A Servant's Throne: Worlds Beside, #4

By J E Cammon

When the dust settled, David Cruz hadn't won Charm City. After losing his friends and after losing his clan, the city is about all he has left. He's joined the police force in an effort to exercise control over his situation, to be a benefit to the world he's chosen: the human world. But protecting and serving can sometimes become deflecting and evading for someone with secrets like his. The other cops are curious, and among them is detective Victoria Ferrara, who is both his toughest critic and his only confidante. Another complication is that a new player in town is threatening to overturn the blood-won peace. Even worse, an enemy from his past that he thought was dead turns out to be everything but. And those aren't the only shadowy figures a step ahead of the rookie cop. But David's got to keep it together. If he loses control this time, he loses everything. It may not be a lot, but it's all he has left.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J E Cammon
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393353171

Book preview

A Servant's Throne

Worlds Beside, Volume 4

J E Cammon

Published by J E Cammon, 2021.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

A SERVANT'S THRONE

First edition. March 12, 2021.

Copyright © 2021 J E Cammon.

ISBN: 978-1393353171

Written by J E Cammon.

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

A Servant's Throne (Worlds Beside, #4)

Also By J E Cammon

A Servant’s Throne

Prologue

Turning into the opulent neighborhood made both of the detectives sour. The department had been nice enough to budget a case of GPS devices for all the plain clothes cops, but both of them knew where the neighborhood was, and what kind of people lived in it. It was one of those places cops never went except to answer complaints. Every house had a gate and most had cameras.

The scene had all the usual trappings of a site ripe for investigation. The emergency vehicles were gone, which left a couple squad cars and a medical examiner. The press vans announced which mansion would be getting all the attention. In the passenger seat, one detective straightened his tie and wiped his face, downing the last of his coffee and passing his tongue over his front teeth. With a hand on the wheel, the driver did what he could for his appearance, but only half as well. The camera flashes and questions started before they opened their doors, before they even parked. They exited the car, opening themselves to the chaos. Fuzzy things on the ends of poles were dropped precariously into their faces, the round lenses of cameras spun and zoomed. No comment. We aren’t giving out any information at this time. No comment.

They started asking their own questions after they cleared the yellow tape, a young-faced uniform standing there to hold it up for them. He was stiff and nervous, just like a new doorman. The gate, which was electric, had been found closed with no tampering evident. The detectives walked slowly, inspecting the sides of the long drive, and then walkway up to the front door and the finely kept grass around it. The victim had kept a proud bed of roses; that, too, was undisturbed.

At the door, they stopped for a moment, watching the young patrolman nervously flip through his little notebook. The examiner came through with a suitcase and a camera. She confirmed what they saw: the door had a peephole, and hadn’t been forced open. Time of death was a more respectable time of the same evening, but still a bit of time after when people would normally be expecting visitors. Visitors who didn’t drive. And couldn’t have taken a bus.

Unless they parked on the street side of the gate, the patrolman volunteered, raising his hand like he was back at the academy. One of the detectives directed with a thumb without looking.

The deputy mayor had a three-car garage and an empty driveway that could hold half a dozen cars. Anyone he would have opened his door for would have parked in the driveway.

And even if he did jump the fence, there are cameras at the gate, his partner added. Three of the four of them standing there could remember the gala the victim had held in his own house, and the oddly smooth parking situation. He had been a likeable man, unmarried, which would explain the lack of cameras near the house. Really would have looked bad to have photographic evidence of a diverse stream of call girls.

Bad stuff happens in threes, I guess. Be right back, the examiner said before lugging her equipment back down the cobbled walk way. The detectives looked after her for a moment before staring back into the house. Based on the liberal amounts of gore and destruction, they could both guess what she’d say when she returned to give her report. Someone had wanted the deputy mayor extremely dead, and the man hadn’t gone easy at all. Hopefully, he got enough of his attacker for some trace evidence.

What did she mean in threes? the patrolman asked. The whole city knew about the Barrow Fires. There was a bit of an outcry, even blowback, from that. It made the murder look retaliatory against the mayor and the police. It was turning out to be a really bad year for re-election.

I guess they really did let him out, one of the detectives said to the other.

His partner nodded a solemnly. A really, really bad year for re-election. They squeezed their hands into rubber gloves and stepped into the horror show. Not all murders were solved, even less in Charm City, but they still were obligated to make the effort.

***

They didn’t make the man wait. Draped in dangling chains, the guards escorted him in through the loading dock, into the courthouse and directly into an open room that was full of judges. Beneath the symbol for the state on the back wall, the judges were all seated in place, along with the reporters in the gallery. The man’s escorts walked ahead and behind him into the room. There were no tables for the defendant or plaintiff. The room was made special, because this was a special occasion.  

A female judge in the middle spoke up first. She looked at him directly, but her words were practiced. She announced the date and the time, and officially opened the hearing.

