Justice Incarnate

by Regan Black

  "Uh-huh." She paused. "Hand-to-hand or weapons?"

  "Hands only. If I arm 'em, they'll turn."

  The detective noted date, time, and frequencies and began speculating on the woman's identity. He signaled his partner to pick up the second headset. They both listened.

  "When and where?" the woman asked.

  "My place. Late."

  "Fine. You'll see me when the money's clear. Turn."

  The connection fizzled. The detective scrambled, but lost the continuing conversation.

  "Damn. That's it?"

  Larry Ferguson was more hopeful than his sour-stomached partner. "It's more than we've had on Slick Micky before."

  "Ain't enough," Chuck Loomis groused.

  "Let's run it for the DA and see what he thinks." Larry ignored the doom and gloom of his partner and did what he could to buff the recording. If he could find a single locator clue, the DA would jump on it. Better, if he nailed the woman's ID the DA would write the reference Larry needed to get promoted out of this sorry detail.

  "Hey, Chuck. Check out this short list of female self defense instructors."

  Chuck swiveled around, scanned the list and grunted. Larry hadn't expected anything more. "It's a code, is all."

  "I don't think so. She–"

  "She knew when and how to change channels. They got outta your reach fast enough. It's just a new code."

  "Maybe."

  "Larry, you're a good kid, but let me dash your hopes right now. These days ya got a better chance marrying the chief's daughter than moving up and outta this tin can. Now put the ears back on and find us a real crime we can prevent."

  Larry ignored the barb about the youngest bachelor chief in Chicago history and resumed his work. "Hot damn!" Larry caught Chuck's dismissive headshake. But Chuck couldn't hear the alarms wailing down at the Museum of Natural History. With a few keystrokes, Larry accessed the security cameras onsite. "Put it in gear, Chuck. I found you a crime scene."

  "Yee haw." Chuck yawned as he settled his over-regulation bulk into the driver's seat.

  Larry tracked the burglar's progress from gallery to gallery while listening to the chatter of the robotic security drones in pursuit. "He's hurt, Chuck. This collar'll be a breeze."

  "Don't count your chickens, kid."

  "What the hell's that mean?"

  "It's some farm thing my granddad said."

  "You've seen a family farm? You are an old-timer."

  "Aw, shut up. Where do we pick up this thief?"

  "He's made a cut for the northeast exit."

  "Where's security?"

  "I'll clue 'em in," Larry said while Chuck grumbled about the perils of technology.

  He disagreed with Chuck's hardened view of society in general and their job in particular. But his partner had a point about the flaws of the new totally robotic security systems. Twentieth century sci-fi had inspired inventors, but the same stories messed with the lackluster vision of legislators, leaving no loopholes to create a thinking machine.

  "You'd think the Museum of Natural History would leave a couple humans in the place."

  Larry ignored his peevish partner and continued to ready the evidence kit.

  * * *

  Jaden saw the mottled gray police unit barreling down the street and sighed. If she let the street rat take the fall for her burglary, she'd have joined the ranks of the despicable thing she hunted. As she organized her explanation to enable his escape a bright flash came from the Museum side of the street.

  Instinct had her tucked and rolling out of danger as the driver of the evidence van fought for control with a laser-melted front tire.

  How in the hell did a smart aleck street rat land a police-issue pursuit-stopping device?

  When the raucous scrape of metal on asphalt ceased, she came to her feet and stared at the van. It lay on its side with black clouds of electrical smoke rising from the rear. Watching the driver stumble from the wreck, she turned for home. But when his agonized bellow carried above the screeching of the alarms, Jaden felt the pull of the driver's desperation.

  Mindful of the diary, she approached. Keeping her hands visible, she moved with caution born of several hard lessons. The cop looked as hopeless as a drowning victim. She didn't intend to let him drag her under.

  He ranted and wrestled with the crumpled door, too busy to worry about her.

