by Greg Curtis
“Again these two did. Or one of them did. But they were lying on the floor, wounded, in pain and frightened, little by little bleeding to death and I was sitting over them with a gun having shot them. They knew they were either going to die or spend the rest of their lives in jail. Unless they made a deal. Besides, they were slowly running out of blood. They probably found it difficult to concentrate on being arseholes just then.”
“Or” countered Warren, “and again I'm just putting it out there; you already knew. They told you nothing at all – you just pretended they did.”
“And how exactly would that work detective?”
“Well, why don't we start with the Treasury agents? You know the ones. The ones who said you were working with Benedict. Maybe they were right all along? Maybe you and Benedict are an item. But there was a falling out, as there often is with him. He sent two of his boys after you, as you thought he would. You shot them, and then played a little game of tit for tat by leading the police to his hide out.”
The detective started leaning forward in his chair, trying to intimidate him. Having used the same technique himself, it didn’t work on Garrick. In fact he decided, he'd had enough of this. It was time to turn the tables.
“You have quite an active imagination Detective Warren. But let me put out another theory, just for another point of view. You work for Benedict don't you?”
There was a general drawing of breath from the other side of the table. The other detectives were shocked. But that was only reasonable when Garrick was himself shocked. Both that he had actually said it, and that he knew it was true. He had known that the thief had moles throughout the various agencies. Maricia had said as much. But to actually see the marks of his quarry so deeply etched in the soul of the detective was appalling. To see them for the bloody gouges that they were was worse.
“I do –.”
“What does he have on you?” Garrick quickly turned the interview around knowing he had to. This was about more than just a crooked detective trying to cover up his crimes and those of his boss. He had something darker in mind than simply making Garrick's life difficult.
“He –.”
“The truth!” Garrick smashed his hands down on the steel table making everyone jump. “Is it money? Gambling debts? Drugs? Or something personal?” He stared directly into the detective's eyes and also into his soul, looking for the signs of Benedict. And he found them. But not where he'd expected to.
“It's personal? Something to do with family?”
It was exactly that and he could see the detective squirming in his seat, trying to get away from him. He could see the fear and horror in his face. And he knew it would be so easy to crack him. To compel the truth from him. He was already nearly there. But that would reveal his gift.
“No!” But the detective's voice was too high and it betrayed him. Everyone at the table heard it. They heard his fear. And they knew the truth. Heads were turning. Eyes were staring at the detective. And questions were about to be asked.
“What does he have on you?” Garrick yelled it at him, trying to dominate him in turn.
“Nothing!”
“I don't believe you Detective. Look around. No one believes you. Now tell us the truth.”
But the truth wasn't coming. Or at least not in the form of a confession. Instead the detective suddenly reached for his gun.
“Shit!”
It was madness! It was stupid, desperate stuff. But the man was desperate. Whatever the hold was that Benedict had on him it must have been powerful. The man was terrified. And so he had gone for his gun. Everyone in the room reacted, but Garrick was ahead of them, if only by a little. Though hampered by his leg he still somehow managed to reach across the table, grab the detective's wrist even as Warren was drawing his weapon, and twist it to the side. Then he smashed his hand down hard on the steel table and causing him to squeeze the trigger.
The explosion in the little interview room was thunderous, and everyone was shocked by it. Still, Garrick managed to hold on to the man's wrist and keep the gun pointed at the concrete wall. Long enough that the others could finally find their feet and jump on the detective.
After that it was over. The detective was on the floor with the other two detectives on top of him, holding him down. The gun had slid across the floor, no longer a danger to anyone. People came flooding into the room. And Garrick was suddenly able to breathe again. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until just then.
Garrick collapsed back into his chair, breathing heavily and wondering just how this had happened. Benedict was on the run. He had nothing left, or at least very little. And yet still the thief had reached out for him and tried to have him either killed or discredited. Just how many people did Benedict have under his sway?
“You all right?”
One of the other detectives asked the question eventually, his face completely ashen. Garrick just nodded and waved him away. He wanted to think. He needed to think. Maybe just to unwind.
“You need a doctor?”
The detective asked again and Garrick wondered why. Hadn't he just said he was fine? He told him as much.
“No. You need a doctor!” The detective pointed at him and Garrick wondered why. But still he let his eyes follow the man's finger down to his side. Down to where a red pool of blood was slowly running down his shirt. And it was then that he realised the bullet hadn't missed him after all.
“Oh crap! Not again!”
Chapter Twenty Two
Garrick perched awkwardly on the edge of the hospital bed feeling somewhat sorry for himself. Shot again! It was getting tiresome. As were the nurses rushing about, the doctors with their long faces, and even the white walls and curtains of the hospital. As were the comments from Maricia and Katarinka who were clearly enjoying his discomfort. Something about how every cop in the world wanted to shoot him. That he was obviously public enemy number one.
