The Nephilim

by Greg Curtis

  Chapter Three

  Garrick spotted the roadside diner with its bright red awning from the road and quickly decided it would be a good place to take a break. A good time too. They had at least another three hours on the road, and he feared that if he didn't get a break soon, one of them would not make it to Olmstead. Probably his passenger. She would be strangled and her body dumped in a shallow grave instead. Then again, he might decide to take the easy way out and just shoot himself. Whatever it took, so long as he didn't have to keep listening to the teenager's stupid complaints and endless insults. It was a terrible thing to realise but he much preferred the company of murderers. They were simply a better class of people.

  And to add to his pain he'd taken a day off work for this after citing a family crisis! Not only did he have to listen to the kid moan, he then had to suffer the disapproval of his supervisor for taking leave at such short notice. And naturally there would be forms to fill in. There were always forms.

  The diner was quiet by the looks of things as they drove in to the gravel parking area in front of it. The car park was mostly empty. Most of the window booths looked empty as well from the outside. Few customers had shown up yet, but then it wasn't midday. The lunchtime rush was still half an hour away. Garrick had stopped early since it had been a long time since breakfast. But mostly if he was honest, he'd stopped because he was tired of the sullen pouts and accusations coming from his passenger. One moment she was staring moodily out of the passenger window as the scenery went by. The next she was being sarcastic and snapping at him as though it was his fault she was in this mess. Blaming him for her pain.

  And she was in pain. Not just her leg – though he knew from experience that that would be hurting – there was something else biting her. Something emotional. The loss of her freedom perhaps? Maybe the way her world was slowly being turned upside down. The fear of what was coming in a new school and a new town. Or even the understanding that the world was not the same black and white place it had been a day before.

  He understood that. He had been through all of those things himself, and when he was even younger than her. Still, that didn’t give her licence to start insulting him. After all, he'd warned her what Cassie would do if she tried to defy the angel. She hadn't listened and she'd paid the price. But still she blamed him. And so for the entire morning she'd sat in the seat beside him and thought of every horrible jibe she could think of to throw at him. It had begun with his physique and his supposed steroid use. It'd moved on to the way he cut his hair, his aftershave and his cheap suit before descending into a monologue on his apparent lack of intelligence, the fact that he was an arsehole in general and a criminal as well. The last accusation apparently stemmed from her view that he was now kidnapping her despite the fact that she could get out of the truck any time she wanted.

  Garrick had hoped that sooner or later she'd run out of things to say and wind down. She hadn't. When she couldn't think of anything new to say she had simply wound back the record and started again. She was, he supposed, a typical teenager with “issues”.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  The girl snapped the question at him as if it was yet more evidence of his evil intent and once again he had to resist the sudden urge to throttle her. He was getting really tired of the sound of her voice. In fact it amazed him how easily she managed to get under his skin. He was normally much more in control of his emotions. But then most teenagers more or less were difficult at her age – or so he kept getting told by the frustrated parents he worked with – and nephilim teenagers were probably worse. Still, while he might not have been the perfect child himself, he was still sure that he'd never been that abrasive. Not even when he'd been in pain.

  “Because I'm hungry.”

  Before she could say anything more he got out of the truck, making sure to grab the keys as he went, just in case she decided to try another runner, and headed across the gravel parking area to the diner. She could follow him or not. In actual fact he would have preferred not.

  Naturally he wasn't that lucky and he heard the sound of the truck door opening and then being slammed shut behind him even as he walked up the wooden steps to the deck and the diner's front door. He heard the sound of her limping after him as well – but that was a sound he secretly enjoyed even if it was petty and unworthy. After she'd tried to escape by forcing open his bathroom window and causing a lot of damage to the latch in the process, and then spent endless hours abusing him and making out that he was some sort of monster, not to mention occasionally threatening him, he couldn't help but enjoy it a little. Still, when he reached the door he nonetheless held it open and waited for her to enter. Agents were expected to be polite. Even to sulky, petulant teenagers.

  Inside, the diner was fairly much like most of the others he'd visited over the years. And he'd visited a lot. It was simply the nature of the job.

  Half a dozen booths with high backed benches were lined up against the front windows while a long counter ran almost the entire length of the diner at the back. And in the middle there was an eclectic mix of tables and chairs. The kitchen could be seen behind that through a set of double doors. Garrick could just see the cook through the hatch working at the grill.

  A bored looking waitress stood and eyed them up from behind the counter as they walked in, waiting for them to take their seats. She looked tired he thought, which seemed odd since it was early and the lunch rush hadn't yet started. Only a couple of tables were occupied and she couldn't have had much to do. But waitressing was a hard job with little reward, which was why he always tipped well. As for the diner itself it looked jumbled. The tables and chairs were a strange mixture of styles and periods. It looked as if much of the furniture had come from various second hand stores. If it had been a more upmarket place it might have been called eclectic. But at least it was clean and the smell coming from the kitchen was one of good coffee and decent food.

