Hashtag Murder

by brett hicks

  “Um, yeah, and am I the only one wondering how she navigated in the dark?!”

  I whisper-yelled at Sorcha who spared me a single “Duh” look.

  “The windscreen is spelled as well. Ultimate stealth mode, totally illegal to sell on the open market.”

  I blinked and for a moment, the ramifications of such vehicles in the hands of Dublin’s worst scum.

  “Right, well are you planning to let me in on, well the plan? What are we even doing here Sorcha?”

  I asked impatiently and Reline opened her door and she was wearing a blood-red evening gown. Her look was somehow more inexplicable, than Sorcha’s predilection for cat burglar chic.

  “Welcome to your first underworld rousting. We will smash some shadow-aligned skulls, since this lot are the most likely to give us a name of this psychopath.”

  Reline said in a mater-of-fact tone. I frowned and looked over at Sorcha.

  “I’m not supposed to expose myself to the general public before I find this killer.”

  I reminded her in a firm tone, and she waved me off in dismissal.

  “Oh please, this ilk doesn’t count as the general public, and none of them are likely to go snitching to Jimmy. They are all bloody scared to end up on the business end of his family.”

  I frowned deeper now, not exactly sure what to make of that statement of fact.

  “She’s cute when she’s confused.”

  Reline teased, and Sorcha sniggered.

  “Which is all the bloody time these days, yeah?”

  I glared at the two new girlfriends.

  “I’m about half a beat from giving yah a good smack.”

  I told them, and both looked amused with me. I forget how common verbal threats are to sups. They must find me to be one big joke, considering.

  “Well, you can spank me all you like later, yeah?”

  Sorcha winked at me playfully and I just huffed in frustration. I opened my door and tossed my purse inside, then I locked the door.

  “Yes, probably wise to leave all forms of ID in the car.”

  Sorcha waved me forward with a wide flowery gesture.

  “So, why exactly are we looking for baddies of some sup variety here of all places?”

  I asked them and Reline sighed dramatically and she spoke in her usual bubbly tone.

  “Was I ever this young and naïve, Sorcha?”

  She asked, seemingly sincerely and Sorcha sassily quipped, “Sure, you hooked up with that one Dracula wannabe back in the twenties. Then, there was that punk rock guitarist back in the eighties.”

  Reline flushed slightly, which was impressive for a vampire.

  “He was not a Dracula wannabe! Ricardo was merely a method actor for stage plays, which at the time were not too far removed from the era of the Dracula story! Especially since technology was the main flash to that story, aside from the blood, sex, and the immortal longing to recapture his lost love.”

  Reline said somewhat in a wistful tone.

  “As much as I would love to grill ye about your wasted youth, I would much rather hear the details about what exactly you’re leading me into. I’m not exactly experienced with kicking in sup filled lairs.”

  Sorcha exchanged a meaningful look with Reline, who seemed to prompt her to speak. Reline then narrowed her eyes and popped a hand on her hip. Sorcha threw up her hands, and she sighed theatrically.

  “Fine, this is a local sup street gang. All its members are what one would commonly classify as ‘Night Walkers’.”

  Reline added, “Night Walkers are beings from the dark earth, AKA, shadow-aligned. However, there are other types not represented by this one alternate world, but that is not important right now.”

  I felt my heart rate quicken at the mention of an all sup gang. I was less than excited about this, but I was a guard, so I was accustomed to kicking in doors of all types. I suppose I am just going to get accustomed to kicking in new types of lair doors.

  “Here I thought I was dreading the next football gang raid.”

  I muttered to myself, and Sorcha snorted derisively.

  “Aye, same basic concept, just more magiks and longer shelf-lives.”

  Reline said, and I arched an imperial brow.

  “Great, should I expect knives and pipes or are they better armed?”

  I asked, trying to get some idea of what I might walk into. Reline looked at Sorcha, who shrugged.

  “We don’t know, but likely handguns and maybe some swords. The typical arms a girl should get accustomed to in our patch.”

