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Chapter 13
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"Third one," Pete informed Myka as they approached the next to last establishment on the list. "Lights are on inside."
"Maybe they keep later hours." Myka guessed.
Pete gave a quick shake of his head. "Not with all the freak show stuff going on lately. Almost all of the shops are closing before sundown."
Instead of replying, Myka simple nodded. He was right about this after all so no words were necessary. Hesitantly, she approached the door and froze. It was partly open as if someone had either gone in or out but had been lazy about seeing that it was closed properly. Pete suddenly drew his semi-auto as soon as Myka pulled out the Tesla. From the look on his face, she knew his vibes were clearly communicating danger.
As the well trained team that they were, they swung into the shop, guns at the ready, moving left and right, covering for each other as they worked their way toward the back. Pete crept cautiously into the back room and stopped abruptly.
"Oh man," muttered Pete. "Dead body."
"Mauled?" inquired Myka as she tried to gaze around him.
She saw Pete's head move left and right. "Nah, not unless it was by a gigundo snake. He's got two big honkin' holes in his chest. I'd bet on bullets rather than bites."
"So this isn't really much of a lead in finding Artie. It's a murder. And a fairly recent one at that, given the appearance of the body." She slipped latex gloves on and carefully moved the body so that she could replace it later just as she found it. "No hints about who did this. At least not that I can see."
On the way out, Myak caught a flash of white beneath a padded table. She snagged it between a gloved index finger and thumb, pulling it up to her eyes. "Covered in blood and inks," she commented, turning it for Pete's perusal. "Recent from the color of the blood."
"How recent?" Pete inquired.
"I'd say less than an hour or so for some of these." She went to a specially marked pail near the table and withdrew several other pads, all containing blood in various stages of turning brown. "I honestly don't know much about tattooing complicated patterns but I'd say that this person was probably lying here for a quite a while."
"Are you thinking that whoever got this work done then shot the artist when he was done?"
"Possibly," Myka said through lips pulled tight. She sighed. "We'll need to call this in, you know."
"Yeah, I figured as much. I'm just frustrated that we can't tell if Artie had been here or not. And if he did show up, was it before the murder or after?"
Shrugging with one shoulder, which caused the contents of her bag to rattle slightly, Myka replied. "First we make the call, then we talk to the police because we don't have much choice, and after that we go back to searching."
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. The police weren't long in coming despite the trouble on the streets and obvious lack of manpower. In fact, lots of cops showed up, as if they were eager for something commonplace to do for a change.
"Anything else you need to know?" Myka asked after an interminable number of questions.
The plain clothes detective opened his mouth but didn't get far.
"I really can't tell you anything else. It's exactly how we found him, as I've said at least five times before."
The detective wasn't about to be deterred that easily. "You said you came here looking for your coworker. Did he have a problem with the victim?"
"Once again, no. He didn't know the guy, I'm sure of it. And I'm not convinced he got here in the first place. We were investigating our own leads on an unrelated case—"
"—which you can't tell me about, yeah, yeah, so you said." He looked over his shoulders at the crime scene photographer finishing his job. "All right. I think I've got the basics. If I need to ask you anything else, I know how to get a hold of you."
Pete bypassed Myka, leaned in so that his breath ruffled the fine hairs beside her ear and whisper so low no one else could hear, "Not likely."
Smiling at him, she whispered just as softly. "What he doesn't know…well it will hurt him, but not right this minute." She grasped his forearm like they were going for an afternoon stroll and walked out of the shop onto the dimly lit streets. Some of the lamp bulbs here were not as efficient as others leaving harlequin patterns of light and dark on the pavement and sidewalks.
Suddenly, the scanner crackled and sputtered to life and they caught a call for an animal attack.
"Not far from here. Couple of blocks south," Pete informed her, already running in that direction.
"Pete? Wait!" Myka hollered after him, hesitating between her desire to track down Artie and her instinct to protect the helpless, to keep another mauling or slaughter from taking place. In seconds, she was bolting after him, her long legs stretching out to close the distance between them.
After a while, they didn't need to wonder about where the creature was or what it was involved in. The screams, bellowing from all too human lungs, led them right to the scene. A silver haired man, his body as stringy as an ill fed chicken, had tripped and rolled to his back. He brandished a recently emptied and broken wine bottle and was stabbing at a black shape trying to tear his throat out. The attacker looked at the newly arrived rescuers with impossibly green orbs, the color visible even in the dim lighting. It snarled at them, dark lips curling back from yellowed teeth.
With a quick slash of its paw, it knocked the bottle away and prepared to bite down on the man's neck.
Without any forethought whatsoever, Pete charged down on the beast hoping to scare it off. He let out a blood curdling scream, arms waving wildly. He looked very brave and very silly, Myka decided, although she couldn't decide which one actually fit him the best.
