Out of the Black (12 page)
Authors: Lee Doty
He waited for the policeman to get his car open, then waited much longer for him to drive away. He could picture the poor guy inside the car, trying fruitlessly to get those ancient keys into his car's biometric ignition. Ivo's apprentice had obviously had some fun with the befuddled Detective, but that wasn't Dek's primary concern now... today his business was Ahmed.
One foot on the path to vengeance, the other drawing circles in the air, Dek waited. The swaying of the tree comforted him, distracted him from the white-hot fury that threatened to burn him away. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the caress of the wind, the rustle of the branches, the sway of the tree- the subtle harmony that God loved to hide in any experience, no matter how dark or pointless He let the world get.
At last, the car with the silver patch tape on the roof drove away. He smiled with anticipation. Now that the Detective was out of the way, would be making his move. Ahmed was the target, and Dek was going to follow him and kill until he got some answers. He unhooked his foot and balanced momentarily, still holding the trunk with his right hand; his right arm extended perpendicularly from the line of his body. He relished the sound of the trunk splintering under the strain.
Then he let go and swam down through the branches.
***
As Ping closed the car door, the silence was unsettling- he had something important to do.
His tablet chirped. How was he supposed to think with all these interruptions? He unholstered it and checked the caller ID; it was his captain. Without extending the tablet, he held it before him so that he could see the exposed portion of the screen and its camera could register his face. He thumbed the connection open.
The round face of Captain Hafiz appeared. He was a thickly built man of about fifty with dark features and a habit of playing with his mustache as he spoke. His grandparents had emigrated from India, which explained his dark complexion, but he had grown up in some unknowable region of the United States that left him scarred with an accent not unlike a pirate in a cheap video. He had a deep, booming voice, and a flair for drama. When he got excited, it was easy to picture him on a wooden deck with cutlass and parrot, bellowing orders to a surly crew.
On the screen, his face was a parody of gravity, as always. It had taken Ping some time to get used to his gruff management style, but that was before he realized that Hafiz was often angry but never too serious about it. He liked to laugh just slightly more than he liked to yell.
"Bannon!" The captain shouted with the usual agitated melodrama. He then gave Ping the stare of a man who had laid out a clear question and now awaited a well-reasoned response.
After a few seconds of silence, Ping tried to move the stalled conversation along. "Er... Captain?" Ping asked with his waiting-for-the-punchline tone.
"Ten minutes!" The captain raised a stern finger between them, giving Ping the full angry-captain-nostril-flare experience.
"Slightly too terse." Ping observed.
"FBI! Do I have to spell it out for ya?" The captain shouted again, but Ping's trained eye picked up the sparkle in his eyes. The captain loved harsh humor... he just wasn't very good at it.
"Oh," Ping said reasonably, "I'm sorry captain, but you've reached the Chicago PD. If you want the FBI, perhaps you should hang up and try again."
"No, Bannon! Our happy friends from the FBI are eager to speak with you."
"You actually know happy, friendly people in the FBI?"
"Well, all right, they might be happier when you drag your carcass into my office in ten minutes!" He tapped his finger on his desk for emphasis. There's two very serious-lookin' schmucks loitering about wastin' the taxpayers' money."
"Very funny Captain," an urbane voice said from off-camera, "but this is rather urgent."
The Captain glanced up at the unseen speaker, giving him the 'you bother me' look Ping knew so well. Then he looked back, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. "So Bannon, you heard the nice agent... make yourself available for our federal pals."
"On my way, chief." Ping severed the connection and buckled in. He grabbed the wheel in his left hand and started the car- or tried to. His key didn't fit, no matter how many times he flipped it over or wiggled it. After about thirty seconds, he looked inquisitively at the keys in his hand. Which one was supposed to fit? He couldn't remember.
***
Anne woke with the strangest feeling of calm. Not the everything's-going-to-be-okay kind of calm- but the kind where you're tougher than the tough times. Of course, this feeling faded somewhat with the onset of reality. Perhaps the first cold water thrown on her tranquility was the slick of drool on the floor near her open mouth.
She sat up. Hey! Smooth sailing! She still had some aches and pains, but she could move. She glanced back at the floor, just to make sure her dead body wasn't still lying there... nope, just the drool. Alive after all! It made her feel like she'd been dating death for years, but he just couldn't commit. She had a moment where that made her feel bad, but then she smiled and decided to attempt standing again.
