Moonrise

by Mark Gardner

  The headache from earlier had subsided completely. Everything was working according to plan: the city was in peril, and it needed his help. Help that he offered generously enough. He was on the path to understanding Bree’s power and perhaps even duplicating it. A few rooms away, Kristof and Peter were showing promising results. Globe smiled. The supers in the city were going to face their end soon enough.

  Globe rode the elevator from the lab to the lobby in silence. In the lobby, four floors above, Anne was waiting for him.

  “I hope the events from the morning haven’t stirred any negativity between you and me,” Globe announced when the elevator doors opened. Anne, in her red skirt and shirt, was sipping a martini. Globe gazed at her stretched out on the white leather sofa and admired her beauty once again.

  She looked up. “I was surprised, that’s all. Mostly by this Silas character.”

  Globe sat next to her and poured himself a neat scotch. “Silas has been very helpful. I want you to behave around him. I know he isn’t Justin but—”

  Anne slammed her unfinished drink on the table, breaking the thin glass stem. “If you’re thinking of pairing him with me then you have gone mad. I choose who I work with, not anybody else, especially not you!”

  Globe seized her by the throat. His palm encircled the fine curves of Anne’s white skin. “You’ll do as I say. You keep forgetting that, Anne, and it makes me sad.” Globe eased his grip on her, and his thumb caressed her jaw line. “I know how much you loved Justin and how much you miss him. He cannot be replaced. But I need someone trustworthy who has your back out there. Silas is just the right person for that. You’ll get used to him.” He winked. “You may even find you like the young man.”

  Anne fumed. He could feel how hot she was under his touch. He worried that her heat had somehow infected him. She was burning up and probably curious enough to see how his blood would sit on her hands. Globe released her and finished his drink in one gulp. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Do something fun. Relax. Then we can talk about furthering our plan.”

  “What are you going to do?” Anne asked.

  “Visit our most precious subjects. Kristof is showing some very, very interesting spikes.” Anne couldn’t meet his eyes. As Globe strode confidently back to the elevator, Anne looked away.

  Crimson Reverie

  Detective Massey hit the brakes on his patrol car two blocks before his house.

  “Why we stoppin’ here?” Joaquin asked, frowning in clear confusion. We need to be doin’ things, he thought.

  Massey squinted when he checked the rear-view mirror. He sighed. “I need you to kindly do me a favor.”

  Joaquin raised his eyebrows.

  “An officer from the precinct, Betty Patterson, will come by the house soon.”

  Joaquin allowed a lighthearted grin. “You playa! I knew you wasn’t all just rules and shit.”

  Massey rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that.” He sighed, the tiring events of the last few days evident on his face. “I need you to stay put there and take the file she gives you. Then I need you to take it straight to Andy.”

  Joaquin let his eyes lose focus for a moment while Massey’s words sunk in.

  Massey turned in his seat, his seatbelt digging into his tense shoulder. “Can you do that for me?” He allowed his worry into his words, trapping Joaquin in a place where he couldn’t do wrong. Joaquin flinched at the nearness and intensity filling the eyes of the old detective.

  “What file?” Joaquin asked in a melodramatic raspy voice.

  “The Miles Jensen case.”

  Joaquin mouthed, “Oh shit,” turned, and stared out the window.

  Joaquin could hear Massey lick his dry lips. “I need you on this Joaquin. I have somewhere else to be.”

  Joaquin twisted in the seat. “Lookin’ for Anne, right?” He shrugged and pursed his lips. “I can help.”

  Massey turned to him. “You’ll help by doing this. It’s extremely important that Andy gets the file today. This is our only leverage against Globe.”

  Joaquin thought on it, puckering his lips. He could see sweat beads forming on Massey’s forehead. He felt the way Massey’s eyes didn’t blink as they bore into him. The last part of Massey’s argument was like a punch to the gut. Joaquin relaxed into the seat and he nodded. “A’ight, I’ll go.”

  Massey seemed to deflate; his back no longer rigid and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Do you remember where Andy lives?” he asked Joaquin, his eyes returning to the rear-view mirror again.

