Typo Squad, page 12
part #1 of Typo Squad Series
Dick looked away as quickly as he could, but still felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. He felt Anna’s hand on his shoulder, and he nodded to let her know he was all right. With quick hand gestures, he silently warned the rest of the team that all of the rooms likely had typos and to proceed with caution.
They moved on, with Dick only glancing in the rooms now, but every patient appeared to have died by typo. At the end of the corridor, another hallway cut across, so they could go either left or right.
Again, Dick gestured to indicate that Thea and Ewan should go left with him, and Big and Anna should head right. He also pointed to his earpiece, indicating that if anything went wrong, they should call. Nods all around, and Dick, Thea, and Ewan forged ahead.
They came to a set of double doors with a keycard lock, but the doors were chocked open by a wheelchair. Thea held the door as Dick rolled the chair out of the way, and they found themselves in a carpeted hallway with a less industrial feel.
The rooms down here were all offices—some for doctors, some for administrators, and others for support staff. Dick, Thea, and Ewan glanced in them as they passed, but they were exactly the same as the patient rooms. Not a single soul alive.
A sudden burst of static in Dick’s earpiece brought them all to a sudden halt.
“Big?” Dick whispered. “Big? Are you all right?”
“Motherfucker!” came Big’s filtered voice.
Dick looked at Thea and Ewan, and they all knew what it meant in an instant. They jumped up and ran through the double doors, passing the intersection with the main hallway and following the corridor that Big and Anna had taken.
“Dick!” came Tanka’s voice through the earpiece. “Dick, what’s going on?”
“Big!” Dick shouted, no longer caring whether or not they were heard, ignoring Tanka. “Big!”
“Cocksucker!” came Big’s voice again, only this time it echoed through their earpieces and down the hallway.
“Shit!” Big said. He was getting louder as they moved in closer. “Asshole!”
The three of them rounded a final corner and stopped dead.
It was another short hallway leading into a cavernous room, and unlike the rest of the building, the lights were on. Scrawled in jagged red letters on every surface—walls, floor, ceiling, everywhere—were typos.
RECIEVE said one. VALENTIME’S DAY said another. FOURTY. AQUAINTANCE. GUIDENCE. INDEPENDANT. LIASON. There was nowhere to look without seeing one.
Big stood rooted to the spot where the corridor met the room. “Dildos!” he shouted. “Douchebag!” Anna was on her knees next to him, her arms wrapped around her midsection, vomiting copiously.
Before Dick realized what was happening, he felt the whole room go hazy and out of focus. He was suddenly euphoric, and laughed as Thea tried to catch him as he tumbled to his knees. He heard Thea’s moan and heavy breathing on one side of him and Ewan’s high-pitched, hysterical giggling on the other. None of them had ever been exposed to so many typos in one place at one time before.
Dick fought with all his might to stay conscious, but it was no use. He slipped into darkness, hearing Big shout “Bugfucker!” as he did.
The first thing he was aware of was shallow, quick breathing next to him. Dick was slowly making his way back to consciousness, but it was a slippery eel he couldn’t quite grab. He focused on the breathing as an anchor, a touchstone back to the real world.
His eyes wouldn’t open just yet, but at least he was aware of his eyes. That was something. In fact, the left one itched, and as he reached up to scratch it, it came to him that his arms were tied down. The shallow breathing continued, like a woman riding the first real contraction of childbirth.
He forced his eyes open and looked around.
He was in a padded cell, seated on the floor across from the door, which was wide open. He tried to move his hand again, and realized he was in a straightjacket, wrapping his arms tight around his torso.
He turned to his right, where the shallow breathing was coming from. There was his brother, on the floor right next to him, in his own straightjacket, and his eyes were wide with panic. He was hyperventilating.
“Chicago?” Dick asked blearily. “What’s going on?”
“He’s—gonna—kill—me,” Chicago wheezed with each panicked breath.
The look of terror on Chicago’s face was like a splash of cold water.
