Broken Angels (5 page)

“Hey—” Darryl started to speak, but Robert held up his hand.

“Wait till this piece is over,” he whispered.

Sin Limite finished her song:

“It goes against all sense—

why do children love to play

in the rain, begging for a later illness

to take from their days of joy?

I had an umbrella in hand,

but it’s useless against what the wind carries.

So I returned home

to save it for a lighter day.”

The crowd applauded as the singer waved and the group left the stage. A saxophonist was coming up next. Robert signaled to the bartender he was ready for another drink, and then he turned his full attention to Darryl. Darryl’s attention was on a blonde sitting at the bar.

“Okay.” Robert touched his partner’s arm. “What’s up?”

Darryl passed another smile to the striking beauty then frowned at his partner.

“It was a band of identity thieves,” Darryl said. “A good one. Even the kids were involved. And the headless woman.”

“You kidding me?”

“No. They’d been making their living through financial fraud, using aliases. They’re wanted in five states. The good citizens of the Heartland Security Agency were pretty happy to finally get their hands on them, after we got our hands on them. They weren’t too happy about that part.”

“So we got a little rough,” Robert said, “so what? We had no choice, and no backup. No Peacemaker agents to help us out—”

“There was an incident at one of the hotels near Pentagon City,” Darryl said. “Three jihadists tried to take the whole building down. There weren’t any Peacemaker agents readily available.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Robert said, then with a grin, “Funny. Most Americans think Muslims are the biggest threat to civilized, God-fearing society.”

Darryl nodded. “No surprise you would find that funny.”

“What about our identity thieves?” Robert asked. “Were they affiliated with The ID?”

“The teenage girl and three of the guys are carriers. The rest were just regular punks and scum. No one’s sure yet of any affiliation with The Infinite Definite.”

That would’ve been interesting. Identity thieves associated with The ID. Even though the abbreviation was an intentional nod to Freud and pronounced the same way as “id,” Robert always considered the concept of personal identities—shifting and lacking— when pondering how the terrorists operated. They were hard to identify, until they attacked. And once they’d left a bloody scene, despite the near ubiquity of HSA surveillance cameras, they were near impossible to track.

Well, hell—affiliated or not, these identity thieves seemed just as vicious as any Infinite-Definite terrorist to Robert. “Who killed that woman?”

“There’s little love and even less loyalty among thieves, Goldner. It didn’t take long after the HSA boys started grilling them for each of them, one by one, to start painting by the numbers. They killed the woman several days ago then locked her and her little brother in the closet. That girl who came at me with the pool stick, she was their sister, the middle child.”

“What?” Robert said. “You told me she said her parents lived there.”

“They did. They were the two you tied up in the garage. One of the older men was the stick-dancer’s boyfriend, and boot-boy’s father. The rest were just buddies and friends of the family, and the primary buyers of the drugs most of them used. Apparently they turned against the dead woman when she refused the advances of one of the older men, and also refused to go along with a job they’d planned.”

“Didn’t her parents—”

“They were the first to start beating her,” Darryl said. “Her parents cared more about the potential money than the kids. Only the girl’s little brother tried to stick up for her. That’s why they ended up sticking him in the closet with her corpse. They’d been beating and torturing both of them for several weeks—starving them, whipping them, burning them with matches and hot water, violating them with pliers and screwdrivers. They moved them both to the closet when they had to make room for an unexpected guest.”

“The girl we found on the bed,” Robert said. “She’s not with them?”

“They all say they don’t know her, just that she—like we—attacked them.”

“And what does she say?”

“Nothing. She still hasn’t woken up yet. They planted her deep under. Sam took a look at her before they took her to a secure hospital.”

“Deep under, huh?” Robert said. “I wonder if she’ll grow into something old or new when she finally opens her eyes.”

“Will she be herself or something else? Sam wondered the same thing. She’s at the hospital now.”

“Good,” Robert said. “Sam’s smart enough to judge the true condition of an awakened deep-sleeper based on their first two words. Let’s just hope the girl doesn’t cry like a baby, but instead says—”

“Hello.”

