Swerve (11 page)

“You really wanna know?”

“Yeah, I really wanna know. I really do. My partner is involved, so yeah. Lay it on me.”

He laughed. “You're funny. Tell you what. Why not meet me at Romia's place?”

“Romia's, why?”

“Well, I'm already here, so why not?” he answered.

“Romia with you?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, right. You sound so convincing. Mind if I tell Keliegh where we're meeting in case I disappear after talking to you? Seems like that's what happens to people who have dealings with you.”

“They always come back. Look at Aston, he came back.”

Looking at Aston, she tried to see if maybe he was different somehow, but with Aston who could know? “Yeah, but I bet half his brain is gone. But then again, that is his natural state, I think.”

Maxwell laughed. “Well, you call your Keliegh, and tell him whatever you want. Hey, you can even call the cops if you want,” Maxwell said with an evil sneer in his voice. Tommy hung up and called Keliegh again; there was no answer.

Glancing over at Bob Hetchem, she started to inform him of where she was going, but after noticing Aston heading toward him, she went with her gut on this one. It was convincing her that she and Keliegh needed to handle this without a lot of other people involved.

Maybe we'll get to the bottom of this without a lot of smoke and mirrors if we just do it his way,
she thought regarding Maxwell Huntington.

The Phoenix

Stone was his name, which he lived up to every day of his life. He was young, cocky, cool, and aloof, with no regard for life. He was the favored of all the Phoenix's underlings and trusted with many secrets. Stone had little respect for standards set by society and followed out orders given by the Phoenix without question. Thus, he was just this side of educated madness.

Stone led the team of young assassins and killed without flinching. He had but one weakness, a young French girl named Capri.

Against the rules, he and Capri became lovers. This decadence led to his demise. He broke the rules to save Capri's life. This led to him taking a bullet.

It didn't matter whose bullet finished him off, in Stix's opinion. With the command given, Stix took the lead, ushering Capri and Malik to safety. Stix was the leader now and, in his heart, he felt he should be recognized as such.

Upon their return to the Phoenix's lair, Stix, hoping to find understanding and perhaps even an ounce of commendation for at least saving Capri and Malik, found only a harsh rebuking.

“Stone ordered us to leave,” Stix told the Phoenix. “He was dying.”

“Is this true, Malik?” the Phoenix asked.

“I…I,” Malik stumbled.

“He told us to leave,” Stix explained again, wondering why his comrades were hesitating.

“We didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave,” Capri cried.

“Nor I. Stone insisted,” Malik said now.

“It is the rules! There was no hesitation. He ordered us to leave,” Stix continued. “He was dying!”

“And you left!” the Phoenix raged.

“Yes. We left. It was a command,” Stix pleaded. “He was gut shot. He was going to die. He had lost much blood. So I—”

“You left my son to die!”

Malik and Capri looked at each other as if hearing the words for the first time. Many of them had assumed the connection between Stone and the Phoenix, but rarely did they hear it said and so plainly acknowledged.

“Yes, Phoenix. We left him to die!” Stix screamed now. His emotions were high as he was filled with confusing and growing rage.

“You now think this puts you in his place. You will never fill his place. He was my son!”

“We are all your sons,” Stix barked. He was being insubordinate, but no longer cared.

The Phoenix's blue eyes blazed like diamonds. He swung on Stix, catching the side of his face in a steel blow. Stix grabbed at the pain. “You are not my son.”

Suddenly, the Phoenix bayed loudly, tearing at his clothing. “You left my son to die!”

Capri turned away, unable to watch the man grieve.

“I hope it helps to know he started fire after we left. He made sure all the evidence was gone,” Malik said in a low voice.

At that, the Phoenix's outcries ceased abruptly. “A fire?”

“Yes,” Malik said, before breaking down in tears.

Romia drove to the city, ending up back at the church. She was drawn there. She was tired and wanted to rest, if just for a moment. Maybe there her mother would answer her. Maybe through the paintings her mother would speak to her. The paintings in this place soothed her. They made her feel close to her mother again. The haunting pictures of the elusive bird seemed oddly out of place against the biblical symbols yet, then again, so apropos for her feelings right now.

