by brett hicks
He whispered in a hushed tone, almost reverence. I was the savage child with blonde hair, the wild girl who had managed to best all of Britannia’s best, ditching them deep into the Native American Nation wilds, and going deep to ground, hiding, healing.
“I was born Elise Clare Brown. I am the only surviving member of the head family of the revolutionary network of Westwood City. I am your ally, I wear the scars of the British every day of my life, as did your wife, as do you, I suspect. Mary Sanders also bore the mark, stars and stripes on her upper thigh, covered with a branding iron.”
Roger slumped back against his kitchen table, and his eyes became moist with his grief. His grief came fully to the surface now, and he finally allowed himself to cry for his wife. I stood motionlessly, and I waited for him to cry himself out, I knew that nothing could rush grief. Once he was finished, I would get to the bottom of this case, once and for all.
Twenty-Five:
After a few minutes of grief-racked sobbing, Roger led me to his living room for a hot cup of tea. He was still eyeing my scars, but not exactly with the type of fear, or disgust that many might. I remember when I was young, before I had discovered the thick cream concoction, how people used to look at me, horror, fear, or pity. While Roger had plenty of sympathies to share with me, none of it was of the type that I had been given as a kid.
Teddy’s warning kept ringing like a bell in my head. He warned me to run far and to run fast. I would need to find the old man, again. I had a feeling he knew of whom I was dealing with now. I wished that I had pressed him harder, but I had conflicting emotions when I raced off, I needed confirmation to my wild hair about these murders.
The victims were all killed in a deliberately gruesome manner, the better to cover up the true intent of the deaths—to strike at the revolutionary military underground. Donna had somehow come over to the side of the cause, and that had led to her untimely death.
“Forgive my bluntness Roger, but why would they attack your wife, and not you?”
Roger gave me a look, one that told me I already knew the answer.
“They had uncovered some names, or so I am hearing from my source. Someone in the ring of Nexus had been captured, and his direct sphere of operatives lying in wait was apparently exposed. I was estranged from my wife, ironically, to distance her and the kids from being implicated in my activities. I am a man of high placement in this city with the revolution. My wife was my ex-wife, on paper at least, but we were very much in love. Everything the general public knows about our lives was manufactured to throw all suspicion off her, in case I was ever discovered.”
My eyes narrowed, and I took in what he was saying, and what ripples it had in my case.
“So, because you are so highly placed, you were not known to the low-man who was captured, but he had dealt with your wife in passing?”
Roger nodded, and he chuckled dryly, and there was no humor in the sound made, just pain.
“Ironic, isn’t it? Like you, I was orphaned as a lad. I had an aunt on my mother’s side, so I inherited her humble holdings since I was the next male in line. The British generally steal all wealth, and all lands, or titles due to someone, but by inheriting through my aunt, well I slipped back into the culture of my oppressors without notice.”
I nodded in comprehension, and I said, “So, you have trained since a lad, much like I have?”
He nodded, but added, “Yes, but not under Dark Horse like yourself. You are like a fable made flesh, blood, and scars, Detective. May I call you Elise?”
My throat bobbed, and I sighed, and said, “Just this time, never again. That name is dead, and so is that girl. Dark Horse would kill me if he learned that I slipped up on something as simple as using my former name. He went to great lengths to secure me a new identity, so I could survive, and do something good with my life.”
Roger seemed to comprehend this, and he said, “So, you became a detective, one of the first female detectives ever.”
I nodded, and said, “I can do a lot of good in my position, and I can keep the bobbies the fuck away from some potential victims.”
His eyes darkened at the mention of the British Army Police Unit.
“May they all rot in the darkest abyss.”
He murmured, and I could guess that he too had been a victim of bobbies at one time or another. Bobbies were bullies, and they were worse than the mob families—not that I would ever let Thomas McNeil hear me say that!
The reason I ignore some British laws, and I only pursue “real crime,” is because I am not going to add to the power of my oppressors. I will not serve as the boot constricting the air supply of some other poor lad or lass.
“So, what can you tell me about this murderer, now that you know you can speak freely with me?”
I asked, and he huffed out an exasperated-sounding breath.
“I wish I could help you more, but the fact that this was likely revolutionary, was the extent of my knowledge. I would tell you more if I knew what to say—especially to you, Elise.”
His tone was sincere, bordering on reverent, again. It was hard for me to be amongst revolutionaries, they all saw me as some phantom hero. In truth, I was just a scared, and desperate little girl clawing my way to freedom any way I knew how! I stood up, and I finished the rest of my tea. I sat the cup down, and I nodded to Roger.
“I’ll be in touch, once I figure out the next play. I need to move Avery, Mary’s daughter. My gut is itching with suspicion, and I am afraid that the killer is going to come for her next. I stopped her to confirm the possibility of this assassin’s motivation.”
Roger nodded, and he licked his lips.
“Where are you going to take her, that you think will be safe?”
I smiled wickedly, and I said, “The absolute last place anyone would be trained to take a child. To the very heart of hell itself!”
