Authors: Michele Martinez
Melanie came equal with the back of the machine and rounded it. She gasped as she saw the staring eyes and the slick purple blood oozing down the front of Terrozzi’s light blue dress shirt. All around her, people shouted and laughed and argued, not even aware that a man sat here with his life snuffed out, a man she’d known. Pete Terrozzi had been knifed to death mere inches from them and they hadn’t even noticed, let alone helped. Had Welch killed him to avoid arrest? But why? Riveted by the horrific sight of Terrozzi’s dead body, Melanie was having trouble thinking clearly. What could this mean? Was Welch the Butcher after all?
She needed to get help. Melanie turned around, looking for signs, but nothing was marked. She couldn’t tell where the exits were, or which direction she’d come from. She turned back toward Terrozzi, and then she saw him.
Edward Harvey was a big man, and he stood out in the crowd. He was heading for her slowly, taking his time, a sadistic smile spreading across his moon face. He was holding something up. He was showing her something, displaying it to her. It was a small black gym bag. He unzipped it, reached inside. Was he going to shoot her? Her gun, her gun, she made herself reach for her gun. But her eyes were riveted on that gym bag. As she watched in mute horror, he pulled something out, and it wasn’t a weapon. Melanie opened her mouth to scream, but she was too stunned to make a sound. Harvey held up a man’s foot
and the lower part of a leg. Bloody. The shoe still on. With a black contraption around the ankle. Welch’s GPS tracking bracelet, still attached to his ankle, which was no longer attached to Welch’s body. Harvey had Welch’s foot. And he was laughing.
Benedict Welch, Cory Nash, whatever his name was—he’d never been here at all. This whole thing was a trap, and they’d walked right into it.
M
elanie didn’t know where the exit was, so she just turned in the opposite direction and ran, pulling out her gun as she went. The entrance to the laser tag room was ten feet away, marked by a flashing sign. A bunch of prep school kids milled around the doorway, laughing and pummeling one another as they strapped on big Day-Glo-orange vests with blinking red lights on them. She blitzed right past them. Inside, the room was pitch dark, suffused with the eerie purple glow of a black light. It felt like a black hole in outer space. All around her, she saw the outlines of bodies moving stealthily, carrying big laser guns. There must have been ten or fifteen people in the room, but she couldn’t see their faces.
She lowered her gun. It would be unsafe to fire in here. She’d be sure of nothing except hitting the wrong person, a kid probably. Nearby, somebody was breathing heavily through his mouth. Next to him, Melanie heard muffled giggles. The room was purposely filled with objects ideal for hiding behind—half walls and pylons and strangely shaped plastic constructs, most taller than her head, all glowing in eerie colors. Right beside her, a burst of red laser suddenly spurted from somebody’s gun, and Melanie screamed.
“Awesome! I killed Porter,” somebody shouted.
“Who screamed?”
“You did, you pansy.”
Melanie retreated behind a big pylon and peeked out, her breath
coming hard and fast. In the blackness, all she saw were the vests. When they got hit with a laser, their digital displays lit up red and showed the score. But the players’ heads and arms, the color of their hair or clothing, and everything else about them faded to a weird empty black. Melanie realized that Harvey would not be wearing a vest. Why would he? He wasn’t here to play. If his clothes were dark, he’d fade into nothingness, become completely invisible. In the heat of the chase, she’d run in here, and now he had her cornered. She needed to get by him, get out, go to the front desk, call the police. Have them surround the place and turn on all the lights.
Melanie steeled herself and stepped out from behind her pylon. She could see the door across the room, lit up and glowing. She headed for it, moving carefully, trying to reach out with her senses and feel where the people were. She was making good progress. She was feeling confident that she’d get there. It was so dark in here. If she couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t be able to see her, either.
But wait—the night-vision goggles. Dan had said they weren’t in the apartment.
The next second, somebody tall and broad stepped out in front of her, and she stopped short.
“You’re smaller than I thought. I like that,” a voice said. A man’s voice, low, guttural, slow, and cruel, with the remnant of an Oklahoma twang. Then he laughed. “Lotta good your little friend did you. Fucking twerp. Who’d you think you were dealing with? You underestimated me, you bitch. I’m gonna do you right in here. By the time they find you, I’ll be halfway to Canada.”
