Storm Demon

by Gregory Lamberson

  “How does the corporation get in touch with you?”

  “Usually by certified letter from different points around the world. Sometimes by e-mail.”

  “I want that e-mail address.”

  “Forget it. Eden pays us to run that building, and they pay us well. Every move they make is legit, but they’re an international company with a reason to be secretive, and I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement.”

  “One more question. How did Laurel Doniger get her space? You obviously didn’t do much of a background check on her because there’s no real information on her available.”

  “Simple: Eden told me to rent that space to her. And you know what? I’m glad we did. She may be eccentric, but she’s always on time with her rent and she’s never any trouble.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “You’ve met her?”

  “No. That’s why I’ve got Jackie Krebbs there.”

  Jake watched Wilson enter the building.

  Darryl Hughes sat on the concrete steps of an abandoned church on Fifth Street near Avenue B. Three people worked in his crew: A-Minus, who ran the money; Ferret, who ran the crack; and Kiss Rock, who stood lookout. A-Minus and Ferret were black teenagers, and Kiss Rock was a white girl who looked Hispanic. Darryl was black, too, and at twenty, the oldest member of the crew, which was why he ran the spot.

  He had worked for an independent crew last year until the Black Magic war between Papa Joe and Prince Malachai drove the independents and their product off the streets. Now Joe and Malachi were dead, the Magic was gone, and crack, coke, and heroin had made a strong return. The economy was booming for everyone, and Darryl liked not having to worry about scarecrows anymore; the world was a better place without those zombies.

  Darryl and his crew had just started the day shift, and business was brisk. He watched a Buick glide to the curb, white boys in the front seat and rap music blasting over the speakers. Darryl looked at Kiss Rock, who nodded, and he in turn nodded to A-Minus, named after the best grade he ever scored in school, probably in the fourth grade.

  A-Minus ran to the Buick and leaned close to the open window. Then he reached inside the car, grasped some money, and hid it in his fist. Turning from the car, he gave a hand signal to Ferret and sprinted to the mailbox on the side of the building and dropped the money into it. Ferret ran to the car, put some rock candy into it, and turned away. The Buick drove off.

  In and out, just like every drive-thru in America. It was going to be a beautiful day.

  Kevin Wilmont and his friend Sapo sat in the front seat of a black SUV watching Darryl’s crew rake in the dollars.

  “Amateurs,” Sapo said.

  “The crew boss might know what he’s doing, but they’re all lazy,” Kevin said. “They think the cops are the only ones they need to worry about. That’s just wrong thinking.”

  “Stupid little hoppers.”

  “Like you never hopped.”

  “Yeah, I hopped. I slung. And I was a stupid little hopper and a stupid little slinger.”

  “Good thing you wised up.”

  “You got that right.”

  “You ready to do this?”

  “I was born ready, homes.”

  Kevin shifted the SUV into gear, turned into the street, and angled toward the drug spot. He lowered his window as he pulled over and made eye contact with Darryl, who scrutinized every potential buyer.

  A-Minus ran to the vehicle and eyed its occupants. “What’s up?”

  “Not much. What’s up with y’all?” Kevin shoved his Glock against A-Minus’s skinny chest and squeezed the trigger twice.

  A-Minus staggered back with a disbelieving look on his face.

  As Kevin aimed past the youth at Darryl, who leapt to his feet, Sapo got out of the SUV. Kevin fired three times, but only one round struck Darryl, and that was just a graze. Sapo fired twice over the hood, both shots hitting Darryl in the chest. Darryl dropped to the steps, grimacing as he clutched at his wounds. Ferret and Kiss Rock took off.

  “Get back in the car,” Kevin said.

  But Sapo walked around the vehicle and over to the church steps, where Darryl gave him a pleading look. Sapo aimed the gun at Darryl’s head and squeezed the trigger. The impact slammed Darryl’s head against the steps. He stopped moving and blood flowed from his head.

  Sapo returned to the SUV and got in. “Let’s go.”

  Maria took her time reading her e-mail and departmental memos.

  “You must be a lot more popular than me,” Bernie said. “It would only take me half an hour to read six weeks’ worth of e-mail.”

  “If you want to know how popular I am, go read the welcome back note on my locker.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “The usual.”

  “Luck of the draw. Any one of them could have been the primary on that case, and they’d be cooking in the same stew.”

  “Well, they didn’t catch that case, did they? I did.”

  “Did I tell you how happy I am that you’re back so I don’t have to work with the assholes around here?”

  Maria smiled. “Thanks. It’s good to see you again, too.”

  “How about dinner tonight to celebrate your homecoming?”

  “We’re already having lunch. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Let me guess: you’ve got a hot date with a certain morally questionable private eye.”

  She offered him a polite smile. “I know quite a bit about Jake’s morals, and they aren’t the least bit questionable.”

  “If you say so. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Her smile broadened.

  “Oh, my God, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Maria shrugged. “I don’t exactly know what my feelings are for the man, but I’m not about to work them out with you.”

