Marcus - Precinct 12 Read online

  Marcus | Precinct 12

  Guardian Angel Investigations

  Chloe Vincent

  Table Of Contents

  1. Fan Mail

  2. Coincidences

  3. An Unlikely Visitor

  4. Second-Guessing

  5. Reasons to Reconsider

  6. The Dream

  7. The Redo

  8. Introductions

  9. Investigation

  10. The Agent

  11. Dinner

  12. The Truth

  13. Evolution

  14. Ashley's Death

  15. The Text

  16. Showdown

  17. Conclusion

  More Paranormal Book Action!

  About the Author

  Marcus | Precinct 21

  Copyright © 2019

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission requests, email [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events, businesses, companies, institutions, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  1

  Fan Mail

  "Marcus, they love you, my man, they love you!" Ashley barged into the film trailer with a big cardboard box, grinning with that big, stupid grin the man sometimes got. "Whole 'nother box of mail for you."

  Marcus Pierce, the "Marcus" in question, glanced over from the minifridge and gave him the trademark scowl of the grumpy and jaded Detective Vincent Lewis, the character he played on the primetime crime drama Precinct 12. "Yeah, yeah..." he muttered under his breath like he had a fat cigar in his mouth. "Stupid pansies... don't even know what they love anymore. And what do they say to me? Huh? They send me letters, ya hear me?" Joking around with Ashley was fun. The man got him. Marcus's sense of humor was sometimes misunderstood, but Ashley was always there to pick up the slack and laugh, even if it wasn't funny. The only topic that Marcus had found that was simply off limits to Ashley was that of Ashley's name. Great guy, great agent, great friend, but boy, did he hold some resentment about the questionably unisex name. If ya got him rolling on it, he wouldn't stop until he fell asleep, got drunk, or found something else to complain about. It was his Achilles heel in a seemingly endless deposit of energy and enthusiasm.

  Ashley deposited the box of fan mail unceremoniously on the little folding table of the Airstream. "You got it! I don't know what it is, but I told you that you had it, and look at you!" He tossed his hands in the direction of the box. "Loads of fan mail! Loads of it!"

  Marcus didn't even have to fake a smile. He grinned and snagged a Coke for himself and a sparkling water for Ashley from the minifridge. Personally, Marcus hated sparkling water. It just didn't taste right. There was something unnatural and concerning about it. There wasn't any extra flavor, but it somehow tasted like diet water to him and he just couldn't stand it, but Ashley had such a habit of dropping by his trailer that he'd taken to keeping some in stock for his agent. He tossed it to Ashley as he meandered his way over.

  Truthfully, Ashley's enthusiasm was well placed. Precinct 12 was going way better than anyone had anticipated or even hoped, and if the news and reviews were to be believed, it was all thanks to one man: the main character, Detective Vincent Lewis, the rugged, jaded detective that had it all before tragedy ripped it away, leaving the good-looking man broken and angry. Apparently, most of his fans were women. He'd read two bad reviews of the show. Both were from men. Both complained about the appearance of Detective Lewis, claiming that the whole reason the show was so popular was sex appeal. As Detective Vincent Lewis himself, Marcus was mighty fine accepting that analysis.

  The fan mail had started a while back and it just picked up steam. Now, as they were about to finish the cliffhanger episode for the show, there was no doubt that the letters would come piling in even more as the cliffhanger left fans frothing.

  Marcus popped open the Coke and took a drink of the bubbling liquid as Ashley produced a newspaper from God-knows-where. "Look at this, look at this." He put on his dramatic bravado voice and read what Marcus could only assume was some review. "Speculation has only grown for fans of the new hit series on what new secrets the next episode will unveil."

  The fun thing about Ashley was that he would talk about anything, for any reason, without knowing what the hell he was talking about. That's part of why he was so good at being an agent: without anyone needing to ask, he was going to share his opinion. It was like he was a wind-up toy, but instead of walking, he'd be talking. Luckily, he knew about the Hollywood industry, so he was damn good at his job. Unluckily, he was just as enthusiastic about everything else. Marcus had once made the mistake of mentioning that he was single and ready to mingle. Two days later, Ashley had accumulated an entire army of potential dates without asking Marcus if it was okay.

  Ashley whipped out an imaginary microphone and held it to Marcus's face as if he were interviewing him. "How about it, Detective Lewis? What secrets will the next episode unveil?"

  Marcus cleared his throat and played along, looking dramatically at the nonexistent camera and smiling. "Well, Ashley, I think that's something that the fans are just going to have to wait to see next week!" He switched to his Detective Lewis character. His face grew sour and a pronounced scowl formed on his face. He slumped over a little and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at everything. "Listen, sonny, I've had about 'nuff of you asking the questions. I ask the questions around here, you get me?"

  Both men started chuckling. Marcus leaned back and watched Ashley take a giant sip of his sparkling water. He gave Marcus a knowing grin. "You like it, don't you?" He hoisted his beverage up. "I knew it. I got you hooked on it."

