Precipice

by J. Robert Kinney

  “Interesting.” Krieger crossed his arms and cocked his head to the left. “I can see that.”

  “But what would they want a janitor to do for them?” Shannon interjected. “It’s not like janitors make a lot of money or wield much power.”

  “Well, they usually carry keys to every door in the building.” Krieger responded. “Maybe they needed access to something. That’s a form of power.”

  “Or maybe they wanted something from him outside of work. Hang on…” Dominic dug through a small stack of files on the sideboard. “Got it! Here.”

  He jabbed a finger at a page from the janitor’s dossier. “His file said he moonlighted as a locksmith on weekends. Maybe they needed those skills. Planting Nichols at the museum provided a daily reminder that their eyes were everywhere.”

  “I like it.” Sloan smiled. “That’s conjecture, but I like it.”

  “Did Braxton mention either of these other two?” Shannon asked Krieger.

  “Just Nichols.” Krieger flipped through the other profiles. “This man here, Grant, could be one of the other suspects from the museum. He looks vaguely like one of the heavies on the video.”

  The afternoon sun angled its strong, hot rays through Sloan’s floor-to-ceiling windows, but everyone was too busy concentrating on their work, so no one bothered to walk over and close the shades. Dominic pored over the janitor’s file, while Shannon and Krieger studied the files of the three associates.

  The file belonging to Jillian Roth, on the other hand, still sat smack in the middle of Sloan’s desk untouched, right where Randal had deposited it. Sloan leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, forehead scrunched in concentration. Several long minutes went by in silence, broken only by the shuffling of papers before Sloan ended the quiet. His eyes snapped open and he sat up straight as he took command.

  “Okay. Randal, I want you and Shannon to track down Grant and Mack. We’ll start with those two. I’ll look into Nichols.”

  Krieger eased his way to his feet before asking, “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’d rather you reach out to your contacts to try and find a connection between the victims. Maybe they were into something shady. Hopefully, the same shady something.”

  Sloan frowned as he attempted to lift himself out of his cushy chair. Failing to heft his big body to a standing position, he admitted defeat and sank into the plush cushions with a grimace. He glanced at each of his agents before dismissing them by waving his hand toward the door. “You can go now.”

  “Yes sir.” The three filed out of his office.

  Once alone, Sloan reached down and pulled at his lower desk drawer. It slid open without a sound. He removed a small metallic flask, removed the cap and poured a bit into his coffee cup. As he swirled the cup, mixing the liquids, he pursed his lips and expelled a heavy sigh.

  “I swear,” he muttered to himself, “one of these days...”

  Glancing into the outer office to make sure no one was looking, he splashed another good-sized dash into his cup, replaced the lid on the flask, and furtively slipped it back into the drawer. He smirked, “Guess that’s the day I retire…”

  Chapter 24

  A pinprick of light surfaced in the midst of the silent blackness. He stared, confused by its presence in this abyss. No matter what he tried or where he searched, that pinpoint of light remained in the middle of his vision.

  Blackness was everywhere, surrounding him, as though buried in a cavern cut off from the outside world. Giving up on his immediate surroundings, he focused back on the tiny dot of light. It had grown larger.

  In fact, the light was still growing. Maybe he was moving toward it. No, that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t seem able to move. Yet the light appeared still bigger and brighter than it had a minute ago. Though still a long way off, it was definitely growing, the headlight on a train as it barreled through a tunnel toward him. Yet no noise accompanied the tiny orb. No engine sounds, no train whistle warning him to move out of its way. Nothing.

  Actually, as he focused, he realized that wasn’t quite correct either. It wasn’t completely silent in this abyss. He could hear something. The noise was faint, but there.

  He tried to pinpoint its exact location, but the best he could tell, it came from the light source, whatever that was. It almost sounded like a person talking, but the voice was muffled, as though the person with the light had their mouth pressed against a thick, feather pillow.

