Rise of the Phoenix
By P S Syron-Jones
Copyright © P S Syron-Jones 2014
P S Syron-Jones has the right to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights. Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact,
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Art & Interior Design by Indie Designz
To my Mother.
Who’s strength, courage and faith is an inspiration for us all.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank My Wife Ani, family, friends, and Tina Death for all their support.
Also: Julia Gibbs my Proofreader.
Geoffrey West my Editor.
And Indie Designz for the art work and interior design.
Without these people this book would have never have seen the light of day.
ONE
The warm August night air was still, and above the bustling streets of New York city, the cloudless sky gave a wonderful view of the sparkling heavens and a moon that shone as brightly as the morning sun. Traffic flowed smoothly, and the bright illumination from stores and streetlights served as a contrast to the dark. City folk hurried on their way, and tourists stopping to capture memories as they stared in awe of the immense structures and breathing in the pleasant aromas from restaurants and delis and wallowing in awe by such a great city.
From her open office window Karen Lane could hear the sounds of sirens wailing and the blaring horns of angry taxi drivers, but she had no time to take a moment to look out upon the fantastic view below her; no, she had work to do, a mass of paperwork to write up for the meeting tomorrow. She had already typed page after page, stopping only to take a sip from the water glass next to her computer.
Her hands cupped her long blonde hair and combed it through her fingers so that it fell on her back. She found that this had a calming effect, it was almost better than drinking alcohol, but didn’t always do the trick.
She was tall, with an hourglass figure, and even though she was in her forties, she still had the face of a much younger woman, with the looks of a model. Looking at the computer monitor she blew out a lungful of air, as she knew there was still plenty to do in the limited time. The office was large with a glass-topped desk on which there was her monitor, telephone and other useful items. On the left wall was a large oak cabinet, which stored various books and photographs of places around the world where she had been.
The white painted walls to her right were adorned with diplomas from Columbia law school, Harvard and various other educational establishments she had attended, and below these was a long black leather sofa. Its soft fabric and comfortable padding had been a good companion to her after so many late nights.
A miniature bar sat in the middle of the wooden cabinet; this had a selection of beverages ranging from scotches and bourbons to brandies and other liqueurs. These were more for her clients than for personal consumption but she had her moments, such as tonight.
“God, I could do with a drink,” she thought, eyeing up the bottles. However she resisted temptation, aware that the work was her priority.
Maybe I’ll have a drink later, she promised herself. When everything was finished, she decided that she would go home, slip into a hot bath, relax with a nice glass of fine wine, and soak the night away. With that, a little happiness edged into her soul and the side of her mouth rose slightly as if to give a secret smile. Karen worked for another hour, and then finally with a triumphant ‘yes!’ she pressed the ‘save’ key on her keypad. Then, as she listened to the printer churn out the pages, representing her hours of typing, she picked up the glass in her right hand and swivelled in the black leather office chair to face the large window. As Karen stood up, the leather creaked with age: it was old, and in fact, she had owned this chair all through college. Her lucky chair, she called it.
Walking towards the window’s view, she stopped, raised her glass as if to salute the city below, and knocked back the contents, at which moment the office printer completed the operation, with the sound of tiny gears grinding to a halt. The abruptness of the silence shocked her slightly.
It took her around half an hour to put the document together and pack it away into the presentation folders for the partners of the law firm. She raised her wrist to look at the watch on her slim wrist. The gold-faced Rolex showed half past two in the morning. Letting out a silent curse, she found it hard to believe that she had really been working until this time.
Powering down the computer and switching off the lights she locked up for the night, stepping into the hallway that contained a mass of booths and desks on the firm’s floor. She realized that everybody else was long gone, tucked up in their beds hours ago; she scanned the floor and found the janitor buffing the floor next to the elevator.
“Hi, Karl,” she greeted him with a smile of relief to see another person. Karen struggled to close the office door behind her, as her arms were full with her coat, handbag, files and, balanced under her chin, her thermos coffee cup.
“Hi, Miss Karen, working late again?” he said, almost disapprovingly.
“Young lady like you should be out having a good time, not cooped up here on a Friday night, no sir,” he added, shaking his head. Karen gave him a grateful smile for being concerned about her, and most of all, for being considerate enough to press the call button on the elevator. The doors opened and Karen stepped inside.
“Good night, Karl,” she said.
“Good night, Miss,” he replied.
The doors closed and she nudged the button for the garage with her elbow, hoping she had hit the right one. The button illuminated and Karen sighed with relief. Then she felt the slight shudder and the elevator started downwards towards the underground garage. She observed the panel displaying the numbers, watching the downward count.
Finally, the elevator reached its destination and with a DING, and the doors opened to reveal the grey, dark parking lot. She stepped out, noticing the temperature change. Just now the air had been cool from the building’s air con, whereas now it was warm and dry.
