Alien Taste (12 page)

“Well, it's not me. You could call and tell them that.”

“Yeah, but they also found where the Pack stripped you down. They have your phone, your wallet, your Colt, and your keys. I thought you might want those back.”

 

Fire trucks and city EMS crews had been added to the familiar jumble of police cars. Between the rain and fire hoses, the gutters ran deep with black water. The fireman scowled at Max and his intrusion, but the EMS crews recognized them from search and rescue cases. News of Ukiah's kidnapping had already spread among them, and their relief at seeing him was obvious. They pulled him aside and instantly noticed the shotgun wound. Before he realized what they intended, they cut away the rags of his shirt, cleaned all his wounds, and covered him with sterile bandages in every imaginable size.

Max was laughing as they strolled on to the crime scene.

“What?”

“Oh, you look like GI Barbie after Dr. Skipper gets done with her.”

Ukiah winced and paused to check out his reflection in a fire engine's side mirrors. The bandages stood out on his body, a vivid patchwork of white
on deep tan. “Ugh,” he muttered at his reflection, then laughed. Mass carnage. “Ranger ate GI Barbie last night.”

“He got GI Barbie?” Max put his foot up on the truck's bumper and leaned on his knee. “Too bad. I loved her crew cut and army fatigues. Your Mom Jo is twisted.”

“She just doesn't want Cally to accept the stereo-typical feminine roles.” He tried to see what they had put across his back. When had he hurt that anyhow? His recall told him it was when the shotgun blast had sent him cartwheeling across the floor, he had hit something sharp that managed to slip down his Kevlar collar.

“So why give her dolls at all?”

“She wouldn't if she could, but Cally loves dolls. I think Mom Jo is slightly scandalized by it.”

Max laughed, then spotted someone beyond the front of the fire truck. “I didn't think this was inside the city limit, but it must be—there's Kraynak. Hey! Kraynak!”

Max half stepped, half leaped over the water-filled gutters to meet Kraynak in the street. Kraynak looked pale and slightly bruised about the eyes. The smell of vomit clung to him. “Bennett, oh man, I'm sorry about your—” Kraynak went wide-eyed in surprise as Ukiah came around the front of the fire truck to join Max. “Where the hell did you find him?”

“He found me.” Max produced a cigar, snipped off the end, and lit it.

“It's what I'm good at,” Ukiah added.

Kraynak caught Ukiah by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. “It's good to see you in one piece. They told me that it might be you in there, and it made me sick. Damn good to see you.”

“Thanks.” Ukiah was pleased to know Kraynak
truly meant it. There was no denying the large cop had been physically sick recently.

“I'll have you taken off the missing list then.” Kraynak gave him a pat and let him go. “We ID this body, and hopefully that will be two off the list. I wish the FBI would get their ass in shape and stop falling off the edge of the earth. It's blowing our crime rate off the chart.”

“What do you mean?” Ukiah asked.

“Didn't you tell him?” Kraynak eyed Max then explained. “Another one vanished late last night, around ten o'clock. A Special Agent Warner.”

Ukiah's stomach had tightened as Kraynak talked. The tension released when the Homicide detective named the missing FBI agent. For a moment he had been worried that Agent Zheng was the kidnapped agent. Somehow the news was easier when it involved someone he didn't know. He felt sudden sympathy toward Kraynak dealing with the arson victim.

“Speaking of FBI, have you seen Agent Zheng?” Max put up a plume of cherry smoke. “She's got all of Ukiah's stuff that the Pack took off him.”

“Oh, yeah, you're working with the Famous Bitch of Ice, the F-B-I.” Kraynak used his fingers to emphasize the initials of Agent Zheng's nickname. “She doesn't get angry. She doesn't get upset. She just gets cold. Today we're talking arctic icebergs—huge, cold, and silent.”

“So where's the iceberg?”

“Around back of the house.” Kraynak pointed to the narrow alley between the houses. “The fire started in an old coal cellar in the back corner of the basement. One of the neighbors was awakened by the start of the thunderstorm. She was sitting in her bedroom window, watching the lightning, when she saw a black sedan pull up to this abandoned
building. Four men got out and carried a struggling fifth person into the house. She called 911. When we got here, the basement was fully involved. The whole back half of the house is gone.”

“What made them think it was Ukiah?” Max asked.

“The MO was vicious,” Kraynak explained. “They set the victim on fire alive. We could hear screaming when we arrived, but you couldn't get close. I was close to puking before the FBI showed up with their possible ID. I'll be eating breakfast a second time later today.”

Ukiah shook his head. “I don't get the connection.”

“You got snatched by the Pack.” Max played connect invisible dots with his smoking cigar. “This is a Pack-like crime. Two stepping-stones and then a giant leap makes the victim you.”

Kraynak nodded, tapped out a Marlboro, and lit up. “We had a case just like this one last year. Tied up the victim, killed him, burned his house down around him. Just like here, they used a gel fuel, spread on the body. Neighbors there identified two Pack members at the scene.”

What a family I've just been adopted into!
“You haven't arrested them?”

“Got to catch them to arrest them.” Kraynak sneered. “Got to find them to catch them. No one knows where the Pack hides out.”

“Up the Mon.” Ukiah supplied, feeling slightly traitorous. “In a warehouse on the south shore, down river of the steel mill, and close enough to hear Kennywood.”

Kraynak noted it on his PDA. “It might help. They tend to move base constantly. I would think that after you—” he stopped and looked up in puzzlement. “How did you get away from them?”

After Max's reaction, Ukiah felt sheepish admitting the truth. “They let me go.”

“The Pack?” Kraynak stared at him in disbelief.

