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Subject: {ASSM} STORY: SU2 - The Goblin (FF) [1/2]
Date: Wed,  5 Dec 2001 16:10:03 -0500
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Title: The Goblin
Author: JT Langdon (TrekkerJT@aol.com)
Fandom: Special Unit 2
Pairing: Kate/F
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A goblin wreaks havoc in Chicago
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I just took them 
out for a spin and made them do naughty things.

"The Goblin"
by JT Langdon

The original Three Happiness Restaurant on Cermak in Chinatown
was little more than a hole in the wall but it had the best mushu
pork in the world. I was there to meet a friend. My name is Kate
Benson. I'm 28, single, and a detective with a division of the
Chicago Police Department called Special Unit 2. We don't bust
crack dealers like Narcotics or roust hookers like Vice. Special Unit
2 chases Links . . . as in missing links: monsters, demons, the kind
of creatures most people think only exist in movies or Stephen King
novels. Believe me, I wish those things were just fiction. I would
sleep better at night. 

It was November in Chicago and my face was raw from being out
in the cold too long. I probably looked like Raggedy Ann. Not
exactly the impression I wanted to leave. I just hoped the tight
black turtleneck and matching slacks I had on under my coat would
draw attention away from my apple cheeks.

I walked in off the street at ten after one. I was late. Not too late,
but late enough that I wouldn't have blamed Jessie for thinking I
was a no-show and bailing on me. But she was there, at the table in
the far left corner. It was easy to spot her. Not because the place
wasn't that crowded (which it wasn't) but because Jessie Turnbow
was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my life.
 
Jessie Turnbow was head counsel for the Kalota tribe. I met her in
connection with a recent case. Dragons, grave robbers, human
sacrifices. Oh my. Run of the mill for SU2. The silver lining of that
case was meeting Jessie. She was a stunning women with long,
black hair and a slender figure that I took note of the minute we
met. But then it was hard not to notice. The first time I saw Jessie
she was standing in her office wearing a half-shirt and tight jeans.
That image still haunted me. She looked just as good now, though,
in a dark blue pullover sweater. I couldn't see under the table but I
did notice the leather jacket hanging on the back of her chair. Very
nice. Jessie and leather went together like beer and skittles.

I told the hostess I was meeting someone and didn't need to be
seated then walked over to the table in the corner. Jessie looked up
from the menu in front of her and smiled.

"Well hi there," Jessie said.

I shrugged out of my jacket, draped it over the back of the chair
next to me, then sat down. "Sorry I'm late."

Jessie dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Not a problem."

"You're very patient," I said.

Jessie said, "Some things are worth waiting for."

I blushed. Good thing my cheeks were already rosy. She didn't need
to know the control she had over me two minutes into our first
date. I picked up a menu and looked it over. "Do you know what
you want?"

"Yep," Jessie said, grinning.

I blushed again. Damn her! How did she do that? "I keep meaning
to try something new when I come here, but I always end up
getting the same thing."

"It all looks good," Jessie said.

I looked at her. "Yeah. It does."

Now it was her turn to blush.

The waitress came over with a pot of tea then took our order. I had
the mushu pork. Jessie ordered chicken fried rice. We agreed to
split an egg roll. 

When the waitress left, I asked, "How's the case going?"

Jessie sighed. "Not so good, actually."

I read a little about it in the Tribune. Jessie was defending a Kalota
teenager for burning a flag in protest at a Bears/Redskins game at
Soldier Field. In light of recent events it seemed in bad taste, but it
wouldn't have been more than a First Amendment case except that
a part of the stadium caught fire as a result. Now the kid was faced
with destruction of property charges and reckless endangerment of
human life. The kid insisted he was innocent. Jessie had her work
cut out for her. But I had no doubt she was up the challenge. I told
her so.

"Thanks," Jessie said. She poured herself a cup of a tea and with a
nod from me filled my cup, too. "How about you? Anything
interesting going on?"

