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Chapter -3- Puzzle Pieces

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An hour before sunset San Francisco, California ...

** With a sigh of relief and content,** Karla slumped back against wall-mounted shelving. She rested her canary-kissed head against a stack of laser jet paper. "God, I needed that."

She cut her gaze to Jim, a journalist from the San Francisco Chronicle. Karla eased her legs from his waist, still halfway pinned up against the corner wall in the supply closet. "You okay?"

Jim nodded. It took him a moment to catch his breath. He eased her down to her feet and reached for his pants around his ankles. "Tired. You always seem to have that effect on me."

"You can always sleep it off at your desk," Karla said with a grin.

"Yeah, I sleep better there anyhow."

Karla's eyes lowered to Jim's left hand. She spoke in a tender voice. "In all seriousness, though, you should stop having these trysts with me and work things out with your wife."

"Yeah?"

She eased a hand down, beneath her skirt and guided the fabric of her panties back into place. "Not that I don't enjoy these moments with you. I'm just sayin'. So... What do you know about these reports of men in black uniforms attacking people? Do you think it's related to the arsonist story?"

The average built journalist reached for his glasses on an adjacent shelf and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "Look, emotionally, my marriage is over. It's a business arrangement, now. I need to feel like I satisfy a woman again. I don't want a guilt trip every time I want to touch her."

Karla frowned. "I understand - you fell out of love with her, huh?" She felt responsible.

"No, it's the other way around. She hasn't loved me in a long time. We have separate rooms, now, and she treats me like a roommate. It's been this way two years before I met you, Karla."

"Oh." The guilt faded from her chest. Her shoulders relaxed.

"Anyways I, uh ... I'm hearing conflicting stories, Karla. Someone told me, just this morning, that they heard these attackers are going after specific groups of people. It could be a religious thing, or a gang war thing."

She nodded in understanding.

"Hell, it could be a terrorist thing - the Shiites and the Sunni people get along about as well as Catholics and Protestants used to treat one another."

"Yeah, I remember the Thirty Years' War."

"Did you learn about it in college?" He looked her over and, in a softer voice, asked, "or in high school?"

Karla smirked. "Neither. I'm just cultured. I never understood that crap. They're worshipping the same peace-preaching deity, so they decide to spill blood over it. Catholics, Muslims - it doesn't matter in the end. People hate each other."

"After ten months of sleeping with you, I still have a lot to learn about you. You're surprisingly intelligent, Karla."

She replied with a smile. "It's sweet of you to say so. Go on, hon - I need to know what's going on."

"So yeah, the victims of the attacks come from all walks of life. Some are rich, some are dirt poor; some had arrest records, some were pillars of the community. The FBI won't comment about it, though."

"Not even 'off the record,' or from an 'anonymous source familiar with the subject,' babe? I find that difficult to believe."

"So do I. Someone always wants to get the truth out. I'm not sure why it hasn't happened yet."

The succubus reached her pink-lacquered nails up and ran her fingertips through his short brown hair. "That's the feds for you. They don't talk about their investigation unless you have a buddy on the inside that wants to stay anonymous."

Jim shook his head.

"What?"

"That's just it," said the journalist with a sheepish half-smile. "They claim this stuff isn't even happening. They said it was a closed investigation involving falsified information, started by people who just wanted to get attention. I tried to push for more information. They suggested that I write an article claiming the whole thing was just a hoax; that anything else is just sensationalism."

Karla blinked twice. "Say what? It's pretty hard to fake a burning building, and charred remains, and M.E. reports."

"Those reports are missing. There's no longer any proof of charred remains - just a few fires around town. Fifteen to be exact. Why are you so interested in this?"

"Because I saw," Karla trailed off.

"Saw what, exactly?"

Karla reached for her purse and shouldered the handbag. "I saw bodies being pulled out of a fire. Some people had fancy cashmere melted to their skin. Some people had tattered jeans and metal band t-shirts - I saw it."

"Jesus Christ. Do yourself a favor and keep that to yourself. The Federal Government dislikes people who countermand their official report."

