NOVEL NEXT 105. Crafting The Perfect Alibi
The police station loomed ahead like an old friend who'd become a stranger. Angelo paused at the bottom of the concrete steps, his fingers unconsciously flexing at his sides. Just a few months since he'd walked away from this place, but it felt like years.
"Alright, we all clear on this?" Angelo muttered, adjusting his jacket collar against the morning chill.
"What do you take me for?" Red's voice crackled with barely contained energy inside his head. "You sweet-talk your way to that fancy scythe while I go hunting for that radio. Simple as breathing."
Angelo nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Then let's get this done."
He climbed the steps two at a time, muscles coiled with purpose. The heavy doors swung open under his push, and suddenly he was back in the belly of the beast—except this time, he wasn't wearing a badge.
Officers froze mid-conversation when they spotted him. Coffee cups paused halfway to lips. Whispers started rippling through the bullpen like dropped stones in still water. Angelo kept his pace steady, ignoring the stares that followed him like searchlights.
"ANGELO!"
The boom from above made everyone jump. Chief Ramirez leaned over the second-floor railing, his weathered face unreadable from this distance. "Don't move a muscle! I'm coming down!"
"Well, well," Red purred with wicked satisfaction. "Looks like we're getting the VIP treatment."
Angelo's jaw clenched. He'd hoped to slip in and out like smoke, but nothing with Ramirez was ever that simple.
The chief's heavy boots echoed down the metal stairs, each step deliberate as a countdown. When he reached them, he crossed his arms—the universal pose of a man ready for answers.
"So," Ramirez said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of authority and exhaustion. "What brings the infamous Angel of Death back to my doorstep?"
Angelo matched his stance, arms folding across his chest. "You said I could collect my weapon. I'm here to collect it."
Something shifted behind the chief's eyes—too quick to catch, too important to ignore. "Right, of course. How about we grab some coffee while someone fetches it? Give us a chance to catch up properly."
Angelo felt the gears turning in his mind. "Actually, this could work for us."
"Hell yeah," Red agreed, practically vibrating with anticipation. "More time to work with."
"One condition though," Ramirez continued, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "I need Red and Blue visible for this little reunion. Just to make sure nobody's getting into trouble they shouldn't be."
"How utterly presumptuous," Blue's voice carried wounded dignity. "As if I would engage in such underhanded tactics."
"Mostly Red," the chief added with a pointed look.
"Thank you for the clarification," Blue replied, sounding slightly mollified.
Angelo bit back a curse. "And there's the catch," he thought grimly. Out loud, he kept his voice level. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
Red and blue smoke poured from Angelo's body like released pressure, swirling and condensing into two familiar figures. Blue materialized with perfect posture, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar at attention.
"Chief Ramirez," Blue inclined his head with formal precision. "It is indeed gratifying to renew our professional acquaintance."
Red slouched into existence beside him, shoulders hunched and eyes already scanning the room like a predator sizing up prey. His grin was all teeth and trouble.
"Blue," Ramirez acknowledged with genuine warmth, then shifted his gaze. "Red." The name came out flat as old soda.
"Miss me, chief?" Red's voice dripped mock sweetness.
Ramirez turned without answering. "Follow me. All of you."
They moved through the station in a strange parade—the chief leading, Angelo in the middle, and his two alternates flanking him like mismatched bodyguards. Officers tracked their progress with barely concealed curiosity.
"Well, shit," Red's mental voice cut through the tension. "How am I supposed to snoop around with babysitters watching?"
Angelo didn't respond immediately, his mind working through possibilities like a chess player three moves ahead.
"Angie!" Red pressed. "You still in there, or did your brain take a coffee break?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking," Angelo snapped internally. Then, like a light switching on: "Remember that puppet you made for Neiva?"
"Pocket Red?" The confusion in Red's mental voice was obvious. "Yeah, what about it? Thing's miles away from here."
