The Silent Majority

By Leo Stableford

THE UNIFORMS: A terrifying encounter brings the shadows too close to Sarah Weber and Jake Riley as a normal day on the streets becomes something darker.

THE DETECTIVES: For Anthony Steele and Gerry Carter their new working relationship is almost as challenging as the cases they crack to shine a light into the murkiest depths of the Chicago underworld.

OCI: Jason Jones and Kimberley Mason of Chicago's Organised Crime Initiative will discover that the gangs they battle have started meddling in something that threatens to plunge the city into insanity and chaos.

The common thread? THE SILENT MAJORITY. Take an epic journey below the surface of the average cop thriller and find something far more twisted: the dark heart that beats within the Windy City. THE SILENT MAJORITY blends elements of the thriller with a new horror mythos that will take root in the darkest corners of your mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leo Stableford
• Release date: Mar 9, 2013

Leo Stableford

**REVIEW COPIES** If you plan on reviewing one of my books then you can have a review copy for free. Please contact me via my website www.leostableford.com and I will arrange to mail you a copy of requested books. **BIO** Leo Stableford was born in York in 1975 but left before having a chance to remember it at all. In his youth he lived in South Wales and Berkshire. When he grew up he lived just about everywhere south of Stoke-On-Trent at one time or another. He studied drama and education, much against everyone's advice, and Information Technology, which seemed to make everyone very happy. He has spent too much time in the philosophy and psychology section of Swiss Cottage library, he reads too much into action movies, comic books and video games, he writes articles about them sometimes. He lives in South Wales with his wife, his son and his dog. He has tried to stop writing but always falls off the wagon.

Book preview

The Silent Majority

Chicago Shadows: Book One

by Leo Stableford

Copyright 2012 Not Books

Smashwords Edition

This edition © 2012 and is the first edition.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and all other legal entities depicted either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A book for Andy, who has

always taken good care of

our cat.

Foreword

Let's start out honest. I have never been to Chicago. Hell, I have never visited the United States at all. I don't know any more about police work than what I have researched to write my fiction.

Chicago Shadows is not an attempt at anything more than taking the much loved format of the police procedural cop show and turning it into a novel format. The aim of the full Shadows series is to make seven seasons each with 12 episodes that make one epic story.

It is based upon the Shadow Cities RPG that I wrote in 2010. If you really want to peer under the surface then all the gory details may be found in that volume. Most people who have played the game, however, have opted to retain the sense of mystery. For that I cannot blame them.

The Chicago of this season is not our Chicago, although it shares many similarities. At a couple of points I have made this plain by introducing deliberate errors into the set up of the world. Hopefully you will now believe that any accidental gaffes are part of this dramatic conceit.

I shall not keep you any longer save to offer my hope that you will be able to accept an all-American cop thriller written by a man who has rarely left the shores of the United Kingdom.

October 22nd, Day Shift (Thursday)

08:47 E 63rd St

Sarah Weber had come to realize that although she had left police academy two years since she would never stop learning new things as a police officer. The only changeable factor was the character and intent of the lessons.

This morning she was learning that a nuisance call could become a much nastier incident in a matter of minutes. She was learning that nobody had to fire a gun at you to make you afraid. She was learning that there were minds at work in the city of Chicago filled with so much dark and hatred she was reluctant to even try to understand them. Some wise ass detective she'd known when she was a rookie had annoyed everyone by continually quoting Nietzsche: fight not monsters, lest ye become a monster.

Her colleagues had given the guy a whole heap of shit over that habit. No one wanted to hear about the abyss staring into them when they were trying to do a hard job in shitty conditions. The problem Sarah had was that the longer she stayed out on the streets the more the dead German philosopher's words came to haunt her.

This morning the call had come in to investigate reports of a public disturbance in the region of East 63rd Street. They had arrived to find some crazy wino haranguing anyone he saw with complaints that the barbecue was burning.

Sure enough there was an acrid smell of charred meat hanging over the area. Whilst Riley, her partner, had gone to move the wino on Weber had started to scope out the origin of the meaty stench.

Even at that point the whole situation had enjoyed an air of the surreal but amusing. Weber always liked to tell people that if she enjoyed being smart and maybe having an insight or too into the ways of the world it was because she always trusted her instincts and followed her nose. Now she was applying that ethos in a very literal sense.

It didn't take long to find the brazier that was the source of the odor. Standing in one spot and turning around Weber had seen the wisps of greasy white smoke dancing against flat charcoal clouds that were threatening rain before lunchtime. The brazier was tucked in behind the remaining corner wall of a partially demolished brick shed on some waste ground just south of the road.

