Chapter Two – Survivor
"Good
Morning Los Angeles, this is Robert Soderberg with RCSROX radio, looks like
we're in for another scorcher of a day with humidity still high after last
nights' rain storm, and temperatures are expected to reach a hundred and ten
degre--" the car's radio stopped abruptly as it was switched off.
"Hey,
what'd you do that for?"
The big
black man reclining lazily in the driver's seat of the beaten up Chevy '99 took
his time in responding. "Because, son, I don't need some talkin' head telling
me how hot it is, or how hot it's going to get."
The
broad-shouldered Italian sitting in the passengers seat smirked, "You know
Harrigan, you wouldn't be able to feel the heat if you had ever gotten around
to fixing the air conditioning on this trashcan."
Harrigan
chuckled, "Nah, Old Betsy's been through a lot with me, I like her the way she
is. You youngsters just don't appreciate a classic."
This time
it was it was Harrigan's partner's turn to laugh.
The Italian was about to respond
when the car radio suddenly burst into life, filling the car with static and
the whining alarm that announced the start of a high-priority feed. "All squad
cars in the vicinity of Ulster and Tufts report to 1336 Kesh Road to
investigate a probable multiple-homicide."
Lieutenant
Michael Harrigan picked up the mike, "Harrigan and Samuels en route." Just as
he finished speaking David Samuels took the siren from under his seat and
latched it to the roof of the Chevy.
* * *
The howling siren echoed through
the streets as the banged up maroon-colored car zigged and zagged its way
through the traffic. Other cars swerved out of its way, and paused just long
enough for their drivers to lean out the windows and throw curses. "I'm telling
you Samuels, things never change. Twenty-four years I've been on the force and
thing just don't change. These idiots still don't get out of my Goddamn way!"
"Ah lighten up old man, you sound
like you're ready for retirement."
"In your dreams hotshot, I could still
take you down and you know it. Hell, if you clocked half the time in the gym
that I did you might be able to keep up with me for five minutes!" Well,
Harrigan thought, maybe not that easily, but for his age he was in great shape.
Harrigan spent three hours a day at the gym keeping his impressive physique in
top form, and though it was getting a little tougher on the bones, Harrigan
knew he wasn't going to turn in his badge for a pension anytime soon.
The beeping of the radio brought
Harrigan from his thoughts. Samuels spoke up, "We're getting additional details
about our call-in from HQ." After a short pause Samuels punched a few buttons
on the car's Uplink computer. "Prelims just coming in, some grandma called in a
disturbance last night, she said she heard a lot gunfire from across her
apartment, some beat-cops just did a mandatory follow up. Looks like what
grandma heard was a real nasty gang fight. Wow…"
"What?" Harrigan asked.
"Prelim says we've got twenty, maybe twenty five bodies."
"Must have been one hell of a
fight. The Jamaican's and the PR's?"
"Be damned if I knew. HQ's not
telling me much…"
As Harrigan
sped through a red light, siren blazing, a black Mercedes shot forward through
the intersection. Samuels turned his head to get a better look at the car, but
it quickly turned down a side alleyway.
"Looks like your friends are
getting sloppy Harrigan."
Harrigan turned his head around,
just catching a glimpse of the Mercedes as it disappeared behind the alley.
"Great, just what I need… Dumb and Dumber." Harrigan said as he continued to
weave his way through traffic.
"Damn, who
are those guys, everywhere we go they follow us." Samuels said, and Harrigan
only grunted in response.
Samuels sighed, "Harrigan, I've
been your partner for three years. Why don't you just…"
"Forget it, it's not important."
"Harrigan, whatever it is, it's
pretty damned important, I even talked to the Chief about these guys, and he
just acted like I was seeing things. Hell, their car has government plates,
doesn't that bother you just a lit…"
Harrigan harshly cut him off. "I
said forget about it." This time, Harrigan's voice left no room for argument.
