by brett hicks
I thought about that for a second, and then I dismissed the idea.
“He knew her, at least enough to know her schedule for the day. He lay in waiting just after she had company, maybe we can turn our focus to all the unusual people who were seen upon the skyline today. We send out the uniform officers to canvas door-to-door. We need to also ask around the skyline strips, even ask the teens and kids milling about. If the killer was not a local, then he should show up on a list supplied by people naming or describing unusual men in the area. Also, he was wearing all black, so we can further reduce the pile by looking for someone in black, hopefully, someone saw him with his cloak down earlier in the afternoon.”
Bobby went quiet again and he murmured something on the other side of the phone—likely barking some orders to a milling uniform officer.
“I’m on it Julia, where are we going from here?”
I scratched my head and thought about it for a moment and I huffed.
“I think we need to bring in our expert on assassination. You know, Teddy Angel.”
He snarled into the line and bit out, “As if I could forget that monster!”
Teddy, the Angel of Death, Taylor, had once been a Britannia shadow-man. That is what the Colonials call their covert assassins. Teddy used to kill for the Crown. Now, he was a sixty-one-year-old man living out his retirement in Nexus City. He consults for the CILD with cases of exotic methods of murder. He has killed in so many ways, on so many occasions, he is the closest living thing to a master of the arts of death. He is also a world renowned martial-artist. Where most Brits snub their noses at the eastern arts, like me, Teddy finds it enthralling and deeply insightful. He has taught me more than a few different techniques.
Bobby loathes Teddy because rumor has it that he was the assassin who was sent to mop up a lot of the former slaves who were working in many “sensitive” Britannia house-holds. Just on the off chance that they might start to recite what they learned while working for certain families. Teddy would neither confirm, nor deny his involvement in any such deaths, which convinced Bobby he had been the mass negro killer. Even if he was innocent of these crimes, rivers of blood are at Teddy’s feet. He is no saint, nor is he the angel his name might suggest him to be. Teddy is a man of deeply rooted principles and a man who is close to death.
“You’re going to have to see him by yourself, I will oversee the skyline witnesses.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes playfully, again forgetting I had no audience.
“Right, well you do that, and I will go take our Angel of Death to the coroner’s office.”
Bobby grunted an affirmation, he was in rare form, I am guessing that what he is not telling me, is that many of the colored people gave him shit for asking too many suggestive questions. Bobby was damn good at his job, but he was blunt, he did not beat around bushes, so to speak. He cut to the point like a razor-sharp dirk in the hands of a master thief.
“Bobby, send word to me if you find anything useful. Also, thank you, I know this all must be rather infuriating for you. Let’s just hang in there and see this damn case through. We will get our man, I know it.”
He chuckled again and cleared his throat. His deep voice came through very lowly, as he had just muffled the phone or to hide his words from any potential eavesdroppers.
“If you hear anything about the ex-husband’s friends, let me know.”
Right, friends, I would have to check out everyone connected to the Ex-husband, just in case he had a friend do him a very grizzly favor.
“Sure thing, and Bobby, try not to take the case so personally. I’m forced to work with my ex- and pretend that I have not been deep inside her pink little body.”
I heard a shocked intake of breath that was unmistakably feminine. Right, I completely forgot that the switchboard operator was still listening to disconnect the lines once the call was finished. Poor woman, she was getting a lot of cop-talk, and detailed accounts of a lesbian love affair. Either she was going to have a spell over this, or she was going to listen in as if I was her newest form of entertainment. One can never tell which camp a woman will end up falling into. Most women just get disgusted and extremely combative. Many even call me an abomination of nature. I cannot tell you how many Biblical quotes have been thrown in my face. At least the Great Spirit does not have an opinion one way or the other about my sexual proclivities.
“And Julia,”
Bobby said, his voice laced with deep concern.
“Yes, Bobby?”
“You be careful, go in strapped up with all your sharp little toys. You never know when that monster is going to turn on you like a rabid dog.”
I chuckled, and again I nodded to no one in particular. I was sure Maria was going to think me the craziest girl in the world after seeing this conversation unfold.
“You know me, pointy objects are always strapped to my person in mass quantity.”
Bobby muttered something sarcastically, but I missed it and decided to just let it go.
“Well, good luck partner, and take a backup gun since you’re down one sharp-shooter.”
He chortled into the line and I could feel the eyeroll on the other end.
“I do recall receiving a similar sharp-shooting award when I was tested for my black badge, sugar.”
Bobby was a hell of a shot, just barely less accurate than me, but he was amazing. He had not practiced firing guns his entire life as I had. The Natives train their children for war from the time they can walk. I was treated with the same early conditioning. Bobby was a natural at everything that came with being a detective, but he was still catching up to me on so many levels.
“Right, I forgot that I’m not the only one the department opted to give that particular honor to. Not that I’m bitter or anything!”
I added, more for his amusement than in any seriousness. Sometimes I wonder if I come across as self-centered to my partner, but I guess I’ll never know. Men are not exactly prolific at speaking about feelings.
