Dark Angel

Chapter 1

The police had been tracking him for weeks now.  The killer of killers, murderer of murderer.  Some had been killing of the cities crime lords one after another.  The police were always one step behind.  With no leads they had to settle for identifying his next targets before the killer struck, then beating him to them and catching him in the act, or attempted act.  That was the plan at least.  So far the police had never been fast enough.  That was why he was here.

Kiran knelt over the latest crime scene.  The first the police had let him examine with fresh blood on it. 

It was a run down apartment complex on the outskirts of Manhattan Island, the ideal kind of place to do dirty business.  Ten stories in all, the building was old.  It was a sort of backwater neighborhood where only the working class lived, desperate people who were easily exploitable and more than willing to turn a blind eye on anything illegal.  Crime here was an everyday occurrence, but not this one.

Kiran was a private detective and an expensive one.  Up until now it had just been a consulting job.  They had given him evidence and photos and Kiran had helped point them in the right direction.  That was six bodies ago.  Six crime lord bodies at least.  The killer was indiscriminate in his victims for the most part.  Body guards, hired muscle, and lackies were all fair game if they got in his way, or so it would seem.  Most of the other victims were found around or in the immediate area of what Kiran could only assume were the primary targets.  Most were gun men hired for protection.  Some were known associates who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  All were victims in the end.

“Try not to faint.”  One of the detectives called from the other side of the room.

This scene had the tell tale signs of the man they had been chasing for the past six weeks, bodies strewn across the floor, blood splattered on the walls and ceiling, and no witnesses left alive to talk.  Being criminals, most of these men chose not to install expensive security systems that could become a liability if the law got a hold of the recordings.  Those that did always turned up nothing.  The killer always knew where the cameras were.  Whoever he was, he was good.

It was often foolish to assume that only one man was responsible for carnage on this scale, or that the perpetrator was a man at all, but referring to the killer as “it” seemed awkward.  At any rate, from what Kiran could tell if there was an accomplice then he or she was equally as skilled at covering his or her tracks.  All of the crime scenes were the same.  No finger prints belonging to anyone but the victims or known associates.  No DNA evidence belonging to anyone but the bodies present.  No hairs, fibers, weapons, or even foreign cloth or clothing articles.  Who could kill seven men and no leave a single clue?  That was the other thing.

Some of the victims were cut by a sharp object, and not just cut.  Many were severed in two, missing limbs, or their heads, often combinations of the three.  Others were run through, and some were killed by blunt force trauma so powerful it left hemorrhaging.  Other bodies were twisted or contorted in odd angles with no signs of bruising or outward injuries.  None of it made sense.  How did he kill victims without touching them, how could he put 250 lbs. men through concrete walls, and how could he slay dozens of assailants loaded with fire arms with nothing but a blade?  The police could not even figure out how he was identifying and locating his targets.  They had a hard enough time finding them with the entire city government resources at their disposal.  Everything about this case seemed impossible.

Kiran carefully walked to the center of the crime scene and removed the body sheet from the victim next to him.  This was Liam Doyle, the man Kiran assumed had been their killer’s target.  He, and all of his employees present, had been cut in segments with some sort of sharp object.  One long enough to sever his body into several different pieces.  A sword, most likely, Kiran figured.  Like the other victims, Doyle had been armed to teeth as well as several of the other victims in the room.  The place was littered with empty shell casings, which indicated that they not only saw their attacker coming, but had ample time to fight back before they were slain.  It apparently had made no difference.  Dozens of bullet holes could be found in the surrounding walls, but all of the blood in the room belonged to the victims.  Whatever they were shooting at they missed.

Kiran replaced the sheet over the body and walked back towards the door, ducking underneath the crime scene tape on his way out.  He had nothing left to gain by lingering here.

“So what can you tell us?”  Lieutenant Vincent asked as Kiran approached.

Vincent was the lead detective on this case.  He was a lieutenant in the NYPD and head of the police department major case unit.  The case had been turned over to him after the second crime boss had been found murdered, surrounded in a pool of blood made of both his and those of his colleagues, all twelve of them.

“Nothing you don’t already know.”  Kiran replied calmly.  “Except for that.”