"Jim, I didn't see anything about the bodies in your paper. I just wanted to know what was going on."

"Karla..." Jim frowned.

"What?"

He buttoned his white dress shirt. "I was ordered to stop working on that story. Today, when I got to work, my draft article was deleted off the main server. The backup copy was taken out of the cloud server. All I have left is a few notes I penciled down and I was ordered to surrender them two hours ago. When a cover up happens, it's best you step aside. You should just let it go and be glad no one saw you."

Karla pursed her lips. A sigh escaped from the corner of her mouth.

Jim buckled his belt. Quietly, he asked, "Did you know one of those people or something?"

"You, uh..." She glanced to the left with a sigh.

"What, Karla? I can see this is bothering you."

She fished a hairbrush out of her handbag. "You might say that ... that I knew persons who perished in the attacks."

"Do you want to go on record as an anonymous...?" Jim raised his hands and shook his head. "Never mind. Bad idea. Forget I asked. I'm not allowed to pursue the story anymore."

Karla shook her head. "I don't want to get you fired. It's bad enough I'm your home-wrecker."

"Fired? Maybe. The First Amendment is great for printing things, but it doesn't protect you from bodily injury, you know?"

Karla nodded. "I just wanted to ask because I wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy or something. I'll drop it."

"To be honest, I'm thinking about pursuing it in my personal time. If you have information, I'd be willing to listen."

"I'll think about what I saw and type up some things, but don't get yourself into trouble, okay?"

"I wish I had more than arson insurance claims."

Karla grinned. "I might have something new for you."

"Oh?"

"It might not be connected, but I have a friend who thinks these attacks are connected to some sort of theft ring in Europe. Museums have been robbed of really big artifacts. Irreplaceable artifacts, you know? No one knows why."

"How would they be connected? Victims?"

"Not sure yet. Maybe it's the same suspects." Karla shrugged. "Like I said, maybe it's best we drop it. I've caused you enough grief and drama."

Jim placed his hand beneath her chin and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip with a smile. "You're not a home-wrecker. My home life isn't wrecked. I just ... my wife and I grew apart. I just need to feel like I can please someone, even if there's no other connection."

"You're repeating yourself."

"So were you, Karla."

She looked down. "Oh, right."

"I'm the stupid man. I'm the bad husband. I'm the one who should be ashamed of myself."

She shook her head and placed her hands on either side of his face. "Jim, there is no need to be defensive over what we did. You made a vow to have and to hold, and she broke that vow, and your heart."

Jim's voice lowered to a whisper. "Yeah, well ... I guess I judge myself. Still, like I said, I need to feel like I can please someone. I just never thought I would connect with a girl half my age, though."

Karla laughed. "I'm older than I look, I promise. You just like it when I call you 'big daddy.'"

Jim feigned a weak smile. "Yeah..."

She felt bad for complicating his life. Karla cleared her throat. "Look, I can see that you're fighting off wanting to sleep. Go find a quiet place and put your head down for a few minutes. I'll catch up with you soon." She leaned up onto her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks." He returned the kiss in a chaste fashion, a stark contrast to how he'd kissed her twenty minutes ago.

Karla opened the supply closet door. She peered left, and then glanced right.

"I'm glad you weren't caught up in those attacks."

Karla grinned back at him. "You're sweet to worry about me, but babe, I can take care of myself."

"Stay safe, okay Karla?"

"I will, Jim." She checked the hallway one more time. "Okay. Coast is clear. You know the drill. Count to ten before coming out of the closet just in case."

She kissed her fingers, tilted her hand outwards, and blew across her palm. "See ya around, Jim."

"Be good."

"Me? Never." Karla slipped out of the closet, closed the door behind herself.

Out in the hall, she focused her mind. Her palms incandesced in a soft carnation hue.

Karla disappeared.

She reappeared in a lavatory in the building's lobby.

She glanced under each bathroom stall. Satisfied she was alone, Karla withdrew her cellphone from her purse. She thumbed the screen.

