Banshee Hunt (10 page)

They had offered him a car too, but instead he'd kept his old BMW. But that was somewhat different. He told them it was because the car was grey and low profile in a city where everyone had a BMW. But the truth was that he liked it. It was comfortable, had a big V8 and perhaps most important of all reminded him of a simpler, happier time before his little brother had set about destroying his life. A time when he had been a cop with a loving wife and a young daughter. A time that would never return.

“Somehow that doesn't fill me with confidence Mr. Henderson.” The German stared at him, clearly unimpressed.

“You've been treated with a hands off approach until now. It was thought at first that you were dealing with a powerful emotional trauma and that in time you'd get over it. That you were new to this world, but that in time you'd adjust. Find your place. And for a while it seemed you were adjusting. But now I'm not so sure.”

“You learnt the rules. But I think only enough to learn how to push them to their limits. To break them when you thought you could get away with it. You learnt how to bury your pain instead of dealing with it. And now I think the problem far from resolving, is growing worse. When you see someone with a gift you no longer see a person. You see a threat. Or someone completely alien. And while you cover it up, it’s clear that that includes your colleagues. You are suspicious of them – suspicious of anyone with a gift. You won't even trust the equipment you've been given because it has magic.”

“Actually it's because it's not reliable.”

“You've refused point blank to be properly assessed.” The German carried on, unbothered by James' objection.

“I don't have magic!” How many times did he have to keep saying that James wondered? The thought that he might have something more than just an immunity was a nightmare for him. Why didn't the German understand that? But the German still refused to understand that as he continued with his list of James' many failings.

“The last three times you came to see me you were strongly advised to accept counselling. You said you'd take it. You never showed up. Couples therapy with your ex-wife was recommended. You refused even though you're co-parents to a daughter who needs both her mother and father. You were asked on many occasions to speak with your own parents. To spend some time with them. You said you would and never did.”

“I did!” James interrupted, trying to defend himself. “It just didn't work out well.” Which was an understatement. He couldn't listen to his mother crying ever again, and his father had swiftly given up speaking to him at all. It had been a disaster.

“Once! You tried exactly once and gave up.” The German didn't seem impressed.

“It was a nightmare!” It had been worse than that. A conversation with more painful silences than words.

“But it would have gotten better. If you had only been willing to try.” The German had said that to him before. “You were told in clear terms that you had to make an effort to socialise with your co-workers. But despite promising that you would, you never did that either.”

“I did try.” And he had – a little.

“Not very hard.” The German fixed him with an accusing stare. “Need I continue?”

James shook his head. There was no point.

“Mr. Henderson you show all the hallmarks of a man slowly but surely driving off the reservation and becoming a recluse. A hermit fleeing from the world. And I see no sign at all that you recognise your issues or are trying to deal with them. Given the nature of your work that strikes me as dangerous and it needs to be dealt with.”

Dangerous? Needed to be dealt with? That sounded serious to James. It sounded as though he was planning on doing something more than just making the usual recommendations. It didn’t sound like something James would like. “I'll –.”

“Don't even bother Mr. Henderson.” The German held up his hand to stop James speaking. “I wouldn't believe a word that came out of your mouth.”

“The time has come for more drastic action. And that starts with a partner.”

“A partner! That's –.”

“That's my recommendation. You carry weapons. You go into dangerous situations. People's lives are entrusted to you. And if things go wrong as sooner or later they will, there could be deaths. Yours. Your colleagues’. Those you hunt. Their victims’. You all deserve better. You deserve a hunter at the top of his game.”

“I am –.” James tried to defend himself again but was cut off once more.

“No. You are competent. You can do your job well. But the risks you take are not the signs of someone thinking rationally about the situation. And that is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Crap!” This appointment was a disaster that had already happened as far as James was concerned.

“I'm also going to insist on joint counselling for you and your ex-wife. This mess you have is a festering wound in both your lives, and it can't be doing your daughter any good either. I'll pencil you in for next month.” The German continued, apparently unperturbed by James' look of horror.

“This mess with your parents will be addressed too. We will start with weekly email correspondence and I will be monitoring it.”

“And there will finally be a full assessment of your abilities.”

James would have objected but by then he was beginning to realise that it wouldn't do him any good. The German was on the war path.

“Is all of that completely clear?”

“Crystal.” James nodded glumly. What was completely clear to him was that he was screwed.

Chapter Five

James was far from happy as he left the German’s office. In fact he was more upset than he'd expected. A partner! That just wasn't right. He was fast! He was good at what he did! A partner would only slow him down and get in the way.

But he guessed it wasn't going to be a choice. The German was a member of the Illuminati like everyone else he worked with. Like the elders. And he had some say in things. James didn't know how much exactly. But if the elders sent him off to see the German every six months it had to be some.