Mr. Raymond Bethel Sr., are you ready? it was more of a formality than a question. He saw her for the first time, and nodded. Somewhere up there, a gavel knocked on wood. Again, for the record, his crimes were outlined in full, his prosecution, and the years he had served on his sentence. A fat man interrupted the woman; he tried his hand at looking the convict in the face.

Do you believe you have atoned for your crimes, Mr. Bethel? he asked. He wanted frankness, if not honesty. But it was equally likely that he was rushing things because of an overactive bladder. Bethel stared him in the face for the first time, too. This man he recognized, but grudges seemed so petty right then.

I don’t know how many times I’ve stood here in front of you people, he started. But I know that it felt good to make a showing of my defiance. People have been trying to break me my whole life, and a pause for emphasis, but news got to me recently of the death of my only son. Whispers and looks rippled across the faces of those presiding, just like the news had walked across town and in between prison bars. What was left of Junior would have been cold under settled earth by then, but when it had reached him, it was fresh enough. The fact is, we don’t have forever here, and suddenly, being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn seemed less important, then Bethel shifted with the sound of chains and said no more. The room was silent except for the clicking of the stenographer’s typing. The fat man was still looking at Bethel; something had changed in his mind. The rest of them knew, too, that the hearing was over. Officially, it was up to them to signal that, to give it voice so it could be written down and shelved somewhere, never to be looked at again.

The woman started speaking again. It was why she was in the middle, and she accepted that. Somewhere a gavel banged. Raymond Bethel Sr. followed the guard out that had followed him in. Rehearsed, the door was unlocked, and the formation waiting beyond welcomed him. As the door behind him was closing, he could make out more of the frenzied looks passing among the judges.

He’d be out within the week. He’d served the minimum twenty-five years. His behavior was good; none of his attackers had survived to deny his claims of self-defense. And none of the guards would swear against him. Some of them respected Bethel, and all of them wanted him out from underfoot. He was a problem waiting to happen, and what’s more, he was patient.

The Moguls came to get him in a caravan. Above the roof tops of the prison, he could see the rays of sunlight reaching out to shake Charm City awake, like a sluggish warning. Whether or not the rousting took didn’t much matter. Raymond Bethel had been set loose.

You know you can’t leave the state, right? his parole officer would say.

I ain’t never been the running type, would be the reply.

Chapter 1

On the evening of his graduation from the academy, David had been dumped near his apartment. First, she had missed the ceremony, then she had left the message on his voicemail. But, things had been headed in that direction for a while. It was somewhat fitting that things would end at the diner where they had, for him, started. He realized, that evening, that they were on the same train, but had gotten on at different stops, and they were bound for different places.

Tonight was the same kind of night as that one. A sweet crispness to the air spoke of how it had just rained, and the sky was crystal clear save for the occasional cloud. Star-ward directed eyes could see straight to the moon, and the black was bereft of any murkiness; the vastness and scope of everything was beautifully perfect. And just like that other night, David had little else but to focus on what he had chosen over her.

Ready to go, Ace? Ivan waved from across the cramped parking lot of squad cars.

David was tying his tie poorly. It was the sort of thing that didn’t much matter, in his mind. Who cared if the knot was right? Why did they have to wear ties, anyway? Ivan was a large man, and had been a patrolman for some years. He had a wife and a baby. He was one of several training officers in charge of shepherding the new batch of rookies.

Always, David replied. Ivan smirked and bent down into the driver’s seat.

We’ll see how long that lasts, he said under his breath, not meant for normal ears. He started their car as David got into the passenger side and turned on the computer. It was an amazingly useful device, and was likely the most expensive thing in the car. Call us in, Ivan said, and drove them out into the Charm City night. David reached for the radio and signed them into dispatch as alert and on duty. Behind them and ahead of them, other cars pulled out of the emptying lot; some turned left and some turned right.

Patrolling was an odd thing in a car. On foot, David imagined an officer would walk in figure-eight-type patterns through given neighborhoods, but cars could travel faster and farther. But they had to obey one ways, and couldn’t get as close to certain places. They didn’t have a set pattern. They almost literally drove in random directions, while keeping in mind where the highest concentrations of crime were likely to be. In most cases, crime could be prevented simply by the presence of police. A group of kids thinks about throwing a brick into a shop window, smashing the register and stealing the money, but then a cop car rolls by. The kids go home, instead. Other cases were people who were committed to the crime, in which case it was their job to stop them. David thought the theory was pretty simple.

Ivan drove slowly at times, quickly at others. The car responded to him smoothly, like it was part of his shoe.

Executing a turn, brace yourself, he announced, looking left, and grinning into the window, before turning. He checked to see how David had taken the jab. How did you flip those cars, anyway?

