The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  She’d gone to OSM to make a difference. That was before she realized she was too small. Before her father’s bad credit zapped her loans, and she couldn’t afford to keep herself in school. Before she lived in Westside listening to her upstairs neighbor abuse his wife, knowing no cops would show when a frightened nineteen-year-old below dialed for help, and a child snatched screaming out of the alleyway beneath her window made her race outside with her tiny bottle of pepper spray and frayed vocal cords, only to stare helplessly at an empty pair of dumpsters with no trace of where they’d gone.

  Before she realized she was a drop in the inky, light-swallowing bucket that was Orion City. Before she discovered how fragile she was, how powerless and unimportant. A tiny shadow swallowed in the one cast by the Wall.

  The Orion Giant was bigger than her. In more ways than one. She envied that—not his colossal size, or his ability to use his fists to make the difference she couldn’t—but the fact that he still wanted to. He lived in this city, and he still believed he could change something.

  Could he, though? Could anyone?

  She released her breath, watching it exit in little white swirls on the dark air. “I still don’t know if vigilante justice is the solution.”

  She knew his next question before he even asked—then what is?—and dreaded answering, because she didn’t know how. But W stayed silent. In the dead air, she realized her teeth were chattering.

  “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish laugh, hugging her knees tighter. She clamped her lips against the embarrassing sound. “It’s freezing in here. You’d think the snow would insulate us, but I guess not.”

  Without a word, W stood and removed his coat. He draped it over her shoulders.

  “I can keep a look out for looters, if you want to catch a few winks. In case someone really is desperate enough to go after the one-fifty in the drawer.”

  Courtney pulled the coat close, relishing its warmth. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I might finally get some work done without you chatterboxing all night.”

  She smiled to herself. Once she’d gotten him going, he’d been the chatterbox. She pulled out her phone and stared at it in surprise. It was past midnight. Had they talked that long? It hadn’t felt like it, but now her eyelids drooped.

  Her father had left two voice messages. She deleted them without listening, and tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans. With some stiff navigation on the narrow bench, she curled up beneath W’s coat.

  She wouldn’t sleep. She’d just rest here a moment. A few weeks ago, she’d have balked at the idea of letting her guard down around this man. She’d denied it then, but W once frightened her as much as he did her coworkers. There was something about him. It could’ve been anything: that gleam in his eye, his total disregard for social rules, the imposing height and presence that filled up a room. But something had changed. Hearing him talk about his mother, perhaps. It softened his edges, made him human. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt... safe, here, in this moment.

  Her eyes fell closed.

  The dream received her with gentle, familiar arms. The road stretched out before her, huge and black and winding. One dotted yellow line flickering in and out under the wash of the headlights, speeding by until the breaks in the paint blurred together. Wind whipped in her ears, tugging her clothes, her hair, her lungs. She could never tell if her hands were on the steering wheel or floating out in the air on either side of her. It never mattered. She was flying.

  Hills rolled before and behind, the faint scent of the ocean on the air, salty and wild. She’d never smelled the ocean before, but somehow deep in her gut, she knew it smelled like this. Stars glittered. A thousand diamonds, untouched by manmade lights.

  And in all directions, the unbroken line of horizon.

  Courtney awoke to the sound of a dull scraping—a shovel on gravel. Groggy and disoriented, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Something slipped off her onto the ground, bringing a rush of cold in its wake. W’s coat. Her eyes opened wider.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  She looked over to see him sitting in the same position as before, reading his work files like the morning paper. The phone light burned bright against the dark. She was amazed his battery had lasted this long. Pushing her messy braid out of her face, she looked to the windows. It was lighter outside, only slightly, the dull gray of dawn. Behind the door, the silhouette of a man stood hunched over, tugging at a metal pole.

  “What’s...” Her voice came out scratchy. “Who’s that?”

  “That there is Jimmy, with the Public Works Department. He’s here to let us out.”