“Julia, what are the odds that we will catch this monster?”
Bobby asked seriously, and I felt my mood become sober instantly.
“Not very good, Bobby, but if we follow up every lead and every angle of pursuit with all due diligence, then we might be able to catch this twisted fuck before he strikes again.”
“You really believe this is the first of many?”
“I’m not sure this is his first victim at all, Bobby. He struck like a pro, but I’m not sure. We know almost nothing about this killer right now. Everything is conjecture and guess-work right now. We need more facts, more evidence, and we need a fucking miracle, so he doesn’t take another life!”
Bobby grunted yet again, that one sound seemed to make up a lot of the male contributions to many conversations. For all I had in common with men, I still did not understand them.
“I’m going to let you go now, Bobby, take care and stay safe, or your wife will kill me for getting you shot!”
Bobby chuckled again, and he sounded like he was standing to his feet as the sound in the background changed noticeably.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon partner, you play it safe, or at least try to play it safe.”
Spoken like a man who has spent more than a little time around me!
I mused to myself and I hung up the phone, and I was sure that poor operator was glad to have me off the line.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll stick around for the night, just to keep the little dove company.”
I turned my head and bobbed my head quickly.
“Thanks, Maria, but you really don’t have to do all of that!”
She waved me off and gestured vaguely to the door.
“I know you have murderers to catch, and I can do this. It reminds me of when my kids were still young. Hopefully, your job will allow you to live long enough to understand my nostalgia.”
I inclined my head slightly, and she walked over and hugged the older woman tightly. I went in and checked
on Avery, who was snoozing away like the dead, except she snored a little and drooled slightly. I’m not sure that the dead do either of those things. After that, I decided to get back to work.
Twelve:
Sting was holding court in one of his typical locations. He was five blocks up from my apartment building, in an alley between two Mongolian run restaurants. My part of the deep city borders the large segment of Nexus City called “Mongolia Town.” This is because of the dense Mongolian population. Many are settlers from China or other places of the far east under the New Mongolian Empire’s control. They have basically swallowed up the entire Eastern world.
The ICLD does not routinely patrol this sector, the bobbies are assigned to this portion of the city almost exclusively. British blue-clad soldiers handling large silver and iron gun blades can be seen marching the streets at all hours, ensuring that the Mongols living on Colonial soil are adhering to the laws of the land.
Britannia and New Mongolia are in a cold state of conflict. They are not openly warring, but each has seemingly stalled out the other’s outward expansive motion. Many hopes for a war exist between the two empires of the world, in the hopes of liberation during the conflict. I am not so foolish, if Britannia were to be driven from our shores, we could end up trading one master for another. Like most colonials, I don’t want to be anyone’s servant, but better the devil you know, in this case.
A roar of six steam bikes sounds as they pass me by, racing out of the large alley. Sting is setting on a discarded brown wooden cargo box like it’s his throne and this is his court. He is a mousy brown- haired fourteen-year-old boy. He is skinny and built of maturing teen muscles that speak of his consistent hard labor. He might be a thief and a veritable hoodlum, but Sting is a hard-working youth. His little empire of orphans does not run itself, and the other kids will only follow a leader who is keeping them fed.
The kids range from six-to-eighteen-years old. They all instinctively tighten a circle around their leader. Sting holds up his hand lazily and his miss-matched blue and brown eyes meet my gaze. His narrowed vision assesses me, sussing out if I plan to cause him any trouble. He waves once, and everyone backs off and returns to a few card games, or in the young kid’s cases, back to coloring on boxes.
“Well, well, what brings the industrious young black badge to my humble abode?”
His voice is still a bit squeaky, which is common for a boy his age, but it holds none of the immaturity or naivety of his youthful appearance. Sting might look like a half-drowned brown rat, but he is as deadly as they come. He is like I was at his age, capable and already bloodied with several foes. I understood Sting, in another life, in another time, I had been like him. He recognizes this kinship, so he endures me, and even seems to enjoy our visits.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, Sting. How’s tricks?”
His lips twitched, and he tilted his head slightly to the side.
“And, who is asking today, the black badge, or the crimson street girl?”
(Crimson street child refers to any orphan or homeless child of the streets who has at least one kill to their name. Not criminals, not always, but people who have taken life to survive at one time or another.)
I shrugged my shoulder, and I grabbed a discarded wooden crate across from Sting. You do not ask to sit, not if you have half a brain. You just do it, and then see what happens. The streets are mean, and people do not ask for things. The rules of civility are different here, if my sitting offends Sting, he could have his goons strike with the razor-sharp dirks I know they are all concealing.
“I’m just here to talk, and you know me. Unless you are graduating to murder, then I will never bother you with the badge, Sting.”
I spoke matter-of-fact, and he smiled a genuine smile of friendship.
“In that case, please join us, I even happen to have some ale for the occasion.”