  There was nothing particularly distinctive about the diner, save perhaps for the shine of the red leather of the seats in the booths and the pictures of celebrities on the walls. But that was a good thing in his view. Over the years as he'd travelled the country in his work he'd frequented every different type of diner there was. Ones with rock and roll themes that blared out loud music constantly. Ones with science fiction themes, and the obligatory rows of space invaders games against the walls. Ones filled with movie memorabilia from every era. It was nice to find a diner where nothing was happening and you could just sit at a booth and watch the cars drive by in peace.

  Garrick grabbed the booth nearest the door and slid himself into the bench seat. The girl – she still refused to tell him her name for some reason – took the other side without needing to be asked.

  “Order what you want and then you might as well make use of the bathroom while we're here.”

  Garrick wasn't that crazy about paying for her lunch. She didn't deserve it. Not after what she'd done to his home. Plus she’d been rude about the dinner he’d cooked the previous night and even the breakfast he'd given her. But Cassie would be less than understanding if he let her go hungry and he knew he was already on thin ice with the angel.

  “Can I have -.”

  Garrick cut her off before she could even say it. He already knew the direction her thoughts travelled. She was fifteen after all. “No alcohol and no cigarettes. You're a minor and you're in my care.”

  “That's – .”

  “ – The law.”

  And she already knew he was an agent. She might not like it, but she had to know he was never going to break the law for her given she was a minor. She still might not have told him her name, but pride and stupidity had overcome even her natural obstinacy when it came to her age. All he'd had to do was call her a twelve year old and wait for the fireworks to start. Teenagers!

  She grumbled a bit after that, but for once didn't snap at him. Maybe she'd run out of names to call him? More likely though she was just storing her wrath up for th
e drive. Finally she asked for a burger and fries and headed for the bathroom, leaving him in peace for a few minutes. Something for which he was unutterably glad. Patricia would have to deal with her at the other end, and he pitied her for that. All he had to do was get her to Olmstead. Just a few more hours on the road and then she was out of his life for good.

  Even though it was only a few more hours in the truck, he did wonder if a drink might help to get through the last part of the journey. Maybe several. It wasn't his usual solution to life's problems, but sometimes it did help to take the edge off. Especially when the Choir came to give him more grief. He didn't order one though. Just a coffee and a sandwich. For a start he was an agent, and even if he was off the clock for the moment he'd soon be back on it. Then there was the fact that he was driving and he had a minor in his care. And on top of that there was Cassie. If she saw him drinking too much she would take action. He had no doubt of that. She'd already mentioned the matter twice in the last few months and he knew she'd be watching him. She was always watching. The kid wasn't her only charge. She annoyed a lot of nephilim.

  A few minutes later the kid returned from the bathroom, not limping any worse than she had before, and that surprised him. He had half expected that she would try to make a run for it and that Cassie would bring her back limping on both legs. But either she hadn't tried to bolt for freedom or the angel had been in a sympathetic mood. He guessed it wasn't the latter. If the Choir even knew what sympathy was they would never let it interfere with their precious duty.

  Garrick said nothing and continued staring out the window until their food arrived. And when it did they began eating it in peaceful silence. That was an improvement over the morning, but he doubted she was turning a corner. It was probably just that she was hungry – and he was sure that with every bite that went down her throat she was really just thinking up more ways to make his life difficult.

  And then he spotted the regulation sedan pulling into the diner’s car park and knew that she'd succeeded. Things were about to go pear shaped. He didn’t doubt that the reason they were here was because of something the kid had done. And he knew that the only way they could be here was because they'd obtained a communications warrant and were tracking her cell. That meant that whatever she'd done was serious.

  “What the hell?” Garrick only murmured the question to himself as he watched the dark grey sedan pull up in front of the diner. He didn't want people to hear him. But he was still curious. Government plates, armed men in suits, and heading their way. That was not good. Not good at all.

  “Kid, you've got about five seconds to tell me just what the hell you did before these agents come and take you away. You'd better make them good ones or I won't be able to stop them.”

  Garrick kept his voice low, not wanting to attract any attention, but he knew there was little time. Unfortunately his table mate wasn't so discrete as she turned to look out the window, saw the agents, gasped and then instantly tried to run, knocking the plate across the table as she did so.

  Garrick reached over, grabbed her shoulder and stopped her. He knew that if she ran she'd get caught and then there would be absolutely nothing he could do. It was an old truism; criminals mostly arrested themselves. And running was the most common way they did it.

  “Running won't help. Now talk.”

