Fic: Guide You in the Dark 1/3
Title: Guide You in the Night
Rating: R for language and violence. Warning for minor character death.
Summary: Franklin City has a group of Extra Sensory Cops. And someone’s killing off their citizens.
Pairings/Characters: Gen. Chuckler, Runner, Stone, Gibson, and Lena among others.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the portrayals as seen in The Pacific and Band of Brothers. No offense or harm is intended. Title from Empires’ Spit the Dark
Author’s notes: From a prompt by fishandcheese for the first round of pacificxchange. First part was beated by the wonderful uniformly and it was all read over by skylilies. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.
Franklin City wasn’t the biggest metropolitan area on the map. It hardly held the interest of passing tourists or big city cultural types; nor was it a major banking or financial center. Franklin City, in short, was one of the few metropolitan areas in the country with a fully staffed Special Interests Police Force, or rather, a spook squad full of cops with extra abilities.
No one knew what to call Franklin City’s special population as whole. They had plenty of names for the sub-groups, for the mind readers and speed demons; the weather commanders and the metal movers. Still, the government hesitated from calling them mutants, or gifted, or different. Similarly, no one wanted to actually use words like psychics, or super powers, or anything that suggested a world similar to those found in dime-store comics. So they were officially documented as Extra Sensory Citizens. Most people just went with Freaks. It seemed easier, neater, and took less effort.
Lew Juergens couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t live and work in Franklin City. He’d been there for at least a century. He had watched the city shape and change. He was also one of the first officers in the Franklin Police Force, back when it was more a village than a city. He even had his desk in the same corner of the office since the 1960s.
Lew worked in all sorts of departments in the police force. He started in the early 1920s as a traffic cop, and worked his way up until he got a comfortable investigator position in the Special Interests Squad. He liked his job there, working as one of the few originals left in the department. Of course, none of the rookies believed that Lew was an Old Salt. He sure as hell didn’t look one of the Old Timers. Most of the new staff pegged Lew as 21; 24 if they were being generous. No one realized that this past year was his 125th. Once he hit puberty Lew went from aging at an average rate to competing with a tree over who could grow faster.
Lt. Vincent Stone ran their squad. He was a new promotion after Lt. Hugh Corrigan left them for a cushy federal position. Lew liked Stone, if only because he was the one to assign Lew’s new partner, Runner.
Runner was a breath of much needed fresh air. He was new, young, smart, wholly innocent, sarcastic and jaded in all the ways only youth can manage. And he was fast, not just in terms of speed, as his power suggested, but his mind was quick. He usually had the way of things before Lew even finished explaining something. He took the name Runner because there were at least three other members of the force with super speed who went by The Flash. His real name was Wilbur Conley, but everyone called him Runner. Or the Kid, but that title now went to Gibson, the newest rookie. Still, out all the partners Lew’d been paired with over the years, Runner was the most compatible. And that said something when going against over a century of working partners.
“Hey, Chuckler,” Runner called out. He was in the doorway of the locker room, a smaller man hovering by his side.
The boys and girls in the precinct called him The Chuckler, since they said he laughed everything off. Lew didn’t know if that was so much true, but he’d much rather be called The Chuckler than Dorian Grey. No matter how many times he tried to convince Millie Acosta of the Historical Society, he did not have a portrait hidden in his attic.
Lew tried not to smirk at the obvious fresh meat.
“Runner, it looks like you got a shadow,” he said.
“Ronnie Gibson,” the shadow said with a wave of his hand.
“Fresh out of the Academy, Stone told me to show him around,” Runner explained.
Lew nodded, he’d been with Stone on all the recruitment trips, had seen Gibson’s quick reaction time and reflexes. The kid still needed some work, but they’d had worse pass through the precinct.
“Go on, conquer those mean streets. We don’t have any pressing casework today,” he said.
“You sure?” Runner asked.
“Just paperwork,” Lew said, “I got you covered, Conley.”
“We’ll pick you up some lunch,” Runner said before leaving.
Lew gave a small wave to Gibson as the other man scampered off, hurrying to keep up with what Runner termed his granny slow stride.
He left the the locker room and walked past all the offices where his colleagues used both their physical and mental extra abilities to solve crimes and ferret out details the regular forces couldn’t. Or wouldn’t in some cases. A lot of the old timers on the regular force felt it was up to the freaks to handle their own problems.
He stopped by the reception desk to see if there were any messages. It was manned by a smart ass kid Lew only ever knew as Loudmouth.
“Loudmouth, anything exciting today?” he asked.
Loudmouth shook his head without looking up from his computer. “Typical day for the Spook Squad; Blithe and Morgan are flying around rescuing kittens and kids. Toye’s making a toaster tap dance for a fundraiser. De L’Eau’s acting like the Tower of Babel for the Feds. Keller’s making some Vice goon by the name of Dike shit his pants with Internal Affairs. You know, typical.”
Lew smirked. “Thanks, Loudmouth.”
“No problem,” he said, going back to his computer screen.
Lew always felt like a jackass when it came to sharing his power with new people. Strength, rapid healing, and resistance to disease just didn’t have the same ring to it as flying and shooting lasers from your eyes. Hell, even Runner’s ability to be superfast at everything seemed better than Lew’s ability to age really slowly. The one thing he had going for him, really, was the longer than average lifespan. Runner always said one of these days he was going to chart Lew’s family history and see if he was descended from Methuselah
“Oh, hey, Juergens, I forgot,” Loudmouth said.
“What?” Lew asked.
“You got a visitor. That creepy Cassandra Dude is back again.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Can you tell him to get a new coat, for Christ’s sake, that thing’s older than you.”
“Take it up with Vera, she’s dating the man.”
That revelation was enough to both shut Loudmouth up and make him look up from his screen.
Lew laughed and hurried to his desk.
Certain classification groups existed among those with super powers. Since there were a measurable number of people with similar abilities, they classified by the government in the annual census. Robert Leckie was one such a person. He was a Cassandra, a prophet that no one ever believed until it was too late. Logic would state that after the first fifty times people would listen to him, but they always came to him after the crimes were committed.
He’d also spent the past five years lobbying for a name change of the Cassandras, but that went the same way as his initial predictions.
Even though Lew knew Leckie’s predictions would eventually be realized as truth, he never did believe him the first time. It pissed Leckie the fuck off, but there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn’t a personal thing, it was just the way of Leckie’s power.
Lew tried not to smirk when he saw Bob waiting at his desk, but he knew he failed when Leckie held up his middle finger.
“Bob, always good to see you.”
“There’s a special level of Hell for liars,” Bob replied. “Where’s the newbie Stone told me about?”
“Runner’s giving Gibson the morgue tour,” he said as he sat down.
“Seen one newbie morgue tour, seen them all?”
“They’re all different, it’s usually a good measure of what kind of officer you’re going to get, but hell, I can’t take care of this place forever.”
Leckie laughed. “From my research for the city’s historical society, I find that to be a false statement, but I’ll let you keep your delusions.”
“Thank you, Bob,” he said.
“I know I’m wasting my breath telling you the vision I had last night, but I figured I might as well plant the seed in your mind.”
Lew waved his hand. “Give it a go, I’m just going to hear white noise any way.”
“Good to know my migraine inducing visions are nothing more than a buzzing to you.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Lew said, “and if you think you have it bad, at least you can touch people. Hell, Gene Sledge can barely go outside without getting overwhelmed.”
“Funny you should mention Sledge, he’s involved in this.”
“A Cassandra dreaming about a Sybil? There’s something incestuous about that.”
“It’s not like I ask for these things,” Leckie said, “you think I like dreaming about your ugly mug each night.”
“I know you love it.”
Bob laughed again, his crooked smile spread across his face.
“Look, I’m not going to give you the word and verse as it came to me, but basically, you’re going to start looking for one thing and you’ll find another. It all ties back to Sledge, he didn’t do anything to cause it, he just happens to be a bystander and sort of the center of all this happening around him. A big change is coming for you Lew, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Bob, I’ve been living the same life for more decades than you’ve been on this earth.”
“Time for a change then, wouldn’t you say?” Leckie asked.
********
Stone was one of the few people who always went by his real last name. Most days people preferred their extra sensory name over their surname, but Stone never picked a special moniker. Some people called him Double Mint, since he chewed gum like an OCD quitting smoker, but hell, if Lew had the nose of a friggin’ bloodhound and taste buds which allowed him to trace emotions, he’d be chewing gum like crazy too.
“What’s up?” he asked, finding Stone standing over his desk.
“We got a problem down in Banika Territory.”
“What’s Banika Territory?” Gibson asked.
“Please tell me the kid is joking,” Toye said from his desk.
“So I won’t pass the exam to be on Vice or Gang Squads, sue me,” Gibson said.
“Seriously, Toye, stop busting the kid’s balls,” Stone said. “Banika Territory, down near the old psychiatric ward. They take care of their own down there, we don’t bother them.”
“Then why are we doing it now?” Gibson asked.
