Swerve (12 page)

“Damn, Keliegh, what ran over you?” Lawrence asked, seeing that Keliegh was truly awake, up, and ready to leave. From what he'd been told, he expected Keliegh to be two sheets to the wind on pain meds, or all strapped up in traction. Keliegh was badly bruised and his head had a large bandage above his brow. His face looked as if he'd lost a few rounds to a heavyweight boxer.

Keliegh shook his head. There was no way he wanted to talk about the encounter with the Shadow. There was no way he wanted to even think about the implications he had posed. Romia never would have been behind something so sinister. She never would have backed such activities. What connection did she have with someone like that?

“And to threaten me,” Keliegh said under his breath.

“What?” Lawrence said, gathering Keliegh's paperwork from the duty nurse. There was no way he could drive.

Keliegh looked at his uncle. “Nothing,” he lied.

“Now, you said something. Who threatened you?” Lawrence asked, moving them from earshot of the nurse.

“Some punk-ass ninja in black tights, that's who.”

“Punk-ass ninja? Well, I see he beat you to a pulp. Backed that threat smmooove up didn't he, haha.”

“No…now there you're wrong. Well, I mean, you're right, but you're wrong. I was trying to have a civil conversation with him about Romia Smith and he just…” Keliegh began, attempting to flail his arms around, but the badly sprained one didn't move.

“He could have killed you. Easily, from what the doctor said. Now, tell me from the start, who did this?”

“He wasn't trying to kill me. He was trying to scare me. Told me to…” Keliegh looked at his cell phone noticing two missed calls from Tommy. He called her number. “Back off finding Romia,” he said, finishing his conversation.

“Hello.” It was Kiki Turner, Tommy's half sister. He knew her voice. She had answered Tommy's cell phone.

“Hey, where is Tommy?”

“She's in the hospital. She was attacked by Romia.”

“What?” Keliegh gasped.

“She said she was attacked by Romia. That she went to Romia's place to meet up with this Maxwell Huntington. It was a trap and Romia was waiting and tried to kill her. Just beat the devil out of her, too. She's in the hospital. She's got a broken ankle, a concussion. I'm about to get some charges pressed. Why hasn't anyone issued any warrants against this Romia person? You've got a swoon out there and—”

“Swerve,” Keliegh corrected.

“What the hell ever! You've got this cop out there killing people and running amuck with no explanation and—”

“I have an explanation.”

“Well, tell me!”

“What room is Tommy in?”

“I'll come to you,” Kiki blurted.

“No, I'm in the hospital too. I'll come to Tommy's room.” Keliegh said, realizing his pain meds were wearing thin. He flinched at the pain in his ribs.

Maybe Jim just had a way with people, but it just always seemed easy for him to get information that others seemed to find impossible to access. After a morning of seeing their hard work wasted, Jim wasn't about to just let it go without more information. He didn't understand how Lawrence could. Nothing was fitting. And now Keliegh had been put in the hospital and Tommy too. It was a bit too coincidental that they had been put out of commission like that. Lawrence had called him right after finding out about Keliegh. Jim ran on a hunch and tried to contact Tommy, and that's how he found out she was out of the way as well. He beat it to the hospital and had a few words with her before her sister came in and busted up the party.

She hadn't said much, but it was enough to make Jim wonder about this case a little harder. “Who are they gonna go after next? Me? Lawrence? I wish someone would just try it,” he growled under his breath. He was frustrated. He hated when things didn't add up. “Why do we always get the weird cases?” he asked himself.

It always seemed that way for him and his partner. Dangerous liaisons with gay serial killers, mad scientists trying to steal body organs, people who were supposed to be dead and yet managing to commit murders. “What next?” he asked rhetorically, not really wanting to know the answer. “Aliens?”

Hairy Mary grinned at him broadly, flirtatiously, before leaving him alone with the micro-files he'd requested. He wanted to see those that aged back to around the time Romia was born. He was going to figure out who this woman, Romia, was first before making a decision on whether she was guilty of mass murder with her bare hands.

That small piece of fabric found on the scene intrigued him. It was out of place. It was obvious by the way Keliegh's expression changed that he'd seen it before. “Had to belong to Romia,” Jim deduced, speaking in an undertone. “And it has to mean something or why would a woman like her, in the position she was in, have it on her?”

Jim scoured the files, looking for any cases where there was an image of a phoenix or anything phoenix related. Ten years ago, twenty years ago, twenty-five and beyond, he looked, until, finally, he found it in a micro-file that was around thirty years ago.

“Geez,” he sighed while reading the file, running his fingers through his scruffy hair. He looked around, hoping no one was watching him. What he was reading had to have been top-secret information at one time. Scrolling the window back to the introduction page of the electronic file, he saw it was titled, “The Phoenix Team.” The next page was a scanned-in document that had a red stamp that read “Confidential: CIA.”

Holding the photo he'd taken of the tapestry piece, he scrolled through the pages of the file. He was looking for any lead, or something within one of the photos that came close to matching the fabric. There had to be a reason Romia Smith treasured it beyond the obvious.