  Bernie remained expressionless. “You’re doomed.”

  Maria felt herself blushing. “Maybe I am.”

  Bernie’s mouth dropped open.

  “What?”

  He pointed past her. “I don’t believe it.”

  One by one the detectives in the bull pen looked across the squad room, and Maria knew even before she turned around that Edgar had arrived. He stood in the double doorway, framed by lime-green paint, staring at his colleagues as if they were ghosts. It was strange to see him wearing a sports jacket and a tie again, and the clothes hung loose around his diminished body.

  The telephones rang around the space as she rose from her seat as if in a daze, playing her role to the hilt, and crossed the squad room. She felt the eyes of the other detectives on her as she moved toward Edgar and gave him a big hug.

  “This is some bullshit,” a male detective said behind her.

  6

  Entering his suite, Jake made eye contact with Carrie, who glanced at the corner waiting area. He followed her sight line to where Larry Metivier sat with a bored expression. Jake had forgotten he had told Carrie to bring Larry in. “Good morning.”

  Larry stood. “First you order me here, then you’re late? Come on. I do have a career. Speaking of careers, that’s a good new look for you. Are you a lumberjack now?”

  Jake offered his hand. “Good to see you.”

  Larry shook it. “Same here. That’s some sunburn, by the way.”

  “I went fishing in Florida.”

  “What did you catch?”

  Jake entered his office, a silent indication for Larry to follow. He turned at his desk and remained standing. “Close the door.”

  Larry closed the door, and Jake took his stump out of his pocket and raised it.

  Larry did a double take. “Holy shit. What the hell happened? That must have been some cookie jar.”

  “A bad guy chopped off my hand with a machete.”

  “I thought machetes were going out of style.” He gestured at the stump. “May I?”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  Larry unhooked the clasp on the bandage, which he unwrapped. “When did this happen?
”

  “Two and a half weeks ago in another country.”

  Larry tossed the bandage onto the desk. “Whoever dressed it did a good job.”

  Jake said nothing. Maria had been dressing the wound since the revolution on Pavot Island.

  Larry pressed on Jake’s stump. “Does this hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?”

  “I’ve got fresh bandages. You can start by rewrapping the stump.”

  Larry shrugged. “The cut point has healed, and there’s no sign of infection. Bandaging the stump won’t serve any purpose at this point.”

  “Great, then your trip here wasn’t a waste of time. What are my options now?”

  “You can get a prosthetic hand or a hook. There are some good bionic models on the market now, too. Maybe you need to find a new line of work while you can still walk.”

  “Are you so eager to lose a patient? I’m not likely to call you if I just pass a stone.”

  “You’re one of my few patients who isn’t a crook. I wouldn’t mind seeing you stick around in this world for a while.”

  “I’m touched.” Of course, Larry, who took large portions of his fees in untaxed cash, was a criminal himself. “What do I have to do to get a prosthetic?”

  “I’ll have my office manager send you a list of facilities that will take care of you. You’ll need to have your arm cast so the prosthetic will fit you like a glove. Are you right-handed?”

  “I would be now anyway, right?”

  “I’m trying to use my best bedside manner, and you’re not making that easy.”

  “Get that list sent over, will you?”

  “Sure thing. I know you didn’t file a local police report if you were in another country, but you should notify your insurance company and apply for disability. You could be on easy street now.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Suit yourself.” Larry stood there, waiting.

  “Is something on your mind?”

  “My fee.”

  “Send me a bill.”

  “This is a house call.”

  Jake raised his stump. “I’m not trying to cover this up, so it’s a legit visit.”

  Frowning, Larry shook his head. “You see? That’s what I don’t like about you—the gray areas. Pick one side of the law and stick with it.”

  John “Ramses” Coker pulled his black Escalade into the Fifth Avenue parking garage and drove to the second level, where he backed into a space. He had the local news on, not rap music, and he wore a button-down shirt, no jewelry. So far, there was no reporting on Darryl Hughes’s murder, which either meant that Kevin and Sapo had failed or the media had deemed the killings of minority drug dealers not newsworthy.

  Lowering his window, he switched off the engine but allowed the news to continue. “Today the United Nations is voting on whether or not to readmit Pavot Island as a member now that Miriam Santiago has succeeded dictator Ernesto Malvado as the island nation’s president. Malvado was killed by freedom fighters two weeks ago during Pavot’s revolution.”

  Another black SUV rolled into the garage, and Ramses flashed his brights. The second vehicle went by him, its tinted windows preventing him from seeing its occupants. Ramses watched the SUV pull into a parking space. He didn’t carry a gun, but he had one hidden inside the door if he needed it.

  The doors of the SUV opened and Kevin got out. The assassin crossed the garage and stood before the Escalade.

  “Did you do the deed?” Ramses said.

  Kevin looked around the garage. “Yeah.”

  “What was the count?”

  “Two down. Two got away. K isn’t getting up.”