Angelo's hand slipped into his jacket pocket, fingers finding the smooth surface of energy marbles nestled there like glass bullets. "Feel these? Some of them are yours. Can you work with what's here instead of drawing from your aura?"
Red's understanding hit like lightning. "Oh, you sneaky bastard. Yeah, I can work with that. Just need to plant them somewhere."
Angelo palmed the entire collection—no time to sort his from Red's. As they passed an indoor plant near the elevator, he let the marbles slip from his fingers into the dark soil with barely a whisper of sound.
Ramirez led them to an interrogation room that felt like stepping into a trap. The space was too neat, too prepared—one chair behind a metal table, three more arranged across from it with deliberate spacing.
"Let's sit," Ramirez said, not quite meeting Angelo's eyes.
"An interrogation room?" Angelo's voice carried a sharp edge. "You're not exactly being subtle here, chief."
"Just being cautious," Ramirez replied smoothly. "Don't read too much into it."
"Lying through his teeth," Red observed with savage amusement.
Angelo gestured toward the room with mock courtesy. "After you, chief."
They took their positions like pieces on a game board. Ramirez picked up his phone, fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "Vivian? Send someone up with coffee for two. Thanks."
"Now listen," Angelo fixed Red with a warning stare. "Behave yourself. They bring me Mercy's Edge, we walk out of here clean. No complications."
Red's grin could have lit up a stadium. "You want good behavior from me? That's gonna cost you extra."
Angelo's patience stretched thin as wire. "What do you want?"
"Pizza!" Red bounced in his chair like an excited kid. "Get us a large pepperoni, and you've got yourself a deal!"
Blue turned toward the wall with obvious disgust, as if looking at Red might contaminate his dignity.
"Fine" Angelo said, his voice dry as desert sand.
Red crossed his arms and closed his eyes, satisfaction radiating from every line of his body. Somewhere in the plant downstairs, crimson marbles dissolved into glittering particles, reforming into a tiny duplicate no bigger than a doll.
"Showtime," Red thought, poking the puppet's head above the soil like a mischievous garden gnome. When the coast looked clear, he melted into smoke and slipped toward the nearest air vent, ready to hunt for secrets in the shadows.
The tiny red smoke drifted through the station like a lazy summer cloud, barely visible against the yellowed walls. It moved with purpose until something made it stop cold and drift backward—Chief Ramirez's office door.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Red's mental voice practically vibrated with glee. "Boss man's private den, and he's not home to guard it."
"Stay focused on the mission," Angelo's thoughts cut sharp as broken glass.
"Oh, come on! What's the worst that could happen?" Red cackled internally. "Besides, maybe the old man's got a police radio tucked away in there somewhere."
Angelo's right eye twitched like he'd been stung by a bee, but he kept his face stone-still, not wanting to tip off the chief sitting across from him.
The wisp of smoke slipped under the office door easy as breathing. Once inside, it reformed into Red's pocket-sized puppet—a silent little figure that moved like a miniature spy. Red guided it upward, his consciousness directing every movement while he sat back in the interrogation room.
"No cameras," Red thought to himself, scanning through the puppet's eyes. "Chief likes his privacy. Smart man."
What should have been an exciting treasure hunt turned into a boring tour of the world's most ordinary office. File cabinets, a coffee machine, stacks of paperwork—nothing worth a second glance.
"This place is duller than watching paint dry," Red grumbled in his thoughts, steering the puppet around the chief's desk like controlling a tiny remote-control toy. "No radio, no secrets, no—" His mental voice stopped cold when the puppet's eyes locked onto something interesting. "Now what's this little beauty?"
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A desk drawer with a lock. The kind that screamed keep out louder than any sign ever could.
Back in the interrogation room, Red's physical form split into a grin that could have frightened small children. The expression caught Ramirez completely off guard.
"Why—why is he smiling like that?" the chief stammered.
Angelo scrambled for words, but Red beat him to it, eyes still closed in concentration. "Don't mind me, chief. Just remembering something absolutely hilarious." He let out a cackle that made both Angelo and Ramirez's eyebrows climb toward their hairlines.
