Chapter 13: Complications
The drive home from the bar should have felt like victory.
Cole had his inside man. Terry Banks would unlock the VIP door during Thursday's event—October 27th, four days away. The plan was solid. Simple. Walk in, kill Volk, walk out while the chaos covered his escape.
But something nagged at him.
He pulled into the parking garage beneath his apartment building and sat in the dark, engine off, thinking. Volk had survived this long running an illegal operation in a major city. He hadn't done that by being careless. The security at the warehouse was professional. The transportation protocols were paranoid. The customer base included people who couldn't afford exposure.
He has protection. Someone's keeping the cops away.
The thought crystallized into certainty. Cole had spent a decade as a defense attorney—he knew how corruption worked. Pay the right people, and problems disappeared. Complaints got lost. Investigations stalled. Evidence vanished.
I need to know who.
He spent the next two days digging.
The shell company that owned the warehouse led to another shell company, which led to a holding group registered in Nevada. Dead ends. But property tax records showed something interesting: the building had been cited for code violations three times in the past year. Each time, the inspection had been closed without resolution.
Building inspectors could be bribed, but that kind of systematic protection required more than money. It required connections.
Cole called in a favor from his past life—figuratively speaking. The skills he'd developed as a defense attorney translated well to investigation. He knew how to file public records requests, how to cross-reference campaign contributions, how to follow the money.
By Wednesday morning, he had a name: Sergeant William Tanner, Portland Police Bureau.
Tanner worked out of East Precinct, which covered the industrial district where Volk operated. His campaign contributions to the local police union came from a PAC that received funding from the same Nevada holding group. The connection was circumstantial—any defense attorney would tear it apart in court—but Cole wasn't building a court case.
He was planning a murder.
[ADVISORY: SERGEANT WILLIAM TANNER IDENTIFIED AS CORRUPT OFFICIAL. DIRECT PARTICIPANT IN CRIMINAL ENTERPRISE. VALID TARGET IF ELIMINATED DURING OPERATION.]
Cole dismissed the notification. Killing a cop would bring heat he couldn't handle—not yet, not with only one absorption under his belt. Tanner would have to live, but Cole needed to neutralize him during the operation.
Keep him away from the warehouse Thursday night.
He spent Wednesday afternoon surveilling Tanner's house in Gresham. The sergeant had a routine: gym at 5 AM, shift from 7 to 4, drinks at a cop bar on 82nd until 7, home by 8. Thursday would be the same unless something changed it.
Cole made a note to arrange that something.
The news broke Thursday morning.
BODY FOUND IN INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT — POLICE INVESTIGATING
Cole read the article three times, coffee going cold in his hand. The body had been discovered in a drainage culvert half a mile from Volk's warehouse. Male victim, late twenties, severe trauma consistent with animal attack. Police were treating it as suspicious.
The article included a photo of the crime scene—yellow tape, forensic techs in white suits, and two detectives standing near the cordon. One was a heavyset Black man with a tired expression. The other was younger, dark-haired, with the focused intensity of someone who saw things others couldn't.
Nick Burkhardt.
He's investigating a quarter mile from the warehouse. Tonight.
Cole's hands tightened on the phone. If Nick's case led him to Volk's operation, the plan fell apart. Volk would flee or increase security or both. The window would close.
He needed more information.
An hour of monitoring police scanners and local news gave him a clearer picture. The victim was a homeless man—another one, though this death had nothing to do with the Skalenzahne. The injuries suggested Wesen involvement, but not the kind Cole recognized. Something with claws. Something territorial.
Nick's hunting whatever did this. He's not looking for Volk.
But investigations spread. Detectives canvassed neighborhoods, asked questions, knocked on doors. If Nick's canvass reached the warehouse district, someone might talk. Volk's customers included people who couldn't afford police attention. They might not show up tonight.
Or worse—Volk might cancel the event entirely.
Cole checked his watch. Eleven hours until the operation. He needed to know if it was still happening.
The burner phone he'd purchased for the operation sat on his desk. He dialed the number Banks had given him—a separate burner, used only for this purpose.
"Yeah?"
"Is tonight still on?"
A pause. "Far as I know. Why?"
"Cops are working a case nearby. I want to make sure security isn't spooked."
"They're always spooked about something." Banks's voice carried the exhaustion of someone who'd been awake all night with guilt. "But the boss doesn't cancel. Too much money involved."
"Good. We're still on for eleven-thirty?"
"I'll unlock the door after the third fight. Just like we planned."
Cole hung up and stared at the wall.
It's still happening. Tonight.
The relief lasted three seconds before the anxiety returned. Nick Burkhardt was hunting something in the same district where Cole planned to commit arson and murder. The timing couldn't be worse.
Or maybe it's perfect.
The thought came unbidden. If Nick's investigation drew police resources away from Volk's area, there'd be fewer responders when the fire started. The chaos would be more complete. The escape would be easier.
Using a Grimm as a distraction. There's probably irony in that.
Cole spent the afternoon running through the plan again. Entry through the main door as a customer. Banks unlocks the VIP door at 11:30. Cole slips through during the confusion of the third fight. Finds Volk in his office. Kills him. Escapes through the service entrance while the building burns.
Simple. Clean. Professional.
Except nothing is ever simple.
He'd learned that lesson with the Skalenzahne. The plan had been simple then too—chain the door, trap the creature, kill it in the vulnerability window. Instead, he'd nearly died and only survived through desperation and fire.
Fire worked once. It'll work again.
The accelerant was already in his trunk—two gallons of kerosene purchased from a hardware store in Vancouver, Washington, where no one knew his face. The burner phones were charged and tested. The escape route was memorized.
All that remained was the waiting.
At 6 PM, Cole made his move against Sergeant Tanner.
The anonymous tip went to Internal Affairs, claiming Tanner was meeting with a known drug dealer at a specific address at 9 PM. The address was a warehouse across town from Volk's operation—far enough that any investigation would keep Tanner busy for hours.
It wasn't elegant. Tanner would figure out the tip was fake eventually. But by then, Volk's warehouse would be ashes and Cole would be home showering off the smoke.
One variable neutralized.
He ate dinner at the coffee shop on Quimby—the same one where he'd sat three weeks ago, planning his first kill. Heather was working again, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun, her smile as tired and genuine as ever.
"The usual?"
"Please."
She made his espresso with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done it ten thousand times. Cole watched the rain streak down the window and felt something approaching peace.
This is why you're doing this. So people like her can have normal lives without knowing what's really out there.
The thought was almost noble. He didn't believe it entirely—he was doing this because the system demanded it, because the power called to him, because something in his chest had been hungry since the moment he woke up in this body.
But protecting the innocent wasn't nothing. It might not be his primary motivation, but it was there. A line he wouldn't cross. A limit on what he was willing to become.
Tonight, I kill a monster. And I become a little more monstrous in the process.
The espresso was excellent, as always.
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