Mark of the Two-Edged Sword

by K A Bryant

  "Did he get a good look?"

  "No. Too scared to look. The doorman just told me. He's from England, nice guy, just scared. I call him Sir Edward."

  Things are adding up quickly and the Captain knows it. What happened at work? Why tonight? Why here? If this was from Harvard's dealings, there's a million discreet ways to do this unless it's a message. I need to get to Harvard. His dealings are international but he kept his daughter local. Let's see if the Captain makes the right call. This is his wheel house. He does. The Captain calls his deputy over and slips him the security video disk.

  "First, get this to the lab. Tell them I need it stat. I need an identification on that face before Harvard’s men can get one. If they get to this guy before we do, we'll probably never find his body. Second, we need to get Sir Edward out of here and fast. Take an officer with you. He doesn't leave your sight until this is over. Harvard won't take kindly to knowing that his first line of defence that could have stopped his daughter’s murderer is still living."

  I couldn't have done better myself. He continues speaking into his deputy’s ear. "Use your car and get that bleeding red doorman's coat off of him. Use the kitchen exit."

  I am impressed.

  "Take him to the station?" his deputy asks.

  "No. Harvard has pull with the Mayor, we don't know where else he's got eyes. You know where to take him. I'll check out the Diner she worked at and see if there's anything there," says the Captain.

  I love this guy.

  "Right. I'm on it."

  With the Captain wanting to go to the Diner, I go to the elevator and press the Penthouse button. A panel slides open and a thumb print screen and glass code pad appear.

  "I need to talk to Harvard."

  "He's in residence. I've got to follow this lead to the Diner."

  "I don't need you to hold my hand. I just need an intro to get past that." I gesture to the keypad at the elevator.

  He smiles and takes out his phone just as a black windowless van reverses behind the taxi. The doors open and a team dressed in black cold weather suits emerges with suitcase kits.

  Four of them covered in disposable coverings. Their shoes and hair covered, and surgical gloves on their hands. The leader steps out of the passenger seat wearing an expensive leather overcoat, leather gloves. He stands waiting for his go-ahead. Harvard’s team leader nods the go-ahead then moves into the perimeter and boldly says "Excuse me" to replace the police forensic team and foot officers that are at the crime scene.

  "Hey! Who do you think you are?" says a N.Y.P.D. Police Officer, pushing the guy back.

  A rumble of disagreements erupt into a shoving squall between the Police and Harvard’s men. The elevator arrives and I step in, leaving all the noise of the lobby behind. I take off the coat and hang it over my arm.

  The elevator doors open and opulence meets me at the hall. I am not taken aback by his marble floors and fine paintings. He has his hand so far in the drug money cookie jar you can barely see his elbow.

  Tonight, he is a grieving father and I will treat him as such, unless he is a goose. He seems genuinely distraught, but more so, angry. His wife, the woman on the balcony, seems on the border of insanity. My gut tells me she was there before the daughter was killed. He didn't expect me either. I think he doesn't like my presence, perhaps afraid of the light this shines on his dark dealings overseas. He eyed me from top to bottom and knows I am C.I.A.

  The murder isn't my concern. Who did he piss off to get his daughter killed and how may that impact the U.S.? That's my concern. He is issuing a statement to someone.

  'My daughter's a saint, no enemies', the usual. He wants to get to her killer first, I can feel it. His head team leader, the guy in black that went toe to toe with the Police Captain, comes out of the elevator and walks right up to Harvard. The Detective taking Harvard’s statement immediately stops speaking and steps aside. The man in black says what any father who just found out his baby girl was murdered would want to hear.

  "I got him. We identified him."

  He opens his mouth to speak further but Harvard puts his hand up, stopping him, and looks directly at me.

  "Who are you?"

  "Jason. I am here to assist you in any way I can, Mr. Harvard. Sincerely sorry for your loss."

  It diffused him.

  "Thank you." he says. His floor length breasted robe just brushes the tops of his monogrammed velor bedroom slippers with leather bottoms. His hair is freshly cut. I can tell by the sharpened edges of his taper behind his neck and the manicure is new as well. He stills smells of aftershave so he must have just gotten home or freshened himself for the evening.

  "Please, don't let me interrupt."

  I step backward and clasp my hands behind my back, turning away from him and his man in black. In actuality, I am turning my ear toward them and offering the illusion of privacy by looking as if I am not paying attention to them. I need to hear who the murderer is. Sure enough, the man in black continues to speak to him. Nothing of substance. I walk over to his wife. She looks drugged.

  "Madam, My name is Jason, I am with the C.I.A. and I want you to know I will do everything I-"

  "GET OUT! No more, Steven! No more people. Tell Lizzy it's time for dinner. See, I made her favorite."

  I step backward, surprised at her dazed outburst. She looked so calm.