  As he watched, the pinpoint outgrew that definition. More the size of a golf ball. As it grew in size, it became easier to study. The edges of the orb were not clear, nor sharp. In fact, the boundary faded into the blackness, like a gradient and not a true ball of light. It remained steady though, neither blinking nor flickering in any way.

  The muffled voice became stronger and clearer too. In fact, the sounds differentiated themselves into different voices, two…no, three of them, a male and maybe two females. It sounded as though they were talking to each other, their voices alternating in short bursts.

  Maybe this was heaven. He’d read stories about people with near death experiences and right before being brought back to the physical realm, reported witnessing a strange ball of light at the end of a tunnel. The voices of their loved ones who had previously passed, beckoned them into the warm glow.

  The light reached the point where it overtook the darkness. After a few seconds, it nearly surrounded his entire vision. He was getting closer.

  The muffled voices stopped conversing with each other for the moment. They seemed to notice him. Were they attempting to speak to him? He still couldn’t make out any shapes or faces in this light. The bright glow was not the illuminating kind. It actually made his vision worse, blurring everything together into one large smear of yellow radiance.

  He tried to answer the voices, to call out to them, asking who they were, where they were, where he was. But no matter how hard he tried, his vocal chords wouldn’t work. His mouth was open, he thought, but no sound escaped. Frustrated at his inability, he shifted his attention to discern what the voices were saying.

  They were loud enough now, but he wished they’d remove the pillows from their mouths. Their words were stifled beyond understanding. He yelled at them to stop mumbling. Speak more clearly! Still no sound escaped his lips.

  Slowly though, the silent but desperate plea seemed to be working. The voices emerged from behind their verbal haze. He strained to make out the words.

  They were calling out his name, over and over. This was heaven! The man summoning him must be his father and the two women, his mother and his Allison, beckoning him to join them in the afterlife. I’m coming!

  He fought to surge forward and enter the healing light, to pass through the gates of pearl, walk the streets of gold, to join his beloved wife and his parents. As he did, he became aware of other faint noises.

  A shallow beeping came from the empty space to his right and behind him. A rush of other voices also drifted toward him, faint and distant. Those voices were indistinguishable from one another, each trying to overtake the others. Shapes that once blurred together in a messy mass of light saw their edges begin to refine. The light shrank back to a rectangular bulb above him, leaving in its place the blurry figures he recognized as the man and the two women. He focused hard on their beautiful voices, whispering to join them in paradise. “Will? William?”

  Right then, he frowned. As the three faces above him gradually came into sharper focus, it was becoming obvious these heavenly hosts beckoning him into paradise were not who he expected. This was not a welcoming party of his mother, father and wife. In fact, he didn’t recognize them at all.

  The man appeared younger than he originally perceived, and fully bearded with long hair groomed to hang just over his ears. His father had never worn a beard or moustache, as far as Will knew, and he kept his hair trimmed short and neat throughout his lifetime. This man was dressed strangely too, in solid white except for a splash of blue at h
is collar near his throat.

  The first female was Asian and close to the age his mother would be if she were still alive. This woman wore a dark grey pantsuit, with her hair restrained in a tight bun. Her eyes were a deep green, framed by a small pair of rimless glasses.

  He didn’t recognize the other woman either, but it wasn’t Allie. She wore short hair, curled inward at the ends and dressed in an unusual greenish-blue. She was the one speaking. “Will? William Ricketts?”

  Yes, where am I? Is this heaven?

  “Will, my name’s Kate. There was an accident. You’re at Greenlake Medical Center.”

  Chapter 25

  For the second time that day, Shannon found herself seated in the Corolla staring at The Second Circle, but this time she and Dominic didn’t have anyone else to send inside. They would be performing their own dirty work. One of their suspects, Grant, seemed to have gone AWOL, but they’d tracked Anthony “Big Tony” Mack to this location. He frequented the nightclub often and rumor was, he’d be there again tonight.

