by Lee Driver
Dagger and Sara pulled on latex gloves as they approached the door to Room 324. A privacy card was hanging from the doorknob. Dagger pressed his ear to the door.
“Let me,” Sara said.
He didn’t object. His partner was a shapeshifter. And not only did Sara have the ability to shift into a hawk or a wolf, but she also had the eyesight of the hawk and the hearing and sense of smell of the wolf when in her human form.
“The room is empty.”
Dagger slipped the key card in the slot and they cautiously entered. He engaged the safety lock to prevent the cleaning people from inadvertently walking in. They stood at the entrance and made a silent assessment of the room. There was a small bar area and a spacious living room with a desk. A wide doorway led to a sizeable bedroom with a walk-in closet. Sara started with the dresser, checking each of the drawers. She moved to the closet, then stood back, puzzled.
“Dagger.” Sara turned from the closet. “He didn’t bring anything. There aren’t any shirts, suits, not even a suitcase. Who doesn’t bring clean underwear?”
“Someone who plans to be in and out quickly.”
“So why rent a room?”
Dagger didn’t find a toiletry bag nor a toothbrush or toothpaste in the bathroom. The towels were crisply folded on a rack above the toilet as were the washcloths. Since the privacy sign was on the doorknob he knew housekeeping hadn’t cleaned. The bathtub didn’t show signs of recent use so Demko probably hadn’t spent the night.
He walked back to the living area and picked up the remote. “Let’s see what kind of charges he’s made.” He clicked on MENU and then SERVICES. “The bill claims he checked in three days ago. Meals, dry cleaning, room service, all charged. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Is it his bill?”
Dagger glared at her, a look that told her he had been a P.I. for five years and didn’t need an uppity nineteen-year-old telling him his job. He scrolled back to the first page. The room had been reserved in the name of Lee Connors. That perfect eyebrow shot up again. One day he was going to peel it right off of her face.
“What about an airline ticket?” Sara rummaged through the garbage can by the bar, then moved to the one by the desk.
He stopped himself from shooting another glare her way and instead unzipped the compartments in a laptop case resting against the leg of the desk. In one of the pockets was a ticket. “Open return in Demko’s name. Flew from Minneapolis to Chicago. Probably took a cab or shuttle from the airport. I don’t see a rental car receipt.” He fumbled through the rest of the compartments but didn’t find any car keys or papers. A laptop computer sat on the desk but Dagger didn’t want to open it here. Instead he shoved the laptop into the case and zipped the bag closed.
Dagger tossed the bag on the coffee table, then sat down and searched the desk. Stationery and pens were in the top drawer. A phone book lay open on the desk. Dagger fanned through the pages. One of the pages was folded toward the inside in the P section of the yellow pages. “Maybe he was ordering pizza.” Dagger unfolded the page which listed private investigators. Scribbled in the margin was Dagger’s name.
“Is anyone coming? I hear someone coming.” Skizzy Borden slammed the tailgate of the truck and scanned the forest with eyes that appeared tethered loosely to his head. Just sixty-eight inches of bone and skin, but Dagger had often said his looks were deceiving. Skizzy was far more deadly than he appeared.
“Ain’t nobody coming. Now let’s get him the hell out of there.” Simon reopened the tailgate of Skizzy’s truck. The burly mailman was also far more deadly than he looked. His wife claimed it was his cherub face and twinkling eyes that made him appear more like a black Santa than the Special Ops sharpshooter he was in Nam. He tugged at the blanket-rolled body of Paul Demko and dragged it to the edge of the truck bed. “Grab the other end.”
They hefted the rolled blanket off the truck and half dragged, half carried the body through bushes and weeds. The gravel road they had driven on was overgrown with goldenrod and other hayfever-producing plants. The limestone quarry was on the outskirts of town. A half mile wide and a mile long, the quarry had supplied limestone rock and aggregate for a construction company since 1912. It was closed five years ago. What better place to dump a body than in a four hundred foot deep quarry. Once Demko was unrolled from the carpet, the two men stood over him like preachers paying their last respects.
