City of Broken Lights

by K. C. Sivils

  MARKESON WASN’T A BLACKMAILER by nature. He preferred to earn his ill-gotten profits through other means just as he preferred the threat of violence as a way to control another individual. The bent Chief of Police had to admit Jennifer was right in this instance. The look of sheer horror on Governor Rankin’s face made the exception to his sense of criminal fair play worthwhile.

  The pair had met at Markeson’s favorite restaurant, ironically sitting at the very table where Sarah had caused a scene with Cassandra. Reaching across the table, Markeson gently pulled the tablet from the Governor’s hands. “You get the idea, Governor.”

  Rankin tried to snatch the tablet away only for Markeson to pull it back and hold it up out of the corrupt politician’s reach.

  “Now that’s not nice,” Markeson taunted. “Besides, I have multiple copies of that film, and I might add that’s not the only film I have of you and the lovely Cassandra.”

  Beads of sweat formed on the Governor's forehead, his eyes a bleary, bloodshot red. His cheeks were a dark shade of red, and his hands shook slightly. "What do you want?"

  "For you to understand some straightforward, basic concepts," Markeson replied, his tone firm and commanding. “You have never been the brains behind our operation.” Markeson paused to let the words sink in. Rankin grimaced, understanding the direction the conversation was going to take.

  “You have never been in charge,” Markeson added. “You have made, and will continue to make, invaluable contributions to our operation here on Beta Prime.” The cop smiled, displaying his perfect, white teeth for a brief moment. “I will readily concede I needed your help and that of our dearly departed friend, Mayor Xue. But, the days of you wasting my time, trying to order me about, and worse still, not listening when I tell you what to do are over.”

  “You can’t mean this,” Rankin protested.

  "I can, and I do," Markeson growled, leaning forward towards Rankin. The Chief of Police’s empty hand shot out and grabbed the Governor’s left hand by the wrist, applying crushing pressure while twisting. “Never forget, Governor, I’m the boss.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Rankin hissed back, yanking his hand away and rubbing his sore wrist with the other hand.

  “Soliciting a known-prostitute, let’s see,” Markeson chirped. "Class D misdemeanors. The married vote, that is the male married vote would wink and nod because let's face it, we both know how attractive the lovely Cassandra is. But the female vote would not approve. Especially given the fact your long-suffering wife is prone to attention-grabbing histrionics when the opportunity presents itself."

  “How could you even consider this,” Rankin pleaded, realizing Markeson was serious.

  “Because you acted like a fool. You forgot your place, Governor.” Markeson sat up and slipped the tablet into an open briefcase next to him on the seat of the booth. “Then there is the matter of the missing funds, taxpayer funds.” With a flourish, Markeson produced a data strip from the briefcase. “This will find its way to that horrible Bagley, Sully’s contact with the media. Once that reporter has it, Sully will be on it like a Primian cat after snow rats.”

  “But that would put you at risk,” Rankin blurted out.

  “Hardly,” Markeson laughed. "The information on the files is real enough but has nothing to do with any of our enterprises. I embezzled the money on your behalf."

  “I’ll come clean,” Rankin said firmly, trying to bluff Markeson.

  “No, you’ll be dead,” Markeson snapped, startling the politician. “Suicide in your holding cell. I’ll have to make an example of one of my Correctional Officers and suspend him without pay.” Markeson laughed at the idea. “Of course, he won’t mind a three week, all expenses paid vacation off-world while he serves that suspension.”

  Rankin's body could no longer tolerate the collapse of his precarious universe. His recently consumed dinner suddenly reappeared, leaving a mess on the front of his expensive, hand-tailored suit and the table of their booth.

  Markeson stood up quickly and stepped away from the booth. “Seriously, Governor. I thought you were tougher than that.”

  GROGGY FROM THE HYPOSPRAY, Father Nathan found himself waking up in spite of the effects of the anesthesia. Pain from his wound filtered through the haze of drugs as the throbbing in his shoulder radiated down his left arm and the left side of his back and into his hip. He blinked several times and shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs from his brain.

