Chapter IX: Devon

“This is horrible!” Lynette was browsing through the newspaper while stirring her hot chocolate. She had been reading an article on the subject of the Euclid Heights bombings. Then she came across the name Sean Calloway, did not ring a bell, but a picture inset of the young businessman attracted her. He was kinda cute, she thought.

The doorbell rang. It was Paul, it’s time to hit the road for their morning jog. The sight of him was enough for Lynette to forget about the cute guy on the morning paper.

“Hey! You’re up early! Good Morning!” He gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Oh I slept early! I wanted to be ready when you arrive.” She gave him a sheepish smile.

“I see you’re reading the news too! That’s good. So what’s happening around? I was busy lately. Hardly had time to listen or read the paper.”

“Oh! Nothing, really. Except for this bombing the other day, it’s awful! Who could do such a thing?” She took a sip of her choco.

“Yeah that! We were there; it was more shocking than what’s printed in the media.” Paul boasted a little bit.

“Paper is enough for me. Wouldn’t wanna trade places with you. So are we good?”

“Ready when you are madam.” His signature replies always catch her off guard.

In seconds they were lost through the back door.

At the outskirts of Camp Rock one can find a place called the Burdox. It’s a mixture of people from different origins trying to live in harmony. The local government chose this place to put a low-cost housing project not to give assistance to the underprivileged but primarily to keep vagabonds out of uptown streets. All kinds of trade existed here, from drug trafficking, prostitution, arms smuggling to fortune telling. The diverse business cropped out of the need for money and survival. Rizniel wasn’t sure why he’s here but a worker in his hotel recommended someone who can accurately predict dreams.

He stopped in front of a white trailer and a signage in black was hanging on the front door, it says: oneiocritikoi. Whatever it means it made Rizniel hesitated and he hated himself for being here. He knocked lightly on the door.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

“Are you knocking or just trying to rub your fingers on that door?” A lady with a long curly hair appeared on the window.

“Oh! You scared me! I’m sorry. I am not used to this kind of thing. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’m going now.” He started going back to his car

“It’s keeping you occupied.” The old lady cried aloud.

“Huh? Excuse me?” Riz was perplexed.

“Your dreams! It’s bothering you. It is why you have come, is it not?”

“Uhm yes. But...” He was lost.

“Come inside.” She invited him.

He was uncertain, not sure of what to do but his feet started to move back to the trailer.

“Come in, take a sit. You want something to drink? Tea perhaps?”

“No. I’m OK, thank you. Someone told me you decipher dreams? Interpret?” Riz was cautious.

“That’s what the sign says. Isn’t it?”

“What? Oh That! Oni? Whatever... what does it mean?” Finally asking the question.

“Oneiocritikoi. In ancient Greece, that’s what they call us, “interpreter of dreams.” There are many kinds of dreams. It can be classified as a vision, second sight or plain ecstasy. None should be taken lightly. Nature cannot allow something to happen, a dream for instance, without any significance at all. If it exists, it has purpose. We believe dreams are meant to guide, tell or warn us of the future. But it cannot convey the whole situation, thus it still depends on the person on what to do with his visions.” The woman paused momentarily. “Your dream, what is it all about?”

“I see a guy in a black suit. Always the same guy, same suit. But I never saw him before, I mean, not in real life. He tried to kill two of my best friends, in my dream that is.”

“Where are your friends now?”

“One is dead, the other one almost got killed, but he survived. In my dream, he killed Sean and Raymond survived. In reality, Sean survived and Ray’s dead.” Riz wiped the sweat on his forehead. “What do you make out of it?”

“I see a switch of fate, it may signify disguise. You said you don’t know the killer and he is in black suit, brute, strong and secretive. You may actually know your friends’ assailant, someone close, a woman, exuding finesse, and her life is open to the public. Any more details?” the woman was straightforward.

“No. That’s just it. It’s a very short dream. Are you trying to tell me that the killer is in our midst?” He moved forward.

“That’s how I see your dream. It may be a cognitive unchangeable dream, and you can’t do anything about it. But I wouldn’t trust my close friends right now, if I were you.”

Riz stood up and reached for his wallet saying: “That’s impossible! I shouldn’t have come here, This is a waste of time.”

“Take your money with you young boy, you might need it to buy a friend.”

He hurriedly went back to his car.

