Hells handmaiden, p.17
Hell's Handmaiden, page 17
part #3 of Flint Stryker Series
She had an extensive police record with page after page of frivolous charges against others, verbal attacks on others, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, as well as a litany of other charges. Her financial wherewithal allowed her to escape with little or no jail time, free to continue to make almost every man’s life a living hell.
And then she had found the Church for the Divinely Redeemed Sisterhood, and it had seemed a match made in heaven — or at least some feminized version of it. She became a faithful financial contributor, church rally attendee, as well as one of the most virulent contributors to the CDRS chat group and Dark Web message board. The bulk of her public and private pronouncements were so stridently anti-male, it would make a female praying mantis look reasonable.
Flint slammed into the glass partition between the front and back seat as the cab skidded to an abrupt halt. Rubbing his head, he yelped, “What the hell?”
“Sorry, boss,” Ngoimgo said sheepishly. “The lady’s taxi has stopped.”
Flint looked around and realized that they were in Times Square. To his credit, Ngoimgo had quickly whisked to the curb a few car lengths behind Fuller’s cab. He watched as she exited the cab and handed the driver money. It appeared she was instructing him to wait.
“What now, boss?” Ngoimgo asked, looking in the rearview mirror anxiously.
“We wait,” Flint replied tersely. He watched as Fuller looked both ways on the sidewalk and strode quickly into a small leather goods shop nestled in between an elegant women’s boutique and a travel agency. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the seat, he tried to catch a glimpse through the shop window. The angle of the cab and its distance from the storefront prevented him from seeing anything.
He was just about to exit the cab and see if he could get a better look from the sidewalk when Fuller exited the shop and made her way quickly back to her cab. She now carried a large, expensive leather messenger bag with a shoulder strap draped over her shoulder. She looked directly at his cab before stepping into her own, but didn’t react and again took her place in the back seat.
Her cab pulled slowly into traffic, and Flint cautioned Ngoimgo, “Give her a few car lengths to get ahead before you pull out.” Ngoimgo nodded and allowed several cars to pull in behind her cab before moving into the lane to follow them.
“None of my business, boss, but why you follow this lady? She your wife? Is she stepping out on you, boss?”
Flint shook his head, keeping his eyes glued on the road ahead, “You’re right. It’s none of your business.”
Ngoimgo gave Flint a wounded look in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, boss. I thought we were team.”
Flint rolled his eyes and answered, “She may be in some kind of danger, and I’m trying to prevent something bad from happening to her. And others.”
Ngoimgo’s eyes widened in shock. “Seriously? Danger? Maybe Ngoimgo be on the news?” He grinned proudly.
Flint eyed him somberly, “Ngoimgo, if what I suspect is true about this woman, your appearance on the news could be among a list of casualties.”
Ngoimgo’s grin faded into a tight, thin line as he gripped the steering wheel forcefully and focused on navigating the afternoon traffic.
As they approached Penn Station, Fuller’s cab merged to turn left onto West 34th Street. As her cab turned left, Ngoimgo’s cab followed close behind and turned right, following her onto 7th Avenue. She then turned right onto West 33rd, and the driver let her out a few hundred yards from Madison Square Garden.
Flint watched as she left the cab and strode purposefully toward the glass doors entering the Garden. Flint exited the cab and reached into his wallet and handed Ngoimgo three hundred-dollar bills. Ngoimgo’s eyes widened, as he protested, “No, boss. Two hundred fifty was the deal. Ngoimgo not want to take advantage of you.”
Flint smiled grimly. “Keep it. You earned it.” He turned to follow Fuller, who was disappearing into the Garden as they spoke.
“Boss!” Ngoimgo called loudly as Flint stepped away.
Flint turned, impatient to continue following Fuller.
“I hope I don’t see you on the news tonight.”
Me too, thought Flint.
FIFTY-NINE
It had not been a good week for Tesar Arman. And it had all started when that fool Flint Stryker broke into Cermak Construction’s offices just under 72 hours earlier. It had gotten progressively worse since then, culminating with his considerable personal fortune vanishing into the ether a couple of hours ago.
