FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings © Tigermark 2003-2018 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
The characters of Anatol Altaisokova and Melinda Altaisokova are my names for characters © Max Blackrabbit. They appear in this story with his permission. The characters of Brandy, Maxwell, Tonya and Zig Zag are also © Max Blackrabbit and appear here with his permission. Events and information relating to Tonya, Anatol, and their family are presented here, but are not to be considered canon to those characters or any other story but this one. ZZ Studios, and all characters associated with ZZ Studios, James Sheppard, and Marvin Badger © James Bruner and appear here with his permission. Although characters from and events referring to Zig Zag the Story appear here, this story is not canon to that one, and the author will disavow any knowledge of this story. Wanda Vixen © Chris Yost and appears here with his permission. Sabrina Mustidalae © Eric W. Schwartz and appears here with his permission. This story is not canon to Sabrina Online the comic, or Sabrina Online the Story, either. Matt Barstock, Angie Rockwell, Intermountain Charter, The Bitch, and her crew, and Jerry Kitt © Silver Coyote. See their story HERE. Gail Rutherford © me and is not canon to any other story involving ZZ Studios. Gabrielle Ryder and Jean LeBrun © Aslaug, from her Transitions stories. See them at her site, The Axe Shed, available from the links page. Aramis Dagaz is© his player and appears here with his permission.
Author’s Note: Lewiston, Maine’s airport, identifier KLEW, is actually uncontrolled. That is, it has no control tower. Poetic license was used for this story, so Alex and company talk with a control tower whilst aviating there.
Chapter 118
The Shadow Knows
Mastifson was finishing up dinner with his dessert for the night. A pretty manx femme, she was very coy and flirty, and very bold. She had suggested, and he’d agreed, that they should meet up at his hotel at midnight. He suspected she was married, but he really didn’t care. Finding no reason to doubt her or question her further, he agreed to meet her in the lobby. He paid their bill and she’d bid him farewell until later.
He then followed his now-usual routine of taking his cell phone to his room, retrieving his “kit,” and setting out to prowl. He’d checked out the area he was targeting earlier in the day with a casual drive through. He found it suitably dingy and run-down. He parked in the lot of an adult movie theater, gathered his kit bag and slipped down the alley beside the building when the group waiting for the next show went in. Making sure the alley was clear, he donned his outfit. Once properly attired and air-cane in paw, he shuffled out the other end and worked his way down the street, beginning his hunt.
It was early December, and even though this was Alabama, the air was cold and wet. Not many furs were out on the streets. The very few he saw were over a block away, and mostly flitted from one building to another very quickly. Mastifson began to think the night’s hunt might be unsuccessful. He checked the old watch he’d bought at the thrift store and noted it was already almost twenty-two hundred.
He then saw someone coming down the street. The fur was still two blocks away, head down and hunched against the cold. The Rottweiler slipped into the next alley, which afforded him a line of sight in the direction the fur was coming from between a drain pipe and the wall. He set his cane to spray out onto the sidewalk at the height the fur’s head would be at. Before long he heard the shuffle of shoes on the pavement. He counted the steps and sprayed right when he expected the fur to be there. Still back in shadow, he heard the fur exclaim in surprise.
“Whut th’ hell?”
The fur had stopped. Mastifson could see the fur’s shadow from the lights on the street. He was looking upward, like he was trying to see where the sudden wetness had come from. Then he began to sway, and his head lol to the side. The Rottweiler stepped out and caught him before he fell to the sidewalk. This fur ended up being much heavier than his first target. He nearly buckled under the weight. Still, he managed to get the fur off the ground and back into the shadows of the alley.
Mastifson looked around quickly to make sure the area was still clear. He then turned to his target. The fur was a stout boxer male with a striped mohawk haircut and an earring. He wore a leather jacket over a dark a-line shirt, dark jeans, boots, and fingerless gloves. The Rottweiler tried to push his target’s sleeve up, but the leather, stiff in the cold, wouldn’t move. Deciding quickly that an addict would use whatever injection point he could find, he opened the fur’s jacket and located his Brachial artery on the inside of his arm near the armpit. He was glad at this point that he’d researched more than one injection point. The needle went in and the deadly dose was delivered. He closed the fur’s jacket and moved him to a sitting position against the wall. Still in the shadows, Mastifson watched and waited.