The phone rang twice. Nathan picked up the line.

Karla held the phone to her ear and said, "Mission accomplished. So, for some reason, the Federal Government is trying to use disinformation to cover up the attacks. My contact was assigned to the story, but his editor pulled the assignment, and all his files pertaining to it."

"You didn't feed on your contact, did you?" asked Carrington, his voice tinny sounding over the line.

"I always do, old man. He could barely stand when I got done with him. Any minute the high will kick in and I'll get rambunctiously hyper. That's why I'm calling you right away, before I get silly."

"Christ."

Karla grinned. "So, what are your plans for tonight?"

"I need to go check on a few people I knew that had abilities. I haven't heard from anyone since that night."

Her grin faded. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, kiddo. You remember Richard Owings?"

Karla thought for a moment. "Yeah. The guy who was on Stan Lee's _Superhumans _a number of years ago because he had that whole 'animal magnetism' thing, where he acted like he could communicate with any animal or something."

"Yeah."

"He lives in California?"

"Yeah. He's in his late seventies, now. I called him this morning. No answer. I went over to check on him. Nobody is there."

Karla frowned. "Owings is was hardly a supernatural."

"Karla, he had the gene, and he was an animal empath. He was clairsentient. He could give limited commands to animals. I can't find him. Now I'm going to check on his biological great-nephew."

"You're checking on some low-level Special's family members?"

"Yeah. The kid's name is Evan, but he doesn't know people on his father's side."

Karla tilted her head. "Do you?"

"Yeah. I knew Evan's fourth great grandfather. The guy was able to change the properties of metal." Nathan paused for a moment, and then added, "He made my wedding band, and your sister's ring set."

"So that's why you kept an eye on that Owings guy. I like that you have a sentimental side."

Nathan sighed over the line. "Yeah. If something has happened to him then I want to know." Nathan coughed over the line. He cleared his throat and added, "Think I'll take the trolley or something. I'm getting too old to walk ... now that the damn state took away my license."

The sex demoness smiled and shifted the phone to her other ear. "If they knew you were quite a number of years older than ninety, they'd be even more interested. Alright. You stay safe, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. We can't all be immortal like you. Listen, if something happens to me, Karla, I want you to look up two people for me."

"You're going to be fine, old man."

"The first person is that girl I mentioned earlier - Sinopa Crevan. She looks a little on the Irish side, red hair and such. She speaks with a Japanese dialect."

Karla grinned. "What a mix."

"Uh-huh. The other person is a cop living in San Francisco. His name is - don't laugh - Reno Nevada."

Karla brought her free hand to her lips to mask a snicker. "Did his parents hate him?"

"Who knows - maybe. It's a stupid-ass name."

"Okay, so I've gotta know. What power does the cop have?"

Nathan cleared his throat over the line. "Uh ... let's see. It's August 31st..."

"Yup. All day long, babe."

"Okay, so far as powers go, Reno has nothing yet. But he's, uh, he'll manifest soon. Trust me, he can help you."

Karla faked a yawn. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. You two are related or something. Am I right?"

"It's complicated, but yeah. He's Mike Tomes' oldest son."

"Is that the guy you helped move from New York to California?"

"I knew you'd remember the name. You're nosey like that."

"I flirted with Tomes and he turned me down, Nathan. It's a rare event, you know?"

"That's because Tomes' love for his wife is real, Karla. We both know you have no effect on a man who is in love. Are you going to remember the names? Sinopa Crevan and Reno Nevada."

"Yes, Nathan, I won't forget it. I'll keep them safe if you don't wake up one day. Just take care of yourself. You're the closest thing I have to a grandfather, let alone any kind of family."

"That's a weird thing to say, considering you're my sister-in-law, kiddo."

"I haven't been your sister-in-law since before we met at her funeral, Nathan."

"Yeah, you're right. You're right, kiddo."

Karla perked up at the muffled sound of approaching high heels. "I gotta jet." Karla ended the call and looked up as a woman stepped into the bathroom. They exchanged pleasant smiles.