The final straw had been several urgent text messages from Markos. Undoubtedly, he had also become aware of the discrepancies in his business accounts which had been shortchanged by Arman. Markos did not suffer individuals who stole from him lightly. Before he’d ditched his mobile phone, Arman had received several angry texts demanding an immediate response. The last one he’d read before destroying the phone simply read, “YOU’RE AS GOOD AS DEAD.”
As of earlier this afternoon, Arman was persona non grata, and his life was worthless, except to those who would be dispatched to capture and/or kill him. Arman scowled bitterly. He would most likely be hunted by some of the very people he had cheated out of money. Even if a reward was offered, they would doubtless be glad to kill him for free.
Now he and his loyal bodyguard Savchenko were on the run. He had grabbed all the cash, precious metals, and jewelry he had in his safe. It would give him enough to stay afloat for a while, but he had lost billions, and those he had fleeced had lost many billions.
Arman and Savchenko had hastily fled his home, stopping only long enough to gather what clothes they could carry with them. Rather than travel in the Range Rover Velar in his garage for any significant distance, they drove to a U-Haul storage facility located near Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Savchenko opened the external storage bay he’d rented years ago and removed the tarp covering the late model black Audi A8 he had stored there.
Moving quickly, Savchenko connected the car’s battery to a Clore JN660 Jump Starter that was stored in the unit. Within a short time, the battery held a full charge, and he used the gas cans he’d brought along to fill the car’s tank. The big man moved quickly despite his bulk and clumsy appearance, swapping out the two cars and transferring their luggage.
Less than an hour after their arrival, they had closed up the Range Rover and the gas cans in the storage room and were making their way north on I-75 through Atlanta to points beyond.
“Where to, boss?” queried Savchenko, studying Arman’s face in the rearview mirror. He waited patiently while Arman reflectively chewed his lip.
“Head to my safe house,” Arman finally replied.
Savchenko nodded and set the coordinates on the car’s GPS. “Got it. You relax, boss. Savchenko will take care of you.”
Arman leaned back against the leather headrest and sighed, closing his eyes.
I need to make a plan. A plan to kill Flint Stryker.
SIXTY
Feeling anxious and frustrated, CJ’s insertion into the CDRS leader’s home had proved fruitless. While there had been lots of interesting tidbits and snatches of conversation, to this point, nothing indicating anything big was imminent had been discussed.
The morning and afternoon had been a busy one, however. The preparations for the CDRS rally later that evening at Madison Square Garden were in full swing, with Celine working the phone and texting countless vendors, event specialists, and Garden officials, ensuring that tonight’s event went off without a hitch. By contrast, Inanna Laius appeared to be completely detached from the whirlwind of activity going on around her. She spent most of her time reading and, from what CJ could gather, meditating.
Celine would occasionally engage CJ in conversation and indicate that ‘Sister Inanna was in pre-Rally mode.’ Much of what she did just before a big event like this consisted of ensuring that ‘her spiritual plane was pure and focused.’ Celine would then expound on the typical PR spin, dropping snippets of information and backstory designed to appease CJ and shape the editorial slant of her ‘book.’
Pretending to be interested in Celine’s blather, and taking notes and working on an outline on her tablet, CJ nevertheless was on high alert for any chatter or discussions which might indicate something was amiss. While she was vigilant, nothing untoward reared its head.
Gradually, CJ found herself left much to her own devices. As Inanna drew even more inward as the rally approached, and Celine turned her attention to more pressing matters, CJ found herself on her own.
Walking quietly around the apartment, CJ determined that Inanna was in her private bedroom either meditating or getting ready for the rally. CJ wasn’t sure where Celine was, but she’d heard her talking on the phone to one of the bellmen in the lobby about a delivery. Perhaps she had to go downstairs, she thought.
Whispering, she alerted the Linchpin operatives outside in the Con-Ed truck. “I’m going to do a little recon. The two women are out of pocket right now.”
