28: An Unexpected Call
Things had become a little more tense around the precinct than usual. At about six o'clock that evening, a pair of serious-looking men in black suits had arrived at the floor for the organized crime bureau. Both had ignored the officers about the place and had instead gone straight for the Captain's office. Once inside, the blinds were drawn down over the windows and the two federal agent-looking sorts had spent a good hour in there speaking with Captain Haden. All while Griggs remained at his workstation outside, trying to keep his head down and focus on his reports yet finding this difficult, knowing full well that there was something shady at work here. Men from the NEAB most likely, or the FBI; either or, having them around was bad news.
What only compounded the situation was why those agents had come by. Sophie and Brooklyn had been suspended, and so far neither had contacted Griggs in any way. In fact, Brooklyn had not been home in his clock tower loft for the past twenty-four hours, which was unusual. It was his home, after all, and most nights he could be reliably located up there. A night out was one thing, but Griggs' detective instincts told him there was something more going on. As far as he could tell, both the gargoyle and Sophie had become wrapped up into something dangerous ever since the trouble over in Vermont.
Griggs had been working quietly since their suspension, relegated to desk work for the time being. He did not mind much; he had been meaning to retire soon anyway. He was, after all, getting too old for this sort of thing. Running around after suspects, getting shot at, having knives brandished at him; that was a younger person's game, and he had a wife and kids to look out for. Sure, his three daughters were mostly independent now, the oldest being twenty-five, but he still wanted to be there for them. And the longer he stayed in the department, the less likely his chances of getting to retirement alive. Especially now, with the various shadiness that had seemingly fallen over the department.
The federal agent types left after an hour, once again ignoring the officers out on the floor and heading for the elevator. Captain Haden left his office as well, fetching a cup of coffee, all while he appeared much grimmer than usual. He milled about the filing cabinets by the far wall, sifting through a few of the drawers. He must have realised Griggs was watching him, since he turned to the currently seated Detective and shot him a mean glance. It more or less told him to mind his own business, not that this was enough to keep Griggs from looking into things anyway.
Haden returned to his office a short time later, this time opening the blinds on the inside before he sat down at his desk, apparently back to normal. Griggs found himself feeling distinctly bored, the words on the computer screen in front of him almost blurring together as he watched them. Without Sophie around to at least liven things up a little, the job could be draining. The same went for Brooklyn, whose sheer presence was enough to make things interesting. If this was what he had to look forward to for the foreseeable future, he could see himself retiring a little earlier than planned.
There was a commotion some distance behind him, then. The elevator doors slid open, and he heard voices, cutting through the quiet of the office floor. Some spoke quickly, and amongst the voices he could hear one he thought seemed oddly familiar. From where he had heard it before, he could not recall. Footsteps followed as multiple people left the elevator, and Griggs thought for a moment that the federal agents had returned. He spun about in his seat, finding himself looking towards three distinctly non-federal agents and one uniformed officer who was doing his best to slow them down.
"Look, you can't really come up here…" The officer said, somewhat fruitlessly. The man in the lead of the other three shook his head, holding up a paper with what appeared to be some kind of official seal upon it.
"I've got the paperwork, I've got written permission from the Mayor of this city," the man said. He carried a distinct Australian accent, his outfit comprised of a pink silken shirt and grey slacks. He was followed by another two, one of whom had a camera hefted upon his shoulder and another with a boom microphone on an extension, which he held over the group as to best capture all that was said.
A news crew, Griggs thought. It was not often they would find their way into these offices, as press conferences were usually carried out down on the ground floor. He had seen the lead guy around, he knew this now, having seen him on television a few times before. Some sort of journalist, a documentary-maker even.
"You can't just barge in," the uniformed officer continued, as the group stopped near the middle of the room. The journalist spun about on the officer, thrusting an obstinate finger into the young man's face.
"I have permission to be here, and if you try dragging us out of here by force I will kick up a media scandal that will make this department look like a bunch of goose-stepping Gestapo cops. Freedom of the press, you know? Isn't that what this country is all about? Freedom?"
Griggs rose to his feet, feeling that some sort of altercation was close to occurring. Seeing as how he was one of the few Detectives currently in the office, he figured he would stick his nose in what was going on and try to ease it into something a bit less volatile. As he approached the group, the journalist turned around to face him, his face lighting up with recognition.
"Thomas Griggs!" He put out a hand, clasping one of Griggs' own suddenly, shaking it with a forcefulness that caught the Detective off-guard.