Both of them turned to look, but only Darryl looked happy to see the speaker. Well-toned legs, intriguing smile, and a hairstyle from a different time…It was the same blonde with whom Darryl had just exchanged glances and smiles.

Robert wasn’t surprised. The connection began within the usual timeframe. Within ten minutes of walking into most places, Darryl caught the eye of at least one interested observer. Very affectionate verbal greetings were never far behind.

Robert was never surprised. With Darryl’s smooth skin and its lavender hints, the unusual eyes that literally twinkled, his seductive smile, and the enigmatic and sometimes poetic manner of speaking, Darryl was an attractor. It was a status Darryl manipulated—he believed—for the greater good.

In the past, Robert himself had often been entranced by his partner’s velvet mannerisms, as were most others who came into close contact with Darryl. But unlike most of those others, Robert had grown tired of it. He was tired of women and men interrupting him and Darryl as they tried to talk in private; tired of Darryl’s excuses for engaging them in conversation and leading them on, down to an unsatisfying conclusion, doing more harm than good; and tired of Darryl acting as an illusionist, working his charms and magic, all in the name of “peace.” Robert had lost his patience with the entire charade.

“We’re a little busy here, miss,” Robert said.

“Miss Blake,” the blonde said, extending her hand to Darryl.

Darryl extended his and made a motion as if he would kiss hers, but he stopped short. “Mister Ridley, Miss Blake. And my rude friend here is—”

“Going to check on my drink. Excuse me.”

Robert stood up. Halfway to the bar, he glanced back and saw Miss Blake hadn’t hesitated to take his seat. He snorted and went on his way.

“Sorry, baby,” one of the bartenders said as he sat on the stool. “I was just about to bring it over.”

“S’okay, Sonya.”

“We’re a little understaffed this morning.” She placed the glass of juice in front of him. “Plus I had to deal with the
artistes
.”

“I didn’t come up here to rush you,” Robert said. “I just needed some breathing space.”

“You and me both.” Sonya signaled for another bartender to take drinks to a table. “The crowd isn’t big this morning, but they sure are needy.”

Robert took a little plastic bottle from his pocket. “Saturday morning customers always seem to be tough, no matter how many there are.”

“Yep. It’s only the Saturday night boozing that softens ’em up for Sunday morn.”

Robert laughed. “So what about tomorrow? Anyone interesting showing up?”

“Not this week,” Sonya said. “Couple of recurring acts, same flavor as usual for a Sunday. Light and mellow. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Robert grunted as he swallowed his medication with a sip of juice. “I may be in the mood for something like that before this week is over.”

“Just one more day.”

“And plenty of ways for it to turn nasty,” Robert said.

“Well, if you’re willing to stay up past your bedtime tonight, there’s an absolutely
insane
act performing at DC9, on U Street. Starting around ten, I think.”

“In the city?”

“Don’t sound so disgusted,” Sonya said. “I live in it you know.”

“Sorry,” Robert said. “That’s not how I meant for it to come out. It’s just that, being on city streets after nightfall, something about it makes my hair itch.”

“You won’t be on the streets. You’ll be inside a building. Unless your pleasant attitude gets you thrown out on your ass.”

“Yeah, well, you know me.” Robert smiled, and then he felt a sensation on the pulse of his right wrist. A communication was coming in. He muttered an obscenity and said, “Excuse me,” to Sonya as he walked toward a window and touched the face of the right-wristwatch. While staring out at the sunrise, Robert intuited the message. He had to go to the hospital. Now.

He rushed by the bar and tossed a few bills near his unfinished drink.

“Later, Sonya.”

She nodded at him as he turned and looked for Darryl. They’d both received the same communication, so Robert expected to see his partner making his way toward the exit, or at least rising from his seat. Instead, he only saw Darryl and Miss Blake, seated, hand-in-hand, almost nose-to-nose.

Unbelievable, he thought as made his way back to the table.

“C’mon,” he said when he was within earshot.

“Just a second,” Darryl said.

“We don’t have a second. Didn’t you get the message? She’s up. The doctors are only giving us a small window to speak to her.”

“I got it,” Darryl said. “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

Damn it. Robert turned away and hurried toward the door. Charity work—work that does all harm and no good. Was Darryl so blind that he couldn’t see that?

