Panic

On the ground lay the remains of two young women, both of whom had probably been pretty attractive before some sicko decided to mess with their faces. One girl’s nose had been caved in and her eyes were bulging from their sockets, and the other girl’s head was at a fu

“Looks like we’ve got two killers, Sarge,” one of the duty officers addressed her. He was young and puffed up, trying to prove himself. Mary eyed his badge number.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, this guy’s been shot and the others weren’t. Two killers.”

“Or just the one guy who likes to strangle women.”

Mary had seen it before. Some crazies liked to see the life drain out of their victims, liked to dispatch them using their own two hands. They got some kind of sick sexual kick out of it. As for the stiff with the bullet wound, Mary guessed he just wasn’t the killer’s type.

“Just the one set of boot prints,” she continued, “no car, no bullet casings. There was just one guy, and he was a pro.”

“Buy why would anyone want to kill someone coming out of a club?”

“You find any ID on these guys?”

The officer nodded, “Wallets and purses weren’t taken, so it was easy enough to check. Fi

“They wouldn’t. Whoever killed these people was after something else.”

“How do you know?”

“Like you said, these guys are nobodies,” said Mary, glancing down at the bodies. “You don’t see pros like this taking out nobodies on the street. He was after either something they had, or someone they were with. It doesn’t look like anything was stolen, so I’d bet on the latter.”

“What do you want me to do, Sarge?”

“Tape this place up. When forensics get here, get them searching for any hair or fibers that don’t match our other vics and have them call me straight away. Let’s find out what’s missing from this picture.”

The rookie dashed off and left Mary staring at the scene in front of her. This was all she needed, more unexplained deaths. The captain was already riding her ass over a string of high-profile cases the FBI was investigating. Apparently they expected the police to do their damn jobs for them. Unfortunately for Mary, that meant she had to deliver a suspect with at least enough evidence to guarantee a court hearing. If she didn’t find one soon, the captain, the commissioner, and even the Mayor would be baying for blood, and she knew where they’d be looking.

Mary swore under her breath and patted down her jacket pockets, looking for her cigarettes. Then she remembered she had quit last week and swore again. It was hard enough to give up smoking without having to deal with this mess. Coffee just wasn’t cutting it. Mary bit her tongue in frustration and stalked back to her car, a mid-nineties sedan that was more inconspicuous than a squad car but lacked a decent heater. She turned the car around in the narrow alley and set off in the direction of the precinct, a full night of paperwork ahead of her.

Chapter 4

Leopold saw the blade arc through the air toward his head a moment too late. The blunted edge struck him hard against the padded armor that protected his skull, but he still felt the blow like a sledgehammer striking a stone wall. Faltering slightly, he steadied himself with his right leg and assumed a more defensive stance.

Leopold tensed as his opponent advanced, sword held high. Jerome was forty-six years old, six feet seven inches tall, and built like a pro wrestler. Despite his build, he carried himself gracefully and effortlessly, even with the bulky armor weighing him down.  Against his black skin, the dark padding made him look even more imposing, like a deadly shadow. Leopold wished Jerome hadn’t insisted on swapping out their usual wooden swords for steel ones.

His sparring partner attacked again, aiming his blows at Leopold’s side this time, and he had to parry with increasing speed to avoid a blow to the ribs, filling the empty gymnasium with the echoing clash of metal on metal. The sound only worsened his wavering focus as his arms began to ache from exhaustion. As Leopold’s parries slowed, his opponent found an opening and struck hard, co

“You’re distracted,” said Jerome through the grille of his headgear.

“I’m just tired. Five a.m. is far too early for a beating.”

“It’s only a beating if you don’t concentrate. I can tell you’re not focused. Tell me what’s going on.”

Jerome lowered his sword. Leopold followed, secretly relieved he would get a few moments to catch his breath. Neither removed his head protection, which was lesson number one in any sport involving deadly weapons.

“I’m trying to figure out the co

“I remember. It took you all of five minutes to figure out what happened. Staged suicides, right?”

“Right. All three deaths made to look like suicides, all three victims state senators. Other than that, I can’t find a co

“So what’s the problem? You’ll figure it out eventually,” said Jerome, raising his sword.

“The FBI has jurisdiction,” – Leopold raised his own weapon – “which means I don’t get to know the facts. They’re playing a media game and trying to keep me off the team. They’ve a

“What’s your point?” Jerome began to advance.

“It means that I can’t get to the bottom of what happened without going through the FBI staff, who so far aren’t returning my calls. There are going to be more deaths unless I can figure out who’s behind this.”

“Your problem, Leopold,” – his opponent circled to cut off Leopold’s retreat – “is you just have no faith in other people.”

“Thanks, Jerome, but you’re my bodyguard, not my shrink.”

“Bodyguard? That’s a hell of way to sum up twenty years of loyal service. I’m not so sure I should be taking it so easy on you.”

Leopold tried to dodge, but he was too slow. Despite years of practice, he could still not hope to compete at the same level as Jerome, who had the added benefit of a lifetime of combat training and expertise.

The giant bodyguard wheeled his blade round with impossible speed and co

Jerome advanced again, whirling the blade through the air faster than Leopold’s eyes could reliably follow. He counted on his instincts and brought his own sword up to parry, successfully avoiding a blow to the shoulder. The bodyguard countered with a strike to the side of the head, which he also managed to block. He sensed Jerome going for the wrists again and instinctively parried, dodging to the right and following up with an attack of his own.