Naked Dragon (17 page)

"That black cop you're sleeping with?" Agent Skinner asked sarcastically while Agent Green drove them out onto the city streets and in the right direction.

"Yes. At least I can trust him." Robbie checked his watch.

It was only ten a.m., too early for their man to hit.

"Ride with him. We don't give a shit." Agent Green stopped at a traffic light.

"You can't ride with him," Agent Skinner shouted in annoyance. Then he turned around to stare at Robbie curiously. When Robbie asked him what was wrong, Agent Skinner said, "I can't believe that big black cop is gay."

Robbie tried not to laugh. "Why? You think all gay guys are delicate little flowers, like you?"

"Shut up, Taylor. No. It's just that he looks more like a line backer than a—"

"A? A fag? Is that what you were going to say, Skinner?"

Robbie challenged.

"Never mind." He spun back around to the windshield.

"What kind of car is our man driving now, Taylor?"

"A stolen one. That's what kind," he sighed, and checked the driver of every passing vehicle.

* * * *

As he dressed in his uniform in front of his locker, Dave's stomach was a fluttering mess. Between the phone calls from his irate parents, to the dread of something happening to 162

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Robbie, to another crime scene and unfortunate victim, he was a complete wreck.

"Hey, bro." Officer Williams walked past him and patted his back.

"Hey, Ken. You all right?"

"Yeah. How you doin'? They patch that agent up all right at the zoo?"

"Yeah, it was just a graze." He buttoned his shirt and tucked it in as Ken opened his locker.

"Whatchu doin' going there with him? Don't they have their own guys to do that shit? Why did they waste our time?

I don't get it."

"I offered. I was there at the scene with him." Dave took his gun belt down from the hook and wrapped it around his waist, clipping it on.

"At the scene? No one was at the scene. That lunatic was shooting from some window. How did you get through the containment?"

Dave shrugged. "I was just there. Right place, right time."

"You mean, wrong place, wrong time!" Ken laughed. "I still don't get it."

After Dave had finished attaching his gun belt to his waist, he moved closer to Ken so they didn't have to shout to speak.

"I've seen him on every call. It's like I'm workin' with the guy.

He's all right."

"Da FBI? All right? They don't have much time for us brothers. I never seen a black agent."

"Don't mean they don't got them." Dave noticed some photos of Ken's beautiful black wife and children in his locker.

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"Don't mean they do!" he laughed.

"Naa. They're not like that. They're cool."

"You thinking of trading forces?" Ken smiled as he zipped up his shirt over his Kevlar vest.

"Me? An FBI agent?" Dave smiled back.

"Yeah. Represent the brothers, man. Go join."

"Go back to the classroom? I had enough with the academy and college. I'm sick of school."

"That's right, you went to the U'Dub. All that work for a degree and you end up here. What a waste."

"I don't regret it." Dave crossed his arms over his chest.

"I only got a high school diploma and we're making the same money. You tell me who's the stupid one!"

"I still don't regret it." Dave nudged him. "I played football there. Loved every minute of it."

"Yeah, but you're no pro ball player, are you? Just some black cop with his head shaved ... hey, where's that mustache you were growing? Give up?"

"Yeah. I changed my mind." He waited as Ken slammed his locker door closed and they walked out of the locker room to the roll call room together.

"I think you should grow it."

"Maybe. Some day." Dave touched the skin under his nose as if remembering the feel of the hair there.

"We need to go out for a brewskie again soon. Been since we first started in this place that we went out together with the boys. We need a nice night out with the brothers."

"Any time. Let me know."

"Cool."

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He rubbed his knuckles against Ken's in a friendly gesture, then sat down next to Lisa, in his usual spot.

"Hey, Davy," she smiled flirtatiously at him.

"Officer Kurosawa," he replied back, smiling brightly.

"Thanks for taking primary on that shooting yesterday."

"It's okay. That agent, is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Just a graze on his shoulder. He was lucky."

