by Scott Sigler
There was a cart against the wall. Pookie walked to it and picked up a clear evidence bag holding a blanket. “Symbols all over it,” he said. “Take a look at this.” He tossed it to Bryan.
Bryan caught it. Even wrapped in the plastic, the smell was nearly overwhelming. The scent seemed to fill up his brain. Just like at Rex’s house, the odor made him want to do something — except now that urge was a hundred times more powerful, maybe a thousand times. Bryan handed the blanket back to Pookie.
The smell wasn’t just coming from the blanket. Bryan checked out the cart. On it were bags containing the bum’s clothes and one holding some kind of knit purse. They all had that powerful odor.
Bryan walked to the hospital bed and leaned in. The bum had the scent on him as well, but not as strong.
The man seemed to sense their presence. His eyelids fluttered open and he slowly turned his head to look at them. “You … cops?”
Pookie sighed. “I gotta remember to turn off that neon sign above my head. Hello, Mister James. I’m Inspector Chang. This is Inspector Clauser.”
Bryan nodded once. “How you feeling, Mister James?”
The man blinked slowly, as if it hurt to move even his eyelids. “I’m alive,” he said. “Where’s my baby?”
“Here in the hospital,” Pookie said. “He’s fine. You claim he’s your baby?”
Aggie stared first at Pookie, then at Bryan.
“He is,” Aggie said. “Bring me my boy or I’ll sue your asses.”
Pookie shook his head. “Child Protective Services has to verify the child’s identity.”
Aggie tried to sit up. He seemed surprised to find he could barely move his left hand. He looked at the handcuff holding him in place, then lurched so suddenly the bed rattled. “No! Don’t you chain me, don’t you chain me!”
Chain me. A strange way to describe a handcuff.
Aggie’s wide eyes stayed fixed on his restrained wrist. “Lemme go,” he said in a thin whisper. “Bring me the boy and lemme go.”
“We can’t,” Bryan said. “Mister James, tell me why you drew those pictures on the blanket.”
“I didn’t draw them. Lemme go, don’t chain me, please, lemme go before Hillary finds out I failed.”
Bryan looked at Pookie, who shrugged.
“Hillary,” Bryan said. “Is Hillary the baby’s mother?”
Aggie shook his head violently. His breathing grew more and more rapid. “Mommy is a monster.”
Bryan felt a cool sensation in his chest and stomach. The baby, the bum, monsters, they were all connected, all a part of Bryan’s past.
“A monster,” Bryan said. “That why you drew those pictures on the blanket? To save the baby from the monster?”
“I said I didn’t draw the pictures! Lemme go. Don’t let them take me back into the tunnels. Lemme go goddamit!”
Pookie leaned in. “Tunnels? Where? Tell us more.”
Aggie shook his head. “Don’t remember. Don’t take me back to the white room. Lemme go. Lemme go.”
The room door opened. Stuart Hood leaned in. “Guys, just letting you know I’m out of here. Dispatch said Zou is pulling all security from the hospital. I’m supposed to clear out right away.”
“Clear out?” Pookie said. “Who’s your relief?”
Hood shrugged. “Someone’s coming soon, I guess. I don’t know, man, I was told to get out of here pronto. The SWAT team is pulling out as well. Later.”
Hood shut the door, leaving Bryan and Pookie alone with Aggie James.
“Pooks, something is wrong.”
“Really? Was your first clue Zou wants to leave a child-napper unguarded, or was it that she put a friggin’ SWAT team on Erickson and now she thinks he’s fine and dandy on his own?”
Pookie’s cell phone rang. He looked at it, then held up the phone so Bryan could see the caller ID:
CHIEF AMY ZOU
Bryan nodded.
Pookie answered. “Good evening, Chief. What’s up?”
Pookie listened, nodded. “I see.” He listened some more. “Sounds nasty. No, actually, I don’t know where Bryan is, but I’ll find him and bring him. Yes, Chief. Okay.”
Pookie put the phone away. “Zou said there’s a third Handyman killing. Two bodies in the Fort Mason Tunnel.”