“Because Ack-Ack came to us,” Stone said.
“Who?” Gibson asked.
“Ack-Ack Haldane,” Toye said, emerging from his corner like a biting sarcastic cloud of doom. “Don’t tell me the kid doesn’t know who Ack-Ack Haldane is.”
“Everybody knows Ack-Ack,” Runner said.
Lew took pity on the kid, he was only a baby after all. “Gibson, Ack-Ack Haldane is a former football star. He would’ve gone pro but he protested the NFL’s regulations against freaks like us. He said he would play in an all-inclusive league or none at all.”
“And now he runs a gang?” Gibson asked. He quickly ducked the paper ball De L’Eau threw at his head.
“He runs a community center,” Stone explained, “he just happens to keep the local kids down there in line. They see him as a higher power and more respected force than anyone in this bullpen. Except maybe Chuckler.”
“Hey,” Lew protested.
“Juergens, you’re older than half the high schools in this city,” Morgan said.
“I think that says more about the education here than my age,” Lew said.
“Anyway,” Stone said, “Haldane says he’s hearing some grumblings from the local kids. Runner, Chuckler, go down there, try to feel out anything that seems wrong. Take Sledge with you, you’ll need a Reader.”
“You think Sledge will go?” Runner asked.
“He will if you mention Haldane,” Stone said.
De L’Eau shook his head. “I would not want to drag Eugene Sledge out during the day time.”
“For Banika territory, it’s worse at night,” Lew said, “he’ll prefer the daytime, it’s damn near deserted out there now.”
“Still,” De L’Eau said, “that is one Reader I never like to bother.”
Lew nodded. He could only agree. Dragging out a Reader like Sledge was like pulling the football away from Charlie Brown. It had to be done, but still made everyone feel like they kicked a puppy.
********
There were two different types of Readers. There were the Cassandras like Leckie, too wrapped up in their own heads to read someone else’s. And then there were Sibyls; the type who were too wrapped up in other people’s minds to keep much of their own sanity. It sent most of the Sibyls underground. Where the hell else were you supposed to go when every person, place, and thing spoke to you?
Lew didn’t like to bother Sledge if he didn’t have to, but hell, they did need a Reader for this one if something was bothering Haldane so much he went to the cops.
Sledge lived in an old converted bar on the corner of Mulberry and Vine. His home was a nice place, full of sketchbooks and computers. Anything that allowed Sledge to stay connected to the world with minimal actual human contact. Lew didn’t bother knocking; Sledge knew they were coming.
He was waiting for them, dark glasses over his eyes, and a bottle of Excedrin already open.
“Sorry, Gene,” Lew said.
“You always greet me with apologies,” Sledge said, “next time, bring a pizza.”
“You’d throw it up anyway.”
“It’s still a nice gesture,” Sledge said. He slid off his stool and gathered his gloves. Sledge took all sorts of precaution to avoid human contact. “So, Banika.”
“Haldane got spooked.”
“Andrew Haldane doesn’t get spooked.”
“Then he’s concerned,” Runner said, “he came to Stone, said something’s going down near the old hospital.”
“Prison,” Sledge said, “that place was like a prison, years ago. You always have the option to leave a hospital. That place buried you on the grounds.”
“Aren’t you a cheery little fucker,” Runner said.
“I’m sorry if I don’t waste my energy by using pretty words. They don’t change the reality of what went on there. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a place like that where people suffered by the hundreds for decades? To walk into a wall of that much concentrated emotional pain?” Sledge asked.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it sucks.”
Sledge shook his head. “Your partners keep getting more entertaining as the years go on, Juergens,” he said.
Lew shrugged in response.
Sledge took a deep breath and swallowed three pills dry. “I’m ready,” he said.
Runner opened the door and Lew took up the rear guard as they escorted Sledge outside.
Sledge smiled when he saw the car.
“You brought your own car, Lew, thanks. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Always nice to surprise the Reader, and I figure if I used one of the squad cars we’d just have to take you right to the hospital anyway. Kind of defeats the purpose,” Lew said.
“It’s appreciated,” Sledge answered.
Sledge was an odd sort, even without all the mindfuck that came with being a Sibyl. He had the sort of manners that went out of fashion for young men at least thirty years ago. It probably had something to do with his boy-in-the-bubble upbringing. The only childhood friend Sledge ever mentioned was Sid Phillips, now a renowned psychologist with extraordinary human clients.
They ran into little traffic on the way to Haldane’s community center. It was one of the few bright, shining beacons of Banika territory, which was, predominately, a semi-gang land run by Doc Grant and his followers. Banika was a freak-friendly community, but they were more separatist in ideals than willing to play the role of an average citizen. Still, they paid their taxes and stayed under the radar, taking care of their own problems.
For Old Doc Grant and his kids to say something to Haldane, that meant shit was brewing and none of it could be good.
“Hillbilly’s inside,” Sledge said.
“Who is Hillbilly?” Runner asked.
“Hillbilly Jones. He’s a friend of Haldane’s. Bit of a drifter. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“And he’s a what?” Runner asked.
“A human being,” Sledge replied.
“No one who lives in this area is just a human being,” Runner said.
Sledge shrugged. “Fair point, but I would argue that Ack-Ack himself is your plain, old, ordinary human being.”
“He’s an exception,” Runner said, “so, what’s Hillbilly? And who goes by the name Hillbilly?”
“We can’t all be named Wilbur,” Sledge said.
“Kiss my ass, Sledge,” Runner said.
A genuine smile crossed Sledge’s face before he carefully slid out of the car. The boy wasn’t physically fragile, but his mental state made it hard not to be overly protective of him.
Though Sledge could probably wipe all their minds clean if he really tried.
“You hear that?” Sledge asked as Runner got out of the car.
“The train?” Runner asked.
“Listen,” Sledge said, and gestured to the open windows of the community center.
The sound of a mandolin drifted out, a fast, complicated playing that only someone with talent and skill could manage to pull off.
“So, his superpower is really fast fingers?” Runner asked.
“Nothing so mundane,” Sledge said.
Lew held the door open for both of them, waving them in alongside the dust mites and stray smell of chalk and locker rooms that always came with community centers. It was somewhere between a typical classroom smell and a laundromat.
The first floor held the indoor basketball court, the sound of squeaking sneakers and trash talk filling the hall. The second floor held the classrooms, where kids took after school lessons, messed around on old computers, got a decent meal at the lounge, and used the community library. The top floor was Haldane’s office and the music and art rooms. They all stopped to take in Hillbilly’s lesson, watching as a young girl played the piano, levitating over the bench, while another boy pounded the cymbals with his blinking eyes.
Hillbilly looked up as they approached and nodded. He didn’t stop his playing, music flowing out of him as effortlessly as breathing.
“So, what’s his deal?” Runner asked.
“It’s complicated,” Andrew Haldane said. He shook their hands, being extra careful not to make skin-to-skin contact with Sledge. “Eddie is the most complicated simple man you’ll ever meet.”
“That makes no sense,” Runner said.
“It will in time,” Sledge replied.
“Thank you for coming down,” Haldane said, “let’s take this to my office. I don’t want the kids to hear.”
Haldane pulled a folding chair out of the corner for Sledge, and gestured for Runner and Lew to take the other seats. He passed all three of them manila folders before leaning against his desk.
“Pretty girl,” Runner said as he opened his folder.
“Stella Karamanlis, Doc Grant’s receptionist. Or was until two days ago when she didn’t show up for work,” Haldane said, “her parents went to Grant, and his kids are working on it, but they also came to me.”
“Could she have just done a walk away?” Lew asked.
“No,” Sledge answered before Haldane could. His eyes were closed, his mind really no longer in the room. “She’s a good daughter, devoted to her parents. She’s a bridge, one foot on our side and one foot on the other.”
“How long has she been with Doc Grant?” Lew asked.
“Four years,” Haldane said.
“And she’s been in Banika about that long,” Lew guessed.
“More like ten years,” Haldane said, “she used to be a waitress down at the Crab Shack near the docks.”
Runner whistled. “Girl must have tough skin to survive that hell hole,” he said.
“She’s Grant’s receptionist, so she must know more than a little bit about the running of his syndicate. And all the waitresses I know have ears like hawks. Can we talk to her parents?” Lew asked.
“Lew, they’ll barely talk to me, they sure as hell won’t talk to the cops,” Haldane said. “You know that bullshit they pulled five years ago with all the special immigrants? No matter if they were here legally, that movement under Senator Fernando tried to get them out.”
Lew felt his lips twist with disgust. He didn’t like thinking about Senator Fernando’s anti-everything, Pure American movement. It brought back far too many decades of bad memories.
“Do you have any solid leads about who would abduct her? Most criminals in this area know not to mess with Doc Grant, or hell, even the younger Grant,” Lew said.
“We’ve got nothing,” Haldane admitted, bitterness coloring his words. “I’ve tried, Eddie’s tried. We even bothered Old Elmo to see if he could find something. It’s like she disappeared into thin air and that just doesn’t happen. There’s always a trace.”