He nodded, then indicated the smoldering house. “Also, I doubt that they did this.”

“Why not?”

“They were busy with me. At midnight the whole Pack was at the warehouse, and the meeting didn't break up till about an hour ago.”

“You sure all of them were there and that they stayed all night? There's like twenty of them known to be in Pittsburgh.”

“There were twenty-one in all there.” He closed his eyes and searched his memory. All through the test, he could sense the presence of the pack. “No one left.”

Kraynak made another note, shaking his head. He considered the patchwork of bandages on Ukiah. “You okay?”

Ukiah nodded.

“The FBI says what went down in Oakland was supposed to be an execution, but the Pack changed their minds. Why did the Pack want you dead, and why didn't they kill you? Why did they kidnap you, hold you for ten hours, and then let you go?”

It was a question that would be repeated until he answered it. Kraynak might be a friend, but he was still a police officer. The FBI would want to know. Max. His moms. He glanced at Max, who was trying hard not to show how much he wanted to hear the answers. Ukiah sighed; at least both Max and the police would hear it at one telling.

“It turns out my father was part of the Pack. Apparently he never wanted me to be born. So when the Pack discovered I was living here in Pittsburgh,
their leader decided to fulfill my father's dying wish.”

Kraynak whistled, writing into his PDA. “Oh, that's twisted.”

“Lucky for me, most of the Pack wasn't happy about this. They saw me as an honorary member. So Rennie Shaw changed the plans in Oakland, grabbed me, and called a meeting of the Pack. They had a heated discussion, complete with axes and shotguns.” He veered completely around the memory search—he couldn't explain it, so why mention it? “Around five o'clock they voted to let me go.”

Kraynak blew out his breath and looked at Max.

Max looked away, scuffing at the ground. “How close was the vote?”

“Don't know, they didn't tell me the tally.”

“Christ, kid,” Max said, “let's get your stuff and go on vacation.”

Ukiah nodded. “That driving school in California is sounding better and better.”

Kraynak added a note or two to Ukiah's statement. “I'll upload your statement and take you off the missing-persons list. You want to press charges?”

Ukiah laughed. “Can't press charges if you can't arrest them.”

Kraynak scowled darkly. “True! True! Still miracles happen.”

Ukiah sighed. “If you catch them, I'll press charges.”

“Good kid.” Kraynak smiled. “Take care, keep your head down and your ass covered.”

“You too.”

“Oh yeah, by the way, I like the buff and bondage look.”

 

On the other side of the house, they found the mouth of a fiery hell. The back of the building gaped open, cave black and smoking inside. Max paused to survey the damage done to the house. Ukiah scanned the crowd of people gathered here and found Agent Zheng standing alone, watching the police forensic team moving through the rubble. She wore a black raincoat that stirred in the heat currents, her face solemn, her raven hair rain-slick but drying in the furnace blast of the smoldering building.

He started toward her, wondering what she was thinking. What went on in her mind? As he reached her side, she noticed him approaching, then recognized him.

Her face transformed for a moment with surprise and something that could have been joy. She was suddenly beautiful, all the hard lines softening to the point that looking at her took his breath away. She put out a hand to him and he took it. “Ukiah!” She breathed his name, gripping his hand warmly. “I'm so glad that you are alive! How did you get free?” She touched the bandage over the shotgun wound on his chest. “Are you seriously hurt?”

“The Pack let me go.” He gave her a pared-down version of his release. “I'm not hurt. The EMS crews got carried away with the bandaging.”

She looked away when he started to explain, regaining her control again. “So the question remains, who is this that died in the fire? Do you know?”

Ukiah shook his head, puzzled. “How would I know?”

“Did the Pack mention the agents they are holding? Did you see them? Are they alive?”

“No. I asked about them. The Pack says that there's another gang in town, one that operates in very covert methods. Rennie Shaw claimed that the
other gang had the FBI agents. If this victim proves to be one of your agents, then Rennie was telling the truth.”

“Why do you say that? Are you sympathetic with them now that they spared your life?”

He gave it a study. “No. I just know that they claimed all the Pack was there, and the number present agrees with the number of Pack in Pittsburgh. I know none left from midnight to five o'clock when this happened. They didn't set this fire. If an FBI agent was killed in this fire, then they told the truth.”

She considered him with her unreadable gaze. She was like a deep, still pond. His kidnapping and return were stones thrown in, made their ripples, and were gone without a trace. He found it soothing after the raw emotions Max contained. If he needed, he could perfectly recall that one true flash of emotion on her face, the firm warm grip of her hand as she welcomed him.

A uniformed policeman came up out of the rubble and made his way to them. “They're bringing up the body now.”

Agent Zheng acknowledged him and turned to Ukiah. “Do you think you could identify a burned body the way you can identify blood?”

It amazed him that she so easily accepted his abilities. Most people refused to believe, even after he nailed one piece of evidence after another. Others found him creepy and shied away as if he was going to harm them. There was no uneasiness in her, no fear, only calm expectation.

He found himself nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

Max drifted up. “Get your stuff yet?”

“Working on it.” Actually he had forgotten to ask. Perfect recall didn't mean one couldn't forget.

Agent Zheng handed him his Colt carefully and
then pulled his phone and key ring out of her raincoat pocket. “Here.” She pressed them into his hands and then pulled his wallet from her coat breast pocket. “There was a photo of you taken by a professional photographer in your wallet. I took it for our fact sheet. I don't have it on me right now. Sorry.”

“Oh, that picture.” He cracked his wallet and found the empty slot among his credit cards and other photos. “We use it for our advertising. Don't worry about it. Max is the photographer. We print up copies whenever we need them. I don't need it back.”