Faustus Resurrectus

by Thomas Morrissey

  “This may be our murder weapon,” the sergeant said.

  The creature was small, its body about three inches long with an arm span twice that. Donovan skimmed the information and learned that the blue-ringed octopus is reported to be the most poisonous of the cephalopods. Normally grayish-beige, the octopus has light brown patches that darken and show bright blue rings when it’s irritated or threatened. It secretes two poisons, the more dangerous being a neuromuscular venom that paralyzes all the muscles of the body, including the lungs and heart.

  “Maurice, why don’t you stay here?” Fullam asked. “If our man is going to use this thing, he’ll have to get inside the staff area, which is only accessible over there.” He nodded at a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” “Are you okay with that?”

  “Of course.” A seal torpedoed at one of the glass walls, only to turn away at the last instant with a blink of his huge black eyes and a flick of his flippers. “At least I have interesting company.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” The sergeant indicated at a recessed corner. “Pick a spot where no one can see you on first entrance. We have no real certainty how, when or if this will happen, so…”

  “Best to be cautious. I understand. God watch over you, gentlemen.”

  “You, too.”

  Donovan followed Fullam out.

  ***

  “You ever been on stakeout before?”

  Donovan shook his head.

  “You want Alien Stingers or the Shark Tank?”

  “Makes no difference to me. Wherever I’ll do the most good.”

  “Take Alien Stingers,” Fullam suggested. “It might keep you awake. Could be a long night.”

  “You don’t think anything is going to happen?”

  “It could happen here, it could happen tonight, it could happen tomorrow or somewhere else. This is a pretty good guess for my case. Your fiancée probably has the right expression for hers: ‘grasping at straws.’”

  “She told you we’re engaged?”

  “I’m a detective. I figured it out when I saw the ring.” Fullam looked at him, cop eyes tempered with amusement. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. You don’t think Mister X and Charming Man are the same person?”

  “I don’t know enough to make a guess, so I won’t.” Fullam scratched his neck. “It seems like a long shot to me.”

  Donovan gestured around them. “What do you think the odds are of something happening tonight?”

  “No idea. Frankly—and no offense to your fiancée, I understand she’s got a lot riding on the Dinkins Shelter case—I hope nothing does happen tonight. Tomorrow I’ll have Josh and maybe one or two other detectives to help. I’ll feel a lot better with them having my back rather than two civilians and an ADA. Again, no offense.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m not high tonight.”

  Fullam grunted.

  “Seriously,” Donovan went on, “I had no idea I was going to go to a crime scene that night. Believe me, I never would have smoked or had anything to drink if I’d known.”

  “Well, that’s why you have to be ready all the time in this work: you never know when you’re in for a surprise.”

  Before Donovan could answer him, Fullam’s radio beeped.

  “Frank, I’ve got Mister Katz on the line,” Joann said. “Apparently one of the cleaning crew left some keys here. Mister Alcantarilla was able to get Katz before he got too far and asked if they could come back.”

  “Case in point.” Fullam shook his head and lifted the radio to his mouth. “All right, I’ll go let him in. Tell him to meet me at the back gate.”

  “Check. Also, before we get started, I want to hit the ladies’ room.”

  “Fine. Let me know when you’re back.” He clipped the radio to his belt and turned to Donovan. “Anything else?”

  “Do you want me to come with?”

  Fullam shook his head. “This will go faster if I do it alone—I’ll get them in and out. Take the Alien Stingers building—the Sea Wasp set-up is a lot like the octopus one. After I let Katz and Alcantarilla out I’ll take a spot by the Aquatheater and watch the Shark Tank.”

  “Got it.”

  “If you see anything, let me or Joann know immediately. I appreciate your help, but this is something for professionals to handle.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay. Stay in touch. Like I said, this could be a long night.”

  SEVEN

  PISCES

  “You won’t have any trouble getting into the aquarium now,” Dick Katz said. “You can let us go.”