  Jaden didn't need cohesive conversation to understand there was another man trapped inside. Evidence processing equipment was expensive, but not priceless. It gave her weary spirit a lift to see how frantic one man could be to save another.

  Leaving him to his battle, she put her dagger to work on the hinges of the door. Between adrenaline and training, the door gave way and the cop outside pulled the inside man clear of the burning van.

  Familiar enough with death, Jaden knew they were too late, and she wished for tears enough to weep over the loss. One bold street rat bent on escape just cost a man's life.

  Everything has a price.

  The echoing words taunted her. Then she recognized the dead man. "Larry," she gasped.

  The surviving partner heard and turned on her. "What do you know about him? About this?"

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her while she tried to recall his name. Chad, Charlie, no–

  "Chuck. Chuck, ease up buddy," she said through rattling teeth.

  "Who the hell are you?" Chuck demanded.

  "Jaden Michaels–"

  "The security specialist? This was some miserable test run?"

  She wouldn't take the easy way out–couldn't. Not with Larry's blood staining the street. "No, no test. It must've been a real call."

  "And you just magically appear during a real call? This was some damned department party. Well I hope they're slaphappy about it. I'm a man short and he was a good one. He had a future."

  His fingers bit into her shoulders, taking her body back to another man, a different sort of attack. In a blur, she broke his hold and caught herself before she landed the follow-through punch.

  "Take a step back, Chuck. You're upset. When you see the download, you'll feel better." It pained her to lay blame on Larry, but she offered the most likely scenario. "If Larry wasn't buttoned down, it's no one's fault."

  Chuck's face reddened and she saw his pulse accelerate in the jump of a blood vessel in his temple. "I know what a lasered tire feels like. And I know how and where to look for evidence, Michaels. Get the hell outta my face before I do something real stupid."

  The adrenaline made her itch for the fight he offered. But pushing her luck here and now put the diary at risk and muddied her true path. She left the messy scene in Chuck's capable hands and replayed the events in her mind.

  She hoped the street rat made the best of his good fortune. She'd count her blessings to never cross paths with him again.

  The ache began as a slow burn in her stomach and climbed painfully toward her heart with every step away from the collateral damage. She knew her normal cool detachment would eventually return, but prayed it would hurry.

  She could've spared the street rat a month of prickly injections by providing a cover story, especially with Larry on the case. Hell, she never should've let the street rat into the museum at all. She'd been around often enough to have developed better judgment.

  "Ah, don't beat yourself up."

  She gasped. "Quit sneaking up on me, Cleveland."

  "Pay more attention," he countered.

  "I've paid enough as it is." Jaden made a valiant effort to control her sorry mood. "How'd you find me?"

  "Anyone with a scanner could find you, girl."

  She knew she paled because Cleveland reached out to steady her. She brushed aside the assistance.

  "I meant anyone who knows you and has a scanner."

  "Funny." No one really knew her. "What do you want?"

  "I'm your escort to your next appointment."

  "My next appointment's with my pillow."

  "Tempting as that
image is," he said, wiggling his brows. "You've got a class first."

  "How'd you know anything about that?"

  He swung an arm over her shoulder and guided her around a corner away from her own place. "I'm the only trusted soul on the street, my fair Jaden."

  "You've been watching the history channel again."

  "Nope. But I've been through a museum or two lately. You should go. Get you some culture," he teased.

  She glared at him.

  "Ouch girl, don't give me the hairy eyeball just 'cuz you screwed up."

  She glared more, but at the ground this time. "He wasn't strapped in. Couldn't've been." Completely unlike the Larry she'd worked with for years. "Follow protocol or die, I always say."

  "Protocol!" Cleveland laughed. "Keep it up and some day you might convince me you're just that harsh."

  He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace, taking this one moment to grieve the unnecessary loss. She backed away, automatically checking for the diary and daggers. True to his word, Cleveland hadn't ripped her off.

  "Told you I wouldn't," he said.

  She smiled, feeling better. "Guess there's good reason you're the only trusted soul on the street."

