2 Brooklyn James (14 page)

“I heard that,” Chief yells after her.

Marks stands, exchanging one more handshake with Chief, grabbing up the box of files.

“You boys be careful down there in New Orleans.”

“Yes Sir,” Marks confirms.

“Good seeing you again, young lady,” Chief adds, still eyeing Aubrey suspiciously. “You stop by the lounge and grab some ice for that ankle.”

She smiles, nodding, gently urging Marks out the door.

“Would you calm down,” Marks mutters out the side of his mouth. “I’ll have you there in a jiff.”

“It’s not that,” she scolds. “He keeps looking at me funny. You think he knows something’s going on?”

Marks shrugs. “He didn’t get to be Chief for nothing.” They walk the long corridor.

“That Bonnie sure is a looker,” Aubrey leads.

“She’s not bad,” Marks dismisses coolly.

“Ha!” Aubrey exclaims. “You drew up like a clam the moment she walked in,” she points out, a hint of jealousy in her inflection.

Marks has no reply.

“I understand.” She follows him out the door and down the steps. “I used to get that way in front of Tony.”

“Gronkowski?” he pipes, his ego wounded.

“Yeah. He’s handsome and charismatic and...”

“Maybe you should have Gronkowski take you home,” he barks, interrupting any further adjectives she might add in explaining the
debonair
detective.

“You know, in Japanese culture much is attributed to blood types,” Dr. Godfrey begins, continuing to study slides of Tony’s blood, comparing it to Gina’s. “Their theory is not based so much on Rh-factor, be it negative or positive. They simply look at types, A...B...and O. You and Gina share O-blood type. The only difference, hers is negative, yours is positive. However, still alike,” he reasons. “The Japanese go so far as to measure compatibility with others based on like blood types. Think of it in terms of astrological signs...horoscopes.” He scrunches up his nose assisting his glasses to eye level, making notes about the interplay of their blood. “Horoscopes would have one believe the combination of certain signs are more compatible than others. For instance, I’m a Cancer, a water sign. For optimal relationship compatibility, astrology would advise me to seek out other water signs, such as Scorpio and Pisces. My worst mates would be an Aries or a Libra, a fire and an air sign. My first wife was an Aries,” he remembers with a chuckle.

“Like oil and water, huh?” Tony comments, able to catch his breath as the treadmill slows to a more comforting speed momentarily.

“More like gunpowder and lead,” Dr. Godfrey jests. “My point, in Japanese culture asking one’s blood type is as common as you or me asking each other’s religious preference. In their culture, personality, temperament, even marital success can be gauged off blood types. It can be a huge
faux pas
to marry out of blood type.” He paces short choppy steps, slightly stooped in his white lab coat. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong, trying to come up with an explanation as to why you have Vigilare pedigree, seeing how you do not share the same Rh-factor as Gina. Maybe the Japanese are onto something, and the details are in blood type rather than blood factor. If that’s the case,” he throws his arms out to his sides, “then you and Gina are perfectly matched.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Tony’s attention is drawn back to the treadmill as it increases in both speed and incline. “Tell DeLuca that.”

“Tell DeLuca what?” Gina asks entering the lab.

“That you and I are a match made in Heaven,” Tony expels through heavy breathing, a smirk forming on his lips.

Gina walks to him picking up the remote control to the treadmill. She taps on a few buttons, causing the belt to significantly increase in speed, jolting Tony into action to maintain his footing. He gives her an exaggerated dirty look. “If you can still talk, you’re not working hard enough,” she points out. She shakes her head reading his impressive numbers from the monitor.

“We have a few new records,” Dr. Godfrey smiles, tapping on the book containing stress test readings from Gina, Emily and Aubrey.

Gina scans the pages, noticing she has been demoted from a few of her consecutive first place standings. She snaps the book closed tossing it onto Dr. Godfrey’s desk. “You ready?”

