The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles- Year One

by Ken Lange

  Kimberly teetered between astonishment and hilarity. She adopted a patronizing tone. “Perhaps you don’t understand your position.”

  Before she took the conversation too far down that road, I cut in. “Perhaps it’s you who don’t understand the role of the vigil.” With Kur’s aid, I set to work correcting her misunderstanding. “Prefects rule the triumvirate and the day-to-day actions of their territories, but their authority isn’t greater than that of the local vigil. It can’t be, otherwise, I’d be nothing more than a hired thug to be used at the prefect’s whim.”

  The three of them looked at me in shock. Kur was incensed by the outright lack of respect for my position, and we both swore to rectify it in the coming months. What I’d left unsaid would’ve caused chaos, but if Ms. Dodd didn’t come to terms with the situation quickly, I’d be forced to strip her of the ability to interfere.

  Kimberly found her voice. “You’d be the first vigil I’ve ever heard of to exercise those rights.”

  That revelation sent Kur over the edge, fuming that the station had been allowed to fall into such a pathetic state. I didn’t know why, but my anger flowed right alongside his. “I haven’t the faintest idea how things got this bad, but I can assure you that it’ll change.”

  The embarrassment on Andrew’s face was evident. “Perhaps we’ve all fallen into a convenient status quo…” His voice trailed off. “If this is how you want to proceed, you’ll have my support.”

  Kur was satisfied with his answer and checked his name off a list of potential obstacles.

  Heather was pale and shaky when she put a hand on my arm. “I don’t feel great. Could you help me to my room?”

  The political debate over, I gave her a smile. “Of course.”

  In one fluid motion, I leaned over and scooped her up.

  Heather cocked an eyebrow at her mother. “What?”

  Kimberly fought back a grin. “Oh, nothing, dear. You just look so sweet in his arms.”

  Heather’s face turned beet red, and tucking her head into my shoulder, she mumbled, “Mother.”

  Kimberly made a show of eyeing me up and down. “Careful with my little girl.”

  Blushing, I stepped around the table and padded off toward Heather’s room. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kimberly chuckled. “No need to be shy. It’s not every day I let a strong, handsome man carry my daughter off to bed.”

  Heather’s nails dug into my back, and she pulled her head out of my chest. “For God’s sake, please shut up.”

  Trying to make our exit an expeditious one, I picked up the pace.

  Kimberly’s voice carried after us. “What? If you’re not interested, just remember I’ll be single soon.”

  That put a hiccup in my step, but I pressed on, keeping my eyes focused on the wall in front of me.

  Heather’s head collapsed into my chest again. Her voice full of horror, she said, “Oh God, kill me now.”

  Andrew and Kimberly’s laughter followed us down the hall. Once we were safely in her room, I nudged the door shut with a foot. I gently placed her on the bed, and pulled the blankets over her.

  Heather was still crimson. “I’m so sorry about my mother. She’s…she’s all sorts of embarrassing.”

  My cheeks still felt hot. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Other than the horrible embarrassment at our expense, it was sort of sweet.”

  Heather averted her eyes, suddenly finding the spot on the floor next to my feet very interesting. “She may have gotten the idea that I thought you were attractive.”

  The tightness in my throat cut off my ability to take a breath for a split second. “You think so?”

  She chewed her bottom lip, keeping her eyes on the floorboards. “Yeah. You’re kinda cute in that weird, tall-dark-and-handsome way.”

  Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I suddenly felt like a teenager. “Thank you, and if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re gorgeous in that way-out-of-my-league kind of way.”

  Tearing her gaze off the floor, she tossed a pillow at me, turning so red I thought she might pass out. “You should probably go work, and we’ll sort this out-of-your-league thing out later.”

  Thankful for the excuse, I gave her a thumbs-up.

  That’s right. I’m super smooth. What the hell kind of move was that? God, I’m such a dork.