  His mistake the last time was removing the sensors. A quick visual examination of the stack of monitors sitting atop the small square set of draws made it clear the entire unit was on wheels. Standing up, careful not to make any sound or induce a dizzy spell, Father Nathan grasped the wheeled unit by its edge, steadying himself.

  A moment passed, and his legs seemed to feel as if they would respond to directions. He opened the top drawer and examined the contents, finding nothing he could use as a weapon. Father Nathan shrugged. The element of surprise and violence of the attack would have to be enough.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but experience had taught him it was better to execute a simple plan with extreme prejudice now than to wait for a perfect plan and opportunity later.

  Dressed only in his bloody and faded boxer shorts, the priest carefully eased the curtain back enough to peek down the line of beds in the clinic ward. Nurse White was nowhere to be seen. With caution Father Nathan began to ease the monitor unit along by his side, moving past one set of beds at a time.

  As he approached the door to the unisex restroom, he heard a flushing sound. Bracing himself, Father Nathan drew back his right fist and waited. The door opened, and he launched his blow, striking Nurse White square in the nose just as she looked up in surprise.

  To his delight, the single blow did the trick. White lay flat on her back, unconscious and with a bloody and broken nose.

  “Never hit a lady they say,” Father Nathan chuckled. “You, Nurse White, are no lady and my but that felt good.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Feeling more lonely than usual, Vick locked up the church facilities and went for a walk. Finding himself outside the clinic, Vick realized the purpose of his rare walk in the neighborhood was to visit his new friend, the priest. He needed to learn what had caused the wild fighting in his building.

  The police had been too quick to assure him everything was fine. That he should do everything in his power to restore things to normal. Pastor David wasn't there to decide what to do, how to make everything okay. Perhaps Father Nathan would know what to do.

  Besides, Vick told himself, pastoral care was an area he needed to improve on. A visit to see his friend was both appropriate and reasonable practice. He could cheer Father Nathan up and if possible learn what had triggered the gunfight.

  Vick opened the door to the clinic and noticed it was empty a rare enough occasion. Nobody sat behind the reception desk which struck the gruff pastor as odd. It was evening time and the doctor who'd been on volunteer duty that day had gone. The duty nurse was supposed to staff the desk if there were no patients.

  Remembering Father Nathan had been moved to the bed at the far end of the clinic, Vick walked back to the entrance to the ward. His pulse quickened as he found Father Nathan draped over a bed, unconscious. Bound and gagged on the gurney that had been used for the priest post-surgery was Nurse White.

  Terrified, Vick ran to his friend and pressed his index and middle finger into the carotid arch of Father Nathan’s throat. The pulse was steady if a bit weak. Relieved, Vick carefully moved his friend onto the cot and rolled Father Nathan over on to his back. Using a blanket from the cot next to Father Nathan’s, Vick covered the priest and positioned the pillow under his friend’s neck.

  Something serious was going on. Vick’s criminal instincts came rushing back to the surface to tell him Father Nathan was in danger. Eying the unconscious and bound Nurse White, Vick found a chair and leaned it against the wall next to Father Nathan. He pulled the screen a
round the bed, leaving just enough space between the screen and the wall to allow Vick to see the reception area to the clinic.

  Vick doubted he’d have to wait long for Father Nathan to regain consciousness. Until then, he’d make sure his friend was safe.

  “BEHAVE YOURSELF, GIRLY,” Broken Nose whispered into Katrina’s ear, his foul smelling, hot breath brushing against the flesh of her face. Katrina gripped tightly to the left forearm of Broken Nose as he held it tight against her chest just below her throat.

  Brandishing a vibro-blade in his right hand, her captor leered, laughing as he taunted Katrina. “I’m looking for a reason to cut you up!”