Kiran pointed to the eastern wall of the room.  An image of a single wing had been drawn upon it, drawn in the blood of the victims.  It much resembled the wings of an angel, though the context was somewhat different.

“That’s creepy.”  One of the other detectives commented.

“Dark Angel.”  Vincent said.

“Dark Angel?”  Kiran asked.

“That’s what the papers are calling him now.”  Vincent replied.  “Thanks entirely to this new signature he’s decided to leave us.”

“Why suddenly start leaving a signature at crime scenes that are otherwise spotless?”  Another officer asked.

“Maybe he’s getting cocky.”  Kiran replied.

“Let’s hope so.”  Vincent added.  “What else have you got for me?”

“All of your victims were killed by some sort of sharp object, but none of them bled to death.  All of the bodies had vital organs pierced, some of them several.  They were all dead within seconds.”

“What about the killer?”

“Nothing new there either.”  Kiran continued.  “MO and pattern fits your man.  A known crime lord and all of his associates present.  No finger prints, fibers, or cloth samples.  No DNA evidence and no apparent motive, other than the obvious.”

“So we hired you for nothing.”  Another detective called from behind Vincent.

“No,”  Kiran replied.  “You hired me to find his next victim before he does.  Not study the crime scenes.  I came here on the off chance I might find something useful.  I did not.”

Kiran pushed passed the detectives and made his way back to his car.

“You’ll call me if you find anything?”  Lieutenant Vincent asked as Kiran started the ignition.

“I will.”  Kiran replied.  “I have a few working theories, but they’re still premature.  I’ll let you know when I have something solid.”

“Don’t take too long.”  Vincent told Kiran.  “We may get paid by the hour, but every hour I get paid overtime is an hour I could spend sleeping or at home with my family.  What good is money if you never get to spend it?”

“Agreed.”  Kiran replied.  “I think I just about have this pattern figured out.  Give me twelve hours to hash it out and I’ll swing by your office.”

Vincent nodded and Kiran drove off, passing all of the ambulances and police cruisers on his way out.  The police had hired Kiran for a reason.  Kiran was a good private detective, one of the best, but that was not his only talent.  Kiran had another trick that the police did not.  A trick he had held back on until now, but now it was time for him to employ it.  All other options had failed.
Kiran had not gotten to be a private detective on intelligent and wit alone.  Being a detective took something more than that: connections.  Kiran had spent the last six months developing the contacts he needed to find his way around New York City.  He had come to New York after the batch of “disturbances” two years ago had made it a hot spot.  It had made business booming for Kiran, though he was not sure whether or not that was a good thing.  Kiran turned south and headed towards Brooklyn.  It was time he made use of those connections.

The streets were empty at this time of night, especially since the incident two years ago.  Since then there had been an epidemic of violent crimes in the city ranging from burglary to serial murder.  This latest case had only been one of the dozens that had dropped into the laps of the major case unit, and the first Kiran had managed to get in on.

Brooklyn was one of the sub-sections of New York City, south of Manhattan.  It had always been teeming with nightlife, and that had never changed even in spite of recent events.  It was a good place to find people and a good place to find people looking for other people.  People often went there looking for information, and Kiran was interesting in people looking for information, especially if those people were looking for information on local crime bosses.  Kiran parked his car on the street a block away from a bar owned by one of his contacts and walked the rest of the way.  It was prudent to park out of sight range from your destination in Kiran’s line of work, especially if your destination was a hang out for criminals and other lower city scum.

It was run down place just off of the free way.  The buildings were all old and rust colored, some no more than five stories high, which was short for this town.  The place smelled of diesel fuel and sewer and the stores were all labeled with tarnished signs that looked like they had been put up in the ‘80s, at least those that were labeled at all.  It was not the worst part of Brooklyn, but it definitely was not the best.  At this time of night it was not hard to find parking.  All of the cars on the street either belonged to those that lived here or those that worked here, and the streets and alleys were mostly devoid of pedestrians.  A perfect place to do business if you did not want anybody looking or listening in.  Also a perfect place to see and hear things people don’t want seen or heard.

