CEDAR CREEK, MICHIGAN
Chapter 42
ON WITH THE GAMES

Hank searched for his keys in the dark. The street was empty; even the barber had staggered home.

“Damn. Where the heck is everybody? What kind of police station is this?” Nobody answered.

A Jeep rolled down the street, and Hank turned to watch. The driver slowed down. Hank checked his hip for his holster and realized it was empty. His gun was still with the Sheriff’s Department. His mind was in turmoil. The vehicle pulled up beside him, and Elmo Carter got out.

“Glad I found you,” Elmo said.

“Cripes, Elmo. What happened to you? You look like your best friend just slept with your wife.” Hank pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the station’s main door.

“I’ve got to talk to you, Bradford,” Elmo said, and pushed Hank through the door. “Get off the street. It’s not safe.”

“What in the world crawled up your ass and died? Not safe? I don’t see any little green men landing on the rooftops, Elmo. What do you know that I don’t?”

“It’s not so much what I know as what I suspect,” Elmo admitted. “Sit down, Hank.”

“Damn, are you telling me what to do in my own station? Do you want coffee?”

“You should make a full pot and grab a bottle of cheap liquor because I don’t think I can deal with things anymore.”

“Can you believe this place?” Hank looked around the office. The dispatch desk was covered with pink messages and an empty pizza box. There was a box of empty Coke cans by the door. “Hallie must have jumped ship. The rats always flee a sinking boat, Elmo. I’m doomed.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. She left you a note, Hank,” Elmo said, handing the pink note to Hank, who was the pro forma police chief with Barney’s death.

Family emergency. Calls are being forwarded to the county’s 911 dispatchers.

Will call you—HR.

Hank sniffed the paper. The marker’s acetone smell had faded long ago. “It’s been here a while.”

“You’re not Columbo,” Elmo remarked.

“Why do you say that? I’ve uncovered a lot of information in the last twenty-four hours, some of which confuses me.”

“That’s why I’m here, Hank. I’m a short timer. Nearly retirement age. I don’t need this shit, but I stepped in it.”

“Ah. You want to admit to that Firdaus guy’s shenanigans? I think he’s got bad intentions.”

“It’s worse than that, Hank. You don’t have a clue what you’re mixed-up in. But I’m starting to figure it out. I could stay quiet, but I suspect I’m headed for an early retirement with the cement shoes.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Elmo? Did you take a payoff? That little foreign fella pay you to cover something up?”

“No. It’s not as simple as that, Hank. I wish it was. Listen to me. I don’t have much time because I know they’re after me.”

“You want me to call Doc? I can find you a nice room at Rolling Acres where you can read Sports Illustrated all day, take a few pills, and eat gruel.”

“Okay, don’t listen. You’ll be dead soon, too. I think you’re right there on the short list with me, Hank.”

The station was shrouded in darkness except for a few fluorescent lights humming in the back room. Elmo peered through the slats in the blinds. The street was silent.

“Look in that bag I brought in,” Elmo directed, still staring out at the street.

Hank picked up the bag from the table and looked inside. There was a can of cherry soda with a stopper in the opening.

“Go ahead, sniff it.”

“Shit, this smells like almond extract,” Hank admitted. He started to take a sip.

“Don’t drink that, Hank. It’s cyanide.”

“How can you tell?”

“Does it smell like cherry soda?”

“No,” Hank sniffed again. “It smells like Blanche’s almond bars.”

“Look in your refrigerator, Hank. I’ll bet you have a few cans, too.”

Hank opened the apartment-sized refrigerator under the counter. There was a moldy sandwich, a withered apple, and five cans of cherry soda.

“Where’s my soda? I only drink Coke,” Hank said. A thought struck him, and he paled. “Check the empties in that box. Do you see any cherry soda?”

“No, Hank, I don’t. The soda fairy came sometime in the last few hours.”

“What’s happening? This could have killed all of us.”

“Here’s what I know, and it’s all I know, so don’t ask me things I can’t answer. And for heaven’s sake, get rid of that soda.”

Hank poured the dangerous sodas down the sink one by one and listened to Elmo, who was so restless he seemed ready to crawl out of his skin.

“It all began the day we found the body. I was at a meeting in Lansing when the call came through. It was from the Governor’s office, but it was a relay call. From what I’ve been able to gather, it originated from Washington, DC.”

“Someone called and informed them it was a national security matter. We were directed by a man named Firdaus on where to locate a specific body and told to assist in its recovery. He was to have access at all costs.” Elmo continued.

