Man on the Stair

By Stacy Bender

Erased from the system, Adam can’t hold a job, have a bank account, or own a house. His digital identity is gone. He doesn’t exist.

He spends his days wandering the park, keeping three different street gangs from shooting up the neighborhood.

When a good friend is nearly killed while investigating an accident that should not have been possible, the evidence points to a serial killer who uses technology as a weapon. With the police running at their wits end, Adam decides to track the killer. But can he stop them in time, or will he get caught in the crossfire?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byrnas Books
• Release date: Nov 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540143211

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Michal jumped at the sound of the metal bar hitting the counter. He steadied his smartphone, aiming the camera at the concerned shopkeeper, and laughed. Doing so allowed his own rising hysteria to seep out from deep inside him. Michal had to remind himself that Lucas’s anger was not centered on him. He was just recording the gang’s escapades so they could glory in their victim’s fear when they went back to the garage.

Listen, old man. You need protection, and to have protection, you have to pay for it. Got it? Lucas’s honeyed voice enhanced his features. A vast ethnic mix gave him a caramel complexion and fine bone structure. He towered over everyone Michal knew. Lucas was in every way an angel in appearance, but he was born with neither heart nor soul. His first decree as the new leader of the Fifth Street gang was to expand their territory with ruthless abandon.

The other three members of the gang walked up and down the aisles of the small shop. They collected what they wanted from the shelves while keeping a lookout for any signs of trouble.

Michal glanced at the shopkeeper through the screen on his phone and half hoped the man would not try for the panic button to call for the police. Lucas would beat him silly if he did.

Instead, the man nodded and said, Take what you wish. I’ll have your money next week.

Why not now? asked BB. He stuffed a cupcake into his mouth puffing out his already plump cheeks.

Don’t be greedy, said Michal. He needs time to cook the books. Am I right?

The shopkeeper looked away from him. Lucas laughed and said, What we have here is a smart old man. Maybe he can teach the others on this street a thing or two.

Lucas left the metal bar on the counter, grabbed a package of candy from a display, and stepped toward the door. The product sensor at the door beeped and a robotic voice stated, Product detected for Lucas Davies, Two credits. Authorize?

Lucas stopped and scowled over his shoulder at the shopkeeper.

Override, said the shopkeeper.

With a sneer, Lucas left the shop. Everyone else followed, forcing the shopkeeper to repeat the command and left Michal to bring up the rear.

Michal grabbed a few items off the counter. Saluted the shopkeeper with a vacuum packed jerky strip and said, See you next week, old man.

If you’re still alive. Perhaps.

Michal glared at the shopkeeper and thought of telling Lucas what the man said.

Maybe you’ll be in jail. The shopkeeper shrugged, pulled the metal bar off the counter, and headed toward the back. Many things can happen in just one week.

Michal hurried to the door, but stopped when the product sensor beeped and a robotic voice stated, Product detected, Michal Anasenko, twenty credits. Authorize?

The shopkeeper had already disappeared into the back of the shop and the others were nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to waste any more time, Michal replaced most of the items he held back on the counter. When the robotic voice asked for authorization again, Michal said, Yes, please, before he ran into the night after the others.

He met up with them at the end of the block where a set of old ornate stone stairs led down into the park. The road curved around the park along a low brick wall. Few cars traveled the dimly lit street this late at night and those that did, did not stop.

Lucas was angry, yelling at a man in a trench coat who wore an old-fashioned hat. Who do you think you are? I am the leader of Fifth Street now, not Maurice. Arthur neither. You don’t tell me what to do.

Michal stopped short at the mention of Maurice. Maurice had been the gang’s leader before Arthur. Lucas shivved Arthur in order to take over Fifth Street. The act only worked on the younger members of the gang. The older members left of their own accord or suffered similar fates.

Then it seems we need to renegotiate our agreement.

Did you hear me old man? Are you deaf or something?