She heard Eckles’ voice crackle and hiss in her earwig. “You’re breaking up, but I think you said you are gonna look around?” He added grimly, “Be careful Agent Jeong. We don’t have eyes on you in there. Let us know if you find anything, and we’ll come running.”
“Will do,” she hissed, peering around a corner.
She moved as quickly and silently as a breeze moving through the house. She passed through the kitchen, as clean and barren as if it had been staged for show only.
Almost wraith-like, she came through a small anteroom, and then into Inanna’s office. Although less sterile than the kitchen, it was nonetheless minimalistic in furnishings and functionality. Sparse but elegant, Laius made Scandinavian interior design appear flamboyant by comparison.
CJ moved over to the desk. The desktop was bare except for a few OCD-placed items and an iMac. Glancing apprehensively around, CJ nudged the display awake with the wireless mouse. The screen winked to life, displaying the several open windows.
Several of the windows were open to sites dealing with various aspects of the evening’s rally — event setup vendors, a catering vendor for Inanna’s room she’d use before and after the rally, and a floor plan schematic of the Garden.
Clicking on the other tabs revealed a Gmail window that was open. Glancing at the profile photo in the top corner, she could see that it was Celine’s account. Nothing of interest caught her eyes as she scanned the subject lines of the emails — another dead end. On the last two windows she tabbed, she was intrigued to see the CDRS chat room open in the first window. Quickly reviewing the most recent message threads, she didn’t find much that warranted further inspection.
The last tab she clicked revealed a portal that she didn’t recognize immediately. It appeared to be some private browsing window that displayed a similar setup to the CDRS chat room. The content here, however, was altogether different than the previous window.
CJ licked her dry lips as she perused the message threads, her eyes growing wider with each message she scrolled through. She jumped reflexively at Eckles’ voice as it hissed and popped in her earwig, “CJ — alright? Have —— found—. Is —— okay?”
Her breathing was shallow as she replied, “I’m fine, but you’re not going to believe—” The earwig crackled and went dead.
As CJ frantically tapped her earbud to try to restore a connection, she heard a quiet movement behind her. As she turned, she simultaneously heard a loud crash, felt an intense pain in the front of her skull, and saw sparks and flashes of light before collapsing unconscious on the floor.
SIXTY-ONE
Flint hurried along, keeping Fuller in sight while keeping as much of the crowd in the Garden between them as possible. Occasionally, she would cut a glance behind her, but Flint would react and duck behind an abutment or column just in the nick of time. The foot traffic in the Garden was bustling, with lots of people hurrying about, in anticipation of the evening’s event.
While his Precog wasn’t on full alert, it had been like a dull hum in the background the whole time he’d been tailing Fuller, like an oncoming migraine. He didn’t know whether to be reassured by this or take it as an ominous foreshadowing.
Finally, they came around a corner, and Fuller moved to a door with a card swipe entry system. The door had a large sign declaring, “MSG PERSONNEL ONLY.” She removed a card from her jacket pocket, swiped it, and stepped into the doorway, letting the door lock click loudly behind her. Flint rushed to the door, angrily jiggling the doorknob, realizing she’d escaped.
Flint’s mobile vibrated silently, alerting him that he’d received a text. It was from Eckles. “ANYTHING?”
Flint quickly tabbed in his terse response. “FOLLOWING FULLER IN MSG. CJ OKAY?”
Within seconds came Eckles’ reply. “NOTHING YET. SAYS SHE’S FINE. AUDIO TROUBLE.”
Flint’s brow furrowed. Audio trouble? What was that about?
He didn’t have time to worry about that now because he had to figure out how to track down Fuller and figure out what she was up to. He tapped out a short message: “FOLLOWING SUSPECT IN GARDEN.”
Flint scanned the hallway, looking for some other door which might afford him access to follow Fuller. All of them appeared to be for MSG personnel only.
He noticed two MSG security guards chatting in the hallway. A large black man speaking to a shorter Caucasian man, both of them powerfully built. He walked quickly to meet them, reaching in his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.
