Gabe typed the entire time, transcribing the details into the police file. When finished, he leaned back. “So the girl got scared of your tattoo?”
Olivia lifted her right hand and displayed the faded ink that lived in her skin. A little more than a decade of sun and weather had worn the edges of the image, but it was still clearly the shape of a black anvil.
“Mind if I take a photo?”
“Sure.” She placed her hand on the desk, and Gabe lifted his phone to quickly snap a picture.
“So what’s the story behind the tattoo?”
Olivia sighed and mulled over how much she should tell her good friend.
“We’re both on the same side,” Gabe said.
“There was a time when that wasn’t true.”
“How so?”
“I was a street kid; you know that much.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I wound up doing some dumb stuff that should have gotten me killed, but it got me in with a gang. It was the only way to stay safe. For a while it was good. We kept each other fed; we took only what we needed.”
“So that tattoo was gang colors?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. Yes. We ran into some private military that needed some extra info rolling over some dealers. They had killed a few of our friends, so we were happy to snitch. They asked a few of us to stick around, since we did a good job. Somehow our little angry teenage vendetta ended up with a local drug lord and his bookkeeper being brought in on an outstanding bounty. It was the first time we ever got paid to do something good.”
“Who was it?”
“Ancient history. It’s not relevant. The point is that we got paid occasionally to work as snoops and informers. Alley kids that would look around and do reconnaissance for them. We were just expendable bodies. It didn’t matter to them if we lived or died. We weren’t one of their crew, just assets. Over the years, some of us quit, some died. Some of us stuck around, and eventually, once we were old enough, got hired on.”
“What was the company’s name?”
“It changed a lot back then. Originally it was Orion Security, but they split. A group of guys decided that the old man running the show wasn’t doing a good job. Figured he wasn’t taking the lucrative contracts. When the company divided, I went where the money was. I made a lot of it and spent it just as fast on stupid stuff. That’s where I got this. We were full of piss and vinegar back then. Thought we were big-time door kickers.”
“You never told me about those years.”
“I was happy you never asked,” Olivia said. She rubbed the anvil on the back of her hand with her thumb as though it might somehow be cleaned from her skin.
“So how many mercs have that tattoo?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Four. Maybe five. If any of them are still alive.”
“Still alive?”
“There was an incident. I had stayed behind on one of the jobs. Had was recovering from some broken ribs and a collarbone. Had been hit by a car while on an earlier job. All of the rest of the guys went. I lost some friends that day. I heard rumors that some bad stuff went down.”
“Risky business to be in.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“What happened to them?” Gabe stated.
“They stepped in a hornet’s nest after hitting the wrong address. The only problem was that when the lead started flying, it didn’t stop. They entered the wrong house, killed some regular people just trying to defend their stuff. I heard from the cops that there were a few who had tried to do the right thing and come clean about it, but the others ... well. Let's just say that they didn’t make it to the extraction point. Like I said. There were six in total that went. Eight if you include the pilot and copilot of the helicopter. After the incident, they found two bodies in an empty field in the western slums. Stripped naked, no gear. Bullets in the backs of the heads.”
“You didn’t say anything?”
“I didn’t need to. The cops raided the company building and arrested anyone connected to Black Anvil. Everyone. Including myself, the accountant, and even the secretary. The strike team never came back to face the music. They would have gone to prison for sure.”
“You ever see any of them?”
She shook her head. “Nope. The cops let me off, since I had an alibi and wasn’t directly involved. I got most of the story from the news, for what that's worth. As soon as I got released I packed my stuff and left. Wasn’t about to wait around for someone to clean up any loose ends.”
“So why keep it?”
She looked at it for a while. “It wasn’t all bad. We had some good times. Did some good things. We. .. well ... I never did anything truly evil. There were good guys who had this tattoo too. Some of them were my friends.”
Gabe scratched at his growing stubble. “Looks to me like at least one of those guys is back.”
“Yeah. Looks like.”
“Not much I can do on this one. Aside from looking for people who have an anvil tattoo on their right hand.”
“I’ve got some contacts. I’ll ask around,” she said.
“If you find anything, share some info my way. You’re not a suspect or anything, but we want to close the loop on this one.”
She nodded. “So do I. If these guys are still alive, they probably executed a few of my friends for wanting to do the right thing. It would be nice to see someone held accountable.”
“I’ll dig up the police file on the incident and see what I can get.” Gabe opened his drawer and pulled out an evidence bag. Tearing it open, he handed her the contents. Her shoulder holster, pistol, and ID.
Olivia stood and slipped it on before checking the gun and sliding it back into its home. Instantly she felt safer. With a worried look, she ran her hands through her hair. Gabe caught the expression.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t have all of the pieces to this puzzle yet, but Black Anvil isn’t who we're looking for. They are just a bunch of thugs. Most couldn't do more than kick doors. These aren't neurosurgeons. None of them are capable of what someone did to that girl.”
“Think there are more people involved?”
