Night Strike

by Rodney Mountain

  "That's a good thing," Corrie sighed, "Though I can't even say that. Nothing good has come out of this."

  Mike Miller, their boss and Nick's longtime best friend walked into the house to check on the progress. He looked around at the squalid settings and shuddered a little.

  "Good job," Miller said, "They rushed the DNA. Preliminary results say she's our killer."

  "It would have been a better job if we stopped her at the Laundromat," Corrie said, "We need a new car, Mike."

  "I'll put in a new request," Miller promised, "We have another problem first."

  "Don't tell me we didn't read her rights," Nick said, "I don't need to hear that."

  "She escaped," Miller said, "No one knows how, but we have two dead officers and a missing serial killer."

  "Fuck," Nick said, "What do we do?"

  "Keep cataloging," Miller said, "She burned her bridges. Most likely she's out of the city by now. Just keep an eye open, eh?"

  Miller nodded at them and walked out the door, leaving Nick and Corrie there to wonder just what happened. They knew they were not going to get their answers, but kept working anyway. It beat going home to sleep with one eye open as they always did after one of these cases.

  Searching for Bolantine

  This short originated as a cut piece from the rewrite of The Accidental Immortal. I don't remember much more about it, the only text I could find of it was from my ancient website code.

  It does take place during the canon version of The Accidental Immortal, but it was a bit out of place with the flow of the story. Think of it as the literary equivalent of a deleted scene from a movie. I do like how much of a badass Mason comes out as in this story though.

  All stories from this point were not in the original version of this compilation, so the notes are from the July 2011 revision of this compilation.

  Chapter 1

  Mason pulled the old Caprice up to a parking space outside of Roger Model’s office. The office was a three-story job with plenty of windows. They looked at the place for a few minutes as Mason explained his plan.

  "You think this is going to work?" Karen asked him.

  "Probably," Mason said, "Guys like Model and Conley work best when they’re not in danger. Show them a little danger and they tend to wilt."

  "How sure are you about Kosmo’s information?" Jim asked him, "The man could have just pulled a rabbit out of a hat."

  "He has too much to lose," Mason reminded him, "He fucks me over and I’ll be sure that that package gets into the hands of the head of cybercrime."

  "This could be dangerous, Mase," Karen warned him, "You sure you want to go through with this?"

  "The benefits are worth it," Mason smiled, "We don’t know this city. These people do, and they have a reason to want Bolantine just as dead as we do."

  "Let’s roll," Jim said, "I want to get this over with."

  "Got somewhere to be, Jimbo?" Karen asked him as they exited the car.

  "Was hoping to get a little lovin’ tonight," Jim smiled.

  "We’ll see," Mason told him, "Depends on if we can figure out what Bolantine is up to this time."

  "Then let’s get this over with," Jim said, "Shall we?"

  "See you in a few," Mason said and entered the building.

  Jim and Karen headed off across the street while Mason walked into the building. Model’s office was on the third floor, which was perfect for the plan Mason had concocted. Roger Model’s secretary was a statuesque looking blonde that probably had trouble using her keyboard considering the large size of her chest.

  Mason smiled and walked up to the comely young woman, who looked at him with not a hint of surprise in her eyes. She was used to seeing some pretty unsavory looking individuals come to this office.

  "May I help you?" the young lady asked him.

  "Yes," Mason said, "I’d like to see Mr. Model."

  "Do you have an appointment, Sir?" the young woman asked.

  "No," Mason smiled, "But I’m afraid I must insist."

  "Mr. Model is a very busy man," the receptionist said, but Mason was having none of it.

  "He’ll see me," Mason said and then started to walk past her, "Just sit there and file your nails, honey."

  The woman started to stand up when Mason clamped a hand down on her shoulder and shoved his .45 caliber pistol into her ribs. She looked up and saw a very hostile look in Mason’s eyes.

  "Sit there," Mason said harshly and then lied through his teeth, "Shut up and don’t call the police. If they show up here I’ll find you and kill you."

