uninformed, closed-minded individuals. The fact that I made no secret of my religion forced me to deal with it on a daily basis. Fortunately, witch burning was no longer an accepted practice, so verbal debasement and occasional graffiti were pretty much the worst I had to face. Because I had become so jaded to it, her comment was easily and quickly disregarded.
Ben, on the other hand, was furious. Ever since I had known him, he had been very protective of his family and friends. Even though he had wallowed in his own disbelief until just recently, he had never passed judgment upon my religion or me. The look that suddenly crossed his face was testimony to the fact that he was not about to allow someone else to do so.
“You wait just one goddamn minute!” he asserted, angrily thrusting his index finger at her. “Don’t come in here with your holier-than-thou attitude and start insultin’ people you don’t even know. Whether you like it or not, Rowan Gant is part of this investigation. A VERY IMPORTANT part.”
“Yes he is. He should be a suspect.”
“Don’t even go there! If it weren’t for him, we’d all still be scratchin’ our asses tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on. I’ll put him up against your PhD’s any day of the week.”
“Is that why you have four homicides and a kidnapping to deal with?” Thick, bitter sarcasm dripped from her comment.
“I’ve got four homicides and a kidnappin’ to deal with because there appears to be a bumper crop of sick assholes this year,” he echoed. “Now, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy. Because of Rowan, we know who the sonofabitch is, and I’m tryin’ ta’ get a warrant, so we can stop him from killin’ this little girl. If you wanna help, fine. If you wanna cop an attitude and cause me a lotta grief, then you can take your fuckin’ Ivy-league-piled-high-and- deeps and shove them up your…”
“Ben!” Carl Deckert’s voice sliced surgically through the air as if on cue, preventing Ben from completing his verbal instructions to Special Agent Mandalay. “The warrant’s signed. Benson’s on the phone.”
“Tell ‘im to get his ass back here now,” Ben turned and barked over his shoulder. “I want everyone in the conference room in fifteen. And have somebody get a map of the streets around this shithead’s house.”
Detective Deckert acknowledged and immediately relayed Ben’s message into the phone before hurrying off to set up the meeting. Ben turned his attention back to the thin-lipped, staunchly staring face of Agent Mandalay.
“Like I said, Special Agent, I’m busy. If you’re still interested in helpin’, the tactical meeting is in fifteen minutes.”
Her expression never changed as she hissed venomously, “I’ll be there.”
“How in the hell can you stand wearing one of these things?” I whispered my question to Ben through the darkness behind his van.
I was trying to force myself to ignore the itching sensation that was erupting over the majority of my torso as we took our positions in the shadows. The air was unmoving and viscous with humidity, and though it was already after ten in the evening, the mercury had only dipped into the mid-eighties.
Rivulets of sweat brought on by the tenseness of the situation, as well as the heat, were tickling my chest and back as the force of gravity inched them slowly downward. Mid-chest, a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves began to complain. The more I tried to keep my mind off it, the more intense it became, until finally, a violent itch burst forth. Instinctively, my hand shot up to relieve the prickling sensation with what promised to be an ecstatic scratch. Unfortunately, instead of giving me the relief I sought, my fingers impacted with a dull thud against the object of my earlier vocal disdain-a Kevlar flak vest.
“Ya’ just do,” Ben whispered back. “Besides, I promised Felicity I wouldn’t let ya’ get hurt.”
The tactical meeting had gone quickly as the veteran members of the MCS had studied the enlarged street map in order to plan the best avenue of assault. From the moment the warrant was signed, the machine that was the Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad shifted into high gear-each individual doing whatever was necessary to ensure the success of the operation. The local police department had been immediately notified and the house placed under surveillance. That had been just over an hour ago. Thus far, the only activity in the residence had been the lights going off.
We had stationed ourselves on a side street diagonally across from the address while the rest of the force had fanned out around the home. The houses directly behind and to either side had been surreptitiously evacuated in order to keep the occupants out of harm’s way. To someone such as myself who had witnessed such things only on television cop shows, the entire process seemed oddly surreal.
Every member of the Major Case Squad and more than a handful of officers from the local municipality, uniformed and not, were spread in a tight circle around the small brick house. Here and there, if you knew exactly where to look, you could occasionally catch a fleeting glimpse of one of them through the shadows. A flash of eyes peering out the gap of a full-face-hugging balaclava. A quick instant where the stenciled yellow POLICE on someone’s flak vest came into view or even the glint of the streetlights from the barrel of a gun.
“Are you sure you need this many people?” I whispered nervously once again. “I mean, I’m not trying to tell you your job or anything, but, you know…”
If Ben noticed my anxiety, which I’m sure he did, he didn’t mention it. “I’m a great believer in excessive force,” he quipped softly. “’Specially when it comes ta’ assholes like this one.”
The streets were barricaded for two blocks in either direction, and there had been no vehicular traffic for the past ten minutes. The only sound to be heard was the almost mechanical on-again off-again warbling of nature’s chitin-covered orchestra in the trees. Even the city had fallen quiet, or so it seemed.
The sound of a car coasting quietly to a stop behind us violated the hush. I started nervously, and Ben simply turned, still tactfully ignoring my jitters.
Detective Deckert had switched off the headlights and killed the engine farther up the street then allowed the stored momentum to roll the vehicle smoothly up to us. As soundlessly as they could manage, he and Special Agent Mandalay climbed out of the station wagon and gently pushed the doors shut. Our position was fairly obscured by a tall evergreen hedgerow, so they were able to duck down and remain unseen as they made their way forward. The moon had stationed itself behind a shadowy wall of clouds, and we were parked as far away from the streetlights as possible. However, there was still enough of a dim glow for me to see that Deckert had squeezed himself into a vest as well. Over hers, Agent Mandalay had donned a dark blue windbreaker bearing the stenciled logo “FBI” across the left breast.
“What the hell is he doing here?!” Special Agent Mandalay hissed at Ben as she drew up next to us.
“Observin’,” he returned evenly.
“What do you mean ‘observing’?” she declared. “This is a law enforcement operation. He’s a civilian.”
“Raise your right hand, Rowan,” Ben ordered without taking his gaze from her.
“Do what?” I voiced my confusion.
He glanced over at me quickly. “Raise your right hand.” When I had done so, he returned his cold stare to Agent Mandalay. “Do you, Rowan Gant,” he began, “Swear to love your wife, pet your dog, and uphold truth, justice, and the American way, so help you whatever deity it is you Witches worship?”
“You can’t deputize him!” she hissed once again. “This isn’t a cowboy movie!”
“Well, Rowan? Do ya’?” he pressed.
“Sure,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m going to have your badge, Storm!” she pronounced angrily through clenched teeth.
“Jeezus Christ,” Deckert interjected in a harsh murmur. “Will you two give it a rest!? We’ve got a psycho to stop. If you’re that desperate to have a battle of egos, I’ll be more than happy to ring the freakin’ bell for ya’… AFTER we catch this guy.”
The combative stares lingered between the two of them a moment longer, then Ben turned his head and reached up to the microphone clipped on the shoulder of his vest and depressed the talk button.
“All positions report in,” he whispered.
The radio on his belt, set to low volume, crackled slightly as each of the pre-designated teams reported in one by one. When all had answered their readiness, Ben slipped his pistol from its shoulder holster and hefted it slightly. Deckert and Mandalay followed suit, the latter still frowning intensely as she quietly filled her hand with a government issue Sig Sauer P226.