“Almost,” Dr. Godfrey answers interpreting the competition in her tone.

Tony smiles, fully pushing himself to continue moving up in the ranks. “What’s it say?” he pauses, catching his breath before finishing, “about O-blood type personality?”

Dr. Godfrey smiles, knowing the wily Detective is fishing. “They are agreeable, sociable and optimistic. Those are the positives,” he clarifies, holding up his index finger. “Vanity, arrogance and jealousy make up the other side of the coin.”

“Heads or tails, DeLuca?” Tony huffs, probing her jealous bone.

“You’re one to talk.” She eyes his perfectly landscaped chest (a notably vain practice), her gaze wandering a little too long for her own comfort, taking note of the chiseled swell not even the myriad sticky electrodes can hide. She grabs the remote, standing in front of the treadmill and Tony.

“Proceed,” Dr. Godfrey directs, his clipboard in hand, his eyes fixed on the monitor.

Gina preps herself, calling on her body for her transformation.

“Uh-uh,” Tony rebukes, too short on breath to form words.

“It’s alright, Gronkowski,” Gina reassures, knowing he’s apprehensive about another episode like the one at Manny Briggs’ house when he pummeled her.

He argues with his eyes, taking note of her wrists, black and blue from his hands.

“We just need to see what your body is capable of when you transcend.” Her irises begin to sparkle with little flecks of emerald green. “I’m not engaging you. You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” she clarifies.

Dr. Godfrey watches excitedly as the monitor speeds up, beeping and flashing, Tony’s vitals surging on the rise with his metamorphosis. Tony battles the change, attempting Dr. Godfrey’s mind over matter approach.

“Stop fighting me,” Gina warns, exerting more force with her eyes, her finger mashed against the remote control, maxing out the incline and the speed of the treadmill.

Tony’s hazel eyes jet a force of reflective emerald green, catapulting Gina back against the wall as his body fully delivers his Vigilare pedigree. He growls with the jolt to his system, his arms moving swiftly from front to back propelling his legs to thrust and climb, fully dominating the challenge.

Dr. Godfrey watches in awe at the ease with which Tony functions. Gina maintains her post in front of him, torn between wanting him to succeed yet not surpass her in his effort.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
The clock’s second hand makes its full third lap around.

“Hercules,” Dr. Godfrey expels, searching through the stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Hercules?” Gina scoffs.

“Greek mythology. Hercules captured Cerberus.”

“We’re not back to this are we? Hell hounds.” Gina shakes her head.

“Hercules, the son of the god Zeus and mortal woman Alcmene. Half-man, half-immortal.” He pulls from his research, reading over his notes, “The Twelve Labors of Hercules. Number twelve...the capture of Cerberus.” Dr. Godfrey slaps his hand down on his desk, a triumphant smile forming.

“So, you’re saying you believe Gronkowski is the key in capturing Manny Briggs...
Hell Hound,”
Gina reluctantly uses the moniker.

“‘Hercules overpowered Cerberus, slinging the beast over his back and dragging it out of the underworld,’” Dr. Godfrey quotes. “Look at the man!” he flings his arms uncontrollably in Tony’s direction, whose pace does not falter.

Gina eyes him, his skin bronzed and glistening, reminiscent of the Greek demigod. She shrugs, actually considering the notion.

Dr. Godfrey shuffles through his paperwork. “We need more information on Hell Hound. Greek mythology would lead us to believe he is three-headed.” His index finger on the rise. “Although some reports and photos depict the hound of the underworld as having only two heads.”

“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far. I mean, come on, Vigilare pedigree is slightly supernatural, not divine, and certainly not mythical. We’re grounded in reality, aren’t we?” she asks looking for validation.

“You’re taking me too literally, dear. I don’t propose Hell Hound actually has three heads. But what if he has the ability to morph.” Dr. Godfrey pulls the files from Manny Briggs’ safe. Opening the file on Lon, he points. “That could explain why you thought you were in the presence of your deceased husband.”