  "Yup." He grinned. "You live above it."

  She shrugged off the odd compliment. "Whatever. Let's get this gig over. I've got things to do. Like sleep. If you're the escort, show me proof of the transfer."

  He pulled the slim black remote from his inside pocket. The monitor showed the agreed amount ready to transfer to the account of her choosing. She made Cleveland turn away and shielded the keypad with her free hand as she punched in her codes.

  "Done," she said, handing the remote back to him. "Lead on, oh trusted one."

  He replaced the remote and wrapped her hand around his arm, a chivalrous move she hadn't seen in ages. "Such lovely company in the past. Wouldn't you agree?"

  She made herself chuckle. She hoped the past would be her friend and provide the answer to get her soul 'unstuck'. She was tired of battle and desperate to break the cycle. She couldn't fail to banish the evil this time. She wasn't sure she had the strength to live again.

  Chapter Two

  Time stamp: 1884:

  My research has uncovered an intriguing reference during the Norman Conquest of 1066. Though I care little if William created the feudal system or simply reorganized the establishment, the interspersed tales of a particularly evil land baron were extraordinary.

  Claims of his prowess on the battlefield pale against his depraved preference for young girls. It was much too familiar, an almost verbatim accounting of my most disturbing dreams. As was the subsequent telling of his gruesome death at the hands of a woman I assume to be one of his victims.

  –From the diary of Gabriella Stamford

  Chicago: 2096

  Jaden battled exhaustion with a cold soda infused with an excessive level of caffeine. Thank God for the humanitarians industrious enough to buck the current government health department. The relatively new bureaucracy took obscene delight in regulating everything from alcohol and fat to nicotine and sugar.

  She supposed she should be grateful. More regulations led to more contraband. For a woman working both sides of the line, it meant more profit to use for her own method of sheltering the population.

  She took a hard look at the group of mules practicing each move with a desperation born of fear. All women, though size, shape and age varied. They obviously respected and feared Slick Micky, the man who'd hired her too, but she didn't think he was the source of the anxiety shivering in each pair of eyes.

  "Wait. I know the urge is to pull away." She stepped between two students. "But you must lean in closer or the move will be ineffective." She demonstrated the escape again, in slow motion, until both nodded. "Try again."

  This time the smaller woman got it right, evading her larger partner and jumping with elation. "I did it!"

  Jaden smiled and moved on to the next cluster of students.

  Slick Micky waited until she finished to pull her aside. "Will they remember this on the street?" he muttered.

  "They should, with practice."

  "Of course you'll want to lead those practices."

  "I can, if you'd like."

  "I can't lose too many nights of work for this. Or there won't be cash to pay you."

  His frustration came through clear enough, but Jaden struggled with how much to advise the known criminal. "I'm not all about money. What's their cargo?"

  Micky's eyes narrowed, then relaxed. "I don't mess with hard stuff. If my mules do, they're out. I have standards."

  Don't we all, she thought, then spoke to advise another sparring pair.

  "They are catching on," Micky said with grudging satisfaction.

  Jaden only waited.

  "Sugar, nicotine and caffeine." He raised his palm as if taking an oath. "That's it."

  She wanted to laugh. One of the most renowned criminals on the street ran the lightest of contraband. "Not even the better alcohol?"

  "You're surprised."

  "Yes. But why interfere with those runs? Even the government looks the other way on sugar and caffeine most of the time."

  "The government's not the problem."

  "Someone wants your routes?"

  He shook his head. "I thought so at first."

  They finished the circuit of the room and Jaden interrupted the conversation to finish the class with a brief stretching series to prevent sore muscles. Then she left them with a word of encouragement before Micky stepped up to give his orders.

  She edged toward the door, ready to head back to her own warehouse several blocks closer to the edge of respectability. At least she'd managed to improve the décor beyond the bare bulbs and cold cement floors of Micky's distribution hub.

  "Hang on a minute."