He was a little sorry about
snapping at Samuels, but he didn't like being reminded that everywhere he went,
whether it was on patrol, or to a friends' house, there were Feds following
him. In fact, even though his partner didn't know it, they had been following
him for the last five years.
It started soon after his fight
with…It. He didn't like thinking about that thing, it had killed a lot of
people he knew well, and he wanted to put the dark memories of those bloody
nights out of his mind. The Feds weren't helping. Five years ago, when this all
started, the government had been doing their own search for the violent alien
that was stalking people through L.A., covering up it's bloody trail as they
tried to trap it. After their capture operation fell through, they were the
ones who helped give credibility to the excuse that the city officials had
thought up, planting evidence and forging letters from a supposed serial
killer: the L.A. Ripper. Harrigan knew it was all bullshit, and he personally
blamed them for the death of his old partner, and best friend, Danny Trujillo.
Though it was the L.A. Ripper who killed him, Harrigan knew if that they had
been told what they were going up against, that things would have played out
differently. If there was one good thing that the alien had done, it was to
whack the Feds in charge of the capture operation as they attempted to
apprehend it; if the alien hadn't, Harrigan would have had to do it himself.
This new pair of shadowers was the
fourth bunch to tail him and they were the dullest yet, seeing them try to
sneak about was as unnoticeable as a bear going wild in a glass factory.
Harrigan gave nicknames for each pair that had taken it's turn to keep tabs on
him: the first were Moe and Curly, then Dipstick and Dipshit, then Turner and
Hooch; these two were Dumb and Dumber. Harrigan guessed that the reason the
Feds put so much time and effort into watching him was because they thought
that the aliens might contact him eventually, or some shit like that. Well, if
they were waiting for something supernatural to happen, they must have been
disappointed by now; he hadn't heard or seen anything remotely alien since the
night he tracked down and killed the Ripper. Harrigan prayed that it stayed
that way.
The rotating red-and-blue lights of
police cars, brought Harrigan's attention back to the present. A smattering of
patrol cars were parked haphazardly in front of what looked like a dilapidated
warehouse. A patrolman on foot waved Harrigan past a temporary police blockade
and the tired detective put thoughts of aliens and government agents away as
the pulled up to the crime scene.
* * *
"Good
morning gentlemen", the tall and thin Captain McClintock said as he moved
toward the warehouse's only door, "have a look inside, but hold your breath, it
stinks worse than my place after my wife tries to make dinner." He held open a
ratty door that creaked on rusted hinges, and a few dry and nervous chuckles
came from the four officers waiting near the entrance.
A
gust of warm air burst through the doorway, the heat making the stench even
more unbearable. It smelled like a slaughterhouse floor… after seven days of
not being cleaned. Harrigan, fighting the bile that was rising up his throat,
covered his mouth with his hand and Samuels took out a handkerchief to mask his
face with.
Blood
was everywhere, covering the walls and floor in a myriad of strange designs.
Several bodies were lying around the warehouse floor, their expensive suits
stained with dried blood. The entire place was cordoned off with a web of
yellow tape, and several uniformed officers walked gingerly about. But even
with all the blood, Harrigan could only count four or five bodies. "I don't see
twenty bodies…"
"Look
up Lieutenant" Samuels said, as his handkerchief dropped to the floor. Harrigan
slowly shifted his gaze upward, the walls growing more and more clotted with
blood the higher he went. Finally his gaze reached the rafters, hanging from
each of the support beams were the skinless bodies of men. Some had had their
chests ripped open, others their skulls ripped clean off.
The
first thing that flashed through Harrigan's mind was an image of the rafters
where Danny had been strung upside-down and butchered. His lunch began to rise
up his throat. Harrigan pushed past Samuels and ran towards the warehouse exit.
As
he burst out of the warehouse, the hot smog tasted like a sweet country breeze
and Harrigan inhaled deeply, filling his lungs. But the image of the hanging
bodies, slowly dripping blood from their skinless forms, felt like it was
burned onto the back of his eyelids and wouldn't go away. Harrigan had to sit
down on the sidewalk before his knees gave out on him.