  Sorcha said as if this were all no big deal. I stared at her with my mouth agape.

  “They have bloody guns and swords! We should call in armed tactical support!”

  I said emphatically, and Sorcha rolled her eyes and dismissed that thought with a flick of her wrist.

  “Please, if we involved the department every time, we had to kick down a sup den, folks would start asking a lot of questions about the way all these different perps were getting their mitts on illegal weapons. We’d be for the high-jump, at least as far as the public is concerned.”

  Sorcha explained and Reline nodded in agreement.

  “Aye, besides, some of this lot are less than human. Meaning, ye don’t want to explain some of their looks and ye don’t want them being paraded for photo and prints. Again, we’d be for the high jump, but more cause we’d all be shoved from the closet.”

  “So, most of this job is about keeping the two worlds apart?”

  I asked, and both girls nodded in confirmation.

  “Aye, and at least with the sups we can pretend this is still the seventies.”

  I frowned at that comment and Reline rolled her eyes and she mouthed to me, “You’ll see.”

  “Do I even want to know what she’s on about now?”

  I asked and Reline waggled her hand side-to-side.

  “Maybe not, but you probably should start taking notes. You are about to un-learn everything the Garda has taught you over the years.”

  Reline said cryptically, and I just stared at her with a confused, stupid look on my face. Sorcha motioned for me to follow them, and I did, even if I had my personal reservations about this little “trip.”

  We walked into the abandoned warehouse gateway, and I soon realized there were many figures in the general area. I felt chilly auras, different from what I felt from Reline. They had magiks, but none shone as brightly as the pair I was now stuck between.

  The old rickety building was just as dark and inconspicuous as any other old warehouse I had ever investigated over the years. The key difference with this one was the smokey magiks around the entrance.

  “Ah, cute, shadow glamor. Do they really think that’s fooling anyone?”

  I looked at Sorcha and my confusion was apparent on my features.

  “Oh, right, you can see through it, yeah? A door right there, correct?”

  I nodded dumbly, and she looked over at Reline triumphantly.

  “See, told ye there was something there!”

  Reline rolled her eyes at the fairy, and she arched a brow at me in silent question.

  “Interesting little trick ye got there. I’m gonna have to ask ye loads about that later.”

  She said, and she looked back to Sorcha, who nodded meaningfully.

  I was a cop, so I knew a “go” signal when I saw one. Sorcha kicked at the smokey door with the magiks covering it, and wood splintered in along with what was left of the door. Sorcha had a silver dagger in her right hand, and a service weapon in her left hand. I was guessing what her statement about the seventies had meant, back to the old days of policing.

  Twenty-Six:

  “Top’O the mornin to ya lads!”

  Sorcha chirped in her most tauntingly cliché Irish accent. I knew now that everything in her words were fabricated, since she was old as sin and from Scotland.

  Shards from the kicked in door rained down on three pasty-looking youthful hoods. Each of them were wearing the t
ypical Irish dirtbag garb of khakis and a football jersey. As my old DS used to say, “fashion for fobbers.”

  “Armed police, keep yer hands where I can see em’, lads.”

  Reline roared in a tone more authoritative than I had imagined her capable of producing. One of the leading scumbags reached into his trousers, and Sorcha grabbed his hand, just as the shiny glinting of metal cleared his waistband. She slammed her other fist into his face, and a streak of crimson splashed across the filthy and mangled carpet.

  The other two seemed to consider resisting, but they soon thought better. Sorcha seemed to hold her gaze on the second and third scum, as if daring them to move. Her motions and every small movements were well calculated and lightning fast. The apex predator just below the skin crept out for all to see.

  A blast of frigid wind gushed through the open room, upending all the small items laying about. Sinister deep purple magics infused the unnatural gale-force with ominous power. I felt like my bones creaked against the pressure to hold my ground.

  “What have we here, guests?”

