If anyone should be giving orders around here, it’s me.’
He let out a bemused chuckle. ‘I’m a ten-year Homicide vet, Feleesh, what do you expect? Shit, I got more time on lunch than you got on the job. Which makes me senior. I’m the primary on this case and I always will be.’
‘Self-appointed.’
‘Maybe so, but by right.’
Felicia opened her mouth like she was going to say more, then gave up. Her posture sagged, as if all the fight had drained out of her system. She looked down the hall, in the direction of the cafeteria, and when she spoke again, the fire in her eyes had gone out, and her voice was quiet.
‘Let’s just get this over with.’
Striker agreed. He reached out, touched her arm. ‘Look, Felicia, I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean a thing by it. I didn’t even know I was doing it.’
She just nodded.
‘I talked to some kids,’ she said. ‘They knew where Courtney was. Said she’d taken off to Metrotown Mall. Gone looking for costumes for the Parade of Lost Souls party on Friday. She’s been seen there since the shooting started. So she’s fine, Jacob. She’s safe. She’s just ignoring you like always.’
He exhaled slowly. ‘Thanks.’
‘I thought you should know.’ When he didn’t respond, Felicia gave him a puzzled look. ‘You know, it’s okay to be relieved. You’re human, after all. Far as I can tell.’
He tried to smile at her comment, but couldn’t. Learning that Courtney was safe was paramount, even if he had believed it from the beginning. But it didn’t relieve the stress he felt, the burden that weighed heavily on every decision he made. He looked back at Felicia and said, ‘I tagged him.’
‘What?’
‘The gunman, the one who escaped – Red Mask. I tagged him once, when I shot out the rear window of the car. I know it, I can feel it. I got him. And he’s hurt.’
‘I know,’ Felicia said. ‘That’s great.’
‘It’s not great, it’s a disaster.’ When Felicia gave him a confused stare, he continued: ‘There’s nothing more desperate than a wounded animal. If he was planning on killing more kids, I’ve just done the worst thing possible – I’ve sped up his plans.’ As Striker finished speaking the words, a cold, dark feeling filled his core. And he knew instinctively that something bad was going to happen. Something for which he would be responsible. Something he would regret.
There was no doubt about it. More death was coming.
Nineteen
Red Mask lay on a table. He opened his eyes. Looked around.
The room he was in was small, lit by bulbs bright as the winter sun. In the far corner by a greyish wall stood a small, old man. He was bald. With wrinkles carved so deep his face looked wooden.
It was the doctor. Jun Kieu.
Red Mask ignored him. He lay, staring up at the glaring whiteness above. Suddenly, Kim Pham blipped into view, snapped his fingers at the two men who stood guard by the door and said, ‘Get the fuck out.’
The room cleared, and then there was only Red Mask and Kim Pham and the doctor.
‘Release me,’ Red Mask said.
The doctor came forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Be still.’
Red Mask could not. He had gone back in time.
In his mind, Kim Pham’s white suit fell away and was replaced by a green cap and a grey buttoned-down jacket. There were screams coming from outside the window, from where the women were kept. And a machinelike voice spoke.
‘You are a special agent of the Central Intelligence Agency.’
‘Sister,’ Red Mask replied, and in his mind he was eight years old again. ‘Where is my sister?’
‘You are an emissary of the United Socialistic Soviet Republic.’
‘No. No. My family—’
‘You have shit in the food supplies to make the others sick.’
‘What?’
‘You have falsified medical documents to undermine the reputation of this hospital because it is an icon of its kind and a great testament to the glory.’
‘Mother! I want my mother!’
And then, like
He let out a bemused chuckle. ‘I’m a ten-year Homicide vet, Feleesh, what do you expect? Shit, I got more time on lunch than you got on the job. Which makes me senior. I’m the primary on this case and I always will be.’
‘Self-appointed.’
‘Maybe so, but by right.’
Felicia opened her mouth like she was going to say more, then gave up. Her posture sagged, as if all the fight had drained out of her system. She looked down the hall, in the direction of the cafeteria, and when she spoke again, the fire in her eyes had gone out, and her voice was quiet.
‘Let’s just get this over with.’
Striker agreed. He reached out, touched her arm. ‘Look, Felicia, I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean a thing by it. I didn’t even know I was doing it.’
She just nodded.
‘I talked to some kids,’ she said. ‘They knew where Courtney was. Said she’d taken off to Metrotown Mall. Gone looking for costumes for the Parade of Lost Souls party on Friday. She’s been seen there since the shooting started. So she’s fine, Jacob. She’s safe. She’s just ignoring you like always.’
He exhaled slowly. ‘Thanks.’
‘I thought you should know.’ When he didn’t respond, Felicia gave him a puzzled look. ‘You know, it’s okay to be relieved. You’re human, after all. Far as I can tell.’
He tried to smile at her comment, but couldn’t. Learning that Courtney was safe was paramount, even if he had believed it from the beginning. But it didn’t relieve the stress he felt, the burden that weighed heavily on every decision he made. He looked back at Felicia and said, ‘I tagged him.’
‘What?’
‘The gunman, the one who escaped – Red Mask. I tagged him once, when I shot out the rear window of the car. I know it, I can feel it. I got him. And he’s hurt.’
‘I know,’ Felicia said. ‘That’s great.’
‘It’s not great, it’s a disaster.’ When Felicia gave him a confused stare, he continued: ‘There’s nothing more desperate than a wounded animal. If he was planning on killing more kids, I’ve just done the worst thing possible – I’ve sped up his plans.’ As Striker finished speaking the words, a cold, dark feeling filled his core. And he knew instinctively that something bad was going to happen. Something for which he would be responsible. Something he would regret.
There was no doubt about it. More death was coming.
Nineteen
Red Mask lay on a table. He opened his eyes. Looked around.
The room he was in was small, lit by bulbs bright as the winter sun. In the far corner by a greyish wall stood a small, old man. He was bald. With wrinkles carved so deep his face looked wooden.
It was the doctor. Jun Kieu.
Red Mask ignored him. He lay, staring up at the glaring whiteness above. Suddenly, Kim Pham blipped into view, snapped his fingers at the two men who stood guard by the door and said, ‘Get the fuck out.’
The room cleared, and then there was only Red Mask and Kim Pham and the doctor.
‘Release me,’ Red Mask said.
The doctor came forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Be still.’
Red Mask could not. He had gone back in time.
In his mind, Kim Pham’s white suit fell away and was replaced by a green cap and a grey buttoned-down jacket. There were screams coming from outside the window, from where the women were kept. And a machinelike voice spoke.
‘You are a special agent of the Central Intelligence Agency.’
‘Sister,’ Red Mask replied, and in his mind he was eight years old again. ‘Where is my sister?’
‘You are an emissary of the United Socialistic Soviet Republic.’
‘No. No. My family—’
‘You have shit in the food supplies to make the others sick.’
‘What?’
‘You have falsified medical documents to undermine the reputation of this hospital because it is an icon of its kind and a great testament to the glory.’
‘Mother! I want my mother!’
And then, like
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