This fur fought it. Head lolled to the side, tongue out and drooling, he twisted and gasped for each second of life. He never came to, but instead his breathing slowed, and slowed until finally he fell over and didn’t move.
Mastifson dispassionately surveyed the area. Finding no trace left, he turned and walked to the far end, checked the street, and then began to shuffle back toward the theater and his car. He was feeling quite smug at how easily he was dispatching his prey. O’Whitt would be as easy as a kitten. A couple more practice hunts, and he’d be ready for his main quarry.
# # #
Aramis and Diana had spotted Mastifson’s Seminole when they parked in her Baron. An off-paw comment of “nice Seminole” got the chatty chipmunk at the FBO counter to tell them about the Rottweiler who’d flown it in. She’d even told them that he’d rented a car from the rental counter next to her. Renting a car from the same place, the rabbit doe remarked that it was busy for a Saturday afternoon, as she’d just rented a car to someone not an hour before. Aramis asked about a good hotel, and the femme suggested they go to the Holiday Inn Express, just like her previous customer. They thanked her, and Diana drove to the hotel. Checking in there, they managed to get a room where they could watch the parking lot. It was only after they were in the room and watching that Aramis turned bright red to his eartips when he realized they’d be “sleeping together.”
“Relax Aramis, I have a feeling we’ll be doing a lot of watching and very little sleeping,” Diana responded, still fighting the urge to remark on how cute his shyness was. They were professionals, after all. It was several hours later that they saw Mastifson get out of a nondescript rental car and come inside. Aramis made to go out and put a GPS tracker on it, but before he could get out of the room, Mastifson came back out. The two agents hustled out and got in their car to follow him.
He drove through several streets, moving into the seedier side of town. When he pulled into a parking lot, they pulled in just up the street to watch. The cars and a small crowd of furs partially blocked their view. The parking lot ended up belonging to an adult theater. They saw Mastifson’s head above the cars as he joined the crowd. Then the theater doors opened and the milling around of ingoing and outgoing furs happened. There was no sign of the Rottweiler when the crowd cleared. After several moments, Aramis got out and put the tracker on Mastifson’s rental.
They waited through one showing, and then another. At the end of that showing, Mastifson reappeared with the small crowd and went to his car. Using the tracker, Aramis and Diana were able to follow at a more leisurely and concealed distance.
“Are you kidding me!” Diana exclaimed when the Rottweiler simply drove back to his hotel. He went in, but only to the lobby. At midnight, an attractive manx femme walked in and met up with Mastifson. The two agents watched through the lobby windows as the pair boarded the elevator.
At 0220, the femme came back down and left. Both Diana and Aramis were feeling very frustrated. They were about to pack it in for the night as Aramis grumbled.
“It’ll be Monday before I can get the info on his card activity and the police blotter reports.”
Diana looked at him neutrally, and then suddenly held up a paw. She pointed to her ear, where a discrete earphone was in place. One of the perks of being FBI was access to the local police radio calls.
“I’ve been listening to the local police. It’s actually pretty quiet. The cold and damp have most folks inside. We may—”
The desert cat had stopped short. Aramis arched an eyebrow as he waited for her to listen to what had interrupted her. After a moment, she motioned to go.
“Let’s go. Put Fourth and Kelly into the GPS. Report of a body in an alley. They think it’s an undercover cop.”
Aramis set the GPS and followed the prompts. They ended up back in the part of town they’d just left, only a few blocks from the adult theater. They pulled up to see an ambulance crew loading a stretcher. The body on it had the sheet pulled up over its head. Uniformed officers and barricades were everywhere, and a CSI team was working in the alley. The two agents got out and were immediately challenged by a beagle in uniform.
“No press yet, please,” he stated, putting a paw up. Diana and Aramis flashed Their credentials. The beagle went wide-eyed and all but saluted.
“Sorry Ma’am, Sir. Captain Barnsley is in charge. He’s the light-colored Lab in the long coat.”
“Thank you,” Aramis said as Diana headed for the Captain. The Lab was consoling a ragged-looking Akita wearing an old Army overcoat. Diana and Aramis walked up but waited to be acknowledged. They could hear what the Akita was saying.