In the office, Red's puppet zeroed in on the locked drawer like a missile finding its target. Through his remote connection, Red's thoughts bubbled with anticipation. "You don't lock up boring stuff. Let's see what dirty little secrets our good chief is hiding."
"Red, absolutely not," Blue's voice crackled with disapproval through their mental link. "That drawer has nothing to do with our current objective. You're crossing every line of basic decency."
"Come on, Blue! It's like that cat in the box thingy—this drawer could have everything or nothing until we peek inside!" Red thought back while guiding his puppet closer to the lock.
Blue actually sputtered in their shared consciousness. "Since when do you understand quantum mechanics and superposition?"
"Dude, how did we jump from cats to super-whatever? You've got some serious issues, man." Red's thoughts carried amusement as he made his puppet crack its tiny knuckles. "Anyway, I'm opening this thing!"
The puppet dissolved into crimson particles that flowed into the lock like liquid fire. Through his connection, Red carefully shaped the energy into a perfect key, adjusting its form with patient precision. He twisted it degree by degree, feeling for the sweet spot through his puppet's senses until—
Click.
The lock surrendered with a satisfying snap. Red made his puppet reform and yank the drawer open, expecting treasure and finding... paperwork. Lots of boring, official-looking paperwork.
"Blah, blah, blah, police reports, blah, blah, blah, scientific mambo jumbo, blah, blah, blah, more police stuff?!" Red's internal voice rose with each disappointing page as his puppet rifled through them. "Bah, this is the worst!" He had the puppet shove the papers back and slam the drawer shut. "Waste of perfectly good breaking and entering!"
Red sent his tiny creation shooting out of the office like a bullet, searching for something—anything—more interesting than the chief's filing system.
Meanwhile, coffee finally arrived in the interrogation room. Angelo had to balance his cup in his lap while the chief enjoyed the luxury of his desk. With refreshments settled, Ramirez leaned back and fixed Angelo with a knowing look.
"You're like a magnet for trouble, you know that?" the chief said, stirring his coffee with deliberate slowness.
Angelo took a measured sip, buying time. When he lowered the cup, his voice was flat as roadkill. "What gave me away?"
Ramirez sighed like a man carrying the weight of the world. "I know you're still playing the Angel of Death. Criminals showing up at our front door, scared out of their minds, babbling about how you convinced them to turn themselves in."
Their eyes locked across the table like gunslingers at high noon. Angelo suddenly found his fingernails fascinating. "Guilty as charged."
"That's vigilantism, son. Last I checked, vigilantism was still illegal in this city."
Angelo's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his voice dropping to arctic temperatures. "Then why aren't you slapping cuffs on me right now?"
The chief rubbed his temples like he was fighting a migraine. "So far, nobody's been seriously hurt. A few bruises, some wounded pride, but everyone walked away breathing... until the Rick Chen situation."
"Which ended with me cleared of all charges," Angelo added, each word sharp as a blade.
"Right, right." Ramirez nodded, but something in his expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "Then there was that warehouse incident. Survivors mentioned your name."
Angelo's head tilted slightly, like a predator scenting weakness. "Oh? You talked to them personally?"
"Well... uh..." The chief's composure cracked like ice under pressure. "Not exactly in person, no. They were all criminals, you understand. What I meant was that survivors allegedly mentioned you."
Angelo studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching tight as piano wire. "I'm sure you didn't leave that detail out on purpose."
The accusation hit Ramirez like a physical blow. He pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering himself before straightening with renewed business-like focus.
"You know something, Angelo?"
"Enlighten me."
"I hate admitting this, especially since I wanted to steer you away from this path..." The chief's voice carried the weight of reluctant honesty.
"And?"
"You've got a real talent for killing. Whether these recent incidents were your handiwork or not, the fact remains—you're exceptional at what you do."
Angelo blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Uh... thanks? I think?"