Both guards eyed him warily, turning toward him as he walked up. They looked as if they were weight room enthusiasts, with bull necks and sleeves pulled up to accentuate their biceps.
He broke into a smile as he approached, his eyes ticking from one name tag to the other. He approached the larger of the two, Anthony, extending his hand holding the bogus business card of literary agent Acton Bell. “Hi, Anthony?” He glanced at the other man, “Carmine? Hi, my name is Acton Bell. I’m the literary agent for Sister Inanna Laius, who’ll be holding a rally here tonight.” He paused expectantly.
Neither of the guards said anything. He didn’t know if they were just being careful, or didn’t have the brainpower to comprehend what was being said and speak at the same time. They both regarded him with dull eyes as if he were conversing in an unknown tongue.
“Er, well, yeah. Anyway, I need to try to catch up with someone who just entered that door right over there.” He turned and pointed to the doorway that Fuller had entered. “She’s an assistant of Sister Inanna’s, and I saw her go through that door over there. I’m meeting Sister Inanna here shortly and need to speak with her assistant to coordinate media opportunities before the rally starts.”
The two guards stared at him unblinking, like two mute statues decorating the hallway.
“Hello? Do either of you speak English?”
The shorter of the two guards, Carmine, blinked and replied in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Yeah, we saw her. She obviously has a passcard. She didn’t even need to check-in through security.”
Flint stood, anticipating more information. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I saw that. I need for you two gentlemen to let me in that door so I can follow her and prepare for our meeting with Sister Inanna.”
Anthony and Carmine looked at each other and laughed mirthlessly. Anthony responded, “Not gonna happen. Unless you have an access card, you’ll have to go through security just like everybody else, and we’re not admitting everybody else until an hour before showtime.” He glanced at his watch, “So, that’s about forty-five minutes from now. Unless you got a passcard, I’d advise you to make yourself comfortable.”
Carmine laughed. “Yeah, you might as well wait and walk in with the sea of tail that’s gonna be coming in about then.”
Flint stiffened noticeably and glared at Carmine. “Excuse me? Did you just refer to the followers of the Church of the Divinely Redeemed Sisterhood as tail!?” He whipped out his mobile and tapped on the voice recorder app. “Why don’t you give me your full name and badge number, Carmine? You, too, Anthony. I’m sure your supervisor would love to hear your opinion of a group that’s spending a lot of money in your place of employment tonight!”
Carmine blanched noticeably, and Anthony’s eyes widened, both men alarmed by Flint’s angry response. Anthony held up his palms. “Excuse me, sir. Carmine meant no harm. He’s kinda rough around the edges, but we’ve been friends for many years, and Carmine isn’t sexist in the least.”
Carmine nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, mister, there ain’t a sexy bone in my body.” Anthony rolled his eyes. Idiot.
Eying Carmine with disgust, Flint replied, “That may or may not be true, gentleman, but the fact remains that Carmine here referred to these ladies by a highly insulting and extremely degrading sexual term. I think I’d like to speak to your superiors.” Nodding towards the two-way radio clipped to Anthony’s shoulder, he added, “Why don’t you call your boss right now and ask him to come down here.”
Carmine’s eyes widened in horror. “Geez, mister. I didn’t mean no harm. Tell him, Anthony!”
The brighter of the two, Anthony, was intent on defusing the situation and keeping Flint away from his supervisor. “Look, sir, we’re really sorry. Since it’s just the three of us, why don’t we keep it among us men? I’ll have a conversation with Carmine and make sure he doesn’t do nothin’ like this in the future. In the meantime, we’ll let you in the door, and you can go on your way to your meeting.” He smiled at Flint, and Carmine nodded hopefully, awaiting Flint’s reply.
Alternating his gaze between the two men, Flint kept them waiting on tenterhooks. Finally, he shrugged and said, “All right. I guess we can let it go this time.” He laughed quietly and winked at them, adding, “After all, we men have to stick together, right?”
