Vector Of Infection

Vector of Infection

By Matt Kirkby

Cover Model: Dan

Copyright 2011 Matt Kirkby

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

Freeze, police!

Frowning, Scott Maxwell could see two figures ahead of him, just on the edge of the sodium lamp light which illuminated the park's gravel path. They were hunched over a third--an obvious body--laying on the grass.

Police! he shouted again. Hands up!

The two stooping figures slowly straightened up.

Hands up, I said! Keeping his drawn pistol held ready, Scott took another step forward. He squinted, trying to make out their faces, but the shadows were too dark for him to see any details. Step away from him. The night wind was blowing coldly for April, and its chill cut through his uniform coat.

The victim moaned.

The two standing figures remained silent.

Scott kept his pistol steady. He was aiming halfway between the two, uncertain which to actually target. He wished he could see their faces--but both were masked in shadows. Step away and get on your knees.

The two standing figures abruptly turned and ran deeper into the park.

Damn it! Scott watched them scatter in two different directions, before both vanished completely into the shadowy park. Damn it.

He looked around and cursed. No chance of catching them now. He hurried towards the victim and keyed his walkie-talkie. This is Constable Maxwell. I need an ambulance in South Foster Park ....

* * *

Ben Foyer looked up from untying his shoelaces as Scott walked into the locker room. So, Scotty, was it a good night for you?

Scott shrugged. I guess so. He stretched out his arms, trying to work out the various kinks, while casually eyeing the other cop who was already shirtless. A bit cold for walking the beat through the park though.

Maybe you should have stayed inside your car then.

I can't patrol the park from inside my cruiser car, Scott pointed out. I had one mugging to break up. The perps got away though...I couldn't see their faces. Hopefully the victim can describe them when she wakes up.

Ben frowned as he hung his uniform pants in his locker. He turned to face Scott. He was completely unabashed that he was just wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. Which park did you get?

South Foster.

That's the easy one. Ben laughed. He shook out his faded blue jeans and started pulling them on. You should try pulling the Zwicks patrol sometime...I've lost track of the number of fags I've had to tell to take their business elsewhere.

Scott continued unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

That park is a pretty busy place for cruising, Ben went on. Always has a lot of traffic there, though not everyone is in your face and hitting on you. Most know that they're in a public place and they act accordingly. But enough of them don't to make things interesting. Remember that if you ever get assigned to patrol it. He shook his head. You should never go there alone at night.

I'd get eaten alive?

Yeah, pretty much. Ben pulled a dark green sweatshirt over his head. Shit, I was there this one time and I found this young guy tied to a tree. Just wearing his skivvies. It had just finished raining and he was soaked. I could see everything.

Really. Scott quickly pulled his own jeans on and zipped them up. Assault case?

College prank. Ben shook his head. The guy didn't want to file a complaint or press any charges. He claimed he'd had too much to drink with some buddies. Did some wild betting at pool and things got a little out of hand.

Don't they all say that? Scott reached into his locker and pulled out his green corduroy jacket.

Yeah, pretty much.

Scott shrugged. Takes all kinds, I guess.

Yeah. Ben slammed his locker closed. You want to go out for a beer or something?

Sure.

* * *

The neon-lit interior of the Cabaret was crowded and loud. Almost every table was full and other men were sitting around the stage.

Scott took a long swallow from his drink. The crowd was large, but well-behaved, and composed mostly of college and university students.

Ben was staring up at the stage. The half-naked dancer was gyrating in a very provocative manner. She had already tossed her top aside, and was coiling herself around a pole.

A waitress bent over the table. Can I get you boys a refill? she asked. Her low-cut tee-shirt clung tightly to her chest.

Ben shook his head. No, thanks, Trudie.

She sighed and shook her head. You're not on duty right now. Her light brown hair settled heavily back onto her shoulders. Why not loosen up a bit?

Cause I know what this place's bouncers are like. Ben gave her a friendly smile.

Scott turned and gave her a friendly smile. I'm fine with one. He was just about ready for bed for that matter.

A moment later, he was covering his mouth as he yawned.