Of course he knew there would be no thought of patient confidentiality and medical ethics when the German reported in. The German was of the Illuminati and he was also being paid by them. His loyalty was first to them. He would give them his full report on every little mental health problem James had, and then decisions would be made. He had been quite clear about that.

And maybe James had to accept a little of the blame for this disaster. He had been somewhat lax about doing what he'd promised to do. He should have done more. And maybe once or twice he should have reported in. Perhaps he should even have been a little nicer to his co-workers? Smiling still seemed excessive but perhaps a friendly word now and then would have helped. Of course it was too late now.

Who would they give him he wondered? Daniels from intelligence? The man worked in intelligence and had little field experience. And the way he wandered around in his immaculate three piece suits set James’ teeth on edge, perhaps because he himself was far more casual. He also looked at James with suspicious eyes and called him names behind his back when he thought James couldn't hear. But he was a stickler for the rules. If anyone was going to make sure he reported in and called for backup, it would be him.

Corinth from policy? She had experience, and she had been a hunter before she had moved up in the world and the organisation. But even more than Daniels he hoped it wouldn't be her. She hated him as far as he could tell. She called him reckless and stupid and told him he was going to get himself and others killed. Maybe “hated” was too strong a word, but she certainly wasn't his greatest fan.

What about West or Peters? No. James dismissed them. They were in enforcement and had no background as detectives, let alone hunters. Besides which, they had busy loads just dealing with their own work. He also didn't think he could stand listening to Peters' endless stories about his family and his problem children. Once or twice he might have found them amusing, but every day?

And then finally there was Yasmin. The thought though of her on a hunt was simply too ridiculous for words. She'd stick out like a sore thumb, and the chances were that she'd want to stop off and buy shoes every time they passed a shop. Or would they pull in another hunter from out of state? DC had two. They could spare one.

And what else would they do to make him toe the line? Was his BMW gone and would he now have to drive around in the car they provided? Would his Sig be gone too? Would they talk about his wardrobe? That was always an unpleasant topic of conversation. But really he thought, he was no longer a detective so the jeans, black sweat shirt and heavy woollen jacket he usually wore seemed like a reasonable outfit to him. It was neat and tidy, warm enough and it concealed his weapons. Unfortunately, some people seemed to think it was a little too casual. Especially the sneaks. But in a small department like theirs where two of the officers seemed to think they were fashion models on the catwalk and the boss had a love of fancy dress, people's opinions on such things were likely to be a little off.

This had not been a good assessment. But Will had warned him. Or at least he had tried to. But James hadn't listened. He never listened he realised. Maybe the German had a point there.

It was as he was thinking such things and lost in his anger that James bumped into a man on the street. Automatically he stepped back, a little surprised. For while he was distracted, he wasn’t that distracted. And people were usually better at getting out of the way. Automatically he looked up to apologise.

“Sorry –” The apology died on his lips as he found himself staring at a man's neck.

He didn't run into many giants in the street. And the man was huge. But more than that he was staring at James oddly. Perhaps though that was due to the angle? He wasn't used to having people look down at him.

“James Henderson?”

“Yes?”

Did he know the man? If so James couldn't place him. He wasn't family or a friend. He didn't look like anyone he'd worked with either. Or anyone he'd arrested. But there was something odd about him. Not just his size – and the man was almost seven feet – but in the way he looked at him. His face seemed so intent, as if his answer was the difference between life and death.

“Good.” With nothing more than that the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a hand gun.

James' heart suddenly went into overdrive as he saw the weapon, and understood that the man had come to kill him. But more than that, the man had the edge on him. James wasn't armed – another of the German's pointless rules about patients not carrying weapons meant he had had to leave his weapon behind – and he wasn't wearing a vest either.

But he could run.

Instincts and adrenaline took over and in a heartbeat James covered the three or so feet between the two of them, knocked the man aside and sprinted for the row of parked cars beside them. He wished he could have knocked the man over, but his size was always going to make that a tall order. Especially without a decent run up. James was six foot and powerfully built, but against this man he felt like a midget.

After that things became a blur. The gun went off somewhere behind him – it sounded like a cannon blast because it was so close – and James dived over the bonnet of a parked car. Around him people started screaming in fear and shock as they registered the sound of the gun. Confusion reigned and people ran in all directions. James meanwhile picked himself up off the road and went low on the other side of the car and started running as best he could while still crouched.

There were more gunshots after that as the giant fired almost blindly at the cars. But even so glass showered him as the bullets hit the car window beside him. The giant might not know exactly where he was, but he was close. Which meant James had to keep running, and slipping behind the boots of cars every time the giant ventured out on to the road.

Mass panic reigned as more and more people started running and screaming. Around him he could hear the sound of windows as the giant shot up the cars. Some of it fell on him. The man might not know exactly where he was, but he was still too damned close.