A wave of relief washed over the two guards’ faces. “Yes!” Carmine exploded, releasing the breath he’d been holding awaiting Flint’s response. “There’s no need for them dames to know I said nothin’ sexy about them!”
And then she had found the Church for the Divinely Redeemed Sisterhood, and it had seemed a match made in heaven — or at least some feminized version of it. She became a faithful financial contributor, church rally attendee, as well as one of the most virulent contributors to the CDRS chat group and Dark Web message board. The bulk of her public and private pronouncements were so stridently anti-male, it would make a female praying mantis look reasonable.
Flint slammed into the glass partition between the front and back seat as the cab skidded to an abrupt halt. Rubbing his head, he yelped, “What the hell?”
“Sorry, boss,” Ngoimgo said sheepishly. “The lady’s taxi has stopped.”
Flint looked around and realized that they were in Times Square. To his credit, Ngoimgo had quickly whisked to the curb a few car lengths behind Fuller’s cab. He watched as she exited the cab and handed the driver money. It appeared she was instructing him to wait.
“What now, boss?” Ngoimgo asked, looking in the rearview mirror anxiously.
“We wait,” Flint replied tersely. He watched as Fuller looked both ways on the sidewalk and strode quickly into a small leather goods shop nestled in between an elegant women’s boutique and a travel agency. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the seat, he tried to catch a glimpse through the shop window. The angle of the cab and its distance from the storefront prevented him from seeing anything.
He was just about to exit the cab and see if he could get a better look from the sidewalk when Fuller exited the shop and made her way quickly back to her cab. She now carried a large, expensive leather messenger bag with a shoulder strap draped over her shoulder. She looked directly at his cab before stepping into her own, but didn’t react and again took her place in the back seat.
Her cab pulled slowly into traffic, and Flint cautioned Ngoimgo, “Give her a few car lengths to get ahead before you pull out.” Ngoimgo nodded and allowed several cars to pull in behind her cab before moving into the lane to follow them.
“None of my business, boss, but why you follow this lady? She your wife? Is she stepping out on you, boss?”
Flint shook his head, keeping his eyes glued on the road ahead, “You’re right. It’s none of your business.”
Ngoimgo gave Flint a wounded look in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, boss. I thought we were team.”
Flint rolled his eyes and answered, “She may be in some kind of danger, and I’m trying to prevent something bad from happening to her. And others.”
Ngoimgo’s eyes widened in shock. “Seriously? Danger? Maybe Ngoimgo be on the news?” He grinned proudly.
Flint eyed him somberly, “Ngoimgo, if what I suspect is true about this woman, your appearance on the news could be among a list of casualties.”
Ngoimgo’s grin faded into a tight, thin line as he gripped the steering wheel forcefully and focused on navigating the afternoon traffic.
As they approached Penn Station, Fuller’s cab merged to turn left onto West 34th Street. As her cab turned left, Ngoimgo’s cab followed close behind and turned right, following her onto 7th Avenue. She then turned right onto West 33rd, and the driver let her out a few hundred yards from Madison Square Garden.
Flint watched as she left the cab and strode purposefully toward the glass doors entering the Garden. Flint exited the cab and reached into his wallet and handed Ngoimgo three hundred-dollar bills. Ngoimgo’s eyes widened, as he protested, “No, boss. Two hundred fifty was the deal. Ngoimgo not want to take advantage of you.”
Flint smiled grimly. “Keep it. You earned it.” He turned to follow Fuller, who was disappearing into the Garden as they spoke.
“Boss!” Ngoimgo called loudly as Flint stepped away.
Flint turned, impatient to continue following Fuller.
“I hope I don’t see you on the news tonight.”
Me too, thought Flint.
FIFTY-NINE
It had not been a good week for Tesar Arman. And it had all started when that fool Flint Stryker broke into Cermak Construction’s offices just under 72 hours earlier. It had gotten progressively worse since then, culminating with his considerable personal fortune vanishing into the ether a couple of hours ago.
