5. DRAGON
"So this guy's got a bank account?" Ethan asked. "That would mean that they should have records of his social security number, identification, right?"
"Let's just go in and ask some questions first," I said. When Ethan was excited about something he seemed to have that same energy as a kid in Disneyland.
He opened the door for me and I stepped inside, out of the rain. Ethan followed behind, snatching off the hood of the Police poncho. I figured it couldn't hurt to give him the look of authority if he was going to tag along. People were more cooperative when they thought they were dealing with a lawman.
Bank was fairly empty, save an old lady and a guy in shades and a beanie standing by the window, watching the rain. He wasn't technically in line so I walked right up to one of the tellers and rang the bell. A young blonde stepped up to the counter with a smile.
"What can I do for you today, sir?" She asked. I read her name tag; Becky.
"Becky, my name is Agent Norman Jayden, I'm with the FBI. This here is officer Mars. We'd like to ask you a few questions about a man who banks through Indigo," I said.
"Just one moment, let me go get my manager," she said.
Ethan was glancing around anxiously. I wondered what the deal was – it wasn't even crowded in here.
"How can I help you?" I looked around, the manager appeared at my side rather than behind the counter. Tall guy, late forties I presumed – bald, slender with a slight stomach, and an aquiline nose like a hawk.
"Norman Jayden, FBI. I'd like to ask you some questions about a man who frequents your bank," I said.
"May I see some form of identification?" He asked.
"Of course." I slipped my hand beneath my coat and slipped out my wallet. I flashed the badge, let him read it. Big blue letters; FBI. That always did the trick.
"Please, step into my office," he said. He turned and opened a door a few feet away. Ethan grabbed my shoulder and leaned in close.
"You still have your badge?" He asked.
"Ninety-nine cent store, found it in the kid's toy section. I pasted my picture on the square, signed the signature line and had it laminated at Kinko's." He smiled and laughed a bit.
"I'm going to step outside for a moment," he said. I shrugged and we went our separate ways.
I settled into the plush chair in the manager's office, glancing at the walls, made of tall glass windows. No privacy in here unless he pulled the blinds. Still, it allowed me to keep an eye on the lobby.
"What did you want to know, Mr. Jayden?" He asked.
"Your bank has a client by the name of Desmond Casey. I need to know if you have any camera footage of Mr. Casey, transaction records, and the like," I said.
"I can give you the transaction records, Mr. Jayden, but I'm afraid that video footage is out of the question," he said. "Our cameras are running for security surveillance, but they do not record unless one of the tellers presses a switch at the desk, should they suspect or are experiencing a robbery."
Great. That was going to help me out. I told him to print me a sheet of times and dates for Desmond Casey's account.
I glanced over my shoulder and through on e of the large windows at Ethan, standing by the front door. He was speaking to someone on the phone, laughing and smiling. I glanced over my shoulder and saw someone I hadn't been expecting. Mr. Evidence-Destroyer himself; Blake. Standing casually in line like nothing was wrong.
I stepped out of the manager's office and slowly approached him. I could feel my anger welling up inside of me; something about him brought out the worst in me. He was like my antigen, my body just reacted to him in a way that I didn't like.
I reigned myself in and kept it cool.
"Blake," I said. He glanced my way without much care, probably planning to brush whoever it was off of his shoulder. That is, until he recognized my face.
"Well, well, well, look who it is; Nahman Jayd'n, Eff Bee Aye," he snickered mockingly. I didn't sound that nasally: did I? "Oh, I'm sorry, EX-Bee Aye."
"What brings you to this neighborhood?" I asked.
"Is it illegal to come to the bank now, Jayden? Thirteen-thousand people use this bank, I'm entitled to be here," he said. "But if you must know, I'm here on police business."
"Oh yeah? This wouldn't happen to involve the Barbershop Killer case, would it?"
"Barbershop Killer? Never heard of him," he said with a cocky smirk. I wanted to knock it off of his face.
"Oh, sure you have. He kidnaps these women, rapes them, beats and strangles them, and then takes a straight razor and violates their vaginal organs until the victim bleeds to death." Blake shrugged it off.
"Sounds like a pretty sick bastard," he said.
"Say, you wouldn't happen to be the killer, would you?" I asked teasingly. Blake copied my faux laugh. But the laugh didn't last long before he pulled his gun, the Silver 220, out of his holster and aimed it right at my face.
"If I was then I'd probably do something drastic to get you off of my trail," he said. I didn't like the grin on his face, or the sinister glare in his dark eyes. This was bold, even for a police lieutenant. I was hoping that the girl had clicked the camera button that the manager had mentioned.