  Marcus snorted and made a big show of drinking his Coke and not a sparkling water. "Oh, no. No, that's still shit. I just keep it around so your chattery ass won't complain about me not having any."

  Ashley took another sip with a pretend huff of indignation. "Not my fault you have no class."

  "It's diet water, Ashley. Diet. Water. Why the hell would I want to drink that? It's got a negative flavor. I don't know how, but it tastes worse than regular water."

  Ashley took a very long, drawn-out swallow. "I guess we can't all be proper. While I'm at it, should I cancel your subscription to National Geographic and perhaps change it to Maxim?"

  Marcus snorted in amusement. He didn't make a lot of friends. Being an actor was fun, but everyone acted like such two-faced liars. They'd say anything to his face to keep him happy, but behind his back... the exact opposite. He'd learned the importance of true friends, and Ashley was a true friend. They were startlingly hard to find. With money came so many “yes men”. People would say yes to absolutely anything and go on and on about how they agreed with everything he said. The first time he'd met Ashley, Ashley had declared that Marcus had a piece of fuzz stuck in his hair. Marcus knew he'd liked him immediately. It just so happened
that he was also a hell of an agent. Life had a funny way of working out well, and things had been working out well with Marcus for a mighty long time—and they only seemed to be getting better.

  Marcus opened up the cardboard box and found a series of letters, notes, and pictures of him to sign. It was always weird as hell to him to sign pictures of himself. When he was a young, aspiring actor, it had seemed improbable. Cool, but improbable. Now, it was just bizarre.

  "Oh." He picked out a picture of himself posing for a staff photo. There he was, apparently the image of sexuality: dark, brooding blue eyes, tussled black hair, detective badge smudged from a hard day of work, looking at the camera with a combination of seductive "let's fuck" and pained "I lost my entire family in a fire" eyes. It was one of the more commonly requested images to be signed. He remembered the day it was taken. He'd felt like a dumbass and had some terrible allergies the whole day. He wasn't squinting because he was trying to be brooding. He was squinting because it was the only way to keep his goddamn nose from going off. "What in the hell do people do with these?" He popped the top of a pen off and started signing. "I mean, seriously. What do they do with them? Frame them? Keep them somewhere? What's the point?"

  "Masturbate," contributed Ashley. "Furiously masturbate."

  Marcus grimaced. "Jesus, man, come on." He snorted. "There are plenty of shirtless pictures if they wanted to do that, am I right?" He laughed.

  Ashley didn't laugh. Ashley gave him the most high-and-mighty, hotly disgusted look that fooled Marcus into thinking he was serious for a quarter second. "You animal. You absolute brute."

  Marcus signed another one with a grin. "Ah, fuck off. What do you know? You drink sparkling water. It's too late for you."

  Ashley straightened his petite frame indignantly. "Well, sir, I know where I shall be going with my sparkling water! Straight home, and not because I promised the missus I'd be back a half hour ago, and how dare you defame the superior drink?" He stomped to the door, but before he left, he paused. "Oh, and before I forget, I've got you some more interviews. I'll tell you tomorrow, but dammit, you better bring that charm because these are some big ones. Let's take this show and make it even bigger!"

  Marcus chuckled and waved bye. "See you tomorrow, you crazy bastard."

  Ashley's voice vanished off into the distance, but not before Marcus heard him call back, "That's crazy bastard, sir, to you!"

  Marcus was alone.

  Marcus didn't necessarily mind being alone. He liked it, in fact. A lot of actors he knew were out of place if they didn't have something going on all the time. Marcus wasn't like that. He'd never needed anyone in particular to feel accomplished or needed. No, he was just as happy by himself as he was out and about—the perfect introvert and extrovert combined. It's probably why he never had scandals. Ten years in the movie scene, and not a single legitimate scandal. He knew, generally, how to keep his wits about him. He wasn't a big party guy. Sure, they were fun sometimes, but he'd just as much enjoy the quiet life. As long as he had a few good friends, maybe a girl to come home to, he'd be set. He had the friends part down. The girl part, well, that spot was open for auditions. He'd had plenty of takers. Nobody had been right for the part so far. When he saw her, he thought he'd just know. Maybe it was the old romantic in him, but he wasn't one for just going around having sex. They were humans, not animals. There was supposed to be some meaning behind it. Sure, he could have plenty of girls, but he didn't want plenty of girls. He wanted the girl.

  He kept signing and reading the fan mail. What had caused him to start thinking about that now? Maybe it was the interview he'd had a couple of days ago where he'd mentioned his romantic inclinations. Maybe it was the fact that he was going home to nobody. Nobody would be greeting him at the door. Soon, maybe. Hopefully. She was out there somewhere, probably wondering where her Prince Charming was just as much as he was wondering where she was.