Samuels was quickly at Harrigan's side. "Damn, what
kind of psycho would do something like that?"
Harrigan didn't respond. In his mind images, images that he
thought were pushed so deep inside his brain that they would never haunt him
again, were swirling with unbidden ferocity. A burnt-out garment factory,
covered with blood and the bodies of drug dealers, a gutted subway strewn with
slain commuters. Harrigan didn't want to go back into the warehouse to have a
close look at any of the bodies; that would only confirm his fears.
"You okay
Harrigan?" Captain McClintock said as he stepped out of the warehouse.
"Yeah, just
give me a second." Harrigan sounded suddenly very tired.
"Sure thing
Lieutenant." After a brief pause McClintock started speaking again, "Forensics
thinks that there was some kind of meeting that took place inside the
warehouse. Looks like the sides didn't really agree with one another and it
turned violent. The place is certainly shot up enough for that to make sense."
Harrigan grunted and the Captain continued, "Either way we picked up a
survivor. Some skinny guy, hopefully he'll come out of shock soon."
"What?"
Harrigan asked, confused.
"Did you
just hear a thing I just said?"
"Yeah,
yeah…" Harrigan said as he shook his head clear, "I hope your right."
"Me too.
Probably some loon Russian with that went on a sadistic spree, according to
Forensics everyone but the Russians got hog-tied on the rafters. I wonder if
he's trying to mimic the Ripper, God I hope not."
"Well, lets hope that the guys responsible
for this doesn't get any ideas… one lunch-break like this is enough for me."
Samuels said as he peeked inside the building quickly.
"I'm sorry
to burst your bubble Samuels, but this isn't the only one."
"What?"
Harrigan said as he got back on his feet.
"For the
past several weeks, we've been getting scattered reports of homicides occurring
among the ranks of top LA crime lords.
This is the first crime inside our jurisdiction, most of them were out
in the suburbs and Malibu hills, where most bosses live. But the M.O. for those
hits were just like what we're seeing here; butchered bodies, killed in highly
mutilated, and visible ways. Well, not just like this. None of the others were
nearly as bloody, just one or two people, but the same bunch of guys
responsible for those killings might be our perp. "
"Captain,
can we please talk about something else? I feel like I'm going to loose my
lunch." Samuels said as he sat down next to his silent partner.
"Sure thing
kid. I think we should go on over and talk with our new friend." The Captain
began walking toward a group of police cars where an officer was speaking
Russian to man in a blood-splattered gray suit. "What have you go out of him so
far Smith?" the Captain asked as he came to a stop about five feet away from
the witness.
"Not much
sir. All we know so far is his name… John Novakovich, and we only know that because
we looked inside his wallet. Something scared him up real bad sir, he's to
afraid to speak."
"Novakovitch?
Is he Hungarian?", Samuels commented.
"Nope, he's
Russian. He had a tourists visa, though if he was part of this mess he's
probably over here for mafia work."
"Captain",
Harrigan spoke up, "you said that
forensics thought that the Russians were responsible right?"
"Yeah."
"Then why
didn't they either kill this guy or take him along with them?"
Before the
Captain could respond the sound of screeching tires burst through the alleyway.
At first Harrigan thought it was just some local hoods breezing through. A
motley assortment of vehicles, ranging from black Benzes to light green
Cadillacs turned from various street corners and slowed down in front of the
warehouse. Whoever they were, they had to be pretty stupid showing off in front
of the thirty cops that were stationed around the building. Then the guns came
out.
Out of the
rolled down window of a black and red Chevy, a shotgun barrel fired, shattering
the front window of a patrol car. A machine gun burst from another car blew the
left hubcap off Harrigan's car. As soon as the first shot rang Harrigan dropped
to the floor, handgun out. Several officers had already started returning fire,
and more were joining the fray. With the precision gained from years on the
force, Harrigan was picking his shots, firing into the dark windows of the
collection of cars.