  Joaquin looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “I used to rob houses you know. Remembering addresses and shit is kinda my thing.”

  Massey sighed. He stuck his finger between his collar and neck. It was getting uncomfortably warm inside the cruiser. Massey squinted at the bright sun as a reflection shone through the windshield and highlighted his craggy facial features. Joaquin noted the stubble in the new light.

  “You make sure no one follows you when you leave the house. I don’t believe they’re watching it, not yet, but they may have tapped my phone.” Massey returned his stare to Joaquin. “No calls until I get a burner. You wait for me to call you.”

  “Why would someone be following you?”

  Massey bit into his lower lip. “Things are complicated. Some people don’t want me nosing around the case, but I can take the heat. I’m still the lead detective.” He paused. “You on the other hand... I can’t have you jeopardized as well. I need you to be smart about this, Joaquin.”

  Joaquin allowed his face to cloud over. “You know I can deal with them if I need to. I can protect you, man.”

  “No!” Massey shouted, then he cleared his throat, lowering his voice back down. “You make sure Andy gets the file. Keep your head cool, keep your voice down and don’t go all gangsta on anyone suspicious-looking. Mind your own business—just this once. I’ll find Anne.”

  Protesting against Massey’s commands was a mind bomb. It was like hitting his head against a concrete wall. Joaquin was headstrong and impervious of skin, but even his patience was fragile, and against Massey it was a lost cause from the start. He climbed out of the cruiser and made his way to the detective’s house from the back alley. Joaquin’s eyes shifted back and forth watching the street, Massey’s house, and neighboring buildings. Just like back in the day, he thought.

  Joaquin was mad at Massey for going after Anne alone. Massey assured him that Anne wasn’t going to hurt him, given their truce and common enemy, but Joaquin didn’t trust the woman—not after he’d seen her handiwork in the warehouse. He shuddered when he closed his eyes and saw her covered in blood and waving around her red hand-cannon. He remembered her lips pulled back and her teeth bared as she grinned at the chaos.

  She was dangerous and of the oldest bloodline on Earth. Massey was just a man. A crotchety old curmudgeon, but still just a mortal man. Joaquin knew that Massey wouldn’t fire his gun at her even if she were coming at him with vengeful fury in her eyes. He didn’t think Massey had ever seen Anne’s fury. Joaquin had, and he never wanted to see it again.

  Anne had a certain appeal. It wasn’t just her unbridled sexual energy. It wasn’t her shapely curves. It wasn’t the perfect symmetry of her face. It was her eyes. Her eyes could bore into a man. It was as if she could look into your soul and see the real you. She could see the ugliness inside. He didn’t know if that ugliness was what made her so beautiful. She had it too, and it was that ugliness that had gotten all his friends killed. He remembered the Sixth Street Kings scattered around the warehouse like discarded toys lying in pools of blood as red as her dress. As red as her beautiful lips.

  Joaquin blinked once, twice, thrice, and shook himself from his crimson reverie. He sighed and sank into Massey’s old leather recliner. His eyes focused on the front door, awaiting a knock from Massey’s female cop friend.

  Anne took a cab instead of her personal car. She didn’t think Globe would put a tracking device on it, but she had to be
smart, and this was smarter. Where she was going and with whom she was meeting wasn’t any of Globe’s business.

  The taxi dropped her off downtown in a familiar neighborhood. The first floor of every building was boarded up and the street corner she stood on collected hungry eyes, lifeless eyes, that ogled her top to bottom. She paid them no mind. If she had to make an example out of one of the apartment denizens, then so be it. Her dealer’s residence was in the dingy apartment complex across the street; the brown brick façade had attracted wealthy tenets at one time, but now the brick was covered in spray-paint, newspaper, and other stuff she didn’t want to think about. Anne crossed the street, avoiding any eye contact. She wasn’t in the mood for murder, but if some oddball crack-head tried anything she was going to bite back.

  The gangsters guarding the front door knew her—and knew to be quick to move out of her way. No need to go in guns blazing. They were a part of the Seven Sons North crew Anne was dealing with. They procured supplies that only her cash could purchase. Anne ascended two flights of stairs and rounded into a corridor blasting loud hip-hop music.