That was James' signal to get behind the boot of a parked car and wait. He couldn't let any part of himself be seen he realised, and while he was running – even crouched – the man was obviously getting some sort of view of him. Still, even while he was completely hidden the man kept shooting in his direction, firing off another four shots at the line of parked cars and emptying the street of its pedestrians. It also started a panic among the motorists, who began driving like mad men. Some hit their throttles, attempting to get away from the gun toting lunatic. Others swerved or braked. Often that was followed by the sounds of tyres screeching and metal smashing into metal. After that horns started blaring.

It was chaos in the street, but that worked to James' advantage. With so much confusion the man couldn't hear him, and with people running in all directions he still didn't know exactly where he was. Meanwhile James had thought to drop to the ground and watch the street from underneath the cars. As a result he knew exactly where his enemy was. His huge black boots were unmistakeable. The giant was heading for him, slowly and methodically searching around every car. He was also reloading. James watched as a spent clip fell to the pavement. Seven shots by his count. That meant a big calibre gun which squared well with his brief glimpse of the weapon. It was a small cannon.

The feet stopped, just in front of the car James was hiding behind, and he wondered what that was about. Had the giant found him? His heart started racing a little more. Then the feet turned and walked out into the street and James realised what the giant was doing. He'd got smart and guessed James was on the street side of the cars. And the moment he spotted him, James would be dead. So just as the man walked out onto the bitumen towards the crashed cars James crawled desperately for the pavement.

Several more shots rang out in quick succession – James had no idea what the man was aiming at – and then he watched the man’s feet do a one eighty and hurry back for the pavement. The man had presumably guessed what James had done and was trying to flush him out. Frantically James crawled back toward the road. But once he was there and staring at the back of the man's feet once more, he knew he had a moment to breathe.

The feet turned as the man spun around searching for him, and James knew the giant had lost him. Perhaps he was thinking he'd got away? If so it would be a break. As was the sound of sirens starting up somewhere in the distance. And James knew he had to take advantage of it. He couldn't run and hiding wouldn't keep him safe forever. And while waiting for the police was normally the most sensible thing to do, it might take too long. He had to bring the fight to his attacker. 

James picked up a stone he found nearby and waited until things grew a little more quiet. That happened surprisingly quickly as people cleared the area. Then he waited some more until he could see the back of the man's feet again and knew he had his back to him. Finally when he was ready James threw the stone at some cars twenty or thirty yards further down the street.

It was an age old ruse but it worked. The man spun around, drawn by the sound even over the confusion all around, and then started running down the street after it, his attention completely focused on what was ahead of him. He never saw James as he passed him by. He never heard James as he stood up and began chasing him down.

But he no doubt felt him when James leapt on his back and brought him crashing face down to the ground. He felt it even more when James grabbed his head by the hair, pulled it up and then smashed it into the pavement; hard.

The giant screamed in pain and fury. But he was far from out of the fight. A fact that James soon discovered when the man suddenly got up on his hands and knees with him still on top of him and shook him off like a flea. Just how strong was he? Was he a mega? Someone whose strength and power were boosted by their magic? Maybe James thought.

But it didn't matter. The man might be as strong as an ox, but James was faster on his feet. Fast enough to get to his feet and then power a kick straight into the man's side while he was still trying to get up. It was a good kick, worthy of any footballer, and James felt something give way under his toes. A rib maybe. Perhaps two. But still the man got up. Screaming out in fury, holding his side when he reached his feet, but still holding his gun as he turned.

That was a mistake when James was immediately behind him. The instant the giant found his feet James grabbed the back of the man's head again and pulled him back down to the side walk with all the strength he had. The man went down backwards, screaming.  His arms went wide as James had known they would. It was an instinctive reaction as he tried to catch himself before he hit the ground, and it left him completely vulnerable. The big man hit the ground hard – gravity could be cruel to the large – and that was his chance. Promptly James followed up with a kick to the man’s head and then jumped on his outstretched gun arm, shattering the bones of his hand and letting go of the weapon.

The man cried out once more, but James only cared that the gun went spinning away. Because without it he knew the man was his. Big and strong as he was, he wasn't a trained fighter. And James had fought many opponents who were larger than him in the octagon. Not this large perhaps, but he could take him. If he was normal that was. Unfortunately that wasn't certain. Was he even human? Or was he on something? The last question flickered through his mind as James watched the man trying to get up once more.

It was impossible. The man had blood pouring all down the front of his face. His cheek was probably broken as were his ribs. One hand was smashed. Any normal man would be out of it. This one though was still fighting. Screaming in pain and berserk fury, but still trying to get back up and kill him. James jumped on his good arm as he used it like a brace to push himself up, the force snapping it completely backwards.

It wasn't a nice thing to do. It wasn't what he'd do in a fight in the ring – they had rules. But this was a street fight and the man was aiming to kill him. The only rule that counted here was survival.