  I baritone masculine voice sounded from the hall. The darkness seemed to bend around him, hiding his features in obscurity. My tattoos seemed to shimmer under my flesh in response. I felt like a strange self-defensive mechanism had begun to unfurrow itself from deep beneath the surface of my visible flesh.

  “I can see your welcoming has become no friendlier since last we met, Raphael.”

  Sorcha said in a level tone, no fear or wavering detectable.

  “And, I can see your manners have not improved since last you kicked my door in, without probable cause.”

  The deep tone said, mater-of-fact. I looked to Sorcha, and she glowed with the light-green and silver light of magic so rich in nature it screamed out the warm nurturing story of the entire history of the world. I felt like it enthralled me with Sorcha, for a second time. However, this time, she had aimed her powers at Raphael.

  “That does not work on me, lost little princess of a once grand court. Now, left to wonder all of time in rogue status, rejected of all sups and sects, because ye were too dim to protect your own lot.”

  Sorcha screeched out a banshee-like wail, and the windows exploded around the house in a single cacophonous surge of an unseen force. The dark figure was thrust back to the wall, as were his goons, and he was drug squarely into the eerie but beautiful light of Sorcha’s retribution.

  “By the light of all moons, ye shall never speak of my kith and kindred again. I swear to thee, most bloody a vow if you so much as contemplate them in a less than splendorous manner.”

  Sorcha simmered in a tone so ripe with vitriol, that I was almost worried she had gone straight mental! Her wrath appeared to be like something out of a comic book. Even though I had known she was powerful, I had scarcely imagined the truth of Sorcha’s limits. Sups came in many flavors and many ranges of power, but I had felt nothing this strong, not that I had much to base my comparison with.

  Raphael seemed to think better of this brawl. He raised his hands and then laced his fingers together over his head.

  “All right, all right, geeze learn to take a joke ya crazy bitch!”

  His accent changed suddenly, sounding comparable to someone born in deep Harlem, New York City. Supernatural beings were masters of subterfuge, for as much as they were also glaringly obvious to me personally.

  “Lord girl, I was just fronting! Can’t have you mouthing off like that in front of my crew.”

  “That idea, brilliant as it may be, is hardly worthy of two malignant brain cells.”

  Reline said, her voice taking on a London, English accent. I felt like I didn’t really know anyone around me! Though, I knew that all of them were long-lived beings, so I should probably stop taking the Dublin charm each put on at face value.

  “Are you callin’ me stupid?!”

  He roared in abject fury. His chilly arctic winds seemed to raise in a fluttering pattern, pelting us faster and faster as his mood soured.

  Reline shrugged and sassed, “If ye insist, then yes I am.”

  Raphael took a half step forward, and the winds grew to a gale that threatened to strip the walls around us inch-by-inch. I felt a tingling sensation under my skin, and I felt my ink swirling. The three birds of prey tattooed on my right shoulder were flapping their wings and the artwork almost seemed to lift itself from my skin and into the real-world.

  I had seen nothing like this feat before. I have heard so many tales of sups and how they fight, but aside from a few lesser spirits and demons, I had never witnessed the unnatural nature of my world. I felt the glacial winds battering my skin, yet I was not frozen. I felt the sub-arctic chill down to my very marrow, yet I still moved freely. I was in mild pain and discomforted, but I was unmolested by the storm.

  “Enough of this or I will give ye a show the likes of which no one has seen in nigh on seven-hundred-years.”

  Sorcha promised in a low tone, her words barely above normal conversational levels. I almost assumed it would lose them to Raphael above the tempest winds. However, he soon let his cold winds die down and he studied the ancient Gaelic princess of fae.

  “Very well, state your business or leave. I’d much prefer you just leave.”

  He added and Reline and Sorcha both seemed to force themselves to ignore his snide comment.

  “Something or someone with shadow magiks is behind the two murders that I am sure you saw Tweeted city wide. I want to know who it is and how they are disrupting the CCTV to evade capture and detection.”