The two of them had been worried at first when they'd seen the blood. Truthfully, Garrick had been worried too and when he’d looked at the blood leaking all the way down to his pants and onto the bed he’d wondered if he’d need a transfusion. But then the doctor had said it was only a scratch. Hearing that the attitude of his colleagues had changed. The worry had vanished and the amusement had arrived. And all of it was at his expense.
Meanwhile he was starting to wonder just how many more bandages he could wear? One leg was already in plaster up to his thigh. His left hand was taped up and there was a metal brace keeping the hand straight. His shoulder was still padded. To add to that he was now bandaged around the middle with yards and yards of cloth. It was beginning to look as though he was cornering the market on medical supplies.
At least it wasn't a bad wound, Garrick thought, even if the twenty stitches running along his ribs were going to leave a scar. Another scar. According to the doctors, all he needed now were some more antibiotics and of course the requisite rest and recuperation.
After that of course there would be more formal interviews, as the Police investigated the latest incident. He wasn't looking forward to that. Not after having been through what was supposed to have been an informal one. The police weren't happy with him – he could understand that.
Being a member of the police was more than a job. More than even a career. It was a brotherhood. Family. And one of their brothers was now locked up. Rightly or wrongly Garrick was being blamed for that. That had come through quite clearly in their questions at the scene.
Actually it had only been one question repeated over and over again in dozens of different ways. How had he known?
The truth of course he couldn't tell them. Because who would believe him if he had said that he’d seen the marks of Benedict in the detective's soul? So instead he'd had to look for some objective evidence he could point to that had led him to conclude Warren was working with Benedict. And he'd had to go back to the basics of police interviews. He couldn’t point to anything concrete. Only that it
was in the way Detective Warren had asked him the questions that had made him suspicious. It had been in the man’s tone of voice. The way he had looked at Garrick. That didn't track so well with them. They wouldn't have believed that he could work out all of that simply from the man's tone and questions. And the police wouldn't have given his charge against the detective any weight at all. But whether they would have believed it or not the moment that the detective had drawn his weapon he had indicted himself. Now it was only a matter of time until they had the whole story out of him.
As for Detective Warren, he was saying nothing. It was probably best for all of them. As yet Garrick had no idea what the detective had been charged with. Depending on what the detective said and what the witnesses said, the charges could range from unlawfully brandishing a weapon to attempted murder or anything in between. It would all come down to the detective's intent and that was something only he could tell them. Garrick wasn't even sure if he'd been supposed to be wearing his side arm in the interview room. All the stations and police forces were different on their procedures with interviews. If he had been expected to be carrying, then he could simply say something about having only reached for his weapon as an interview tactic. If he hadn't been the prosecution could paint a picture of attempted murder.
In the meantime Garrick was injured again. Once more by a law enforcement officer. And again while surrounded by witnesses to the event. And it had been recorded as well. He had no doubt that this entire fiasco was going to end up on the news shortly. That actually hurt worse than the injury itself.
To add to his woes Garrick still didn't have his weapon back as it had been seized as evidence after the motel room attack. It was standard procedure in a shooting. Even in an officer involved shooting where there was no doubt as to what had happened. He had expected to get his weapon back after the interview, but things hadn't exactly gone to plan.
It was a sore point with him that even the weapon to be returned was not his original weapon. That one had been seized after the shoot out with Newman. He'd been issued with a new Sig and badge once Treasury's charges had been dropped. In fact they'd been issued to him even while he was checking out of hospital. That hadn't been procedure, it had been politics. The bureau had wanted to publicly rub Treasury's nose in their failure, and showing the world that they had faith in their agent did that quite well.
For the moment though he had to continue using his back up piece. That wasn't good enough when he had Benedict trying to kill him. Being shot three times in a little over a couple of months in separate incidents! That had to be some sort of record. Maybe it was time to call in to the Bureau and see if he could get yet another weapon issued to him even though he was on leave.
“All right Agent Hamilton, we're done here.”
The doctor came back into the treatment room, pad in hand and a professional expression of concern and reassurance on his face.
“It's pronounced “idiot”, Doctor. As in Idiot Hamilton. Maybe even Special Idiot Hamilton.”
Cassie had appeared from out of nowhere and Garrick groaned. Maricia and Katarinka just laughed. The doctor however, carried on as if nothing had been said. Probably as far as he was concerned nothing had been said.