"In the force or out of it, your particular skill set creates problems." Ramirez's features darkened like storm clouds gathering. "But you'd be incredibly valuable in the military."
Angelo's eyes rolled so hard they nearly fell out of his head. "You think I haven't considered that? Trust me, I tried."
Surprise flickered across the chief's weathered features. "Then why didn't you—"
"Sleeser," Angelo spat the name like a curse. "You know him? My so-called mentor?"
The color drained from Ramirez's face like water from a broken glass. "Y-yes, of course I know him. But why would that stop you? He's military himself—couldn't he help you get in?"
Angelo let out a laugh with no humor in it. "Help? He told me he'd move heaven and earth to make sure I never set foot in a military recruitment office. Claims he's got enough pull to make it stick."
"I had no idea he ranked that high..." The chief's color slowly returned. "Well, in that case, what if I offered you something different? A position with Black Light."
Angelo's eyes went wide like someone had just told him the sky was falling. Even Blue looked up from his usual composed stance, uncertainty written all over his face.
"Black Light?" Angelo's voice carried a mix of disbelief and concern. "Aren't they the guys who only recruit people with zero family ties? Making you disappear from the world like you never existed."
"I know you consider the Dealer family your own," Ramirez said, setting his coffee cup down with careful precision. "But on paper, your background makes you an ideal candidate. Orphaned, unique abilities, and a proven talent for... eliminating threats."
Angelo leaned back in his chair, arms crossing like a shield across his chest. "So what's the play here? You want the Angel of Death to become some kind of international ghost? That's a hell of an offer, even coming from you."
"It's just an option worth considering," Ramirez replied, his knuckles going white around his coffee mug. "I'm confident they'd welcome you with open arms."
"And you'd be thrilled to ship me off and clear me from your streets," Angelo added, his voice dropping to a dangerous low.
Horror flashed across Ramirez's weathered face like he'd been slapped. "That's not—this isn't about—" He stopped, took a breath deep enough to fill his lungs completely. "Look, this arrangement benefits everyone involved. I really don't want to spend my days hunting you down like some common criminal. Luminia needs you as an ally, not as a rogue vigilante we can't control."
Angelo let out a laugh that had no humor in it whatsoever. "And then what? I sign up, pack my bags, and let Novaria burn to the ground?" His voice climbed higher with each word, frustration bleeding through every syllable. "I've seen the news reports, chief! Crime jumped two, maybe three times higher while I was gone! It's only going to get worse now that the media's broadcasting my absence. Every lowlife from here to the coast is probably packing their bags to come party in my city!"
The chief paused, his mind clearly working through the problem like a chess player planning his next move. "I understand your concerns completely. Fighting crime and protecting citizens—that's my job, my responsibility." He locked eyes with Angelo across the small table. "But are you telling me the Angel of Death's mission stops at Novaria's city limits? From everything I've heard in your speeches, it sounded like you'd take on crime wherever you found it."
"I—" Angelo opened his mouth to argue, then froze like someone had hit his pause button. "Well, shit," he thought to himself. "He's actually got a point there..."
Meanwhile, Red's puppet had finally struck gold in the Auron division's locker room. Specifically, inside Jack's locker sat a working police radio. There was just one tiny problem.
"I can't lift this damn thing!" Red's thoughts burned with frustration as his puppet struggled with the device like a toddler trying to move a refrigerator. He could feel the tiny creation burning through its energy reserves, literally eating itself alive trying to generate enough strength. "This isn't working—I need more juice! Hey, Angie!"
Angelo snapped back to reality like someone had yanked him out of a daydream. "What now?"
"The radio's too heavy for my puppet! I need my aura to pump more energy into it!" Red's mental voice carried urgency.
"For crying out loud..." Angelo's mind raced through possibilities like a computer processing data. "Alright, here's what we're doing. Start a fight with me. Make it look real. And follow my lead on this."
Red's eyes flew open like window shutters in a storm. He shot up from his chair with explosive energy. "That's it! I can't sit here like a statue anymore! Where the hell is that weapon?!"
