7PM - Ed & Hannah (A 5PM Short Story)

by Chris Heinicke

  7PM

  Ed & Hannah

  A 5PM Short Story

  By CHRIS HEINICKE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE © 2016 Chris Heinicke

  7PM-Ed & Hannah (A 5PM Short Story)

  By Chris Heinicke

  Cover Design by Rebecca Berto, Berto Designs

  Manuscript Services—Editing & Interior Design by

  Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Literary Editor

  www.rogenamitchell.com

  All Rights Reserved

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Both author and editor have taken great effort in presenting a manuscript free of errors. However, editing errors are ultimately the responsibility of the author. This book is written in Australian English, therefore, includes Australian diction.

  To my dear wife Glenda, whose love, support,

  and belief in me helped make this novel possible.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 — Ed

  Chapter 2 — Hannah

  Chapter 3 — Ed

  Chapter 4 — Hannah

  Chapter 5 — Ed

  Chapter 6 — Hannah

  Chapter 7 — Ed

  Chapter 8 — Hannah

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1 — Ed

  I remember the day I graduated from the police academy, making a pledge to protect and serve the public. I never strayed from said promise, but I did partake in a double life. A life which saw me choose who I would protect and who I would allow beingfed to the angels of death—my Praying Mantassassins.

  It was a smooth operation. Most of our assassins were female, hired to fuck the targets of our clients, and then kill them. Our organisation didn’t care too much about the reasons or motives behind someone wanting someone else to be taken out—we just assess the job and take their money. In a crazy world, people will always want others killed for all numbers of reasons.

  Our sole purpose was to cash in on a lucrative market.

  My job involved placing myself in several police precincts, getting into databases and pulling up information on clients and targets. In addition, I ran interference when necessary and covered up crime scenes. No one in the force suspected me of anything until she came along, walking toward me down the hallway at the precinct with her inviting smile tacked in place and her hand extended to capture mine.

  “Hi, I’m Hannah Hall. I recently graduated from the academy and am excited for my first day on the job.”

  I accepted the warm touch of her hand in mine. “Ed Nelson.”

  Her eyes stared into mine a little longer than they should have. I couldn’t deny her beauty, our first meeting just a precursor to her following me like a puppy. The truth was, I preferred men to women, but if my job involved getting intimate to keep my cover or achieve part of a job, then I didn’t have a problem with it.

  “So what do we start with today?”

  “Well, I operate better after the second cup of coffee, so a white one with two sugars would be fantastic,” I said.

  “Great,” she said, disappearing from view, and I hoped she knew where she was going.

  After she had vanished from sight, I made a quick phone call. “Who the hell have you partnered me with?”

  “Don’t worry. She’s just a new recruit, as keen as mustard but not real bright. Information in front of me says she only just passed the theory in her training. Just go about your normal work, and I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”

  The call ended abruptly, and I stole a curious glance at my personal mobile phone. Nothing required my attention. I smiled and returned my phone to my pocket a few seconds before Hannah reappeared and passed my coffee to me.

  “Thanks,” I said. I took a sip and nodded my approval to Hannah. “I need to drink this, and then we’ll head out.”

  “Okay,” she said. That lingering smile appeared on her face again, and I didn’t understand the look given to me, like a sixteen-year-old yet to master the art of disguising their fondness for someone.

  The sergeant walked my way. “You two, we have a domestic dispute. You’ll probably get there and be told nothing’s wrong, but you know the drill. And Ed, try not to punch someone in the face this time.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. That guy deserved it.” I threw the rest of the coffee down my throat and grabbed the keys to my assigned squad car.

  “What’s he talking about?” Hannah asked.

  “You ask a lot of questions. Last domestic dispute I attended, I was partnered with a woman around your age, and we get to this house. The man answers. I can see blood on his fists, and he won’t let me in the house. Next thing, this kid comes and stands by his side and says his mummy is crying.” Hannah picked up the pace and remained by my side while we walked to our destination. “So I ask the boy where his mummy is and can he go get her, to which the man tells me to fuck off. Now, coming from a home where my dad used to beat me up, I couldn’t hold back, so I punched him in the nose.”

  “I think you should get a medal personally, but the law doesn’t work that way.”

  “No, and that’s one of the most frustrating things about the job. Do you have a temper?” Despite her smallish frame, she could have been hiding a well-sculpted figure under that uniform. Sometimes, it’s the small, wiry types who really pack a punch.

  “I keep it under control. I grew up with three older brothers so I can handle myself if necessary.”

  This girl interested me the more she talked. I placed my sunglasses on my head before we hit the morning sun and headed directly for my usual ride. I always loved being in a squad car, driving the streets and being away from the stuffy confines of the office. But saying that, the days would be long if each day was spent with a rookie.