  Broken Nose took his time leading Katrina through the maze of short hallways and offices, taking her ever closer to the sound of voices coming from the factory floor below. Her captor paused to grin and nod to a heavily armed guard standing near the catwalk over the open space. To the right was a set of industrial steel stairs descending to the floor below. Pausing to take in what was happening below, Broken Nose inadvertently gave Katrina a chance to take stock of the situation herself.

  Katrina was surprised to see her mother, standing with hands on her hips near the center of the open space, acting as the ever-defiant Iron Chancellor. It was no surprise to see Ambassador Marshall standing to the right of her mother, his expression as dour as ever. No doubt due to the fact her mother had once again arrogantly disrupted one of his schemes to control events and spin the outcome.

  Spotting the man sitting in the chair behind the table was a surprise. Katrina’s knees went weak, forcing Broken Nose to exert himself to keep her upright. “Easy now, missy,” he hissed. “Don’t try anything funny! Next time, I’ll cut you!”

  Moving with caution while watching and listening to the decision makers below argue, Broken Nose eased Katrina over to the top of the stairs. He pressed the hilt of the vibro-blade against her cheek as a reminder of who was in command. “Quiet now missy. I want to get down a few steps before anyone sees us.”

  Katrina nodded in acquiescence, spotting Bert standing idly in a corner, hands folded across his chest as if bored by the entire affair. He glanced for a second at his partner and Katrina, not giving the slightest indication he’d spotted them.

  Confused by the knowledge of who was behind her kidnapping, Katrina struggled to stay on her feet as she fought back the tears of pain and equal part anger.

  FEELING SMUG FOLLOWING the outcome of his session with the Governor, Markeson drove well over the posted speed limit, twice speeding through known speed traps. His traffic officers recognized his hovercar, waiving as he rushed past. He'd called ahead with specific instructions for Jennifer. The smile on his face was linked to the image in his mind of Jennifer, dressed only in her lingerie.

  Dinner was to be waiting and his bath drawn. He planned to have a delightful evening at home in his apartment. Jennifer had been quite a surprise the day he’d walked in on the new version of his A.I. Quite a pleasant surprise as it had turned out. A hedonist, Markeson preferred his physical pleasures in life to require as little effort to please others as possible. Jennifer, being an A.I., was perfectly suited to his selfish nature.

  Easing his Hovertron into his reserved parking spot, Markeson shut down the turbine. He braced himself for the blast of cold air that would strike him upon opening the door. He got out, pulling his coat collar up and around his neck just beneath his chin. A beep from his hovercar as Markeson walked away confirmed the vehicle had automatically initiated its security system.

  While still several steps from the entrance to his home the door opened, revealing a smiling and scantily clad Jennifer. Markeson embraced his servant as if she were a human companion before allowing Jennifer to take his coat.

  Jennifer hung the coat up, taking Markeson’s hand as the opening to the coat closet closed and sealed itself, giving the appearance of a solid wall. Markeson smiled as Jennifer pulled insistently on his hand, leading him towards his sleeping quarters. Knowing Jennifer would clean up without being told, Markeson released Jennifer’s hand and shed his expensive clothes, dropping them on the floor.

  Playfully, he dove on the bed and rolled over. His lecherous smiled quickly changed to a puzzled one. Jennifer still wore her lingerie. Gone was her dazzling smile. In her right hand was a data chip that she tossed up and down.

  “Master,” Jennifer said softly. “There are a few things that are going to change.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I stood still, a full two meters from the doorway into the factory area. With my right eye, I could see Saundra, the Ambassador, and on the stairway, with one of the goons who'd broken Mitch's fingers, was my daughter, Katrina. Sitting in a chair near the center of the open space was the man Greg had identified as Pastor David, the founder of The New Light Church.

