In Plain Sight

Alex could feel the blood draining from his face as the implications of that statement took hold of his mind.

“This is terrifying,” Iggy said. His pipe had gone out, but he continued to puff at it anyway. “Man shouldn’t have this kind of power. I wish I didn’t know about it.”

“I’m glad you do,” Alex said after a long silence.

“What do you mean, boy?” Iggy said, aghast. Alex shrugged.

“Someone has to pay for Father Harry,” he said. “Someone has to pay for all the people at the mission.” He reached into his coat and pulled his Colt 1911 from its holster, placing it on the table. “I don’t know how to kill a virus,” he said. “But I know how to kill a man.”

8 The Ultimatum

Alex spent most of the night replenishing his rune book, taking apart the hinges that kept it together and replacing the torn out pages with new ones. Work was still the best way he knew to burn through anger, and he was angry. Somewhere in New York lurked the person responsible for the death of Father Harrison Arthur Clementine. The thought made his fingers itch. As soon as the sun was up, he would start chasing down the identity of Charles Beaumont, possible thief. He had no magic to aid him this time, so he’d have to do it the old fashioned way, but someone out there knew something about Beaumont. Sooner or later Alex would find him.

His anger kept him working until well after two in the morning. He hadn’t had anything to drink during his long night, so when a pounding in his head woke him less than six hours later, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Finally the sound resolved itself into a pounding on the door.

“Wha’sit?” Alex managed as he rolled out of bed onto the floor.

“Are you alive in there?” Iggy’s voice came through the door.

Alex didn’t reply, dragging himself to his feet instead and shuffling to the door.

“All right,” he said, releasing the bolt and pulling the door open. Outside in the hall, Iggy stood dressed in a very British tweed suit with a book under one arm. “What is it?” Alex demanded.

“Cops are here for you,” Iggy said, nodding toward the stairs. “They’re not very polite, so I left them waiting in the vestibule.” His mustache turned up into a grin.

The brownstone’s vestibule was a space between the front door and the house proper where visitors could remove their hats and coats in inclement weather. It had a tiled floor with a mosaic of Manhattan Island on the floor. A glass door set into a glass wall were all that separated the vestibule from the house proper, but the runes on the glass made it virtually unbreakable. If Iggy had locked the door before coming up, then no one but he or Alex could unlock it again.

“What do they want?” Alex asked, vigorously rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“For you to come with them to police headquarters,” Iggy said. “They’re most insistent. Should I keep them waiting?”

Alex rubbed his face and felt his unshaven scruff. “No,” he said. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”

Iggy shrugged and headed back downstairs at a leisurely pace. Alex grinned at that. He suspected Iggy had been a private detective himself at some point; he certainly had the skills down pat. He also possessed a healthy dislike of run-of-the-mill uniformed policemen.

There wasn’t time to shower or shave, so Alex ran a comb through his hair and put on a clean shirt. His shoulder holster hung over the back of his overstuffed chair, but he passed it by. The police seemed upset about something and he had no desire to antagonize them. He did want access to the weapon, so once he was fully dressed, he opened his vault and left it inside.

There were three policemen waiting in the vestibule for Alex. Two were uniformed officers, while the other was a detective Alex didn’t know. The uniforms were a mismatched pair, one tall and lanky, the other built like a fireplug. The detective was middle-aged and paunchy with a permanent sneer on his face. All of them seemed sullen and angry. Alex stifled a grin. They’d wanted to roust him out of bed personally and yell at him to hurry up dressing before hauling him off to the station. It was a common enough intimidation tactic, though Alex had no idea why they’d want to use it on him.

“Hello boys,” Alex said, unlocking the vestibule and opening the door. “What’s the good news?”

One of the uniforms reached out to grab him, but jerked his hand back with a curse when it crossed the threshold of the door. Alex grinned openly this time. He stepped into the vestibule and shut the door behind him. This time the officers each grabbed one of his arms.

“Think you’re cute?” the detective sneered.

“My mother always thought so,” Alex said. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but he wasn’t going to let this little puke of a detective think he was in charge. At six foot one, Alex was taller than all of them.

“Well your mother ain’t here,” the detective said. “Captain Rooney wants a word with you down at Central.”