CHAPTER 12
Lucy opened her eyes. She didn’t need to look around to know she was in a hospital—the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant filled her lungs. When she tried to turn, pain flared in her abdomen, a reminder of every injury her body had hidden while unconscious. She could feel the bandages on her head and stomach, and a needle in her left arm, steadily feeding her sugar.
She reached for the needle when she heard a cough to her right. Turning, she saw Harry sitting on the next bed. The curtain that should have separated them had been shoved aside.
“Finally. You’re awake,” Harry said. “I was starting to worry.”
“What… what happened?” Lucy asked, her voice hoarse.
“You passed out.”
“I know that,” she said slowly, short of breath. “I meant the others… what happened to them?”
“A handful survived. Long enough for the enforcers to show up.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean... your plan was to use us as bait?”
“No,” Harry replied. “Eve was the only bait. I miscalculated... didn’t consider they’d come in armed.”
“You miscalculated?” Her voice rose. “You… miscalculated?!”
She broke into a coughing fit.
“Look,” Harry said, “it wasn’t a foolproof plan. There were always going to be unforeseen factors. But at least now we’ve got a lead.”
Lucy’s coughing slowed. “What… lead?”
“Maybe we should call the doctor. We can talk later—”
“No,” she snapped. “I want to know now… I want to know why I watched people die—men, women—people with families… and we still don’t even know who killed them.”
Harry didn’t answer. Lucy stared up at the ceiling.
“I thought I’d seen enough dead bodies to start my own cemetery… but I’ve never seen anyone die that fast. In the van, I looked out and saw a woman—she was crouched by a car door—then just… dropped. She never saw it coming…”
Tears streamed from her eyes.
“She was probably dead before she hit the ground. All her killer did was pull a fucking trigger.”
Harry blinked. He had never heard Lucy curse before.
“Was it worth it?” she asked, turning to him.
Harry let out a breath and looked at the ceiling, then the floor. “Phil Philip,” he said.
“What?”
“Phil Philip. That was his name. He was an agent in District 2. Both first and last names were Philip, but we just called him Phil. One day, he came in smiling, said his wife had given birth. Bought soda, junk food. We all celebrated.”
He chuckled softly, brushing his hair back with one hand.
“I drank so much soda I almost puked. Few hours later, all hell broke loose. My partner was dead in my arms… and I left him. Ran back to the precinct for help. First face I saw when I burst through the doors was Phil. His throat had been slit. All I could think was—while he choked to death—was he thinking of his wife? His kid? Did he regret ever becoming an agent?”
Lucy lay still, listening.
“But then I passed his corpse, and I realized: his death, as useless as it seemed, made the city a little safer for his family. That’s what we signed up for. To put others before ourselves. If we die in service… it’s for the greater good.”
Lucy let out a bitter laugh. “And carrying a gun’s part of the job too?”
Harry grinned. “That gun saved your life. And it wasn’t mine. I just played the cards I was dealt.”
“Whose was it, then?” she asked.
“One of the bodies being prepped for ID.”
“And how’d you get it?”
“When you ran off, I managed to take one of them down.”
She laughed again, wincing in pain. “And here I thought you were a good liar. Turns out, you suck as much as I do… There’s no way you found me if you wasted even a second squashing a fly. And digging the bullet out? That doesn’t help your case.”
Harry’s grin spread. He clapped slowly. “Bravo. Bravo.”
He stopped clapping. “That leaves you with two options, doesn’t it?”
“Which are?”
Harry stood but froze when Lucy instinctively pulled back. He raised his hands, not wanting to spook her.
“You can yell ‘nurse,’ let them call the doctor, and eventually Joshua shows up. You tell him everything. I get arrested. You finish the case with whatever resources are left.”
“And the second?”
“You sit back. Hear me out. We leave this hospital, and in the next eight hours, we end this case.”
“Eight hours?” she scoffed. “Sounds like you already cracked it.”
“I’ve got a name. This time, the leader’s name.”
“So?”
“I know where he is. And how to find him.”