  "Hey, it's okay, dear... shh, it's okay. Jason, what did you say to her? I think you should go."

  I hold my hands up showing my palms out of respect and leave. Downstairs in the lobby an officer is speaking on a cell phone. He is looking around and then sees me.

  "Yeah, I got him. He's here." He hands me the cell phone. "Are you Jason?"

  "Yes."

  "Captain wants to speak with you."

  I take the phone and begin trying to put the N.Y.P.D. coat on. With my left arm.

  "Jason. Listen, less than ten minutes before the shooting, there was a taxi fare hopper that ran from the West Central Park entrance toward the building. Park surveillance shows him heading toward the Harvard building. The video in the park of this guy match up. The guy in the park is the guy standing under the light pole. Guess where the cab picked him up?"

  "Where?"

  I stop juggling the jacket onto my shoulder.

  "The Diner Elizabeth Harvard worked at. I just spoke with the owner. He didn't want to say anything but she had an argument at work with him, tonight. Wasn't the first either. Hostess told Elizabeth was bragging about how she got him fired. She left happy, he left angry... in a taxi. That's motive."

  "You buy it?"

  "Buy it? It's clean cut."

  "Solved before the New Year. You get a gold medal."

  "What are you trying to say? Keep that up and you’re out of the loop."

  "Captain, I'm saying it's too easy. I'm no homicide detective-"

  "That's right, you're not."

  I can hear him honking his car horn trying to move the traffic.

  "-but just think about it. Why hop a cab, draw heat to yourself and then kill someone in front of a camera and doorman? Even an idiot murderer wouldn't do that without a death wish."

  "Maybe he's got one."

  "Maybe he's not our guy."

  "Think what you want. I've got a home address on the suspect and I'm on route now. An accident. Great."

  "Alright, who is this amazing murderer?"

  "A twenty-four year old drunk as I hear it. Bus Boy Caleb. Caleb Promise."

  I feel the coat slip from my shoulder. I think my heart just stopped.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jason Jones

  I take a deep breath and my wheels are spinning. My suit jacket flapping in the wind behind me, I race back to the S.U.V. Fernando sees my facial expression in as I approach the vehicle. The sun is starting to rise. He stops tapping on the steering wheel and turns the radio off.

  I open the trunk, pull a new burner cell phone out of my duffel bag. I hand dial the number. No answer.

&nb
sp; "Call me."

  I hang up, run back into the lobby and grab the N.Y.P.D. jacket off of the floor and race back to the S.U.V.

  "Where to?" Fernando asks me.

  "Across town. Fastest route?"

  Fernando looks at the traffic satellite device attached to the vehicle.

  "Traffic's a mess in that direction. Grid lock from multiple accidents. Probably from the storm."

  "Get me as close as you can."

  I pull my seatbelt. My hand sanitizer is almost empty. So quickly. I just bought that bottle. I thought that she would call, shall I say, I hoped she would call. My personal cell phone shows no missed calls. There must be someone else in her life. I never pictured her alone for long and I guess I deserve it. The way she found out.

  It was very public although we were in our own kitchen. Nothing is private when you endeavor to be a C.I.A. agent. Your home is littered with audio surveillance, probably even video and every action is questioned. I was deluding myself into believing that added the strain to our relationship. It wasn't. I added the strain. Sleeping in my office for convenience left her alone night after night. My therapist said I was engulfing myself in cases instead of her.

  The vehicle stops. I look at my watch.

  "We're going to be here a while, Sir."

  I see a line of vehicles and taxis with brake lights lit. There's no time. I turn the N.Y.P.D. jacket inside out, put it on and get out of the vehicle. Fernando turns around and throws his hands up.

  The wind hit me right in the face but decreases as I descend the steps of the subway opening humming the song in my head.

  I glance at the train map behind a glass display, tap it and run to catch the train I hear rumbling into the station. The ride is swift and I exit the train with three other men. Slowly, I ascend the stairwell walking backwards, rubbing hand sanitizer into my hands. As soon as I reach the step that I can see the next subway station opening, I see the man who rode the train with me pulling the Police Captain with his left hand and pointing down the subway steps with the other. I can hear him speaking to the Captain.

  "She's down here. She said she's gonna jump. Throw herself on the train tracks. Something about he cheated on her... I don't know."

  The Captain keeps looking at the cheap hotel across the street with the Vacancy sign blinking. Finally, he goes down the steps. I run into the building. My heart is pounding. 'OUT OF ORDER' on the elevator. I pull out my cell phone while running up the steps trying not to touch anything. Still no answer.

  I reach the hallway. From the window at the end of the hall, I can see the Captain coming out of the subway opening. Which room? I can hear the Captain yelling downstairs. He lost it again.

  "I want a team in the rear and one in the alley," the Captain yells. His voice carries up the stairwell.

  "Caleb's room, now," the Captain asks.

  "Caleb who?" says the desk clerk.

