Mahoney looked at the radio annoyed. He was in no mood for pranks. He grabbed the microphone and responded. "Whoever you are, you are talking on a police channel. That’s a federal offense. If you don't get off right now, we will trace this transmission back to you and prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”
He was bluffing about the tracing part. It took a lot of work and a lot of people to triangulate a sender’s location. He was tired and not in the mood for jokes. He had better ways to waste his time.
Then the voice said, "I want to report a murder at 1321 Desolation Avenue. A man was shot."
“If this is a joke, you’re asking fer it, lady!” Mahoney said.
“It’s no joke. Send a car there and you will find a body.” She replied.
"Well that's a different matter.” He tried to keep her talking for more information, but she cut the transmission. He called all available cars to investigate.
Before long, three police cars arrived at the scene. At first glance, it looked like a massacre with all the bodies lying around. It took awhile to establish the actual murder victim. Eventually, they found the body and identified him. His name was Harold Moss. He was a former occupant of the Paragon and helped organize the rest of the tenants in their protests. The police knew he was an agitator who ran with an unsavory crowd. Plus, if he was from this part of town, he was guilty of something. He must have got mixed up in a deal gone bad. They figured it was just vermin killing vermin. This kind of thing happened all the time in Citadel City.
When all the unconscious victims of Betty’s dart gun had finally woke, they supported the police suspicions’. However, they couldn’t quite explain what had happened to them. They were all members of the Big Buckle Construction Company. It was a respectable outfit, so the police figured they must have run into the wrong person while working late. They were good guys and there was no need investigate them further. They assumed their attacker was also the murderer.
Betty had been living on the foreclosed farm. She felt like it was hers even though she didn't have the deed. It was doubtful that she would be discovered. The area around her was nothing but abandoned farmland, and no one other than her wanted it. But as an added precaution she was careful to hide her presence. If anyone happened along the old dirt road that went past her house, they may have suspected the old McDougal farm was haunted.
“There were ghosts here.” She thought as she walked the property to burn off the residual adrenaline from the evening’s adventure.
“Everywhere I looked I saw my parents. Every inch of the homestead had a memory attached to it. That was where dad found the Indian arrowhead. Mom used to hang the wash on clotheslines over there. One night, when I was supposed to be sleeping, I saw mom and dad having a moonlight picnic by that crooked tree. The house was full of memories too, but I avoid going in there. I decided to live in the barn instead.”
She entered the barn and walked around the big black car. She petted it as she passed by. “Don’t mind me. You just go ahead and sleep. After what you went through tonight, you deserve a long rest.”
She continued through the space. “I cobbled together all the things I needed in the barn. It had become a garage, a hideout, a vault, a secret layer, a dressing room and a home.”
She reached a pile of books and maps strewn on a table. “I was even starting to build a decent library. Although reading by candlelight wasn’t the best option. I’ll worry about electricity once I own the farm again. Besides I liked playing with fire. “
She lit a candle and looked into the flame. It seemed like a living thing. It felt like company.
“Tonight’s mission was a failure. I didn’t get the banker, but I must figure out a way to burn him.”
The Citadel Bank was a multifaceted financial institution. It had a singular focus, growth through profit. It had a long history that withstood a civil war, a world war, and more than one market crash. It never fully closed its doors during the depression, not to its more affluent clients anyway. They were steps ahead of the public in the nation's economic recovery. They were thriving.
Everything inside the Citadel Bank was gigantic, except the customers. They looked like dolls in a wrong scale house while standing at teller windows. The grand environment looked like a cathedral or the Parthenon. The room had rows of tall pillars, high ceilings, and veiny marble floors. The bank had several departments covering a wide range of services. They could facilitate any monetary necessity, scheme, or investment. It even hosted the Citadel Stock exchange.
Two floors up was the commercial banking department. The description didn't quite cover all of the of the department's activities. It was a place where men of power and great wealth met and divided up the world among them. The second floor was the domain of Carson, the Bank President.