Authors: Chris Stevenson
Bulmer grunted. “I think I remember something about a Typhoid Mary, but this sounds ten times worse.”
“Yeah,” said Sebastian. “Mary was called a ‘healthy carrier.’ Over time, the Emmaus die from the demands of the disease, but not before birthing a new line.”
“Jesus,” Bulmer swore. “What do they look like? All the same?”
“They’re not pretty, showing all kinds of boils, sores, and rashes. You don’t even want to get within a few yards of one without protection. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some protective suits on your officers. At least the ones who are assigned to the task force.”
“I’ll get right on that.” The detective paused the recorder after a knock sounded at the door. He answered it, receiving a slip of paper from a clerk. He took a seat at the table, then read the document. After he turned the recorder back on he said, “This is a lab report about the autopsy findings on the first officer fatality. The diagnosis for cause of death states that it was a contagious unknown pathogen, which caused a cardiopulmonary arrest. From what you’ve told me, it looks like your story pans out. Would you have a best guess of where we might find this—”
“Harry,” said Avy. “He calls himself Harry. Like in ‘Typhoid Harry.’ Sick joke.”
“He’s also been called the Wax Man,” said Sebastian. “But rumor says he doesn’t like the name.”
“Neither do I,” said Bulmer. “‘Operation Harry’ looks better on a task force report. Now, is there anything else you can tell me about him? Where can we contact the person that supplied you with this information to begin with?”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “My source moved out of the area. We’ve lost touch. It was years ago. I don’t think you could find him now. I’m afraid I don’t have any additional information.”
Avy clenched her fist so hard her knuckles crackled. She knew that Sebastian’s Wax Man informant had been Janus. She slapped the tabletop. “That’s all you have? Great gods in heaven, thanks for letting Chubby and me in on this little tidbit. Don’t ever offer to alert me in case of a national disaster. You know, like a hurricane, flood, earthquake or an asteroid?”
Sebastian shoved his palms hard against his temples. “I didn’t know what I was dealing with. Stop being sarcastic.”
Detective Bulmer held his hands out. “Please. Misdirected anger doesn’t solve anything. I’d like you to write down a small map of this warehouse, the place where you think you encountered the pet of this Harry.”
“I know that filthy opossum belonged to him,” said Chubby. “I put so much lead into him you could use him for a boat anchor.”
Bulmer frowned. “What did I tell you about discharging weapons?”
Chubby’s mouth moved, but no words came out. He’d tripped himself up.
Sebastian got busy sketching out a map. When he finished it, he handed to the detective.
Bulmer looked at the rendering. “We’ll check this whole area out. Now, it looks like we might be able to provide you with some relocation. At least somewhere off the beaten path where we can station a couple of units to provide security. It won’t be the Ritz. You’ll have to stay indoors. When we apprehend the suspect we’ll cut you loose. Not a minute before though. Are you in agreement with that?”
Avy nodded. She didn’t want any trouble and would follow his orders by the book. Out of the three, she thought she’d be the one most willing to follow the guidelines. Her male companions were having trouble controlling their tempers.
“Fine then. Oh, there’s one more thing. I want your firearms turned over to our custody for safekeeping. This minute. Check them at the sergeant’s desk. He’ll book them into our property room.”
Sebastian cringed. Chubby just hunched his shoulders.
Bulmer turned the recorder off. “Okay, just a short session with a sketch artist, then we’ll roll.”
Chapter 21
The safe house sat on the west side of Raleigh on a quiet lane. Cracker box size in dimensions, it was an old, one-story clapboard with most of its better days behind it. Bulmer said it had been acquired in a drug seizure, but it served as a good safe house since an additional unit could be stationed in the back alley. A chain link fence separated the alley from the large backyard, providing an unencumbered view of the rear. A swing gate allowed swift access in case the officers had to storm the property. A unit would be stationed out in front to monitor the front and sides of the house. A high cinderblock wall topped with barbed wire separated the safe house from residences on either side. All windows were equipped with wrought iron security bars. The doors were steel-reinforced.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, Avy listened to the instructions of the officer who would be stationed across the street. Chubby and Sebastian seemed indifferent to the spiel, which irritated her to no end.