“The bloods are good, the stitches are holding and there's no sign of infection. You'll be on antibiotics and painkillers for a bit. And the x-rays show your leg's coming along nicely. Actually it’s better than expected”. The doctor sounded surprised at that. Of course with the “special” healing treatment he had received on it back in Olmstead the doctor had every reason to be. “But you need to rest. No exertion and no exercise for at least three days. The stitches will tear if you stretch too far. And absolutely no more getting shot!”
After a small laugh at his pitiful attempt at humour the doctor continued more seriously. “You can put your shirt back on. But really, maybe it's time you start thinking about another line of work? You seem to have a knack for getting shot and the next time it may not be so minor.”
The doctor hadn’t needed to check his tablet to know that. It was the same hospital that he’d been admitted to both previous times he'd been shot and the doctor was one of the doctors who had attended to him after his first shooting. Maybe he had even attended the second.
“Yes, and instead of hunting down a few badly behaving children you should be rescuing hundreds of lost ones.”
Cassie made sure to get her opinion in. The angel had never really approved of his career choice. She thought he had chosen to work on the wrong side of the ledger.
“Thanks Doc.”
Garrick ignored the others as he reached for his shirt, and watched the doctor leave. Then he looked at the shirt and, seeing it was torn and still covered in wet blood which was even now dripping onto the floor, opted not to put it back on. Instead, he would wait till he got back to the motel where he could put on a spare one. Disgusted to even be holding such a thing he tossed it in the trash bin in the corner.
“Cassie, did you come for a reason?”
A stupid question really. He knew she had. She'd been carefully absent ever since he'd told her his plan. Everything Cassie had needed him to know had been relayed to him by others. Normally that wouldn't be unusual. He didn't see the Choir often. But when it was his plan that was turning everyone's world upside down and he was playing such a large role, it did seem strange.
“I'm concerned with where this plan of yours is heading, child.”
“Concerned how?”
He didn't like the idea of her being concerned. Ignoring the fact that she was an angel, they needed her and the rest of the Choir to complete their plan.
“Concerned that you might try to kill Armando.”
Garrick looked at her, surprised by the thought. He hadn't considered the idea, not really. But she was right that he was angry. And he knew that Katarinka very much wanted the thief dead. She probably wasn't alone. But he couldn't kill him for a number of very important reasons. The first was of course that he didn't plan on being anywhere near the action when the final take down happened. As far as anyone knew he was on leave, and no one had the slightest idea he was the one calling in all the tips. No one except Benedict that was. He knew but fortunately could do nothing. The other reason was of course that he had promised Cassie that he wouldn't, and he didn't want to cross her. He had said he would hunt the man but leave the actual arrest and everything else to the police.
Garrick tried to explain that to her again, but he wasn't sure he was completely convincing. While he wasn't a violent man, he did think there might be something very satisfying in putting a bullet in the man's brain. In fact, after being shot three times he was starting to feel decidedly annoyed with him.
“No child, this has gone far enough.” Cassie sounded serious. Though in truth she always sounded serious. “It is time for some changes to be made.”
“Changes?” He and Maricia asked as one, both of them worried.
“We have done as you have asked. The information you need has been given. And for the most part Diogenes has done as they promised. They have not stepped beyond what was agreed with them. We are pleased with our grandchildren. As for our children however, they have been less obedient.”
And “obedient” was the important word Garrick knew. Diogenes was comprised of normal people more or less. They had made a deal with the Choir, but they had free will. Nephilim on the other hand weren't accorded the same rights by the Choir. Instead of free will they had obedience.
“Some of your number have used their gifts to deny people their free will. Even to cause them harm.”
“Only when they were frightened and in immediate peril!” Garrick protested, knowing that she was talking about the attack on the academy. It was grossly unfair to say they couldn’t use their gifts in such dire circumstances. And then to punish them for it was worse.
But the Choir didn't care about fair. They cared only about their precious rules. And they expected their children to care about
them as well. Something that simply wasn't right when people were shooting at you. And especially at children. But that wasn't much of an excuse in the angel’s estimation. Cassie naturally ignored him as she marched on through her litany of complaints.
“Many of you have begun reading the writings contained within Diogenes' vaults. That is acceptable even though the writings were never intended for you. But now some are talking about making those writings more widely known. This is not acceptable. It goes against the agreement that was made with Diogenes. And it is not permitted for our children to do this.”
“I hadn't heard.”
And Garrick hadn't, but in truth he wasn't completely surprised. Discovering that Diogenes was out there had come as a big surprise to him, and he guessed, many others. And some among their number would be naturally curious. He himself was curious, and maybe if and when he had time he might read one or two items himself. But releasing it was another matter, and he knew that the Choir would not allow that of the nephilim. If the Choir were forbidden from doing something, then their children were likewise forbidden. However, that didn't mean that some of his people didn't want to disobey. And releasing some of those works might be one way to do it.