The succubus made her way out of the lavatory.

She crossed the lobby and winked at a cute brunette girl sitting at the front desk. The girl's eyes lowered, stealing a glance at Karla's busty build.

The succubus flipped a lock of blond over her shoulder and replied with a flirty smile. She turned for the vestibule at the other end of the large room.

Karla Howard perused her carnation-colored nails and stepped from the front entrance of the San Francisco Chronicle.

She gazed northeast, along Mission Street. Karla's eyes narrowed, noticing a police car in front of Bloomingdales. The vehicle had its emergency lights on and an officer took cover behind his cruiser.

She leaned back against the Chronicle building and watched as men with masks rushed out to a van parked on 5th Street.

Karla crossed one ankle over the other as the scene before her played out like a cheesy action B-movie. "Cops in the front, bad guys around the back. How cliché."

A man in his mid-thirties came out from the Chronicle, walked down to the corner, seemingly oblivious of the police presence up the block, and held his index finger up.

Karla recognized the man and smiled. She coughed into her manicured hand. "Funny running into you again."

He glanced back and offered a slight smile.

Karla waggled her brows. "Hey, slow down, Jim."

"I can't. I've got to hail a taxi and get moving. There's an attack on the Legion of Honor museum! There's a police standoff and the boss wants me there, like, ten minutes ago."

Karla opened her mouth to speak but Jim cut her off.

He sounded frustrated. "I appreciate having a little fun in the copy supplies closet, but the boss caught me sleeping it off at my desk and flipped out. Turns out there is a lot of crap happening around San Fran all of a sudden; some really-freaking-Twilight-Zone-calls just started coming in all at once. I've gotta get a taxi out there as quickly as possible."

Karla lifted a shiny-tipped index finger and pointed across the street to the old San Francisco Mint building. "But what about the robbery that's happening right now at The Granite Lady? And you're welcome for the romp, by the way."

Cops came down Mission Street on foot and made a right onto 5th Avenue.

The men in the van opened fire, causing the police to take cover.

The journalist turned to Karla, his eyes wide. "Jesus! Find somewhere safe! Follow me inside!"

"Just go!" Karla told him. "And thanks for the shag! Now get moving!"

"Get inside!"

"I'm fine, go get a camera, Jim!"

He dashed into the lobby.

Karla waited until Jim was out of sight. She cracked her knuckles with a smirk. "Now to run off some of that pent up energy." A grin tugged at the pink-painted petals of her lips.

Her eyes darted to the right, at the Bloomingdales a little ways up Mission Street. "Ah well, no time for shopping."

Karla tossed a lock of blond over her shoulder and reached for a pair of white sunshades dangling at the V-neck collar of her blouse. She brought them to the bridge of her nose and gave a quick tug at the hem of her skirt. "Play time."

Traffic was nonexistent on 5th Street and Mission Street, due to police cruiser blockades a few short-blocks away.

She waltzed across the street, sashaying her hips in a way that caused her skirt hem to dance against her thighs. "God," she murmured to herself, "This better not have anything to do with the museum robberies that Nathan was talking about."

Karla approached the van and the men with the guns. "Say, guys! You boys really shouldn't shoot guns in public like that! What about the new state-wide ban on those things, huh?"

"Grab her!" one of the men shouted. The rear doors of the van swung wide. One of the masked men hurried towards her.

The man threw his arms around Karla's waist and forced her up over his shoulder. He ducked back into the van.

The driver exclaimed, "We have a hostage now, forget the security guard!"

One of the other men on the side of the van shoved a museum security guard down onto the pavement. Without hesitation, the gunner shot the guard in the chest.

The gunman dove into the van and shouted, "GO!"

The white cargo van lurched forward, went up onto a curb, turned about, and performed a U-turn on 5th Street, facing southeast.

Karla eased up just enough to look out through the rear window. She saw the security guard sit up, gingerly. The guard plucked a round from an armored vest beneath his uniform shirt.

