Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  “Fucking Trammel,” Faulks said, slapping his thigh. “I advised Prime Vonn against his advancement. When that was ignored, the little prick had barely been in his position five minutes, before rumours of his ambitions began to fill my ears. I placed you within his security personnel to keep an eye on him. And look how that turned out.”

  “Pretty well, I’d say. He is dead.”

  “Don’t split fucking hairs, Marr,” Faulks snapped. “If some of this shit gets out, it could cause us some serious problems.” He rubbed his eyes in an effort to rid himself of the beginnings of a migraine. He looked Marr in the eye. “Well, enlighten me. What do you propose we do?”

  So, Marr told him.

  XIII

  They dragged her along the rough ground, her feet leaving a trail of blood in their wake. The cold numbed her bare skin, which she was thankful for, as it dulled the pain. What little vision she had left through the narrow slit of her eye, came in waves; each one threatening to descend her into oblivion. She longed for it… but it never came. She could hear voices all around her, but not clear enough to know how many there were. They boasted and mocked at her expense.

  She’d lost consciousness several times during her torture. She felt liquid run down from her eye and down her cheek, knowing it wasn’t tears.

  They had broken her into a thousand pieces, put her back together again, and started all over. She’d been betrayed by a system she had sworn to protect. She’d found out, too late, that it was a system rotten to the core.

  She managed to look up. There were no Zeps; no clouds. Only stars, shining brighter than she had ever seen before. They dusted the night sky like glitter scattered across a pool of oil. She focused all her attention on its beauty.

  She was being carried to her end – that much she knew. But she didn’t care; the pain she was in, she welcomed it. She’d managed to find a safe place for the only person who mattered; her blue-eyed boy. Despite the fact she’d been betrayed by those she’d trusted most in the world; she knew they wouldn’t harm her son; he was innocent in all of this.

  She smiled as she let images of him flood her mind; memories that took her far away from this terrible place. Her last thoughts would be happy ones.

  They came to the edge of the docks where the water sat a few inches below the concrete. Two silhouettes grew larger as she approached; one tall, the other significantly smaller.

  Her smile died on her lips as her gaze settled on one final betrayal that killed her soul.

  A rancid smell, like cheap cologne, emanated from the two figures. The tall one was holding a gun to the shorter one’s head. To her blue-eyed boy’s head. She began to wail in protest before her cries of anguish were silenced by something heavy striking the side of her head.

  “Citizens should know to obey and know their place. You left us no choice,” the tall one said, and fired.

  The resounding boom filled the night’s sky, as she screamed out the last of her will. Her blue-eyed boy dropped to the ground without a sound.

  Lifeless.

  She was held above him. Those blue eyes looked up at her but through her.

  The spark had gone.

  “Put the bitch in,” a voice commanded.

  ~

  Trammel’s scribe vibrated against the bedside table, startling Lex from her darkest thoughts. She picked it up, squinting from the bright light of the screen. It was a message from an unknown sender. Intrigued, she opened the file.

  Member info:

  Subject: The Woman.

  As you are no doubt aware, the attack on the Trammel building, tonight, has claimed the life of member 20461-5 – J. Trammel. Like the other ‘incidents’, his I/S pin was taken by the assailant. Media and SPD are on a strictly need-to-know. Clean-up of the scene will be conducted as of tomorrow morning.

  Addendum: After analysis of member 20461-5’s personal files, there is a distinct possibility there may be sensitive information at the crime scene. If found, all necessary documentation is required at NewHaven.

  Sanctum stands as one,

  Proxy.

  Lex stared at the message, speechless. Trammel was dead? He was definitely breathing when she last saw him. Was it possible his guard’s bullet – meant for her – had accidentally got Trammel? It was possible; they were close enough. A small part of her mind told her it had the rank odour of a trap.

  She reached over and picked up a small wooden box that lay on the centre of her coffee table. Inside, were the Inner-Sanctum – or I/S – pins she’d taken from her previous victims. If Trammel was dead, she needed that pin. The message had stated it had been taken, giving voice to her suspicions of the message being a trap. It was possible they knew she was in possession of Trammel’s scribe.

  When she’d started her killing spree, she didn’t really know why she felt the compulsion to take a souvenir. Her mind had been so preoccupied with killing as many members as possible until she found her son’s killer. But as the body-count had grown, she’d come to the conclusion she needed those pins. It helped to remind her why she had to go on; to prevent her from putting the barrel of her gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger.

  On its own, the lure of another bauble for her macabre collection might not have been enough to draw her back to the scene. But the possibility of there being information – maybe evidence – she could use against the Inner-Sanctum was too much to resist.

  She closed the box and returned her attention to the message. An attachment was provided. It contained a list of names of those who would be in attendance to this aforementioned ‘clean-up’.

