Justice(8)

We join Cam near the second body, what was once a man in a brown guard’s uniform, though anything else I can’t tell about him. His head is nothing but red and white sludge on the beige linoleum. It’s as if his head has dissolved, which I guess it has. The rest of him lays sprawled in front of the open cell door where more techs take pictures inside.

Cam stands and nods at the men. “Hello, sir.”

“Get us up to speed quickly,” Harry says.

Cam flips back the pages of his notebook, the detective’s best friend. “At 7:18, James Ryder, AKA Alkaline’s, cell door opened, cause unknown. Two guards were assigned to this section at the time, Steven Moore, this fellow on the ground, and Logan Dodd, who we found downstairs.”

“Where is he now?” Harry asks.

“On the way to the hospital, sans hand. Poor kid. Only twenty. He was in shock when we found him and about a second later fell unconscious. He should make it, though.”

“Did someone order protective custody for him at the hospital?” Mirabelle asks.

“Already done,” I say.

“So,” Cam says, “somehow Ryder got out of his cell, and best we can figure took Moore out right away when he went for his gun. Then he grabs Dodd and drags him to the stairwell. Like all locks between the blocks, you need both a keycard and fingerprint for the door to open.”

“Explains why he took Dodd’s hand,” I say.

“Yeah. Took his uniform too. He, uh, made it all the way to the parking lot without incident,” Cam says.

All eyes momentarily glance my way. I turn red from head to toe. Harry puts his hand on my shoulder, the smell of Old Spice wafting from him. It’s an acquired taste. “Honest mistake.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“And if you had said something he probably would have killed you,” Kowalski adds.

“Thanks.” I turn to Harry. “Any news on the car he stole?”

“We passed it on the way here. They found it a half mile down the road on the shoulder. He could be on foot.”

“We’re not that lucky,” I say. “I’ll bet he either had a car waiting for him, or someone picked him up.”

“Some unsuspecting good Samaritan?” Cam offers.

“Near a prison? Yeah, right. My money’s on an accomplice picking him up, something he arranged. He knew he only had a matter of minutes, if he’s lucky, before they realize he’s gone and sound the alarm.” Though Dodd and I screwed that up for him. “He’s not going to leave it to chance that someone will drive by and pick him up. No way in hell. Remember, this guy planned the Arroyo bank heist. He was the head of a multi-million dollar underworld organization for over twenty years. He’s a genius. Even Justice had problems capturing him. Two years we were all after this guy. Ryder left nothing to chance on this.”

“I agree with Det. Fallon,” an annoyingly familiar deep voice says. Oh, goody. Justice. If I were eight this would have been a thrill. I’d either faint or babble like an idiot. Now, I feel nothing but irritation, like a rash that pops up and bothers you for days. I’ve spent all of ten minutes of my life around him, and that was more than enough.

He’s just about 6”2’ and muscular, though how much is the dark blue leather-like suit and how much is him has been debated for ages. His suit is actually a lightweight Kevlar popular with all superheroes. Not that he needs it what with the super-healing ability, but I suppose it helps lessen bruising. Depending on the light, the suit is either black or dark blue with red piping and a white scale on his chest. Everything is covered, even his mouth, with wire over it so he can talk and breathe. Along his waist is his red belt with the usual: riot cuffs, stun gun, foam canister, and other gadgets I have no idea what he does with. Per the experts, they change depending on who he’s chasing at the time. I don’t give a crap enough to notice or care.

Not only is he able to survive a gunshot to the head with little more than a headache, he’s fast. Clocked at a hundred fast. And strong. I saw this firsthand when he lifted a car above his head at Galilee Falls Day when I was ten. Pop took me. He liked Justice too.

“The best in America and he’s all ours,” Pop would say when we watched his latest heroics on the news. Pop would flip if he knew I got to work with him. That is if he was still alive.

“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.

“Justice. Good to see you,” Harry says.

The two men shake hands, and I roll my eyes. Harry is a great detective, one of the best to ever walk the streets, but now he’s a bureaucrat first. The more stripes on the uniform, the more butts they expect you to kiss. The day they want me behind a desk is the day I turn in my badge.