He looked at me confused, but he nodded, and he accepted that vague statement for what it was, a non-answer. I didn’t want anyone to know the location. Hell, I was taking an extreme risk in the next stage of this plan. There was only one place I knew that the assassin would never think to find Avery Sanders. I just hoped that Teddy Angel was better with kids than he was with adults.
Roger lent me a scarf to wrap around my lower face, and I had my goggles to obscure the better portion of the rest of my viewable features. I felt extremely naked without the makeup that hid my scars. I was not at all ashamed of them, but they served as clear identifiers. It had only taken Roger a second to leap to the conclusion, and Elise had been inactive for years! Many people knew the sketches of the wanted posters. There had been a few more bobbies that had survived when I escaped. I did not have the time to eliminate them all. I was traumatized, deeply wounded, and I was on the run. Looking back, I often wonder if I could have just taken them by surprise and ended this damn cat and mouse game of over a decade, for good.
I drove slightly slower heading back to my apartment. I didn’t want any sudden interest in me, and I didn’t want to end up being forced to ditch my damn bike! This girl has murdered for less before, so if I had to part with my steel baby, then there would be hell to pay!
***
I parked a block up from my building, and I checked all around the area to see if anyone was watching me. My lessons had been a long time ago, but I still remembered them as if they were yesterday. The Native Nation trained me how to kill, how to survive, and how to out-hunt the clumsy British. Spy-craft was something I had perfected on my own, along with my police training over the years. Being a former victim as I was, I had always been a touch paranoid.
As far as I could tell, this assassin was a one-man operation. He was acting alone, and he had stalked his victims from a great distance. Knowing this, I was prepared to face him, should he decide to watch me, and make his move once I came home.
I circled the block, and I walked over to a pay-phone and inserted a bronze coin. The operator’s line clicked to life, and she said, “Who can I
connect you to?”
“Maria Davenport, landlady of the Nexus Cozy Condos.”
“Do you want her work line or her home line?”
“Home line, please.”
I heard a click, and several heart-thumping moments later, Maria’s voice came to life on the other end of the device.
“Hello?”
“Maria, I’m going to check my place, so you and Bobby move Avery if I end up springing a trap. Go out of Nexus, and you will find a cottage near the Big Bear Lake, south side of the lake, about twenty-five miles outside of town. Tell the old guy living there that I sent you, and that I would personally end his miserable existence if any harm befalls you, or Avery.”
Maria sounded distant, likely she was writing all of this down—minus the last part I’m sure.
“I’ve got it, but Bobby wants to know what you’re going to do for backup.”
I snorted, and I said, “Tell my partner that the witness, and small child, are far more important. Tell him that this bloke is a British assassin, and all the people he has killed, are all revolutionaries, even the Brit woman. Tell him that if he doesn’t have evidence tying a British agent to murders on Colonial soil, then we are all screwed!”
I could hear her discussing this with Bobby and the following stream of steady swearing. I could hear Bobby’s very livid sounding voice calling me every explicative in the book, and then some he made up, just for me! My partner really hates it when I intentionally shield him from danger. I don’t do it on purpose, I just end up needing to “divide and conquer,” more than a few times per-case.
“He’s on the boat, but he’s not very happy about it, honey.”
“Good, just keep him on that boat, and I think we will all be fine.”
She hummed at me, but I could tell that she didn’t like my division of labor either. Maria was just much better at going with the flow of the stream. She knew that my top two priorities here, protect Avery at all cost, and arrest this dirtbag.
“Your minute’s up ma’am, so you’ll have to insert another copper if you wish to finish plotting whatever the hell this is.”
A sweet, but disturbed voice said, and I had nearly forgotten for once, that an operator was sitting there listening to the call. I swore, and I said, “Well, I have to go, I’ll see you out the other end of this mouse-trap, or not at all.”
“You be careful and stop trying to get yourself killed!”
Maria chided lightly, and I could hear her emotions in her tone. I wanted to say goodbye to Avery, just in case, but I thought better of that. I didn’t want to freak her out, not after we had just begun to get her to settle down and act a little bit like a human again.
Twenty-Six:
When most cops say they like to “walk a mile in their victims’ shoes,” They mean it metaphorically. Leave it to me to literally, set myself up to walk into my own apartment when I know a garrote-carrying murderer could very likely be poised to strike.
Never had the shadows looked so deep, nor the corners so sinister. My heart was throbbing in my ears, and my gun was held down, and at the ready. Every creak, every sound of the apartment building was setting my nerves to fire.
I cleared my living room, and I moved on to the kitchen, checking every shadow, and every corner slowly, methodically. I was calling on both forms of my training to preserve my life. This man was very strong, but he seemed to rely on the element of surprise. He was also lightly wounded on his right hand, so he would not be able to utilize his full potential.
By now, he must have realized that I was prepared to greet him. I knew that he had two options, pull out, and cancel his evening agenda, or strike once he could catch me at an opportune angle. I knew that he had knives, or dirks on his person, from what Sting had told me, but my gut was burning, telling me he would try to utilize his guitar string MO, so this looked nice and tidy to the layperson's eye. This was all the act of a deranged serial killer, not an anti-Colonia operative of the Britannia government acting on orders from his superiors.
