* * *
2/8
Darien sat straight up in bed, breathing rapidly, eyes open wide. A nightmare.
He couldn't remember which one. It might have been the one with Arnaud, or the
old one that kept replaying, with Kevin . . . that one never went away.
Whichever it had been, he wasn't getting back to sleep tonight.
"Finally up, sleeping beauty?" This from Hobbes, on the other twin bed.
"Hobbes?"
"Yeah?"
"Hobbes, did I say anything?"
"What, you mean like 'Oh, Kate?' or 'Oh, Leila?' or 'Oh, Claire?'"
"Look, get out of Naughtyville for one second?"
"No, Fawkes, you didn't say anything." Actually, he'd screamed his brother's
name, but Hobbes thought mentioning this would do no good at all. "You did,
however, snore, as usual, and loud enough to wake the dead. Good thing it's
what passes for morning in these parts."
"It is?"
"Yeah," and Hobbes swung his body off the bed, revealing himself to be fully
dressed. "You didn't think I'd let someone with your hair-care needs shower
first, did you?"
So Darien showered, and gelled, and moussed, and blow-dried. By then, Bobby
Hobbes had already grabbed the keys to the rental car from the front desk, where
the car service had left them. He walked back to the room, noticing that it was
drizzling, and flipped on the news.
A woman, hair windblown, was addressing the camera. ". . . grisly animal attack
. . . jogger mauled . . .local estate owner kept tigers . . . escaped female . .
."
"Aw, crap. Fawkes! Change of plans."
* * *
When Fawkes and Hobbes made the crime scene, the detective in charge was talking
to a man in a long black coat. The dark-haired man moved away as he saw the two
agents approach, and Hobbes made note of a possible witness. The man seemed to
be hanging around - for all they knew, he was Vice. It'd fit, considering who
likely owned the tiger.
"Agent Hobbes, Agent Fawkes, Fish and Game," he said, indicating the correct
parties.
"Darryl Albrecht, Homicide," the detective replied. Hobbes looked him up and
down. Black, average height, average weight, and something in his stance that
said "professional" better than any title. Then, too, there was something in
his eyes, something that said he'd seen his share of what nobody should. Hobbes
thought the cabbie last night had had a similar look in his eyes, and wondered
if it was this city, more than just the job. He'd have to ask Darien; after
all, he'd spent some time here. Or done some time here. Whatever. The
detective continued.
"So what brings you to our fair city? Keeping tigers as pets is pretty unwise,
obviously," Albrecht indicated the crime scene, "And it looks like since the cat
got out, there was criminal negligence in this case, 'least that's what I'm
guessing the D.A.'s going to push. Still, it's not necessarily illegal."
"Ah-ah. That's where you'd be wrong, my friend. If, in fact, this tiger was an
endangered Siberian, as was its intended mate, whom we nabbed in San Diego, then
the owner is probably breaking the law. We'll need to check the place out to
make sure, but we think this guy didn't have either the proper facilities or
permits."
"'Course, first," Fawkes pointed out, "we should probably find the cat."
"Weren't expecting to have to track the kitty, were you? Just nail the owner on
a violation, get another chink in his armor for the Feds?"
"Are we that transparent?" Fawkes asked. Hobbes shot him a look.
"Hey, the only big cat fan up here is St. Germaine, and you all are looking at
him hard as we are." Albrecht raised his eyebrows. "You did know he makes
designer drugs, right? That was the whole point?"
"Yeah, look, that might've been the deal," Fawkes allowed, and Hobbes shot him
another look, "but I think it's pretty much gone to crap now, 'cause this cat is
out there and she's not happy. They were bringing in a mate . . . you think
maybe it's her time of the month?"
"Crap."
"You said it."
"Girl's gotta have it."
"And she ain't gonna get it."
"Not a happy kitty."
Hobbes noticed the detective looking a little impatient, so he moved things
along. "Hey, so, if we can talk to your witness, there, we'll get moving." He
angled toward the long-haired man in the trench. "Hey, you!"
The man cocked his head in a "Who, me?" gesture, and Hobbes and Fawkes both
nodded.
Albrecht turned as the man approached. "Oh, him? He's not a . . ."
Darien was eyeing the man as if trying to place him. As the guy approached,
Hobbes said, "If he's not a witness, then . . ."
"Um, I'm a tracker," the dark-haired, dark-eyed man said. "Think I can help you
pin that tiger down."
Hobbes was about to ask his name, since he hadn't volunteered, when Fawkes
supplied it. "Eric Draven. I knew I'd seen you somewhere. Chris had your
picture."
At this, Eric snapped alert, focusing all his attention on Fawkes. It was a
disconcerting regard, even from the sidelines. So this was the cabbie's
brother. Intense guy. Small world. And Albrecht, for his part, was as focused
on Draven. Hobbes suddenly got a partner vibe from the two, the same sort of
synch he felt when he and Fawkes were really clicking. Now that was odd.
"You know my brother?"
"Yeah."
"Where from?"
"Mutual acquaintances. Lots of mutual acquaintances. Plus, he drove us in from
the airport."