  Looking closer, she realized it wasn’t a pole but the handle of a shovel. He dislodged the snow from the base of the door, bit by bit. Pretty soon they’d be able to push their way out.

  Courtney pulled out her phone to check the time. 5:13 a.m. An icon at the corner of the screen told her the Wi-Fi was back on.

  “The power’s back?” she asked. “Why is it still dark?”

  “The lights came on around four, but you were sleeping like a rock, so I turned them off.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Courtney reached down and retrieved his coat from the ground. She handed it to him. “Thanks for that, too.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  In the distance, a siren began to wail. The wind had died down, so the snow rasping by the window fell straight instead of sideways. It looked thinner, too. A deep mechanical rumble grew louder, and Courtney looked out to see a snowplow rolling by. Behind the bowl-faced machine, a police car cruised with its lights flashing.

  “Looks like my one chance at a life of crime is over,” she said lightheartedly. “The streets are patrolled once again.”

  “Chin up,” said W. “It’s only October. There are plenty of storms ahead.”

  A muted knock on the glass drew her attention back to Jimmy. The public works officer gave them a wave.

  “Door’s clear!” he called, voice muffled by the glass. With no little effort, he threw all his weight behind the handle and yanked it open. The rumbling, tinny noises of outside invaded. “Sorry about that, folks!” He stumbled into the café, flushed and rosy-cheeked from the cold. “You all right?”

  “Never better,” W said. “Best blizzard I ever spent in a café.”

  “You’re the only two?”

  “Yes,” Courtney said. “Everybody else split before it got bad.”

  “Good.” Jimmy stepped back, looking round the store as if to fact-check her words. “Okay. Okay, if you folks don’t mind, I’ve got to run and help the poor fellers stuck in the bakery two doors down. Streets should be pretty clear, just mind yourself. There are still some ruffians out looking for trouble, with all the cops so busy.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Courtney told him. Jimmy nodded again, picked up his snow shovel, and hurried off down the dark street.

  When she turned back around, W had shrugged his coat back on and folded up his papers, tucking them inside. How much did he carry around in that old duster? She hadn’t felt a whole lot poking out of the pockets, but who knew? She wouldn’t be surprised if it had some old Mary Poppins tricks up its sleeves, bottomless secret pockets and all. Replacing his hat, W turned to her and nodded at the open door.

  “You have to cut through that alley to get home, right?” he asked. “I don’t think the snowplows will have made it through there.”

  “I’ll take the long way around, through the main streets. Safer that way, anyhow.”

  It was still far too dark outside; it looked like the middle of the night, not morning.

  W said, “The offer to walk you back still stands.”

  For a moment, she was tempted. There are still some ruffians out looking for trouble. The sound of breaking glass echoed in her ears. “Thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll be okay.”

  As before, he didn’t push it. He walked with her to the door, where she pulled out her keys to lock up. Out of sudden curiosity, sh
e turned and looked up at him.

  “Where do you live?” she asked. She’d never seen which direction he came from when he entered the shop.

  “Around here,” he replied. “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  He stepped back, bent a little and tipped his hat to her. The motion made him look like a 1920’s gangster. “Have a safe, crime-free night.”

  “Uh, thanks. The same to you too.”

  That made him laugh. Not a chuckle, but a real laugh, high and clear and ringing off the walls. It put a spike of adrenaline in her belly... and she wasn’t sure why.

  He turned and walked down the street. Like the first time they’d parted ways here outside the shop, Courtney founded herself rooted to the pavement. She watched him grow smaller in the falling snow.

  She fingered the bandage around her wrist.

  Her phone buzzed. Hands already stiffening in the cold, she fished it out and started walking.

  “Dina,” she said. “How’s it going at the hospital?”

  “Ugh, bad. Do you mind if I crash at your place? Shift went late, and they won’t clear the snow for the bus out to my neighborhood until noon.”

  “Sure. I’ll cook up some hot chocolate.”

  “You’re my hero.”