“The plan was to go out there and wait for him to show up. Imagine my surprise when you folks were already there.”

“That’s it? You don’t know anything else?”

“I only know one more thing, Hank. Yesterday, I picked up a man from the train station. He was a goon and claimed he was a government agent. He had the paperwork to prove it, but he didn’t look like a G-man to me.”

“I dropped him off at a rental car place in Ann Arbor. Then tonight, I find this can of cherry cyanide in my fridge.”

“What in the world?” Hank started but stopped as a car’s headlights flashed against the buildings across the street, then light shone through the slats in the blinds.

“Get down!” Hank shouted. “There’s somebody out there,” Elmo dropped to the floor while Hank peeked out. The car drove by slowly. It was a dark, plain sedan with a rental plate.

“Thank God for streetlights,” Hank said. “What should we do?”

“If you want to solve this, Hank, you’ll have to go undercover. Disappear. You can’t get to the bottom of anything from six feet under.”

“Shit. This blows. First Barney, then me. Who’s going to maintain the peace?”

“Far as I can tell, we aren’t truly successful in that area. You can’t help anyone in a pine box.”

“You’re right, Elmo. I need to think outside the box. And I don’t mean a casket. I’d better call Doc Golden before I go and bounce some medical questions off his old brain. You can come back out—the coast is clear.”

“Thanks, but I’m comfy down here,” Elmo said as he sat on the floor behind the counter.

A thud struck the front door, and both men jumped. “It’s just the paper,” Hank said. “Shit, it’s dawn already.”

He grabbed the newspaper from the stoop and spread it across the desk. The headline hit him hard.

Man of God Goes Berserk in Cedar Creek—Kills Two

Unsettled by the cold tone of the phrasing, he looked further down the page.

Children of a local news reporter are missing and FEARED KIDNAPPED

“Shit, shit, and double shit,” Hank exploded. “I can’t take any more of this crap.”

“What’s wrong?” Elmo asked. He had been reading one of Steve’s detective magazines. Hank placed the paper in front of Elmo and dialed the phone.

“Doc? Wake up. I need to talk to you.”

“Make an appointment,” the old physician mumbled.

“I’m going to say this slowly. I’m hunkered down at the station with Elmo Carter. We’ve gotten involved in some kind of conspiracy, and I need medical advice. Now, wake up.”

“Okay, I’m awake. I called the state forensic lab to report that a lab fellow there tampered with evidence, and guess what? There’s no Syringh Firdaus at the state lab or any other lab affiliated with the State of Michigan.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Hank admitted. “I’m not sure what we’re caught up in, Doc, but it involves a chopper.”

“A chopper? Like a food processor?”

“No, Doc. A helicopter. That’s what Fly saw. ‘Whup, whup, whup.’ That’s what he kept telling me. I found a toothpick-made helicopter in his bedroom. The thing was a work of art.”

“The poor soul must have been an idiot savant. What else?”

“Lot of stuff, mostly bits and pieces, but it’s coming together. Sarah Underhill’s real name was Azara, and she was some kind of government asset. That’s not the whole story. I got some information at the hospital that Walker had hidden away in the back of a drawer. Our little friend didn’t find it, but he grabbed everything else.”

“Read it to me.” Doc yawned.

Hank read from the lab book. The silence on the other end dragged on, and he could bear it no longer.

“Doc?”

“I’m still thinking. He’s saying she died from a type of meningitis caused by a protozoan. Like he said, it’s not something humans usually catch. He’s right about that, as far as I know. My knowledge in that area is limited, and I will need to research it further. He’s also saying this child genetically resembles other non-human primates.”

“What is that?”

“Like monkeys, apes, and that sort of thing. Remember when I said she had strange hair? At the time, I wondered if it was malnutrition.”

“I vaguely recall.”

“Walker’s speculating that this could be a very significant find. And, as you already knew, he’s saying she was sexually abused,” Doc paused.

“If you had to guess, what do you think Walker was theorizing about?”

“This might be a stretch, Hank, but I think he believed she was a mix between two different primates, like a human and something else—say, a chimp.”

That’s right, Doc. It matches what I found in Underhill’s stuff. Did Walker have all his marbles?

“I knew him well. A brilliant scientist. Early in his career, he and a French guy did a lot of work in cloning.”

“That explains why someone wanted to kill him. He was hiding a secret.”

“If there’s a clone that age walking around, she’s top secret, Hank. Looks like we’ve stepped into a big mess. You better watch your step, boy.”