The smartphone was once again in Michal’s hands recording the events. Everyone would enjoy watching the old fart get a good pummeling. Lucas threw the first punch. The old man was considerably shorter than Lucas and eerily quick. He not only dodged Lucas’s fists, but had one of Lucas’s knees bent at an unnatural angle with a single swift kick.

BB and the others did not hesitate. They converged as one on the man. BB went down before throwing a punch when the man’s fist connected with his jaw. The other two were not so lucky. One sailed over the brick wall, tossed like a rag doll in a storm. His scream as he went over the edge stopped when his head hit the paving stones below. The second became a shield for the old man when Lucas pulled a gun from his waistband and emptied the magazine. Most of the bullets flew wild but two lodged in the boy’s chest and a third in his head.

From out of the bushes, a large dog lunged at Lucas, attacking his face. The attack was as vicious as it was quick, ending with a command from the old man.

Halt.

The dog did as instructed and trotted over to the man who gently placed the dead body he now held on the ground. Together, the man and dog, walked down the stairs into the park.

Stunned, Michal stared at his screen. He blinked and looked up at the scene before him, but he still could not comprehend what had happened. Lucas screamed in pain and held his hands to his head as his ruined face bled all over the pavement. Somehow, Michal was able to gather enough wits about him to call 911, but he dared not get close to the carnage. As he waited for the ambulance, he replayed the last recording, the one with the confrontation with the old man. What he saw on the screen differed from what he witnessed, yet was disconcerting in its similarities. Lucas was shouting at nothing before his knee snapped from beneath him. BB rushed forward before crumbling to the ground. The one that was thrown over the wall, now looked like he jumped and the last tried to defy gravity as he crumbled to the ground. The old man was not there.

Michal replayed the recording, but still the scene did not change. The man was not there.

That’s not possible. He was there. He was there.

Michal’s breath became shallow as his heart raced and panic set in. He looked around him seeking safety, but every shadow whispered of danger. At the sound of the oncoming ambulance, the phone dropped from Michal’s shaking hands and smashed on the broken cement sidewalk on which he stood. He took a few steps back from the scene and bolted down the street.

ADAM BLANK WALKED DOWN the dirt path that led away into the woods and across the park. His father’s teaching, combined with military training, made stepping quietly second nature to him. He refused to register the growing pain in his arm until he was certain no one was following him. Only when he reached the lighted streets on the other side of the park did he slip the brass knuckles off his fingers and drop them into his pocket. He needed to check the damage his aging reflexes had ceased to prevent. The bullet had grazed his arm, but the wound still bled more than he cared for. Beside him, Munch whined in concern. One of the German Shepard’s eyes glowed blue in the dim light, a sign of the damage that had left the side of the dog’s face and body riddled with scars. The graying fur hid most of the deep gouges and gave him a lopsided appearance.

It’s just a graze. No need to worry.

Munch’s low growl stated his opinion.

Since when did you become a mother hen?

Adam tied an old rag he pulled from his pocket around the wound as another growling whine came from Munch.

All right, if it makes you feel better, we’ll go see the Chaplain.

In an instant Munch’s attitude changed from sulky concern to happy puppy. His tail wagged so hard his butt wiggled, so as he strode down the street the motion made him walk sideways.

Goofy dog, said Adam and followed.

Built back in the late 1800s, St. Catherine’s Church stood the test of time. Modern restorations and alterations to certain sections of the building tainted her beautiful visage, but the original craftsmanship still dominated both interior and exterior.

Adam ignored the large doors at the front of the church and headed around back to the church rectory. Munch beat him to the door. Once Adam’s foot touched the walkway leading up to the porch, the dog jumped up and pawed at the old-fashioned doorbell and barked.

The man that answered the door stood a good head taller than Adam and looked at least ten years younger. He crouched down and petted Munch who thoroughly enjoyed the attention.

What have you been up to? Father James Tan kept his attention on Munch though the question was aimed at Adam.

Let’s talk inside.

Father Tan patted Munch on the head. The decommissioned police ID tag on Munches collar glinted in the porch light as he shook his head and trotted through the door. Tan followed, leaving the door open for Adam.

