He stood four paces out from a raw drop of meat on the floor. Pink globule covered in pale skin with a pert nub on top.
“It’s a tit?” I said.
“Sad to say.”
“A boob?”
“When I saw it, I thought, y’know…”
“You assumed it belonged to me.”
He shrugged, embarrassed, rubbing his wedding band. He tipped his chin and sent my attention further into the vault. A second identical meat glob rested behind the first, rolled on its side, as it were, nipple facing us. Blood watery and pink over its surface. The vault shrank three sizes and I turned around, keeping the exit in sight, drawing on the hope of that open door. Nauseated, I felt coffee swirling through me like a flushed toilet bowl. My hand wavered, reaching out to touch the wall until I found my balance again.
Contrell politely kept his mouth shut.
I pivoted and looked at the pieces again. Saw a smear of writing encircling the second boob. Brown letters spelled DURANT, a message drawn in what smelled like offal. Classy.
“Jeez.” The pit of my stomach grew and grew into a huge hole that might swallow me. “It’s got my name all over it.”
“Yeah. Crappy fan club, Kaidlyn.”
“Crappy. Ha ha. That’s funny because it’s written in poo.”
“You need a minute?”
“I don’t see what a minute will fix. We’re still looking for a body?”
“Haven’t found anything.”
“And you happened to stumble on the scene? I don’t see any press hovering around.”
“Body parts are no longer breaking news. Isn’t that a sad commentary?” He sneered. “I don’t like our chances on this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Hard to identify boobs without a body. The flesh appears to have been severed by a large serrated knife, independent of tooth or claw. Not to say a mutt couldn’t use a knife, but the choice of instrument drastically reduces our chance of narrowing down the type of monster.”
“Fair enough. Yet if they posted my name on it, I’m going to assume it’s a beastie of some sort. Don’t suppose we have any witnesses?”
“Everyone had cleared out. We did find one guy passed out in the old fountain. Don’t know how reliable he’ll be, considering he smells like he’d been drinking gin all night.”
We strolled outside, and I gratefully breathed fresh air, cool for the time of day. The vagrant sat on the edge of an empty fountain, head drooping, limbs like cooked noodles, holding a bottle of nearly-gone gin. I passed some cash to the officer posted at the entrance. “Go to the convenience store across the street and grab as many sandwiches as this will buy, plus some Pedialyte,” I said. “Please.”
Our potential witness swayed while upright. Drunk. Beard looked infested. Grime all over his jacket, soot on his pants, and hard to say for certain, but none of it looked like recently shed blood.
“But for the Grace,” Contrell mumbled.
“What's that?”
“My mother used to say, ‘but for the Grace of God’ or something. I think it means we're all on the brink of hell, if not for Grace. Anyway, I know religion isn’t your thing. The guy’s name is Nick.”
I approached the drunk at the fountain. “Hi, Nick.”
He raised his head and exhaled heavily through wet lips. “Have a dollar, misssy? Ssanta needs to keep those elves fed ssso they can make toysss. Trainsss. Little planesss made out of balsam wood that actually fly when you toss them. Love those. Don't understand the video gamesss. Wazzz wrong with them old toysss?”
“I’m with you, Nick. Kids these days, right? Why don’t we talk about what happened last night. If you give me a statement, I'll buy you a sandwich.”
Nick pointed at me and talked to Contrell. “Thisss is a good girl you got here. Better marry her quick 'fore some guy ssswoops in. Hey, hey, girlie, you want to get married?”
“That's sweet—” I started.
“Got a dollar?”
“Right. Did you see any suspicious characters last night?”
“Suspicious? Ha, ha, but...I'm....uh....” The glimmer of light in his eyes disappeared. He stared blankly, eyed me from head to toe.
“Nick?”
“You play cardsss? Have a deck? We can drink together,” he said.
“Would you like to ride downtown with us? We'll get you cleaned up and find you something to eat,” I said.
