Ashley Fox - Ninja Orphan
Chapter 26 – Lodge of Conquerors
Evening had just given up to night as Cole piloted his vehicle to a stop at Abby’s diner in Eagle Rock. The boxcar had been slightly remodeled from an old terillium train car. Long since decommissioned, many of its cafe-cars had been purchased and turned into mom-and-pop diners.
The antenna-style dock, mounted to a side of the box, sported a few vehicles tethered to its appendages. Cole highlighted an open slot and let the autopilot take over. The vehicle locked into its bindings and he popped the hatch. The detective navigated the grip-tape walkway, bordered on both sides by thick rope, tethered to metal posts rising along the superstructure. He could jump if he wanted to, but the station's nets looked fresh and promised to catch anything bigger than a wallet, a phone or a gun.
Inside he ordered a coffee and took a seat at an empty booth across from the stool-lined counter. His undercover work was promising to pay off. This was his third meeting with the suspect, two in as many days. Tonight he’d promised to introduce Cole to his connection.
A few minutes early, the detective stared out the window as the last commuters of the workday made their way home from the office. Just after sunset, still too early for the party crowd to be out, the freeway traffic had thinned to a sporadic trickle. The moon crested the horizon, fat and orange.
Cole worried that he'd let Ashley down, but inside he knew he'd played it right so far. There were much bigger fish nibbling from the district and to catch them, he'd have to be patient.
The second death of Ashley's parents was not something he could have predicted, but once the children's names popped up in his alert box, her fate was sealed.
From his contacts in Washington, he'd confirmed his suspicions that her parent's death had been a professional job. This time, however, it was public, with lots of collateral damage. Fox couldn’t return from the dead this time, at least not publicly. His days of making headlines as a genius inventor were over.
Dr. Fox’s success had guaranteed him plenty of enemies. His children were still being sought by several government agencies, but once Ashley and Geoff reached the district, they vanished from the city records, as the detective suspected they would.
Cole hadn't been able to catch the district at this trick before. He was a homicide cop and didn’t have the cross-department leverage necessary to bring child services on board. He knew that occasionally children would arrive at the district and never get checked into the system. There was just nothing he could do about it. His designation was citizen related homicide, nothing else.
Detective Cole worked the case over in his mind, examining the angles… He’d gotten telecom records connecting Governor Maime, the pathologist, Morgenstern, and Ashley’s neighborhood serial killer, Martin Dunkirk. Martin’s son, Bobby, was somewhere on the district. The volume of resistance from Westbury’s office, as well as federal interference and appetite gave Cole the feeling he was out in the deep end with panicking tigers, alligators and sharks for company.
Ashley's reappearance as an underground fight sensation was something no one could’ve predicted. To think the waif of a girl he’d walked through the department just last week… Her instant fame could have been the wedge that cracked the case, but her execution had been more than just a surprise. Every time he turned around, Cole was being surprised lately.
Looking through the window, out onto the Angel City skyline, Cole reconsidered what he’d seen. She’d really looked dead. He took a deep breath and opened his mind to the possibility that his suspects had brutally murdered a child on live-stream. It certainly was something that would appeal to them.
Cole’s breath caught in his throat. He’s sent her to her death. The guilt washed over him like a vinegar bath, drenching him in rank sweat, toxins and poisons excreted though his skin, the stink clouding his mind as it tingled on his skin, cooling.
The conspiracy crowd was deep in the rumor mill and questioned about the genetic composition of Dr. Fox's daughter. Everyone knew Fox could have easily performed any project he wanted on his own nickel; he had the resources and expertise. Some argued that if he had children at all, it was hard to believe they had not been, in some significant way, enhanced.
Washington wanted Ashley and Geoff for several reasons, both to satisfy its compulsion to tie up loose ends, and to feed its insatiable appetite for cutting-edge technology, even living breathing children.
However, once Ashley became a household name, she was radioactive, poisonous, drawing unwanted interest; she was now an agency budget killer. Any one with a claim on her had to explain the nature of their interest. In the past twenty-four hours a dozen warrants had been rescinded.
Of course, at least six new ones have been issued. I bet more than a few contractors are on the same job with new commanders, which should make for some interesting double-dipping invoice confusion.
Ashley’s live stream execution only poured fuel onto the speculative fire. Now her corpse became the prize, but calls to the district weren’t being returned and landing clearance was not being granted. The feds needed special clearance to raid a district, so they waited, knowing full well any delay could mean they would be too late. The district would hand them a small box of ashes and flatly deny Geoffrey's existence.
Cole knew he needed to make some adjustments to his plan.
Someone slid into the booth across from him. He didn't recognize the man, close-cropped sandy-colored hair, military-cut, thin eyes over a square neck, set atop a power-lifter's physique. He resembled any of the dozens of law enforcement personnel Cole encountered in his day-to-day at the department. His first guess was that the guy recognized him from the office and that Pablo would see them together, blowing Cole's cover. But the way the stranger looked at him told the Detective he was not with any police force.