  The young gangbanger hanging by the black-painted door at the end of the corridor moved aside to let her through. He didn’t miss the chance to lick his lips at Anne.

  How cute, Anne thought. She caressed his biceps with her long-nailed fingers. The gangster’s smile faded from his face. Oh, he can feel the danger. Anne smirked, fluttered her eyelashes, blew him a kiss and stepped through the door.

  The whole place reeked of weed but Anne doubted the thick fumes floating in the living room would give her enough of a high for a fun time. She inhaled deeply, nonetheless. The apartment was packed with the crew; two heavy-muscled goons worked their jaws when she maneuvered around them, their grip on their semi-automatics tight. The gangsters watched her back warily, the sight of her more entertaining than the perky whores sprawled on the sofa. That was, until their fear overrode their desire.

  Leroy and his inner circle were in the kitchen counting cash and measuring LSD-filled bags on a counter. When Leroy saw her he forced a wide smile. Anne took measure of him as always, all sharp suit and clever manners.

  “Anne, always a pleasure to my eyes. I would’ve appreciated a call before your visit, but hell, I just can’t be angry with you.”

  He got up and planted a kiss on the back of her outstretched hand.

  “Leroy. I see you’re keeping busy.” Anne nodded and arched an eyebrow toward the black duffel bags filled with guns. She smiled at the firepower piled in there.

  “Distribution business is going good, it’s solid. With these super-powered motherfuckers jumpin’ through walls an’ shit, people call out for our protection.”

  Leroy leaned in, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by his personal security, who slid off the stool and propped himself against the kitchen counter, watching them.

  “You hear Lil’ Cee’s crew got massacred? Shit’s fuckin’ scary. The kid was a lunatic but he held up his end of the deal real good.”

  Anne allowed herself a smirk, though adrenaline surged below the surface of her cool skin. She remembered wiping Lil’ Cee and his crew’s blood from her hands and face. After she dispatched Lil’ Cee’s crew, and they’d returned to her hotel room, Justin had shook his head, staring at her naked form longingly. His notable arousal by her savagery made her feel like she could live in that moment once again. The smirk was erased from her face, the memory of her lover’s death only days later too fresh to be ignored.

  “Yeah, saw it on the news. Nasty business. I also heard you took over their streets— running guns there too.”

  Leroy backed out of her personal space. He poured two shots and offered one to Anne. She toyed with the rim of the plastic cup for a moment before tossing the warm liquid down her dry throat. The container may have been incorrect, but it was what was inside the cups that mattered.

  “We’re fighting to keep a strong hand on the new turf. Others want those streets, too. I like to make a statement, keep them breathless.” Leroy nodded toward the guns.

  “No doubt you do. You’re the OG, Leroy. You keep them bloodied and busy.”

  Leroy laughed. “You know it! What can I get you? The usual?”

  Anne nodded.

  Leroy went to the bedroom and soon came back with a paper bag filled with burners. “Take your pick.”

  Anne rummaged through the purloined electronics and pulled out two phones.

  “You’re staying busy too, I can see that. I respect that.” Leroy paused and locked eyes with Anne. “Though your business seems way shadier than mine,” Leroy added.

  Anne winked at him with long lashes. “A girl’s gotta protect her own. And what girl doesn’t love keeping secrets?”

  “You need any guns too, sweetheart? All numbers wiped, untraceable. I got Glocks, Smith & Wesson. Nine mil just for your hand size.”

  Anne paid him handsomely, just as he liked and expected from her. “I pack my own, baby.” She patted her handbag. “I’ll see you around, Leroy.”

  “Miss Anne,” Leroy bowed and kissed her outstretched palm again. “I look forward to your next visit.” He straightened. “Please let me know in advance, though.”

  Outside, Anne waved at another cab. Two or three ignored her hail. It wasn’t until she stepped out into the street and blocked one that she got her ride. Once she was inside, after the stream of profanity from the driver, she gave her destination address. As the cab accelerated, she pulled one of the prepaid phones from her purse and dialed.