"You know me?" Griggs released the journalist's hand, having found the man's grasp a little clammy. He resisted the urge to wipe his palm off on his pants.
"You're one of the cops working with Brooklyn," the journalist stated. "That's who I'm here for, the star gargoyle cop. Thing is, he's not up in his loft."
"No, he isn't." Of course, the media was here for the gargoyle, Griggs supposed he should have known. "Why do you want to see him?"
"Because he's the only gargoyle cop on the planet, as far as I know," the journalist said. He paused then, offering a friendly smile. "Sorry, Detective, you don't know me. I'm Corey Masters, I'm making a documentary about the gargoyles. Maybe you've heard?"
"I don't think so." Griggs shook his head. "I have seen you on TV, now and again. Usually through channel surfing."
"So you've seen my previous show, American Myths?"
"Uh, maybe." To be honest, Griggs did not remember much of what he had seen of this man's work. What he could determine was that Masters was one for sensationalism, and was not adverse to altering the facts of a story to make it more entertaining. So, the term 'journalist' was perhaps not one-hundred percent accurate, as 'journalism' suggested honesty.
"Good to find a fan in here," Masters said. "Do you have any idea where Brooklyn is, or when he'll return?"
Griggs noticed that the cameraman had his machine pointed towards him. Was he being recorded? He probably looked terrible, especially on the recording.
"You're not recording me, are you?" He asked Masters.
"What?" Masters glanced at the cameraman, motioning for him to lower the device. "What, no of course we're not. Now, do you know if Brooklyn will be coming back soon? I'd really like to speak with him. We tried phoning him, but we couldn't get in contact."
"Brooklyn's not going to come back for a while," Griggs answered, somewhat drily. Behind him, he became aware that Haden was watching him carefully. He had to be cautious as to what he said here. "He's on vacation, along with my partner, Detective McLaughlin." If 'suspension' could be considered a form of vacation, then this statement was at least partly true. Mentioning anything about the gargoyle's suspension would only incite Masters to investigate further, as any hint of scandal would draw a reporter such as him like a moth to flame.
"Well, if he's not here, maybe I could interview you?" Masters cocked a brow as he made the suggestion. Griggs felt that he had been put on-the-spot. Being edited into some documentary of questionable truthfulness was not something he was particularly keen on.
"Look, I'll have to get back to you on that," Griggs said. He became aware of someone else walking over from the nearby hallway, and he did not have to look too closely to see who it was.
"If you're looking for someone to talk to, I'm your man." Ferretti had appeared out of the woodwork, something Griggs supposed he should have seen coming. Any avenue to get some fame and Ferretti would be there, come hell or high water.
"Who are you?" Masters' tone changed to one of doubt, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Detective Ferretti approach.
"Detective Joseph Ferretti." He stopped before Masters, putting out a hand which the journalist shook with much less eagerness compared to what he had offered Griggs. "I've been working with Brooklyn since he was placed here, as part of the new joint taskforce. I can tell you all about him and the work we've done together."
Griggs felt like saying something, anything that would at least alert Masters that Ferretti was not the kind of man to give an honest interview. However, he realised that Ferretti's arrival had spared him from further media intrusion, so he simply stood back and watched as Ferretti worked his questionable charms upon the sensationalising journalist. As was often the case these recent weeks, Ferretti was sweating profusely, his beige shirt bearing some sizeable wet sweat-stains at the armpits. His overall chubby frame did not help him much in this regard.
"Maybe you've read my book?" Ferretti said, as Masters motioned for his camera operator and soundman to follow him.
"Uh, no, I don't think I have," Masters replied.
"Really? Well, not to worry. I'll hook you up with a copy." Ferretti led Masters over to a set of framed photographs hung up on the wall nearby, situated over a pair of large printer/photocopy machines. The latest of these photos had the taskforce all in a row, with Brooklyn standing tall at the back. "You can see here, that's the whole organized crime bureau."
"Organized crime?" Masters stepped alongside him, the camera recording the exchange. Griggs watched, arms folded, but otherwise did not interject. Curiosity kept him observing, even if Ferretti's attempts to make the whole affair about him were irksome at best.
"Gangs, drug syndicates, smugglers, you name it. Now, Brooklyn, he's an interesting sort. Real mean when he wants to be, gets a little heated sometimes, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. And a good pair of wings, too." Ferretti laughed at his own remark here, all while Masters frowned and remained distinctly unimpressed. "Now, I'll show you something else. Follow me, this way." He motioned for the camera crew to follow, with Masters giving them a nod to do so.