Sting gestured to the two bigger teens behind him and they walked off out of sight, presumably to retrieve the ale in question. I smiled at Sting, and I looked him over. He was a bit scruffy, his first signs of manhood were showing on his face. Dark hairs poked out of his cheeks and the beginning of a small dark mustache shown on his upper lip. His hardened eyes were both kinds, and completely devoid of all sorrow. Sting was never sorry for surviving, nor for fighting, and stealing to keep surviving.
“You’re still the best host in the city in my book, lad.”
He chuckled and waved me off.
“Now you’re just buttering me biscuit, Julia. How are things with your work? I hear things, disturbing things.”
It really shouldn’t have surprised me that his street-rats had already scurried back and reported about the murder in the skyline. I guess, part of me thought he might not have heard because it is the skyline. That means, he either learned about it from someone on the ground, after the fact, or Sting’s little empire of orphans extended into the skyline.
I did not let anything slip on my features, and I did not rise to the bait to ask how he knew about my latest murder. I nodded, and I sighed a long breath of exhausted air.
“Work has proven very distasteful as of late, yes. That’s not exactly what brings me here though.”
Sting’s eyebrows raised high, and he looked mildly surprised.
“Oh, I had assumed you were here to hear what I have heard, as you have on occasion in the past.”
I shrugged, and I said, “A girl has to change things up, lest she becomes predictable.”
Sting snorted derisively and tipped his brown head of tangled curly locks.
“If not for murder, then what has brought you to me, Julia?”
I licked my lips and I began to describe my meeting with Avery. I told him how I found her, and that she was currently staying with me. Sting leaned in, deeply interested in this new morsel of gossip. No doubt, he would find something in Avery’s story to benefit him in some way.
“This is something new to me. I have not heard a peep about such an orphan, and one covered in blood, no less. Hum, I confess, this is unusual. I do not know about her origins, nor was she amongst mine.”
His tall teens returned with two cases of new bottled ale. I accepted the glass bottle offered to me and I tipped my head to the boy, then I pulled out my knife and pried the cap off the bottle in two deft twists of the blade. I raised the bottle in salute.
“Cheers, mate.”
Sting smiled and raised his own.
“To that which binds us all together.”
I knew the meaning, it was a very polite way of saying that bloodied orphans were all interconnected for all time, because of the harsh reality and circumstances. I took a sip and the slightly bitter ale was surprisingly fresh and cool. I didn’t bother asking Sting how he had managed this feat, he had his secrets, many of them, and I was not interested in any of them right now.
“Well, I would be happy to donate some of my humble earnings to the orphan fund, if you might consider helping me run down leads on Avery’s parents, and what might have happened to her, or to them. I am almost certain that whoever raised her, is now dead. This could be dangerous, or it could have been a random act of violence. I cannot promise you would not be risking your neck.”
Sting smirked a cocky grin of a boy very sure of his capabilities.
“You are not the only one who practices the eastern arts, Julia. I am more than capable of looking after myself, and the lads. I would offer to do this for you for free because you are a friend, but you know how life is.”
I nodded, and I reached into my purse and I plucked out a single gold coin. I did not have a lot of those, but Avery was a sweetie, she was worth any number of gold coins. I wanted to get to the bottom of what had befallen her. If there was a culprit to bust, I would have them in chains, so that little girl could sleep easier.
Sting’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the generous offering.
“I can afford to give one more of these, upon completion of this assignment. I
need you to track down Avery’s parents and tell me everything you can learn about why she might have been covered in blood and hiding in an alley. Do we have a deal?”
Sting reached out and gingerly plucked the coin from my hand, and he nodded.
“The orphan’s fund thanks you for your donation. The lads will sleep with full bellies for many a night on this, Julia.”
He grinned at him and I said, “I wish that I could help all the lads of the streets, you know that.”
Sting nodded and spread his hands wide.
“We do what we do, then we hope it’s enough at the end. I will send out the word, and I think I will investigate this on my own. This sounds interesting, and I am between jobs now.”
(Yes, Sting does work steadily in construction. He builds houses, lays brick, and he also helps measure off the placements of support beams. He has an amazing gift with math, and he has talent to spare. His place at the top of the orphans of Nexus is not an accident or happenstance. Sting is the alpha male of his own little pack of street-wolves.)
“That’s good to hear since I am going to be busy with this case I’m working.”
Sting nodded in comprehension, and he said, “Yes, that did sound like a terrible way to off a lass. The crime does not make sense to me, it screams of two different types of a thug, if you ask my opinion. It’s almost like two different people thought up this crime. But there was only the one black-clad figure fleeing, so that particular theory is out of the skyline window now.”
I barely managed not to rise to my feet and demand how he heard all these exact details. We try to keep information locked down tightly while investigating a murder so that no one knows how it happened, or the specific details that only the murderer would be privy to. The crazy folks come out of the alleys to confess every time they think they can get some attention over a huge crime.
“I hope this information stays safe, Sting. You know how hard it’s likely to be for me to track this sick bastard as it currently stands.”