“Yeah. Yeah, lesss do that.” He stood and swayed. While he stabilized himself, he looked at the cops all around. “Nah. I don't think so, nah. I didn’t sssee nothing. Wasn’t no one. All gone ‘cept a titty.”
“A woman was butchered in there,” Contrell said. “Someone sliced a woman up and left pieces on the floor like garbage. Why don’t you tell me what you saw before I start to assume you’re responsible for that woman’s death?”
Nick grabbed his skull. “Sssaw nothing, not no one, not me.”
“Not a single person?” I said.
He shook his head.
“Nick, did you sleep here last night?”
“Nah. Under the eavesss.”
“Okay, so you slept in the park? Did you sleep here the night before? Maybe the night before that?”
He thought, exhaled gin. “Maybe.”
“Were there a lot of people here?”
He nodded eagerly. “Fifty. No, a hundred.”
“Thanks, Nick.” I pulled out my wallet and slipped him a single dollar, enough to satisfy the bargain without giving him booze money. The officer came back with a bag of sandwiches and another of Pedialyte, which I passed to Nick. “Get some food in you, okay?”
Nick took the goods and scampered off before we could change our minds.
“Thanks,” I said to the officer, idly watching Nick careen down the street. Contrell crossed his arms. “Let’s go back inside.”
He grunted and we trooped back to the scene of the obscene crime.
“Nick is definitely not our guy, and I have worse news.”
“What?”
“You’re looking for fifty to a hundred missing people.”
“How do you figure? I mean, everyone runs off when violence happens, right? They were scared and they bailed. It’s understandable.”
“Leaving everything they have in the world? Their lifeline, resources, food, and blankets? Not likely. Someone snatched them.”
“Goddamn it, Durant. Why, pray tell, would anyone steal homeless people?”
“Because they’re socially expendable? I truly can’t imagine.”
“Jesus Christ, what’s the goddamn world coming to?”
“Everything else okay? Not for nothing, but you’re usually more chipper and optimistic. I’m supposed to be the sarcastic asshole, remember?”
“This kind of stuff makes me grumpy.”
“Mm-hmmm.”
He kicked a bottle and the glass tinged away. Hands shoved into his pockets. His normally well-groomed hair lacked product. We saw each other occasionally throughout the years, usually at disgusting, confounding crime scenes, and had developed something of a friendship.
“My wife wants to move out of the city. She pulled the boys out of school, left the church. Even threatened to take the kids if I don’t get with the program. Said she can’t take this life anymore.”
“And what do you want?”
“Look at this crap, Kaidlyn. Someone’s gotta clean it up.”
“Which law says that someone has to be you?”
“Taking my wife’s side? Some kind of female solidarity bullcrap? You think I want this? That I love arguing with my wife about how the whole world is devolving into a nightmare purgatory, and then I have to come to work and see breasts hacked up and left on the floor?”
“Sucks.”
“Damn right it does.”
“Let someone without kids and a wife do the dirty work. You’ve got a family to take care of, and I know you know that’s important. If she’s really gonna take the kids, and if leaving Phoenix
is really what’s best, you gotta be the man to be there for them. That’s what you signed up for. Let the hopeless jackoffs like myself deal with this dismal crap. You go raise a generation of better people.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Yep.”
He puffed on his fruity vaporizer. Stared at the scene.
“Bad portent, Durant,” he said. “Someone doesn’t like you much, and I worry the sentiment is escalating.”
I sighed. “Such is life.”
“Take this as a threat. A public, gory threat from a sicko.”
“I’ll double precautions.” Double ammo, I meant.
“I’ll keep you in the loop as much as possible. And we’ll probably have more questions.”
I nodded and got my ass out of there, miserably contemplating a poor corpse somewhere missing parts. After climbing into my beautiful silver truck, I blasted the speed metal to knock any errant thoughts from my head. Certainly tried not to picture disembodied breasts.
