by Nic Widhalm
It was too much. Hunter’s head was pounding, his arms felt like two sandbags glued to his shoulders. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep for eighteen hours. He had to get out of this war-zone.
Hunter surveyed the parking lot, determined to run if he saw a chance, and saw a short, black man holding a girl by the throat. “Hash!” Hunter screamed. “Stop!”
“Stand back,” The older man ordered as Hunter ran toward him. Hash’s eyes were fixed on Karen’s limp body as he held the Adonai at arm’s distance, several feet off the ground.
“No, Hash. God, please…no.” Hunter had stopped running, but continued inching closer toward his mentor. “Please. Let her go.”
Hash shot Hunter a look of disgust. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a traitor. You know that. I taught you that!”
Hunter said nothing, moving a step closer to the older Elohim. Hash’s eyes softened slightly, and he lowered Karen. “Look, kid, it’s going to—” Karen’s limp foot suddenly swung up and into Hash’s crotch. The Domination’s eyes rolled back and he let out an incoherent gurgle. Collapsing, he dropped Karen to the broken asphalt. The red-haired Adonai took a couple of deep breaths, then fell on Hash, her body blurring into motion.
“No!” Hunter yelled. He tried to get between them, but was brought up short as two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. Ripping his arm free, Hunter turned and saw Valdis. He almost didn’t recognize the stooped priest; the old man had changed from his customary robes into a baggy, black hoodie and dark jeans. Holding Hunter by the other shoulder was a brown-haired woman who looked irritatingly familiar, but Hunter couldn’t place her.
“Let me—” Hunter began, but his voice was lost in a massive BOOM! He dropped to the ground, followed immediately by the brown-haired woman and the priest. Chunks of pavement, rock, and a squishy substance Hunter didn’t want to think about, rained down on the small group. Risking a look, Hunter saw that the fissure only a few feet away had rocketed sideways, engulfing half of the parking lot. There were crashes of thunder from the fissure, and Hunter caught a glimpse of blue, flashing light, before he turned back to check on his companions.
Valdis was trembling, his eyes heavy and glazed, but the brown-haired woman looked alert. Hunter tried to place where he had seen her before. She had light brown hair that swept partly down her back, and was collected in a severe pony-tail; high, slightly protruding cheekbones; a tiny, squat nose that would have seemed out of place on a taller woman, but fit her short frame; and thin, creased lips that looked as though they spent most of their time in a frown. After all his time with the Apkallu she looked oddly normal, her features asymmetrical, disproportionate, and fully, obviously human.
“Quick, while they’re distracted,” the woman said, pushing herself to her feet. The priest followed, dazed and wobbly, and Hunter finally followed, his limbs leaden. The promise of night had settled fully, and the streetlights were casting crazed, monstrous shadows on the parking lot as the Apkallu continued to battle.
“You can’t stay.” Valdis said. “Either side will kill you.”
Hunter wanted to disagree. Arguments sprang easily to mind: Hash was his teacher, his mentor, his friend. He had warned Hunter about the threat from Mika’il, and had spent the last five weeks training him to harness his powers. Hash couldn’t betray him. But then he remembered the look in his old mentor’s eyes as he held Karen by the throat. Hash was fighting a war, and in every battle there were causalities. It was one of the first things he’d taught Hunter. Was Hunter an acceptable loss if it meant getting an edge on the Adonai?
And Karen? Hunter watched as she again shifted into a blurring whirlwind of feet and fists. She was keeping her distance from Hash, but every time the Domination tried to move one way or another she was there with a sharp blow, keeping the older man from regaining his feet. Hunter thought even in her moments of quick, blinding speed he could still make out those green eyes, and was transported back to that timeless moment in the Adonai sanctuary. “What’s happening to me?” Hunter had asked. And her response, “You’re rising.”
Had that moment just been part of his initiation? Some practiced, planned gesture of camaraderie designed to ease the transition into the christening? Hunter wanted to believe it was something more, but even if that were the case, which Karen was here tonight? If Hunter joined her would she welcome him, or return him to Bath?
