Storm Demon

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Storm Demon Page 18

by Gregory Lamberson


  Bernie’s expression turned to one of satisfaction. “Okay. Well, we’re up.”

  “Can’t I dry out for a few minutes first?”

  “What’s the point? You’re only going to get wet again.”

  “Maybe I can avoid wrinkling.”

  “I guess I could pass it off to someone else, but the DATF boys specifically asked for us. They’ve got eight dead hoppers down on Avenue B.”

  Maria’s expression hardened. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mauceri stopped at their desks. “You taking that call downtown?”

  Maria nodded.

  “I want you back here by the time that hurricane hits. If it looks like you need longer, call in and we’ll figure out a safe location for you to wait it out.”

  “You got it, L.T.”

  Bernie put on his tan trench coat and held her coat for her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They signed out an unmarked Cavalier and exited the building, each holding an umbrella.

  “It’s hard to imagine this getting worse,” Bernie said, aiming his umbrella into the wind.

  It took them a few minutes to locate the right car.

  Bernie slid behind the wheel and started the engine, then pulled into the street. “At least there isn’t much traffic.”

  Maria didn’t answer.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  When they reached Avenue B, Maria saw several red and blue strobes in the distance. “It looks like we’re late to the party.”

  A uniformed PO stood in the intersection, closing off the street to new traffic. Bernie pulled over to one side of the PO, lowered his window, and showed the woman his shield. She waved him through.

  “The shooting occurred at 0530 hours,” Bernie said as he coasted through puddles.

  That gave the uniforms half an hour with the crime scene, the Detective Area Task Force detectives the same amount of time before they reached out to Bernie, and now half an hour for them to reach the crime scene.

  Maria spotted a handful of POs in rain slickers standing near yellow crime scene tape that crisscrossed the street and sidewalks. Two detectives stood holding umbrellas.

  “It looks like all the action happened out here,” she said. “I don’t think we’re going to find much evidence after the vics have been in the rain for two hours.”

  Bernie double-parked the car and they got out. Maria opened her umbrella and heard her partner do the same. As they crossed the street she noted two bodies slumped against parked cars, one on each side. Farther up the street, an SUV jutted out at an angle from a parked car it had

  collided with.

  They joined the Detective Area Task Force detectives, who stood with umbrellas of their own over four more corpses, one of them female.

  “Dan Malcomb,” one of the detectives from the 11th Precinct said.

  “Jim Allcorn,” the other said.

  “Bernie Reinhardt. You spoke to me on the phone.”

  “Maria Vasquez. Thanks for calling us and thanks for waiting.”

  Malcomb pointed at the corpses at their feet. “We checked their IDs. They were all from the Bronx. The girl’s the oldest, seventeen. The black kid’s sixteen, and the Puerto Rican is fifteen. I don’t know what that other one is, but he can’t be older than fourteen.”

  Maria and Bernie exchanged looks.

  “The two in the street are both fifteen,” Allcorn said. “They’re local boys from the project on Allen and Grand.”

  “If these six can be packed up I want to take you for a walk,” Malcomb said.

  “I think we’re good,” Bernie said, looking at Maria.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Malcomb led them back into the street, leaving Allcorn to watch over the bodies.

  Allcorn beckoned to the waiting meat wagon, and two EMTs hopped out.

  “Any news on Daria?” Malcomb said.

  “She’s coming,” Bernie said.

  “It feels like she’s already here.”

  They stopped at the SUV and gazed through the shattered windshield at the two bodies in the front seat.

  Malcomb spat into the street. “As near as we can figure, the shooter shot into the windshield of the oncoming vehicle, killing the driver, who managed to hit him anyway, and his body flew through the windshield.”

  “Where’s the shooter from?” Bernie said.

  “Different building but still the Lower East Side. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Raheem Johnson paid Alice Morton back for shooting up his corner yesterday, which is why we called you. We’ve already spoken to neighbors who say the uptown crew set up shop here yesterday.”

