INHUMANUM: A THRILLER (Law of Retaliation Book 1)

by Bradley Ernst

  The couple was at the fountain now.

  He placed the sweatband inside one of the sparring shoes and pulled his running shoes on. He jogged south. At a fork in the trail there was a refuse bin. Bonn paused there and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the bag. He tapped one out and lit it. He pulled just enough of the noxious smoke into his mouth to make the tip of the cigarette glow hot. He turned in a slow, casual circle. To the west a man and a boy walked toward the lake. They didn’t seem alarmed.

  No one to the north but dead thugs.

  Bonn pushed the sparring shoes into the refuse bin. He doused them with the rest of the solvent and threw in the cigarette. Whoosh. The shoes were alight. The rubber soles curled and bubbled in the hot blue flames. Bonn used the cigarette pack to prop open the hinge on the refuse bin and dropped the empty can of pesticide in. He took off the gloves. The fire was really hot now. He threw in the gloves. The shoes no longer looked like shoes. Bonn glanced back toward the lake. The man and the boy skipped rocks, oblivious to the black smoke that came from the bin. Bonn pulled out his phone. He pretended to talk on it and made for the fountain. The couple sat on a bench near the fountain. They moved on when Bonn neared. The woman rubbed the man’s back vigorously. Her wedding ring fell off.

  She didn’t notice.

  Bonn followed them. He picked up the ring. It looked old—traditional. An inscription inside the simple gold band read: H & M 5/5/1966. He flanked the couple from a distance. The woman’s nose was taped as though she’d been in an accident. She had bruises around her eyes as well. She looked his age. The man appeared a few years older. They stopped to embrace. The man stood too straight. It didn’t seem a romantic hug, more like he consoled her. He wore no ring.

  They weren’t married.

  Bonn stuck the ring in his pocket. He put the cellphone to his ear and passed the couple.

  The woman’s hands looked very slender.

  The ring in his pocket wasn’t made for a slender finger.

  Why did he follow them? Why did he care about the ring at all? He’d helped them already. Was this momentum? He felt obligated to see them safely home.

  Bonn paused at East Drive. He checked his watch and looked around like he expected to meet someone there. The couple passed him and left the park on 72nd. The crowded walkway made it easier to follow them inconspicuously. Bonn hunched his shoulders and blended into the throng. At the next light, however, the man seemed to look right at him for a few moments, then the light changed. The river of people flowed on. Two blocks later the couple entered a boutique hotel. Bonn waited long enough for them to get into the elevator, then went in.

  “Hey.” Bonn used a thick Midwestern accent on the desk clerk, who peered at him over the top of trendy eyeglasses. “I just shared a cab with a super nice couple—I saw them come in. A block down the street I noticed this ring on the seat. One of them must have lost it. I ran back to try and catch them.” He held the ring up for the desk clerk. The prissy-looking man raised his eyebrows and forced a purse-lipped smile.

  “I’ll let them know it’s at the desk.” Bonn frowned at the ring. He seemed to consider the offer.

  “Would you mind just passing along my cell number to them? I would rather return the ring in person.” Using a pen tethered to the counter by a thin chain, Bonn wrote his number on a nearby pamphlet advertising city tours. “No offense, I don’t know how things work in big cities. I just want to make sure they get the ring back.” He pushed the pamphlet across the desk and slapped the pen back on the counter. “Nice hotel.” Bonn looked around the lobby and nodded like a hayseed. The clerk forced another smile past his obvious distaste for the task and shrugged consent. “Thanks—if I don’t hear from them today I’ll stop back in tomorrow.” Once on the street, Bonn hailed a cab. “Penn Station.”

  He’d done well. He had a train to catch. The lawyers should not be much of a challenge.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d risked the business with the ring. Something about the woman struck him in a way he couldn’t place.

  A baby cried on the train. People shifted nervously, trying to ignore the sound. The mother held the infant to her neck and whispered something. It reminded him of Jelly Bean. The train accelerated after the last stop in the city. The baby settled down. Bonn pulled the ring from his pocket and rubbed it clean on his shirt.

  The woman in the park … she was grieving.

