“You ever feel like you’re being pushed on to do something, not by people but by... something larger, something outside you?”
The thin-fingered man kept his voice calm, responded
“I think we all feel like that at some point or another, especially in this kind of weather”
“Yeah, yeah, I’d heard that, but I’ve just never felt it”
Without looking up to remind himself about the truth in it the thin-fingered man said
“You’re young, still very young”
“Guess that doesn’t stop coming at you until you’re the oldest, huh?”
The ruse had worked, gotten him off the subject, out of the fully unproductive rut that a prolonged readiness could get you into. This was nasty business, vengeful and tricky and most likely expected. And he wouldn’t be alone, there were two of them and there would most likely be two opponents to deal with.
“Can’t shake it, Pete, just can’t”
“You can and will, Dan, religion and such are all well and good but not for us, not for us right now”
“So, you’re telling me that you’ve gone through twenty-eight years doing this and it hasn’t done anything to your spirituality?”
“I’m not telling you anything of the sort, detective, merely that the time for prayers has passed and the time for lamentations is still ahead, peace in the valley and all that”
Silence.
Broken by small-talk, the feigned calm before the faked storm. Daniel.
“I actually saw a flyer for a new religion posted downtown, The Children of the End or some such thing, had quotes from their Genesis on it, y’know ‘in the beginning’, strangest thing, lemmesee, I think I can still remember it...”
Peter weighed the situation in an instant, the way he should, the way others had trained him and the way he himself had created. The small-talk would dry out at best - leaving a silence that would play on Daniel’s nerves all the more - and distract the pair from the seriousness of their duties at worst. No, deeper conversation for a short time would be best, would addle Daniel, focus him, Peter interrupted.
“In the beginning was the End. This is the way with all things and thus was it also with the First Movement... “
Daniel was wide-eyed, drawing conclusions much too quickly, attempted logic and tried
“You saw it too?” with the slightest hint of disbelief.
“It’s not a new religion, you know, they just have a new leader”
“O, kay”
The question hung unanswered, Peter would have to deal with the label of cult-member for a few more moments he knew, and they were a cult, The Children, they were secretive and strange and anti-social. No thing may begin before another has ended; the people walking the streets with placards announcing the end as being nigh were nutty amateurs in comparison.
The younger detective had suffered enough at his own good manners.
“I was raised with them”
Five words causing worried disbelief to turn with surprising haste to concerned interest and then, finally to pure hunger for knowledge.
“I never knew”
“Why should you, we haven’t worked together for that long. Apart from that, I haven’t told anyone else either”
Again too obvious to read, revered silence came over Daniel, feeling secure now that more information would surely come, his late-twenties eyes gleaming with the intensity of a six-year-old on Christmas morning. But where to start? The prayers? The readings? The sacrifices? Probably not the sacrifices.
“The rest of that prayer, we said it every morning, all I remember feeling was that every word spoken brought us closer to breakfast”
A rather understanding suppressed chuckle-snort escaped the younger man, a perfect reaction and one which pleased Peter, a slight underestimation had apparently taken place. And now Daniel was waiting for it, Peter pretended to take some time in remembering, started
“As the ripples from that First End moved out and solidified, a motion was left unsupervised. This is the motion We” Peter took pains to bring out the capitalization of the word “have come to call home, We the supporters of The Renegade Messiah of whom it is said ‘and he will be of you and among you but yet unreachable through ripple-faults’, thus must we always search, aimlessly to the eye not yet ready to accept The End”
There was more to the passage, but not the one they had recited in the morning. And, he realized, the words still made him hungry.
Now, which question would be asked first? It would say a lot about the young...
“Renegade messiah? How does that work?”
Promising, very promising.
“Well, they believe that some dashing young prince on a stunning white horse, metaphorically speaking of course, will come to their aid when it is the most dire and pull them from their
religious quagmire”
“Them and everyone else”
“Yeah, but, like everyone else, I know, I know, they have a twist... it’s a pretty good one though”
“The ‘renegade’ part?”
“Yup. When Jesus was born there were angels and wise men, Mohammed had a one-on-one with Gabriel; every hero is born under fanfare and with purpose. Not so the renegade”
“So, it could be anyone? You wouldn’t know?”
“Didn’t you hear the prayer, ‘aimlessly to the eye’ and so on”
The older man looked the younger straight in the eye, smiled slyly but without menace and added
“You unbeliever”
The words more mocking of themselves than common mockery usually allowed. A blunt instrument to assure the colleague that there was nothing left of the faith except for the memorized trivia and understanding for their rituals. It sank home. Daniel knew how to listen.