Kiran walked in the door and took a seat at the bar.  It was deserted at this time of night, which came as no surprise for a week night.  The bar tender was watching glassed with his back turned to the door.

“Be with you in a minute.”  The old bar tender called as he heard Kiran enter.

He was a tall man, standing at least half a head taller than Kiran with white skin and blonde hair that was shod with grey.  He had a scruffy five o’clock shadow, though Kiran could not tell with the man’s back turned, and his blue eyes were worn and sagging from use and age.

“Double scotch on the rocks.”  Kiran said after he sat down.  “I need information, Mak.”

“Kiran.”

The bar tender recognized Kiran’s voice.  It was not hard.  Kiran’s voice was low and distinct, and not many men of Asian decent hung around this part of town.  Kiran did not have an accent, but he did have the looks.  Curved, thin eyes with brown iris’, dark skin, and black hair.  All the trade marks of the orient.

“Someone’s been asking questions.”  Kiran continued.

“A lot of people ask questions.”  Mak replied.  Information is what I deal…”

“Questions about local crime bosses.”

“That’s dangerous territory.”  Mak replied somewhat hesitantly.  “I steer clear of that kind of talk.”

“I’m not the first one to come in here asking,”  Kiran continued.  “Am I, Mak?”

“Now look Kiran,”  Mak was starting to sound scared.  “There are some things even I don’t want to know.”

“Since when?”  Kiran asked.

“People are being killed left and right these days.”  Mak told Kiran.  “Even the big crime bosses can’t protect themselves.  Why would I want to be a part of that?”

“Because I know you, Mak.”  Kiran replied.  “A man like you keeps dirty little secrets locked away just in case you need a bargaining chip.”

“I keep it at a distance now…”

“You know you can’t lie to me, Mak.”  Kiran continued.

“Now look here…”

Mak’s last sentence trailed off as he caught Kiran looking him straight in the eye.  Mak looked away as if to try to fight it, but he could not hold Kiran off for long.

“I know someone was here asking questions Mak.”  Kiran continued.

Who was it?

Kiran held Mak’s gaze for another moment before he had what he wanted and let Mak go.  Mak’s thoughts had told Kiran everything he needed to know.  He could not lie to Kiran, nor could he keep information from him.  That was Kiran’s talent.  Kiran was a telepath. He could read minds.
Kiran was right about Mak’s character as well.  He always kept a few dark secrets locked away in case he needed a bargaining chip.  It was probably the reason the old man was still alive.  Another man had come in just the night before, a white male approximately six feet tall with brown hair and blue eyes.  He was wearing a black leather jacket over a grey shirt with jeans and brown boots.  Mak also had a very good memory, a trait he had honed for the trade, no doubt.  The man had been asking questions about the local crime syndicate.  Nothing about Liam Doyle in particular, but plenty of pointed questions aimed at Doyle’s collegues and employees.  He was a strong man who had grabbed Mak by the collar and easily overpowered him to pry for answers and Mak had given him what little information he had before the man was satisfied, or at least thought he had enough to move on the next lead, or that’s what Mak had let him think.  Mak was no stranger the city underworld.  Kiran suspected that Mak had been hired muscle back in his time.  He was old now, but Mak was no slouch, even for a man pushing sixty.  He may have looked old and worn out, but that was what he wanted you to think.  Mak was a lot more dangerous than he looked, but whoever this man had been asking about had been someone even Mak was too scared to double cross.  It was not a smoking gun, but it was Kiran’s only lead.

Kiran tossed a couple twenties on the counter for a drink he had never drank or been served and headed out the door.  Mak was a stubborn man and clearly he was scared shitless, but Kiran still owed him for what little info he had gotten.  Kiran’s talent allowed him to bypass some of the rules of the city’s crime world when it came to gathering information.  Not only could he read the minds of other people without them knowing, but he could also allow others to feed him information freely and still say they had told Kiran nothing.  A technicality to say the least, but a useful one.  One that had helped to keep many of Kiran’s contacts alive while still providing him with fresh leads and new angles to look at.  Most people’s minds were easy to read.  Surface thoughts were always easy to scan, but even deeper thought was not particularly hard to get at, especially if Kiran had a direct line of sight on his target.  The fact that it took him effort to pry information out of Mak said a lot about the man.  Mak was dangerous indeed.  That only made the characters that Kiran was after that much more menacing.

