Life is for the Living

by S. C. Stokes

  Cyrus followed the other guests but began surveying the room, searching for an opening.

  Kasey had never seen someone so calm under pressure. He scanned the clustered guests. Glancing down, Kasey caught a glimpse of his right hand. It had three fingers extended. As he began to raise his head, Kasey watched the fourth finger extend.

  He’s counting something, but what?

  Cyrus smoothed his suit. Kasey felt something hard beneath the suit. From its position, she guessed there was a gun holster under his arm.

  Clearly, the head of the ADI was looking for an opportunity to make his presence felt. Many of the security personnel in the room were doing the same. Unfortunately for them, they were outgunned, and they knew it.

  While numbers were not in the thieves’ favor, firepower was. If security drew their weapons, people would die, most of them innocent. The best they could hope for was for the robbery to end without bloodshed.

  Kasey cringed as the exchange between Shakespeare and the aging patron unfolded yet again. Shakespeare’s voice was firm, “The ring too, ma’am."

  This time she knew exactly what was coming.

  Mrs. Cardston firmly rebuffed the thief’s demands. Once more, Stanley interceded. This time, Kasey could see his subtle footwork ensuring the thief could not see his left hand as it edged around to his holster.

  Fortunately, when Stanley reached for his gun, Cyrus looked away. A movement to his left had drawn his attention. The thieves at the back door were huddled in conversation. Kasey was glad for the distraction. Some things didn’t need to be seen twice.

  One of the guests screamed as Stanley’s gun bucked loudly.

  The room erupted into chaos as guests ran in every direction.

  Cyrus crouched. Staying low, he ran to the tables. As he flipped the nearest one on its end, plates and glasses fell to the floor and shattered. The upturned table provided some semblance of cover.

  More gunshots echoed around the hall as the submachine guns roared to life. Bullets raced across the chamber, sending fountains of icicles blasting from the ornate sculpture as they struck home.

  Cyrus turned and risked a look over the edge of the table. From his viewpoint, Kasey could see several of the thieves had already fallen, as had several of the patrons.

  Crouching back down, Cyrus reached for his gun. A pair of legs halted directly in front of him, Cyrus stopped and looked up.

  A waiter stood over him. The man was in his thirties, slim but fit. His skin was a deep olive complexion. He was of Mediterranean descent, clean-shaven but for a small goatee. In spite of the chaos, he was still clutching one of the silver serving trays with a lid.

  To Kasey's surprise, the waiter threw off the lid and drew from the tray a pistol. He raised the weapon and pointed it directly at Cyrus.

  Kasey tried to move but could not. She was trapped inside Cyrus body.

  Without hesitation, the waiter drew a bead on Cyrus and fired.

  Kasey felt the shooting pains in her chest as the bullets sank home. Fortunately, the mist descended, and the vision came to an end.

  With the vision cleared, Kasey found herself in the exhibition hall still crouched over Cyrus's body. Her heart was pounding a million miles an hour. A chilled sweat ran down her face from the execution she had just witnessed.

  This time she knew it was no accident.

  Cyrus had been murdered.

  Kasey stood up but almost passed out as her blood circulation returned to normal. Taking a moment to steady herself, she searched the room, looking for any sign of the waiter. In her mind's eye, she could see the young man with the olive complexion. He had been an unassuming bystander until he’d pulled his gun.

  No one had noticed the cold-blooded killing in the midst of the chaos. With bullets racing all around them, everyone else had been too concerned for their own safety. Kasey included. She felt a pang of guilt, despite knowing there was nothing she could have done for Cyrus.

  She searched those still in the room. Among the patrons and waitstaff she could see, there was no one who fit her vision of the killer.

  "What is it, Kasey?" Arthur asked. “What's wrong?”

  "Yeah, Kasey, you look as white as a ghost," John added, sounding a little concerned. Her former tormentor-turned-date stood beside her.

