A Warrant of Wyverns

by Michael Angel

  “None of you saw what just happened. Dietrich’s a damn fine cop. He’s only two years shy of full retirement pay, and he’s not going to lose that over one moment of stupidity.”

  The other officers present nodded firmly in agreement. As if embarrassed by the scene, they dispersed to the other fire pits, taking rakes and shovels to continue the search. I got up, bagged the ring, and pulled off my gloves so I could wipe the dirt out of my hair without getting greasy ash in it.

  “The OME wasn’t even here for that,” Myun-Hee said. Turning to the interns, she added, “Come on, we need to get these samples back to the lab.”

  I handed everything over to Lee. Without another word, the three OME people started the long hike up the hill. Esteban looked over to the last remaining member of our party.

  Vega was biting her lip, apparently deep in thought.

  “I won’t say anything,” she finally said. “But just so you know, Dietrich voiced what a lot of people are noticing. That you and Dayna are awfully close. And that a lot of the rumors surrounding her are starting to rub off. Like a stain that won’t come out.”

  “Leave Dayna out of this,” Esteban insisted. “You want to hash out anything between you and me, Vega? Now’s the time.”

  To my surprise, she shrugged. “No importa.”

  She turned and followed Myun-Hee towards the switchback.

  “Yeah, it’s not important. Like I believe that.” Esteban looked at me as if for the first time. He ran his hands over my body while being careful not to touch me too roughly. “Did he hurt you? I swear, I’ll beat that son of a–”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Not even a bruise. Come on, we need to go.”

  “Okay,” he said, once he’d finished his gentle examination. “It’s just…don’t worry, okay? Things will get better.”

  Things will get better.

  If only I could believe that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Looking back on it, I suppose that Esteban got things half-right.

  The remainder of the day did get a little better. Dietrich left the crime scene with Vega, who appeared to be trying to talk some sense into the man. No one else shoved me into the dirt for the rest of the day, either.

  A cold front rolled through Southern California early that afternoon, bringing cloud cover and some mercifully cooler weather. I was able to send the rest of the bag n’ tags back with Lee Myun-Hee’s crew before de-gowning and heading back home.

  Since I was still staying over at Shelly’s, I got yet another classic Southern dinner. This time she served up collard greens, black-eyed peas, and a panko-encrusted slab of catfish. I felt more than a twinge of guilt for digging in even as my friends in Andeluvia were making do with camp rations. But that emotion was smothered, either by fatigue or the delicious artery-clogging grease from the meal.

  I even got a halfway decent night’s sleep. The surprising smell of rain in the air didn’t deter me from my early morning gotta-beat-the-rush-hour commute. I wasn’t even deterred by the gym-socks aroma of the coffee I got out of the dispenser at work.

  Of course, everything went to hell by mid-morning.

  Lee Myun-Hee and her group of interns had the sole fieldwork assignment for this shift, which left me back at my office. My being gone from the office for more than half of the week allowed the paperwork on my desk to spawn a litter of newborns which I had to dispatch with a quick scribble of signatures. I’d just about gotten through the latest batch when my phone bleeped, telling me a text message had arrived.

  I frowned as I saw that the text had come from the Director of the OME.

  I groaned as I realized that I’d been ordered to go directly to Chief McClatchy’s office for an URGENT MEETING.

  Well, that was just great.

  Every single interaction I’d had with Bob over the last few months had gone from bad to worse, with frequent stops at ‘nasty’, ‘vile’, and ‘loathsome’. And yet even now, given all the bad blood, a question popped unbidden into my mind.

  What else could McClatchy have to say to me?

  I’d just pulled on the three-quarter sleeve blazer I normally wore to office meetings when I heard a rap on the open doorframe. Shelly stuck her head in. She sported a full grin below her pince-nez glasses. Dangling from her hand were the keys for her Lincoln, a golden behemoth of a town car she’d nicknamed ‘Honeylemon’.

  “Just got my baby back from the wrench and spanner boys,” she announced. “So, no more squeaky brakes. How about we make an early run out for some food?”