“Sure don’t look like a killer,” Skizzy said. His wiry gray hair was wrestling itself free from the rubber band. As though on reconnaissance, Skizzy had dressed in camouflage pants and shirt. His eyes scanned the area looking for witnesses, although everyone who knew Skizzy believed he looked for government spies around every bend.
“Let’s get a move on.” Simon bent down to grab Demko’s ankles.
“How’s come I always get the heavy part?” Skizzy mumbled. He crouched down to grab the shoulders.
“Guy weighs less than my wife,” Simon said.
“You saw that videotape Dagger had. You see how that guy jumped over the fence? That’s why I took his jacket.” Skizzy had found something unusual about the fabric of Demko’s jacket. Although Dagger remained skeptical, Skizzy told him the government was experimenting with a type of synthetic muscle sewn into fabric that adds strength and agility to the wearer. Dagger had told him he was nuts but Skizzy had hacked into enough government project files to know what he was talking about. Skizzy had zoomed in on Demko during his acrobatics and his suit had suddenly puffed up, resembling the Michelin Man. It had deflated just as quickly after he had landed on the ground.
“Hey.” Skizzy leaned closer to the body. “Do you hear some ticking? Check for a watch. He might have an expensive Rolex I could sell in the pawn shop.”
“Rolex watches don’t tick.” Simon pulled the shirt cuff back from Demko’s wrist. Demko wasn’t wearing a watch. He checked the other wrist. “Maybe he has a pocket watch.” Simon checked the pants pockets. “Huh. Nothing there either.”
“Check the back pockets.” Skizzy grabbed a forearm and together they rolled Demko onto his stomach. Dried leaves and dirt clung to Demko’s shirt.
Simon shoved his hand into one pocket, then the next. “Nothing.”
“I still hear ticking.” Skizzy leaned closer to the body. He stared at a spot above the shirt collar. “Is his skin glowing?”
Simon leaned over for a look. There was a red glow flashing under Demko’s skin. “I think it says something.”
Skizzy squinted, then pulled back a few inches as though readjusting his eyesight. “Fourteen,” he announced.
Simon stared, cocked his head. “No, thirteen.”
Skizzy studied it closer. “Twelve.”
“Eleven.”
The two men locked eyes as large as eggs. Both former military, they had a sick feeling what this meant. They didn’t waste time trying to rationalize what they were seeing.
“OH, OH, OH,” they yelled in unison.
Nine pulsed from under the skin.
“Roll him back, get his shoulders,” Simon yelled.
Skizzy fell back on his ass yelling, “Next time you take the head.”
“Just start moving.” Simon lifted the legs and started dragging the body.
“I’m moving, I’m moving.” Skizzy hooked his arms under the shoulders and pulled. “Hurry.”
A four foot high rusting wire fence had been mangled from wear, tear, and downed trees. It provided a clear opening into the quarry.
“On the count of three,” Simon said.
“Hell, I don’t think we have three left.”
They made it on two, swinging the body back and forth and sending it through the opening.
“INCOMING!” Skizzy yelled and they hit the dirt as though still in Nam. The explosion shook the ground and rattled their teeth. Skizzy hung onto the grass as though the vibration might tip his body into the quarry.
A metallic sound clanged against a nearby tree and bounced several feet from the two
men. They slowly raised their heads, eyes wide in shock. Neither said anything for a few seconds as a pink mist drifted through the air. Their attention turned to the metal object which landed several feet from them. They pushed themselves onto their knees, then stood cautiously, testing the ground. Curiosity got the best of them and they stole a glance over the fence down into the quarry. The pink mist fluttered like a gauze blanket as it spread and settled to the quarry floor.
Simon pinched Skizzy’s bony elbow and nodded at the piece of metal that had hit the tree. Stepping closer with a bit more caution, they noticed the metal was the size of a nickel with pieces of bloody flesh attached.
A red light flashed the number zero.