  “Absolutely…I mean, yes, I’ve got work.” Stumbling backward toward the door, I stammered, “See you later.”

  She didn’t make the situation any less awkward when she returned my thumbs-up. “Bye,” she said playfully.

  To make things that much worse, I actually backed into the door and fumbled with the knob a few times before finally getting it open. Yep, smooth. Thankfully in the safety of my own room, I closed the door and leaned against it. That could’ve gone better.

  There was a chime, and the tablet lit up to show the mail icon hovering on the screensaver. Grateful for the distraction, I snatched it up. The email was from Lieutenant Baptist. Damn, that was fast.

  Gavin,

  I did a cursory check on the four names you gave me, and three out of the four are a bit strange. James Matherne, who doesn’t appear to have a middle name at all, checks out. He was adopted at age ten by the Matherne family living in Destrehan. He went through school without issue and joined the St. Charles Sheriff’s Office right after high school. From what I’ve been told, he’s on vacation somewhere in Ireland for the next few weeks. I’ll make a courtesy call when he returns.

  As for Mary Percy, I’m still doing some research on her. Same for Walter B. Percy Jr. It’s like they came out of nowhere and vanished nearly as quickly. I’ll keep digging in the meantime.

  As for Walter Bradley Matherne, his past is a bit of a mystery at the moment. No driving record, taxes, or any of the regular paper trails you’d expect to see.

  I did find a warehouse out on the riverfront that appears to belong to him. It’s located at 198 Mississippi River Trail, Jefferson, LA 70121.

  Let me know if anything pops up for you when you go for a visit. I’ll be in touch when I have more information.

  Lt. William Baptist UCD

  Breakfast would have to be on the go. I’d picked up a backpack at Office Depot last night so I wouldn’t have to lug everything by hand. After stuffing the tablet into the front pouch, I grabbed the files and my notes, and shoved them down into the bag.

  Grabbing the gladius and the wakizashi, I looked around the room to make sure I had everything before heading out. Passing through the living room, I waved, chomping on a piece of dry toast on the way downstairs.

  Chapter 24

  The trip to the riverfront was blissfully uneventful…after that, however, I may’ve gotten myself lost. Okay, so not really… Google had given me poor directions, but the warehouse was on the other side of the levee; it was just impossible to see it from the road.

  Considering how easily Brad spooked, I thought it best to park across the street at the self-storage center. After stowing my gear, I had to play a life-size version of Frogger when I crossed the heavily traveled River Road. These drivers weren’t messing around…they flew by doing considerably more than the posted thirty-five miles per hour, and not one of them gave a shit about pedestrians. But, after a few near misses, I was across without any bodily harm.

  The paved drive and official-looking gate gave the place a local government feel. If I had to guess, it was once a pumping station that had been phased out. I wouldn’t have thought Brad clever enough to buy such a property. The U.S. Government often used the same strategy overseas. They would buy a place that was either official or made to look that way to keep the locals away. No one wanted to deal with government employees if they didn’t have to. It gave an area or building extra security it wouldn’t otherwise have.

  Moving up one of the paved branches of the Y-shaped drive, I crested the levee to find two separate complexes. The nearest one, which was maybe forty yards away, consisted of a single-story, dilapidated red bric
k building and three large storage silos.

  Standing at the top of the earthwork, I took in my surroundings. Off to the left, leading up from River Road and cresting at the top of the embankment, were four massive pipes running to a modern red brick structure another thirty yards in that looked completely intact. That was probably where I’d find Brad, but first things first…the smaller structure needed to be cleared before moving forward. I swung the backpack off my shoulder, pulled the gladius out, and fastened it to my belt. I’d left the computer, along with the other files, in the trunk of the Tucker before crossing the street.

  The entrance was a pair of old rotting wooden doors with a large pane of filthy glass at about head height. Light poured in through the shattered and broken metal roof above, revealing its dark interior in shafts of brilliant white. Stepping up, I gave the first door a solid tug, and, as expected, it didn’t budge. The next door, however, was unlocked and with a great deal of effort on my part, it opened about a foot and a half before getting lodged against the pavement.