In no hurry to return to work at a dismal office and consider a wretched crime scene, I deterred for a coffee break. My favorite coffee joint, Narcissistic Beans and Things, had recently reopened after an incident involving a bloody mutt erupting behind the register and bleeding all over the tile. It happens. If I was lucky, they wouldn’t realize it was me who incited the monster to shed and then shot him, causing him to leak contaminant all over the floor. For the shop’s epic roast, I could risk being recognized or embarrassed.
The shop sat empty, and business had clearly taken a hit. I strolled toward the unmanned counter as the door chimed shut. Menu looked similar, so I already knew my order when the barista arrived.
“Large dark roast with a shot of espresso, black.” My voice echoed in the empty room. “Make that four coffees with cream on the side. And I’ll take four chocolate muffins and an assortment of whatever other pastries you have, as long as it adds up to a dozen.”
If my team came back in time, they could share the bounty. If they didn’t, well, I wouldn’t have to buy dinner. I paid and wandered over to the nearest book shelf, scanning the titles. All safe, artsy material. Nothing contraband, of course. I sighed, thinking I would have to offload some of the illegal reading material I had at the house. Needed to keep cycling through, couldn’t hold on to anything for too long. Rainer could help me move the more difficult items (the we-could-all-get-shot-for-these items).
A series of stones sat on one of the shelves. I only recognized a few, but I’d seen similar crystals in Zelda’s garden.
The whir of the espresso machine finally stopped, drawing my attention to the counter. I gathered my order while the barista looked me over.
“You look like a LEO,” she said. I glanced at her again, truly seeing her for the first time. Black hair done in a pile of intricate braids, tiny stud in her nose, red lips that spread into a rather warm smile.
“Is it that apparent?” I said.
She shrugged, a dainty motion that brought my attention to her shoulders. Her shirt was one of those that covered one shoulder and left the other bare, which was enough for me to see that she was tan, fit, and wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I think it’s your posture,” she said. “You have great posture.”
“Oh. Thanks.” No mention of the three guns.
“I’m Jasmine,” she said, and it occurred to me that I should have at least asked for her name.
“I’m Kaid,” I said.
“Well, Kate, nice to meet you.” She grinned in such a way that I couldn’t bear to correct her.
Damn, business must really suck if she was this happy to see me.
She passed me a cup tray and a bag of treats, then returned to her chores. I stared at the side of her short, slim body for a while before it occurred to me that my business there was done, and then I wandered out of the shop, feeling incredibly stupid for an unknown reason.
As I parked the truck, I realized I’d forgotten to leave her a tip.
Chapter 12
As I drove back to the office, Rainer called. I snatched the black phone, hoping for good news.
“I'm having trouble with our new project,” he said. I imagined the stolen book, currently wrapped in plastic and secured in my gun safe. Sigurd would kill me when he found out, so I hoped the information was good.
“What's the problem?”
“Can't find an accurate translator. Some of the language is old. It contains Aramaic, Greek, different hieroglyphs, and stuff I can’t recognize. Whoever wrote the book was very multilingual and switched in and out of languages seamlessly. Tragically, some of the languages are dead, which totally muddles the translations.”
“The information has to be somewhere. We don't have much time.”
“I know, believe me. Look, most of what we’ve translated seems to be an elaborate, gigantic family tree. So and so begat so and so who begat twatface and whatever, on and on. Some silly names, too, like Ana the Pious, Blasphemer of Saints—in what world is a blasphemer of saints considered pious? Occasionally, the author mentions an estate somewhere, but it’s done in riddle as well. I’m telling you, Quark, this book is half babble.”
“It has to mean something. Don’t try to interpret it, just translate it. We’ll sort through the rubble later.”
“Yeah, well, it’s consuming my time. You’re going to owe me big.”
“Something tells me you already have my penance lined up.”
“You know it,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“Anything about a vampire named Alexei?”
“Let me check.” After a moment, he said: “The Elder or the Younger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, the Elder’s name is something like ‘Kinslayer’ and the Younger is referred to as ‘The Cannibal.’ The book makes much ado about that, calling him the ‘Hungry Heart’ among other things. Probably not a good sign. Why?”