CHAPTER 3
The gray hawk rested on a cottonwood tree near the limestone quarry, its talons wrapped firmly around the branch. It cocked its head and scanned the area for visitors. It wasn’t looking for food since this particular hawk didn’t feast. Two-legged mammals were the only ones who should fear this hawk.
A crow diving into the quarry caught the hawk’s attention. Sunlight reflected off of the strange color of the hawk’s eyes. Although the hawk possessed a visual acuity eight times that of a human’s, the color was unusual—a brilliant turquoise, like Caribbean waters.
The hawk pushed off the branch and swooped down into the quarry. With a wingspan of four feet, it circled slowly, letting the wind currents fill its underwing coverts. As it closed in on what remained of the body, the crow scurried away with frantic wing beats. The hawk landed on a boulder several feet from what remained of Paul Demko. Dagger hadn’t believed Skizzy and Simon that Demko had a bomb in him. Although Skizzy was on a different planet some days, Simon on the other hand did not contradict Skizzy which made Dagger suspicious.
He was right, Sara said. There are only bits and pieces of Demko left. Most of the clothing was burned away and what little is left looks singed.
Whenever Sara shifted, she and Dagger could communicate telepathically. This was something she and her grandmother could do. After her grandmother died, Sara realized she and Dagger could communicate the same way.
Doesn’t make any sense. I know he didn’t have a bomb on him so it had to be in him. But that should only have separated the head from the body.
It’s almost as though Demko were vaporized, Sara said. There’s a spray of blood on the wall. Maybe whatever was triggered in his head released something into the blood stream that was volatile. When the bomb went off, it was like a match touched to a wick and…boom.
You know, you are hanging around with Skizzy way too much, Dagger replied.
How is Skizzy? I would think something like this would have him building another bunker.
He’s too busy with new projects. He can’t wait to study the jacket Demko was wearing and he wants to design a new toy to detect microchips. Demko only confirms Skizzy’s belief that the government is secretly embedding computer chips in all newborns and every adult who goes in for surgery.
Well, you can assure Simon that what he saw really happened.
He should be here in about fifteen. He’s curious about what I might have found on Demko’s computer.
Little late for showering, isn’t it?” Simon asked, training one eye on the clock above the stove.
Sara’s wet hair was pulled to one side and French-braided. Dagger was the only one who knew of her shifting abilities. Shapeshifting was part of Native American mythology. They believed their elders could shift into various animal forms to spy on their enemies. Sara had learned of her abilities at the age of six. According to tradition, there can be no witnesses to her shifting. To avoid exposure, anyone who dares to view her shifting is killed by the wolf. Dagger had saved the wolf ’s life which is what protects him since he had witnessed Sara’s shifting. But he also secretly believed the black leather cord necklace with the silver pendant in the shape of a wolf ’s head Sara’s grandmother had given him also had something to do with protection.
“I was gardening.” Sara pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator. “Iced tea, Simon?”
Simon raised his cup. “I need some caffeine.”
Dagger stood at the kitchen counter, Demko’s laptop computer in front of him. He wasn’t as computer savvy as Skizzy and knew the computer would eventually be given to the squirrelly guy.
“Find anything yet?” Sara asked.
“Yeah. A bunch of religious crap that doesn’t fit Demko’s profile. Skizzy thinks the files might be encrypted so he gave me a decryption program.”
Simon rubbed a beefy hand across his face. “You know, I used to think that guy was screwy, but after this morning.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Skizzy’s beginning to look like the sane one here. What does that say about the rest of us?”
Sara took out a package of cut vegetables and placed them in a colander to rinse. Einstein’s squawking was loud and insistent. Just like a two-year-old, he needed new toys to keep him occupied and a variety of foods to satiate him. Brazil nuts and cheese curls were also favorites of his. A grateful client who had been short on funds had given Einstein to Dagger as payment. Dagger wasn’t a dog or cat person, much less a bird lover. But Einstein proved to have a photographic memory which came in handy when Dagger was too lazy to look up phone numbers or to write them down.