  “So how long you been a cop?” she asked me.

  “Twelve years. So are you here to work with me or make me feel like I’m being interviewed on a current affairs show?”

  Hannah turned away, and we spent the remainder of the journey in silence. If I offended her, I didn’t care, and nor was I going to apologise.

  ******

  Hannah and I walked side by side to the house, a rundown slum in a community housing project flagged for an incidence of domestic assault. I nudged my way in front and pressed the button for the doorbell. Heavy metal music played from inside, almost loud enough to cause the windows to shatter. We waited a few minutes before having another go at the doorbell and knocked on the second attempt to get an answer.

  “Who the fuck is it?” a male voice boomed from somewhere within the tired looking property.

  “It’s the police. Please, open the door.” A few seconds passed after I yelled, and Hannah looked for my lead.

  My hand travelled to my holster. Dramatic quiet pauses that occur after telling occupants the police are at their door are generally a cause for concern. Hannah did as I had done, and I knocked again.

  “Come on, Mr Davis. Don’t make this worse. Please, open the door.” My tone remained calm.

  More seconds passed by. I looked at the door in front of me and mentally weighed my options. The door seemed to be constructed of a wooden material, not likely to break my
foot. As if reading my mind, Hannah nodded at me.

  Using the full force of my legs, I kicked the door, centring the core of my strength near the doorknob. With each strike, the timber of the door creaked a little louder, until the fourth attack. At a point where the chipboard structure split, we took the opportunity to look into the house.

  “Motherfucker,” a male voice boomed. Without a chance to aim my weapon at the solid mass charging past the broken door directly at me, the man tackled me and brought me down with his superior weight advantage.

  My head thumped on the ground. My vision instantly blurred as my eyes watered from the impact. Before I could locate my attacker, I received a punch in the jaw and my head collided with the ground again.

  I hated the feeling of not holding the advantage. All I could do was hope Hannah would step up. The man appeared as a blur. Seeing movement, I waited for the next blow to land.

  It never came. Cut by the sound of a roaring bullet, the man fell on top of me, and I felt a fluid splash on my face. The man’s body crushed mine underneath as he lost control of his movements, and the weight threatened to shatter every bone in my body.

  “What have you done?” a female screamed. Hannah ran over and rolled the dead man off me, giving me much-needed relief from the extreme pressure the dead weight put on my ribs.

  I coughed a couple of times and rolled over. “Lucky for girl power, hey, Ed?” Hannah said.

  “You killed a man.”

  “Yes. No big deal. He deserved it.”

  I looked her in the eyes. “Shooting is a last resort. Can you imagine how much shit we’re in for this?”

  “Yeah, I saw the whole thing, you fucking whore,” the female companion of the dead man yelled. “You’re gonna get in so much—”

  Hannah fired again hitting the woman in the throat. I stood to look at the dead woman for a few seconds and then back at my new partner. “You’re a crazy fucking bitch.”

  “We couldn’t have her blabbing her mouth. Her boyfriend deserved to die, and if she was stupid enough to stick up for him, then so did she.”

  “Fuck, how do we sort this mess out?”

  “We put the gun in her hand, make it look like a murder-suicide. Check the house for drugs and plant them on her if we find any.”

  “How do we explain the fact she has a police issued Glock in her hands?”

  She smiled at me and looked around. I figured everyone else in the neighbourhood must have been at work, as we had yet to see any onlookers. Or maybe people were just shit-scared to come out after what Hannah had done to the couple living at the address of the house.

  “Punch me in the face,” Hannah said.

  “It’s crazy, but it may work,” I replied. “But be warned, this will hurt.”

  I swung with my left fist, hitting her cheekbone. I didn’t hold back anything, and her head twisted around as my hand connected. Expecting her to fall to the ground, I couldn’t help but fill with pride as she absorbed the contact and kept on her feet.

  “You hit like a fucking girl, but nice work,” she said.

  I laughed and got her to set up the crime scene while I made a phone call.

  “This better be important, Ed. I’m about to go into a meeting,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

  “My new partner has killed two people on our first call-out. What the hell do you want me to do with her?”

  “Call Bjorn and get her away from the scene with you. Make up an excuse to clear off.”

  I’m the master of quick thinking. “Sure. Consider it done.”

  ******

  “It’s not a good look leaving the crime scene like that,” Hannah said, rubbing an ice pack from our first aid kit on her bloodied cheek. I managed to break the skin of her cheek, but I was sure I didn’t break anything else in the process.

  “Well, you’re the one who caused the mess, so don’t question my methods. What kind of trigger happy habits do they teach in the academy these days? I’ve got a good mind to turn you in, you crazy bitch.”

