The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  An eventuality Reed couldn’t imagine occurring anytime in the near future, given the current state of the jukebox. A shattered mess of glass and neon bulbs that was sprayed across the parquet hardwood, the sources of its destruction standing on either side of it, billy clubs in hand.

  Needing only a glance, Reed could see why the bartender had called them in. Even without viewing the weapons they were wielding or the snarls etched across their features, it was clear that they were not from Gallipolis.

  Both standing at six feet tall or better, they each had long hair hanging down, sweeping the shoulders of the leather jackets they wore. The legs of their jeans were threadbare and tattered. Around their necks were gold chains that glinted beneath the bright glow of the signage affixed to the walls around them broadcasting the various types of alcohol offered.

  Looks that seemed to be very much by design, coordinated between the two men that themselves bore striking semblances to one another.

  Brothers, if not outright twins.

  Eyes wide, they stood with lips pulled back over their teeth. Animalistic snarls as they swung their focus around the room, openly defiant of the crowd assembled before them.

  A mass of people numbering more than a dozen in total, a pair of officers in uniform served as the focal point. Behind them was fanned out every remaining patron, starting with the younger men present and working its way back toward the women and elderly.

  An impromptu hierarchy arranged in preparation for the worst possible outcome.

  “I need you both to put the weapons down now!” the officer on the left barked. Employing a commanding tone, he stood with his left hand extended before him, his right twisted back toward his hip.

  Textbook procedure, the officer having not yet drawn his firearm but imparting the knowledge that he would not hesitate if it came to that.

  Ignoring the demand entirely, the man directly in front of him shuffled forward one step. Holding his club out like a poker, he swung it back and forth before him. Two flailing swings carving an X into the air, his lank hair clinging to the perspiration on his skin.

  “You pigs keep your asses back!” he spat. “This has nothing to do with you!”

  “Sir!” the same officer shot back. “We need you-”

  “We don’t give a shit what you need!” the second man in leather screamed back. “We need to find out what happened!”

  “And we will find out!” his partner yelled, both of them taking one more exaggerated step forward. A truncated charge that was just enough to push back the makeshift crowd. Force it to retreat a couple of steps, a pair of shrill cries even rising from some of those in the back.

  A move that did just as Reed suspected the men wanted it to, creating a crease in the room. A wide arc of space, allowing them to retrace their steps.

  A gap enabling them to grab the top corners of the jukebox in unison and send it toppling forward. A mechanical battering ram spewing the shattered remains of its front façade across the ground, the people nearby instinctively recoiling another couple of steps.

  A means to allow the intruders both to wheel and sprint through the rear door, the sound of the metal push bar on it echoing out even after they disappeared out into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The two men had roughly a five second head start.

  The first chunk of that gap was afforded by their position along the wall and the distraction of flinging down the jukebox making for an easy escape out the rear exit.

  The remainder, from the time it took for Reed and Billie to thread their way through the crowd positioned between them and the back door. A process that felt interminable, people standing in frozen silence, rooted in place despite Reed calling for them to push to the side.

  A hasty attempt to wade through that soon deteriorated into bumping and shoving their way past before finally bursting out the same door as the intruders and the pair of officers a moment before. Two groups Reed was able to plainly see extended out before them, the first pair thirty yards ahead, sprinting along the alley running behind the buildings lining Main Street.

  Lagging twenty yards behind them was the pair of officers. Doing their best to keep pace, they both called out into the night, demanding that the men before them stop.

  Pointless entreaties that had no chance of working, the men better off conserving their breath as they continued giving chase.

  The instant the scene before them registered, Reed shoved off his back foot. For the second time in just the last few minutes, he propelled himself forward. A full sprint with Billie by his side, his partner relishing the first bit of real movement outside of the time spent at the park and the short jaunt down the sidewalk moments before.

  An eagerness that pushed her out ahead of him, his arm almost parallel to the ground, her momentum tugging him along through the alley.

  Fixing his gaze on the backs of the officers before him, Reed sprinted as hard as he could. Adrenaline seeped into his system as he pounded onward, the gap between them narrowing with each stride.

  To his right, the backsides of the buildings they just passed minutes before filed by. A full view of Main Street given from the rear, Reed having traversed it enough times to nearly identify every shop and establishment that slid past.

  On the opposite side sat a row of Dumpsters and recycling containers. Framing for the narrow lane they were on, the concrete underfoot cracked and crumbled from years of vehicular abuse. Sloped inward, a narrow gulley knifed through the center of it, oily splotches of water resting in the deepest gouges.

  “CPD!” Reed called out, his voice echoing from the walls of brick filing past. Forced out through deep inhalations, he added, “K-9! CPD!”

  No more than a few strides behind the pair of officers, the sound caused both of them to flinch. Each turning to glance over their shoulder, Reed saw as their eyes widened, their mouths opening as if to demand he stand down as well.

  A natural reaction to the unexpected arrival, neither man having met Reed, the odds of them even knowing of his presence rather slim.