  He signed, stretched, and tossed the pen on the table. There would be time for finishing that tomorrow. For now, he was tired and worn out from a long day. What time was it anyway? He checked his phone. Almost midnight. For much of Hollywood, the night was just getting started. For him, his bed called. He yawned and snagged his stuff before heading out of the Airstream and towards his car in the dark parking lot of the set.

  The first few times he'd done it, he'd been paranoid out of his mind that some crazed fan might come out of the blue and attack him or something. It was a relatively dimly lit area, and he learned the hard way that there were some very disturbing fans and critics out there that could not be understood. Most of the letters were positive. But sometimes, although there had only been a couple, they had seriously different, and more intimidating, messages. Marcus wasn't a small guy by any means, but against a gun? Well, shit, he was still human. But, after time, he'd realized that the chances of getting attacked were slim to none. There were people here and there, cameras up, and of course it was very hard for a normal civilian to be able to get onto the set. The only people allowed in were already vetted and confirmed to be safe. He wasn't too worried.

  That particular night, though... something felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that there was something behind him, something huge and something terrifying. He shook it off. He wasn't a kid scared to walk down the dark hallway to the bathroom anymore. There weren't monsters here. He gave a quick, nervous glance around. Nothing. He was alone in the fleet of cars. Sure, it was black. Sure, it was cold. Sure, there was a creepy-ass wind. That didn't mean that he was in any danger.

  That's when he heard it.

  It sounded like a dog at first, but entirely too deep and entirely too big. His first thought was "bear”, followed by him remembering that there was almost no chance that there was a bear in the parking lot.

  His second thought was the realization that there was undoubtedly something a hell of a lot bigger than him behind him.

  He whirled, letting out a panicked shout before he could even get a good glimpse at whatever it was before it pounced on him.

  2

  Coincidences

  Adina didn't like to be rude to her customers.

  After all, the only reason the Guardian Angel Investigation and Detective Agency was flourishing was because of random customers coming in with their magical woes, where Adina and her top-notch underlings would swoop in to save the day. That might be true. She tried her absolute hardest to play nice with the people who came in for her help for the reputation of the company, but in the case of the current dumbass, she made an exception.

  It was one thing to come in with a problem of the magical kind. Adina liked that. It was the point of her entire business. It was another thing to keep pestering when she'd already said she didn't want the job. Even worse, the job wasn't something that she could justify. If the guy had come in begging for help finding his lost dog, even though they didn't exactly do that kind of thing, and kept arguing with her after she'd declined him, maybe she could understand it and forgive him. But the problem was that this moron was trying to get the agency to help set up his wife to get him out of a pre-nup. First of all, dick move. Second of all, dick move. Third of all, dick move. Fourth of all, what the hell was so complex about the word "no"? She'd tried to be nice. Even though her instinct was to tell him to go fuck himself for trying to recruit her and her people for that sort of thing, she'd politely enough said that they weren't interested.

  He'd kept going, like continuing to pester everyone with it was going to help anything. In fact, it was doing the exact opposite. The longer the porky big guy talked, the more his face looked like a baseball and she was in the mood for batting practice. She restrained herself as best as she could. The Guardian Angel Investigation and Detective Agency had a sterling reputation to uphold, and such a reputation would probably be severely damaged by news breaking of a customer getting beaten up by the owner and founder.

  Adina's tight smile was still plastered on her face as a last-ditch attempt to s
tay rational. "N-O. No. No. I said no, and I meant no. Go away." She furiously tapped her fingers on the desk in her office like an enraged woodpecker.

  The big oaf of a man, perhaps too stupid to realize that he was messing with someone you really didn't want to mess with, severely underestimated the sort of danger he was in by continuing to annoy her. Yes, Adina was a petite woman. Yes, she probably looked as if she belonged in an advertisement for a hot new gym as the cute clickbait girl rather than being the final answer in such a powerful agency. Yes, she could beat the ever-living shit out of him. Yes, she wanted to. Yes, she was doing her absolute best to avoid it. But it was starting to get to her that he was obviously overconfident. He was bigger, looked stronger even though she could almost guarantee that he wasn't, and was not human while she looked completely human despite having literal demon blood in her veins. Should she have been a physically imposing threat, she had no doubt that they'd be having a much different conversation right then. No, he clearly thought he could bully her into getting what he wanted, but he had another thing coming if he kept it up. Unaware of the idiotic moves he was making, he blundered forward with a great scowl. "I think you have an anger problem. You advertise this place as somewhere to get things fixed, and here you are, teaming up with mah wife just 'cause you women all think the same! Besides, I saw this place! You need the business!"

  Adina's smile stretched to concerning proportions. "Is that your professional opinion? No, you inordinately stupid oaf, I don't just agree with your wife because I'm female. I disagree with you because I happen to think that you may have a bad case of the dumbasses, and I already asked you to leave, so why are you still here? And for your information, I don't have an anger problem. My anger has a problem with you."