The Phoenix team did special work for the US government. They were selected for their highly sensitive abilities. “Amazing,” Jim mumbled, reading what each member could do. “Holy moly, all we need now are a few circus midgets and we'd have a full-blown act,” he huffed, reading on. “So why kill them off? They seem pretty helpful…ooh,” he said, noticing the big read letters that read, “Terrorist?” His eyes widened with the discovery. “That word wasn't even a buzzword back then,” he mumbled. “I didn't even realize they were using it back then.”

Clearly, as he read on, he discovered that the US wasn't the only government eventually to put them to use. The members eventually became assassins for hire. Soon they were shut down by the very government that created them.

The leader, the Phoenix, was dead. They'd raided his lair and killed all there. Apparently, there were members of this elite group of spies who were still at large. Each member of the team had a bio, well, the dead ones anyway. “Who's looking for them? Anybody looking for them? ” Jim asked in an undertone, looking through the rest of the information quickly. It was common for him to talk to himself when sorting thoughts in his head. Looking around nervously, he was starting to feel antsy, as if he might be learning too much. “All members of the group are presumed dead…right, I really believe that, and I'm sure so do those who are after them now.” He read on about how proud the government was to “close this case.” “Closed case only means one thing: they are not all dead and this case is far from closed. It means to me that those living are the mercy of bounty hunters and mercenaries. Wow.” He read on. “And I can't imagine them just taking this kinda thing lying down.”

Just then, he saw the photos of the dead. All were slain execution style, violent and with a bit of overkill. Finally, coming upon one of a dark-haired woman, he could see that she'd been shot multiple times, and photographed sprawled face up, in a pool of blood on the floor of a sparsely furnished apartment. “Massacre, my God.” Jim sighed. “That's one way to keep a government secret. Kill everyone they think might know it.”

With a closer look at the photo, something caught his eye. It was on the wall of the apartment, hanging in a frame. Two clicks of the mouse bought the picture clearer into view.

“Bingo!” Jim exploded.

Just then, he was interrupted.

“Excuse me, but who are you and who gave you authorization to view these files?” a suit asked. Jim quickly closed the file and shoved the photo in his jacket pocket.

He stood.

“I asked you a question, Detective Beem.”

“You know me?”

“We know everyone who comes in here. Believe that,” the suit sneered, pushing him out of the way and taking over the computer, hoping to retrieve what Jim was just viewing. “That picture?” he asked, requesting Jim hand it over. Jim obeyed. The suit looked at it and smirked.

“Everybody seems interested in this case lately.”

“I'm not the only one wanting information?”

“Nope, but you won't find anything either. This case”—the young man twisted his face smugly—“nothing more than an embarrassing witch hunt,” he assured.

Jim chuckled with a sarcastic air chasing his laughter. “Well, yeah, had to be, because if they were witches, you'd have never caught 'em. By the looks of those bloody scenes, you caught 'em and killed them.”

“Exactly, we got 'em,” he said, pointing at the computer. “They're gone. This case is closed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just a group of would-be terrorists. Government shut 'em down years ago. Don't know what's got them in the news again, but oh well. You're chasing shadows.”

“Funny you should call them that.” Jim snickered, thinking about what Tommy had called her attacker.

“Yeah, well, that's the deal,” the suit said, as if ending their conversation.

The suit fanned his hand toward the door, as if offering Jim a way out. Jim looked at the door and then back at the well-groomed young man. “Okay, but before I go, let me ask you this: who's Maxwell Huntington?”

“Okay, I'll play. Who
was
Maxell Huntington?”

“Was?”

Romia felt stiff and exhausted. The fight was nearly gone but not quite. They must have known she wasn't completely spent, and that was probably why now she was tied up. She watched silently as the small group of foreigners spoke their indistinguishable language while packing up their apparent hideout under the church.

Why here?
Romia pondered, remembering her childhood and the days this church was visited by her at her mother's side. She would play in the pews while her mother confessed. Never once did she even imagine her mother to be capable of sin. Never could she fathom her mother being capable of anything that would have warranted murder.

“You're all liars,” Romia mumbled just as the youngest of the group—the bushy-headed one who had appeared to her as a shadow in the night, sparring, fighting, besting her, for now—walked past. He glanced at her. He'd been packing with intent, not engaging in much small talk. They had computers and files, more than she first realized. They had a full-blown office here in the basement of this church. It was apparently headquarters for their little organization.

“I never lie,” he said in English, yet with a strong accent. “I have no reason to,” he added, continuing to pack the boxes.

“Then tell me why I'm here. Why you've toyed with me, kidnapped me. Set me up as a murderer, ruined my life. Why did you send people to kill me?” Romia begged for those answers now.

“Now, there you're wrong. Those men came on their own and you decided on your own to kill them,” the Shadow explained. “Which was a mistake, by the way,” he added, all but rolling his eyes. “All you did was draw attention to yourself, and us,” he spat angrily as if he'd had a bad day.

“They were going to kill me!” Romia explained.

“Perhaps! But your timing couldn't have been worse.”

“Royale!” Maxwell snapped. “You can talk on the plane. We don't have much time.”

