Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

Out of the corner of his eye, Payne noticed a vehicle turning into the circular driveway in front of the complex. He blinked once, then shifted his gaze to his left.

‘Shit,’ he mumbled. ‘This can’t be good.’

*

Jones answered. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘A squad car just pulled up to the building.’

He cursed under his breath. ‘How many cops?’

‘Two. Right now they’re sitting in the car.’

‘Let’s hope they stay put for a while.’

‘What’s your status?’ Payne asked.

‘I just picked the lock. I still have to search.’

‘How long do you need?’

‘At least ten minutes. Ashley was a damn pack rat. This place is full of boxes.’

Payne nodded. He was familiar with the type. His grandfather had been the same way. ‘Work as quickly as you can. I’ll keep you posted on their movement.’

‘If they’re here because of Ashley, they’ll probably go to her apartment to look for clues. That should give me all the time I need.’

Payne agreed with his assessment. ‘Wipe your prints before you leave.’

‘No worries,’ Jones said as he adjusted his gloves. ‘Already done.’

38

That is, if the letter was in there at all.

Wearing leather gloves, he opened the first box and looked inside. It was filled with T-shirts, shorts, and an assortment of summer clothes. Apparently she had been forced to make room for her winter wardrobe in her closet upstairs. The second box was crammed

To give himself a little extra room to manoeuvre, Jones hauled both boxes outside the door as Megan watched from the hallway. ‘Any trouble?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Need a hand?’

‘Nope.’

She smiled. ‘Nice talking to you.’

‘Yep,’ Jones said with a grin.

The third box was half the size of the first two. It was made out of thick cardboard and had been placed on top of some larger boxes along the right-hand wall. With a black marker, Ashley had written ‘STUFF’ on the side of the box. It wasn’t the most descriptive noun in the world, but unlike the first two boxes, at least she had taken the time to mark it.

The passenger door of the squad car swung open, and a brawny officer climbed out. Dressed in dark blue pants, a turtleneck sweater, and a long patrol jacket, he adjusted his hat and holster, then slammed the door shut. A few seconds later, he was walking towards the lobby like a sheriff from the Wild West.

For the time being, Payne wasn’t concerned with the young cop’s presence. As long as his partner stayed in the car, he wasn’t going to venture deep into the building. Especially if they had come here for a murder investigation.

Flying solo was simply too risky when a homicide was involved.

Jones opened the box and smiled at what he saw. Sitting on top of several photo albums was a manila envelope with a strange-looking postmark. He couldn’t tell where it had originated — the stamps were exotic, the postmark had been

Still wearing gloves, he turned the envelope over and was surprised to see the flap completely intact. Whoever had opened it — probably Ashley — had done so carefully, possibly steaming it open to prevent any damage. If so, had she known what it contained before she had taken it? Or had she been planning to return the envelope before anyone knew it was missing?

They were all good questions, but Jones didn’t have time to answer them now. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He needed to make sure the letter was inside.

With a delicate touch, he tapped on the bottom of the envelope and emptied its contents on top of a nearby box that he had brushed clean. Two pieces of cardboard, attached with clear tape that had been broken on one side, formed a protective shield around a single sheet of parchment yellowed with age. Although Jones was no expert, the letter appeared to be quite old. At least a century, probably more.

Next, his eyes drifted to the body of the letter. A grin quickly surfaced on his face. He was confident that he was staring at the original. The

Payne knew there was trouble as soon as the meathead cop waved his partner inside. A minute later, they were greeted by an elderly man who had a gigantic set of keys dangling from his hip. The cops handed him a sheet of paper, which he studied intently before he started fiddling with his key ring. Whether he was a janitor or the building’s superintendent, it was pretty obvious that he had been summoned to give the police access to some part of the complex.

The only question was: would they be going up, or down?

Just to be safe, Payne called Jones before the officers had revealed their decision, hoping to give him as much notice as possible. He answered on the second ring.

‘I found the letter,’ Jones announced.

‘I’m glad, because the cops just produced a warrant.’

‘That’s not good. Which way are they heading?’

‘I don’t know yet. They’re standing in the lobby with someone who looks like the Keymaster.’

Jones smiled at the Ghostbusters reference. ‘We

‘Actually,’ Payne said as he watched them from afar, ‘you need to worry now. They’re heading towards the stairs, not the elevator.’

‘Shit!’

Both men realized the police wouldn’t trudge up six flights of stairs to Ashley’s apartment, but they might walk down one flight to her storage unit in the basement.

‘What’s wrong?’ Megan asked from the hallway.

Jones hung up the phone. ‘The cops just showed up. We have to clear out.’

The colour drained from her face. ‘What can I do?’

‘Tuck this under your shirt,’ he said as he handed her the envelope. ‘I’ve gotta move these boxes.’

It didn’t take him long to carry the two boxes inside. Their placement wasn’t important, so he tossed them against the others without rhyme or reason. The only thing that mattered was turning off the light and closing the door before he was spotted in the closet. The moment the lock clicked shut, Jones figured they were in the clear.

At least he thought they were — until he met the meathead.

39

Rocky films.

In recent years, a population shift had occurred in South Philly, one that had been the source of racial tension among some of the locals. A few of the smaller sections — most notably Grays Ferry, Point Breeze, and the areas closest to Center City — were no longer white neighbourhoods. For most people, racial diversity isn’t a problem, but it didn’t sit well with Vinnie and his racist friends. Ultimately, that was one of the main reasons Vinnie had become a cop after a two-year stint in the Marines. In his mind, it was an opportunity to clean up the city he loved.

Wherever Vinnie went, Paul followed — whether he liked it or not.

Because of Payne’s warning, Jones knew the cops were taking the stairs to the basement. Grabbing Megan’s arm, they hustled to the opposite end of the corridor, hoping the elevator would arrive before the cops did. But it wasn’t to be. Vinnie threw the door open with a bang and marched down the corridor like he owned the building. The Keymaster, the elderly complex manager, was directly behind him trying to keep pace, and further back was Paul.

‘Stay calm,’ Jones whispered as he studied the trio out of the corner of his eye. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just waiting for the elevator.’

Vinnie saw the two of them whispering in the distance and was sickened by the sight. A gorgeous woman like her had no business being with a guy like him . In Vinnie’s mind, it went against the laws of nature. In his old neighbourhood, their coupling would’ve resulted in a brutal beat-down that would’ve left blood on the street — something he and his friends had done many times before. It was their way of keeping the mulignans off their turf.