Chapter One: Patrol to Hell
14 hours earlier
"Daddy, daddy, play with me," Lilly begged as she came into the kitchen, favorite doll in one hand. The other stretched out in a silent request to be picked up.
Her father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with buzzcut brown hair and a friendly, open expression, looked down at her, a smile lighting up his face. His light gray eyes danced down at her and he chuckled at her antics.
Wordy swept his middle child up and hugged her. "Sorry princess, Daddy has to go to work now," he apologized. "Maybe this evening you and I can play with your dolls."
His wife, Shelley, smiled at father and daughter. She was only a little shorter than her husband; her long blond hair was already in its customary ponytail and her blue eyes sparkled at her child. She possessed a willowy build and a gracious, gentle demeanor that her husband loved.
Lilly pouted as her mother took her from her father, giving her a quick squeeze and then setting her back down on the floor. "But it's no fun to play with Ally," the girl whined. "She's too little."
"Lilly…" her father warned quietly. Still pouting, Lilly left as her mother and father gave each other a good-bye hug.
"Be careful, Kevin," Shelley whispered.
"Always, honey," Wordy promised. "I love you." With that, he headed out to the garage, slid into his car, and hit the road.
"Okay, Team One, we are patrolling today," Greg Parker announced as he entered the briefing room, to a chorus of cheers from his team. He was a stocky man, balding with remnants of brown going gray hair on the sides of his head. Brown eyes warmed at his team's cheers and his smile showed off the laugh lines around his eyes. The last week had been quiet, with no hot calls and only a smattering of warrants to serve. The entire team was sick of training, workouts, and paperwork.
"Club district?" Spike asked hopefully, gesturing between himself and Lou. Greg arched a brow. "What?" Spike protested at once, "There's all kinds of trouble there all the time."
"Fine," Greg replied, his tone dry with sarcasm. "Patrol with all those very threatening young women in tube tops." Spike, who was shorter than Greg, with a compact frame, black hair puffed up into little spikes, and brown eyes traded high fives with his best friend Lou. Lou had a darker tone than his friend, looking almost as if he had a permanent tan, sported buzzcutted dark hair, and brown eyes. He was taller than both Spike and Greg.
Greg turned toward Ed and Wordy. "Eddie? Mr. Wordsworth?"
Ed, the tallest of the team, leaned a bit further back in his chair. "East end, roving gangs of families, runaway strollers." He was completely bald, had light blue eyes, a serious mien, and possessed a lanky build. Though his tone was deadpan, humor lit his eyes and, as soon as his boss moved on, he traded a wink with Wordy.
"All yours. Sam? Jules?"
Jules, the only female on Team One, was shorter than all her male teammates. She had long brown hair swept up in a ponytail, hazel eyes, petite features, and was slightly built. Sam was her opposite in height, only shorter than Ed and Wordy. He had crew-cut blond hair, along with typically blue eyes, and an athletic build.
Jules smirked at her teammates, specifically Spike. "We'll take west." She looked down at Sam and added, "I'm thinking chicken roti at Island Foods?"
Spike instantly volunteered for west and Greg shot him down with a wry, "You've got tube tops."
With that and a final, "Let's keep the peace," Team One dispersed to their trucks.
Wordy opted for shotgun rather than driving. Ed's brief flash of humor had evaporated into a touchy, grouchy mood that practically guaranteed a bout of half-barbed, prickly comments if Wordy drove, something Wordy was not at all interested in today. Better to let the hot-headed team leader take his annoyance out on the road, rather than Wordy.
Even with Ed driving, Wordy 'enjoyed' a host of comments from his friend, ranging from Clark's latest attempt to get his curfew extended another hour, to how slow the driver in front of their truck was driving, to Ed's difficulty understanding Clark's fondness for classical music.
"Well, if you give Clark a half-hour, it shows you're willing to trust him more and you're open to compromise," Wordy pointed out as Ed finally took a breath. If he could get Ed to focus on one topic, maybe he could head off a entire patrol's worth of complaints; Ed's foul, prickly moods didn't happen often, but when they did…well, Ed was lucky that Wordy didn't lose his temper easily.
"And then what. Next thing I know he'll be out all night," Ed protested.
"If he does that, he loses the half-hour and he knows that." Wordy studied Ed a moment longer, choosing his argument carefully. "Ed, he's growing up. Before you know it, he'll be out of the house, making his own rules. I say trust him unless he breaks that trust."
Ed scowled unhappily, but did not protest. Wordy suspected that Clark growing up was the problem; his friend didn't like to think of his son going out where Ed couldn't keep an eye on him and protect him. Ed would think about it, probably whine a bit more, and then maybe Clark would get his half-hour, if not the full hour. Wordy shifted his attention to the comm and bit back a laugh as Spike and Lou argued with a woman about the tab she'd just tried to walk out on.