I laughed. There was always something interesting going on with
me since I was assigned to Special Unit 2. Unfortunately, I couldn't
talk about it. That made idle chitchat a bitch sometimes. But Jessie
had seen enough not to expect that from me.

"Busy, as always," I said.  

Jessie smiled at that. God, was she ever gorgeous! I couldn't stop
looking at her. She didn't seem to mind. We gazed at each other
across the table like a couple of teenagers.

"I'm glad you came," Jessie said.

I said, "I'm glad you called."

Jessie stared into her cup of tea for a moment then looked up at me.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you, Kate."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. My head was telling me one
thing, my heart was telling me another. And the warmth between
my legs was telling them both to butt out! Our waitress came to the
rescue. She set down two steaming plates heaped with food. Jesus.
There was enough for six people, at least. The waitress smiled at us
and left.

"Think we have enough here?" I cut the egg roll in the middle and
gave Jessie half.

"For an army," Jessie said. "Thanks."

The food smelled wonderful. We both dug in at the same time,
laughing at each other through mouthfuls of egg roll. It was nice to
be with someone who wasn't timid about food. 

"This is so good," I mumbled.

"Mmhmm," Jessie murmured. She pointed to the fried rice with her
fork. "You should try this. Delicious."

"You don't mind?"

Jessie shook her head. "Please."

I scooped some chicken fried rice onto my plate and tried it. It was
Heaven. "Oh. That is wonderful."

"Didn't I tell you?" Jessie took another bite and got a dreamy look
on her face. "You know, sometimes I think food is better than sex."

I shot her a look.

"I said sometimes," Jessie said.

We shared a laugh. Then I said, "You should try mine."

Jessie nearly choked on her fried rice.

"I meant the mushu pork," I said. I watched her take some. She had
nice hands. I don't know why I noticed that about her in particular,
but it just struck me that she had nice hands. I could easily imagine
them exploring my naked body. But did I really need to entertain
thoughts like that? Jessie tried the pork.

"Mmmm," she purred.

I laughed. She was in ecstasy. "Yeah. I guess you have a point
about food and sex. Although lately I haven't had anything to
compare food with."

"Not for lack of opportunity, I'm sure," Jessie said. "You're very
attractive."

I blushed and tried to cover by sipping some tea. It was too late.
She noticed. I said, "Thank you. I find you very attractive, too."

We stared at each other. It was one of those rare, magical moments
where time stops and the rest of the world seems to disappear. Oh,
sure, the cop in me was aware of the black couple at the table in
front of us, and the busboy shucking snowpeas in the corner. But
those were just vague shapes in the distance. Jessie was all I really
saw. Her eyes . . . her lips. That was the whole of the universe from
where I sat.

The moment was shattered when my cell phone started ringing.
Shit. Not now, damn it! I fished the cell phone out of my jacket
pocket and answered it with a terse, "Hello?"

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" It was O'Malley. 

"Yuh huh," I said.

"That's a shame," O'Malley said.

I managed to smile. Nick O'Malley could be a real pain in the ass
sometimes, but he was basically a sweet guy and the best partner I'd
ever been teamed with. There was an ever-present tone of mischief
in his voice but I could still tell when he meant business.

"What's up?" I asked.

"We have a problem at the Art Institute," O'Malley said.

"The admission price is outrageous?"

"Two problems, then. You better get down here."

We hung up. I looked at Jessie.

"You have to go." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sorry about this."

"Not a problem," Jessie said. But she sounded disappointed. "Guess
we should get this to go."

The waitress boxed up our leftovers and returned with the check.
Jessie reached for her purse but I put up a hand to stop her.

"This is on O'Malley," I said. I took a twenty out of my wallet and
put it on the table.

Jessie gave me a confused look. "Your partner? I don't understand."

"Private joke," I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me. It made her look even sexier. I didn't
think that was possible, but the proof was staring me in the face.

The Chinatown parking lot was kitty-corner from Three Happiness
Restaurant. I walked Jessie to her car. We stood there for a
moment in the cold, just looking at each other.

"I really am sorry," I said again.