“He wuz s’posed to meet up with me at midnight. We were goin’ on vacation. This wuz our last dealer bust. He wuz gonna call it in, an’ then walk over here to keep his cover intact. The bust went off, but somebody musta made him, an’ they got him before he got to the RP.”
The Captain nodded. “The medicos say it looks like a massive opiod OD, but the autopsy will say for sure. I’m sorry Decker. Bailey was a good fur, and a good officer.”
The Akita nodded and turned to talk with another group of officers. Captain Barnsley now noticed the two agents.
“Can I help you?”
“Agent Forsham, FBI,” Diana introduced herself, showing her credentials.
“Agent Dagaz, AFOSI,” Aramis followed suit.
“Okay, Feds, what have you got to do with this?” The Lab did not seem pleased to see them.
“Probably nothing,” Aramis supplied. “We were in the area on another matter, heard the call, and wanted to offer our condolences and help, if you need it.”
The felid’s attempt at diplomacy only slightly softened the Lab’s expression as he looked at them. “Let me guess, what you’re up to is classified. Just as well. Unless you want to show me what you’re doing is related to this then no, we don’t need help. And thank you for the condolences, Detective Bailey was a good undercover officer.”
Just then a commotion off to the side caught their attention. A ragged-looking fur in an old military field jacket and a black watch cap was gesturing to a pair of uniformed officers. The Captain gave a snort.
“You wanna help? Go listen to ol’ G.I. Jenkins. He’s a homeless vet who hangs out in this area. We’ve had him in several different shelters, but he drinks too much to stay. He comes outta the woodwork from time to time with some wild story. Usually once somebody listens to him, he settles down and disappears again. You can go let my uniformed get back to their jobs.”
Diana started to protest, but Aramis put a paw on her arm. When she looked at him, he nodded in the direction of the disturbance. She shrugged, looked back at the Captain, and gave a nod.
“Okay Captain, we don’t mind doing that for you. Talk to you later.”
They stepped over and told the two uniformed officers they could go. Facing the hunched figure, they could see that Jenkins was a raccoon male. The grubby field jacket had Air Force stripes on it, indicating a rank of Staff Sergeant, with the name Jenkins on the name tape. Aramis took the lead.
“Hello, I’m Agent Dagaz, AFOSI. This is Agent Forsham, FBI. We’d like to hear what you have to say.”
The eyes that peered out from under long, stringy hair and the watch cap were sharp and clear. The fur drew himself up to attention.
“Finally, somebody’s gonna listen to me. Thank ya sir, ma’am. Staff Sergeant Rick Jenkins, USAF, reporting the craziest sh, er, crap I’ve ever seen.”
Aramis looked at the fur, evaluating whether he was a crazy old coot with alcoholic hallucinations, or a witness nobody appreciated. The fur still smelled of booze, his clothes disheveled and a bit ragged, but again, his eyes were keenly clear and bright.
“Go ahead, Staff Sergeant, we want to hear it.”
The raccoon dipped his head and began.
“Yessir. Well, I’d had a bit earlier and had crawled into my box back there in th’ alley. Got a nice cozy place with a couple blankets, covered over in tar paper and hid real good with rags n’ boards n’ stuff. Anyways, I woke up when I heard someone come in th’ alley. I looked out, careful-like. Danger’s times, y’know. I looked out, and I couldn’t see nuthin’, just felt like somebody was there. Then I heard a hiss like a snake out by the entrance to th’ alley. There was some kinda mist or cloud. I could see it in the light. ‘At there cop walked into it face first. He stopped an’ looked up, rubbin’ his face. Then he started to wobble and fall over. ‘At’s when I saw him.”
“Who?” Diana asked, her curiosity up now.
“Th’ Shadow. Just like in the old radio shows. All in black, with the big black coat and fedora. I held real still, lemme tell ya. He put that fella on th’ ground, an’ then propped him up against the wall. I swear he sucked the life right outta him, cause the guy never woke up, just gasped out a few times an’ then fell over dead. Th’ Shadow turned my way, and I thought I was next! His eyes flashed red like fire but thank th’ Lord he walked on by an’ left. I was too scared t’ come out. It seemed like forever before the guy’s partner found ‘im.”
To Diana’s surprise after the fanciful description, Aramis nodded understandingly. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll make sure this gets to the right furs. You did well.”
