The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

By the time we got near the Gowanus Canal, I could smell the familiar stink of the waterway. It hadn’t gotten any better over the past twenty-five years. I recalled that, back in the day, the canal was rumored to be a popular dumping ground for the Mafia.

  My own clothes were drenched with perspiration; I probably wasn’t too pleasant smelling.

  Alders didn’t seem nearly as winded as I was. She flashed a few concerned looks my way, but didn’t ask if I were all right.

  At my age—and weight—the possibility of having a heart attack increased. With all the stress of the past few weeks, I’d imagined, more than once, that I was having chest pains.

  Halfway to our destination, I had to stop. I pretended I needed to tie my shoe, but the reality was, I needed the break. I made the decision right then to cut back on the booze and hamburgers. Maybe order a salad once in a while.

  “You lose a contact down there or something?” Alders asked after a full minute ticked by.

  I got back to my feet and gave her a confident smile. “I’m good.”

  We continued on our way.

  One thing struck me: over the course of our walk, I hadn’t seen any patrol officers or squad cars. If I had, I would have flagged one of them down to give us a ride. Captain Armstrong had said he wanted to bring a visible presence to the streets. Had this section of the city been overlooked? Or was it just a low priority? Among the many factories and office buildings in the neighborhood, there were several residential areas. Some of the stand-alone houses sold for upwards of a million dollars.

  I would have thought the local precinct would be out in force … then I realized that, only a few blocks away was one of the most crime-ridden housing projects in Brooklyn. I figured that was where most of the force had been deployed.

  That only reinforced the notion that Alders and I were on our own.

  When we got to the address Putnam had given me, I saw that it was a two-story building divided between four businesses. The bottom level had loading docks in front of garage doors. Beside each was a single glass-paned door. Stairs behind the doors led up to the offices on the second floor.

  Three of the businesses were labeled. There was a car stereo installation shop; a tire repair supplier, a lawnmower blade sharpening service, and one building without any placards.

  “That must be it,” I said, glad that we’d arrived. I hoped they had a nice chair or couch I could use to catch my breath.

  As we passed the other businesses, I noticed they were all deserted. The door of the unmarked bay was locked. I rang the bell and banged on the glass several times.

  Alders said, “If I had to hazard a guess, everyone probably went home to be with their families when they heard the news. Besides, why stick around here to protect someone else’s business?”

  “Just our luck,” I grumbled. Pointing toward the far end of the building, I asked, “What’s that over there?”

  Alders turned to look, and I took the opportunity to mule-kick the window of the door. The glass shattered spectacularly.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Alders cried, whipping back around.

  “You didn’t see anything,” I said, reaching inside the door to unlock it.

  “That’s breaking and entering,” she said.

  I shrugged as I stepped inside. “I thought I heard someone call for help.”

  She pursed her lips in disapproval.

  Pausing to give her a gruff look, I said, “We don’t have time to pansy around. This could be our only shot. Now, are you going to stand there being outraged, or are you going to come upstairs and help me look around?”

  * * *

  As far as Alders knew, we were looking for any information Putnam’s employees had on the terrorist. If we found anything, that would be great, but I highly doubted the priest’s computer tech had anything the cops wouldn’t soon uncover. The NYPD cyber squad was very good at its job; also, by now they were probably flooded with tips from the general public. Every hacker in the city would want to get the scoop on the story.

  If the terrorist was indeed a Watcher, he wouldn’t be so careless as to leave a trail for the police or anyone else to follow.

  While we’d been en route here, I’d had a chance to think about Putnam’s mission. Just because I thought he was a raving psychotic, that didn’t mean he was wrong in trying to stop the fallen angel menace.

  A final solution to the Watcher problem… What would that entail?

  The priest had mentioned that the geneticist, Clarence Brigson, had made a discovery. I recalled how Sam Lancaster had used genetic science to force a fallen angel to transfer from Chase’s father to Lawrence. While that had ended in a spectacular failure, perhaps there was something to this line of research after all.

  I didn’t want to let Alders or Captain Armstrong have the slightest hint about what—who—the terrorist actually was. Even if I spoke with complete clarity and elegance, they’d nod and put me in a padded cell right next to Putnam.

  I wasn’t very good at science by any means, but if I got Yates and Brigson together, maybe they could figure out if there was any way to rid the world of the fallen angels once and for all.

  I went up the stairs first. The overhead fluorescents were off, but there was enough sunlight streaming through the windows to illuminate the floor. It was a wide-open plan, with several desks and workbenches spaced out. Computers, phones, and paperwork were scattered haphazardly on the desks.

  Along one wall, there was a long bench, on top of which were a coffee maker, a mini fridge, and a microwave.

  Alders approached the first computer workstation and shook the mouse. The screen flickered on, but there was a password prompt.

  “Damn.” She quickly went to the next computer, only to discover it was locked as well. Within a few minutes, she’d checked them all. Methodically, she began to rifle through the desks, most likely looking for any personal papers that might have an address or phone number on them.

