we can get.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate the Frenchman, Jacque. He is evil and can hurt you.”

  “I’m more afraid of the stray dog that followed me here.” He drained his drink then held it up so the waitress would refill it. “Kept growling at me. I was worried it would bite somebody before I got here. Called animal control.”

  “A dog?” Wind Dancer snapped. “Jacque, skinwalkers hide in animals. If you see this dog again you must shoot him in the head.”

  “And have the animal activists down my throat. No thanks. Those guys really are scary. I’ll take my chances with a skinwalker, thank you very much.”

  “You’re taking this too lightly,” Cleo moaned.

  “How can you, a woman of science, believe in this stuff?”

  “There are a lot of unexplained things in this world, Jacque.”

  “This is pointless to discuss. Our focus should be on catching Neosho and stopping him from spreading a super virus throughout the city,” he whispered as he surveyed the room for listeners. “I figure he’s probably infected a number of gang members who have taken it to their families. I hate to admit it, but the colonel has a point in setting up a quarantine area. It won’t catch him, but at least we’ll be able to assess the exposure to others. I hope.”

  “In two days, it will be time for the sacrifice to the Morning Star. Even though he is not Pawnee, Neosho knows of its power and will try to take Cleopatra.”

  “Why me?” She covered her mouth in a gasp. “Will he try to sacrifice me?”

  “I think he would rather take you with him and force you to be Osage. If he cannot cross, then he may use you another way to hurt me. He knows”—he stole a glance at Jacque before directing his comments to Cleo—”you are very special to me.”

  Jacque scrolled on his smart phone. “Says here we’re in for storms again in a couple of days. These look like doozies, too.”

  “Doozies?”

  “Big. Terrible,” he explained. “These kind m
ake grown men shake in their boots.”

  “Then maybe we can stop him. I’m thinking he will not want to stay here.”

  “And you, Joseph,” Cleo said in an even voice. “Will you stay?”

  He took a deep breath, letting a serious expression mask any emotion. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Jacque moaned as he ran his hand through his premature gray hair. “For someone so smart, Cleo, you are the dumbest doctor I know.” He stood up and grabbed the check to figure the tip even though there was no cost. “He’s waiting on you.” He headed toward the register to pay the bill as he mumbled a final observation. “You two make me want to throw up.” When he returned, he smacked Wind Dancer on the arm. “You and me are going to have to have a little birds and bees talk tonight, buddy.”

  “I know all about these creatures.” He nodded as he stood and helped Cleo to her feet.

  “Not these creatures, you don’t.” He choked through gritted teeth then laughed. “Maybe I should take him down to the red-light district.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Cleo fussed as she joined the two men as they headed toward the door. “If anyone is going to teach him about birds and bees a doctor should do it.”

  Jacque laughed so loud other customers in the restaurant took notice. “That is one lecture I want to be a part of because I have a feeling neither one of you has a clue.”

  Chapter 17

  Neosho observed the Death Apostles as they gathered in the dingy garage. Darkness would soon blanket their movements through the streets. The soldiers and police surrounding nearby neighborhoods dominated the conversations, mixed with threats of retribution if anything happened to their families. This he understood.

  What the authorities failed to realize was this gang met in another location some five blocks from the quarantined area. Their secure location allowed them to plan without concern for interference. Since such a concentration of law enforcement appeared to be focusing on some terrorist threat, the Death Apostles wanted to make a move on their rivalries for new territory in the drug market. Neosho didn’t understand this but agreed to help them make it happen. The fever inside needed an outlet. Maybe a fight would relieve the gnawing sensation something was wrong inside him.

  Wind Dancer had said he might be sick. Could it be smallpox? He remembered his beautiful wife and how the sickness ravaged her body, transforming her into a hideous creature before she died. Seeing his children and the others in his village die from this terrible menace haunted him. Why had he not suffered, too? Did he possess some strong magic that protected him?

  Then he remembered the visitors to his village—the white men with Wind Dancer. They brought the sickness to his people. His friend became his enemy. Even the Pawnee suffered the sickness, but it meant nothing. Tracking the white men to the cliffs above the river, he’d realized they disappeared forever. He remembered the few times he’d followed Wind Dancer to a special place where he watched a magical world through a clear wall. For many years, he thought he only dreamed of such a place. When he found his way again to the museum case and stood once again to watch, he saw them, the white men who destroyed his village.

  He’d tried to break through, but his body would not move. How had they returned to this land? Could he be dreaming? Why come to such a place? Now they dressed like soldiers and seemed curious about the museum as they searched for something. Neosho wondered if they had been searching for another way into his world. Would they return to finish what they started?

  These things about his crossing over still confused him. He did not like this new world where everything smelled of garbage, smoke, and the air burned his eyes. The intense sounds made his head hurt, and the fast things on wheels frightened him. Either this place possessed magic or so much evil that only a sacrifice to the Morning Star would save him. This place was the reason he felt sick.

  As the voices around him grew louder, his thoughts returned to Cleopatra Sommers. Like Wind Dancer, he had watched her for a number of years, watching her blossom from a skinny, pale kid into a woman. After his wife died, she sometimes haunted him in the middle of the night.

