Free That Nietzsche Thing by Christopher Blankley

adrenaline started to wear off. I needed
to sit down.
    Constantine descended the basement stairs
slowly. He was gone for maybe a minute before he returned with his
rifle over his shoulder.
    “Clear?” I asked, standing at the sink. If I
was going to puke, I wanted to do it there.
    “Clear,” Constantine replied. But the look on
his face said a lot more.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, swallowing hard.
    “Maybe you should take a look...” Constantine
said, pointing back at the basement. “I think we’ve found Vivian’s
book.”

 
     
     
     
     

Chapter 12
     
    We sure as shit had found Montavez’s missing
print copy of Dark’s Last Novel . It was down in the
basement, on a sort of makeshift altar, before a painted, plywood
rose cross. It was safe and secure, undamaged, along with the
e-reader stolen from O’Day’s lab.
    But I hardly paid the book a second glance.
The whole scene was pretty freaky-deaky. On top of all shooting, to
then find a satanic shrine in the basement was more than my nerves
could take.
    But it was the graffiti on the walls was what
really sent a shiver down my spine. Now I knew what had turned
Constantine’s complexion so pale.
    Sure, there were Q’s and crosses, and
unintelligible tags. But, over and over, in positions of
prominence, C’s were repeated in groups of three. C, C, C just like
Constantine three NeoCon C’s. But these didn’t stand for
Competence, Community and Compassion here. No, below the rose
cross, they were spelled out: Corpus, Cruor, Civitas.
    It was pretty freaky shit. I didn’t know what
any of it meant, but I was already starting to make guesses.
    It had Constantine shitting bricks. After I’d
scooped up the book and put the e-reader into my pocket, I went
back upstairs and found Constantine talking into his in-ear phone.
He was pulling resources off riot control to come handle the crime
scene. Now, after seeing the basement, it was worthy of his
precious manpower.
    “Did you clear the second floor?” I asked,
when Constantine hung up his call.
    He nodded, wordlessly.
    “Any sign...”
    He shook his head. Well, it had always been a
long shot. But just because they hadn’t stolen Montavez’s body from
the Morgue, didn’t mean they hadn’t killed her.
    “I have a team en-route,” Constantine said to
me calmly. “I think, for both of our sakes, it would be
advantageous for you not to be here when they arrive.”
    “What is that shit?” I asked, nodding at the
bullet-ridden basement door. “Down there?”
    “I don’t know,” Constantine solemnly shook
his head.
    “Did you see those three C’s—”
    “Yes,” Constantine cut me off. “Yes.”
    “It can’t be—” I began and stopped
myself.
    Constantine looked at his watch. “Time is
running out, Fonseca. Unless you’re eager to spend the next few
months on administrative leave.”
    “But—”
    “Every round here was fired from my weapons,”
Constantine scooped his pistol up off the kitchen counter and
returned it to his holster. “There’s no reason for you to
stay.”
    He was sure in a rush to get rid of me. But I
wasn’t going to argue. I had no desire to sit before an Officer
Involved Shooting Panel and try to explain why I was in that house.
Or justify shooting the three Genies.
    I picked up the book and started for the back
door.
    “Leave the book, Fonseca,” Constantine
commanded.
    I stopped in my tracks. Now that was odd.
“What good is it to you?” I asked, honestly.
    “It’s evidence, Detective,” Constantine
replied. “It can’t be removed from the crime scene.”
    That was bullshit. Total bullshit. But what
good was the book to Constantine? Then I remembered what was in the
basement. What the fuck was going on?
    I put the book back down on the kitchen
counter. It took a concerted effort on my part not to reach for my
bomber pocket. The e-reader was in there. Constantine didn’t know –
had never known – about that.
    “Thank you, Detective,” Constantine