Parking her bike around the back, she climbed off and quickly tiptoed up to the back door. Trying the knob, she found it locked. “You act like churches are twenty-four-hour drive-thrus,” she fussed at herself before covering her fist with her jacket sleeve. With one quick punch she took out the stained glass window inlay. Surprisingly enough there was no alarm set…at least, not one she heard. Within seconds she was inside the darkened church. Feeling her way, she made it to a pew. “I'm not sure why I'm here, but here goes,” she whispered before dropping to her knees as if to pray. “I'm not even sure where to begin,” she whispered again.

Just then her cell phone rang. “What” she answered. She'd turned off all GPS signals and so had to wonder who was calling her. Who had found her?

“Maxwell.”

“How come I'm not surprised?”

“You should be.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you killed someone who didn't die, someone is dead who you didn't kill, and you've actually escaped three people who were trying to kill you.”

“And I'm being blamed for all of it. You got a reason for that?”

“Of course.”

Just then the light came on in the church. “You're really easy to follow. You're going to have to work on that,” Maxwell said, closing his cell phone.

Romia was on her feet and ready to take him on, but was stopped by a quick blow to the back of the head. She was stunned but not stopped. She was quickly engaged. It was none other than her nemesis, the Shadow.

“Do you ever get enough?” she growled.

He chuckled from under the dark cover. Apparently, he'd been in the church the entire time. This opponent was driving her mad and she would never see peace until she'd destroyed him, of this she was certain. She leapt onto the pew and then in a flying leap attacked, tackling him as if on a football field. She knew he was not prepared for such a physical encounter—and she was right. Jumping on him, she slugged his face as if on a playground until finally she grabbed at the stocking mask, pulling it roughly from his head. His hair was slicked back and his green eyes were big and wild looking. “Get off me,” he yelped.

Stunned at finally hearing his full voice, she was again removed from her situation by Maxwell's hard hand on her jacket, pulling her off of him.

“You two have to stop this,” he said, sounding as if speaking to children.

Tommy left another message on Keliegh's phone before pulling into Romia's parking lot and rushing up the flight of stairs to her place. Reaching the door, she found it ajar. Pushing it open with her foot, she drew her weapon. “Romia?” Tommy called out softly. “It's Tommy.” Tommy wished Romia had answered. She wanted to talk to her. Keliegh was too close to this case. He was too emotionally involved. That was clear. Tommy just knew if she could crack this case, at least this part of it—finding Romia and finding out who this Maxwell cat was—she'd have a leg up in proving Romia's innocence.

Sure, in the back of her mind she wanted to believe Romia was innocent. It was obvious Keliegh was in love with her. She knew it from the start. Heaven knows she'd thrown herself at him enough to realize he had someone else in his heart. Okay, so there were the bimbos like Shashoni and all the others, but Tommy had long ago put those chicks in perspective. They were just something to do. Keliegh loved somebody. That was obvious by his inability to commit to any of those other women. He loved somebody he couldn't have. And Tommy knew that wasn't her. Keliegh could have her in a heartbeat!

He loved Romia.

It was getting more and more apparent that Romia was being set up, and harder to believe she was just a good cop gone bad. Maxwell had convinced her of that. Maxwell had convinced Tommy that something bigger than all of them was going on. It was one of those things that was so big that nobody could see it—like a white elephant.

Looking around the living room, it was obvious that this mess wasn't in the “oh, I'm late for work” category. Looking around, she saw that Romia's place had been trashed in a similar way to hers. Tommy figured it was done by professionals, and probably the same ones who had tossed her place. “Romia, what is everybody looking for? What did you get yourself involved in?”

Stepping lightly over the turned over coffee table, which spilled out Romia's photo album, something caught her eye. Bending down, Tommy pulled out a photo of a woman holding a beautiful baby girl. On the woman's arm, Tommy noticed a tattoo. It was the same design that Romia wore on her jacket and helmet, and that was painted on her bike in bright colors. “A phoenix?” Tommy mumbled before creeping into Romia's kitchen. Tommy opened the refrigerator door out of reflex—not sure what she'd find in there—hoping not to find anything that didn't belong in there. She closed the door, only to jump in a start at the sudden appearance of a stranger in a black body suit.

“So you made it,” she whispered.

“Of course, I'm never late for a party,” Tommy said, drawing her gun on her.

“Wonder who tossed this place?” she asked, sounding to Tommy as if she knew.

“We didn't,” Tommy answered. “Who are you?”

“I'm a spy,” she answered.

“You CIA?”