  Kasey didn't want to give away her gift. The Ainsleys may have known she was a witch, but her visions were her own and she planned to keep it that way. Nevertheless, their questions demanded answers, and she scrambled to find a suitable response.

  "I don't know,” Kasey replied. "In the chaos, I thought I saw someone else take a shot at Cyrus. I can't be sure, but I don't believe he was shot by the thieves. As strange as it sounds, I think one of the waiters killed him. If that’s true, it means someone else in this room knew who he was and had an axe to grind with the ADI."

  “Come now, Kasey. A waiter? That’s absurd,” Arthur said, raising his hand for silence.

  “I know what I saw!” Kasey protested vehemently. “There was at least one other shooter here, maybe more.”

  “Perhaps he was an inside man,” John suggested. “These sorts of robberies don't happen on their own.”

  "Perhaps,” Kasey admitted.

  Her vision had seemed far more like an execution than random happenstance, though. Likewise, there were no other bodies near Cyrus. If the waiter were truly working with the thieves, she would have expected there to be more bodies.

  She was determined to find out where the waiter had disappeared to. He would have the answers she sought.

  "John, can you look after those remaining here? I'm just going to duck out and check on those who are waiting outside. I want to make sure we don't have any other injuries.

  John nodded. "Sure, go ahead. I've got things in here."

  Kasey made her way across the exhibition hall. Shards of broken timber and glass were strewn across the room, results from the earlier gunfight. She took care to avoid the worst of it. For a moment, she regretted her lost heels. They lay somewhere in the debris.

  She passed through the same door she had entered only a half-hour earlier. It seemed like an eternity ago now.

  The exhibition was in ruin but there was no time for her to dwell on that now. She entered the hallway to find patrons everywhere.

  Some were sitting, others standing. A few patrons lounged on benches scattered around the nearby sculpture exhibit. A steady stream of guests made their way toward the museum’s rear entrance and the safety of Central Park.

  Kasey was glad that at least a few of them were following instructions. She worried that the waiter may have already slipped out of the museum, though.

  On her left, a group of waitstaff were congregating. At first glance, there were at least a dozen men and women in matching black pants and white shirts. Each of the men wore a black bow tie and cummerbund. The women wore black vests.

  Under the guise of giving medical attention, Kasey approached them. "Are all of you okay?

  Most of the staff nodded or gave affirmative responses.

  One of them looked at Kasey and replied, "A few cuts and scrapes but nothing major here. Those still in the hall seem to have caught the worst of it. We’re lucky to be alive.”

  One of the other men raised his hand in protest. “Lucky? If that idiot hadn’t fired his weapon, maybe everyone would still be alive.”

  “Oh, shut up, Phil. We can’t know that for sure. You’re always so quick to blame everyone else.”

  “That’s not true—” Phil began but Kasey cut him off.

  "That’s enough. We don’t have time for this. The police will be here to take your statements soon. You can share your opinions then. In the meantime, we are trying to do a head count and see if anyone is missing.”

  Kasey surveyed the staff around her. None of them were a match for the man she had seen in her vision.

  Frustrated, she pressed them for details. "Is this your full staff tonight?”

  Phil replied, "We’re st
ill missing a few, two, maybe three.”

  “Any idea where they are?” Kasey asked.

  “They might still be in the hall,” the man replied. “They were nearest the entrance when the shooting started. I saw Tony go down. I don’t know if he was hit or just avoiding the shooting. Janelle was with him. They haven’t made it out yet.”

  Neither of them sounded like the man Kasey was hunting. He had been in the thick of things in the hall, hovering close to Cyrus waiting to strike.

  “You said there were three missing?”

  Phil shrugged. “There’s Ben but I haven't seen him since the shooting started. Come to think about it, I haven't seen much of him at all tonight. It’s possible he’s slacking off somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s a chance he wasn’t even in the room when the attack happened.”

  Kasey seized at the possibility. “This Ben, what does he look like?”

