Infernal Affairs, Chapter 2

After a shoot out happens in the church of a police officer, the only logical thing to happen next is, well, the clean up.

Here, I just wanted to hint at things to come.

Chapter 3 is when the fun really starts….

Yes, I know I just said that after I had a shootout in a church and on the street with three armed gunmen. What’s your point?

Anyway, Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Everybody Knows Your
Name
When my partner, Alex Packard,
arrived, the party was already in full swing. The entire church had
been sealed off, as had the surrounding block. This was especially
fun when you consider that the road to one side of the church was the
southbound service road for the Cross Island Expressway.
Alex strode in the front door of
the church, and up the stairs into the vestibule, now called the
gathering space for reasons that surpassed all understanding. My
family and I were on a bench in the corner and he came right for us.
He sat on the bench going at right angles to ours, leaned back, and
smiled.
Alex was a slender, older man. He
had an odd pot-belly in the middle of all of that skinny. It was
probably from years of booze, but I wasn’t going to inquire too
closely. I had never seen him take a drink. I only knew about his
former drinking problem from a demon, who had been psyching him out
at the time. His suit was gray and rumpled, just like he was. He was
balding on top, with a graying mustache that Tom Selleck would have
approved of. He carried a large paper bag.


Really?” Alex asked. “Your
wife is pregnant. You’re with your kid—hey, Jeremy—and you’re
in
church.
Church, Tommy. Can’t you take even
one
day off?
With my arm around Mariel’s
shoulders, I gave him a half-shrug. “They find me. They always find
me.”
Alex smirked. He shook his head.
“No kidding.”

I’m really not.” I
explained the last words from the first gunman.
Alex winced. “No surprise.”

Yeah!” Jeremy exclaimed
excitedly. His voice dropped to a whisper that only mommy, daddy, and
Uncle Alex could hear. “Because Daddy’s a superhero! They’re
always going to find him.”
Isn’t that an encouraging
thought?
I
pondered.
Alex merely smiled at Jeremy.
“Kinda, Jerry.” He looked back to me. “I ran into Sarge on the
way in. She handed me a nice little starter package for you.”
Alex raised the paper bag. He
reached in and pulled out individual items, explaining each as he
went along. Everything was in clear evidence bags, sealed with the
red tape of the NYPD Crime Scene Unit.

They went through the
shooter’s pockets. We had these.” The first item was a large
evidence bag that could have held the contents of Mariel’s purse.
“Anti-psychotics by the truckload. I’m actually surprised he had
the ability to walk upright.”
Alex placed it down on the bench
next to him, and grabbed the next bag. This one looked like the
contents of his wallet. “Membership cards. He was a registered
Demoncrat, as though we couldn’t tell from the Che T-shirt and that
he was trying to shoot up a church.”
I smiled despite myself. Alex had
taken to referring to anyone on the Left as a ‘Demoncrat’ ever
since a demon-possessed serial killer who worked for the Women’s
Health Corps tried to kill us—and after we discovered that the WHC
itself was, in reality, a front for a Moloch-worshipping Death Cult.
After a while, it did seem that evil had a particular political
affiliation.
I had little problem with him
saying it because he had genuine cause for a grudge. As most of New
York City either voted Democrat or just didn’t vote, I was a touch
more reluctant to brand all of them with the same demonic brush.
Then again, discussing much of
the fallout from the WHC incident was another conversation.

And,” Alex continued,
“here’s the
fun
part.
” He pulled
out a smaller bag. This one clearly showed a large newspaper
clipping. It was one photo—me, from nearly a year ago, during the
incident with said demon. I didn’t know which headline it was
under. It may have been the one who framed my arrest of the perp as
Saint versus psycho or the one that claimed I framed an innocent
abortionist because I was a Catholic.


He really was there for you,”
Alex explained. “Just you. We don’t have anything speaking to
why.”
Mariel scoffed at that. “Maybe
he was employed by LaBitch?” she asked, referring to the former
head of the Women’s Health Corps that Mariel had personally pushed
into a fire pit. “Or the Mayor? Or maybe he’s a dirty commie and
just doesn’t like high-profile Catholics like Tommy?”
I frowned. I opened my mouth to
dispute that … and gave up before I started. While I had spent most
of my life trying to keep my head down and out of the public eye, the
last year had been filled with enough various high-profile incidents
that if I had caught the eye of some nut cases online, they would
have had little trouble tracking my career.