  “Can’t join you for that,” I groused. “But can I get a lift?”

  “‘Course you can. It smells a mite like rain out there anyway. Where to?”

  “LAPD Central. The Director said I’m supposed to head to McClatchy’s office pronto.”

  Shelly grimaced and shook her head. “My stars, if you two haven’t locked horns enough. And you know how I feel about that so-and-so.”

  “Well, if I can’t duck the meeting, at least I can avoid the rain if I come with you.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed.

  We headed out for the downstairs lobby, passing the security checkpoint and leaving through the building’s main entrance. Shelly watched as I eyed everything from the elevator to the parking lot as soon as we came out the exit doors. But true to form, she didn’t comment.

  If anything, I think she approved of my heightened state of awareness. My fear of running into Harrison had reached the point where I felt most vulnerable between the manned checkpoint and the trunk of my car. In other words, the only space where I wasn’t close to my gun, or other people who had guns.

  The morning cloud cover had darkened to slate gray. The air had grown uncomfortably humid for Southern California. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it started sprinkling, but things stayed dry as we got into Shelly’s car.

  She started up Honeylemon with a low-key burble from the engine that Nagura probably would have found soothing. We jounced over the broken asphalt from the ever-ongoing street and sewer repairs as she pulled out of the lot. I didn’t feel much, though. Riding in Honeylemon was like sitting on a triple-foam mattress cushion.

  Shelly pulled over to the drop-off zone in front of the LAPD’s entry steps. Out of habit, we both scanned the area before I got out. Ever since the attack that had killed Chief Sims, most everyone had gotten wary of these steps. Even Esteban had noticed that officers hung around the front section of their headquarters less often, as if sensing that they were tempting fate.

  “Thanks, Shelly,” I said, as I unlocked the door and put my hand on the handle.

  “No problema,” came the reply. She leaned over before adding, “Don’t let McClatchy bulldog you. That man thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. Remember, you have bigger fish to fry, and a better world to fry ‘em in then they’ll ever see.”

  That stopped me. “You know, that’s probably the most positive thing I have to hang on to right now.”

  “You bet. Oh, and watch your back, Dayna.”

  I got out, shut the door behind me, and headed up the steps. I couldn’t help but remember how many people had been telling me that same thing for a while now. It was almost a mantra to me.

  Watch your back, Dayna.

  For the third or fourth time, I couldn’t argue with that piece of advice.

  I went inside and showed my badge to get past the inner checkpoint. It was crowded inside, with uniformed cops passing by me on both sides, all intent on getting to their next destination. No one so much as looked at or spoke to me. Nor did I give them reason to. But I just couldn’t shake the feel that some or all of them were watching me.

  I clenched a fist and felt the nails dig into my palm.

  “Come on,” I told myself, under my breath. “I’m getting paranoid. Everybody isn’t out to get me.”

  Yeah, my mind replied cynically. Only some of them are out to get you. Only the big fish, anyway. The ones with teeth.

  Speakin
g of teeth, I could have sworn that McClatchy’s secretary bared hers at me as I walked up and told her that I was expected. The funny thing was, I couldn’t blame the woman. Last time I’d been here, I’d blown right past her to bust in and give the Chief a piece of my mind. Only McClatchy’s machinations – or his growing insanity – had prevented me from being fired on the spot.

  This time, she let me stand for a full five seconds in front of the door to the Chief’s office before buzzing me in. I suppose she thought that she was exacting penance from me. But delaying a meeting I really didn’t want wasn’t torture. It was pretty much the opposite.

  The buzzer finally sounded, making me feel like a thoroughbred ready to leap through the starting gate. I took a breath and pushed my way in. My mental deflector shield went to maximum as I strode across the meter-wide LAPD seal woven into the gray carpet. I made my way towards the back, fully expecting a cannonade of hurtful words to greet my arrival.