Romia jerked at the restraints. “Plane? I'm not getting on a plane.”

“Shut up, you little whiner,” the woman snapped at her in the foreign accent.

Romia hissed at her, surprising herself with the response. These people were bringing out a side of her she didn't realize was there.

The woman laughed.

“Yes, you are getting on a plane. We're taking you home,” Maxwell explained, coming between the two of them. “I know this all seems insane to you right now, but by morning you'll know the truth and, if you are loyal, you will join us.”

“And if I'm not?” Romia growled.

“Then you will die at my hands,” Maxwell said without flinching. His words caught the attention of the others in the room. It was clear his words were true, and powerful. Romia stared into his eyes, and in her belly she felt it. She felt truth. What he said he truly planned to carry out. He was a leader and an influential one.

Kiki wasn't about to let Keliegh or Lawrence get near Tommy. “She's sedated and you're not gonna get anything outta her right now. I'm her attorney and it ain't happ'nin', boys. Not until I talk to her first.”

“Fine!” Keliegh blurted in frustration. “Look, Kiki, we don't have all night!”

Lawrence stood between them. “Ms. Porter, you'll have to excuse my nephew. He needs sedation. Let's go,” Lawrence said in Keliegh's direction. Keliegh stormed out of the room in a huff.

Leaving the hospital, Lawrence called Jim.

“What's our next move?” Keliegh asked.

“Well, as much as I don't want to do this, Jim thinks we need to pay Ms. Romia's apartment a visit.”

“Why?”

“He said we'd talk there. He's being all super-spy and secretive.”

 

When Keliegh and Lawrence reached Romia's apartment, they found the door ajar. They didn't have time to wait for asearch warrant.
What were they looking for anyway?
Keliegh didn't know.

“Now, don't get crazy,” Lawrence began, “but Jim got in to see Tommy before her watchdog showed up. He said Tommy said whoever worked her over was waiting.”

“Well, yeah, I got back to my place and homeboy was on my sofa. So there are two of them and I have a feeling both were planted.”

“Planted? And who would want you two out of the game like that? Who would risk assault charges to do this?” Lawrence asked.

“Maxwell Huntington, and trust me, that guy couldn't care less about an assault charge.”

Lawrence gawked at Keliegh. “Maxwell Hunt…the IA guy?”

“He's not IA,” Jim chimed in. “Unless he's the walking dead. Maxwell Huntington died over twenty years ago, and he was white.”

Lawrence now gawked at his partner. “Wait! When did you find out?”

“Today. So I was doing some checking around on this case. I mean, truthfully, did you think it was kosher the way Cap'n just took us off that case and gave it to the feds?”

“The feds got the case?” Keliegh asked.

“No. I called a personal friend there and she didn't have a clue what I was talking about,” Jim continued. “Red flag number two.”

“Well, feds lie,” Lawrence said with a smirk.

“Not my pet fed, she wouldn't lie to me,” Jim said, smiling slyly. “They don't have it.”

“Anyway,” Lawrence said, rolling his eyes. “So what we got?”

“Nothing here,” Keliegh said before noticing the front door. He was closely examining the doorjamb. It was obvious the lock had been jimmied. “Well, maybe nothing. I didn't notice this the first time.”

“What first time?”

“I came here once already, but I had a key so it was legit. The place was trashed. Like it is now, but the lock was not jimmied.” He tried his key. It no longer fit. “Why would she spring her own lock?”

“Good question.” Jim took a closer look at the lock. Just then, Lawrence pulled everyone's attention to the box of pictures he found overturned.

“Who is this?” Lawrence asked, holding up a picture of Romia and a man.

Keliegh looked closer. His heart began to pound. “Damn! It's the dude from The Spot. Shit,” he sighed, running his fingers through his thick hair. It was in need of a cut but he hoped nobody noticed. Besides, at a moment like this when he realized the woman he loved—and, yes, he loved Romia—could be possibly lying to him about knowing the man she had shot, she was taking precedence in his thoughts.

The man in the picture with her was in uniform, smiling, with his arm around Romia's waist. There was no mistaking this picture. This was a happiness/togetherness pose. There was no mistaking the dude, either; it was the guy from the tavern. Keliegh had gotten a good view of him when he bumped Romia.

“Who is it? Old boyfriend?” Jim asked, sounding casual, looking over Lawrence's shoulder at the photo.

“No, it's the man she shot.” Keliegh sighed. “She doesn't know this guy. I know she doesn't know this guy,” he went on.

“You apparently don't know anything,” Lawrence said. Both Jim and Lawrence reared back dramatically, as if in a conjoined ah-ha moment. “We got ourselves a swerve, boys,” Lawrence then announced.

“What do we do now?” Keliegh answered, sounding beaten.

“We find Romia,” Jim answered. “Lawrence is right, Keliegh, Romia has swerved, but not the way you think.” He pointed at Lawrence. “But, still, we need to find her and find her fast.”

“Dammit!” Keliegh exclaimed, grabbing his sore arm as if suddenly remembering the pain in it, or transferring the pain from his heart to it.