Then Cole's guest slid into the booth beside him. Pablo Escurrido; convicted of petty theft, fraud, drug running, armed robbery and multiple murderers, he'd escaped the labor farms twice at least.
Cole realized he hadn't heard the men enter and hadn't seen them walk over from docks. The waitress behind the counter had vanished.
Pablo squeezed something. Liquid leapt from his palm and splashed the officer's eyes and face. Before Cole could wipe it away, the chemical worked it's magic, chasing the detective's consciousness into darkness and sleep.
Ashley sat cross-legged in the darkness.
Out in the alley, she heard a vehicle park. The car door opened, then closed with a muffled thump. The vehicle lifted off, abandoning its passenger in the alley. Maybe it was a taxi?
Even after the vehicle was long gone, the passenger in the alley continued to wait.
Then she clearly heard the sound of footsteps approaching the building. They stopped right on the other side of the door.
Again he paused and waited. Perhaps he was listening too.
Finally, she heard him slip his key into the lock. She heard the key click against the tumblers and turn the center plug. She heard the lock detach the large heavy rolling door.
Under her hood Ashley could barely detect subtle intrusion of light as the door rose up an inch, pulled on by its counterweights. The man reached down to the door and lifted it. The failing twilight illuminated the back room of the hall. Ash could see the light falling in around her.
The man with the key gasped with shock.
Even through the hood, Ashley recognized Martin Evander Dunkirk. Now well into his fifties, his dark greasy curls had been shaved. He sported an inch of bristly, waxed, salt and pepper instead. The short, wide murderer had also given up his expensive taste in clothes for beachwear. He sported a loud red and white floral-print blouse and long shorts, or short pants, depending on your preference, topped off with beaten and worn flip-flops.
He held a canvas valise and was deeply tanned. If anything, Mr. Dunkirk looked much healthier than when Ashley last saw him, fighting off a group of police officers, a little over two years ago.
He looked
around, confused, but anxious and excited. "Oh my!" he exclaimed, like a bad actor in some insipid vid stream.
"Are you okay?" The concern in his voice was mocked by his own uncontrollable grin.
Ash noticed that Martin had appropriated a southern accent, rolling his r's, adding h's where they didn't belong and mumbling as though his mouth were full of popcorn shrimp.
"Miss?" he asked, approaching Ashley.
Ash was instantly on her feet and backing away. Even without her hands, she was prepared to kick him, if necessary. She had defeated him once that way, after all.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "This is so unexpected. I'll call a nine eleven, we'll get you an ambulance," he stammered.
Dunkirk again moved towards Ash, but caught himself. "Are you injured? Here, let's get you untied.”
He slowly moved around behind her.
She let him. In her current situation, she could kick backward with more accuracy and force.
"Oh, Handcuffs! My goodness! Who did this to you?”
Dunkirk stepped away. "Let me get you a chair. Would you like something to drink?”
He carried his valise over to a nearby rack of chairs. He set the case down, pulled out two chairs and set them up.
"Here now, darling. Don't be afraid. We're gonna call the police and get you taken care of." He gently grasped her by the shoulders and guided her to a chair.
Ash realized he had absolutely no idea who she was.
He seemed so different, so changed. She considered the possibility that perhaps this wasn't Mr. Dunkirk at all; maybe a brother, or a cousin, or someone else completely, perhaps no relation whatsoever.
Martin settled himself in the other chair and leaned toward her. "Now let's get this hood off you.” As he reached up toward her, she spotted his gaudy rings. It was the same man all right. He hadn't done away with all his garish quirks.
Ashley leaned away from him.
Her movement put the ends of the knot in his hands. Dunkirk pulled the cord. The bow unknotted and let fresh air and light in around Ashley's neck. It felt like coming up from being underwater.
A well-dressed man stepped into the dim light coming from the open door.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dr. Mallus asked Dunkirk.
Dunkirk spun, guilty, caught red-handed. "What... Who? I just... It's not what it... We need to call the police! We need the authorities!”
Ashley heard him. His old voice was back, that was the Dunkirk she remembered, not the southern beach bum he now pretended to be.
"Authorities you say?" Mallus replied.
"I just found this young woman, obviously beaten, abused in who knows how many dirty... Filthy! Filth!!" Dunkirk grinned and jabbered.
"Get a hold of yourself, man!" the doctor commanded.
"I'm just renting this property! Do you know anything about this?!" Dunkirk blubbered.
"I'm a passing stranger and I look over to witness you, an obviously a horrid little man, with this delicate creature! It's an outrage what you've done here! I believe must contact the authorities at once!”
"And get to bottom of this!" Dunkirk agreed.
"It's you, villain! You've committed crimes against humanity!" Mallus declared.