She got to her feet with only a little unsteadiness. Her body's autopilot had reengaged, but she still felt uncoordinated, like her body was still in the breaking-in phase. She only stumbled once on her way back to the fridge. She closed the refrigerator with a real sense of accomplishment. "Ha!" She opened it again, closed it, opened it... held her hands out in triumph, "How you like me now, punk!" She slammed the door again and pirouetted, but had to steady herself on the counter half way through the maneuver. After only the briefest moment of dizzy uncertainty, she finished big with an accusing point at the fridge and another exuberant "Ha!"
She was still starving, though she definitely didn't trust that milk anymore. She checked her watch to see how long the fridge had been open- 10:52pm. NO! She was going to be late for work two days in a row!
Wow, she shifted gears fast. A few hours ago, she thought she was dying for the third time in twenty-four hours, but now, paroled by the Reaper yet again, she could still work up a dander over being tardy to her dead-end job.
She retrieved her tablet and checked the messages. Two were from work, both wondering where she was. Oh no. She checked the date. She hadn't been out for four hours... she had been out for twenty-eight. She hoped she still had a dead-end job to return to. Well, at least she hadn't tried the milk... that could have been a curdled, vomiting disaster.
She hobbled toward the bedroom, slamming her shoulder painfully into the doorframe on her way through.
***
Ping stepped through the scanners and into the station.
The duty officer looked up from her work and held up a hand of greeting from behind the glass. Though Ping couldn't see it, he knew the officer was seeing his scan on the HUD projected onto the armored glass between them. Of course, she knew Ping or she would pay a lot more attention to the scans of his guns, badge, and maybe the collapsed sword in his pocket.
Ping smiled and approached the vestibule. "Audrey!"
The sergeant was perhaps fifty, with the soft physique of the desk-set. She had an open face and dark hair with a thin stripe of gray that went from forehead to the end of her ponytail. "Nice keys Bannon, where'd you get them?"
Ping looked at the ring of metal keys he had been spinning absently on his index finger. "I left them on the table."
"When? In kindergarten?"
Ping shook his head, a little confused.
She moved on. "You hear the Feds are looking for you?"
Ping nodded gravely. "I've been hearing rumors of vigorous cavity inspections."
"I've always said you shouldn't store stuff in there, it's just asking for trouble." She said, leveling her stylus at his pants.
Ping gave an amused snort and continued through the door. Upstairs, he headed for the Captain's office. As he approached the glassed-in office in the center of the floor's cubicle farm, he could see the vague forms of three people through the partially polarized glass. Time to meet the Feds.
He knocked; the Captain waved him in. His key clinked off the Captain's smooth doorknob a few times before someone opened the door from inside.
"What are you doing, detective?" the dark-suited man with his hand on the door asked. Reinitiating the keys' orbit around his index finger, Ping ignored the question and entered the captain's office.
As he entered, Ping examined the two Feds. They were both large and moved with the efficiency of athletes. The one who had opened the door looked like a cross between James Bond and an aging surfer. His sandy blonde hair was expensively cut and meticulously arranged. His smile was professional and entirely false, if you spent the time to really look. The Fed leaning against the far wall was a dark-haired, slightly more handsome version of his partner. Both men wore a look of assurance that bordered on arrogance, which was to say that they looked like Feds.
"Lieutenant Bannon!" The blonde agent said, releasing the door and moving to Ping's side by the captain's desk. "Good to finally meet you." He glanced sideways at the Captain and continued, "So this is the man who broke the Three Rings eh?"
"You probably don't want to say that too loud around here... it was a bit of a team effort." Ping said, shaking the Fed's extended hand. "And you are?"
"Garvey, FBI. This is agent Neiland." He said with an absent wave in the direction of his partner. "No need for modesty, detective. We're all professionals here- it's okay to be proud of your accomplishments."
"So, Garvey, were you buttering the Captain this bad before I arrived?"
The Captain snickered, nodding. "He said he liked my painting." The captain hooked a thumb at the oil painting of a pig in a field of daisies that hung behind his desk.
"No. Really?" Ping reexamined the horrible painting the captain's wife had given him.
"I told you he was gonna be a prick." the darker agent said, still leaning against the wall.
"Ah... and you must be Bad Cop." Ping said, holding out his hand.
It went unshaken. "You know Garvey, I already like and trust you, but Bad Cop here scares me. You know..." Ping paused, stroking his chin in a parody of deep thought, "...the weirdest part is that the two of you together make me want to cooperate fully."
"Very funny Lieutenant." Garvey said in a pleasant tone as his partner stepped away from the wall and cut in. "Perhaps you oughta' get a leash on your man Captain..."
The Captain was laughing behind a clenched fist. He made almost no sound, but he was wracked with repressed guffaws and turning just a bit red. Neiland didn't finish.
"They still don't teach irony at Quantico, do they?" Ping relaxed his posture and waited, still spinning his keys around his index finger.
