The Sinner
“We got it wrong.”
“Got what wrong,” she muttered.
“The man with Gigante on that videotape.” There was a rustling, and then McCordle addressed someone somewhere around him. When he came back on, he spoke in a whisper. “We got cell phone footage shot by Gigante’s bodyguard on the night they were all murdered. Turned out he was filming while it happened. The man in the first video at the Hudson Hunt and Fish Club killed all three of them.”
“Well, he’s a hit man.” Jo tried to keep the boredom out of her voice. But come on, the last thing she needed right now was even more confirmation about how stupid she’d been with Syn. “That’s his job, right?”
“He killed them to protect you.”
Jo jerked up. “What?”
“Watch the video. Then call me back—and keep this between us. As usual.”
When McCordle hung up on her, she held her cell phone like she might drop it even though she was sitting down over a rug. Then again, her hands were shaking like you couldn’t believe.
The text came through a moment later. Just a video. Nothing else.
She started the thing up, her screen glowing in the darkness with a blue light. There was distortion at first and a fuzzy screen. And then the camera herky-jerk’d and steadied. The vantage point was an extreme angle upward, as if whoever was taking the footage was sprawled on the ground, and they were filming into an SUV’s interior, through an open passenger door.
When the focus tightened, and the lighting recalibrated, she saw a man sitting behind the wheel. When he turned around to the back seat and leaned into the light from the door being ajar…
It was Syn.
Clear as day, she could see his face. As well as the gun in his hand.
And then he said, “I don’t have a problem killing females—or anybody. But I’ll be damned if you hurt Jo Early. Say good night, motherfucker.”
After that, he pulled the trigger, some kind of muffled shhhhooo going off.
Jo’s heart beat so hard, she couldn’t hear anything else. Not that there was much more to go on. The video cut off shortly after that.
She watched it two more times before calling McCordle back.
He answered on the first ring and she didn’t bother with any “hellos.” “Where did you get this?”
“The FBI raided the Hudson Hunt and Fish Club earlier today. It was on a cell phone in the pocket of a coat that also happened to have Gigante’s son’s ID in it.”
“So you’ve arrested Junior?”
“No. We have his coat, for all the good that does us. Again, the cell phone belonged to Gigante’s main bodyguard. We believe the guy took the footage during the shooting and then the phone was retrieved before anyone came on scene by Gigante’s son. That’s just conjecture, though. At any rate, it looks like that hit man had a change of heart when it came to you. The FBI’s calling you about this soon, but I figured you’d want to take a deep breath.”
“So he wasn’t going to kill me after all.”
“He killed to protect you, it looks like. You’re sure you’ve never seen him before?”
“Ah, no. Never.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll find him—before Gigante’s son does. That hit man better be a professional because what’s out looking for him has one hell of a score to settle.”
As Jo ended the call with McCordle, she eased back on her sofa, but she didn’t stay that way for long. Seconds later, she was up on her feet and using the flashlight on her phone to find her coat and her bag.
She put her first call in to Syn on the way to her car.
The second as she headed downtown.
The third as she parked close to where she had first met him, in an alleyway behind Market Street. As she got out, she looked around. The whole city was draped in darkness, the usual ambient glow from the skyscrapers, street lights, and lower buildings extinguished as the result of a colossal blackout.
And that was when she heard the sound of the wind.
Except there was no gust rustling through her clothes or her hair.
An eerie sense of foreboding tightened Jo’s neck muscles and made her look over her shoulder. Something was very wrong.
Or maybe it was just all the drama getting to her.
* * *
As the shock wave went through the alley, the release of unholy energy blew everything out of its way, brothers tossed high in the air and slammed into the flanks of buildings, dumpsters sent rolling with their contents spilling out like blood, fire escapes peeling off their moorings and flying off like they were nothing but cobwebs.
Butch braced himself against the gale, lifting his forearms to cover his face, leaning in to the rush while desperately trying to stay on his feet. Against the hurricane-like force, his leather jacket was blown back, his hair streaked from his forehead, his lips pulled away and teeth exposed.
And then justlikethat it was over.
With the headwind ending so abruptly, Butch lurched forward and had to catch his balance, dropping his arms and swinging them wide.
So he was blinded by a light that was so intense, it was like he was pummeled by the illumination. Back up with the arms, this time so his retinas didn’t get deep-fried. The glow quickly ebbed, however, and he was able to focus through blinking lids.
The Omega was standing in the center of the alley, his robing brilliant white and totally clean, his power refreshed—or resurrected was more like it. The new-and-improved evil was nothing like the faded version of late. Just as Butch had predicted, the Omega was stronger than ever before.
Shall we try this anew, the warping voice said inside Butch’s head. I believe you will find I am much rejuvenated.
As Butch kept his eyes on the evil, he used his peripheral vision to check on his people. Not one of the brothers or the fighters was moving. They were all corpses, wiped out by the Omega’s wrath.
I can feel your pain. The evil laughed in a low curl. It is so satisfying.
The Omega walked forward and stopped in front of the three lessers who’d been so easily subdued. The hood on the white robe dipped down as if it were regarding its creations. Then one of the sleeves lifted and a black, smoke-like appendage emerged.
In a series of pops, the corporeal forms of the slayers turned into dirty puffs of air, and the Omega pulled the exhaust into its sleeve, reabsorbing its own essence.
Just as Butch reached for one of his daggers, the Omega looked up. Oh, no, no, we mustn’t do that.
The evil extended its handlike form and gathered in its palm a swirling of energy.
We tried this once before, remember? I wager it will be a different experience for you the now.
The Omega let it rip, pitching a fastball of concentrated nasty, and the impact was like getting hit with a bee’s nest, a million stinging nettles biting into every inch of Butch’s skin as he was blown off his feet into the wall behind him. The aftermath of the hit was worse. As the initial sensation faded, he felt as though he were bathed in the misery of humanity, all the suffering of all the ages boiling inside of him until he cried out in wretched pain.
Sliding down the bricks, he landed on his ass and looked up.
The Omega advanced further, floating over the asphalt. Impressed with my effort? Surprised? It’s not the result of a good day’s sleep, but you already know that, do you not. Remember when my sister had her little chat with you in the church?