“Hello?”
“Tonya, good,” Polly’s voice said. She sounded agitated.
“Polly! I’m glad you called,” Tonya said. She had been trying to reach Polly ever since she received Lori’s report on her second encounter with Hancock. “I’m worried about Arm Hancock. Although Rizzari’s report said she determined Hancock hadn’t been involved in the Transform kidnappings, if you read between the lines you can tell Hancock was able to resist Rizzari’s charisma at least…”
Polly coughed. “What do you or your real backer know about Wini’s secret project?”
By ‘real backer’, Polly meant Focus Shirley Patterson. Polly’s question soured Tonya’s stomach. “As far as I know, Wini doesn’t have any secret projects. Certainly nobody’s told me anything about one.”
“Darn,” Polly said. “Remember back in October I told you about this ‘new power’?”
“Yes…” Tonya said. That one conversation with Polly was the only time Tonya had heard any mention of Polly’s worrisome ‘new power’ among the Major Transforms. She had forgotten about the conversation. “You’re telling me it’s Wini?”
“No, I’m telling you Wini’s secret project, whatever she’s up to, is connected somehow to our new power,” Polly said. “My, um, contacts” that is, Polly’s use of the Dreaming “have identified two triggering events behind the decision of our unknown to become active. The first involves the events in Philadelphia associated with Arm Hancock’s graduation. The second is Wini’s secret project.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tonya said. She was far too close to the first trigger, and she knew the Philadelphia events had involved all of the four Major Transform varieties. “Wini wasn’t connected to the Philadelphia events at all.”
“That’s why this is a separate trigger,” Polly said. Her voice was tight with stress. “The Jenny Hood murder is involved, though.” Jenny was one of Wini’s Transforms, and she had been kidnapped and killed in early February.
“Damn,” Tonya said. Things were happening she wasn’t aware of. “Something bad is going on, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Polly said. “Wini’s clearly going around our backs and doing something she shouldn’t, and this unknown new power is taking advantage. I think one of the Arms is the target.”
“You’re talking about Major Transform cooperation with the Government, aren’t you?” Tonya asked, chilled. This was wrong, both politically and morally. She feared for Keaton’s safety and couldn’t do anything to help, with Keaton off living in California.
Polly took a sip of something, likely her vice, sweet tea. “Yes, I am. Once word of this gets out it won’t be long before someone else decides to use this precedent against the Council. Worse, once the Feds get a small taste of how useful Major Transform cooperation can be, they’re going to demand our cooperation with all sorts of things, and consider it their right to get involved in our private affairs.”
That would be a disaster of epic proportions. “Do you have a way to stop them?”
Polly coughed again. “No, I don’t. I was calling hoping you had an idea.”
Damn, again. “Beyond my recent contact with Keaton, where I proved to my satisfaction that she hadn’t been poaching household Transforms, I don’t have anything to add.” Tonya paused. “We’re looking at a disaster, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Polly said. “I’m afraid so.”
Carol Hancock
I arrived at Pete’s gym at 11:00 at night, an hour after closing. The place was the only location I controlled large enough for my meeting. I had thought about Bobby, gone back and forth on the subject several times, but I decided to leave him behind to rest, after a short session of “I’m yours” “You’re mine”. He needed his sleep, and this would be a long and gritty session.
Ernie and Dick weren’t invited either; neither were any of the Tiens or Greg. They were on the business side of my operation. This meeting was for the thug side, the early results of my recruiting for the Chimera offensive. I bounced as I walk. I had a wonderful one day hunt yesterday, I had worn out Indy and Bobby both afterwards and I would wear out Bobby again after he woke up tomorrow morning. My muscles were well-toned and well used from the recent fighting and hunting.
Indy was here, as were Sgt. O’Mally, Moose, and Luke Silverman. They constituted my inner circle, not exactly top-notch people, but my current best. Also present were John the Dog, Sansbury with the bad aftershave, Lester Lagasse my 6’9” male intimidation package, and Oscar Ceccini, crime lord lieutenant. As requested, they had brought along some new muscle for me, nine hard men who respected power and money, and were loyal to both.