A slight grin tugged at the corner of her lips, glad the security guard would survive.

"Head down, girl," said the man who had pulled her into the van.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, easing back down to the rubberized floor in the rear. "So, what's your plan? Your buddies hit the Legion, you guys hit this ... what's this all about, huh?"

"Shut up! You talk too much!"

Another gunman crawled towards her and got up on one knee. "What did you just say, kid?"

Karla smiled sheepishly. "What? You mean about the Legion of Honor?"

"How the hell do you know about the attack on the Legion, huh?"

She offered a wan smile. "Mm, because I was just banging a journalist who got assigned to that story." She glanced around at the four men, all wearing stockings on their heads.

One of the men put a handgun to her head. "I admire your confidence, girl, but these guns are real. The bullets in them are real. What'd that journalist tell you?"

"That things are nuts over there. So, since you do know about it, that means you're involved, right? How many teams? I'm just curious. I mean, c'mon ... hitting several jobs at once? Takes a lot of people, preparation and..."

"Quiet," said the man on his knee. "You look too young to be a reporter or a cop. I can't quite figure you out. But you saw what we did to the security guy. Don't wind up like that guy."

She suppressed a giggle by clearing her throat. She took a deep breath so as to come off as somewhat serious. "Sure, no problem."

"Check her for a wire, just in case," said the driver.

The man besides Karla quickly checked her back, and lifted her shirt to the bottom of her bra. "No wire, guys."

Karla smirked. "So, where are we going and are we there yet?" she asked with an exuberant smile. "And don't mind me, I always get a little hyper after sex. I'll try to tone it down. I wouldn't want to distract you boys, after all."

"Tie her up and keep her away from the door." The man crept back through the van and slid into the passenger seat. He strapped in.

The man that had pulled her into the van, earlier, turned her about and pulled a plastic zip-tie from his vest pocket. He put the restraint over her wrists.

Karla grinned. "Mm, this is turning out to be more fun than I thought," she said with a sensual coo.

"Cut it out," said the man behind her. He fastened the zip-tie firmly and shifted his weight to maintain his balance in the moving van.

Karla glanced over her shoulder, saw the bulge in his pants, and whispered, "What's wrong? You like tying me up, sweetheart?"

"Just shut up," he grumbled. "You're like ... fifteen or something. Just shut up."

Karla broke into a fit of giggles. "Oh, don't give me that whole 'fifteen will get you twenty' logic. You just robbed a museum at a National Historic Landmark. You kidnapped me, and you're an accessory to shooting a guard! Why stop there?"

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "If she doesn't shut up, you have my permission to ram your dick down her throat. Now keep her quiet."

Karla scoffed at the driver's crude comment. She turned back towards the one who tied her hands behind her back. "Hey, aren't you boys supposed to cover my head so I don't know where we're going or whatever?"

"If we shoot you," said the man sitting next to her, "It won't matter. If you don't shut up, that's what's going to happen. If you keep your mouth shut, we'll dump you off somewhere when we're done with you."

Karla leaned back against the wall of the van and pondered playing the 'I have to pee' game but decided to hold off until they were more frustrated. "So, are we there yet?"

The fourth man, sitting still at the center of the van, turned to Karla. He spoke in a firm tone. "What'd they say about being quiet? Shut up."

"Hold tight," said the driver. "Blockade up ahead." A handgun round pierced the windshield of the van. "Down!"

The man in the passenger seat opened his window and returned fire.

The driver opened his own window and started firing his pistol with his left hand.

The man who had zip-tied Karla's wrists placed his hand on her elbow.

She glanced back at the third man. She could see pain in his eyes.

The man slumped over.

The van shifted. The third man sank into the rear passenger-side corner of the vehicle. A sandwich baggie of zip-ties spilled to the rubber floor.

The succubus frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. "Hey, one of your guys just took a bullet. I, uh..." She frowned, watching the life drain out of the man's eyes. With a sigh, she said, "I think he's gone."

