Soul Food

by Gareth Lewis

  I go back down to her office, and check the drawers. Not sure what I'm looking for.

  The keys are an oddity though. No phone in sight, but I can't see her going out without keys. The calendar has nothing marked for this evening.

  Her computer's on, but password protected. If I could get in, I could check what her cameras recorded. But I'll need technical help for that, and more reason than a bad feeling. And technically I'd also need a warrant.

  I go outside and look up and down the street. The convenience store a short way along has a camera pointed this way, and it's still open.

  I go in and flash my badge at the cashier. 'Does the camera outside work?'

  He has the concerned reaction to police presence of a recreational pot user or other misdemeanourist, which should make him compliant. 'Sure.' He adds an unnecessary nod.

  'I need to see today's footage.'

  His mouth works as he thinks, nothing coming out. He glances around the quiet store, as though wanting to be sure his complicity isn't witnessed, before nodding again. 'Uh, sure.'

  He pulls it up on the monitor as I go behind the counter. Some game flicks from sight before I get a good look. At least it's not porn. That could get awkward.

  A familiar view from outside appears on the screen. From the fading light levels, it looks current.

  'What time?' he asks.

  'Start a couple of hours ago.' The last appointment on her calendar finished just after that.

  With a flicker, the picture grows lighter.

  'How fast do you want it?' asks the cashier.

  'I need to see people coming and going.'

  He speeds it up so that people seem to be running awkwardly, and cars whiz through. That should do. I watch the flickers, waiting for... 'Stop.'

  He freezes it a second later.

  'Rewind it.'

  He does so, the picture juddering backwards slower than it had been.

  'Stop,' I say as the figure that emerged from Marcy's place comes into view.

  It's not Marcy.

  From the time on the clock, that's probably her last client.

  'Okay,' I say. 'Carry on.'

  The picture blurs again. It's another minute before a car flashes to a stop before the place.

  'Stop. Let it play at regular speed.'

  A few figures had already darted inside by the time he responded, but we can always rewind. I take out my phone and note down the license plate.

  It's over a minute before a couple of thugs emerge with Marcy between them. She's not struggling, but doesn't seem happy.

  'Stop.'

  The image freezes on them. Don't recognise them, but the picture isn't too sharp.

  'Don't suppose you've got any fancy zooming in software on here?' I ask.

  He shrugs an apology. 'Not that they've shown me.'

  'Okay.' I check the time stamp. Over an hour ago. 'How often are your recordings scrubbed?'

  'Every week, I think,' he says with an unhelpful lack of certainty.

  'We may need this one. Hold on to it for a couple of weeks. We'll send someone if necessary.'

  Though if it comes to that, things will have gone bad.

  I stride back to my car, trying to work out what to do.

  They must be Stone's. They were professional heavies, not Carlisle's fanatics.

  What could Stone want with her? He obviously knows she's linked to the case. But what else does he know about her?

  Running the plates may confirm the Stone link, but also runs the risk of drawing IA attention. Their involvement will slow everything down, putting Marcy in danger.

  If I call in the abduction, they'd have to run the plates. Because how else can we follow them?

  Her phone. It was missing.

  I fumble her card out of my wallet. It has her cell number. I take out my phone and call in, get someone to trace it. She's a potential suspect who's gone missing. And no link to Stone, prior to an hour ago. I'll have to give a proper explanation for the search, but later.

  I'm running scenarios in the car when the response comes in. She's at the offices of an accountancy firm. I won't do a search on their records, but I can guess who ultimately owns them. Stone must be diversifying. At least it isn't as cliché as a haulage firm. Or construction. Or an empty warehouse. That would be so 1980's.

  Anyone I call for official help would have to get clearance. Which would end up in IA ordering me to hold back until they make a decision. Which could take hours.

  Jake'd back me up, no questions. But given how jumpy he's been, that could degenerate into a gunfight faster than I'd like. I'd prefer to talk them into letting her go.

  I could call in backup from outside the place, not give IA the chance to order me back.

