The Broken Ones (Book 1) Page 15

  He raised his head, his long hair falling away from his face, to find a camera mere inches from his face. He could see his reflection in the surface of the lens. He raised his head to look at under his chin and found only a small bruise where the bullet had hit.

  He understood.

  “Son of a bitch, I am bulletproof.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lanton eased open the door to his chief's office and slid in, trying his best to close the door behind himself without making a sound. Chief Stewart had an immaculate office, with one whole wall adorned with awards and accommodations. The Chief was a local legend, taking down a medley of high-profile targets in his day as Homicide Detective. It was after The Chief that Lanton tried to model himself, mixed with more humor than The Chief had. It wasn't that The Chief was without humor, just not the fun loving level that Lanton considered himself. "You wanted to see me, Boss?" Lanton tried to keep the worry out of his voice. The Chief was much like an elusive evil dictator that remained aloof from people, only showing up or calling for people when heads needed to roll. Perhaps The Chief had taken offense to the amount of time that Lanton was spending with Chris at the hospital.

  The Chief swiveled in his large leather chair, his small round face marked with lines and a scowl. "Take a seat," he commanded, gesturing to the seat across from him.

  Lanton would have preferred the couch that sat along the furthest wall, but moved to seat himself in the chair. The chair was little more than a school chair with a cushion attached to the seat. The Chief wasn't here to make his guests comfortable. He moved his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Whatever was coming, he wasn't about to rush headlong into it.

  The Chief regarded him for a few moments, dark eyes that had solved murders seemed to be looking for a murderer here. "We have a problem," he finally, said, more cryptic than Lanton expected.

  "What can I do to help?" Lanton hoped that was the right answer. To him, every time he met with The Chief, it was like a choose-your-own-adventure where every other page was a horrific death.

  "Morivan is dead. He ate his service revolver this morning,” the Chief never one for easing into things.

  "Holy shit," was all Lanton could say.

  "That's not even the worst part,” the Chief admitted.

  "It isn't?" Lanton wondered what could be worse than a coworker and friend killing himself.

  "No. No, it isn't. When they found him, he had wings. Wings. Not sewn on or some cosplay costume, actual fucking wings." The scowl on The Chief's face deepened so much that the lines got deeper, more like cuts.

  Lanton thought of the boy who had turned into some sort of demon over the weekend. "I just saw him yesterday. He looked fine."

  "Whatever happened between then and now is a mystery. One I fully intend for you to personally figure out. This whole city is turning into an episode of The Flash, and it's pissing me off."

  "Nice reference drop, Boss."

  "Shut up, Lanton,” the Chief's eyes narrowed. "In the last month, we have had Flying Fat Boy, Shit Monster, and Fire Panties have a brawl on our turf. Strange reports of people showing up with instant body modifications, and now we have Kid Sluggo about to do a press conference on our doorstep because he flatlines a perp by smacking him into a civilian's car. City Hall is already in a meeting about this sudden emergence of The Altered showing up all over the city. I am already getting calls from the F.B.I. Field Office that they are going to be conducting inquiries into these cases. Truth is, I have no intentions to be run roughshod over on this bullshit. We are getting out in front of it. The department is going to be building a team to address this new threat."

  "Altered?"

  "Yeah, is what the Media has started calling these freaks. Better than superheroes or mutants or whatever. Whatever they are, we need a team to deal with them."

  "Like the Avengers,” Lanton smirked.

  "Shut up, Lanton."

  "Yes. Sir,” Lanton couldn't stop smirking.

  "I don't know why you are so happy with yourself. You are going to be the head of this internal division."

  "Me?" Lanton blinked in surprise.

  "Yes. With Morivan dead, you are the most tenured officer, and you are already familiar with the devil boy case."

  Lanton winced again at the memory.

  The Chief continued, perhaps not seeing the wince or not caring. Not caring would be Lanton's bet. "You start working on who you will have on your team. We need to get this up and running before I get some blowhard in here telling me how and with who to do this. Understood?"

  Lanton nodded. "I understand."

  "Good, get over to Morivan's house and see what you can figure out. We need to determine what is causing this, and get some sort of answers. Now go."

  "I should buy an eye patch,” Lanton said with a smirk. "I think I would look dashing with one."

  "Shut up, Lanton. Just do what I told you to do. And cool it with the superhero references. Police officers are heroes. These are idiots in outfits are screwing it up for all of us."

  Lanton nodded, and was about to say he understood when a gunshot rang out from the front of the building.

  "Jesus Christ,” the Chief growled, moving with surprising quickness for a man of his rotund size. His dark eyes fell over Lanton, and though the Chief did not say it, they both worried the same thing.

  Had another Chris Taylor just happened?

  Just as Lanton thought that, his cell phone began to ring. He didn't know the number, but he could tell it was local. Since he had a couple of cases pending, he figured he better answer it. Besides, outside the office a bunch of officers were scrambling to the front, all with hands on their weapons, ready to dispatch another murder in their midst if they needed to.

  "Hello?" Lanton found himself speaking in a whisper.