  The girl went white as a sheet and flinched at his touch. Mason put the gun away and walked towards the office. As soon as Mason let her go the girl scurried out of the room, running as fast as she could from the office. Mason smiled and opened the door to the office. Roger Model was sitting at his desk talking to one of his associates, a young crook by the name of Rob Conley.

  "I thought I told you that…" Model said and then realized it wasn’t his secretary, "Who the hell are you?"

  "That’s not important, Model," Mason said and looked at the window, "The question is how I found you."

  "Call the police," Rob Conley encouraged, "You don’t have to take this."

  "I would recommend against that," Mason told the small man, "The police are still looking for you, Conley. I’m sure you’d get picked up too."

  "What do you want?" Model asked him.

  "Just to talk," Mason said, "We have some mutual interests."

  "Such as?" Model asked him.

  "Bolantine," Mason said, "You and your little friend have been taking it up the ass by his attempts to take over the city."

  "How the heck…" Rob said and was stopped by Model.

  "Bullshit," Model said, "He isn’t a threat."

  "I’m not an expert," Mason smiled, "And you can believe that if you like, but we both know better."

  "He wants a cut," Conley said, "I know the type of cut…"

  "You and your men have been dangerously ineffective," Mason said to Conley, "You’ve been trying to kill him for months, if you had actually had any luck we probably wouldn’t be talking now."

  "I had…" Conley started.

  "Shut up, Rob," Model said harshly, "I see you don’t agree with my management style."

  "I don’t give a shit about your rackets," Mason said, "I have a different agenda."

  "What would that be?" Model asked him.

  "Bolantine," Mason said, "I want him and that bitch girlfriend of his."

  "And what the hell do you expect to gain from this?" Model asked him.

  "That doesn’t concern you," Mason said, "The fact that I want Bolantine does."

  "Why should we give you a damn thing?" Model asked him, "We can bury you."

  "I think not," Mason said as two little red dots appeared on Roger and Alvin’s chests, "We’re being listened to by two of my people, both of whom are aiming high powered sniper rifles at you."

  "You son of a…" Conley growled, paralyzed by fear.

  "I propose a deal of sorts," Mason said, undeterred by the look of pure hatred in Model’s eyes, "One that will leave both of us satisfied."

  "And what would that be?" Model asked him.

  "Use your networks to find Bolantine," Mason said, "Then you give me a call."

  "And what do you intend to do with him?" Conley asked him, "He’ll tear your…"

  "That will be the end of your involvement," Mason told them, "Bolantine will become a footnote of crime history and you continue on your merry way."

  "And if we refuse?" Model asked him, rather pointlessly, "You’ll kill us both?"

  "This is only for my protection," Mason told him, "I don’t need to threaten your lives. I have enough proof to drop in the hands of a reporter. If the fact that Bolantine has come as close as he has doesn’t kill your business, the official investigation that results would."

  "You son of a bitch," Model sa
id, "That’s blackmail."

  "Glad you recognize it for what it is," Mason grinned, "When you find Bolantine I want your troops to back off and call me. Here’s the number."

  Mason laid a sheet of notepaper down with one of the disposable cell numbers on it. He walked around the room and looked at the two men standing uncomfortably with the red dots on their chests. When they weren’t paying too much attention to him, Mason slid a bug under a chair as he sat down.

  "I don’t like this," Model said, "But… you can’t do any worse with Bolantine than Conley has. We’ll make the call."

  "Get cracking," Mason suggested, "If my patience gets frayed I might just have lunch with a reporter."

  Conley considered reaching for his weapon but remembered the red dot that meant he’d be dead before he drew it. He sat back in his chair and scowled at Mason. Mason nodded his head and left the office.

  "I look forward to hearing from you soon," Mason said as he left the room.

  Mason left the building quickly and started the car, picking up Jim and Karen from the front of the building across the street. Mason had guided the car down the street and into an alley before he stopped and looked at them.

  "The bug is planted," Mason said, "It worked perfectly."

  "Neat trick," Karen said as she pulled the pointer out and flashed a red dot on Mason’s forehead, "They bought it for a sniper dot, eh?"