“CIA?” The woman laughed before returning to a whispered voice. “Do I look like CIA?” she asked.

“Wouldn't know,” Tommy answered, getting antsy. She hated these kinds of intimidation tactics. She was one who liked to get to the point.

“Well, I'm not. I'm actually a friend, believe it or not.”

“Not,” Tommy said, releasing the safety, testing the woman's nerves. She didn't even flinch.

“Fair enough.” The woman snatched the gun, tossing it aside. Her speed was amazing. Tommy had to admit that she only knew one other person that fast.

“Okay,” Tommy said, realizing the battle before it officially started. She swung on the woman.

“Is that the best you got, Tommy? I guess it's true…you'll never beat me.”

Tommy, for a second, let her guard waver. “Romia?”

“How did you guess?” she asked, sounding like Romia.

Tommy was unsure about this woman's true identity, but there was no time to play guessing games. The woman, with fists of fury, came at her. Tommy blocked the quick-coming punches, backing away suddenly as the shadowy figure dressed all in black, claiming to be Romia, egged Tommy back into combat.

Taking a moment to think, Tommy tested the woman. She needed to know for sure. “If you're Romia, tell me something only Romia and I would know.”

“Keliegh's dick is thirteen inches long when it's hard. Oops, but then again, you don't know that do you?” the woman said, slapping Tommy quickly across the face. It was more of a taunt, but Tommy was livid and kicked high, aiming it to land with a hardy blow, but the woman blocked, catching Tommy's foot and twisting. Tommy heard the crack before she felt the pain.

The woman then without mercy worked her over.

 

“This is Tommy, I've got Romia. Yeah, I'm outside her place. I'm going in,” the woman said to dispatch, sounding now like Tommy on the phone. “Of course it's her. Send some backup. Oh, and check on Keliegh, too. I haven't been able to reach him, and I'm afraid she's done something to him. I lost track of her partner when they split up…and I think he went after Keliegh.”

The woman hung up Tommy's phone, dropping it next to her unconscious body. “You'll never see Romia again,” the woman said. “She's one of us now. We're taking her home where she belongs.”

Romia stared at the picture of her mother. “How did you get this?” she asked, staving off emotions. Her mother's long, sandy blond tresses appeared to blow in the wind. Her face, soft and cherub-like, seemed poised to be photographed, although it was clear that the picture was candid. Her mother appeared ageless in the photo. There was no way for Romia to tell when it was taken. She stared then at the photo to get an idea from the background scene.

It was hard to focus, considering all things around her. The church setting was the one place where serenity should have reigned, yet it was overtly absent.

The picture was snatched from her hands by the tall dark man she had come to know as Maxwell Huntington, although she now doubted his true identity. He handed her another picture. This one was of a handsome man who looked around forty-something. “Who is this?” she asked.

Maxwell snatched the photo back and slid it back into a file. Again and again he showed her several pictures of people she didn't know.

“Who are they? What do they have to do with me? How did you get a picture of my mother?” she asked. He then handed her another photo of a woman around her age. She looked like her mother, but was far too old to be her. Her mother had died as a much younger woman. She had dark hair and eyes that didn't look like her mother's, yet…

Maybe the woman was a relative, for she had an oddly telling face that moved Romia to stroke the picture in an unconscious gesture, or perhaps to beg for a connection.

“Do you know her?” Maxwell asked again.

Romia hesitated again and then looked up at Maxwell. “No,” Romia answered truthfully. Slowly, he took the photo from her this time. No gruffness. He then handed her the photo again of the middle-aged man. He was handsome, but surely she didn't know him. “You know him?”

“No,” Romia sighed, suddenly tired of this interrogation. “I told you that!” she spat. It was getting them nowhere closer to why she was here and why she had been made a victim of this charade. Why was she being held here at this church against her will? She had come to pray, not be held captive. “Do you know them? Answer me for a change! You're not the only one who wants answers, Mr.”—she paused before saying his name—“Huntington.”

He smiled. “Interesting.”

“Not to me. But finding out why you have a photo of my mother is very interesting to me. She was never in trouble with the police before she died. Why was she being spied on?”

“You were a baby when she was murdered, what do you know about her?”

Romia snapped, “She wasn't murdered.” She jumped to her feet, only to be slammed back into her seat by the woolly headed young man.