  Maria stared into the dead features of the driver, slumped in his seat with the other corpse’s legs across his lap. “That’s John Coker, street name Ramses. He may have been Alice’s right hand.” She knew it, but she didn’t want her last visit to Alice to become part of the record.

  “So, what do you say?” Malcomb said. “You want to team up on this?”

  “These are your homicides,” Maria said, provoking a frown from Malcomb. “We’re here to assist you so far as it helps our investigation.”

  “That’s better than nothing. You want to help us with the legwork?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you want to shake Raheem or Alice?”

  Maria suppressed a smile.

  21

  Jake exited the building’s elevator carrying a closed black umbrella.

  Jackie stood at the doors, supervising a man in the replacement of the glass panes in the two doors.

  “You may as well leave the plywood in,” Jake said.

  “No kidding,” Jackie said. “I came as soon as I heard the news. I was already in a taxi when Carrie called. Did you see those bodies down here?”

  “I saw them.”

  Jackie whistled. “I never saw bodies messed up like that. You’re not going out there, are you?”

  “I’ve got to see someone.”

  Jackie leaned close and whispered, “You learn anything about Miss Doniger?”

  “I’m still working on it. Keep the faith.”

  “Faith don’t cost nothing.”

  “I’ll see you later.” Jake stepped around the worker and stood facing the plywood panels in the darkened vestibule.

  Taking a breath, he opened the door, and the wind tore it from his hands and slammed it against the outside wall. Rain descended from the sky in a steady downpour. Jake triggered the umbrella, and as soon as it opened the wind blew it inside out. He aimed the umbrella at the wind, which blew it back into the correct configuration.

  Jake turned his body as he closed the door with his stump, and a sudden gust of wind snatched the umbrella from his hand. He watched the umbrella spin away. The damaged cars had been towed, and the parlor’s missing window had been boarded up. He flipped up the collar of his black trench coat, stuffed his stump and hand into his pockets, and walked away from the wind, which howled like a banshee.

  After only half a block, his face felt numb from the cold and tears streamed from his eye. Litter moving across the sidewalk in waves made scraping sounds. The garbage spun around him, creating a cyclone through which he could not see, then faded as abruptly as it had formed. A cargo truck drove by, resembling a torpedo in the water.

  Passing Madison Avenue, Jake saw a police car parked at the corner; three officers sat inside the car. Water sloshed into a storm drain and right back out again. An empty commuter bus headed east, splashing him with more water.

  The wind blew him forward. He planted his feet, leaned back, and walked with the wind. When his right calf muscle cramped, he ducked into a doorway. With his back against glass, he caught his breath and rubbed his face. Metal signs creaked overhead. An unseen lid banged open and shut. Doors blew open.

  Closing his eye halfway, he returned to the storm force. A newspaper wrapped itself around his torso, and he pu
lled it away. The chains on a closed newspaper stand rattled against the metal gate that protected its contents.

  Jake gazed at the Tower to his right: all the lights had darkened, except in the two-story lobby, and uprooted trees were piled on top of each other on the patches of grass separating the sidewalk from the building. The water in the fountain overflowed.

  Straight ahead, the Flatiron Building rose to the sky. Only the lights in the lobby and on the top two floors glowed in the darkness.

  The rainfall softened and stopped. With his hair plastered over his forehead and water dripping off the end of his nose, Jake staggered to one side, regained his balance, and righted his course, each footstep producing a splash. Thunder rumbled within the clouds. Then a sound like bacon sizzling in a frying pan filled his ears, and countless golf balls ricocheted off the sidewalk.

  Lumps of ice shattered on the sidewalk. Jake cocked his left arm over his face, shielding his eye. A hailstone struck the top of his head and almost knocked him unconscious. Another struck his left temple, drawing blood. He fell forward, then raised himself on his right arm, gasping for breath as the ice pellets attacked his back and fingers. At least it wasn’t raining frogs.