  Jaden wanted to refuse, but the caffeine had kicked in and sleep wouldn't be an option for at least another hour. "Yeah?"

  Micky jerked his head toward his office and Jaden obliged.

  When the door closed he faced her across a desk scarred and stained from cigarette burns.

  "It's not the routes. Well, not entirely."

  She considered him. "Then what. Entirely?"

  "It's the girls."

  Her opinion of Slick Micky dropped considerably with those three words.

  "Just what else are you running?" She didn't care about accusing tones or causing personal offense. She would not allow any abuse to continue.

  "I told you what I run. Someone else is picking off my runners. Sometimes the cargo too, but that's rare."

  After careful study, she believed him. "How many girls have you lost?"

  "Four last month. And two more just last week."

  Okay, the man did have a problem. And just how deep she'd get dragged into it was hers. "Why tell me?"

  "Cleveland says you might have a vested interest."

  She arched a brow and crossed her arms. What did Cleveland know about her hunt for the esteemed Judge Stewart Albertson?

  "One girl escaped."

  "Good for her."

  "After she saw the man giving the orders."

  Jaden felt her heart skip, knew the flush on her cheeks gave away her curiosity. She felt herself leaning in, eager for the information, praying it was the break she needed. "And?"

  "She says he's too big for me. Won't talk unless I promise to drop it. Cleveland says you'd get it outta her."

  "Interrogation's not my specialty." She turned to walk out. She didn't have time, energy or inclination to be used for anyone's vengeance but her own.

  "Maybe not. But I hear Judge Albertson's your hobby."

  Her hand froze, an inch off the doorknob. "Gossip's cheap."

  "And truth's free," he shot back. "My girls know my reach. I'm up against someone well funded and very well connected. My rep's been enough to keep my cargo and routes safe for years. No one else would scare her this bad."

  Jaden doubted that. There were
plenty of scary people on and off the street. "Why blame a pillar of the community?"

  Micky laughed, heartless and cold. "Pillar, my ass. Down here we all know how it plays. Maybe the fancy suits and big verdicts fool your kinda–"

  "Watch it, Slick."

  He raised a hand in surrender. "Talk to her. Just cuz he's too smooth to get jail time doesn't mean he's not at the top of the food chain."

  Jaden nodded. He was preaching to the choir. "Show me the girl." She'd recognize Albertson's personal handiwork. If the girl bore his mark, she might consider the rest of her information.

  She followed Micky through a hidden door in the back wall of his office and accepted the weight of his trust as it settled on her shoulders. The dim lighting near the floor revealed a narrow hallway and the echo of their steps told her the ceiling was a long, long way up.

  Micky disappeared suddenly, until Jaden reached the intersection and saw him on her left, stopped in front of a plain metal door. This hall was broader, though no better lit, and reminded her of an old hotel. So the expert smuggler had more than a few secrets himself. Not the least of which was that he seemed genuine about the care he gave his mules.

  The door opened a mere crack after Micky's second knock, and nearly snapped shut before his foot stopped it.

  "I brought a visitor, honey," he said in surprisingly gentle tones. "She can help."

  A strangled sound came from the dark room, either doubt or quiet hysteria, but certainly not confidence.

  Micky signaled Jaden closer. "She just taught the family some self-defense moves. You can trust her."

  "She'll only tell you and you'll go get yourself killed. Without you, we're all gutter food. I'm not worth all that."

  Jaden willed herself to breathe. She'd heard that voice. Before it had become the dead and dispassionate version it was tonight. She didn't need to see the mark to know this girl had been in Albertson's clutches.

  "Look." Jaden turned slightly and peeled back the flap of false skin behind her right ear. When she heard the sharp inhale, she knew the girl could see the vile, infinity-shaped scar from her own encounter with Albertson twenty years ago. She pressed the patch back into place and resisted the urge to roll her freshly tensed shoulders. This girl could be the break. The one witness to blow Albertson straight into hell.