  While it was clear no one had been in or out of this place in years, I needed to make sure it was as it appeared to be… With magic involved, I was learning that you couldn’t be too careful. It took less than a minute to determine that the only danger here was impaling myself on a rusty nail.

  After stepping out, I did my best to close the door, but it was stuck, and there was nothing I could do about it. Shrugging, I focused on the building further up on my left. Where the first had been a shack in need of demolishing, the second warehouse was sturdy, secure, and slightly imposing. The two-story building looked almost new, and its metal roof gleamed in the afternoon sun. Prominently positioned in the middle of the building was an overly large rollup garage door facing a tiny, yet empty, parking lot.

  A smaller gray metal door that would’ve looked more at home on a firehouse or school emergency exit stood next to it. Matching gray steel slats shuttered the front windows. It had a bland utility feel to go along with the entirely uninviting vibe it gave off in waves. What would interest Brad about the place, other than the seclusion and the ability to hide evidence in the Mississippi River, a mere twenty yards away? Then again, I could’ve been reaching for yet one more reason not to like the guy.

  After giving the building a good once-over, I ruled out gaining access through the narrow, horizontal windows since they were on the second floor, and sealed with gray metal shutters that matched the doors in front. There was always the novel approach of the front door. Stealthy it might not have been, but it was the only way in or out of the place. I grasped the handle and pushed down on the thumb mechanism, and to my great surprise, it pulled open. That was easy…but nothing good ever came from easy.

  As I entered, I raised my voice and said, “Brad…I’m here on Archive business. All I want to do is talk.”

  I flinched when the overhead florescent lights sprang to life. The harsh white light highlighted the immaculate two-story open loft in glaring detail. About midway down on the right was a brushed-metal, spiral staircase leading to the floor above. The polished cement floor ran the length of what I would’ve considered a cozy home. The furniture was comfortable yet modern, and I couldn’t help thinking of Isidore, who would’ve thought he’d died and gone to heaven. To my right sat a vintage late ’60s model GTO, fully tricked out. The deep purple paint glinted in the overhead lighting, with that fresh-from-the-factory look.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as energy coursed through the air. Kur recognized the power and whispered, “Were.” Everything went still, and I felt more than heard someone coming up fast behind me. I stepped to the side and spun as I put my hand on the hilt of the sword.

  A massive white and silver werepanther wrapped itself around my midsection, pinning my arm. He hefted me easily into the air, rotated, and ran us into the solid metal door, using me like an airbag. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and pain coursed through me as at least one of my ribs snapped. Before the stars and darkness could leave my eyes, he flung me through the air a good ten feet. I landed on my face, cracking a tooth and smearing blood across the floor.

  The secret to winning most fights is simple. It isn’t about how good you are or how strong. It’s about how much punishment you can take and still get back up. Of course, skill and power could win out, but the ability to get up and fight after being crushed and tossed across the room is enough to scare the shit out of most people.

  However you wanted to look at it, I’d had a lot of experience with pain. This sucked, and before it was over, it was going to get worse, but as long as I drew breath and could move, there was a chance.

  The cocky bastard stalked toward me, confident he’d already won. When he was close enough, I spun, taking his legs out from under him, and he hit the floor hard. I scrambled to my feet, pulled the gladius free of its sheath, and finally got a good look at the thing. He was a biped, completely covered in fur, and his arms ended in a set of massive gray claws. His face was a horrible mashed up thing, something between a man and a panther.

  Panting hard, I held out my hand. “I’ve got no quarrel with you. All I want to do is talk to Brad.”

  His only response was a guttural growl.

