Flash Fiction #2: Predator & Prey
Lieutenant Mason Sagewater earned his “ice water in the veins” reputation the old-fashioned way — years of hard-won experience in Stoney Cove’s Police Guild. His hard-nosed notoriety accelerated his ascent through the ranks, and had recently rewarded him with two important responsibilities.
The first was to break in his partner, Jackson Nash, a remarkably one-dimensional rookie to whom blunt-force bullying was the solution to everything. Sagewater relished the task. He knew how to put Nash’s temperament and skills to good use.
Nash waited in the unmarked squad car, engine running, as Sagewater exited the office tower of Altana–Covington Mining Corporation. The lieutenant allowed himself a tight smile as his long strides covered the distance to the curb. The aircon inside the car would be a welcome relief from the oppressive humidity.
Nash spoke before Sagewater’s door closed. “Well? What dirty work does Ms. Cortland have for us this time?”
“Dirty work?” Sagewater eyed the sizable folder in his hand, not looking at his partner. “Deputy Director Jessica Cortland has formally requested the Guild’s assistance, at the behest of Altana–Covington’s full board and Stoney Cove city council.”
Nash’s eyebrows telegraphed his astonishment. “Heavy artillery. Must be important.”
Sagewater opened the folder — the second responsibility his reputation had earned him — and scanned the first page. He was no fool. Currying allies inside Altana–Covington was to his advantage, but with it came considerable risk. A poor showing on his part and he’d reap powerful enemies.
Nash threw the car into gear and merged into traffic. “Anything you’d like to share with your partner?”
Sagewater closed the folder and settled back in his seat. “Ever heard of Levi Treehawke, Stoney Cove’s most notorious felon?”
Nash exhaled in a long whistle, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. “Who hasn’t? Even the newest rookie’s heard of him.” He frowned at the steering wheel. “Treehawke can’t be up for parole. He’s a lifer.”
“Correct.” Sagewater nodded absently. “But Ms. Cortland — and, by extension, everyone associated with Altana–Covington — is now obsessing over a new threat.” He grinned without humor, holding the folder aloft. “Treehawke has a son.”
“Another Treehawke?” Nash’s face lit up, a predator sensing prey. “That’s the last thing this town needs. No wonder the big names at Altana–Covington are nervous. What’s our play?”
“Recon and surveillance, for now,” Sagewater replied, peeling a corner of the folder back. His action was unnecessary; he’d already committed the most salient points to memory. “Young Treehawke is hiding behind an alias.”
“No kidding.” Nash grinned wolfishly. “An alias?”
Sagewater nodded. He knew how to use constables like Nash. “Dalton Smith.”
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