Nightcrawler (2 page)

Lorraine crossed the street and headed down Lenox Avenue when she detected movement in a doorway slightly behind her to her left. She drew her light jacket up tightly around her, tucking her purse in both arms under her bosom to hide it from view as best she could. Her wrinkled ebony hands tightened around it, though she only had her WIC card and five dollars with her. Yet she knew that these predators could care less, and would rob and beat a person out of sheer cruelty.

“Hey, Grandma,” one of the gangsters called out to her as he walked behind her. Three of his fellows also loomed up from the darkness as they all began stalking her. “You got change for a dollar? I need some change so's I can get on the bus.”

She picked up her pace, moving as fast as her spindly legs would take her without breaking into a run. Two of her friends had been mugged over the past six months, and one of the women had been beaten so severely she had been blinded for life.

“Hey old woman, you keep running like that and you gonna get hurt!” one gangster cackled. They watched with amusement as a late-model car cruised up to the curb alongside her, and Lorraine dodged away from it as she stumbled and ran.

“Oh, Lord Jesus, help me!” she cried out in terror as the gangsters trotted up to her, the car door opening as the driver rushed out to intercept her.

“Nobody gonna help you, you old witch,” one of the gangsters cackled.

“Wanna bet?” the driver of the car turned to face them.

“Who the hell are you?” they demanded.

“You don't want to know.”

Two of the gangsters whipped out switchblades, the eight-inch metal blades shooting out as the other two men began circling the dark figure and the cowering woman. The black-clad figure threw open its cloak and produced a strange-looking device that looked like a miniature leaf-blower. The gangsters hesitated for one moment, which was long enough for the figure to take aim and fire at the hoodlums to the right. The device belched out a thick cloud appearing as pancake mix, which completely engulfed the two muggers. They froze dead in their tracks, unable to see or breathe as their arms seemed unable to reach their faces. The figure pointed the device at the other two robbers, who turned and ran for their lives.

“Where do you live?” the figure asked Lorraine.

“Right up the street a ways,” she managed, still recovering from her fright.

“C'mon, I'll give you a lift,” the figure opened the passenger door, shoving one of the petrified muggers to the ground.

The elderly woman slipped into the black Porsche as the figure closed the door behind her. The driver gunned the engine as the car burned rubber, leaving a cloud of smoke and the beginning of an urban legend in its wake.

About a month after Jon Aeppli had his meeting with Sabrina Brooks, he agreed to stay on as President of the company. Sabrina took over as Chief Executive Officer, cramming in as much information as she could about BCC in the process. Aeppli maintained the day-to-day supervision of the facility while Sabrina studied job proposals and reviewed upcoming projects in determining the future direction of BCC. It all seemed to be running smoothly, but there were some things that she did not know about the Company that her father had never mentioned.

Vern Brooks had been romancing people at the Pentagon, and had gotten the phone numbers of research bases in New Mexico where specialized chemical experiments were being conducted. The Government was always looking for ways to save money in these days of economic turmoil, so the offer of a low price bid was always of interest. Jon had accompanied Vern to Alamogordo, and they spoke to a number of high-ranking officers and scientists concerning a number of projects under consideration. To their surprise and delight, they were granted a contract with the Department of Defense developing antidotes for toxic gases.

Sabrina began accessing the account database in order to pick up where her father left off. To her dismay, she found that most of the research was being conducted exclusively by Jon Aeppli. He laid off most of the pick-and-shovel experiments with the BCC research team, compiling their findings into the larger account files and folders. She found that the research was focused on four main categories: blister, nerve, blood and choking agents. She decided that she would concentrate on modifying the chemicals for her own use, altering their qualities so that they were neither long-lasting nor injurious.

She began working on nettle and incapacitating agents, as these were areas not included in BCC's research. In doing so, she created a sub-folder in the main database for her own convenience. She had not heard anything from Aeppli as to the status of the Government projects, and assumed that they had been placed on the back burner. She also saw that the only ones who had access to the account database, known as the Black File, was her father, Aeppli, and the vice-presidents of BCC. Ryan Hoffman was the VP of the Research team, and Rick Alfonso was the VP in Development. It appeared that Hoffman and Alfonso's access was restricted to uploading, and were not able to view files without her father or Aeppli's permission.

She was in the private lab in the executive suite one night when she heard footsteps outside. She had been working by lamplight and took off her gold-rimmed glasses to see who had come by at such a late hour. She was surprised to see Jon Aeppli come through the door.

“Hi, Jon,” she was pleasant. “You're up late.”

