Page 24

Chapter twenty-four

N ikita had spent most of the evening trailing Roy all over the Four-States area.

Who does he think he is?

Nikita asked herself for the tenth time that night. The guy had a very busy social schedule, as Nikita found out. Three different girlfriends, in three different cities. Not a hard thing to do in the area, since four states connected here. The impressive part was how unconcerned he was about hiding his movements.

He met with a witch in Hooks at a local diner. Drove to Texarkana to have coffee with a shifter at a shop in downtown. Then had the nerve to drive to the Arkansas side to have beers with a poor human girl who was still wearing braces. While the area was fairly spread out, it wasn’t that big. This was definitely not New York City. Eventually, all these girls would see each other or someone would make a comment.

Nikita wasn’t sure if the guy was brave or an idiot. Maybe he just had a death wish, and she was about to do him a favor. The idea of messing around with all those women made her sick.

How does he keep them straight? she wondered. Does he work?

Her mind was full of questions, something she rarely did for her targets. On normal occasions, it was all the same. She picked one. If the little pup fell for the cute, innocent act, then it was on. At other times, when the job mixed with her own interests, the process was easier. She eliminated the target given to her. It had been a very long time since she had to tag a mark for this long, but Roy just didn’t stay still alone long enough for anything.

They were back at the club. Nikita didn’t have the time or energy to go back inside. Two nights in a row at the same location would definitely make a statement. Instead, she went around the back and met one of the waitresses. The pay at the place couldn’t have been too great, since a one-hundred-dollar bill got her a new accomplice.

“I really need to talk to him,” Nikita had told the young lady. “I’m pregnant and my parents are going to kill me.”

The last part did the trick. The waitress agreed to hand him the note. Nikita tossed the wig she had been wearing on top of her backpack. If anyone went asking questions, they would be busy looking for a sad, homely brunette with glasses.

“No need to take chances,” she told herself.

Adjusting the sight to the .22 Long Rifle, she made herself comfortable in the bed of the black truck she had climbed in. She had parked her car a few miles from the club. Driving her car was out of the question. Nothing needed to connect her with this incident. She took in the distance one more time. It was at least twenty-five yards from the door. An easy shot for her, especially with the rifle.

Guns were not her favorite method of action. They were too loud and brutal. The way the bodies were torn apart was a waste in her mind. She enjoyed the jobs to be neat. Having loose threads was another one of her pet-peeves, the reason she was stalking Roy at ten at night.

Movement from the door caught her eye, and she looked through the rifle. Roy walked out, but he wasn’t alone. Two of his guards were on his tail.

“ You didn’t take them with you when you were being Romeo all over the city,” Nikita pointed out. “What to do?”

It took her less than three seconds to decide. She opened fire on all three men. Taking advantage of the fact that the .22 rounds were sub-sonic, making them almost impossible to detect, Nikita took out Roy first. Roy stumbled backwards and slammed against the brick wall. The two men next to him did not know what hit him.

They pulled out guns, searching for attackers. Nikita put two rounds in one and three in the other. The third man squeezed his trigger and sprayed several of the vehicles in front of him. Alarms blared and Nikita slid off the truck. Keeping a low profile, she left the scene and crept towards her vehicle.

Late night calls from his informants at the human police department were coming too often for Bob’s taste. None of them were good, especially late-night ones. When the calls involved fatalities, those were even worse. Bob pulled up to the parking lot of Whiskey River. The Texarkana police had to secure the area. Only a few vehicles remained in the lot, besides the first responders.

Many of the local law enforcement were friends with Bob, but that didn’t mean they would have allowed him to enter an active crime scene. It was time to bring back Mr. Smith, Bob’s favorite identity. All it took was one disguise spell from the elves, and Bob was a different person. A shorter man, with thinning black hair and a beer belly.

Bob took a clipboard from the passenger side, a pair of large rim glasses especially made for him, and a small badge from the visor. Mr. Smith, forensics consultant, was ready for duty. He stepped out of his truck and headed toward the crime scene. A male witch, in a Texarkana police uniform, met him at the edge of the police tape.

“Boss, is that you?” asked the witch.

“Don’t I look great?” Bob replied.

“That spell is amazing,” he told him. “Would you mind letting me analyze it in the morning? I think I can manufacture us some more.”