“Thank ya sir.”
The raccoon turned and shuffled back into the alley, which had just been vacated by the CSI crew. Aramis and Diana went back to where Captain Barnsley stood. He’d just finished getting a report from the lead CSI when he looked up and nodded to them.
“Thanks, you helped cut two o’ mine loose to go looking for witnesses. Ol’ Jenkins can sometimes go on forever. What was it this time? Space aliens? Demons?”
“The Shadow,” Aramis stated, deadpan serious.
“The guy from the old radio show? Damn, I haven’t heard that name since my grandpa talked about him when I was a kid…wait, you took him seriously? Oh please, like I said, he comes out of the woodwork whenever he sees us working a crime scene. He’s a delusional old drunk derelict.”
Aramis shrugged. “Maybe so, but he’s as close to an eyewitness as you’re going to get on this one. No, I don’t think The Shadow is walking your streets, but someone dressed to disguise who they were could be. Here’s my card. Call me if something turns up. You were right, it is classified, but we might be looking in the same area.”
The Captain looked thoughtful, holding the card as the two agents left.
# # #
It was Saturday afternoon, and Alex was hanging out at Helipro. Corrie was covering as management on duty, as they’d had two morning and two afternoon charters. Kate was out right then on the last charter with three Toyota executives who had flown into Lexington for a round-trip surprise visit to the Georgetown plant. Billy was at home, as Kentiger’s Saturday flights had either completed or were where they were waiting overnight. Alex and Corrie were sitting in the lobby conversing about all the recent events.
“So, you got all twelve flights out and back with no hassles?” Alex asked.
“Mostly, yeah,” Corrie replied. “Those three Angels, plus Kath, worked like a well-oiled machine. Hard to believe it was ouah first day of operation. The only wowzah was that reporter.”
Alex grinned. “I saw her report. You, Billy, and the Angels chewed her up!”
Corrie shook her head ruefully. “Too right! Good thing part of that station’s plan is to have locals make her look like a drongo. Bad thing is, I don’t know if she realizes it. She seemed to take what she was asking way too serious.”
Alex shrugged. “That’s part of it. She’s trying to make a name for herself, so she can move to a larger station with more pay. The management knows this. They, the other newscasters, even her own camerafur string her along, poking fun at her all the way.”
“Kinda sad, but she brings it on herself. Otherwise, I couldn’t be more pleased with how things are going,” Corrie avowed, smiling.
“Me, too,” Alex stated, looking at her with a lovesick expression.
“Oh Luv, don’t staht trying to give me puppy-eyes,” she replied, laughing.
Alex grinned. “Yeah, I’m not that good at it. Really though, things are going great. Did you know Rich and Kath are engaged?”
Corrie grinned in return. “I know, Kath told me. I think they’re ring-shopping today. Good on ‘em.”
“Yep, good couple. How about you? Any more ideas for our wedding?” Alex inquired.
“Loads, but all from the Sheilas and company. God bless her, Penny has taken de facto charge and parceled out different things to all of them. They call me daily with ideas or cost projections. Penny and I talked about the overall theme and ideas and colors. Hasn’t she asked you anything?” Corrie cocked her head to the side questioningly.
Alex just smiled. “Penny has a philosophy. The wedding is for the bride, the honeymoon is for the groom.”
Corrie broke out laughing almost to tears.
“What’s so funny?” Alex asked.
“P-p-penny put Zig Zag in charge of Honeymoon arrangements and prep!” Corrie finally managed to get out.
Alex’s eyes went very wide. “Oh dear sweet fluffy kittens, we’re doomed!”
Alex now joined her in her laughter. After a couple of minutes, they both got their laughter out. Alex then changed the subject.
“Okay, I think we’ll make it. Love, any ideas or plans for Christmas?”
Corrie thought a moment. “I’d like it to be just the two of us, at least stahting out.”
“Sounds good. Billy has invited us for Christmas dinner, but that’s not until late afternoon,” Alex agreed. He then looked at her with a very serious expression.
“Love, have you been keeping up with the news?”
Corrie knitted her brows. “In what way? I’ve been seeing all the uproar ovah Iraq, but I…oh.”
The lioness had just realized what it meant for Alex if things went the way they were threatening to go. She sighed and looked at Alex levelly.
“When and for how long?”