Robert ran to his car and sped off for the hospital to meet Sam. The found girl needed to be questioned about the still-missing one. Since Darryl and Robert were the two who found her, it made sense for them to be part of the process.

In an absence of common sense, I left my shelter, went out under a sweltered ice-sky
.

The line from Sin Limite’s song “Rainfall” went through his head as he tried to maneuver through Saturday-morning traffic. Like some kind of spell, lines and verses from the whole damn song invaded his thoughts, and stayed. He couldn’t shake them, probably because it all rang so true to life. His life.

He’d once succumbed to passion. A few times, actually.
In an absence of common sense…
He’d made a lot of mature decisions at a young age. He decided to stop being a momma’s boy and go out for the wrestling team in junior high, the first move in a seven-step personal remodeling project designed to capture himself a girlfriend. His first true girlfriend. He wanted a steady girl to have and to hold through the remainder of his school days and on into marriage.

He never made it all the way up the steps. Robert was diverted, his life pushed and dragged through episodes of cruel comedies and darker tragedies: withstanding the unspoken and whispered suspicions in the wake of the mysterious (at the time) death of his best friend Davin; becoming a pariah to all but a couple of his remaining friends; and getting kicked off the high school wrestling team and expelled from school. Hell, by the time his ex-girlfriend’s dad had tried to put buckshot through his skull, Robert was about ready to end it all; he’d fall in a bloody, delirious fit of laughter. But something compelled him to save himself that day—for the even worse episodes that were to come.

It had all seemed so unrelenting until that clear, sunny day when he saw Darryl…

His right hand was trembling. Robert looked at it. His nails were turning blue. The hairs on the back of his hand were stiffening, sticking straight out. His finger joints popped—painfully—when he bent them. On the periphery of his vision, he saw the phantom gnats, the indigo and crimson dots that couldn’t be seen straight on but only existed to taunt, to act as a signal.
Shit
. Speaking of fits…This wasn’t going to stop on its own. It was actually about a minute away from getting worse. He kept only his left hand on the steering wheel, but it would soon follow suit. He wouldn’t be able to steer at all. And he couldn’t count on a crash to put him out of his misery.

Robert stepped on the gas. He’d been driving through a residential neighborhood, a linked set of one-way streets that, in times of heavy traffic on the primary route, Robert knew as a shortcut to the hospital. There was nowhere to pull over, and he couldn’t just stop. All of the driveways were full, except the one he’d spotted a bit farther down.

He slowed at the first stop sign, didn’t bother for the second. Robert swung into the open driveway and put his foot down hard on the brake. His left hand couldn’t reach the stick to shift the car into park; his right hand was useless; so his foot stayed pressed on the brake pedal while his left hand fumbled with his inside jacket pocket for his pill bottle.

He twisted the cap off with his teeth and poured two pills into his mouth. He let them sit on the middle of his tongue while the back of it worked to get enough saliva in his mouth in order to smooth the pills’ passage down his throat.

Robert had to swallow twice to get them all the way down. He then closed his eyes and waited for the illusion of normality to retake his body.

This shouldn’t have happened. He’d just taken his damned medication less than fifteen minutes ago. Looked like from now on he’d have to start taking twice as many pills every few hours, and remember to ask Sam when he saw her if any of the government’s medical geniuses have yet come up with anything stronger to keep the parasites tame.

What a charmed life he led. If anything, he should be the one lying in a hospital bed.

Robert had known what alleged “sin” he’d committed, how he’d opened the door for the Virus to enter his body. What he didn’t know—what no one knew—is where those translucent flies had come from in the first place. They’d appeared in random areas on the planet one early spring, and then they disappeared on the eve of summer, long before they could be classified or properly studied. Left in the wake of their biting and blood-feeding spree were the millions of parasitic microorganisms they’d injected into the skins of thousands of people. The human immune system defeated many of the parasites almost immediately. But in a few unlucky people, once they hit the bloodstream, the parasites thrived. They multiplied and took up residence in their hosts’ red blood, skin, and brain cells, introducing the human species to the White Fire Virus.