  The scribe bleeped, indicating the message would self-delete in thirty seconds. She grabbed her own scribe and took a photo of the names. Then the message disappeared.

  She knew the Inner-Sanctum had members within the police force. The scene would be swarming with SPD. As an organisation who worked via secrecy, it was highly unlikely they had enough resources to pull the investigating teams off the scene to carry out their ‘clean-up’ without raising suspicions. That meant they would probably use a high-ranking member to direct the line of enquiries; someone maybe already working the investigation into her antics.

  But all she had to go on was a list of names.

  She tried to access Trammel’s business accounts and wasn’t surprised it was encrypted with facial recognition software, using the scribe’s built-in camera. A window appeared, asking her if she wished to proceed. She declined; she wasn’t Trammel, and she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get locked out if she tried.

  She inserted a chip into the side of the scribe’s side port – another item she’d acquired from an underground source. It contained bypass files which skipped these very security protocols. She lit another cigarette and waited as the chip did its work.

  Once she was inside, she was able to access Trammel’s itinerary. It ranged from audit meetings to receipts from escort services. Staring at the vast selection of avenues, she wasn’t sure where to start. She could be sitting here until the end of time if she went through everything.

  What else can I do?

  For an hour, she trawled through his logs of business dealings, making attempts to cross-reference anything linked to Inner-Sanctum. He was careful; there was no mention of them.

  However, she did manage to glean some information on a certain, Mr Trammel’s, ambitions to climb the Inner-Sanctum ladder – via subterfuge, and a copious amount of backstabbing. She decided to leave that path of digging, promising herself she would return if it would help accelerate her plans.

  She was about to lose all hope when one particular file caught her eye. It was labelled: PL. When she hovered her finger over it, it read: Police Liaison.

  She opened the folder. It revealed a list of names, matching those included in the Proxy’s message. As she dug deeper, she found each name represented a police investigator. There were also numbers attached to each name and the names of companies. It didn’t take Lex long to figure out it was a brib
e list.

  Trammel kept a note on all the officers he’d bribed, presumably to turn a blind eye when they sniffed a little too close for comfort. The companies had one thing in common. Jared Trammel seated the board on each and every one of them.

  You slippery little bastard.

  Trammel hadn’t been working alone. It seemed he’d been tipped off by one officer in particular.

  Alon Reid.

  On her scribe, she hacked into the police network. She found Alon Reid. He’d been an investigator for twenty-three years, with honours. For the majority of his career, he’d mainly worked tax crimes.

  That was until six months ago.

  He’d been moved to homicide not long after Lex had begun her reign of terror against the Inner-Sanctum. He’d been assigned to every case she’d been responsible for.

  He stinks of Inner-Sanctum.

  Of all the names attached to the clean-up crew, Reid was the most senior. Serendipitously for Lex, he was logged in for duty on the Trammel building in the morning. She knew she was veering dangerously into reckless territory, but it was an opportunity too tempting to resist. She needed that pin. She had to see if the scene held more information; information that could lead to her finding her son’s murderer. And the one person she thought could aid in her aspirations was Alon Reid.

  XIV

  Alon Reid stood amidst the ruin that used to be Jared Trammel’s living-room. The thick, expensive carpet was peppered with glass and soaked through. Priceless antiques were shattered or in irreparable condition. But his gaze wasn’t on Trammel’s ruined trinkets and baubles. It rested solely on one piece of carpet in particular; a small piece, about a foot in diameter, stained black with blood… Trammel’s blood.

  The sight didn’t make him want to throw-up his breakfast like some wet-behind-the-ears rookie – twenty years on the force eventually desensitised an officer to such things – nor was it the horror. It was the fact that the blood staining the carpet had belonged to someone he’d known; someone he’d spoken with; had drinks with. He’d stood where he was, rooted to the spot because his brain was having trouble processing something that was completely alien to him.

  Only a few forensic scientists remained from the vast team that had descended on the scene at the beginning of the clean-up. Reid ignored them as they carried out their monotonous task of bagging and tagging.

  He could still see Trammel’s corpse in his mind’s eye; pale, lifeless – the back of his head missing. The bullet had caused only minimal damage to his forehead but had reduced the rear of his skull to a bloodied mass of pulp.

  His eye flicked to the wall at the far left of the room, between the window and the door which led to his bedroom. Traces of bone and brain matter were scattered across its surface – more evidence to add to the ever-growing pile logged in the forensics van parked out front.

  This was a nightmare. It was worse than all the others combined, he thought morosely. This fucking woman was going to be the death of him. As of yet, despite painting the building in blood and carnage, forensics hadn’t found a single piece of compelling evidence that would shift the advantage his way.

  To add to his frustration, there was next to no CCTV footage of the attack – aside from the two minutes it had taken her to cut the power. He’d viewed the grainy images several times. The lack of a decent shot of her face rendered it virtually useless.