  “I’m sick of these scumbags, Ed. We’ve got the guns and the badges and can make a difference to clean this city up. The prisons are almost full, which is why the scumbags that should be locked up aren’t locked up.”

  I shook my head, as much as I wanted to openly agree with her. During my half-hearted police career, I’d killed my fair share of suspects who should have been brought in. Maybe someone higher up in the force knew all my secrets and had partnered me up with this crazy woman to make me face the reality of my true self.

  If that were indeed the case, they couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d never had a problem with who I was and the sins I’d committed. But what if this woman were something else entirely? She could have been the woman of my dreams if it weren’t for the fact I preferred men. Or had she been partnered up with me to dig into my other life?

  Either way, I had to play the game. If it were sex she wanted, I’d give it to her, and if she were partnered with me to dig deeper, I’d let her do it until I could find out who’d planted her in my precinct.

  And then I’d put a bullet in her pretty little head.

  Chapter 2 — Hannah

  After my first day working with Ed, I found myself home alone lying on the couch watching TV in a dark room, lit only from the flickering of the screen opposite the couch. It was time to make a phone call to Inspector Devon Morrison, my superior responsible for relocating me from my detective duties to working alongside Ed.

  “So what have you got for me?” Devon asked.

  I took a deep breath. “We were called to a domestic dispute where I shot two people dead. I had a solution, but after the incident, Ed said he knew someone who could take care of the mess, so we didn’t stick around.”

  “Oh fuck. You killed two people. If any of this shit floats back to the surface, you’ll be the one explaining it. Like I said, you have four weeks to find something, or else I’m extracting you and putting you back where you came from.”

  “Look, Inspector, I know it sounds harsh, but doing what I did today could well be the key to earning this guy’s trust. If he’s dirty and I play dirty, I could blow this wide open.”

  “You have a defiance just like your father did, and it got him in such deep shit, he never found his way out. I warned you, if you’re wrong about this, you’re on your own. But if you’re right, you need to be careful.”

  I nodded. “I understand. I better go.”

  “Be careful, Hannah.”

  With that, the call ended, and I pressed the remote control in my hand until I found something at least a little interesting to watch while I peeked at the laptop resting on the arm of the couch. I went to the website which had first brought my attention to this supposed PM organisation, searching for any new posts from the blogger known simply as DS.

  Hickey’s Pigeons contained blog posts from conspiracy theorists from all around the world. From theories denying Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon to the naming of US cities in code to enable visiting aliens a direct path to the Whitehouse—all manner of crazy stuff was there to read. I used to look at the site for amusement purposes only until one headline caught my attention a few weeks ago.

  A man simply calling himself DS posted a story about a place where people, mainly women, were trained in the art of seducing and murdering clients. They were schooled to be assassins-for-hire for people willing to pay big money to have someone killed. Looking at the post stats, no one paid much attention to his story, but one particular case grabbed my mind in a way none of the others had.

  ‘She called herself Kathy and others called her Hayley, but although small and charming enough to entice a priest to enter a bed with her, she was the most vicious woman I had ever known. In fact, she had a secret room where she would have sex with an unsuspecting male while prospective students watched on, and after the act would kill them while they were recovering from the vigorous activity. I was drinking heavily at the time, but before the cleaner d
id his job, I saw one of these victims for myself and vaguely remembered him from my days in the service. A few years older than I was, Norris Slater was a sniper engaged in duties in Afghanistan in the early days of the war. I ran from this secret room and said nothing, and then drank myself into one of my worst stupors ever, only finding my opportunity to exit months later. They say they’re just ridding the world of filth, but I believe in God and America and the justice system.’

  I remember the next day at the precinct I was working in looking up the name he gave, and sure enough, Norris Slater was listed as a missing person. So each day I logged on and tracked DS’s posts, and even tried looking up the initials for listed ex-servicemen. Although several matches came back, looking each one of those men up on the databases brought no likely candidates for this man called DS.

  The website didn’t allow for subscribers to contact posters, so I followed each of his posts carefully for any clues until one caught my eye about a police officer serving to cover up the crimes committed by the assassins. Listed simply as Ed, I spent hours at work searching for every officer named Edward in the United States. This was no small feat, but I eventually found the man I was looking for.

  His postings in particular precincts matched unsolved murders or missing person cases in the corresponding towns or cities. Inspector Morrison wasn’t so keen on my wanting to chase down a lead from a blog poster on a conspiracy theory website, even with the matching evidence I had shown him. But I had done my homework on him, and in a non-accusing way, questioned him about the word on the street concerning a lady he was seen with who wasn’t his wife.

  It was a dangerous game I was playing, but I knew there was something in DS’s posts which required investigation. But using his position to influence the right people, Morrison found a way to insert me alongside Ed within two weeks.