Predators

...The Duke slid the door open...

...The Tac sergeant shined his light inside...

...and Acheson looked in, then fell to his knees and started vomiting. Again.

+++++

The rest of the pedophiles were inside the baggage car, hanging from meathooks strung out evenly from the ceiling -- heads lay below each disemboweled body, a severed penis in each mouth, testes in each eye socket, and seething piles of warm intestine lay oozing all over the old oak floor.

The sun was up now, and it was getting hot -- very, very hot. Acheson took notes for his report but was already getting tired of all this detective crap. He wanted nothing more than to get on his BMW and hit the streets, write a few tickets even, if only because all this 'blood & guts' crime shit was starting to get on his nerves. He popped another Tums and chewed the chalky crud, then swallowed it.

"Here, have a donut," The Duke said, holding out a fresh, warm glazed one.

Acheson scowled at the thing. "No, thanks."

"Man, ain't you figured out why cops eat donuts yet?"

"Nope."

"Well, Meathead, it's because nothing, and I mean nothing neutralizes stomach acid faster than a fresh glazed donut and a pint of ice-cold milk. And besides, they kinda help keep things in perspective."

"Well then, you better give me a couple."

"See? You ain't as dumb as you look, Meathead."

"Got Milk?"

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers."

"Swell."

"Got any more of them Tums?"

"Yup." Acheson handed his bottle over. "Perspective, huh?"

"One born every minute, Meat. Did you stay up with her all night?"

"Think I slept some."

"How is she?"

"Better."

"I could see it in your eyes last night. She hit you like a ton of bricks."

"That bad, huh?"

"Gibbons had a good laugh over it, anyway. Seems to think she's a handful. Personally, I don't doubt that. Good legs, though."

Acheson looked at The Duke. "Yessir, reckon they are."

"What about Carol, what's her name? Denison?"

"Sir?"

"Think she'd go for an old fart like me?"

"She'd be a fool not to, sir."

The Duke smiled. "We'd better head for the barn, lots of reports to write."

They walked back to their cars, still parked side by side, down on Washington Street. Ben opened the door, saw a piece of folded up paper on the passenger seat as he got in. He sighed, looked at the thing like it was a cobra, then picked it up and read it:

-- Ben, if you want, check the old man's laptop, in his desk drawer. Go to C:photos:personal:99eXMFM. Mostly girls, lots of girl on girl, a few dirty movies, nothing too bad. Probably enough to get him fired, enough to get you promoted to Lt pretty fast, if that's what you decide. Anyway, that's for you to mull over. We're not going to do anything about him. Again, sorry about Amy, and for what it's worth, you should stay with the department. Luv, C --

"What's that?" The Duke asked, looking at Acheson while he read the note. "Is it -- from them?"

Acheson handed the note to The Duke, watched him read it, watched his face turn pale gray. After a minute, The Duke handed it back.

"Well, like it says, it's for you to decide, ain't it?"

Acheson reached into the car's glovebox, found an old box of matches, struck one and held it up to the paper. He watched the paper ignite and held it out the window, watched it burn, let the ashes fall to the ground. When it was completely destroyed, he let go of the last fragment, then started the car.

"Seeya at the station, Duke."

"Okay, Meathead. I'll stop off and get some fresh ones on the way in."

"Better get some milk, too. Cold."

Chapter 12

Six Months Later

Dallas

The 757 from Seattle flared over the threshold of Runway 17 Right and touched down in a light freezing mist. The First Officer applied the spoilers and reverse thrust, then applied the brakes gently with his toes, and the old Boeing slowed smoothly and turned off the active half way down the runway. Flaps and slats were retracted while the jet taxied to Gate E7, and after Delta Flight 322 mated with the Jetway, the FO cut the engines and began working his way through the Engine Shutdown Checklist.

"I'll handle the passengers," the Captain said, referring to the post landing 'meet and greet' one of them had to attend to after every flight.

"Yessir," the First Officer said. "I got it here."

The Captain exited the cockpit, walked back to the doorway just ahead of the wing port-side; he smiled at the older folks, waved at the kids, then his eyes locked on a gorgeous pair of legs and he smiled at the woman appreciatively, if for no other reason than she was dressed well enough to make any man drool. Still, her high heels were over-the-top old school, the kind movie stars and pin-up queens back in the fifties and sixties used to wear, and he was old enough to appreciate them, yet still young enough to feel a certain welcome stiffness setting in.