“Do you have anything of hers from that night?” Sledge asked.
“Eugene,” Haldane said, “no.”
“We all know right now I’m your best option, so let’s get this over with. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can go to the hospital and then get on with my life.”
Haldane nodded, his expression sad but resigned. He pulled a plastic tote bin from behind his desk and waited.
Sledge took two deep breaths before he peeled off his gloves, revealing his pale white hands. He opened his eyes and nodded.
Haldane took off the top of the bin and carefully brought it over.
Sledge reached in and took up the purse inside, instantly shaking before settling into some sort of haze.
It was always hard to watch this, to stand back and let the Readers like Sledge do this; where the only thing they was ensure they didn’t hurt themselves. There was no stopping it, intervening only caused more injury, and it hurt like hell to witness it.
Lew didn’t even want to imagine what it felt like.
Sledge came back to their time with a deep, sucking breath. He dropped the purse into the bin with trembling hands and launched himself over to the nearest trash can to throw up. Lew grabbed a tissue from Haldane’s desk to pick up Sledge’s gloves and carry them over to him. He nodded to Haldane as he broke out a fresh washcloth and water bottle for Sledge.
Gene looked up at him through the wet, red bangs that plastered his forehead with haunted eyes. He took his gloves with a grateful nod before taking the water and the washcloth.
“Anything of worth?” Runner asked, his voice rough.
Gene nodded. “Someone is manipulating with memories. There’s a distinct scent of tampering on that purse.”
“Who has the power to do that?” Runner asked.
“Outside of the Chief of Police, I don’t know,” Lew said. He cursed. Stone was just going to love this case.
“Anything else?” Haldane asked.
“I suggest you re-canvas the area where she disappeared. You might be able to find an actual eye witness. Someone does not want Ms. Karamanlis found and until you figure out who, I have a feeling any physical item involved with her will be tampered.” Sledge gave them a watery smile. “It looks like you’re going to have to go back to your old school detective work.”
Runner closed his folder with a flourish. “Stone’s just going to fucking love this one.”
********
Snafu Shelton was a like a cottonmouth snake. He stood his ground against his aggressors, bared his fangs and didn’t give a shit about diplomacy or propriety. Come across his territory and he’d fuck with you.
Lew kind of loved the pain in the ass.
Shelton held down a street corner on the borders of Banika. Sometimes he ran a gambling hall, others an escort service. Shelton had no qualms about doing what was needed in order to survive. Even though he took his damn sweet time getting things done, it wasn’t because he was lazy or didn’t understand. Shelton didn’t see the world like most people. He wasn’t a Reader, not really, but he could look at the world and see the vast connections between everyone, the cause and effect threads. The only thing Shelton was consistent at predicting was time of death, which made him an Atropos in terms of designation. What they didn’t note in the records was his mild competency in mind control, and his non-super power ability to read people’s body language as plainly as if they were giving a soliloquy.
If Shelton didn’t hate the establishment so much, if he didn’t grow up with a distrust of all government functions, Lew would have seriously tried to get him on the force. As it was, he was a Confidential Informant. And one who just happened to work where Stella Karamanlis disappeared.
“Shelton,” Runner said as they exited the squad car. “What do you have to share with the class today?”
Shelton stared down Runner. They weren’t the best acquaintances, something to do with Runner’s need to always be on the go and Shelton’s stubborn nature of staying still. It would be entertaining if Lew didn’t have to work with both of them.
“You brought the rookie,” Shelton said, turning to Lew. “I thought you didn’t like bringing the fresh meat all the way down here. Like to keep them nice and safe near your slick and clean buildings downtown.”
“Shelton, this isn’t my first time down here,” Runner said.
“But you’re just going to go further down,” Shelton said. He riffled through his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Death stick for the Dead Man?” he said as he offered one to Runner.
“That’s not funny,” Runner said.
“We all going to die some time, Detective Conley,” Snafu said, “even Old Man Juergens there. We all going to waste away some day.”
“As pleasant as it is always is to shoot the shit with you, Shelton,” Lew said, “we need some info.”
“I didn’t think you came down this way to see my new home,” Shelton said with his arms stretched out. “You talking about that abduction that’s got Haldane spooked. The girl.”
“Stella Karamanlis,” Lew said.
“Her parents are nice folks,” Shelton said, “always gave food and blankets out to those who needed it. They don’t need their girl gone, but I don’t know about her. Ain’t seen her line cut yet. There’s the boy though.”
“What boy?” Lew asked.
“Rich boy,” Shelton said, as his eyes went hazy. “Smart. Shouldn’t be in this city or on this side of town but is, trying to find someone. An old friend. Friend of friend. Dark hair, eyes, but he’s got a brain. Never meant to wander here but needed to find something. Looking for a sledgehammer. But his line got cut.” Shelton blinked and fumbled for a cigarette, hands shaking with adrenaline as the vision ended.
“Where did his line get cut,” Lew asked, voice soft and cautious.
“Down by the old armory,” Shelton muttered through the cigarette in his mouth. “We done now?”
“Yeah, Shelton, we’re done,” Runner said. He held out a $20 bill. “Go get a cup of soup or something, why don’t you.”
“Thanks Conley,” Shelton said, palming the bill and walking off. “You’re going to have to talk to the cats,” he yelled back at them.
Runner watched him turn down the street before asking Lew. “What the hell does that mean?”
Lew shrugged and got back into the car. He didn’t want to let Runner know how much this whole case was setting him on edge. But when Haldane, Sledge, and Shelton were spooked, not to mention Banika Syndicate willing to work with the cops? Hell, end of the world didn’t even begin to cover it.
“We’re going to the morgue?” Runner asked.
“I figure we’d just call,” Lew said. He held out his phone to Runner.
“And I’m calling why?”
“You dial the numbers quicker and talk faster,” Lew said.
Runner rolled his eyes, accepting the phone as he flipped out his notepad. He made the call and began taking notes at a dizzying rate. Lew couldn’t even follow his fingers for too long without getting sick.
He let Runner’s voice lull him into a nap as he chatted with Hamm, the Coroner’s Assistant, and woke up when Runner flicked his ear.
“Wake up, old man.”
“Quiet, grasshopper, I’m thinking.”
“I didn’t know contemplation came with snoring. It’s kind of like that time you told Vera you were working on office mediation, even if it came with drool.”
Lew held up his middle finger. “What’d you find out, Rookie?”
Runner stuck his tongue out in response but then flipped through his notes. “Doc Stern said there was only one body found in and around Banika territory this past week. A young out-of-towner by the name of Rob Oswalt. He was found in the alley in front of the old armory building. They don’t know what killed him yet. The only witnesses they can find are of the feline nature. Like a cat can be a friggin’ witness.”
Lew got out of the car and checked the trunk.
“What the hell are you doing?” Runner asked.
Lew held up two cat cages in triumph. “We’re going witness procuring.”
“So, you’re telling me we have to capture these cats and take them to somebody who will, what, scan their fur for signs?” Runner asked.
“Not exactly,” Lew said as he got back in the car and drove them toward the old armory. “We’ll take them to see Dr. Smith. I better call him and set up an appointment.” He stopped the car with a screech and grabbed his phone from Runner’s hands. “Why don’t you get at least two of those cats,” he said, gesturing to the alley.
“Don’t we have Animal Control for this?”
“I don’t want the cats put on death row just because we need them as witnesses.”
“And why do I have to do this?”
“Because you’re the one with super speed.”
“And not because you have a dislike of all things feline.”
“My grandmother was a very suspicious woman, okay? She came from a time when they thought cats caused plague. That emotional trauma stays with you. Now, off you go, I’ve got to call the revered Dr. Smith.” Lew shooed him away with his hands.
“What can he talk to the animals?” Runner asked.
Lew laughed. “Now, that would just be crazy to think, wouldn’t it?”
Runner rolled his eyes but got the cat carriers out of the trunk.
Lew pulled out his cell and dialed Dr. Bill Smith, also known as Hoosier for his undying love of his alma mater.
“Pig,” Hoosier greeted him.
“Ass,” Lew replied, “I need your special brand of Animal Whispering.”
“Stop watching National Geographic Channel.”
“Stop dictating my viewing schedule. I’ve got some cats who may have witnessed a murder.”
“The Cat Who Knew Too Much?”
“Wow, you and my mother could compare reading choices.”
“How does it feel to know a fictional feline has a better solved case rate than you?”
“At least my goldfish doesn’t tell me to murder people.”
“At least my parakeet is still alive.”
“Oh, that’s a low blow.”
Hoosier laughed. “Just bring the cats in, use the backdoor.”
“I’m bringing Runner.”
“Of course you are,” Hoosier said, the words full with his special brand of mocking.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Hoosier sighed. “He’s like your little pet, a puppy wagging his tail and looking for affection and approval from his master. He follows you everywhere.”
“He’s my partner.”