  Courtney smiled, but it faded when she hung up. Her own voice floated back to her. If there was no way I could get caught...

  She definitely wasn’t a hero.

  7. WILD GOOSE CHASE

  JASPER WADE DRAGGED a hand through his dark curls, downing the last dregs of coffee from the bottom of the mug. It had gone cold an hour ago. An hour ago, at ten p.m.

  And he was still in the station.

  “Tell me again why I’m here,” Oliver said in a bored voice.

  Jasper’s unofficial consultant sat beside him, shadows under his dark eyes which held a slight gleam of irritation. Oliver’s glossy black hair was mussed, his wide cheekbones rimmed with shadows, and even his usual starched, neatly pressed security guard’s uniform with the Chinese characters printed on the front had wrinkles. His best friend looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  “I just need your help identifying this guy,” Jasper said. “Then you can go home.”

  “You think it’s him, don’t you?”

  “I...” Jasper removed his eyes from the computer screen, rubbed them fiercely, and tried to focus again. “There’s no him. Only the media entertains that story. But... this guy might be connected to the syndicate. The vigilante did call him by name.”

  “The CCTV is super blurry,” Oliver sighed. “I can’t be sure. Where was he seen?”

  “Just outside Chinatown. You still...” He hesitated. “I mean, your old pals in the Triads might—”

  “I don’t have any pals in the Triads anymore. I told you, I got out clean. I’m working legit jobs now.”

  “I just meant you’ve still got connections over there. C’mon, I’ve seen you at the vendors when we visit. People talk. You’re my street source, so tell me about your street sources.”

  Oliver hesitated. “Could I see the file?”

  “You know I can’t show you that.”

  “If you’re so worried about rules, you shouldn’t have let me in on this case in the first place.”

  Jasper ground his teeth. Glancing around the station, he slipped the manila envelope out of his desk drawer and handed it to Oliver. “Make it quick.”

  Oliver flipped through the fat stack of papers inside. He frowned.

  “How can people think this is just one guy? This list is like a mile long.”

  “The department thinks he’s the face of a syndicate, but the media’s going nuts about how it’s been impossible to trace. What’s frustrating is, they’re not wrong—we’d usually have communications, bread crumbs, something. This one’s a ghost. With an M.O. distinctive enough to take a lot of work for a copycat.”

  “‘The Whistler,’” Oliver read aloud. “‘No name. No face. Rumored affiliations with nearly all of the major crime syndicates, but claimed by none.” His eyes traveled down the page. “Wanted for homicide, assault, arson, breaking Quarantine, drug trafficking, forgery, identity theft, first and second degree murder, unlicensed weapons distribution, robbery, vandalism...”

  “You could go on for a couple more minutes.”

  “And it gets weirder. Identity theft of important city officials. Unlawful possession and transport of zoo animals? What is that?”

  Jasper rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. “Just... tell me if you’ve seen the blond or not.”

  Oliver looked at the file. After a moment, he set down the envelope, face expressionless as he looked up. “Sorry, man. I think I’d remember somebody like that.”

  “Okay.” Jasper tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. Commissioner Van de Graaf had let him on this case because he’d begged for some detective work other than tracking down shoplifters and graffiti artists. He still remembered the man’s smirk when he handed over the file. Good luck, kid. Only later did Jasper learn this case had gone almost a decade uncracked. A handful of leads with dead ends, a hodge-podge of contradictory evidence: this wild goose chase had left the most senior detectives hurling papers at the wall in defeat.

  Sighing, Jasper took the folder back from Oliver. He clicked through the CCTV files until a new image filled the screen. A blurry snapshot of an alleyway featured the profile of a large, pixilated figure in a mask. The figure loomed against the buildings. It would be ridiculous to ask his friend to identify a faceless perp, but this one’s colossal proportions made him more conspicuous.

  “Isn’t that the guy from the news?” Oliver asked.

  “Yeah. The criminal everyone’s calling a superhero.”

  “You think the Orion Giant’s a criminal?”