  I've no doubt they'll find out about it sometime, but it's easier to apologise if I can argue I didn't know Stone was in there. Which I don't. But I'm damn sure it's a possibility.

  Calling in backup while I'm in there risks them coming in after me in force.

  I'm better off going in alone, aren't I? Or Marcy is.

  If IA or OC are watching Stone, I'm in trouble anyway. But no way am I turning away from this.

  The fallout can wait till after. If I make it out.

  28

  The hell with IA, anyway. Forcing honest cops... Well, good cops... Forcing cops to have to circumvent the rules to do the job. To protect and serve.

  I should have backup going in here. Instead all I can do is build up my fury and rein it in. Keep it ready for when it's needed, but try to make sure it isn't.

  I have no problem walking into a firefight heavily outnumbered. You live or you die. But you do the job. Even now I know what comes after death. Though I'm not sure I've fully accepted it yet.

  But my getting killed won't help Marcy.

  There's a couple of thugs loitering outside the front entrance, talking. They turn to face me as I stride towards them.

  I flash my badge as I get close, just to say I did.

  Their dismissive sneers are about what I expect. The badge holds their focus as I close in though, distracting them as I punch the guy on the right in the throat.

  He keels over, out of the fight for the moment. I focus on the other guy.

  He backs up, trying to draw his gun. Stupid. He stumbles against a decorative raised flowerbed, and barely keeps his feet. Going for a gun is dumb when we're this close. I body slam him back, tripping him on the obstacle. He goes down hard, and my heel follows through to his chin.

  I grab his half-drawn gun and turn on the other one. He's trying to drag himself up the wall, coughing badly. I cold cock him before he reaches his feet, then take his gun out. I toss the ammo and guns separately into the sparse shrubbery.

  Okay, maybe my rage isn't completely reined in. But this type wouldn't have let me in without trouble. And it puts on a show for anyone watching.

  I go inside, and follow the lights to the office upstairs. There's three more thugs lounging on desks in an open plan office space. One of them I recognise as having taken Marcy. I'm in the right place.

  They stand, and draw guns. I don't.

  I stay on the far side of the office as they recover from the shock. I can dive for cover if any are stupid enough to fire.

  'How'd you get in?' asks the abductor.

  'The door was open,' I say. 'Your friends are asleep. Tell Stone Detective Blake's here.'

  'Mister Stone doesn't want to be disturbed.'

  Why can they never do things the easy way? 'He's already disturbed. Unless you also want him distressed, tell him I'm here.'

  The abductor gives me a smug grin. 'You got a warrant?'

  The hell with this pissing contest. I stride up to them, giving up the advantage of distance and cover.

  Their guns are gripped tighter.

  'Stop,' he says, concern in his tone. He knows shooting a cop will bring trouble. Not least from Stone himself.

  I only stop when his gun's inches from my chest. He has no
option but to look me in the eyes.

  You pull a gun, the person you point it at tends to look between it and you, alert for any twitch of finger or eye that might serve as warning. Makes them think about shooting first, just to be safe.

  With no gun in hand, he has to pay more attention to my eyes. He can see the death I long ago accepted as coming for me. An inevitability I'll take before I accept losing. And the certain knowledge that I'd accept his death before either.

  'You going to shoot a cop?' I ask. 'For what? Because you won't relay a message? Tell me how you see this ending.'

  'With you dead,' he says, a touch petulantly. They're all children at heart.

  'And then? You think no one knows I'm here? You think you can get away with it? You think Stone won't be pissed at you dropping a body in a legitimate business. And a cop at that. This is a decision above both your pay grade, and your reading grade. One of you check with your master before this idiot makes you accomplices.'

  Getting the others to go gives him the opportunity to save face. Gives him somewhere to back down to. One of them goes, of course.

  The idiot still glares at me, but mainly for effect. His eyes can't quite hide the fear. I've got him thinking. In as much as this kind is able. Thinking beyond the immediate gratification he'd feel. It's probably unfamiliar territory, so I don't expect him to venture too far.