"So much for tube tops," Ed drawled, drawing another chuckle from his partner.
"Yeah, no kidding."
Before they could banter further, a call came through from headquarters. "Team One, got a 911 call from a bookstore on the east end. Robbery in progress," Winnie reported.
"On it," Ed called as Wordy snapped the siren on and got the address from Winnie.
"Four blocks from here, Ed."
"Copy."
"Winnie, any other details," Wordy asked.
"No, caller reported the robbery and hung up," Winnie replied.
Sarge's voice came over the comm, "Eddie, you and Wordy need backup?"
"Standby," Ed decided after an instant's thought. "Sounds like it could be anything; we'll go in, take a look, and call if we need help."
"Copy that," Sarge agreed, his voice, as always, calm. "We'll keep patrolling then."
Ed nodded to himself, trading a quick look with Wordy, who nodded back once. "Okay, hard entry, Wordy."
"Copy."
"Kill the siren," Ed added, as he slewed the truck into a turn onto the street the bookstore was on.
Wordy flicked the siren off for the last block. The store they pulled up to looked old, but well cared for. Rare Volumes and Vintage Books was scrolled across the display window in faded cream and gold lettering. Books were neatly stacked below the lettering, their spines fading a bit in the direct sunlight. The door, which stood ajar, was a heavy, well made wooden door with an old-fashioned knocker on it. Inside, Wordy spotted hardwood flooring instead of concrete or tiles; whoever owned this store had poured his heart into it.
Ed and Wordy got out of the SUV, Ed retrieving his submachine gun and Wordy drawing his sidearm. The two moved to the open door, standing to either side and out of the line of fire. Wordy nudged the door further open and Ed ducked inside, covering the shop with his weapon. Wordy followed once his partner reached cover, sweeping his handgun toward the rear of the room as he moved. Neither man spoke, communicating with hand signals in case the subjects were still hiding inside the bookstore; their brief squabble earlier pushed aside in favor of the job.
The inside of the shop resembled the aftermath of a whiteout, as books and loose pages littered the floor. Display tables were overturned, their legs jutting into the walkway and their contents spilled against the tall bookshelves lining the walls. One of the ladders used to get to the uppermost shelves hung halfway off its tracks, creaking a little as the one remaining wheel twisted in its enclosure. On the checkout counter, the register drawer sat open, mute testimony to the results of the chaos. In the center of the counter, a silver pocket-watch sat, glittering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. No one was there.
The two SRU officers used the fallen tables for cover as they cleared the room, meter by meter. As they neared the back of the shop, Ed spotted a door leading further in and nodded to it. Wordy moved up next to the door and, on Ed's signal, threw it open. The two officers swept the inner passageway and the rooms it led to. Nothing. No blood, no bodies, and the inner rooms had none of the chaos they'd found in the outer area. At the back door, the officers turned around and headed back, searching for any sign or clue as to where the shop's owner or the thieves had gone.
Once they'd reached the front of the store again, Wordy reached down and clicked the comm. "No sign of anyone here, Sarge. The place is a mess, the register's empty, so there was definitely a robbery, but we can't find anyone."
"What about our caller?" Greg asked.
"No sign of him," Ed reported. "We'll keep looking, see what we can find."
Wordy inspected the counter and the register. Gouges marred the metal around the register drawer's keyhole. "Ed. Looks like they forced the register. Maybe we'll get prints."
Ed nodded as he checked the nearby table. "Maybe here too, Wordy."
Wordy's gaze fell on the silver pocket-watch. He leaned closer, inspecting the engravings that decorated the lid. "Hey, check this out, Ed. Someone must have left this behind."
Ed's head came up, curious, as Wordy picked up the watch. "Wow, someone really did a nice job on this," Wordy added. "All that engraving must have cost a fortune." He squinted at the engraving, turning the watch as he tried to read it. "Must be in another language," he murmured, almost to himself, as he tilted the watch up to inspect the clasp before looking up at Ed. "Maybe whoever left this behind had something in here."
Ed tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"My grandfather had a picture of my grandmother in his pocket-watch's lid," Wordy explained.
"Ah." Ed nodded in understanding. "Okay, let's see."
Wordy turned the watch and flicked the clasp open. A white flash came from the inside of the watch. Wordy flinched at the brilliant, blinding light, but managed to keep hold of the watch. It took a minute of blinking to see again.
When he could see again, Wordy did a double-take. He was standing in an alley, rank with the smell of garbage and rot. A submachine gun was sitting on an old wine barrel in front of him and a shield leaned against the wall next to it. Of Ed and the bookshop, there was no sign.
