Punched by an Angel
by Henry Wyckoff
A crossover between Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Millennium, and Touched by an Angel
Frank Black looked at his pager. Peter Watts, most likely giving him another mission for the Millennium Group.For the last six months, it seemed that every waking moment had been spent doing missions, but he didn't feel any manner of regret. Just fatigue and a worry that he was distancing himself from his wife and daughter.
It wasn't much longer before he had Peter on the phone.
"Frank. How do you feel about going to Toronto?"
That was a first. Usually, he was told about the case and they assumed he'd accept. It must have meant that this was a very different case.
"What's the matter, Peter?"
There was a moment of silence, "There's a killer up there. A repeat killer, but not what I'd call a serial. This is something a little different. It's not just the Group that needs you -- it's the innocents in this world."
"It's already sent to you. There's a flight booked for Toronto. You'll be there by tomorrow."
It was a matter of going through the steps. They knew that Frank would accept, most especially with an ongoing murder spree.
On reading his e-mail, however, all of Frank's assumptions were thrown out the window. Most especially when he saw the visions just from seeing the photo of the most recent victim . . .
Frank shook his head. "Peter? Can I get there any faster?"
Peter sounded shocked, "About the best we can do is book a private jet, but that's very expensive. What is it?"
"You've got a far larger problem than you know. I've crossed paths with this one before. I don't know his name or his face, but trust me, I know the man."
New Hampshire wilderness, 1985
Frank looked at the man who had died, a pillar of the community in a very humble sort of way. The victim had made sure that the orphans were fed and the homeless were given shelter during the winter kill. He had been so brutally murdered that there was no doubt that this death was deliberately caused. The coroner was so shaken by the death of the person as well as its manner that he had broken down in tears and had to be replaced by a more objective person from another county.
There was something else that was bothering Frank. He touched the body and was thrown to the ground by the force of the vision . . .
When Frank looked into the eyes of killers, they flashed by him as these were doing now, but eyes were often straight-forward in their fashion. This killer's eyes weren't.
More than a decade had passed, and Frank had learned much more since then.
"Peter. This man is very hurt, and he's going to seek out the saintly until he is physically prevented from doing so. Saints, pillars of the community, and the virtuous are sources of his pain. Those he can reach, at the very least. He is also very nervous on many levels. He will move from city to city, from mood to mood, and from target to target."
"I'll search our databases for the matching descriptions. Keep me informed."
"I'll do that."
Frank drove to the airport, and as promised, a private jet waited for him, compliments of the Group. They must have really been scared, he reasoned. They'd facilitated trips before on frequent occasions, but never like this.
The jet was so private that he was the sole passenger. The cockpit was off limits.
To kill the time, he read the files once more. They were straightforward. In Toronto, three murders with matching methods of operation had occurred in the space of two days. The only matching factors among the victims were their saintly nature and their many good works in the community. These were the kind who whispered softly and carried a big stick, in their fashion.
Their deaths were all unique, except for the ferocity with which they'd occurred. One young woman had been repeatedly raped with a bladed weapon, most likely a boot knife. (He shuddered -- a rare thing for him to do.) One old man had been stoned to death with adobe bricks. The most recent victim had been gutted. The last case was what caught his attention. A cop named Kermit had intervened a moment too late, but soon enough to disarm and wound the killer. A few moments after he'dcalled the police, the killer had overcome his wounds and knocked the cop out.
On being awakened by the medics, Kermit had recalled everything about the incident, but was unable to provide the killer's name, for obvious reasons. A search through the mug shots produced nothing, probably suggesting that the man was from out of town or didn't have a criminal record.
A photo of Kermit was provided, with a Group-supplied supplemental. It seemed that Kermit was an ex-mercenary who was hiding out as a cop, using his computer-related work as a cover. Who or what he was hiding from was a mystery even to the Group, but it raised Frank's awareness to certain possibilities.
By the looks of it, this Kermit was a good guy, because even unofficial scans revealed that everything questionable Kermit did was for the greater good, in the most honest sense possible. Still, he'd been watched by the Group ever since he'd become worth their notice. Why they felt the need for surveillance, Frank didn't know.
There also remained the question, why had Kermit been spared? Why the few other normal people who crossed the killer's path at the wrong place and the wrong time? It didn't make sense.
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