HAMILTON FISK part 3

Copyright (c) 2019 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

Hamilton

Fisk

Part 3

By R. Peterson

Walter Havens (Worms) lay sprawled against the door of the Ford F150. A drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “What happened?” he moaned and rubbed his face as Hamilton Fisk (Ham) and Dorian Edwards (Creeps) tossed the Adler Damenrad ladies’ bicycle into the back of the truck and crawled into the cab.

            “Looks like you fell asleep,” Creeps told him.

            “I’m bleeding!” Worms suffered minor hysterics when he saw blood smeared on his hand.

            “You must have been dreaming,” Ham sneered. “Our closest enemies are more than a whole block away! Who on Earth in this utterly righteous-city would knock you in the head while you were sitting innocently in a pickup?”

            “We’ll fix your head when we get back under the bridge,” Creeps told him. “Right now let’s get out of here!”

Worms slid the truck sideways on the icy asphalt as he roared from the parking spot onto the far-East end of Second South Street. He checked his rear-view mirror. “You got the bike!” he gasped. “Any trouble?”

            “No,” Creeps said. His pockets were filled with sunflower seeds and he spoke between cracking shells with his teeth. “And that worries me. We got out of that place with a priceless Boogoo and with very little loss of blood!”

            “Pull over up here and we’ll check for his eye.” Ham told Worms.

Worms pulled the truck to the side of the road just past an elementary school where children were skating on a large ice rink.

            “What are we looking for?” Worms was still rubbing his head.

            “A Ptolemaic coin,” Creeps told him. “An ancient Egyptian silver piece with an all-seeing eye on the reverse side. Most birds can home in on the image the eye transmits to them and then report back to their masters.”

All three members of Abra Cadaver got out and searched every inch of the truck especially the underside but could find no trace of Joseph Amati’s tracking device.

            “I don’t know how he did it, but we definitely have an eye on us,” Creeps said pointing to dozens of sparrows landing on nearby telephone wires.

            “Where’s my BB gun when I need it?” Ham grumbled as they climbed back into the truck.

The drove on …. And a flock of sparrows followed.

-------2-------

            Ham looked at the Spanish clock-pendant hanging by a black-iron chain around her neck. “It’s almost one,” she said. “We better grab “Ink” on the way home. Worms had been driving erratically trying to lose the flock of birds which appeared to be growing. He made a hard left onto 400 South. Herman (Inks) Wilson had a job cleaning the Salt Lake City Public Library when it closed each night at six. Worms parked in the near empty lot and waited.

A few of the more than a thousand sparrows that covered the Ford truck and several nearby trees flew when a man with too large eyes and shaky hands rapped on the window. “Are you okay?” He sounded as if he were having a seizure.

            Creeps unrolled his side window. “We bought sunflower seeds in bulk from WinCo,” he said flipping a few cracked shells outside. “They drive these winter birds crazy!”

            “I can call the police if you need!” the man said waving his arms. His red-plaid Andy Cap hat fell-off exposing a handful of long thin hairs struggling desperately to reforest his barren scalp. About a dozen birds flew away, but the truck was still covered. The man waved a cell phone.

            “I wouldn’t do that,” Creeps told him. “I knew a bald-man in Texas called the cops on a swarm of robins ready to fly south. When the Houston Police arrived all they found was a pile of white droppings and a pair of shoes with blood in them.”

            “I’m not bald … but what happened to him?” The man looked at the birds with growing fear.

Creeps couldn’t help himself; he leaned out the window and whispered. “He was spotted wandering barefoot on an Acapulco beach … with a feathered nest and blue eggs stuck on his head!”

Inks arrived and crowded into the front seat. He dropped an armload of books dealing with demonology on the floor. “Who was that old geezer?” Worms asked glancing back at the angry man in the rear view mirror.

            “That was my boss,” Inks said. “Why?”

-------3-------

A cold wind blew gusts of snow under the Second South Street Bridge. Almost a dozen ragged figures were huddled around a burning garbage can. “Thank the spirits you’ve arrived,” Liberty Johnson cackled when Ham, Creeps and Worms walked in. “I’m sure the last cop who stopped by for a social visit called for a shelter bus … even though we all told him we were fine.”

