The Broken Ones (Book 3): The Broken City

by Jobe, David

  “You might be right.” Grimm got up and moved off toward the break room. The desk wobbled a bit from the departure, making a pen holder shake ever so slightly.

  Officer Johnson narrowed his eyes, looking from the pen holder to Lanton then back again. The pen holder settled as if nothing had happened, but Johnson’s eyes still held an unsaid accusation.

  Lanton reached out and knocked the pen holder onto the floor. He gave Johnson a flash of his pearly whites and walked away.

  “Dick!” Johnson scrambled to start collecting all of his writing implements as they sought freedom in every direction.

  “Detective Dick,” Lanton corrected. He lifted a finger in salute and slid into the Chief’s office, shutting the door before Johnson could muster a suitable reply.

  The Chief raised a burly brow but said nothing. He gestured to one of the seats across the desk from him. As Lanton took the suggested seat, the Chief began to flip through a series of papers on his desk. “So, we have a reporter on lockdown in a special cell in the basement? Something about not letting him talk to anyone. You know this is violating at least five laws, and I’m admittedly a little rusty on some of the newer ones, right? We haven’t even formally charged him with anything. A halfway competent lawyer would have this guy owning us before lunch.”

  Lanton leaned back in the chair, trying to appear relaxed. The Chief had just hit on something that has been bothering Lanton since he had ordered it to happen. “I was kind of hoping that we could pull the whole Patriot Act thing.”

  Rubbing his temples, the Chief sighed. “When I promoted you to this position it was because I thought you’d stick to the regs. You’ve done the exact opposite. Let’s take a look at the crack team you’ve assembled.” He lifted a paper and shook it in front of Lanton. “You have a kid on house arrest designing tech for you.” Another paper got rattled before him. “A girl dubbed The Angel of Death as your what? Sidekick? What is she supposed to be for your team?”

  “I was thinking she could be my sniper.”

  The Chief’s head jerked back as if someone had blown a foul odor into his face. “Are you being serious? Please tell me that you are just fucking with me. She’s on trial for first-degree murder, Lanton. That’s not going to go away, and it doesn’t look good for her at all. And you got a kid that we almost booked for fleeing the scene of a crime.”

  “Oh come on, Chief. He was rescuing someone. Stanley had his Fruit of the Looms too tight even trying to pin that shit on the kid. It was a dick move, and you know it.”

  The Chief’s shoulders slumped, but he gave a noncommittal nod. “And the only officer you have on your team is Grimm? Really? Why don’t you go round up Officer Slaughter and Sergeant Death?”

  “You’re making those names up. You have to be.”

  “I’m serious, Lanton.”

  “Tell me what precinct they are in; I’ll go check them out.” Lanton tried to keep his face straight, but he could feel the edges of his lips curling up.

  “I meant about this shit show of yours, Lanton. You’ve even requested to get Taylor out of the psych wing and reinstated? I want you to know I personally wiped my ass with that request, by the way. Not happening. Ever. Not because he screwed up and didn’t pat down a felon. Because he stole from a crash cart, got high, and passed out near the preggo unit at the hospital. It’s the trifecta of idiocy. He’s not even on the force anymore, and I had to apologize to the hospital personally. And now he is telling people he can see the future and he talks to dead people. He’s where he belongs.” He sighed and sat back. “You have to get something on the reporter, Lanton, or he walks. And yes, I know what you are about to say. I’ve seen the video. We can’t arrest someone for telling us to eat a bullet. If we could, half of the rappers would be in jail. Get me something we can prove in court. We’re still on the side of the law, Lanton. I need you to understand that.” He leveled a pointed gaze at Lanton.

  “I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The Chief just stared at him.

  Lanton raised his hands in defense. “I get it. I do. I promise.”

  The Chief continued to glare at him.

  Lanton waved his hand in front of the Chief’s eyes, but they remained unblinking and leveled at where Lanton had been sitting. Lanton peered out the window of the office to see that everyone stood still as statues. “Shit! The aliens!” Lanton pulled his .45 and sprinted out the door. As he ran by Johnson’s desk, he knocked the pen holder off and shouted, “Fuck your pens!”

  He darted past frozen officers, nudging one aside as he hit the door to the stairwell, figuring that the elevator would be useless in a situation like this. They were keeping the reporter in the basement, which could be the only reason why they had showed up again. He hit the stairs and bounded down, taking two at a time, his gun leveled out in front of him. He had no idea how quickly they moved. He hoped he wasn’t too late. He had no idea what these things were doing with people, but he suspected that it couldn’t be good. Plus, this was his prisoner for fuck's sake.

  He slammed open the door to the specialized cell area to find the two ‘alien’ things at the glass and steel door that lead to Stephen’s cell. The smaller one was in the middle of melting the lock with an energy beam emanating from the device wired into his wrist.

  “Great. Aliens with death beams.” He pointed his gun at the larger one. “Freeze!” He felt stupid just saying it, considering.

  The larger one spun on its back legs, snarling. The thing's mouth housed a rather unsettling amount of jagged teeth, some overlapping into various mismatched rows. “Smokey,” it said, its voice thick and resonating. At least, that is what Lanton thought it said with its garbled sounds.