The man in the front seat, the same one that shot the security guard earlier, pointed his weapon back at Karla.

"We've all told you to shut up. Now do it and stay down before you get yourself killed."

"Okay, okay. Gosh. Since when do you care about me? You're just going to throw me in a shallow ditch later anyway."

The surviving man in the cargo section forced her down onto her side. "You want to end up like the guy that bound your hands? Stay down."

The guy in the passenger seat pointed his gun out the window again. "Kid ... you need to take your top lip to your bottom and shut it."

The driver fired two more rounds. "Gag her!"

Another pistol round struck the windshield.

The man in the passenger seat continued firing back. "I thought cops wouldn't shoot in public! They're supposed to be chasing us! Not shooting at us!"

Karla faked a yawn, despite the erratic driving and volley of gunfire. "Boy, you guys really didn't think this out, huh? It's probably some rookie cop willing to take the heat from his sergeant because he's so desperate to stop his first..."

"SHUT HER UP!" the driver shouted. "Or shoot her!"

The man who held her down brushed his lips against Karla's ear, whispering so that only she would hear him. "Lady, please, I need you to work with me, here. My father and I are working to stop these guys, and I need your help. Please, stay quiet and don't be offended if I pretend to be nasty to you."

Karla's eyes widened. She cut her brilliant green eyes to the man and met his gaze.

There was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite pinpoint. A kindness, or maybe his gaze reflected a pleading expression, obscured by his mask.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Karla nodded and pursed her lips together. She leaned back against the side of the van.

The man eased back away from Karla. He told the men up front, "Look, you guys said you had a plan. Now the plan has changed. I have no problems being shot at, but I want to know what the score is if I'm going to be dodging bullets. Is this display piece even worth our time? Maybe we should tell that guy we want more money. Hell, I don't even see what we've stolen, let alone why we needed a cargo van to do this job."

The van swerved hard, causing Karla and the other man to brace themselves.

The van plowed through a sign. It thumped down, from a curb, avoiding a police cruiser in the street.

The body of the dead robber remained slumped in the corner.

The man in the passenger seat glanced over his shoulder, watching the cops fade. He cleared his throat. "It was something from a storage lock box. Some private collector was having it kept there for safekeeping. I don't know how the commissioning person knew it was there, but the good Doctor was right on the money."

The driver sneered. "Parker is right, we need more money for this shit."

"No names," said Parker, the man adjacent to Karla that whispered into her ear a moment prior.

The man in the passenger seat sighed in frustration. "All of you, chill out - I've already texted the Doctor's contact."

"Which one," the driver demanded.

"Some guy named Rick - he's already promised us an extra ten grand, each." He pulled his phone out and pointed it at Karla. "Smile, sweetheart." He took a snapshot.

"I know Rick," said the driver. "He's a scumbag, but he's good for his word."

The guy in the passenger seat sighed again. "Good. So we're making an extra ten large, each." He glanced back at the man called Parker. "Is that good for you?"

"It's fine," said Parker. "I have an idea. I have access to another van. It says, 'Parker's Plumbing' on the side and won't raise any suspicion."

The man in the passenger seat rubbed his chin.

Parker glanced from the passenger seat to the driver seat and back. "We should go and get it. It's not far. I'll either take the score to the drop zone, or I'll take the hostage and head the other direction. Hell, you guys take my van because the cops will be looking for this one, because our windshield is shot up. Then you can blend in."

The driver and the man in the passenger seat looked at one another in silence. They turned back to the road.

After a moment of silent deliberation, the man in the right seat said, "I like that idea." He continued to fidget with his phone for a moment.

"Works for me," said the driver.

Karla's eyes shifted from Mr. Driver to Mr. Passenger. She turned back to Parker and offered him a brief smile.

Mr. Passenger Seat's phone vibrated with an incoming text message. "Wait, hold up."

"What is it?" asked Parker.

Mr. Passenger Seat blinked at his phone. "Rick said he wants us to release the girl somewhere on Sunnydale in Visitacion Valley. He wants her alive."

