Deicide

by M. K. Gibson

  “It’s not your fault,” Messer said, stating the obvious.

  “I know,” she said as she suddenly stood, tall and straight. Her head snapped to the side while her eyes scanned the room. Seeing what she wanted, Cross took several quick steps and picked up DeLeon’s data tablet.

  “What are you doing?” Messer asked as her hands danced across the tablet.

  “Tracking algorithm,” she said, her eyes now fixated on the work. Anything to distract her mind and focus on task. “With their comm-links active and the tracker I slipped on the weretiger when he . . . had me, I can monitor their respective movements through the city.”

  He nodded, keeping his eyes on her. It was excellent police work. But it wasn’t her performance that he was watching. It was the way she controlled, or rather repressed, her emotions. A strategist who had a compulsive need to see every outcome and every angle.

  Messer had read her file. He knew the source of that mania, and why being unable to control the situation had her so rattled.

  “Mr. Whiskers?” Cross barked, looking at the tablet. “What kind of street name is that? Well, good on New Girl for tagging that asshole. We should get down to your truck and follow them.”

  “In a minute,” Messer said.

  “But that guy is getting away.”

  “It can wait. DeLeon and Deacon are capable officers.”

  “Please, Arby is probably telling jokes and the stick up New Girl’s ass is so rigid she—”

  “Cross!” Messer yelled.

  “What?!” the woman’s head snapped up from the tablet and he saw the redness and moisture around her eyes and nose. He took in her expression and his face softened.

  “It’s . . . okay,” he said in his firmest voice. “You’re safe now. It happens to all of us. Even me.”

  “No, not to me,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice. “I make sure of that.”

  “It was an accident. Nothing more.”

  “He . . . he came out of nowhere. It—it shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You can’t predict everything.”

  “I was so distracted with Arby’s stupid questions,” she said. “I should have checked the closet first.”

  “We had no reason to suspect there was anyone here,” he said. “You can’t blame yourself for not being able to predict the unknown.”

  “Just because you don’t know something is there doesn’t absolve you of your responsibility. You have to look. Every time. You have to . . .” Cross trailed off, refusing to finish.

  She instead rubbed at her eyes and forced herself to regain her composure. “So, are we going or not?”

  “Depends,” he said, stepping up to look the tall woman in the eye. “Are. You. Good?”

  She stared back at him as her resolve was once again locked into place.

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  Messer nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  He stopped to grab the caduceus and give the room a final look-over. Cross placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Sarge?”

  “Hmm?”

  She looked down for a moment, then looked him in the eyes. “Thanks.”

  He returned the look with a slight grin. “You’re welcome.”

  “What about Gabby?” she asked. “How do we contact her and let her know?”

  Messer chuckled. “Don’t worry about her. Gabby has a way of being exactly where she’s needed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  13 May - 7:27 pm

  Svartleside - District of Alpdruck

  Eric held a closed fist to his mouth, sure that everything he’d eaten in the last thirty-four years of his life was about to come up.

  Jessie whipped the vehicle back and forth, weaving through traffic as she searched for the black SUV. The run-down strip malls, liquor stores, factories, and project-style housing of Alpdruck’s Svartleside whipped by. The constant side-to-side motion and fear reminded Eric of his first sexual experience. It had been on an old fashioned waterbed, and based on how that evening went, he was sure this van ride from hell would end up the same way.

  In disappointment and vomit.

  “Stupid young, untrained gag reflex,” he muttered.

  “What are you talking about?” Jessie asked, looking over.

  “Nothing,” Eric said. “Maybe we should call for backup?”

  “Right.” Jessie tapped her comm-link. “Messer, are you there? We’re in pursuit.”

  “We’re on our way,” Eric heard Messer said over the comm. “Do you have eyes on?”

  “Negative, sir,” Jessie admitted. “We lost him, but I’m searching the area.”

  “From your position, he’s two blocks ahead and one over,” Cass said, her voice joining the comm.