"Lower the gun, Blake," I said. "How are you going to explain gunning down an unarmed man?"
"Supposing I had the Barbershop Killer in my sights, it wouldn't be too hard to clean up," he said.
"Me? The killer?" I clicked my tongue in tsk and put my hands on my hips. "What's your evidence?"
"How about a little tape you threw out? That's something you shouldn't leave in the garbage can where anyone can find it. It's got your prints all over it, and your friend Mars' print, too. Killer and the cameraman in one swift blow," Blake said. He couldn't have had the tape; Ethan had taken it out of the can and given it to me. Then I gave it to Ash.
Unless Blake had switched them out.
"As much as I'd love to shoot the killer first, the accomplice happens to be standing outside the door. I shoot you first, he runs." Blake shifted the gun from me and aimed out the glass door, where I could see Ethan's back turned to us, still on the phone.
I didn't think, I just reacted. I tackled Blake's midsection and ran him against the opposite wall. Even with his elbow repeatedly jabbing me in my back, I managed to slip his leg from underneath him and drop him to the ground. The gun slide away.
I scrambled for the gun, and he fought against me to make sure that I couldn't reach it. Then his knee met my ribs, and I curled into my body, involuntarily shielding myself when I should have been fighting for the gun. I grabbed his ankle as he struggled to his feet, but it was too late, he'd already had the gun.
He pulled the trigger, and it exploded, the sound echoed through the lobby like thunder. My flesh burned like a fireplace poker seared through my shoulder.
I yanked his leg and his slick shoes gave out easily. He hit the floor hard, smacking the back of his head against the marble. It that didn't give him a concussion, then I knew what would. I straddled his chest as he blearily lulled his eyes around, trying to focus. When he finally did, I grabbed the side of his head.
One swift jerk forward; forehead to the nose. He screamed as his nose broke, and a gurgle of blood poured down his face and into his mouth. Then I swung with my right hook, since my left shoulder was currently sitting in the corner for this fight. I swung again, and again, and again, until Blake was knocked out and covered in his own blood.
I sat back and stared down with gory satisfaction. I was pretty sure that I might have even been smiling. Then I heard a rattle from his throat and realized that he was probably going to drown in his own blood.
I flipped him onto his stomach so that the blood wouldn't pool in his mouth, and his breathing was just fine.
"Are you all right, sir?" The manager helped me to my feet, regretting the motion once he saw the blood on my hand.
"Just fine," I said.
"Thank you so much," Becky said. "I didn't know what I was going to do when he held me at gunpoint."
I could see myself in her eyes now; a glorified hero. I didn't know what it was; people weren't genuinely interested in me until I got into a major fight, and then suddenly I was friggin' Jesus.
Wait, gunpoint?
I looked down at Blake. No coat, no goatee. Just a guy in a beanie and sunglasses bleeding on the floor. Shit.
"Call the police, and make sure they know that someone's injured, they should bring an ambulance," I said.
"Sir," the manager said. I looked up at him, and he was pointing at my face. "Sir, you're bleeding."
My first reaction was to touch my face to see if it was my nose, or a tear duct, until I realized that I had the robber's blood on my hand. Not knowing what viruses he could have, I asked him to point me in the direction of the bathroom.
Soap, soap, soap, couldn't use enough of that. I worked my hands into a lather for thirty seconds, rinsed them under the faucet, and went right back for more soap. I looked at my face in the mirror as I lathered my hands. Left eye, both nostrils. At least they weren't gushing, manageable as long as I applied a little pressure.
I rinsed my face and held paper towels against my eye and up to my nose, leaning my head back. I didn't even care when I heard the bathroom door, I just sat on the counter and leaned back against the mirror. I didn't exactly feel like a champion right now.
"What happened?" Ethan's voice had the towel away from my eye faster than a chicken running from a deep fryer so I could look at him. "They said you fought off an armed robber."
"Well, I guess you know what happened. There aren't many other details to the story than that," I said. Except for my slight break in reality.
"You're bleeding," he said. Thanks, Captain Obvious, your powers of observation had won you another trophy. I mentally slapped myself; I shouldn't be angry with Ethan. "It's because of those side effects you'd mentioned, isn't it?"
"Something like that," I said.
I hopped off of the counter as Ethan tried to look my face over. "I'm all right."
"No, you're not. You need to go home and take it easy," he said.
"I have to stay until the police arrive," I told him. "I want you to walk to the diner where you picked me up and wait there. It's about seven blocks north of here. I'll meet up with you after I've got this whole thing sorted out."
