by Alex Siegel
"Slick. Deals can go down in broad daylight. Have you actually seen a suspicious transaction?"
"No," he said, "but I hear things."
"Can you give us an address where they do a lot of business?" Marina asked.
"Sorry, no. I'm not a customer."
She sighed, obviously frustrated.
"Then maybe you can give us the name of somebody who can help us," Aaron said.
The reverend rubbed his chin slowly. "There is a dealer who got out of county jail a month ago. Craig Parker. He's trying real hard to get his life straight, but he still knows the business. If you tell him I sent you, he might cooperate. He trusts me."
"We'll do that. Thank you. The department appreciates good citizens like you."
"Just bust those a-holes. That's all the thanks I want."
"Don't worry," Marina said. "We'll get them off the streets. All of them."
She and Aaron left the church and walked back to the van. He was glad to breathe fresh air, even if it was hot and humid.
"Call Ethel," Marina ordered. "Update her on the situation, and ask her to locate Craig Parker."
He took his bulky phone out of his pocket and stared at it. "What's her number?"
"All our important numbers are on speed dial, and you have to unlock the phone first. Did you read the instructions?"
"Well, I was planning to do it after..."
She rolled her eyes and showed him how to call Ethel. A little embarrassed, he put the phone against his ear.
"Hello?" Ethel answered.
"Aaron here. We have new information, ma'am. The Church of One Soul is selling heroin. The people on the street corners hand out more than just pamphlets."
"That's useful to know."
"We need to find a guy named Craig Parker. He recently spent some time in Cook County Jail."
"Hang on," she said. "I'll give the name to Edward."
Aaron heard her walking and talking in the background.
"He's working on it," she said after a minute. "By the way, I sent a cleanup crew to your apartment."
"To get rid of the bodies?"
"To get rid of everything. Every speck of blood, every hair follicle, and every fingerprint will be removed. The crew will also pack and store your belongings."
"Do I still have to pay rent?" Aaron said. "I signed a lease, ma'am."
"Don't worry about it. We also took care of your many parking tickets and delinquent bills. You were in some financial difficulty."
These people are cleaning up my entire life, he thought. "Thanks."
"Edward just gave me a printout," Ethel said. "Craig Parker is working as a salesman at Top Sports Shoe Emporium on Michigan Avenue."
"We're on our way. Bye."
* * *
Top Sports Shoe Emporium was a monument to overpriced athletic footwear. Aaron looked up at three stories of almost seamless glass façade. Through the windows he saw hundreds of customers browsing countless shoes. So many tourists were coming and going that there was a traffic jam at the front door.
"We'll stick with the same covers," Marina said. "My name is?"
"Uh... Detective Withers," Aaron said.
"Right, and you're Sergeant Stone."
"What if he asks to see a badge?"
She took a wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. There was a badge and a Chicago Police Department identification card. They looked completely authentic.
"Deception is our business," she said. "Let's go in."
Finding Craig Parker among the dozens of salespeople took a few minutes, but eventually, Aaron and Marina located him on the third floor. His black skin was pockmarked with acne scars. He wore a blue football jersey with the number 22 on it.
"Mr. Parker?" Marina said. "We need a few minutes of your time."
Parker was busy helping a kid put on a pair of shoes. "Please wait your turn, miss," he said.
"We're the police."
He stood up so suddenly he almost fell backwards. "This is a bad time. I'm working."
"Is there a quiet place where we can talk?" she said.
He quickly led them to a storage room in back. Shelves held thousands of boxes of shoes. Aaron could smell the rubber and glue, and he wrinkled his nose.
"What do you want from me?" Parker said. "I don't need this harassment. I had a hard enough time getting this job."
"The Church of One Soul," Marina said. "Ever heard of them?"
He shook his head.
"Green robes and facial tattoos."
"Oh, yeah. We call them the Ones."
"They're selling narcotics," she said. "We want to know where."
"I don't know nothin'." He shrugged.
"Reverend Anthony sent us to you. He told us you still have connections in the business."
"I'm out of that life."
"Listen, Parker." Aaron poked the young man in the chest. "If we have to come back tomorrow, we will. But next time, we'll ask questions in front of all the customers."
Parker cowered. "I really need this job."
"And we need information."
"I could make a few calls after I leave work."
Marina handed a business card to him. "Call me tonight. Understand? Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight!"
With his eyes downcast, he shoved the card into his pocket.
Aaron and Marina left the store. Even though the sun was half-way down, the heat was still oppressive. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
"We have a few hours to kill," she said. "Let's head back to headquarters and empty out the van. Those weapons really should be put away. Then we'll ask Ethel to give you another orientation lecture."
"I need one?" he said.
"Desperately."
Chapter Eight
Aaron stood with Ethel in the main conference room, which also served as the library for the Chicago cell.
"Do you see these books?" She pointed at the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves. "They are our tabelli. Our secret history."
He moved in for a closer look. Every book had a date in Latin written on the side. He took one at random and flipped it open. The contents were also in Latin, printed in very dark ink on thick paper that felt like fine leather. He guessed the book was made to last hundreds of years.