  An unfortunate outcome that was completely unavoidable, the only alternative being to go bursting past them and open himself or his partner up to confrontation based on mistaken identity.

  “CPD!” Reed called again, he and Billie circling out to the left, moving into the space between the men and the trash receptacles strewn in an uneven line.

  A shift in position that elicited a host of garbled comments from the side. Word fragments spit out amidst panting, Reed unable to decipher a single thing.

  A task he attempted for only a moment before his gaze shifted ahead, sighting in on the two men he was actually interested in. The pair with long hair and leather jackets, light flashing across their backs as they ran toward the cross street up ahead.

  A break in the alley coming out between the yoga studio and Jim Bob’s, ground Reed had covered only hours before.

  Billie continuing to lead him onward, Reed ran with his right arm at full extension before him. A headlong sprint that was only partially under his own power, his gait listing to the side as she tugged at her leash, aching to be released.

  An outcome Reed withheld for as long as he could, making sure she was clearly sighted in on the targets ahead, before finally opening his fingers and letting the woven nylon slide from his grasp.

  “Hold!” he called, summoning the extra breath to bellow out the command. A single word that sent a ripple of electricity through his partner, shooting her forward.

  A blurred shadow ripping down through the center of the alley, her leash trailing out behind her.

  Releasing a pair of barks from deep in her diaphragm, the noise had the same effect on the men they were chasing as Reed’s own cries did on the officers moments before. Completely unexpected, it caused both of them to cringe, long hair swinging as they whirled to see what was giving them chase.

  Frantic looks that Reed could interpret in real time as he sprinted forward, seeing t
he moment that recognition set in. The exact instant when they realized the guttural braying behind them wasn’t some errant dog, but one fast bearing down upon them.

  An understanding that pushed a renewed charge through them, both visibly trying to push their arms and legs faster. Awkward strides meant to evoke the tiniest increases in speed as they drove themselves toward the opening in the alley ahead.

  Efforts that were of little reward, Reed watching as his partner zeroed in. Chewing up the distance between them, she made it to within just a couple of strides before her bark again burst forth.

  A sound that drove the men to do the only thing they could, each parting at the mouth of the alley. Hard turns in opposite directions, one heading back toward Main Street and the river, the other turning inland past Jim Bob’s.

  A forced choice, realizing the animal giving them chase would not be able to stay on them both.

  Knowing that Billie would never give up on a command of her own accord, Reed let her choose which man to follow. Still at full speed, he watched as her body seemed to hang suspended above the ground. A black spring bunching up just long enough to touch down before bursting forward again, chewing up enormous swaths of ground with each stride.

  Hitting the corner of the alley at a sprint, she banked hard to the right.

  Momentarily losing sight of her, Reed pushed his stride as far as he could. Like the men before him, he stretched his form almost beyond maximum output, fighting to reach her side.

  Drawn forward by the sound of her barking, Reed drove forward, pounding out the last couple of strides before making the corner.

  The last leg of his journey, this one no longer than a couple of dozen yards at most.

  Barely had the man turned out of the alley before Billie caught up to him. Pinning him against the glass front of the laundry mat sharing space with the yoga studio, she was coiled on the edge of the sidewalk. Her tail pointed into the street, she stood with her head lowered, her razor-sharp teeth exposed.

  Across from her, the man she’d been targeting stood with the club before him. Wielding it just as he had inside Smokey Jo’s, he swung it spastically, trying to keep her at bay.

  A pointless effort, the only thing the man could possibly manage against a superiorly skilled opponent being to anger her partner.

  An outcome he achieved in spades, thoroughly pissing Reed off as he arrived panting and sweaty by her side.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The last words Reed could remember the man saying – or even the only words, outside of the threat made inside the bar before taking off – was the order to his partner for them to split at the end of the alley. A couple of quick syllables shouted out on the fly, a single arm extended to shoulder height really driving home the message, pointing him in the opposite direction.

  Since then, not one sound had crossed the man’s lips. Not when Billie chased him down and pinned him against the front windows of the laundry mat. Not when Reed was joined by the pair of officers that arrived after him and cuffed the man.

  Not even when he was left to Reed and Billie and led back to the Gallipolis Police Department before being deposited into a holding cell.

  Throughout all of that, the man merely stood and stared straight ahead. A fixed gaze that was neither angry nor defiant, his features neutral.

  The same exact expression he still wore as he sat on the lone cot in the cell. His back to the wall, he rested with his head tilted, the crown of it flush against the painted concrete block behind him. Gaze fixed on nothing, he stared straight out, giving the impression of a computer in hibernation.

  Power on, but the screen display blank.

  “Prints aren’t in the system,” Chief Liam Scott said. Pulled in from home in the middle of the night, he had bypassed putting back on the uniform he wore when Reed met him earlier in the day. In lieu of that, he was in jeans and a West Virginia football t-shirt, the tuft of hair slightly askew atop his head.