“Really, and does that extend to off-duty hours because Vera told me she saw you two at The Laughing Gator getting smashed. Well, as smashed as you can get.”
“Vera’s a liar.”
“By her very nature you know she has to tell the truth.”
“Only when asked directly. It was an after-shift drink, nothing more. I don’t sleep with the people I work with, especially with our age difference.”
“Leckie says you two won’t be working together for long.”
“Leckie’s full of bullshit.”
“No disagreement there. So, see you in an hour?”
Lew looked up to see Runner approaching with the two carriers. “More like twenty.”
“Well, damn,” Hoosier said, “I best go put on my nice dress and heels.”
“Don’t forget the pearls.”
“You don’t warrant my jewels, Juergens.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Hoosier,” he said and hung up the phone.
“Hoosier?” Runner asked.
“Dr. Smith. He’s an Indiana fan.”
Lew waited for Runner to get into the car and secure the cats, before driving them through the twisting, turning streets. Unlike downtown, which was based off a grid plan, here the streets popped up over old cow pastures and dirt tracks, leading to a traffic pattern which made a newcomers panic.
Of all the questions surrounding the murder of Oswalt, no one wondered how the poor kid got lost. Banika territory was not a place for outsiders.
“So this Dr. Smith is a Cat Whisperer?” Runner asked.
“Something like that,” Lew said, “he’s not limited to just cats or dogs, think more along the lines of Dr. Doolittle.”
“That’s a little unbelievable.”
“You’re sitting next to a man born in the 1880s.”
Runner shuddered. “I did not need you to remind me of that. You barely look legal.”
“You’re the one with super speed.”
“Yet I age normally.”
“For now,” Lew said.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You shall learn, little grasshopper.”
Lew pulled up in front of the vet clinic. “We’re here,” he announced.
Hoosier stood at the back door.
“Go ahead,” Hoosier said, “get out all your Lassie and Dr. Doolittle jokes.”
“I’ve only got one question,” Runner said.
“Yeah?” Hoosier asked.
“Do your woodland friends help construct your wardrobe or did you actually pay money for that shirt.”
“Oh, wait, I got something for you,” Hoosier said and held up his middle finger in response.
“I like him,” Runner said.
Lew shook his head. There was a reason why he waited so long to introduce the two.
“Dead body, missing girl. Need I keep going on about why we shouldn’t be wasting time by trading pleasantries.”
“Shit, Chuckler, I didn’t think you even know how to say a word like pleasantries,” Runner said.
“You need to bring him around more often,” Hoosier said, gesturing them into the building.
A few of the volunteers and technicians were still milling about. Hoosier’s clinic was the only one that stayed open 24 hours a day. Emergencies didn’t work on a 9 to 5 schedule, he always said, and he wouldn’t have an animal die because of human’s office hours.
Hoosier’s office was a mish-mash of sports memorabilia, animal medical charts, and research books. His dog, Lilly, barely gave them a glance as they entered.
“Should we do this here?” Runner asked.
“Stray cats will probably be more freaked out by an exam room than here,” Hoosier said. He pulled out a tray of tools. “Plus, those two are used to humans. They get fed by the restaurant workers on a pretty regular basis.”
“How the hell can you know that?” Runner asked, carefully putting the cat carriers down on the one clear table.
“What do you think they’re yapping about?” Hoosier asked.
“I though all that meowing meant they were cursing me out,” Runner admitted.
Lew patted his shoulder. “Rest assured, they are.”
“These are alley cats,” Hoosier explained, “not completely feral. They know humans leave out some of the best food. Even if we’re crappy hunters.”
Lew took the seat behind Hoosier’s desk and propped his feet up while Runner watched Hoosier go to work.
“How is this done?” he asked Lew.
“I don’t know the technical description, but it’s kind of like animal mind reading. Hoosier’s done this his whole life. He’ll do an examination while getting all the information he needs. Once he’s done he’ll give them a round of antibiotics and shots as well, all the while figuring out where they’ve been. His brainwaves just link up with theirs.”
“That’s a little crazy,” Runner said, “that said, I am still scarred from the demonstration of your powers.”
Lew smirked. “Never seen a man stick a knife through his hand before?”
“It turns my stomach, seeing your cells reform that quickly,” Runner said.
Lew shrugged. “Your body does something similar, on the inside at least. They amount of abuse you put it through with your speed, god knows what your muscles and tendons would look like if they didn’t repair themselves.”
Runner shifted. “You know, I never really studied the biology and body chemistry of all this for a reason. I don’t think I really want to know just how different I am. It’s enough to know I just am.”
Lew nodded. “You’re not the only one who feels that way. I’ve had far too many years and questions. And hell, when the science community routinely asks for your cells as they try to make a Fountain of Youth in a lab, you figure you might as well try and puzzle out just what they want with you.”
Runner was about to ask him a question when Hoosier interrupted him.
“Granted, the cats can’t tell you the motive, but they said Oswalt was dropped into the alley, and he was still breathing. They didn’t like the smell of the human who did it. It reminded them of a snake.”
“Shelton?” Runner asked.
Lew laughed. “As if Snafu Shelton would ever haul a body anywhere.”
Hoosier laughed. “Snafu doesn’t get out of bed for less than $2,000, and that’s what you have to pay to get him to leave.”
Runner gaped as Hoosier laughed.
“So innocent and virginal,” Hoosier said. He scooped up the two cats. “I’m going to take care of these two. You know the way out.”
“Thanks, Hoosier,” Lew called after him.
“So, what do we do now?” Runner asked.
Lew checked his watch. It was almost midnight. “I take you home and we start over tomorrow.”
********
Lew was used to working on less than five hours of sleep, Runner not so much. The amount of energy he used with his powers meant he required a lot of rest and even more food.
It was only eight, and Runner had already finished some twelve cups of coffee.
“Please stop before you have a heart attack,” Vera said. She turned to Lew. “Chuckler, take better care of your partner.”
Lew shrugged. “I told him to come in later, but he’s stubborn as hell.”
“You can’t keep up with him, Runner, don’t even try,” Toye said.
Runner simply glared at them all over the rim of his coffee cup.
Everything was silent for another hour or two. The bullpen filled with nothing but the sounds of typical office work, minus one or two drugged out arrestees. It was turning out to be a nice morning until the door to Stone’s office jerked open.
“Juergens, Conley, my office. Now,” Stone ordered.
Lew exchanged a look with Runner and gestured for him to follow.
“What’s up, boss man?” Lew asked.
Stone ripped open a pack of gum and shoved two pieces in his mouth.
“Explain to me how I ask you to investigate the disappearance of a missing woman and instead you’re looking into the murder of a young man.”
“We think they’re connected,” Runner offered.
“How?” Stone asked as he began to pace. “How are Rob Oswalt, a John Hopkins Med Student and Stella Karamanlis, a receptionist for Doc Grant connected, besides incidents in Banika territory. An area of the city where Karamanlis lived and Oswalt wandered into. Please, tell me so I can explain to the Chief of Police, so she can explain to Mr. and Mrs. Karamanlis.”
“I thought Haldane said they wouldn’t go to the police,” Runner said to Lew.
Lew shrugged. “Lena’s not exactly a normal cop.” He turned to Stone. “Lena giving you hell?” he asked, “you could just ask me to go to talk to her.”
“You’re buddies with the Chief of Police?” Runner asked.
“Lena and I go way back,” Lew said.
“Chief of Police Riggi is the only person in this metro area who is older than Chuckler,” Stone said.
“That we know of,” Lew clarified.
“So she has the super healing ability too?” Runner asked.
“Among other things,” Stone said, “don’t ever try to pull something over on Riggi. She’ll have you by the balls before you can even blink.”
Runner shifted in his chair. “I’m sure I could get out of the way fast enough.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Stone and Lew said in unison.
“She’s that fast?”
“She’ll freeze you in place,” Stone said, “Riggi can control time within about a fifteen minute frame. She uses it rarely, but she won’t hesitate if you piss her off.”
“Whatever caused Stella’s disappearance, it may have something to do with Oswalt’s death,” Lew said, turning the conversation back on topic. “Both have something unnatural around them, even for us. Most humans don’t remind cats of snakes.”
“So?” Stone asked.
“Cats recognize snakes as predators. It’s why they hiss and put their ears back. They rarely, if ever, see humans as predators. If Hoosier said the cats were reminded of snakes, that’s significant. Sledge said anything involving Stella’s abduction was tampered with on the level that a Sibyl like him can’t figure it out. Shelton didn’t even see her death, and even if he did, I don’t think he’d see the real one. We’re dealing with some real shit here, Stone. We’re talking about someone who can actively manipulate memories, time, and even human trace essence.” Lew sat back. “You can tell Lena that I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to be a simple one.”
Stone sat back in his chair. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, “you both still stink of that alley and there’s something wrong there. I can’t quite figure out the taste or scent yet, but it’s just off.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Runner asked.
Stone pulled out his gun and three packs of gum.
“We’re going on a field trip, boys.”