  “Detective Massey speaking.”

  “Meet me at 483 Eastlake Avenue East in thirty minutes.”

  “Anne? Where...”

  “Not now. Thirty minutes. Eastlake Avenue.”

  Massey threw his phone on the passenger seat. His cruiser growled when he changed lanes and direction. He triggered his lights and the siren cleared a path for him.

  Meet me at 483 Eastlake Ave East in 30 minutes.

  This is too easy, he thought. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since Anne called him and offered a truce. Even then she hadn’t been certain of when or how. She was always cautious. Then, overnight, the Madison Massacre happened. Anne had been silent about it, but now she voiced urgency through an untraceable number. She wanted a quick meeting, no questions asked. Massey could tell that something significant had happened; something had stirred loud and scary enough to drive Anne to this meeting. That something was prone to be bad.

  By the time Massey pulled over at the given address, it was nearing dusk. Old bones groaning, he sat on the tight seat of the black cruiser. The sky was an angry purple, a raw bruise spreading over the city. Massey put a calloused hand over his heart. This madness would be the death of him. He thought about Denisha. His baby girl was always busy these days; catching her voice on the phone had become as much a rarity as seeing her. To protect Joaquin, Frank had made personal sacrifices. He hoped they wouldn’t blow back on him.

  The I-5 express running above rattled with the dull rhythm of rasping car engines speeding by as Massey crossed the street. His eyes frantically scanned for Anne, but the street was empty. Gray buildings erected shoulder to shoulder glared with empty windows. “Rental” and “Available” signs decorated their corners. The dust and smudges on the glass told him they were long forgotten, just like the other half of the avenue’s length. The posters glued crookedly to the lampposts were dated last March. The neighborhood reeked with ostentatious poverty. To Frank’s surprise, huddled beside a shut-down bar, Bud Light sticker still crowning its entrance and a garage, was a second-hand clothes store. Pale mannequins stared at him, armless and headless through the frame. A bird feeder hung from a cast iron pole. Massey drummed his fingers on his holster as he approached the door. He clicked the gun free from the leather strap and wrapped his hand around the grip, but kept it out of view.

  “Are you going to shoot the mannequins?”

  He spun toward the voice, and had his weapon out.

  Ann
e took stock of it. “You need to reload, cowboy.”

  When Massey lowered his weapon, she moved around him, took out a keychain and after fiddling with the chains and metal, she stuck it in the keyhole. The door swung wide open. The small space was crowded sheet-covered salon chairs. An unattached sink was placed on the tiled floor, and beside it, a large mirror stood propped, reflecting whatever radiance touched its surface.

  “Do you own this place?” Massey asked, stepping over mannequin hands as he followed Anne inside. “And what’s with the plastic?” He nudged a sprawled mannequin.

  “No.” Anne smiled brazenly at him and showed him her keychain. To Massey’s surprise it didn’t hold keys at all, but all the necessary tools for lock picking. Anne gave him a smug smile. “I get myself where I need to be. I eyed this place earlier. I guess the owners needed some vigilance. Dead eyes can create the illusion of watching you. I prefer that to having actual eyes and ears here. I need to speak to you unadulterated.”

  Massey nodded. The naked dummies blocked most of the view from outside, hiding the duo behind their perfect skinny bodies. He turned to her with a cheeky smile. “You do know I can arrest you for this?”

  Anne threw her head back and laughed—a genuinely beautiful and scary sound. “I believe we’re past our cat and mouse days, Frank. We don’t chase each other anymore; we chase others. Bigger and badder cats.”

  “Jacob Globe.”

  Anne dusted off the makeshift counter with her finger. “The one and only.”

  Massey leaned against the counter, watching as the shadows in the store deepened when Anne moved through them. She seemed at home in the dark whereas he could feel the hairs on his neck stand at attention. His mind reached for his gun, but his hands stood perfectly still, matching his countenance. “You told me you want him out of the game, that he’s concocting some kind of monstrosity, requiring my help to stop. Why should I trust you?”