  He and Ben Alcantarilla sat tied together in the back of the Alcantarilla Cleaning Experts truck. Valdes crouched beside them, holding the cell phone for the curator to speak into. A single overhead bulb illuminated the truck’s cargo area. The giant lurked on the edge of the light, a nightmare emerged from under the bed.

  Valdes snapped the cell phone closed. “We may need help with other things.”

  “Don’t you animal rights people have some fur coats to throw paint on? We at the Zoological Society give our animals the finest care! There’s no need to set them free!”

  The giant snorted. “Animals? That’s not why—”

  “Coeus.” Valdes shot him a warning look. “Animal Freedom Fighters believes any imprisonment of animals is wrong. As one of the animal oppressors, you have to help us liberate them.”

  “And then you’ll kill us!”

  “The police lied to make you more afraid, more easily manipulated according to their whims.” Valdes showed him a gentle smile. “I’m no murderer. In fact, I’m…a judge.”

  “A judge? Please, Your Honor,” Alcantarilla pleaded. “Don’t hurt me. I just clean the aquarium. Sometimes I even sneak food to the penguins when no one’s looking.” His eyes darted to Coeus, whose bowed head scraped the truck’s ceiling. “I love animals,” he sobbed. “Really, I do. Don’t kill me. Please.”

  “Do what I tell you,” Valdes said, “and I won’t.” He slid open the little door between the truck’s back and its cab. “Let’s head out, Lude. To the back gate.” He handed the security pass card he’d taken from Katz’s pocket through the slot. “This will raise the security gate in the parking lot.”

  “Yes, sir, Mister Valdes, sir!” The chubby girl handled the card like the sole valentine she’d gotten in third grade. “I’ll get us there right away.” She tugged the “Alcantarilla Cleaning Experts” baseball cap over her greasy blonde hair and seized the steering wheel in a death grip. “You can count on me!”

  ***

  Donovan crossed the little wooden bridge above the pond outside the Alien Stingers building and stepped inside. The lighting in here was as low as it had been at the Sea Cliffs; enough illumination to see but not enough to startle the fish. Alien Stingers was all about jellyfish, anemones and corals, set in a hall with an unworldly, almost psychedelic feel. Bright, fluorescent backdrops highlighted towers of water while translucent creatures drifted among glistening silver bubbles. The floor, walls and ceiling of the room were black, intensifying the colors and making Donovan feel like he ought to smoke a joint before going any further.

  Not while I’m working. But there’s always tomorrow.

  The colony of sea wasps, white against a bright red backdrop, was in its own tank, as though its deadliness required solitary confinement. The tank itself was a column of water that extended from floor to ceiling, with black rocks at the base and tendrils of green plant grasping skyward. He stared for a moment before reading the small, adjacent placard. The sea wasp, also known as a box jellyfish or boxfish, species chironex fleckeri, has a poison that attacks nerves, skin and the heart, causing excruciating pain before finally killing. Any attempt to remove the stinging tentacles makes them stickier and drives the poison deeper. He remembered the scorpions that had killed Mark Denschler and frowned.

  Nasty, brutal stuff.

  Here in the muffled, psychedelic room, he allowed himself free
rein to think.

  You wanted to help, here you are. He thought about Father Carroll’s words, and about plans he might never understand. Now what?

  ***

  “Watch your mirror,” Valdes instructed Lude. “Let me know when the gate opens.”

  She grunted, all her concentration focused on backing the truck up to the gate. The pink tip of her tongue wormed free.

  “Now once we go, drive around to the front and wait there,” Valdes directed her. “Also, at the risk of sounding like a comic-book bank robber, keep the engine running. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Gotcha! I’ll be ready to go!”

  Her enthusiasm kept Valdes’s smile alive for another second before he turned to Coeus. “You know what to do when the gate opens,” he said.

  “I’m not stupid,” the giant growled.

  Valdes hauled Katz to his feet. “You’re coming with us.”

  “It’s opening!” Lude called. “The gate’s opening!”

  This is it.

  Valdes savored the moment before nodding to Coeus. The giant slammed both of the back doors open. Valdes caught a glimpse of a sharply-dressed man standing outside. Coeus stormed from the truck, snatched the man by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground. The man shouted in surprise. Coeus slammed him to the cement and stomped a boot down. The man managed to roll away, rising to his knees as he drew a gun. Coeus growled and lashed a backhand out, sending the man and the gun flying in different directions. The gun hit the ground, bounced once and fired. The bullet ricocheted off a metal pole that supported a huge picnic area tent.

  “Donovan!” the man yelled, staggering upright.

  “Coeus, shut him up.” Valdes climbed down from the truck, pushing Katz ahead of him. “We have work to do.”

  Coeus leapt forward, snatched the man’s lapels and flung him like a pillow. The man flew into the picnic area, slid over a table, and crashed to the ground in a motionless heap.

  ***

  The more he wandered, the more heightened Donovan’s sense of unreality became.

  Staking out a satanic murderer in the New York Aquarium? Yes, Father, reality is an extremely flexible concept.

  Rather than scaring him, the adrenaline rush had him ready, eager, to see what came next. He shook his head and smiled to himself.

  Stay cool. Coming across like a hyperactive five-year-old won’t just screw your reputation, but Joann’s too. And if you ever want Fullam to ask for help again…

  He stood still, eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing his mind to calm. The nerves and anxiety quieted, but in the place where he should have been relaxed he still felt restless. He consciously loosened his muscles, but they tightened as soon as he opened his eyes. It was a sensation he’d experienced before, one whose meaning he’d never quite grasped. In this context he understood and, for an instant, the clarity of it startled him.

  I’m restless because I’m in the wrong place.

  He left Alien Stingers by the southern door. A picnic area sat adjacent to the building, filled with one-piece table/benches, shaded by an enormous tent. Next to it, the back gate stood open and deserted. The air was still and thick. Donovan peered around the corner. No one was there, no vehicle stood in the narrow alley leading to it. A faint waft of diesel floated within. His heart began to beat faster.

  If they came and went, Fullam wouldn’t have left the gate open. If they came and are still here, where’s the truck?

  He turned from the gate and scanned the area. No one was in sight, no shadows moved, but something lay on the concrete: Fullam’s gun.

  Oh no.

  A groan and movement in his peripheral vision made Donovan jump. He whipped the taser from his back pocket. About thirty feet away he saw a figure struggling to stand.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Don’t—worry about me, goddammit!” The arm Fullam used to brace himself to stand folded. He collapsed, banging against the table before he hit the ground. “Mister X! Him and the giant have got Katz!” He flung an arm outward. “Stop them!”

  Donovan clutched the taser’s black pistol grip, eyes raking the area as he pulled out his radio. “Joann! Call 9-1-1! They’re here, and they’ve got Katz!”

  “What?” Panic in her voice was a cattle prod in his stomach. “Who? I see the truck in front on one monitor, but—”

  “Frank’s hurt! They have Katz!”

  His urgency cut through to her, and he heard her prosecutor voice when she spoke. “I’m on it! 9-1-1! Be careful!”

  “What’s happening?” Father Carroll’s voice chimed in. “I don’t see anything! Donovan, where are you?”

  “Father, there’s nobody there? You don’t see them?”

  He heard the priest scuffling around the exhibit. “No, nothing! I don’t see them!”

  Dread swelled his lungs as he fought to breathe. That means— “Go help Fullam! He’s in the picnic area next to Alien Stingers!”

  “What about you?”

  “They’re not at the octopus or jellyfish!” He started to run. “They’ve got to be at the Shark Tank!”

  ***

  Coeus carried Katz slung over one shoulder like a side of beef, using both hands to keep the curator’s struggles under control. Valdes let the giant precede him up the stairs inside the building, then closed and locked the door.

  “Keep him quiet until I set everything up,” he instructed.

  ***

  The Shark Tank itself is enclosed within a larger building whose front is lined with oversized picture windows. A wooden tunnel encloses these windows, darkening the space to allow better viewing of the sharks, rays and sea turtles within. On the walls inside this tunnel are a series of large illustrations describing how sharks are “our friends.” Donovan ran across the plaza, past the photo booth, followed the outside of the tunnel to one end and slammed into the fence on the far side of the building. He searched for the “Authorized Personnel Only” door but he was on the wrong end of the tunnel.

  Damn!

  To his left the tunnel beckoned, pitch dark and mysterious. He stuffed the radio into his pocket, shifted the taser to his right hand and put his left hand on the tunnel wall. He’d just started in when lights flickered from inside the building and illuminated the tank. He went to the window, his face illuminated a ghostly greenish-white. Startled stingrays skimmed the tank floor, kicking up clouds of silt. Sea turtles and the sawfish darted about.

  The sharks circled.

  Eight swam in the tank: a small but aggressive female lemon shark, a lazy sandbar shark, and the largest ones, six sand tigers. Five were females, all from eight to ten feet, with a nine-foot male to court them. Long-healed gashes and scars in the sandpaper hides evidenced his efforts. Tails propelled the sharks along their preprogrammed ovular tracks, eyes never moving, jaws never entirely closing. He pressed his face to the glass and searched for the surface beyond the water, where Katz might be. He could only make out shapes. Something glinted and slashed down. Fluid spurted over the tank, and viscous red drops trailed to the sandy floor.

  Blood in the water.

  The sharks broke their circle. Donovan saw a struggle on the platform. A huge shadow—the giant, Donovan realized—threw something that hit the water with a cannonball splash: Katz. His feet had been cut off.

  A cold wind blew through the tunnel. Donovan’s muscles hardened. Every nerve ending screamed about the presence, the evil, now in the air. It was everything he’d studied in books and never believed could be real. Suddenly he wanted to be back in midtown pouring drinks, doing anything but standing in front of the shark tank seeing this. He beat a fist on the glass.

  “No!”

  Katz struggled to escape, kicking feebly. His movement swirled the blood around, casting the scent wider. The lemon shark plunged through the widening cloud of red. Two of the sand tigers dove in, one driving her snout into his stomach before twisting to bite his ribs. The other seized a leg and dragged him under. Donovan had a complete,
hellish view of the frenzy. The rest of the sand tigers attacked, eyes rolling backwards as they bit. Teeth shredded cloth and flesh, turning the water murky with gory debris. Incredibly the curator still lived, thrashing his way towards the side. One of the ten-foot sand tigers sped up behind him and slammed him into the glass in front of Donovan. Donovan jumped but he didn’t—he couldn’t—tear his gaze away. Katz’s face contorted, pleading for help, and his eyes rolled back in a ghastly parody of the attacking fish. Another shark came, and another. They seized his remaining limbs in their jaws and pulled. The last bubbles burst from the curator’s lungs as they tore him to pieces.

  “Donovan!”

  Father Carroll half-carried, half-dragged Fullam along the tunnel. The sergeant’s hair and clothing were mussed but he clutched his Glock with determination. The priest stared at the scene in the tank and groaned.

  “They got him.” Donovan pushed off the window. The cruelty he’d seen ignited an anger he’d never experienced, one that burned away his fear. “But they’re still inside.”

  He led them to the tunnel’s other end, where a wooden fence with a door prevented them from going further. Donovan couldn’t get the vision of Katz’s hell out of his head, and he let it feed his anger. He took a step back and threw his weight against the wooden slats. They splintered and slammed inwards. The “Authorized Personnel Only” door was five feet beyond it, leading into the tank’s building. This door, however, was heavier, and it took the combined effort of Donovan and Father Carroll to break it down. Fullam took the lead, limping up the flight of stairs they found. Donovan noticed his arm hung oddly from his shoulder but he managed to keep his gun ready.