“I know that place,” Bryan said. It was an abandoned train tunnel cut under Fort Mason. It had been closed off and boarded up for years, but people still got in there all the time. No lights, no traffic — the perfect place to drag in a victim and do what you pleased. A new serial killer, a crime-scene location that made sense … yet it didn’t feel right. “Did she say if we were reinstated to active duty?”
Pookie shook his head. “She didn’t mention it.”
Two people in the SFGH complex were involved with Marie’s Children: Jebediah Erickson and Aggie James. Zou had suddenly ordered that they be left unguarded.
And it was dark outside. Dark, and getting darker.
“Pooks, I think Zou’s been compromised. That or she was setting this up all along.”
“You think Marie’s Children are coming?”
Bryan nodded. “Yeah, and fast. Got a handcuff key? We have to get Aggie out of here.”
Pookie nodded, produced a key from his pocket. Bryan unlocked Aggie’s handcuff from the bed frame. Aggie’s eyes seemed to light up, then fill with betrayal when Bryan clicked the open link on his own wrist.
“Get up, Mister James,” Bryan said. “Come with me if you want to live.”
Pookie helped the man out of the bed. “Where are you taking him?”
“I’ll lock him in Jessup’s car for now,” Bryan said. “I have to get something out of there. Can you get up to Erickson’s room?”
Pookie nodded. “Just hurry the hell back. I just made an executive decision — you can handle all the monster shit.”
Bryan put a hand around Aggie’s waist and guided the confused, weak man out into the hall.
Calling in the Troops
It’s about time, Chief,” Rich Verde said into the phone. “Media is sticking their nose all up in this one. Where have you been?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Her voice sounded strange, maybe a bit hoarse.
“Chief, you okay? What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Hold on a second.” He heard her sniff, clear her throat. Maybe she had the same bug that had knocked Clauser on his ass a few days ago.
Rich Verde remained just outside of the tarp. The Silver Eagle was in there, doing his thing with the bodies. Rich stared up at the pitch-black night sky. The tall pines surrounding the Handyman crime scene were actually a touch lighter than the dark sky above them, making him feel as if he were deep in the forest. Sometimes it was hard to remember Golden Gate Park was a swath of greenery in the middle of a major city — from here you couldn’t see a building, barely any lights, and the sounds of civilization were little more than a dull, distant buzz.
“Sorry,” Zou said. “There’s another Handyman murder. It’s pretty rough.”
Amy Zou, the unflappable rock, was shaken up by the third Handyman scene? Rich could only imagine what a Cleveland steamer of gore that had to be. “That bad?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Uh … is Doctor Metz still there?”
“Yeah. He’s finishing up. Robertson hasn’t bothered to show up, though.”
“I told Sean to come here,” she said. “And I need you and Metz here as well. Fort Mason Tunnel. Get here as fast as you can.”
Amy cleared her throat again. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. As far as Rich knew, Amy hadn’t cried since they’d found those two half-eaten kids in Golden Gate Park nearly three decades ago. But all this shit … it was too much. Rich closed his eyes and saw what he saw every time he did: the mental loop of that hatchet crunching through Bobby Pigeon’s shoulder and ribs, the look of fear on his young partner’s face.
“Chief, I think I got to take a pass this time. I just can’t dea
l with this anymore.”
She said nothing. He felt like a piece of shit. She had always counted on him. He had always delivered. But he was tapped out. He just couldn’t look at another butchered body.
“Rich, I need you here.”
He looked down, shook his head. She’d have to find someone else. “I can’t, Amy. I can’t.”
She coughed. She was crying.
“Just one more, Rich. I promise. Please. Just … just do this last thing for me.”
Amy Zou gave orders and people followed them. She rarely asked. She had to be as much on the edge as he was.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re on our way.”
He hung up.
Dr. Metz came out of the tent. He nodded at Rich.
“We’re all done here,” Metz said. “Same as usual. I’ll get these two back to the morgue and get to work.”
“Change of plans,” Rich said. “We’re going to the Mason Tunnel.”
Taking a Bullet
Lemme go,” Aggie said.
“For the last time, shut the fuck up.” Bryan moved Aggie out of the hospital and toward the parking lot. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“But I need that baby.”