  ~Magic Show

  Becky saw Henna onto the plane herself. The first stop was Singapore. Since the pilots were at the end of their duty day, they’d remain in Singapore for eighteen hours before continuing on to San Diego. Henna found a couch in a lounge and plugged in her cellphone to charge. As soon as she could, she called Stephan. “It’s going to be OK, Henna,” Stephan promised. “I’ll take care of things. I’m going to send a courier for the snails so you don’t have to worry about them. I’ll meet you in New York. We will get a hotel room and just relax. When you’re ready, we’ll fly home.” Henna didn’t share many details, but Stephan could hear the pain in her voice.

  “I’d be dead if you didn’t teach me what you did.”

  “It’s going to be OK,” Stephan repeated. “I’ll meet you in New York. I’ll wait for you at the airport. You’re going to be OK.”

  “Do you think so?” Henna started to sob. She didn’t know it was going to be OK—all she knew was she was nauseated and sore and she didn’t want to think. Stephan was patient and gentle. Long silences filled the conversation.

  He’d take care of everything. She could just sleep.

  Stephan, it seemed, was a magician. Before she knew it, a polite man stood before her with a bag of lemon-lime sodas, some crackers, and a really nice cooler. “Ms. Maxwell? I am here to transport your animals to Scotland.”

  Henna was numb when she arrived in New York. Stephan held her hand in the cab. When they got to the hotel, she collapsed onto the bed. He took her shoes off for her. Henna slept for hours. When she got up to shower, Stephan called room service. When she stumbled out of the bathroom in a hotel robe, the sheets on the bed were crisp and fresh. A few tubs of gelato sat on a room-service tray with sliced fruit and coffee. “I’m not eating without you,” Stephan said softly.

  She pulled him into bed and laid her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. She slept some more. Early the next morning Henna awoke to Humphrey Bogart’s voice. Stephan was still in bed with her. The Maltese Falcon played on an old movie channel. She got up to use the bathroom and shower again. Stephan was asleep when she came out.

  He was such a beautiful man.

  She crawled quietly back into bed with him. He rolled toward her and pulled her close.

  On the second day Henna managed dry toast. Stephan was in the shower when Becky Phillips called. “All the tests are negative, Henna. I’m reading the results now. There’s no reason to start antivirals. I wish you all the best—I’m sorry we met under the circumstances we did.”

  “Did they determine my fate after you helped me escape?”

  “I spoke to my liaison in London. The Marines have scuttled the ship. BIOT London plans to move forward on the fishing ban. Hey, I’ve got your little buddy here drooling popsicles on my office chair. As far as I can tell, he’s from Padang. He’s only fourteen, Henna. I’m going to get him home. He remembers his family. It’s been many days of painful questions, but I used a translation phone service. He can nod yes and no. He remembers his parents. They snatched the little guy from the beach between four and five years ago. Henna, if you hadn’t said anything about him, he might’ve died out there.” Henna wiped at her face. It took her a moment to find her voice.

  “Thank you for finding him. Tell him—please tell him—thank you for doing what he could.”

  “I will,” Becky promised.

  “So no one is—looking for me?” Henna bit her lip nervously.

  Becky laughed. “There is not much drama out here. When London gave the go-ahead to sink the trawler, they all forgot about you. The boys act
ed like a shipment of man-sized Tonka trucks got dumped on the beach and they raced right out to play with them.” Henna hung up and knocked on the bathroom door.

  “Stephan, the labs are back. I just found out. They are…” Henna wiped at her face “…they are normal.” Stephan opened the door in a towel. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “I knew they would be. Now will you eat some gelato with me? Then let’s go for a walk—we need to celebrate.”

  Henna caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She’d failed to wash her hair despite all the showers. She looked like hell. The bruises around her eyes were fading, but her nose looked worse than ever. Once Henna felt more presentable, she and Stephan went to find food. They bought sandwiches from a street vendor and took them into Central Park. The sun was low, but there were lights along the paths. It was a nice night. Although it wasn’t cold, Henna stopped and shook several times. When they passed some loitering teenagers in hooded sweatshirts she shook badly. She was far from OK, but knowing the boy with no tongue might see his family again helped. Stephan was protective and affectionate. She was so lucky to have him—some people had no one.