Part Two|| Part Three
Rating: R for language and violence. Warning for minor character death.
Summary: Franklin City has a group of Extra Sensory Cops. And someone’s killing off their citizens.
Pairings/Characters: Gen. Chuckler, Runner, Stone, Gibson, and Lena among others.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the portrayals as seen in The Pacific and Band of Brothers. No offense or harm is intended. Title from Empires’ Spit the Dark
Author’s notes: From a prompt by fishandcheese for the first round of pacificxchange. First part was beated by the wonderful uniformly and it was all read over by skylilies. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.
Franklin City wasn’t the biggest metropolitan area on the map. It hardly held the interest of passing tourists or big city cultural types; nor was it a major banking or financial center. Franklin City, in short, was one of the few metropolitan areas in the country with a fully staffed Special Interests Police Force, or rather, a spook squad full of cops with extra abilities.
No one knew what to call Franklin City’s special population as whole. They had plenty of names for the sub-groups, for the mind readers and speed demons; the weather commanders and the metal movers. Still, the government hesitated from calling them mutants, or gifted, or different. Similarly, no one wanted to actually use words like psychics, or super powers, or anything that suggested a world similar to those found in dime-store comics. So they were officially documented as Extra Sensory Citizens. Most people just went with Freaks. It seemed easier, neater, and took less effort.
Lew Juergens couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t live and work in Franklin City. He’d been there for at least a century. He had watched the city shape and change. He was also one of the first officers in the Franklin Police Force, back when it was more a village than a city. He even had his desk in the same corner of the office since the 1960s.
Lew worked in all sorts of departments in the police force. He started in the early 1920s as a traffic cop, and worked his way up until he got a comfortable investigator position in the Special Interests Squad. He liked his job there, working as one of the few originals left in the department. Of course, none of the rookies believed that Lew was an Old Salt. He sure as hell didn’t look one of the Old Timers. Most of the new staff pegged Lew as 21; 24 if they were being generous. No one realized that this past year was his 125th. Once he hit puberty Lew went from aging at an average rate to competing with a tree over who could grow faster.
Lt. Vincent Stone ran their squad. He was a new promotion after Lt. Hugh Corrigan left them for a cushy federal position. Lew liked Stone, if only because he was the one to assign Lew’s new partner, Runner.
Runner was a breath of much needed fresh air. He was new, young, smart, wholly innocent, sarcastic and jaded in all the ways only youth can manage. And he was fast, not just in terms of speed, as his power suggested, but his mind was quick. He usually had the way of things before Lew even finished explaining something. He took the name Runner because there were at least three other members of the force with super speed who went by The Flash. His real name was Wilbur Conley, but everyone called him Runner. Or the Kid, but that title now went to Gibson, the newest rookie. Still, out all the partners Lew’d been paired with over the years, Runner was the most compatible. And that said something when going against over a century of working partners.
“Hey, Chuckler,” Runner called out. He was in the doorway of the locker room, a smaller man hovering by his side.
The boys and girls in the precinct called him The Chuckler, since they said he laughed everything off. Lew didn’t know if that was so much true, but he’d much rather be called The Chuckler than Dorian Grey. No matter how many times he tried to convince Millie Acosta of the Historical Society, he did not have a portrait hidden in his attic.
Lew tried not to smirk at the obvious fresh meat.
“Runner, it looks like you got a shadow,” he said.
“Ronnie Gibson,” the shadow said with a wave of his hand.
“Fresh out of the Academy, Stone told me to show him around,” Runner explained.
Lew nodded, he’d been with Stone on all the recruitment trips, had seen Gibson’s quick reaction time and reflexes. The kid still needed some work, but they’d had worse pass through the precinct.
“Go on, conquer those mean streets. We don’t have any pressing casework today,” he said.
“You sure?” Runner asked.
“Just paperwork,” Lew said, “I got you covered, Conley.”
“We’ll pick you up some lunch,” Runner said before leaving.
Lew gave a small wave to Gibson as the other man scampered off, hurrying to keep up with what Runner termed his granny slow stride.
He left the the locker room and walked past all the offices where his colleagues used both their physical and mental extra abilities to solve crimes and ferret out details the regular forces couldn’t. Or wouldn’t in some cases. A lot of the old timers on the regular force felt it was up to the freaks to handle their own problems.
He stopped by the reception desk to see if there were any messages. It was manned by a smart ass kid Lew only ever knew as Loudmouth.
“Loudmouth, anything exciting today?” he asked.
Loudmouth shook his head without looking up from his computer. “Typical day for the Spook Squad; Blithe and Morgan are flying around rescuing kittens and kids. Toye’s making a toaster tap dance for a fundraiser. De L’Eau’s acting like the Tower of Babel for the Feds. Keller’s making some Vice goon by the name of Dike shit his pants with Internal Affairs. You know, typical.”
Lew smirked. “Thanks, Loudmouth.”
“No problem,” he said, going back to his computer screen.
Lew always felt like a jackass when it came to sharing his power with new people. Strength, rapid healing, and resistance to disease just didn’t have the same ring to it as flying and shooting lasers from your eyes. Hell, even Runner’s ability to be superfast at everything seemed better than Lew’s ability to age really slowly. The one thing he had going for him, really, was the longer than average lifespan. Runner always said one of these days he was going to chart Lew’s family history and see if he was descended from Methuselah
“Oh, hey, Juergens, I forgot,” Loudmouth said.
“What?” Lew asked.
“You got a visitor. That creepy Cassandra Dude is back again.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Can you tell him to get a new coat, for Christ’s sake, that thing’s older than you.”
“Take it up with Vera, she’s dating the man.”
That revelation was enough to both shut Loudmouth up and make him look up from his screen.
Lew laughed and hurried to his desk.
Certain classification groups existed among those with super powers. Since there were a measurable number of people with similar abilities, they classified by the government in the annual census. Robert Leckie was one such a person. He was a Cassandra, a prophet that no one ever believed until it was too late. Logic would state that after the first fifty times people would listen to him, but they always came to him after the crimes were committed.
He’d also spent the past five years lobbying for a name change of the Cassandras, but that went the same way as his initial predictions.
Even though Lew knew Leckie’s predictions would eventually be realized as truth, he never did believe him the first time. It pissed Leckie the fuck off, but there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn’t a personal thing, it was just the way of Leckie’s power.
Lew tried not to smirk when he saw Bob waiting at his desk, but he knew he failed when Leckie held up his middle finger.
“Bob, always good to see you.”
“There’s a special level of Hell for liars,” Bob replied. “Where’s the newbie Stone told me about?”
“Runner’s giving Gibson the morgue tour,” he said as he sat down.
“Seen one newbie morgue tour, seen them all?”
“They’re all different, it’s usually a good measure of what kind of officer you’re going to get, but hell, I can’t take care of this place forever.”
Leckie laughed. “From my research for the city’s historical society, I find that to be a false statement, but I’ll let you keep your delusions.”
“Thank you, Bob,” he said.
“I know I’m wasting my breath telling you the vision I had last night, but I figured I might as well plant the seed in your mind.”
Lew waved his hand. “Give it a go, I’m just going to hear white noise any way.”
“Good to know my migraine inducing visions are nothing more than a buzzing to you.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Lew said, “and if you think you have it bad, at least you can touch people. Hell, Gene Sledge can barely go outside without getting overwhelmed.”
“Funny you should mention Sledge, he’s involved in this.”
“A Cassandra dreaming about a Sybil? There’s something incestuous about that.”
“It’s not like I ask for these things,” Leckie said, “you think I like dreaming about your ugly mug each night.”
“I know you love it.”
Bob laughed again, his crooked smile spread across his face.
“Look, I’m not going to give you the word and verse as it came to me, but basically, you’re going to start looking for one thing and you’ll find another. It all ties back to Sledge, he didn’t do anything to cause it, he just happens to be a bystander and sort of the center of all this happening around him. A big change is coming for you Lew, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Bob, I’ve been living the same life for more decades than you’ve been on this earth.”
“Time for a change then, wouldn’t you say?” Leckie asked.
********
Stone was one of the few people who always went by his real last name. Most days people preferred their extra sensory name over their surname, but Stone never picked a special moniker. Some people called him Double Mint, since he chewed gum like an OCD quitting smoker, but hell, if Lew had the nose of a friggin’ bloodhound and taste buds which allowed him to trace emotions, he’d be chewing gum like crazy too.
“What’s up?” he asked, finding Stone standing over his desk.
“We got a problem down in Banika Territory.”
“What’s Banika Territory?” Gibson asked.
“Please tell me the kid is joking,” Toye said from his desk.
“So I won’t pass the exam to be on Vice or Gang Squads, sue me,” Gibson said.
“Seriously, Toye, stop busting the kid’s balls,” Stone said. “Banika Territory, down near the old psychiatric ward. They take care of their own down there, we don’t bother them.”
“Then why are we doing it now?” Gibson asked.
“Because Ack-Ack came to us,” Stone said.