Knew how to preserve his ability to remain friends with the more experienced - and therefore, to his mind, obviously more correct - detective. Any tokens of beratement of religion in general and The Children of the End in particular would be more than well received.
Silence returned to the space around the two, but it was a silence filled with heavy and worthy thoughts, thoughts that did more than just take away attention and focus from the task at hand, they also helped to clear the mind of the clutter that years upon years had taught Peter to fear.
“But...” Daniel tried “...how can someone unknowing of their role as savior ever lead? And what if the person refuses?” The younger man was fishing for a dark side to the system, there was one, Peter knew it well, but it was not in that respect, it was not that avenue that ended in a dark alley. There would be a quote to explain it, probably from the book of Ripples, that one was always so depressing. The quote came as a response both to the questions asked and the ones behind them.
“Lead by a renegade we cannot but fail and fail We must”
“Hmmm, more prayers?”
“Scriptures actually, we had a big book with several chapters. We were instructed not to ever, not under any circumstance, call it that book our ‘bible’. Bible was a swearword for me growing up, not the actual thing, just the denomination. These chapters were actually pretty diverse”
Peter fell back into reminiscent silence just long enough for Daniel to ask
“When was it written?”
“They say long ago, scholars say recently. Then again, scholars do use the word ‘recently’ about everything, from the Trojan War to the Big Bang”
“The first movement”
“You were listening! Good, where was I, the chapters, yes. There were not that many, let’s see, there was ‘Ripples’ and ‘The preachers and the prayers’ and ‘Songs and Cries’, ah, and ‘Things to end’”
The pages of the non-bible were right between Peters slender fingers as he talked, he could feel the expensive paper, remember the quotes and the stories, the parables, the mock-ancient feeling. Reverence, but reverence mainly for the fact that some poor soul had at one time or another actually spent real hours and minutes cooking it all up. Like sunsets. No, like governments. Like them.
“Look” and his voice was like that of a teacher “it’s a religion dealing mainly with ending things, any things, all things, not out of malice but to start something new, that’s the party line”
“Well, there’s a feeling of truth to it, I could follow that line of thinking”
Still thinks himself superior, not to me but to everyone, demeaning work isn’t really demeaning if one is allowed to carry a firearm and dispense state-sanctioned justice. If placed in the right kind of position every human would do what was expected of him or her.
“A religion that carries not the slightest truth in it quickly ceases to exist. So quickly, in fact, that no footprint is left behind in history”
“Alright, platitude withdrawn, you grumpy old man”
There was compassion and respect in the taunt and an acceptance of personal fault.
That was not overlooked.
“Now now, no need to start the name-calling just yet, the evening is still young”
It was. The rain had started coming down before noon and had turned the rest of the day into a wet muck, no one hour distinguishable from the other, until the sun had set, somewhere behind it’s shield of clouds, somewhere out of sight but not out of influence. The street was dark now, but with a promise of even darker hours to come. They could read that promise, did not consider for a second that perhaps this was an ability to cherish, that others perhaps ventured forth into the overcast twilight believing it to be true night. There would be no movement for them for some time, hours could follow hours and they would have to remain still and in suspense. And ready. Prepared. The promise of darker hours was a bittersweet one to the waiting men. A silence, comfortable in it’s necessity, but with a bit too much presence to be completely relaxing, settled in the back of the parked van. At first there were the sounds of the outside world, muffled by insulation, then they disappeared, along with the steady sound of air being sucked into and pumped out of lungs, the raindrops hitting the outside wall and the creaks and whimpers of fabric expanding and contracting on metal. All sounds became lost in the beyond-hushed waiting. Between them, however, the two men had years of training and experience, decades, the tension levels, high as they were, were still far from being intolerable. Every man had his own story of tense waiting, some in bushes, some hanging from trees or hiding in the backs of cars being driven by notorious criminals to despicable hideouts. The stakeout was no place to feel pressured or stressed, the stakeout was where every beat walker longed to be, dry, safe and with a set assignment. No casual violence, no civilian uprising. Just four walls, a window and a two-way. All anyone could ever need, like soup cooked on a stone. A cup of coffee was nice, a second person there to allow for sleep was preferred, the different kinds of noiseless snacks and pastries were perks that came with the job, just as airline pilots got extra-strong martinis or astronauts got freeze-dried ice-cream.
“I guess nothing comes from nothing, huh?”
“That’s the general idea”
The conversation continued as though the silence between the two men had never been.
“Well, apart from that First Movement”
“More politics I think. You have to remember that quite a few experts would deem me a tainted witness, but I feel pretty sure that the whole aspect of the First Movement, to explain creation, was added to get some of the Abrahams”
“The Abrahams?”