"Man, is he cute! Growl! I can really fall for a guy like that.

He's just my type."

"Awww, I thought I was your type," he teased.

"You are! But you never take the hint. I figured you have a gorgeous girlfriend already. Right?"

To save an argument, he said, "Right. Sorry."

"Think I should ask him out?"

"Who? Agent Taylor?"

"Taylor? Is that his name? I wasn't allowed to put his name on the report. He's really hot."

Dave's attention was distracted when the two sergeants came into the room with their clipboards to start roll call. In his mind he answered Lisa;
Oh, yes, he's hot, all right.

"All right everyone, quiet down. We have a lot of information to get through before we get out onto the streets." Sgt. Casey sighed as he looked through his paperwork. "As usual, be on the lookout for the suspect matching the same description. We did a check of the caliber of the shell casing and it's from a high powered rifle. So, consider him armed and extremely dangerous."

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That cold pit surfaced in Dave's stomach once again.

They'd better find the suspect before he gets lucky and kills again. This time, a federal agent.

* * * *

"Stop here," Robbie shouted.

Agent Green parked, and it appeared they were all getting out together.

"Oh, no. Come on, guys. He's not going to surface with us three goons walking around."

"Shut up, Taylor." Agent Skinner turned on his radio and hid the mike under his lapel.

"Fine!" Robbie threw up his hands in exasperation. "Just stay back from me and let me concentrate." Two very rude hand gestures followed, one flipping him off, the other waving for him to go away.

He began walking down Fifteenth Avenue, looking into every passing car. The vest felt too warm for the balmy wet day and he wished he could pull it off and leave it on the side of the road. But, the dull ache of his torn shoulder kept reminding him to keep it on.

"Where are you, you bastard?" he hissed. They had only had nine victims so far. The thought of the body count rising to twenty sickened him. But he knew if they didn't catch him, it would indeed rise.

"Unit X-ray 440," the dispatcher called out calmly.

Robbie spun around and waited to see if the other agents wanted him to answer. When he found Agent Skinner and 166

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Agent Green completely oblivious to their call sign, he clicked the mike and replied, repeating what the dispatcher said.

"Switch to south radio, repeat, switch to south radio."

"Copy." Feeling sick, knowing the killer moved away from the swarm of foot, bike, and horse patrols in the area, he switched to the new frequency and paused as the other two agents caught up. "X-ray 440 on south SPD radio," Robbie said as he made eye contact with his two co-workers who were listening intently.

"Robert-one and two-Robert are standing by at a location.

They request your assistance."

"Shit," Robbie sighed in anguish, then he keyed the mike and said, "Copy. Have them call me on my land-line."

"Copy that, X-ray 440."

Robbie took out his mobile phone and made sure it was on. "He's moved south," he said quietly.

"Where to?" Agent Green asked.

The cell phone rang. Robbie answered it. "Taylor here. Yes, we assumed that. Beacon Hill? No, but we'll find it. Okay, south bound on Rainier Avenue. then turn right up McCullen.

Got it. ETA ten."

He hung up and stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

"They have a victim in an area called Beacon Hill. It's just south of where we are."

They began walking back to the car quickly. His mind on someone else, Robbie wished Dave could come to the scene, but it was now away from his district.

* * * *

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The minute the dispatcher told Robbie to change frequencies, Dave knew. He was so disappointed someone else was going to get to work with him, he felt like punching something. "Shit, that's life." Getting back to writing his accident report, he kept his attitude in check knowing he'd be snuggling in his arms after shift. But the thought that he couldn't be there for him if he was injured haunted him. Just in case, he set his radio to scan both frequencies. He wasn't going to miss anything.

* * * *

When Robbie arrived at the apartment house, he climbed out of the back seat and found an officer bent over and throwing up on the side of the building. The officer's sergeant was standing near him, trying to comfort him. "Here we go again. We should have requested Harris. He's the only one that doesn't spew at the sight," Robbie said.