Karen headed for a group of parked vehicles at the end of the lot. She began to hum a tune she had heard earlier that day which was repeating in her head. She walked past the large round pillars that supported the roof. She began to notice shadows dancing in front of her, contrasting with brightness from the hidden wall lights. Her car was in sight, but the uneven light played tricks on her, conjuring up all kinds of imaginary apparitions at the edge of her field of vision.
Her ears pricked to the sound of the elevator, and, as she turned, Karen noticed a silhouette of a large hulking figure stepping out of the elevator. She started to walk quicker, and her humming began to match her steps in an attempt to calm herself. Then there were pounding footsteps from behind her. Too fearful to look around she made for her car as fast as she could.
Who was following her? What did they want? Her pace quickened until it was almost a jog, until she was a few feet from her car. Behind her the pursuer had also broken into a jog to keep up with her.
Nearly there now, she thought, her eyes set on the vehicle before her. Her baggage of coat and coffee mug were flung aside as she ran. Her heart pounded in her chest as she searched through her bag for her keys.
“Where the fuck are they?” she screamed, as she reached her car. Fear drove her into panic as he fingers scrabbled though her bag’s contents. Her pursuer’s footsteps became ever nearer as she dug deeper, cursing and throwing items from her purse in her frantic search.
Suddenly a large shadow cast over her. She screa
med,
“Don’t kill me, please!” as she cringed against the cool metal of her blue BMW awaiting the inevitable.
Nothing happened. She heard a calm voice, slightly out of breath from the chase, but nevertheless calm and somewhat familiar. Karen chanced a peek from under the arm that was raised to protect her face.
“Hey I’m sorry to startle you, Miss Karen, but you left these in the door.” Her arm dropped down and she stood up from her cowering pose as if nothing had happened, quickly taking the keys from his large dark hands. She playfully smacked his right arm with her bag, and giggled.
“Karl, you scared the crap out of me.” They both laughed and he helped to retrieve her belongings. Opening the car door for her, Karl waited until she was safely inside, then closed the heavy door; she rolled down the window and smiled at the old man.
“Good night, Miss, and I’m so sorry for scaring you,” Karl apologized. “You have a save journey home now.” And with that he turned and headed back towards the elevator.
Karen blew out a deep calming breath, looked at herself in the rear-view mirror, she stuck out her tongue and made a “blaahh” sound as if to make a self-examination. God I look like crap, she thought. Then she let out a small self-indulgent smile as her mind strayed to the thought of a hot bath and a large glass of red wine—after all that had happened tonight, she deserved it. Karen started the engine, at which the radio burbled to life. Music bleared from the speakers as she sped away towards the exit.
As she approached the barrier to the private parking lot, she noticed a large wheeled garbage bin blocking the exit.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she responded to this latest annoyance at the end of her day. Whipping the seatbelt out of its fastener, she exited the vehicle. Walking up to the barricade, she grasped the handles of the bin, and with a heave she pulled but to no avail. She looked down, and noticed that the brakes had been activated; she clenched her fists and looked up, making a muffled scream, as if to ask someone up above for help.
Why me? Karen thought as she bent down to release the device. Suddenly she was grabbed from behind, and a sweet smelling rag was placed over her nose and mouth. She fought her assailant, kicking and clawing, but it had no effect. Whatever chemical that had been on the rag was starting to take effect. As she slowly started to drift into the darkness, a tear rolled down her cheek and fell into the darkness.
TWO
John and Sue Mitchell walked down the main street laughing and joking like a couple of teenagers. After leaving the restaurant they had gone to the bar where they had first met, the hours had drifted into the early morning as they just wandered happily back home. These lovebirds had just celebrated their three years of blissful marriage, and it was the first time in years they could be alone together without work or the kids to interrupt. Even though it was now a Monday morning, they thought what the hell and had palmed off the kids to Sue’s mother’s place the night before and so they had the night for themselves. No, the night they’d shared was about them and nobody else.
As they walked for a couple of blocks, John suddenly grabbed Sue by the arm and pulled her into the nearest alleyway. Pushed her against the hard brick, he kissed her passionately as his hands moved all over her, caressing her slim body underneath the black velvet dress. She responded to this lustful moment by kissing and biting his ears and neck. The two locked in a passionate embrace, an almost animalistic lust for one another came over them, and they forgot where they were and who might hear or see: they did not care.
They moved down the alley, away from prying eyes. He pulled her over to a bricked-up window of an old wall and pulled up her dress. As he lifted her onto the window ledge, she pulled open his trousers and they fell around his knees. Slowly, he carefully entered her, and as he did so she groaned with pleasure and gripped onto him, then used her legs to pull him closer. Entwined in the moment as they felt and enjoyed one another, the world around them just disappeared. As their passions drew them closer to a mutual climax, Sue began to bite him in the left side of his neck, whispering,
“Oh God yes, yes!” This turned him on, making his actions more intense. But at that moment something made her to look up the alleyway. As she did so her screams of passion became shrieks of terror. Backing away quickly, John thought he had done something wrong. His gaze followed hers, and he joined in with her chorus of dread.
