Chapter One:
The Boat Motor
Sean heaved a sigh as the white Ford inched a car length. Glancing in the rearview mirror to ensure the small boat still followed safely behind, he sighed again. Sighed and tried to place the sudden thin noise from outside. There was the sparkling water flowing under the bridge to his right. The red Dodge to his left. A few more glances as the sound grew. Sean replaced his sigh with a gasp as a huge flat black helicopter enveloped his mirror. Swerving to the right, he could hear shouting mixed with the chop-chop-chop of ever nearing blades.
“Damn you, Ford pickup!”
Strange shouting.
“Damn your tires and your hubcaps! Damn you to hell!”
Two men in black uniforms climbed down rope ladders into his boat.
“Damn your tackle-box and the lures inside! Damn the fish and the lake in which they swim!”
Screwdrivers in hand, the men worked quickly as the helicopter shuttered down lower. A figure in an identical uniform screamed wildly through a bullhorn, “Damn your silly stickers and personalized license plate! Damn your hair and the hat which sits atop it!”
Replacing the screwdrivers in heavy utility belts, the two men kneeled down, picked up the boat’s motor and threw it over the bridge and into the lake.
“Jesus Christ!” Sean gaped.
Shaking hands, they climbed up the ladders, joining the bullhorn-waving man in the copter.
“Damn your motor all the way to the bottom of the lake! Damn you all the way to your fishing hole!”
The helicopter lifted, chop-chopping away from Sean and his motor-less boat.
“And damn your mother!”
***
“Your boat motor was stolen, Sir?”
“Yes.”
“And did you leave the boat in your garage?”
“No.”
“On the street?” The clerk shook his head, looking at the receptionist stacking papers next to him. “You’re just asking for it to be stolen, Sir.”
“It wasn’t on the street.”
“If you leave valuable things out like that—”
“You don’t understand,” Sean hit his fist on the deck for emphasis. “It wasn’t on the street.”
“Then where was it?”
“Hooked to the back of my truck.”
The receptionist raised her brows as the clerk frowned. “So you. Parked it in a bad neighborhood—”
“No, I was driving it!”
“Oh, so—”
The receptionist held up her hand. “So some guys stole your motor in a bad neighborhood while you were driving—”
“No, no! I was driving on a bridge! I was going fishing!”
“Were they driving alongside you?”
“Flying.”
“Flying?”
“They were in this big black helicopter, and lowered down ropes into my boat—”
“Sir, I don’t—”
“It’s true! They had these utility belts with all these tools, and unscrewed my boat motor.”
“And stole it?”
“No! They picked it up and threw it into the lake!”
The clerk exchanged a glance with the receptionist. “Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know!” Sean dropped his head, out of breath. “It was the most terrible thing I’ve ever experienced.”
The clerk looked askance, eyes slightly crossed.
“And the things they said.”
“The things they said?”
“Yes. Damning my boat and my truck. Damn my lures, and my tackle box, and my hat. Damn the fish, the lake, and the motor!”
“Your motor?”
“And damn my mother!”
The receptionist leaned towards the clerk. “He’s obviously insane.”
“Damn me to the land from whence I came!”
The clerk looked down at his notes, and up at Sean, who was gently pounding his head on the desk. “Maybe we should have someone check this out.”
Chapter Two:
The Investigation
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Chief.” Detective Teer rubbed his eyes. “Guys in a black helicopter stole some idiot’s motor? That’s got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know, Frank, but either the guy’s crazy, or he’s telling the truth.” Captain Anderbok mirrored his movements, nose pinched. “And if he’s telling the truth…”
“I get, I get it.” Frank tapped the bottom of his cigarette pack. “What you’re saying is, drop my cases—which I’m up to my ass in—and focus on some nut job who lost a boat motor.”
“What I’m saying, Teer—this is your only case.”
Frank grimaced in mild disbelief.
“You know how it is these days. Things like this spook people.” He shrugged as Frank let out a sigh. “Look, just ask him some questions. Go check out the boat. If you’re convinced it’s just some guy with a screw loose, we’ll drop it.”
Frank looked down, the clerk’s report the only paper in the thin file.
The Captain leaned back, hands behind his head. “How about this? If there are some crazies terrifying the city, you get first crack, right?”
Frank smiled slowly. “If I do, I make Sergeant.”
***
“Nice boat you got here.”
“Yeah, it is nice. Just got it last year.” Sean wiped the stern with a dishcloth. “Be a whole hell of a lot nicer with a motor.”
Frank looked up at the one-story house. “Good neighborhood. My wife wanted to move here.”
“Married, huh?”
“Yeah.” Frank’s eyes drifted down, scanning the empty space a motor once occupied. “Was, anyway. So, about that motor.”
