Gray Night (17 page)

 I was thinking about that guy in the abandoned building and what Brandon’s friend had said. There would be a file on me in that stack if Brandon hadn’t come back when he did. It was my turn to shiver.

 Wait. Why hadn’t I thought of that before now? The men who attacked me and Brandon yesterday, no way they were working for one of the underworld factions. Those men weren’t working for anyone. Including themselves. They were feral and attacked on instinct. Why hadn’t I made that connection sooner? The memory of it was faded, fuzzy.

 “How can there be so many? Why have I not heard about this?” Claire asked.

 “Several interests collided on this one. When the city gets something they can’t explain, they explain it. However they want. Having unknowns on paper makes people look bad and no one wants that. I’m not saying anyone lies, per se, it’s just the reports get filled out with very reasonable, very generalized answers. For instance, Mr. Keller goes in the report as viciously attacked. Massive physical trauma. Cause of death was drowning. But it’s not only that. The press has had details kept away as well. Not entirely, of course, but enough. Not to mention many of these victims also work for Joe Vitale’s organization, and they don’t exist anyway. Not on paper,” Irish said.

 “Right. Everything’s fine. It’s business as usual. Of course there’s not a violent underworld battle increasing throughout the city,” Claire said.

 “Exactly. And until it spreads out into the streets, they’ll get away with it. I’m not even sure they’re wrong,” Irish said.

 “Of course it’s wrong. People deserve the truth no matter what. How can anyone expect to do anything about it if they don’t know what’s going on?” Claire said.

 “I’ve seen people faced with this kind of truth. They over-react and panic. I love this city and don’t doubt they would pull together and get something done. But it doesn’t take that many to make it worse before it gets better. Really, really worse. And there’s more,” Irish said.

 “That’s it then? Nothing will happen because no one will ever know until it’s too late?” Claire asked.

 “I told you two,” Irish said, looking at me.

 “Right,” Claire said. “We’ll add resolving the mob’s dispute to our list of things to do today.”

 “Claire she’s not asking us to do anything,” I looked at Irish who blushed. Maybe she did want me to do something about it.

 “She’s telling us what we’re about to get into if we keep looking into Henry and George’s murder,” I said.

 Claire looked ready to pounce.

 “Which we’re going to keep doing,” I said, raising my hands. “We’ll figure this out. Find the artifacts. Find the killers. Get some justice. But Claire, we have precious little to go on, and if we’re getting involved in something bigger, I want to know sooner rather than later. Besides, we have a whole new angle to pursue now.”

 “What do you mean?” Claire asked.

 “Well, for one, whoever is behind these attacks is linked, or even responsible, for what happened at the museum. And somehow it’s tied in with what’s going on with Diamond Jack and Joe Vitale,” I said.

 And what’s going on at night in the Bronx if those guys that attacked me and Brandon wasn’t an isolated incident.

 “You said there’s more to it?” Claire asked Irish.

 “Yes,” Irish said refocusing. “Yes. I found a link between all the victims.”

 “You couldn’t have led with that?” I asked.

 “I’m sorry, okay. I’m breaking a million regulations having you here, and defying the police, and trying to help, and I’ve never seen anything like this, and you know very well that’s saying something, Captain Knight,” extra insulting emphasis on Captain. And Knight.

 “Irish,” I said.

 “What?” she snapped back.

 “You’re doing great, kid. The city’s lucky to have you. I mean it. Claire and I are in your debt. This is the only solid information we’ve had since we started. This gives us an advantage we wouldn’t have had otherwise. It could save lives,” I said.

 “Adrian’s right,” Claire said. “This is more than we’ve gotten from anyone and I can’t begin to thank you for defying Harris. I apologize for getting upset, it’s just I keep getting held out of the loop all the time, the past couple of days not an exception. Then to hear something so important is being swept under the rug. It’s infuriating, but not your fault and I’m sorry,” Claire said.

 “No, I understand. I do. That’s why I had to tell someone,” Irish said.

 “We don’t want you getting into any trouble over this. Harris will never find out, but we should get going before people begin to wonder what we’re doing here,” said Claire.

 “Yes. Okay. I found something. A chemical compound. It was present in, or on, each of the victims,” Irish said.