  Thinking you've got a future means thinking you've got something to live for. That's why I don't. He shoots, fine. Either I duck in time - unlikely at this distance - or I die. Better for Marcy if I don't die, but you can only play the options available to you.

  The other thug returns. 'You can go in.'

  The abductor's slow to lower his gun and move aside. But not too slow. He doesn't want Stone pissed. He's just making it obvious this wasn't his choice.

  I step past without paying him any attention, and enter the office.

  Stone's reclining in the chair behind the desk.

  Marcy's sat opposite. She's composed, but it's the calmness of someone not wanting to spook a dangerous animal with quick movements. There's a palpable edge of relief in her eyes on seeing me.

  Stone sits stiffly at ease, an enforced relaxation he can't convince himself of. He knows more, but doesn't realise it's more to haunt him.

  'You've seen it then?' asks Stone.

  I shut the door, the guards outside.

  'Yes,' I say.

  'And you remember. Some don't. It eats away at them without their knowing why.'

  'Unlike facing it?'

  There's a flash of rage, quickly replaced by a grin. 'At least then you know the cause of your affliction.' He's playing with the bullet medallion.

  'Are you finished with Ms. Lyons?' I ask.

  Stone meets my gaze for a long moment. 'For now.' He turns to her. 'My thanks for your advice. I promise to make an appointment next time.' He smiles, seemingly genuine. 'It's a relief to have someone to talk to. Someone who won't assume I'm insane.'

  He's making quite a judgement. Doesn't he see the careful way she avoids drawing attention?

  'I know what I saw,' he says. 'But there was always this voice in the back of my head saying that it couldn't be. That I was crazy.'

  'Voices in the head can do that,' I say.

  He pays me little attention. 'And now to know there's hope.' He looks at me. 'You've seen an angel?'

  Damn. He knows about them. I hope she didn't tell him where, but can't blame her for saying what he needed to hear.

  'I used to be religious,' he says. His gaze drifts. He's going to monologue us, isn't he? It'd be rude to walk out in the middle, especially while he has armed guards. 'Maybe not good at it. Or good. I was a mildly crooked cop.

  'Grady wasn't, though. He was honest. A good man. Well, kind of. Pious. And humourless. But I looked into him. For some dark secret. Some sin in his past. I really looked. Because if a demon can feed on a pious man's soul, what's the point? What does it matter how you live this life, if we're all damned in the next anyway? That's what I thought. Turns out they took him because he was a miserable bastard.'

  He laughs lightly. 'So maybe enjoying my life was the right thing to do. If I can stop thinking of them.' He gives another barked laugh. A forced joviality this time. Which doesn't touch his eyes, and soon abandons all hope of conquering the rest of his face.

  I'm halfway inclined to ask him why he kept the hotel. Why he's probably been feeding souls to the demon. Maybe some idea of keeping it sated, stopping it getting loose.

  Doubt I'd get anywhere. He might be insane, but he's not stupid. He's not going to admit to any killings to a cop, even if it'll be hard to prove. He didn't actually admit to killing Grady, only to seeing the demon feed on his soul.

  Stone stands sharply. 'Ms. Lyons, thank you for your time. Detective Blake.' He nods. Which is probably a dismissal.

  I take Marcy's arm and lead her out. She's understandably shaky, but as anxious as me to get out of here.

  The two guards still outside the door say nothing, just glare at us. The glares are harder outside, where the other thug has helped the two I downed to sitting positions.

  But I wouldn't be walking out without Stone's permission, so they won't do anything.

  For now, we're safe.

  29

  Marcy's quiet as I drive back to her place, but the relief overwhelming her is obvious. Not sure what to make of the tears she's trying to hide, but I allow her some space.

  It's not as though I don't have things to occupy my thoughts. Mainly how to deal with the inevitable IA response.

  We get back to her place and I follow her in, straight to the office. She pulls a bottle of bourbon and glasses from a bottom drawer, and pours us drinks.