Peter had dropped into the language of his youth without even noticing it. Disconcerting, more focus was needed, this was no study group. Any second the call could come and their actions would follow. Any second.
“That’s what we called any Christian, Jew or Muslim. The children of Abraham”
“Oh, I get it. Hmmm. So many sub-languages”
“What’s that?”
The younger man had almost made his last words spoken a comment to himself, but the signs were there to read, he wished to turn the conversation not only to another topic but to one of his choosing.
“Well, I mean, I was listening to two beats communicating over their radios and I realized that, while they were using, you know, English to do it they were actually speaking a different language”
It seemed an appropriate path, Peter followed.
“You mean like with the numerical codes? The ‘one Adam twelve’ stuff?”
“Yeah, but it’s more. Every profession seems to have its own language. With different idioms and everything”
Idioms? The young man had too much time on his hands. Peter slipped in a small barb, knowing that it would be registered only as a request for Daniel to keep speaking.
“You’re not married are you?”
He let it slide, moving to his conclusion.
“There’s no way, just no way at all that any one person could learn all the dialects, all the little languages, not in one lifetime”
It was clear that while he had made a discovery that showed him that the world was larger than life yet Peter could see that the mere fact that he had discovered this was keeping Daniel’s self-esteem high, not at an intolerable level, but moving that way, albeit slowly. A slight deflation was needed.
“Yeah, and those are just the lower categories of English”
“Huh?”
“Think about it, there are so many other languages out there and it’s pretty certain that by far the most of them have at least as many sub-languages as English. Some probably more”
A slight digestive pause did not give the younger detective anything proper to respond so in the interest of simply acknowledging that he had heard and understood he widened his eyes and said
“Oh...”
“Look, there’s practically nothing, no belief, no language, no product without different types, variations on the theme. It boggles the mind. I was out buying suitcases the other day, I don’t know if you know but there are so many different things one has to decide, so many possibilities”
“I guess that’s what makes it all worthwhile”
He was a quick one; there was no way around that.
“Hmmm, I guess so”
A moment, maybe two.
“Why were you looking at suitcases?”
That was one way to go, not too shabby a one either.
“My time is up my friend, there’s not too many days left in my calendar”
“Jeez, I wish you wouldn’t put it like that, just because you’re gone doesn’t mean you’re dead”
“How insightful of you. You knew what I meant”
“’Course I did, but don’t jinx it, not now”
“Pfh, you’ve seen too many bad action movies”
He had, actually, probably. It wasn’t like that, no assassin jumped from your ‘good luck’ cake, no old lady widower, not usually. Odds for someone leaving where the same as those for someone staying, pure fact. Peter had to spend the entirety of the time it took Daniel to deflate the situation.
“I hope you’re right, man, ‘cause I sure as Hell am not going on any kind of one-man rampage against any kind of oily-muscled drug overlords”
Silent laughter. Daniel resumed his previous questioning.
“So where are you gonna go now that you’re getting rid of us”
“I’ll admit it does clear up some free time, not going to lie to you. Loretta and I are going south”
“Ah, how far?”
“Just crossing the border”
“Hope you’re not going to try and smuggle anything”
The younger man was still upbeat after his vengeance comment.
“Heh, not to worry, if I do then no one will find out”
“You been planning the trip long?”
“Not too long, no. Loretta got one of her sudden urges”
“I think you’ll have a nice time. You remember Sue? We took a trip ‘cross last summer”
“Yeah, you spoke of that”
Trickled out.
It dawned on the pair, simultaneously, that they were discussing the future in far too certain terms. That was the great unknown out there. On the other side of those van doors lay the real world, the now world, the task at hand. An unknown stretching out between them and whatever future they dreamt about.
“It’ll be soon”
The older of the two could feel it as well. Something had tightened out there, something was moving at their expense. There would be release.
“Once more, let’s go over it”
They did not need another recap, not for any technical or physical reasons, but the mental reasons were obvious. This was less of a job, Peter reminded himself, and more of a mood. And this would set it as certain as the casket at a funeral. An edge of near-mechanical detachment entered Peters voice as he went through the logistics surrounding them, the man-hours spent on preparing for the few – hopefully few – moments of frantic action.
There was no going back, there never was, history didn’t move that way, no returning to armchairs, jobs incomplete. The recap hammered it in.
There was a main character, the ‘real’ target, he could not be allowed to escape. Then there was the other party, most likely a nobody, someone hired for a single job, unaware of who was paying him. Most likely just happy to be at the receiving end of a paycheck. Logic said bum or other destitute existence. Probably not armed, but these days, who knew? Minimal danger and with a projected minimal amount of information. It would be bad publicity to let it get away but definitely not the primary target. No sticking ones neck out to get this one.