He looked back at the slumped priest, and the frowning, brown-haired woman. He had put his faith in Valdis twice, and the priest had yet to let him down. And the woman…well, if the priest could trust her that would have to be good enough for now.
“Let’s get the hell out,” Hunter said with finality, turning his back on the Apkallu and sprinting for the edge of the parking lot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The emergency phone woke Russ Hasfeld at three A.M with a loud, pulsing screech. It was programmed that way on purpose, guaranteed to wake him no matter how many beers he’d thrown back the night before. It seemed like a good idea at the time—an “emergency phone” he kept at home. He only gave the number to a few of his closest friends—just in case—but this was the first time anyone had bothered to call it. Russ was already regretting the ringtone.
Climbing groggily from bed, he stumbled through the dark room, avoiding pitfalls of piled clothes, and finally reaching the cabinet that held the offending phone. Rubbing his eyes, blinking, Russ pulled open the cabinet drawer and grabbed the slim phone, flicking it open.
“Hasfeld,” he said, his voice thick and slow.
“Russ. Thank Christ.”
“Jackie?” Russ’ voice rose in surprise, cracking a little. He coughed, forgetting to remove the phone, and heard Jackie curse.
“Jesus Fucking Christ, how many have you had today?”
Russ frowned, trying to remember. “It’s Sunday, Jack.”
“Whatever. I don’t have time to give you a lecture on the limits of the human liver. I’m in trouble, Russ.”
His sleepiness disappeared instantly. “Where are you? Are you close? Armed?”
“Yeah,” Jackie’s voice wavered slightly. “I have my Beretta. But it’s not that kind of trouble, it’s…God. It’s just been a shitty month, you know?”
Russ sighed, tapping the phone against his temple. “Look, Jack, I know you’re still pissed about the suspension. I just want you to know that I had nothing—”
“I don’t care about that,” Jackie cut him off. “Listen, I need you to meet me at the Amber Grove in twenty minutes. You think you can manage that?”
“Yeah,” Russ said, then heard a soft, sleepy voice on the other side of the room ask, “Baby? Everything okay?”
Russ saw his wife’s feathery blond hair shift on the pillow, and covered the phone. “Yeah, sweetie, just work stuff. Go back to sleep.”
“’K, be safe,” she mumbled, then a moment later Russ heard her breathing slip back into a heavy, muffled rhythm.
He uncovered the phone. “Sorry.”
Jackie was silent on the other line. “It’s alright,” she finally said. “I haven’t heard Paula’s voice in a long time. How’s she been?”
Russ shrugged uncomfortably, forgetting that Jackie wasn’t there to see. “Okay, I guess. It’s been a little weird the past six months, but we’re figuring it out. She moved back in, so that’s something.”
Jackie was silent again, then, “I guess we should talk about that at some point. I probably should have brought it up sooner, it’s just…”
“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” And Russ did. He understood that in her own, straight-shooting, bull-shitting way, Jackie was sorry. Russ knew she wished she could take it back, the night she spent with him. And realizing that she couldn’t, chose instead to pretend it never happened. Russ understood, and knew that if he ever brought that night up he would lose a partner. So he stayed silent, hoping one day Jackie would broach the subject herself.
He only wished she hadn’t chosen this moment
.
“Look, Jack, you said you needed help. What can I do?”
Jackie told him, and Russ’ eyebrows rose higher and higher as he listened first in confusion, then concern. But he owed her, so he kissed his wife on the forehead, checked to make sure the kids were still asleep, then slipped out the door to meet the woman who had almost cost him his marriage.
Valdis shivered in the early morning chill, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, hands rubbing frantically at his shoulders. The priest was used to early mornings, but had never enjoyed the cold. It had been years since he last experienced the deep chill of a dawning, winter morning. Now, circumstances being what they were, he wished he had brought a larger coat.
Valdis wished for a lot of things.
Standing alone under a single, fluttering streetlight, the yellowed grass of a forgotten city park at his feet, the priest wished he had chosen another area of study. He wished he had ignored the cries that brought him to Hunter that fateful night. Most of all, Valdis wished he had never seen what his father had opened in his study, those many, many years ago. The act that had lit a fire in the boy, leading him through the town library, the university archives, and finally, his hunger still unquenched, to the priesthood.