Aggie started to pull away, so Bryan squeezed the man’s elbow, just a little.
Aggie’s eyes widened. He looked like he’d just realized something about Bryan — something terrifying and abhorrent.
“Don’t take me back there,” Aggie said. “I swear to God I’ll get it done.”
Bryan wanted to ask this guy a million questions, but there wasn’t time. “Wherever back is, I’m not taking you there. But you can bet we’ll talk about it later. Now shut up and walk.”
Bryan saw the Jessups’ black Dodge Magnum at the edge of the parking lot. Adam and Alder were standing outside. They seemed agitated. Adam saw Bryan, waved at him to come quickly.
As Bryan crossed the lot, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Robin. It was 2:00 A.M. — he expected it to ring a few times, but she answered right away.
“Hey, handsome.”
“What are you doing up?”
“Chief Zou called,” she said. “She needs me to assist Doctor Metz at a pickup.”
Bryan stopped walking. His tight grip on Aggie’s elbow made Aggie stop walking as well. “Fort Mason Tunnel?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I’m just dropping Emma off at Max’s, then I’m heading out.”
Adam couldn’t wait anymore. He ran over.
“Robin, hold on a second,” Bryan said. He put the phone to his shoulder and looked at Adam. “What?”
“Someone broke into our house,” Adam said. He wore a gray jacket against the night’s chill. “We have automated alarms that send me pictures.” He held up his own phone. The bright screen showed a shadowy image of a massive man with a strangely shaped head. Bryan couldn’t make out many details, but he saw enough to know it wasn’t a normal person.
Marie’s Children had found out about the Jessups, had gone to their house.
Zou had pulled Erickson’s security detail.
She wanted Robin at the Mason Tunnel.
Bryan held up a finger, telling Adam to be quiet.
“Robin,” Bryan said into the phone, “I need you to listen to me carefully. Do not go to the Mason Tunnel. Zou’s just as crooked as we thought. Worse. I think she’s going to kill everyone who knows about Marie’s Children.”
“What? Bryan, that’s crazy. Why would she—”
“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I think shit’s about to go down. If you run into trouble, do not call 9-1-1 or any other cop. We have no idea who we can trust.”
“Okay,” she said. There was fear in her voice, but she wasn’t about to panic. “Shouldn’t I just get out of here?”
Bryan pulled Aggie to the Magnum as he tried to process all the variables. The Jessups’ house had already been hit. Would Zou give Robin a certain amount of time to show up at the Mason Tunnel before sending someone after her? Marie’s Children could jump across streets. They could scale buildings. They seemed to be at home hiding on building roofs. One might be on top of Robin’s building right now, waiting to see if she came out, ready to stalk her just as he’d stalked Jay Parlar in his dream. If she did leave her building, but didn’t go right to the Mason Tunnel, would they attack her?
Robin’s neighbor Max was a big guy, a bouncer. He knew how to take care of himself. He probably wouldn’t stand a chance against one of Marie’s Children, but Robin was far safer with him than alone.
“Go to Max’s apartment,” Bryan said. “Stay there. Keep quiet. Don’t call anyone. I’ll come for you.”
Bryan stopped at the Magnum’s rear. Adam opened the hatch and started pulling out equipment drawers.
“Robin, I have to go. I’ll call back as soon as I can.”
“I love you,” she said. “Do what you have to do.”
“I love you,” he said, then hung up.
She could be in danger, but he didn’t know that for sure. Erickson was in danger, of that there was no question; Zou had pulled the SWAT detail to clear the way. Bryan wanted to get in the car and go straight to Robin’s, but he couldn’t just leave Erickson unprotected.
Bryan needed to be in two places at once. The answer was obvious: put those two places together. It would only take a few minutes to pull Erickson out of the hospital, then everyone could head to Robin’s.
“Alder!”
The old man slid out of the rear driver’s-side seat. “I’m here.”
“We have to move Erickson, now. You think he’s well enough for that?”
Alder nodded. “I think so. At any rate, it’s probably worth the risk if you think they’re coming for him.”