  But once I drew close to McClatchy’s desk, what I saw truly surprised me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I stared as I realized that the chair behind McClatchy’s massive executive-style desk was empty. Of the two seats in front of the desk, only one was occupied. The man sitting there turned to face me as I walked up. His lanky features, framed by unmistakable silver-templed dark hair, made me freeze as if he’d drawn a gun on me.

  Which he had done before, now that I thought about it.

  “Our paths cross yet again,” the man remarked. “How small a world this is, at times.”

  My words came out in a wyvern-like hiss. “What are you doing here, Archer?”

  He shrugged. The very gesture made me want to explode with frustration. As did his next words.

  “Maybe you should tell me. You’re the reason we’re both here, after all.”

  I stared at the man for a moment, too startled to be angry.

  “I’m the reason we’re sitting here in McClatchy’s office?” I shook my head. “I suppose that I’m also the one who weaseled their way into Bob’s trust. Just so I could kick off the nightmare that I’ve been living through for the last few months. I guess I just lacked enough drama in my life to make it interesting.”

  Archer didn’t say anything to my jab, but his gaze didn’t flick around the office, as if he were worried about recording devices. Rather, he just sat there, very still, eyes focused straight ahead, before he finally spoke.

  “Why don’t you sit, at the very least?” he said. “It’s what all civilized people do when they talk. And we should talk, before ‘Bob’ arrives with whatever bombshell he wishes to drop.”

  I scowled at him for a moment. It infuriated me to have to sit next to my nemesis, but I wasn’t accomplishing anything by standing except tiring out my feet. So I pulled the free chair back a few inches and took a seat.

  “All right,” I tried again. “For what it’s worth, I’m being ‘civilized’. Now answer my question: What are you doing here?”

  “It’s simple. I’m obeying the law.” I gave a wry-sounding snort at that, so he went on. “As strange as it may seem to you, that is exactly what I am doing. I’ve been asked to come in and give a deposition on behalf of my company. To explain the actions of some of Crossbow Consulting’s members.”

  “In the first place, I doubt that you were ‘asked’. It’s called being subpoenaed.”

  He rolled his eyes as if I’d stated the blindingly obvious. “Subpoena ad testificandum, if you want to be precise.”

  “Second,” I said, pressing on, “I doubt that you’ll be giving your deposition here, in Bob’s office. Especially without counsel.”

  “My counsel shall arrive shortly. Chief McClatchy wanted to personally speak with me first. As I suppose he does with you.”

  “Executive privilege,” I scoffed. “Sounds like he wants to get your stories straight.”

  “There’s nothing to ‘get straight’. I can only disavow any knowledge of what has happened in the past few days. I’ve been out of the country, handling my own affairs. I have alibis and witnesses to back up my word.”

  “And your word has to be your bond if you want to keep your honor. Is that not true for a man of Andeluvia?”

  He looked away. That both surprised and elated me. It had been a calculated guess – I knew that Archer at least knew of Andeluvia, but I hadn’t been sure until now that he had been born and raised there. Maybe I’d finally found a chink in the man’s armor.

  I decided to press on. “Or do you still have any honor left in you? I’m not sure I could respect anyone who murdered a veteran police detective and ordered his eyeballs to be left on my kitchen table.”

  Archer’s startled gaze swiveled back to lock with mine.

  “You actually think I wanted that?”

  That wasn’t an admission of guilt, but it was a long way from a denial. And the strangest thing was: I didn’t think he wanted that.

  It pained me to admit it, but Grayson Archer never once gave me the heebie-jeebies the way that his man Damon Harrison did. He hadn’t ordered my car to be pretty much smashed to pieces, and his ‘torture’ of Shelly Richardson had turned out to be a masterful bluff.

  I was ninety-nine percent sure that Archer hadn’t been the mysterious, shadowy ‘him’ that had goaded Hollyhock into destroying herself. Neither had he been the one to empower Raisah and her owl fanatics among the Noctua to murder little Perrin. And to top it off, ever since he’d ‘taken over’ my case from McClatchy, Bob had been less of a thorn in my side.