  She raised a sheaf of papers and said, “These are printouts of documents of incorporation for dozens of companies.” Glancing at the first few, she called out their names. “Enoch Enterprises, Grigori Ventures, Welkin Works, Paradise Properties, Seraphim Holdings … the list goes on.”

  Wandering over to the coffee station, I looked in the fridge, hoping someone had left their lunch behind—what someone ate could provide a clue, especially if they purchased a sandwich from a particular deli, or got their caffeine fix from a local coffeehouse rather than the free brew offered here.

  There was only one bagged lunch there, and it was bowl of homemade soup in a plastic container. No way to tell which employee brought it.

  Stepping over to the next desk, Alders picked up another page. “It’s a directory of names with locations and ages. What was Putnam doing here? It’s like these two desks belong to some kind of researchers or detectives.”

  Poking through the trash under the coffee station, I saw a few candy wrappers and empty cans of soda. There was also an empty prescription bottle of aripiprazole made out to Clarence Brigson. The label had the name and address of the pharmacy on it. I slipped the bottle into my pocket.

  At the next desk, Alders smiled. “Aha. This must be computer tech’s desk.” Unlike the other computers in the office, this one was customized to look like a dragon. There were stickers plastered on the sides of the tower with logos from video games. He had a number of gamer magazines in the top drawer. When Alders pulled them out, she cursed.

  “No addresses on them.” She pursed her lips. “He must buy them off the rack.”

  The final desk had to be Brigson’s. I went over to it, and raised an eyebrow when I saw it was the only one that was neat and organized. There weren’t any printouts lying on it, and the drawers were empty … except for a pen with the end chewed up.

  Looking over my shoulder, Alders huffed. “What, did they take all their personal possessions with them?”

  I said, “Putnam has only had a week to get things up and
running. No one’s had time to settle in.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, Alders asked, “Now what?”

  “Now we go get something to eat.”

  “What?” she asked, a flabbergasted look on her face.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been up since two this morning, and I’ve only had a pretzel and coffee for breakfast. It’s been a rough day so far, and I’m famished.”

  “But … we don’t have any money.”

  “Do you have food at your place?” I asked.

  “My place? It’ll probably take us an hour or so to walk there. I don’t have any money for a bus or the subway.”

  I pulled a bank card out of the front pocket of my pants. I was thankful I never kept my ID or credit cards in my wallet, a habit I’d had since being mugged when I was a teen.

  “Where’d you get that…?”

  I motioned toward the door. “We’ll flag down a taxi or—”

  There was a squeal of tires and a loud crash, immediately followed by the sound of glass smashing.

  Chapter Ten

  And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray, and became corrupt in all their ways. Semjaza taught enchantments, and root-cuttings, Armaros the resolving of enchantments, Baraqijal taught astrology, Kokabel the constellations, Ezeqeel the knowledge of the clouds, Araqiel the signs of the earth, Shamsiel the signs of the sun, and Sariel the course of the moon. And as men perished, they cried, and their cry went up to heaven…

  –Book of Enoch 8:2-3

  Both Alders and I rushed over to the windows and looked outside.

  A plume of dust filled the air near the bay next door. The parking lot had a fresh set of black tire streaks leading from the street to the building. At first, I thought there might have been an accident.

  Then, as I leaned against the window to get a better look, I saw a heavy-duty pickup with a metal plow attached to the front slowly backing away from the building, pulling bits of glass and metal frame with it.

  Four men jumped out, and three of them raced inside; one of the men guarded the others with a hunting rifle. It was the stereo shop they’d broken into, and were now in the process of robbing.

  “Should we do something?” Alders asked, as aware as I was that we had no weapons.

  “The only thing we can do is call it in. If we go down there, all we’ll accomplish is to get ourselves shot.”

  Alders hurried over to one of the desk phones and picked up the receiver. A moment later, she dropped the phone and made an exasperated sound. “Can you believe it? 911 is busy.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I can imagine.”

  I almost bit my lip in shock as the window beside me shattered at the same instant as I heard the sound of a rifle shot.

  As I scurried away, I saw the armed man in the parking lot taking aim at me again.

  “Quick,” I hissed at Alders. “Back way.”

  For a second, it looked as if she were going to rush down the stairs and confront the rifleman—it was our training. While most people ran from danger, we were taught to run toward it.

  There was nothing we could do in this case. I reached my arm around her and pulled her with me to the emergency exit beside the bathroom door.

  Pushing it open, I dragged Alders through just as I heard the sounds of two men racing up the stairs.

  The door was the kind that automatically closed, and didn’t have a knob on the outside. I looked around the metal landing of the emergency escape and saw a block of wood they’d probably used either to keep the door propped open in summer to let cool air in, or for someone who wanted to step outside to smoke.

  I jammed one end of it against the metal grate and the other end against the bottom of the door. It wouldn’t hold indefinitely, but it would keep the armed men occupied long enough for us to get down the escape and run away. I didn’t think they’d pursue; they should be satisfied with chasing us off.

  Alders led the way down the stairs to the back alley of the building. She paused and looked behind, but I pushed her forward.

  “No time for gawking. Get moving.”