  Would she have called Alvar if she didn’t have Stephan in her life?

  Alvar would have taken this very hard. She might have tried to weather the storm alone. She admired Stephan as he opened the bag of sandwiches. He had dropped everything for her, and here they were in New York City. They sat on a park bench near a fountain.

  The sandwiches were terrible.

  Stephan read advertisements for better food from a newspaper someone left behind. A few of the places were within walking distance. Suddenly Stephan got goose bumps. He stood and looked around then held his hand out for her.

  “Let’s just go back to the hotel, order a few tubs of gelato—we’ll eat it until we’re sick.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’ll let you pick what to watch on TV, as long as it’s in black and white.” Henna nodded, unable to smile at her friend’s exhausted joke. The walk was adventure enough. She wanted some walls and a door that locked. She wanted to curl up with Stephan again and sleep.

  ~Homecoming

  Sean Warfield and Casey Rainbolt jogged together every day after their morning meeting. It got the blood moving. Since they were more productive the rest of the day after exercising, the partners encouraged everyone in the firm to jog like the young attorneys did. They pulled on their running shoes even before the first cup of coffee. They ran forty-five minutes every day, rain or shine. Lately, they’d taken to the trails around Cayuga Lake. It added a few minutes to their day, but the partners didn’t mind. They were longtime friends. Fraternity brothers. They worked well together. Their wives were beautiful, they were rich—in theory—they were unstoppable. They worked together like wild dogs.

  Until they were accosted by a man in a black hooded sweatshirt.

  Bonn wasn’t cruel. He killed them quickly. He slit each man open, from pelvis to jaw, and sunk their bodies in Cayuga Lake.

  Both Manny and Linda were thrilled to have Bonn home. Linda roasted a turkey for the occasion. Bonn programed the CNC machine to cut an intake manifold for the Ford GT. “There.” He took a huge bite of his turkey sandwich and started the machine. Linda watched her husband become transfixed—immobile. The machine chirred and hissed—an immobile swarm of precision locusts. Metal was removed in the most beautiful and efficient sequence. When she spoke to Manny, he couldn’t listen. The CNC machine had his full attention.

  Linda shook her head and pinched the cheek of her high school sweetheart playfully. “Congratulations. You’ve been replaced by a robot—now you’re my sous-chef and my dishwasher.”

  Manny ignored her. He kept his eyes on the gleaming manifold as it took shape. “It’s beautiful—I had no idea how it could work. Just—beautiful.”

  Bonn gave the rest of his sandwich to Jelly Bean. The dog picked the turkey out of the sandwich and guiltily eyed Linda. “Hey now—that mayonnaise will give her the trots! Do you want me to wake you at two in the morning to supervise you while you clean up that dog’s mess?” Bonn laid his ears back in mock fear. He hung his head shamefully but snuck a hand toward her plate. Jelly Bean wagged and urged him on, licking at her whiskers conspiratorially.

  Linda playfully slapped Bonn’s hand away.

  It was good to have him home.

  The dogs cut the loneliness a bit, but everything seemed better when Bonn came to visit. Linda felt brighter with him around. He was still an unnatural character, but he was good to them and she liked to mother him.

  It was a bit like having an alien baby come to visit.

  By Tuesday the GT was finished. Manny couldn’t believe how quickly things had gone with the boy’s help.

  What a machine.

  Manny raced the ridiculous car around on some back roads, then he and Bonn washed and polished it. As they finished up, a thin man in tweed skulked into the doorway of the shop. Bonn wiped his hands on a rag and scrutinized the skinny character without saying a word. Finally, Manny sighed and waved the history professor in. “Bonn Maddox, meet Norman Trundle.” Bonn didn’t offer a handshake. He continued to look Norman over. “The history professor I told you about,” Manny offered. Bonn frowned as if trying to recall mention of such a man then sprang forward with a jolt.

  “Oh.” Bonn nodded. To Manny, the boy seemed suddenly manic. “Manny did mention you.”