“I’ll be right here,” said the officer. “I'll check in with headquarters every thirty minutes. I also have a direct line to the phone inside. You can call if you need anything. In the event that the phone becomes inoperable, flash the porch light several times to get our attention. We’ll have some breakfast for you in the morning. Try to get some sleep. We’ll see you in a few hours.”
“If you don’t mind,” Sebastian grumbled, “it’s almost morning now. We haven’t had any sleep. Bring dinner. We’ll be up then. Please keep an eye on the Suzuki behind your unit. It’s packed with some expensive gear.”
“Dinner it is then. The car will be safe.”
Avy watched the plainclothes officer walk across the street, then enter his unmarked vehicle. She noted that the female officer sitting next to him hadn’t donned her mask or put gloves on, which went against the direct orders that Bulmer had given them at the station.
With the key provided them, clothes bags in hand, they entered the house. Avy walked across the wooden living room floor, causing it to give an annoying creak. She investigated the kitchen and bathrooms, finding both moderately clean. She went back into the living room and found both men standing just inside the front door. They had moved mere inches. Each eyed their surroundings with what she guessed to be uneasiness.
“It’s not going to get any better,” said Avy. “It’s all we have right now.”
The men tossed their small carryall packs on the couch.
Sebastian collapsed in a flower-print easy chair. “They could have at least given us a large guard dog. I feel like I’m shackled now. I’ve always had to depend on myself. Now I have to trust somebody else.”
“I don’t feel comfortable without my piece,” Chubby remarked. “I’m a better shot than I am a boxer or wrestler.”
Sebastian unzipped a side pocket on his pack. He pulled out a double-barreled silver derringer. He brought an eye over the tiny sights. “I had this tucked away just in case. It’s chambered for twenty-five. That’s enough to do some damage. But I just have two rounds. I forgot to pick up extras.”
“Good for you.” Chubby perked up. “Now I don’t feel so helpless.”
Men and their guns, thought Avy. She supposed they were necessary. It gave her a twinge of comfort knowing that Sebastian had hidden one away. She still believed the police would serve the best protective role. Weren’t they the professionals? Didn’t they have every gadget and tactic known to man designed to handle every emergency? Why the big fuss?
The only thing to do was forget about it. She dialed up the wall thermostat, trying to raise some heat. After a combination thump-hiss, the floor heater started to kick up some stale, warm air. There, that would help ease things a bit. Although it would take more than that to chase the chill out of her bones.
Inspecting the bedrooms, she noticed the beds had linen in all three. After choosing the smallest room, she flopped down on the double bed, staring up at the motionless ceiling fan. She didn’t expect Sebastian to join her soon, or at all for that matter. Right now, he was acting like a fussy baby who refused to be picked up—a tiny mind on the verge of a tantrum. She wouldn’t refuse his embrace, but she felt certain he would ignore her hugs. It would be the first time she would sleep without him in her arms. Even though they hadn’t been together very long, the thought of their disassociation gave her a heartfelt pain.
The stress of the last week had all come to a head. She succumbed to complete exhaustion. There was no easing or drifting off into sleep. She passed out.
###
She awoke to the shake of her foot. Sleepy-eyed, she caught sight of Sebastian’s back just as he left the small bedroom. She threw her legs over the bed, then looked at the unruffled pillow beside hers. Her boyfriend hadn't slept in the room. He had either stayed in another bedroom or slept on the living room couch. It hurt to be shunned. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease a throbbing headache.
She went to the kitchen for a drink of water. She found a bottle of aspirin on the counter. It seemed she was not the only one suffering from a headache. Looking through the window, she noticed it was dark. She glanced at her watch. It was eight in the evening, a very long time for her to have slept. She washed down three tablets, then entered the living room.
Chubby had his feet up in a recliner, wearing a smile. “Hi, Avy. Did you sleep okay?”
She glanced at Sebastian, who sat on the couch watching the TV at low volume. “Pretty good, I guess, considering everything. I think that once you get a whiff of the Wax Man he stays in you like some poison.”