The tiger had to smile. Most would have required a long explanation and then pleaded for him not to go. Corrie had accepted it
as part and parcel of who he was and what he did.
“Latest word is after the first of the year. How long is anyone’s guess, but I can’t see it being a hot war for too long. I’m not changing plans, but I might be gone for a while before June.” They had moved together, and now held each other forehead to forehead. Just then they heard the radio tuned to Approach Control go off.
“Bluegrass Approach, Helipro One, ten out at two thousand, inbound for Runway Two Two and the Helipad.”
Alex shrugged. “We’ll get your Angel down and on her way home, then we’ll go eat. Nothing has happened yet.”
# # #
Aramis and Diana were back in Lexington. It was Monday morning and they’d tracked Mastifson to his work. Diana had been afforded a company car, so they were in a black Yukon. Aramis was going over his suspicions while Diana typed them into a laptop for a report. If what they suspected had happened, there was a special unit in the FBI that would work with them.
“Here were Mastifson’s travels that weekend. He went to Atlanta, Georgia. We tracked him from his cell phone pings, and it says he stayed at his hotel when he wasn’t bar-hopping. We have the police blotter report of someone seeing a figure that looked like The Shadow in the high crime and drug use district. There were drug overdose cases that night, but all were in homes or known drug dens. None out on the streets or alleys. Then we have the next weekend. Mastifson traveled to Kansas City. He stopped at his hotel, again by his cell phone location, bar hopped, sent his hook-up home early, and then didn’t leave his hotel. This time, a drug overdose fatality, found in an alley the next morning. Again, nearby reports of a Shadow-like figure. The toxicology report on that victim, who was a longtime heroin addict, said he died of a massive Fontadyne overdose. The guy had needle tracks everywhere, but it’s unusual for someone to switch substances like that. Thanksgiving weekend, Mastifson stayed in Lexington. No odd drug related fatalities, no reports of Shadow-like figures. Now this last weekend. I just got the report on card and cell phone activity. If he really did go to that movie, he paid cash, which considering what kind of theater it was, I don’t blame him. Now, get this, when he came back out and went to that theater, he left his cell phone in his room. That shows us our previous surveillance was incomplete and flawed, and that he knows he can be tracked by his phone. That alone should get us authorization to continue. Now we have Birmingham, with a dead undercover officer. Preliminary autopsy report says it’s a massive opioid overdose as well. They’ve found no needle track. They know it was injected, but no real indication of how or where. And we have SSgt. Jenkins’ sighting of The Shadow at the scene.”
Here Diana interrupted him. “Yes, but how reliable is that?”
Aramis shook his head, a sour expression on his face. “Not very, unfortunately. He’s prone to telling wild stories when he’s drinking. It’s a shame. I looked up his records. He’s a decorated honorably-discharged veteran. He spent eight years in the Air Force as a Forward Air Control Specialist. He fought in Desert Storm and was wounded in a toe-to-toe firefight with the Republican Guard. Got out after he got back and took to drink. Couldn’t sit still or stay indoors much. Ended up homeless, as he wouldn’t stay anywhere for long. I believe he saw what he says, but it was whoever killed the police officer, dolled up in a disguise.”
“But no evidence that this disguised figure is Mastifson,” Diana reminded him.
“No, only by circumstance. The only evidence we have is that he likes adult movies and one-night stands but is very discrete about it.”
Aramis continued to look sour. Diana looked thoughtful.
“You know, I’ve heard of The Shadow, but I really don’t know anything about the character.”
Aramis shrugged. “I didn’t either, until I looked it up. The Shadow was an early, mysterious anti-hero type. Along the same lines as Batman’s early interpretation. He was more cerebral, more thoughtful, but didn’t lack when physical action was called for. He carried two forty-five caliber auto pistols. He was able to become invisible when he wanted by a form of hypnosis. He wore a black slouch hat, kind of like a fedora, a red scarf, and a big black coat or cape. He could sound quite insane at times. His tag line in the program’s intro went, ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of furs? The Shadow knows!’ He’d then do a classical evil genius laugh.”
“Sounds like our guy here is The Shadow in appearance only,” Diana observed.
“Very true. I hope for Colonel O’Whitt’s sake he can’t become invisible,” Aramis stated.
End of Chapter 118