I knew this was big, but…

Kiran mentally took stock of the names the man that had threatened Mak had been asking about, then walked back to his car and started up the engine.  It was going to be a long night, but Kiran only had eleven more hours before his meeting with Vincent.  If he delayed it any longer their next victim would be dead long before the police could act.  So far the killer had distanced his attacks be at least a day, but the time between was getting shorter and shorter with each new murder.  That told Kiran that the only thing slowing this killer down was information.  He took what info he needed from his current target, then killed them and moved on to the next.  Doyle was especially good and trafficking and collecting information.  It was how he had risen so quickly in the criminal underworld.  It had only been two hours since the bodies had been found, but even Kiran’s twelve hour deadline was pushing it.

The man Mak had pointed Kiran and his assailant to was named Dave Rich.  According Mak, or at least what Mak had told the man, Dave was a small time drug dealer who hung out on the corner of a block not half a mile from where Doyle set up shot.  It was a small lead, but it was the only one Kiran had to head east towards Queens.  Doyle had been killed in an office building in Manhattan, but that was not his head quarters.  Doyle had been there on business when the killer found him, which told Kiran that not only had the killer found out where Doyle was hiding, but also had information on his business time table.  Information was a weapon, one that Kiran normally had the upper hand on, but this time was different.  Whoever this killer was, he was good.

Kiran stuck the freeway on his way into Queens.  It was often packed at night and slower than taking the lower city, but it was also safer.  If the killer was as good at gathering intel as Kiran thought then he might be aware that Kiran was on to him, or at least whoever it was that was sent to get information from Mak.  Kiran would have to work fast.

Kiran pulled off of the freeway and into Doyle’s former turf.  In all likelihood Rich was not here anymore.  He would not be if he was smart, but then again, small time dealers seldom were.  He was small time for a reason.  He did not have the brains or the resources to run a bigger operation, nor the cash.  That meant he might still be out if only for desperation.  Mak had been thinking about what Rich looked like when he told the man about him.  Kiran had not gotten a clear picture, but he had some semblance of who he was looking for.  He parked his car on the outer most block of the neighborhood and got out to go the rest on foot.  This was going to take a lot of leg work anyways.  Kiran had some psychic abilities, but he could only lock onto the thought patterns of someone he was familiar with, and he had never met Rich before.  He would have to start the old fashioned way.  Kiran approached the first person on the street that looked like they knew their way around.

“Excuse me sir,”  Kiran said calmly.  “I’m looking for a man.”

It was nearly two hours later before Kiran had narrowed his search down to only one city block.  Being a small time dealer Rich’s area of business was small, but he had to constantly to keep moving in order to find new customers.  He usually made his routes around four or five blocks from what Kiran could gather.  He had already checked the other three.  This was the last one.  When Kiran spotted a man talking to someone who looked like a junkie he approached.

“Dave Rich?”  Kiran asked.

“I’m busy right now.”  The man replied, turning back to his would-be client.

“I need something from you.”

“So does everyone.”  The man told Kiran.  “What are you into?  Crack?  Meth?”

“Information.”  Kiran said coldly.

“Who’s asking?”  Rich asked.

“Someone willing to pay.”  Kiran replied, holding up a folded one hundred dollar bill.  “Someone was asking about Liam Doyle last night.”

“Yea, maybe.”  Rich answered.  “You interested in Doyle to?”

“Just what you told the other man and who he was.”  Kiran replied.

“Don’t know who he was.”  Rich replied.  “But I don’t get paid to ask questions.  Only answer them.”

Men like Rich were easy to deal with.  The proper enticing words and their minds began to wonder over the information freely debating over what and what not to tell, especially if they saw money being flashed.  In truth it looked like Rich was willing to spill everything Kiran needed without Kiran ever having to read him, but fortune favored the thorough.  Rich had also seen the man face to face, so Kiran could take a mental image of the man from Rich’s memories.

“What did you tell him?”  Kiran asked.