The final straw had been several urgent text messages from Markos. Undoubtedly, he had also become aware of the discrepancies in his business accounts which had been shortchanged by Arman. Markos did not suffer individuals who stole from him lightly. Before he’d ditched his mobile phone, Arman had received several angry texts demanding an immediate response. The last one he’d read before destroying the phone simply read, “YOU’RE AS GOOD AS DEAD.”
As of earlier this afternoon, Arman was persona non grata, and his life was worthless, except to those who would be dispatched to capture and/or kill him. Arman scowled bitterly. He would most likely be hunted by some of the very people he had cheated out of money. Even if a reward was offered, they would doubtless be glad to kill him for free.
Now he and his loyal bodyguard Savchenko were on the run. He had grabbed all the cash, precious metals, and jewelry he had in his safe. It would give him enough to stay afloat for a while, but he had lost billions, and those he had fleeced had lost many billions.
Arman and Savchenko had hastily fled his home, stopping only long enough to gather what clothes they could carry with them. Rather than travel in the Range Rover Velar in his garage for any significant distance, they drove to a U-Haul storage facility located near Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Savchenko opened the external storage bay he’d rented years ago and removed the tarp covering the late model black Audi A8 he had stored there.
Moving quickly, Savchenko connected the car’s battery to a Clore JN660 Jump Starter that was stored in the unit. Within a short time, the battery held a full charge, and he used the gas cans he’d brought along to fill the car’s tank. The big man moved quickly despite his bulk and clumsy appearance, swapping out the two cars and transferring their luggage.
Less than an hour after their arrival, they had closed up the Range Rover and the gas cans in the storage room and were making their way north on I-75 through Atlanta to points beyond.
“Where to, boss?” queried Savchenko, studying Arman’s face in the rearview mirror. He waited patiently while Arman reflectively chewed his lip.
“Head to my safe house,” Arman finally replied.
Savchenko nodded and set the coordinates on the car’s GPS. “Got it. You relax, boss. Savchenko will take care of you.”
Arman leaned back against the leather headrest and sighed, closing his eyes.
I need to make a plan. A plan to kill Flint Stryker.
SIXTY
Feeling anxious and frustrated, CJ’s insertion into the CDRS leader’s home had proved fruitless. While there had been lots of interesting tidbits and snatches of conversation, to this point, nothing indicating anything big was imminent had been discussed.
The morning and afternoon had been a busy one, however. The preparations for the CDRS rally later that evening at Madison Square Garden were in full swing, with Celine working the phone and texting countless vendors, event specialists, and Garden officials, ensuring that tonight’s event went off without a hitch. By contrast, Inanna Laius appeared to be completely detached from the whirlwind of activity going on around her. She spent most of her time reading and, from what CJ could gather, meditating.
Celine would occasionally engage CJ in conversation and indicate that ‘Sister Inanna was in pre-Rally mode.’ Much of what she did just before a big event like this consisted of ensuring that ‘her spiritual plane was pure and focused.’ Celine would then expound on the typical PR spin, dropping snippets of information and backstory designed to appease CJ and shape the editorial slant of her ‘book.’
Pretending to be interested in Celine’s blather, and taking notes and working on an outline on her tablet, CJ nevertheless was on high alert for any chatter or discussions which might indicate something was amiss. While she was vigilant, nothing untoward reared its head.
Gradually, CJ found herself left much to her own devices. As Inanna drew even more inward as the rally approached, and Celine turned her attention to more pressing matters, CJ found herself on her own.
Walking quietly around the apartment, CJ determined that Inanna was in her private bedroom either meditating or getting ready for the rally. CJ wasn’t sure where Celine was, but she’d heard her talking on the phone to one of the bellmen in the lobby about a delivery. Perhaps she had to go downstairs, she thought.
Whispering, she alerted the Linchpin operatives outside in the Con-Ed truck. “I’m going to do a little recon. The two women are out of pocket right now.”
She heard Eckles’ voice crackle and hiss in her earwig. “You’re breaking up, but I think you said you are gonna look around?” He added grimly, “Be careful Agent Jeong. We don’t have eyes on you in there. Let us know if you find anything, and we’ll come running.”