He had catlike reflexes that were, somehow, familiar to Romia. His hair had been loosed from the tight ponytail he wore and was wild on his head. He caught Romia's attention suddenly. She stared at him for a second. His skin was olive in tone, his eyes, green—dazzling green. She'd seen eyes like his before. She looked at his hands, long and slender. Yes, she had met this man before, or someone like him. But his crooked smile instantly brought her back from the reverie. Immediately, she wanted to take him on again. She wanted to fight him.

“Shadow,” she mumbled as if it were a bad word. She then noticed the wicked smirk creep to his face.

The man she supposedly had shot the night before had joined him not too long into this interrogation session. Not too long afterward, the woman entered the room. She, too, was familiar. Romia pictured her with blond hair instead of her natural dark color. “It's you!” Romia accused. The woman ignored her exclamation. She was the woman who had framed her at the tavern. Who were these people?

“It's done. Tommy is out. She won't be looking for this one anytime soon,” the woman said before adding something in another language.

“What?” Romia blurted. “Out? What has happened to Tommy?”

“And Jack as well?” Maxwell asked the man, ignoring her. The man nodded. “They were going to be too much trouble for us anyway. So we can proceed before any other obstacles get in our way,” Maxwell added.

The tiny hairs were up on the back of Romia's neck and she was on total alert. The people in this room were an odd group. In Romia's mind, they resembled circus people or gypsies. But none of that mattered now. They had done something to Tommy and Keliegh, so that made them the enemy.

“Have you checked the airports?”

“Yes, there were no red flags. I think he thought those goons won.” Everyone laughed with that comment.

“They don't know who they're fooling with. Those goons were kid's play. Now we are all together and we shall get this finished,” Maxwell said, putting the pictures back in the envelope.

“Who are you people?” Romia blurted out, trying to gather some sense from what seemed to be a casual conversation about her going on around her.

“I guess you know I'm not really IA,” Maxwell confessed, standing and pacing slowly around the room. It seemed as though at first they were readying to leave, but he appeared to have something to get off his chest.

“Nah, just sorta fell for that one,” Romia sneered sarcastically. In her mind, she was looking for a moment. She just needed one moment to act. “But fool me once, shame on you.”

Maxwell smiled slyly, turning back to her. “And you…you're not who you think you are either.”

“Now there you're wrong. I'm Romia Smith. I'm a cop. And as soon as I get out from under this”—she looked around, regarding the church's basement—“chamber of horrors, I'm gonna arrest you. All of you.”

Suddenly the room broke into laughter. Now the people engaged in a conversation that no longer was spoken in English.

Romia looked around at everyone: the “dead man” from The Spot, the one who she supposedly shot with her police revolver; the blond woman who suddenly appeared in the darkness, screaming bloody murder for all to hear and framing her as the killer; the Shadow, who matched her talent in martial arts and bloodied her lip to make it appear as though she had tangled with the undead man before shooting him; and Maxwell Huntington, the IA officer who, as Mike said, “cleaned that place up as if nothing had happened.” They were all there, laughing at her. The only missing members of this party were the three men who attacked her. Maybe they would soon show up to finish the job. Maybe they too would be undead and here to make this macabre theater act complete.

At that point, Romia leapt to her feet again. The Shadow was on her, but he had been too distracted jeering her, so she got in three rotating punches and a kick before he could block. The last sent him into the nearest wall. Maxwell stepped forward but Romia attacked first, with a spin kick that caught his chin, stunning him momentarily.

The woman pulled a gun, but Romia caught the barrel, snatching it from her hand and dismantling it instantly. She raised her fist and, without looking, slammed the back of her fist against the undead man's face, turning then and head-butting him. The woman kicked her feet from under her, yet when Romia hit the floor, she grabbed the empty weapon only to slap the attacking woman with it.

The Shadow, only stunned, kicked her in the ribs while she was down. She could see now that this time he was holding back nothing. This blow was much harder than their encounter in the dark upper room, when he had taken her helmet. This time they were not sparring. This was now a full-on battle, one she had prepared for her whole life. Rage consumed her as she let go of a barrage of movements she was certain he had not seen, although he seemed to anticipate them with great agility.

Suddenly, she felt electricity surge through her. She knew that familiar pain from her days in training. She had been stunned with a stun gun. With all her might, she fought the immediate sensation, but was unable to fight the second zap as the woman let her have it again.

Romia dropped to the floor.