  "Beats paying three grand for a full out sniper rifle," Mason smiled, "It played out beautifully. I think there’s even a half a chance they might call us."

  "If they don’t the bug will get it," Jim said with a smile, "The guy at the shop assured me it would pick up the sound of a fart at forty feet."

  "Lovely imagery, Jim," Karen said, rolling her eyes. "It’ll take a few hours for that to register anything," Mason told them, "Shall we retire to the van and listen to Model sweat?"

  "Sounds like a plan to me," Karen agreed, "Beats sitting in this wreck in the cold."

  "Hopefully we’ll get a bead on Bolantine soon," Mason said as he pulled the car away, "This time he’s going to fucking stay dead…"

  The Cop, The Whore and Eight Bottles of Jack Daniels

  This was a Nick and Corrie short that I somehow lost track of when I was putting together the original Night Strike compilation. I still think it is one of the better ones so its exclusion still bugs me.

  Chapter 1

  "This had better be good," Nick Jones said as he stretched a little coming out of the car, "Miller promised us a weekend off for once. With that rash of killings last week we’ve been working way too much."

  "He wouldn’t have called us without good reason," Corrie Albiston shrugged, pulling herself out of Nick’s rusting sedan, "He was supposed to be off with Claudia this weekend as well."

  Nick nodded but didn’t say anything else. He was annoyed because he and Corrie got little enough time off of the job lately without getting called back in early Saturday morning to deal with something that the other crews were screwing up on.

  "Don’t be too grumpy there, Nick," Corrie smiled, "This could be a good one."

  "I’ll be ok," Nick sighed, "I just wanted a day with you where we’re not dealing with corpses and criminals"

  "We’ll get it," Corrie grinned, "We’ll just blackmail Miller for it after we deal with this."

  "Sounds like a plan to me," Nick grinned and kissed her forehead before they went inside, "I’ll let you handle it."

  Usually unions like this between partners were frowned upon on the force, but Nick and Corrie were such an effective team that the brass overlooked the fact that they lived together. Their direct supervisor, Michael Miller, was well aware of their relationship and didn’t mind at all because it gave him a powerful team that didn’t mind working long hours as long as they could do it together. The fact that Nick was one of his oldest friends didn’t hurt matters either.

  "Gotta love this side of town," Nick grumbled, "Hookers and junkies die in large numbers."

  "Mike wouldn’t have pulled us in just for that," Corrie reminded him, "He knows us too well for that."

  "True," Nick agreed, "Let’s see who croaked today."

  The two of them walked into the motel and followed the noise to where the police tape was blocking off the hall. Mike Miller was standing outside with his girlfriend, who was holding on to their child. Mike didn’t look any happier than Nick or Corrie did at that particular moment.

  "What’s the rush?" Nick asked, "We just did a two week stint without a day off, Mike."

  "I didn’t want it either," Mike told them, "But you’re one of three people left on the force qualified for this case, and the others have been taken off the streets."

  "How so?" Corrie said, "What skills do we have that others don’t?"

  "Not you," Mike told her, "Him. Take a look inside, Nick, and you’ll see why."

  Nick nodded and put on his gloves before walking into the room. Corrie wondered what this was about and followed silently, letting Nick get the first impression of the room. It was a hard thing to do, because the two bodies inside were in such bad shape that it was almost difficult to identify them.

  "Jesus," Nick said, recognizing the male finally, "That’s why I was called…"

  "Who is he, Nick?" Corrie asked him, "One of your associates from before…"

  Nick knew what she was thinking. Before joining forces with Mike Miller over a decade earlier Nick had been a young thug in the local crime syndicate. Miller had busted that syndicate wide open and managed to bring Nick on the right side of the law. After a presidential pardon resulted from that mess, Nick had been accepted into the police force he had once been running afoul of.

  "No," Nick said, "Much later than that, actually. He was my partner for a spell before Marcus and I were paired up. He was part of our team until the Sleeping Beauty mess broke it up and got him reassigned. You’ve met him a couple times actually, his name is… uh… was Terry Moore."

