The Next God

by MB Mooney

  “You’re afraid of a young kid?”

  “He is an obstacle to be removed, nothing more. For the good of others, eh? And remember, he may seem a ‘young kid,’ but looks can be deceiving. I am not as young as I seem.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  Mr. Smith nodded. “I know. Do not worry. This Postman will not hurt us. He cannot. When he succeeds, there will be his reward here waiting for him, and maybe he will level his head enough to get out of the country.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then you will kill him as quickly as ... humanly possible.”

  Chapter 14

  Someone moved her, gently, carefully, rolling her on her back, peeling off the torn coat. Valerie heard voices, then her own moaning. She opened her eyes. Yes, here in the bedroom, the bedroom of this house, this mansion. Her vision blurred, doubled, and she tried to sit up. She felt hands on her shoulders. “Just lie still, Detective,” a man’s voice, young and even.

  “I have to ...” she began, feeling the confusion on her lips.

  “You have to lie back down before I sedate you.”

  She managed to sit up a little, resting on her elbows. “I’m okay. I … was wearing my vest.”

  The young man, very handsome with square features and dark hair, just beginning to recede at the temples, reached down and applied just the slightest amount of pressure to her ribs.

  She cried out with a loud voice, a mixture of a yell and a squeal, her eyes widening. “Damn! What was that for?”

  “You have at least two or three broken ribs, Detective. Where were you when you were shot?”

  She looked past him. “Over there.”

  “And where was the shooter?”

  “Standing in the doorway.”

  “Yeah, you’re real lucky. I’ve seen cops get killed from that range.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “That either this guy is a terrible shot, or the best in the world, because those two slugs hit you in the best possible places for such close range.”

  “Are you saying he did it on purpose?”

  The young paramedic shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the detective. Now lay back and ...”

  She interrupted him, sitting up with agony just below her breasts, pushing the paramedic off balance and away from her.

  “I’m sorry, but I think I’ll live,” she said, doing her best not to scream as she stood. “The guy who did all this is still on the loose, and I saw him. I have to get ...” Then the smell of blood hit her. She leaned over, resting her hands on her knees. She kept swallowing, swallowing over and over. Don’t vomit, she thought to herself. The body of the little girl, still in her father’s dead arms, laid spread out right in front of her. “My God,” she said.

  The paramedic stood next to her now, holding her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you downstairs to an ambulance. Go ahead and lay down on that stretcher there, and I’ll get someone to help me out, here.”

  She righted herself, still more pain. “No. I’ll walk.” She started to step out of the bedroom. “Aren’t you guys supposed to cover that stuff up?”

  “Sorry, didn’t think you’d be coming out of it so soon.”

  He walked with her down the stairs and out the front door. They had covered the dead man there on the front lawn with a plastic sheet. Standing outside, the whole neighborhood was a chaotic mess. The concrete drive through the spacious front lawn was littered with ambulances, four that she could see, and a multitude of police units. The fire trucks were outside the property, just on the other side of the wall. All of their lights were on, turning and spinning and making the scene even more dramatic.

  They walked together towards the closest ambulance, and the paramedic opened the back door to the emergency vehicle for her. She was about to step inside, clutching her ribs, when she heard a stern voice from behind her.

  “Detective Valerie Mann!” She turned to see a familiar face in a dark suit walking towards her. “We need to talk.”

  “Well, Mr. Lawrence, I see the great job the FBI has done so far, and I must say that I’d just rather get on this ambulance and have a safe ride to the hospital.”

  Agent Doug Lawrence ignored her tired attempt at an insult. “We need your description, your statement as soon as possible. We’re working on a strict time schedule.”

  “Or what?”

  Agent Lawrence raised his eyebrows. “Or what? Or we press charges against you for interfering with a federal investigation, and we throw you in jail, which we might do anyway for all your interference. This is our jurisdiction now, Detective. You have no business ...”

  “How many are dead?”

  “I don’t think ...”

  “How many are dead?”

  Agent Lawrence sighed. “Fourteen. Fourteen dead that we can tell. We can’t find the bodies of one of the gate guards, but we’re checking the brush right now.”

  “Fourteen dead in a matter of two or three minutes? And where were you, Agent Lawrence? Where was the big, bad, throw your ass in jail FBI when those kids in there were getting killed!”

  Agent Lawrence shot a glance in the paramedic’s direction. “I think that’s enough, Detective.”

  “Go to hell. It hasn’t begun to be enough.”

  “There are still some things you don’t know. While you were out saving the world and royally screwing the whole system, we have been working, as well.”

  “Really? How is that?”

  “Well, for starters, we brought in your partner for questioning.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. It seems he is connected to all of this.”

  “I could have told you that, Sherlock, but how connected?”

  Agent Lawrence peered at the paramedic again. “Let’s just say, very connected.”

  She turned to the young paramedic. He had been listening in to their conversation, even though it had been abundantly clear that Agent Lawrence was uncomfortable with it. She began to like him. “You have any tape on this ambulance?” she asked him.