"Who wrote these, ma'am?" he said.
"I report to a legatus legionis, who is responsible for all of North America. Twice a year all the legati in the world meet to discuss the latest news and make policy decisions. The tabella are the transcripts of those meetings, plus anything else they want to publish. Important missions are usually described in detail. Every cell in the entire Society keeps a complete set."
He put the book back. "There are a lot of books."
"Three hundred," she said. "Our greatest triumphs and worst failures are here. According to legend, if you read every book and understand every word, you will gain divine wisdom."
"I don't know Latin."
"You could learn."
"But I'm confused," he said. "You told me you work for God. Doesn't He make all the policy decisions?"
"He provides guidance, but we must work out the details. That is His way. Let's go to my office."
Aaron had never seen Ethel's office, and he was intensely curious. She led him through the gray halls to a door made of beautifully carved oak. She used an antique iron key to unlock the door.
Inside the office were several glass display cases containing artifacts. A large painting of a man or a woman in formal gray robes hung above each case. A granite desk with a polished top surface occupied the center of the spacious room.
Ethel pointed at the paintings. "My predecessors. All of them suffered a violent death. Their stern faces remind me to cherish my fragile life and always watch my back."
Aaron walked over to one of the display cases. It contained a rusty sword with a jeweled hilt, a matched pair of antique muskets, a human skull with almond shaped eye sockets, and many other peculiar items.
"T
rophies," she said. "Most are very old, but there are a few recent additions." She opened a case and took out a large pair of wire cutters with highly polished blades. "Do you remember the serial killer who called himself the 'Devil's Shepherd?'"
"Sure. He cut off the fingers of little children. I was a rookie cop at the time. The police never caught him."
"We did." She smiled. "These nippers were his favorite toy."
"Did you kill him?"
"We interrogated him first, one finger, toe, and testicle at a time." Her smile became cruel, and she snapped the cutters closed. "And we had many, many questions. We like to understand our enemies before we kill them."
He shuddered. "Sometimes I wonder if you really are the good guys."
"Don't be confused. We are not the good guys at all. We're the sharp end of divine retribution, the bloody sword the Lord wields in anger. Being nice is not our mission. If you don't know what I mean, read the Old Testament."
"Marina mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah."
"I've seen events like that with my own eyes. Horrors that would keep you awake for a week. But enough of that. Do you want to have a little fun? Let's spar." Ethel raised her eyebrows. "I need exercise."
"Martial arts? Sure." I guess the orientation lecture is over.
* * *
Aaron and Ethel stood at opposite corners of a blue mat in the workout area. She wore a white karate uniform with a gray belt while he had only a blue sweat suit. His own uniform was packed with his belongings. Jack, Yvonne, and Edward had taken a break from their duties to watch the match. Aaron felt pressure to look good in front of them. Technically, he was their boss and wanted to earn their respect.
"If you hold back, I'll feel insulted," Ethel said. "That's fair warning. Come at me with everything you got."
Aaron cautiously approached in a defensive stance. He had seen enough of her skills to take her seriously as an opponent, but he still felt uncomfortable attacking her. She was more than twenty years older and much lighter than he was. Even with her supernatural speed and reflexes, it didn't seem like a fair fight.
He feinted with his right hand and followed with a kick to her midsection. Not his most powerful attack, but it was usually effective. He glimpsed a small black foot coming straight at his forehead. The next instant he was sitting on the ground, his head spinning.
"I warned you not to insult me," she said.
He climbed slowly to his feet. The fairness of the fight was no longer in doubt.
She had phenomenal speed but lacked brute strength. If he could force her into grappling with him, he would have the advantage.
He launched a flurry of punches and kicks that he hoped would soften her up, or at least knock her off balance. It was like hitting fog. She always dodged or twisted out of the way at the last instant. When her counter-attack came, it was lightning fast, but this time he was ready. He grabbed her wrist when her fist was only inches from his face. His feeling of satisfaction didn't last long though, because her foot exploded into his gut. He dropped to his knees and tried not to throw up.
"Move aside, junior," Victor said. "I'll show you how it's done."
Victor stood behind Aaron, and the big man was shirtless. He wore only white pants. Swollen muscles were stretched across his enormous chest. He was the most physically intimidating man Aaron had ever met.
Aaron crawled off the mat and onto the cold concrete floor.
"Obviously, you can't beat her with finesse," Victor said. "Tricks won't work since she knows them all. That leaves one option."
"What?" Aaron said.
Victor spread his arms wide and threw himself at Ethel. He was like an avalanche of muscle falling on her head. The attack was utterly reckless, and she made him pay for it with rapid-fire blows to his body. The hits sounded like a jackhammer. Despite the intense pain he was certainly feeling, he chased her around the room. Eventually, he trapped her in a corner, but she just slipped between his legs like a little girl.
"That's enough," she declared. "Let's hear your report."
There were red marks all over his chest and legs, which would probably turn into purple bruises tomorrow. He had taken a real beating. Aaron was stunned at the outcome of the fight.