Rich extended his hand towards Kiran as if he wanted something.  Kiran placed the one hundred dollar bill in Rich’s palm.

“He wanted to know about Doyle’s supply routes.”  Rich answered, after examining the bill.  “Being on the edge of Doyle’s turf I get most of my stuff from him and anything else I bring in I have to clear by him, but I don’t know all of his suppliers.  I gave him what I know and pointed him in the direction to find out the rest.”

“What did he want with Doyle’s supply routes?”  Kiran asked.

“Don’t know.”  Rich replied.  “But he was especially interested in the drop locations.  I gave him the two that I know of.”

“Which are?”

“One in an old church 5 blocks north of here.”  Rich replied.  “One in an old warehouse on the other side of the freeway, but I know he’s got have more.”

Kiran turned and began to walk away.

“You sure you don’t want to buy something else?”  Rich called behind him, holding up a small clear bag of white powder.  “I’ll even give you a free sample.”

“No thanks.”  Kiran replied as he walked away.

The church was closer.  It seemed like a typical place for drug dealers and other criminals to do business.  It was abandoned and run down so no one would be there and it was in a shadier part of town so no one would come wondering in uninvited.  A bit cliché, but still effective.

Kiran was on a time crunch so he chose to run the five blocks to the place that Rich had told him about.  Kiran had done plenty of leg work before, but he was no used to having to chase ghosts.  This killer was at least two steps ahead of him now, having already killed Doyle and taken any information he had on rivals and business associates.

The drop off point was not a great lead either.  If anything it was only useful in finding Doyle, and that was only if Doyle has a supply drop coming in tonight.  Being dead, it was not likely Doyle had any shipments coming in ever, but there still might be some clues left behind.  Again, it was all Kiran had.  He covered the distance in under five minutes and scoped out the church from the outside.  It looked quiet from what Kiran could see, so he kicked in the front door and headed inside.

I was never known for my subtlety.

The main hall was quiet.  There were several rows of old wooden benches in front of a main stage, just like every other church in New York.  There were several side rooms off of the main hall that Kiran could see and from the outside Kiran would have guessed that there no other large rooms or storage areas besides this one.  Kiran checked each of the rooms one by one.  The first two were empty, but he caught the scent of blood as he headed for the third.  Kiran opened the door and found more of it on the flood and walls, even some on the ceiling.  There was no body that Kiran could find and there was no stench of rotting corpses coming from the place, so whoever had been killed had also been moved, but the blood was somewhat fresh.  Less than a day old from what Kiran could tell.  Kiran opened the room’s closet and found a stash of clear plastic cases each filled with a white powdery substance, stacked like bricks to about waist level.  The motive fit.  Whoever had killed the supply room clerk had taken no interest in the drugs.  Most likely the killer had bled the man for information about Doyle’s whereabouts, then hidden the body elsewhere.  He had not bothered to clean up the blood, but without the body the cops could not prove a murder and the place was in a shady part of town where it was unlikely that anyone who was not looking would come across the blood.

Kiran went over what he could of the room with a hanker chief so he would not leave any finger prints.  The last thing he needed was to be implicated in a drug case.  Kiran found some scattered papers and a manila folder, also covered in blood, and examined the contents.  Doyle was also meticulously good at keeping records, which was a trait common for trafficking and collecting intelligence.  The more important passages had been blotted out by blood, but Kiran was able to make out a few names and words.  Two of the names stood out:  Robert Minelli and Johny Cruz, a mobster and a big time weapons dealer.  This much was already more information that Kiran could ever have hoped for.  Kiran left the church and made the job back to his car.

Kiran lived in Manhattan so it was almost an hour drive back to his place in traffic, but all of his notes were there.  Kiran had heard the names Minelli and Cruz before, but they had never been on his top list for potential targets.  It did not fit the pattern he had been establishing for this particular serial killer.  If anything it seemed completely random.  So far the only connections Kiran had been able to make between the victims was location and their sudden rise to power within the criminal underworld.  Minelli and Cruz had both been around for years.

Kiran unlocked the front door to his apartment complex and ascended the stairs to the eighth level where he lived.  He unlocked his own door and stepped inside before locking it again, then took a seat at his desk.

