“—Anyway,” I continued, “they were trying to implant this genetic trait in those without it. Things went south, the subject of the experiment—”
“Lawrence Bukowski, right?” Alders asked. “I read the report.”
“Right. He killed several people before I … caught up with him.”
Alders nodded, her expression turning to approval. Stopping bad guys is what cops do.
She said, “So Father Putnam and his priests believed the human experiments were evil, and went on a holy crusade?”
“Something like that, but they failed miserably.”
“You’re talking about the dozen who died when the cargo ship sank. You suspect Father Putnam is the one who caused the explosion.”
I nodded.
Alders curled her lip. “Maybe he’s the one with the genetic trait for evil.”
“He’s psychotic, that’s for sure. I’m glad you put him behind bars, and I hope he stays there for the rest of his life.”
“What’s your theory?” Alders asked. “The terrorist is one of these guys with the genetic trait, like Lawrence?”
“Yeah.”
“And this geneticist of Putnam’s might have a way of, what, removing the gene, like it’s some kind of virus or something? He thinks he can ‘cure’ a terrorist?”
I shrugged. “That’s the first thing I’m going to ask him when I find him.”
* * *
We got off two blocks from Putnam’s office. This side of Brooklyn was obviously faring worse than Prospect Heights. There were several abandoned cars, some of the shop windows were smashed, and there was a column of smoke rising up from behind a building in the distance.
Alders lifted the hem of her hoodie up to show me she had a Glock in a holster at her waist.
“Just in case,” she said as she arranged her clothing to hide the gun.
“Let’s just take it slow, okay?” The last thing I wanted was to get into a firefight, especially considering I’d been robbed of my only weapon earlier.
As we got closer to the area where Putnam’s office was, I grew more wary. It had been a while since I’d seen any sign of police, but I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. The black cloud from the fire was getting thicker. The cops would have their hands full. There would be no hope of help from them if we got into trouble.
Then I noticed something odd: after we passed Putnam’s building and got closer to the deli a few blocks down, I saw that the stoops of the townhouses we walked by were populated with the residents hanging out as if nothing untoward had been going on. Kids played ball on the sidewalks; old folks gossiped; one family was barbequing hamburgers.
On the next block, there were several shops and stores open, and it looked like they were doing brisk business.
It was almost as if this little section of Brooklyn was actually in a different city, unaffected by the chaos and violence erupting throughout the rest of New York.
I was truly creeped out.
Alders obviously got the same vibe as I did; I saw her moving her hand to her waist more than once.
When we got to the deli, it was bustling with activity. There was a lineup of at least a dozen people waiting for their sandwiches.
“What now?” Alders asked.
“Now,” I said, “we order something to eat. I haven’t had anything since that pretzel this morning. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Chapter Thirteen
And they said to the Lord of the ages: “Lord of lords, God of gods, King of kings, and God of the ages, the throne of Thy glory standeth unto all the generations of the ages, and Thy name holy and glorious and blessed unto all the ages! Thou hast made all things, and power over all things hast Thou: and all things are naked and open in Thy sight, and Thou seest all things, and nothing can hide itself from Thee.
–Book of Enoch 9:4-6
I’ve spent more hours warming a stool in cop bars than I care to remember. It was always one of the best ways to unwind, especially after a taxing shift. Throwing back a few cold ones with people who know exactly what kind of hell you’re going through could sometimes make all the difference in an officer’s off-duty life.
I’d never been married, but I knew that if I were, I couldn’t take home some of the terrible things I’d experienced on shift. The ritual was like a purging of the evil of the day, so that you could go home and pretend for a moment the world wasn’t a cesspool. Besides, it wasn’t fair to your family or friends to have to bear that kind of burden.
For those of us who didn’t have anyone to go home to, we’d end up spending a little more time in the bar than others; sometimes, we ended up a little worse off than those who cut out after two drinks—but that’s a different story.
One thing that was apparent in a cop bar was that most of the patrons were either police officers or other members of the justice community. There were regulars who weren’t in the service, but had hung around often enough that they were more like kindred spirits.
We could sense a civilian the moment they stepped through the door. We’d lower our voices, filter our language, and put on a show of politeness until they’d had their drink and left—it was rare any of them stuck around too long. It had happened dozens of times.
Now, when Alders and I walked into the deli shop, the exact same thing happened; only, this time, we were the outsiders.
The conversation level dropped to a muted hush, and all eyes turned toward us.
Though we weren’t dressed as police, I could see high levels of suspicion in every eye that landed on me.
I felt a tightening in my guts, but not because of the scrutiny I was under…
It was that sensation Putnam had described, and with which I was intimately familiar.
There were Watchers among the patrons of the deli. It was as if I could smell the stink of evil on them.
Without trying to look too obvious about it, I quickly scanned the crowd, but I couldn’t tell who was normal and who was possessed.
The one thing I knew was that Alders and I were in mortal danger if I didn’t do something quickly.
