Grave injustice, p.1
Grave Injustice, page 1
Grave Injustice
by Allen Goodner
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GRAVE INJUSTICE
First edition. August 24, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Allen Goodner.
ISBN: 979-8201758172
Written by Allen Goodner.
Also by Allen Goodner
Angels' Executioner
Heaven's Hitman
Grave Injustice (Coming Soon)
Watch for more at Allen Goodner’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Allen Goodner
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
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About the Author
To Sam, who believes in me when I don’t.
CHAPTER 1
The old warehouse loomed in front of me. The building stretched back into the gloom of the night away from the street. Brick, steel, and broken glass loomed over me as the last light of the sun faded. The warm Texas air pressed in adding to the heavy, oppressive atmosphere. No breeze stirred. No animals, either. The world itself seemed aware that this place was evil.
I kicked open the door of my truck and swung down. I was looking forward to this one. I grabbed my gear and loaded up with quick, efficient motions. I checked off my mental list as I went to make sure I didn't miss anything. Colt peacemaker, short-barreled not-a-shotgun, iron dagger, cross, and a leather necklace with two wedding rings. I stared at my wife’s ring for a moment before I tucked old rawhide into my shirt collar. I shrugged my duster on over my loadout. It would look suspicious in the heat, but it concealed almost everything I wore. I settled my Stetson on my head and strode toward the building.
Gravel and glass crunched under my feet as I crossed the parking lot, but that was the only sound. To break the silence I started whistling Dixie but the night seemed to press in, almost as if it were offended that I could be so at peace with the world. I guess the night didn't know what I knew.
I reached the front door of the metal building and found it unlocked. That was unusual, but not unheard of. Unusual isn't really good in my line of work though, so I decided some extra caution was called for. I pulled my revolver, thumbed it to half-cocked, and slowed my walk. You can be more-or-less silent in cowboy boots if you're willing to be careful, and I'd had plenty of experience doing just that.
The first room was nothing more than an open space with a front counter. It had probably been a store-front at one time, but now it was empty of any kind of shelves or displays. I glanced up at the corners of the room, but I didn't see any cameras. I doubted my target would be watching them anyway, but he could have thugs, and they could be watching. Satisfied as I could be, I looked for clues about where to go next. There were three doors leading out of the room, not counting the one I'd moseyed in through. I figured one would be to a small office, one to a breakroom of some kind, and one would be to the rest of the warehouse, but which was which?
Other investigator types might have taken a second to puzzle it out. I decided to use the expedient of just opening doors. The first did lead to a room set up as a small lunchroom. There were folding tables and chairs, and a counter running along one wall boasted a couple of wall outlets and even a sink. Another door I guessed was to the bathroom sat on the wall to my left.
The second door was the one I wanted. A hall ran a short distance and then took a left turn. Once past the turn, even the paltry light from the nearly-full moon outside didn't filter in. I resorted to feeling my way down the dark hall, and scolded myself for not bringing a flashlight.
"It ain't like they're that heavy, Rem," my self-directed whisper was unnaturally loud.
After what felt like a mile, but was probably a couple feet, I started hearing things, so I stopped to listen. Ahead and to my right was a low sound, possibly the murmur of voices. That could be the expected thugs, or it could be my secondary mission. Ahead and to the left was a conversation. Don't get me wrong, it was low and indistinct but still louder than the other. The pauses between muffled sound indicated at least two people discussing something.
I allowed myself a grim smile and continued. That had to be my target.
Once I turned the corner, I saw light peeking out from under a door. Making the dark somehow less but not to providing any illumination, the light nevertheless marked my destination.
As I drew closer, I could hear the conversation better. There were two voices, but enough other sounds that I suspected additional company, and I had no way to know if that meant there were innocents or additional hostiles ahead. I wasn't sure which would be better.
After a mere eon, I reached the door. I paused once more, listening through it.
"I'm telling you, the shipments will resume soon." The voice was calm.
"You said that last week, and last month. My employer purchased product, and he expects prompt delivery." The second speaker bit off his words. He was angry.
"Yes, well, a felony trial has a tendency to disrupt things. Now that it's over, normal operations can resume. It will take some time, but tell your employer he will receive his product."
I found myself gripping the handle of my pistol hard enough that the wood began to groan. I forced myself to relax. The product they spoke of was people.
Still, however righteous my fury would be, I couldn't just go bursting in. I still didn't know if the other occupants of the room were the girls I was sent to retrieve or Thaddeus Krupp's goons. I didn't want to bust in just to be shot by a dozen handguns. It would be painful and inconvenient.
"And I told you that is unacceptable. My employer made his deposit six weeks ago. He expects delivery tonight. Now."
The voice had already been testy and was getting downright vexed. I didn't need Krupp and his mystery customer to get into a fight. Krupp might die and be spared the Justice he deserved.