  Five o’clock was way too early to be considered night, but this club bustled at all hours. It was billed at a “Pi” club, open 22/7—closed only from eight until ten in the morning for a necessary and thorough cleaning. In the mere minutes they’d been sitting outside, dozens had entered the club and only a few left.

  Sound-proof walls encircled the establishment to avoid aggravating the neighbors—as if the clientele didn’t already cause consternation—but every time the door opened to allow another unsettlingly clad clubber inside, heavy metal music and revelry reverberated out the doors.

  Dominic and Shannon exited the vehicle together and headed toward the club. “You know, we could just wait for Mack to come out,” Shannon offered as they neared the entrance.

  “We don’t even know if he’s inside. We need to go in.” Dominic’s tone was strong, but with a tremble of uncertainty. They paused at the front door, waited for a young, tattooed, heavily-pierced gothic couple to enter, and slipped through before the door slammed shut behind them.

  A unique world greeted them on the other side, as though they’d been transported to an alternate dimension. Shannon was reminded of a dark, evil version of Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland. Even before their eyes adjusted to the lowly-lit, red glow, the smell assailed their senses. A mixture of sweat and incense candles assaulted their nasal cavities.

  As she recoiled at the odor, Shannon frantically blinked, begging her eyes to adjust so she could gather her bearings. As the room came into view, she immediately rescinded her wish. Her chest tightened as the darkness engulfed her and her lungs struggled to breathe. She’d never felt more uncomfortable.

  Dominic’s eyes had adjusted first. He was a few paces ahead, moving in the direction of the bar. A small dance floor in one corner was lightly populated by a few individuals gyrating and undulating to the beat.

  Strewn around the center of the room were low-slung chairs and couches, divided by a low, meandering, serpentine wall that wove across the floor. The floor itself added to the disconcerting aura. It glowed a dark blue that almost shimmered, as though translucent black ice. The ceiling was arched, a fact hidden from the outside.

  Padded booths lined the wall. Each was set around a small table and shrouded with a curtain, not quite opaque. Vague shadowy figures were visible, intertwined inside the booths.

  Elaborate costumes, unique piercings and spine-chilling tattoos decorated the bodies of nearly every client there. But it wasn’t until the man nearest her paused his necking session with his partner and bared his teeth in a half-smile, half-sneer, did she visibly draw-back in recoil.

  Each of his canine teeth had been lengthened and filed to a sharp point. Even this was enough to make Shannon squirm, but the final straw was a crimson trail that wound around the fang, coalescing into a droplet before gaining enough mass to plummet from the tip of the tooth to his ruby red lips.

  A long, thin, surgically forked tongue slid out and along the lip, lapping up the small puddle of blood before snaking back inside. Real or not, it was enough to cause Shannon to shrink away against the door.

  She searched for something, anything else, to occupy her gaze. Her eyes flicked over a few other patrons—a women whose face was decorated with uncomfortable metal spikes, a man costumed with a Dracula-esque cape, and a young couple, both covered in a snakeskin, scaly tattoo—before settling on the club décor.

  Against the far wall was the club’s elaborate bar, flanked by doors on either side and with dozens of white mugs and fancy glasses littering the counter. It was set lower than normal, with jet black stools positioned around its periphery.

  A tier of bottles was balanced on a red, cascading cloth that curled off the back shelves and fell to the floor. There, it converted to a plush carpet, contrasting with the jet black tile beneath.

  Two smooth bleached-white pillars descended from the ceiling, one at each end of the bar, curving slightly and narrowing to a point as they gently grazed the bar top.

  It all made Shannon very uneasy. She realized the distance between her and Dominic was increasing as she stood in grotesque awe. Shannon dodged between the unnerving assortment of patrons just in time to draw even with her partner at the bar.