  He was also the corrupt leader behind recent terrorist attacks and the kidnapping of Katrina and other young women. I grimaced at the sight of the man and was relieved my friend Father Nathan was not present. In the back of my mind, I could hear the good Father quoting from the Bible verse about the need to be ever watchful for false prophets. Men who would use religion for personal, worldly gain and not to do the work of God. I doubt I could stop my friend from killing this Pastor David if he were present.

  Then I’d be faced with a messy pile of paperwork to clear Father Nathan of murder.

  From my vantage point, I counted six henchmen in the factory area and one hiding at the top of the landing. There would be one or two more upstairs and likely a couple of others outside observing. I felt Sarah's hand on my back, letting me know she was ready. I had seven rounds in my revolver and one in the chamber.

  I plotted my firing plan and worked through the aiming sequence. I couldn’t afford to miss. Not with Katrina’s life at stake. The priority would be to put down the guards first, then take my time and kill the thug holding Katrina. Pastor David needed to be taken into custody to serve trial.

  A good show trial of an actual guilty party is a good thing every once in a while.

  My first two shots would come before I stepped into the factory area, taking out the two guards behind the boss man. Then the guard with the rifle on the landing upstairs. That left one guard on either side of the open space, one leaning against the exterior wall of the building and the other standing under the catwalk, the rest of the factory behind him. That left a carefully aimed, calm kill shot for the punk holding my daughter hostage.

  Saundra and the Ambassador were not in my direct line of fire. If anything happened to the two of them, it was their own fault as far as I was concerned. Neither had any business being here.

  Sarah would have my back. It wasn't much of a plan, but it would have to do. There was no time to call for backup.

  My first two shots dropped the intended targets, each with a gaping head wound. I stepped into plain view and blasted the gunman on the catwalk as he brought his rifle to bear. The impact of the high velocity, .50 caliber round blew him backward and over the opposite railing of the catwalk.

  If he wasn't dead when the bullet passed through him, he certainly was when his body slammed into the concrete floor below the catwalk. I lined up my fourth shot and blew away the gunman under the catwalk and pivoted to take out the guard leaning against the exterior wall. He was still reaching for his weapon when he died.

  “Don’t move one inch, cop! I’ll slit her throat if you do.”

  I froze. An uncounted for gunman had Sarah.

  SOUNDS OF MOVEMENT woke Vick up. Startled to find himself in the clinic ward, it took a few seconds for the assistant pastor to remember where he was.

  “Father Nathan,” Vick asked, noting his friend was stirring. “Are you awake?”

  Father Nathan raised his head several centimeters off the pillow and squinted, barely making out the outline of Vick’s face.

  “Vick?”

  "Yes, Father. I found you half on the floor and helped you to bed. I've been waiting for you to wake up."

/>   “Nurse White?”

  “Where you left her, Father. I figured you had a reason for trussing her up like you did.”

  Father Nathan sat up slowly. With his right hand, he gently rubbed the area of his left shoulder where he'd been shot. After several minutes his mind began to clear, and the pounding in his temples subsided.

  “Vick, I have bad news.”

  “I know, my friend. I figured it out while you were asleep.”

  “Nurse White it would seem is one of Pastor David’s evil minions.”

  Vick flinched at the phrasing. “What does that make me, Father?”

  “A man whose desire to serve God was used to manipulate him.”

  “I’m a fool, Father Nathan,” Vick managed to get out.

  “No, Vick. It is good you are where you are. The good work done in God’s name at your church was done by you, not that conman. God knows that.”

  Father Nathan watched as Vick broke down and cried, sobbing heavily. Rage filled the priest, and he had to resist the urge to find and kill the man who'd manipulated Vick and so many others in the name of God. All for who knew what end.

  “Vick, I need a comm,” Father Nathan said gently. “The Inspector needs to be warned.”

  I STOOD THERE, STRUGGLING to control my anger at myself. There had been a seventh gunman standing out of the line of sight against the back wall near the doorway. He’d grabbed Sarah from behind and held a vibro-blade to her throat. I recognized him as the other goon who’d paid a visit to Mitch’s bar.