Primary was a John Doe, known to have killed at least five people, two of these officers on duty. Undoubtedly there would be a lot more they didn’t know about, a lot more people dead at the hands of the Primary.
It appeared to be his job. Some professionals would do three, maybe four jobs and then retire, putting their money on the stock market or just living small, careful lives, staying off the radar. That way everyone was usually happy. Someone had died and those who wished to grieve this could do so while conjuring up images of some unholy beast as the murderer of their loved one, meanwhile officials would be excused for not spending too much time investigating. But this guy. He was good, no denying that. It had taken a small army of profilers about a month to draw up even the preliminaries and even then it was a freak accident that proved that their theories might be true – for years it was believed that no single operative would take on that much work. Actually, it had taken two accidents and more than a few people acting above and beyond. DNA. Once under fingernails, twice as hairs left behind. No previous file and only three definite crime scenes to place him at, one of those was a doosy though. Leaving the scene – an alleyway somewhere abandoned – the Primary had been approached by two officers who had heard the telltale sound of a silenced pistol. One of them managed to get his nails to the Primary’s skin before he joined his colleague. Hair to hair. Hair to fingernail scraping.
Yeah, he was a cop killer and that was bad enough in and of itself, but the sheer scope of his operations usually took up most of the conversations about him. It was thought that there was some kind of Black Hand guiding him, some agency. The boys and girls in Organized Crime denied that any kind of ‘killer for hire’ agency of that magnitude could stay unobserved for so long.
Peter, however, could not help thinking about the words of Sherlock Holmes, when all the impossible ideas have been removed whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth.
Occam’s razor at war with Doyle.
Easiest explanation was that the Primary was a one-man show, renowned through word of mouth in the right circles, receiving contracts at cocktail parties from coast to shining coast.
Musing had made Peter miss half the recap.
“…upon you entering the hotel we will regroup and swiftly proceed to the designated room, assuming that the intel was correct and apprehend the Primary using all means necessary and hopefully preventing him from completing whatever task he may have been given”
All Means Necessary, the Primary wouldn’t be walking away from this one.
Maybe not from anything ever.
“Should trouble arise with the Secondary to such an extent that we are unable to pursue the Primary we will contact the three-oh-sixteen’s asap and request aerial backup, hopefully we’ll be able to give them at the very least a possible search area”.
That was something of a weak contingency and everyone knew it, the Primary seemed able to walk right by you without even being noticed, he would most likely be able to avoid a helicopter, no matter how well flown or equipped.
“Upon apprehension we will code in a nine-eight-seven and await the arrival of backup from the nearby fourth precinct, their eta from time of code receival is set at two minutes and thirty-five seconds”
Men and women storming in from seemingly nowhere, the Primary would love crowds – one could slip away in them, one could use them to block pursuing officers or other unwanted elements – but Peter felt certain that this was one crowd that would dismay the Primary no end.
He had to admit that thinking about any displeasure that the Primary might experience made him strangely content. It was a dangerous thing and the main reason that cop killers were always treated so roughly, so swiftly, it didn’t do to have consummate professionals running around feeling wounded or less than safe. If one sows the storm he reaps the whirlwind.
“Good, good, you’ve got it. Heck, even I’ve got it now”
Outside, the rain picked up, hammering the sides of the van.
“Seems like someone wants us to stay in here”
“Don’t start that again, Dan”
“Alright, alright, I was just kidding”
“Well, it’s not funny, you don’t think I feel the same way?”
“Everything will be better once we’ve done this”
“It should”
“It will”
Over the door of the van a small red lamp started flashing rapidly. Neither man seemed to notice at first. Seemed.
“You feel like someone’s pushing you on, Dan? See that? That’s what’s pushing you”
“Way to take the mystery out of my paranoia”
Pulling at belts, putting on jackets, checking ammo, heavy breaths.
A wave to hide in, a wave to ride on and a wave to break against the coast.
Just a wave to break against the coast.
“Ready, Dan?”
“Born ready”
“Never mind what you were born to do, just do what you were trained to do. And ordered to, the second you see him you buzz me”
“I know”
Heavy breaths, hands on the door. Levity.
“Hey, you look like a beat cop decked out like that”
“The better to trick someone into underestimating me”
The blinking stopped. Without another word Daniel jumped from the van, closing the door so quickly behind him that Peter for a moment wondered if it had even been opened.
Alone. Preferable. Old rule of thumb, deep thought over conversation.