“We parked in a lot two streets over,” Ham told them showing off the bike. “Is everyone ready?”

The sound of vehicles stopping on both sides of the bridge and a cluster of flashing lights made Creeps look. “It’s the Social Services Bus with a police escort,” he said. “Anyone feel like spending the night in a shelter?”

“No,” the answers were unanimous.

Eleven figures held hands as they huddled around the burning barrel. “Don’t forget the bike someone said. Ham reached out and touched it. There was a swirling of heated air around the garbage can. Flames shot from the top as if escaping from a fiery vortex. The eleven began to chant …

Leave the cold, bring on the warm.

Leave the bold, to suffer harm.

Leaf the trees, on distant shores.

Leave me please, where sunlight pours.

The bridge trembled and there was a flash of light. Then suddenly warm air blasted from under both sides of the bridge.

-------4-------

Captain Roger Munds directed his officers to guard all escape routes. The homeless usually would not run but a few might be using drugs. Carefully he made his way down the snowy embankment. The homeless in Salt Lake City were an ongoing problem with no easy answers. What most people didn’t realize was that these people were on the street not for lack of housing or job opportunities but because they could no longer function in society. Many of these ragged people were military veterans cast into the cold by the horrors of war or by something in their past that made them non-functional. It was bad politics to have street people freeze to death in the midst of prosperity. The mayor had ordered that they be transported to temporary shelters on especially cold nights whether they desired it or not.

Captain Munds shone his flashlight all over under the bridge; it was empty. He looked accusingly at two of his officers moving in from the other side. “They didn’t run out this way,” both insisted.

The captain kicked away some of the powder snow that had recently drifted in. A melted ring of ice showed where the burning barrel had been just minutes before. People might run but how could they take a hot metal barrel with them? He was especially interested in the tracks of a bicycle that seemed to just disappear.

“You want us to start searching the streets?” One of the cops asked.

“No,” the captain told them. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “It’s going to be a deadly cold night. I don’t want any of my officers outside … unless they have to be.”

--------5-------

The crying of seagulls and a warm ocean breeze greeted Hamilton Fisk, Walter Havens, Herman Wilson and Dorian Edwards as they sat with the others on folding lounge chairs on a secluded beach near Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Most had already changed from the layered cold weather clothing into swim suits. Herman Wilson was reading from his pile of books and other papers. Every person’s body was bronzed, lean and tanned.

“I’m still not sure if the way we look now is the enchantment … or if that cold street scene was.” Worms said.

“This is real,” Creeps told him opening a can of the Mexican beer Carona. “That other life is just to disguise us from the powers … who think they be.”

Ham took her time examining the antique bicycle parked on the white sand.

Liberty Johnson looked all of eighteen years old as she walked over wearing a blue polka dot bikini that showed off her long shapely legs. “Getting the Adler Damenrad is only half the work,” she said. “The Boogoo must choose us as its new home and you as its new master.”

            “How do we do that?” Ham asked her.

            “First we need to find out everything possible about the previous owner … and then there are exacting rituals to be performed.”

Inks still had his face buried in the books and pages … but he answered. “Joseph Amati and his brother are both members of the Red Point Tridents from Chicago. They are the most blood thirsty coven in the US. These butchers specialize in murder and extortion and are often given contracts by organized crime bosses when they want to send an especially gruesome and gristly message to someone.”

            “Are we safe?” Ham asked.

            “Their magic is very powerful,” Creeps smiled. “But unless they know where their meat is they can’t stick their forks in it.”

Worms was far out in the water with a small wake board trying to catch a wave. After a few minutes Creeps stood up and stared intently.

“What? Do you see a shark?” Ham asked.

            “No, it’s nothing.” Creeps said shading his eyes. “It’s just that I’ve never seen so many gulls clustered around our newest member.”

Liberty lifted a pair of binoculars to her eyes. When she finally lowered them, her expression was somber. “Those aren’t gulls,” she said.

TO BE CONTINUED …