Lieutenant Collins was looking at the picture of Raymond McMillan’s severed hand at a distance. He shifted to the left and glanced at the picture. He turned right and glanced again. He smiled, not because he was losing his mind but the photo showed something else when viewed from a distance. Up close, the finger prints of Glen Antonio that were all over the hand were all just that, fingerprints. But when viewed from a distance, the prints seemed to be arranged into a pattern. It forms into a fish. Collins could not believe his eyes. A notorious group of assassins originating in Western Europe were infamous because of their accuracy in killing targets and leaving a pattern of a fish or a token formed as a fish, thereafter. The problem, Dan thought, they were believed to have died two decades ago. Nothing was heard from them since. If there were living members of the group, they would be in their 60’s, the youngest.

This could be a copycat, remnant or a new one without knowledge of the other group. Whatever it is, Dan knew he will have his hands full for the week ahead.

Angel took a last look at the picture. It was taken at a seven-star beach resort in Zeebu in one of her happy times with deceased fiancé Raymond. A tear dropped from her left eye. She smiled and kissed the man in the picture.

“I’m so sorry honey.” She hurriedly left her condominium and went straight to the airport. She’d be in Los Angeles the next morning.

Agent Lacre was baffled with the box of evidence in the Euclid Heights bombing. A powerful C4 bomb was used in the Mercedes car and smaller home-made bombs were detonated in the 6 houses that were in the immediate vicinity of the car. It was planned to a tee including the exact location of the car as it exploded. An aerial shot of the bombing will solicit an admiration to the planner of this infamous undoing. The crime scene, as it was surrounded by a yellow police line formed what looked like a fish. The car’s powerful explosion made a huge crater in the ground, the fish’s eyes. Three houses formed the back fin, two houses formed the side fins, and Sean’s house represented the fish’s mouth. Truly, this ingenious work is a masterpiece of a professional. Someone who is so good at his craft is out to get Sean killed, in fashion. Who could it be? Is this his first work? Dennis contemplated.

Christopher Chambers never wanted to be a lawyer, in fact, he used to loathe them. He sees them as money-makers, misrepresents to the highest degree, equal-to-none liars. The latter was so much so that even politicians only ranked second to them. Christopher did not want to be one of them; he wanted to be a policeman. But like 80 percent of the world population, he realized that life wasn’t as advertised when he was just a toddler. He learned the hard way. At the age of three, his father left his mother and four children. A year later, Chris and his siblings found themselves living with their grandparents after their mother took a gun and put two bullets in her head.

They were brought up in an environment of hard work, perseverance, loyalty, and survival. Christopher learned how to deal with people twice even thrice older than him. It was in one of these dealings that he met an old judge who took him home and treated him as his own son. Living with the judge, he became skilled at reasoning, loved the art of reading and excelled in school. When the judge died, he left everything he had to Christopher, including a piece of paper where a simple note said: “Be the best Lawyer! God Bless.”

That was thirty years ago, Christopher Chambers was now the acknowledged best attorney in the northern hemisphere. He was the youngest lawyer to be able to practice in more than 20 jurisdictions, passing all bar exams each state and territory has to offer. His colorful resume included high profile lawsuits such as: the defense of a giant soda company based in Atlanta against an anti-trust lawsuit, defense of the Governor of California against parricide, and the defense of a Multi-National Company, all verdicts were in favor of the defense.

He instantly realized he had not eaten in twenty hours after smelling the aroma coming from the tuna turnover he ordered. Lieutenant Collins took another whiff and it smelled… fish. The best tuna in this part of the world is in that bread; he gobbled it down. He almost choked devouring it; he immediately took a sip of his favorite diet soda. Good thing the ‘aspartame controversy’ didn’t bring the no-sugar industry down; he would have been drinking iced tea instead. He smiled. But then Dan saw the time; he frowned. Agent Lacre is late again. They were to rendezvous in this place 20 minutes ago. He was about to call his associate when Dennis emerged from the back part of the resto.

“I’m really sorry Sir! I got an important call from capitol. Also had the images resized and adjusted the hue and saturation to give us a clearer picture. Anyway, here they are.” Dennis laid the pictures on the table.

“Are you sure this place is safe?” Agent Collins was hesitant to discuss important criminal evidences in a public place. He looked around.