There were a few missed beats as Good Cop and Bad Cop regrouped, this gave the captain time to master himself. "Our federal pals here want to assert jurisdiction over the bloodbath under the bridge. ...and hopefully want to buy my painting." The captain's laughter started again.
"You know your wife would kill you slowly." Ping said, "Hey, that was quick." It had been less than six hours since the car had been found. "How?"
"We've got sources." Bad Cop said, turning to the window and the dim maze of cubicles beyond.
"We've already downloaded your preliminary data." Good Cop said. "We just need a few moments of your time for a quick debrief."
Ping looked at the Captain for support. "Why is this a federal case? Were any of the victims mail carriers?"
It was Good Cop who responded. "It's not that simple, detective. There are aspects of this case that are quite sensitive. Though we're not at liberty to discuss all of them, I really would appreciate your cooperation. Here's what I can say: Dr. Lutine, one of your victims, was involved with something that could pose a serious risk to national security."
"So he wasn't a history professor?"
"Well, actually he was."
"Doing a scathing report on what really happened between George Washington and the cherry tree?"
"I'm afraid it's a bit more sinister than that, Detective. People have been killed."
"I had noticed that." Blank stare- these guys just weren't humor-oriented. "You mean besides under the bridge?"
"Yes. Let me assure you, whatever Lutine got, he deserved it."
"I don't think anyone deserved that." Ping said, troubled. His trip to student housing might prove a lot stickier than he imagined. If what Good Cop was saying was true, then there was at least one extremely beautiful Chicago cop on the wrong side of this. He thought he had been skirting a minefield, but now he found himself uncomfortably close to its center, and his last step had ended in an ominous click.
"What's wrong Detective?" Good cop's eyes portrayed a concerned curiosity, with hardly any glimmer of the amusement that Bad cop was emoting.
Oops, game face slipped. He couldn't hesitate without seeming evasive. Sometimes it's best just to charge in, letting the chips fall where they may.
"I've got to admit I'm a little surprised..." Ping said. "My guess was that Lutine's crowd were wearing the white hats."
"Lutine's Crowd?" Bad Cop said. The Feds glanced at each other.
...and sometimes it was better to just keep your stupid mouth shut. Well, nothing to do now but forge ahead, "I interviewed one of Lutine's History TAs this morning. He seemed like a nice enough guy." The agents' tablets came out. The debriefing un.
Good Cop went next. "What was his name? What makes you think he was one of 'Lutine's crowd'?" His stylus was poised above his tablet.
"His name is Alexander Ahmed. I found his contact information in Lutine's driver's tablet. I had just come from his apartment when the Captain here called. He seemed to be fairly close to Lutine, seemed like a reasonably solid citizen, if a bit quirky. Gave me cornflakes." Ping smiled.
"Corn flakes..." Good Cop said, writing. "Did he seem to know that something was up with Lutine?"
"Exactly what was up with Lutine?"
Good Cop looked up. "I'm really not at liberty to say, Detective. I thought we'd covered that already."
"Well, he seemed to know something was 'up'. But I'm trying to make sense out of the impressions I had when talking with him. I'm not sure I could say anything more useful without knowing what type of thing I was looking for." Bad Cop opened his mouth to interject, but Ping continued, holding up his hand for patience. "I'm not trying to be difficult... I'm just saying it might help if I knew the sort of thing that might have been beneath the surface. Quite frankly, the meeting left me more confused than enlightened."
"Did you record the conversation?" Bad Cop asked.
Ping shook his head. "Sorry. We were in his living room so I couldn't legally record him without permission. Plus I thought he'd be more forthcoming if he didn't feel like every word was being recorded to be used against him later."
Good Cop had his stylus resting on his chin. He was clearly thinking about Ping's request. After a pause, he began. "Detective, I need to remind you that even this limited information I'm giving you is confidential and highly sensitive."
"No you don't. I get it."
Garvey nodded, but Bad Cop looked nervous. He seemed to be restraining himself from restraining Good Cop. Serious stuff, apparently. Ping tried not to look too expectant.
"Several years ago, we became aware of a quiet movement in the country, actually around the world. They have vast resources, but keep such a low profile that they went undetected until then. They seem to operate like some more refined form of organized crime. Not as crass or overtly violent, but here and there a body will turn up, or more often, someone will just disappear." He paused, considering how to continue.
"What is their goal?" Ping asked.
"I can't comment on that." Good Cop looked apologetic. Ping wasn't sure the Feds even knew.
"This case is important because it's the most open of the murders. Certainly the most spectacular."
"Were any of the other cases... strange? Like this one?"
"I'm afraid I can't comment more than I already have on that."
