Something was coming over the dunes toward him, crunching the shale as it walked. The winds rose, blowing dust into his eyes and bitter saltwater from the black sea into his mouth. He lifted his hands to block his face, trying to see who was coming, but all he could hear was the sound of something coming closer.
Then he woke up.
The sun was out as Frank pulled into the station’s parking lot. Vic’s car wasn’t there. He parked and got out, feeling his heart beating harder with every step toward the door. Both the Chief and Staff Sergeant’s cars were there. Is that normal? Aren’t they normally in later than this?
They came in early to initiate the firing of one cop and the indefinite suspension of his partner for not reporting it, he thought. That son of a bitch. If I survived getting shot just to lose my job over your bullshit I’ll kill you. His heart pounded so fast now that he thought people would be able to see his shirt move.
Frank punched his code into the door and went in. The hallways were empty. He headed for the Staff Sergeant’s office. Empty. He went to the Chief’s office. The door was shut.
They’re in there. No doubt about it. I might as well clear out my shit now and get it over with. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He turned toward the squad room and headed for the water cooler. Jim Iolaus was sitting at the computer terminal typing up a report. He looked up at Frank in surprise and said, “You all right?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Frank snapped.
“I mean, are you all right. You look like shit.”
Frank wiped his forehead and nodded. “My leg hurts. That’s all. What’s going on around here? Anything? The bosses in? I checked their offices but the Chief’s door’s closed.” He knew he was speaking rapidly but was too busy searching every inch of Iolaus for information. “Any clue what’s up?”
“How the hell should I know?” Iolaus shrugged. He turned back to the computer and started typing.
Frank limped dramatically over to the coffee machine and poured himself a fresh cup. He was about to turn when he caught sight of something bald and enormous waddling toward him. Here it comes. The old, “See me in my office, Frank.” He set his coffee cup down and put his hands on the counter top to keep them from shaking.
The Staff Infection came up behind him and said, “Just the man I was looking for. What is the status of the Lamia case I assigned you yesterday?”
Frank turned slightly and said, “It’s already down. We arrested the old man last night and put him in jail.”
“Last night? What the hell took so long?” Erinnyes said, his usual sarcasm tinted with humor. He leaned over Frank’s shoulder and said, “I’ll take one.”
Frank snatched a cup from the stack and filled it so quickly that it spilled over the ledge and burned the tips of his fingers. He ignored it and finished pouring, then replaced the pot and headed for the stairs as quickly as he could.
“You talking about Peter Lamia?” Iolaus called out. “The seventy-five year old you put in County?”
Frank stopped at the hallway and said, “Yeah. Why?”
“His wife posted bail for him before he was even through intake. He was home in forty-five minutes.”
Frank cursed and kept walking.
The office door was closed and it was dark inside. Frank pulled out his phone and dialed Vic’s number, letting it ring until it went to voicemail.
He ended the call and punched in a text message: Call me. Asap.
He set the phone down on his desk and slumped down in his chair, and jumped up again when the phone rang. “Vic!”
There was a snicker on the other end. “Not quite, Frankie. It’s Dez. We grabbed Paris coming back to the house. I need you and Vic to get down here right away for when we interrogate him.”
Frank swallowed. “Vic sicked out today. Do you want me to still come down?”
“Typical. Yeah, hurry up. You don’t want to miss this.”
Frank tried to call Vic again and it rang until voicemail. He left another message telling Vic about the interrogation. Telling him to pick up. Telling him to call. He kept redialing as he went up the stairs to the hallway, and again as he walked toward the keybox. He opened the keybox and saw that the only set of keys left was for the marked unit Erinnyes had assigned him. Frank hung up the phone and took them.
Frank parked his patrol car on the street near the shipping dock, ignoring the strange looks of truckers as they drove past. He hurried toward the unmarked door on the brick building and pounded on it, remembering to have his badge ready. Dez Dolos opened the door and pushed him back toward the street. “Did you come alone?”
“Yeah.”
Dez looked up and down the street, checking for people. He handed Frank a balled up ski mask and told him to put it on when they went inside. “Under no circumstances are you to use anyone’s name, agency, or other identifying information. Do you understand?”
Frank looked down at the mask and said, “Are you being serious right now, or is this some sort of joke, because I’m seriously not in the mood.”
Dez leveled his eyes at Frank and said, “Vic told me you were a cop.”
“I am a cop. Things have just been a little weird lately, that’s all.” Frank went past the door and pulled the mask over his face as Dez did the same. The warehouse past the first door was lit by a single floor lamp that was plugged into the wall near a folding chair. A black man sat in the chair, hands cuffed behind his back, wearing only his underwear. Sweat dripped from his dark skin so profusely that a puddle was forming under his seat on the concrete floor. Frank adjusted his mask and the man turned to look at him with wide eyes that showed white all the way around the irises. Paris Deimos, Frank thought.
Men from Dez’s team stood around Paris in a circle, all of them masked.
Dez walked in front of Paris and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees so that he was looking directly in Paris’s face. “So where were we?”
“We was at fuck you, fuck these other muh fukkin’ pigs, fuck yo mamas, fuck yo grandmamas, fuck yo kids, fuck yo skank-ass, scandalous ass, dick-sucking babymama, and fuck whoever the fuck it is you think I kidnapped because I ain’t done shit.”
“Right,” Dez said. He stood up and sighed, “Well, we tried everything else. Now that we’re all here, I guess we should just get down to it.”
“Yeah, right,” Paris sneered. “You bitches don’t scare me. I ain’t never scared, faggots.”
“Okay,” Dez said. He looked over at the closed door of their meeting room. “You ready in there?”
Something pounded on the door in response. Hard.
Paris turned toward the sound and laughed sharply, “What? You think I never took a beating before? I’ve been getting my ass kicked by the police my whole life. This ain’t shit. You hear me? You ain’t shit in there, whoever the fuck you are.”
“I’d like to welcome you to a very special club, Mr. Deimos,” Dez said. “Since the seventies, police have relied on one singular entity to gain information from subjects when all else failed. Not many people have ever seen him, but those that do never forget it. And I can assure you that neither will you.”