Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

Bryan nodded to the building beyond the brick wall. “We put Erickson in there. Alder said Marie’s Children might come for him, so we’re here to protect him if we can.”

“I have a full SWAT in and on that building,” she said. “They have Erickson’s floor on lockdown. Marie’s Children are hard to find, sure, but it’s a different battle if they have to come to us.”

She stared at him. Bryan stared back. She seemed to be sizing him up. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever power game she wanted to play.

“Look,” he said, “we were just trying to do the right thing.”

The hardness around her eyes faded. Now she was the one to turn away. “I know that feeling. This time, maybe we’ll fix the damage you caused before the really bad shit starts.” She met his eyes again. “At least now you guys understand what has to be done.”

“Yes and no,” Pookie said. “You can’t keep this a secret forever. People need to know what’s going on. The victims’ families deserve to know what happened to their loved ones.”

“Their loved ones died ,” Zou said. “Knowing what killed them won’t bring them back. What do you want, Chang? Do you want to tell the world that San Francisco has a killer cult, or that it has real-live monsters?”

“Both,” Pookie said. “People need to know that there’s something out there that can kill them.”

“No, they don’t need to know. When a killer shows up, Erickson puts it down.”

Pookie threw up his hands. “Are you insane? If you don’t make this public, more people could die.”

“People die every day,” Zou said. “That’s life in the big city. We’re talking two, maybe three murders a year on average.”

“On average ? Those are human beings!”

“In San Francisco proper, eight hundred people a year get hit by cars,” she said. “Twenty of those accidents end in death, give or take, and then you have life-changing injuries, but do we take out the roads and make everyone walk because traffic is dangerous ?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pookie said. “You can’t compare shit like that.”

“Really? Well, can I compare apples to apples? Or should I say, murders to murders? We had fifty murders in San Francisco last year, forty-five the year before that and ninety-four three years ago. Most of those killings were gang related. So we know gangs kill far more people than Marie’s Children, yet we don’t get rid of the gangs.”

Her logic was faulty, fractured. Bryan couldn’t understand her reasoning. “Chief, we’re talking about serial killers. Monsters . We’re talking about the public’s right to know. The public knows about traffic deaths and people stay. Fine. Same for the gang activity. Fine with that, too. They don’t know about Marie’s Children.”

She shook her head as if Bryan and Pookie just couldn’t understand the obvious. “Sure, we tell the public,” she said. “And that makes property values plummet.”

Property values? Why would she say that? What did a cop care about property values? What wasn’t she telling them?

Bryan heard Chief Zou’s cell phone buzz. She pulled it out of her pocket and read.

She looked up at Bryan. “I’ve got to take care of something. Don’t go anywhere. We’ll talk about this later.”

Pookie raised his hand like a schoolkid in class. “Uh, Chief? Does this mean we have our jobs back? Maybe with a couple of accoutrements known as a badge and a gun ?”

She looked at Pookie, but this time without her trademark cold stare. Then she looked at Bryan. She sighed and shook her head as if she’d already made a decision she knew she’d regret. She looked up at the darkening sky.

“I’ll get you back on the rolls tomorrow,” she said. “For now, I’ll let the watch sergeant know you can enter the hospital. And move your cars into the parking lot; we’ve got space allotted for police vehicles. You don’t have to sit out on the street all night.”

She turned and walked away, the phone clutched tightly in her right hand.

Bryan let out a sigh of relief. He had his job back, but more important, so did the friend who seemed willing to stand by his side no matter what.

And Chief Zou … that ridiculous logic of hers. Property values? He’d talk to her about that later. For the moment, however, he was a cop again, and his primary duty was to protect Jebediah Erickson from any harm.

Phone Home

THE HUBS: HONEY, NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU. URGENT. GET SOMEWHERE PRIVATE.

Amy Zou walked through the hospital parking lot toward her car. Jack never sent texts like that. Had his father finally passed away? Had something happened to the twins?

She reached her car and got in. She shut the door, took a deep breath, then dialed her husband’s cell phone.

It picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t her husband who answered.

“Hello, Missus Zou.”

A boy. It sounded like a teenager, or someone just about to enter his teen years.

“Who is this?”

“I want to meet you,” the boy said. “I’ve already met your family.”

Amy closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. A knot of fear blossomed in her belly. Amy knew what it was to be afraid for herself — being afraid for her children was infinitely worse. This might be nothing; maybe Jack lost his phone and some kid thought this was funny. She had to stay calm.

“What’s your name?”

“Rex.”

That feeling in her belly swelled into her chest, her throat. “Rex … Deprovdechuk?”

“You already know me,” he said. “How nice.”

Rex , the boy who had strangled his own mother to death with a belt. The boy who was somehow mixed up with Marie’s Children, somehow connected with the deaths of Oscar Woody, Jay Parlar and Bobby Pigeon.

The boy her entire police force hadn’t been able to find.

“Rex, listen to me. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to turn yourself in.”

“I’m at your house,” he said. “My family came to visit your family. You have a very nice house, Missus Zou.”

He was at her house? Oh, God, what was going on? Amy had to keep control of this, make the boy understand he was in deep shit.

“That’s Chief Zou,” Amy said. “As in chief of police .”

“Yes, ma’am. Why else would I want to talk to you?”

“Good,” she said. “Then maybe you know how much power I have, and what I’m capable of if you do anything to my family.”

Rex laughed. “Come home right now, Missus Zou. Don’t call for backup. I have people watching your neighborhood. We see cop cars, even those unmarked ones, and your family is in a lot of trouble.”

Amy’s eyes squeezed shut. She forced them to open. “Let me talk to my husband.”

“Sure,” Rex said. “Hold on one sec.”

Amy waited, her heart hammering in her chest, every inch of her body crawling and churning. How could this have happened? How?

“Baby,” Jack said.

“ Jack! The girls—”

“We’re all okay,” he said. “But … they’ll hurt the twins if you don’t do what they say. Oh my God, Amy, these things … they’re not human.”

Images of the shark-mouthed man flashed through Amy’s thoughts. She felt tears streaming down her face.

The boy spoke again. “Twenty minutes, Missus Zou. Then we start slicing.”

“If you hurt—”

A click from the other end cut off her threats.

She set the phone in the passenger seat. She jammed the keys in the ignition, started the car and shot out of her parking spot.

Chillin’ Like a Villain