P Deutermann - Darkside

“Special Agent Walter Thompson. Nice kid, plays everything cool and loose, but he’s no dummy. You should see him shoot. Stands there on the range all casual like, kinda bored, holding the nine down along his leg, and then-badda-boom-his target silhouette’s got a see-through heart. Spooky.”

Jim looked over at the chief, but Bustamente waved it off. “I know, you can’t use that word. But Thompson’s cool. Somebody gets racial with Bagger, he can handle it.”

“Bagger?”

The chief shrugged. “That’s how he introduced himself to me. I believe he’s partial to the demon rum.”

“Well, he seems easier to deal with than Branner. I’m thinking of maybe taking this tunnel-runner thing over there. Use that as a back-door way to insinuate myself into the Dell investigation. The dant, of course, is worried about NCIS squawking command influence.”

Bustamente nodded. “If it weren’t for this homicide firefly, I think they’da ruled it a DBM from day one. You know, dumb-ass plebe, screwing around up there on the roof, some kind of plebe year antics, who knows what, falls off. Like that.”

“That’s what the dant thinks, too. He said homicide was ‘inconceivable.’ But even with that, if it wasn’t suicide, they’d feel compelled to chase down whichever upperclassman incited him to go up there. There has to be accountability.”

“There does?” the chief asked, looking skeptical.

“Yeah, there does,” Jim said. “The dant is into damage control, of course, but the supe is ultimately accountable for everyone here. I can’t feature Admiral McDonald sweeping anything under the rug.”

The chief shrugged. “If you say so.”

Hey. It happened. That security guy came downstairs last night. Down to my little world. Playing at setting traps. Only he was the one got himself trapped. And a paint job, too. I left him looking like a black guy trying out for the white guy’s part in one of those vaudeville shows. Introduced him to the joys and power of steam in confined spaces. I studied that at length, segundo year. And, did I say I was in costume? Was. The vampire Dyle. It had the same shock effect on him that it does on the drunks. Just enough to give me a split-second advantage. And trust me, that’s all I need. They say that’s the difference between the fighting abilities of a regular Marine and a recon Marine-about a half second.

But he was waiting for me-of that, I’m certain. So now it’s officially a game. I love games, don’t you? Well, maybe not like I do. Anyway, he’ll be back. And so will I. Only he doesn’t know the tunnels like I do. And he doesn’t have the facilities that I do, either. And now that plebe year’s almost over, I’m going to focus on this guy for my fun. Stay out of town, except for the occasional run for Gothic love. But see if I can seduce this guy to come back down to play again. He has no idea of the things I can do down there. It’s a lot more fun than terrorizing plebes. Although there was one plebe…but I’ll tell you about that later. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on what the Dark Side does about the case. I’m betting they’ll sweep it. What do you think? You think they’ll sweep it? Or maybe they’ll tag somebody for it? If they do, they’ll be so wrong. So very wrong.

Jim met with Agent Thompson right after lunch Friday at the NCIS office. The formidable Agent Branner had gone up to NCIS headquarters at the Washington Navy Yard. She was supposedly on her way back. Thompson showed Jim into a small conference room and offered coffee.

“Coffee’d out, thanks,” Jim said, sliding into a side chair, his ears still ringing from the chief’s espresso. Thompson sat down and raised his eyebrows.

Jim described his recon work of the past few months in the tunnels, presenting a comprehensive picture of what he’d been doing, leaving out only the fact that he had been messing with the tunnel runner’s graffiti. “I didn’t consider this any big deal, beyond the obvious security implications that there were ways into and out of the Yard that just about anybody who knew about them could use.”

“You’ve never caught anyone using the tunnels?” Thompson asked.

“Negative. But there are clear signs that they are being used by someone other than the diggers and fillers. I’ve been assuming that it was just some mids, probably firsties, indulging in some after-hours party times.”

“You go to the Academy?” Thompson asked, eyeing Jim’s big gold ring. He had been taking notes, but he looked up when he asked this question. Jim suddenly felt like a suspect.

“Yeah, class of ’93. Went Marine option. I was CO of the MarDet here a coupla years back. Got out, and walked into this job.”

Thompson let the obvious question hang in the air. Shit, Jim thought. This is turning into an interview. Chief was right. “Sure, I ran the tunnels,” he said. “Back then, we didn’t have town liberty like the guys do now. But let me tell you what happened last night.”

When he’d finished describing the attack with the spray paint, the laser pointers, and the vampire getup, Thompson was writing busily in his notebook.

“Thing is,” Jim said, “Chief Bustamente mentioned something about some kids being attacked in town. By a ‘vampire,’ according to the one who was most seriously injured.”

Bagger got a pained look on his face. “A vampire.”

“Yeah, well, some guy dressed up like one. Big guy, too, from what I saw. That’s what those townies said, too. Big motherfletcher. Came up behind them, surprised them. Clapped their heads together while they were gawking. Then he beat up the third guy.”

“And you saw this guy?”

“I mistook the direction from which those laser beams were coming. You know, lasers: They’re instant light. He came from the town side of the tunnel. I was hiding down under a cabinet, and he surprised me. I flashed a Maglite into his face, trying to blind him. Instead, there’s fucking Dracula. In the flesh. In the moment it took me to get my brain around it, he’d blasted a can of spray paint into my face. Then he ran down the tunnel.”

“Why come to NCIS?” Thompson asked, still writing.

“Guy ran back into the Academy side of the tunnels. This is probably a mid.”

“Ah,” Thompson said. “But it could also have been a townie, who ran the opposite way to confuse you into thinking he was a mid.”

Jim shrugged. “That’s possible.”

“And were you able to follow, to see where he actually went?”

“Nope. Had an eyeful of paint.”

“And he was made up like a vampire?”

“He was indeed. I have to tell you, when I got that one look, it didn’t register as makeup. It registered as just what it looked like. Big white face, really red lips, a mile of teeth, red eyes. Too many movies, I guess. But man!”

Thompson nodded. “I’da just plain shit my pants, I saw something like that,” he said. “Don’t much care for vampires and ghost shit.”

“Not that we believe in such things, right, Special Agent Thompson?”

“Call me Bagger,” Thompson said. “And I don’t know what the hell I believe anymore, comes to shit like that. I didn’t believe it was possible to have a homicide here at the Naval Academy, either, Mr. Hall.”

Jim seized the opening. “It’s Jim. And I heard that rumor, via Chief Bustamente. They really have something solid that indicates this kid was murdered?” He used the word they to keep his focus ambiguous.

“Solid?” Bagger said, putting down his pen and closing his notebook. “Forensics have some indications. Indications of restraint. Of course, these marks could have been made under different circumstances. You see what I’m sayin’?”

Jim nodded. “Maybe some kind of sexual fun and games that involved the kid wearing panties.”