“Will do,” she hissed, peering around a corner.
She moved as quickly and silently as a breeze moving through the house. She passed through the kitchen, as clean and barren as if it had been staged for show only.
Almost wraith-like, she came through a small anteroom, and then into Inanna’s office. Although less sterile than the kitchen, it was nonetheless minimalistic in furnishings and functionality. Sparse but elegant, Laius made Scandinavian interior design appear flamboyant by comparison.
CJ moved over to the desk. The desktop was bare except for a few OCD-placed items and an iMac. Glancing apprehensively around, CJ nudged the display awake with the wireless mouse. The screen winked to life, displaying the several open windows.
Several of the windows were open to sites dealing with various aspects of the evening’s rally — event setup vendors, a catering vendor for Inanna’s room she’d use before and after the rally, and a floor plan schematic of the Garden.
Clicking on the other tabs revealed a Gmail window that was open. Glancing at the profile photo in the top corner, she could see that it was Celine’s account. Nothing of interest caught her eyes as she scanned the subject lines of the emails — another dead end. On the last two windows she tabbed, she was intrigued to see the CDRS chat room open in the first window. Quickly reviewing the most recent message threads, she didn’t find much that warranted further inspection.
The last tab she clicked revealed a portal that she didn’t recognize immediately. It appeared to be some private browsing window that displayed a similar setup to the CDRS chat room. The content here, however, was altogether different than the previous window.
CJ licked her dry lips as she perused the message threads, her eyes growing wider with each message she scrolled through. She jumped reflexively at Eckles’ voice as it hissed and popped in her earwig, “CJ — alright? Have —— found—. Is —— okay?”
Her breathing was shallow as she replied, “I’m fine, but you’re not going to believe—” The earwig crackled and went dead.
As CJ frantically tapped her earbud to try to restore a connection, she heard a quiet movement behind her. As she turned, she simultaneously heard a loud crash, felt an intense pain in the front of her skull, and saw sparks and flashes of light before collapsing unconscious on the floor.
SIXTY-ONE
Flint hurried along, keeping Fuller in sight while keeping as much of the crowd in the Garden between them as possible. Occasionally, she would cut a glance behind her, but Flint would react and duck behind an abutment or column just in the nick of time. The foot traffic in the Garden was bustling, with lots of people hurrying about, in anticipation of the evening’s event.
While his Precog wasn’t on full alert, it had been like a dull hum in the background the whole time he’d been tailing Fuller, like an oncoming migraine. He didn’t know whether to be reassured by this or take it as an ominous foreshadowing.
Finally, they came around a corner, and Fuller moved to a door with a card swipe entry system. The door had a large sign declaring, “MSG PERSONNEL ONLY.” She removed a card from her jacket pocket, swiped it, and stepped into the doorway, letting the door lock click loudly behind her. Flint rushed to the door, angrily jiggling the doorknob, realizing she’d escaped.
Flint’s mobile vibrated silently, alerting him that he’d received a text. It was from Eckles. “ANYTHING?”
Flint quickly tabbed in his terse response. “FOLLOWING FULLER IN MSG. CJ OKAY?”
Within seconds came Eckles’ reply. “NOTHING YET. SAYS SHE’S FINE. AUDIO TROUBLE.”
Flint’s brow furrowed. Audio trouble? What was that about?
He didn’t have time to worry about that now because he had to figure out how to track down Fuller and figure out what she was up to. He tapped out a short message: “FOLLOWING SUSPECT IN GARDEN.”
Flint scanned the hallway, looking for some other door which might afford him access to follow Fuller. All of them appeared to be for MSG personnel only.
He noticed two MSG security guards chatting in the hallway. A large black man speaking to a shorter Caucasian man, both of them powerfully built. He walked quickly to meet them, reaching in his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.
Both guards eyed him warily, turning toward him as he walked up. They looked as if they were weight room enthusiasts, with bull necks and sleeves pulled up to accentuate their biceps.