The woman passed him on her way out the door and her coat swung open just enough to reveal a gold badge clipped to the belt around her waist, and his eyes moved quickly to the old couple behind her and he smiled at them, waved to a kid behind the old people, but his head turned to catch one last glimpse of the legs as they started up the Jetway.

Genie Delaney walked up the sloped ramp and into the terminal, then turned toward the escalator that would carry her down to the baggage claim area. She found the assigned carousel and a nice spot to watch for her bag, then waited for all the flight's luggage to start coming down the chute -- when she felt someone move in close, too close.

"Hey, douchebag," the man by her side said.

She turned, looked at the DPD motor-jock standing by her side. "Hey, prick, didn't anyone ever tell you it's stupid to ride a motorcycle when it's icy out? Or did they finally put training wheels on your scooter?"

People nearby listened, some moved away, not sure what the cop would do after such a deadly insult, while others thought it was great fun, like 'who the Hell puts down a cop that way, and lives to tell about it?' 'What would he do next?' 'Beat her over the head with his flashlight?'

The cop slowly took off his helmet, then his sunglasses, and he put these in a shirt pocket, and all the while the woman looked him in the eye. He put his helmet on a seat-back and took the woman's face in his hands, then leaned down and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss, and people all around the couple smiled and laughed a little, while more than a few men's gazes lingered on the woman's legs -- and for way too long.

Delaney's bag came; the cop grabbed it and, holding her hand in his, they make their way out to the short term lot, to a rain spattered Ford SUV clearly belonging to the Dallas Police Department. He opened her door, helped her get in, then put the bag on the seat behind her. Once he was strapped-in, he started the engine and made for the north airport exit, then turned eastbound on Highway 114 and drove on into the city. He knew just by looking she was exhausted so they drove in silence, and by the time they passed Las Colinas she was fast asleep. He drove through the city towards the SMU campus, then a few blocks north to Milton St, and into the driveway of his little house. He quietly went around, got her bag and carried it in to his bedroom, then went back out and woke her, gently.

"Did I fall asleep?" she said, yawning.

"You sure did, darlin'. Let's get you in, and to bed."

"Um, that sounds kinda good," she purred. "Dinner?"

"I can make you a salad. Anything else sound good?"

"Maybe you should just come to bed."

"I can try..."

"...But you're on call. I knew it. You're always on call."

"Sorry."

"Can't people in this town go just one night without killing themselves in a car?"

"Come on, I'll carry you."

"Ooh, really?"

"Really."

"You haven't done that in a while, Officer Studly PooRight."

He leaned over, picked her up, carried her into the house and on into his bedroom.

"Right there," she pointed, "right on that there bed!"

"Coming right up, M'am." He put her down gently, then settled down next to her.

The telephone rang.

"Oh, fuck! Already?!"

"Don't answer it, Ben."

"Sorry. Got to."

He picked up the phone. "Yo!" he said.

"Ben? That you?"

"Duke! How's it hangin'?"

"Fine, fine. Say, is Genie back?"

"Just picked her up. What's up?"

"Wanted to know if you two were up for dinner."

"Duke wants to know if you're hungry."

"Sure. Here, or out?"

"Yeah, Duke, come on over. Steaks and salad here?"

"No, gonna need some curry tonight."

"No shit! Curry?"

"It's that gal of ours. Broadening my horizons. Again."

"Wow. I'm impressed. She's coming, then?"

"Yeah," The Duke said. "We'll be there in about fifteen or so."

"Okay. See you then."

"Duke?" Delaney asked. "Man, it's been awhile. Carol with him?"

"Yup. But he sounds a little tense. On edge."

"Oh? Well, I'd better throw a little water on my face, brush my teeth. Any mail today?"

"I'll go see." He was gone a few minutes, then came back with a handful of letters. "Couple of letters from schools, one from D.C."

"You need to shower?" she asked.

"Probably."

"Why don't you hop in?"

"Okay," Acheson said, but he was thinking about the tone in The Duke's voice. He hadn't heard that kind of stress since last summer, and hadn't seen him in weeks. He showered, dressed in a fresh uniform and got his hand unit's spare battery out of the charger and slapped it onto the bottom of the radio just as the doorbell rang.

