background.
"He's working on it," she said after a minute. "By the way, I sent a cleanup crew to your apartment."
"To get rid of the bodies?"
"To get rid of everything. Every speck of blood, every hair follicle, and every fingerprint will be removed. The crew will also pack and store your belongings."
"Do I still have to pay rent?" Aaron said. "I signed a lease, ma'am."
"Don't worry about it. We also took care of your many parking tickets and delinquent bills. You were in some financial difficulty."
These people are cleaning up my entire life , he thought. "Thanks."
"Edward just gave me a printout," Ethel said. "Craig Parker is working as a salesman at Top Sports Shoe Emporium on Michigan Avenue."
"We're on our way. Bye."
* * *
Top Sports Shoe Emporium was a monument to overpriced athletic footwear. Aaron looked up at three stories of almost seamless glass façade. Through the windows he saw hundreds of customers browsing countless shoes. So many tourists were coming and going that there was a traffic jam at the front door.
"We'll stick with the same covers," Marina said. "My name is?"
"Uh... Detective Withers," Aaron said.
"Right, and you're Sergeant Stone."
"What if he asks to see a badge?"
She took a wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. There was a badge and a Chicago Police Department identification card. They looked completely authentic.
"Deception is our business," she said. "Let's go in."
Finding Craig Parker among the dozens of salespeople took a few minutes, but eventually, Aaron and Marina located him on the third floor. His black skin was pockmarked with acne scars. He wore a blue football jersey with the number 22 on it.
"Mr. Parker?" Marina said. "We need a few minutes of your time."
Parker was busy helping a kid put on a pair of shoes. "Please wait your turn, miss," he said.
"We're the police."
He stood up so suddenly he almost fell backwards. "This is a bad time. I'm working."
"Is there a quiet place where we can talk?" she said.
He quickly led them to a storage room in back. Shelves held thousands of boxes of shoes. Aaron could smell the rubber and glue, and he wrinkled his nose.
"What do you want from me?" Parker said. "I don't need this harassment. I had a hard enough time getting this job."
"The Church of One Soul," Marina said. "Ever heard of them?"
He shook his head.
"Green robes and facial tattoos."
"Oh, yeah. We call them the Ones."
"They're selling narcotics," she said. "We want to know where."
"I don't know nothin'." He shrugged.
"Reverend Anthony sent us to you. He told us you still have connections in the business."
"I'm out of that life."
"Listen, Parker." Aaron poked the young man in the chest. "If we have to come back tomorrow, we will. But next time, we'll ask questions in front of all the customers."
Parker cowered. "I really need this job."
"And we need information."
"I could make a few calls after I leave work."
Marina handed a business card to him. "Call me tonight. Understand? Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight!"
With his eyes downcast, he shoved the card into his pocket.
Aaron and Marina left the store. Even though the sun was half-way down, the heat was still oppressive. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
"We have a few hours to kill," she said. "Let's head back to headquarters and empty out the van. Those weapons really should be put away. Then we'll ask Ethel to give you another orientation lecture."
"I need one?" he said.
"Desperately."
Chapter Eight
Aaron stood with Ethel in the main conference room, which also served as the library for the Chicago cell.
"Do you see these books?" She pointed at the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves. "They are our tabelli . Our secret history."
He moved in for a closer look. Every book had a date in Latin written on the side. He took one at random and flipped it open. The contents were also in Latin, printed in very dark ink on thick paper that felt like fine leather. He guessed the book was
"He's working on it," she said after a minute. "By the way, I sent a cleanup crew to your apartment."
"To get rid of the bodies?"
"To get rid of everything. Every speck of blood, every hair follicle, and every fingerprint will be removed. The crew will also pack and store your belongings."
"Do I still have to pay rent?" Aaron said. "I signed a lease, ma'am."
"Don't worry about it. We also took care of your many parking tickets and delinquent bills. You were in some financial difficulty."
These people are cleaning up my entire life , he thought. "Thanks."
"Edward just gave me a printout," Ethel said. "Craig Parker is working as a salesman at Top Sports Shoe Emporium on Michigan Avenue."
"We're on our way. Bye."
* * *
Top Sports Shoe Emporium was a monument to overpriced athletic footwear. Aaron looked up at three stories of almost seamless glass façade. Through the windows he saw hundreds of customers browsing countless shoes. So many tourists were coming and going that there was a traffic jam at the front door.
"We'll stick with the same covers," Marina said. "My name is?"
"Uh... Detective Withers," Aaron said.
"Right, and you're Sergeant Stone."
"What if he asks to see a badge?"
She took a wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. There was a badge and a Chicago Police Department identification card. They looked completely authentic.
"Deception is our business," she said. "Let's go in."
Finding Craig Parker among the dozens of salespeople took a few minutes, but eventually, Aaron and Marina located him on the third floor. His black skin was pockmarked with acne scars. He wore a blue football jersey with the number 22 on it.
"Mr. Parker?" Marina said. "We need a few minutes of your time."
Parker was busy helping a kid put on a pair of shoes. "Please wait your turn, miss," he said.
"We're the police."
He stood up so suddenly he almost fell backwards. "This is a bad time. I'm working."
"Is there a quiet place where we can talk?" she said.
He quickly led them to a storage room in back. Shelves held thousands of boxes of shoes. Aaron could smell the rubber and glue, and he wrinkled his nose.
"What do you want from me?" Parker said. "I don't need this harassment. I had a hard enough time getting this job."
"The Church of One Soul," Marina said. "Ever heard of them?"
He shook his head.
"Green robes and facial tattoos."
"Oh, yeah. We call them the Ones."
"They're selling narcotics," she said. "We want to know where."
"I don't know nothin'." He shrugged.
"Reverend Anthony sent us to you. He told us you still have connections in the business."
"I'm out of that life."
"Listen, Parker." Aaron poked the young man in the chest. "If we have to come back tomorrow, we will. But next time, we'll ask questions in front of all the customers."
Parker cowered. "I really need this job."
"And we need information."
"I could make a few calls after I leave work."
Marina handed a business card to him. "Call me tonight. Understand? Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight!"
With his eyes downcast, he shoved the card into his pocket.
Aaron and Marina left the store. Even though the sun was half-way down, the heat was still oppressive. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
"We have a few hours to kill," she said. "Let's head back to headquarters and empty out the van. Those weapons really should be put away. Then we'll ask Ethel to give you another orientation lecture."
"I need one?" he said.
"Desperately."
Chapter Eight
Aaron stood with Ethel in the main conference room, which also served as the library for the Chicago cell.
"Do you see these books?" She pointed at the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves. "They are our tabelli . Our secret history."
He moved in for a closer look. Every book had a date in Latin written on the side. He took one at random and flipped it open. The contents were also in Latin, printed in very dark ink on thick paper that felt like fine leather. He guessed the book was
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