I talked to these nine new men, taking them off one at a time to a corner of the gym behind the barbell rack for a short private chat. I found them acceptable for what I planned. They didn’t need to know much save that I was Mr. McIngle and they were now working for me, no thinking needed and no questions asked. None of them were police, FBI or Network plants. One was a plant by a rival mob boss but I didn’t care about that.
Finished with my interviewing, I gathered people together by the side of the ring. “There’s Transform Monsters bothering me,” I said. Please ignore the grammar – that’s how Mr. McIngle spoke. “You don’t need to know why, but you do need to know what. I’ve got pictures and drawings.” I spread them out on the folding table I had set up; the pictures were of Odin, the drawings of Enkidu and some of the pack Gals I had seen outside of Philadelphia before I graduated from Keaton. “These aren’t the only ones. What you’ll be looking for on your patrols is Monsters, things that ain’t human no longer. When you’ve proven yourselves, I’ve got a bigger and much more lucrative Monster hunt planned.” I tapped the top of the crate at the left of the table, my mind filling with plans of attacks against the Chimeras. “In here are…”
Behind me I metasensed something that shouldn’t be there. I held up my hand, interrupting myself. “Wait,” I said, and at quick human speed zipped over to where I sensed the something.
I found Gilgamesh cowering in the dusty hallway leading to the restrooms.
“Run,” he whispered. “FBI. Cops. Hundreds. You have no time.”
Shit.
Gilgamesh
He had been following Tiamat for two and a half hours in his truck, ever since he picked up a metasense flicker at full range. Beast Man, likely Enkidu, five miles west. Nothing since.
When Tiamat parked and went into Pete’s Gym, he had parked his Chevy truck and skittered close, risking Tiamat’s metasense to hide in her glow, sheltered in the dark entryway of Bonnie’s Deli and Bakery. While she conducted her business he concentrated on his metasense until something started to bother him about an hour and a quarter into her work with her thugs.
He pulled himself away from his metasense and paid attention to the real world. The area had gone quiet. No cars or trucks rumbled by on the icy streets. Instead, he heard footsteps, the footsteps people made when they tried to be quiet.
Many footsteps.
He looked around and finally found the source of the footsteps: a column of Illinois State Troopers sliding up the street, four blocks away. He did a quick scamper, dark corner to dark corner, checking for ways out. He found squads of Chicago police and FBI agents pretty much everywhere he looked, slowly closing on Pete’s Gym.
Panic nearly overtook him when he spotted the first Chicago City police squad, but he held himself together long enough to slip inside the back entrance to Pete’s Gym and flash his glow at Tiamat. That is, he relaxed his mental attitude of ‘hidden Crow’ long enough to attract Tiamat’s attention.
“Run,” he whispered, after Tiamat, dressed as a male thug, hurried over. “FBI. Cops. Hundreds. You have no time.”
She turned and ran back to her thugs, kicked open a crate of Monster guns, got her people together and left, alert and ready to fight.
He ran, exiting the building out the Gym’s back door and kept on running until he found cover behind a ra
nk of garbage cans across the street. By then a firefight had started on the other side of Pete’s Gym.
Carol Hancock
“Take the weapons and load up,” I said, after I kicked open the crate, using my predator effect as a voice of command. “Follow me. We’ve got police problems.” I had intended those weapons to be used on offense, against Chimeras. So much for that.
My people obeyed, quickly. I put two of the new muscle in front and we slid down Lockwood Avenue toward its intersection with Cleveland, where cover was plentiful: parked cars, recessed storefronts, newspaper boxes, trash containers, even a mailbox. No cars moved, and pedestrians were long gone. I spotted one Illinois State Trooper two blocks farther down Lockwood Avenue; he signaled and ducked out of sight. I visualized a squad of them with the one Trooper. Not hundreds. Gilgamesh flustered easily.