He heard Genie and Carol talking about how good the Christmas tree looked, about how crowded the malls were, then The Duke -- asking where Ben was.

Knock on the bedroom door.

"Ben? Mind if I come in?"

"Nope. Entrez vous!"

"What was that? Frog?"

"Yup."

"So, are you still flying that Paris route."

"Yup. One day over, one day on the ground over there, then one day back and three days off, then repeat as often as necessary until the desired results are achieved. Gives me two days to work wrecks, though."

"Almost sounds fun. I know the Chief appreciates it. So, what are you flying?"

"777s. Fun airplane. Huge, though."

"I'm a little jealous."

Acheson grinned, then turned more serious. "You also sound pretty stressed-out, Duke. What's up?"

"Those gals have been in Portland and San Francisco. West coast, anyway. Lots of rumbles in Orange County, Irvine area. And now Seattle, too. A couple of cops taken down again."

"Same MO?"

"Yup. Decapitations, disembowelments, the dicks and balls...all the same shit."

"And?"

"And, well, I got this is the mail yesterday; it's addressed to us, but you were still airborne so, well, just read it." He handed Acheson a letter, still folded neatly in it's envelope.

Acheson took the letter out and looked it over; it had already been dusted for prints.

-- Hi, boys. We've been busy, as I guess you know, but we've been recruiting and our numbers are growing. This note is just to let you know that we've got a permanent team set up and operating in Dallas now, and we've got a few new targets lined up and ready to go. Real fun ones, too, I promise. As I doubt there's anyone around the department who can figure us out quite like the 'Junior Birdman' can, it's our hope you can convince him to join us on our next wild goose chase. The last one was fun, and this one promises to be even funner! Oh, and tell him to look near the Inner Marker; he'll know what to do. The next one will start with a bang, too! Luv, C --

"Well, that's quaint," Acheson said. "Nothing like goading someone along, is there?"

"Look, the Chief wants you back, full time..."

"Ain't gonna happen, Duke. If y'all want to pull me off traffic to work on this, fine. I don't much like driving that mastodon-mobile around on the ice, anyway. Bikes are one thing, but that fucker ain't no fun at all."

"So, two days a week? That's all?"

"I don't think it'll matter much, Duke. Sounds to me like they'll set up their kills when they know I'm around. Either that or they'll be so mad at me they'll take me out."

"You know, it sounds like they've got the department completely infiltrated."

"Oh, you can count on it."

"You don't sound surprised. Why?"

"Simple, really. It's just history, so look at it that way. We've got hundreds, maybe thousands of women coming back from wars in the Middle East, and many have seen combat operations, but they've been working in close proximity to the most misogynistic culture on the planet. In other words, they're battle tested, but they're pissed off, too. They get back here and see the same old misogynist bullshit they always have, the same old male patriarchy keeping them down, the same old predatory bullshit where rapists get a slap on the wrist while their victims get pummeled in court and victimized over and over for the rest of their life. Then the President from Hell gets into office, and things only promise to get worse, much worse. So what are these women supposed to do? Well, they plan, they think and plan for the long term. They organize, they look at where the real problems lay, then they join police departments, sheriff's offices, any kind of law enforcement agency they can, any kind of job that helps them gather intel on whatever kinds of targets they want to go after. They develop hit teams, intel teams, logistics teams, then, probably, political action teams, and in time, when they're ready, they'll move into politics, begin to reshape the political agendas in targeted regions, then nationwide. Then in fifty years or so, who knows? The cultural landscape will be completely altered."

"You think they're that well organized?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Well, why?"

"Because these women want change, real change. The kind of change they want will only come about through some kind of revolution, maybe even civil war."

"Maybe the family values people are right..." The Duke sighed.

"What? A woman's place is in the kitchen?"

"Yeah..."

"Maybe a hundred years ago you could justify that kind of thinking, when religion dominated social discourse in much of the country. Today? All you have to do is look at Saudi Arabia or Pakistan, places like Iran to see where that leads. And guess what? Our new President is leading us right down that path, to a Christian theocracy, to putting women back in the kitchen. My dad always taught me to put yourself in the other fella's shoes, you know, kind of a 'do unto others as you'd have them do unto you' kind of thing. How would you like to be objectified, subjugated, put down at every turn, then for good measure have your spouse beat the Hell out of you every time you displease him?"

"Ben, really, do think this is linked? I mean, they went after pedophiles..."