"I'll tell you about the time Brooklyn and I carried out a major drug bust about three months ago…" And, like clockwork, the bullshit started to stream out of Ferretti's mouth, all while Griggs watched. He could tell from the look on Masters' face that he knew it to be bullshit himself, but he kept on recording, if only for lack of anything better.
Griggs returned to his desk, trying to get his mind back on the job. He had been taken off of the case regarding the dagger and Raymond Veccio, but just because he had been told to leave it alone that did not mean he would. Wherever Sophie and Brooklyn had found themselves now, he had a feeling that it was at least somewhere they would end up falling into a lot of trouble. And he would be remiss to not even attempt to help them out, wherever they were.
The atmosphere within the office was unusually tense. Korily sat at his desk, tapping his fingers upon the desktop, the short black claws at the end of each causing a series of rapid tuk-tuk noises that backgrounded the current bout of silence that had fallen over the room. The 'imp', a term that was perhaps a misnomer in some ways in Korily's case, had a hardened expression upon his face. His shining yellow eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he huffed in one annoyed breath after another.
Both his burly brothers stood across the desk from him, specifically Bontas and Harcos. Serkes and Strelets were seated on the couch further into the office/lounge, with Serkes puffing on a cigarette whilst Strelets was mixing a bunch of drinks into one larger glass. Among those beverages was vodka, bourbon and a dash of washing detergent, all coming together in one syrupy brown mess that carried with it a rank stench. Something had always been a little off about Strelets, the 'quieter' sibling. His tastes in beverages was only the tip of the iceberg in that regard.
"You let him get away?" Korily used one hand to adjust the collar of his jacket. Bontas offered his older brother a sheepish smile, bearing a set of slightly yellowed pointed teeth.
"He had help," he said. "Some guys in grey. They came out guns blazing, right on the street beside Battery Park."
"Do you know who they were?"
"No." Bontas shook his head, his pointed ears twitching. A nervous tic of his, one Korily had worked out as a dead giveaway to what Bontas was really feeling a long time ago. "You were there. You saw…"
"I didn't see much of anything," Korily interrupted, his voice taking on a much harsher tone. "What I did see were two of my brothers running for their lives, stumbling into the van and yelling at the driver to get moving." He pulled the remote for Goliath's implant from his jacket, pressing the button on it a few times for emphasis. "That doesn't explain why this seems to no longer work. He should be dead several times over by now, yet something tells me he's still alive and kicking, now out in the wind and no doubt ready to interfere with our plans. I really don't like loose ends."
"Neither do I," Harcos interjected, only to receive a sharp glare from Korily. "But, ah, it was your idea to keep him alive and use him to intercept Bluestone."
"And you two were supposed to retrieve him," Korily stated. "Unfortunately, I didn't see any 'retrieving' happen." He noticed that some blood was trickling from the bullet wounds on Harcos' side, staining his already bloodstained vest further. "You might want to dig those bullets out. Wouldn't want an infection, would we?"
"I'll get to them later," Harcos replied.
"Have it your way." Korily paused, pondering some more on what had occurred. There was, at least in his view, another player to their game. One they had not counted on. As for who it was, that remained to be seen.
"Need I remind you all that there is a lot riding on this operation," Korily said, allowing his voice to rise in volume somewhat. That way, both Serkes and Strelets would hear him loud and clear from where they were seated. "And we simply cannot afford this level of ineptitude, not now, not at this stage." His voice grew more impassioned, anger seeping into it. The handful of spiny bristles trailing off of his hairless scalp twitched, as did his ears, his eyes seemingly adopting a much brighter sheen. "I have not spent these past centuries building to this, only to have it ruined by the incompetence of my own siblings!" Now he was shouting. Harcos visibly winced, whilst Bontas shifted his gaze towards the wall off to his right, averting his eyes from his increasingly angered older brother.
"It's taken us centuries to put the pieces in play," Korily continued, and he rose to his feet then whereupon he began to pace up-and-down by his desk. "Centuries of grovelling to the likes of the Illuminati for their assistance, centuries of living in hiding, centuries of playing by the rules set out by the humans and not our own. Ultimate power awaits us, but only if things work out. And this latest episode could very well throw this entire operation into jeopardy!"
"We weren't expecting—" Bontas began, finally shifting his gaze back upon Korily. His older brother cut him off right away.