“I know this place like the back of my hand Sir! This table here is for lovers, so no one can see us. Of course, we are in no way lovers, but technically…” Collins gave Lacre a disgusting look. “Uhm, anyway, I’ve instructed the waiters not to disturb us and approach us only if called upon.” Lacre proceeded. “At the ground level, the bombing in Euclid Heights looked like any other; destructive and lethal, nothing fancy. But here are the aerial shots of the crime scene. This was taken before the police line was drawn; here is the scene with the place cordoned. Hello fish!” Agent Lacre played.

“Wow! That’s interesting. Here’s mine.” Collins showed the picture of Raymond’s hand.

“Is that McMillan’s hand?” Lacre was baffled.

“Yeah. Look closely at the prints of our alleged killer, Mr.Antonio.”

“What? I don’t see anything. What am I missing?”

Collins pulled another picture of Ray’s hand, this time with the alleged killer’s prints connected together, forming a fish.

“Whoah! Now this is really worthy of note!” Lacre exclaimed. “What do you make out of these fishes?”

“Have you heard of a group who call themselves Devonians?”

“Devonians? No. Isn’t it a period in geology? Or something like that.”

“Yes it is a Geologic Period in the Paleozoic Era. The group originated in England, Devon, I supposed. Rocks that were studied from the Devonian Period were taken from Devon, England. They were like a family of assassins, at first, grew and became notorious for perfect executions of people of stature, including Pope Xavier the Fifth, JFK and Gandhi. Don’t argue, they were all covered up.” Collins took a deep breath before proceeding. “Interpol did a crackdown against the group sometime in the late 80’s. They were believed to have been caught and executed explaining the group’s sudden disappearance. Those who survived eventually retired.”

“Let me guess, they all love fish?” Lacre still bewildered.

“The Devonian Period is sometimes referred to as the evolution of fish. Fish is the group’s insignia. The pope was killed by putting poison on his favorite dish, Japanese sashimi; Gandhi died across a pool designed to form a fish; and JFK was riding it, the Limousine 63 dubbed The Shark.” Collins concluded.

“Sir, are you trying to maintain a sense of parallelism here by eating tuna turnover?” Lacre joked, which drew a smirk from his superior.

The muscular man played the tape again. It was the 10th time and nobody was even giving interest on the monitor. What was once a nauseating picture, at least to most of the viewers, was now a casual sex scene. Lester was even aroused. The memory of that night made its way back to him; every touch sent chills, every kiss stopped time and every second recorded.

“Those are quite good moves you’ve got there Mr. de Ocampo! I must say if you are not a personality, this video would have made a great porno.” Mr. Branch acknowledged the athleticism of the councilor, sarcastically.

“What is it you want? Are you a fag? You want me to teach you those moves? It’s gonna cost you!” Lester retorted.

The businessman grunted. He was expecting the first councilor to play tough. Lester, gay as he is, cannot easily be swayed into doing things not of his liking. Unless one has an ace, one should not try to throw his weight around him. He will easily get around it.

“I’m straight, let’s be clear with that. I don’t give a damn whether you like your eggs with dogs or not, it’s your preference. But we live in a world where things that you do are not accepted, at least not yet, by the majority. Lest you forget, we’re in a catholic-dominated state. You can either accept and play with my terms or say goodbye to your political career.” Marlowe is all business now.

“I’m listening.” Lester gave in.

“I am not a fan of Mr. Villaluz, your mayor, I suppose you know that.”

Lester nodded

“It is a common knowledge that he wants you to succeed him in his office this coming election so he would still have a say in the local politics through you. He is also eyeing a seat in the state legislature. I want him to lose and I want him out of the picture here in Camp Rock. “

“I’m sorry Mr. Branch, how are these things connected with my sexcapades?” another smart-ass question from Lester which solicited some chuckle from Marlowe’s thugs. A sharp look from their boss quieted them immediately.

“You are not going to run for Mayor. I’ll field my own kin. That’ll eliminate Villaluz’ clout in the city. You will run for state legislator opposing your protégé instead, that’ll pissed him off to death.” The evil plan paraded.

“You know I can’t do that to the mayor! He was…”

“Then I’ll tell you what I can do, I will alert the media about a sex video scandal involving the first councilor of Camp Rock and the Governor of the state of the Philippines!” Marlowe yelled.