Hunting Death

Sabra Parrish slowly pulled the gun from her leather holster as she glanced around the corner of the alley.

The sound was subtle, even to her own ears, but her quarry had sharper hearing than hers. Bionic enhancements were available to anyone who could afford it.

With her back to the grime-stained wall, she eased down into a crouch and risked another peek.

There he was, but why was he rummaging around in the garbage hopper? Aloysius MacNamara, cult leader, was more renowned for his silk suits, hand-made shoes, manicured hands and salon-styled short blonde hair. But here he was, dressed in filthy rags, a noxious goo dripped from the back of his head and dirt and other… substances smeared his face. Charismatic, charming, handsome, erudite, was his usual style, not mumbling, grumbling, filthy and dumpster diving. So what was he doing?

Only one way to find out.

She held the weapon two-handed and thumbed off the safety. Sabra had no concerns about hitting the innocent: there were none in this part of town, nor at this time of night.

As slowly as she crouched, Sabra got to her feet and went around the corner. She stood with one foot planted in front of her, knees slightly bent and aimed at the man leaning over a particularly fragrant trashcan.

“Freeze, MacNamara, this is the police!”

MacNamara froze. Then he gradually stood upright and turned to her.

“Wha..?” He slurred and staggered slightly.

Was he drunk? The public figure eschewed alcohol, condemned it as the work of the Devil.

“You’re under arrest!” Sabra slid forward, made sure he saw the weapon in her hands. “Put your hands on the rim of the garbage hopper and spread your legs!”

He squinted at her, looked at the dumpster, then at the gun. “Pretty.” He slurred and staggered towards her.

“Stop there, mister, or I will shoot.” Or make you take a bath, she thought as she caught a whiff of him. She kept her eyes on him; she was well aware of how dangerous this mutt could be.

MacNamara leaned a hand against the wall and hung his head as if he had no idea were he was or what he was doing.

“Not me,” he mumbled. “I’m not me. Not me, not me, not me.”

“Yeah, pal, you can tell it to the judge.” Sabra replied and took a step forward.

His head whipped up and she noticed he had a large polished wood crucifix in his hand. “Sinner!” He sneered and held out the cross. “Devil-spawn!”

“Drop the weapon, MacNamara, I’m not giving you any more warnings. I will shoot your God-damned kneecaps off!” She lowered the gun, and her gaze, aimed for his knees.

He lashed out with his fist as her eyes came back up.

He struck her flush on the cheekbone, the shortened edge of the cross gouged a path through her flesh.

Sabra went down as bright spots of light and pain exploded in her face. She rolled with the punch and came up onto her knees, vision wavering as she sighted down the barrel at the fleeing MacNamara.

“Shit!” She muttered as her quarry disappeared around a corner. Sabra pushed up into a run, but when she got to the edge of the alley, MacNamara had disappeared.

No one out here would tell her where he’d gone either; the street was empty of people, as if they’d known MacNamara would be around; no druggies, no drunks, no homeless. Not one soul. The area was empty of humanity.

Warmth slid down her throat and seeped into the shoulder of her shirt. She lifted a hand and brushed her chin. The back came away bloody. Now her face went from ache to full-blown pain. Her left eye was beginning to close, too. “Miserable, scum-sucking, bottom feeding, motherf…”

“I take it from your colourful language that you lost him.” Her cyber-partner, Rad, cooed in her earbug with a deep and smooth voice.

“Yeah.” Sabra holstered her weapon and went back to the dumpster. “He was looking for something, though. We need a team down here to sift through this garbage. I don’t know whether he found what he was looking for, but I’d say not.”

“You didn’t tag him?”

“No, smart arse, I didn’t!”

“He was hard to locate, this time. He will be harder to find now.” Rad murmured, aggrieved.

“Oh, gee, I didn’t think about that when he bashed my face in.” Sabra walked back towards her unit car.

“Do you require medical intervention?” He inquired with more concern.

Sabra lifted a hand to her cheek, gently touched the wound with a finger. Fire streaked across her face. Even her nose throbbed. No point in being wussy about it. “Yeah, I do. Bastard nailed me good.”

“Mobile Medical Facility Unit refuses to attend, Lieutenant.” Rad reported brusquely.

“Oy, as if that’s a surprise.” She muttered and got into her car. “I’ll go to Webley.”

“Medical Unit is on standby.”

“Thanks, pal.” She murmured tiredly and drove towards the closest hospital.