  His big yellow eyes flicked closed, and he got up gingerly, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of…well, anything. Hunching over, he growled and shot forward, raking his claws across my chest, leaving long, deep gashes. But he wasn’t the only one who’d drawn blood. He hissed and spat, howling in pain as he tried to hold his gut closed. The gladius had found its mark, and blood ran down the panther’s abdomen.

  Anger clouded his judgment, and he charged again. I went low, diving to the side, swinging the sword with a powerful backhand, slicing through the calf muscle and sending him to his knees. I rolled to my feet and lunged at him, driving the gladius through the back of the creature’s skull, down through his neck, and out his chest. I yanked it free, drew back, and sliced through the neck, cleaving his head from his shoulders. There was a wet thud when it hit the floor.

  The body changed from the great werepanther to an elderly man. Of course, I’m a firm believer that we all look much older when we’re having surgery, unconscious, or, in this case, dead. Looking around for something to clean up the mess, I quickly realized that there was little hope of covering it up. That was the thing about concrete: no matter how much you polished its surface, dump a corpse-worth of blood on it, and you’re sure to get a stain.

  Putting aside any thought of hiding the mess, I took stock of my situation. Things weren’t looking good…I had at least one broken rib, deep gashes ran the breadth of my chest, and I was going to bleed to death from it or one of the internal wounds. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be able to fight off another surprise attacker, and I was too wounded to run. With that in mind, I staunched what bleeding I could and proceeded to clear the building.

  With every step, pain shot through me; each breath was labored, ragged, and wet. If I got help soon, I’d probably live. Pain I could handle…a random attack, even from someone like Brad, and I was a goner.

  Keeping the gladius out, I willed the discomfort to one side before slowly making my way through the loft. The second floor was interesting, to say the least. At the far end, I found a state-of-the-art security system. Thankfully, the cameras were on a closed circuit, which meant I only needed to remove the hard drive from the computer to ensure my anonymity.

  The real question was, who in the hell did I report this to? Kur responded that I answered to no higher authority before lapsing into silence. He sounded strained, as if he were in pain, and his response wasn’t exactly helpful. Should I call the UCD?

  Honestly, that wasn’t really an option, so I pulled out my phone and dialed Andrew’s number. It rang twice before he answered. He was laughing as he put the phone to his ear. “Were your ears burning?”

  “Huh…? You know what, never mind. This isn’t a social call.” Yeah, I sounded like an asshole, b
ut I was bleeding out, so he’d have to get over it.

  Andrew’s voice turned somber. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  Trying to stifle moans of pain, I slowly made my way into the nearest chair. “Where to start? There’s a dead guy on the floor, I’m pretty beat up, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  It took a couple of minutes to get it all out between the blood loss and the difficulty breathing, but he got the idea pretty quickly. He barely paused after I’d finished. “You still have Alexander’s number on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Call him now, and tell him to come by and clean up the mess,” Andrew ordered. “After that, I want you back here… I’m pretty sure Kimberly can help.”

  Made sense. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After a quick phone call and thirty minutes, Alexander showed up. I’d moved the chair closer to the front door to wait. He looked at me and then down at the corpse. “You did this?”

  His tone was odd, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or impressed. I was hoping for the latter because I was in no condition for round two. With great trepidation, I got to my feet. “Yeah, but I swear it was in self-defense.”

  Alexander’s mouth fell open then a low, rueful chuckle escaped his lips. “Goddamn.” His gaze searched for understanding. “Do you have any idea who this is?”

  With a quick glance, I shook my head. “He’s just another dead guy.”

  Alexander huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn. Did I ever misjudge you.”

  I sighed. “If you’re going to kick my ass, just do it already. I don’t have the energy to argue about it.”

  Alexander laughed and held his hands out. “No, no. Not what I meant.”

  “What then?”

  Alexander leaned over and poked the dead man’s cheek, presumably to make sure it was real. “This is Marcus Gray, one of the oldest, if not the oldest, werepanther in the world.” Squinting, he pointed at my chest. “That’s all he did?”