  “How’d you know that?” Jessie asked as she made a sharp right turn.

  “When the prick had me, I slipped a tracker on his suit,” Cass said.

  “I taught her that trick!” Eric exclaimed.

  “Shut up Arby,” Jessie and Cass said in unison.

  Eric turned towards the family in the back. “I taught her that trick.”

  “I honestly don’t care,” the woman said, shielding her kids with one arm and gripping the overhead handle with the other.

  Eric shook his head and sighed. “You really need to lighten up, Doris.”

  “My name’s Beverly.”

  “Well now it’s Doris,” Deacon declared as he turned back around. “Can you believe some people?”

  Jessie flat-out ignored his attempts at lightening the mood. While she was laser-focused on steering the minivan around slower cars, the family in the back seat were scared out of their minds and refused to laugh.

  Eric sighed. Very few people could appreciate that levity, in an intense situation, could reduce stress and provide the mind with the required flexibility to adapt to new stimuli.

  Freaking Muggles.

  “I’m monitoring both yours and Mr. Whiskers’s movements on New Girl’s tablet,” Cass said. “It looks like he’s trying to make it to the trans-city highway.”

  “And likely a ley-line jump,” Jessie said. “Once he does that, he could be anywhere in the city.”

  “Exactly,” Cass agreed. “He’s only a few miles from the on-ramp at the Black Forest interchange. So stop this asshole.”

  “What do you think we’re trying to do?” Jessie asked, then tapped her ear comm, muting it. “You’re her partner. Is she always such an asshole?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, why is she such an asshole?”

  “Better question, why did you pick this van over the motorcycle? We could have caught him by now.”

  “Because this toaster on wheels has a tactical advantage,” Jessie said as she floored the vehicle.

  “What advantage?!”

  “Shh!” Jessie shushed him. The light at the upcoming intersection turned from green to yellow.

  “Jessie? Jessie!”

  “Shut up, we got this!”

  The light switched to red just as they entered the intersection. She jerked the van hard right, then hard left, narrowly missing two cars and a city bus that had tried to cross.

  “We got this?” Eric yelled while every orifice in his body either tightened or loosened.

  “You’re alive. That’s good enough.”

  “I never thought I’d go out like this,” Eric said. “In bed, with someone who looked a lot like Jason Mamoa. That’s how I planned to die! Of a heart attack brought on by pure bliss, not from your deep-seated need to be the best!”

  “You done complaining?”

  “No!” Eric said, as rational thought gave way to panicked hysteria. “You wanna know why Cass doesn’t like you? It’s because it’s obvious to anyone who’s been in your presence longer than five seconds that you have something to prove! And people like that get other people hurt. People like me. Not to mention Doris and the kids back there.”

  “Beverly,” Doris said from the back seat.

&n
bsp; “Shut up, Doris! No one’s talking to you!”

  “Look, you wanna catch him or not?” Jessie asked, her face twisting in anger.

  “Of course.”

  “Then this is how we do it!”

  “Oh, good song,” Eric said, his mood shifting. “Doris, mind if I play the radio?”

  “I hate you both, so much,” she said, still holding her kids.

  “You could have stayed behind,” Jessie said. “This really was your choice.”

  Ignoring Jessie’s hurtful words, which frankly should not be said in front of children, Eric linked his phone to the van’s sound system. A moment later, the speakers boomed a playful anthem of joy.

  “See, isn’t that better?” Eric asked.

  With a smile, he noticed that Beverly, the kids, and even Jessie bobbed their heads in time to the music. Well, if his superior humor could not calm them, Montell Jordan’s classic 1995 hit would.

  “Okay, now that we’re in a better mood, please enlighten me on how this is more tactically advantageous?”

  Jessie held up her hand, showing three fingers. “First, the van is less conspicuous. Second, Mr. Whiskers would see us coming in a motorcycle. And third, the sliding side doors will allow us a better shot at him.”