* * *

“It’s not like you to underestimate a perp, Sabra.” Captain Rodgers grumbled and leaned back in his office chair, rested a hand on the desktop for balance.

Sabra resisted the urge to rub the skin-seal over her cheek. Instead, she propped her right ankle on her left knee. The swelling had subsided - a bit - and the medics had given her powerful painkillers for the fractured cheekbone, which was great since she said she was on the trail of a serial killer and needed them. Now she felt bright eyed. It was a false energy, she knew, but neither she, nor the city, could afford to let MacNamara remain on the streets.

Her problem was evidence. They had plenty of circumstantial stuff, but no smoking gun, no absolute proof, no witnesses, only hearsay.

“It’s not like him to leave me alive, either, so I guess that makes us even.”

Rodgers narrowed his eyes at her and she held her breath. It was probably the wrong thing to say and she took note of the comment in his expression. No ‘maybe’ about it, Sab, get it together or I’ll dump off this case.

“Sorry, sir.” She murmured.

“Are you alright to continue this case?” Rodgers asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m going to go back to the alley with Hawk. He’ll find the trail again and I’ll follow it.”

Rodgers tipped his chair forward, rested his forearms on the paper-strewn desk. “We need to catch him in the act. No more pussy-footing around, Lieutenant. I want an absolute, rock solid, no alibi, you’re the witness, case. You get me?”

“Yes, sir. ROE?” She needed to know what she could or could not do and asking for the Rules of Engagement would give her official sanction.

His lips firmed. “Everything recorded, visual and audio. Rad to monitor constantly, back up as required, by you - or should you become incapacitated, by Rad.”

Sabra raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I mean it, Lieutenant. No more screwing around and being polite. You bring him in with evidence, or you let him go without a scratch. I don’t want this department to be accused of beating a confession out of a suspect.”

“Sir!” She protested. “That kind of thing went out a hundred years ago!”

“Alright then.” He paused and studied her for a moment, his liquid brown eyes fiery as he came to a decision. “KOS if threatened, by MacNamara and/or any who are armed. Now, get out of here before I send you back to Medical. You look like shit.”

Sabra slowly got to her feet. Kill On Sight? The powers-that-be must be really pissed off to order that. Then again, the ritualistic murders of twelve people would piss anyone off.

She’d try to avoid it, but if it became necessary, she’d oblige.

“Returning to duty, sir.”

He gave her a nod and bent his head to the waiting paperwork.

“Rad?” She asked as she walked through the busy bullpen. “You get all that?”

“I did, Sabra. Audio and visual surveillance initiated.”

From now on, she would have to watch every word she uttered, every action she performed.

She looked neither left nor right, nor responded to the hails of other cops as she walked out. They would understand; they’d all had a total Rad monitored mission.

“Systems check please, Rad.” Sabra punched the down button and waited for the lift and for Rad.

She was on her way to her car when he reported in. “Remote Assistance Device systems are green. Systems check is clear and active.”

“Thank you, Rad. Contact Hawk, send the co-ordinates, please.”

“Acknowledged.”

Sabra drove back to the alley. It was a shame Rad wasn’t human; he had the best voice she’d ever heard in a machine. But… she could easily picture him if he had been human: tall, broad-shouldered with black hair to match black eyes and all of it would be made just perfect when he opened his mouth and spoke in that low sensual tone of his.

She sighed. Those AI geeks sure got it right when they made him.

The street remained deserted when she parked the unit and initiated the anti-theft devices by remote. Anyone foolish enough to mess with the car would get a nasty electrical shock.

She raised her eyes to the faintly smog-filled sky. Circling above her was Hawk and she walked down the street to the end of the block.

The result of illegal genetic experimentation in the earlier part of the century, Hawk, and his comrades, had finally gained acceptance in the wider community. Once hunted as dangerous mutants, now they were an integral part of the military, the law enforcement and the diplomatic agencies.

It had taken a World Council decision to grant them full amnesty and human rights. They were not, the ruling said, to be persecuted because of their unnatural births – they laid eggs - and as sentient beings, they had the rights and privileges of any other sentient creature.

“Report please, Hawk.” Sabra asked.

The winged man turned in a circle once more then glided down to earth. He landed lightly before her and folded his black wings against his spine.

“Greetings, Sabra.” He smiled and bowed.

Hawk – no one but other hawks knew their true names – wore leather-strip wrapped woollen leggings, but his muscled, tanned chest was bare. He wore his sable brown hair down to his shoulders. His face had the sharpness synonymous with his people, sharp blade of a nose, narrowed eyes, pointed chin, thin, tightly held lips. Even his ears were sharp, elfin-like.