In the small living room, Munch nosed around the back of an overstuffed chair before producing an old chew toy. The squeaker had long since fallen out, but the thing still bounced when thrown.

Is something up, or are you just here to bleed all over my couch? Tan smiled, but the crinkled corners of his almond shaped eyes revealed his concern.

A little of both. What have you heard about the Fifth Street boys?

Just the usual.

Father Tan pulled from the hall closet a faded khaki medical bag. He waited for Adam to remove both coat and shirt before dropping the bag on the chair beside him.

Damn. You filthy, la.

I thought priests weren’t supposed to swear?

Father Tan ignored Adam and waved him over to the couch before rooting around in the old medical bag.

You smell like you spent a week in the swamp. You’re getting a bath before you leave. No arguments.

You’re getting as bad as Munch.

Someone has to take care of you. Let me see that wound, and start talking.

We had a run in with a tall kid and three of his cronies. He said he was now the leader of the Fifth Street gang. They were trying to extort protection money from the shops on Beach Street.

Tan looked up from what he was doing and asked, Basketball player tall? Pretty face?

Not anymore. Munch took care of that.

Good. Munch gets a steak tonight.

At the mention of steak, Munch looked up from his chew toy and wagged his tail, thumping it on the floor.

What happened to Christian charity? asked Adam.

That boy is the devil’s spawn, la. Did you kill him?

No.

You should have. Watch your back. That one is a viper. Adam winced as Tan poked at his wound before cleaning it.

Everything has been quiet around here since you sat on the gangs. The Bocor to the north are too superstitious. They won’t even enter the park without putting their colors away for fear of meeting the ghost. And the Khan to the south still respect you. But, if Lucifer has taken over Fifth Street, that means Arthur is dead.

Adam scowled and chewed his lip before asking, What happened to Maurice?

Dead. He had cancer. It spread quick, from what I hear. Tan dug into the bag, pulled out a clean bandage, and wound it around Adam’s arm. If Fifth Street is weak enough, the Bocor and the Khan might try to split the difference.

Why not a full scale war?

With you in the middle? They wouldn’t dare. They don’t like Fifth Street and they don’t like each other, but they’re not going to piss off a man who isn’t there.

Tan finished tying the bandage and pulled a small vial out of the bag. He handed it to Adam who made a face.

Do I have to?

Drink. It will keep you healthy.

You’re the only person I know who still makes their own medicine.

Yeah, la. Good thing for you.

With a grimace, Adam took the vial and choked down its contents. Before he could move from the couch, Munch dropped the squeaky toy in his lap. Adam picked up the drool encrusted thing and tossed it down the hall. Munch raced after it.

You stay here and rest while I make dinner, said Tan as he repacked the old bag.

Am I getting steak too?

You might have to share with Munch.

I always do.

Adam spent the night on the couch at the rectory. Munch slept on the floor beside him. As ordered, he took a bath. Tan redressed his wounds and gave him a clean set of clothes from the church donation bin. Before he left, Tan handed him a bag of canned food items.

Be careful Adam. Lucas is an evil shit. He’ll want revenge.

Don’t worry, he won’t be walking around anytime soon.

CHAPTER 2

Hamilton Green gave his wife the customary goodbye peck on the cheek, and they both got into their respective cars to go to work. Unlike his wife, Hamilton never switched to manual control. He was much too busy, and it was easier to sift through his emails and voice messages during the hour drive into work.

The car’s automated voice asked, Destination, please?

CarCom. Destination office.

The route was the first programmed into the car’s computer. It never changed unless construction or the odd accident caused the GPS to find a detour. The anti-collision program kept him from hitting anything that might turn in front of him.

It annoyed him there were still cars on the road that did not have a computer pilot, or like his wife, people who refused to use the program. Studies showed that it was not only safer but more energy efficient.