Eric removed a motorcycle glove from his right hand and reached out. There was
a strange sense of expectation. "Yeah, I'm Eric. Any friend of Chris . . ." As
he shook Fawkes' hand, the intensity seemed to dissipate. Hobbes thought he saw
the man's eyelids flicker.
"Darien Fawkes," the same said, letting go. "So, tracker, huh? You any good?"
"Nah, not really." A black bird cawed, then flew from the trees to land on his
shoulder. It mantled for a second, wings out, then blinked. Draven smiled.
"He's great, though."
Fawkes looked at the crow. "Cool."
Hobbes, meanwhile, was on the phone. "Claire? Where you at? The *where?*
Figures. Hey, we're gonna need tranqs - you heard? You are? Great. That
other thing? A few hours? I don't know - fine, last I checked."
Two inquisitive looks, one neutral. "OK, that was our doc. She's got tranq
guns for us, 'case we run into the big fuzzball. You guys wanna come?"
"Nah. Look, Eric's gonna go, um, track the tiger. Regular animal control will
coordinate through me. I'll keep you guys updated, 'kay?" Albrecht didn't wait
long - Bobby barely managed to nod.
"Meet you at the owner's ... " he called after the detective, getting a slight
head turn as acknowledgement. As Albrecht left with the tall man, Hobbes
looked up at his partner. "Seems nice, but man, something's a little hinky."
"Hinky. That anything like wonky?"
"They're very similar. It's - well, those two have worked together before.
Bobby Hobbes can see the ties that bind, mi amigo. And that bird kinda creeped
me out."
"I thought it was cool. Still, there's something off about Chris' brother. I
mean, besides the fact that Chris said he just played guitar."
"Helluva coincidence, don't you think, running into your old con buddy and his
brother on the same day?"
Fawkes looked at his partner, and Hobbes was proud of the kid when he responded,
"No such thing."
* * *
Darryl Albrecht walked Draven back to his motorcycle, the crow sitting quietly
on Eric's shoulder. "All cell-phone numbers accounted for . . . OK, you wanna
tell me why you had to read the guy? 'Cause that's what you were doing, right?"
"Yeah. Look, I didn't get a chance to tell you why I showed up here . . ."
"Just figured it was the usual bird-sponsored weirdness."
"Not usual. Not that anything ever is . . ."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, there's ghosts involved again."
Albrecht rolled his eyes. "Oh, *great.* Who?"
"I think . . . I think it's that Fawkes guy's brother. Mainly because I saw him
in the loft this morning, and then, when I took Darien's hand, I felt him take
six shots to the chest."
"Some gift you've got there."
"Look, I didn't ask for this psychometry of the dead act. You . . . you got a
problem with me using it?" He sounded suddenly unsure. Albrecht looked his
friend up and down.
"You never used to be this deferential. Is this because it brings you closer to
being . . . "
"Him. Look, if you - I mean, I - Oh, hell. How can you just work with me like
I didn't beat the crap out of you?" Eric's eyes were wider than usual.
"Damn it, Draven, it wasn't you and I know that. I was there, remember? You
got split in half, and it was pure vengeance and rage that took me down. It
wore your shape but *it wasn't you.*"
"Yeah, but it's back inside me now. I remember . . . everything. Both sides.
I remember loving the freedom." His voice was desolate.
"Look," Albrecht said, speaking low and rapidly, "what you are, what I've always
known you to be, has always been tempered by your conscience. I trust you. I
trust all of you, barring another freak mystical accident. Now, since a crime
scene is neither the time nor the place for this discussion, let's get moving.
I've got a jogger-eating tiger to catch, not to mention its owners to arrest,
hopefully soon. You in?"
A flash of the old Eric showed when he said, "Hey, I came to help you out."
"Then I guess you're in."
* * *
"And we're in," said Hobbes, taking the ticket from the machine and driving
under the arm. The rental car, a powder-blue van nearly identical to the brown
piece of history languishing in San Diego, cleared it with an inch to spare.
"Claire's hotel, of course, has a parking garage. Life is not fair."
"This is news?"
Hobbes made no comment as they proceeded into the Port Columbia Ritz, and up to
the Keeper's suite. Upon entering, Darien spun slowly, taking in the
surroundings, casing the room automatically.
"Sweet."
"Yes, it is," said the Keeper, emerging from the adjoining bedroom, and walking
to the makeshift lab she'd set up on the breakfast table. "I hope you boys
don't mind. I needed the extra room."
"Not to mention the room service."
"Green is very unbecoming on you, Darien," Claire replied. "Which reminds me.
Arm?" Darien held out his right wrist, showing seven red segments.
"Only one more than your last check-in. Good boy."
"Woof." Fawkes disengaged and moved to sit by the window.
"Plus," she continued, "I should have another batch ready shortly."
"How shortly is shortly?"
"No worries, Bobby. Within the day, since I was lucky enough to get some lead
time."
Hobbes responded with a yawn, which he stifled as he snuck a glance at Darien.
Said Invisible Man had pushed back a gauze curtain and was staring out over the
industrial port town.