“Who?” Dick asked.
“Nym,” Chicago answered. “Don’t—want—to—die.”
“Okay, listen to me,” Dick said. “Chicago? I need you to listen. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? No one’s going to kill you today.”
“Can’t—get—out.”
“The door’s wide open,” Dick said. “Come on, come with me.”
He rolled to his side and got his legs under him. As he pushed up off the floor, the straightjacket suddenly tightened, and he was yanked back down. He looked over at Chicago’s straightjacket and saw a chain running from it to the wall behind him.
“Huh,” Dick said. “All right, we’ll have to do this the hard way.” He began twisting his shoulders, trying to get his arms loose.
Suddenly Chicago’s breathing intensified, though it didn’t seem possible. “Too—late,” he wheezed.
Dick looked up and saw two burly, white-coated orderlies enter the cell. One of them unhooked the chain holding Chicago to the wall and then the two of them hoisted him to his feet. Chicago began to struggle, digging in the heels of his bare feet on the faded linoleum floor.
“Hey!” Dick shouted. “Hey! Let him go!”
Chicago made grunting noises and whimpered as the orderlies dragged him forward. He was thrashing as much as he could, which wasn’t much.
“Dick!” he called over his shoulder. “Dick!”
He was dragged into the shadows of the hallway beyond the cell. Dick could only make out the fading outlines of the orderlies’ uniforms.
“Chicago!” Dick twisted frantically, straining as hard as he could against his confinement, but it was no use. He wasn’t making any progress.
“Chicago!” he called again, leaning forward so he could brace his feet on the wall behind him and push with his legs against the chain. It had no effect, other than to make the straightjacket even tighter.
Dick could hear his brother jibbering from down the hallway, and then there was a metallic clunk, as if a door opened.
“Nooooooo,” Chicago cried pitifully. “Nooooooo!”
There was a horrible silence that seemed to hold its own eternity as Dick strained to hear what was happening.
Then a chilling scream of agony filled the hallway.
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhgh!”
The sound filled Dick’s veins with ice water. It held for nearly half a minute, then cut short. It was followed by another echoing silence.
Dick was numb with shock. He slumped back against the wall behind him and stared straight into nothingness.
“Chicago,” he said, barely a whisper.
He didn’t know how long he sat there. Minutes seemed to stretch to years as he turned it over repeatedly in his mind. His brother was dead, and there had been nothing he could do to stop it.
He barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching the cell. When he looked up, a figure stood in the doorway. He was dressed in an impeccable black suit with a purple carnation in the buttonhole. His face was obscured by a black mask, a silver asterisk gleaming in the center of the forehead.
“You,” Dick spat.
“A genuine pleasure seeing you again, Richard,” Nym said cheerfully, though his voice was still distorted. “Comfortable?”
“Anton Nym,” Dick said, still struggling against his bonds, “you are under arrest.”
“Oh my,” Nym said. “Whatever for?”
“Killing my brother,” Dick said gravely, “for a start.”
“Yes, well, you see, you can’t really arrest me for that.” Nym crouched down so his face was level with Dick’s.
“Fine,” Dick said, suddenly furious. “I’m not going to arrest you. I’m going to kill you.”
“Please try to understand, Richard,” Nym said, now dropping down into a comfortable cross-legged sitting position. “There are things of which you are simply not aware. It was, in fact, utterly necessary to do away with Chicago.”
Nym’s casual demeanor was making Dick crazy.
Dick’s expression turned into a savage grin. “Yeah? Was it utterly necessary to do away with Superscript, too?”
Nym stared at him, suddenly frozen. Only his left eyelid twitched, ever so slightly. Otherwise he might have been a statue.
“What?” Nym said, suddenly bereft of the confidence and swagger with which he’d entered the cell.
Dick lunged forward as far as the chain would allow. “You killed Superscript, you sick son of a bitch!” he howled. “Just a kid, and you shot him dead in the street! You murdered innocent people at the Grammatica, in cold blood!”