 “In or on?” I asked.

 “I found it in every saliva sample we were able to recover in the wounds. In the others, the bodies not associated with any criminal organization—most were addicts of one kind or another living on the street—I found it in their blood. A significant amount. Some died in the attacks that left the wounds, but almost an equal number died from chemical poisoning before they were…I found remains, in some of their stomachs, and in their teeth. Human tissue,” Irish said.

 “You mean some of those were not only the victims, but had attacked others as well?” Claire asked.

 “Yes,” Irish said, digging out some photos from the folders. “See these marks here,” she pointed out terrible wounds on the bodies. “These aren’t bites. These are areas where the flesh has rotted while they were still alive. Everyone like that had the same chemical signatures inside them. Most of them had all the signs of being an addict too. Heroine and Meth. Some X. However, there was another drug in their system that I’ve never seen before. I need to do more tests. Maybe even send it to someone more experienced. It’s complex. I identified several of the components, though I’m not sure how they interact with each other. The base is a variation of Scopolamine. A synthetic, maybe. It doesn’t help that the compound appears to be in various stages of decay. It’s breaking down. I have no way of telling its original chemical form.”

 Claire shivered again.

 “What is it?” I asked her.

 “There were stories of scopolamine abuse. Things we heard in Central America. It’s found naturally in some plants south of there,” Claire said.

 “Brugmansia genus. Mostly found in the tropical regions of South America. Though several other plants in the solanceae family contain high concentrations of—sorry,” Irish interrupted. “Scopolamine has strong amnesiac properties. Physicians used it to induce twilight sleep a hundred years ago. Sort of a waking sleep for giving birth. It’s a powerful painkiller and sedative, but this is different. Way different. Scopolamine is used, in tiny amounts, for several medical conditions, even motion sickness. And for a powerful high, though based off what I’ve read, not a pretty one. Like hallucinating nothing but your worst nightmares, constantly, for hours. Even days. Self-mutilation is common. Ravenous hunger. Highly suggestive behavior. There are cases of it causing permanent, severe psychological disorders. The hallucinations might be its purpose in this compound, assuming it’s recreational. But it’s also a powerful sedative, and that presents a problem.”

 “What problem?” I asked.

 “Do these kinds of attacks look like the work of someone under heavy sedation?” Irish asked. “Something about the compound is triggering a paradoxical reaction. It isn’t random with so many cases in such a short time, and that’s the only thing they have in common. The dead tissue is normal with some of the quick and dirty processes used to synthesize drugs these days. Desomorphine, Krokodil when it’s homemade in Russia, will do it in a hurry. The psychotic hallucinations and hunger aren’t unlike what we’ve seen with the new bath salt trends. However, I’ve also found massive amounts of adrenaline in the bodies with the highest concentrations of the poison in their blood. Most of their hearts look shot from constant overload. They were going to die soon anyway from cardiac failure. I don’t have everything back from the other tests yet to say anything more specific, but I’ll let you know what I find.”

 “So, you think what? There’s a new drug on the street and it’s causing users to turn into rotting, flesh eating monsters?” I asked, careful to avoid the z-word.

 “I don’t know. Many of these victims are addicts. Several are not. I can’t account for it. But if they wake up in here one night, I’ll be sure to ask,” Irish said.

 “That’s not funny,” I said.

 “I don’t suppose you’ve mapped out where the bodies were found?” I asked.

 Irish shook her head no.

 “Would you mind? Just when you have some time,” I said.

 “Sure,” she said.

 “Thanks kid. For everything,” I said.

 “Yes, thank you. I—” Claire gave up and hugged Irish.

 Irish opened the door for us and we headed into the hallway to navigate our way back out.

 “Knight,” Irish called behind me.

 I turned back.

 “Be careful,” she said.

 “M’lady,” I said bowing.

 She gave me a worried smile before going back in to her stainless steel sanctuary.

 “Excellent. Flesh eating, memory losing drugs. War in the criminal underground. I’m excited. Are you excited?” I asked Claire.

 “Thrilled,” she said. I got the impression she didn’t mean it.

