15.

Rihard Bennett was poorly regarded by most, but Amphion had a feel for the chap. He wasn’t much to look at, with a spotty complexion and moustache that people generally concurred reminded them of a rat’s whiskers. Somehow, through a series of sympathetic employers, he was handed the job of clerk at the NSPD. Bennett had milk for a heart -- which was exactly what Amphion liked about him.
    “Garrett Quinn?” asked Bennett, nose twitching. “Who’s that?”
    “A shoplifter I’ve been trying to get my hands on,” Amphion chimed. “Thought he might be on file.”
    He was a horrible liar and knew it, but Rihard Bennett just beamed at him and nodded. “I’ll have a look -- you’re a doll, know that? -- pronto, just for you.” He’d believe anything that came accompanied by a friendly voice.
    At first, Amphion had full intention of using Garrett’s file to track down and arrest him. Then, two days later, he was wandering the perimeter of Old Seattle. Before he could find Garrett, the boy found him. It was a forced, silent meeting, but one lacking any contention.
    “Need me, Love?” asked Garrett. He had his hood up, making it impossible for Amphion to read his expression. “Or do you just want to cuff me?”
    “I’m going crazy.” He felt crazy, too -- his voice seemed to jump an octave. “This past week, I’ve been spending most of my time at the office doing up reports. Do you think that’s something a cop ought to be doing? They hire secretaries for that!”
    “What about bad guys? Gotten any of them?”
    “Don’t mock me. I just sat in at a court proceeding today. Know where all the sick, twisted people in this world are? Either on the streets, or being paraded through a circus-of-a-trial. Some b*****d could slit his brother’s throat and it’ll be years before they sentence him. Even if every set of eyeballs in the city witnessed it, they can’t move a finger until he’s had his right to council fulfilled. Give them a fair chance -- a chance to stall or worm their way free, that’s what it is! Those -- what do they call themselves? -- human rights activists, those liberalists, they can take their graces and empathies to hell.
    “We’re a sick bunch of people, Garrett. We let evil thrive and the good suffer. For what? A man could be stabbed on the streets,” as he said it his own painful memories flared to life, “and who would stop and help him? I won’t be a passer-by, even if it must come to this. I wish to God there was some other way, but I can’t change hearts -- I just can’t, don’t you see? I’m doing them all a favour. Whether they chose to see it that way is their own business.”
    Much to Amphion’s disappointment, Garrett seemed amused by his whole speech. “You must be a religious man.”
    “I guess you could very well say that.”
    “You sound like one. Now! Tell me, Love,” Garrett drew back his sleeves and cracked his knuckles, one at a time, “are you still in?”
    That evening, Amphion went home with a black eye and two cracked ribs. As he shoved the pain to a corner of his mind where he knew it could not touch him, a sensation of power rippled from his thighs to his fingertips, and he sensed relief and eagerness settle over his bones.
    “Phinny!” Rachel exclaimed when he hobbled through the door. “What happened?!”
    “Just took a tumble, that’s all.”
    “Another? You’re always doing this to yourself. I’m starting to think you go looking for trouble!”
    “Nobody’s looking for trouble here. And I feel fine, thanks,” said Amphion. He did feel fine, too -- he knew that much.
    By the time Bennett turned up and announced they had no individual by the name of Garrett Quinn on file, Amphion’s search had turned into one of mere curiosity. He asked for a record of every young male under the age of twenty living in the city to be brought to him.
***
    One day, Amphion was called down to Cossack’s office without warning.
    Cossack sat backwards in a plush chair, legs stuck clumsily through the armrests. Recently, he’d taken up pipe smoking, claiming he’d heard from a friend of a friend that it was easier on the lungs.
    “Good to see you, Oswald,” barked Cossack. “Have a seat.”
    “Where, sir?”
    “Right on up on my desk is fine. Got rid of  all my cigars, but check that drawer right next to you -- there might be a cigarette in there somewhere.”
    As Amphion plopped down on the desk and fished out a cigarette, Cossack swivelled his chair around and offered a light. He coughed as smoke hit his lungs. Lately, he’d taken up smoking again, and now it felt as if there was a dampness in his chest all the time.    
    “The string of murders that have taken place recently -- how closely have you been involved?” Cossack asked.
    “Not very,  Commissioner. They’ve kept me away from it, I suppose.”
    “Well, it’s just about time someone put you back on. We’re completely swamped -- it’s no good having a brain like yours flopping around and doing nothing. Tell you what…” Cossack nodded to a manila folder on his desk, “ …go on ahead and open it -- I want you on this. In fact, I’m putting you in charge of the investigation.”
    Amphion’s eyes shot up from the folder and his mouth stumbled to form a reply. Cossack, taking his grunts to be the sounds of protest, launched into an appraisal of character. “You’re too modest, Oswald. I’ve always said it; you’re stubborn as they come but there’s never been a man so damn modest!”
    Eventually, he resigned himself to Cossack’s ravings with a sense of doom. “We suspect there’s a bit of vigilantism going around,” the Commissioner went on. Vigilantism. That word really got to Amphion. It sounded like a plague. “There’s good intentions behind it, I’m sure -- but it can’t be allowed to continue. Order and law are at stake here. People don’t feel safe in the hands of anarchy. We don’t pay our taxes for that kind of thing.”
    “Wouldn’t I be considered too… junior in ranking for this duty?” Amphion managed.
    “Nonsense! Younger minds are sometimes better. I try to be open, you know. A fresh perspective is just what we need -- didn’t I say I was too old for this? Don’t give me any of that crap! I was much younger than yourself when I fought the Japs!”
***
    “That’s interesting,” said Garrett when Amphion brought him the news.  “Couldn’t come at a better time. We can spin this our way, Love.”
    On his way to the Old Seattle district, Amphion had stopped and bought a pack of cigarettes from a corner store. He sat now in the midst of Garrett’s encampment, lighting up his third. A stifled cough tugged at his chest; he would need to pay the doctor a visit soon.
    The boy glowered at him and flicked a cigarette butt out the window, but said nothing. Amphion hated the habit as well, and it was a killer on his health, but his hands needed something to do.
    “The way I see it, this can only cause trouble,” said Amphion. “I’ll be investigating myself, practically. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the police force realizes I’m jumping gaps and leading them in circles.”
    “There’s no need to lead anyone down the wrong track. In fact, it’d be better for me if you didn’t.”
    “You want me to name myself as the culprit?!”
    “Don’t put it so bluntly, Love. I’m not an idiot.”
    “But what’s the point?”
    He knew then he’d been led straight into Garrett’s trap, for the boy cracked a grin that seemed to consume his whole face.
    Twenty feet from where they sat, a group of children slept. One had gotten up -- a girl of six or seven years -- and wandered over to Garrett. She took his hand, and he pulled her into his lap and ran his fingers through her short coils of hair. She was mocha-skinned, with eyes of burnt honey eyes that never left Amphion’s face. In response, he lit another cigarette. Being around children made him uneasy.
    “What’s your name, Sweety?” Garette asked the girl.
    She answered almost mechanically. “Clara.”
    “Good.”
    Garrett turned his attention to Amphion. “You see?” he said. “We’ll do this for Clara. For the other children. Didn’t you always complain about the police force, Love? What did you say again? -- Oh yes! They were led by a bunch of dishwater politicians. Always having to please others. Well, you should be thanking me in that case, because I’ll going to wipe ‘em clean.”
    Amphion leaned forward, elbows pressed against his knees. “What do you propose?”
    “We leave a paper trail, from the crime scenes straight back to the NSPD.”