  Eric nodded. She may be a climber, but her reasoning was sound. Even if reasons one and two were kind of the same thing.

  “Okay, there he is,” Jessie said, pointing at the black SUV up ahead.

  “I see him,” Eric said. He tapped his ear comm. “Cass, we have eyes on and we’re almost alongside of him.”

  “Has he seen you?”

  “No,” Jessie said, joining the conversation. “I’ve been careful.”

  And then, as if the Lord Almighty were mocking them, Mr. Whiskers’s driver’s side window rolled down and his machine pistol came out.

  “Jessie!”

  “I see it!” she said, slamming on the brakes and jerking the vehicle hard to the right.

  The automatic fire missed the front left of the hood by inches, hitting the pavement instead. Surrounding cars and trucks, upon hearing or seeing the gunfire, slammed on the their brakes and pulled over out of fear.

  Just before they were rear-ended by the car behind them, Jessie stomped down hard on the gas, and Eric felt himself pulled back in his chair. Mock these kid-wagons all you want—when they need to go, they go.

  But given the sudden acceleration, and Mr. Whiskers’s continuing to shoot out of his window, Jessie fought to maintain control. The van swerved and fishtailed slightly, but she brought it in line directly behind the SUV. When the gunfire stopped, Eric looked over at Jessie, whose now-pale face was sweaty.

  “What was that?!” Cass asked over the comm.

  “Uh, hold please,” Eric said, muting his link.

  “Don’t you mute me!” Cass yelled.

  Ignoring her, Eric looked at Jessie. “You okay?”

  “Y-yeah, I-I’m fine.” Jessie stammered.

  “Bev, you and the kids okay?” Eric asked, looking back.

  Beverly nodded, too scared to talk. Her arms were draped over her children, shielding them as best she could.

  Damn it. They shouldn’t be here.

  A plan formed in the heat of the moment. A really dumb one.

  “Give me your weapon and pull up alongside of him.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Something stupid.” Eric shrugged. “But when I do this, you need to get Beverly and the kids out of here.”

  “Where?!”

  “Anywhere,” Eric said. “This was fun at first, but he’s spotted us and discharging his weapon in public. He’s scared and panicking. He can’t go back to his boss, not with us on his tail.”

  “Which means in order to lose us, he’s going to start hurting people,” Jessie said, seeing the whole picture. “You’re going to distract him, aren’t you?”

  “Exactly. This has gotten too far out of hand and we have to do something about it. So when I tell you, gun it.”

  “You sure?”

  “No, not at all,” Eric admitted, “but we don’t have options. Oh, and give me your tac belt.”

  “Here,” she said without question, releasing the catch and handing over the belt.

  “Thanks.”

  Eric fastened on the adjustable belt and checked the standard equipment. Satisfied with what he had on hand, he undid his seat belt and crawled into the back row. Kneeling down, he locked eyes with the scared family.

  “Now Bev, you and the kids need to get one more row back and lay as flat as possible. Can you all do that?”

  “Yes,” Beverly said as she helped the kids get into the back row.

  “Good job,” Eric said. “I know this may have not been what you planned on doing today. But we thank you very much. And when you no doubt file a complaint with the city for what happened, remember, my name . . . is James Messer.”

  “I thought you said it was Eric?” Beverly asked.

  “Eric James Messer,” Eric corrected. “Okay Jessie, get ready.”

  As the van’s engine revved, Eric mentally prepared himself for what he had to do. In his mind, he ran through all the potential scenarios that could occur in the next few minutes.

  Each one of them ended in his death.

  So when those became too morose for him to handle, he instead mentally replayed heroic action-cop scenes from eighties and nineties movies.

  “Bruce Willis is my spirit animal,” he told himself. “Okay, ready Jessie?”

  “Yeah. Opening the door now.”

  With the pistol in his hand, Eric balanced on the balls of his feet . . . waiting. Nothing happened.

  “Jess?”

  “Goddamn child safety lock,” she cursed. “Gimme a sec.”