 We made our way back out the side door and into the cacophony that is New York City. Traffic looked rough, so I led us down the sidewalk to the next crosswalk at the light.

 “This has gotten about as complicated as it possibly could,” Claire said.

 I was about to agree with her when my good friend the universe arrived to elaborate on how wrong we were as a long, gorgeous white car pulled to the sidewalk behind us.

 A car door opened and shut behind us, letting someone out, before rolling forward and stopping beside us. The door opened again and a large man stepped out in a black suit. He was shaved bald, an inch taller than me, and twice as wide. He made zero effort to conceal the submachine gun strapped under his jacket. It reminded me how naked I felt without my 10mm. Adrian Knight caught without a gun. You’d have to know me to understand the humor in that.

 “There’s another behind us. Fifteen feet,” Claire whispered over my shoulder. She kept cool. Good girl.

 “Black on black is difficult to pull off, but I have to say, you look fantastic. And these wheels…” I said smiling as we reached the man in black.

 He didn’t acknowledge our presence at all and kept all his senses focused on his surroundings. Not
the
surroundings, or
our
surroundings. The look on his face very clearly said
his
.

 I turned to the other one coming in behind us. That guy wouldn’t pull off anything. He was five foot seven, with a donut ring of hair slicked into a short ponytail, wearing a plaid suit with a massive Desert Eagle shoved in the front of his pants, and eyeing Claire up and down with his eyes as he sucked back the last of a cigarette, tossed it, and lit another.

 “Isn’t this just turning into a delicious assignment,” he said behind Claire.

 Her expression went from fright, to anger, to flat, in less than a second. I knew from limited experience that was bad. For him.

 She cocked her hips and subtly adjusted the way she was standing. I’d seen better acts, but not by much.

 “I do like a real man,” Claire said.

 What’s-his-face had the smuggest look I’d ever seen.

 Claire walked over to the man in black and ran her fingertips down his vest.

 “And if you ever want to know how to be one, ask him,” said Claire.

 “Gentleman, please,” came a calm male voice from inside the open door of the backseat.

 The man in black continued on as he was. The other guy looked pissed, but backed off.

 The sidewalk glittered in a pattern of light, reflecting off the wheel hub of the back tire, embedded with diamonds forming the letter J.

 “Dr. Spurling. Mr. Knight. Would you please join me.”

Chapter Fifteen

 Claire gave me a look clearly asking whether we should acquiesce. I looked at the man in black who was staring right past us. The other guy paced back and forth, and I did not like how he was looking at Claire.

 I also did not want to get in the backseat of a car with Diamond Jack. I wanted Claire doing it even less, but if he wanted to have a chat, it would be better to get it over with. Seven years ago I might have leaned in, flipped him off, and walked away. I was also stabbed in the back for doing that, once. That part didn’t bother me as much as one would think, and I’m still convinced I made the right call there. However, I wasn’t going to risk the man’s ire when it could be Claire that suffered for it. Besides, I didn’t have one freaking clue what he wanted with us. This could be an opportunity to learn something.

 I nodded to Claire and held her hand as she got into the car, then slid in beside her on the bench seat across from our host.

 Outside I heard sleazy ponytail guy say, “Just what the fuck are you laughing at?” to the man in black. Claire could be kind of awesome.

 Diamond Jack was not what I expected. He had all of the basics. The air of strength, relaxed power and confident posture, perfect hair starting to add some salt to that pepper, and the faintest scar at his throat. But, in his classic gray suit, I kid you not; he was Cary Grant’s tougher looking stunt double.

 He made the style look effortless, which helped the comparison. It wasn’t perfect enough to hide the weapon he kept on his chest, but nearly. He was not a man to be trifled with and he knew it.

 “Nice wheels, Jack. Is this the ‘88 sedan?” I asked.

 He didn’t bat an eyelash and didn’t lose his smile but, for a split second, I could tell people did not talk to him that way.

 “I’m so happy you approve of my new Excalibur, Mr. Knight. And yes, it is,” he said as the man in black got in, shutting the door behind him. He sat next to Diamond Jack.

 “It is a real pleasure to meet the both of you. Two people with such a pedigree in their respective fields,” he said, turning the same smile to Claire.