by Domino Finn
Ahead of her, Diego de la Torre disappeared into the Sycamore forest.
Nicola put her face down in the dirt. It was difficult to move. And breathe. She coughed and blood spilled from her mouth. She summoned all the adrenaline in her body, fighting, pushing to get up, but she could only lift herself a few inches.
The sound of footsteps got closer behind her. Nicola used every ounce of her strength to roll over onto her back.
She saw the detective on his feet now in the distance, standing at attention with his hands on the back of his head in shock. His gun wasn't drawn; he wasn't the one who had fired.
Nithya Rao sped towards Nicola, holding a pistol. The CDC woman—she was here. This wasn't good. Nicola still needed to search her Flagstaff house. She still needed to tell Diego about Doka.
A strange wheezing sound that Nicola had never heard before escaped from her throat. She felt a sensation of emptiness where she was hurt. She had been shot before but this was different. Nicola's breathing became more labored as she realized why her strength was being sapped away. Her body had been ripped by silver.
Nicola had been betrayed by the woman who had once saved her. She tried to get a view of her in the distance to make one last appeal, but her eyes couldn't find their target.
"Mom..." she said, straining to get the word to sound.
Nithya slowed to a casual walk as a disgusted scowl marred her smooth face. The woman stopped next to her, standing tall and blocking out the rays of the sun. Nicola spit up a spray of blood, and Nithya's heels weren't perfectly white any more.
"I'm the one you need to worry about," said the CDC woman, leveling her pistol at Nicola's head.
There was no sound. No muzzle flash. No pain.
Part 5 - The Tail
i.
Diego wedged the door open with his boot to catch another moment of the cool breeze. Despite the clear sky and beaming sun, the temperature had dropped into the high seventies today and he meant to enjoy what he could. Fall had a pleasant spirit in Arizona, and besides, the dim recesses of Sycamore Lodge could have used some ventilation.
A table of three gruff men in sweaty clothes held his regard. The truckers were mildly focused, partaking in occasional small talk but mostly going about the business of scarfing down their greasy lunches. They carried with them a presence of questionable repute that somehow made them at home in the roadhouse. As one of them turned to look at Diego, the biker shifted his gaze to another table.
A solitary man sat heedlessly staring into nothing in particular with a mug of beer in his hand. His white panama hat sat beside his left hand as it rapped on the table. Maxim had seen better days. It was barely 2 p.m. and he was clearly drunk, with little sign of being content.
Looking to the empty bar, a familiar face smiled. Melody was working again, looking a combination of sad and bored and frustrated. She seemed relieved to see Diego. Her thin eyebrows rose and her eyes lit up. She gave him a playful wave. Diego nodded and looked around. There wasn't anyone else of consequence inside.
It had almost been a week since the raid on the clubhouse and the execution of Nicola Makarova. To Diego's disappointment, the Seventh Sons and police alike had kept low profiles in that time. The biker had been forced to resort to less direct strategies. Now, Diego finally had a solid chance to talk to Maxim, but he felt an obligation to check in with Melody first.
He removed his foot from the door, took a deep breath, and walked over to the pretty bartender as she handed him a glass of Bloody Mary mix.
"I had fun last night," she said under her breath. She brushed her magenta hair behind her ear and smiled like a school girl. Diego gave her a confident wink.
She was a fun girl, but it still felt strange to sleep with someone who had been with his sister. Same as always, Melody had continually insisted that Angelica had moved on a while ago and left no ties behind. Was Mom right that she'd used the club as a means to an end? Angelica did always want to see the world, and it was no surprise to find that their struggling neighborhood in Detroit hadn't been compelling enough.
Still, Diego had something else in common with his sister. He felt like he had hidden reasons to get close to Melody too. How could he not when the girl knew about Angelica but told him so little? So they had spent the night at her cabin and become more familiar with each other. Diego was now convinced that the bartender had no way of getting in touch with his sister anymore. Melody didn't know anything.
Diego took a sip of his drink and nodded to the bartender in thanks. "Give me a second," he said, and strolled over to Maxim's table, leaving the glass behind. He stopped in front of an empty chair and waited for the detective to look up. After a moment, it was obvious that wasn't going to happen.
Diego wiped his thin mustache with his fingers. "You're working with the CDC now?" It was a spurious question, designed to instigate more than inquire, and it served its purpose.
"Right now, I am trying to have a drink." Maxim spoke strongly but stared at the table. The man was disheveled and had the beginnings of a scraggly beard. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his jacket and tie were nowhere in sight. He held a silver wedding band in his fingers and occasionally spun it like a top on the table. Sometimes he would clap down on it with his palm before it came to a stop, but usually he would allow it to tumble out of control and make jarring, uneven noises against the wood.
Diego sighed. "This is no time to drink for days on end."
"Isn't it?" Maxim asked. He looked up finally and raised his hands in mockery. "You should've told me that days ago. Could've saved me some trouble."
"You still have a job to do."
"Loosen up," commanded Maxim. "We got them. Another case closed." The detective recited the statement with little enthusiasm. Diego knew he placed no stock in the false words.