He broke into a smile as he approached, his eyes ticking from one name tag to the other. He approached the larger of the two, Anthony, extending his hand holding the bogus business card of literary agent Acton Bell. “Hi, Anthony?” He glanced at the other man, “Carmine? Hi, my name is Acton Bell. I’m the literary agent for Sister Inanna Laius, who’ll be holding a rally here tonight.” He paused expectantly.
Neither of the guards said anything. He didn’t know if they were just being careful, or didn’t have the brainpower to comprehend what was being said and speak at the same time. They both regarded him with dull eyes as if he were conversing in an unknown tongue.
“Er, well, yeah. Anyway, I need to try to catch up with someone who just entered that door right over there.” He turned and pointed to the doorway that Fuller had entered. “She’s an assistant of Sister Inanna’s, and I saw her go through that door over there. I’m meeting Sister Inanna here shortly and need to speak with her assistant to coordinate media opportunities before the rally starts.”
The two guards stared at him unblinking, like two mute statues decorating the hallway.
“Hello? Do either of you speak English?”
The shorter of the two guards, Carmine, blinked and replied in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Yeah, we saw her. She obviously has a passcard. She didn’t even need to check-in through security.”
Flint stood, anticipating more information. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I saw that. I need for you two gentlemen to let me in that door so I can follow her and prepare for our meeting with Sister Inanna.”
Anthony and Carmine looked at each other and laughed mirthlessly. Anthony responded, “Not gonna happen. Unless you have an access card, you’ll have to go through security just like everybody else, and we’re not admitting everybody else until an hour before showtime.” He glanced at his watch, “So, that’s about forty-five minutes from now. Unless you got a passcard, I’d advise you to make yourself comfortable.”
Carmine laughed. “Yeah, you might as well wait and walk in with the sea of tail that’s gonna be coming in about then.”
Flint stiffened noticeably and glared at Carmine. “Excuse me? Did you just refer to the followers of the Church of the Divinely Redeemed Sisterhood as tail!?” He whipped out his mobile and tapped on the voice recorder app. “Why don’t you give me your full name and badge number, Carmine? You, too, Anthony. I’m sure your supervisor would love to hear your opinion of a group that’s spending a lot of money in your place of employment tonight!”
Carmine blanched noticeably, and Anthony’s eyes widened, both men alarmed by Flint’s angry response. Anthony held up his palms. “Excuse me, sir. Carmine meant no harm. He’s kinda rough around the edges, but we’ve been friends for many years, and Carmine isn’t sexist in the least.”
Carmine nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, mister, there ain’t a sexy bone in my body.” Anthony rolled his eyes. Idiot.
Eying Carmine with disgust, Flint replied, “That may or may not be true, gentleman, but the fact remains that Carmine here referred to these ladies by a highly insulting and extremely degrading sexual term. I think I’d like to speak to your superiors.” Nodding towards the two-way radio clipped to Anthony’s shoulder, he added, “Why don’t you call your boss right now and ask him to come down here.”
Carmine’s eyes widened in horror. “Geez, mister. I didn’t mean no harm. Tell him, Anthony!”
The brighter of the two, Anthony, was intent on defusing the situation and keeping Flint away from his supervisor. “Look, sir, we’re really sorry. Since it’s just the three of us, why don’t we keep it among us men? I’ll have a conversation with Carmine and make sure he doesn’t do nothin’ like this in the future. In the meantime, we’ll let you in the door, and you can go on your way to your meeting.” He smiled at Flint, and Carmine nodded hopefully, awaiting Flint’s reply.
Alternating his gaze between the two men, Flint kept them waiting on tenterhooks. Finally, he shrugged and said, “All right. I guess we can let it go this time.” He laughed quietly and winked at them, adding, “After all, we men have to stick together, right?”
A wave of relief washed over the two guards’ faces. “Yes!” Carmine exploded, releasing the breath he’d been holding awaiting Flint’s response. “There’s no need for them dames to know I said nothin’ sexy about them!”