  “Tape?”

  “Yes, wrapping gauze and tape, you have any?”

  “Sure.” He reached up into a cabinet and retrieved the items she requested and threw them down to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, and proceeded to take off her bulletproof vest. Then she took off her shirt, leaving her cold and only wearing her bra from the waist up.

  “Please, Detective,” Agent Lawrence said, his eyes shooting away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, pausing to look at her ribs, nasty black and blue bruises under her breasts. “You never seen a woman’s tits before?”

  She wrapped her torso with the gauze first, tight as she could, the softness feeling good against her skin. The tape came next, not quite as tight, but firm enough to keep her midsection as stable as possible. “I’m going with you,” she said, putting her shirt back on. “I have to talk to Bill.”

  “Out of the question,” Agent Lawrence said. He looked a little more comfortable. “We need your statement.”

  Valerie turned to the paramedic. “Hey, how about a coat or something.”

  “How about a jacket?” he suggested.

  “That’ll do, I guess.” She took the jacket from the paramedic and put it on. “Let’s go talk to Bill,” she said, staring into the agent’s eyes.

  “He’s in our custody,” he said, his voice beginning to sound a little strained and desperate, less firm and forceful. “We get your statement, and then you go home to get suspended by your superiors for messing with my operation!”

  “And I’m not giving you anything until I talk to Bill, understand? So you can throw my ass in jail or do whatever it is you’re threatening to do, but I’m not saying a damn thing unless I talk to Bill.”

  “Well, maybe I can arrange it.”

  “I thought so.”

  She still wore the jacket and now a blanket around her shoulders when Bill walked into the room. He looked tired and
old, very old, older than she had ever seen him before, his eyes low and dull, his movement devoid of energy. She sat at the table, and he sat across from her. The door closed from behind him, and they were alone. He wouldn’t allow his eyes to meet hers.

  “Bill,” she said.

  The room was a box, small and cramped with a mirror covering the wall to his right. He nodded at it. “They’re watching us.”

  “I know. They’re not going to hear anything they don’t already know.”

  He gestured towards the mirror again. “They don’t know that.”

  Neither spoke for a moment or two, she looking at him, searching for his gaze, and he avoiding hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked again.

  “Tell you what? That I knew who it was? That it was my son who was killing them, killing the scum of the Earth? They killed my boy, don’t you understand that? Kevin died because I was playing with fire.”

  “You were doing your job.”

  “Bull shit. I knew the rules, the lines, where you could cross and where you couldn’t. And the Franklins were definitely off-limits. I just ignored them, you know. I just went ahead, reckless and stupid, and Kevin paid the price for it, as if his life wasn’t messed up enough.”

  “Why had he run away?”

  “His mother and I were having problems communicating, if you will.”

  “Were you still married?”

  “No. We had been divorced for a couple of years, but we were still seeing each other, off and on. Brian, he was older, it didn’t affect him much, but Kevin still tried to get my attention. It was drugs at first, and all I could do was yell at him, scream at him to stop. But he didn’t listen to me. Hell, I never listened to him. So he ran away. My ex-wife came home one day, and he was gone. Just like that. Well, I assured her that I would find him; I’d have every policeman out looking for him.” Bill Young breathed deep, a raspy sound across the table. “It was a couple months later, right after his birthday, when we found him in the dumpster. In a freaking dumpster.” His hands raised, connected by handcuffs, and rubbed his temples. “Damn.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill,” she said. And she was, truly, despite how much she thought he was wrong. “But why didn’t you fight it through the system?”

  “They own the system, Mann. Don’t you get it, yet? You don’t win with people like this. They always have the last word. Always. Even now, I’m the one who lost a son ten years ago, and I’m the one in jail. Is it getting through? Do you understand the concept of justice yet?”

  “You’re in here because you broke the friggin’ rules. You could have gone to the FBI, anyone who would listen.”

  “I did. They wouldn’t do anything, either. They took the information and the evidence that I gathered, all on my own time, away from the force, and weeks later they didn’t even know my name. Why do you think that you were the only one staking out that house? Do you think the FBI didn’t know about that house?”

  “So, why didn’t they just take Andrew into custody?”

  “For one of two reasons. Either they wanted Brian to show up, without any hindrance from them, and kill them all so that they could come in later, swoop in and clean up the mess, hoping they would find something to use against the Franklins or whoever. Or they owed Daddy Franklin a big ol’ favor, and he called it in, telling them to keep their distance, far away from the house and let his people handle it. I’m not real sure which one. The system is bigger than Atlanta, Georgia.”

  She leaned in closer to him. “How big is it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think that the Franklins were that connected, but I guess they are.”

  “So you send your son after them, to kill them.”