The poor man had realized that he had driven his wife away. It had been mean of Mom to tell him what she did, but then she had meant to distract him. Though Maxim had still held his gun, he was disarmed in spirit, and he still hadn't recovered.
Diego, too, felt as if he had failed Nicola. At first, he had meant to proceed without the detective's support. Now, however, he wasn't sure how much farther he could go without him.
The biker kicked a chair back with his boot and sat down. "I don't know if she can be trusted."
The ring spun on the table and created hypnotizing shapes. Diego's inference hung heavy in the air, however, and the officer picked it up.
"Nithya?"
Diego nodded.
"What do you know of it?"
"She killed Nicola right in front of us."
Maxim blinked slowly, lazily. "It was legal. It's fucked up, but she had orders."
"I doubt it," answered Diego briskly. The biker pulled out his wallet and flipped it open in front of the man.
Maxim squinted his eyes as he strained to read in the dim light. "United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps. That's a mouthful."
"Protecting, promoting, and advancing the health and safety of the nation."
"That too." Maxim furrowed his brow. "You in the military?"
"Not really and not anymore," answered Diego.
"You're not supposed to give that ID back when you leave?"
Diego slanted his mouth in a smirk. "I left pretty fast." Maxim just nodded so he continued. "I was a ranger with them for six years. Of course, that profession doesn't officially exist. The Commissioned Corps is a noncombatant service, but a public health need arose to teach their particular skill set."
The detective looked at him blankly but then registered understanding. "Killing wolves."
Diego winced. He never liked thinking of himself as a killer.
"We are detailed to various agencies depending on need, but in the case of the rangers, we are almost always deployed by the CDC."
Maxim took another chug of beer and looked unimpressed.
"The point is, the Commissioned Corps is the strong arm of the CDC wh
en hunting werewolves. They don't go after them on their own, and they definitely don't tap the local police." Diego leaned in to make sure he wasn't talking too loud. "If there was an Order To Kill issued for Nicola, the PHSCC would have been called out. Don't you find it strange that your office was asked to act outside your jurisdiction?"
"If it was illegal," Maxim countered, "why would she pull in a third party? Wouldn't that draw unnecessary suspicion?"
"Perhaps," said Diego, pondering the circumstances. "But then, you were investigating the Seventh Sons anyway. You were peeking under their rocks and poking them with sticks. What if the CDC just brought you in to placate you?"
The detective stared at him. Diego wasn't sure if he was being taken seriously or if the man was just too drunk to follow.
"Maxim, isn't it funny that everyone you arrested the night of the full moon is dead?"
Maxim took a long swig, upending the beer glass and emptying the swill down his throat. He waved to the waitress for another. "Except for you."
Yes. There was no question that Diego's actions were dangerous, but the others had been killed for what they knew. Diego, on the other hand, didn't know anything. That was his problem.
Maxim snapped his fingers and the ring popped from his hand and landed on the table in a blur, looking like a transparent globe as it spun. Diego shook his head.
The truckers beside them were exchanging heavy glances. They were silent now as the waitress stacked their plates for collection. Were they tense? That was a good sign.
"What was Nicola trying to tell us?" Diego asked suddenly, partially to himself. The answers had been so close. For everything she may have known, she left them with so little.
Maxim burped and wiped his mouth. "I've got bad news for you, Diego. Makarova wasn't a mastermind. She didn't know anything. She was a desperate woman who attacked a police officer and said anything she could to avoid getting killed."
Diego stomped his leather boot on the floor. "How could you sit here and not do anything about what she said?"
Maxim stared at the biker coldly to let it be known that he was getting annoyed with the questions.
Diego pressed the detective. "She mentioned suicides at the falls. She told Gaston that Doka was responsible for those abductions, that they weren't suicides at all, that he'd tried to kill me because I was asking after Angelica. Don't any of those count as leads?"
Maxim continued watching him with cold eyes. Then, once again, he spun the wedding band on the table.
Diego scoffed. "Look at you. You were so determined that night you arrested me. You didn't let Mom back you down before. But for what? You're all talk but no action."
Maxim hissed at him. "And you're all action but no thought. You can't just walk into a bar without a plan and flash a knife. Trust me, you might be the last of the four bikers from that night left alive, but you won't be for long if you keep this up."
A sigh escaped Diego's lips. "That's exactly why I need you, Maxim." The biker slid his seat closer to the table. "Listen, I know you're a good detective. I've asked around. There's no way you would leave something like this alone. We both know that when you're done wallowing in self-pity that you'll decide to follow up with the suicides. I am just asking for you to get there sooner rather than later."
Maxim stretched his eyes wide and let out a heavy breath. "I've already checked that out." The man grabbed his next mug from the waitress and paused until she scampered off. "There were three jumpers over the last two years. I even had the bodies exhumed. They're in the basement of the marshal's office right now: Sanctuary's private morgue." He took a sip from his glass.
"And?"
"And nothing. Cause of death is severe physical trauma on all three. I had tests run and nothing was found out of the ordinary. There's no physical evidence that supports homicide or any other suspicious circumstances."
"There needs to be something we're missing," protested Diego. "Why would the Seventh Sons be abducting people?"
