“So what’s this guys story?” my boss asked after taking a long draw on an unfiltered Camel. The room was dark except for the light over the table between us illuminating the crystal ashtray that needed cleaning, a pair of recently emptied neat glasses and a half drunk bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The scene looked like a cliche trope from a noir film of yesteryear, and we were both consciously aware of it.
“He’s a young one,” I answered after snuffing out my own Camel and pouring us both another round. “Did a stint in Iraq, the first time. He showed us what we were looking for. So he inherited his father’s territory when the time came.”
“And his parents were?” my boss inquired from the shadows.
“Of no consequence, low ranking, small territory in an economically blighted area, but they ran a tight crew. Kept things good and quiet.”
“What’s changed?” The boss asked, picking up the glass of bourbon I had poured.
“A new operative is my best guess.” I answered, picking up my own glass.
“Rogue or wildling?” The voice came from the shadows between audible sips on the whiskey.
“Whittle is competent, if it was a rouge he would have dealt with it by now.”
“Wildling it is then.” The statement was underscored by the indisputable sound of a Zippo being opened, ignited and closed. Then followed by the sound of the first drag on the next Camel.
“A wildling would have been too careless, arrogant and ignorant, to get away with murder in a cop shop. And now there is a second murder. I don’t think it was a wildling.”
“So it really was a bear then,” my superior said in an amused tone.
“That or an Heir of Remus.” I said in a deadpan manner.
My superior replied with a long, genuine laugh but kept hidden in the shadows. I leaned forward so that my face could be seen plain. My expression was devoid of any emotion, mirth most of all.
“You can’t be serious,” my superior said incredulously.
“I’m always serious.” I answered.
“The last known Heir of Remus was executed over a century ago.”
“Known,” I emphasized.
“What are you driving at, Pike? Don’t bring ghosts into this; The House if Remus is extinct.”
“It might interest you to know that the last Heir of Remus died in Whittle territory. Our records do not indicate whether she had a mate or not, but it would be safe to assume she did.”
“Ok, I’ll bite. So your theory is that we are dealing with the last alpha of Remus. Why is he is active now after all this time? What was the stressor?”
“That is the real mystery.”
My superior downed the bourbon in a single jolt. “Don’t waste our time on legends. Just find the wildling and deal with it.”
I sipped my own bourbon as a reply. I was right, she was wrong. But I had no need to pursue the matter further unless I wanted to be reassigned to Siberia.
Anonymity Gone 