  He knew why the Proxy had placed him in charge of the operation to find her, with assurances he had the full support of the Inner-Sanctum – via members who worked within the SPD, hidden in plain sight. It still didn’t make it any easier. For six months he’d been chasing a ghost; like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. What worried him the most, was the longer the investigation dragged on the more his position was put in jeopardy – he was under no delusion he was irreplaceable.

  Looking at the scene before him, he hoped there would be a small chance of apprehending her; in this crime-scene, there was a piece of evidence just waiting to be found. This had been the most visible she’d been, he felt he should feel confident. But standing amidst the mess in front of him, the only emotion he seemed to be feeling was despair.

  “Where do we start, sir?” Hall asked.

  He turned to find his subordinate gazing up at him, note-screen at the ready, eyes filled with enthusiasm that only came from being fresh out of the academy.

  He was getting too old for this shit. He was fifty-one years old, but Hall’s irritatingly chirpy optimism made him feel seventy. Over the last couple of years, he’d noticed his hair sat a little thinner above a short forehead. Below thick, bushy eyebrows were small green eyes resting on top of heavy bags brought on by years on the force.

  Hall, stood before him, a complete contrast to her superior. She was half a foot taller than Reid, garbed in the SPD-issued investigator trouser-suit. He noted the starch hadn’t quite been washed out of the material as it sat stiffly on her slender frame. Her dark hair was tied tight into a ponytail. Her brown, intelligent eyes sat above a slightly upturned nose and thin mouth. She waited eagerly for orders.

  “Well, we know what happened, Hall,” he said, raising his arms, inviting her to take in the room. “She came in, cut the power after she opened the guard’s throat. Then she made her way to the top, blowing the shit out of everything in her path until she reached Trammel.” He pointed to the dark stain on the carpet. “Where she blew the back of his head off.”

  Hall nodded, thinking. “Doesn’t make sense,” she said.

  Reid raised one of his eyebrows. “What doesn’t?”

  Hall walked over to the window, which had been covered with strips of crime-scene tape. “There had to be someone else here.” She looked down to the street below. “I mean, why jump out the window?”

  Reid sighed. She was still so green. “Did you read the initial report?” he asked, as though he were talking to a simpleton. “Our assault team were arriving as she pulled the trigger on Trammel. I would say she had no choice.”

  She pursed her lips, clearly not convinced. “There’s an emergency escape on the landing, isn’t there?” she said, tilting her head to one side and casting her eye past him.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Our boys had only just arrived. Their first move would be to seal the entrance. Given the fact she knows what she’s doing, all she would have to do is climb out that way, maybe jump over to the next building. We know what she’s capable of.”

  Reid narrowed his eyes. She did have a point. Although unbeknown to his underling, Reid knew the real reason she’d jumped out the window. Faulks’ man had fucked up. If it wasn’t for Marr’s incompetence, they’d be zipping the woman up in a body bag instead of Trammel. He would have to keep an eye on Hall. She seemed the type to go sniffing where she didn’t belong.

  He had to divert her attention elsewhere. “I’ll assign a team to run a trace on Trammel’s personnel, see if there’s anyone missing from the body count, or the hospital beds.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  “I’m glad I have your approval,” he said, deliberately asserting his tone to remind her their difference in rank.

  She caught his meaning, her cheeks flushing faintly. “Sorry, sir. This is my first homicide. Just keen is all.”

  “It wears off, believe me,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to have another look at the images. Join me downstairs when you’re done.”

  He left Hall at the scene. He had to make a few calls.

  ~

  Veronica Hall watched her superior leave with the distinct feeling she wasn’t being told everything. Reid knew something. He probably regarded her as too green, too fresh from the academy. She sighed, wondering how long it took a graduate to be taken seriously – she was new, not stupid.

  Reid was wasting his time with the CCTV evidence; she’d watched the footage several times herself, quickly coming to the conclusion it gave them nothing. She didn’t know why he felt compelled to view it again –
aside from getting away from her probing questions, she suspected.

  But wasn’t that what good police-work was all about? Asking questions, probing? She remembered one of her tutors, at the academy, telling her the truth couldn’t be unearthed until you picked up a shovel and started digging. That little gem of encouraging advice had stuck with her since, and she’d be damned if she was going to be told otherwise.

  She pushed her frustrations to the back of her mind and returned her attention to the broken window. A faint breeze blew into the room giving it a chill. The cordon tapes fluttered back and forth; rippling between the frame. The window itself had seen better days. There was ten, or twelve jagged pieces – ranging from a few inches to a few dozen in length – jutting out from the groove cut into its centre. She narrowed her eyes, inspecting them closely. The woman had to have suffered wounds as she’d thrown her body through the pane – the fact she’d done it at all astounded her. More worrying was the tinge of awe and respect she felt.