“Bastards just threw it away.”
“Threw it?”
“Yeah, flew down, unscrewed it, threw it into the lake.”
Frank barely concealed a growing smirk. “Just threw it into the lake, huh?”
“Yeah. Quick about it, too. Kept yelling.”
“Yelling?”
“Obscenities. Then stole the motor. Never seen anything like it.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to, steal, uh, toss your motor?”
Sean turned a shocked expression Frank’s way. “Of course not. Who would want to do that?”
***
“Why’d you want to see me, Chief?”
Captain Anderbok swiveled his chair to face Frank. “Sit down, Teer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have some important news to tell you.” Frank leaned forward as a file was pushed his way. “You have someone else to interview.”
Frank stared wide eyes at the report. “There was another incident?”
“Seems so. An elderly woman. Carrying her groceries home.”
Chapter Three:
The Chimney
“Look at that,” Prudence sputtered. Just look at that.” She and Frank peered up at the roof a two-story wood house, bricks strewn across it. “Just cut it in two.”
“Cut what—”
“The chimney, that’s what. It’s half its normal size.”
Frank began writing in his notebook, a surreptitious smile spreading. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Mrs. Dunworthy?”
“All right.” She pushed her glasses up gently. “I was walking home from the market, carrying my groceries. I just needed some pecans and vanilla. I was making a pie, you see.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s for our new neighbor. She’s a single mother, you know.”
“Mmhm.”
“I don’t have a problem with that. Everyone likes a good pecan pie.”
“Yes.”
“Single or not, and I only live a block away, and it was such a nice day. I may be old, but I enjoy a good walk. And a good pie.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dunworthy.”
“I heard this sound, but it was a long way off. I still have my hearing, and it was a good ways away, I was sure.”
“A sound?”
“Yes, this ‘chop chop’ ‘chop chop.’ And it kept getting closer. Until it was right behind me. Right behind me. I heard this yelling, just the most vile things. I looked back, and it was a helicopter! A big black helicopter!”
“A helicopter.”
“And a man, with one of them horns, and he was yelling.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, the most awful things. Damn my orthopedic shoes, damn my bag of groceries and the contents inside. Damn my hair and my glasses. The cheap chain from which they swung. I just bought this, you know. It might have been a bargain, but I wouldn’t say cheap.”
“No, ma’am. Did they—did they do anything to you?”
“Do anything?”
“Physically harm you, or—”
“They yelled obscenities at me! Isn’t that enough? Damn my sweater and my grandchildren.”
“Your grandchildren?”
“Yes, and what have they ever done to anyone? And my housecoat. Damn my housecoat and the moth balls it housed.”
Frank covered a laugh with a gruff cough. “And then what happened?”
“Well, I was terrified, not to mention a little confused. My hair being blown about, I almost dropped my groceries. I got as fast as I could back here.”
“Had they left?”
“No! They followed me home! Right up to the front door. I didn’t know what to do, so I just waited. That’s when I heard the noise on the roof.”
Frank looked up. “And that’s when—”
“Yes. Cut my chimney in half. Bricks flying past my window. There’s still some in the fireplace.”
“Did they—I mean, did they give an explanation?”
“They said, ‘Damn your half a chimney and its bricks back to hell where they belong.’”
Chapter Four:
The Tires
Stephen rolled up his window, the DVD clanging in the drop-box. Pulling into traffic, he mentally and verbally cursed himself. A right would have taken him home with ease. A left put him squarely before the longest red light man had ever known. Checking his creased brow in the mirror, he paused as a dense sound filtered into the car. Peering closer, he quickly drew back. It was a helicopter.
“Damn you, Dodge!”
And someone yelling.
“Damn your boxy lines and factory-serviced engine!”
Stephen craned his neck towards the roof. The helicopter was directly over his car. Four ropes lowered down over each tire, tightening as men propelled down them, slim knives in hand.
“Damn you, tires, and your eroding tread! Damn you and the air you will soon expel!”
A man with a bullhorn screamed fiercely, a black helmet obscuring his face. Stephen felt the car sink, tires squealing quietly. “Mother of God. What the—what’d you do that for?”
Slipping the knives into their belts, each man grabbed hold of a rope and climbed swiftly up and into the helicopter.
“Damn your idling car and its deflated tires! Damn the man who resides on its artificial leather seats!”
The light turned green. Stephen sat back, defeated. By what, he did not know. As his tires slowly died, he stared at the receding helicopter, the man with the bullhorn still yelling, voice thick with rage. “Damn you all the way to your home!”
Chapter Five:
The Bricks
“How goes it?” The Captain perched on the edge of Frank’s desk, coffee cup in hand. “How ya doin’, son?”