"Jesus," Parker murmured. "She'll be raped, shot, and then raped again."

Karla yawned. "Sounds like a boring night. I know Sunnydale. It's not so bad."

Parker moved closer and whispered into her ear again. "I'm not going to blow my cover for you. Now I have to put on a show for those two up front."

Karla shrugged, and then she nodded as if offering permission.

Parker spoke up in a firm tone, acting nasty to stay in character. "I said to stay quiet, whore. I mean it. Do _not _give me any trouble or I'll make your life hell."

Karla smirked in reply. "Whore, huh? Say it again. That makes my ting-ting tingle."

The man eased back away from her ear and smirked.

Mr. Passenger Seat turned back to Karla and smirked. "He's right ... you're a whore. Girls who look your age should be virgins, not out having sex with journalists."

Karla laughed with a bright smile. "Hey, what can I say? I didn't want to die a virgin. What if there are terrorists up there waiting for me? I'm not trying to share some dickless idiot with seventy-one bimbos who don't know what to do with a penis."

"Let's get the other van," said the driver. "Rick said Sunnydale." He glanced in the rearview mirror, making eye contact with Parker. "Just drop her ass off right on the corner of Hahn and Sunnydale." He addressed Karla with a raised tone. "Your ass can walk, little girl! Good luck there."

"God, whatever. I'll walk then." Karla feigned a yawn again. "Wait, didn't they just build a brand new McDonalds on that corner? So, like, you're dropping me off at a Micky-D's?"

"Shut up, kid!"

Karla couldn't be sure why, but she had a strange craving for a S'mores flavored Pop Tart. "Do you think they have a ball pit?" she asked, trying to keep a straight face. "That would be awesome. Everyone loves ball pits."

Parker leaned forward and whispered into Karla's ear. "I'm going to backhand you now. Don't move until they switch into the other van. I mean it." They made eye contact.

Karla nodded discreetly.

Parker put his left hand next to her face. He drew his right hand back. Again their eyes met. He clapped his right palm across his left, besides her cheek, so that it looked and sounded like he struck her.

Karla jerked her head away, playing along with the fake slap. She fell over on the rubberized mat and lay still. Parker put his hand against her neckline, briefly.

Her hair covered her face; she remained motionless and silently applauded herself for her best acting job to date.

"Okay, she won't give us any more trouble," Parker announced. "She's out cold."

"You knocked her out with a smack?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus, Parker. How hard did you hit her?"

"After I hit her, I pushed my left thumb against her neck until she passed out. Injury before insult."

"Remind me not to piss you off, Fox."

"So what the hell did we steal for Rick Peterson?"

"It's technically for Peterson's employer, Aris Falcon."

Fox Parker looked around. He held his hands outward. "I don't see bags of cash. I don't see crates of artifacts. Jerry, I don't see anything. Why the hell did we need a van in the first place?"

Jerry reached into his pocket and withdrew a large block of glass with an eroded spike inside. "Because you guys wouldn't believe it if I told you. It's supposed to be one of the nails used to hold Christ on the Cross. Just having it in my pocket makes me feel ill." Jerry paused to look closer at the old metal nail.

Silence. Even Karla was impressed and curious.

Jerry glanced over his shoulder. "Where's the van you mentioned earlier, Fox? You take that girl and drop her off. I want to hurry before the cops get back on our asses."

"Aren't you supposed to be a Lieutenant out of Central, Jerry? You said your people weren't going to shoot at us."

The driver grimaced. "You're a fucking cop, Jerry?"

"Shut up, Miller. What I do for my day job is none of your business." Jerry turned back to Fox. "You're right, my 'people' shouldn't have been shooting at us. It's against protocol to open fire on a moving, swerving van in public."

"I hope you find the shooter and demote him." Fox glanced back at the dead robber in the rear corner of the van. He sighed.

Jerry ground his molars together. "Where's that van you mentioned earlier, Parker?"

"Fine." Parker got up onto his knees and gazed through the windshield. "Keep straight for the next two intersections, and then make a right."

