“My what?” the older cop asked.
Sid enunciated. “Badge number.”
“It’s, uh—” He looked down at the badge on his chest. “Five. Four. One. Two.”
Sid eased away and took Sam by the wrist and led her toward the front door. “You know, I didn’t notice a police car outside. Did you two walk over from the station?”
Both officers’ nostrils flared. Their eyes narrowed and dimmed. Hands clutching in and out, the taller one said in a throaty voice, “Where’s Smoke, woman!”
Sid went for her guns.
They were halfway out when the old officer collided into her. He clamped his hands over her wrists and wrenched the guns out.
“Run, Sam! Run!”
The gorgeous woman made it down two steps. The tall cop snatched her by the hair and yanked her back. “Hey!” She started to scream, only to have the man’s hand clamped over her mouth.
He dragged her inside and slammed the door shut.
Sid launched a kick into the cop that had her.
He laughed it off.
She twisted away, only to have him pounce on her back.
He pinned her down with inhuman strength.
“Damn. You’re a deader, aren’t you.”
“In the undead flesh,” he said. “It’s the price we pay for being superhuman.”
She drove her head into his chin.
His grip loosened, but he held firm. “Aw, you’re only going to hurt yourself more fooling around like that. Now tell me, where’s Smoke?”
“That seems to be the question everyone is asking, but I don’t know.”
The deader cop forced her onto her back and slapped her in the face. “I don’t like your tone.”
Grimacing, Sid managed to snake a knife out of the back of her pants. She sliced his throat. “I don’t like yours either.”
The man staggered back, holding his throat but not bleeding.
Sid scrambled for her gun and got the drop on the first deader cop. “One hole through the chest will end you!”
The first cop froze. The second cop had his arm wrapped around Sam’s throat. “Yeah, but one hard squeeze and her trachea will cave in. Who’s going to save her then? Now tell us where Smoke is!”
Blam!
A bullet ripped through the tall deader’s forehead. He staggered back with a face full of alarm.
Blam!
Sid’s second shot tore clear through the dead man’s heart. He dropped to the floor.
The other deader cop rushed out the door.
Sid couldn’t get a clean shot at him.
“That was crazy!” Sam said, catching her breath and rubbing her neck. She kicked the deader cop lying on the floor. “He’s not even bleeding, but he was so real.” She glanced up at Sid. “I thought deaders were slow and stupid.”
Tucking her weapons back inside her holsters, Sid said, “They were, but they’re getting better. More real.” She kneeled down by the dead man on the floor and pulled down his collar. There was a Drake tattoo of a black rising sun on his neck.
“Spooky, huh,” Sam said, trembling.
“You okay?”
“I’m just getting the chills.” Sam pulled out her phone and started texting. “Let me get the word out to Guppy. He gets worried if I don’t check in.”
“Tell him we need some cleanup. Cops, real ones, will be all over this place. Not sure we have a good explanation for this man down here.” She gave her apartment a long, sad look. “I think I’m going to need a new place to live.”
Looking at her phone, Sam said, “We need to get out of here. Guppy and Mal will handle the cleanup.”
Sidney got a sinking feeling she might not ever see her apartment again. All she had left that hadn’t been destroyed fit in her two suitcases. And then she picked up the picture frame, removed Megan’s picture, and tucked it inside her shirt. Taking one more quick glance around, she said, “Let’s go.”
Driving her new car, she made her way out of the apartment complex. It being midday, there weren’t too many people standing around. A couple of old ladies stood on the sidewalk, wearing colorful robes. A maintenance crew in a golf cart passed them by.
Eyes forward, she pulled out onto the main highway and let out a breath. “You know, I don’t really understand why they want John so bad. Why him and not me?” she said to Sam.
“You’re easier to control, I guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about it. You have more family than he does. Or at least you don’t think yours are expendable.”
“Does he really think that way?” Sid asked. “That you’re expendable?”
Checking her makeup in the vanity mirror, Sam replied, “Eh, we’re covered. Besides, Smoke’s a ‘kill them all, let God sort them out’ kinda guy.”
“I think he’s more compassionate than that.”
Sam shifted toward Sid. “Let me tell you something, sister. Where we come from, we don’t compromise with evil.”
CHAPTER 20
Sid lay low the next couple of days. She slept at Sam and Guppy’s place, a tiny apartment on the other side of town, much like the one Sid had to abandon. It was morning, and coffee was brewing. Sam had some eggs and bacon on a griddle. Sitting on the sofa with the television on, Sid rubbed her bleary eyes.
Every day, on every channel, they talked about the manhunt. They never mentioned John’s name or anything about his past. They just called him the unknown man and showed a slightly blurred picture. The experts were popping up on every outlet too. They had all kinds of theories about who Smoke was. Prior military. An ex-con. A deranged madman. A jilted employee.
Sid smiled.
They don’t know how close they are.
Sam set a steaming mug of coffee on the table.
“Thanks,” Sid said. The hot brew stung her lip. “Say, Sam, you didn’t see Wilhelm in the hospital, did you?”
“No, everything was chaos when we went in there. I only got a glimpse into the room, but it was cleared out.”