Frank put the folder down wearily, running his fingers through his hair. “File’s gettin’ thicker every day.”
Looking around the cluttered station, Anderbok nodded. “Five, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken. You are not mistaken at all.” Frank shut his eyes tight, shaking his head. “All the same. Flat black helicopter, guys in helmets, bullhorn, yelling. I don’t get it.”
“They never say why?”
“Who?”
“The guys in the helicopter.”
“No. It’s weird. Well, it’s all weird, but—They just yell insulting things. And. Leave.” Frank chuckled. “It’s actually pretty funny. You should see the looks on the peoples’ faces. ‘It’s the damnedest thing, just ripped the windshield wipers right off the car and flew away.’” Frank’s laughter died as Anderbok gave him a disapproving nod. “Sorry, but, you have to admit, Sir—”
“Maybe you think it’s funny, but the Commissioner doesn’t. He wants this finished, and quick. Or he’s putting a team on it.”
Frank frowned, instantly serious. Picking up the file, he measured its weight. “I do have another lady to see. Maybe she has something new.”
***
Frank shielded his eyes, the sun glaring accusingly over the big white house. He had made his way up to the welcome mat before noticing the bricks. Touching them lightly with the tips of his fingers, he cocked his head, unsure of their purpose. Stepping back, Frank looked around. The house was exactly like every other on the block. New paint, green lawn, cement driveway. Exactly the same except this house had bricks where a door should have been. Bricks filling the door frame completely. He laughed in confusion, crossing his arms. His attention was turned as a hand tapped briskly on one of the blue-trimmed windows. A young woman gave a small smile, pointing towards the back of the house. Taking one last look at the bricks, Frank obeyed.
“You must be the detective.”
“Yes, Miss Tucker?”
Motioning him into a fairly spacious living room, she pointed towards a chair. Frank nodded but remained standing, surveying the ordinary house and its ordinary furniture.
“Would you like anything? I just got back from the store.”
He declined politely, walking up to the front door and opening it. A wall of bricks greeted him.
Miss Tucker sat down on a bright floral couch, sighing and taking a sip of tea. “Been like that since yesterday.”
“When exactly did it happen?”
“Oh, twelve or so, I think. I was coming home from yoga. It’s for my nerves.” She gulped the tea nervously. “I guess I should go back as soon as possible, after all this.”
“All this being the men in the helicopter.”
“Yes. The men in the helicopter.” She gave another small smile. “The men in the helicopter. Followed me home.”
Frank joined her on the couch, smoothing a new page in his notebook. “What did they say?”
“Oh, just damning everything about me. Don’t think they repeated themselves. Not once.”
Frank waited as she drained the cup.
“I had only taken a few steps out of the gym, too. When I heard them. Yelling something about leg warmers.”
“Leg warmers?”
“Yes. ‘Damn your pink fuzzy leg warmers.’ Or something of that nature.”
Frank suppressed a laugh, remembering the Captain’s words. “Go on, please.”
“It was just this huge black helicopter. Right over me. Yelling all these things with everyone staring.”
“Who else was there?”
“Just people walking by. But they only yelled at me. And just one. The one with the, uh—the—”
“Bullhorn,” Frank supplied.
“Yes, the bullhorn. He just kept yelling and yelling, following me all the way home. Damn my water bottle and the arsenic it held. Damn my ponytail and its multicolored scrunchy. Damn scrunchies and their absurd name.”
“What did they do after you got home?”
“I thought you’d noticed.”
“Well, the bricks did catch my eye.”
“Yes,” she shook her head. “I didn’t know what was going on. I mean, it was just so bizarre. I ran in as fast as I could. That’s when they started yelling about my blindingly white house and damned it to hell. Then I heard this noise. Something banging against the door.”
“And it was—”
“Bricks. They bricked up my door. I don’t know how they did it so fast.”
“And then?”
“Then they yelled, ‘Damn you into your house, and damn you and your front door.’”
Frank coughed, turning away, but the open front door flanked with bricks almost made him choke.
“I guess it could have been worse,” Miss Tucker shrugged. “I mean, now I just have to use the back door instead of the front.”
***
“So, what’s the news?” Captain Anderbok handed Frank a cold cup of coffee.
“Not much. I still don’t understand it. Every victim, if that’s what you want to call them, every one is different. None know each other. No similar characteristics. But I’ve been giving it my all,” he added quickly.
“So it’s just some lunatics who happened to get hold of a helicopter?”
“I guess so,” Frank grinned, remembering the story of a woman and her French poodle followed all the way to a dog boutique. The men left with the line, ‘Damn you and your poodle and its nauseating excuse for fur!’
“You think it’s funny, don’t you?”