Sara carried the bowl of vegetables to the aviary. “Hungry, Einstein?” The macaw bobbed its head up and down. “How about outside? Want to go outside?”
Sara opened a second door that led to a screened enclosure. It had several perches at different heights and braided rope toys. They didn’t let Einstein out into the open unless either she or Dagger was there to keep an eye on him. His wings were not clipped and there were too many plants in the surrounding acres which were poisonous to macaws. She opened the door to the screened enclosure and rattled the bowl of vegetables. “Come on, Einstein.” The scarlet macaw flew to one of the perches and flapped his wings. Sara poured the vegetables into a bowl by the perch. “You be good, okay?”
Einstein belted out another loud screech and settled down on the perch. He trained one yellow-ringed eye on her, then took a stab at her braided hair.
“No!” She shook the rope braid near his perch. “That is your braid, not my hair.”
She left him in the screened enclosure and walked back through the aviary, closing both the grated door and the soundproof door.
“You spoil him,” Dagger said.
“Someone has to.”
“When is that program supposed to kick in?” Simon asked. “We gotta find out about this guy. People just don’t blow up. And what was he doing here? Was he supposed to put you in a bear hug and take you with him? How many people have you pissed off?”
Dagger turned from the computer and glared at Simon. “In my estimation? Not enough.”
“Simon’s right,” Sara said. “What if he was meant to explode here in this house? Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”
“Never seen him before and I have a pretty good memory for faces.”
A square box appeared on the computer screen announcing that the decryption was complete. Dagger clicked OPEN and a dossier appeared on the screen.
Sara asked, “Who’s that?”
Simon hobbled over to where they stood. The screen revealed a man in his fifties, light brown hair abundantly sprinkled with gray. Hazel eyes appeared lively and his smile was warm and genuine. The man wore a priest’s collar and scarlet sash. The dossier identified him as Cardinal Michael Esrey. He was recently appointed to a position at the Vatican.
“Cardinal Michael Esrey is scheduled to give a speech this Saturday at a conference of Northwest Indiana priests at the Ritz Carlton.” Dagger took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. He studied the dossier for several minutes then shook his head. “That can’t be right. This guy is dead.”
Sara asked, “Is it a current bio?”
“From last week. Maybe Demko was in town to assassinate the cardinal but believe me, Esrey is
dead.”
“You see his picture right there,” Simon argued. “How can you be so sure he’s dead?”
“Because.” Dagger pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Some days he felt like his entire life was a nightmare. “I killed him five years ago.”
Simon lifted his cup of coffee. “Got anything to put in this, Sara? Dagger just told me he killed the Pope. I need something a lot stronger than coffee.
“He isn’t the Pope,” Dagger said. “He wasn’t even a priest when I killed him.” Dagger braced his arms against the counter and studied the monitor. “At least, I don’t think he was.”
Sara and Simon exchanged knowing looks across the table. It was Simon who asked the obvious.
“Thought you said you have a great memory. Maybe he just looks like someone you know.” Simon took the bottle of whiskey from Sara and added a healthy dose to his coffee. “They say everyone has a double.”
“I’m still on the part where you killed him five years ago.” Sara’s remark hung in the air like an accusation. With Sara there had to always be a good reason for his actions. Her way again of being his conscience. He had always thought her grandmother entrusted him to protect her granddaughter but Sara once commented, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe Grandmother meant for me to protect you?” Those words had proven true on more than one occasion.
Dagger closed his eyes and tried to picture the man, details about his life, where they were when Dagger had killed him. He opened his eyes and studied the picture. “I’m drawing a blank here.”
“There been that many that they all blend together?” Simon asked.
Dagger shot his friend a look of irritation. He hated to admit it but maybe there were too many fuzzy areas in his brain. He had memories of his childhood, school, college, military. He could describe places he had visited, people he had met. But if he were pressed to give dates and names, he wasn’t sure he could do it. And why was he so convinced he had killed the cardinal but knew so little about why and when?