Detective Fletcher

Fletcher

Secrets have a way of revealing all the players in the game.Each secret revealed is a glimmer of light, a small part of a bigger secret that remains covered by the shadows of the night.

The phone rang.

“Hello, my name is Jim Hill. I am calling from the Treasury Department. I am looking for Detective Fletcher,” he roboticly stated.

“This is he,” I acknowledged.

“Detective Fletcher, we’re just inquiring about counterfeit bills that were not accounted for?” He continued.

“Counterfeit bills? The ones I had logged into evidence all those years ago in 1976. If I recall correctly, it was the night of the restaurant bombing,” I thought to myself, “Is that what he’s asking about?”

“I am going to need a little more information since I am not sure what you are inquiring about sir,” I requested.

He hesitated and said he would call me back. The problem I was currently having wasn’t the call; it was the fact that his voice and the way he spoke triggered a memory. His voice, his tone, gave me an eerie feeling.

The guy’s name was Sam Dean. I’ll never forget the name because of the strange way he spoke. Back then, he said he was from the FBI and asked about missing parts of an abandoned car. We had found an abandoned car with bullet holes parked in an alley back in 1988. The case had gone cold. I knew everyone down at the local FBI office and any inquiries usually came through them. So, I knew this Sam Dean was not who he said he was.

This Jim Hill had the same hesitation in his voice, his words were carefully selected, robotic. The same suspicious feeling overcame me. The office was quiet now, only the soft hum of computers and the sudden sound of the central heat coming on to disturb my thought process. I’d been working all night it seemed. So, I grabbed my keys, closed the office door, and headed to a recently purchased 1996 cruiser. First car I’d ever bought new, I finally knew what a new car smells like.

“Once again sir, great job,” Tina, the main dispatch sweetly exclaimed as she caught me heading out down the hallway, “Go get some well-deserved rest. You’re a big hero!” She added.

The door to the outside was cold to the touch and the crisp, frigid air hit me like a slap in the face as I walked towards the cruiser. Not hard enough to keep me up though, I was done and the thought of a warm cozy bed was calling my name. I’d finally ended my shift, it been a long grueling 18 hours. Others were beginning to arrive and start their shifts, mine was just coming to an end.

“Fletcher, you calling it quits already? Nah, you’re still here from yesterday, aren’t you?” Chris joked.

“It’s only 7:30 detective,” Geno told me as he adjusted his holster.

Geno and Chris were burglary detectives, arriving for their shifts.

“Heading out boys,” I simply stated as I entered my cruiser. “Going home,” I said as I settled in and turned the key.

“Take it easy, looks like you had a long one,” Chris acknowledged holding the door open as Geno walked in.

It was a wintry morning on my drive home and I was eager to crawl into bed. The early morning bustle of construction and citizenry had begun crowding the roadways, my short drive home seemed eternal.

There she waited, a small, blue house with white trim in need of repainting.

I could hear my phone ringing as I walked up towards the front door. Once inside, the machine had several messages. I hit play while I took off my coat and tie.

“Jack, it’s me. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” recognizing Angela’s voice, I skipped to the next message. Beep.

“The name is Billy Robinson. I’m looking for a guy. He may be in your area. I’m a bail bondsman out from Tennessee. Maybe we can help each other out. Give me a call back at …” Beep. I had to stop the messages. The hairs on my neck stood up again. A different voice with the same eerie, monotone, robotic way of speaking. I pushed play and wrote down the number.

“702-555-2343.” The caller disconnected.

I’d been up for 24 hours at this point, but curiosity kept me going. I called the guy back. He seemed to have picked up the phone without it ringing.

“Mr. Fletcher,” a garbled voice answered.

“Yes,” I reluctantly stated.

“Chris Kratwell is a bond jumper I am looking for,” the caller told me.

“Yea, Chris Kratwell is a person of interest. I’m looking to speak to him as well,” I said.

“Very well then. We can both get our man. Meet me in 12 minutes. 1457 Jones Boulevard. Be there.” He directed and hung up.

I was left holding the phone to my ear. Wondering. Knowing something was off. It was 8:00 AM. I hadn’t slept. I was tired but thought well it’s only a few blocks away. I checked myself; gun jacket, keys, phone. I rolled out.

