Purpose (13 page)

Griffin is near. I can feel him too. Reading someone’s mind gives me a certain affinity. Don’t know why, it just does. Perhaps I need to start looking into the “why” of things a bit more. Accepting without inquiry is so much easier, but suddenly it’s become a distraction.

The dead boy lived five blocks away. His mistake was wearing something that closely resembled 18th Street colors. Ignorance is not bliss. In this case, it was tragic.

The building is in full party mode. My skin prickles at their callous attitude. They think they’re heroes, street soldiers called to war and worthy of praise. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Even at my darkest, I never reveled in the death of my victims. It was just my purpose. To them it’s a way of life.

If Ryan knew what I was about to do, he’d go crazy with worry. Once he understands my powers better, he’ll worry less. Until then, I keep such things from him.

First, I need to get my target away from the others. Then I need him to talk about what he did. The last part only matters if the police are around to hear it. Not a problem. In fact, a live demonstration of my skills might bring the good detective around.

The laugher and congratulation is starting to grate on me. Another new sensation. I don’t like new things, especially now when I’m “working.”

The roar of laughter is my signal. I want this over. Time to let them know I’m here. Three steps toward the building, I see someone in gang colors tearing up the block. He’s one of them, and he’s in a hurry.

The party dies down immediately, so I wait. Someone says the word “police” in Spanish, and people start to bolt. Irony stretches my face into a smirk. I can do so much more than the police, and yet they track me.

Two SUVs, unmarked but clearly known by all, stop in front of the building. Five plainclothes officers jump out. No doubt they have others waiting in the rear for the rats to abandon ship. I change plans, taking the cut to the back of the building.

Chaos rules the rear of 1111 Lamont. The intel was wrong. There weren’t ten gang members. It’s more like thirty. Not only can’t they corral all of them, I feel fear from the five officers stationed to catch the fleeing roaches.

Guns out, it’s either shoot or let most of them escape. Hidden as I am, I see a couple whose thoughts are on neither escape nor getting captured. No one sees them. With all the activity, how can they?

In the same instant I expand my baton, I see my prey. He’s young, maybe sixteen. A knot of his “friends” surround him, trying to whisk him away. Unable to get to them, the officers have no choice but to let them go.

I feel the pull of the innocent demanding I intercede. Once I would have blindly followed, but today I pause. There is something else I need to do: save someone.

Bringing the thin metal rod down, I shatter the first gunman’s arm. His gun, a Sturm-Ruger .40 caliber, goes off, losing its round onto the pavement. Too fast for others to follow, I see the bullet ricochet up, missing everyone.

The report gets everyone’s attention. That and the gangbanger‘s piercing scream of agony as he clutches his ruined arm. Scanning desperately for the attacker, the second one still has his gun out. Without his wingman and with the element of surprise gone, the ambush has failed. From hunter to prey in two seconds.

People duck. Others run as officers train their weapons on the remaining gunman. I should force the police to shoot, but I don’t. His heart is beating so fast, it’s a wonder no one else can hear it. Who or what took out Eduardo?

Oblivious to the police and their shouts to put down the weapon, he is two heartbeats away from death. I got lucky with the first one. No one was hit. This time, there is going to be a shootout. Still hidden, I smash my fist into the teen’s face. He’s out before he hits the ground.

The “jump outs“ come rushing out the back, taking tactical positions. One is calling for all available units. Boxed in the corner with the would-be shooters, I leap up and grab the windowsill ten feet above me. Swinging my legs, I push myself over the heads of the three officers coming toward me. Two others stand watch over their prisoners.

Despite the pull of the innocent, I feel satisfied.
It
feels content for the barest of moments before
It
acknowledges the dead boy’s call. There is no desperate need in me to chase the killer. A pull, an interest, but nothing like the near-painful urges of the past.

As I follow, I’m angry and confused. Angry I let them get away, confused that it doesn’t bother the Purpose. Prey shouldn’t get away. In the past if it did, the force of the compulsion multiplied. Cheated out of vengeance, the soul of the innocent became agitated and caused me pain. Not so tonight.

By the time I catch up, the group with my target are walking, quickly, but walking. The repeated glances over the shoulders become less frequent the farther away we get. When they turn right on Columbia Road, I know where they are heading and get out my phone.

“Detective Griffin.” I speak as soon as he picks up. “I have information for you.”

“I’m listening.” Hearing a second person breathe, I assume Agent Barrington is there too.

“I’m sure you’re monitoring the radio traffic. The killer was at 1111 Lamont when the gang unit raided the building.”

“Was?”

“He got away. I would have stopped him, but I noticed two gunmen about to fire on your officers.” How much of what happened was known to the detective? “It took me a moment to subdue them.”

“I wondered if you had a hand in that.” Listening carefully, I hear enough in his voice to know he is not bluffing.

“The killer escaped in a group that pushed their way past the arrest team. I’m following them now.” I wait. He’s going to ask me where I am.

“Where are you now?”

I can’t stifle my laugh. “You’re so predictable. I’m going to solve your case for you. Wrap it up with a big red bow. Since I know you’re on scene at 1111 Lamont, bring a unit and another detective, someone who speaks Spanish, and meet me at the north end of Meridian Hill Park. I’ll make sure the group is there.”

“Then what?” There is a noise in the background, and I can hear the detective moving his body quickly. “How will I even know it’s you?”

“Stay hidden when you see the group. I’ll bring the killer to where you’re concealed. I expect you’ll hear some interesting admissions. Enough to make an arrest. Make sure to record them. His clothes have all the evidence you’ll need after that to convict.”

My tone tells him I am about to go. Before I can, his frantic voice calls me back. “Wait. How soon will you be there?”