Gina paces, keeping an eye on Tony’s performance. “If that’s the case, then we’re missing one. Who’s the third?”

Dr. Godfrey points to the file of Maxim Kiesel, the young man’s photo reminiscent of a young Lon Castille.

“Have you heard from Emily?” Gina asks, her gut feeling uneasy.

Dr. Godfrey shakes his head.

The swift movement of Tony’s feet recalls Gina’s attention. “Might as well shut him down.” She slows the treadmill, countering his metamorphosis. “Something tells me he could do this all day,” she grumbles.

Dr. Godfrey chuckles at his competitive marvel, dutifully recording the last set of vitals as Tony returns to himself.

The treadmill whines, its belt slowing to a stop. “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping? How’d I do?” Tony begins twenty questions.

“Come on,
Hercules,”
Gina pipes. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.” She walks from the lab out into the spacious underground dwelling, taking up residence in the center of the room where she prepares for eminent battle.

“Hercules?” Tony inquires, catching his breath, a towel in hand wiping the perspiration from his body. “Did I do that well?” He grins.

Dr. Godfrey’s round face beaming with pearly whites, he gives Tony the universal thumbs-up, coaxing him in Gina’s direction.

“Here. Put these on.” She throws a black martial arts
gi
in Tony’s direction, her knuckles protected with half-gloves as she bounces from one foot to another on the tips of her toes on the large, square padded floor mat.

He dons the clothes fully disgruntled, disapproving a sparring match with her. Pulling his gloves on over his palms, he secures them to his wrist, his fingers nimble and free. Dr. Godfrey stands on the sideline, his brow furrowed with concern, his eyes luminous with excitement. He grabs a pen from the pocket protector of his white lab coat, his shoulders rounded, hovering over his ever trusty clipboard. He nods to Gina, who immediately approaches Tony tapping her padded hands off of his signifying commencement of their first round. Tony half-heartedly holds his hands in position standing flat-footed, maintaining his discontent in engaging in any sort of physical contact with her. Gina quickly goes on the offensive taking sly advantage of his lack of try, her arm clotheslining his neck while her leg simultaneously locks around his inside ankle, sweeping his from beneath him. She follows him to the floor, astraddle his waist. Dr. Godfrey makes note of the point, documenting it in Gina’s favor.

“It was your idea to be all in.” She pushes up off of him, standing. “If you want out, there’s the door,” she says, pointing in its direction.

His pride wounded and anger surfacing, he flips himself into a backbend, springing upright swiftly onto his feet, now engaged and
floating like a butterfly
in preparation to
sting like a bee.

Gina smiles coaxing him on with her hands. They engage with a series of strikes, blocks and kicks at a furious speed, causing Dr. Godfrey to shuffle from side to side, living vicariously through their action. Testing Tony’s validity, Gina purposely leaves herself open while moving in on him. He hesitates, ultimately taking the shot, his foot connecting with her right in the breadbasket. “Umph,” she exhales slightly stooped over, attempting to catch her wind. Her guard maintained, she continues to engage.

“Sorry,” Tony huffs, his guard drawn but retreating.

“Quit saying that,” she grunts, still fighting to recoup air. As Gina wills her leg above shoulder level, Tony catches her ankle in the middle of her crescent kick aimed at his head. She spins her torso, dropping to her hands in wheelbarrow position on the mat, the momentum swinging her other leg around in perfect position for a mule kick. She releases, connecting with his chest, knocking him backward and forcing him to release her ankle. Finally realizing if he stays he has no other option but to fully engage. Tony commits, catching her around her mid-section as she returns to her feet, the force causing her to fall to the mat. They go end-over-end, grappling, exchanging dominant positions, their bodies taut and aggressive, neither willing to submit.

“Now, we’ve got a match!” Dr. Godfrey exclaims, busily glancing from them to his clipboard attempting to keep pace.