The driver nodded. He passed a Garmin GPS back and said, "Put in the address. I'll take the GPS with me. Can you find your way to Sunnydale without it?"

"Miller, I've lived in this city my entire life."

"Fine," the driver snapped.

Fox cleared his throat expectantly. "I'll take the girl, right?"

"Yeah." The driver nodded. "You'll be the one with the cops on your ass. You'll need her to be your hostage. If you get out of this, you better call one of your father's lawyers."

"Shut up, Miller." Fox cut his gaze to the clear ballistics-resistant glass box in Jerry's hand. "A nail from the crucifixion huh?"

Jerry remained silent.

Miller kept his eyes on the road. "I don't believe in Christ, but that's an old-ass nail, and if it really has the blood of Jesus on it..."

Jerry rolled his eyes. "What?"

Miller shrugged. "Some wacko collector out there will want to pay a King's random for it. I'm satisfied this job is legit. Better than anything else I've ever stolen. So let's get this shit done. Hell, maybe the buyer wants to try and clone Jesus or something, heh."

Jerry shifted his weight in the passenger seat. He eased the glass-sealed nail back into his pocket. "Don't start. I don't think there's anything left in blood that old to do that kind of crap. So don't start."

Fox nodded. "Jerry's right, Miller - the blood would have had to be preserved in a vacuum to be viable after that long."

Jerry glanced back at Karla. His eyes lifted to Fox. "I want you to start wiping down this van. I don't want any blood on the interior by the time you ditch the van. When you're done, burn it in the desert. If this case gets linked back to Rick or the Doctor ... well, I don't want those guys having _us_killed for making rookie mistakes."

"Understood."

Jerry reached for Fox's hand and said, "Take your glove off, Parker. I'm going to write an address on your palm. Wash it off later."

"What's the address for?"

"It's where you're going to meet me when this shit is done. I'm going to give you your van back and you're going to take it to get detailed professionally. Pay in cash. Better safe than sorry. When we meet, I'll have your cut of the payout. Do a good job and I'll hire you again for the next gig."

"Sure." Parker took off his glove.

Jerry wrote an address on Fox's palm in Sharpie.

Fox put his glove back on. He put his free hand on the side of Jerry's seat as if to stable himself in the moving vehicle. Fox reached to shake hands.

Their gloved hands met one another. With his free hand, Fox discretely placed a tiny square transponder beacon onto Jerry's vest pocket.

Fox turned back to Karla, acting as though he was checking to make sure she was still unconscious. With his back turned to the two men up front, he withdrew a cellphone and thumbed out a text message.

He tilted the screen so that Karla could see.

The message read, 'Dad, I'm swapping for the plumbing van. Driver is expendable. Other guy has a nail from the crucifixion - he's a cop, don't kill him. When you take it from him, hide it somewhere safe. Transponder is in his vest. He confirmed he's working for your ole protégé, Ricky Peterson. I have a hostage to release. GTG.'

Parker slid his phone into a pocket on his gear vest. He moved back between the driver and passenger seat. "Okay, this is the turn. In four blocks, make a left. The girl is still out."

"Okay, good," the driver muttered. "I hate smartass girls. Glad you put her in her place."

Parker grimaced. "Yeah." He felt his phone vibrate in his vest. He climbed to the rear side of the van and acted as though he was looking out the rear window to check for any pursuit vehicles.

Parker sighed as if in relief. "Still no cops, guys. We lost'em." He withdrew his phone and checked for the reply text. He angled the phone so that Karla could read the reply.

The words on his screen read, 'Great job, Fox. Drop the girl off and meet me at the ice cream parlor - we'll hide the van in the garage for now.' The contact at the top of the screen was labeled 'JC.'

Parker leaned down, close to Karla and whispered, "See? I'm letting you go. So keep playing dead until after we switch vehicles."

Karla responded by remaining silent and motionless. She wondered to herself what the son of Jonathan Conner Parker looked like behind his facemask.

X

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/530219