Jessie smiled. "Stop apologizing. It's okay. Besides, now I have an
excuse to ask you out again."

"I'd really like that, I said.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

We shared another long, intense look. I wanted to kiss her. Bad.
But I didn't think I could stop with just a kiss, and I didn't have time
to take her into the back-seat for a little grope and feel session. I
would just have to wait.

"I better go," Jessie said. The sigh in her voice told me her thoughts
echoed mine. "Call you later?"

I nodded. She got in her car and I watched her drive off. Later
wouldn't arrive soon enough for me. 

* * * * *

The European Painting galleries at the Art Institute of Chicago
were all cordoned off with yellow police tape. I showed a
uniformed officer my badge, ducked under the tape, and headed
inside. There was already a team from the Special Unit 2 forensic
division going over the place in their usual, methodical fashion.
Nothing ever got past them. 

Right away I could see something was wrong. A number of the
paintings in the gallery had been disturbed. Some were hanging
crookedly on the wall, others were on the floor. A statue had been
knocked on its side. The velvet ropes that were meant to keep
visitors at a respectable distance from the artwork were in a tangled
heap in the corner. Someone . . . or something . . . had thrown a
real tantrum. 

Since SU2 had been called in, I had good reason to believe this was
the result of a something, not a someone. 

I spotted Nick on the other side of the room. He was talking to a
Latina woman in a museum security guard uniform. She seemed a
little shaken. The gallery echoed with the clickety-clack of my boots
on hardwood floor as I headed over to them.

"What have we got?" I asked.

O'Malley smiled at me then turned back to the guard. "Maria, this is
my partner Detective Benson."

I nodded. 

"Tell her what you just told me," O'Malley said.

Maria took a deep breath and released it. "I was doing my usual
walkthrough when I heard the alarm go off. I came in here to see
what was going on and I found Gustave on the floor."

"She means Gustave Cailliebotte," O'Malley chimed in. "He's a
painter."

"Thanks."

"Hey, I thought she was talking about the other guard on duty."

I ignored him and looked at Maria. "Go on."

She said, "Anyway, I saw that several paintings were out of place.
And then . . . one of them moved."

"Moved?" I asked. 

Maria nodded. "It flew off the wall and skidded across the floor. All
by itself!"

I glanced at O'Malley then asked Maria, "What happened next?"

"I got a little closer, to see what the hell was going on. Then I felt
something bump into me. But I know there wasn't anyone else in
the room. I'm telling you, this place is haunted or something."

"Okay," I said. "Well, one of these officers here is going to take
down an official statement from you."

Maria eyed my skeptically. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Of course not."

"Yes, you do," Maria said. "But I know what I saw. That painting
moved all by itself."

I nodded and walked off with O'Malley. Once we were out of
earshot, I said to him, "If only she were crazy. How the hell are we
going to explain this to her?"

"I'm more concerned about what we're dealing with," O'Malley
said.

I looked at him. "Poltergeist?"

"Fits the MO," he said, "but there's no history of poltergeist activity
here."

I started to answer when one of the uniformed forensics officers
approached us. 

"I think you should see this, Detectives," the officer said.

We followed him through an archway into the next gallery. Like the
gallery next to it, the place was a mess. More paintings on the floor,
ropes tied in knots. Sure looked like the work of a poltergeist. 

The officer pointed us in the direction of Georges Seurat's "A
Sunday on La Grande Jatte." There was some kind of thick black
gunk smeared all over it. I donned a pair of latex gloves and moved
closer, touching the disgusting goo with the tip of my finger. It felt
like toothpaste.

"What the hell is that?" I wondered out loud. "Well, bag it."

The officer from forensics nodded. "Yes, Dectective."

* * * * *

The squad room buzzed with the usual chatter. There was never a
dull moment in Special Unit 2. Links never slept. That was
something we told ourselves to remind us of the job we faced. I
finished up a preliminary report on the Art Institute incident then
stared at the phone and thought about calling Jessie. It was after
four. She might still be at her office on the Kalota reservation. I
wanted to apologize again for having to bail on her. And I
desperately wanted to hear her voice. 