“I see you've been burning the candlelight kinda late yourself,” he sauntered over, pulling up a bench alongside the lab table upon which sat a large variety of equipment. “You certainly have exceeded expectations around here. Ryan and Rick have been telling me about how you've been coming around and learning about the day-to-day operations. They also mentioned about how you expedited a couple of orders that had caused some delays out on the floor. All in all, I think everyone's excited about your being here.”

“Why, thank you,” she simpered. “I was hoping I could make a positive contribution here while I'm getting up to speed.”

“I just wanted to touch bases with you on a couple of things,” Aeppli said quietly, the gray-haired man's brows knitted with concern. “I guess you know how the computer system's set up. Your Dad and I fixed it so it kept a log of who accessed what at whatever time so we could make sure we weren't duplicating work or stepping on each others' toes, so to speak.”

“I noticed that right away. I'm sure that is very cost efficient.”

“Well, the thing is, I saw you accessing the Black File a number of times over the past few weeks. I also saw you added a sub-folder. I took the liberty of checking out what you were working on. I just had a few questions.”

“Why, sure. We're a team, we're partners, aren't we?”

“Since you've taken your father's place and I'm still here, that would be a reasonable assumption,” he smiled wryly. “Did you know we put the project on hold due to budget cuts at the Pentagon?”

“Well, no, not really,” she replied. “I've kinda been picking and pulling, snooping around, trying to get a handle on things. I guess I found that project pretty interesting.”

“You certainly have. Did you know you were going to need a license for processing fentanyl to develop the methyl fentanyl you were looking at?”

“Well, I—uh—“

“Sabrina, I wasn't born yesterday,” he said gently. “I know you haven't been able to let go of that law enforcement dream of yours. Is someone you know having you look into incapacitating agents for them?”

“Gosh, John, I—“

“One of us is going to have to give it to the other straight up, so I guess I might as well start,” Aeppli was mildly exasperated. “There were some drug dealers who were taken to Bellevue about a week ago. They got hit with an anticholinergic compound and were defecating all over themselves. The doctors got suspicious of the nature of the powder the bad guys came in contact with and called the police, who notified Homeland Security. They started calling around and talked to me for about a half hour, especially after they learned about the Black File.”

“That was something else I was looking at, that wasn't the Kolokol you and Dad were working on.”

“I know that. You were working with something that looked a lot like Agent 15.”

“I'd been doing some research, and thought that I might be able to expand upon the database somewhat—“

“What you're doing is dangerous, and could even get our license pulled,” Aeppli admonished her. “Now I'd really like to know who's interested in this, and why.”

“It's someone calling themselves the Nightcrawler,” she said hesitantly. “It's like the friend of a friend. There's this area up in East Harlem where the cops don't patrol at night, and they've been targeting women, children and the elderly. They've been zeroing in on church groups that get together on weeknights. About a month ago they nearly beat an elderly woman to death for her purse. The Nightcrawler's trying to make them think twice about it.”

“Why not just form a neighborhood patrol? Does this fellow really think the only solution is attacking the muggers with chemical weapons?”

“The gangs up there all carry guns and knives,” she insisted. “I don't see the difference.”

“That's because you're not seeing the big picture. If anyone ever traced any of those weapons to this facility, I would be legally liable as President of the Company. I've got a wife, and two grandchildren I'd like to help put through college. If we ever got sued it would destroy my life.”

“I'm just doing the research,” she lied. “I'm passing along the formulas.”

“They could even come back at you with that if anyone were to be disabled or killed,” he sighed. “You're on thin ice with this, kid.”

“The Nightcrawler may have saved that old lady's life,” Sabrina was adamant.

“What old lady?”

“The one they attacked to get themselves gassed,” she insisted.

“Okay, I'll go along with it for now,” he relented. “Just keep me in the loop, let me take a look at those formulas before they go out the door. There's a big legal difference and a slight chemical difference between incapacitating gas and poison gas.”

“Gotcha, Jon. Thanks.”

“Don't thank me just yet. If anyone gets hurt or the police start investigating us, this project of yours is dead in the water.”

“I'll have them tell the Nightcrawler to be careful,” she reassured him.

It was a couple of nights later when Ryan Hoffman was called to a meeting that he would rather have missed. He had been getting text messages on his cell phone that had been very disturbing, followed by automated voicemails threatening him with dire consequences if he did not return the call. He finally reached someone at an unlisted number who gave him directions to the rendezvous point, the Trinity Place Bar and Restaurant on Broadway and Cedar in the Wall Street area. The raucous atmosphere allowed for a confidential conversation as it was almost impossible to hear someone over a couple of feet away.

Hoffman made his way to a rear table in a far corner where the two women in black awaited. They were both tall, powerfully built women with visible tattoos on their necks and bosoms, their hair worn in Rastafarian-type braids though both were Caucasian.

