Melting Steele

by Kimberly Amato

  “Who doesn’t swing on three and two? I mean, you’re supposed to protect the plate. You get paid millions of dollars to protect the fucking plate.”

  “He thought it was a ball,” Henry says to me calmly.

  “Great, you’re here too? Why can’t my nightmares be about simple things? Like drowning or a plane crash? Why do I have to have friends in danger, freak outs and a family member being my conscious? And I don’t care what he says, if he swung and missed I’d be more proud than caught looking. That was a weak play. Just like Glavine giving up seven runs in an inning and telling me it’s just a game. He didn’t pay over a hundred bucks to see his ass fall down at work. I would have been fired if I fucked up that much!”

  “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Lowering my gun, I run my left hand through my hair. These dreams are taking their toll and I don’t know how much more I can handle. My right hand shakes holding my weapon. It feels foreign to me. I almost feel afraid of it, if that makes any kind of sense.

  “Eventually you have to face what you’ve done and accept it. Or you can fall down the rabbit hole and never come out.”

  “I’ve faced it and dealt with it.”

  “You feel responsible for Hadley. For her being hurt and for avoiding her. It’s part of your DNA, Jazz. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t care that much.”

  Raising my gun, I ignore my shaking hands and my brother as I trudge down the hallway. The door is slightly ajar, but I can see Hadley on the floor, beaten and bruised. I push the door open with my left foot, my eyes falling on Keith Garrison and Officer James in full uniform.

  “Look who finally decided to join us.” Garrison taunts me, his hands dripping with blood.

  “You want to take a few shots? We’ll hold her down for you.” James says to me, calmly. I never lower my weapon.

  “You were supposed to protect her.” I stare at James, anger rolling off me in waves.

  “I did. I offered her a good life, a pampered one. She was all ‘I’m independent’ crap, so I did what I was paid to do. Trust me if she came with me, this bitch would be barefoot and pregnant on a beach somewhere.”

  Hadley cowers on the floor, blood trickling out of her mouth. Her injuries seem so much worse than the night James and Garrison kidnapped us.

  “She would have killed you while you slept,” I reply calmly to him. Hadley is one hell of a strong woman, she would never allow him the pleasure of touching her.

  “He would have had help, detective.” Garrison leans against the wall, smiling. The anger in me wants to shoot him in the face. Then there’d be no smile on his face ever, but that isn’t rational. Neither is fighting with your nightmares.

  James lifts Hadley off the floor and pushes her up against the wall. She squirms beneath him, whimpering incoherent words.

  “Let her go,” I aim my pistol at James.

  “Detective, how are you going to handle both of us?” Garrison continues to be smug. My rational is fading and desire to kill him rising.

  Hadley screams and before my brain can catch up I pull the trigger.

  It clicks. I drop the clip and find it empty.

  Anger boils over and I spin the gun in my hand, handle first. I swing at James and hit him in the head. The cracking of bone echoes around the room. His lifeless body falls to the floor. Hadley slips down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. Henry walks to her, kneels and wraps an arm around her. My eyes look through my eyebrows at Garrison. Good must defeat evil.

  He charges at me, but my instincts take over. I slip to the side and trip him. He falls face first and I slam my knee into his back. There’s nothing in this room to tie his hands, and there’s no way anyone is meant to leave this unscathed. Grabbing the sides of his head, I look at my brother. He just stares at me. With a quick movement, his neck snaps like a celery stick.

  Falling to the floor, looking at my bloody hands I realize I’ve killed them both. In reality I didn’t, but I had to do it again. The bodies slowly deteriorate into piles of dust on the floor. The light flickers above and I look at my brother.

  “Don’t go down the rabbit hole, Jazz. For your friends, Frankie and most importantly Chase. Don’t let them change you.”

  “I killed a man. How do you come back from that kind of darkness?”

  “A true savior is one who has dark and light inside of them with the ability to keep them in balance. Be that person, Jazz.”

  My head is heavy, my breathing labored, my body weak. I hit the floor before I know what’s happened. The coldness of the tile, seeps into my skin causing my teeth to chatter. Rolling my head to the side, Henry and Hadley are gone. I’m alone in this dark, dank room. Just like life, you’re born alone and ultimately die alone. It’s the middle where you have the most warmth, if you can hold on to it. My eyes close.

  The cell phone on the nightstand screams at me to answer it. Opening my eyes to the familiar white painted ceiling of my bedroom, I grab my phone.

  “Steele.”

  “Detective, it’s Logan, thought you might want to come down here. We’ve scoured through hours of footage and Morris’s computer. Found some minor things.”

  “I’ll be down there soon.”

  I disconnect the call and look to my right to see Frankie still sound asleep. Looking back to the ceiling, I take a deep breath. I feel… rested and that scares me. I killed two men in a nightmare and I slept well. That can’t be normal.