Melanie backed away, opening her mouth to scream, but she wasn’t fast enough. He punched her hard in the stomach.
No mercy, he has no mercy,
she thought, flying backward through the air.
Mercy is for the weak; who said that?
She heard her own cry as if from far away. Then she was flat on her back on the carpet, no air in her lungs. She struggled to a sitting position, tasting something foul in her mouth,
her insides feeling like they’d been split open. Her gun had been knocked from her hands. She felt around on the floor and found it. The air above her went black as he bent over her. She saw a purple glint of neon on metal. He had a knife in his hand. Melanie pulled the trigger. He grunted in pain and stumbled backward.
“You shot me!” he said, in disbelief.
He might be able to talk, and she thought he was still standing, but she could tell by the movement of the dark shape above her that she’d hit him bad enough to stagger him.
“What was that? Did you hear that?” a boy’s voice said.
Some of the kids in the room had heard the shot. Their movements became panicky. Melanie could feel the air moving as they circulated all around her. She was losing her nerve. How could she fire again in this crowded place? She was a mother. She couldn’t risk hurting somebody’s child.
“Call the police!” she shouted. “There’s a man in here with a
real
gun.”
She leaped to her feet, and on the way up she felt a whoosh of air and saw the shine of a metal-toed boot as it came sailing toward her head. Her hands flew out instinctively to deflect the blow, but something hit her from behind instead. Something heavy and soft with flailing limbs. A boy, a teenager, had been running and had tripped over her. They both went down hard. She struggled to get out from under him. A scream reverberated in the darkness, but it wasn’t her own. Whoever he was, he’d taken the kick instead.
“Aagh! I think my leg’s broken!” the boy cried out.
“Chris? Where are you?”
“Make them stop the game!”
In the darkness and amid the cries of pain, Melanie could tell Harvey was on his feet and preparing for his next attack. She made out his arm as it raised up in a perfect arc. She saw the glint of a long, curving blade. In an instant, it would plunge, aiming for her
but perhaps striking the boy on top of her instead. In a savage burst of strength, Melanie shoved the moaning kid in one direction with all her might and threw her body in the other. They rolled apart just as the knife came down.
“Aaagh!” Harvey shouted as he thrust downward.
Momentum took him, and he catapulted to the ground. From his grunts, she could tell he was in pain. Where had her bullet hit him? Why didn’t he just die? Melanie got to her knees and aimed her gun, finger on the trigger. But from right beside Harvey, she heard the teen crying in fear. It was just too dark. If she fired, she could end up killing an innocent boy instead.
“Stay down! I’ve got a gun on you!” she yelled.
She could sense, but not see, Harvey moving.
“Stay
down,
I said.”
In the darkness, he laughed, and the sound came from directly behind her. She whirled around. Where was he? How had he moved without her knowing?
“You can’t see me, but I can see you,” he whispered, so close she could almost feel his breath.
Melanie squeezed the trigger, and the gun kicked in her hand. Suddenly the room’s emergency lights flashed on. She looked up to see a man wearing night-vision goggles brandishing a knife in one hand and clutching his stomach with the other. He must’ve thought she wouldn’t fire, but she’d hit him good this time. She couldn’t believe he was still standing. She got ready to fire again. But the next second, the side of his head exploded, spattering blood over her, as the sound of a single, far more powerful gunshot rang out, and Edward Allen Harvey collapsed to the floor.
M
elanie spent the next couple
of days curled up in bed, not sleeping, haunted by the memory of Pete Terrozzi’s vacant stare and Edward Harvey’s hot blood spraying over her. Dan came by, but she wasn’t ready to see him. Not today. He sent a message through Melanie’s mother that Edward Allen Harvey was dead, shot by the police Dan had called in for her. That news brought Melanie great relief. He’d’ve gotten a life sentence, but even then, Melanie would have spent the rest of her days worrying that he’d escape somehow and come after her again. This way, she could be certain Harvey would never harm anyone. Cory Nash, aka Benedict Welch, had been found stabbed to death in his apartment, his right foot severed above the ankle. Melanie would carry around forever the horrific image of Harvey coming for her with the foot in his hand.
