Title: Nevermore
Chapter: 11
Author: Evidence
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Thanks again to D for the cheerleading, the Maple Street writers who inspire me to be better, and the reviews that make me plug along.
New York City was bristling with activity. Tourists were sightseeing and buying souvenirs from the shops lining Time Square. News reporters were gathering the latest media sighting of the superstar movie actor who appears to have found a new love. Citizens ventured out to the newest restaurant for a meal.
Franklin looked at a clock hung brightly outside a brick building. Half past four. Darkness was starting to come, his favorite time of day approaching. People were always frightened of the dark from babies who need a night light to adults who worried about evil lurking in the shadows. The night was the perfect time of day to Franklin Podena. He could play on people's fears and toy with their emotions. He could see them but they didn't know he was there. He had the power to choose who died and who lived.
He walked into a back alley holding the gun in his jeans pocket. He walked over to a brown shabby door and knocked twice.
"Yeah?" a male voice called out.
"It's Podena, open up."
The door opened with a creak revealing an older African American whose skin had sagged creating a hound dog look about him.
"I heard you've been having fun," the man said opening the door wide.
Podena walked in. "Yes, I have been having lots of fun. I need the materials we discussed a few weeks ago."
"For the bomb?"
"Yes."
"Oh Frankie, are you sure?"
Podena's eyes flashed and he removed the gun in one swift motion lifting it to the man's chest. "Don't ever call me that."
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry. I forgot!" The man said holding his hands up in a surrender mode and beginning to sweat.
"He use to call me that." He put the gun back in his pocket.
"Your Papa was just a man, he tried..."
"He didn't try hard enough!" Podena yelled.
The man swallowed. "I'll get the supplies for you."
"Good," he said fighting the urge to kill until he left the room. He couldn't kill George. George had been his father's best friend. He had tried to save Franklin from him. He had tried but he had failed. George had failed. George had failed him; the thought went through his head. He told him about the beatings, George promised to help him get away from his dad and for his dad to get help. He had promised but he never got Franklin away until his father's death in a traffic accident. George had lied to him.
The hot angry feeling that refused to subside in his soul began coming to a boil again. Podena fingered the gun in his pocket.
"Here you go," George smiled handing him the supplies.
"Thanks," Podena said, taking them and putting them on a table beside where he stood. He looked at George, he thought of the promise, "You failed me."
"What?" George asked not understanding.
The anger took over, the gun's safety was clicked off and a bullet met the skull of the old man.
Podena picked up the supplies, grabbed a supermarket bag from under the kitchen counter and threw in the dangerous materials that would fulfill his destiny. His eyes teared slightly as he saw George's blood making a pond in the kitchen. A shiver went up his spine and for a moment he knew what remorse was. Shrugging off the chill he left the building and entered into the night.
"We'll be there in another hour or so," Danny said maneuvering the car around a slow moving hatchback.
"Great," Martin responded concentrating more on the stain still on his shirt than the countryside in front of them.
"Let's talk about it."
"Let's talk about what?"
"Whatever has put you in this funk," Danny said eyeing him slightly, his concern growing for his friend.
Martin sighed. He wanted to talk to Danny about all that had gone on. Even though they had come from different worlds he felt a bond with the other agent. He just wasn't sure what to say and what to leave out. Since dumping the incriminating tape at Van Doran's office he had been plagued with regrets. Jack had been good to him and he really idolized the man to a degree. Martin wanted to be the kind of agent Jack was: caring, well at what he does, willing to bend the rules for the sake of a child. He knew that there was an unspoken barrier between Jack and himself. A barrier Martin had created by being interested in Samantha and then dating her. Martin had been willing to lose some of his working relationship with Jack in exchange for quality time with Samantha; and now he wondered if that had been a major mistake. All he had going for him was his job which Van Doran might take away do to his backstabbing.
"Martin, you okay, man?" Danny asked.
"No, no I'm not. I did something that may effect the whole team."
"What?"
Martin swallowed. "I betrayed my friends."
"What are you doing here?" Jack asked when he saw Sam walk in with Vivian.
"I'm fine."
"You are not!" he scoffed.
Vivian eased herself out of the discussion and went to her desk.
"I really am Jack although you wouldn't know that," anger was written in her voice.
"You've lost me."
"Never mind" she said eyeing what he was looking at. "What's this?"
"Maps of the city's abandoned warehouses and buildings."
Sam's head shot up. "Podena could hold Tommy there."
"Right," Jack said trying not to look into her eyes.
"Good thinking."
"Oh it wasn't my idea Fa...a friend helped."
"I'm glad you have someone to talk to," she said in a whisper.
There was an awkward silence between them.
"Um, see the blue circles? These have already been checked out by the police."
Sam leaned closer to get a better look her arm brushing his. Their eyes met.
"They have covered a lot of ground..." she said
"Yeah..." his fingers touched hers.
"Did they find anything?" she asked her eyes still locked in his.
"Not yet." his fingers traced her wrist.
"I hope they find Tommy soon."
"Me too."
His ring clicked against the table and their eyes fell away from each other.
"I'll, um, call the police and see what warehouses haven't been checked out yet," she said moving away from him and feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.
"That's a good idea," he responded and then as she turned away added, "Are you sure your okay? I don't want anything happening to you."
Sam smiled slightly. "I really am fine. A hit on the head doesn't compare to a bullet in a leg. But thank you for the concern."
"I'll never stop caring," he said so softly she almost didn't hear him.
The sweat on his hand made the doorknob slip under his touch. He tried again, his brain still swaying from the alcohol. The door opened and outside was as dark as the non-lighted warehouse. Thomas Spade's eyes burned as if the sun was pelting its rays on him. He stumbled out onto the street gaining stares from the people passing.
"Help me," he asked an older gentleman who passed by him quickly. "Does someone have a phone?" he called out to the people. No one answered. Alien pods, he assumed. They must be, that's why they are ignoring me, he thought.
Thomas walked on hoping for a police officer to magically appear. He saw a bakery up ahead. Bakers, fill us with love, he thought. He prodded forth reaching the small bakery. The smell of fresh rolls invaded his nostrils. McClaine's Bakery, the sigh read adoring the shop. He opened the door, a bell ringing.
"I'll be right with you," a friendly female voice called from the back.
"Okay," he said hoarsely.
The room began to spin; he grabbed hold of the counter but still fell to a heap on the ground.
"Oh my God! Sir, are you alright?" A young black haired woman, with powder on her face was standing over him. "Sir?"
"Get me Sam Spade," he managed to say before falling unconscious.
To be continued...