Not taking any chances, though, I turned right on Cleveland and directed my people into cover. Not fast enough: we started to take incoming fire from some unknowns three blocks farther down Cleveland. One of the new thugs fell; the mailbox hadn’t been enough. I crouched with Indy in the entryway of Bonnie’s Deli and Bakery. The wind from earlier this evening had fled and the air was still. As we hunkered down and shot back, futilely, I took stock of the situation.
A wall of police cars turned on Cleveland in the direction of the unknown shooters, about six blocks away. Behind them came Chicago City police, in numbers. They shouldn’t have been here, but at the moment I didn’t have time to write complaints to the Skokie City Council.
For one thing, the other way down Cleveland, three armored trucks of unknown vintage rolled into view, followed by at least a dozen FBI agents. Probably more.
“Drop your weapons now!” a distant bullhorn voice said, from at least a block up Lockwood Avenue. From behind us came the sound of footsteps, running the other way on Lockwood Avenue, coming up past Pete’s Gym. I motioned to my people and we started to fire from cover when the Illinois State Troopers appeared.
My blood was up as I snarled and fired. By the time the State Troopers realized their mistake over two dozen of them had fallen, the ones hit by the Monster guns likely very dead, the ones plinked by the more normal thug handguns most likely still alive. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t have enough .707 ammo for another barrage.
I wanted to fight, take the fight to these idiots, but the smart part of me realized I would only get my own people killed. Sgt. O’Mally and two of my new hires had already fallen, wounded, since my initial signal to fire.
I needed to get out of here. “It’s me they’re after,” I said. “Surrender once I’m gone.”
I took off at a human paced run, back the way we originally came, hugging the storefronts and moving erratically. When I reached the corner I turned, ditched the bulkier parts of my Mr. McIngle disguise and went Arm on them.
Thirty-five State Troopers and their support vehicles faced me, the back end of the group we had chewed up. They had parked as a blockade across the street and the packed snow on the sidewalk, taking cover where possible. They fired, but I wasn’t lollygagging around anymore. I burned, sprinting right through them and over their vehicles, not taking a scratch.
After I leapt over the blockade I spotted my real problem. They had backup, lots of backup. Everywhere I looked were Chicago police cop cars, FBI assault teams, Federal Marshals, State Troopers and their vehicles and other law enforcement officials I couldn’t even place. Not a Skokie cop in the bunch, though. Someone had gone through my elaborate protections like a three-year-old through a cookie jar.
I turned on Monroe and found another blockade on the other side of the intersection, another half dozen cars and dozen State Troopers. I used the last of my .707 ammo and ditched the .707s. I heard voices and engines down the side streets. No escape route there.
The buildings around me were dark and locked, all turn of the century buildings, five and six stories tall, with restaurants and businesses on the ground floor and offices and apartments above. I had learned these buildings to the last detail – Keaton lessons – and ducked in a camera shop specializing in Japanese imported cameras and, on the side, marijuana sales. The store had a stairway in back, which I took, then went out the second story window overlooking the next street over, Brown.
I expected more police here and I found them; I dropped on top of a State Trooper vehicle and burned. I moved. I jumped and leaped and ran and cut from side to side as I advanced down Brown. I moved so fast and in so many different directions no normal’s eye could follow me. I was fast normally; with the juice I burned I was almost supernatural. I pulled out my holdout weapon, a .357 Magnum I kept in a shoulder holster under my armpit, and began picking off State Troopers as I ran. I pitied the poor State Troopers ahead of me, because I was going to escape, and heaven help anyone who got in my way.
“You are under arrest,” someone boomed from a megaphone behind me. He spoke with a northern Midwest accent, from somewhere in the arrowhead of Minnesota. He had to be FBI. “Put down your weapons and lay on the pavement.” FBI Agents fired at me from a side street even before the man with the megaphone finished speaking.
Dozens of bullets sped by me every second as I moved. Inevitably, a few lucky shots hit me, and I burned juice to ignore them. I would pay for this when I released the burn. Ahead of me, State Troopers started falling as my own shots took effect. There were a lot more of them than me, but every one of my shots took one of them down.