She returned his smile. The hawks were friendly, gentle people who’d suffered for years and yet didn’t hold a grudge against humans.

“What did you find?”

“Ah, Sabra, that’s why I like you. You never question ‘if’ I found something, you always assume I did.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“And?”

“He headed for Monument City.” Hawk tossed his head. “The centre. He has not left.”

‘Monument City’ was the name the hawks gave the cemetery, because of its statues and ‘monuments’ to the dead.

“Excellent. Thank you, Hawk.” She turned to go back to her car.

“There are others.” Hawk called after her and she stopped. “Many people have joined him. Be cautious, Sabra.”

She turned back to him. “Idents?”

“All wore a black armband.” He frowned at her pale blue, blood-stained shirt and dark blue pants with the black utility belt.

“Back way?”

“I will fly and tell you.” He broke into a run, spread his wings and launched himself into the sky.

“Do you copy, Rad?” She disabled the anti-theft program and climbed into her car.

“Yes, Sabra.”

“Monitor Hawk. Keep him safe.”

“Acknowledged.”

Monument City was the area of twenty football arenas. It would take time to get to the spot Hawk had detected the traces.

She parked across from the main entrance and drummed her fingers lightly against the steering wheel. She had no idea how many ‘civilians’ were in there and her ROE was only for MacNamara. If he was surrounded by ‘acolytes’ her job was going to be difficult, if not impossible. There were also too many escape routes from the cemetery.

On a sigh, she got out and went to the boot of the car. Inside was an assortment of weapons. She checked her side arm: full clip.

Sabra attached another hi-powered side arm to her left side. Both guns she set to automatic. If needed, she could shoot with both hands.

She slid sheathed knives into each boot and hooked sheathed, razor sharp throwing stars onto the back of her belt. If she needed any more firepower, she was a dead woman. There was no way Rad could get back up to her in time. At least he would know what went down: irrefutable proof.

Sabra was about to close the trunk when she noticed the bullet-proof vest. She couldn’t wear it; it would give her away, but… she used another of her knives to cut a length of black cloth off the front and tied it around her arm. If she couldn’t sneak in, why not go through the front door? Finally, she tugged on thin, reinforced gloves. The stars would not cut through the material should she need them.

“Guide me in, Hawk.”

* * *

The sound of chanting was the first thing she heard as she walked down the stone steps into the mausoleum. The crypt had a sign on the outside: “Welcome Righteous Believers”.

MacNamara made no effort to hide his latest meeting and she wondered why.

She reached the bottom step. Old-fashioned lanterns set a couple of metres apart lit the stone corridor. At the end was a double stone door, slightly ajar.

“A trap?” Rad murmured.

Sabra didn’t reply, merely stepped forward, her hands resting on her guns.

At the door, she peeked in.

MacNamara stood in front of a low altar. He had his back to the ordered crowd as he slid a red robe over his suit. He smoothed his hands down the sleeves. He reached out, for what she couldn’t see, but when he turned, she saw he had the wooden cross in one hand and a goblet in the other. His gaze drifted over the crowd and he smiled.

“Open the doors for the Lieutenant, please.” He called and Sabra jerked back.

“Trap.” Rad murmured. “Back up en-route.”

“Not yet.” Sabra gritted as the doors opened wide with a grind of stone-on-stone and puffs of dust. “He hasn’t done anything.”

All the faces of the audience turned to her; they were smiling at her from their rows of wooden seats, but she had a clear shot at MacNamara down the centre aisle.

“Come in, Lieutenant Parrish, and join us in our thanks giving.”

Sabra hesitated. There were too many people here to risk spraying bullets. She put her hands behind her back and unlatched the star pouches.

“Please.” He nodded encouragingly. “I didn’t think the police were so shy.” He said and the crowd dutifully chuckled.

Sabra stepped into the room and glanced back. Two big men, also dressed in red robes, stood by the doors. They did not close them, but stepped away and held their hands in front of themselves.

Unarmed? Maybe. But if they did have weapons, they’d have to lift the robes to get to any guns and that was to her advantage. Maybe.

The silence in the room unnerved her, but she strode forward under the watching eyes of the smiling crowd. “Mr MacNamara…”

“Lord Death, please.”

Sabra stopped. “Lord… Death?”

He smiled benignly. “Yes. It’s what I give those who wish it.”