  He lifted one knee and stood, then continued forward, passing one closed business after another. Cracks formed in the display windows around him. Walking on the hailstones was like walking on marbles, and he went down on one knee again and remained there for a moment, like a boxer taking advantage of the count to regain his breath. Rising once more, he leaned against the wind and used both arms to protect his head from the hailstones.

  At last Jake reached Broadway. A horn blared, and he leapt back as an ambulance sped by with its siren and strobes off. Looking both ways, he crossed the avenue and reached the Flatiron Building. He staggered to the main entrance that consisted of glass two stories high, with a curved top. Drawing a breath, he entered.

  Jake stood in a lobby with white marble walls. Behind him, the hail stopped falling. As he walked to the security station lightning flashed behind him and the thunder that followed split the sky with a sharp cracking sound. Jake stopped at the station and stood dripping before the uniformed security guard.

  “May I help you, sir?” the guard said.

  “I’m here to see Lilian Kane.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your name, please?”

  “Jake Helman.”

  The guard consulted her computer screen. “I’m sorry but I can’t find your name.”

  Jake eyed the security cameras mounted on the glossy walls. “Will you call her for me, please?”

  “I’m not allowed to do that.”

  Jake sighed. He didn’t intend to walk back to his building.

  The telephone on the desktop buzzed, and the guard picked it up. “Yes, ma’am, he’s here right now,” she said after a moment and then set the phone down. “Ms. Soto left your name. You can go up now. Just sign in first.”

  Jake signed his name on the clipboard and listed Lilian Kane as his contact.

  “Take the elevator to twenty-two,” the guard said.

  Nodding, Jake walked to the gleaming elevator doors and pressed the call button. A door opened and he boarded the car, then pressed the button for his destination. The elevator rose, and he used the time to wipe the blood from his temple and from the corner of his mouth, which had somehow split.

  The elevator reached the twenty-second floor and settled, but the door failed to open. Jake glanced at the ceiling, then at the floor, fearing the elevator might plummet to the

  bottom of the shaft.

  The door opened and he stepped into a white corridor lined with flower displays that reminded him of Lilian’s estate. Turning right, he approached a glass partition with a wide glass door in its center embossed with the Eternity Books logo. Through the glass, he saw a receptionist with long dark hair behind a curved Italian desk. Standing at the door, he debated whether to ring the doorbell, but the receptionist looked in his direction and pressed a button, unlocking the door.

  Jake opened the door and crossed the tile floor, noting book displays around the lobby and light globes hanging from the high ceiling. His fingers twitched as he approached the desk.

  The receptionist, who he guessed was Vietnamese, smiled and spoke with a French accent. “Good morning, Mr. Helman. Ms. Soto will be with you shortly. You’re welcome to have a seat or look around the lobby. Help yourself to some coffee.”

  Jake tried not to register surprise. “Thank you but I’m already caffeinated.”

  He turned to the oversize windows facing the Tower across the street. The hailstorm had ended, and flurries sliced the sky at a diagonal angle.

  Snow in July, he thought.

  He stared at the Tower’s top floor, where he had confronted Old Nick, Kira Thorn, and Cain. He had moved to the Flatiron District to keep his eye on that building and its occupants, convinced that Tower International would somehow resurrect itself. Now it resembled any other skyscraper: glass, steel, and faceless. It had never occurred to him that the horror would come from a landmark across the street.

  “Mr. Helman?”

  Jake turned at the sound of Harla Soto’s voice. She stood in the doorway on the other side of the reception desk, wearing gray slacks and a short-sleeved jacket buttoned over a low-cut black top.

  He walked over to her. “We meet again.”

  “You look better than you did yesterday.”

  “Thank you for offering me that water.”

  “What can I do for you now?”

  “I actually hoped to meet with Ms. Kane.”