Olivia nodded. “For sure. I’m gonna go talk to some people before I start pointing fingers. Maybe we can link some things together. I’ll call you later.”
Gabe watched her walk away and push through the exit doors. Once she was gone, he leaned back and mulled over what she had said. Staring at the paperwork, he considered just how much of what she had told him he actually wanted to put down on paper.
Chapter 5
Olivia had toyed with the idea of heading home to get some sleep and shower, but the itching worry in the back of her head led her to pluck her phone from her pocket and dial an all too familiar number.
It began to ring on the other end, and she considered just hanging up. For a moment she wondered if the trouble was worth it.
The ring tone ceased and was replaced by a familiar voice. “Hey, Olivia, didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Got more work for us?”
“Jay, I need to talk. There’s some stuff going on, and I think you’ll need to know about it.”
There was a pause. “What kind of stuff?” Jay's voice was dead serious.
Olivia checked over her shoulder as she walked away from the police station. “Let's just say that I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”
“Victor's?”
“Yeah, that will work.”
“How soon?”
“Half hour?”
“Works for me. See you then.” Jay hung up first.
Olivia could see the subway entrance from where she stood, and it only took a bit of ducking and weaving to cut across the stationary traffic of the street to get to it. She swiped her pass at the turnstile and jogged down the stairs toward the platform.
She turned her back to the edge of the platform and looked at the crowd that was gathering for the train. Office workers, newly rel
eased criminals, and students populated this stop. As she mused that each of these stations had their own flavor of regular patrons, a warm wind pushed into the small station. The smell of garbage and sewage wafted over everyone. Instinctively she zipped up her jacket.
Red-and-white tram cars rolled by for a moment, arcing and squealing until they clattered to a stop. The familiar three-tone ding of the transit system noted that it was safe to enter, and the doors opened.
As the contents of the cars exited in a wave of suit jackets and backpacks, Olivia stood out of the way, waiting for the car to empty. The throng of new arrivals poured past the waiting people and flowed toward the stairs. She could see the graffiti inside. Broken plastic seats and dirty walls decorated the interior.
Olivia moved forward and stepped inside, finding a free space next to a steel pole. Leaning against it, she scanned the inside of the subway car. A handful of people of all ages sat looking at their feet or out the window, each avoiding eye contact with the others.
Again, three gentle chimes preceded the closing of the doors, and the car began moving forward. Darkness coated the windows as the light from the station slipped away. She closed her eyes for a moment, pushing away the thought that she would have to dig up the past to solve this case.
The movement of the subway tilted upward above the surface, rattling her thoughts back to the present moment. Eyes open, she could see the city begin to slide by. In an effort to avoid looking at the long concrete wall in the distance, she tried to find something else to look at but just ended up peering down at her right hand. The faded black anvil was still there. It hadn’t disappeared. Maybe after this contract, she would get it covered over. It was about time to give up the past.
The echo of the car against the station disappeared, and Olivia opened her eyes to the warm sun. It streamed in, and she smiled for a moment. The park-like features of the green spaces between apartment buildings and streets were like bastions of life. Even at the quick pace of the subway car, she could see people walking and enjoying the late spring air.
Eventually, the train slipped into the upper-class neighborhoods in the area where the infrastructure had been restored. Investors had moved in rebuilding strip malls and the modern conveniences that were bringing people back to the once abandoned city.
A feminine voice announced the next station a few moments before the tram stopped to exhale people and inhale fresh passengers. It took three more stops before Olivia heard the call of the station she had been waiting for.
The gentrified streets had given way to an area closer to the wall. Border areas between the slums and up-and-coming neighborhoods were a haven for markets, a melting pot of the new world, the old ways, and all the recycled things in between.
As the electronic voice announced once again that they were stopping, Olivia turned outward and stepped toward the doorway. Looking at her watch, she confirmed the time, 12:10. Officially late. The car crept to a slow stop, and the familiar three tones rang to open the doors.
Smells of the nearby market flowed into the car, a wall of fragrances and cooking food. Her stomach rumbled.
A few quick steps through the wall of waiting people, and she was out and onto the street. Vendors and pullcarts occupied most of the market. The traditional fugee clothes of the zone refugees were easy to distinguish from the more modern and colorful Torontonians. They were little more than basic rough, drab colors, sewn together by hand in patchwork.
Most looked at them and saw homeless squatters, dickering for prices, but Olivia saw survivors. Two hundred years trapped inside the Quarantine Zone behind a temporal anomaly hadn't killed these people. It had strengthened them, made them clusters of communities. She knew their ways because when no one else wanted her as a homeless kid, this was where she had come to grow and learn. The slums were unforgiving, but there were lessons to be learned from survivors.
Weaving past a Fugee hand cart carrying apples, she pushed on. The market gave way to a street of a slightly more modern mix of ethnic restaurants. The Mishmash language was splashed over every surface, the Cantonese and Punjabi script melding with English numbers.