  Phil paused for a moment. “He’s young, about your age. He looks like he’s spent a lot of time in the sun, has a funny little goatee. It’s a little pretentious."

  Kasey clenched her fist in victory. Ben was the man she had seen in her vision.

  "Has anyone seen him since the robbery?” she asked.

  "Mmm," a woman to Kasey's left began.

  "What?” Kasey turned toward the woman, her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat bun. “Have you seen him?”

  The woman was shaking.

  "I saw him head down the hall over there.” She pointed down the dark corridor that ran from the central exhibition hall.

  “I think he may have been looking for a bathroom or something. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Without a second thought, Kasey took off down the hall.

  At times, her visions were difficult to interpret, but the cold-blooded execution of Cyrus was impossible to misunderstand.

  Ben had pulled the trigger, and Kasey wanted to know why.

  Killing Cyrus in the middle of the robbery was a bizarre choice. There had been potential witnesses everywhere. Had it been a crime of opportunity, or something else?

  There was no doubt Ben had chosen Cyrus deliberately. Of the hundreds of guests in the room, there were other targets with a far higher profile. Movie stars, billionaires, and politicians. Few would have any idea who Cyrus even was.

  The waiter had wanted Cyrus dead, that much was clear. To make an attempt on the life of the head of the ADI in a room full of New York's elite made no sense whatsoever.

  She ran down the corridor only to find herself in another large exhibition chamber filled with relics and treasures from Africa.

  Dozens of priceless artifacts were on display. Kasey scanned the dark theater, looking for the missing waiter.

  Out of the darkness, footsteps shuffled behind her.

  She whirled around and came face-to-face with Ben.

  Ben’s eyes brows were narrowed in confusion. It was almost as if he had expected someone else. He recovered quickly.

  Her heart raced as Ben adjusted the napkin resting over his right hand. Concealed beneath it was the same pistol Kasey had seen earlier. It was pointed at her chest.

  Kasey was rooted to the spot. She felt as helpless as she had in her vision.

  "Sorry, dear, you're just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said.

  Kasey's heart stopped altogether as she watched Ben pull the trigger.

  Chapter Eight

  Kasey closed her eyes. The killer had caught her flat footed, and she didn't want to see what was coming.

  It was surreal. She heard the gunshot ring out as she felt the breath torn from her chest where the bullet slammed into her. The impact of the shot threw her off her feet.

  Her ears were ringing from the gunshot. As the ringing faded, she heard his hurried footsteps as he fled down the darkened corridor, leaving her alone.

  She couldn't breathe. Her chest was on fire. She lay there in the darkness waiting for the end to come, but it didn’t.

  After what seemed an eternity, her breath returned. Confused, Kasey raised her hand to her chest, searching for the wound.

  She found nothing. She sat up and opened her eyes.

  "Ow." She winced as the pain returned to her chest. Still, there was no sign of a gunshot. "There should be blood everywhere," she muttered as she checked her stomach and thighs.

  There wasn't a drop of blood to be found anywhere.

  She struggled to her feet. As she straightened to her full height, something fell on her foot. Bending down, she found a small lump of steel. It had rolled out the folds of her dress and landed on her toe. She picked it up, it was still warm.

  "What the hell?" she muttered.

  She realized it was the bullet from the waiter's gun. It had all the indicators of a bullet that had struck a solid surface.

  As she wondered what had happened, Ernesto's voice came flooding back into her mind. "I picked that particular number not only because I thought you’d look fabulous in it, which you do, but I thought you might find it’s other properties particularly useful given your track record."

  "Ernesto, you sly dog, I could kiss you," Kasey said to the empty hall. The shimmering silver dress Ernesto had sold her was bulletproof. Once again, Ernesto's foresight had saved her life. She smiled down at the dress. "Worth every penny."

  Spinning around she searched for the waiter, but there was no sign of him. He was well and truly gone.

  The sirens were closer now. From the sound of their piercing wail, they were just outside the museum. Had the Khan been apprehended trying to flee the scene?