  “I had very little to do with it. Brian loved his little brother, loved him a lot, looked after him, especially after the divorce. I think Brian felt a little responsible for his brother’s death, too, but I don’t know. Brian helped with the investigation when he got out of the Army, and he was good. But at some point, he gave up. I gave him some names in Chicago and LA, and Brian disappeared for a couple years. He called me from Los Angeles almost a year ago, and he told me what he was going to do. He said that he had been working with some of the local drug traffickers, and that he was making some good money. I told him he was crazy, but he just wanted to tell me, just so I would know who was doing it, when they died. He thought it would give me some peace.”

  “Did it?”

  “No. I told Brian that I didn’t want to trade one son for the other. I told him it wasn’t worth it.”

  “So why didn’t you stop him?”

  He sneered at her. “Because another part of me, the part that can’t get the picture of my son in a dumpster out of my head, wanted him to do it. I wanted him to kill them. I wished I could do it myself. But I’m too old. Too damn old and useless.”

  “But you helped him, you got assigned to the case.”

  “I didn’t help him as much as you might think. After the Army, he became a successful member of a smuggling ring and never got caught. You don’t do that by being an idiot. Brian’s a pretty smart man.” Was there pride in his voice?

  “Who was he working with?”

  “Working with?”

  “Yeah, who was Brian working with?”

  Bill shook his head, still gazing away from her. “No one that I know of. He told me he worked alone.”

  “Someone saved his ass. I had him in my sights, was holding him until the cavalry came, but someone sneaked up behind me and took me out.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Black, medium build, round-type features. I didn’t get a real good look at him, but I’d recognize him again if I saw him.”

  “You were wearing your vest?”

  “Yes.”

  Bill sniffed. “Good girl. They both got away?”

  “Yes, dammit. They both barely got away before the units arrived. I can’t believe it.”

  “Did you get any shots off at them?”

  “I shot your son once, in the shoulder. I wanted to take him alive, but then the guy came from behind me.”

  Bill’s eyebrows rose. “You shot my son?”

  “I didn’t know he was your son, Bill.”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  She shook her head. “No. None at all.”

  “But they got away?”

  “Yeah, they got away.”

  Bill nodded, smiling, but it was a sad smile. “It’s over, it’s finally over.”

  “Did he have a plan for getting away, if they found out who he was?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me if he did. He didn’t tell me anything, you know, just in case they figured it out, and this kind of a situation arose.”

  “So you have no idea where he would have gone or where I can find him?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me if you did.”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Bill looked at her, finally, his eyes meeting hers. “It’s not you that I’m worried about.”

  Valerie stood, still holding his stare, clutching the blanket closer to her. “Well, I have a statement to give to the FBI.”

  “You just did,” he said, looking at the mirror. He laughed at her, a sarcastic laugh, filled with bitterness. “Tell them I said hello.”

  “Will do,” she said, and she left the room without another word to Bill Young.

  -----

  Matt was home from school for only a minute or two, but he already felt like sleeping, like falling down onto the couch and closing his eyes, losing himself in something that wasn’t school.

  The other day at school had been hell, seeing his friend dragged away by the police and Marcus wheeled away by an ambulance. Matt was questioned by teachers and the assistant principal for a few minutes. He skipped class for the rest of the day and finally went home tired and worried.

  In some ways, the next two days had be
en worse. Every person in the hall whispered and pointed when he walked down the hall, when Vikki sat with him at lunch again, and even though he knew the truth, the gossip deeply affected him.

  The truth? He was afraid of Richard Albright, his friend.

  That look in his eyes, that look that spoke volumes of coldness to Matt, to his heart, the same heart that he had trusted, had learned from, had told him that Vikki would say yes and that Richard would sit with them when logic told him different, told him that there was something deeply wrong with Richard. And Matt didn’t exactly want to hear it.

  He had just lain down on the couch, his forearm lying across his forehead, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, wondering where his mother was today, and then the doorbell rang.

  Matt first decided to ignore it. Maybe if he just ignored it, whoever it was would just go away and leave him alone, but the doorbell kept ringing, calmly, patiently, every minute or so, just when he thought maybe this person gave up. It rang one last time, and Matt sat up quickly, angry, “All right, I’m coming.”

  Moving to the door, he got that strange feeling again, that feeling that someone watched him, but not just watching him. He felt that something waited just on the other side of the door, something that scared him, frightened him suddenly. Reaching to open the door, he paused. He wanted to run, but not out of safety for himself, no, that wasn't it. Something waited for him just a few feet away, a presence or knowledge that would change the rest of his life. He heard the voice from the other side of the door, soft and gentle, patient and deep.

  “Let me in, Matthew. I will not hurt you.”

  His hand withdrew quickly, closer to his body. He looked at the doorknob, looked at his own hand, and back at the door itself finally, his eyes squinting, his brow creasing, his mouth contorting to a frown. “Go away,” he said, but he had whispered it. Could this person on the other side hear him?

  “I’m sorry,” the voice, definitely a man’s timbre, came to him again. Was it through the door or sounding in his head? Or both? “I cannot leave. I must speak with you. It is very urgent.”