Under any other circumstance, when threatened, it was a cop’s instinctive reaction to reach for their gun. Without seeing Alders do it, I could sense she was going for hers.
With a wide smile, I reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“No, don’t worry about it,” I said, keeping my voice light. “It’s my treat.”
Thanking my lucky stars that Alders went along with my lead, I took a few more steps forward to the counter and met the clerk’s eyes without flinching.
“Two sandwiches, please, and a couple of sodas.”
The young man paused for the briefest of moments, then asked, “What kind?”
Keeping my voice casual, I placed my order, keeping my focus on the menu on the wall behind him. Then, glancing at Alders, I nudged her to tell the clerk what she wanted.
“To go,” I added when she was done.
The wary eyes that lingered on us gradually moved on to other things. We were just regular customers; nothing to see here; move along.
It was only then that I casually glanced around. At the back, in a booth, three men sat by themselves. Of all the customers in the deli, they were the only ones without food in front of them. That was strange, but it wasn’t exactly damning evidence of wrongdoing.
My confirmation that they were Watchers came when I recognized the man who’d accompanied Brigson at the pharmacy.
There was no sign of Brigson, but I would swear on my life that, if he wasn’t in the building right now, he had been at some point.
The man from the pharmacy slowly moved his head in my direction, but before he could catch me looking at him, I made a show of browsing some pastries inside a glass display.
When the clerk finished preparing our sandwiches, I handed over enough money to cover the cost, and included a modest tip.
“Thank you so much.”
I grabbed the bag he ha
nded to me, and led Alders outside.
We headed down the street where we came from without looking back, and walked two full blocks before turning the corner.
“That was so weird,” Alders said, her tone bewildered. “Those people seemed … I don’t know, different somehow. Like they were all in a secret club or something.”
I pointed to a bus stop bench which was currently unoccupied, and sat down on it. I reached into the bag and handed Alders her sandwich and soda.
Unwrapping the remaining one, I bit into it. It was delicious; I took another bite and washed it down with a swig from the soda before I answered Alders.
“What the hell was going on back there?” Alders asked.
“What was going on was,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “that we both almost lost our lives.”
* * *
No matter how urgent Alders was when she asked me to explain myself, I wasn’t going to answer until I finished my sandwich. A brush with death built up an appetite.
In the end, she must have realized I was going to be completely stubborn about it, and decided to eat her own dinner.
By the time I finished eating, my heart had stopped thumping so hard.
I asked, “When we were in there, did you happen to notice the three men sitting at a table near the back?”
Alders twitched her head and her eyes unfocused as she tried to remember. Then she made a face. “Yeah. They weren’t eating or drinking anything; just sitting there.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “They were Watchers.”
“Watchers,” she repeated, her voice flat. She seemed on the verge of dismissing the subject, but then said, “I still don’t really know what that means.”
“I’ve had a few weeks recovering from my run-in with Lawrence Bukowski to do a little research, with a little help from Eugene Yates, a friend.”
“And…?”
“You’ve heard of Noah, right?”
She nodded to me. “…and the Ark, right?”
I said, “Apparently, the ‘flood’ was an attempt to rid the world of the evil influence brought about by two hundred angels who were originally assigned to ‘watch’ over humankind. They took their job too seriously, and gave away a lot of Heaven’s secrets. Humans, being who they are, misused these gifts and became corrupt. On top of that, the fallen angels decided to take wives, and they had kids—kids with some powers humans should never have. So, to undo it all…”
“The flood,” Alders guessed.
I nodded. “Yeah; wipe all the bad humans and half-breeds out and start over.”
“I’m not saying that I’m buying this story, but there’s something you left out.”
“Right. The Watchers.”
“According to the Book of Enoch—one of the Dead Sea Scrolls—the Watchers were banished to the Abyss.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Turns out, some of the half-breeds—Nephilim—managed to escape the flood, and they went on to live normal lives. Of course, they passed on the genetics of their fallen angel ancestors.”
“The trait you mentioned earlier.” Alders had a sour look on her face, as if this story were getting harder and harder for her to swallow the more I told it. Even still, there was no stopping now.
“A few decades ago, one of the Watchers managed to break his spirit out of the Abyss, and was able to possess one of his descendants. There’s some kind of bond of blood there. Anyway, once possessed, the host takes on some of the attributes of the fallen angel.
“I don’t know if you follow the news, but in the past few months there’ve been a lot of crazy things happening across the country: half a town in Arizona exploding, tornados in Seattle, earthquakes in Chicago; that kind of thing.”
Alders screwed her face up. “I thought that was just from global warming or something. At least, that’s what everyone else was saying.”
“I know you’re having a tough time believing it, but I’ve seen some of the things these possessed can do.” I paused. “Those three in the back of the deli have enough power between them to level a city block. They’re probably in the shop as lookouts for the Watcher posing as a terrorist.”
