Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  It was at this point Hall realised she’d reached her limit with this hideous man. He was hiding something about the woman. Something she suspected Reid may have stumbled upon. The deaths of both Reid and the captain sounded to her like acts of desperation. The tolls of conspiracy were ringing in her head; loud and clear. In one swift motion, she brought her head forward then drove it back, connecting with Banks’ jaw. Her skull screamed a protest as it crunched into the spook’s teeth. He grunted and stumbled back, losing his grip on her. He clattered into the wall behind him.

  Without taking a moment to look back, she barrelled down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She heard Banks curse, clambering to his feet. He bounded down the stairs in pursuit. Unfortunately, the disadvantage of having her hands cuffed behind her back was her downfall. Just as she reached the last flight, the light of the outside spilling in from the open door at the bottom, she slipped. If her hands hadn’t been restrained, she could have easily reached out and grabbed the railing to steady herself. But it was not so. She fell awkwardly onto her side; the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, knocking the breath out of her. Before she could recover, Banks landed on top of her, his elbow driving hard into her ribcage.

  She screamed as her vision flashed white. She was grabbed roughly by the hair and hauled to her feet. Banks roared unintelligible curses in her ear. He swung her around and drove his fist into her jaw. She was sure she felt some of her teeth loosen in her gums, as her head snapped to the side. Everything became a blur; her previous head injury now exasperated tenfold by the spook’s strike.

  He dragged her out of the building as blackness began to reduce her sight to a narrow tunnel. She felt certain unconsciousness loomed. Before she passed out, she thought she could hear footfalls descending the stairwell, followed by a raised voice.

  Then she lost consciousness.

  ~

  Lex stood on the roof of the building across from the precinct where investigator Hall had been taken to. She looked down at the throng of reporters who were crowded behind a cordon outside of the main entrance. She marvelled at her new ‘mask’, as the diagnostic software outlined each of their forms. She smiled, wondering where it had been all her life.

  I would have got more of my work done undetected if I’d had this little baby from the start.

  She began to scroll down the list of contact details logged into the mask’s memory banks. She stopped when she got to ‘Brooks’. Although she’d enjoyed the solitude of working alone, she was beginning to see the possible advantages of having someone to reach out to should the need arise.

  That’s if he’s true to his word.

  The doubt concerning Brooks and Oliver’s intensions weren’t unmerited. If Brooks was given the choice between coming to her aid or succeeding in his mission to avenge his family, it was a no-brainer which one he’d go for – she knew what choice she’d make herself.

  Before she left the compound, the doctor quickly showed her how to go about hacking into the precincts internal communication system. But despite her masks impressive capabilities, he stressed to her that it had its limits. She would only be able to infiltrate the basic line – the lines used and reserved for more senior personnel were behind firewalls far too sophisticated for her new kit to break through. But that was fine. Hall’s arrest would be the talk of the station. If they were moving her, lower-ranked officers would be involved in any transportation of their new prisoner. She’d programmed her surveillance to flag up when Hall’s name or the names of any personnel involved in her processing was mentioned over the precinct’s comms.

  She didn’t have to wait long as her ears were soon filled with the sound of internal chatter coming from the precinct. “Officer Morgan to front desk regarding Hall,” a crackled voice announced. “The spook is taking the prisoner to his cruiser to the rear of the building. The prisoner is to be transported to NewHaven. They’ll take over from there.”

  The rear of the building. That’s where I’ll be waiting.

  She switched off her surveillance and strapped her rifle onto her back. She’d had to make a quick detour on the way to the precinct and pick up some of her gear. During her rampage, she’d secreted her equipment in lock-boxes and storage units all over the city – due to the fact she’d simply accumulated so much that it would have been unwise to keep the equipment and weapons in her apartment.

  She made her way along each of the buildings – internally thanking the designer who’d mapped out this section of the city, as there were plenty of options to cross the street, via the rooftops, instead of below, which lowered the risk of detection. It wouldn’t have been a concern if it had been at night, but it was the middle of the day and she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Once she was satisfied with her position and view of the backdoor. A cruiser waited, a few yards from the door. It appeared to be unmanned – which she found odd. She unstrapped her rifle, peered through the scope just in time to see Hall being dragged out by a tall man in a long overcoat. She watched as he bundled the unconscious investigator into the back of his cruiser. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t place where from. Her inner-musings were cut short as an officer came running out of the door in their wake. The officer and the man began to argue.

  As the two men continued their verbal sparring, a second officer – much larger and unfit than the first – emerged from the doorway. Then something strange happened. The larger officer pulled a gun out and pointed it at the first officer.

  Now, why would an officer pull a gun on his colleague?

  Intrigued, she decided the roof was no longer adequate.

  ~

  Charlie Deacon thought of himself as a good cop; an honest cop. As he’d sat across from Hall – in the back of the transport hub – doubt had begun to settle in his fairly pragmatic mind. He knew Veronica from the academy, and though a few of his fellow students scoffed and made – in his mind – crude remarks about Hall’s achievements at making investigator so early in her career, Deacon hadn’t been one of them.

