Page 11

Chapter eleven

I t was a quick drive from the Nash industrial park to Ferguson Park at the Four States Fairground. Common sense still prevailed in town, and most humans were home asleep by nine pm. With Red River Army Depot being one of the largest employers in the area, many local businesses provided services to them. That translated to a shift in Texarkana and the surrounding communities, with them adjusting their work schedules to match that of the army depot. Most people now worked Monday through Thursday, starting at six thirty and ending at five.

This left roads and especially public areas deserted at ten pm. A fact Bob did not mind at all. It gave his undercover team of transients a better view of the cities. Even the new supernatural beings that were moving to town quickly adjusted to the schedule. It wasn’t a surprise when Bob pulled up to the park that the only people in sight were a few of his team hovering in corners pretending to be asleep or drunk.

“Nobody has questioned the increase of transients in the area?” Bob asked as he parked the truck.

“What?” Bartholomew asked from the passenger seat.

“Nothing really,” Bob stated. “I guess after years of being homeless, it still bothers me how easily people dismiss us.”

“Not everyone,” Bartholomew said, staring out the window. “Texarkana has a really powerful community of caring people.”

“But?”

“Yeah, there is always a but.” Bartholomew turned to face his older friend. “Nobody ever wants to be reminded that they are only a paycheck away from being there themselves. Times are tough, and many people are struggling.”

Bob smiled at the younger man and his anger slowly vanished. “When did you get so wise?”

“I learned from the best. Aren’t you and Constantine always looking for the good in people? Why change now?”

“You are right.” Bob opened his door and was grateful for his new family. Even more for the people, he could finally help with his new position. “Are you okay?”

Bartholomew hadn’t moved from his seat, staring at the moonless sky.

“I think so.” The sound was too soft for Bob to believe. “How do you ask a girl on a date?”

Bob stopped outside the truck and turned to give the young Reaper, who was squeezing his hands tightly together, his full attention.

“It depends on the girl,” Bob confessed. “Some girls like romance. Others prefer a more direct approach. From the women I have encountered in my life, they all want one thing.”

Bartholomew’s head snapped up and eyes were ready to pop out of his socket as he waited.

“Attention.” Bob rubbed his chin.

“That’s it?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Doesn’t everyone want attention?” Bartholomew crossed his arms over his chest.

“Have I ever told you I was married before?”

Bartholomew’s mouth dropped open, and he could only shake his head.

“It was obviously a very long time ago,” Bob explained quickly. “I was a young E-4 in the Army and met this gorgeous medic. I was smitten, but I was also a dedicated soldier with promotion potential. She understood being a private and hoping to advance herself.”

Bob turned to stare at the sky for a few quiet moments. Bartholomew sat silently, waiting for his friend to go on. Slowly, Bob took a deep breath and rubbed his face with both of his hands.

“We had this horrible saying. If the Army wanted me to have a wife, they would have issued me one,” Bob stated. Bartholomew raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I picked the Army over my marriage. I gave it my all every day. When I got home, I sat on the couch and drank or watched TV.”

“What did your wife do?”

“We fought a lot,” Bob confessed. “Eventually, she found someone that gave her the attention she needed. He probably didn’t take her for granted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bob told him. “I hadn’t thought about that in years, but it taught me a huge lesson. Sometimes it’s easy to get a woman’s attention, but it’s harder to keep it. If you don’t have the time to dedicate to another person, it’s not fair to drag them down with you.”

“Is that way you never married again?”

“One of the reasons,” Bob confessed. “Then my life went to shit, and I had nothing to offer a good woman. I gave up. But this was not about me.”

Bob turned his full focus on the young man, and Bartholomew bit his lip. He was back to squeezing his fingers, turning his knuckles white with the pressure.

“Next time you see her, ask her if she likes coffee or tea,” Bob suggested, and Bartholomew stopped.

“Why?”

“Because then you can tell her you know this great coffee shop in town that makes the best and offer to get her one.” Bob winked and Bartholomew’s million-dollar smile crept up his face. “That way it’s not technically a date and if she says no, nobody feels bad.”

“Bob, you are a genius.”

“I hear that a lot around here. We need to work on your standards.” Bob smiled as he watched the young man dance on the seat. “Now, can we get to work on this dead body?”

“Right.” Bartholomew bounced off his seat. “I almost forgot.”

“I know.” Bob slammed the door of the truck and headed toward the location Death mentioned. Young love makes a man dumb and forgetful. We are not ready for a love-sick Reaper, Bob told himself as they walked.

“What took you two so long?” Shorty asked as Bob and Bart approached the body.

“Traffic,” Bob lied.

“Right,” was the only thing Shorty said back.

“What do we have here?” Bob asked, tilting his head to one side.

Death hadn’t explained the position of the body. Bob knew Death had seen humans die in all sorts of strange positions, so this was probably nothing new. But he wasn’t sure what to think of the situation. It was a young man, arms stretched over his head, tied to a tree. That was not the part that disturbed Bob. The guy was naked.