Mid-stride, Pete's shoe found the tiniest crack in the cement and seemed to stick to it like super-glue. Instead of looking like a dashing hero coming to the rescue of a downed comrade, he took a clumsy spill, saving his face from lots of bruising and a world of hurt only because he turned onto his side at the last minute.
Myka froze, horrified. The jaguar was now looking straight at him and to make matters worse, was within pouncing distance.
Habits kicked in. Myka drew the Tesla and without fear or hesitation, and pulled the trigger. The big cat, a full size Jaguar, tried to spring clear but wasn't quite quick enough. It landed in a heap beside the quivering and moaning body of the man. Pete struggled to his feet, acting every bit as drunk as the old man actually was. He glanced down at the big cat waiting for what he knew would happen.
In less than a minute, an unconscious male form appeared where the Jaguar had landed. The man's hair was close cropped and his body bore the physique of a military man or gymnast with hard sculpted muscles and next to zero body fat.
"If he wakes up, will he transform again?" Pete asked looked down at the were-jaguar.
"No idea," Myka replied, leaning over, her legs spread, hands resting on her knees. "Do you have anything to tie him up with?. I mean, it's not like he has anything on him that we can use."
Pete dusted himself off then shoved his hands in his pockets in a futile gesture. He knew he didn't have anything in them. Still, he did it for show if for no other reason. Then he smiled and looked at the drunken man. The guy may have been down and out but he wasn't shoeless. Even better, he wore hiking boot style footwear with leather laces.
"Hey man, time to part with the laces before this dude wakes up and tries to eat us both."
The guy looked at him, dumbfounded for a second, then the light in his eyes grew brighter. In no time at all, he had divested his shoes of their laces and Pete was tying up the were-beast as securely as he could.
There was one thing they hadn't counted on. That was the presence of other predators in the area, one of which was an opportunistic hunter, one that could kill if necessary but was just as happy taking the kill of other animals. There was a loud whuffing noise and a growl that was low and ominous enough to cause the secret service agents to sweat despite the cool air.
The were-jaguar was morphing again as consciousness returned, impossibly fast, his bellows and agonized screams rending the semi-darkness. He struggled to get loose but couldn't manage it. Pete had been more efficient in tying knots than Myka had expected. But that didn't mean the beast didn't struggle. It yowled once, sounding terrified.
And for good reason, Pete thought. The adversary stalking out of the shadows sported a solid long body, its large, powerful shoulders and neck covered by a huge bristling mane which framed a head that would have made any wild animal tamer think twice. The teeth it flashed at him were big, vicious looking, and clearly ready to do business. The tawny eyes glared at him with an unearthly hunger as if this particular beast hadn't eaten in a week and was willing to take down anything that even remotely lived and breathed.
"Nice lion," Pete murmured soothingly, palms thrust outward in self-defense. He repeated it again, drawing out the word 'nice' until it sounded almost like a sigh, only that time he also took two slow steps backward. His hand reached under this jacket to pull out his weapon. He heard Myka checking the Tesla and then the next sound was of her pulling her own gun. He didn't need to be told that she'd used up most of the charge on the Jaguar and there probably was not enough juice left to take down a bigger cat like this full grown lion.
The tawny predator seemed to know it too and its lips drew back, once more baring its enormous incisors, loosing a series of loud grunts, ending it with a roar that made everyone's hair stand on end. It also made the jaguar growl and hiss and bite at the bindings on its paws.
The thunder of pounding feet broke through the ruckus made by the two big cats. Pete and Myka pivoted to see a small group of officers approaching them, guns drawn, obviously alerted to the situation. It wasn't quite what they were expecting though, because all of them came to an abrupt stop when they realized they were facing not one beast but two and the bigger of them was the one dropping to a half-crouch in preparation of an attack.
The nearest officer took aim. There was no doubt, judging from the harsh look on his face, that he was going to take the animal down rather than risk any further loss of life, even if it ultimately ended the life of whatever man bore the mark of the lion on his skin.
The jaguar had finally bitten his way free of the cords and took off so fast that no one really had time to think about how to correct that problem. The lion didn't flinch, nor was he dissuaded from his next meal. If it wasn't going to be the old defenseless man, then the beefier men before him would just as effectively curb his unbearable hunger.
He moved farther, one slow step at a time, half-crouching and suddenly silent, his eyes never deviating from his intended prey. The cop's stance didn't waver. He said stiffly to Pete, "Get the hell out of my way."
Pete got ready to comply. And then his vibes started twisting his gut. It wasn't as if they were in obvious danger, not with all that firepower. But his perspective also changed. He felt like he was viewing a slow motion scene from a sporting event. The cop's gun took careful aim, his eyes squinting slightly. One step behind and to the right of him, Myka had drawn her pistol as well. The muzzle was trained on the animal.