Sabra looked closer at the crowd, stared into those pleasant and peaceful faces. To a one, she could see signs of illness; pale white or yellowed skin, lesions or scabs and the scent of sickness. The old eyes that held the perpetual tightness of chronic pain, the young whose limbs were deformed, the middle-aged shoulders that slumped with hopelessness. All the faces held a desire for release from what ailed them. All of them expressed despair.

Had he convinced them that death was easier? That it was better than living? That death was the only answer to their problems?

“You know this is wrong.” She said, and dragged her eyes from the crowd, focused on MacNamara.

“On the contrary. Your laws might say it is so, but in the natural world, those who live in pain are killed or left to die; those who are no longer useful are abandoned. I give my followers hope for better things to come. That is all.”

“It is still wrong, and I’ve come to arrest you.”

He smiled at her and held out the goblet. “Any and all here would kill you to reach this. It is the elixir of Death!” His voice rose at the last words and the crowd looked at him with hope. “I only offer it to a select few.”

She heard the moans of profound disappointment behind her as she plucked out a star and threw it. The metallic whine ended in a clang as the star struck the goblet and knocked it out of MacNamara’s hand.

Pale liquid sprayed away from him, but he flinched and flung his hand back. The liquid splashed on to the altar and began to smoke, hiss as it devoured the cloth.

He turned back to her, fire in his eyes.

“You would have them drink acid?” She asked softly. That’s why he rummaged around in garbage: he was looking for illegally dumped hydrochloric acid outside the scrap metal works; behind which, Sabra had tried to first arrest him.

“It is not!”

“Oh, yeah, it is. It’s stripping the metal from your goblet as we speak.”

MacNamara strode forward. “You are a heathen!” He held the crucifix out. “You are not worthy to witness this mass of thanksgiving! Begone, Devil spawn!”

Sabra pulled out both her guns and turned to the side. “Stop where you are. Nobody move!”

She glanced behind her. The goons remained where they were, watched with fascination. Only MacNamara advanced.

“I mean it, MacNamara, stop where you are.”

“Not me.” He sneered. “Not me, not me!” He shouted and a blade slid out from the bottom of the crucifix. “Sinner! I will smite thee!” He turned the crucifix around and held it like a knife.

Sabra stepped back to give herself room. Those nearest the aisle scrambled away.

“Don’t do it, MacNamara!”

He slashed at her and she lowered the weapon, fired.

MacNamara finally stopped his advance, surprise on his face. “You… you shot me!” He lowered his eyes and leaned forward slightly to see the blood flowing down his leg from the wound above his left knee. “It… it… hurts!” He said and crumpled to the ground, howled in agony.

More people shifted away as she holstered one weapon but kept the other trained on MacNamara.

She unhooked her cuffs and rolled the screaming man onto his stomach. It took all her strength to pry one hand away from the wound and clip the bracelet around his wrist.

“Bitch!” He slashed at her again and she retaliated by stepping on his hand as he followed through with the strike. He thrashed about, his unwounded leg kicking out at her.

Sabra kneeled on his lower back and grabbed his arm, tugged it back until she had him secured.

“Rad?”

“Medics called, Sabra. Back up eta is…”

Sabra turned at the commotion at the door. “Here, Rad. Thanks.” Uniforms, armed and dangerous, poured through the doors.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” Officer Brogan said as she approached, “want me to take that out for you?”

Sabra glanced down at the moaning MacNamara, then at the crucifix blade sticking out of her calf. “It’s gonna hurt, isn’t it.” She sighed.

“I meant the perp, Lieutenant. We all know you are one tough bi…, er, cop.”

“Ha, ha. Here, take him.”

Sabra slowly got to her feet and stared down at the cross.

“I go for months without a scratch and within twenty four hours, I’ve been done twice.” She muttered and stepped out of the way.

“Just another day at the office, Sabra.” Rad said.

“Yeah.” Her eyes lifted to the room. “All these people, Rad, looking for a way out and I’ve taken their opportunity away from them.”

“No, Lieutenant, you saved them from a painful, unjustified death. From being murdered.”

She tugged the blade out and held the cross in her hands. “Such a blasphemy.” She murmured.

“Captain Rodgers wants you back at the station, Sabra.” Rad reported and she handed the cross to a forensic technician.

“As soon as I get cleaned up.”

“Acknowledged.”

Sabra walked out of the crypt, stopped by the medic van, then headed back to the office. “Just another day.”

© Jaye Patrick 2006