Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16

In a corner booth of the coffee shop, unaware of the assault on the accounting firm across town, John sat rapt through Rattle's story. He listened through it all, grimacing as Rattle recalled Dave's suicide and his encounter with Dave's ghost at the precinct, and didn't interrupt the old man once. When Rattle finished, he looked at John expectantly.

John leaned back and stared at him. "That's the biggest load of crap I've heard in a long time," he said derisively and shook his head. "I can't believe I sat through that with a straight face. What a bunch of shit."

"Well it don't smell too good to me neither, but it's not thunder mug makings," Rattle said curtly.

"What?"

Rattle rolled his eyes and sighed. "You know, a shit pot." He shook his head, annoyed by John's ignorance. "Forget it, city boy. Ain't worth visualizing." Rattle leaned back and stared at John for a moment. "You wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't believe it. I know you know something."

"Hmmm. I don't know what I know." The little dream girl popped into John's mind and then slipped away quickly.

Rattle sat forward and furrowed his brow. "Well, piss. There's a connection somehow. Anyhow, I been watching for that little freak, Lem. He's running with a strange crowd, got himself a bad hum," Rattle said. 

John looked at him incredulously and stood up.

"This is too much. Wait here." John walked up to the counter and returned with an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes.

"Want one?" he asked as he lit up and took a deep drag.

"Hell no, Five-oh. I survived 'Nam, street fights, and mission food." Rattle curled his lip as he spoke. "Cancer sticks are like thumbing your nose at God."

John chuckled. This homeless guy was starting to grow on him. Damn it.

Don't let your guard down.

"Fair enough. So you think Lem is behind these murders?" he asked, his voice neutral and back in cop mode.

"Weren't you listening?" Rattle asked angrily. "We found that dude pre-chunked! Someone, no something else did that to him. Probably did that guy in the park, too. They are connected." Rattle took a drink of his coffee and then left his hands around the mug, as if harnessing its warmth.

"That's right," John said smartly. "The hum."

"Don't be such a prick, I'm not crazy. I've seen some weird shit in my time and this had that creepy, oily feel. You know, like bad mojo."

Smoke from John's cigarette curled in lazy circles around his head and he squinted through the haze at Rattle. Even though the old man's story was total and utter fantasy, he couldn't shake the feeling that it might be closer to the truth than he wanted it to be. John pictured Dave's face, right before he pulled the trigger, and his last words echoed in John's mind: This is for you, be strong. John couldn't control the shiver that wracked him, and he dropped his cigarette in the ashtray. His radio crackled and he jumped at the static burst.

"All units, 141 in progress, 814 Monroe West. Be advised -- assailants unknown, crowd gathered. Please respond."

John picked up his radio. "Copy. This is Detective John Bergenson, I'm three blocks away, on foot." He jumped up and tossed a few dollars on the table to cover the coffee.

"Hey!" Rattle raised his cup in a mock toast. "You know what that address is?"

John paused a moment and then his face twitched with recognition.

"Yup, Five-oh. It's a mosque. Another holy man." Rattle shook his head. "Be careful."

John rushed out the door with his heart in his throat and Rattle's warning echoing in his mind.