  Stepping much closer than necessary, Bonn offered his hand to the slight man. Norman put his own hand out, and Bonn grasped it tightly. He turned Norman’s palm up, which made the professor visibly more uncomfortable, then stepped even closer. The invasion of Norman’s personal space caused the man obvious distress.

  “The ‘Bill of Rights’ guy—Mr. Tott mentioned your interest in it. It was my father’s. Professor Nagel at Tufts came up to take a look. He was excited also at first—he even took it to compare with one of the originals.” Bonn released Norman’s cold thin hand and the man stepped back, relieved. He removed his spectacles. He nervously polished the round lenses. “You got my hopes up. If it were an original, I would have sold it. That would have been a nice windfall, but as it stands, Mr. Tott took a financial hit to fly Nagel up here. Nagel said he didn’t expect it, but Mr. Tott reimbursed him for his time anyway.” Norman pulled his glasses off to clean them some more. Manny smirked.

  Mr. Tott?

  “I didn’t intend to cause problems,” sputtered the history professor. “I’m only here to check on the—” Bonn cut him off.

  “The reproduction is a good one. Nagel said it was from a batch printed in the 1960s. A place in Boston still sells them, but they are worth more than the cheaper reproductions.” Bonn moved raggedly. Manny shook his head.

  He’s even making me nervous.

  Norman backpedaled with a jolt. He found a handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth.

  “The Indian,” Norman managed, “I just came to check on the Indian.”

  “Too bad,” Bonn said, ignoring Norman. “I would’ve been famous. You say you didn’t intend to cause problems, but Norman, you have. Tell me about the lawyers you sent to badger Mr. Tott.” Norman looked at the floor, as if he hoped a crevice would form large enough to hide in. “You sent over some lawyers, didn’t you, Norman?”

  “He sure did,” Manny offered helpfully. The boy’s ears seemed to lie back across his skull, like a mad dog.

  “Well, Norman, you seem to be a man of few words. Maybe that’s because you’re an exceedingly good listener. Here’s your chance to shine. We do good business here—we mind our business.” The boy hooked a thumb toward the GT. “We just finished a project for our own lawyer friend in Manhattan—surprising, huh? A couple of greasy mechanics like us have friends like that? Word of mouth, Norman. It is the best advertisement. So here is the deal: The guy who bought this car has a bunch of pals at his firm. He passed around pictures of his new toy, bragged a little. Now each of the partners wants one. You know how it is. Competition.
They all want to outdo each other.” Manny watched Norman closely. The man turned pale and a bit—

  What is that—angry? It’s nice to have the boy do the talking. Hell—this is fun! Norman’s a bit of a dichotomy, isn’t he?

  One of Norman’s feet pointed toward the door, but he tapped the toes on his other foot impatiently. “Where’s the document now?” He blurted, then looked behind him, like a dog surprised by his own flatulence. Manny laughed.

  What fun.

  “I burned it. We can stop talking about the damned thing forever, Norman. We burned it.” Bonn nodded and gave him a slight wink.

  “We’ve got a big project. The owner of the firm wants us to work on his dream car now. Mr. Tott will not have the time or space to work on your motorbike, so it is time to settle up.” Manny raised his eyebrows.

  Big project?

  “That Bugatti, Mr. Tott, is going to take much more time than you think.” Manny stifled a laugh.

  “I suspect you’re right.”

  Where’d he come up with this stuff?

  Bonn returned to the GT and ran a clean shop rag along the crease of the Ford’s hood. “We haven’t worked on magnesium before. There will, I suspect, be a big learning curve. We don’t have time for motorbikes. Our dance card, as they say, Norman, is full. Mr. Tott, do you have Norman’s motorbike running?”

  “No,” he replied—Manny actually did have the Indian running.

  But he could assure it wouldn’t.

  “But I cleaned it up some. How about I push it outside the shop doors there. You come get it in the morning, Norman.” The skinny fellow nodded. Manny knew the man didn’t believe a word of their ruse, but would he call their bluff?

  That’s right, Norm. We didn’t burn the Bill of Rights. There is no Professor Nagel and there is certainly no big time lawyer from Manhattan bringing a rare Bugatti to Ithaca.