A gang of heavily built college students who had seen the happy couple dive quickly into the alleyway, came rushing towards them, assuming that the woman was in distress, and to their surprise they were greeted by the sight of the woman and the man, his trousers around his knees, both cowering like babes. They ran up to John and Sue, unaware of what was behind them.
“Hey man, you two OK?” said a large African-American kid.
“Hey what’s up? You look like you all seen a ghost or something,” joined in the other large skinny white kid. Then, catching on that John and Sue were intent on something behind them, they tried to see what it was. When they did, they yelled:
“Oh shit man, that’s fucked up!” The kids froze for a moment, then they made for the entrance of the alleyway, where their friends lay in wait. “Hey man, call the cops,” ordered the black kid to one of the others, who whipped out his cell phone and dialled.
“Hello, police department, what’s your emergency?” asked a female on the other end of the line. The skinny blond kid grabbed the phone.
“There’s a dead body in an alleyway,” he informed her, then burbled the address.
“Please stay at your location, we will send a unit to your location as quickly as possible.”The kid hung up, passed the phone back, and then he threw up.
Detective Samantha McCall woke to the sound of her alarm. The high-pitched ‘BEEP BEEP BEEP’ was irritating enough to do the job of getting her up after a short sleep, and she leant over and checked the time on the digital display. It read 05:00, then, giving a quiet moan of disapproval, she slapped the off button then collapsed back to her sleeping position.
Just a couple of minutes, Sam thought to herself, but then she changed her mind and got up. She left the bedroom and made for the kitchen, where she reached for the coffee machine and clicked the button to bring it back from its slumber. Heading to the bathroom she prepared to shower, and the steam from the hot water filled the air, misting over the mirrors and small window in the six-foot-square room. She stepped under the torrent of water and just let the cascade run over her for a while.
Switching off the taps, stopping the warm flow, she stepped out of the shower unit, and wrapped a large towel round her slightly tanned body. McCall used her dry hand to wipe the fog from the mirror that hung above the white porcelain sink, then she looked at herself in the mirror. Staring for a moment, she smiled, and then left for the kitchen.
Coffee in hand, Sam headed for the bedroom, slipped on some jeans and a t-shirt and got ready for the day ahead. Grabbing a bowl of cereal and the freshly filled coffee mug, she entered the sitting room. As she approached the couch that was housed in a cut-out section of the floor, McCall stepped onto the cushions and sat down cross-legged, grabbing the remote for the TV, and clicked the ON button. With a burst of light and sound the set came to life and showed a tall man telling New York the weather for the day. Great, another hot one, she thought, then switched channels, looking for something less depressing than a news station.
Breakfast done, she switched off the TV set and headed for an antique desk at the back of the room, next to the entrance to her bedroom. Opening the left hand drawer she took out her service 9mm Glock 17 pistol and slipped it into the rear holster that nestled in the small of her back, then carefully picked up her police badge. Sam gave it a quick brush with her hand then clipped it next to the handcuff pouch above her right-hand trouser pocket and gave it a friendly tap.
As she reached the front door, the police officer grabbed her short leather jacket and slipped it on, checked the keys were in the pocket and left for the statio
n.
It had taken her longer than normal to get to the station, but now she was sat at her desk with the reminance of a fresh coffee ready to begin typing up the mundane paperwork that followed the closing of a case. However, she did not mind, it gave her some time to reflect on the crime. In addition, she found that going over what had occurred during the investigation of a particular case, often taught her useful things to use for the next one. Her fingers danced over the keyboard like a pro: if anybody had seen her they might easily have taken her to be a secretary or typist, not a homicide detective.
She needed coffee. Standing up, she reached for the stained coffee mug with the faded police badge symbol on the side and walked towards the coffee room that was adjacent to the Captain’s office. The space was small with a couple of chairs and a square table next to the far wall, and a counter below a large window, which housed around four coffee peculators and a number of unclaimed mugs for visitors. In addition to offering refreshments, it was also a good place to go to unwind. Sam picked up one of the steaming hot containers and poured herself a mug of the dark liquid, the potent aroma of cheap coffee filled her nostrils. Fetching the milk from the small refrigerator she sniffed to see if it was still drinkable, and then topped up her brew.
As she looked out and surveyed the ‘shop floor’ before her, a bustling array of cops talking on phones, chatting to each other about the game, she smiled. God, how I love this, she thought to herself.
Taking a sip from the coffee she looked over to the desk in front of her, and the two detectives there beckoned her over. Joshua Tooms was a large African-American man, well over six-three tall with a ball players build and a van dyke beard that covered his heavy jaw. The other was Antony Marinelli. A well dressed Italian / Irish cross bread that was around two inches shorter than his massive black colleague, but his a medium build fitted well in his Italian suit. Tony was huddled over a desk writing down an address that was been given over the desk phone.
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