  She downs her first, then pours herself another.

  We sit in silence for a minute, and then she exhales a deep breath.

  'Thank you,' she says.

  I nod. 'What did he want?'

  'To know what I knew. About demons and souls.'

  'You told him about angels?' I ask.

  'I told him anything. It seemed to give him some hope he'd been missing. Seemed like the best way to survive the encounter.'

  'Probably. I think Carlisle's after angels too though, so you should maybe avoid visiting the hospice for a while.'

  Her gaze grows concerned. I'm not sure whether it's Carlisle's interest or the prospect of being cut off from her high. I tell her what I learned from him, and what I suspect.

  She sighs, tired now. 'How do you deal with this kind of person every day?'

  'I often shoot them.'

  She laughs at that. I'm not sure she knows I'm only half joking. 'Dealing with that kind of selfishness. It must make you hate them.'

  I shrug. 'I don't really hate them. That'd require giving a damn. Hate, anger, love. They all require engagement with the world. I avoid that. Try to see it all as a game. Makes it more bearable.'

  She stares at me for a while. It's slightly uncomfortable, but not unbearably so. 'Why did you come for me then? And why alone?'

  I shrug. 'It's my job.'

  She doesn't seem convinced. 'Why do you consider yourself detached from the world?'

  'It's made it clear I'm not wanted.'

  'Nobody is,' she says. 'Most don't notice. Is that why you kill so often? Because you have no attachment to people?'

  'The people I kill, you wouldn't want attachments to.'

  She stares at me some more. 'You may be even more broken than me.'

  'I'll drink to that.' I raise my glass. She follows suit with a faint smile.

  'Why be a cop then? Your outlook doesn't seem to lend itself to serving and protecting. Solving mysteries? I doubt there's really that many. To stop bad guys? Or just the license to hurt? To kill?'

  'I have a violent nature. I know this. I saw my life headed one of two ways. I tossed a coin.'

  'I don't believe you.'

  'Have I lied to you yet?' I ask.

  'What about to yourself?'


  'All the time. It's the only healthy response to this world.'

  'Does the law mean anything to you?' she asks. 'Beyond a set of rules for your game?'

  'I understand its purpose. But I suppose not. Laws are hardly sacrosanct. Maybe I hoped they'd come to mean something. That I'd find... A reason, maybe. But the closer I got, the more I saw the artifice. The only meaning in this world is what we attribute to things.'

  'And knowing what you now know about what comes next?' she asks. 'Does it change anything for you?'

  'May be too early to tell. But probably not. It adds no real meaning to life. It's simply another mechanism of the universe we've discovered. A predator we can't avoid.'

  'We can choose which,' she says with a forced conviction.

  'Can we? How's forcing yourself happy going?' I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Maybe she really can fool herself. 'Sorry. The only consolation I can see is that the parasite they feed on may not be us.'

  She stares at her desk. Did I go too far?

  'How can you live with such bleakness?' she asks in a soft voice.

  'Habit.'

  'Do you have anything in your life?'

  'Nothing that isn't temporary. Like life.'

  'That's a bleak way of looking at things.'

  I shrug. What does she want from me? The hard truth? 'Life goes on around us. No matter what. The good die as readily as the bad, and life goes on. The undeserving suffer as readily as the deserving, and life goes on. I've seen dead babies in dumpsters, and a few steps away, life goes on. Because life doesn't care. Would you notice if one cell of your body goes on or not?'

  That kind of puts a downer on the conversation. I really should learn when to shut up. But there are still things I need to know, so I can't let it die.

  'The demon from the hotel,' I say. 'It struck a couple of blocks away.'

  She's confused for a moment. 'That's impossible.'

  'Carlisle practically admitted responsibility. Whatever technologies he's working on...'

  Marcy's face is a mixture of horror and distracted thought. She finishes her glass and pours another. I'm still on my first.

  'He's insane,' she says. 'You think he intends controlling which of them feeds on his soul?'