  "Officer Lanton?" A woman's voice, filled with panic.

  "It is. Can I help you?" Still whispering.

  "This is Nurse Millie from the hospital. The one watching Chris."

  Dread filled Lanton's heart. He hoped this wouldn't be one of those calls. "I remember you. Is Chris alright?"

  There was a sigh on the other end, possibly from relief. "He is now. He had a seizure a couple of minutes ago, but we got him sedated and he is resting now."

  Lanton was confused. "Okay. Do you want me to come by?"

  There was a pause. A long one. "No, no. You don't need to. It was just,” she had a hard time with whatever she intended to say. "I don't know if I should even be calling you."

  Lanton smiled despite himself. "Say whatever it is. I won't judge and I won't cause problems."

  Another long pause. "I was in with Chris, and we were watching that special they had on the girl who could throw fire. Well, we were doing fine until the show put up the picture of the girl. You know, you couldn't see what she looked like with that horrible contraption on her head, but as soon as Chris saw the picture of the girl's face he started screaming. Saying the strangest things."

  "What was he saying?"

  "He was saying that she was the girl. The girl from his dreams. He said something about her having no eyes. Then he grabbed me tight by my arm and demanded that I call you and tell you that we had to save her. To look out for a bus that wasn't a school bus. That she was going to die on a highway somewhere. Does that mean anything to you?

  "No," Lanton replied honestly. "But I will keep an eye on her. Let Chris know I will keep an eye on her. I will make sure nothing happens to her."

  "So, you believe him?" Her tone curious.

  "I don't know what to believe, but I do know that some weird things are going down in this city and I would be an idiot not to at least give his words some credit."

  He heard her sigh on the other end. "Will you be back by tonight?" Her tone had changed. Softer now.

  "I have to run by a scene. I might come by after that."

  "I would like that."

  "Then I will try to make it a point to make it happen."

>   A soft giggle. "Be careful, Officer Lanton."

  "No, promises,” Lanton said and they hung up.

  As he walked out of The Chief's office, he saw The Chief storming back toward him. "Everything alright, Boss?"

  "Little shit decided to use the press to announce his bullshit superhero name."

  "What?" Was all Lanton could think to say.

  "You will see. Will be all over the news for days, I am sure. And somebody get me whomever that fucking gun belongs to!" He brushed past Lanton and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the glass along that whole wall.

  Lanton checked his holster, and found his gun still there. "Glad it's not me,” he mused to himself, and began to make his way to the garage. It was going to be a long night. As he moved, he padded down his pockets looking for his keys. He found a lump in his jacket pocket that he knew wasn't his keys, but that he couldn't place. It ended up being the energy drink that the officer at Chris's place had given him so many nights before. He was about to put it away when he remembered Nurse Millie's voice, and how she had said that she would like him to come by. Morivan's place was a good drive, and the scene would take some time. He should go to bed after that, but he couldn't deny that he liked the prospect of seeing Nurse Millie. He expected that by the sound of her voice, whatever happened to Chris had shaken her. He found himself wanting to be there to help her. To comfort her. He could sleep when he was dead. A lot of people needed his helped tonight.

  "Bottoms up,” he told the drink and downed it in one gulp.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mac lounged on the sofa, bare feet propped up on a matching brown ottoman. Allison sat at the other end of the couch, curled up and holding a pout on her face. The night was far less adventurous than she had hoped for. Between then, on a glass coffee table a half-eaten pizza lay within the confines of its delivery box. Both were now back in their regular clothes, the large screen television playing some show where a man yelled in a belligerent manner at people trying to learn how to cook. At least, that is what Mac got from the show.

  "That sucked," Allison grumped. "Who thought actually finding criminal activity would be so hard?"

  Mac nodded, eyeing another slice, but then looking at Allison, her thin body still looking wonderful in her sweat pants and t-shirt. He thought better than to eat. Most of what had already been eaten was his doing. She ate like a hummingbird when she was upset. "In the movies and comics they make it seem like a crime is happening on every street corner. Even with a police scanner, most of the stuff they were investigating were deaths after the fact or stuff being a superhero wouldn't have helped with."

  "Could you imagine us swooping down into a domestic dispute call?" She stood up, hands on her hips in the universal stance of a superhero. "Pardon me, citizens. I understand there is a disturbance,” she had modified her voice to sound masculine and deep, like a cartoon superhero. Or perhaps a really bad Batman impression. "Perhaps if I pummeled the offender, they would understand how it feels."

  Mac laughed, "Wait, who are you supposed to be? I am pretty sure you don't talk like that, and I am not sure I could call anything I do as pummeling."

  He was rewarded with one of her breathtaking smiles. "Perhaps I could offer to blow the offenders hand off?"

  "I think that's stealing," Mac chuckled. Behind Allison the television changed screens to display an emergency news story. "Hey, look."

  Allison turned and as soon as she saw what it was about she dropped down on the couch next to Mac. "Turn it up," she demanded, getting cozy up next to him.