  He sighed. “Once I’m clear, just get them to safety. Now gun it!”

  Eric undid the lock and pulled hard on the door, sliding it back. The rush of air was exhilarating, and his adrenal system went into overdrive.

  “What’s new, pussycat?!” Eric yelled as he shot several rounds into the driver’s side front tire. The wheel did not explode and send the SUV into a wild pattern of destruction like in the movies.

  Well, that sucked.

  “I think his ride is bulletproof,” Eric said.

  “Then what do we do?”

  “The plan’s the same. Someone has to distract him. Get them out of here,” Eric said as leaped from the open door, grabbed the SUV’s sport rack, and hauled himself to the roof.

  Holding on for dear life, Eric waved with his gun hand. “Go!” he ordered Jessie.

  She gave him the thumbs-up as the van door closed. As he watched the van and its occupants disappear into the distance, he knew he’d done the right thing.

  However, when Mr. Whiskers suddenly began shooting his machine pistol through the roof, the one that fired armor-piercing rounds, he was having second thoughts.

  Nah, it was still the right thing to do.

  Probably.

  Chapter Fourteen

  13 May - 7:51 pm

  Svartleside - District of Alpdruck

  Messer winced as Cross yelled over the comm link.

  “He’s where?!”

  DeLeon sighed. “On top of the suspect’s vehicle.”

  “And why is he there?”

  “It was my decision!” Deacon screamed through the comm, trying to be heard over the din of wind and traffic. “Once Mr. Whiskers opened fire, we had to get the civilians to safety.”

  “And whose decision was it to bring them along in the first place?” Cross asked.

  “It was mine,” DeLeon admitted. “Time was of the essence, and I made a command decision.”

  “Nothing about you and the word ‘command’ should ever be linked!”

  “Shut up, both of you!” Messer snapped.

  “You tell ’em, boss man,” Arby said.

  “Stow it, Deacon,” said Messer. “When we finish this we can point fingers. In the meantime, we hav
e work to do. DeLeon, drop off the civilians and then reengage. Deacon, just hang in there.”

  “Like I have a choice?” Arby said. Over the line, more gunfire could be heard.

  “Find a way to stop his car before he hurts somebody. Cross, you keep tracking them and get me a solution to this. This is our job, people, so let’s do it!”

  Cross transferred the data feed from the tablet to the passenger-side windshield. On the holo-display, he watched DeLeon’s and Deacon’s respective signal IDs overlaid on the district map. DeLeon had pulled away while Deacon remained on top of Mr. Whiskers.

  Zooming back, Messer watched Cross as she looked for an angle, but the information was coming too fast.

  Messer muted the comm line and looked over at her. “Cross, relax.”

  “I—I can’t form a plan. This entire thing is chaos. I need time.”

  “Well, we don’t have time. So I need you to tell me where we’re going.”

  “I—” Cross rubbed at her face. “I can’t. In order to make a proper plan you need to know the rules of engagement, the parameters, and the timetable. But so far everyone on this damn ‘team’ is going cowboy. There’s no unity, no cohesion. Even Gabby is MIA. I can’t create a proper strategy when nothing is certain or reliable. Otherwise it’s nothing but a clusterfuck of contingency after contingency.”

  Messer looked over at her. His weathered eyes narrowed. “If you ever say ‘I can’t’ again, you’re off the team. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed with his free hand at the map on the windshield screen. “You already had your pity party for the day back in Boris’s apartment, and we’re now on the clock. That’s your parameter. This district. Whiskers cannot leave it. We have limited time, but we have an idea of where he’s going. As for your rules of engagement, no casualties and minimal property damage. Now go.”

  Cross nodded. She took a breath, closed her eyes for five seconds, then stared at the map. She played the angles. She visualized possibilities. She took into account what the team had, their respective positions, and what they could do. Then she smiled.

  “We’re technically Transit Authority, right?”

  “On paper, yes,” Messer said with a touch a curiosity.