  ***

  No matter how many times I walk into this room, I feel like I’m in another world. Sure, I’ve probably said that once or twice before, but the feeling never fades. I see Logan over by the mini kitchen area. Tech geeks seem to get everything I sadly want. He leans back and smiles at me holding up a mug. I simply nod in response. The man is quickly gaining points for being an all around nice person. Even though I want to be the protective good friend and grill him, I can’t bring myself to do it. He’s honestly one of the good ones, and he can help me level up in my games.

  “One dark roast with milk no sugar.” Logan hands me a mug and leads me to his office.

  “Thanks, coffee is always appreciated.”

  “Hopefully what we find will also be helpful.”

  “Would be nice. I’m a bit tired of running all over hell and back trying to get ahead of this.”

  “Understandable.”

  He stops at a colleague’s desk and hands the woman a small USB flash drive. She clicks it into her computer. I feel like technology specialist’s hands fly faster than a bug does when you try to kill it.

  “The main thing to note, Morris’s computer really didn’t have a lot of information on it. He spent a lot of time on the Dark Web, searching for anyone to save his life. He had emails from several doctors insisting he was on the list, but due to his past indiscretions he was less likely to get the next available liver. He offered money to anyone who would give him a piece that was compatible.”

  “Well, the docs said the liver can regenerate itself, so you can have a living donor. Morris only had a part of it, right?”

  “Yes, which would beg the question, where are the rest of his organs?”

  “Can we find that out?”

  “If we had access to the main seller’s computer, possibly. After that though, what do you do with the information? Do you arrest the people for black market dealings? Put them in prison for trying to live?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I was more concerned about those shitty surgeries and possible rejection patients that have no idea what’s wrong with them. Maybe they couldn’t afford real health care after buying this thing.”

  “You get me Harry Brandt’s computer, I can probably find out the recipients.”

  I take a sip of the glorious coffee and I let Logan’s words sink in. He specifically asked for Harry Brandt’s computer.

  “How do you know he was the mastermind?”

  “Lots of speculation and Mr. Morris was not very good at ma
king his transfers look inconspicuous. Most people will funnel the money through a different bank account or use cash, maybe even an anonymous wire transfer. You never use your personal accounts.”

  “Morris paid Brandt through his personal account leaving a trace.”

  “A rather stupid move. He openly admits in an email that he sent the money to the company account by mistake. The response was a swift threat and orders on how to wipe the information from his personal computer.”

  “Obviously he didn’t.”

  “No, he did but you can’t delete transactions or remove them totally. Brandt knew this, that’s why there is an open source code for money transfers in his program. If you happen to use your personal account you run it through the program. It keeps everything anonymous and untraceable.”

  “So he was overly excited, didn’t think and paid in advance.”

  “And paid the price. Morris purchased an organ that was his blood type and was written as being from a young woman. The listing, the description of the victim, none of it matches Walter Miller.”

  “Brandt switched the liver donations as punishment.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. That would also explain why Mrs. Morris informed me her husband’s office had been broken into and ransacked. They wanted this laptop.”

  “She never mentioned it to us.”

  “A lot of people talk to us because we look less copish. They know we work for the same team.”

  “Either way, Brandt had to know we would track the financials.”

  “Yes, but they look like normal transfers without the purchase information and emails. Any defense attorney would rip me a new one on the stand.”

  Logan looks down at the woman sitting patiently at her computer. He nods at her and she clicks a few things on her computer. The main screen on the wall shows the hospital footage.

  “We got lucky with the footage. Can you zoom in on the IV port?”

  The clip zooms in and it is a bit grainy but you can make out the details. The clip plays as the nurse pulls a syringe out of her pocket, pulls on the plunger and then injects it directly into the port. She repeats the action a second time.

  “Victor was right. Morris was murdered.”

  “It gets better. Zoom out and fast forward to after Morris’s death.”

  I watch myself and the officers mill about the room. The nurse leaving the room. She pulls out a cell phone and types on it before putting it back in her pocket.

  “Who did she message?”

  “We traced it to a burner cell, but that isn’t the good part.”

  I drink the coffee expecting him to continue, but he doesn’t.

  “What’s the good part?”

  “We have facial recognition software and we decided to run the nurse’s face through the database.”

  “How would that help, her face is partially obscured?”

  “Yes, but the features of her face are the same. Her sunken eyes, high forehead, pronounced jawline and high cheek bones. Bones and science never lie. We got a match.”

  The screen pops to life and I stare at the image of Kiernan Jones on the massive screen. Her eyes popping out of the screen and I remember those eyes. She was an obnoxious twit behind the counter, perfect cover from the police.

  “It gets better, the cell phone pings I told you about before? They were hers. I don’t know how she is involved, but she is a part of this.”

  “If you find anything else let me know.”

  ***

  Sitting behind my desk, I stare at the white board with all the information under the photos. It’s an archaic way of doing things but it works for me. Rubbing the back of my neck, I’m trying to come up with a plan of attack. How can we go into Brandt’s office without spooking either of them?

  “Can I come in?” Will says from the door. I lean back and wave him in. My words are failing me as my frustration grows.