“Who?” Gibson asked.
“Ack-Ack Haldane,” Toye said, emerging from his corner like a biting sarcastic cloud of doom. “Don’t tell me the kid doesn’t know who Ack-Ack Haldane is.”
“Everybody knows Ack-Ack,” Runner said.
Lew took pity on the kid, he was only a baby after all. “Gibson, Ack-Ack Haldane is a former football star. He would’ve gone pro but he protested the NFL’s regulations against freaks like us. He said he would play in an all-inclusive league or none at all.”
“And now he runs a gang?” Gibson asked. He quickly ducked the paper ball De L’Eau threw at his head.
“He runs a community center,” Stone explained, “he just happens to keep the local kids down there in line. They see him as a higher power and more respected force than anyone in this bullpen. Except maybe Chuckler.”
“Hey,” Lew protested.
“Juergens, you’re older than half the high schools in this city,” Morgan said.
“I think that says more about the education here than my age,” Lew said.
“Anyway,” Stone said, “Haldane says he’s hearing some grumblings from the local kids. Runner, Chuckler, go down there, try to feel out anything that seems wrong. Take Sledge with you, you’ll need a Reader.”
“You think Sledge will go?” Runner asked.
“He will if you mention Haldane,” Stone said.
De L’Eau shook his head. “I would not want to drag Eugene Sledge out during the day time.”
“For Banika territory, it’s worse at night,” Lew said, “he’ll prefer the daytime, it’s damn near deserted out there now.”
“Still,” De L’Eau said, “that is one Reader I never like to bother.”
Lew nodded. He could only agree. Dragging out a Reader like Sledge was like pulling the football away from Charlie Brown. It had to be done, but still made everyone feel like they kicked a puppy.
********
There were two different types of Readers. There were the Cassandras like Leckie, too wrapped up in their own heads to read someone else’s. And then there were Sibyls; the type who were too wrapped up in other people’s minds to keep much of their own sanity. It sent most of the Sibyls underground. Where the hell else were you supposed to go when every person, place, and thing spoke to you?
Lew didn’t like to bother Sledge if he didn’t have to, but hell, they did need a Reader for this one if something was bothering Haldane so much he went to the cops.
Sledge lived in an old converted bar on the corner of Mulberry and Vine. His home was a nice place, full of sketchbooks and computers. Anything that allowed Sledge to stay connected to the world with minimal actual human contact. Lew didn’t bother knocking; Sledge knew they were coming.
He was waiting for them, dark glasses over his eyes, and a bottle of Excedrin already open.
“Sorry, Gene,” Lew said.
“You always greet me with apologies,” Sledge said, “next time, bring a pizza.”
“You’d throw it up anyway.”
“It’s still a nice gesture,” Sledge said. He slid off his stool and gathered his gloves. Sledge took all sorts of precaution to avoid human contact. “So, Banika.”
“Haldane got spooked.”
“Andrew Haldane doesn’t get spooked.”
“Then he’s concerned,” Runner said, “he came to Stone, said something’s going down near the old hospital.”
“Prison,” Sledge said, “that place was like a prison, years ago. You always have the option to leave a hospital. That place buried you on the grounds.”
“Aren’t you a cheery little fucker,” Runner said.
“I’m sorry if I don’t waste my energy by using pretty words. They don’t change the reality of what went on there. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a place like that where people suffered by the hundreds for decades? To walk into a wall of that much concentrated emotional pain?” Sledge asked.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it sucks.”
Sledge shook his head. “Your partners keep getting more entertaining as the years go on, Juergens,” he said.
Lew shrugged in response.
Sledge took a deep breath and swallowed three pills dry. “I’m ready,” he said.
Runner opened the door and Lew took up the rear guard as they escorted Sledge outside.
Sledge smiled when he saw the car.
“You brought your own car, Lew, thanks. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Always nice to surprise the Reader, and I figure if I used one of the squad cars we’d just have to take you right to the hospital anyway. Kind of defeats the purpose,” Lew said.
“It’s appreciated,” Sledge answered.
Sledge was an odd sort, even without all the mindfuck that came with being a Sibyl. He had the sort of manners that went out of fashion for young men at least thirty years ago. It probably had something to do with his boy-in-the-bubble upbringing. The only childhood friend Sledge ever mentioned was Sid Phillips, now a renowned psychologist with extraordinary human clients.
They ran into little traffic on the way to Haldane’s community center. It was one of the few bright, shining beacons of Banika territory, which was, predominately, a semi-gang land run by Doc Grant and his followers. Banika was a freak-friendly community, but they were more separatist in ideals than willing to play the role of an average citizen. Still, they paid their taxes and stayed under the radar, taking care of their own problems.
For Old Doc Grant and his kids to say something to Haldane, that meant shit was brewing and none of it could be good.
“Hillbilly’s inside,” Sledge said.
“Who is Hillbilly?” Runner asked.
“Hillbilly Jones. He’s a friend of Haldane’s. Bit of a drifter. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“And he’s a what?” Runner asked.
“A human being,” Sledge replied.
“No one who lives in this area is just a human being,” Runner said.
Sledge shrugged. “Fair point, but I would argue that Ack-Ack himself is your plain, old, ordinary human being.”
“He’s an exception,” Runner said, “so, what’s Hillbilly? And who goes by the name Hillbilly?”
“We can’t all be named Wilbur,” Sledge said.
“Kiss my ass, Sledge,” Runner said.
A genuine smile crossed Sledge’s face before he carefully slid out of the car. The boy wasn’t physically fragile, but his mental state made it hard not to be overly protective of him.
Though Sledge could probably wipe all their minds clean if he really tried.
“You hear that?” Sledge asked as Runner got out of the car.
“The train?” Runner asked.
“Listen,” Sledge said, and gestured to the open windows of the community center.
The sound of a mandolin drifted out, a fast, complicated playing that only someone with talent and skill could manage to pull off.
“So, his superpower is really fast fingers?” Runner asked.
“Nothing so mundane,” Sledge said.
Lew held the door open for both of them, waving them in alongside the dust mites and stray smell of chalk and locker rooms that always came with community centers. It was somewhere between a typical classroom smell and a laundromat.
The first floor held the indoor basketball court, the sound of squeaking sneakers and trash talk filling the hall. The second floor held the classrooms, where kids took after school lessons, messed around on old computers, got a decent meal at the lounge, and used the community library. The top floor was Haldane’s office and the music and art rooms. They all stopped to take in Hillbilly’s lesson, watching as a young girl played the piano, levitating over the bench, while another boy pounded the cymbals with his blinking eyes.
Hillbilly looked up as they approached and nodded. He didn’t stop his playing, music flowing out of him as effortlessly as breathing.
“So, what’s his deal?” Runner asked.
“It’s complicated,” Andrew Haldane said. He shook their hands, being extra careful not to make skin-to-skin contact with Sledge. “Eddie is the most complicated simple man you’ll ever meet.”
“That makes no sense,” Runner said.
“It will in time,” Sledge replied.
“Thank you for coming down,” Haldane said, “let’s take this to my office. I don’t want the kids to hear.”
Haldane pulled a folding chair out of the corner for Sledge, and gestured for Runner and Lew to take the other seats. He passed all three of them manila folders before leaning against his desk.
“Pretty girl,” Runner said as he opened his folder.
“Stella Karamanlis, Doc Grant’s receptionist. Or was until two days ago when she didn’t show up for work,” Haldane said, “her parents went to Grant, and his kids are working on it, but they also came to me.”
“Could she have just done a walk away?” Lew asked.
“No,” Sledge answered before Haldane could. His eyes were closed, his mind really no longer in the room. “She’s a good daughter, devoted to her parents. She’s a bridge, one foot on our side and one foot on the other.”
“How long has she been with Doc Grant?” Lew asked.
“Four years,” Haldane said.
“And she’s been in Banika about that long,” Lew guessed.
“More like ten years,” Haldane said, “she used to be a waitress down at the Crab Shack near the docks.”
Runner whistled. “Girl must have tough skin to survive that hell hole,” he said.
“She’s Grant’s receptionist, so she must know more than a little bit about the running of his syndicate. And all the waitresses I know have ears like hawks. Can we talk to her parents?” Lew asked.
“Lew, they’ll barely talk to me, they sure as hell won’t talk to the cops,” Haldane said. “You know that bullshit they pulled five years ago with all the special immigrants? No matter if they were here legally, that movement under Senator Fernando tried to get them out.”
Lew felt his lips twist with disgust. He didn’t like thinking about Senator Fernando’s anti-everything, Pure American movement. It brought back far too many decades of bad memories.
“Do you have any solid leads about who would abduct her? Most criminals in this area know not to mess with Doc Grant, or hell, even the younger Grant,” Lew said.
“We’ve got nothing,” Haldane admitted, bitterness coloring his words. “I’ve tried, Eddie’s tried. We even bothered Old Elmo to see if he could find something. It’s like she disappeared into thin air and that just doesn’t happen. There’s always a trace.”