"You're supposed to be prepared for anything!" Korily slammed a hand down upon the desk, causing a resounding thump. The glass by his hand jumped a little, spilling some of the bourbon that had been within it. "We have a renegade gargoyle in the wind at a crucial juncture. What kind of damage will he cause? And what if he, through some means, uncovers the full extent of what that man was carrying? The Illuminati certainly won't be pleased with us if that happens."
"They don't have to know." Harcos met Korily's gaze evenly, looking a little smug from this sudden brainwave. "They sure as shit don't tell us everything."
"They'll find out, eventually," Korily countered. "I'm sure we can hold our own against them, but it would complicate matters unnecessarily. And I hate unnecessary complications as much as I hate loose ends."
The phone on his desk started ringing then, and Korily snapped it up. Cast in the neon blue glows of the light fittings above him, shadow fell over his face and allowed the shine of his eyes to pierce on through. The others in the room fell quiet, with Korily's still very much heated countenance adding a layer of menace to his voice.
"What is it?" The voice of his secretary replied, and his entire demeanour changed suddenly. "He's calling? Now? You're sure it's him?" Mister 'L' was on the line, and his dim-witted secretary working downstairs delivered the news with her usual blissful ignorance. "You put him on hold?" His voice fell in volume, and a look of sheer fear fell upon his previously menacing features. The atmosphere around him changed suddenly, with Harcos shifting uncomfortably where he sat.
Korily reached for the landline's control pad, keying in a few quick commands that rapidly encrypted the line. No outside ears would hear this call, and if they so happened to it would sound to them as garbled gibberish.
"Put him through, right now." Korily's voice was suddenly diminished, the fire that had been carried within it having dissipated suddenly. There was a quiet click on the other end, before the familiar baritone of his boss sounded through the line.
"You put me on hold?" Korily winced, feeling a chill work its way down his spine. The cold set in quickly then, his hand grasping the receiver tightly, so tightly as to render the dark blue-black skin over his knuckles a pale blue.
"Apologies," Korily said, all eyes on the room now set firmly upon him. Every single one of the imps had lost their previous, relaxed demeanours. Tension and fear had fallen upon all of them, with Bontas starting to work the claws of his hands into the armrests of his chair, ripping into the fabric. An anxious and involuntary action.
"What is the matter?" Korily asked quickly. "Anything you want, and it's yours…"
"I always get what I want, wretch. You know that as well as I do." Slow, deep tones that came not only from the phone itself, but worked their way into Korily's skull, boring into his brain like a slow-working drill, driving deeper and deeper and dredging up more and more pain.
"Yes, yes, and I'm always happy to help you get what you want." His hands were shaking and the phone rattled in his grasp. "Just name it, whatever you want."
"Unexpected forces have stepped into play. You thought you would keep this from me, but I know. I always know."
"I was going to tell you—"
"Do not lie to me, Korily. Do not lie to the one who first mastered the act." The voice, scraping at his very core, boring into him. It hurt; it hurt his head and his spine and his stomach and his—
"Of course. I mean, apologies." Korily shook his head, snapping out of his rapidly oncoming fugue. "The situation is in hand."
"I call to warn you of your allies. They have their own plans in mind."
"Yes, well, that's a given." Korily had figured as much a long time ago.
"Ensure the package through your own means. Do not rely upon the humans."
This was a new instruction. Korily made a mental note, and he motioned for the two imps seated at the couch to get up and come over. Serkes and Strelets were quick to obey, even if they carried a similarly frightened countenance to their eldest sibling.
"I'll see to it right away," Korily said. A brief pause followed, and Korily realised that his nose was bleeding. He wiped it away with one sleeve, staining the fabric a deep red. A splitting headache had arisen within his skull, the kind that felt as if his brain were about to be cleaved down the middle. "Was there anything else?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, the sheer act of talking feeling as if it drained him of all energy.
"Continue as you were. Ensure the vessel is prepared." And with that, the line went dead. Korily, still shaking, slowly placed the phone down upon its housing. He looked to his brothers, the sensation of cold and the pain that had cropped up within him fading rapidly. His overall demeanour shifted then, slowly coming away from the fearful one that had come upon him as soon as he had heard that voice.
"Serkes, Strelets." He looked to these two, the slimmer and more agile pair of his siblings compared to the burlier figures of Bontas and Harcos. "Go to Miami. Make sure the package changes hands as it should. The Illuminati have their own plans, so make sure they don't try any funny business."
"Miami?" Serkes smiled broadly. "I've been meaning to work on my tan."