Pete's head swiveled to get one last look at the male lion and saw something peculiar as the street light hit him. There, just to the right of the broad golden furred chest was a small bald patch with a small straight scar running through it. And as the head dipped for his final charge, Pete saw a matching hairless area just over the shoulder.
The lion went airborne. Enormous forepaws, tipped in needle sharp claws, stretched out toward Pete. The beast knew no fear and showed no caution. The fierce glint in his tawny eyes reflected an overwhelming compulsion to kill and devour.
Without any thought, Pete did several things at once. He ran several steps and threw his full weight against the cop, toppling him to the ground, knocking the man's aim off target. At the same moment, he was yelling for Myka to drop her gun and shoot the Tesla. Wisely, she didn't argue. The Tesla still had some juice left and she could only hope it would be enough. Bright lightning arcs roped and twisted, settling like a flaming white halo over the head of the lion as it was leaping toward them.
The beast looked momentarily confused and then dropped heavily to the road. Its forward momentum brought the grunting and twitching body right to Pete's feet.
"Hurry," Pete bellowed, as he scrabbled to his feet and jerked the cop upright. The guy's compatriots stood immobile and confused by everything that was happening. The sight of some weird ray gun shooting lightning was enough to paralyze them for several seconds. Pete's voice captured their wandering thoughts in a vise grip. "Single-use cuffs! You got any?" Hands outstretched, he beckoned them to hurry.
A few of the guys did have the long plastic ties that often functioned as hand-cuffs for use during riots. Pete snatched several of them out of their hands and quickly bound the predator's paws together. Myka was surprised by the gentle way he did this, as if he didn't want to further injure the animal that just tried to attack and consume them.
The lion was panting heavily, long pink tongue rising and falling between powerful jaws, his jowls quivering as he swallowed. His claws flexed in and out of their sheaths like he wanted to continue the attack.
"Will that hold?" Myka inquired dubiously. "Pretty thin bands for something so strong."
"It'll hold…for a while at least…," he turned his eyes down to their captive who was starting to struggle. "I hope!"
Glaring at the cops, Pete then asked, "You did think to call for Animal Control didn't you?"
The guy who Pete had taken down to the sidewalk threw daggers at him with his eyes but nodded. "Should be here any minute."
True to the prediction, the Animal Control officer showed up with a large truck. Pete eyed it speculatively. "Gonna need a bigger cage," he observed dryly.
That officer put hands on curvy hips, stood up as tall as her petite frame would allow, and said, "Hey, it's not like we get calls for lions, and tiger, and bears every day. Come to think of it, I don't think we've ever gotten calls for anything like this. So this--," she gestured at the back of the pickup, "—is all you are going to get. Make due because you have no choice."
"I'd feel better if you tranq him," One of the cops stated. "Save us all a lot of headaches.
The woman from Animal Control clearly didn't like having her job description detailed for her but she reached for a large tranquilizer pistol, put a hefty looking syringe dart in it, aimed at the lion and pulled the trigger.
It took nearly thirty seconds for the beast's head to drop to the pavement. It took several grunting, cursing and sweating men working together to haul the body to the cage and push it inside. The lion's eyes, glassy and unfocused, looked peculiar. Pete and Myka drew closer as other parts of the animal changed, assuming more human proportions.
"Oh my God," the female officer spouted in horror. "I'd heard this was happening but thought they were trying to pull a fast one on me."
Myka moved next to Pete and nudged him with her elbow. "Time to move out before we get tied up with questions about how we always manage to be around when these things happen."
Standing like a brick wall, Pete refused to move.
"Pete?"
"Watch," he murmured softly. Confused, she turned her attention to the transforming creature and noticed familiar features reassembling on a round face, long solid torso growing shorter and pudgier, fur falling away, leaving pale skin that hadn't seen the sun in quite a while. On the skin just above his heart was a very recent tattoo. Both agents noted it was a male lion in rampant pose.
"Artie," she breathed out the name. "We almost…I mean, I almost…" she turned brimming round eyes on Pete. "How did you know?"
"The scars on the left chest and shoulder. I caught a quick glimpse of them…I wasn't absolutely sure…" Pete explained haltingly. "But I couldn't take that chance."
Closing her eyes for a second, Myka replayed the images in her mind. "I didn't see anything," she whispered, already berating herself.
Pete put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Neither did I until the streetlight hit it a particular way. Otherwise I would have missed it too."