"A lot of dead ends so far, ma'am," Victor said. "The cult has gone into hiding. The tear gas must've really scared them, or maybe Simon's 'angel' told him we're on his trail. I did learn they sell a lot of heroin."
"Aaron and Marina made the same discovery. We just have to follow the drug trail back to Simon."
"It could work."
"It needs to," she said, "because we don't have a plan B. Aaron and Marina will find the heroin, while you keep looking for other leads. Eat something, and get back out there."
Victor nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He left.
"Edward," Ethel said, "is Aaron's new identity ready?"
Edward nodded. "All set, ma'am."
"Then please give it to him."
Aaron followed Edward back to the computer and communications room. The shelves were so full of stuff that Aaron wondered how Edward kept track of it all. He probably had enough random parts to build twenty computers. There were also satellite dishes, radios, power converters, batteries, and even stereo components.
Edward searched his workbench until he found a leather wallet. He checked it. "Oh, wait, this is mine. Where did I put yours?" He searched some more until he found a second wallet under a manual. He gave it to Aaron.
"You have trouble with wallets?" Aaron said.
"I'm here all the time. I never need to carry one," Edward said. "This is your first new identity, so we made it easy for you, sir. You're a private eye named Alex Dempster."
Aaron opened the wallet and found a driver's license, a social security card, business cards, credit cards, insurance cards, a health club membership, and so on. He inspected the identification carefully and couldn't find a flaw.
"These forgeries are top quality," Aaron said. "Who made them?"
"Thanks. I did. There is more." Edward gave a manila envelope to Aaron.
He opened it and found a birth certificate, diplomas, insurance papers, bank statements, and a check book.
"The checking account has about three thousand dollars," Edward said, "and the savings has about eight thousand. It's your money to spend."
"Wow," Aaron said. "And the credit cards?"
"The Society pays all the bills."
"Do I have a budget?"
"No. Just don't be stupid, sir. That means no sports cars, jewelry, gambling, or anything like that. Keep a low profile."
"A very low profile," Ethel said as she entered the room. She had changed into a gray dress and flat shoes. "Spend exactly what you need to spend and no more. Be discrete at all times."
"What about the bank accounts I already have?" Aaron said.
"Forget about them. If you need to buy something, do it as Dempster. Food, clothes, entertainment, whatever. Aaron Glade cannot spend another penny in public for the rest of his life. Understand?"
He nodded. "But where does all the money come from, ma'am?"
"The cell in Manhattan has a team of bankers. They manage the accounts for all the other cells in North America. The money comes from them."
"And where do they get it?"
"From God, I suppose," she said. "The details of that process have never been disclosed to me."
"You're not curious?" he said.
"I'm the commander of Chicago. It's my job to worry about what happens in my territory and nothing else. As long as my colleagues in Manhattan continue to supply the money I need when I need it, I don't care how they do it. It's probably safer if I don't know. There are layers of secrets even within the Society."
Marina rushed into the room. "There you are! I've been looking for you, Aaron."
"What's up?" Aaron said.
"I got information from Craig Parker. We need to stake out a bus station on the south-side. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet."
&n
bsp; "There's food in the kitchen. We leave in fifteen minutes. Eat quickly."
* * *
Aaron and Marina sat in a brown sedan across the street from a bus station. The station was a long, narrow building with a wide parking area. Tall steel poles and cables supported the curved roof, giving it an interesting architecture. Passengers entered the building from one end and waited inside for the buses which could park in many spots along the sides of the building.
Aaron's attention was not focused on the bus station itself but rather on two men standing on the corner. They wore the characteristic forest green robes and green facial tattoos of the Church of One Soul. They were giving away single roses, white or red, in exchange for donations.
"Seems innocent enough," Aaron said.
"Parker told me the cult sells more drugs here than anywhere else in the city," Marina said.
He watched the men closely.
"How did the orientation lecture with Ethel go?"
"It was short," he said. "Afterwards, we sparred, and she kicked my ass."
"Ethel isn't much of a communicator. To be honest, she isn't really a good manager at all. Too impatient and insensitive."
"What is she good at?"
"Killing." Marina furrowed her brow.
Aaron nodded. "I believe it. Even Victor couldn't beat her. It was the craziest thing. His thighs are bigger than her chest, but he got all the fight he could deal with. He'll be bruised for a week."
"Bruises?" She glanced at him. "That's like a tender kiss for her. Just wait until you see her fight with her machetes. She's a walking food processor."
He grunted. "Are you good at killing? How many people have you killed?"
"Lots."
"How do you feel about that?"
"It's not something I brag about," she said. "Can we change the subject?"
He took out his new wallet, the one for "Alex Dempster." Aaron's old wallet was gone. He carried nothing now that might give away his true identity. He examined his new driver's license carefully, memorizing details. Alex Dempster is 32 years old. His birthday is January 7...
After a few minutes of silently repeating the information, he grew bored and asked, "How many identities do you have?"
"Three that I use regularly," Marina said. "You met Gretchen Stableford, FBI agent. You also met police detective Carol Withers. The last is an exotic dancer named Sparkle."