  “That’s racist.” Lanton stepped forward. In the corner, he could see the officer on duty in charge of guarding Stephen sitting in a chair with his phone in his hands. Like the rest of the building, he would be no help in this fight. “Stop what you’re doing.” He pointed the gun at the little one, and the bigger one’s growls rumbled even louder, reminding Lanton of a lawnmower choking on gas.

  The lock gave way with a sizzling pop, the glass door swinging inward toward the motionless reporter.

  “Shit.” That would become a complication if the time aliens didn’t kill him first. “DO. NOT. MOVE.”

  The larger one came at him in a rush, its claws clicking on the tile floor. Lanton fired, aiming for the head, but hit it the shoulder instead. The force of the bullet’s impact spun the thing in a full circle, making it land with a heavy thud a few feet in front of him. The smaller one darted forward, its deviced hand raised menacingly. Lanton wasted no time in blowing off the thing’s twin arms at the elbow. It gave a blood-curdling screech and scrambled back as the bigger one regained its feet. Turning in a semi-circle, it reminded Lanton of those scenes in movies where the lion is sizing up the prey before striking. Which looked good in a movie but was hella dumb in real life. Lanton put a bullet right between the thing’s eyes. What was left of its head smacked against the glass, splattering blood and tissue everywhere.

  The officer in the corner suddenly came to life. He gave a cry, dropped his phone and went for his gun all in one confused motion.

  The smaller creature paid him no mind, instead, rushing Lanton, or rushing to escape. Lanton decided it didn’t matter and tried to shoot this one in the head too. It sidestepped the blast, coming around and swiping with one of its claws for Lanton’s throat. Lanton managed to jerk back just in time to catch a slash across the chest instead, blood spurting from the wound in a wide arc. This close, Lanton tucked the gun under the belly of the beast and fired twice. The first would have been enough, which was good because the second bullet missed altogether. Trying to one-hand a .45 at that angle made the gun recoil in a direction his wrist didn’t appreciate. He was sure it was broken. Lanton fell onto his back, trying to hold the gun with both hands even though the right one was already going numb.

  The smaller one staggered back, blood
pouring from both wounds. It limped over to the larger one and laid down, its hate-filled eyes just staring at Lanton.

  “Officer. Shoot Detective Lanton.”

  Lanton looked up at the doorway to see Stephen standing there with a victorious smirk. Lanton’s gaze darted to the officer. The officer raised his gun, sighting down on Lanton and firing. For a second Lanton felt ill again. He heard the bullet ricochet off the floor behind his head. Both the officer and Stephen gaped with open mouths.

  Lanton shot Steven in the stomach.

  Steven cried out and then crumpled back into the room and onto his bed. “What the hell?!”

  Lanton pointed the gun at the officer, who now stood staring in bewilderment at his own gun and his hands. “Put it down.” He struggled to regain his feet. “Steven, you say one more thing, and I’ll put you down.”

  Steven was shaking, staring at the blood coming out from between his fingers. “You shot me.”

  Lanton stumbled to the cell door. “Officer…” He peered at the man’s nametag. “Buetron. Go get the medics. And Grimm.” The officer stared at him blankly. “Do it, or you go down for the attempted murder of a police officer.”

  Buetron beat a hasty retreat.

  “You shot me,” Steven repeated.

  Lanton shrugged, pointing the gun at Steven’s face. His numb hand, he tried to hold over the wound in his chest. “It was supposed to be a warning shot.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gifts from the Heavens

  “You look so handsome.”

  Julian smiled at his mother in the mirror he stood before. “I do, don’t I?” He adjusted the light blue silk tie for the fourth time. It felt good, all of it. The feel of the silk under his fingers. The smile on his mother’s face. He hadn’t seen her smile like that since… well, he couldn’t remember.

  “You should have gone with the white suit. That’s the kind of suit a successful rapper would wear.” James rested against the door jam, arms folded over his tiny chest.

  Julian gave a small chuckle. “I thought about that, and you’re right. It would have looked slick, but I was afraid with all the running around I will be doing it would get dirty easier. Dry cleaning on these things has to be expensive. Plus, I didn’t want to bite some rappers style, ya know?”

  “So? You have a job now.” James’ lower lip protruded just a fraction as he spoke. He was wearing a Muppet t-shirt he had scavenged from the dusty bin at the Chalice House’s surplus clothing room. It clung too tight on his arms and hung too long on his body. The jeans he wore had distressed holes in them that Julian doubted were the designer’s choosing. Julian decided he would take his brother clothes shopping this weekend.

  Julian smiled at him in the mirror. “I volunteer. I do not expect anyone to pay. That they do is a blessing, but not one I will insist upon. Besides, the idea is to get us enough money to get us our own place. Just the three of us.”

  His mother beamed at him from her seat. She still struggled to walk most days, but she looked healthier than he had seen in a long time. Her face fuller, capable of holding a reddish hue at times. It struck Julian as sad that he could only remember her smooth brown skin as pale most days. “I am so proud of you, son.”