As I was pulling up, I saw a slender man, arms folded, pointy, collared, black leather trench coat turned away from me. I parked the car as the man turned revealing dark sun glasses and an unnaturally long grin which faded when he saw my reaction.

“You, Detective Fletcher?” I heard a robotic drawl being emitted from a tracheotomy voice box.

“Yes, I’m Jack Fletcher.” I stood looking at the man, wearing thick gold chains, slicked back hair and a bright blue silk shirt.

“The guy is inside. I’ve been watching him all night. Here’s my paper work,” the voice emitted.

Looking over at the photo, it was indeed Chris and he had been arrested in Tennessee.

“You ready,” the voice said sounding more human.

A breeze flapped the paper in my hand and I looked at him.His eyes behind the sunglasses, watched, unnaturally still as they focused.

“We should call for back up,” I told him.

I called in on my radio and heard static.I tried my cell phone and no service.

“Just give me a minute,” I said to the bail bonds man.

“Take all the time you need,” the voice spoke motionless.

“Help,” we heard a scream coming from inside. I looked towards the window and got a glimpse of what looked like a bloody woman’s palm. It happened so quickly.

“This is unit 44, come in,” I attempted to call in on my radio, but static again.

I looked over at the bonds man who stood with a devilish grin.

“You stay here,” I commanded, “And keep calling 911.” I handed him the phone, “Got it!”

Pulling my pistol, I stealthily moved towards the door and kicked it in. A young brunette was on her knees crying with a frantic man pointing a pistol at her.

“You told me I wasn’t going to get in trouble,” he began, “You lied,” he proceeded to shout. “You, police?” he said looking back at the girl with a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he glanced over at me.

“He’s kidnapped me,” the girl sobbed.

“Liar,” he screamed back at her. “They aren’t what you think they are,” he said wiping the sweat from his hands and face but keeping a steady aim at her.

“Let’s put down the gun, and talk for a minute Chris.” I said observingly, “Let’s work this out.”

“Did you hear me?’ he said exasperated. “They make deals, but they aren’t human. They never sleep. They don’t eat.” He stammered.

“Then let’s get to the bottom of this. Let’s not get desperate,” I said.

The bail bonds man entered the house and seemed to be looking for the brunette. Their eyes locked in on each other. That’s when Chris noticed Billy. His eyes widened.

“You!” he shouted. “You used me, Billy Robinson! This was all your doing,” Chris yelled.

Chris aimed at the girl and fired a shot. The bullet penetrated her chest with an electric blue spark and she fell back motionless. I aimed my gun at Chris, but Billy had already shot him.

“Hold on a minute Billy!” I bellowed.

“He made a move,” Billy callously responded.

“Put the gun down. You are under arrest,” I commanded, blocking his exit.

The gun tumbled to the ground, his fingers awkwardly relaxing their grip then releasing the gun.

“On the ground! On your knees!” I shouted.

The man’s coat began to flash bright lights that traced the lines in his coat, as he began to get down to the ground. Suddenly bolting sideways, towards the window and across the room he went. I aimed several shots into his torso as he hit the window frame tearing it apart violently.Glass, small pieces of rubbery flesh, and metal flew in all directions. I aimed for a fatal shot. My bulls eye pierced his head and a flash of green color and putrid blue smoke poured out of his head. The view was hazy, but I could hear the sound of him falling out the window and the remaining glass breaking and crunching. I ran around the front of the house not expecting to see a dead or dying body. Instead, I encountered the sight of a leathery, partially decapitated mass, attempting to slip out the back gate.

“Unbelievable,” I whispered to myself. “Stop, get on the ground!” I demanded as he headed to the main road and I lost sight of him. Pulling in my gun, I proceeded after him. The sound of a crash and the pop of air brakes, with a long crunching and dragging sound could be heard along Jones Blvd. I walked up to a scene of what looked more like VCR parts then a man.The leather coat was there mangled in pieces but the body was rods of metal and oily pinkish rubber.Glass wires and what looked like black sand on the floor was beginning to build. I checked my radio.

“Come in base,” this is unit #44.

“Dispatch here,” Tina finally answered, the static was gone.

“I need back up and an ambulance at 1457 Jones Blvd. I have two down and a suspect down near an alley behind the scene,” I reported.

“I got medical and units inbound,” Tina responded.

The bus driver had waddled his way over holding his hands in front of him.

“I swear I didn’t see him,” he said stuttering, in shock.