I stepped away from the door, traded my pistol for the shotgun, and took a deep breath. Then I slammed the heel of my Justin Roper into the center of the door. Steel and wood screamed in protest as the door tore from its frame and flew five feet into the room, slamming onto the concrete floor with a loud clang.
The violence started immediately.
I ducked into the door, making my profile as small as possible, and turned to where I figured the goons would be. Shots rang out and I felt fire in my shoulder. I'd figured wrong.
I threw myself to the floor. Rolling to the side, I brought the gun around toward the thugs and pulled the trigger. Buckshot took one in the stomach. Two more men kept shooting. I tightened my roll.
I could only catch the room in clips. Two hired guns still standing about twenty yards away. Further into the office, two figures stood, still shocked at the sudden violence. Bullets slammed into the floor. Dust began to fill the air. The smell of gunpowder began to clog my nose. I paused for another shot. One shooter left.
A new explosion of pain from my leg. The other two had joined in. I swiveled and pulled the trigger again. The buyer went down in a spray of blood. My eyes widened, and I threw myself to the side. A bolt of black-purple energy sizzled into the floor next to me.
I snarled as I rose. Another pull of the trigger and the last of the hired muscle fell. Blood coated the walls and floor. The smell of cordite hung in the air as I faced down my quarry.
"You can't hurt me. Go now and I'll let you live." I guess whatever entity had given Krupp his power hadn't explained about people like me.
"I reckon you're mistaken." I dropped the gun and pulled the dagger from its sheath and started toward him, my walk slow and menacing.
"Fool! I'll kill you!" He growled as he gestured toward me. Another bolt of evil magic streaked toward me. I smiled as it slammed into my chest. His eyes were big as saucers when I shrugged off the destructive energy.
Thaddeus Krupp was a black wizard in addition to a human trafficker. The latter was a job for the mortal authorities. In their defense, it's hard to convict when no one will testify. It's hard to convince folks to testify when a black wizard holds power over them because he has their names or some of their hair or blood. The human justice system had taken its shot and missed.
The black wizard thing was my jurisdiction. I stalked toward him, an inexorable harbinger of death, until I could reach out and touch him. He backed away until he hit the wall. With nowhere to run he began cursing and whimpering. It's a pretty standard reaction when a wizard or sorcerer finds out they can't hurt me with magic.
My left hand flashed out and gripped his neck right under his jaw. With a sl ight grunt of effort, I lifted him from the ground. My eyes blazed with white light and my voice seemed to echo from the walls.
"Thaddeus Krupp, you are guilty of consorting with powers of darkness. The wages of your sin are death. May God have mercy on your soul." I thrust the iron dagger into his chest, and he screamed in pain and horror. His body burst into flames and the screams grew louder. In moments all that was left was ash drifting down to the floor. I turned my back on the scene and went to find the girls he had kidnapped and to call the police. Before I left the room I paused and spoke to the pile of ash.
"Maybe not that much mercy."
My name is Michael Remington. I am the Angels' Executioner.
MY HOME IS AN OLDER house in an older, semi-run-down neighborhood. My neighbors are all good, salt-of-the-earth folk, and help remind me that, even though I may be half-angel, I'm still just human. These things are important.
The inside of my house was clean and modest. I bought my furniture new but used it until it died. I still had some old pieces that had belonged to my mom and dad; furniture from the 19th century doesn't really wear out. But Caroline had liked the fashion of the sixties, so we had bought couches and chairs when we were married. Those had worn out and I'd replaced them with stuff that was comfortable, if plebian.
I settled onto the current couch with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and an old picture in the other. It was as close as I was going to get to telling her about my day.
"I think you'd have been proud today, honey,” I spoke to the picture, “This one wasn't some idiot consorting with the powers of Hell, he was a genuinely horrible person even without that. Drugs would have been bad enough, but he bought and sold people. The mortal authorities couldn't stop him, so now he's facing the Court of Final Appeal. I don't think he's going to like the verdict."
My Caroline's smile beamed at me from the old, faded photo. We'd been in Washington, D.C. for this one. The Washington Monument stood in the background. I could almost feel her head on my shoulder as I spoke. I'd already lived a lifetime before I met her. She was my soulmate and best friend. And she died in a hospital. Where's the justice in that?
Another photo caught my eye. This one on the table in front of me and much newer. Taken just a couple of months ago, another woman smiled at me. We'd been at one of those pop-up carnivals that come through from time to time. Her red hair and green eyes sparkled, even from the printed photo, and I suddenly felt guilty.
"Well, anyway," I continued to my wife, burying the conflict inside, "that's one less evil soul running around. I'm just as glad you'll never have to meet him."
I stared at the old picture for several minutes as I finished my whiskey.
"I still love you, Caroline. I always will."