"Everything okay there, partner?" Hobbes joined Fawkes at the window. He put
his hand on the back of Darien's chair and leaned slightly, his weight
signifying his presence.
"I dunno, Hobbes." Darien spoke softly. "For some reason I've got Kevin on the
brain. Don't know why - we were never here together. Hell, I was barely here
for a few months before I got popped. It was supposed to be a working
vacation." He sighed. "Maybe it was running into Chris and his brother. Got
me thinking they were lucky. They had time to work things out."
"Hey, look. Nobody ever gets to say everything they need to. We gotta keep
going, trust they knew how we feel. Know how we felt. Whatever, y'know. But,
look, if you need to talk, I'm here, okay. 'My friend' isn't just
conversational filler, my friend."
"I'm okay, Bobby. Just ghosts."
"If you say so. Anyway, that reminds me." Hobbes turned from the window and
raised his voice to catch the Keeper. "You get anything back on the Brothers
Draven, Claire?"
"Eberts did, actually." Claire left the mini-lab and migrated to her laptop.
"Pulling it up now. Your cabbie, Chris, he was a small-time con man."
"How small time?" asked Hobbes, while at the same time Darien said, "I could've
told you that."
"Let's just say compared to him, Darien here was a master criminal."
"Hey!"
"Begging your pardon. At any rate," Claire continued, "the interesting stuff
comes up with regard to his brother Eric."
"Knew that guy wigged me out. Bobby Hobbes has intuition. So who is this
character?"
"You've stumbled onto a true rock-and -roll legend, boys. He's either Jim
Morrison, OJ Simpson, or a host of other archetypes, depending on who you
believe."
"Say what?" Darien flipped around in his chair, sitting backwards as he faced
the Keeper.
"Well, two years ago, October, Eric Draven, guitarist for Hangman's Joke, was
reported the victim of a double homicide." Claire winced as she read. "Nasty
stuff. He was thrown through a 16-story window, and his girlfriend, Shelly
Webster, was . . . not well treated. She died in the hospital."
"Getting the feeling there's more to this."
Claire smiled her Mona-Lisa smile. "Oh, definitely. A year after the murder,
give or take a few days, the local police ran prints matching his. After that,
we've got little until he was tried for his girlfriend's murder."
"I was wondering about that," Hobbes put in. "I mean, guy shows up after a
year, fakes his death, girl's dead - I think two things. Either he killed her,"
"Or he's on the run from the guys who did." Fawkes finished for him. "So was he
convicted?"
"Yes, but the evidence was terribly flimsy, and the verdict was overturned. Oh,
and there are one or two accounts of vigilantism attributed to him too. These
were pretty tough to find. Eberts says it looked like someone tried to flush
out the system."
"Huh," Darien mused. "Maybe he did run, and felt guilty. Maybe he's trying to
make up." That struck a chord with the kid, Hobbes could tell, but now the
Bobby Hobbes brain was working overtime.
"Vigilantism, huh? Anything out of the ordinary? Stronger than he shoulda been,
faster, anything?"
"Well, yes, a little, Bobby - something of the sort's mentioned in both
accounts, but . . . How did you know?"
"Okay, then we got possibility number 3. Our Eric's an experiment, just like
Fawkes." To two blank stares, he responded, "Think about it. Grabbed,
girlfriend killed. Gone a year, shows up again. Fights crime. Records are
suppressed. A year's enough time for him to be altered and bust out. Unless,
of course, Robocop's doing just what he was made to do."
"Robocop?" This from Darien, but not half as sarcastically as Bobby expected.
"Figure of speech. Heck, maybe animal DNA or something. You tell me he didn't
have a weird vibe goin' on with that bird."
"I thought it was cool."
"Oh, yeah."
"Well, you boys met the man," Claire said, rolling her eyes at Bobby, who
decided to take it as a sign of affection. "Did he seem dangerous to you?"
"Don't know about dangerous," Fawkes replied. "More like intense. And not like
the lifers I met in the joint, either." He rubbed his neck, thinking.
"Conviction was overturned, right? That's more than I got out of the system, and
I sure as hell wasn't guilty." To two sidelong looks, he said, "What? That
time, okay?"
"Yeah, well, I trust your gut, kid, but I dunno. Still, he's worked with that
cop before. Bet my life on it. On the third hand," he said, getting looks in
turn, "doesn't mean they're both good guys." Hobbes looked at Claire, wondering
if she knew that was one of his favorite pastimes. "You got the tranqs, Keepy?"
"Always. But, and I can't stress this strongly enough, I made these up
especially to take down a big cat. Try not to shoot each other. This amount of
tranquilizer could stop your heart. Don't even shoot the tiger twice if you can
help it."
Darien fixed her with his best grin. "I'll be good, Ma."
"Well, if you can't be good, at least be careful."
As they left for the garage, Fawkes elbowed Hobbes and asked, "So was that your
big theory? We're here looking up another human experiment?"
"Actually, it was way down the list, but I'm liking its chances."
"Do I wanna know what else was on that list?"
"Nope."
* * *