Are you bored? Ben asked with a grin.

It's been a long day, Scott countered. Some of us worked hard.

Hey, I worked today.

You had traffic direction.

Standing outside, inhaling car exhaust, and trying to convince drivers to move along and not stop to gawk. Ben took a long swallow from his beer. Yep, easy day.

Scott chuckled.

The dancer kept dancing.

Don't you feel strange coming here?

What do you mean? Ben was watching the stage.

You're a cop in a strip club.

Off-duty cop. What's wrong with that?

Well...

Exactly. Ben laughed and winked at Trudie as she sauntered past their table again.

She thrust her mini-skirted ass towards him.

We're just two guys having some downtime. Just like the rest. Ben hooked his thumb at the crowd. Just sit back and enjoy the show.

Chapter Two

All of this was just a random sort of occurrence, Constable Maxwell.

A random sort of occurrence. Scott looked up from his notebook with a slight frown on his face. He was dressed in his duty uniform. The unzipped windbreaker jacket showed off his light blue shirt and the white tee-shirt underneath. He was proud of how snugly the shirt fit his chest and how his navy blue cargo pants hugged the curves of his muscular legs. Made the girls stop and stare. And quite a few guys as well, or so he had noted. He certainly didn't mind. He enjoyed the attention.

Not that he was getting much attention from the only other person in the tastefully appointed private office. And with that, he brought himself back to the matter at hand. So, Mister Issacs, what makes you so certain that this isn’t an attack on your company?

It was just an act of senseless vandalism. Samuel Issacs gave the police constable a careful shrug. His finely tailored black suit fit well on his frame, helping emphasizing his slender build, and masking any flaws. It looked expensive. Vandals go after splashy targets all the time. They want to draw attention, to court some free publicity for their Cause or just for themselves. A few broken windows is hardly worth mentioning to the police, but our insurance company insisted on it.

Scott made a note of that. He tried to ignore Samuel's attitude--he came across being as naturally arrogant. His suit is probably worth more than I'll make in a decade, he thought with a trace of bitterness. And the man knows it without a doubt.

He bought himself a moment by taking another look around the office. The furniture was a very contemporary design. Steel and frosted glass for the desk. Black leather on the chairs. Oak parquet flooring--real parquet, not a laminate. Oak bookcases, half-filled with leather-bound books, and small framed pictures on the other shelves. Certificates and newspaper articles were hanging in frames on the panelled walls.

Samuel was sitting in his chair, with this hands folded on the glass desktop.

Was anything stolen? Scott asked, getting back on track.

No. The vandals just smashed the front windows and messed up the reception area. The main facilities are securely locked beyond other doors.

Your security didn’t see the perpetrators?

The cameras are down for repairs this week.

Convenient.

Samuel frowned. He looked directly at Scott with narrowed green eyes. We are currently upgrading the security system actually.

Any particular reason for that?

Samuel offered a shrug. The gesture was crisp--he was not a man to slouch in his chair. A few letters of protest. The usual cranks, Constable. Any successful company receives those types of letters on a regular basis. If nothing else, it shows that we are still keeping the public's attention with our releases.

Hmmm.

Constable, by now we know even better than you that there is no way to trace the letters back to their writers. Our own in-house security teams have made the attempt on more than one occasion. Half of the time, my staff simply reads and then shreds the letters on the spot. No reports are filed. Nothing more is even thought about. It is just harmless ranting.

Scott looked at the businessman a bit more closely. I'd like to see one or two of those letters.

Ask my secretary then. I certainly don't keep them on file.

Scott made another note in his book. So the security cameras are down right now. He still didn't buy that oh-so-convenient excuse. Don't you have night watchmen?

Of course. This is an important and busy research facility. There are experiments running twenty-four seven. Granted, most nights do not see more than a skeleton staff in here, but there are more than just security and maintenance teams around on the grounds.

And no one saw anything?

The research staff would be in their laboratories, not out front in the lobby. Most of the working staff do not even use the front lobby.

And your night watchmen make patrols?

"They usually watch the images