Frank wanted to snap right back at him. Studying his Captain’s face, he tried to determine the proper response. He could tell the truth: This was the most insane thing he’d ever been a part of, not to mention the most hilarious. Say he had to practically breathe into a paper bag to keep from bursting into laughter every time he talked to a witness. Or, well. He took in Captain Anderbok’s narrowed eyes, mouth set in a firm line. “No. No, I don’t think it’s funny. I think it’s a crime and has to be stopped.”
He held his breath as the Captain looked him over. Seeming satisfied, he nodded. “Sure, Frank. Now why don’t we both get back to work.”
Frank nodded back, taking a sip of the cold coffee. He was getting better at this.
Chapter Six:
The Newsstand
Jakob straightened the Daily News section, his biggest seller, and picked up two out-of-date magazines, throwing them in the pile next to him. A man in an overcoat rested his elbow on a candy rack, change in hand. Jakob smiled, accepting it without counting. The man leafed through the magazine, pausing as a slight wind blew its pages back. Jakob and the man looked up at a dark form in the sky, a dark form getting bigger and bigger. The top issue of the Daily News blew past them, as a voice rang out: “Damn you, tiny newsstand! Damn you and the filth you pander!”
Jakob grappled with the flying papers, hands shaking.
“Damn you, newspapers, damn you, magazines! Damn you, candy bars, and the nougat you hold in your chocolate skin!”
Frank dropped the magazine, eyes blinking furiously in the chopping wind. The newsstand owner huddled behind the magazine racks, mouth open in fear.
“Damn your papers even now as they congregate in the street! Damn them and the man who holds them!”
A brightly colored sales ad flew into Frank’s face, obscuring his view. Wrestling it down, he stepped heavily into the wind, papers swarming around his feet.
“Damn you to the foulest reaches of purgatory!”
“Which way did they go?!” Frank heard himself cry, streams of water running down his face. “Please, which way?!”
The newsstand owner pointed weakly, stumbling up as Frank jumped in his car, clumsily speeding away.
“Wait,” Jakob murmured. He looked around at the shambles his business had become. “What about my newsstand?”
Chapter Seven:
The Field
Frank was shaking, barely able to keep the car on the road. Weeks. Weeks now, and—the case was cracked. It was done. It was all over—almost. He glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting to see the big black helicopter. It was what he wanted. Wasn’t it? He had a fleeting thought, No. No. Keep chasing, keep following, but don’t catch ’em. Don’t catch ’em. Keep the mystery alive. They never said why. They never said why, because if they did—what would be the point?
A streaking black shape dragged his eyes up, leading him past the city, to a dirt road he’d never been on. Houses flashed by at a dizzying pace, the copter chop-chopping its way through the sky. Frank wasn’t sure what he would do when he caught up with them, but he bore down on the gas pedal just the same.
He jabbed the brake just as sharply, the chopper swooping down low. Craning his neck he saw it slowing, hovering over a small field, tall grass waving wildly. Making a quick U-turn as he saw it land, he parked the car behind a few small bushes that did nothing to conceal him. Gripping the steering wheel, Frank almost decided to give it up. Just give it up and go back home, never mention this again. Why ruin something like this? The case file scrolled through his head: boat motor, deflated tires, bricked-up door…he was laughing uncontrollably, little wheezes choking him. He couldn’t just drive away. Here they were. Here they were right now. Right here, right now and right in front of him. Here were men that cut someone’s chimney in half, making sure to damn it to hell before they left. How could he pass this up?
Frank slowly opened the car door, ducking behind one of the bushes, peering out at the motionless copter. He could barely make out pale yellow writing on the side. Moving as close as he dared, the letters began to form words. Don’t Tread on Me, he read slowly. Yes. He was going to meet these people.
A harsh click broke the silence, the helicopter door sliding open. Frank held his breath; a whisper could send them away. A man in a black uniform appeared, resting his black-gloved hand on the chopper’s interior. A helmet and thick visor obscured his eyes, but it seemed to Frank they were staring right at him. The man slowly lifted his hand, pointing towards—towards Frank. His instinct to flee was suppressed by an almost overwhelming curiosity. Standing up, he gave a classic Who, me? as the uniformed man crooked his finger, motioning towards the helicopter. Could that really mean what he thought? Frank took a few timid steps, the man repeating his motion. It was too much. It was all just too much. Frank surged forward, running full speed, jumping into the chopper in one swift motion. The black-gloved hand patted his shoulder, nodding deliberately as he handed Frank the—the bullhorn. Frank was holding the bullhorn.
The helicopter took off slowly, grass dancing in its wake. Rising higher and higher, a cry echoed from the chopper door. Frank, bullhorn obscuring his grinning mouth, glared down at the mile of land. “Damn you, field!” he cried. “Damn you all the way to hell!”