“And what? He’s going to just surrender?”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless I know what we’re walking into.”
“Solomon Ghandi,” Harry said.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”
“When the van flipped and Eve’s guy pulled her out, I heard one of the guys I shot say, ‘Mr. Ghandi wants to see her in person before deciding her fate.’”
“Why would an executive in District 5 want to kill his peers from other districts?”
“When Noah came to town, a reporter asked about the upcoming conclave. Said Noah was the last Organizer opposing someone named Gin becoming the new Head.”
“You think Solomon’s helping Tony Gin secure his place?”
Harry shrugged. “Do you know who he is?”
“Tony Gin?” Lucy scoffed. “He’s not just ‘someone.’ He owns shares in every steel and mining company tied to construction. His family helped found H.O.P.E.”
“Well,” Harry said, “now we know the connection.”
“So now what?”
Before he could answer, a nurse stepped in. She wore a blue gown and a disposable cap.
“How’re you feeling, officers?”
“Good. Is the doctor in?” Harry asked.
“Yes.”
“Get him,” Lucy said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she left, Lucy pulled the needle from her arm and sat up.
“That stuff works fast, doesn’t it?” Harry said.
Lucy ignored him. “So your plan is to walk into the home of the most dangerous executive in the system and just… talk?”
“No one’s killing anyone. We’re not arresting him. We’re going to have a discussion.”
“About what?”
“I think I know what he wants. And I think I know how to end this without more bloodshed.”
The doctor entered.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said to Lucy. “You’re lucky—any more hits like those and you’d have broken ribs. I’ve already notified the agency. Someone should be checking in on you soon.”
“That’s the problem, Doc,” Harry said. “We can’t stick around.”
“She’s in no shape to leave—”
“There’s no time,” Lucy cut in, rising slowly. Harry helped her up, and they left, ignoring the doctor’s protests.
Outside, they flagged a cab to the train station. Harry handed Lucy a small bottle.
“Take one every six hours. It’ll help with the pain.”
“What are they?”
“Just trust me. You’ll need them.”
Lucy sighed, took one pill, and swallowed it.
The train they boarded to District 5 was a rusting relic. The seats were torn, exposing jagged metal frames. A woman with two children sat across from them in a black hijab. Harry barely noticed. He stared out the window as green fields rushed past. Suddenly, a siren blared and a red bulb above them flashed.
“This is not a drill…” a speaker crackled. “We are approaching barren lands. Please use the oxygen masks beneath your seats.”
Passengers scrambled for masks. Everyone but Harry.
Lucy stared outside as the clouds darkened. They passed through a dead city: rusted signs, collapsed buildings, and abandoned cars. She thought she saw a skull in one vehicle before it vanished from view.
Everyone had drawn their curtains. Except Harry.
“How quickly the world’s fallen,” he muttered.
Eventually, the alarm ended. The bulb died. People removed their masks. Lucy drifted to sleep against Harry’s shoulder. She didn’t stir until he nudged her.
“We’re here.”
At the station, two men in green shirts and pants approached.
“Come with us,” one ordered.
Harry expected as much. They hadn’t bought tickets—just flashed their badges. They followed without resistance.
Outside, a white SUV waited. The door opened. Inside were four more men, all dressed like the others. Once Lucy sat, the driver started the engine.
“What are you guys—leprechauns for hire?” Harry quipped.
“Blindfold them,” the front passenger ordered.
Harry and Lucy had bags pulled over their heads. Lucy resisted—until she heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
“Relax,” Harry said. “They won’t harm us. Not yet.”
They drove for some time. Lucy had no idea when they stopped, until they were dragged out. Led downstairs. Seated. Bags removed.
Before them sat a man who clearly cared nothing for grooming. His thick beard masked his neck, and his wild hair nearly covered his ears. He wore a white robe and held a wooden rod. His men—Solomon’s green-clad apostles—stood around them.
“Welcome, Madam and Mister,” Solomon said, laughing. “What may your names be?”
“I’m Johnson Fisher. My associate is Lucy Kayo—”
“Wait, why did you bring them here?” Solomon snapped at his man.