Too late for that now, old man, he told himself, shivering violently. Valdis stamped his feet, his hands rubbing frantically at his arms. He looked around, straining in the early morning light to find the slim, balding man that Jackie had described.
You know it isn’t true. Valdis shook his head, trying to ignore the voice. You wouldn’t change a thing.
Valdis frowned. Maybe, he told the voice, but if I had it to do over again, I would never have quit jogging. He looked down at his sagging gut and winced. He’d almost died fleeing the Apkallu battle earlier that night, and not just because of the angels. He had almost died because his heart had threatened to explode half a dozen times in their flight from the outskirts of Denver to the heart of the city. It hadn’t, luckily—the priest’s current, freezing circumstances proved that—but it made him realize he wasn’t a young man anymore. He needed to join a gym.
“I’m guessing you’re the priest,” a voice said. Valdis jumped, turning to see a thin, balding man of medium size and height standing on the other side of the street lamp. The man watched, his eyes crinkling in amusement as Valdis tried to cover his shock. The priest stepped back, then forward, then back again, his eyes examining everything but the balding man.
“Sorry,” the thin man said with a slight grin. “This time of day is a bitch. Easy to get disoriented.” His voice was gentle, which made Valdis even further embarrassed.
“Detective Hasfeld?” Valdis asked.
The thin man nodded, still grinning.
“Detective Riese said to tell you she’s extremely grateful for your help, and that you’re a true friend and confidant.”
“Yeah,” Hasfeld laughed. “’Confidant.’ If I know Riese it was something like ‘If he shows just grab the stuff and get rid of him.’”
Valdis squirmed, trying to keep his face blank. In fact, Detective Riese had said something very similar: “Russ is probably going to make a scene, so tell him I’m fine, get the supplies and lose him before he decides to play white knight.”
“She said nothing of the sort,” Valdis said, pleased with the steadiness of his voice.
“Sure,” Hasfeld rolled his eyes. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, Father, trying to hide how much I annoy you and all, but I don’t give two shits about what Jack said. Either I talk to her right now, or I leave and take this,” Russ raised a large backpack, “the hell out of here. First thing I’ll do is organize a full city sweep; coordinate with the other districts, get the feds involved, shit—if I need to I’ll go to the fucking Pope. I’ll find her, and you, and whatever kind of trouble you guys have stirred up. Or Jack can grow a pair and talk to me face-to-face. I’d prefer the latter, as it’s a hell of a lot less paperwork, but it’s your call.”
“Detective,” Valdis said, drawing himself up. “I assure you, I am authorized by Detective Riese to—”
“Forget it, Father,” Jackie’s voice cut through the night as she stepped out of a copse of trees a few feet away, and joined the priest in the flickering light of the street-lamp. “I know Russ, and when he gets like this you have a better chance of the Israelis and Palestinians sitting down for a nice ham dinner than getting him to change his mind.”
“Riese,” Russ said in way of greeting.
Jackie sighed, shaking her head. “Dammit, Russ. I was trying to keep you out of this. Or, at least far enough away to give you plausible deniability.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“Sure you are. And that’s why I’m not losing any sleep asking you to do something that could land you more than just a ‘suspension.’”
Russ sagged a little, dropping the grin, but he didn’t leave. He tossed the backpack at Jackie’s feet. “Passports for three, 20,000 in shekels, a King James Bible with Apocrypha, a Book of Mormon, a Qur’an, The Zend Avesta, a set of Waite Tarot Cards and some Dramamine.”
Jackie stepped further into the light and retrieved the bag. Unzipping, she looked inside, rummaged for a few seconds, then closed the zipper and gave Russ a tight smile. “Thank you.”
Russ shrugged. “On the list of difficult, stupid shit you’ve made me do, this was easy.”
“Still,” Jackie said, placing a hand on Hasfeld’s shoulder. “It means a lot.”
Valdis cleared his throat and Jackie turned, glowering at him. “Sorry,” the priest said, happy the early morning light didn’t reveal his red cheeks. “But it’s getting late. Er…early, I mean. Perhaps we should be going?”