  The look of someone that had already laid down for the night, pulled from bed by a dispatcher that probably wanted to be doing anything else in the world.

  Standing on the opposite side of his desk, one arm was folded across his torso. The other was bent upward, thumb and forefinger stroking the length of his chin as he stared down at his computer monitor.

  Turned to the side so they both could see it, onscreen was a live feed from the closed-circuit camera overlooking the holding cell. Zoomed in on the new prisoner, his top half filled the screen, his detachment on full display before them.

  “No ID either,” Reed said. “Nothing but an empty burn phone, some cash, and a set of car keys.”

  “Had to be Aquino, right?” Scott asked, flicking his gaze over to Reed.

  Most of the day, Reed had been trying to avoid making that assumption. Forcing himself to go through the paces, he had scoured Gallipolis for any person that might have the cause or even the ability to perform what had happened to Cara Salem.

  A search that had seen him and Billie darken a lot of doorsteps, witness a great many tears, offer even more apologies, but had given them absolutely nothing in terms of a suspect.

  To the point that the last person they spoke to even basically told them they were wasting their time and to go elsewhere.

  “I left the meeting with Aquino at nine o’clock this morning,” Reed said, meeting Scott’s gaze. “At the time, it was obvious he hadn’t heard about it. Then these guys show up fourteen hours later.”

  Leaving the rest unstated, Reed made it clear that he was in agreement with Scott.

  He and Billie had done the work. They had cleared every other possibility. Continuing to ignore it, to even attempt chalking it up to coincidence, wasn’t just being cautious.

  It was fully negligent.

  “That’s plenty of time for him to have gotten word out and for them to have made the drive down,” Scott said. “Hell, more than plenty.”

  Grunting softly, Reed nodded. Silent agreement as he stared at the screen before him, studying the man’s features, scouring back through his mind to recall if ever he’d seen him before.

  Never had Reed worked with the Gun Crimes Division or gone anywhere near Aquino before that morning, though he had covered enough cases to have a passing knowledge of the familiar hires throughout central Ohio. Men that were always available for jobs such as driving to Gallipolis and shaking the bushes with the locals, provided the pay was right.

  Eyes narrowed, Reed tried to place the man. He attempted to peer past the jacket and the long hair, two things easily manipulated for the purpose of window dressing.

  An effort that returned nothing, the man failing to register in any way.

  Opening his mouth to say as much, Reed was stopped short by the sound of the front door opening. A flurry of movement that drew their attention out toward the entrance, Scott circling around his desk and leading the way, Billie behind him, Reed bringing up the rear.

  A single-file line spilling out to find the pair of officers standing before them. Expressions ranging from disgust to shame etched into their features, they stopped on the far side of the front desk. Each wiping sweat from their features, they made no effort to come any closer.

  A brief stop to check in rather than an admission of failure.

  “Nothing?” Scott asked.

  “Nope,” the older of the two replied. Shaking his head to drive home the point, he added, “By the time we got the other one cuffed, he must have gone up into the neighborhoods north of town.”

  Thus far, Reed’s entire exposure to the berg had been largely one road. The thoroughfare that comprised Main Street within city limits before roaming on past the county buildings and out into the countryside.

  Outside of the crime scene itself, he had yet to see anywhere that people actually lived, though in a town of less than four thousand, he couldn’t imagine the options being that extensive.

  “We took a set of car keys off the guy in holding,” Reed said. “Have to assume they d
rove down together.”

  “Meaning the other one is still out there on foot,” Scott finished.

  “That’s actually why we stopped,” the same officer said, drawing their attention back toward the front. Glancing over to his partner, he nodded, the younger man producing a plastic evidence bag and placing it down on the counter before them.

  “We found this just past the mouth of the alley where they separated. Think it might have been dropped by our guy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The pairing kind of reminded Reed of two men he worked with regularly when first transitioning to the 8th Precinct. Not in physical appearance – the two before him as different as could be from Officers Derek Greene and Adam Gilchrist – but in the fact that they were clearly partnered up as part of a training cycle.

  An older training officer – Greene – carrying the expected amount of grizzled wariness, offset by the excited energy of the trainee, Gilchrist.

  In this instance, the role of the overseer was filled by a man named Al Plunkett. Appearing to be a full decade older than Reed, his sandy brown hair was just starting to trend to gray around the back and sides, the top thinning slightly. Squint lines framed his eyes and mouth, white streaks imbedded in his otherwise tanned features.

  Coming in a full twenty years younger was Jimmy Rambis, a recruit so new he practically still had spots. Easily the most exciting thing to have taken place in his young career, nervous energy rolled from him in palpable waves. A buoyancy that seemed to permeate his every step, threatening to lift his slight frame from the ground.

  “This about where you found it?” Reed asked, walking just past the spot where they arrested the first man in front of the laundry mat before slowing his pace.

  “Almost,” Plunkett replied. Extending a finger, he pointed to an indeterminate spot up near the marquee hanging out over Jim Bob’s. “Maybe another fifty feet up there.”