“Absolutely. Stop by my office in the morning. By the way, thank you for getting me in.”

“Having the famous forensic consultant on speed dial makes you very popular around the force,” the witch replied.

The fake identity had been Bartholomew’s idea. Using many of his computer skills, Bartholomew created the perfect cover for Bob. A retired forensics expert from the Dallas Fort Worth area, who would help with the authorities when they needed him.

“Mr. Smith,” a man in his mid-forties approached Bob. “You honestly didn’t have to come out this evening. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

Bob scanned the area. Three bodies lay on stretchers covered in blankets.

“Are you telling me, detective, three dead is a normal thing for this area?”

“That’s not what I meant,” replied the detective quickly. “It’s just a drive by shooting. Gang related.”

“I didn’t know Texarkana had a gang problem,” said Bob, slowly making his way towards the scene of the crime.

“We hadn’t, but with all the new people moving into town, we are seeing many strange things.” The detective moved towards the stretchers. “We were watching this one for a while.” He lifted the blanket from Roy.

“Who is it?” asked Bob, letting his senses examine the corpse without opening his third eye to the supernatural world. Something he learned to avoid in front of humans.

“Shifter.” Bob could confirm. Looking closely at the body, he tapped the side of his glasses and snapped a photo.

“Thank God for Bartholomew and his millions of gadgets.”

“For such a young one, he was busy.” The detective dropped the blanket down. “It seems he was running a trafficking ring with his buddies. We didn’t have enough evidence to make a move, but we were building a case. It seems somebody took matters into their own hands.”

“And those two?” Bob pointed at the two other stretchers.

“We haven’t been able to identify them.” The detective lifted the covers of both corpses, giving Bob time to take pictures of both. “Nobody seems to recognize them.”

“Well, if you don’t need any help, I’ll be on my way,” Bob told him.

“Are you planning to stay around town?” the detective asked, glancing at the scene.

“I could stay for a few days if you need me.” Bob adjusted the glasses to take in the entire scene. “Heading to Hope to visit my sick mother.”

“No big deal, really.”

“What’s bothering you?” Bob held his clipboard tight and waited.

“The scene looks like a drive by shooting,” the detective pointed out. “But we have no tracks, no ammunition cases, no marks.”

Bob spun around the parking lot. “Did you inspect all the vehicles that were here before they left?”

“We questioned everyone that was in the club,” the detective answered. “All the owners of the vehicles were inside when the shooting took place. Why?”

“Maybe the shooter didn’t fire from their own vehicle, but one already here,” Bob said softly. That’s what I would do, he finished the thought to himself.

“Maybe.” The detective examined the empty parking lot for the missed opportunity. “Well, Mr. Smith. Thank you for coming.”

“Anytime, detective.” The two men shook hands, and Bob returned to his truck.

Inside his truck, and sure he could not be overheard, he called Reapers. “Please tell me you got all that.”

“Are you questioning my skills?” Bartholomew replied.

“Me? Never?” Bob fired back and pulled out of the parking lot. “What did you find?”

“I don’t like the idea of a trafficking ring in Texarkana,” Bartholomew replied. “Running a background check on all three corpses. The first photo you sent was of a werewolf that moved to Haven recently. Roy Jackson. The other two were witches, but none registered with us.”

“We need to do something about that,” said Bob.

“On it.” Bartholomew was quickly typing on his end. “Sending a message to all the heads of each supernatural community in Haven. A very nice reminder of the requirements to register, follow the rules, as well as the consequences in place for breaking the law.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Bob tapped his steering wheel.

“You know it’s not.” Bartholomew kept on typing. “Reason I’m inviting them to a mandatory town hall with Constantine. It is time for our fearless leaders to set down the law.”

“They will not like me when I’m mad,” Constantine announced, making Bob shake his head.

“I’m stopping by the Station,” Bob informed them. “Going to give the night watch a heads up of potential problems. See if you find out who those two witches were, and what is really going on. We don’t need any of that in our town.”

“You got it.” Bartholomew disconnected the call.

Bob took off the glasses and placed them back on the visor. From the cup holder, he pulled up a small vial of glowing liquid and drank it. Years earlier, he would have fussed at Isis for drinking strange potions. Now he was chugging them without a problem. How much his life had changed.