“Do you have anything of hers from that night?” Sledge asked.
“Eugene,” Haldane said, “no.”
“We all know right now I’m your best option, so let’s get this over with. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can go to the hospital and then get on with my life.”
Haldane nodded, his expression sad but resigned. He pulled a plastic tote bin from behind his desk and waited.
Sledge took two deep breaths before he peeled off his gloves, revealing his pale white hands. He opened his eyes and nodded.
Haldane took off the top of the bin and carefully brought it over.
Sledge reached in and took up the purse inside, instantly shaking before settling into some sort of haze.
It was always hard to watch this, to stand back and let the Readers like Sledge do this; where the only thing they was ensure they didn’t hurt themselves. There was no stopping it, intervening only caused more injury, and it hurt like hell to witness it.
Lew didn’t even want to imagine what it felt like.
Sledge came back to their time with a deep, sucking breath. He dropped the purse into the bin with trembling hands and launched himself over to the nearest trash can to throw up. Lew grabbed a tissue from Haldane’s desk to pick up Sledge’s gloves and carry them over to him. He nodded to Haldane as he broke out a fresh washcloth and water bottle for Sledge.
Gene looked up at him through the wet, red bangs that plastered his forehead with haunted eyes. He took his gloves with a grateful nod before taking the water and the washcloth.
“Anything of worth?” Runner asked, his voice rough.
Gene nodded. “Someone is manipulating with memories. There’s a distinct scent of tampering on that purse.”
“Who has the power to do that?” Runner asked.
“Outside of the Chief of Police, I don’t know,” Lew said. He cursed. Stone was just going to love this case.
“Anything else?” Haldane asked.
“I suggest you re-canvas the area where she disappeared. You might be able to find an actual eye witness. Someone does not want Ms. Karamanlis found and until you figure out who, I have a feeling any physical item involved with her will be tampered.” Sledge gave them a watery smile. “It looks like you’re going to have to go back to your old school detective work.”
Runner closed his folder with a flourish. “Stone’s just going to fucking love this one.”
********
Snafu Shelton was a like a cottonmouth snake. He stood his ground against his aggressors, bared his fangs and didn’t give a shit about diplomacy or propriety. Come across his territory and he’d fuck with you.
Lew kind of loved the pain in the ass.
Shelton held down a street corner on the borders of Banika. Sometimes he ran a gambling hall, others an escort service. Shelton had no qualms about doing what was needed in order to survive. Even though he took his damn sweet time getting things done, it wasn’t because he was lazy or didn’t understand. Shelton didn’t see the world like most people. He wasn’t a Reader, not really, but he could look at the world and see the vast connections between everyone, the cause and effect threads. The only thing Shelton was consistent at predicting was time of death, which made him an Atropos in terms of designation. What they didn’t note in the records was his mild competency in mind control, and his non-super power ability to read people’s body language as plainly as if they were giving a soliloquy.
If Shelton didn’t hate the establishment so much, if he didn’t grow up with a distrust of all government functions, Lew would have seriously tried to get him on the force. As it was, he was a Confidential Informant. And one who just happened to work where Stella Karamanlis disappeared.
“Shelton,” Runner said as they exited the squad car. “What do you have to share with the class today?”
Shelton stared down Runner. They weren’t the best acquaintances, something to do with Runner’s need to always be on the go and Shelton’s stubborn nature of staying still. It would be entertaining if Lew didn’t have to work with both of them.
“You brought the rookie,” Shelton said, turning to Lew. “I thought you didn’t like bringing the fresh meat all the way down here. Like to keep them nice and safe near your slick and clean buildings downtown.”
“Shelton, this isn’t my first time down here,” Runner said.
“But you’re just going to go further down,” Shelton said. He riffled through his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Death stick for the Dead Man?” he said as he offered one to Runner.
“That’s not funny,” Runner said.
“We all going to die some time, Detective Conley,” Snafu said, “even Old Man Juergens there. We all going to waste away some day.”
“As pleasant as it is always is to shoot the shit with you, Shelton,” Lew said, “we need some info.”
“I didn’t think you came down this way to see my new home,” Shelton said with his arms stretched out. “You talking about that abduction that’s got Haldane spooked. The girl.”
“Stella Karamanlis,” Lew said.
“Her parents are nice folks,” Shelton said, “always gave food and blankets out to those who needed it. They don’t need their girl gone, but I don’t know about her. Ain’t seen her line cut yet. There’s the boy though.”
“What boy?” Lew asked.
“Rich boy,” Shelton said, as his eyes went hazy. “Smart. Shouldn’t be in this city or on this side of town but is, trying to find someone. An old friend. Friend of friend. Dark hair, eyes, but he’s got a brain. Never meant to wander here but needed to find something. Looking for a sledgehammer. But his line got cut.” Shelton blinked and fumbled for a cigarette, hands shaking with adrenaline as the vision ended.
“Where did his line get cut,” Lew asked, voice soft and cautious.
“Down by the old armory,” Shelton muttered through the cigarette in his mouth. “We done now?”
“Yeah, Shelton, we’re done,” Runner said. He held out a $20 bill. “Go get a cup of soup or something, why don’t you.”
“Thanks Conley,” Shelton said, palming the bill and walking off. “You’re going to have to talk to the cats,” he yelled back at them.
Runner watched him turn down the street before asking Lew. “What the hell does that mean?”
Lew shrugged and got back into the car. He didn’t want to let Runner know how much this whole case was setting him on edge. But when Haldane, Sledge, and Shelton were spooked, not to mention Banika Syndicate willing to work with the cops? Hell, end of the world didn’t even begin to cover it.
“We’re going to the morgue?” Runner asked.
“I figure we’d just call,” Lew said. He held out his phone to Runner.
“And I’m calling why?”
“You dial the numbers quicker and talk faster,” Lew said.
Runner rolled his eyes, accepting the phone as he flipped out his notepad. He made the call and began taking notes at a dizzying rate. Lew couldn’t even follow his fingers for too long without getting sick.
He let Runner’s voice lull him into a nap as he chatted with Hamm, the Coroner’s Assistant, and woke up when Runner flicked his ear.
“Wake up, old man.”
“Quiet, grasshopper, I’m thinking.”
“I didn’t know contemplation came with snoring. It’s kind of like that time you told Vera you were working on office mediation, even if it came with drool.”
Lew held up his middle finger. “What’d you find out, Rookie?”
Runner stuck his tongue out in response but then flipped through his notes. “Doc Stern said there was only one body found in and around Banika territory this past week. A young out-of-towner by the name of Rob Oswalt. He was found in the alley in front of the old armory building. They don’t know what killed him yet. The only witnesses they can find are of the feline nature. Like a cat can be a friggin’ witness.”
Lew got out of the car and checked the trunk.
“What the hell are you doing?” Runner asked.
Lew held up two cat cages in triumph. “We’re going witness procuring.”
“So, you’re telling me we have to capture these cats and take them to somebody who will, what, scan their fur for signs?” Runner asked.
“Not exactly,” Lew said as he got back in the car and drove them toward the old armory. “We’ll take them to see Dr. Smith. I better call him and set up an appointment.” He stopped the car with a screech and grabbed his phone from Runner’s hands. “Why don’t you get at least two of those cats,” he said, gesturing to the alley.
“Don’t we have Animal Control for this?”
“I don’t want the cats put on death row just because we need them as witnesses.”
“And why do I have to do this?”
“Because you’re the one with super speed.”
“And not because you have a dislike of all things feline.”
“My grandmother was a very suspicious woman, okay? She came from a time when they thought cats caused plague. That emotional trauma stays with you. Now, off you go, I’ve got to call the revered Dr. Smith.” Lew shooed him away with his hands.
“What can he talk to the animals?” Runner asked.
Lew laughed. “Now, that would just be crazy to think, wouldn’t it?”
Runner rolled his eyes but got the cat carriers out of the trunk.
Lew pulled out his cell and dialed Dr. Bill Smith, also known as Hoosier for his undying love of his alma mater.
“Pig,” Hoosier greeted him.
“Ass,” Lew replied, “I need your special brand of Animal Whispering.”
“Stop watching National Geographic Channel.”
“Stop dictating my viewing schedule. I’ve got some cats who may have witnessed a murder.”
“The Cat Who Knew Too Much?”
“Wow, you and my mother could compare reading choices.”
“How does it feel to know a fictional feline has a better solved case rate than you?”
“At least my goldfish doesn’t tell me to murder people.”
“At least my parakeet is still alive.”
“Oh, that’s a low blow.”
Hoosier laughed. “Just bring the cats in, use the backdoor.”
“I’m bringing Runner.”
“Of course you are,” Hoosier said, the words full with his special brand of mocking.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Hoosier sighed. “He’s like your little pet, a puppy wagging his tail and looking for affection and approval from his master. He follows you everywhere.”
“He’s my partner.”