Kiran lived in a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with a kitchen and living room.  That entire unit was maybe 700 square feet in area.  Not the largest, most luxurious place in Manhattan, but it suited him just fine.

Kiran went over what he had so far.  For the most part the killing had all been done in the western Manhattan area of New York City, which also happened to be the focal point of the incident that happened two years ago.  All of the victims had been within a certain ring of geographical influence and they had all been relatively new to the criminal scene, having only risen to power within the past year or so.  They had all also been extremely violent and come to power almost exclusively through brute force and force of arms.  These last few however, including Liam Doyle, were not on Kiran’s list of usual targets.  Doyle may have been new to the crime scene, but he had come to power through information warfare, where as Minelli and Cruz had both been in the picture for years prior having either slowly grown their enterprises up from scratch or inherited them.  Doyle, Minelli, and Cruz were also based out of locations that did match up with the geographical pattern that Kiran had established.  Doyle was at least near Manhattan, but Minelli and Cruz where nowhere near the rest of the victims.

Kiran checked his wrist watch.  He only had 6 hours left until his meeting with the lieutenant.  He had to hash this whole thing out before then.  Thankfully the next two potential targets were men that were easy to find.  That was because they had large criminal operations that had been around for decades, another thing that did not fit with the pattern.  Either the killer was getting sloppy or he was moving on to bigger fish.

Kiran grabbed his note book and began retracing what he already knew.  This was going to take a while.

Five hours later…

Kiran parked his car in front of the New York City police station and headed inside.  He had not slept in almost 48 hours now, but that was normal in his line of work.  Kiran made an excellent detective, but that was not his strongest skill.  It had taken him longer than he thought to figure the whole mess out, and even then he still had several holes in his theories.  At least now he had information that narrowed down his list of potential next targets to two men.  Kiran walked over to the lieutenant’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”  The lieutenant called.  “Sit.”

Kiran sat down in front of the detective’s desk and placed the folder he was carrying on the table.

“What have you got for me?”

“I came across some information that might tell us who our killer is after next.”  Kiran said calmly.

“Who?”  The lieutenant asked as he opened the folder and started reading.

“Robert Minelli and Johny Cruz.”  Kiran replied.  “Two potential business associates of one Mr. Liam Doyle.”

“Potential?”

“I have reason to believe Doyle was negotiating with either one or both of them.”  Kiran continued.  “Either because he was planning on expanding his turf or was buying something from them.  Minelli may have been one of Doyle’s suppliers and who better to buy guns like the ones we found on Doyle and his guys than Cruz?”

“Where did you come across this information?”  Vincent asked.

“Good old fashioned leg work.”  Kiran replied with a grin.  “I found one of Doyle’s safe houses in Queens not five blocks from the freeway exit.  It’s an old church where he had some of his shipments dropped off.  There was blood all over the place, but no body, and there were several files from one of Doyle’s folders that indicating he was doing business with both of these men.  I’d say they’re most likely to be the next targets on our killer’s list.”

Vincent continued to go over the papers in the file Kiran had given him for a few more minutes, then closed the folder and placed it on the desk.  He turned back to Kiran.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s the best lead we have.”  Kiran replied.

“Alright,”  Vincent told Kiran.  “Which one do you think he’ll be most likely to go after first?”
“Our guy is good,”  Kiran answer.  “Real good.  Cruz may supply the weapons, but from what we’ve seen even fully automatic rifles won’t stop him.  He’ll most likely go after whoever has the most connections.  My bet is on Minelli.”

“Good,”  Vincent replied.  “I’ll put a team of SWATs together and head out to Minelli’s place on the docks.”

“Let me come with you.”  Kiran told Vincent.  “I’m as much a part of this case as you are now.”

“No,”  Vincent replied.  “We still have no idea what this guy is capable of or even how many of him there are.  I’m taking SWAT and veteran cops only.”

“You need me for this.”  Kiran protested.

“It’s not up for discussion.”  Vincent replied.  “Keep working other leads in case you’re wrong.  Otherwise, you’re not to go near Minelli’s place under any circumstances.  Do I make myself clear.”