Jackie sighed, her shoulders slumping, and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks again, Russ, I owe you a beer.” She turned to leave, but was stopped by Russ’ hand. He yanked her around to face him.
“Slow down a minute.”
Valdis took an involuntary step forward, thinking to help the detective, but stopped himself before he could reach the thin man. What was he going to do, attack a police officer? Even if he was dumb enough to try, he wouldn’t have any success—Detective Hasfeld might be slight, but he carried himself with the same confident, deadly grace that Valdis saw in Jackie. If it came to a fight there was no doubt who would be victorious. So Valdis watched, trying hard not to wring his hands.
“Let go,” Jackie said quietly, her eyes fixed on Hasfeld.
The thin man shook his head, shoulders set. “No, Jack. Not till you show me where he is.”
“I don’t know what the fu—”
“Cut the crap. I’m not an idiot, so don’t piss on my foot and tell me it’s raining. You march into the precinct a month ago, storm into the captain’s office, spin some ridiculous conspiracy shit about Friskin, then leave in a huff. Next thing I know you’re suspended, and you don’t have a thing to say about it. Nothing.”
“I had other things on my mind,” Jackie said, twisting against Hasfeld’s hand.
“What does this guy have on you, Jack?” Russ leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. “What does he have that you’re willing to throw away your job, your career, just to catch him? You call me to some shit-hole park to deliver a bunch of holy mumbo-jumbo, a bucket of cash—which you better pay me back for—and fake passports? Don’t tell me this doesn’t have something to do with Friskin.”
Hasfeld paused, dropping his arm and shrugging again. “If you don’t want to tell me, whatever, that’s your choice. But Friskin’s here, and I’m betting he’s got your ass tied up in something you can’t get out of. You’re my partner,” Hasfeld’s voice broke on the word, and his eyes softened.
“Don’t ask me,” Jackie pleaded, her voice a whisper. “Just let me go, Russ.”
“I’m not going anywhere till I see him.”
Jackie looked at Valdis, her eyes wide and desperate. The priest thought again about what would happen if he tried to stop the cop, then spread his hands in resignat
ion. Jackie turned back to Russ, her face tightening. Valdis had spent the last five weeks with the detective plotting to free Hunter, had studied her closely when they met Bath and proposed their plan—and watching her now, Jackie’s face told Valdis one thing: the detective was going to make a run for it. And the priest knew if they ran, Russ would pursue, and he wouldn’t stop until he caught them. And when he did, he wouldn’t give Jackie a chance to talk him out of it; he would lock them up and let the courts work it out.
“No—” Valdis started to say, stepping forward to block Jackie, but before he could complete his sentence Hunter was suddenly standing beside him.
Valdis stepped back from the large man in shock. How is he doing that? The speed…
“You must be Russ,” Hunter said, extending his hand. He smiled in an awkward attempt at civility, but it fell flat. Valdis grimaced. Hunter was as experienced with charm as he was bio-chemistry.
Russ eyed him suspiciously, looked down at Hunter’s hand, and crossed his arms. “Friskin,” he said, his voice cold and clipped.
Hunter withdrew his hand. “Yeah. My friend’s call me Hunter.”
“I’m not your friend, Friskin, and neither is Jackie, no matter what she’s told you. I don’t know what kind of weird cult shit you’ve gotten her into, but it ends tonight. I was a good sport, I brought your supplies,” Russ nudged the bag with contempt. “Just take it and get out of here. I should bring you in—I’ll serve some time if they find out I didn’t—but just take the bag and go.” The thin man looked at Jackie, his eyes softening again. “Let her go.”
“I…” Hunter looked back and forth between Valdis and Jackie. “I think I need them. Both of them. Listen,” Hunter ran a hand through his brown hair, his eyes resting on Hasfeld’s feet. “I’m not sure what’s going on, and even if I told you you’d think I’m crazy—er, crazier—and, well…the father here’s been about the only one who’s given more than two-shits about me, and the detective…” Hunter’s mouth hung open, his words drying up. Finally, after almost thirty seconds of waiting for the large man to continue, Jackie rolled her eyes and turned back to Russ.