David looked out of his window, inspecting a telephone pole at the corner. Someone had posted pictures of new music acts, but the space was dominated by lost animal signs. He shrugged without looking.

I don’t know. It just got away from me. I was going very fast. He liked Ivan, he realized.

Speed course, right?

David made sure his partner could see the offense on his face. I can drive normally. I don’t just get behind the wheel and the car implodes, but even as he spoke, Ivan was cracking up, which for him was a rumbling chuckle at his middle. He was lively for a patrolman, which meant not very much. David hadn’t spent much time in the precinct; it was only his second week. But even then, the police in uniforms were only in the building long enough to fill out their paper work or gear up. The detectives and lieutenants and captains had desks.

Well, I’d tell you not to worry about it, but I’ve never heard of anybody flip two cars and still make it out of probation, Ivan said honestly. David sat silently. Driving was a simple enough thing, but once a car got up to a certain category of speed, things changed slightly. What had been a problem was overcompensating in the turns. He had been told multiple times how spectacular the wrecks were.

The squad car jerking forward suddenly shook him from his thoughts.

You see that?

David followed Ivan’s eyes into the dark storefront. It was a small-scale department store with old mannequins and hand-painted advertisements. Squinting, he could make out the briefest of movement: someone standing near the front of the store, trying not to move.

I don’t know, what did you see? he focused on the back of Ivan’s head.

When in doubt, his partner said.

Always check, David finished the statement. Ivan had said it every other night, but he still looked over at David with a raised eyebrow.

Alright, Hot Shot, I got the back, and with that, he swung the car into a slow u-turn and parked in one of the diagonal spaces in front of the store. Call it in.

David snagged the radio as Ivan stretched briefly in his seat and then exited the patrol car. David announced their location, their car number, and what they were doing to dispatch; then he exited, keeping an eye on the still figure. Ivan flashed his light into his face to get his attention. David looked over; silently, Ivan reiterated that he was to cover the front. Then, he walked quickly around the side of the building. The clothing shop was on the end of a block of tightly packed stores. David took out his own flashlight, but didn’t turn it on. He drummed it against his leg instead. Slowly, the thief pretending to be a mannequin slinked backwards, more deeply into the store. David let a moment pass before turning away from the store and tilted his head to the side and squeezed at the little radio at his shoulder.

I think I just saw something. Might have been a person, he painted his voice with appropriate confusion and excitement.

Affirmative. Rounding the back. His partner stopped transmitting suddenly and David heard him yelling. David broke out into a sprint, following Ivan’s trail. When he got to the back, Ivan was wrestling with an unarmed burglar in dark clothes. In the distance, a similarly dressed figure was sprinting away. Ivan got control of the grapple and slammed the criminal to the ground, glancing over at David. Well, I’m not chasing him, he said. It was their call, as a unit. They could defer the task to the organized netting of the entire shift’s efforts or they could do it themselves. It wasn’t strictly correct procedure, but mixed in with all the protocol that ensured safety and efficiency there was also an aspect of pride and bravery. David took off, and in the back of his mind he could hear Ivan radioing the situation in. David yelled for the perpetrator to stop, but it was just something he had to do, along with announcing himself as the police. But he had yet to see anyone stop. 

The runner was visible for a few seconds and then they disappeared as they turned at the end of the block. Turning the same corner a moment after, David looked about, and then caught sight of the runner scrambling over a fence halfway up the street. Wisely, the perpetrator was trying to put as many barriers and turns between them and whoever was chasing them. As David began sprinting again, Ivan crackled over his radio.

Be careful, Ace. It was a bit of a nickname, and a bit of truth. David may have barely passed the driving portions of the tests, but he made it a point to score 90th percentile in fitness, endurance, and marksmanship. As he bounded over the fence, he noted that the top was lined with cheap barbed wire. On the other side of the fence was a parking lot half filled with broken down cars, and the far side had a matching fence with matching razors lining its top. The smell of blood was hanging in the air, pointing like an arrow. Retracing his steps, David became suddenly hopeful the criminal didn’t have a gun. Clearing the fence without being shredded was one thing, but being shot was harder to discount.

Instead of talking, he quietly walked directly to the person, a young girl crouched behind the shell of a rusty old clunker, shaking from her injuries. He could smell the salt from her tears and hear her rapid breathing. Standing behind her, he stared at her for a moment, and eased his baton back into its sheath. He cleared his throat. She fell forward, and began scrambling and rolling away from him, screaming in shock.

I’m not going to hurt you, he said. He tried a soothing, but authoritative voice. Technically, he supposed he should be throwing handcuffs on her. Look, you’re really hurt, and, but she stood up as best she could and tried running away. She was already bleeding too much, though. He could hear her heart go into a sixth gear. She took a dozen steps, looked around at her cage, then back to her jailer, and collapsed.

Moments later, the tiny button on his shoulder radio had become slippery with blood. Paramedics were on the way.