But I heard Captain Page's voice instead. "Care to join us,
Benson?"

I looked up. Captain Richard Page was a tall, broad-shouldered,
middle-aged black man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bad
disposition. He had a false hand covered with black rubber that
made him look like a villain out of a James Bond movie. But Page
was a damn good cop, a legend in the Chicago PD. Until I was
assigned to SU2, I thought he retired. But that was cover. Page had
been tapped to head Special Unit 2. I couldn't think of a better
person for the job.

"Yes, sir," I said. 

A group of officers, uniformed and plain clothes, were huddled
around the work station where Jonathan the resident Link expert
held court. The little twerp was probably smarter than all of us put
together but he was more annoying than a flock of mosquitoes at a
picnic. I moved to the front of the group to stand with O'Malley. 

"All right, Jonathan," Captain Page said. 

Jonathan held up a black a videocassette. "Anyone know what this
is?"

O'Malley said, "Let me guess. It's 'Sorority Babes in Heat, Volume
Seven.'"

"Wrong, supercop, " Jonathan said, sounding a little too smug.
"'Sorority Babes in Heat' only has six volumes."

Captain Page tapped his faux-hand on the desk impatiently. "Get on
with it, Jonathan."

"Right, " Jonathan said. He popped the tape into a VCR. "This is
the security surveillance tape from the Art Institute." The tape
started to play. He fast-forwarded it to 12:32pm, that afternoon. It
showed the European gallery just like it should be, paintings on the
wall, statues upright. Visitors walked in and out of frame. Nothing
unusual. Suddenly, one of the paintings flew off the wall. Then
another. An alarm sounded. Maria came rushing in and looked
around. Another painting flew of the wall. She screamed.
Jonathan stopped the tape there.

"So, it is a poltergeist," I said. 

Jonathan shook his head. "I thought so too, at first. But a
poltergeist leaves a spectral imprint. Not visible to the naked eye,
but detectable by the computer. I analyzed the tape and came up
with nade. So I watched the tape again, a frame at a time. Look at
this." He rewound the tape and played it again in slow-motion. At
first it didn't look any different than before. But when the first
painting flew of the wall a dark shape could be seen standing next
to it. The image was there for only a second.

"What the hell was that?" O'Malley asked. 

Jonathan rewound the tape again, played it back, then hit pause
when the dark stop appeared on the monitor. He tapped a few keys
on his computer keyboard to enhance the image. Though it still
looked a little fuzzy, when he was done I could see some kind of
creature standing in the gallery. It was short, probably no more than
three feet high, and had a grotesque, twisted face. 

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is a goblin," Jonathan said.

I stared at the little bugger. So that was a goblin. Ugh. "What do
we know about them?"

"Goblins are one of the oldest species of Links," Jonathan said.
"They are the classic imp. Like to cause trouble."

"And they do a good job of it," I said.

"Goblins are also quick," Jonathan said. "They are capable of
moving so fast we can't see them."

O'Malley stared at the goblin on the monitor. "What about that stuff
we scraped off the Seurat painting? Did you figure out what it
was?"
 
"Yeah," Jonathan said. "It was, uh, guano."

I looked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Goblin poo," Jonathan said.

"Oh now that is just gross," I said.

The captain nodded. "It's also important physical evidence. That
same substance was found at crimes scenes at both The Field
Museum and Soldier Field."

That made me perk up. "Soldier Field?"

"It's where the Bears lose every Sunday," O'Malley said.

"Listen up, people," Captain Page said. "I want to catch this thing
sooner rather than later. Goblins thrive on mischief . . . mayhem.
And there has been enough of that lately. This city is ripe for panic
and I would like to prevent that from happening."

I looked at the frozen image on the monitor. "Do we have any idea
where this thing might strike next? 

Jonathan became the center of attention again. His expression was
answer enough.

"Then we'll just have to be on our toes," Captain Page said.

I nodded.

* * * * *

(continued)

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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