“Well, there’s one thing I do believe,” Alders said.
“What’s that?”
“I believe this Lawrence Bukowski character might have done more damage to your head than the doctors originally thought.” She stood up and brushed sandwich crumbs from her pants. “I’ve had enough of your ramblings, old man. I don’t know how you managed to stay on the force so long.
“It’s a wonder how you managed to track Putnam’s man to the shop, but now that we have a solid lead, I’m going to call it in. Captain Armstrong can take it from here.
“Maybe, if he makes an arrest, that’ll get me back in his good graces. In any event, I think I’m done listening to you.” She held up a hand when I started to protest. “And I don’t even care to hear what you have to say about my father’s death. At this point, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to believe a word you said about it.”
With that, she strode over to the payphone halfway down the block, picked up the receiver, and dialed.
Feeling deflated, I remained on the bus stop bench, and cursed myself. I should have shut my big mouth. I’d done a good job of that in the past year, and that had kept me out of hot water with my captain.
In a way, I’d not only wanted to unburden myself of the secret, I’d wanted to tell Alders, specifically. It had only been a few hours since I’d met her, but the knowledge that she was the daughter of Scott Goodwin had stirred something in me. Maybe it was guilt that I hadn’t been able to save his life; maybe I wanted his daughter to absolve me of that sin.
I stood up and took a few tentative steps toward her, not knowing what to say, but wanting to say something.
She hung up and turned toward me. “I can’t get through to Captain Armstrong.”
“I’m sure he’s busy,” I said.
“Or he’s avoiding me. I don’t blame him.” She sighed. “I left a detailed message with the desk serg—”
I glanced at her quizzically, seeing her expression change to a look of shock.
“What is it?” I asked, then realized she wasn’t looking at me.
The skin on the back of my neck crawled, and I slowly turned around.
The three Watchers from the deli were at the end of the block, walking purposefully toward us.
Chapter Fourteen
Thou seest what Azazel hath done, who hath taught all unrighteousness on earth and revealed the eternal secrets which were preserved in heaven, which men were striving to learn: And Semjaza, to whom Thou hast given authority to bear rule over his associates. And they have gone to the daughters of men upon the earth, and have slept with the women, and have defiled themselves, and revealed to them all kinds of sins.
–Book of Enoch 9:6-9
They weren’t coming at us in a rush. It was as if they were unconcerned that we might run from them. Even if I thought I could get my bad knees to hold together long enough, my long-distance marathon days were decades behind me.
Alders, seeing that I wasn’t making any attempt to flee, stood her ground beside me. She pulled out her gun before I could tell her it was a useless gesture. A moment later, she learned the futility of it when one of the three Watchers—a short, young man with a soul patch and a shaved head—made a motion with his hand, and the shiny black metal of her gun turned a reddish-brown color and began to flake.
Instinctively, she pulled the trigger, but the rust had caused the metal to seize.
I tried to look unimpressed as the three Watchers closed the distance, but my heart was thumping in my chest like a drum.
“Nice trick,” I said. “You must kill them at parties.”
The Watcher who I’d seen in the video with Brigson smiled. “I knew I recognized you back at the shop.” He snapped his fingers. “Detective Frank Hollingsworth. You’re quite famous
among the Grigori. It’s not every mortal that can claim to have put down one of us. Of course,” he added as he slowed to stop a few feet in front of me, “Lawrence Bukowski wasn’t technically ‘one of us’. Some might even say you did us a favor by ending that atrocity of a being.” When he said it, he shot a scathing look at the third man, who looked somewhat confused, as if he were struggling to understand what was going on.
“And you would be…?” I asked.
“Ah, where are my manners. I am Zaphkiel, but you can call me Mike—after all, that’s what I went by until I was chosen.”
I glanced at Alders, who had been staring at her gun in bewilderment until Mike’s words filtered through. Her mouth parted, as if she were about to say something, but no words came out.
Mike pointed to the Watcher with the soul patch who had turned Alders’ gun to rust. “This is Eiael, angel of corrosion; his mortal name is ‘Bob’.”
Wrapping one arm around the third man, Mike said, “I believe you already know my other friend. Although he only joined us two days ago, he’s one of the first ones to lead the way to this side.”
I frowned, not recognizing the third man, who looked very out of place. Not that I was always one to make snap judgments, but both Bob and Mike looked shady. Their friend reminded me of an accountant I’d arrested a few years back for embezzlement. The man in front of me had pale skin, beady eyes, and sported the soft physique of someone who spent a lot of time sitting in an office chair. The leather jacket he wore was too big around his shoulders, and too small at the waist.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I meet so many scumbags in my line of work, you all look the same to me…”
Mike chuckled. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of yours: Frank, this is Stanley Lancaster, who only recently became joined with the spirit of Semjaza.” He gave me a deadpan stare, and his grin held no humor. “He’s our leader.”
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 88