Charlie Shepard left Melanie a tearful voice mail thanking her for getting the man who’d killed his mother. Melanie believed that justice had been served, but it would be an overstatement to say she was happy about it. Seeing even a bloodthirsty killer die before your eyes was a terrible thing.
Dan brought her beautiful flowers, which her mother put in a vase beside her bed.
“You should give that boy another chance,” Carol said. “I can see in his eyes that he loves you.”
On Friday, Melanie got dressed and dragged herself to work. Peter Terrozzi’s funeral was scheduled for late that afternoon, and she intended to be there. She’d stop by the office first and go through her in-box.
Melanie was considering the idea of resigning and getting a normal job. Apparently, others had anticipated this possibility. Fifteen minutes after she arrived, Mark Sonschein and Susan Charlton marched into her office.
“At least you didn’t bring coffee,” Melanie joked weakly, gesturing at the four cups sitting on her desk, already provided by concerned colleagues. She loved that about this office. Starbucks was the standard gift in moments of crisis, a latte left with no attribution and no thanks expected. She did have one note with a name signed to it, one that made her particularly happy. A card from Joe Williams, apologizing for blaming her for his father’s political downfall, and asking if they could have lunch to set things straight.
“You’ll want all that caffeine when you see what we brought,” Susan said, smiling, her cheeks pink with the glow of good health.
Mark placed a thick black three-ring binder on the desk in front of her.
“What’s this?” Melanie asked.
“Your supervisor’s manual,” he said. “I hope you read fast. In case you didn’t know, you’ve been acting deputy chief of Major Crimes for three days now.”
Melanie laughed, which made her ribs hurt where Harvey had punched her. “Oh, my! I hope I didn’t authorize anything I shouldn’t have.”
“Nope, only good arrests and reasonable plea bargains,” Mark
said. “And keep up the hard work, because I see a bright future ahead of you.”
“Thanks, guys. Really, I’m honored. This is something I’ve always wanted. But it comes at a terrible time. I’m not sure I’m up for it, after everything that happened.”
“See, what did I tell you?” Mark said to Susan with mock indignation. “The girl won’t give up the glory. I spend my days stuck in endless meetings on the Clyde Williams leak, and she gets to go out and play cops and robbers. But when I ask her to share the burden of a desk job, she refuses.”
“Mel goes for the gusto,” Susan said.
“So be honest,” Mark said in a more serious tone. “Have you drafted your resignation letter yet?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“I can’t say I blame you. From everything I heard, you went through some awful stuff on Monday. And Susan tells me you’ve had a stressful year on a personal level, too.”
“The big D,” Melanie said.
“Divorce. That’s huge. I must say, you have an admirable work ethic in light of it all,” Mark said.
“Thanks.”
“If anybody should stay in the fight, it’s you,” Mark said. “You’re the whole package. You have the brains, you have the guts, you have the charisma in court. Do you know how few people in this office I can say that about? Susan, maybe. But not myself, certainly, and not many others. We live in dangerous times. We need talented people like you in this job.”
“That was a beautiful speech, Sonschein,” Susan said. “My favorite part was where you admit you don’t have the right stuff.”
“He’s modest,” Melanie said with a smile.
“I’m a bulldog in court, but I’m not likable,” Mark said.
“
I
certainly don’t like you,” Susan said, her eyes merry.
“But, Vargas, seriously, what would do if you left the office?” Mark asked. “Criminal defense? I don’t see it. You’re no turncoat.”
“Never. Corporate, maybe,” Melanie said.
“Corporate work,” Susan said, making a face. “Ugh, shoot me. Books and papers. No cops. No bad guys. You never see the inside of a courtroom. My idea of a good document is a scrap of paper in a guy’s pocket that says
Flaco, fifty kilos.
No accountants’ records for me. No thank you.”
In her heart of hearts, Melanie felt exactly the same way. Even after what had happened, maybe especially after, she loved her job with a passion. A passion so powerful she’d hardly ever felt it for a person. Maya, yes…And Dan. The job was intensely difficult, but deep down, she’d rather have her life be interesting than easy.
“The job really takes it toll,” she said aloud.