I moved, moved, moved, reloaded as I moved, and moved. A hit from a pistol wouldn’t take me down. A small-bore rifle wouldn’t either if I was lucky. I knew they had heavier weapons, and I knew they could do things to me I wouldn’t be able to ignore, burning juice or no burning juice.
I kept going. The shooting had started only seconds ago and I was already almost out. I came up to the next barricade of cars and scurried over them, the dozen troopers who had been in my way now a half dozen functionals behind me. Hell, some of the troopers and FBI agents hadn’t reacted enough to start shooting yet.
As I leapt I looked ahead and found yet another barrier of Illinois State Troopers as well as some cops from Joliette and Aurora. What the fuck were so fucking many State Troopers doing here? Mayor Daley was going to have apoplexy!
I wasn’t out.
How many waited for me after this layer? This trap was massive, but the scurrying ahead of me showed chaos and haste. They weren’t properly prepared. How many authorities had they called in on this? How did they arrange all of this so quickly that my informants and lookouts had missed it?
At the top of my leap I met a bullet with my name on it. I didn’t notice the shot when it hit me, but I did realize something was wrong when I landed: I tried to land with my feet running, but my legs didn’t respond. They didn’t reach out. They didn’t start running. They didn’t move at all. When I landed they collapsed underneath me like last year’s New Year’s resolutions, and I fell to the ground.
I felt nothing from my legs.
I knew what had happened, and no, I hadn’t forgotten Keaton’s old aphorism about bullets being faster than juice. Dammit, why fucking now! I had been close to getting away!
The Troopers kept firing when I fell, a real hail of bullets. They hit me in the chest and the shoulders and in my now numb hips. I tried to cover my head with my arms but one arm didn’t move for me. A horrible panic of helplessness bit into me as I realized I was about to die. All those troopers needed was one clean head-shot.
“Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!”
Most of the firing stopped when the voice called out, although I was hit twice more before the shots stopped completely. The shocking stillness that comes after the horrible fury of the guns filled the void. I heard police radios and the quiet clinking of spent shells, the murmur of voices and the sound of hushed anticipation.
I lay helpless on the ground, my face pressed into the pavement, eating sand and ice and old road salt. I still held the burn, using the juice to keep me alive a
nd heal me from the should-be-fatal wounds. I couldn’t catalog them all. I had holes in my chest and blood pooled in a huge puddle all around me, crackling and steaming against the thin ice glazing the road. I could move nothing of my body from the waist down and my often injured left arm was half torn off and I couldn’t move that either. When I tried to move or lift my head, a nasty grinding noise accompanied the motion, causing pain only tolerable because of the burn. The burn kept going and going. The juice flowed out of me fast. Too fast.
I lay helpless on the ground from one lucky shot, no longer the masterful predator, falling fast into death. Stark panic grabbed hold of me, but I forced the panic back down to a bitter little ball in the bottom of my stomach. Soon, I would be hallucinating, the way I always did when I was wounded and down on juice.
The clicking noise of footsteps approached, firm and sure and coming closer, threatening because of my vulnerability.
“Well, well, Carol. It seems I was right.” Special Agent McIntyre, an old enemy from my days in the St. Louis Transform Detention Center. This FBI bigot had called me a rabid animal back when I was still mostly a normal human. He and his cruelty had driven me into Keaton’s grasp.
I ignored the grinding, stabbing pain in my shoulder as I turned my head toward him. He was medium height and lean, wearing a blue suit that looked like a uniform on him. A fury grew in me with the chilling finality of my end. Even wounded and vulnerable and helpless I was still more dangerous than he could even dream. It would not be today, but if by some miracle I survived this debacle the time would come and I would take him and I would destroy him. I would shred his body and shatter his mind. His screaming would be my music for days on end as I destroyed him piece by tiny piece.
I stared into his eyes with mine and I let him face the death there, the predator who preys on humans, the monster of his nightmares. He saw those eyes and took a step back.
All Beasts Together (The Commander) Page 37