Dust

By Lucus Anthony Ren

"A wonder list from stolen properties touching half the world's countries having estimated wealth in the two hundred billion dollars’ range, so vast reaching many governments, the ability of which changed global economics and political regimes seized". The press statement from the mayor's office relating such after reading believed San Francisco the center of not only world domination through organized syndicate, but inept police who hadn't notice such right in their front yard.

What’s interesting is during the seizure of stolen property worth, in fact, the billions they quoted, only three paintings and half a kilo heroin were found. So the question quickly formed ‘Where’s it all gone?’ of which general public concluded, into crooked cops’ pockets along with elected officials. But a hundred years before something finally caught up changing everything. Even its own past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucus Anthony Ren
• Release date: Oct 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463511480

Book preview

Dust

Lucus Anthony Ren

Copyright © 2019, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Limit of Liability and Disclaimer of Warranty: The author / publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided as is, and makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, conceivable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages."

Preface

In youth having worked in the construction industry witnessed considerable screw-ups. Some with purpose benefiting the companies I worked for, others just from stupidity. Then materials were relatively cheaper than now especially labor, both manipulated to the point at the end you were glad to walk away with all ten fingers and relatively good health, yet I am grateful for those years if only for understanding better how I live in this built world. And of course, those having constructed it.

Though ‘Dust’ isn’t dealing much with construction or laborers in that industry, it focuses primarily on how that industry controls a great many others. And how a man, a detective is forced to deal with something he has no or rather little knowledge of.

San Francisco is a wonderful city. I worked there as an electrician in the early eighties where living out for six months witnessing the true wonders that city offers, but it wasn’t till arriving in Europe working there that I witness first-hand how corrupt and dangerous the industry truly is. And it was also there among the massive cultural heritage restoration projects I worked on that dust caused more damage then anyone knew at the time.

Then again dust from North Africa helps fertilize the Amazonian rain forests. But that’s a different type of dust.

So this story goes.… just what exactly is in the air…?

Prologue

Archimedean Spiral: a combination of the curves.

Archimedes was born in the Greek city-state of Syracuse on the island of Sicily in approximately 287 BC, a mathematician, physicist, astronomer, engineer, inventor, and weapons-designer, a man both of his time and far ahead.

On account of the way development and evolution, growth symbolizes a spiral, it can be drawn without end.

Chapter 1

Understood

Hunched, whiffs of steam rising from ice fields crossed, aware this wasn’t the best option yet having missed the drop, shouldering essentials nearing lights searched, their animals hungry gleaming eyes a few yards directly in front yielded only the slightest hush of snow softly pressed under their massive weight as I fired the first round.

Twelve years since, each passing winter the same nights remembered, whether dreamless or not, lapses, receding mind climbs, now released toward day, retreating uncontrolled darkness languish, formed visions our dead scales shed when light broke allowing that collective delusion takes hold.

Twelves years. A dead cycle. Standing before the lieutenant whose desk showing not the slightest original surface appeared some years before, the man hadn’t the time nor desire to manage such a task placing order with chaos for all who didn't understand his manners nor thinking, knew every of the thirty-seven open cases by near heart. What was the point of putting papers in order?

‘Take someone,’ he snapped lighting his cigarette not looking, gazing more so somewhere on the wall behind above my shoulder.

A pause taking in the smoke, holding, exhaled through more quicken words, ‘Your choice.’ In the twelve years, none of the papers moved. Papers raised nearly a foot high on both the desks front corners, flowing down into a valley half that at the desks middle accompanied two telephones and an overflowing ashtray and none of it touched. Ever.

There wasn’t a point looking at the wall-length table behind his chair piled too having assorted files small boxes, strayed artifacts of various crimes. Its present and certain future were the same. But shifting over framed photos, citations the wall held just above the man’s head permitted falling pieces of the abstract puzzle, few would ever solve when clarity mounted who and what a person dealt with standing before this antique setting of which none other existed.

Permitted maintaining such a system relied on a single key factor none disputed; results. Eight-three percent of all reported offenses coming through the door were solved, a third within two months ultimately creating one of the largest task force for major crimes in the country. And here the center a stooped silver-haired ageless figure, smoke pouring from both nostrils lifted his gaze through gold-rimmed glasses from a chaotic desk who’s focused now directly at me, producing the curled corner of his left mouth signifying time to leave.

Enigma held no meaning of the lieutenant. Speaking seldom even with superiors and officials, hadn’t close friends any relationships, nor family. Spoke four languages fluently two from the East, the Southern, and one heard by accident when he and another looking similar so much as brothers strode silently outside the hall from one of the upper-class murders three years before while searching an adjacent room in the dark wanted a ‘feel’ what things were really like in the haunted place of hung boys chained bringing delights for that willful side of darkness.

Unaware my searching the pitch dark, shutter windows nailed from the outside, the room motionless despite standing in the middle of clearly witnessed faint silhouettes passing before the half-open door, then suddenly halted. And turned slowly. Aware they couldn’t see into the lightless room, felt pierced, stabbed just below the ribs, a cold trusted deep, twisting. A high ring tone sounded deep within my left ear quickly passing through the brain freezing somewhere behind the left eye caused incredible pain.

Pulse quickened. Perspiration flowed in the cool room. Fear could be managed. But something as this grew quickly beyond anything even during the war, closed areas bodily and consciously minimizing the risk of detection caused by lapsing there on the floor.

Could they see?