Kiran gave a hesitant nod.  Vincent still did not completely trust Kiran.  He took most of Kiran’s theories at face value, but some of his other theories, like the way the killer known as “Dark Angel” was killing his victims, Vincent did not have the time of day for.  There was absolutely no way any man could kill the amount of people their killer had with any sort of conventional weapons or fire arms.  The blade cuts were obvious enough, but the mark less blunt force trauma and the twisted limbs and bones were another thing.  The only marks they could find on their victims were the ones caused by collision with hard objects such as desks or walls.  Nothing resembling a weapon or a person’s hand or body.

“Good.”  Vincent said.  “I have to get my team ready.  We’ll be in radio contact.”

Vincent stood up from his desk and grabbed his jacket and fire arm.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Then he left the office and began barking orders to his crew.  Kiran sighed.  People were so predictable, even Vincent.  Kiran had given Vincent truthful information, but he had held something back.  Kiran went back out into the main office and up the stairs towards the upper levels.  Even if Vincent would not have him along he still had work to do.

On the other side of the police station Vincent and his crew were almost ready to go.  Vincent was donning a black bullet proof vest labeled “Police” with his side arm under his left arm and his police shield hung around his neck.

“All right, let’s mount up!”  Vincent called to the rest of his team.

Four SWAT vans, eight black and whites, and all other available units called in to converge on the scene as Vincent got in his car and began to head out, the rest of the caravan falling in line behind him.  They still had no idea what they were up against, which was why Vincent was traveling heavy.  He had more than enough man power to stop a small army with him and enough lead to sink a battleship.  Vincent put his siren on the top of his car through the passenger side window, then motioned for his driver to head out.
Robert Minelli’s operation was set up at the docks south of Manhattan on the river towards the bay.  Vincent had called the local police department to let them know what was up before he and the cavalry had mounted up.  It was a forty five minute drive normally, and with a caravan this size it took them closer to an hour.  To the workers at the docks it must have looked like a police raid as the SWAT trucks drove in, the black and whites and the lieutenant’s car close behind them.  Then fanned out in a perimeter around the building, then SWAT team members began pouring from the vans.

“What the hell is this?!”  One Italian man approaching one of the officers demanded.  “Do you guys have a warrant?”

“We have reason to believe the killer known as Dark Angel is on his way,”  The lieutenant told the man as he ran up to the building.  “He may even already be inside.  Where is Robert Minelli.”

“Mr. Minelli’s in a meeting.”  The man answered.  “He’s been in there with a client for the past two hours.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”  Vincent asked.

“About two hours ago, why?”

“The doors are locked!”  One of the SWAT members called as they began surrounding the building.  “All of the entrances are sealed!”

“Open the door.”  Vincent told the man.

“I told you, he’s with a client.”

“Open the door, now!”

The man obliged grudgingly.  SWAT members began to pour into the warehouse through the front door.  So far there was no sign of occupants.  As they began filing up the stairs and onto the catwalk Vincent spotted blood on the floor.

“Move!”  Vincent yelled to his crew.



Chapter 2

The guard moved towards the door after he heard the knock.  They had been expecting clients today, but the boss was already upstairs negotiating a business deal.  No one else was supposed to be arriving for another three hours.  Not only that, but they had a special system of knocks they used to indicate who was at the door, that way no one uninvited could get in without getting shot full a holes.  Another series of knock resounded through the metal.

“Let me in!”  Joe, the dock worker from the crane called from the other side.  “We got a problem out here.”

The guard sighed and eased his hand off of the trigger.

“Joe!”  He called as he began to open the bulkhead door.  “You know you’re supposed to knock while the boss is havin’ a business meeting.”

“I know,”  Joe replied.  “But I gotta go to the bathroom.”

The guard sighed and pulled the door open to see Joe standing in front of him like an idiot.

“We don’t jus’ stand there.”  The guard said.  “Hurry up and…”

The guard’s words stopped in their tracks as blood began to trickle from Joe’s mouth, then he fell forwards face first onto the metal floor below, blood trickling from the small of his back where a blade had pierced him.  The guard reached for the gun strapped over his shoulder and fumbled for the trigger, but the intruder darted inside the door in an instant.  Another flash of steel and the guard fell dead on top of his comrade, cut from shoulder to hip with blood trickling everywhere.

