ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 9: up in smoke

      We drop Banks and Blake off at the precinct after visiting Trinity Cemetery. Banks insists that she can’t trust Blake when he’s left to his own devices so she’s going to sort out things with her father. Banks still doesn’t know that Blake’s resigned, I mean, you couldn’t really tell―his desk is the same as the day he got the call.

      Then why was it kept a secret? It’s simple, the politics involved. If word got out to those higher up the food chain in the NYPD that Blake Donovan just resigned, a shit fight would be created and all that ‘skipped’ the Academy, would feel the thousand wraths of fury. At least Blake takes other people’s jobs into consideration.

      Sam turns down Ninth Avenue and West Forty-Ninth to enter the notorious Hell’s Kitchen area. A bunch of red-brick buildings line the street with ladders and awnings create a metal exterior to protect whatever’s inside from the bustling public.

      Restaurants and grocery stores as well as tourist shops line the front of Hell’s Kitchen whereas the road leading into it has abandoned and boarded up buildings. A perfect place to kill an Officer, dump his body and flee the scene without anyone noticing. 

      Sam parks the SUV beneath a Silver Maple tree and does his usual drill. He shuts off the engine, reaches to collect the notebook and photos from the dashboard and promptly gets out of the car. He stands in the gutter and looks left and right to see no passers-by. What’s he waiting for?

      “Are you standing around for another vanilla latte?” I place a hand on my holster and watch Sam narrow his eyes at the barred wooden door of the large apartment-like building that’s supposed to house an abundance of Night Crawlers.

      Sam shoves the notebook and photos to my chest and elbows the glass of the first floor window so he can slip through. I blink three times and step carefully through the broken window. Sam brushes fragments of glass from his suit sleeve and straightens his lapel.

      His PA probably brings it to him and if the milk isn’t frothed enough, he sends the latte back for the baristas to make it again, I think with a smirk. I feel sorry for the café employees that have Special Agent Samuel Pingelly as a customer. Poor sods.

      Wooden floorboards greet us in a dust-caked hallway. The peeling wallpaper has mildew growing in the corners from water damage, most likely due to the condition of the building, and holes have been made in the walls from the active life of the Night Crawlers.

      Hashem curtains are drawn over most of the skylights and windows that aren’t boarded up, it doesn’t block the sun, but lessens the amount in the room. Through the dust are multiple shoe impressions which all lead in different directions. Sam and I tread wearily, almost back-to-back.

      “Split up,” I flick the clip on my holster. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

      “Angel Blue clearly states that Night Crawlers hunt in packs, if we separate from each other we’re easy targets,” Sam’s voice echoes around the room. “Besides, all Night Crawlers are male, most of them get booked for statutory rape.”

      Sam still hasn’t gotten the memo that most of the Angel Blue file that I retrieved from Dad’s office is blacked out with limited information on most of the creatures, even the ones logged into CODIS and the NYPD databank. That being said, the word ‘rape’ hangs thick in the air. No Officers regardless of their position in the ranks of their precinct or bureau likes to hear that word, especially women.

      My shoulders tense and my gaze shifts to my left where Sam’s on his guard, apparently FBI agents take the ‘r’ word seriously no matter what situation they’re in.