“Nothing odd?”
“No, nothing’s come to mind since the last time you asked. Or the time before that.” Sam fixed up a couple of plates of food and sat down beside Sid. “You aren’t doing all right, are you.”
Sid nibbled on her bacon and shook her head. “I am. I just have a feeling someone got to him before we did.”
“It’s not hard to hide in a city like this. It’s pretty big, and Smoke knows it pretty well. I’m sure he’s blending in with a stack of hot cakes somewhere right now.” Sam stabbed the scrambled eggs with her fork and ate. Swallowing it down with some coffee, she said, “Don’t worry, something will surface.”
Digging into her meal, Sid fished through the news channels. She needed to find something, anything that would be a good starting point. Everything had happened so fast two days ago that she was just now getting a chance to sort things out. She flipped from channel to channel, and then there it was. An eyewitness. And not just any eyewitness, but the same slob that Russ Davenport from Nightfall DC had pointed out. Elbows on her knees, Sid leaned forward.
“What is it?” Sam said, squinting her eyes at the screen.
Sid paused the TV. “If this guy is indeed an actor like Russ says, then maybe he can provide a few answers.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “he really has been making his rounds, hasn’t he? I’ll get right on it.”
Sid finished up her breakfast, slipped some clothes on over the sweetheart suit, and loaded up her gear.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked.
“Out to catch the bad guys.”
“What? I thought we were gonna hang out and watch the Bewitched marathon.” Sam leaned over the back of the sofa. “Say, which Darren did you like better?”
“Dick York, of course.” Sid slung her pack over her shoulder and nodded at the TV. “Let me know what you find out about that witness, I mean that camera-hogging bearded tub of lard. I’m on my way.”
Sid departed with a chuckle. The Hellcat’s engine roared, and before long she was cruising down the highway. With the radio off, she had some time to think, but she liked Sam’s company.
Sometimes you need time to yourself.
Thirty minutes into the drive, she got her first text from Sam. It was the location of a small television station just outside the northwest rim of DC.
Man, she’s good.
She pulled into the parking lot of the station ten minutes later. She backed the car in with a good view of the front door. It was a one-story white building made from long channels of concrete. The groundskeeping had seen better days. Two people were smoking inside a nearby gazebo. There was one parked news van. Everything was quiet.
She texted Sam. “Are you certain he’s here?”
“He wouldn’t miss it for the world. Dude has a Twitter account. Blowing up all of his appearances. Loser.”
“Gotcha. Tks.”
Social media might be one of the greatest windfalls to law enforcement of all time. People just can’t keep quiet about their business.
The phone buzzed. A picture of the man she was looking for popped up. Bald and bearded, the heavyset man’s name was Clarence Williams.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sid’s heart jumped. A man was standing by her window.
She trained her gun on him.
“Whoa,” the man said with his fingers spread wide. “Don’t shoot.”
It was Russ Davenport. She lowered her window but kept the gun aimed on his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” he said, scratching his nose, “just following the clues. Heh, I’m impressed. Widened my eyes when I saw you pull up in this big black machine.” He eyed her gun. “Do you mind? I’ve been shot before, if you don’t remember.”
She put the pistol away. “So you’re after Clarence too?”
“Yep.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been here since he went in. He ought to be out any minute. Say, you think I could have a seat? Kinda hot today.”
“Why don’t you take that jacket off?”
He peeled back his coat, revealing an old wheel gun. A stainless steel 357 Magnum by the look of it. “I’m a lot more cautious these days.”
“You know that’s illegal.”
“Every Constitutional right seems illegal in DC these days. I say screw ‘em.”
Sid nodded. “Get in.”
“Thanks.” Inside the car, Russ adjusted the seat back and dabbed the sweat off his face with a handkerchief.
“So, do you have anything else?” Sid asked.
“Like what?”
“Anything on Smoke or anyone else?”
“Nah, it’s been quiet. No one’s talking. And it’s a pretty big city. Lots of ground to cover—and lousy parking.”
Sid shook her head. It didn’t help that Russ smelled like sweat and a submarine sandwich. She sat there for quite a while, hands on the wheel and eyes on the television station door.
A pair of people came out.
“That’s him,” Russ said with a scowl. “Man, I can’t stand the look of that guy. He reminds me of a walking gourd or one of those killer space clowns.”
“What? Never mind.” Sid noticed the other person with Clarence. She was a bulldog of a woman. Black jeans and a grey T-shirt, short dark hair and husky arms. “Who’s that?”
“I’ll be damned,” Russ said in awe from the edge of his seat. “It’s Jean.”
CHAPTER 21
‘Who’s Jean?’ was the obvious question, but Sid didn’t have to ask. Russ became a burbling fountain of excitement. Sid put the car in gear and followed Clarence and Jean, who pulled out of the parking lot in a beat-up white painter’s van and then drove through town, light to light, street to street.
“Man, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” Clarence said, sweating again.
“Believe what exactly?”
Russ caught his breath. “That’s Jean Moffat, a legend.”
“What do you mean by a legend?”
He took out an asthma inhaler and took a puff.
Sid cocked a brow. “Asthmatic, huh?”