  Sorcha demanded calmly. Raphael looked relieved, like he had been expecting some other allegation to be laid at his feet, but not this one. Call it my gut instinct, but I knew in this moment, that Raphael’s crew were clean, at least of this. I was certain they were dirty as sin for something else.

  “Oh, you fuzz can’t track down yer own criminals, so you come to stich your boy Raphael up fer the fit? Thanks, but no thanks!”

  Raphael said to Sorcha, who frowned slightly in puzzlement. I could see her eyes moving through the analytical process that I had just finished arriving at.

  “I see, then could you give me your alibi for both crimes? I will move off you, if you will be so kind.”

  Sorcha asked him brazenly. Several of the dark magik goons snarled in anger at the question put to their boss, but he held up his rough masculine hand. I could see the deeply callused fingers from here, a man who had been working with his hands for hundreds of years.

  “Easy lads, let’s just remember that the five-o is not famous fer its quick wit.”

  Raphael quipped and Sorcha narrowed her eyes, daring him to continue.

  “Well, as much as I love to sit here and mull over the fine decorum you’ve arranged here in such an artfully thought out manner, I would like to get on with my night and have a few drinks at me local.”

  Reline said, and she glared at them, almost daring them.

  “You don’t want to stand between a thirsty vampire and her dinner arrangements.”

  She said in a sinister and ominous tone that brought chills to even my neck. Reline was mild-mannered and chipper, but she also seemed capable of playing psychotic when she wanted to! Nothing scares baddies like capital-K-crazy people. Hell, usually the only people safe from the nutter football hooligans, were the proper nuts!

  “Look, you’re up the wrong tree, ladies. Not a darkling doing this shit. Besides, we have a helluva lot more taste than to blast pictures of a fucking freshie. If any of the mainstream races are behind it, I would bet on your own covens, Reline.”

  Raphael said, budging from his simmering rage.

  “This is not a vampire, or we would have discovered some evidence of feeding. No way a vampire is leaving that much fresh human blood to spoil on the ground.”

  Reline exclaimed in her surety. Raphael shrugged his shoulder in a casually dismissive gesture, as if this did not trouble him.

  “I cannot see how any of this is my problem. I keep my boys
on a tight leash as far as the universal laws are concerned. We do not break the exposure laws and we do not pointlessly slay the mortals. Everything else is fair game, so don’t drop your bodies at my door. I might not be on the side of law and order, but Raphael S. is no mindless bloodthirsty monster. Can you say the same, vamp?”

  He arched a quizzical brow at Reline and Sorcha skewered him with a look that might have outright killed a mortal.

  “Have you seen anyone new on the streets? Someone that might go overlooked by the rest of us?”

  I asked, speaking to the creepy shadow-lord for the first time. He turned his head and appraised me with his eyes, thoroughly.

  “You are one fine piece of ass. What is your name honey, and why are you rolling with these ladies?”

  Raphael S. said, his tone so full of lust I felt like I needed a shower just to wash his words off my body.

  “I’m Avery Parker, detective garda Avery Parker. I am working this murder case the same as the rest of the detectives in my precinct.”

  Raphael seemed to measure me with his gaze, but he seemed to be unable to completely identify me. I had seen the look he gave me many times recently. He couldn’t place my magiks or my power signature. He was obviously old enough and powerful enough to lead a sect, but he was still young enough not to know or remember whatever I was. Every time a sup looked at me with that same curious puzzled expression, I felt more hopeless that I might never know what I was or why I was so alone.

  “What exactly are you?”

  He asked me, and I shrugged, and I quipped, “Not polite to ask a lady all sorts when you’ve only just met.”

  Raphael looked frustrated, and he seemed ready to snap, but something about me seemed to stay his hand, for now. He did not appear to be rash enough to want to attack a being he could not identify. Giving a name to me would take away some invisible power I held over him.

  “You stand on my ground, in my house, and you tell me what I can ask you?!”

  His eyes seemed to deepen with the shadows and turn an eerie purple color. His winds seemed to rush around us at a gale-force that threatened to slam us against the walls or the ceiling.