"Are you going to be in any trouble?" Ethan asked.
"Not at all, I'll just be questioned about what happened, they'll write down some notes and information, and then they'll let me go."
Ethan was satisfied enough with that answer not to question it. He slipped out of the bathroom and left me to my ensuing headache, which meant that soon enough I wasn't going to be able to see very clearly out in the lobby where the bright daylight would blind and blur me.
Becky was nice enough to run and get me some coffee from the shop one block over. I appreciated the gesture, she probably felt indebted to me for keeping a bullet out of her body, but I felt a little uncomfortable with her hovering around so much.
"If you need anything else, Mr. Jayden, anything at all, feel free to let me know, she said. "And I do mean anything."
I was wondering if this bank had a policy on giving someone a dollar every time they said the word anything.
"Oh, look who it is, boys." I cringed at the sound of his voice. I'd already heard enough of it in my head today, but now he was really outside. Blake stepped out of the manager's office and strolled into the lobby as the EMT's tended the cuffed robber's wounds. I did feel a little bad for the guy, seeing what I'd done to him. Then again, he was robbing a bank; I was just doing my civic duty.
"What's it been, two years?" he asked. He pulled up one of the collapsible chairs near the desk at which I'd been sitting and faced me with that smug grin of his. "I remember you saying something about never coming back to this 'dump', as you put it."
"Turns out I've grown a little more attached to it than I thought," I said.
"Hmm… An ex-criminal profiler pops up in my town in the same week that I happen to find a huge break in the Barbershop Killer's case," he said, rubbing his neat little goatee as he mused the possibilities. "Now that doesn't like much of a coincidence, does it?"
"What can I say? Chasing criminals is a hobby of mine," I said. "Not that I plan on stepping on your toes – this is your investigation and I respect that."
Blake didn't respond very humorously to my apparent cooperation. I thought it was hilarious – he should know that I'd be anything but helpful to him.
"Good to see that you've learned your place," he said. "You'll find that life's much easier once you figure out whether you're the pin or the cushion."
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"It means that some people are meant to be the top dogs, and some are meant to serve or stay out of the way." He pinched my cheek, and it took every ounce of strength in me not to perform an encore of what I'd done to the robber for Blake.
"I've got an appointment soon, can we hurry this along?" I asked. "Don't get me wrong, I enjoy your company, but I really do need to get going."
"What were you going here?" Blake asked.
"Thirteen-thousand people use this bank, and since I was in town I figured I'd join the ranks," I said coolly. I wasn't exactly sure how accurate those numbers were, after all I'd only heard that from my hallucination. But considering a population of over 1.5 million people in this city I'm pretty sure that it was probably accurate, if not more than that.
"The cutie behind the counter seems to have a thing for you, Jayden," Blake said commendably as he eyed her long legs up from the floor to her skirt. "She said that you were heroic and brave when you fought the robber."
"Well, bravery is one of the three words in the FBI's motto." The other two being Fidelity and Integrity; not that Blake knew a damn thing about any one of those words.
"But the manager says that you were enraged, as he puts it. Savage is another word he used," Blake said. "Was there a reason you beat this guy's face to a pulp?"
"No reason in particular." Aside from the fact that I thought I was bashing your face in, Lieutenant. "It just irks me when a guy pulls a gun on a lady."
"Lieutenant." One of Blake's men leaned over his shoulder, hand on his walkie. "Captain Perry wants to see you as soon as you're back at the station."
"Looks like we're done here, Jayden." Blake stood up and didn't waste another glance on me. He simply tossed a few parting words over his shoulder. "See you around, Nahman."
The guy was a horse's ass, and just as ugly as one to boot. But I had places to be, and people to talk to, most importantly Ethan.
I pulled out of the bank lot as quickly as I could. The sky had been a little clearer, still cloudy but the rain had stopped for the most part. The sky had grown darker as evening crept over the city. Now only the chill and wind remained. I pulled into the diner lot and cut the car. I saw Ethan sitting inside the diner, sipping on a mug and waiting for me. It had taken much longer than I'd hoped, especially since Blake had saved me for last when it came to the questioning process. But that had given the medics enough time to stitch up the flesh wound on my shoulder. I was lucky, the bullet had only grazed me.
As soon as I stepped inside the lit diner I caught his attention. His head perked up and he smiled a bit, and suddenly my shoulder didn't sting as much.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," I said as I sat in the booth. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately."
"It's part of the job," Ethan said with a shrug.