It had taken Weber a couple of seconds to process what it was she was seeing. Once she did she immediately felt a swirl of vigorous nausea. She had to clutch the wall as the roll of dizziness washed over her.

She wished she could un-see the half collapsed head of the dog's corpse sticking out of the glowing coals on top of the brazier. She closed her eyes for a second and spat some of the thick saliva from her mouth. It wasn't that she hadn't seen the results of death and violence on the streets already. It was the fact that this time it was a dog, and she liked dogs.

Just looking at the poor thing's blackened face, shining with the bubbling fluid that had run from its burst left eye, knowing that someone had put the dog into the fire and burned it, had pushed a button that seeing a dead gang banger just didn't. Even so, she recognized that it was part of her job to deal with these incidents, it was what she'd signed up for. So why couldn't she open her eyes and look again?

A hand touched her gently on the shoulder and she had to wrestle with her gag reflex again.

Weber? You okay? It was Riley. Weber managed to open her eyes and turn them in the direction of her partner. His broad, square face wore a concerned expression.

Just that... Weber said, gesturing in the direction of the brazier without looking at it. It caught me by surprise.

Jesus! Riley said, surveying the brazier. His jaw slackened and he glazed over for a second. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he was trying to clear it of the image, or make it go away. He looked back at her. That's not a nice thing, not a nice thing at all.

Weber felt herself, unexpectedly, melt a little inside, learning that her partner had a soft spot for dogs as well. Riley was a lot longer in service than her, well respected and well liked. The fact he could get fazed by the remains of a dog on a brazier after being a Chicago cop forever reassured her that she wasn't doing so bad.

Yeah, poor thing, she said, feeling her stomach loosen a little. Who would do something like that to an innocent dog.

Uh... Riley gave her an awkward look which only lasted a couple of seconds before it faltered and swept towards the ground. Sure.

What? Weber asked, her stomach pulled again, with a small effort she squashed the nausea, asserting self control.

Nothing, Weber, let's call this in to the fire department and get out of here.

No. Weber said. What?

Riley raised his eyes to meet Weber's gaze, he inhaled deeply as if readying himself for an effort.

"It's not a dog, Weber, he said flatly. I mean, there's one coming out of the top but, er, that's not the only one..."

Weber couldn't help herself, she turned her head, unable to keep from confirming the fact with her own eyes. Only then did it register.

Aside from the unfortunate canine she had already identified there were unmistakeable signs of other animals sticking out of the vents cut into the brazier's body. Lonely, broken, blackened paws and tails. Weber could only identify the parts of three or four animals that were visible, but it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine that it was, to coin a phrase, dogs all the way down.

Her stomach gave up, she emptied her breakfast all over the wall behind her.

Aw, Weber! Riley said, his voice filled with remorse. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...

Weber waved at him to shut up. She cleared her mouth of spit and the remains of the vomit. Before she turned back to him she was careful to do a spot inspection of her uniform. She had always taken the injunctions of her training officers about the need for immaculate presentation on the part of a Chicago uniformed officer very seriously.

Finding no offending vomit stains marking the blue of her shirt or the black of her trousers she turned back to her partner.

Don't worry, Riley, she said. Don't worry. It's just... dogs. I like dogs. Hell, I own a dog and... Look, could we just go and radio this in to the fire department.

Weber stood up straight, ignoring complaints from her stomach. Being careful not to let her eyes wander towards the brazier again she made her way around the wall and started heading back over the waste ground towards their patrol vehicle.

Riley fell into step with her.

There's always something that gets you, he said gently. Every officer's got that thing, they can get used to seeing brains dripping down walls and stuff but then whatever it is comes along...

It's fine, Weber said, there was a slight tremor to her voice that would have told anyone sharp enough to hear it she was lying.

Whatever you say Weber, Riley said. His voice was quiet, calming. Weber knew that he was way ahead of her. Riley was not only observant he was sharp with it, he could tell if people were lying just by listening to their voice, his partner's was no exception. Thankfully his intelligence also blessed him with a natural instinct for diplomacy, Weber was immensely grateful for the fact at this point.

When they reached the patrol car Riley got himself patched through to the fire department on the radio. He explained the situation as delicately as he could. They promised to send someone along directly. When he had finished he slid the radio mike onto its hook.

So what now? Weber asked.

We wait for the fire truck, then we move on with our day, Riley shrugged.

What about the... she indicated the direction of the dog pyre.

Riley followed Weber's gesture, looking off over the waste ground in the direction Weber had pointed. He pursed his lips.

We don't need to worry, he said eventually. The boys from the fire department will clean it up.