From somewhere very close they heard a human voice, hoarse and weak, call their names or what passed for their names at any rate. Artie still lay within the cage, curled more or less in a fetal position, his skin looking bluish and dimpling from the cold. Without a moment's hesitation, Pete pulled off his jacket, opened the cage and threw it over Artie's prostrate form, effectively covering him from shoulders to mid thighs.
"Hey, buddy, we're here."
Nielsen's eyelids kept fluttering closed as the tranquilizers pulled him into unconsciousness.
Stretching out a hand, Myka vigorously rubbed a still exposed forearm. That brought Artie's attention back to her. His lips moved, trying to form words through a haze of sleep inducing chemicals.
"MacPher—" he started to say.
"MacPherson, Artie? Was he responsible for all this?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah. Tattoo machine. Half of it. Inks other…" His eyelids drooped.
Myka shook his shoulder. "What about inks, Artie?" Her voice had grown hard, determined. She needed answers. Now.
Her boss struggled for mental clarity and almost got there for several seconds before his eyes crossed from the effort. Myka shoved a bit harder.
"Not so rough," Artie waved her off. "Ink bottles…in…shop. Look funny. Alive. Get neu…" he breathed heavily from the effort, "…neutralizer canister. Dump machine and inks in. May reverse proc…" With a long exhalation, he gave in to the drug's siren song.
"Damn it!" yelled Pete into the night sky. "MacNutty Pants strikes again. What is it with that guy? First he tries to kill us all and fails, then he tries to kill Artie and tanked on that too, now he's doing this? Why? Why not kill Artie when he had him helpless?"
Visibly, Myka shivered and pointed at Artie. "Because if things had gone as planned, he might have killed us. Or we might have killed him. We almost did." She grew quiet, somber.
"What kind of a maniac is this guy?" Pete growled ominously. "Tricking us into killing Artie or having Artie take us out first. And for what purpose?"
"Other than revenge you mean?"
"It's getting old is all I'm saying. And it's making me really wanna pound his ass so far into the ground that it'll end up poking out of the ground somewhere in China."
Myka leaned against a lamp post, and hung her head. She watched the Animal Control truck drive off, bearing its lone sleeping occupant.
"Let's get the canister and deal with the artifact."
Rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, Pete asked, "Think it will reverse the process?"
"If Artie thought it might, that's good enough for me."
Together, they went to their vehicle, moved it to a spot near the shop, pulled out the silver canister, and prepared to enter the building, but not before drawing their weapons and doing a perimeter sweep. They brushed aside the crime scene tape, did a quick and masterful job of picking the locks, and scanned the interior.
The corpse had already been taken to the morgue. Very little else had been moved. There were a few tattoo machines in plain view but instinct told them MacPherson wouldn't have left a potentially valuable artifact laying around. They studied the dye containers.
"I wonder if this will work," Myka stated quietly. "You remember what happened with the last bifurcated artifact. We needed both together to neutralize them properly."
Pete eyed the dyes. "Do all bifurcated artifacts behave exactly the same way? I mean, MacPherson wouldn't have taken the machine with him without taking the dyes to go with it unless something was different about this whole set up."
"Well, unlike with Poe's book and pen which were created at the same time, more or less, the tattoo machine was very old and clearly these dyes are fresh. They weren't created together so maybe they can be neutralized separately."
"So it's not a classic bifurcated artifact?" Pete inquired.
"Perhaps not," Myka agreed uncertainly pointing at the container. "Give it a shot."
"Here we go," Pete finally said, sounding a bit breathless. He'd already donned his purple gloves and was holding up a jar of brilliant red dye. The contents moved around in whirling patterns as if something alive were swimming inside.
The canister lid opened with a soft hiss of decompressing air. Pete cautiously unscrewed the lid.
"Put the whole thing in, jar and all." Myka coaxed.
"No. Look at all the jars like this one. They're small but a bunch of them would overflow the canister. Keep looking for more like this and I'll pour the contents in."
Myka didn't wait around to see what happened when Pete poured the red liquid into the container. But she certainly heard it. There was a loud crackling and popping from where she'd just stood. Purple flashes rebounded off the walls.
"Booyah!" Pete exclaimed. "Talk about a killer light show." He dumped the fluid of several more jars into it with similar results. It took nearly twenty minutes to find and empty everything that looked suspicious and there was enough of it to significantly raise the level of purple goo in the canister. "I still wonder why he left these here for us to find them," Pete said quietly as he sealed everything up.
A slender index finger rose up. "One, transporting them would be difficult." A second finger joined the first. "And two, because he has more of it hidden away somewhere."
"Or he has the ability to make it himself. Scary either way," Pete muttered.
Myka eyed the neutralizer container. "What scares me is that MacPherson is still out there."
Pete didn't answer but his expression said it all.
They left the store as quietly as they arrived, ducking through and around the yellow warning tape, closing the door behind them.