"Job?" I asked.
"Sidekick," he said with a smirk. "Oh – Shaun says hello, by the way."
"How is he?" I asked. I hadn't really gotten to see or interact with him since I'd been here. I wondered if the kid really remembered me much at all.
"He's good, he's having fun at Grace's house," Ethan said. "Did you get a chance to find out anything at the bank before the robbery?"
I reached into the inner breast pocket of my coat and slipped the tri-folded sheets into view, sliding them to Ethan. He snatched them up, glancing them over.
"Only two deposits a month?" He asked charily.
"Every other Thursday, deposits three-hundred," I said.
"So what does this mean?" He asked.
"Absolutely nothing," I said. It was a wasted trip, that bank wasn't going to help us find this guy any time soon.
"Any suspects?" Ethan asked.
"None that I can think of," I said. The place was pretty dead tonight. Usually when a business or one of its employees was involved in national news, customers increased. But Ethan and I were the only ones here tonight, aside from the old hunchbacked waitress and a cook in the back.
I looked up and saw Ethan staring at me. "What?"
"Just thinking," he said. He swirled his sugar spoon around the mug while he stared at me in a way that made me somewhat uncomfortable, nervous. He was scheming. I didn't like people scheming in my presence.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked, aiming to goad information out of him.
"I know what you said about not involving Madison, and I know that you meant it when you said it, but she can be a lot more useful than you think," Ethan said.
"And a distraction," I said. "I'm already worried about keeping you out of harm's way, I don't need to be keeping track of her as well."
"Is this about the book?" Ethan asked. That had caught me off guard. I hadn't quite expected him to bring that up on me.
"What book?" I asked, playing it cool.
"You know what book I'm talking about," he said. "Madison's book: Heavy Rain. You know, the one that's a New York Times Bestseller, and launched her face into the homes of the entire country."
"Oh, that book," I said. I waved it off. "That's got nothing to do with it."
"So you're not holding any grudges against her because of what she wrote about you?" he asked.
"Not at all," I said. "I don't even remember what she said."
"She called you a 'Sanctimonious Fox Mulder who would no sooner find his killer than the Holy Grail without his high-tech gadgets.' You're telling me that it didn't bother you?"
I tapped my finger in the table, trying to stay calm. But the perceptive look in Ethan's stare had me on edge.
"All right, maybe I am a little mad at her," I said. "She got one stinking interview with me after the case was settled and suddenly she knows me enough to profile me on paper? To hell with her!"
She liked to play all kind, and innocent – it bothered the hell out of me.
Ethan's laughter pulled me out of my inner tirade. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, funny guy."
"If it makes you feel any better, she summed me up as a naïve schoolboy who meant well but couldn't go the distance without help," Ethan said.
"No offense, Ethan, but… That's not too far off base," I said. He smiled and chuckled with me.
"Are you calling me naïve?" He asked.
"A little. I mean, emotionally speaking you're not much older than Shaun."
"Well do you know what I have to say about her outlines of us?" He asked. I jumped when he slapped his hand on the table; his left hand. I saw his fingers, all of them long, slender, artist's fingers, but the last one was noticeably shorter than the others, only two segments long.
"I did this on my own, and I found my son," he said.
I nodded, proudly, and took in the serious ferocity in his tranquil blue eyes. "Yes you did."
"And it was your bullet that put the Origami Killer down."
"Yes it was," I said. I smiled as I thought over his words, and he reflected that smile. "You are incredibly gifted."
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"No matter how deep I step in shit, you somehow know just what to say to make me smile again. He took the compliment without a word, and I was glad. He deserved it, and I'd meant it. He was like a drug. Maybe I was still an addict after all, and while craving the ARI I came back here to substitute the craving with Ethan. But even so, I wouldn't change what we had for anything in the world.
What did we have? A solid friendship, a trusting partnership, and one fucked up one-sided boyish crush from me to him.
Yeah, wouldn't change it.
"All right, you can get Madison involved if you want to," I said. Ethan's full, toothy smile lit up the diner more than the fluorescent lights above our heads. I rolled my eyes; I couldn't believe that I was caving like this. "But she's your responsibility. I still don't want anything to do with her. If she's working the story then she's working with you."
"I respect that," he said neutrally. I laughed.
"No you don't."
"True, I don't respect that," he said with a grin. "But it's your decision and I respect you."
Somehow that statement spoke to me, in a language I hadn't heard before yet somehow understood fluently. Ethan was my friend. Ethan trusted me. Ethan respected me. And hearing that out loud solidified the urge to get him through the fears in his life so that he could help Shaun through his, and be the father he wanted to be.