  “Excuse me?” Dominic called out to the bartender, but his address went unnoticed. “Excuse me?” He tried again, this time louder to make himself heard over the noise. This effort generated a slight nod in their direction, but nothing more.

  “Sir, we need a word.” He dispensed with the polite tone, transitioning smoothly into his cop voice.

  This generated a response, as the bartender turned to face them. He was ten feet down the bar, but chose not to approach. Instead, he leaned against the counter behind him and crossed his arms, as though daring them to continue the conversation. He was large, with more of a bouncer physique than a bartender. Bald, with a metal spike studded in each ear, he created an imposing figure, but Dominic forged ahead undaunted.

  “Dominic Randal. Special Intelligence and Security Agency. Can we have a word?” He flicked open his ID and badge.

  “What do you want?” The man’s speech was slow and deliberate. Despite its plodding tone, it did not convey a dearth of intelligence like it might in a lot of men. Instead, it gave a sense that this was a man careful and purposeful in his choice of words. Not a man who tarried with inanities or small talk.

  “We’re looking for someone.”

  “Anyone in particular? Or can I just point out a random customer I’d like you to get rid of for me?” He raised the corner of his lip.

  Dominic flashed a sideways glance at Shannon before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulled out Mack’s photograph. “This man. Anthony Mack, but he goes by Big Tony. Have you seen him?” Placing the snapshot on the table, he slid it across the counter in the man’s direction.

  The bartender remained against the back counter, staring at them for a few seconds before leaning forward to glance at the picture. “Nope.” He gave an audible grunt before returning to his position.

  “Are you sure? We know he frequents this place.”

  “How badly do you want to know?” The man’s stoic demeanor broke for a minute and he smiled for the first time, but it was a sickly, sinister grin. “Sometimes my memory can be jogged…”

  Dominic stood tall and slid his hand alongside his waist. He pulled back his jacket to reveal just how much they wanted to know, but this wasn’t a man intimidated by a gun or a pair of steel handcuffs. A nonchalant glance down the counter raised the stakes as two beefy goons at the end of the bar rose to their feet and began to make their way over to Dominic and Shannon. “You sure you want to pull those toys out?” The bartender knew he was safe and flaunted a wide taunting grin.

  Shannon knew Dominic didn’t react well to threats, so before he did anything to escalate the situation, she interceded. Placing a hand on her partner’s arm, she interjected, “Excuse me. My friend here simply means it’s very important to tell u
s if you know anything about this man.”

  The bartender’s gaze shifted to her, as if just noticing her presence. His eyes swept down to her feet and back up before grunting. “Is that so? Because he seems to be saying something more…confrontational.”

  “He can be temperamental. But you can deal directly with me. You’d be willing to help me out, right?” She placed each hand on the counter, palm down, and leaned forward toward him.

  She wasn’t normally a feminine, flirty woman, but she learned long ago that women with enough savvy could manipulate certain men through a particular tone and body language. She hoped these men were no different.

  They were not.

  The bartender’s sarcastic tone melted. “Of course, sweetheart. Let me see that picture again.”

  This time, he uncrossed his arms and sauntered over to the counter, picking up the photo to examine it. “Yeah…” he mused, “that looks like this guy who comes in here a lot. Never knew his name though. Kind of a weird dude.”

  “That’s ironic…ow,” Dominic muttered, before Shannon’s sharp kick to his leg silenced him.

  “How so?” She asked.

  “Just awkward, like he doesn’t belong here.”

  Most people don’t belong here. Shannon kept her thoughts to herself. “Is he here now?”

  “I ain’t seen him today, but I just started my shift,” he gestured toward the clock on the wall behind him. “You’d need to ask Matt for that, but he’s already gone home.” He shrugged before waving his hand toward the right corner, indicating a shaded table. “If he’s here though, that’s where he always sits.”

  “Can you get him for us?” Dominic interjected.

  The man’s surly attitude reappeared and he sneered, “Do I look like an errand boy for punks like you?”