  We reached the end of the alley, and as we rounded the corner, I couldn’t help but glance back. The men had managed to get the emergency door open. As I had guessed, they weren’t following; instead, they watched us from the landing.

  After a block, we slowed to a quick walk, both of us winded.

  “We should go back,” Alders said, her face clouded. “Running away from the scene of a crime is cowardly.”

  “Sometimes you just have to swallow your pride.” I took a quick look over my shoulder, just to be completely certain we were in the clear.

  Earlier, I’d thought we could hail a taxi, but the streets were largely empty of traffic. Word of the cop killings had obviously spread through the city like wildfire. Both the police and the criminal element were gathering their forces; there was a thick tension in the air.

  Though the sidewalks were barren of regular citizens, I noticed a few stalwart shop owners taking up positions in their stores, armed with rifles against possible looters.

  Down one alley, a band of youths had gathered. I could make out baseball bats, sticks and knives.

  In another alley, I spotted six bikers, all in full gear, cruising slowly to the next street. They reminded me of a pack of wolves on the hunt.

  I became consciously aware that Alders and I stood out, and not just because we were the only pedestrians on the street. In my ill-fitting suit, I was less conspicuous than Alders, in her blue uniform. Both of us looked like cops.

  If anyone approached us for protection, we would have to turn them away—we were unarmed. On the other hand, if one of the roaming gangs decided to confront us, we’d be at their mercy.

  “How far is your place from here?” I asked.

  “About thirty blocks that way.” She pointed east. “I live in Prospect Heights.”

  I shook my head. “We’ll never make it without someone deciding to take a poke at us.” I pointed to her uniform. “You might as well be waving a flag.”

  Glancing at herself, Alders let out a huff. “I hate this.” Quickly, she ducked into the doorway of a shop and undid her shirt and pulled it off. I saw a flash of white bra before I averted my eyes, as a gentleman should.

  “It’s not perfect, but it’s as good as it gets,” she said half a minute later.

  When I looked back, I saw that she’d reversed her shirt and put it back on. One sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, the other left long. She’d removed her utility belt from around her waist and slung it over her shoulder like a purse. From a distance, it would be difficult to identify her as a cop.

  I took off my overcoat, tossing it into the corner of the building, and untucked my shirt from my pants.

  She gave me an appraising look, her eyes pausing at my expanding waistline. “If we don’t dawdle, it’ll take us about an hour to walk. You sure you can make it?”

  I reddened. “Hey, I pass my annual every year.” My voice was a grumble. “With flying colors.”

  * * *

  Of course, when I know I have to go in for my physical test, I lay off the booze and hamburgers for a few weeks before.

  I was still a tad hung-over from last night, and I’d only had a few hours sleep when I’d been called into the precinct. Not to mention, I hadn’t had anything to eat except that pretzel this morning.

  It was tough going. Though it was early autumn, there wasn’t much of a breeze and the afternoon sun beat down on the cement, turning it into a hot plate.

  The streets gradually became more crowded with both traffic and pedestrians. There’d also been a significant increase in police cruisers. Alders, seeing me laboring, suggested we flag one down for a ride. It seemed the imminent threat of being attacked by a wandering gang had lessened, but I was in as much peril as earlier—this time from collapsing.

  I waived her off. “We can’t be that far now,” I said, working to p
ush the words out between heavy breaths.

  “Four more blocks,” she said, and I waved my hand to urge her on.

  By the time we got to Alders’ place, my thighs were burning, my heart was about to pop right out of my chest, my ears roared, and my head felt like it was filled with helium.

  “My apartment is on the fourth floor. The elevator’s broken, so we have to take the stairs. Please don’t have a heart attack just yet.”

  “I’m fine,” I protested, but I wanted nothing more than to fall on the carpet in the lobby and pass out.

  Somehow, I managed to pull myself up the stairs. When Alders opened her apartment door with a spare key she’d hidden behind a faulty strip of edging, I stumbled into the room and fell on top of the first chair I found.

  “Just need a minute to catch my breath,” I said, my eyes shut as I willed my heart to hang in there for another minute.

  Something cold and moist pressed into my hand made me crack open on eye, and I saw the bottle of water Alders gave me. “What, no whiskey?” I asked, forcing a smile.

  “Drink, old man.”

  “I’m not that old,” I said, but I unscrewed the cap and drained half the bottle.

  Alders went back into the kitchen and picked up her cordless phone. “Calling in,” she said as she waited for someone to pick up. She got the switchboard and then was put on hold for several long minutes.

  Finally, someone answered, and Alders got as far as identifying herself before she closed her mouth with a snap.

  Her face grew dark, and her jaw tensed as she listened.

  I sat forward when she said, “Yes. I understand.”

  “What’s up?” I asked in as gentle a voice as I could muster.

  Alders didn’t look at me when she replied. I could see her hands bunching and unbunching.

  “The good news is they found my squad car.”

  “Oh?”

  “The bad news is, it was used in a drive-by shooting a few blocks north of where the gang stole it.” At last, she met my eyes, and she looked miserable. “Some innocent kid got caught in the crossfire. He’s dead. They used my gun to do the job.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.