Quickening her step, she used her height to her advantage, looking overtop of the crowd of people toward her favorite noodle stand.
She could see Jay sitting on a nearby bench reading his tablet, a veritable stone in the river of moving people. His loudly colored Hawaiian shirt was untucked, likely to allow access to the small pistol he always had concealed in his waistband. As she strode up, she said, “Hey Jay, sorry I’m late.”
“No worries,” he said, smiling. His eyes twinkled with the hope she was bringing him more work. “Heard you shot some cop in the hospital?”
“That’s not what happened.
“Word is that you spent the night in jail.”
“That part’s true.”
He paused for a moment. “You in trouble again?”
“I’m never in trouble. Just trying to solve a case. Trying to get paid. Just like you.”
“So what’s so important that we can’t talk on the phone?”
“Food first. I’m starving to death,” Olivia said.
“You buying?”
Crossing the street, she pulled out her wallet. “I’ll get this one.”
The vendor was boiling a large pot of soup over a gas flame in his makeshift stall. The temporary trailer had become a permanent building, and its small collection of stools near the ordering window was a testament to Fugee resourcefulness. Behind the small counter were piles of dry noodles and vegetables.
Switching to speak in Mishmash, she held up two fingers. “Two Phanx. One extra spicy, one plain.”
Both Olivia and Jay plopped down on the stools, watching the busy street people walk by.
Olivia took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. She broke the silence first. “Black Anvil is still operating.”
There was a pause, and she could almost hear the gears in his head clatter as they tried to process what she had just told him. Jay looked at her dead in the eye; his smile had evaporated. “What? There’s no way. There all dead.”
“They're not. The girl. The one we picked up last night. Well, she woke up at the hospital. She flipped out when she saw my tattoo.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. Considering that right after she freaked out, an assassin posing as a nurse tried to kill everyone in the room. I got lucky. A nurse is dead, and a good cop is in the hospital.”
“This is not good,” Jay said. He rubbed his forehead. The usually jovial man was less than impressed.
Two bowls were lifted toward them by the vendor, and Olivia’s mouth watered as she smelled the steaming broth.
Jay turned and took the bowls as she paid. Handing her one, she reached for the opposite.
“That one’s plain. Mine’s the spicy one.” Her hands wrapped around the disposable plastic bowl, bringing it to her nose. The aromatic spices burned her nose as she tasted the liquid.
Smiling, she gave a thumbs up to the vendor before she returned to her perch next to the mercenary.
They ate for a while, slurping away on the noodles, watching the world move around them, both of them digesting information.
She had half of the bowl eaten before noticing Jay was holding his in his lap, absently looking at the street.
“Not hungry?” she asked, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“Do you remember how things were before the Black arrived? Were you old enough?”
“Yeah, I was a kid when it showed up. Fifteen. Maybe sixteen.”
“Remember the tower? The one with the restaurant up top? It was next to the baseball stadium.”
“Yeah, I remember it. I went there once. Never went there to do more than look at the city, though. What about it?”
“Well, I remember when we didn’t have this damn wall. I remember what it was like before. It’s like the wall itself infects the city. Everything that lives near it is dirty. There used to
be nice neighborhoods here.”
“I don’t remember everything with rose-colored glasses.”
“It was nice. Just people going to work, shopping.”
“What’s your point, Jay?”
“Now I carry a gun. I don’t worry about pickpockets, I worry about other mercs upset about us stealing contracts or a gang member we pissed off deciding to put another notch on his belt. The money’s good, but all that is old is new again. You know what I mean?” he stated bluntly.
“Get to your point.” Olivia slurped a bit more from the bowl and spoke through a mouth of noodles.
“If Black Anvil is working, lots of people are going to die. They wouldn’t be back on Canadian soil unless it was for a good reason. Or more likely for good money."
She swallowed and looked at him seriously. “The question is who hired them. None of them were ever smart enough to do neurosurgery on a little girl. Most were barely able to figure out how to tie their shoes. This doesn’t look like them. They’re a puppet. My client needs to know who hired them.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, do you mind asking around?”
“You think it's just so easy? Asking around? That’s like marking yourself. You should let this one go.”
“They tried to kill a little girl to cover their tracks. They kidnapped a girl, held her down, and cut a hole in her head, then dropped her in a basement. I need to find these guys.”
“Now you get noble?”
“I've got as much blood on my hands as anyone else. But I’m not Black Anvil anymore. I was barely with them when it happened. You know that.”
Jay tapped on the side of his full bowl with his fork. “There any money in sticking my neck out?”
“I’ll pay a finder’s fee for info on who hired them. Just keep your ear to the ground. These guys make a lot of noise. They’re not subtle.”
“I know. That’s the problem,” Jay said.
“Look, this is pretty heavy. I get it. I don’t want to piss anyone off. I just want some info, so I can wrap this up.”
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground, but I’m not turning over any stones for you. The old man would have my head.”
Dark Crypto (Thorne Inc. Book 1) Page 7