“Only when I get really excited.” He gasped for breath. “I just didn’t expect this.”
She could relate to the asthma, but not the excitement. “Settle down and spit it out.”
“Well, me and a bunch of my cronies, well, not a bunch really—most of them are dead—but anyway”—he sucked in some more breath—“we studied a bunch of old films. I mean archived stuff from any old tragedies that we could find. The stuff’s not sealed up or anything, but still hard to come by. Finally, on YouTube, a bunch of good stuff showed up.” He wheezed and pounded his chest. “Oh man, this attack’s bad. So as I was saying, like our boy Clarence, who shows up at all of these disaster interviews, so comes out Jean Moffat.” He went into a fit of coughing.
Sid leaned over, still eyeing the road and the van, and thumped his back.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” He tucked the inhaler away in his pocket. “Remember the Hindenburg?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she was there, being interviewed. I swear it’s her. And the Kennedy assassination, Dealy Plaza, the Grassy Knoll. She was an eyewitness. Same woman, same pug face, and same mole on her chin. You would really think she’d get that thing removed.”
“Maybe she has family, a daughter.”
“I can’t imagine anyone procreating with that. Not because she’s ugly, but flat out mean looking. I’m talking scary.” He wheezed in another breath. “I’m telling you, that face has been at all kinds of disasters. Some of the guys say they saw pics of her at the Holocaust.”
A chill raced up and down Sid’s spine. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
“See?” Russ said, looking at her arms. “You know it’s true. Put your friends on it.”
The van pulled off to the side of the road in front of an old apartment building. It was small—just five stories—and crammed between two business-office juggernauts. Clarence and Jean got out and headed up the steps of a red brick building and vanished.
Sid parked half a block away. “Wait here.”
Russ grabbed her arm. “No wait, are you nuts? Be patient. Wait.”
She bent his thumb backward.
“Ow! Cripes, lady!”
“Don’t do that again,” Sid said. She hopped out, closed the door, and took some strides up the sidewalk.
The streets weren’t too busy in this part of town. Some folks hung out on the staircases she passed. One of them asked her for money.
She moved on. She spied the building from the bottom of the front steps. It was old, maybe a hundred years or more, a testament to a time long forgotten. She took the steps one by one to the top. The entrance door was painted with decades of chipping black enamel. The door groaned open at the hinges as she pulled and slipped inside. A narrow stairwell going up. The hanging lights were dim, and there was a heavy musty smell.
Smells even older than it looks.
Up she went, steps creaking beneath her shoes. She pulled her gun and crept up to the first landing. Two apartment doors were at the top, and everything was quiet. She made her way up the next flight of steps, unable to shake the feeling she might be the only person in the building. Up on the second floor landing, she listened at the doors. Stark silence. It fed her, pumped more adrenaline that mixed with the sweetheart suit and charged her blood. She peered around the corner on the next level of steps. Her nostrils flared.
Tobacco?
She hadn’t noticed either Clarence or Jean smoking. It was probably a tenant passing through with the smell lingering. Up she went to the next level. Two more doors. No more sounds. No scuffles. No breathing came from the other side. There was only her heart pounding inside her ears. Up she went toward the next floor.
Halfway up, the stair underneath her foot made a mechanical sound. Click.
Sid froze. Her instincts fired.
Morning Glory! It’s a trap!
Above, the stairs groaned under heavy footsteps.
Clarence appeared on the landing with a shotgun in his hand and a cigar in his mouth. “Looks like we caught ourselves a little squirrel. Heh.” He came down a couple of steps, his big body filling the stairway. An over/under shotgun was pointed at Sid’s head. “I’d toss that piece you got if I were you.”
She kept the gun barrel pointed at his head. “You’re the one who needs to disarm, not me.”
“Is that so?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m not the one standing on a mine now, am I? I suggest you give yourself up unless you want your legs blown to pieces.”
Maybe’s he’s bluffing, and I have the suit on.
Sid fixed her eyes on his.
Clarence’s expression was stone cold. His eyes said, “I dare you.”
Sid hunkered down and set the Glock down behind her. “Now what?”
Clarence let out a short whistle. The doors on the landing behind her opened up, and two well-knit men emerged in black T-shirts. One had a black sun rising on his neck. They seized her arms and bound them up behind her. Clarence popped open a concealed panel on the wall and pressed something downward.
Click.
The pressure plate beneath Sid’s feet seemed to deactivate.
“Smart girl,” Clarence said, hefting the shotgun over his shoulder. “Bring her up. Jean would like a word with her. But not now. Later. Time to take a nap, Miss Shaw.”
Sid lunged forward. She twisted and kicked, but the men held her fast.
One covered her mouth with a rag.
Chloroform!
Life turned blurry and black.
CHAPTER 22
Sid lifted her chin and opened her heavy eyes. She was tied to a chair. Ropes dug into her wrists. Her struggles were in vain. Sitting still, she scanned her surroundings. It was an old apartment room, sparsely furnished, with paint peeling from the walls and ceiling. The glass on the window was painted over. It smelled of smoke and grime.
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 1 thru 5 (Smoke Special Edition) Page 61