“Really, and does that extend to off-duty hours because Vera told me she saw you two at The Laughing Gator getting smashed. Well, as smashed as you can get.”
“Vera’s a liar.”
“By her very nature you know she has to tell the truth.”
“Only when asked directly. It was an after-shift drink, nothing more. I don’t sleep with the people I work with, especially with our age difference.”
“Leckie says you two won’t be working together for long.”
“Leckie’s full of bullshit.”
“No disagreement there. So, see you in an hour?”
Lew looked up to see Runner approaching with the two carriers. “More like twenty.”
“Well, damn,” Hoosier said, “I best go put on my nice dress and heels.”
“Don’t forget the pearls.”
“You don’t warrant my jewels, Juergens.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Hoosier,” he said and hung up the phone.
“Hoosier?” Runner asked.
“Dr. Smith. He’s an Indiana fan.”
Lew waited for Runner to get into the car and secure the cats, before driving them through the twisting, turning streets. Unlike downtown, which was based off a grid plan, here the streets popped up over old cow pastures and dirt tracks, leading to a traffic pattern which made a newcomers panic.
Of all the questions surrounding the murder of Oswalt, no one wondered how the poor kid got lost. Banika territory was not a place for outsiders.
“So this Dr. Smith is a Cat Whisperer?” Runner asked.
“Something like that,” Lew said, “he’s not limited to just cats or dogs, think more along the lines of Dr. Doolittle.”
“That’s a little unbelievable.”
“You’re sitting next to a man born in the 1880s.”
Runner shuddered. “I did not need you to remind me of that. You barely look legal.”
“You’re the one with super speed.”
“Yet I age normally.”
“For now,” Lew said.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You shall learn, little grasshopper.”
Lew pulled up in front of the vet clinic. “We’re here,” he announced.
Hoosier stood at the back door.
“Go ahead,” Hoosier said, “get out all your Lassie and Dr. Doolittle jokes.”
“I’ve only got one question,” Runner said.
“Yeah?” Hoosier asked.
“Do your woodland friends help construct your wardrobe or did you actually pay money for that shirt.”
“Oh, wait, I got something for you,” Hoosier said and held up his middle finger in response.
“I like him,” Runner said.
Lew shook his head. There was a reason why he waited so long to introduce the two.
“Dead body, missing girl. Need I keep going on about why we shouldn’t be wasting time by trading pleasantries.”
“Shit, Chuckler, I didn’t think you even know how to say a word like pleasantries,” Runner said.
“You need to bring him around more often,” Hoosier said, gesturing them into the building.
A few of the volunteers and technicians were still milling about. Hoosier’s clinic was the only one that stayed open 24 hours a day. Emergencies didn’t work on a 9 to 5 schedule, he always said, and he wouldn’t have an animal die because of human’s office hours.
Hoosier’s office was a mish-mash of sports memorabilia, animal medical charts, and research books. His dog, Lilly, barely gave them a glance as they entered.
“Should we do this here?” Runner asked.
“Stray cats will probably be more freaked out by an exam room than here,” Hoosier said. He pulled out a tray of tools. “Plus, those two are used to humans. They get fed by the restaurant workers on a pretty regular basis.”
“How the hell can you know that?” Runner asked, carefully putting the cat carriers down on the one clear table.
“What do you think they’re yapping about?” Hoosier asked.
“I though all that meowing meant they were cursing me out,” Runner admitted.
Lew patted his shoulder. “Rest assured, they are.”
“These are alley cats,” Hoosier explained, “not completely feral. They know humans leave out some of the best food. Even if we’re crappy hunters.”
Lew took the seat behind Hoosier’s desk and propped his feet up while Runner watched Hoosier go to work.
“How is this done?” he asked Lew.
“I don’t know the technical description, but it’s kind of like animal mind reading. Hoosier’s done this his whole life. He’ll do an examination while getting all the information he needs. Once he’s done he’ll give them a round of antibiotics and shots as well, all the while figuring out where they’ve been. His brainwaves just link up with theirs.”
“That’s a little crazy,” Runner said, “that said, I am still scarred from the demonstration of your powers.”
Lew smirked. “Never seen a man stick a knife through his hand before?”
“It turns my stomach, seeing your cells reform that quickly,” Runner said.
Lew shrugged. “Your body does something similar, on the inside at least. They amount of abuse you put it through with your speed, god knows what your muscles and tendons would look like if they didn’t repair themselves.”
Runner shifted. “You know, I never really studied the biology and body chemistry of all this for a reason. I don’t think I really want to know just how different I am. It’s enough to know I just am.”
Lew nodded. “You’re not the only one who feels that way. I’ve had far too many years and questions. And hell, when the science community routinely asks for your cells as they try to make a Fountain of Youth in a lab, you figure you might as well try and puzzle out just what they want with you.”
Runner was about to ask him a question when Hoosier interrupted him.
“Granted, the cats can’t tell you the motive, but they said Oswalt was dropped into the alley, and he was still breathing. They didn’t like the smell of the human who did it. It reminded them of a snake.”
“Shelton?” Runner asked.
Lew laughed. “As if Snafu Shelton would ever haul a body anywhere.”
Hoosier laughed. “Snafu doesn’t get out of bed for less than $2,000, and that’s what you have to pay to get him to leave.”
Runner gaped as Hoosier laughed.
“So innocent and virginal,” Hoosier said. He scooped up the two cats. “I’m going to take care of these two. You know the way out.”
“Thanks, Hoosier,” Lew called after him.
“So, what do we do now?” Runner asked.
Lew checked his watch. It was almost midnight. “I take you home and we start over tomorrow.”
********
Lew was used to working on less than five hours of sleep, Runner not so much. The amount of energy he used with his powers meant he required a lot of rest and even more food.
It was only eight, and Runner had already finished some twelve cups of coffee.
“Please stop before you have a heart attack,” Vera said. She turned to Lew. “Chuckler, take better care of your partner.”
Lew shrugged. “I told him to come in later, but he’s stubborn as hell.”
“You can’t keep up with him, Runner, don’t even try,” Toye said.
Runner simply glared at them all over the rim of his coffee cup.
Everything was silent for another hour or two. The bullpen filled with nothing but the sounds of typical office work, minus one or two drugged out arrestees. It was turning out to be a nice morning until the door to Stone’s office jerked open.
“Juergens, Conley, my office. Now,” Stone ordered.
Lew exchanged a look with Runner and gestured for him to follow.
“What’s up, boss man?” Lew asked.
Stone ripped open a pack of gum and shoved two pieces in his mouth.
“Explain to me how I ask you to investigate the disappearance of a missing woman and instead you’re looking into the murder of a young man.”
“We think they’re connected,” Runner offered.
“How?” Stone asked as he began to pace. “How are Rob Oswalt, a John Hopkins Med Student and Stella Karamanlis, a receptionist for Doc Grant connected, besides incidents in Banika territory. An area of the city where Karamanlis lived and Oswalt wandered into. Please, tell me so I can explain to the Chief of Police, so she can explain to Mr. and Mrs. Karamanlis.”
“I thought Haldane said they wouldn’t go to the police,” Runner said to Lew.
Lew shrugged. “Lena’s not exactly a normal cop.” He turned to Stone. “Lena giving you hell?” he asked, “you could just ask me to go to talk to her.”
“You’re buddies with the Chief of Police?” Runner asked.
“Lena and I go way back,” Lew said.
“Chief of Police Riggi is the only person in this metro area who is older than Chuckler,” Stone said.
“That we know of,” Lew clarified.
“So she has the super healing ability too?” Runner asked.
“Among other things,” Stone said, “don’t ever try to pull something over on Riggi. She’ll have you by the balls before you can even blink.”
Runner shifted in his chair. “I’m sure I could get out of the way fast enough.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Stone and Lew said in unison.
“She’s that fast?”
“She’ll freeze you in place,” Stone said, “Riggi can control time within about a fifteen minute frame. She uses it rarely, but she won’t hesitate if you piss her off.”
“Whatever caused Stella’s disappearance, it may have something to do with Oswalt’s death,” Lew said, turning the conversation back on topic. “Both have something unnatural around them, even for us. Most humans don’t remind cats of snakes.”
“So?” Stone asked.
“Cats recognize snakes as predators. It’s why they hiss and put their ears back. They rarely, if ever, see humans as predators. If Hoosier said the cats were reminded of snakes, that’s significant. Sledge said anything involving Stella’s abduction was tampered with on the level that a Sibyl like him can’t figure it out. Shelton didn’t even see her death, and even if he did, I don’t think he’d see the real one. We’re dealing with some real shit here, Stone. We’re talking about someone who can actively manipulate memories, time, and even human trace essence.” Lew sat back. “You can tell Lena that I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to be a simple one.”
Stone sat back in his chair. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, “you both still stink of that alley and there’s something wrong there. I can’t quite figure out the taste or scent yet, but it’s just off.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Runner asked.
Stone pulled out his gun and three packs of gum.
“We’re going on a field trip, boys.”
Part Two|| Part Three