“Your whole life story's in this envelope,” the brunette shoved the parcel across the table to him. “Born in Brooklyn, raised on Long Island. You got your chemistry degree at LIU and hooked up with Vernon Brooks and Rick Alfonso at the Brooks Chemistry Company. You've got a wife and kids on the Island, and you're involved in a number of philanthropic groups and organizations. I'll bet it gets you some pretty nice tax writeoffs.”

“So what's your point?” Hoffman insisted. He was a tall, dark-haired man with handsome features accentuated by blue eyes and a pencil-thin mustache.

“Our point is the best man at your wedding, Rick Alfonso,” the blonde snapped at him. “You two have been at it for the past ten years, and hiding it pretty good, I might add. Our people hadn't figured it out until we started investigating the people in the Gotham AIDS Fund recently. Why would a good-looking guy with your kind of money, married with five kids, be throwing big bucks into an AIDS foundation for? We put a tail on you just for the hell of it, and sure enough. You and Rick don't work late by yourselves all the time just because you like to play with test tubes.”

“What do you think you're trying to do here?” Ryan demanded. “Are you trying to infringe on my gay rights? You know all the new laws that have been passed. I'll have you both charged with a Federal offense! Blackmailing a gay person can get you twenty years in prison!”

“Look, we've been together for ten years ourselves, so you're barking up the wrong tree,” the brunette smirked. “Besides, getting busted for civil rights violations is the least of our worries. We've got bigger fish frying, and you're gonna help.”

“You two are out of your minds! You think you can just walk into my life—!”

“We know you're one of the three treasurers holding the account codes to the AIDS fund,” the blonde stared at him. “We need those codes so we can launder a large sum through the account in the next few days. It's going to be a rapid deposit and an immediate withdrawal. It'll go in and out so fast the authorities won't be able to prove whether it was an accidental transaction until it's too late.”

“You've got to be kidding!” Ryan exclaimed. “All three of us are immediately alerted by the bank whenever a transaction over $100 is processed on the account! You may be able to keep me quiet, but if either of my associates see your dirty money go through, they'll put a block on the account until the other two of us are contacted!”

“We'll take care of them when the time comes,” the brunette assured him. “Here's our e-mail address. You have six hours to send us your access codes, passwords, and any other information we need to manipulate the account. It's six PM now, you have until midnight. If you don't help us out, we'll have documented proof of your relationship mailed to your wife, the administrative staff at Brooks Chemical, as well as Rick Alfonso's family and every gay-bashing right-wing organization in New York. After it's over, you'll have plenty of proof that you were blackmailed into helping us.”

“Don't let a sixty-second transaction cost you your entire life,” the blonde exhorted him as the two women got up and walked out of the restaurant. “Think of your wife and kids, and how you wouldn't want them to think of you if you don't help us out!”

Ryan Hoffman stared at the tabletop for a long, long time before he dissolved into tears.

Sabrina was at the office the next morning sorting out a pile of paperwork that seemed to multiply quicker than she could cut through it. She had been calling Jon, Ryan and Rick constantly throughout the day for advice for the first few weeks after she got there, but was finally figuring things out on her own and taking the initiative whenever she could. She was starting to see one particularly disturbing trend and called the executive sales manager, Chris Assante, in for a chat.

“Well, to be frank, Miss Brooks—“, Chris spoke with a gay accent, crossing his legs with a feminine flair as he sat across from Sabrina at her father's large mahogany desk.

“Sabrina,” she insisted with a friendly smile.

“Sabrina, I'm sorry,” he corrected himself. “Since your father's passing, it seems like many of the companies we've been negotiating with seem to be reluctant to make a commitment. Many of them seem to anticipate internal problems with the transition and adjustment process.”

“That's ridiculous,” she scowled. “Jon, Ryan and Rick are still running the show. I'm just sitting up here directing traffic, you've been around enough to know that.”

“It's not just that,” he replied. “Now, this is just between you and me, but I'm starting to get the impression that a lot of people are uneasy over the prospect of having a woman as CEO of their research company. You know what kind of man your father was, with his personality and leadership. They just can't see a woman bringing that to the table, even if you are his daughter.”

“They don't even know me, they don't know anything about me!” she was adamant. “Just because I'm a woman, they think I can't run this company? Why don't you set up some follow-up sales calls and I'll go out with you?”

“Well, that's part of what I wanted to talk with you about, Sabrina,” Chris was hesitant. “I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be staying on.”

“Now what's this about?” she was taken aback. “You've been with us for over ten years.”

“My partner's been offered a position with a major land developer in Florida near Orlando. They offered him a ten thousand dollar annual increase in salary. Plus we're looking at property out there. He's always wanted to live near Orlando, you know, the Disney World thing. It's just a change in lifestyle, it has nothing to do with what's happening here.”