"This is Captain Alex McClintock,
calling for assistance at 1336 Kesh Road, we are under attack, I repeat we are
under attack!" A voice broke through the firefight; soon it was followed by a
yell from across the alley "Officer down!"
These couldn't be just gangbangers,
no one had that much of a death wish. "Who are these guys?" Harrigan asked as
he reloaded his pistol.
From the cars, two-dozen men garbed
in a variety of colors and heads replete with dreadlocks, came running,
spreading out behind the cover provided by their makeshift vehicle blockade.
"Looks like the Jamaican posse sir!" Samuels said as he fired the remainder of
his clip. The alley was a picture of chaos; two officers lay spread on the
ground in the middle of growing pools of blood. Seven Jamaicans had already
fallen, yet the remaining survivors showed no sign of backing off.
A burst
from an AK-47, sounding like a clap of thunder, shattered the window just above
Harrigan's head. With a grunt Harrigan got up, broken glass falling off his
head and shoulder, and fired three times into the chaos.
"Thirty
cops? Who the hell is stupid enough to attack thirty cops? These guys are
either suicidal or hepped on angel dust!" Samuels said as he began to reload.
To his left a young, burly officer with dark brown hair replied while he
reloaded his shotgun.
"However
they are, they're going to be dead." With that said he rose up on one knee and
fired into the alley, taking the head almost clean off a Jamaican gunman.
Fire
continually pored from the Jamaican side of the street, aimed almost entirely at
the group of cars where Harrigan knelt. "Damnit! Why the hell are they only
shooting at us?" asked Samuels as he lifted his arm over the side of the car
and fired.
"I don't
think they are Samuels…" the Captain was interrupted as four Jamaicans, screaming
loudly, charged straight at where Harrigan and Samuels were crouched. Captain
McClintock paused his return-fire as he reloaded. As he rose to fire a bullet
hit him the arm and sent him sprawling. The Jamaicans didn't bother finishing
him off, instead firing at the ground where Novakovich lay hiding. Harrigan
quickly blew away the attackers before they could get a bead on the terrified
Russian. "They're going after the Russian!" Captain McClintock yelled as
another of the officers knelt over his arm.
"Damn!"
Harrigan said as he fired once more into the chaos, "Get him out of here
Samuels!" He turned to the twelve officers near-by "On my mark we lay covering
fire. Smith, Clark… go with Samuels!"
"Sure thing
boss." Clark said as he reloaded his handgun.
"Go!" with
that ten cops stood up and started firing, and three figures broke away from
the group and faded away into the alley, almost unnoticed amidst the screams of
the wounded and the shooting of the police.
* * *
Samuels
sprinted down the alley, and spoke into his walkie-talkie simultaneously. "This
is Agent Samuels, we've got our witness and we're coming. Meet us at," Samuels
looked around for a street sign but couldn't find any. "Meet us about two
blocks from the shootout scene."
The
walkie-talkie crackled in response, "Roger that Samuels, we are on our way."
Dirty water splashed up onto him as he ran through the muck-infested alley.
"This is what I get for wearing my good slacks!" Samuels growled as he
continued running, his eyes fixed on the task of dodging the large puddles of
murky water that littered the pocked surface of the alley.
One of the three men with him
looked around warily. "Sir… I thought I heard something, do you think that we
shook off all the Jamaicans?"
As if on
cue, a clattering sound echoed through the alley as loose bricks dropped from
above, banging noisily on the street below. Samuels looked up to see where it
had come from, but saw nothing but the old and crumbling rooftops of the
warehouse district.
A fountain
of water erupted behind Agent Samuels, he spun around, his gun flying into his
hand. He looked out into an empty alleyway, there was nothing there.
Novakovitch
didn't seem to think so. He screamed, pointing frantically at the spot where
the water had originated, speaking hysterically in rapid-fire Russian, and
scrambling to get out of the grasp of his guards. Samuels looked again where
the Russian was pointing, but once again saw nothing but the empty alley.