  “Anyone who thinks he has to go outside the law to do his work is a criminal.”

  Oliver remained quiet.

  “You know these streets better than anyone,” Jasper said. “Do you know anything about his real identity? Who he is before he becomes this... creature?”

  “I’ve never even seen the Giant. How would I know his identity?”

  “It was worth a shot.” Jasper killed the monitor and yawned. “I guess we’re done here. Thanks, man.”

  “Wait, that’s it?”

  “Yeah.” He shut off his computer, pulling out his key ring to lock up his desk. Oliver remained seated, frowning up at him.

  “I’ve got no leads,” Jasper confessed. “Van de Graaf and the other boys think I’m a walking joke. Wanting to make a difference and all. I’m a country bumpkin cop from Oregon, whose biggest break was catching the Volkswagen Bandit.”

  “You stopped a real maniac from terrorizing vintage car owners.” Oliver deadpanned. “All the hippies in the Pacific Northwest can sleep safely now thanks to you.”

  “I wanted to catch real criminals! Not chase teenagers who stole sunglasses.”

  “You could’ve transferred to Portland.”

  “There are hundreds of police officers—no, thousands—brave men and women fighting to give us safe streets. I’d be a drop in the bucket in Portland. A drop in the ocean in some city like Chicago. It would take years to work my way up to detective in any department like that. I wanted to go somewhere where I’d make a difference. Somewhere no one else wanted to go. But they’re not letting me do any real good here.”

  “Maybe that’s why.”

  Jasper sank back into his chair. “Why?”

  “Dude, nobody asks to transfer to Orion. Have you considered your colleagues might resent you for that? You had a choice, they didn’t. You got stuck here of your own free will. Maybe they’re jealous you threw away your freedom Outside. I mean, ninety-five percent of this city would give anything to be in your old shoes. A small-town cop chasing car snatchers? We’ve got murders every other night just here in Westside. Grand Theft Auto’s a juvie crime. You’d get off with a warning, the rate our jails fill up.”

  “It seem
s petty. These men have been on the force since before I started at the academy.”

  Oliver shrugged. “If anything, that’d make them more jaded. Nobody wants a promotion to detective here. I don’t think they gave you the Whistler case to keep you occupied. They gave it to you to break you.”

  Jasper had suspected as much, but hearing his friend say it aloud put a knot in his stomach. He ground his teeth. “I’m going to catch these bastards.”

  Oliver nodded. “I’ll help you any way I can.”

  “Thanks. Just keep your eyes peeled. Stay out of harm’s way.”

  Oliver stood and held out a hand. “Come on. You’ll get him, but if you don’t want to break yourself doing it, you should go home when your shift ends like everybody else.”

  Jasper took the proffered hand and let Oliver haul him to his feet. He blinked at the strength in his small friend’s grip. All that MMA training must be paying off. Glancing down at his friend as they headed for the station lobby, an odd nostalgia bloomed. He couldn’t believe it had been a year since he’d first met that scrawny, sarcastic punk on a rainy night shift in Chinatown and gotten into an argument about Orion’s “good-for-nothing” police. Finding out said punk was actually close to his own age, after looking like a fool trying to explain himself to a smirking Oliver, had made Jasper desire to never meet that street source again. An amusing irony, since after a dozen more cases required their Chinatown source’s cooperation, Oliver somehow became his first—and only—real friend in the city.

  Out on the chilly sidewalk, Oliver waited for him to lock up. A siren chirped in the distance. From the corner of his eye, Jasper saw him tilt his head slightly, listening, while he pocketed the station keys and headed for his car.

  “I’ll say goodbye here,” Oliver said. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

  Jasper turned. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride—”

  The empty sidewalk gleamed in the streetlamps. Jasper stared into the shadows for a moment. He filled his cheeks with air, and let it out. His friend had been slipping away like that more and more often, practicing an uncanny silence Jasper doubted he learned from martial arts. The siren grew louder in the distance.