  “So, I hear we have a raid planned for tomorrow.”

  “Yep. Just have no idea how the hell we’re going to handle it.”

  “Captain is over with the D.A. trying to expedite a warrant. I don’t think Brandt’s lawyer is going to make this one disappear.”

  “No, but we have to be smart about how we go in. You and I know the floor. If there’s a hail of bullets, too many innocent people will get hurt.”

  “The leader of the team has blueprints of the building. He’s made an optimal route to the floor, how to evacuate the other floors in case excessive force is necessary.”

  “One thing has been irritating me, what the hell does D.B.M. stand for?”

  “Does it matter? All killers like to have nicknames. Makes them more official.”

  “Not really, but it means something to me.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I put my feet up on the corner of my desk. My eyes stay focused on the white board. All those connections, every bit of information all points to one man running the show. I think Will has slowly started to believe me that Irving Garrison is that puppeteer, but we can’t connect him. We don’t have enough.

  “He’ll trip up. You just have to be patient. One case at a time.” My eyes focus on Will. He’s staring at the board as well, having moved his chair.

  I’ve gone off the handle a bit this entire case. Luckily it didn’t cost me the people who support me the most. Like my brother said, I can’t go down that rabbit hole. No matter how appealing it is to walk up to a vile human being and remove them from the world. There would be less pain. Less hate. Less evil. Less of everything negative that seems to rule the world,

  But there would be a problem with my theory. Eventually, I would become no better than the person I killed. I would remove people, for reasons only known to me. That vile human being is still someone’s parent or son. That someone is still a living breathing person. I would have snuffed out their ability to obtain a balance with light. One day, when I least expect it, someone would remove me from the world for being that very vile person that started the cycle.

  It’s a never ending Ferris Wheel with no ability to get off. Life sucks that way. You can’t choose how fast you spin. You can’t control who gets into your car all the time either. You just get on and pray you don’t fall off the damn ride.

  “When do they want to do this?”

  “Early morning hours. It’ll take that long to get a judge to sign off.”

  “Figures. In the meantime they can destroy any and all evidence sitting in their offices.”

  “Jasmine, they’ve been doing that since we first came by. They’re cocky, not stupid. I say we both go home and enjoy time with the family. Tomorrow’s gonna be a heavy day.”

  Will says as he stands up and stretches. I follow suit and stay silent as we walk out. My mind is full to the brim with theories and other random crap. I need another good night’s rest. Maybe I won’t have a nightmare again.

  ***

  The house is quiet but Frankie’s car is in the driveway. The dinner table is set complete with wine glasses. Placing my keys on the hook, the nervous bile slowly creeps up my throat. The noise in the basement makes the bile rise up into my mouth forcing me to swallow it back down. Dropping my bag, I rush down the stairs two at a time.

  The door to my locked room is open. I must have forgotten to lock it the last time I was down here. I walk into the room and my worst fear is revealed. Frankie stands there, one hand on her hip the other covering her mouth.

  “I can explain,” I say full well knowing I really can’t explain an obsession to a psychologist. I won’t sound normal at all.

  “How can you explain all this?”

  I walk into the room and place my hand on her shoulder. She shrugs me off and spins around. Her reddened eyes and tear stained face locks to mine.

  “How long?”

  “Frankie…”

  “Just answer me! How long have you been sneaking down here and creating this… obsessive behavior?”

  “A month or two after we moved here.”

>   Her eyes widen and she takes a step back from me. I can see her eyes darting all over the room. The doctor in her is working overtime and I’m sure a lecture is to follow.

  “You need to get rid of this. All of it.”

  “Frankie, you know I can’t do that.”

  “I’m converting this room for storage of Chase’s sports equipment. You don’t have a choice.”

  Her voice is a tone I’ve rarely heard before. I know there’s no room to argue, but I know myself. I’m going to do it anyway.

  “I’ve put in too much time to just toss away all this work!”

  “Work? This is obsessive behavior! People pay me a fortune to help them get over things like this. Not my girlfriend through, she just does it right under my nose. Here I thought you wanted a writing room. A place where you could go and be free of distractions. You lied to me, again.”

  That stops me. I lied to her again. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. How can we plan a future, when I keep hiding things from her? I take a step back from her and lean against the wall.

  “I have to finish this. I have to make him pay for what happened.”

  My voice betrays me. It cracks and the fear is evident. I want to make it stop, but once the flood gates open it’s over. Frankie looks me over, runs her hand through her hair and wipes her face. She walks up to me, places her hands on my biceps.

  “How about we pack it away? You’ve done a lot of hard work and research. We can put it in a box for a later time. If something comes up, we’ll have the information someone else.”

  “But…” I try to protest.

  “No, Jasmine, this is not healthy. I need the space for Chase’s various sports endeavors and you need to let this go. I’m not saying forever. I’m saying this way of doing things is done. I can help you. Victor lives here now and then there’s Will. You do not have to fight this alone. Let us help you.”