“Can someone explain how you die with an erection?” Bob finally pointed at the elephant in the room.

Bartholomew’s face was scrunched, and Shorty was busy setting lights for the paramedics.

“Viagra,” Shorty replied.

“What?” asked Bob.

“Hey, I know guys who had been walking around at attention for hours after taking that stuff,” Shorty informed him.

“Death did mention they seemed to have died happy,” Bartholomew reminded them.

“Let’s be honest, this is every guy’s dream death,” Shorty agreed. “Well, minus the entire part of being tied to a tree. Is this some form of strange sex ritual?”

“What are those bruises on the body?” Bob asked.

“They look like hickeys,” said Bartholomew.

“How do you know?” Shorty turned to the younger man.

“Internet, Shorty.”

“Everything is online now.” Shorty shook his head.

“Did you find any clothes?” Bob asked, examining the scene.

“Found shorts and a wallet. Victim’s name is Chance Rodgers.” Shorty pointed to a corner with the items. “And a bottle of whiskey. I’m thinking we should ban whiskey in town.”

“They are really making a killing here,” Bartholomew said with a smirk.

Bob shook his head and bent over the body.

“Seriously, is this some cult sex killing going on?” Shorty stopped next to his light.

“Maybe we have a black widow in town,” Bartholomew added in a more serious tone.

“Like Scarlet Johansson from the movies?” asked Shorty. “That is some hot shit.”

“No,” Bartholomew told him, walking around the body as well. “I was thinking more like the actual spider.”

“Wait, what?” Shorty searched the grounds. “You mean we could have an actual shifter spider running around town? Gross.”

“Please tell me you are kidding?” asked Bartholomew. “It was okay when it was Scarlet doing the killing. But now it’s disgusting when it’s a spider?”

“Bart, my boy, have you seen spiders lately?” Shorty pointed around. “They are terrifying. Some girl shifting to a spider and laying eggs inside you is not a turn-on. Can they lay eggs?”

Shorty and Bartholomew both looked at Bob.

“I’m not in the middle of that conversation,” he told them. “Nor do we have any records of spider-shifters in town. Besides, didn’t you both read the autopsy reports? There was no mention of any eggs in their stomachs.”

“She found some weird substance in their stomach?” Bartholomew pointed.

“Maybe it’s spider venom?” Shorty added.

“Can we leave the spiders alone and get back to business? Where are our paramedics?” Bob searched the area for the crew.

“Here, boss,” Angela’s voice filled the air.

Bob stood and peered over the light to watch the doctor and Triplet-3 running towards them. Angela's normally neat mane was a mess. Strands were escaping her ponytail, and she had mascara smeared on her face.

“Sorry,” Angela told Bob. “Had a minor distraction getting here.”

Triplet-3 made hand signals behind the doctor to avoid people asking. Bob made eye contact with the man and nodded.

“Not a problem, doc,” said Bob. “Do your thing.”

Angela hurried towards the body and started her initial inspection. Bob moved cautiously around and pulled Triplet-3 back.

“What happened?” Bob whispered, with Shorty and Bartholomew leaning in.

“No idea, boss,” Triplet-3 replied. “One moment we were climbing in the ambulance. The next she is having a melt-down, throwing boxes around. She is not handling it well that Pete is in charge.”

“Thanks,” said Bob, and moved out of the way.

“Are you going to talk to her?” Shorty asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” replied Bartholomew. “This is why you are the intern. Good luck with that.” He patted Bob on the back and went around to search the rest of the area.

“Triplet-3, would you mind getting the stretcher for us, and something to cut these ropes?” Angela asked.

“On it, doc,” replied Triplet-3.

“Hey, Shorty,” Bob added. “Why don’t you give him a hand? It’s going to be tricky to get a stretcher back here.”

“Got it,” Shorty replied, saluting Bob, and running after Triplet-3.

He didn’t need an audience for this conversation, and Bob knew while his team was efficient, they were awful at any form of critical conversation. “ How did Isis handle this?”

“Angela, what’s going on?” Bob asked softly, dropping to a crouch across from Angela and next to the body.

“I won’t know until I start my examination how long he has been dead, but by the looks of the erection can’t be that long.”

“Not what I meant, but thanks for that update,” Bob replied and waited.

“What do you mean?” Angela never looked up as she organized her tools from her medical bag.

“The smears on your face.” Bob pointed at the line of mascara running down her cheek.

“I’m fine.”

“You are a terrible liar,” he informed her, but waited quietly.

Angela moved her tools around in circles but never used them on the body. Slowly, she raised her face to look at Bob. Tears threatened to escape, and Bob had to hold himself back from hugging the young witch.

“Pete said I needed to get out of the hospital and head home,” Angela confessed.

Of all the things she could have said, that was not on Bob’s list. He pursed his lips, looking for the right words to clarify what the dilemma was.

“Okay,” he said, cautiously. “What is wrong with that?”

“You are going to fire me.” Angela’s dam of self- control busted, and she cried.

“Now I’m really confused,” Bob told her. “Why would I fire you?”