  But she wasn't going to talk. He could see that in her eyes. She had the look of a cornered animal, frightened and wanting nothing more than to run – in any direction. Garrick had no doubt that she was willing to hurt him if she had to, to get away.

  She was still like that when he heard the bell ring as the diner's door swung open and the agents walked in. It took them two seconds at most to spot their quarry and another two to reach them. It wasn't a big diner. The most Garrick could do before they reached them was to hiss at her to be quiet and press the record button on his cell. Whatever this was about he had the feeling he would need some evidence of what was said for later. Something if not for him then for Patricia when he reached the academy.

  “Katarinka Nelos?” The lead agent addressed her in his most official voice, the same one Garrick himself used when he was addressing a suspect.

  “No -.”

  Her first instinct was to lie, something that Garrick had seen too many times. And he knew it would do her no good. Only one thing would and it wasn't the inappropriate instincts of a frightened fifteen year old girl.

  “– Yes agent this is her.”

  Katarinka – he was pleased to finally have a name to call her – shot him a stare of pure hatred the instant she heard him say that. No doubt she'd been hoping he would lie for her – as if he would ever do such a thing or, for that matter, think that he had any reason to want to. She'd been nothing but trouble so far. But in the end she was one of his people and he had to protect her no matter how much of a pain she was.

  “I am Special Agent Garrick Hamilton of the FBI and this minor is in my care. So please state your business with her.”

  That provoked a response. The agents stared at him in surprise. Finding their quarry in the care of another agent was probably the last thing they'd expected.

  “Do you have some ID?”

  They were right to ask for it of course, and Garrick was happy to provide it. He'd expected to be asked. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his ID and laid it on the table in front of them. They seemed a bit wary however, when they spotted his weapon in its holster. But then he wasn't crazy about the fact that they were armed either. It was expected that they would all be armed of course. But it would also have been expected that they would all be on the same side when it came to interviewing suspects. Agents didn't often end up on the opposite sides of an action.

  “Now yours please.”

  As they'd asked for his it seemed only fair he thought. It was also the law. He knew that some agents thought they could get away without presenting formal identification when interviewing, but they were wrong. Even when the one being interviewed was a minor who didn't know the law or her rights. Especially then. These ones knew better and he quickly had a trio of ID's in front of him. But the ID's just made things worse. More confusing anyway. Agent – Barnes was with Treasury. So were the other two. The Criminal Investigation unit.

  “And what does Treasury want with my charge?”

  “Charge?”

  They heard that word and immediately asked, a fraction of a second before Katarinka was about to. But finally she was learning and managed to keep her mouth shut.

  “For a few more hours anyway. I am on the trail of the serial killer Newman and need to get back to it. But Miss Nelos was brought to me in the middle of my investigation by her aunt Cassie and placed in my care to be delivered to her boarding school and I had to take a few hours off.”

  The first part was true of course, the second part also mostly true though it missed out a whole lot of important details, but they wouldn't know that, and they couldn't check – which was why he'd used it. Of course it did mean that he was going to have to write up some interesting field notes in due course.

  “Again Agent Barnes, what is your interest in Ms. Nelos?”

  “Her boyfriend, Armando Benedict, the bank robber.”

  Suddenly it was Garrick's turn to be surprised. Very surprised and very worried. He knew Benedict, or rather he knew of him, and he wouldn't have thought that his path and Katarinka's would have crossed a lot. Let alone that they would have been together. Benedict as well as being one of the smartest counterfeiters and bank robbers on the face of the planet, was also sixty something years old. Something she confirmed a moment later.

  “He's not my boyfriend! He's old!” She sounded outraged by the very idea.

  “Miss Nelos, you are a minor. You are not required to answer these agent's questions or be interviewed without a lawyer or a guardian being present. At the moment you have neither and I cannot act in their place.”

  Garrick was simply informing her of her rights, but what he was
really trying to do was to get her to shut up. To stop with the childish outbursts. They weren't helping. She'd already stupidly admitted that she knew the man. That was one less thing they had to prove. So the Treasury agents would be happy to hear her outbursts and far less happy to hear him advising their suspect or witness of her rights. They stared at him with annoyance and accusations of treachery in their eyes. He was after all, supposed to be on their side.

  Garrick turned back to the agents the moment his charge had stopped speaking. “Agents, is Ms. Nelos suspected of any direct involvement in Armando Benedict's crimes?”

  “No but -.”

  Garrick cut the agent off before things got unpleasant, and he suspected there was a fair chance of that happening. The agents seemed unhappy. “Do you have an arrest warrant or probable cause to arrest her?”

  “No.”

  Garrick turned back to his charge. “And Miss Nelos is there anything you would like to tell these agents about the crimes or current location of Armando Benedict of your own free will?”