  But there was no way I was going to release whatever tiny foothold I had gained on the mind and motivations of this man. Not when I knew I’d finally rattled him. Archer simply had too much knowledge that I wanted to tap into. The meaning of the medallion I’d traded to him. The reason for the creation of the weapon known as the Demon. And who knew what other secrets he’d kept hidden.

  I desperately wanted to see what else I could shake loose.

  “How would I know what you want, Archer?” I asked, in a mocking tone. “Oh, I’m sure that you didn’t dirty your own hands. You wouldn’t want to get blood on those impeccably tailored clothes. Perhaps you only wanted to scare off Maxwell Cohen, send him off with his tail between his legs, but he was a tough old beat cop from way back. Didn’t scare easy. So, he met with an ‘accident’.”

  Archer glared at me as his voice went up a notch. “If you think you can make that ridiculous accusation stick in court, be my guest.”

  My voice followed suit. “Just give me time. I’ll find the evidence I need, then I’ll nail you for Cohen’s murder. As well as Chief Sims’ assassination.”

  The man gave me a dark look. “Perhaps you don’t hold as many cards as you think. You’re a party to what happened to Sims now.”

  “I never did such a–”

  “Not the assassination, no. You wouldn’t want to get blood on those scrubs of yours. You just colluded with me. You accepted the evidence I gave you without question.”

  Archer was referring to our meeting at the First Samaritan mental hospital, when he’d handed me a manila envelope in the psychiatric observation room. That envelope had been filled with perfectly doctored evidence to pin the murders of Lucas Sims and Jorge Cielo on members of the El Gallitos street gang.

  “I accepted what you gave me under duress,” I gritted.

  “How curious, then, that you never reported it afterwards, when neither you nor Rochelle Richardson were in personal danger anymore.” Archer leaned forward as he went on. “It’s a noble thing to talk about blowing the whistle on something, but can you do it? After all, you’re fully implicated with all these crimes. You won’t be able to convince a judge or jury otherwise. Just think about it. You’ll lose your license, destroy your career, and possibly face jail time.”

  “You lose out too, Archer. You’d look at hard prison time. You’d destroy Crossbow Consulting and whatever long-term game you’re playing.”

  He spread his hands. A gesture of resignation
that I didn’t buy for a New York minute.

  “I guess it’s your choice, then. If that’s what you want, let’s step out into the light. But we do it together.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The rattle of the doorknob shattered the tension between Archer and me. The murmur of conversation and the sound of footfalls on carpet drew my attention as two people entered the office. Chief McClatchy and Lieutenant Luis Ollivar breezed past us.

  As the two moved around to the far side of the desk I immediately noticed a couple of changes in Bob’s appearance. He’d lost some pounds, but gained a pair of dark circles under his eyes. He still had the closely-cropped high-and-tight haircut, and he’d swapped out his lighter colored suit for something the LAPD called ‘service black’. It gave him the pinched, wintry look of an angry funeral director.

  I’d last seen Ollivar here in this office as well. The big man’s left arm had been in a sling, a painful reminder of the bullet he’d taken during the assassination of former Police Chief Lucas Sims. I wondered what the heavyset Lieutenant would’ve done if he knew about Archer and Harrison’s part in that.

  McClatchy sat down in his chair with a creak of well-abused springs. Ollivar stood behind and to one side, looking like a taller, beefier, and un-armored version of Commander Yervan. It looked like his arm had healed. I didn’t see a sling, in any case.

  “Here we are again, Chrissie,” McClatchy sighed, without so much as an attempt at a greeting. “You’re like a bad penny. Always turning up when you’re least wanted.”

  “You’re the one who called me here,” I pointed out. “I don’t waste my time visiting you for kicks, Bob.”

  “And I don’t waste time being civil with you,” he shot back. Behind him, the edge of Ollivar’s mouth twitched up in a smirk. “You know why, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Because you’re not worth it. There are things I am destined for. Big things. Bigger than you can imagine.”