“Sorry about the church talk.” Erica placed meat on her plate and handed the serving fork to Jack.
“That’s okay. Hard not to, with that thing in the sky and the publicity it’s getting. Makes you think there’s more to it than people are saying.”
“Yes, the media is diving into it.” Erica hesitated. “One last church thing … if it’s a sign of the end times, you need to be right with God. There’s a belief there will be a separation of believers and unbelievers. A permanent separation.” She paused. “I believe something is happening, because there’s a growing hatred of Christians out there.”
“Really?” Jack hadn’t noticed.
“Johnny and his mates are having a real battle at school because their friends know they go to church. They are being called judgemental bigots, and worse things.”
“It’s okay, Mum, don’t get worked up. It’s all cool, Dad. Nothing we can’t cope with.”
She gave Jack a smile. “Sorry.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call them friends. Tell them your dad is a policeman.”
“That could make things worse, Jack.” Erica touched his arm.
Yes. Respect no longer existed for those in authority. A sign times were getting worse in society. He looked at Johnny and Erica. Supernatural event. He couldn’t comprehend a permanent separation.
9 - A new strategy
Thomas Wiley sat in the corner of the nightclub, watching the people on the dance floor. How many of them were in a drunken or drug-induced haze? Probably most of them were under the influence of one or the other, if not both. He saw the sergeant walking towards him with a beer in his hand. The lights hitting him made him look like a coloured zebra.
“G’day, Thomas.” The sergeant raised his voice over the noise.
“Sarge.”
He threw an envelope on the table and grabbed a seat. “You did well with your last project. Several hospitalised, possibly some deaths.” His voice dropped down a notch.
Some sarcasm there. “Thank you.” He looked down at the envelope. “What’s with the envelope? A bundle of money?”
“Our new strategy. Open it later.”
“Not money. That’s sad. I’ll need a top-up soon.” He placed the envelope in his backpack. “No clues.”
Sarge shrugged. “Let’s be real for a sec. This strategy of popping off ‘amber’ people is a slow process.”
“It is. But a fun one.”
His glass was almost empty and he turned his attention towards the bar. It stood out against the dark surroundings. That’s how the club made their money—people buying drinks. Get them thirsty and they would spend. The loud environment raised energy levels, getting people to dance and sometimes fight. But fighting deterred customers, so big beefy bouncers patrolled the patrons looking for the possible troublemakers. Maybe the muscle men should wear glasses. Then they’d see the clouded red auras indicating negative energy and deep-seated anger and know who to keep watch on. Amber people? They would be outnumbered. Green? He laughed to himself. Wouldn’t be any here unless they were on a mission to save the lost. There were plenty of lost here. Wiley loved them. He loved the red people. His kindred.
Wiley waved his arms over the scene before him. “Don’t you just love it.”
“Why do we do it?”
Sarge was on a different page. “Do what?” Wiley asked.
“I understand why. We’re really working to this myth that the man up in the sky is waiting for a certain number of believers to be reached before he’ll come back.” He turned to look at some ladies dancing.
“A myth?” This man wasn’t scared of God.
“I believe we’re using the myth for leverage. We just want to rid the world of—”
“You’re not scared of God?” Wiley’s throat croaked from having to speak louder.
Sarge turned, eyes raised in shock, in a how-dare-you-interrupt-me look. “God? No such thing. I’m surprised you believe.” He took a long sip of his beer. Simmering his anger.
“But God’s the reason I want to get rid of the amber people. I don’t want him coming back.”
“Anyway, we’ve digressed. You’ll like the new strategy.” Sarge took another sip, shorter this time. “The clue: it’s a quicker way to get rid of your amber friends. And a lot of them.”
* * *
Jack had some strange dreams. He reflected on them as he drove to work. People floating up in the sky. Erica and Johnny floating away, waving to him. Not sad faces but happy faces. Why weren’t they sad about leaving him? A voice had spoken and said there would be no more sadness.
On his way to his desk, the superintendent waved him into his office and ushered him to a seat. Jack looked up at the Keystone Cops poster near the filing cabinet. The superintendent once told Jack it was there to remind him not to take his job too seriously. That was an impossible task, although the poster did bring brief relief to those that looked at it.
“Sorry about all this, Jack. But do you have any idea why your fingerprints would have been forged?” The superintendent brushed away a crumb or something near his keyboard and moved his takeaway coffee cup out of harm’s way.
“No idea.”
“Inside job, of course. An inexperienced officer, I would say. Someone who doesn’t know too much about the forensic sciences.” A beep came from his monitor. He briefly looked up and the message was enough to raise his eyebrows. “But why?”
“It all happened quickly. Someone was watching my actions. It must be linked to something. A discovery. But I didn’t even know I was on to anything. Weird.”
“But we’re onto something now. The health authorities have done their job. All the poisoning victims received some goods from the same person.”
Jack nodded. “I think I know who. I went for a head-clearing walk down to King George Square early yesterday morning. I sat and watched the comings and goings. A man was handing out what I assumed were samples. I actually saw him give something to Sally.” A small cough surfaced.