Ping was silent for perhaps another thirty seconds, but no further information was forthcoming. "So, I'm looking for any connections or contacts Ahmed might have mentioned?"
They looked interested. Garvey's stylus was again at the ready.
"Sorry, he didn't mention anyone else. One thing that might be interesting to you though is that Ahmed won both the Hawking prize and Rumbaugh Semaphore before he graduated college. He's a prodigy with computers but he gave it up- or so he says- to be a history TA for Lutine."
"I don't suppose he told you why." Bad cop asked, but his smirk said that he already knew.
Ping shook his head. "Yeah, gave me the slacker life-is-not-work line, but it didn't pass my smell test."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, he was scared when he heard that his professor had been killed. I think he knew about your conspiracy because he was sure he would be next."
Everyone looked shocked, but it was the Captain who spoke. "And where is he now?" he asked like a parent of a toddler might have asked "And whose poo is that?" After a rhetoric pause, Hafiz continued, "Why didn't you bring him in, or at least call for someone to watch his house?"
Ping was puzzled. Yeah! Why not? His finger was beginning to chafe from the furiously spinning key ring.
"Well, I'm not sure... I actually told him that's what I was going to do..." Ping thought some more, "Then he told me we couldn't protect him... I'd just come from the bridge, so I could see his point. I told him he couldn't go, so he said he had something important to show me- something convincing. Then he fires up his computer and surprise! He plays me his favorite song or something, pointed out that I'd dropped my keys... and the next thing I know, I'm getting back in the car."
"Are those the keys you dropped?" Bad Cop asked, pointing to the key ring whistling around Ping's index finger. The beginnings of a smile pulled at his lips.
Ping nodded, feeling somehow naked. He caught the spinning keys and looked at them.
Though Bad Cop was openly smiling now, Good Cop mostly succeeded at hiding his amusement, "You have an antique car, Bannon?"
"Ah... no."
"Antique house?"
"no." Ping said in a small voice.
"What's with the antique keys then?"
Ping had no idea.
Bad Cop was now wallowing in his amusement. "So, you just left our material witness who fears for his life at home? Now that's some solid police work. Did you at least give him your gun for protection?"
Ping shook his head, resisting the urge to check his holsters.
Now this was disturbing. What was wrong with him? He felt like he'd just woken in the middle of a chess match he'd been playing like checkers... checkmate, Mr. Bannon.
"So, anything else you can tell us?" Good Cop said, putting away his tablet.
Dazed, Ping thought. He couldn't mention Ahmed's girlfriend yet- she was a cop and he wanted to do more checking before involving IA. Also, Ping had trouble picturing Ahmed or her as a part of a criminal conspiracy. "No... 'oops' pretty much covers it."
"Well, I guess we're done here." Good Cop said too quickly. Bad Cop was smiling broadly and giving Ping the thumbs-up every time he could catch Ping's eye. These guys knew something. They understood his bizarre behavior. The Captain looked like he was going to make Ping walk the plank, but the two agents were ready to leave. Ready to leave because they understood this, didn't need to queon him further... realized he couldn't help them anymore?
The Captain's face was tight with surprised and gathering anger. Ping battened down his hatches and prepared for the onslaught of the storm.
Bad Cop was looking from Ping to the Captain, getting ready to enjoy the show. When Good Cop stood up to leave, Bad Cop held up a finger, "What's the hurry? I'd like to see how this turns out." He flashed Ping the thumbs-up again.
Good Cop shot his partner a glance somewhere between stern and indulgent. "Thank you for your time Detective Bannon." he said with a smug grin coloring his tone. Bad Cop kept the thumbs-up going and added, "If we need more help, we'll give you a call."
Ping hated these guys. The door closed behind them.
"Crap with corn Bannon!" Captain Hafiz shouted, "What were you thinking!"
The smaller objects on the desk jumped and shivered as Hafiz repeatedly used the desktop for emphasis during his tirade.
***
The normal thirty-minute commute seemed to take hours. She couldn't get into any of the books or movies on her tablet, so Anne stared out the window. At times the train seemed to be moving backwards.
Downtown, she hurried through the park belt surrounding the Chicago River on her way to the hospital. She loved this part of her walk, her favorite part was the flower gardens, but this time of year there were too many bees for her liking. She had always been frightened of nature's creatures, fearing that they mostly wanted to make her a part of their food chain. 'Eaten by bees', now that was a realistic fear- just another little offering at the Fear-God's altar.
She had called from the train to let the lab know she was both alive, and going to be late. She'd given her boss the most bogus-sounding tale of illness-induced slumber. In the end, she got the usual polite acceptance. Her coworkers were always understanding about being a bit late.