“I thought you’d want to see them.”
“And why would I want that?” His eyes were wild.
“Mr. Ghandi,” Harry said, “I believe we share a common interest—”
“No. You don’t speak to me.” Solomon’s voice dropped. “You are not of royal blood. You speak to my gun—down your throat.”
He slammed his rod on the desk and motioned to have them taken away.
Harry exhaled. “I thought you were offering bread to the hungry.”
Solomon paused. He waved his men back. “Bread? You want bread?”
Harry nodded.
“Then bread ye shall have.”
Five men brought in five kinds of bread and placed them before Harry.
He chose the round, unleavened one.
“I have come… to be satisfied,” Harry said, breaking the bread and handing half to Lucy. She held it, confused.
“Now you are satisfied,” Solomon said. “What is it you want?”
Harry met his gaze. “I want to talk about Mr. Gin. And the business I believe you’re doing together.”
Solomon dismissed the bread with a wave.
“I owe you nothing.”
Lucy started, “We know you ordered the—”
“No! You don’t speak here, girl,” Solomon snapped. “Speak again and I’ll serve your tongue for dinner.”
Harry cut in smoothly. “She gets excited near the end of a case.”
Solomon chuckled. “You think you’ve reached the end?”
“I think I can make Mr. Gin’s vote disappear.”
That got Solomon’s attention.
And Harry leaned forward. Confident.
Harry smiled faintly. "You don’t have to go back on your word. You just have to buy yourself a better one."
Solomon narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward, the wooden rod in his hand tapping against the desk. “And how, pray, is this new ‘word’ better than the one I’ve already sworn to?”
Harry glanced at Lucy, then back at Solomon. “Because this word comes with insurance. Less blood. Less noise. More control.”
Solomon scoffed. “Control is taken, not gifted.”
“And yet here we are,” Harry replied, gesturing to the room. “You’ve got armed men, a throne, a cause. But you don’t have power. You’re a piece. A dangerous one, yes, but still a piece on someone else’s board. Help Gin win, you’re nothing but a shadow under his name. Cut your own path now... you become something more.”
The old man chuckled, a low dry rumble. “You think you can teach me politics, boy?”
“I think I can offer you an empire of your own,” Harry said coolly.
There was a moment of heavy silence. Solomon’s men shifted uneasily, waiting for the next command. Then Solomon stood, walking around the desk, slow and deliberate. He stood in front of Harry and looked down at him, his breath smelled faintly of cloves and stale wine.
“Say I believe you,” he said. “Say I let you walk out of here. What guarantee do I have that you won’t just burn this house to the ground with your better offer?”
Harry didn’t flinch. “Because I’m not offering salvation. I’m offering leverage.”
Solomon’s grin widened. “And what makes you think leverage matters to a man ready to kill everyone in his way?”
“Because even killers need someone left to rule,” Lucy said suddenly, her voice low but steady. She was still holding the piece of bread Harry had given her. “You slaughter everyone, and you’ll be left sitting on a pile of bones.”
Solomon looked at her, amused. “You’re smarter than you look, girl.”
Lucy smirked. “You’re filthier than you look, sir.”
There was a long pause before Solomon burst into laughter again. He clapped his hands, and his guards lowered their weapons.
“Very well,” he said, walking back to his seat. “I’ll call off the dogs. You’ve got until sunrise to convince your Organizer. But know this—if you fail, I’ll bury the both of you so deep, not even the worms will remember your names.”
Harry stood slowly. “Fair enough.”
“And Mr. Fisher,” Solomon said, almost as an afterthought, “this bread of yours… let’s hope it doesn’t turn to ash in your mouth.”
Harry gave a slight bow, and Lucy followed suit. The guards came forward, this time not with blindfolds, but a wordless ushering gesture toward the exit.
As they walked out, Lucy whispered, “What now?”
Harry whispered back, “Now we find Noah… and we make sure the next move is ours.”
Lucy nodded. The game wasn’t over. It was just getting interesting.