"Yeah, so what? Serial pedophiles are just the worst of the worst. Remember, these aren't "just women" -- I'd guess a bunch of them are mothers, too. What would represent the worst repression possible to a woman and a mother -- than men who prey on their children?"

"Jesus, Ben, do you know what you're saying?"

"Yeah, sure, I've been thinking about this for months, and it's about the only thing that does make sense. And you know what? More power to 'em."

"What?"

"Duke, look, it's simple. Women want equality, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, the thing is, nobody is ever "given" anything, especially things like equality or freedom. These things are earned over time, usually earned with the tip of a spear, through force. Look at the civil rights movement, the equal right's movement. You can pass all the laws you want but in the end nothing changes. Fifty years after women began burning bras very little has changed, and a lot of what has changed is little more than window dressing. Fifty years after LBJ and the civil rights movement, what's happened? The welfare state was dismantled and black men have been incarcerated in record numbers. Why? Because no one's going to "give" them equality, and rather than face the music, rather than endure more cities burning, like what happened in 66 and 68, it's far better to warehouse all that anger. So we put blacks in prison, we arrest them for the slightest provocation, let 'em rot in hot cages, at least until they acquiesce, and by then all the revolutionary fervor is burned out of them, and then we 'let' these burned out hulks spend the rest of their lives on the streets, maybe sleeping in shelters."

"Hey," they heard Genie say from the living room, "you guys coming out, or should I get a salad going?"

"We're coming now," Dickinson said, then he turned to Acheson. "Okay, so what do I tell the Chief?"

"You know what? That secretary of yours? The one with the great legs? Start giving her all our plans, what we're thinking of doing, how we're going to respond..."

"You don't think...?"

"I'm going to assume so until proven otherwise. You'd be well advised start thinking that way, too."

"But, why?"

"I'd want them to know what I'm doing, at least until I don't want them to know, but by then they'll trust the intel they're getting. Then I'd be in a better position to confuse them."

"Okay, got it. But, what do I tell the Chief?"

"For now? I'll work in CID a couple of days a week. I've got three weeks in June, I'll spend those working downtown. That's when they'll make their big move, if my hunch is correct. The one year anniversary would be nice timing."

"Yeah, makes sense. Well, guess we'd better head on out," The Duke said, "before we have some seriously pissed off womenfolk out there."

"Reckon so," Acheson replied, shaking his head at life's little ironies. The Duke would never change. How many men could?

"Ben!" Carol Denison almost screamed when he and The Duke came back out to the little living room. "She got in!"

"What?" Ben said, smiling.

Genie looked up from the letter in her hand; "UT Southwestern. Here's the letter."

"What's this?" The Duke asked.

"Med school," Acheson said, glowing with pride. "She got into UT Southwestern! Hot damn! Baby, I'm so proud of you!"

Carol turned to him, smiled that knowing smile of her's and came over to him, hugged him. "And I'm so proud of you, too," she whispered, and he felt her slip a little piece of paper into his hand before she slipped into The Duke's protective embrace.

They walked out the front door, out to their cars, discussed where to get curry in Dallas on a Friday night and decided on a place out on Greenville Avenue, but because Ben was 'on call', they broke up into two cars, and he helped Genie up into huge SUV while The Duke and Carol went over to his Ford.

He walked around to his side of the car, paused to read the note Carol had slipped him:

-- We knew you'd understand. Luv, C --

Ben Acheson looked across his ice coated lawn at Carol Denison sitting beside the head of CID, and he understood. He saw her eyes, the love, the compassion, the cool fury, and he wondered where all this would lead, and what the world would look like after all this wild passion burned it's way through -- to the scorched heart of the earth.

Part II -- Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Chapter 12

Seattle

I took the call a little after midnight, and yes, it was a dark and stormy night, but in my line of work nights tend to get stormy -- in one way or another. Dispatch called in the middle of a dream, just as I ran across an ex-wife in a very interesting situation, but the sleepy voice on the other end of the line had no way of knowing that, and even if she had, there wasn't a damn thing either of us could do about it. Sometimes late night calls are just the luck of the draw, some nights you end up in the wrong place at the right time, and everything goes to hell from there. No one's fault, you know what I mean? But still, some calls are like a stone skipping across a pond, they ripple through time, across the windmills of your mind -- before they sink from view. This one sure would.