A man and a woman entered past the bickering Mallus and Dunkirk. They both carried grocery bags of food and moved toward a group of tables. Ashley recognized them. It was the judge and public defender from her trial.
"Get in here and help us, you pinheads," Governor Maime snapped.
Ash flinched at the sound of the woman's voice. Gransil, her attorney, carried two bags of foil wrapped appetizers, and accompanied Auntie into the kitchen. From there she turned on the lights in the rest of the building.
The Texan walked into the hall and was greeted warmly by Dunkirk and Mallus, the three of them shaking hands.
Ash slipped out of the chair and over to the wall. She couldn't head for the door; the other guests blocked it. Yet distracted as they were, no one seemed to have noticed her movement. Despite the black fabric of the hood, she had little trouble seeing through the weave. Since Dunkirk had untied it, breathing had become less of a problem as well.
The men slowly moved away from the doorway and it yawned beckoningly. Twilight had given way to night and Ashley doubted she'd get far, handcuffed and hooded in a dark alley. Still it was worth the risk.
She bolted for the door, but before she got halfway, Governor Maime pushed a drink cart into the girl's path, tripping her. Gransil stepped forward to close the door, but Ashley had been sufficiently damaged by the cart. No one rushed over to her. No one shouted obscenities.
She stood and moved to an unoccupied wall of the room. Otherwise ignored, she worked at her cuffs, twisting her hands in them, trying to find a position to slip a hand out.
Through her hood, she watched the obscured images of her captors, as they prepared a banquet of some kind. Auntie arranged food, while Nelson Gransil, moonlighting attorney-at-law and fulltime sanitation engineer, set out the plates, silverware, napkins, cups and other domestic details.
In the main room, the bulk of folding chairs were arranged in somewhat orderly rows. Ashley knew, in the back row, the unseen lord of the flies, the bum she had heard earlier, continued his drunken slumber.
Someone at the door coughed and the resident lunatics looked over. In his expensive suit, real estate tycoon, Roger Courtland, stood in the doorway. Being a complete stranger to those gathered; no one spoke.
The stonemason noticed the hooded and bound Ashley. He gestured to her, "I gather I'm in the right place then.”
Dunkirk stepped forward. "You think so, huh?”
Courtland offered his hand. "How do you do?”
Dunkirk ignored the gesture. "You were invited, then? How about you let me see your invitation. You brought it with you, didn't you?”
This was the Dunkirk Ashley remembered.
"I know you." Courtland smiled. "You're famous.”
Dunkirk burst into laughter and seized Courtland's arm. "Hey, hey, sure you do. I'm Marty. Let's get you a chair." Dunkirk guided the new arrival into the hall. "Can I get you something to drink?” Dunkirk laughed like a school kid. It was unnerving.
Ashley tugged at her cuffs.
The affable Marty pulled up short when he spotted the sleeping bum stretched across the back row. As he considered his options, a new presence at the doorway distracted him.
Pablo Escurrido led Detective Cole, shrouded in a red silk boxing robe, with flames rising from the hem, into the building. The tall, wide, Gardner entered behind them. From the alley, Morgenstern and Keller also arrived and stepped inside. They both wore long black coats and carried large duffel bags.
From his place beside the snoozing janitor, Dunkirk signaled Nelson to secure the front doors. Morgenstern pulled the garage door closed.
Pablo climbed atop a chair and began repeatedly punching the hooded detective in the head. Cole took the punches, wobbled, but refused to fall. He seemed to be taking pleasure in the damage his skull did to Pablo's hands. The wet slapping sounds went unaddressed for some time.
Morgenstern glared at Escurrido until he caught on. In defiance, Pablo punched Cole one last time, but cracked a knuckle on his rock-hard head.
Everyone in the room heard the snap. Their suspicions were confirmed by Pablo's sharp and stifled cry.
Cole laughed.
Still atop the chair, the short Pablo elbowed Cole in the head, knocking him from his feet and consciousness. Nelson hovered by the front door. He held the long chain but hadn't yet locked the bar style handles, as he was distracted by Pablo's antics.
Ash continued working the cuffs. She'd slid her left hand halfway out and had it trapped over the back of her thumb.
Suddenly the front doors opened, spilling five hungry young rebels into the hall. The street behind them was drenched in a sudden downpour. Their hair and shoulders were already soaking wet. They made straight for the far table, laden with snacks. They kne
w they were turning heads, but did their best to avoid eye contact, pretending to belong.
Morgenstern scanned the hall; his associates were drooling at the five young runaways. He gestured for Escurrido to move Cole into a sitting position, and stepped forward to block their view of Ashley. Keller walked the hooded girl to a chair, ignoring her hands. Morgenstern closed the separators to the garage, sealing the room.
Escurrido jerked Cole into a seat and took the next one, holding the officer upright.
Outside, lightning split the night, thunder followed.
The storm had reached them.