Still feeling ashamed I put her photo back in the album where it belonged and headed to bed. I wasn't sure if I hoped to dream about her smile or not.
CHAPTER 2
Both of my employees were already at the office when I arrived. The smell of freshly brewed Folgers greeted me as I opened the door and I inhaled deeply. "God bless you, Cassie. I need that a whole bunch this morning."
The perpetually perky blonde smiled and squeezed herself in a tight hug briefly straining her scoop-neck blouse. "Good morning, boss."
At the other desk in the first of two rooms that made up my office, a lean man who looked older than his forty-something years looked up. "Mornin', Boss," Mark's deep voice drawled his typical laconic greeting.
"Morning, y'all. Anything urgent this morning?"
Cassie answered first. "You need to call Mrs. Edmonds about what you found at her house, Brigit left a message reminding you about lunch since you missed last week's, and someone from the Rangers called."
Mrs. Edmonds had thought her house was haunted. It turned out she had a weird water-pressure problem and very old lead pipes. I looked forward to lunches with Brigit, but our schedules often conflicted. Neither of those was out of the ordinary.
"Someone from the Rangers? Not Gen?" Genevieve Stephens was a friend and ally inside the Texas Rangers. A member of the officially unofficial spook squad in the state agency, she was tasked with fighting the ghosts, goblins, and monsters under everyone's bed while reassuring the public that such things didn’t exist. A call from her wouldn't be all that unusual as I consulted with them every few weeks. A call from someone else meant... I wasn't sure what, but probably not anything particularly good.
"Nope. Identified himself as Garillo," she rolled the double L perfectly, "and said he needed to speak to you urgently."
I'd never heard of Garillo, and I knew most of the spook squad in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. My interest was piqued.
"Alrighty, then. Guess I'll take care of calling Mrs. Edmonds and then I'll call this Garillo feller." I nodded to Cassie and Mark and went into my office to make phone calls.
The call to the client took about twenty minutes. Rosemary Edmonds was an older lady and mostly alone in the world. I was about half convinced that she had hired me as much for some human interaction as because she actually believed her home was haunted. It cost me nothing to visit with her for a while and it helped brighten her day.
I hung up, got up and stretched, and fetched myself some coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need to be on my guard with Ranger Garillo. With any luck, he was just calling a consultant who had been of use to the department on previous cases, but something made me wary of that phone call.
I should have been wary of a different kind of call altogether. Halfway from the coffee cart back to my office, my back locked up and my coffee cup fell from my nerveless fingers.
The room fell away and I was engulfed in darkness. The stench of decay and rot replaced the aroma of coffee. A roaring wind blew straight into my face, pushing me backward. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom, I found myself on a plane of dead grass and wilted flowers. The smell of death grew and my stomach threatened to revolt.
A light began to cut through the shadows. I shielded my face with my hand as I started to force my way forward against the wind. In moments, I came to a short set of stairs leading up to an archway. Cold white light poured out of a massive portal. I stepped closer for a better look. Heavy iron hinges were set into the stone, but where a door should have been were only a few rotted scraps of wood. The door could not be closed. Somehow, I knew closing this door was vital.
I tried to move up the stairs when a force threw me backward. I seemed to fly through the air, then the sensation turned to that of falling. I came back to myself at the sound of my coffee mug breaking on the floor, and not in time to arrest my own fall. My head bounced off the thin, office-grade carpet.
"Son of a bitch." I groaned as I rolled onto my hands and knees.
"Oh my gosh, boss, are you okay?" Cassie bounded around her desk to help me. She was stronger than she looked, and I felt her grasp my upper arms.
"Stupid angels and their stupid cryptic visions." I kept my muttering mostly under my breath. As I regained my feet, I caught Cassie’s eyes and saw the glimmer of hunger I knew she tried to keep hidden. I looked away to give her a moment to bring herself back under control.
"I'm guessing you figured this one, Boss, but that was the Heralds." Mark hadn't moved. This wasn't exactly a unique event, but for some reason, Cassie never got used to these kinds of Calls.
"Right in line with their nonsense." My legs were shaky, so I leaned against Mark's desk while I described the vision. It's always weird to try that because nothing can quite capture how surreal the experience is.
"What does it mean?" Cassie was back at her desk taking notes with manic precision as I spoke.
"I'm sure it will become clear about ten minutes after it would have been useful. As usual."
"These visions are never literal," Mark mused, "but something about this one jogs my memory. Something about your description of the arch seems familiar. I'll work on it."
I nodded. I hated these kinds of Calls. When the Warriors Call, there is generally a specific set of instructions. At least they give me a time and location. With the previous night's call, I got a fair amount of detail. On the few occasions the Stewards call, they're pretty straight-forward, too. The Heralds seem to take pride in making their calls as useless as possible. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the angelic equivalent of the CIA would play things close to the vest, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.