The kitchen was clear, I crept up to the corner of the kitchen, where it met the living room wall.
“You might as well come on out, your game’s over. The witness is safe, and I’m not the only detective who knows the truth about you, British Spy-man. This is your only chance to avoid certain death.”
Did I feel ridiculous? Absolutely! I kept talking to a potentially empty room.
“You killed these women because they had revolutionary ties. They were citizens of the Colonies, so long as their beliefs didn’t hurt anyone, they were free to practice them! Colonial law does not hold one ideology or belief system above the rest.”
I moved back towards the living room, but I felt movement and I shuffled back just in time to miss a kick. I leveled my gun, but the hand deflected the barrel. I staggered back two steps, and I felt inside my left-hand sleeve, and I began to pull at the hilt of one of my dirks, as I blocked another kick. The power and force of the kick had my head ringing, even with a glancing blow. This man was a powerful, monstrous individual.
He was focused on my gun-hand, and I was focused on my left. I struck out with a snap-kick from my right leg, and I connected with the chest, knocking him back into the wall. He lashed out with another brutal kick before I could even think, and he kicked my gun free from my hand. I juked, and I back-pedaled, gaining precious feet between us to plan my next move.
He moved like shadowy thunder, and he blows were like being kicked by a horse. My right shoulder was already aching, and I was at a serious physical disadvantage. I might not like to admit it, but this man had more training than I could have ever imagined possible for the lazy, fat British army! They were typically known for their surround and overwhelm with a show of force, methods.
Teddy Angel had not been kidding when he told me to run! He meant it, and he seemed to have a pretty good gauge of my fighting prowess, from all the many meeting we had over the years. Trained killers can read a lot about a person through their posture, their behavior, and how the move. Teddy probably had my size right, or close enough to the point, so why was I fighting this new incarnation of the Angel of Death? Right, because I’m seven flavors of crazy!
His combo of four, back-to-back punches came in rapid succession. I felt my lip blossom in pain, I could taste the coppery life-blood dripping from my lip. I had the scarf on to obscure my features, and I still had my goggle on my head, but I had them on like a bandana at my hairline. He couldn’t see me, he couldn’t see my secret.
The next blow came at me, and I rolled with it, and it barely connected with my body. I managed to make it look like I had taken the full hit, and I landed on my back. He would go for his favored weapon now, I knew it.
Even as the thought ran through my mind, the large masculine body came down on me like two-hundred-pound anvil pressing me to the floor. He pulled the long thin nickel-covered E-string free and he moved to wrap it around my neck. Once his arm rose, I lashed up and cleared my dirk with more shadowy speeds and prowess than even I had realized I was capable. I lodged the dirk in his right under-arm, and if I jerked it free, he would likely die of blood loss.
“Drop it, you should know where this blade is lodged. You were trained to kill, you know what happens, if I pull this free at the correct angle, don’t you?”
My voice dripped with malice, and my eyes focused on him with deadly intent.
“You are under arrest for the murders of Mary Sanders, and Donna Smithfield, as well as the attempted murders of Avery Sanders, and a Colonial Police Detective. You have the right to a barrister, if you cannot afford one, then the court will appoint you one at no charge, do you understand your rights as I have read them?”
He nodded stiffly, and his eyes were focused on me like a bird for a worm. Only, he was on my very literal hook, and not the other way around.
“I understand, detective.”
He said it with a British tone, not the Irish that Sting had described. He was like me, capable of shifting
his voice as needed. I took this movement inch-by-inch, giving him no chance to break my death-hold on him, without losing his life.
About that time, my front door came open with a slam, and I turned in time to see my partner leveling his nine-millimeter handgun on the assassin. My eyes have widened a fraction, and he said, “She’s safe. Are you okay?”
I nodded, and said, “Yeah, busted lip, and pride to go with it, but I have him under control. If I remove this dirk in his arm at just the wrong angle, he’s a dead man walking, and he knows this.”
His eyes narrowed at me and he muttered, “I’m certain they did not teach that at the academy!”
I shot him a look, one that told him to “shut up.” I had no doubt that our culprit was assessing me with new eyes. I looked like he was trying to riddle out why a female detective had bested him, and I was not liking the chances of my secrets remaining that way for long. I also needed to go to the bathroom, and clean my face up, and reapply my makeup, before anyone else came and they asked me to remove my scarf. If I could just show them nothing but a busted lip, no one would bother me.
“Bobby, get your cuffs out, and I want you to use them on his ankles. Then, fish out my back pocket, and cuff his left arm, and we will very carefully remove this dirk as you cuff his right. Do not, at any point, underestimate this man’s potential. He is one of those angels of death.”
Bobby nodded, and his eyes were set in a grim-featured expression. His people had suffered gravely at the hands of the ghost-like angels of death. He might have questions I was not ready to answer, but I had him captivated now. He was getting to throw two sets of cuffs on this murderous government spy. The man was a master of his craft, but for underestimating two people, me and Sting. Had he taken more time to study me, he would have soon realized I was a ghost, like him. Teddy likely enjoys my company, because he suspects I am more than what I seem, or maybe he just likes that fact that one person in the whole of the Britannia Empire does not fear him.