“Elmo and I had our own awakening, if you catch my drift. But more likely, it might just be some naturally occurring genetic glitch.”

“Something’s off, Hank. And it involves that raisin-skinned, shady-looking little creep that Elmo brought in. I don’t like it one bit.”

“Elmo’s okay, Doc. He got hornswoggled like the rest of us. I need you to stay quiet. I’m about to disappear for a while. They’ll think I’ve had a breakdown or something, but that’s exactly what I want them to believe.”

“All right, Hank. I trust you to do whatever’s best. This conversation never happened.”

Hank hung up, and Elmo was heading toward the back door.

“Where are you going? Are you ditching me?”

“We’re sitting ducks, Hank. I’m getting out of here. I’d advise you to do the same.”

“I will, as soon as I find out what happened to Hallie’s girls. I can’t leave until I know Hallie is safe.”

“You’d better get her clear of this too. She won’t be any safer than you are if she knows too much.” Elmo slipped out of the back door. Hank wondered if he’d ever see him again.

At the same time, Hallie entered through the front door, followed by two children who seemed to have just experienced a rough time. Their mother’s eyes were red, and her face was swollen, but to Hank, she still looked beautiful.

“Thank God. I didn’t know how to reach you,” Hank said hurriedly. “I saw the paper. Are they okay?”

“They’re still alive, if that’s what you mean. At least for now.”

“What happened? Did someone take them?”

“They left my mother’s yesterday. She was going through one of her dying routines and went to the doctor’s office.” She shot the girls a withering look that would stop a raging bull in its tracks. They looked scared.

“When my mother got home, they were gone. These two delinquents left her a note saying they missed me. Of course, we panicked. The police were searching for them, and so was I. We had to call their father. He hadn’t heard anything, but he made it clear that this was my fault. Finally, I took a chance. I thought they had enough cash to catch a bus to Ann Arbor. I drove back and forth between the stations until I found them.”

“Sounds like great detective work.”

“They scared the pants off me.” The girls tried to look innocent. Hallie looked at Hank, dressed like a hospital orderly. He still wore scrubs from last night. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Career change. I’m becoming a proctologist. Listen, something’s come up. It might be dangerous to stay in Cedar Creek. I should tell you to stay with your overbearing dying mother, but instead I guess I’m suggesting you follow your kids’ lead.”

“Actually, I hoped that maybe the girls and I could stay with you for a while. My ex is threatening to take custody away from me,” she said, wiping away tears, and Hank melted.

He looked at the two waifs sitting side by side on the bench. Hanna was the fairer one, with long brown hair falling in waves, teeth that were just a shade crooked, and mischievous green eyes. She’d be a beauty someday. Ruth was dark, like her mother. She had a cute angel’s face and curly hair.”

“We usually put runaways in jail.” The girls looked at their mother for reprieve. “I’m going to place you in your mother’s custody. You’re not to leave her side, or it’s off to jail, understand?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

He turned to Hallie. “Here are the keys. You can come to my house. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up.”

He thought of Steve, the rookie who wasn’t from the academy.

“Have some food, get some rest. There are a few unpleasant truths I need to share with you. In the meantime, don’t answer the door.”

“You’re scaring me, Hank. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need to photocopy the Underhill file before I come home. In the meantime, close the curtains and keep the doors locked. Don’t drink any cherry soda; if you see any in my refrigerator, handle it carefully and put it in the garage. There is poison—cyanide.”

“What is going on?”

“See that?” Hank pointed to the empty cans lined up on the edge of the sink. “According to Elmo Carter, they’re laced with cyanide.”

“You express your point very clearly.”

“We don’t have time for unnecessary words. I’m as serious as a heart attack. You go to the house; he tossed her the keys. And watch out for my pet African gray. His name is Dillinger, and he takes prisoners.”

“Dillinger?” Hallie frowned. “I don’t know anything about birds. Do I have to walk it?”

Hank had already turned his attention to a thick file folder, so she left. He sorted through the paperwork scattered across the desk, culling the Underhill files. The copier spewed out duplicates into a messy pile on the desk. He inventoried the physical evidence, noting each item.

Midmorning, Hank Bradford left the only job he’d ever had, carrying the duplicate Underhill file. The rogue detective suspected he’d never return to the Cedar Creek police station, but he walked away without hesitation.
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The end is in sight. No Tour Guides in Hell is entering its final chapters.
The full novel remains free to read through March 31. After that, it vanishes—but the story continues. The paperback and ebook will be available on Amazon, alongside two additional books in the trilogy. Thanks for being part of the journey.

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