That's not what I mean, Weber said, sounding sharper than she had meant to. I mean... I understand that one dog... but... that's... it was... I mean aren't we going to do anything?

Riley fixed her with his senior officer look, it was soft but firm and it always meant whatever he said was intended as the last word.

There's no real way the city can justify our salaries if we're spending our day chasing some sicko who likes to burn dogs instead of arresting... more immediate perpetrators, he said. It was clear that those last three clumsy words were a hastily assembled replacement for the phrase 'real criminals'.

Weber felt an angry flash but immediately squashed it. She chewed at her bottom lip, inhaled and let go, trying to blow out all the frustration that had suddenly found its way into her heart. The breath certainly squashed the flames but the frustration cooled instantly to settle like a rock lodged in her chest.

Okay, she said quietly. Sorry, Riley, I just... oh... you know... dogs.

Riley opened his mouth to answer but then his gaze lost focus, fixing on a point out to his right from the driver's seat of the patrol vehicle, to Weber's left.

Weber turned to look. Stood on the kerb, a couple of feet from Weber, was a teenage girl, no more than fifteen at the outside. She was wearing a neat school uniform Weber recognized as being from a Catholic school a few blocks north. Her cheeks were tear-stained, the aftermath of a severe bout of crying. Her face was still a mask of misery but Weber knew that you could get to a point where you had no more tears to give. To see the look of someone who was in that place but so young flipped a fresh pang of nausea into Weber's stomach. The girl clutched a heavy looking leather satchel to her chest. She stood, silent, staring at Weber.

Welcoming the distraction, Weber turned to face the girl.

Hey, honey, she said gently, what's the matter? She hoped that the girl wasn't about to tell her she'd found a bunch of burning dogs near that building over there.

I didn't mean to pry, the girl said, her voice meek and reedy. I didn't... but then I found it, and I didn't know what to do.

Found what? Weber asked. She heard the sound of Riley gently closing the driver's side door on the patrol car. The knot this morning's tension had created in Weber's stomach tightened back up again. There was no way she could have a good feeling about this.

The teenage girl wordlessly unbuckled the satchel she was holding and held it open for Weber to see. Weber craned forward to peer into the dark interior of the bag. As she moved her head closer she got a sudden waft from the rich, expensive leather. There was something else underneath the smell of the bag itself, something flat and oily. After the dogs a number of unpleasant images leaped into her mind. When her eyes pierced the darkness of the satchel’s interior she was mildly relieved to see that what the girl was presenting was neither dead nor biological.

It was no more reassuring to find the solid black weight of a Mac-10 sub-machine gun nestled among the school books and stationery the girl was carrying.

09:07 E 45th St

The dead girl had been pretty, very pretty in fact, before someone had ruined her good looks with a couple of bullets to the head. She was lying on her sofa with her left leg sticking straight out over a glass topped coffee table. The right leg was bent at the knee, the foot still planted on the floor and twisted to an angle that nobody would choose to rest their foot at.

Detective Jones had never become used to corpses. The mental divergence caused by an encounter with something he regarded simultaneously as both a person and as a thing made his head hurt.

It wasn't so bad if the corpse had received the attention of an embalmer. Once they were laid out in a chapel of rest, with an air of final dignity, he could just about cope. It was the victims that caused the disconnect in his mind.

I don't care if he's given away all his worldly possessions, taken a vow of poverty and spends three hours a day in meditation on the merits of inner peace, he is not getting full weekend visitation.

The voice of Jones’s partner, Detective Kimberley Mason, cut through his reverie. Jones turned to see her enter the crime scene as if she was arriving at a normal nine to five office job. She was senior in experience of the two of them, so maybe this was a less daunting start to her day than Jones had found it to be to his.

I have enough problem reversing the brain washing the spiteful jerk manages every alternate Saturday without the poison having a sleeping brain to settle into, Mason continued. "Yes, Rory, that's a 'Definitely not' or in legal language a 'plain fuck you'.

Anyway I have to work, tell those slimy assholes he has working for him that I'll murder my own daughter before I let him have full weekend access... What do you mean unsympathetic... Well, you dress it up in lawyer-ese then. Just get my sentiments across plainly as possible. Okay. Thanks, Rory, bye.

Mason ended the call, stashed her cell on a belt clip, cast a casual eye over the corpse on the settee and said: So, Thursday morning, dead hooker, did I miss anything?

Jones smiled. Mason's steady brown eyes and sharp faced expression, already two parts boredom to one part business attitude, always made him feel more comfortable.

He was a laid back kind of guy, his partner’s never-ending energy and enthusiasm was like implied permission that he could just go at his own pace. She didn't just take care of the dynamic attitude in