  His friend talked of her whenever they slipped away from their villages. For some reason when she stopped coming to the museum, Wind Dancer concentrated on other matters as well. Only later did he realize Cleopatra’s father had crossed over and taught Wind Dancer how to survive this land. He became obsessed with searching for a way to cross so he could take the woman for himself. It compared to counting coup on the enemy. He longed to see this land without the periodically fuzzy film that covered his case.

  “You in, Neosho?” Ashanti shouted from across the room as he lifted a beer.

  “In,” he said, matter of fact, not really understanding what he’d committed to. Talk continued about something called heroin and crystal. Why these things meant money escaped his ability to reason. But if it got him closer to Cleopatra and Wind Dancer, then he would take a chance.

  “That’s my boy,” Ashanti boasted as he moved toward the fierce Osage. “We will take our streets from the Red Tigers and make them pay for stealing our women.”

  This Neosho understood. “Where are these women?”

  Ashanti and the others laughed. He meandered over and slipped an arm around Neosho’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll come crawlin’ to us when we take our means of makin’ a livin’. Am I right?” He lifted his half-empty bottle into the air, drawing cheers from the twenty or so young men. “Neosho, do you have a piece?”

  Neosho had learned not to fully answer questions he didn’t understand. Leveling a disgusted glare or show of irritation got him a lot more traction. He removed Ashanti’s hand from his shoulder. “No” answered most of their questions. Whatever a “piece” might be would be revealed soon enough.

  “Get my boy one, Ty.”

  Ty brought him a beat-up pistol and eyed Neosho with caution then mumbled from the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how to use one of these?” The hard expression on the man’s face revealed nothing. “I bet you don’t. You ain’t like my brothers. No problem, though. Better let me show you.”

  He took the gun from Ty and pointed it toward the window where several other gang members stood. They yelled then scattered when Neosho pulled the trigger until it emptied. Ty grabbed the Osage’s wrist and squeezed until the weapon fell into his waiting hand. The smell of gunpowder permeated the room. Some of the men lying on the floor to avoid being shot jumped up and barreled toward Neosho, screaming threats and obscenities.

  “Man, what you doin’?” Ty snapped as he put himself between the Osage and the angry gang. “Are you crazy?”

  Several men bigger than Ty slammed their bodies into him, trying to grab Neosho who stood rigid and unafraid of their intimidation tactics. “He didn’t mean nothin’. He’s not right in the head is all. Give him some slack.”

  One chubby man shoved Ty so hard, he staggered then tripped to land on the floor. He tried to bounce up as several of the others ringed him, shouting insults and a call for revenge.

  Neosho lowered his head toward Ty who struggled to his feet. Understanding the much smaller man had placed himself in harm’s way to protect him caused an unexpected urge to return the favor to flash inside him. When Ty got to his feet, another man knocked him down adding a kick to his side before facing Neosho.

  As Ty groaned on the floor, Neosho stepped to his aid. He picked his entire body up in his arms then carried him to a table where he sat him down as gently as if he might break. Ty’s eyes grew wide and shoved the Osage’s hands off him, but the warrior patted him on the head anyway. Another man jumped Neosho from behind, but the Osage slammed the attacker onto the table next to Ty with no more effort than slapping a pesky fly from his neck.

  Ty scooted away from the body, moaning. Neosho stepped in a circular fashion in slow motion to confront several others lining up to charge.

  “Who do you think you are?” a muscled man growled before nod
ding over at Ashanti. “You let this thing in here? What’s wrong with you?”

  Ashanti folded his arms across his chest, a kind of wickedness toying with the corners of his grin. “I stand by my choice. If you want to throw him out, then you try. I chose Neosho to be my warrior, not you.”

  The man sized Neosho up and down then walked a circle around him. The Osage stood like a statue, not at all prepared to fight. The man stepped so close their noses almost touched. When the Osage didn’t blink, he stepped away, but Neosho grabbed him around the neck and squeezed so hard it immobilized any aggressive behavior. Even when his eyes bulged, no one made a move to rescue him. Finally, Ty slid off the table and laid a hand on the Osage’s arm.

  “Let him go.” Neosho shifted his cold stare to his smaller friend. “Let him go,” he repeated, tugging at his wrist.

  Neosho dropped his hands so suddenly the man staggered and fell against the table, choking and rubbing his neck.

  Ashanti lowered his arms to straighten his shoulders. “Anyone else want to second-guess my judgment?” He waited. In spite of a few grumbles, no further complaint came forth. “I didn’t think so. So let’s hit the streets and take what’s ours.”

  This Neosho understood. The white man gobbled up land, slaughtered buffalo for no reason, and brought disease to innocent people who trusted them. These ruthless men must have experienced something similar to be so willing to fight. He would fight with them because of Ty and Ashanti who took him in. Later, he would use them to fight his battle as he completed his mission.

  ~~~~

  “I’m not sure about you returning to your place, Cleo.” Jacque weaved in and out of traffic like he competed for first place at the Indie 500. “I know you were told everything has been put in order, but from what I’ve seen of Neosho, he isn’t beyond trying to break in again. Even if I posted an officer, which I’m not authorized to do, there’d be no guarantee you’d be safe.”