“I do,” Bryan said. He unlocked the handcuff around his wrist. Aggie’s face lit up, then faded when Bryan clipped the cuff around Alder’s wrist.
“Alder, Aggie, Aggie, Alder,” Bryan said. He handed the key to Alder. “I don’t care what you do, but make sure Aggie doesn’t go anywhere. If you have to convince him this is a wise idea, convince him.”
Bryan turned to Aggie. “I’m sorry about this, Mister James, but I need to know what you know. If you run, I’ll find you. Oh, and something else you should know. That” — he pointed to Alder’s cane — “is a gun that will blow your head clean off. Understand?”
A wide-eyed Aggie stared at the cane, then at Alder, then at Bryan. He nodded.
Bryan clapped Aggie on the shoulder, then turned to the younger Jessup. “Adam, a shit-storm is coming our way fast.”
“Then let’s gear up.” Adam reached into a metal drawer, then handed over a black coat. “Take off your hoodie and put this on before you start babbling questions.”
Bryan shrugged out of his sweatshirt and slid into the stiff coat. He gave it a quick look in the Magnum’s curved, tinted window. He also saw the reflection of Alder behind his left shoulder, his face deeply wrinkled in an old-man frown.
“That looks ridiculous,” Alder said.
The reflection of Adam’s face appeared behind Bryan’s right shoulder. “Gramps, that shit looks tight. Real tight. I been waiting to try this shit out forever.”
Bryan stepped back, looked himself up and down.
Long sleeves, black. Two rows of flat-black buttons down the chest. The wide collar lay flat against the coat, but flipped up it would wrap around Bryan’s head from temple to temple. The fabric felt heavy. He could see why Adam had chosen this design — navy peacoats looked stiff and heavy to start with. Bryan could walk down the busiest street in San Francisco wearing this, and no one would give him a second glance.
Alder used the silver wolf’s head of his cane to point at Bryan. “This is better than the tradition of the cloak?”
“Hey, cop,” Adam said. “How did you know Savior when you saw him?”
“Because people don’t wear cloaks,” Bryan said. “I mean outside of science fiction conventions or a gay pride parade, that is.”
>
Alder angrily shook the cane at his grandson. “You could have at least given him a trench coat! Like Humphrey Bogart.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Hey, cop, tell my grampa what you pigs do when they see a guy wearing a trench coat.”
“We watch him,” Bryan said. “A guy in a trench coat could be a perv, a gangster wannabe or a psycho hiding weapons on his person. Usually it’s just a businessman, but a trench coat always gets our attention.” He smoothed his hands down the rough fabric. “This is supposed to be body armor?”
“The best you can get,” Adam said. “You think I fuck around, ese?”
Bryan turned on him. “Look, lives are on the line here. I don’t have time for your attitude. This is cloth, okay? Tell me you have a bulletproof vest in one of those drawers.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the right. “Hey, cop. Remember when you gave me that bloody nose?”
Adam snapped his arm forward. A long-barreled pistol slid into his hand. Before Bryan could even move, three silenced puffs coincided with three hard hammer-hits against his chest.
Bryan took a step back, blinking in surprise, then his hands felt up and down his chest, feeling for blood. There was none. There wasn’t even a hole in the jacket.
Adam smiled, lifted the gun and blew smoke from the barrel. “Field testing. Good thing that armor worked, huh?”
“Asshole!” Bryan said. “What the fuck, man? What if you hit me in the face?”
“Sorry about that,” Adam said. “I, uh, I guess I got a little mad.”
The same words Bryan had used after hitting Adam. This guy didn’t forget a thing, it seemed. Bryan’s hands kept feeling up and down the coat, hands searching for any sign of the bullet impact, but the fabric felt normal. “What the hell is this made out of?”
“The core is a layer of shear-thickening fluid,” Adam said. “It’s sandwiched on either side by nanocomposite and fronted by spider-silk protein fiber-matrix.”
Nanocomposite? Spider-silk? “What are you, a mad doctor or something?”
“He’s not mad,” Alder said. “But he is a doctor. Thrice over. My grandson holds doctorate degrees in physics, metallurgy and medieval history.”