Nym turned his head slightly to the left, as though hearing a high-pitched noise that was beyond everyone else’s range. His stare was vacant, glassy.
“No,” he said, very softly. “No, that’s not right.”
Dick studied Nym carefully. He suddenly seemed entirely vulnerable, almost childlike. What the hell was going on?
Nym turned back toward Dick. “Did you say—?” he began, but before he could finish, a booming voice filled the hallway behind them.
“Anton Nym!” the voice called. “Let me see your hands! Now!”
A wave of delirious relief spread through Dick’s body at the sound of Tanka’s voice, still a ways down the corridor, but close enough to have his weapon trained on Nym. He watched as Nym turned and stood, casually raising his hands. Whatever had come over Nym was now gone, and his original swagger seemed to have returned.
“Tanka!” Dick called happily. “You son of a bitch!”
“Dick? You all right?”
“Yeah! Just bag this asshole, will you?”
“Don’t worry,” Tanka said. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Lieutenant Tanka,” Nym said, his voice light and friendly. “Welcome. So pleased you could join us.”
“Put your hands on your head, turn around, and get on your knees,” Tanka commanded. His voice was closer now, though Dick could still only see Nym’s outline in the doorway.
“Yes, of course, I’ll be delighted to,” Nym said, still in that maddeningly friendly, unconcerned tone. “But before I do, may I ask how you got past the typo room I spent so much time setting up?”
“As it happens,” Tanka said, closer still, “I have no tic.”
“Really?” Nym said, sounding genuinely interested. “That’s fascinating. Exceedingly rare, as I understand it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an exquisite butterfly. It’s been great sharing this special moment with you, but now I need you to put your hands on your head—”
“Turn around and get on my knees, yes, I remember,” said Nym. “There’s just one other thing before I do.”
Blam!
The single shot rang out, impossibly loud in the confined silence of the wing. Dick waited for Nym to stagger and fall, but he did neither. He simply put his hands back down at his sides. There was a loud, wet thump in the hallway beyond.
“Thank you,” Nym said. “Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”
He turned back to face Dick and stepped just inside the doorway. After a moment, Doctor Paye stepped in next to him, holding a large, still-smoking handgun.
“You,” Dick whispered.
“No tic,” she said to Nym, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I would have loved to study him. A shame, really.”
She nodded toward Dick, then turned and looked lovingly at Nym.
“Is everything all right in here, my sweet?” she cooed, placing a finger gently under his chin.
“It is indeed,” Nym replied, snaking an arm around the doctor’s waist and pulling her close. They smiled at one another.
“Chicago trusted you!” Dick spat at Doctor Paye. “And you let this sick fuck murder him!”
Doctor Paye merely shrugged. Dick thrashed in anger, but his restraints showed no signs of giving.
“Listen, Richard,” Nym said, turning his attention back to Dick, “the good doctor and I will be heading out now. Tonight is a truly special night. Do you know why?”
Dick was speechless with rage and numb shock. All he could do was stare.
“It’s the anniversary, Richard,” Nym said. “Of the night you and Chicago and the rest of your team were on that rooftop. That’s where we’ll meet you.”
A concussive thud! vibrated through the floor from somewhere else in the building, followed by shouting voices.
“Time to go,” Nym said to Doctor Paye. “See you soon, Richard.”
They disappeared through the doorway, and Dick heard another door squeal open and slam.
“Agent Shonnary!” a voice echoed through the building. “Can you hear me?”
“I’m here!” Dick called out, leaning as far forward as the chain would allow. “Down here!”
Multiple footsteps approached. Dick could hear one of the voices calling out to EMTs as they passed Tanka. Two cops ran into the cell, and Dick recognized his old friend Cody, the officer from the baseball stadium.
“Jesus.” Cody immediately dropped to his knees and started undoing Dick’s restraints.
“Anton Nym and one of the psychologists from this place, Doctor Paye,” Dick said quickly. “They just left. Headed out through a fire door, by the sound of it.”