Or did he? A second smaller splash
soon appeared close to the first burst of water, followed quickly by another
splash. The murky water rippled once more, and the sound of crackling static
erupted from the pool. Blue lightning began to flash, encircling some unseen
form. There came a throaty growl from the thing as the blue sparks came more
and more rapidly. A form began to emerge from the glimmer, and the twisting
tendrils of azure light. It moved quickly, leaping form the pool of water and
for the briefest moment it could be seen. A brown blur, its eyes flashed an
eerie yellow as something bright and blue shot across the alleyway from the
beast's shoulder, impacting with Novakovitch's skull and turning it into a
shower of fine red mist.
Samuels and
the two officers with him burst into action, bringing their side arms up and
firing with wild abandon. Sparks cracked across whatever the hell it was, but
the bullets didn't seem to stop its advance. Agent Smith was suddenly hoisted
into the air, and hurled against a far wall, impacting with a sickening thud.
Metal claws materialized from its ghostly form, and there came a metallic
whirring, as another agent gurgled; his throat was slit, blood spurting out of
the gaping wound. The glass-like thing spun around and shot towards Samuels. He
didn't have time to scream.
* * *
Police
sirens filled the air, as squad cars began arriving at the shoot out scene. The
Jamaicans, surrounded and outgunned, fought on defiantly but they didn't have a
chance. The last ones were pinned down behind their cars by a hail of gunfire,
and one by one succumb to the police onslaught. As the last one fell to the
ground, a gaping hole in his back, a smoky quite settled into the air. The
police quickly began to tend for their own wounded, loading the seriously
injured into the ambulances that were also arriving on the scene.
Harrigan,
though he had several scrapes and cuts along his back, turned down the medical
help that was offered to him; there were others who needed it more. He was more
interested in where his partner was.
A pretty
brunette-haired patrolwoman walked briskly towards him. "Lieutenant Harrigan?"
"Yeah
that's me."
"Captain McClintock wanted me to find you. I
was part of the team that was sent to rendezvous with Agent Samuels, but he
never showed up. We're doing a search of the vicinity right now, but he didn't
give specifics on where he was headed."
Harrigan
didn't bother waiting to hear the rest of the report, he immediately ran down
the alley he had sent Samuels: he had lost one partner to the Ripper, damned if
he was going to loose another one.
* * *
The dank
alleyway was eerily quiet, with only the echoing sound of his footsteps making
any sound. "Samuels? You there?" His echo was the only response. The alleyway
twisted and turned, but remained totally silent. Suddenly Harrigan stopped
moving; he thought he heard a light buzzing sound coming from around a turn in
the alley. He slid his gun from its shoulder holster, and spun around the
corner. There were black swarms of flies buzzing angrily, hovering over what
looked like bodies. "Oh Shit!" Harrigan ran towards the corpses, ignoring the
water as it splashed onto his pants. There were three corpses littered on the
floor, blood mingling with the bilge water that seemed to permeate the place.
A scraping
noise was the only alarm that Harrigan had as strong hands grab him from
behind. Harrigan reacted quickly, jabbing his elbow into the man's ribs and
pointing his gun at his face. A dazed Jamaican, dreadlocks swinging and doubled
over in pain, was in the alleyway with him.
He was
about to order the man to spread out on the ground when something sharp cracked
against his skull. In a dizzying blur, the world faded into darkness.
* * *
Slowly Harrigan awoke, his head throbbing in pain.
He was flat on his stomach, the sticky vinyl of a car's backseat pressed
against his cheek. He tried moving from his awkward position to get a look at
where he was being driven, but found his hands and ankles tightly bound with
piano wire. A deep chuckle came from somewhere, and an equally deep voice broke
through Harrigan's cloudy thoughts.
"Pleasant dreams mon, you be gettin' ready
for an important meetin'. Now it be time to sleep." A cloth rag was shoved on top
of his mouth, the sweet smell of ether was the last thing Harrigan sensed
before everything went black.
