Killer Genius 2: Attack of the Gym Rats

“Oh, my God! Lieutenant, where have you been? We put an APB out!”

Theresa Lopez had awoken only moments prior. She still wrestled with the fact that she had only a few hours ago been purposely driven off the road, injured, sedated, propositioned and left lying exposed on the roof of an office building across the street by a serial killer’s pet automatons.

Before she emerged through the precinct’s doors, she had taken a few minutes to prepare answers to the questions she would undoubtedly be asked. These answers would stand in place of the possibly career-ending truth.

“A good Samaritan showed up, pulled me out of the wreck and took me to one of those Urgent Care things,” she explained to the uniformed officer who had accosted her.

As other officers began to walk over to express concern, or in some cases, disbelief that someone piled her into a car and took her to an Urgent Care facility before first responders arrived.

“Where’s the Samaritan?” one officer asked as a sergeant pulled a walkie-talkie and called off the APB. “Should we be looking to get him a citation?”

“Left after I was admitted. Didn’t even get a name. I feel pretty bad about that,” she said with a look of resignation. “But I wasn’t exactly myself at the time.”

As more officers joined the conversation, the suggestions came from all sides:

“How are you feeling?”

“You should probably go home. Or back to the hospital!”

“Do you want one of us to drive you home?”

Not known for her warmth, the officers all saw it as an opportunity to gain favor with their new lieutenant, so they were all disappointed when she raised both hands and said, “I’m going to go home, but I need to get something from my office.”

There was a clatter of well wishes and ‘if you change your mind’ type sentiments conveyed as she walked away from the gaggle of dark blue shirts. Taking the elevator to her office and finally returning to the chair behind her desk, she was somewhat dismayed when she heard her desk phone was ringing.

This is how this day shit the bed in the first place. Probably shouldn’t even answer it.

Despite her misgivings, her sense of duty was still intact. “Lopez.”

“Hey, sorry to bug you at this hour, but this is Detective Romero. I work out of the 122 in Staten Island. Detective Pistoni is a mutual friend.”

“How is Joe?” She didn’t really care, but she saw no quicker way to get Romero to get to his point.

“Good! So, listen, I’m not going to drag this out, but I met two of your detectives earlier tonight. Baxter and Smith?”

“Yes, they’re mine.”

“Well, they came sniffing around, but they weren’t very forth-coming with any info, even though our cases are more than likely connected. I mean, it’s a little hard to imagine more than one killer using round drones to kill Russian mob assholes in a twenty-four-hour period.”

“I’m sure they probably could have been a little more helpful. Is there something I can do for you?”

“The first attack. The thing on the roof in Queens. What was that about?”

Now the lieutenant was torn. While she had not sworn allegiance to Kendra, she had to consider if sharing this information was a betrayal to her new associate. Then there was the question of whether giving Romero information was somehow undermining Baxter and Smitty, a slippery slope for her as their superior officer.

“All I know is that Smitty and Baxter were there to protect a girl who witnessed a murder and things went left.”

“I see. Is that connected to the thing that happened at the Beastmode gym in Brooklyn?”

“Correct. Do you want to give one of the detectives a call and try again? They probably have a better grasp of the details.”

“No, I think I’m good. Thank you for your time lieutenant.”

As she hung up the desk phone, her cell phone went off. “Hello.”

“Lieutenant? This is Walsh from Internal Affairs.”

“What can I do for you, Detective Walsh? That’s Debra Walsh, right?” In her experience, it always helped to know who was in Internal Affairs.

If Debra was bothered by hearing her first name, it didn’t show in her voice. “Yes, it is. The reason I’m calling is because you had a car accident and disappeared for a while. First thing; are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Was checked out by a doctor and released.”

“I know it’s a ridiculous hour to be making you do this, but rules are rules. You’re going to have to give urine and blood at the facility in Rego Park,” Walsh explained. “I trust you know where it is.”

“I do. Not a problem. On my way.”

As she began pulling her things together, she said to the empty room. “I’m no good to you if I lose this job, which is exactly what I’m about to do with an unexplained sedative in my system, so I hope you have a minor miracle worked out.”

The room gave no answer, but an email alert did sound from the phone. She read the alert queue.

The sedative I used will be completely broken down by the liver after an hour. It’s very similar to Temazepam. By the time you get to Rego Park it will no longer be in your system. You’ll be fine.

“Well that was easy,” she quipped as she closed the office door behind her.

Kendra’s voice rose from the drone. “Janice?”

“Yes?” With nothing else to do, the young woman had plopped herself down on her couch and had simultaneously started binge watching an old sitcom from the nineties and tearing through a pint of ice cream. She had been trying to ignore the drone still floating in her living room even though its reflection was in her TV monitor.

“For a little while, I am not going to be able to answer any questions. But I want you to know that you are perfectly safe. The drone is programmed to take care of you, no matter what. Do you understand?”

“Good. I’ll check on you soon.”

“Okay.” This is kind of like having an evil fairy godmother.

It took a good fifteen minutes for it to occur to Janice that something regarding the situation with her two former co-workers must still be influx if Kendra felt a safety assurance had to be given.

“Fucking hell.” Janice said as she shifted her position on the couch so she’d see less of the drone’s reflection.