  A male reporter was on the screen as the volume increased. "Earlier today self-proclaimed "Bulletproof" made a stunning display on the steps of the police station downtown."

  The screen cut to a young man standing before the cameras with a rather large gun pointed to his chin. Before Mac or Allison could react, the gun went off under the young man's chin. The young man's head whipped back and then forward, there to rest for what seemed like a dramatic pause worthy of William Shatner. Then his head came up, and his eyes stared straight into the camera. "Son of a *beep*, I am Bulletproof."

  "Wow,” Mac said.

  "That is one way to announce your hero name though," Allison agreed.

  The show continued one. "His real name is Brian Franks. We have just been told that he and Sarah Givens, the Altered who can create fire, will be transported by bus to a government facility that they believe will be better equipped to house Altered while they await trial."

  Allison scoffed, "More like the government plans to experiment on them in that time. They may never even stand trial."

  Mac moved to look at her. "So, what do you think?"

  "What do you mean?" She smiled up at him from the crook of his arm, smelling of strawberries and something sugary.

  "Well, that dirt thing we fought. If he is still out there, and suspect that he is, now would be a good time for him to strike to get his partner back."

  She appeared to consider it. "If we do this, it will be broad daylight. Plus, how do we cover a moving target? Hard for me to set up shop if I don't have a stationary position."

  "I was thinking about that earlier. For the moment, you can use my Jeep. I made a false set of plates for it, so they won't be able to trace it back to us. Then, we follow behind. If we see something go down, I fly out, and you use the role bar as your platform."

  "It makes sense," she agreed. "But there is a question we should be asking ourselves. Maybe we should be breaking them out,” she raised a hand to stall him as he began to object. "Think about it. At some point, fighting evil means we will be going up against our own government. You know that there is a really good possibility that these people aren't going to be just sitting in cells while they are with the government. There is a good chance that they will turn up dead in the news, but in truth be down in some dark dank facility being cut up and examined, tortured and worse. Are we going to allow this? Is that who we are? Will we turn a blind eye to evil if it wears a badge or waves a flag?"

  Mac settled back into his chair, his mind racing with what she was saying. It was true, and it was scary. At some point, they would have to face that there would be elements with power that would be the enemy. Bad people with lots of power. "I say that we have to give our government a chance. We keep the bus on route to where ever, and if we hear in the future that one is suddenly missing or dead, then we go after the people doing it."

  "That seems a little late, don't you think?"

  "I think that at some point we have to adhere to the basic concept that the police are supposed to have. Innocent until proven guilty, even if the person or organization has a history of being guilty."

  "You might be right," she said doubt seeping into her voice. "Then again, you may be a happy superhero type like Spiderman and Superman, and I may be the cynical Punisher type."

  Mac laughed. "You do have the whole Punisher vibe going on."

  "I am better looking."

  "That you are."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lanton eased the tattered gray Oldsmobile into the driveway, his vision starting to swim just as he shut off the car. The trip was longer than he intended, a breakdown on the main freeway had slowed traffic considerably. He was thinking about how he planned to solve these crimes and decipher what caused all these altered people. He understood that as with most crimes, it was the job of the police to rewind time frame by frame to determine what had transpired. With a death, you had to discover what had killed the person, then work backward from that, trying to determine why that type of death would come for the person. Even with suicide, it was never a clean and easy case. He had seen quite a few cases where someone had tried to make a homicide look like a suicide. It required finding a way to look at the scene and piece together what had transpired.

  Before him, Morivan's home loomed, lost in the shadows of the large trees that surrounded it. Morivan hadn't been rich or well paid, but he was business savvy with his investme
nts. The house was nicer than you might expect one of his rank, but it was all above the books. The two story house sat in an upscale neighborhood that would faint anytime they saw flashing red and blue paint their quiet little hole away from the world. The officer on the scene had already turned off his lights, and the corners ride rested in the shadows behind it. He could see an assortment of onlookers wandering around the fringe of the town, but they would see nothing and would grow bored. If they waited another hour, they might see the body carted out on a gurney, already zipped up in a body bag.

  Or would they? The thought occurred to him that if Morivan had wings, that could lead to an interesting complication with trying to cart the body downtown. Would they even be able to fit him in the back of the meat wagon? Or would they have to rent some sort of U-haul for the poor guy.

  Lanton sat for a moment longer, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He suspected that either he had grown too tired for the energy drink to help, and he felt the onset of sleep deprivation or his body had no way of being ready for the amount of whatever was pumping through his system now. He hoped it was the latter. He would much rather be tweaking on some energy drink and get the nights tasks done, then find himself snoozing in the front room of a crime scene. After his vision returned to normal, and he was sure he could walk to the front door without looking like a total ass, Lanton pulled himself from the car. The air smelled of rain and greenery. The trees that littered the neighborhood were older than the neighborhood itself, which to him, spoke of the money that was invested in establishing the community. Who else but the well-off would pay to have already growing trees moved and planted here? What was involved in that? He suspected that there would be specialist who would make sure the trees would survive the transplant. Heh, trans-plant.