Lucky for me,” I said, “I
moved after that article was published.” There were two reasons for
that. One, the property damage caused the local village committee to
drive us out of the private neighborhood. Two, the newspaper article
that picture had been taken from had come complete with my home
address. The newspaper had issued a non-apology, but the damage had
been done, and we moved a little over eight months ago.
Unfortunately, someone already
knew my home address and had had sent zombies to my house shortly
thereafter.

“‘Lucky’ isn’t the term
I’d use,” Alex said. He shrugged. “But that’s not my problem.
My problem is they may hit me by accident.” He slid away the
evidence back into the bag. “For the record, the first shooter, the
one in the church, is connected to very little, unless we think the
entire Communist community is out to get Nolan.”
I chuckled. “In that case, time
to arrest Columbia University.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Funny.”
I frowned. “No. Not really.
Especially considering the number of people they murdered last
century.”
Alex laughed. “Columbia or
Communists?”
Mariel nudged me with the crown
of her head. “Is there a difference?”
I looked to Alex. “When you say
Communist …?”

I mean that he’s a
card-carrying commie. He has cards in his wallet for the party, for
Anti-Fa.”
I winced. I had never had a
personal encounter with them, but I had read enough to know I didn’t
like them very much. For a group claiming to be “anti-fascist,”
they were amazingly, well, fascist. Their tactics ranged from
violence against people they disagreed with (which was anyone to the
right of Mao and Stalin) to … even more violence against property.
They had operated in Europe, beginning as anarchist Communists …
because orderly Communism was bad, surely
chaotic
Communism would be even better? If you can’t take over a
government– or in the case of Russia
keep
one

maybe destroying it all would be progress? The European version of
the moment hated Catholics …
Quel
surprise
.

We know that it wasn’t an
actual Antifa attack,” I said. “They tend to swarm. We would have
had a few dozen raiding the church just to rip me apart. It might
have even worked.”
Alex frowned. He was probably
considering the various and sundry abilities I possess, running the
odds of which would be the best option for going up against a riot.
After putting down an entire prison riot by myself the previous year,
surely a bunch of local thugs wouldn’t be a problem for me.
I wasn’t going to explain, yet
again, that I wasn’t a superhero. While I exhibited some of the
miraculous abilities usually discussed about saints, they weren’t
something that I could take for granted- or even explain why they
were given me. The powers came from God, not from me. I wasn’t a
comic book superhero, no matter what Alex or Jeremy insisted. Jeremy
had a good excuse. He was ten.
At least Jeremy knew better.

Dad couldn’t do anything!”
he exclaimed. “Too many witnesses. Do you want to bust his secret
identity?”
Mariel and I smiled while Alex
shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Well, it would be hard to fit into a
DD5 report. But that’s why I write them up when that happens.”
I said nothing, but said a silent
thank you prayer to God that I hadn’t needed any of the fancier
abilities that He had graced me with. While I still smelled out evil
on a day-to-day basis, there had been no need to be in two places at
once, levitate, drink poison, or heal deadly wounds. Considering the
circumstances I was in, I would be perfectly happy if I never needed
those abilities. Though to be honest, I was a little surprised that
it had taken this long for a situation to arise again. I had gotten
into so many firefights, I had a reputation. The calm between storms
had been so long, I hadn’t been called
“Wyatt
Earp” in nearly a week.
So much for that going away.

I’m told that the Bishop’s
not too happy with the whole thing.”
I winced. That was something I
didn’t want to deal with: Church politics. “Of course he’s not.
He’s going to have to reconsecrate the church.” I sighed. “Can
we leave now? Didn’t eat breakfast before we came.”
Alex shrugged. “I hear you. At
least there’s one good thing: you won’t be investigating what’s
left. With any luck, this will be an isolated incident. The first
shooter was just another in a long line of Demoncrat shooters.”
My brows arched. The secondary
shooters had had M4 automatic weapons, ready to take out cops and a
full church to get to me.

Alex sighed. “Yeah. I know. I
don’t believe it either.”

Continue to read the story here.

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