  Give credit where credit was due, regardless of gender or ethnicity, he thought. She’d been top of the board in just about every subject. He hadn’t done too badly himself. He knew, eventually, he’d make it to the rank of investigator. Unlike Hall, Deacon preferred a slow and steady approach when it came to climbing the ladder. He’d been more than happy to be seconded to his department. He wasn’t one to judge his own career path by the achievements and placements of others. It just simply didn’t make any sense to him.

  In his short career, he’d seen some pretty shitty crime scenes. He’d worked cordons around incidents which showed what human beings could be capable of. But when he’d looked across at Hall – over the stink of her stomach contents – he hadn’t seen a murderer. Instead, he’d seen someone caught in someone else’s crosshairs – the details of which he had no clue. It didn’t change how he felt about the situation.

  His suspicions had been backed up when he’d hung back, after the spook had ordered everyone out of the interrogation area, and heard what the spook had told Hall. She was being used for something the spook was up to his neck in. What that was, he didn’t know. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, that he would be fucked if he was going to let a damn fine officer go down for something she didn’t do.

  “I said step away from that murderess little bitch, Deacon,” Melrose barked at his back. “I knew you had a hard-on for her, but I didn’t think you would go as far as aiding and abetting a known killer.”

  Deacon almost chuckled. He looked to the spook, who regarded him with calm curiosity. “Innocent until proven guilty, Melrose,” Deacon said flatly.

  He heard the idiot snort. “Are you kidding me, Deacon? She was found at the scene hovering over their dead bodies. Trust me, she’s guilty. Step away before I do something we’ll both regret, Deacon. I’ve already called it in. The cavalry will be here shortly. Don’t make this any more difficult for yourself.”

&nbs
p; Fuck this, he thought. He was about to take a step towards Melrose when a dark shadow landed on top of the spook. It grabbed him by the collar, spun him around and dealt him a series of blows. The shadow was a blur of deadly force; arms and legs moving with violent precision as it struck again and again. The spook’s body jerked and spasmed from the torrent of physical abuse, eventually dropping the ground in an unconscious heap.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes at what he’d just witnessed. The shadow turned its head to regard Deacon and Melrose. It was a woman; wreathed in black; with dark red stripes running down her and a hood covering most of her face. A wicked smile gleamed from the gloom of her hood. Deacon thought she looked like a fierce panther. He stood in complete slack-jawed awe as she uttered one word to him. “Duck.”

  He did as he was told, throwing himself to the ground. Melrose wasn’t as quick. Before he could shake himself from the same stupor Deacon had found himself in at her arrival, she threw what looked like a thin pole at him. It cracked against Melrose’s head. It struck his partner’s head with a sickening crunch. His head whipped back as he gave out a pained whine. He teetered for a moment, before dropping to the floor, his gun clattering onto the ground.

  Deacon slowly rose to his feet; his eyes never leaving the hooded woman. His heart hammered in his chest. At closer inspection it looked like the black suit with the red stripes was her skin. It clung to every part of her. There was only one person in this city who would be garbed in this type of outfit. He immediately became certain of one thing… the woman hadn’t perished in the river.

  “Focus,” she growled from beneath the hood. “We need to get her out of here.”

  Deacon glanced back to the door, knowing reinforcements weren’t far away. Then an idea struck him. “You’re going to need some time. I can veer them off in the wrong direction. But you’re going to have to hit me. Make it look like the three of us were assaulted by you.”

  The woman nodded. She pointed down at the two unconscious men. “They’ll know the truth once those two are awake… unless,” she said, pulling out her knife.

  Deacon waved his hands emphatically. “No, you’re not killing them. I just need enough time to veer them off, then disappear whilst they’re looking for you.”

  “Where will you go?” she asked.

  The question threw him off. He didn’t actually know where he could go. The most important thing was to help them getaway. Then he would think about himself. “I’ll find somewhere to lay low.”

  He felt as though she sensed his doubt. “Once I’ve got her safe, I’ll find you.” She pulled out a small card from a pocket attached to her belt. She handed it to him. “Go to this apartment, give the man that answers this card and wait.”

  He took the note, slipping it into his back pocket. “Okay, what—” His head whipped around as she punched his jaw. Before he could spit out a curse – or a couple of teeth – she dealt him a few more blows.

  He watched, sitting with his back against the wall, as the spook's cruiser screeched away and around the corner. Moments later, armed response burst out of the doorway. One of them looked down at them. “Sir, what happened? Are you okay?”

  Deacon spat, not surprised to find blood in it. “Fuck knows,” he said groggily – a part of his act he didn’t have to act out. He pointed in the opposite direction Hall and the woman had gone. “Whoever it was, took the prisoner and went that way.”

  The officer nodded, buying it. He bellowed orders over his comms and turned on his heel, quickly followed by his team. Deacon got up, took one last look at the spook and his partner, then ran down the street, hoping he’d given them a chance to escape.