"It figures you'd want him there." Agent Skinner noticed the lab guys were already inside. "Don't you two get enough of each other every night?"

"No." Robbie smiled wickedly.

"Cut out the chatter," Agent Green snarled.

"Why? The homo-erotic references making you ill? Or horny?" Robbie walked past the cop who was crouched over and vomiting, and entered the old tenement house.

"Yes, it's making me ill, so shut up and get inside."

"You better adjust your attitude, John, that's not a very politically correct one to have. The director would be very upset," Robbie teased.

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"He'd be more annoyed at you screwing an SPD cop."

"Really? Want to ask him?" Robbie began climbing a narrow set of stairs. The lack of a rebuttal answered his question.

When they made it to the correct floor the door was propped open and one of the homicide detectives was running crime scene tape across it so no one else entered. "Hello, gentlemen," Robbie leaned in and greeted the familiar faces.

"Taylor ... you need to see this." Max moved back the tape and nodded to the wall.

All three men stepped inside the room carefully and twisted to look back behind them.

Careful FB-Eye-men, it's only a matter of when—just wait
till you see number 11
.

"Jesus," Agent Skinner cringed, "Why can't he just use pen and paper like a normal human being?"

"Because he's not a normal human being," Robbie whispered, then moved closer to inspect the organs used to spell out the sentence. "He took a lot of time and effort on that note. He was very confident he wouldn't be interrupted."

"Is the torso here?" Agent Green asked.

Max raised his eyebrows expressively. "Sort of."

"Shit." Agent Skinner rubbed his pocked-marked face.

"What now?"

They carefully tiptoed over the clotted, lumpy spatter and leaned around the doorway to look into a bedroom. Once again the chest cavity was empty.

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Robbie covered his mouth in reflex. It was so macabre it seemed it couldn't be real. "He's totally lost control. I've never seen anything like it," Robbie breathed.

"The eyes. He's never taken the eyes before," Agent Green whispered.

"No. And as far as we can tell, they're not present." Max gestured for them to leave the room carefully.

They moved out along the same path they had come in, trying not to contaminate the scene any more than they had to. Once they were out in the hall, Agent Skinner and Green stayed behind to talk about the case, while Robbie moved away from them to think things through. Without being conscious of it, he descended the stairs and left the building, then stood on the front sidewalk and looked from left to right down Beacon Avenue South as a steady stream of rush hour traffic moved by.

"Where are you, you psycho?" Robbie mumbled under his breath. He could feel him. He wasn't far. As cops set up a small perimeter around the front of the building, keeping spectators and media back, Robbie walked to the end of the block, then made his way behind the building to the back alley.

Dumpsters lined the soot stained walls, cars parked in crooked angles to fit into the sparse space. Litter covered the ground, used rubbers, needles, beer cans. He paused, scanning the area and the high windows just in case the site of a rifle was aiming at him. Nothing but the reflected glare of closed windows returned to him. A slight spray of mist began 170

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coming out of the dark clouds. He walked a little further, then stopped.

Closing his eyes, focusing on the noise, the scent, the air around him, he smelled the coming rain. A 'pop' noise startled him until he realized it was the backfire from a car. He moved on until he was directly behind the building containing the latest victim. He craned his neck up at the windows again.

The third floor is where number ten was killed.
Number
eleven? Wouldn't number eleven be for tomorrow
? he thought. Then to his anguish, something caught his attention.

He moved closer and leaned down to investigate a jar that had been set on a low cement wall that divided the back of the property from its neighbors. A note wrapped around it read
Look behind you
. Robbie spun around quickly, un-holstering his gun. With his sharp eyes he scanned the back of the building and then spotted something. Just before he drew close enough to identify it, he heard Agent Skinner asking for his location over the radio. He keyed his microphone and said, "Behind the building. Switch to FBI frequency."

He heard Agent Skinner acknowledge him. Robbie switched the radio channels and asked if he was there.