  Dusting herself off, Kasey hurried back to the European Sculpture exhibit to find it bustling with police and paramedics.

  As expected, their response time had been blisteringly quick. Whether it was a call from within the museum, or the gunshots being overheard by the surging mass of paparazzi outside, someone had called 9-1-1.

  Seeing things well in hand in the exhibit, Kasey made her way back to the central hall to check if she could help in anyway there.

  Apart from the waiter’s attempt to kill her, Kasey hadn't heard any other gunshots. The police would have locked the museum down and were now dealing with the aftermath of the bungled robbery.

  It was madness, Kasey thought to herself. To hit the museum during the biggest event of the year. The attack was so brazen, it defied belief.

  She entered the central exhibition hall. The earlier winter wonderland was no more. The room looked like a cyclone had struck it. Glass from a shattered chandelier littered the floor. The remnants of the broken fixture lay in a heap. Upturned tables lined the edge of the floor, the makeshift barricade that had saved countless lives.

  The room was in disarray and a somber mood had settled over the hall like a storm cloud, displacing the room's earlier festive atmosphere.

  Kasey tiptoed across the exhibition hall, trying to avoid the sea of broken glass. She'd only made it a few paces when she heard a voice to her right calling to her.

  "You alright, ma’am?"

  Turning, Kasey found herself looking at the familiar face of Officer Henley. Officer Henley was a rookie at the Ninth Precinct, Kasey's station. She had only just finished working a case with him and his partner.

  "Henley, good to see you,”

  "Kasey, what are you doing here?” Henley interrupted. “Word around the station is that you were taking some time off. I heard you had a rough night last night." After glancing around the hall, he continued. “Tonight doesn’t seem to have gone any better. Trouble seems to follow you around, Chase. Remind me never to invite you to my place."

  Kasey smiled despite the circumstances. “Easy, Henley, this had nothing to do with me. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  "Story of your life, huh? Have you seen Bishop yet?"

  Kasey shook her head. “No, I haven’t. Is she here?"

  "She sure is. Most of the precinct is for that matter. Even the chief."

  "The chief? What’s he
doing here?"

  "Mass shooting in the middle of New York City. Everyone is here, Kasey. In fact, half the cops in the city are here, or on their way. So are the paramedics, the fire department, and the bomb squad. Not to mention the press."

  “Ah, the press.” Kasey sighed.

  “Someone must have tipped them off. They’re flocking like vultures outside the cordon.”

  Kasey nodded. She should have expected that much. The gala was a disaster zone. With the number of celebrities present for the event, the morning news would feature little else.

  "Where is the chief?” Kasey asked. “I need to speak to him.”

  “He’s over there with the mayor.” Henley pointed toward the door.

  Chief West stood in the opening, locked in a hurried conversation with a squat, bespectacled man in his sixties.

  The chief looked somber, but that was to be expected. This robbery-turned-tragedy would add to his already heavy workload. The attack would bring with it pressure from the families of the fallen victims. Being thrust in front of the world's press would add to the already considerable stress of his office.

  “Henley, one more question,” Kasey said. “Did you pick up anyone trying to leave the building?”

  “Only some guests,” Henley replied. “Why?”

  “Two of the thieves fled on foot. I was hoping that they would have been picked up by the cordon.”

  Henley shook his head. “No such luck, Chase. It’s chaos out there. We didn’t even know that thieves made it out. I’ll put the word out now, though. We’ll see what we can do. Do you have any descriptions that we can work with? I’ll put out an APB.”

  “Not much that will help. They are both dressed head to toe in black, with MP5’s and a suicide vest. The leader was wearing a mask that made him look like Genghis Khan. I'm sure they will have ditched them by now, though.”

  “You’re right, Chase. It’s not much to go on. But I'll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Henley, I'm off to see the chief. If you see Bishop, tell her I'm looking for her.”

  “Will do,” Henley replied as he headed down the hall to spread the word of the fleeing thieves.