  James made an audible groan and walked away.

  Julian turned to look after him but said nothing. He had no idea what to say.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s jealous and proud all at the same time. It’s got him all sorts of confused. He’ll come around.” His mother looked around then leaned closer. “Can I ask you a question and you tell me truthfully?”

  Julian moved to squat before his mother. “Always. You deserve nothing but the truth from me, Momma.”

  She smiled back, patting his cheek. For a moment her mouth moved, but no sound came out. It was as if she was trying to sound out the words before saying them. “Do you think this kid who gave you all this stuff… Well, do you think he’s interested in you? Romantically?”

  Julian choked on nothing but felt his cheek grow hot. “That’s not it at all, mom. He’s thankful that I saved him is all.” He thought about it for a moment. “I think he’s lost and the Good Lord sent me to him. Perhaps getting shot has taught him a lesson he doesn’t understand quite yet.” He smiled and patted her on the cheek. “Besides. He has a good-looking girlfriend that he adores and she adores him. It’s sweet.”

  His mother placed her hand on his hand, keeping it close to her cheek. “You just be careful, son. There are a lot of people out there that are up to no good. You can’t just accept everybody at their word. The devil comes with gifts.”

  “And the Lord with trials,” Julian finished her famous quote. “I trust in the Lord. When I needed to go somewhere safe, I ended up at his house. I think God sent me to him, Momma.” When she still seemed concerned he added, “but I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Do that, but keep your shields up. Literally.” She shook her head with a satisfied grin.

  Julian’s phone gave a chime. Pulling it out of his pocket, he read the green text that floated across the screen. It was an address just outside of Indianapolis, somewhere he had driven by, but never stopped. They also made a point to mention there would be blood. Julian sent a reply that he was on his way and stood up. “Time to go help some people.” He rushed out of his fine black suit for some tattered jeans and an old Notre Dame sweater, his own loot from the supply closet here. “I might not be back by curfew, but I’ll text you when I settle in for the night.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Tell James that I’ll see about maybe getting some gaming system here before long. I know this place is kind of boring for someone his age. And this weekend we will see about getting him some nice clothes.”

  His mother smiled at him and nodded. “Shield,” she reminded.

  “Right!” He spun through the startup sequence on his smartphone, waiting for it to green light that it was on. “Love you.”

  He found himself standing on the side of the road. Dusk had started to settle in, bringing a chill to the air. His breath rolled out in short-lived clouds before him. To his left, a single ambulance sat with the back doors wide open and the lights atop flashing. The landscape alternated colors as Julian tried to catch his bearings. It wasn’t hard to decipher where he was needed. Skip marks turned into deep furrows in wet grass that ended with a car wrapped around a sturdy tree. Steam drifted up from the broken hood as the headlights flicked, bent so far inward they winked at each other on the other side of the tree. Next to the driver side, two emergency techs worked on the door, their labored breaths alternating between them.

  Julian shuffled down the embankment, announcing himself as he did. “How can I help?”

  The male tech looked up. “Look, kid. We don’t need any lookie-loos. Just get back in your car and...” He stopped, looking back up the embankment and finding no extra cars on the road. “Wait. You’re him?”

  Julian nodded. “I am.” He came to stand about five feet from them. “What can I do to help?”

  The woman turned, her red hair looking frazzled in the cold air. “That depends. Can you pull just a person, even if they’re locked in a heap of twisted metal?” Her tone sounded skeptical but respectful. Her green eyes scanned him, perhaps looking for some clue as to the kind of person she was dealing with. He got that a lot.

  “If it’s God will, I believe I can.” He turned off the shield and moved closer. Inside the wrecked car, a young woman sat with blood all down the right side of her face. As she looked at him, she coughed up blood and started to cry. “Where do you want me to take her?”

  The woman began scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “Get her to Ezekiel Hospital, second floor, operating room 2.” She looked at her male companion. “Call them and let them know who is coming, why, and what they need.”

  The man nodded and moved off to make a call. He kept glancing over his shoulder to watch Julian. Even now they treated him with measured suspicion. They knew they needed his help to save lives, but
some of them still found it a bitter pill to swallow.

  “Step back please.” Julian stepped up to the window, laying a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m going to take you somewhere. It will feel weird, and you will see a blinding white light. Don’t be afraid. Are you ready?”

  The young woman looked at him, eyes going wide. “Are you death? Are you here to take me to the afterlife?” She pulled away from him trying to swat at his outstretched hand.

  “No, Ma’am.It’s my job to get you away from here, in case death has come looking. We’ll keep him so confused as to where you are; you’ll live a long and happy life. But I need you to trust me, okay?” Julian reached in a bit farther, placing his hand on her shoulder again.

  “You’re that angel, aren’t you?”

  Julian smiled. “I have been called that. Here we go.”

  Bright lights blinded him for a second as he heard people yelling and metal clanging all around him. “It’s him!” Someone shouted. Julian began to worry that he should have had his shield up, but there was no way to do that and teleport someone. He steadied himself, hoping that God still had plans for him. Other than becoming a story to warn others of hubris, or something.