While traveling down the expressway, Hamilton opened an email containing a picture from a digitalized coloring book. Bright colors spilled over the black outline of the plump unicorn. I love you Daddy, was written in the bottom corner on the screen.

How did Emily get my e-mail?

Hamilton did not give the e-mail much thought, but saved it down to the computer. When he had time, he would use the picture for his wallpaper. He had several more e-mails to get through before reaching his destination. Just before his exit, Hamilton opened another e-mail. This one opened to a cream-colored image. A squeaking noise came over the computer’s speaker as a toy horse on wheels rolled across the screen. As it traveled it lifted its tail, farted, and dropped an armored soldier. Each soldier landed on his feet, waved a sword, babbled, and ran off.

What the hell?

Hamilton hit delete as the car slid into the exit lane. He did not realize the car was not slowing down until he felt the car swerve and roll.

THE SCENE WAS A MESS. A cop car blocked the exit from the highway forcing drivers to take an alternate route. Two other cop cars, lights flashing, blocked both ends of the street shutting the block down. A uniformed police officer directed the cars at the nearest intersection. The auto repair shop and fast food restaurant that sat within the boundaries would not be getting any business today, not unless the customer was a police officer.

Lila Pierce stepped closer to the wreckage. She had already noted the vehicle registrations and verified the passengers in each of the cars. She could have watched the computer’s simulation of the crash or seen if any of the security cameras on the street had picked up anything, but the words of her mentor told her otherwise. ‘Use your eyes. Use your brain. Don’t let the computer tell you everything. The computer isn’t God. It’s a useful tool, but never let it think for you.’

Lila studied the wreckage and tried to imagine what happened. The offending car came up the ramp too fast and could not take the curve. It rolled right into rush hour traffic, hit the corner of a van, spun and was T-boned by an old work truck. The truck smashed the car into the compact in front of it. Two fatalities. The rest of the victims all had minor injuries and burns from when the airbags deployed. Hamilton Green might have lived long enough to get to the hospital if the car had not rolled and slammed the roof onto his head. When she checked the computer, Lila found her analysis to be correct.

This needs to be handled with care.

Lila jumped at the commanding voice behind her and turned around. Captain? Why are you here? For that matter, why am I here? Shouldn’t traffic be handling this?

Unlike Lila’s dark complexion, the captain was pale. Stress had turned his hair a premature white. The mass of wrinkles that was his face made him seem more like a bloodhound without the drool. Captain Harold Miller nodded toward the wreckage. Did you read the list of victims?

I just glanced at the names, said Lila and looked back down at her electronic tablet. Next to the list of car registration numbers, highlighted in yellow were the names of the drivers. Passengers were listed in blue.

A Hamilton Green was driving the car that caused the accident. Lila touched the name and the man’s information popped up on the screen. She looked up from her screen and said, He worked for the DA. Was he working on a big case or something?

Or something. From what I understand, Green was sniffing around a lot of dark places. But he was also a big supporter of automated cars.

That would put the remaining cabbies out of business.

Miller snorted and half smiled. That might not be a bad thing. Have you ridden in one lately?

Honestly, never.

Consider yourself lucky. Miller glanced around him before continuing to speak in a lower tone of voice. If his car was on autopilot, why did it crash? And if it wasn’t, why?

Lila’s eyes grew wide and asked, Do you think...

God no, don’t even go there. Miller crossed himself and spit on the ground. But I’m not above suspecting someone of tampering with the damn car somehow. The second victim was a kid. Anyone that didn’t like Green will use her as a banner to vilify him.

She wasn’t wearing a seat belt.

It doesn’t matter. The DA wants this thing handled with care. Safety and the removal of manual vehicles from the streets is a hot electoral topic. Some of those political yaps are basing their entire campaign on it.

Why can’t those jackasses stay in their marble mausoleums and teak paneled offices? Don’t they have enough to do burning through the cities’ assets? Every time they howl, they tie our hands so we can’t do our job then complain about the mess everything is in while blaming us.

Didn’t you date one of those jackasses?

Lila stared daggers at Miller and held up her