The other officer nodded and ran out of the cell. Dick turned to Cody. “Is my team all right?”
“Yeah,” Cody said, struggling with the straps that wrapped around Dick’s back. “Alive and well. All trussed up, just like you, in another cell.”
“How did you guys get in here?” Dick asked. “How did you get past that typo room?”
“Technology,” Cody replied. “We sent in a robot with a detonation charge. Blew it up and scorched every surface in that room so no typos were visible.”
“Hmph,” Dick said.
“What?” Cody untied the final strap.
“Just don’t get it in your head that machines are better at dealing with typos than people are,” Dick grumbled.
Cody laughed. He pulled the straightjacket off of Dick and helped him to his feet.
“Tanka?” Dick asked soberly.
Cody turned his head to the side and called over his shoulder. “Sullivan!”
“A little busy right now!” a voice called back.
“How’s Tanka?”
“Alive!” Sullivan called back. “We’re loading him up! I don’t know what he’s made of, but whatever it is, they should make vests out of it for you guys!”
Dick took a few steps toward the door, then stumbled sideways. Cody caught him before he hit the floor.
“Whoa, easy tiger,” Cody said, guiding Dick back to a sitting position. “You’ve been through a lot. Maybe we should have the EMTs take a look at you, too.”
Dick shook his head. “No time. There’s someplace I need to be.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He put a bracing hand on Cody’s shoulder. “It’s a private matter.”
More footsteps approached, and Thea, Big, Ewan, and Anna flooded the small cell. They were all sweaty, and Anna had angry red welts on her shoulders, but overall, none of them looked the worse for wear.
“Dick!” Thea cried, and dove into his arms. She held him tight, and he patted her back reassuringly.
“Are you okay?” she asked, releasing him.
“Yeah,” he replied. “You guys?”
They all nodded.
“We just saw them wheeling Tanka out,” Ewan said gravely. “What happened?”
Dick recounted everything.
“Oh God,” Thea said. “I’m so sorry about Chicago.”
Dick nodded. “Me, too. But we’ll deal with that once Nym is behind bars. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Dick led the way out of the cell. He paused to shake Cody’s hand. “Thanks for your help, buddy.”
“Any time,” Cody replied. “Look, if things go sideways wherever it is you’re headed, we’re only a phone call away.”
Dick nodded. He stepped out into the hallway and made his way past a pool of Tanka’s smeared blood.
“Where are we going, Dick?” Big asked.
“The library,” Dick said simply.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The team ran past the crowd of officers gathered out in front of Fula Ord and piled into the SUV. Dick hit the lights and siren, and squealed out of the parking lot, heading toward the sparkling lights of downtown Las Palabras.
“Thea,” Dick said, his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the fast-rolling road.
“Yeah?”
“I think it’s time I told you what happened that night,” Dick said evenly. “Five years ago.”
He glanced up in the rearview mirror. Ewan, Anna, and Big were all watching him carefully.
“Okay then,” Thea said from the passenger seat. “Go ahead.”
Dick took a deep breath. “We’d been tracking one of the biggest errorist cells in the country,” he began. “Led by a profoundly disturbed woman who called herself Kay Oss. One night, we got a tip that Oss was planning something big, and that she’d set up shop on the roof of the Las Palabras Public Library. Tanka sent us in—me, Chicago, Ewan, Big, Anna, and Red Penny.
“We made our way up to the roof, not really sure what to expect or what we’d find. When we got there, we found Kay Oss standing next to the parapet that overlooked Main Street. She had a line of soldiers on either side of her, and behind them, stacked up all along the edge of the roof, were enormous piles of paper.”
“Piles of paper?” Thea asked. “I don’t understand.”
“She’d printed up thousands and thousands of flyers with some of the worst typos you can imagine on them,” Dick said grimly. “If we moved on her, she’d have her men knock the piles over, where they’d float down into the street and into the hands of who knows how many people.”