  “Good but letting two witnesses get gone isn’t news to my ears.”

  “We didn’t know either of them, and we don’t think they knew us. It all went down fast, and they were out of there.”

  Ramses nodded at the SUV. “Is Sapo in your ride?”

  “Yeah, he’s listening to tunes.”

  Of course. “Drop that ugly little motherfucker off somewhere. The cops could be looking for a pair of hit men fitting your descriptions traveling in one vehicle.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. You going to send a crew to that church?”

  “Don’t worry about what I’m going to do. Go lose Sapo.”

  Kevin returned to the SUV.

  Ramses rubbed his chin. Alice wasn’t going to be happy that the triggermen allowed two of Raheem’s hoppers to escape, but hopefully she would be pleased enough with the rest of the outcome to let that oversight slide.

  Maria looked out the window as Bernie drove the unmarked Cavalier down Third Avenue.

  “That’s quite a coincidence, you and Edgar showing up the same day like this.”

  “Maybe it was God’s plan,” Maria said in a flat voice.

  “Was he on Pavot Island?”

  She looked him in the eye. “God?”

  “Edgar.”

  “No.”

  “But you know where he was, don’t you?”

  Maria said nothing.

  “You go to a Caribbean island looking for information on your former partner, civil war breaks out, and two weeks later you both walk into the squad room on the same day.”

  “We didn’t walk in together.”

  “No, you weren’t that dumb. Where the hell was he? Is he still in trouble?”

  “Don’t ask me any questions that I can’t answer.”

  “Let me put something into perspective for you: Edgar was a detective working a high-profile case when he disappeared. The department spent a lot of time, manpower, and money looking for him.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I was involved with a lot of those efforts, remember?”

  “So was I. I was right there with you.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “You’re involved with the investigation. You were his partner. Now that he’s back, there will be a lot of questions. If you withhold any information, they’re going to come after you hard.”

  “Some codes are more important than regulations.”

  “Whose code? Helman’s?”

  “No. My code. You don’t have to worry about any of this coming back on you. I would never do anything to jam you up.”

  “Oh, kid, that isn’t what this is about. I’m worried about you and your career.”

  “I appreciate that, really.”

  Two parked squad cars and an ambulance flashed their strobes over a crime scene: an abandoned church on Fifth Street at Avenue B.

  “You ready for this?” Bernie said.

  “I saw more action on Pavot Island than I’ll see in my entire NYPD career.”

  “Braggart.”

  They got out of the car and joined a PO who stood between one body on the sidewalk and another on the church steps. Bernie showed his shield and so did Maria. A crowd milled behind two strips of crime scene tape, watching with interest.

  Maria scanned the observers: hard-faced teenagers and disapproving adults. A young boy rocked back and forth on his bike.

  “What have we got?” Bernie said.

  “Two male perps,” the PO said. “This was their spot. No witnesses.”

  “Except for whoever got away,” Maria said. “Two guys didn’t run this spot alone.”

  “We usually saw four of them here at a time.”

  Bernie leaned over the corpse on the steps. “I know this guy. Darryl Hughes.”

  “Who did he work for?” Maria said. Before partnering with Maria in the Special Homicide Task Force, Bernie had worked in Gang Prevention.

  “I don’t know. He worked for a small fry a year and a half ago. Then his crew got whacked in the Machete Massacres.”

  “This is Raheem Johnson’s spot,” the PO said.

  “Not anymore.” Bernie turned to Maria. “Alice Morton owns this corner now.”

  Edgar sat in the interview room for the Missing Persons Squad, located on the fifth floor of the same bu
ilding as the Special Homicide Task Force. A table separated him from Detectives Dave Setlik and Jonathan Knopf. Both men were in their late thirties. He had seen Setlik around; Knopf was new to him.

  “Mr. Hopkins,” Setlik began.

  “Detective Hopkins,” Edgar said.

  Setlik gestured at the air. “Where have you been all year?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where were you yesterday?”

  “I came to in Queens late in the afternoon.”

  “What part?”

  “Astoria, maybe. It’s hard to tell with all those triangles. Thirty-eighth Street, Thirty-eighth Road, Thirty-eighth Avenue . . . I think I was lying in an alley. I had someone else’s clothes on and no wallet, money, or ID. Once I figured out where I was, I walked to the house where my son and his mother live in Jackson Heights.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Setlik said.

  Edgar faced the mirror. He knew L.T. stood on the other side. “I remember working the Machete Massacres and other killings related to Black Magic. I remember playing basketball with my son.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Who was behind the Black Magic?”

  “In my opinion? Prince Malachai.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  “It wasn’t Papa Joe. He was killed.”

  “So was Malachai. He turned up dead in the foundation of a construction site, along with a woman named Ramera Evans. Do you know who she was?”

  “No.”

  “How about Dawn Du Pre?”

  Edgar spoke in a slow cadence. “She was my girlfriend.”

  “Past tense?”

  “I broke up with her.”

  “Tell us about that.”