The detective shrugged. "Excuse the play on words, Diego, but the bodies are a dead end."
The biker persisted. "Well, isn't the gang into drugs or something else that you can use against them?"
The detective shook his head dismissively. "Most certainly, but I can't do anything about it. That's a federal concern at this point." Maxim flicked his left hand again and the ring clattered against the table top. A wobbly ringing filled their ears.
Diego swatted down and snatched up the wedding band to silence to racket. "We need something new," Diego asserted desperately. "I don't have other leads to my sister. I'm lost, man."
The detective had a longing look on his face as pain flashed across his eyes. "Trust me," he said, "you can lose yourself in the truth just as easily."
The biker closed his eyes and leaned back. As he looked again, he focused on the wedding ring in his hand, the one Maxim often played with. It was a plain silver band, not especially shiny, with a smooth finish except for a single imperfection. There was a chip on the outside surface that cut into the edge. It was an odd shape, and the biker couldn't tell if it was intentional.
Mind your own business, bro.
His sister's words were a paradox. They were meant to push him away, but they only spurred him on more. As long as he could hear her voice, he couldn't give up.
"Let me tell you about my truth, Maxim. I've always been pretty good at fighting. It's not a surprise, really, that I ended up doing what I did professionally. But I never liked it. It always grated on me, like I was disturbing the natural order of things."
Diego swallowed. "When I was a boy, there was this older kid that picked on me once in a while. It wasn't that much and it wasn't a big deal; I just ignored it, mostly. Then one day, for no reason, he shoved Angelica into the street. I was just giving her a ride on my back. She was having so much fun. I guess this kid wanted to get her away from me so he could push me around or something but Angelica fell and hit her head and started bleeding." Diego gritted his teeth firmly. "She was only eight."
He continued. "That was it for me. I beat that older boy down with my fists so hard that I literally never saw him again. I couldn't tell you what happened to him, but as we got older, I found myself having to protect my sister again and again. I'm still doing it. And I'll always do it. It's the one time where the violence makes sense."
Diego looked at Maxim solemnly. "Believe me when I tell you that I won't let up. I'm going to keep chasing this, and in the end, I'm going to find her."
Maxim looked at the man with a softened expression. The glaze over his eyes was still there. But behind that—there was a kinship, an understanding.
"I get it," said the detective, "but I've already been traveling down that road for two years." Maxim pulled the mug of beer to his mouth and slurped up the froth. "I just hope, for your sake, that when you reach the end of your road, you can come to grips with what you find there."
The three men sitting close to them stood up and downed the remainder of their drinks. Diego turned his attention to them as they marched out the door, his eyes following them past the large patio windows, towards the side of the establishment where their trucks were parked.
"Well," said Diego, taking a superior tone. "I'm not sitting on my ass doing nothing. I've been following the truckers for a few days."
Maxim just leaned back into his chair in forced apathy. "Oh yeah? And what has that gotten you?"
Diego considered the question. It hadn't gotten him anything. The truckers always drove in, ate some food and used the restrooms, and then drove back to the Interstate. Following the gang members and truckers had been his only actionable idea, and while everything generally seemed suspicious, nothing had been cause for alarm yet.
Diego pushed away from the table in disgust and stood up. "Well, I'm going, with or without you."
"As long as you're going," said Maxim, still in a bitter mood.
Diego looked sadly at the detective. It was a pathetic thing to lose you
r drive, or rather, lose what was driving you. The biker wondered how he would respond if their situations were reversed, if he had found out that Angelica was beyond his help.
Diego tossed the wedding band back onto the table. It rolled sideways, but Maxim's hand caught it and immediately starting turning it in his fingers in a familiar motion.
"It means I'm coming back."
ii.
The Transwestern was the only road out of Sanctuary. It was a lonely strip of cracked asphalt that wound its way down to the civilized world nearby. It was just enough out of the way to be forgotten, swallowed by the march of time and obviated by the modern highway below.
This was what was so curious about the idea of the small town as a truck stop. Interstate 40 was the contemporary route, but it wasn't adjacent to Sycamore Lodge. The roadhouse was close enough for the truckers to find, but they would likely need a good reason for going out of their way.
Diego's interest was immediately piqued when one trucker turned west on the old 66. The other two semis continued on the only paved street and bore southeast towards the Interstate, as the other trailers he'd followed previously had done, but this one truck, this anomaly, opted to bear right, away from any sensible destination.
The laid asphalt immediately gave way to gritty red dirt. Diego stopped his Scrambler at the intersection and swiveled his gold helmet as he watched both paths. The biker was killing time, making sure to lag behind enough so as not to draw suspicion. The road was expected to be empty, so he would make it look that way.
It was easy to follow the heavy truck at a large distance because of its size and the dirt it kicked up. However, the condition of the road proved slow going. Diego caught himself getting too close a few times and had to pull back. He needed to find a way to cool his nerves and appreciate the trek.
It was a nice ride west. The bright day and cool breeze were the perfect backdrop for a relaxing road trip. An open expanse of sand gave way to the forest, and except for the occasional trailer stationed roadside, the neglected path provided a quiet solitude that Diego yearned for. He could have gotten used to this.