“How can I be your . . .?” Sobs made her stop. “The Chief medical examiner and doctor . . . and I can’t even keep an apartment.”

“Keep an apartment? What are you talking about?”

“When that lying asshole left me, he took all my money,” she wailed. “The apartment was under his name, and he broke the lease. They evicted me.”

“Did we stop paying you?” Bob wasn’t sure what was going on.

“I had put aside funds to support myself for a year, because most of my check is going to pay the assisted living facility for my mother in New England.” Angela covered her face and cried. “I was living in the morgue for the past month.”

“Angela.” Bob finally walked over and hugged her.

“I know, I’m a failure.” She allowed him to hug her, and the tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

“For the love of God, well my God, your goddess,” Bob mumbled, consoling the woman. “You are not a failure, but you should have told me. We have an entire dorm on the East Wing of the Station.”

“But men share those rooms,” she said, in between large sobs.

“What?” Bob pulled her aside to see her face. “You haven’t seen our living quarters?”

“Isn’t that where you sent me to sleep?”

“Oh, child.” Bob brushed the hair from her face. “You were staying in the bunk area where the people on duty stay while at work. We have private rooms with their own bathrooms further down for those who don’t want to live in the community. We are also building an entire living complex underneath the hospital.”

“Really?” Angela forced herself to stop crying.

“The morgue is no place to rest,” Bob reminded her. “You need a proper bed and a place you can call home. Shorty can issue you one of those suites. Where do you think Shorty lives?”

“Shorty lives at the Station?”

“So do the Triplets.” Bob smiled and Angela cried again. “What’s wrong?”

“It has been really hard these past few months,” she confessed.

“Angela, we weren’t kidding when we said we’ve all been homeless.” Bob faced her seriously. “My crew is not playing a new role every time they go out on the streets. Transitioning for many has been hard. If anyone knows what you are feeling, it’s this crew. We would never judge. We can’t.”

“I have been so embarrassed to say anything.”

“That I understand better than most.” Bob patted her arms. “But you are not alone, and we are here to help.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That you won’t be sleeping in the morgue’s freezers again.” Bob raised them both up and held her firm by the shoulders. “Take the body back and forward me the report in the morning. As soon as you are done, get Shorty to transition you into a real permanent suite. Got it?”

“Yes, boss.” Angela launched herself at Bob and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bob said, but smiled down at her. “You will probably need Bartholomew to soundproof your room. That group snores like wild beasts.”

Angela wiped her face with her sleeves and went back to work. Bob traced his steps back to his truck, where the three men were waiting for him.

“Is she going to be okay?” Shorty asked, leaning against the ambulance.

“Angela is joining the Station’s residence. Can you set her up with a suite?” Bob asked.

“Really?” Shorty asked. “The doc is moving in? Yes! She makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world.”

“The way to your heart is definitely through your stomach,” Bob told his old friend.

“That’s it?” Triplet-3 asked.

“Do you remember the first time you were homeless?” Bob asked him.

“The first, the third, and the last time,” Triplet-3 admitted. “And here I thought she had her life put together and was judging us.”

“Now, who is being judgmental?” Shorty added.

“She has been through a lot, see if she needs help to move her stuff,” Bob told him.

“Of course, boss,” replied Triplet-3, dragging the gurney by himself.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Bob asked Shorty.

“I’m on it,” he replied. “But is she going to be okay?”

“I hope so,” said Bob honestly. “We can fix sleeping conditions. Problems of the heart might be outside my scope of work.”

“You are good, my man,” Shorty told him and ran behind Triplet-3.

“You were really quiet over there,” Bob said to Bartholomew.

“We are running out of room in the permanent wing,” Bartholomew informed him.

“I know.” Bob rubbed his face. “How is that contract with the dwarfs?”

“On hold.” Bartholomew leaned against the ambulance next to Bob. “Their plans covered the distance of a football field, with lofts and almost fifty-foot ceilings. It’s literally an apartment complex they will build underground. We need to decide where they would expand.”

“Fine,” said Bob. “Let’s talk to the cities. We have enough money to purchase the land underneath the train tracks from them.”

“What are we going to tell them?”

“We are buying the rights to ensure nobody builds anything underneath those locations.” Bob pulled out his phone. “It’s free money for all of them and security for us.”

“I’ll get with Constantine to get those contracts developed and get the dwarfs back on the project.”

“If anyone can make a contract for us, it’s Constantine.”

Bartholomew smiled. “He didn’t get wealthy by accident. Anything else you need me to do?”

“Find out who that kid was?” Bob pointed toward the dead boy. “This is not a good sign of all these bodies popping up all at once.”

“I’m on it,” said Bartholomew. “I will run his ID and see what comes up on our database. See you at Reapers.”

Bartholomew vanished back to Nash. Divide and conquer was probably their best bet. Whoever was doing this was at least two steps ahead of them. Halloween was three days away and Bob needed to ensure Haven was secure. The last thing they needed was a serial killer loose in town with a bunch of tourists.