  Corrie perked up at that a little and walked over to take a closer look. She recognized Terry Moore now, though the position and the blood made it difficult to actually see him as he was in life. Nick shook his head and walked out of the room, looking at Miller.

  "I’d think I was too close for this," Nick told his boss, "Why do you want me to handle it?"

  "You knew him and his habits," Mike said, "Nobody else is going to be able to get a feel for him as quickly. Not to mention this is a cop killing and we want it solved quick."

  "Who’s the girl?" Nick asked him, "I’ve never seen her before."

  "According to the front desk she’s a local working girl," Mike told them, "That’s about all I’ve had time to get on this. Claudia and I were due at her brother’s an hour ago so we need to get out of here."

  "So you get out and we don’t?" Corrie said, "That’s not fair…"

  "I tried to get us out of it," Mike said, "The captain wants us to do it cause we tend to be quick. Marcus left town Friday night. The others are already on other cases. You are the only one left who knew him, so you’re stuck. You get overtime for it, I don’t. Sorry."

  "Great," Nick said, "Low man again."

  "Leave town next time," Miller chuckled, "If you’re not due in court this week take a few days off and get out for a while."

  "Already planning on it," Corrie told him, "Come on, Nick, let’s get this cleaned up."

  "Forensics been in yet?" Nick asked.

  "ME is on her way," Mike said, "Forensics should be here at any time as well."

  "Let’s do some door knocking," Nick sighed and turned to Corrie, "I’ll take the odds, you take the evens?"

  "Sounds like a plan," Corrie agreed, "Enjoy your inlaws, Miller."

  "Heh," Miller said, "I’d almost rather stay here with you."

  "No chance, Michael," Claudia chuckled with her smooth British tone, "If I have to suffer, so do you."

  "Yeah, yeah," Miller said before he turned back to Nick and Corrie, "Goo
d luck. I’ll keep the cell on if you need me."

  "Right," Nick said, "Let’s do some door pounding."

  Chapter 2

  The Forensics team came in and did their thing while Nick and Corrie went up and down the halls and got a whole lot of nothing for their efforts. Those few rooms where residents bothered to answer didn’t tell them anything more than what they already knew. Of course, nobody in this place thought a thing about hearing a gunshot as gunshots were routine in this area of the city.

  "Not a thing," Corrie reported, "This is pathetic."

  "No leads," Nick grumbled, "Didn’t expect them here."

  "Why was he here?" Corrie wondered, "I mean this is a real hole. Did he usually do stuff like this?"

  "He always had a taste for ladies of the evening," Nick said, "But he usually just had them blow him in his car or something."

  "Nice," Corrie said, "And you know this how?"

  "Because he’d often have me stop so he could go proposition a hooker," Nick frowned, "Part of the reason I stopped working with him. I didn’t want to watch him do that crap."

  "How was he not thrown off the force?" Corrie wondered, "I mean most people like that would have been chucked immediately."

  "He was a reasonably decent detective and had some friends higher up," Nick said, "He was due to retire this year with a full pension. Guess it isn’t happening now."

  "Astute assumption," Robin Haskell told them, walking out of the room, "Whoever did it wasn’t particularly good with their weapon. Shots were sloppy and they bled out slowly. Probably made some noise as they did so."

  Robin was the local ME, one of the ones they often worked with, especially in cases that the higher ups were worried about. She was very good and almost always looked really good on a witness stand. No case she had ever worked on ever failed due to forensic technicalities.

  "Any ready signs of struggle?" Nick asked her, "I didn’t check the bodies too closely when I got here."

  "She died first," Robin told them, "Multiple shots. Whoever was in the next room had to have heard it. It had to be a large caliber weapon."

  "Good luck in finding the tenant," Corrie said, "These rooms flip over hourly."

  "Whoever left was covered in blood," Robin said, "It had to have splattered all over him. Those gunshot wounds were close range. Either a Colt or a Magnum. No pansy nine mil did that damage."