  “Without an appointment? She doesn’t do that. Neither do I.”

  “And yet here we are, reminiscing about old times. I’m willing to bet she’ll do the same.”

  “Why don’t you come into the VIP room and we’ll see about that?”

  “I’m honored.” Jake followed her through the doorway and along a wide aisle flanked by several empty offices. “Where is everyone?”

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s a storm coming. We’re

  operating with minimal staff today.”

  Harla led him into a room that took him aback: silk hung from the windowless space one quarter the size of a gymnasium. Casual contemporary sofa beds of all shapes and sizes faced a round pedestal upon which an egg-shaped chair sat. Two statues of lionesses with jeweled eyes sat on either side of the modern throne, and statues of owls on pedestals overlooked the beds. Wall sconces cast soft lavender light, and liquor bottles along an illuminated black bar glowed.

  “Is this where you hold office parties?” Jake said.

  “When we’re in the city it is,” a voice said behind him.

  Jake turned as Lilian entered the room. She wore a light green dress.

  “Thank you, Harla. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Harla gave Lilian a slight bow and exited, closing the door behind her.

  Lilian approached Jake, her eyes never leaving his. “I didn’t expect you to come alone. If anything, that should have been Erika’s play.”

  “She wanted to turn herself over to you. I wouldn’t let her.”

  Lilian circled him. “If you’re here, it’s because she wanted you here.”

  Jake turned his body to keep it facing hers. “I don’t think so. I make my own mistakes.”

  “Then why come? You must realize there’s no way you can stop me.”

  “I don’t believe in many things, but I do believe in rolling the dice.”

  She moved closer. “You’re being disingenuous. You believe in a great many things that others would refuse to accept.”

  “Seeing is believing.”

  “What makes you so confident?”

  “Call me Jake the Giant Killer.”

  One end of her mouth turned up. “I know who you are: a pawn in the great dimensional war. Use your remaining eye to look at those scars on your face in a mirror and that stump where you
r hand should be. By the time you’ve finished fighting the good fight, nothing will be left of you. And that’s not even taking the emotional toll into consideration. If you manage to die of natural causes, you’ll do so as a lonely, broken man.”

  “You know me well.”

  Lilian raised one finger, a diamond ring sparkling on it. “I know Erika well and she knows you well. We’re linked to that degree.”

  “You only know my thoughts through the time you kidnapped her.”

  Her smile appeared genuine. “I’m not concerned with your thoughts, though I’m not used to anyone knowing so much about me.”

  “I know the feeling. You know I was investigating the Order of Avademe the last time she read me.”

  “Karlin Reichard and his brotherhood of cranky old men.”

  “As opposed to your stylish sisterhood?”

  “You have to admit they’re nicer to look at. I assume you’re the one who killed those old bastards, just like you killed Nick Tower.”

  “Since Laurel’s shared my memories with you, you know I also brought down Katrina and her army of zonbies.”

  “You defeated a vodou slut and an army of dead slaves. I’m not impressed.”

  “I didn’t kill all the members of the Order of Avademe, but the ones I offed weren’t the only ones I killed during that caper.”

  “There was that assassin you buried upstate.”

  “Think bigger.”

  Lilian stopped moving. “Go on.”

  “Adam and Eve are gone and so are their mutant children.” It felt good to boast.

  Lilian narrowed her eyes a fraction. “I sensed their deaths, but I have difficulty believing you were responsible for them.”

  “I had a little help from your grandchildren.”

  Her expression showed no reaction. “Qayin and Havel worked together and with you to slay their own parents?”

  “You have quite a dysfunctional family . . . Lilith.”

  The woman who called herself Lilian Kane parted her lips in a manner that conveyed amusement and danger. “You’re lucky to be alive. I’ve never known the higher powers—from either party—to permit a human to know so much about their existence.”

  “We’re old friends now on both sides of the fence. Abel told me all about you.”

 

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