  "The Caleb that's going to get you arrested for obstruction if you don't tell me where he is. Want me to come back there?" the Captain says, gesturing to the desk.

  "302. But he's not there. Evicted yesterday. Ain't been back since."

  I can hear the Captain's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I didn't see her at first. There is a prostitute sitting in the hall. She bumps the wall twice with her elbow. Why would she do that unless she's warning someone? But her eyes are glued to the room in front of her. That's the one.

  I turn the N.Y.P.D. jacket to its right side showing the emblems and the police radio on the shoulder. She rolls her eyes. I put my fingers on my lips for her to be quiet and point her down the stairwell. The Captain’s steps are loud. He is almost here. I put my ear to the door and hear the shower running. I turn the knob. The door opens. I step inside. The room is empty, but the bathroom door is cracked with steam pouring out.

  Captain rushes into the room behind me before I can go into the bathroom. He's surprised to see me but goes straight to the bathroom, disappearing into the steam.

  A brown leather jacket is thrown across the top of the chair. I hear the shower curtain hard. I look calm but my heart is in my throat.

  The Captain emerges alone.

  "He's still here! Lock it down."

  The officers pound on every door. The Captain holsters his weapon and uses a pen to pull open the drawers. He looks at the brown leather jacket thrown over the chair and smiles, nodding his head.

  "Still think I was jumping to conclusions?" the Captain asks me. I'll let him gloat. Then, a funny look comes over his face. He turns to me. "How did you know the location?"

  I look at him and a calm falls over me.

  "Everyone knew the location."

  "No. I didn't tell you. When I called you, I told you I was on route, I never said where it was. How did you know?"

  I can dig now.

  "What? Are you questioning me? You think I'm in on it? You’re so new."

  How long can I hold him here? Let’s see.

  "New?" he asks.

  "As a new-born baby. You are looking in all the wrong directions."

  "How did you know Jason? If you aren't dirty, tell me. How did you know?"

  I flip the switch on the Police radio attached to the New York Police Department jacket and hear the Officers’ communication in progress.

  "The roof! He's on the roof!" an officer yells.

  "Fair enough," the Captain says, then runs of the room yelling into his Police Radio. "I want men in the alley below."

  I head up the opposite stairwell.

  'EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. Alarm will Sound'. The door is open. The wind on the roof is whipping loose snow around. Mixed with the blinding sunrise, I squint, but see him. He's standing there a few feet away. Blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The snow is swirling around his head. Why is he just standing there? I open my mouth to yell to him but I hear the steel door on the other side of the roof open behind me with a bang. The Captain and his officers.

  "Caleb Promise! Freeze!"

  Is he...? He is running. He's going to jump to the next roof.

  "NO!" escapes my lips before I can think. His foot leaves the ledge and he is airborne, arms flailing. I hold my breath.

  Gunshots? What! The bullets whiz past the door I am at. He made it. He's down. I see his sweatshirt poking out of the snow heap but I don't see movement.

  I step out from the doorway, holding my hands up, facing the Captain and his men.

  "Hold your fire!"

  They lower their weapons. I lower my hands and turn around. Caleb is gone.

  "No!" I hear the Captain yell and kick the snow then he speaks into his Police Radio...

  "Next building. Next building. Shut it down NOW! No one in or out. Detain everyone!"

  The Captain walks up to me. He's angry but this isn't my first confrontation and I am sure it won't be my last.

  "I wasn't sure before," the Captain begins, "but I am now. I don't care whose side you are on and what your real agenda is. This is mine. Find the man who murdered a taxi driver and Elizabeth Harvard in cold blood and why. You get in my way again, I will have you arrested. You got that?"

  "And bring him in, dead or alive? Which one is more important?"

  "That's my business."

  I step forward into his personal space. His eyes are piercing and his voice deeper and more intimidating than mine. But this man is intelligent enough to know that it is not physique that holds power in this game.

  "Captain. Are you familiar with stippling?"

  "Indeed I am. Your point?"

  "Well then you know it builds the picture using colors subtly. It takes time. There are no long strokes. Taps of a stiff bristle brush, just taps."

  "I don't have time for this."

  The Captain turns as if he's going to leave.

  "What, you don't think your men are capable of locking down a building without you?" He stops, crosses his arms.

  "The artist has to step back, far back from the painting to see the big picture as it build
s. There is always a big picture that can't truly be appreciated when you are standing too close to it so-"

  I step so close to him our noses almost touch.

  "You are standing so close to the painting there is paint on your nose. My view, way back there. I am paid to be way back there, then watch the artists tap... tap... tap. I tell YOU when you are going off sketch. You ever feel the need to threaten me again, do yourself a favor and smile afterward. I just may take it the wrong way."

  He snickers. I expected as much. He turns and runs down the stairwell. Tap... tap... tap. That should have gained him some time.