Phoenix under the Umbrella (Umbrella Academy AU) Chapter 35: Hazel and Cha-Cha

[Third Person's PoV] 


A van slowly rolled up in front of a rundown hotel. Two figures emerged: a black woman with a brown bob cut and a chubby white man with a beard. Both carried black briefcases.


They entered the hotel and approached the reception desk, where a bored-looking man leaned back in his chair.


The woman stepped forward, setting her briefcase on the desk. "We have a reservation for two rooms under the name Hazel and Cha-Cha. There should be a package waiting for us."


Hazel, the white man, and Cha-Cha, the black woman, exchanged glances as the receptionist checked the booking.


“Your names are here, but it’s booked under one room, not two,” the receptionist said.


“Goddamn it,” Hazel grumbled. “Curse the company and their penny-pinching. We’re on a mission, at least pay for what we need!”


Cha-Cha placed a hand on his chest to calm him down. “Are there at least two separate beds?”


“Yeah, one room, two beds. Here’s your key,” the receptionist replied, handing them the key.


Still grumbling, Hazel followed Cha-Cha to the room. Once inside, they found a box sitting on one of the beds. Cha-Cha set her briefcase down next to the box and opened it. Inside were two large shotguns, cases of shells, other firearms, and two dog-shaped masks—one pink, one blue.


Cha-Cha began loading the guns. “Go ahead, say it. If you hold it in, you’ll get heartburn, and then I’ll have to listen to you complain about that too.”


“It smells like cat piss,” Hazel said, flicking the bathroom lights, only to find they didn’t work. “And now we’ve got to deal with this cheap crap. Stuck in this dump of a hotel.”


“At least it’s better than being stuck in a cubicle,” Cha-Cha replied, tossing the guns onto her bed.


Hazel slumped on the corner of his bed. “Couldn’t they have made these things backpacks? My wrist is killing me,” he muttered, setting his briefcase down and crouching by a vent.


“What are you doing? It’s company policy to keep those with us at all times,” Cha-Cha said, watching as Hazel pried the vent open and shoved the briefcase inside.


“They can shove their policy. I’d like to see them lug that thing around all day.”


Cha-Cha’s movements slowed as she pulled out a picture of an old man. “We’ve never gone after one of our own before…”


“What happened to the first guys they sent?” Cha-Cha asked as Hazel threw himself onto the bed.


“Liquidated.”


“Dummy local hires. You get what you pay for,” Cha-Cha retorted, pulling a tracking device from the box. “Okay, now where’s our guy…”


She stared at the device, growing confused when it didn’t display anything. “That’s weird,” she muttered, slapping it, thinking it had malfunctioned.


“What? Did they give us crappy devices to cut costs too?” