by A J Jameson
Axel rolled up the windows. The traffic had lasted longer than anticipated (dusk was only a few red-lights away). Maybe they wouldn’t catch Banshee before dinner, but still…the day had been productive. Tomorrow he’d tell Jordan all about it during the walk to school. Axel hadn’t seen him since the “incident,” as Little Eye referred to it, when he questioned Jordan’s teacher about their ASL program. When Axel confided in Little Eye what had happened, she said his actions were “inappropriate for today’s society.” Whatever that meant.
“Okay, I have something,” Little Eye said. “A young brunette woman dressed in high-class provocative clothing, fleeing the scene around the time of the murder. Zooming the picture reveals red smears on the woman’s knuckles.”
“Source?” Axel asked.
“A group-photo taken on a docked yacht. The woman can be seen in the background. And another hit, 75 meters away from the first. Same woman, moving at a brisk walk. Sixty-percent facial match.”
“Sixty-percent isn’t reliable,” Axel said, despite pulling to the side of the road and reopening the dashboard laptop.
“This next source is a selfie. Most of the frame is occupied by the photographer, but in the background there’s a blurry figure amongst others whose features are distinct. She was rushing through the crowd.”
Axel couldn’t refrain from entering a command to acquire all IPs linked to his connection. Nothing showed; Little Eye had them obliterated. Good, he thought. Next, he brought up a map of the city. “Ping both locations of possible Banshee sightings.” Two yellow blips populated the map about fifteen miles from his current location. And then a third. And a fourth.
“Two more partial matches for a combined accuracy of forty-one percent,” Little Eye said. “And Axel, those last two locations originated ten minutes ago.”
Axel enlarged the map. The initial blips were located either at the crime scene or so close that it didn’t make much of a difference. But the last two…they were a good two miles away. Axel filtered the map to show all commercial establishments within the immediate area. Fast food, high-rise apartments, a massage parlor, a book store, and a nightclub.
The time was 7:53 PM. Was she grabbing dinner? Maybe if it were an hour earlier. Maybe she was returning home after a long day’s work…but that would indicate an extraordinarily long work day. And if that were the case, she’d probably be at the massage parlor, knocking loose a few knots. What about the book store? People took their sweet time when browsing book titles…and that would make it a perfect opportunity to call in the cavalry and make the arrest. But if she were at a night club…that would be a little more difficult. But at 7:53? Too early.
“Okay, I have the confirmation method,” Little Eye said. “The police found a strand of hair on the scene, as well as a DNA-smeared cigarette butt. So, you can either pluck a strand of hair, or use your phone’s DNA sweeper to test the suspect’s saliva. I suggest the latter.”
“We don’t have the suspect’s location,” Axel said.
“It has been confirmed,” Little Eye said, an additional blip popping up on Axel’s map. “Incoming image.”
Axel opened the JPEG file. A line of young adults waited their turn to get frisked by a bouncer. Standing third in line was a brunette woman, her hair slithering down to cover one shoulder. Red lipstick matched her red dress. Green eyes warbled the steady patience of a snake awaiting prey. Axel knew that this dangerous woman was Banshee before Little Eye could say the words.
“Third in line, that’s our target. Remember, we’re only gathering data. Identify this woman as Banshee, and then we hand our files over to the appropriate people.”
“Right, data gathering,” Axel said, and pulled back onto the freeway.
Street congestion stretched the twenty-minute ETA to thirty-eight minutes. Axel knew the exact time because the closer he got, the further his gut crawled up his esophagus. Rising anxiety pinched his lungs, making it harder to breathe, and sweat lathered his palms.
When he finally reached the night club’s parking lot, all four windows were once again rolled down, and his eyeglasses were in the seat next to him. They kept fogging up, a flaw he had never noticed before.
The lot had a “free parking until 10” sign next to the vacant attendant’s booth. Not many patrons…or at least patrons who drove. If the number of people inside matched that of the parking lot, it would be easier for him to locate Banshee. It would also make it easier for Banshee to realize his true intentions. Little Eye recommended that he test the empty beer bottles left on the bar for a DNA match.
Axel rolled up the windows, grabbed his eyeglasses, and fished out his fake ID from the glove compartment. He had only used the ID once, last year while tracking a member of C3U that was known to frequent a local bar. It was an older man, around the age of the biker’s father, but with more signs of degradation. Skinny limbs and a bulged belly. Loose skin that wrinkled like a raisin. The man was already drunk when Axel sat on the stool next to him. Axel said hi, as his social simulations software recommended, and then dived straight into Rosemary Builders, the code name of a job that linked C3U to a construction company.
Through choked tears the man explained how he’d researched every related news article, obituary, and even donated to several of the victim’s relief funds. It was strange, how a man with no relation to those lost could bear such a heavy burden. And the goal of Rosemary Builders: stricter safety regulations and more-accessible workers’ compensation. But it didn’t happen. All those deaths, and no achievement.
The blubbering man was eventually escorted away from the premises and Axel never saw nor heard of him again.
“I.D.,” the bouncer said.
Axel removed his eyeglasses and showed his identification card. He could no longer detect the gleaming yellow outline of the doorman’s pocket knife. For some reason this eased his mind. He accepted a paper wristband.
“Ten dollars at ten,” the doorman said. “Keep the wristband if you leave and plan on coming back.”
Axel thanked him and entered the club. Streaks of multicolor lights, all projected from a rotating globe that hung from the ceiling, cut through the room’s murkiness. A heavy, erratic beat thumped through the open space of the dance floor. Two bodies lingered near the door, one of them outfitted in a tight dress. It was impossible for Axel to discern the dress’s color in the dim lighting.
He didn’t think about it. Axel approached the pair and spat the first thing that came to mind. “Can I have your drink?”
The woman turned on him. It wasn’t Banshee—her hair was too short. “Uh, what the fuck? No, weirdo, get away from me.”
The second figure stepped forward, a man whose biceps overshadowed his every other feature.
Axel quickly scooted away and listened for Little Eye’s input, but the bumping beat of the speakers overwhelmed anything she was saying. The surrounding lights, flashing and littering the air with yellow figments of sparkle dust, hazed Axel’s vision. He retreated to the closest room he could find. A bathroom. He closed the stall door behind him and could just barely hear Little Eye.
“Too direct, Axel,” she said. “You made her feel uncomfortable. Can you hear me?”
Axel nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“Okay. I can monitor what you’re seeing through the eyeglasses, but the MI keeps getting disrupted from the loud music.”
Axel nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Approach the bar and gather any empty bottles,” Little Eye said. “Then bring them back to the bathroom for analysis.”
“I didn’t see any bottles at the bar. And even if I get a match, I wouldn’t know whose bottle it was. I think a hair sample will be easier.”
“No, you’ll get kicked out. Maybe even beaten by the bouncers.”
Axel straightened at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Music flooded in, and then dulled a moment later, replaced by the light tapping of footsteps against concrete.
“Plan B,”
Little Eye said. “Find the woman matching the description and buy her a drink. A shooter. And then immediately analyze her glass. Play it off like you’re taking a picture for social media.”
“Uh-huh,” Axel whispered, not wanting to sound like a crazy person who talks to himself in the bathroom.
“But whatever you do, don’t yank at someone’s hair!”
A urinal flushed. Axel took it as a cue to flush his own toilet, giving Little Eye an “Okay” as the bowl water swirled.
Somebody else entered the bathroom as Axel was washing his hands. The man opened a duffle bag full of colognes, fragrance sprays, and sticks of gum. “How you doin’ tonight?” he asked, setting his supplies along the sink’s countertop.
Axel nodded, suddenly uncomfortable with revealing his tone of speech. What if this cologne guy was later questioned about Axel’s presence at the club? The thought was irrational, but Axel had previously located suspects by simply juxtaposing their recorded voices against live phone calls. Irrational did not mean impossible.
Axel left the bathroom. The number of patrons had increased, but most of them were men gathered at the bar. One person twirled by herself on the dance floor. Her dress flickered from blue, to violet, to green as the disco globe spun overhead. Her face mostly opaque as she danced, Axel found it too insulting to interrupt her flow and offer a drink. And then she must have sensed his stare, looking up to meet his gaze. He turned away so quickly he didn’t register even the shape of her head. Smooth. On the way to the bar he listened for Little Eye to give confirmation on the dancer, but it was of no use. He could barely hear his own thoughts, let alone Little Eye’s.
Most of the men seated at the bar wore button-down shirts, their sleeves rolled-up. The accessories around their wrists and necks gleamed a bright yellow. Some had small glasses of liquor. Others had bottled beer, a mix of both full and empties that stood on rubbery drink coasters. Should he test a few? It hadn’t been confirmed 100% that Banshee wasn’t a man…
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. A female bartender.
“A shot, for you,” Axel said.
She smiled. A nice smile that touched the edges of her eyes. Her eyelashes were dark and her brows naturally thin. A match. “None on the job.” She cocked her head at the camera behind her. “Big brother’s watching. How about a beer?”
“Yes, that’ll work,” Axel said. Then he frowned as she turned away to fetch his order, her black slacks and matching blouse dismissing her as a suspect.
A golden bracelet twinkled in Axel’s left peripheral. It belonged to a woman in a dress, her friend standing behind her, staring at her phone. The friend, too, was wearing a dress. “Would you like a shooter?” Axel asked the woman leaning on the counter.
“What?” she yelled, turning her ear to him.
“Do you want a shooter? A drink? A shot?”
She denied, then ordered two shots of vodka from the bartender after she set Axel’s beer on a rubbery coaster. Axel took a sip and spit it out. It was almost the grossest thing he’d ever tasted, right behind the deep-fried snake his dad had forced him to eat when he was ten years old. “You can eat anything, as long as you prepare it correctly,” his father had said.
The bartender, the woman ordering vodka, and the man seated to the right were all watching Axel. The dim atmosphere, plus Little Eye’s inability to assist, made interpreting their moods impossible. But then the bartender whipped out a small towel and wiped clean the bar’s surface. Everything returned to normal. Without thinking about it, Axel offered his beer to the woman preoccupied with her phone. She accepted it and took a swig.
“Rachal stop!” the other woman shrieked, her voice cutting clearly through the music.
Rachal, the tip of the bottle still in her mouth, knitted her brow in confusion.
“You’re drinking this random guy’s beer.”
Rachal let the bottle drop from her fingers. It shattered on the floor. Axel recoiled into the guy behind him. Rachal started spitting everywhere and then she fled with her friend for the bathroom. Axel reached down to pick up the neck of the shattered bottle, but a strong force had clamped down around his shoulder, preventing him.
“Easy, buddy,” a man said from behind. “I think the bouncer wants to have a talk with you.”
From the DJ’s table came the same man Axel had seen earlier, the one with exceptional biceps.
“Thanks, Joe,” the bouncer said to whomever was gripping Axel’s shoulder.
“I need the bottle,” Axel said, panic turning his voice into a high-pitched squeal. “I’m tracking a murderer.”
“Not in here you’re not,” the bouncer said, and steered Axel by his shoulder straight through the dance floor to the exit. The twirling dancer made way when she saw them coming, as well as those waiting in line at the front door. A small shove sent Axel stumbling outside, right into a pedestrian.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. Then, “Shit,” as the woman bent over to pick up her fallen cigarette.
“Don’t worry about it,” a thick voice responded. Axel swore it had to be someone else’s words until the woman stood straight again, the cigarette glowing brightly between her lips. The effect shined a radiance on her face that expressed the thin layer of perspiration coating her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were slit emeralds, and the great distance between them reminded Axel of a turtle. “You want one?” she asked, her thick, heavy voice tumbling like loose logs on a highway.
The voice was hers. And it was nothing like anything Axel had ever heard coming from a woman. Nor a man. It reminded him of a voice in a horror movie, altered and tampered to mask the serial killer’s true identity.
“Take the cigarette, Axel. You need to stall until she’s finished smoking, and then test it for DNA,” Little Eye said, her transmitted voice sounding more natural than this strange woman’s. This strange mass murderer, Axel corrected.
But similar to her voice not matching her appearance, her appearance didn’t match that of a homicidal maniac. “Yes, please,” Axel said, urging his mind to slow down and memorize Banshee’s description.
She reached into her purse and fished out a pack of cigarettes. Axel shot his hand forward, grasping at air and knocking the pack free from her grip. “Sorry,” he said, kneeling to pick it up, a pea-size tracker hidden in his palm. He dropped it in before handing the pack back.
“It’s cool,” she said; growled.
Slightly shorter than Axel, Banshee stood around five and a half feet. Her brunette hair drifted below her shoulders and curled at the tips. And no jewelry, Axel realized, his eyeglasses failing to find a single pixel of glimmering metal.
“Need a light?” she asked.
“Yes. Thanks.”
A small flame hovered in front of Axel’s face and he smothered the tip of his cigarette in it, remembering to breathe just before she returned the matches to her purse. He inhaled deeply and coughed immediately. Her squinted eyes travelled the length of Axel’s body. Assessing. Inspecting. Determining if I’m applicable.
“You don’t smoke, do you?” she asked.
“Never before tonight,” he said.
She chuckled. “An honest guy. Explains why you didn’t make up some bullshit sympathetic story when you heard my voice.” She tossed her cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with her heel. “They get better.” She turned to walk away.
“Scan her DNA,” Little Eye said. “After confirmation, I’ll inform law enforcement of her location using the tracker, which, Axel, was a clever play. Good job.”
Axel pounced forward and grabbed a fistful of Banshee’s hair. A concentration of pressure bored into his gut. And then he was wheezing. Banshee retracted her heel and prepared to kick him again.
“A bug,” Axel coughed. “In your hair. I think it was a spider.”
She lowered her leg and shuffled both hands through her hair. “Did you get it?” she asked, then quickly recovered from her panicky state, brushing her hair flat. Her e
yes, wide for the first time and burning with the desperation of a cornered animal, stared at Axel. “An honest guy,” she said, and recoiled at her own words.
His breathing somewhat normal again, Axel sniffed. Inconclusive, his MI reported.
“Scan the cigarette, Axel.” Little Eye said. “What are you waiting for?”
Axel removed his MI and stuck it in his pocket. Next, he removed his eyeglasses, folded them, and gently slid them into his back pocket. He wanted no interference as he watched the serial killer he had been tracking for the past few weeks walk away. Only when she was out of sight did he scan her cigarette. The saliva matched the DNA found at the murder scene. He was 99% positive the clump of hair would be a match as well.
He opened his phone’s tracker app and disabled the GPS. Little Eye wouldn’t be able to locate Banshee. The timing isn’t right. But deep down he knew that if he gave a hundred reasons as to why it wasn’t, the MI would identify each one as dishonest. The truth, he told himself, was curiosity. He needed to analyze her voice. Upload her image to the facial simulator. He needed to understand her and the reason she killed.
She doesn’t look like a killer.
But that was a lie, too. What did he know about the image of killers? Always tell the truth.
The truth was…he wanted to follow her. He wanted to…what is this? Why did I unplug Little Eye?
“Hey buddy,” a man called. It was the nightclub’s door operator. “You have to either come in or clear the sidewalk.”
“I’m smoking,” Axel said, and searched the ground for his cigarette. It was gone, like my killer.
He gazed in the direction Banshee had gone. Then in the opposite direction; home. Finally, he replaced his MI.
“Little Eye, it’s a match,” he said, returning to the SUV.
“I knew it would be,” she said. “Turn the GPS tracker on so I can locate her.”
“I, uh…”
“Axel, she’s a murderer. She’s killed multiple people.”
“Yeah, I know. But she’s different.”
“Axel…”
He removed his MI, not wanting to say anything else that was stupid, and pulled out of the parking lot to head home.