Letting him down was anathema; it simply was not an option.
So when I stood behind Ethan at the shopping center the next day, I'd gained a renewed sense of confidence that I could help this man. I wanted it just as bad as he'd wanted to help me on this case.
He closed his eyes, and stepped forward as I placed my hands on his sides.
"Ready?" I asked.
"I'm ready," he said.
We walked slowly, forward marching. Today, a few security guards had convened at the top of the escalators to watch and snicker. I ignored them and kept edging Ethan further into the crowd.
Halfway through some kids were rushing by and brushed by me. Their mother, on the other hand, ran right into Ethan.
"I'm so sorry, I'm just – kids, you know," she said as the rushed off after them.
I'd expected Ethan to yelp or start hyperventilating. His breathing hitched, but he remained calm, cool, collected, and kept on walking.
"You're almost there," I told him. "Just keep walking, a little further."
I stopped him, and he opened his eyes. I felt his body relax, and he exhaled with relief. When he turned to face me he was beaming. To my great surprise he threw his arms around me.
"It was different this time," he said. "I almost felt like… Walking to the refrigerator!"
"Er… Is that good?" I asked awkwardly.
"Good?" He pulled away and held me by my shoulders as we stepped onto the escalator. "Good? It's normal! I haven't felt normal in a crowd in almost half a decade!"
"That's good – that's progress," I said.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you."
"Hey." Those three snickering guards at the top of the stairs were giggling like school girls. I'd seen a couple of them every day we'd been here, but one of them I couldn't place. "Hey, you guys some kind of dragon-queens or somethin'?" He pranced with little flaps of his arms for emphasis.
"Cut it out, Gary," One of them said, trying to stifle his laughs.
"I don't mean anything offensive by it, I'm just genuinely curious," he said.
"I don't know, are we?" Ethan asked as he looked down at me with a devilish smirk on his face. Daring. It intrigued me and made me uncomfortable all at the same time.
And when that's when he leaned over, closed his eyes, and locked lips to mine. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him – it was all too much, and it practically sent my brain right over the railing and down into the crowd. I just stood there, frozen, while he moved his jaw, his mouth against mine.
The guards whistled and jeered, and that's when I was pulled out of the moment and began getting nervous sweats.
"Guess that answers my question," said the portly blonde who'd asked in the first place. They casually walked away, laughing and shoving each other. "I knew that I was right – pay up, Ben!"
Ethan laughed when he pulled away, too satisfied to have noticed the bizarre expression on my face, a mixture of horror and shock; horrified that those guards had been somewhat an audience and had prior bets placed on our therapy sessions, and shocked that it had actually happened.
When Ethan looked back at me, his playful grin fell like weights were hooked into the corners of his mouth. No doubt at my frozen visage.
"I-I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?" He asked, panicked. "Look, I didn't mean anything, I just thought… Well, we're friends. I thought it'd be fun to throw them for a loop, drop some jaws, and so on."
I swallowed, still able to taste him on the tips of my lips. He took a cautionary step back.
"Say something, please," he said. I snapped out of my daze when he really started looking worried.
"It's fine," I said, my voice a bit high and cracked. I cleared my throat and drew in a deep breath. "It was fine, nothing to worry about, totally fine."
"You don't look fine," he said.
"I'm just not a public kind of guy… Never been one to perform in front of a crowd," I said. "Ever hear me tell a joke in public? I mess it up every time, true story."
I'd hoped my humor was hitting the right spots. He smiled, but still looked a little worried.
"I assure you, I'm fine," I said with a smile. "I mean, you've got great breath and, even though it was to get a rouse out of some guards, you put some effort into it; could've been worse, right?"
I patted his shoulder for emphasis. He finally relaxed a little and I took another deep breath.
"So you're not freaked out?" He asked. I didn't fully understand that question. Was it just about the kiss? Was I supposed to be drawing more from this moment than I was?
"Of course not," I said. I'd been dreaming of it for a while now, is what I didn't say out loud. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
My phone vibrated in my pocket. "Hold onto that thought."
I looked down at the brightly lit face; Ash. I pressed the answer button.
"Lieutenant," I answered.
"Meet me by West Fairmont Park now," he said. I looked at Ethan, who was dying to know what was going on as I lowered my voice and tried to block out the noise from all around me.
"What's this about?"
"That tape you brought me just gave us a major breakthrough in the case," he said. "We know how all of the victims are connected to the killer. And we know who he's going to go after next."