Chubby nodded. “Yeah, we were both sick. I blew chunks like a baby. Dinner will be here in a minute. Sausage pizza with garlic bread.”
Wonderful, she thought. Nightmare food. She wouldn’t fit into an assistant’s costume anytime in the near future if she kept eating high calorie takeout food. She sat down on the extreme end of the couch, looking at the program that had captured Sebastian’s attention. It was a live breaking newscast. An artist’s sketch took up the upper left-hand corner of the screen. The reporter droned on about the recent officer fatalities along with the search in progress. The sketched figure looked like some troll out of one of Grimm’s fairy tales. Of course it was their fault since it had been their eyewitness description that made the rendering possible.
The doorbell rang. Avy answered it, and accepted two pizza boxes from a young uniformed officer. He picked up three drink containers from the porch stoop, then followed her to the kitchen. He asked if there would be anything else. Avy said, “No. Thanks for your trouble.”
While the young officer was leaving, he said over his shoulder, “It’s just a matter of time before we get him.”
Avy had to reheat the food. When she finished, she brought it into the living room, wearing oven mitts. They spread the pizzas on the small coffee table, and ate silently as they listened to the news. She would have liked another channel, anything to get away from the subject matter, but the TV set was an old black-and-white model with rabbit ears. She assumed that the other local channels would be running the same news report. From what the reporter said, Raleigh had never experienced anything like this before. She noticed nothing was said about the circumstances surrounding the deaths of the officers—no mention of a lethal pathogen. The reporter advised that residents should report the whereabouts of the wanted suspect without approaching him.
“That’s going to raise some eyebrows,” said Sebastian “Nobody is going to be afraid of that character. If anything, it’s going to draw a bunch of vigilantes out looking for him.”
“Morbid curiosity,” Avy said, disgusted.
They watched the television reports late into the night, their bellies full of sausage pizza and diet Coke. Avy followed the news of the hunt, taking note that Chubby had fallen asleep in his chair. Sebastian followed ten minutes later, his nasal snores settling into an annoying rhythm. Having slept most of the day, she still had some nervous energy. She changed the channel, finding one that had a late night sitcom. Watching the slapstick antics of the actors allowed a tiny smile to crack her face. It had been such a long time since she’d smiled.
###
The officer had just washed down a doughnut with a sip of coffee. He had removed his mask to eat and carry on a conversation with his female partner. He looked to his left, checking the front part of the house again, just like he had done dozens of times before. A dingy forty-watt bulb illuminated the small porch.
“All clear,” he muttered to his partner. “Nothing suspicious to report. Again.”
“Tough shift,” she said. “I could think of a thousand assignments I’d rather be on right now other than getting all bleary-eyed on a boring stakeout.”
“There’s nothing to see out there.”
“Tell me about it. I’m sitting here eating maple bars at a thousand calories a pop. I can feel my butt growing by the minute.”
“Wanna fool around?”
“That’s all we need right now. Getting collared for fraternization. Bulmer would bust us down to horse patrol, then have us mucking out stalls.”
“Chances are we won't get caught. At least massage the back of my neck.”
She reached over, plied her fingers against the base of his neck, and began to knead the muscles.
The male officer groaned, glanced in his rearview mirror. He saw a human form in the distance. A streetlight twenty yards away back-lit the silhouette of a uniformed officer heading in their direction on foot. He blinked. “We’ve got a uniform approaching from behind. Hey. Don’t take your hand away. Chances are it’s a rookie—what’s he going to do? Tattle?”
“Then hide the donuts,” she said in a husky voice. She smoothed her hand over his shoulder.
The male officer gave her a playful moan, turned the key to the “on” position, then rolled down his driver’s window. “I’ll get rid of him.” He could see the lower half of the officer getting closer in his side mirror. He turned his head in anticipation and looked up. The uniformed officer stood there for a while, his upper half obscured past the roof line. A powerful stench entered the car. The male cop made a face. “Jesus Christ, rookie.”
The mystery cop ducked down to look through the window, showing a broken-toothed grin.