“Svetlana mentioned a vampire named Alexei. He sounded like bad news.”
“Judging from their nicknames, you wouldn’t want to meet either of them.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the effort. Keep me informed.”
I had the kind of grumps even coffee couldn’t kill, brought on by a crapload of bad news all at once. I craved a few shots of tequila. Instead, I drank the delicious coffee and ate a chocolate muffin.
Keats and Rosco loitered in the office, picking at microwave noodles. By the time I finished handing out coffee and sweets, they didn’t think to ask where I’d been. Sarakas opened the door with his foot and deposited a stack of files on his desk.
“We received an anonymous tip about a potential kennel, and the powers that be require an invasive tag run.” He paused, his ice blue eyes catching mine. His face emulated concern, both professional and personal. “Want to sit this one out?”
“Kind of.”
“Are you not operational?” Keats said.
I sighed, trapped. Physically, I hadn’t felt better in years, but the last time I went on a raid, the most invincible guy in the world had killed himself. Visions of Vincent’s bloody face flashed through my skull. My stomach rolled into a knot and smacked itself around. I swallowed. Ultimately, having a bad attitude wasn’t a valid reason to send my team alone into the fray.
“I’m good,” I said.
“What do we know?” Keats said.
Sarakas spread out a file. “Intel claims there’s a hostel in Red Sector that caters to juvenile offenders, runaways, and vagrants. Some stay for a night, but others have lived there for months. The absentee proprietor, Richard Lee, made a comment in the public forum which construes him as a mutt sympathizer. Suspicious minds believe he’s harboring dissidents, maybe even L-pos youth. Our mission is to tag everyone in the establishment as peaceably as possible.”
“Red Sector?” A frown weighed my face. “We don’t usually bother with rumors from inside the zone. What changed?”
“What changed? Are you joking? There have been attacks on y
our life, Kaid. You were standing by the gates, surrounded by security, and a suicide bomber came at you. In public, in the middle of a crowd, despite our safety measures, you nearly died. Our investigation led nowhere. The FBHS is serious about managing public opinion, and it isn’t enough that we focus on disease containment. Attacks against federal agents on federal property will not be tolerated. If invading Red Sector prevents further assaults on my team, we’ll mount the goddamn cavalry, understand?”
Luckily, no one had told him about the severed boob yet. I swallowed, nodded, and reached for a donut to distract myself. The powdered sugar was like mortar in my mouth.
“We’re going to raid a potential kennel the size of a hostel with only the four of us?” Keats said. “Saying the team is light would be an understatement.”
“We’re going to double down with Vincent’s old crew,” Sarakas said. “There’s some promising talent onboard. Kaid has worked with some of them before.”
The day Vincent’s jaw was torn off and he shot himself in the head.
My mentor, Vincent, had been a gnarly old misogynist with a military backbone, grumpy until the moment a mutt infected him. With typical FBHS devotion, he offed himself. Muzzle against his flesh, eye drooping down his mauled face. The way his body simply dropped…
Sarakas and Keats discussed the public climate and possible backlash from Big Fed venturing into Red Sector with three teams of government mercenaries. The last blatantly freedom-loving sector was no longer off-limits, and the FBHS was escalating its response to mutt sympathizer. Bad news.
Red was Rainer’s territory and raiding it would cause trouble. I would have called, but I had left my safe black phone in the truck. I needed to contact him somehow. The tag on my neck poked me and took a DNA sample. The bureau’s spy gizmo made me frown and rub my throat. My fingers bumped against a necklace Rainer had given me: a likeness of the Mother Mary, one of Rainer’s devices in disguise. The DNAcoy interrupted my tag feed whenever I needed to go into stealth mode for my illegal activities. Rainer monitored the icon and would notice if I activated it. Yet I used the DNAcoy to enter Red all the time, and he might not perceive the warning. If he did get the message, what would he do? Send mutts after us?
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