“The hell was that?”  Another one of the guards asked his partner.

Two more men carrying civilian MP5s moved towards the disturbance.

“What the?!”  One of the guards yells as a figure wearing black moved from the two dead bodies at his feet and towards the two guards.

The first guard aimed his weapon and fired, getting off at least ten rounds before his heart was pierced by something silver and sharp.  The other guard screamed and began to fire his weapon as well, but the figure was too quick and he hit nothing but metal walls.  Before the guard to turn to see where his attack had gone the tip of a sword blade cut him across the left side of his neck and severed the carotid artery, killing him instantly and spraying blood everywhere.

The boss he heard the commotion by now from inside of his office.  His business associates were starting to get nervous and draw weapons of their own.

“What the hell is going on out there?”  One of them asked.

“Just calm down.”  The boss replied.  “I’m sure my men have it under control.”

“Those were gunshots I heard.”  Another said.

More gun fire could be heard outside of the office, followed by men screaming and yelling.  Bullets could be heard ricocheting off of the bulk head and surrounding metal walls.  More screaming, then something that sounded like metal crashing into metal.  The whole room shook and the sound of metal twisting and bending could be heard, more screaming and gunfire, then silence.

All of the men in the room had their weapons drawn now, the boss included.  They were all silent now, listening for more noises.  They had turned the lights off so that no one could see inside.  For a moment one of them thought he could hear footsteps, but then everything was quiet again.  No gun fire.  No screaming.  Just silence.

“What the hell is going?”  One of the mobsters whispered.

“Shhhhh!”  Another called.

“The hell have you gotten us all into?!”

“Quiet!”  The boss hushed at the others.

Then they heard a noise from behind them.  They all turned to bring their weapons to bear.

Everyone outside was dead now.  Now it was just him.  The killer clad in a black trench coat with a sword strapped across his back stood outside the door to the boss’s office.  His objective was only a few meters away from him now.  The only thing that stood between him and his goal was a few inches of steel.  That had never stopped him before.  The killer walked up to the door and grabbed it with both hands and tried to turn the wheel.  It did not budge.  It was locked from the inside.  The killer turned the wheel again, but harder this time, concentrating his mind on the metal underneath his fingers.  The steel whined for a moment, then it began to creak as the metal began to twist, then the wheel moved.  Slowly it turned clockwise as the creaking of metal tearing and twisting continued to sing throughout the hallway, then the locking bolt gave entirely and wheel turned quickly in several revolutions.  The door swung open and the light from the hallway began to illuminate the dark room.

“Johny Cruz,”  The man grinned.  “I’m here to pass your judgment.”

As the room slowly lit up a single figure could be made out standing in the center of the room.

“Hello, Dark Angel.”  Kiran said with a smile.

----------------------------

“That’s confirmed.”  One of the SWAT team members called over the radio.  “Robert Minelli is safe and in custody now along with his business associates.  No one else is present in the complex.”

“Good,”  The Lieutenant answered.  “Any sign of our man?”

“That’s a negative, lieutenant.”  The SWAT officer replied.

Vincent set his radio down on the roof of his car and sighed.  He could not decide whether it was a sigh or relief or a sigh of frustration.  Robert Minelli was safe.  That was good in more ways than just the obvious.  If Minelli was suddenly killed off, the resulting power vacuum would leave the mob at war with each other for years.  At least now all of that could be avoided, but still.

Kiran’s theories were not always what one would call sound, but he had never been wrong up until this point.  Had he been wrong about Minelli and Cruz altogether, or had he only been wrong about Minelli?  Kiran was far too smart to have Vincent mobilize and operation as massive as this one on simply a mere hunch.  No, it had to be the latter.  Minelli was a target, but second one down on the list.  Not the one at the top.

“All units,”  Vincent called over his radio.  “Once Minelli is secure put him in protective custody and head back up to Manhattan and across the Jersey bridge.”

“Back to Manhattan lieutenant?”  One of the detectives asked.

“We’re going to Johny Cruz’s place, now move!”