“When I get there, Detective. I suggest you get there first and find a good spot to stay out of sight.”

This time I don’t wait to hang up. His dual role, befriending me and helping the FBI, is more annoying than I expected. Once I get what I want from him tonight, maybe there should be no more calls.

Individuals break off from the group, so I “suggest” to the rest they all want to go to the park. It’s their hangout, so it isn’t hard for me to convince them.

Twice, I’m tempted just to carry out vengeance and go home. Then I can stop this charade with Detective Griffin and move on to other, more nettlesome issues. Then I remember how much happier Ryan was when he learned I didn’t kill anyone last time and decide to stick to my plan.

The killer and friends turn left on 15th Street. Griffin is already in position. I should just read his mind, find out what Barrington looks like, and take care of the killer. Everything else is unnecessary.

Unnecessary maybe, but this way I can test the Purpose and its new temperament. If getting the killer arrested will slake
Its
thirst, I need to know. Since it won’t speak to me, this is the only way to find out—test
It
.

With the park in sight, I move closer. The best way to affect my needs is to find someone the killer will confide in. Someone he’d expect to ask for details. Slipping into his mind, I’m not surprised by his simple thoughts. Prodding, I find the gang member whose arm I smashed, Eduardo Flores, was one of the local leaders. Easy enough.

I make a quick left and start to run. I turn right and parallel their route, until I get to Euclid Street. Touching my box, I am Eduardo Flores. Running, I get to 15th Street and see my “friends” approach. Panting hard, I join them.

They call out my name, but I focus on the killer. “Yo, Yester.”

His face is a mix of fear and pride. Yester did what needed to be done and expected to be praised for it. The others let him make his way toward me. Now to get him where I need him.

We follow the others into the park where they “decide” to move farther away to give us space. Yester doesn’t care; he’s alone with “Eduardo.” That gives him some standing, at least in his mind.

The detective and the others are barely hidden. If I didn’t keep Yester’s mind from registering their presence, this entire plan would fall apart. Remembering to speak in Spanish, I make the case for the police.

“What happened?” Yester knows why “I’m” asking.

“We caught that kid who was repping 18th Street alone. I took the knife Silvio gave me and stabbed him.”

Time to focus this. I want to go home. “Where did you cut him?”

“Chest and stomach, just like you told me.” He’s proud, looking for approval.

I nod, getting a hint of a smile. “Just once?”

“No, at least three times.” He hesitates, then adds, “I heard he died.”

“So you killed him?” Might as well make this airtight.

“Yeah, I did. Just like you told me.”

I scan his clothes. Blood, the dead boy’s blood, is all over his sleeves. I can smell the knife in his waist area. Almost too easy.

“You can come out now, Detective.” My voice will not be on the recording I know they are making.

I hear Griffin give the command, and the park is flooded with plainclothes officers. They are not all local police. Most are ICE or FBI. Barrington expects to catch me. Too bad.

Watching the confused man I now know is Agent Barrington search frantically for me, I gauge
It
’s reaction. Calm, sated, content. Something to sort out tomorrow.

Yester is led away, searching for Eduardo. I let him see “me,” and as Eduardo I wave. “Have a nice life in prison.”

Perhaps he will turn on his “friend.” Maybe not. But either way, Eduardo is finished too. He told the killer to act. I’ll feel no remorse if he’s killed by his own, nor will I avenge his death.

Someone died tonight, an innocent, a boy mistaken for someone he was not. His killer has been caught, and his soul is at peace.

G
AR
sat on a picnic table watching ICE agents along with DC police round up and arrest Yester and his friends. He also watched Barrington. The man could cuss when mad.

“How could he get away?” An angry scowl greeted each officer as Agent Barrington slid his gaze from one to the next. “He was standing inches away when he called us out. How did we miss him?”

The urge to say, “Tell ’em, Grif,” nearly broke his resolve to stay silent. Sarcastic humor? It no longer surprised him how he was reverting to the Will of old.

“Sir.” An ICE agent broke the silence. “Who are you talking about? The only person within a dozen feet of you was the kid we arrested. There was no one else.”

“I told you.” Griffin’s voice was barely audible. “Clearly, you didn’t believe me.”

Barrington glared at the detective. Turning to the others, he waved his hand toward the rest of the park. “Go search for signs of someone else.”

Leaving the obvious unasked—what did “someone else” look like—the man pointed toward groups of agents, giving each of them an area to cover. Once they were gone, Barrington turned to Griffin.

“Now what?”

Griffin laughed. “Now you want my advice? I told you he wouldn’t let you see him.”

“So you did. What’s your point?” He started tapping on his phone, ignoring the detective’s glare. “Fitz, it’s Adam. Can you send K9 to Meridian Hill Park, north end?”

Shaking his head, Griffin turned away. “You do realize he’s watching and listening, right?”

“Good, that means we’ll find him when the dogs get here.”

Gar stood up and walked closer. “No, you won’t.”

Both men jumped, scanning the area. Though he stood three feet away, he kept himself concealed.

“Like I said.” Griffin’s voice was laced with reproach.

“Show yourself!”

The man’s arrogance was annoying. “Why should I?”

“I want to talk to you.” Barrington twisted, appearing more agitated by the moment. His right hand stayed on his weapon.

“We’re talking now.” In their minds, his voice came from all directions. “You don’t need to see me to talk.”

“What are you hiding?”

Laughing, Gar realized this would get tiring soon. “Everything and nothing. Agent, I am the Spirit of Vengeance. How do you plan to catch a spirit?”

“Spirit.” The word came out as a sneer.

It was time to go home. Ryan was waiting. He picked a random image and let them see “him.”

“Since when are you black?” Griffin asked.