Angelo's eyes blazed orange like twin warning lights, his voice turning cold as winter steel. "Plant yourself back in that chair, you walking disaster, and wait like a civilized person."
Red spun around and slapped his own backside with theatrical flair. "How about you make me, tough guy!"
"Why you little—!" Angelo's aura erupted around him like a miniature sun going supernova, sending enough energy through the air to make Ramirez jump to his feet.
"Whoa, hold on there, Angelo—" The chief reached out with both hands like he was trying to calm down a wild animal. Blue just rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and turned away like he'd seen this show a thousand times before.
"Oh, you wanna dance?" Red's own aura flared to life, crimson energy crackling around him like controlled lightning. "Then let's dance, big guy! Come on!"
"Boys! BOYS! Please!" Ramirez stepped between them like a referee trying to prevent a riot. "Stand down before you wreck the entire room!"
What he didn't know was that in the locker room, Red's puppet suddenly swelled to twice its size, powered by the energy Red was channeling through their fake fight. The bigger creation grabbed the radio with ease now.
Both Angelo and Red powered down their light shows simultaneously, like actors dropping their performance. Angelo dropped back into his chair, arms crossed in mock disappointment. "Fine. Where's my weapon, chief? Red's getting on my last nerve."
Red mirrored Angelo's pose, crossing his arms with exaggerated indignation. "Yeah, make it sound like this is all MY fault. Because apparently sitting around doing absolutely nothing counts as quality entertainment for you people."
"I'll... I'll check on that right now..." Ramirez said, deflating like a punctured balloon as he returned to his desk and picked up his phone.
"I honestly have no idea where you learned that," Blue's disapproving voice echoed through their mental connection.
"What do you mean?" Angelo asked, genuinely puzzled.
"This past month, you have been coming up with these elaborate plans and schemes. You never showed such natural aptitude for deception before," Blue observed, his scholarly tone carrying a note of concern.
Angelo looked at him but kept his thoughts internal. "What are you talking about? You taught me all of that stuff."
"I beg your pardon?!" Blue's expression transformed into absolute horror, like someone had just told him he'd accidentally poisoned someone.
"Yeah, remember? In the cave when we fought Hugo? You explained misdirection to me." Angelo stated matter-of-factly.
Blue's eyes widened as his gaze slowly drifted toward the floor in complete existential dread. "I... I have created a monster..."
While Blue wrestled with his crisis of conscience, Red's puppet slipped the radio through the locker room window. It passed through the security railings like smoke and shot upward toward the roof, where it went limp as Red cut his connection.
Twenty minutes crawled by before someone finally retrieved Mercy's Edge. Chief Ramirez escorted all three of them down to the front steps, the winter air crisp against their faces.
Before Angelo could leave, the chief caught his arm gently. "Remember what I offered you, son. Just... think it over, alright?"
Angelo turned back, looking older than his years and bone-tired. "Yeah, okay. I'll give it some thought." He started walking away, then raised his hand in a lazy goodbye gesture. "See you around, chief. It was... nice catching up."
His orange aura wrapped around him like a warm cloak, and he launched into the sky with the easy grace of someone born to fly.
Everything was set now—he had his prop and his stage. Time for the real show to begin.
But Ramirez had one final surprise waiting for him upstairs. He unlocked his office door, stepped inside, and settled into his familiar chair. When his gaze wandered to his desk drawer, every drop of blood drained from his face like someone had pulled a plug.
The drawer sat slightly open, its lock hanging loose.
"Did I—did I leave it unlocked?" he whispered to the empty room, his hands shaking as he yanked the drawer open. He rifled through the papers inside with desperate urgency, checking each document like his life depended on it.
When he finished his frantic inventory, he let out a shaky breath that seemed to come from his very soul. "It's still here..." He carefully arranged everything back in perfect order and locked the drawer with extra force, as if that could somehow undo what had already happened.