"Don't waste time. Go."
Both Serkes and Strelets hurried out of the office. This left Bontas and Harcos, both of whom still appeared a little anxious.
"As for you two idiots," Korily stated, and he regarded each of them in turn. "I want that gargoyle found. I don't care what it takes, find him. Find him and kill him."
His right hand was still shaking. He grunted in agitation, before he started for the door himself.
"Boss?" Harcos asked, sounding worried.
"Ahhhhh, I'm so pissed off!" Korily snapped suddenly, feeling a surge of anger. He kicked whatever happened to be nearest to him, which was a small glass-top table with a potted plant above it. The table fell over, the potted plant going with it. Glass shattered, as did the ceramic pot, shards and dirt spilling across the carpet.
"If you need me, I'll be out. I need to go and kill someone, anyone." That said, Korily was out of the office and down the stairs in seconds.
"Did you ever think there was anything a little odd about your birth?"
The woman's voice crept its way into his thoughts, bringing with it the now familiar, pleasant sensation it always seemed to carry with it. Vincent leaned back against the seat, watching the dark-haired woman closely. She stood nearby, looking down at him with a gentle, reassuring expression on her face. The room around him had changed, with some much more comfortable furnishings taking up the otherwise bland concrete surroundings.
"I'm half-gargoyle," Vincent replied. Despite being shirtless, he felt oddly warm. A heater must have been on somewhere, not that he had noticed. He had not noticed too much these past couple of days, as every time his mind wandered the woman, Pira, was right there with him. His doubts about his current circumstances had faded over time with her help, and she was always ready to help him. Whenever he needed something, she would be there for him. And when he needed something more intimate, she was always willing. In any other situation, Vincent would have found the whole arrangement profoundly strange, even unnerving. Yet, for the life of him he could not bring himself to attribute such negativity to this woman.
"Of course there was something odd about my birth," he added.
"Well, you are unique." She moved alongside his chair, trailing her fingers along one of his arms. "Very few half-gargoyles have existed."
"There have been others?" Vincent perked up when he heard this.
"Maybe. Myths, usually. You're the first one I've met." Her crystal blue eyes met with his darker ones and she smiled. "You're destined for great things, Vincent. You're the bridge between two peoples. Imagine what you could achieve based on that alone."
"Great things?" Vincent had not thought too much about that. Life had been pretty mundane the past several years. No 'greater destiny' had really occurred to him during that time.
"You must have felt it?" Pira knelt down by his chair, one hand falling upon his own. Her touch was tender, reassuring. It sent a warm tingle up his arm. He could become lost in the sensations she provided him, and even now he could feel his desire building. "You would wake up in the morning and feel like you were meant to be doing something else, something more than simply living in isolation? A sadness, perhaps? A deep, underlying sadness that would never go away no matter what you did?"
She was right. He knew she was right. The sensation she described had always been there, yet he had never thought too much on it. He had supposed, with some partial accuracy, that it came part-and-parcel with being what he was. Everyone had their off days, him more so than others.
"I'll help you find your purpose," Pira continued, looking him firmly in the eyes. Hers were like the crystal blue waters of a tropical cove, waters Vincent would find himself diving headlong into without any real regard for where they might take him. "You can bridge the gap between two peoples. The gargoyles of night and the humans of the day. And, if things go right, they will both follow you."
"How can you know that?"
"Because I've been around a long time," Pira replied. "I might not look it, but I'm a lot older than I appear."
"Wiser too?" Vincent asked this half-jokingly. Pira only smiled, before she leaned in close and lightly kissed him on the cheek. Again, that same warm tingle worked its way across his skin. He felt his heart flutter in his chest, and this feeling was joined by the familiar yearning in his loins. For a passing few seconds, he felt he should ask her about his parents. Yet, the thought faded away, and the more he looked at her the more those worries disappeared far into the back of his mind. He had never felt so content in his life before, and this notion of becoming something powerful, some kind of leader, brought with it a great appeal.
"Perhaps," Pira said, after a pause. She put a hand to his forehead, pressing two of her fingers against it. "Would you like me to show you?"
Vincent nodded. He had seen glimpses of the visions she offered before, but this time around the slew of images brought with it more than just flashes of insight. He felt the rush, heard the sounds of the excited crowds and triumphant shouts, the heavy footfalls of marching soldiers and the roar of jet engines. He would be loved, adored even; Pira was simply the one who would show him what to do to reach this outcome. He would do anything for her, he realised. Absolutely anything.