  XXXI

  Marr lay on his side; brought back to reality by the tumult of orders and progress reports bellowed from the armed response unit. The noise reverberated down the narrow alleyway as they relayed information back and forth to each other; either face to face or over the comms. He felt a stickiness on his head, matting his hair to his scalp. He reached up and gently touched it. He winced from the sharp pain exuded from the wound; still wet and open. He groaned as a dull pain in his shoulder – presumably from his rough landing – arced down his arm.

  He gritted his teeth and sat up. He seethed with rage; furious with himself; of his failure at letting a perfectly straightforward task – transporting that meddlesome investigator from the interrogation room to his cruiser – spiral out of his control. This sort of shit happened to wet-behind-the-ears recruits – not seasoned vet’s such as himself.

  One of the response team officers noticed his movements. His eyes flashed with concern as he scurried over to him. He knelt down and checked Marr’s eyes for signs of concussion. “Sir, are you alright?” he asked, offering Marr his hand. “The paramedics are on their way.”

  “I’m fine,” he groaned, accepting the officer’s proffered hand. Once pulled to his feet, he glanced over the officer’s shoulder to where the fat officer – the one who’d had tried to help – sat; propped against the wall to the side of the precinct exit door. From the way the big oaf’s eyes darted in every direction – confused and unfocused – he surmised he was still having trouble regaining his wits – what little of them he possessed. A thin trail of blood ran down from a nasty gash above his right eyebrow; the dark fluid dripping down to his shirt, staining it in crimson splotches.

  Marr scanned the area for the fat man’s partner, Deacon. He was nowhere to be seen. He returned his attentions to the armed response operative. “Where’s the other one?”

  The officer raised an eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate. “Other one, sir?” His expression switched to one of concern. If he’d been a little older, the look might have had some weight, but he wasn’t. To Marr, it just looked patronising. He placed a hand tentatively on Marr’s shoulder. “Sir, you’ve hit your head pretty hard. Please, take a seat beside Officer Melrose and the ambulance crew will be with us shortly.”

  He didn’t have time for this shit. He slapped aside the hand resting on his shoulder and stepped closer to the young officer. “Never mind me. Where’s Deacon?” He pointed over to Melrose. “That fucking idiot’s partner. He was here when I was assaulted.”

  If the officer was crestfallen from his help being thrown back in his face, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded down the alleyway towards the main street. “Officer Deacon was also injured in the attack. He’s gone to find the precinct first-aider at the front desk to treat his wounds.”

  Like hell he was, thought Marr. The insolent little shit had exasperated the situation; coming to Hall’s rescue like some white knight in shining armour. It had inevitably led to him being distracted enough to get his underwear pulled over his head by that fucking woman he felt was beginning to haunt his every step. And now he was stuck in this alleyway with a semi-comatose idiot and an officer just off his mother’s tit.

  He tried to wrap his head around Deacon, and why he’d deliberately cost Marr his prisoner – his chance to fix the fuck-up Faulks had created. He cast his mind back to when he’d first come across Officer Deacon after he’d followed Hall to the Freedom Bridge. He distinctly remembered Deacon and Hall being on very friendly terms. They probably served at the academy together. And given his recent display, he probably had a soft spot for her. He was also present during Hall’s arrest – so much so that he sat in the back of the transport shuttle that had taken her to this very precinct. Was there a chance Deacon had been in on Hall and Mercer’s little cabal and he’d simply missed it? They worked in the same department, albeit at different levels. It was certainly possible.

  He looked balefully at Melrose. It hardly stretched the imagination they could have colluded in the back of the shuttle, planning a way for her to escape, right under Melrose’s nose. Whatever the method and how it was executed didn’t mean shit now. They were both gone and he was left standing in this shithole alley with his dick in his hand.

  “Bullshit,” he growled to the officer. “Deacon’s in on it. He aided in Inv
estigator Hall’s escape. Put out an APB on him. I want him found and in restraints immediately.” When the young officer didn’t respond, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. “That’s a fucking order. He helped that murderess little bitch escape.” He released his hold on the officer’s collar and pushed him away. “Now, fucking find him.”

  The officer nodded curtly and spun on his heel. Before he disappeared into the precinct, he stopped, turning back to face him. “I’ll let the pursuit team know, sir. If what you say is true, it’ll affect their attempts to apprehend the fugitives.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  The officer raised a finger, pointing down the alleyway. “There’s a good chance Deacon deliberately sent them in the opposite direction.” He turned and vanished into the doorway.

  Marr cursed. He just about slipped into despair, when a thought occurred to him. He reached into his pocket for his scribe... it wasn’t there. Cold dread clawed its way up his spine. Where was his scribe? He began to search the area where that psycho had got the drop on him; dropping to his hands and knees, becoming desperate — all the while watched by Melrose, who stared at him in confusion. There was no sign of his scribe; his one piece of equipment that held everything. “No, no, no,” he heard himself muttering, over and over again.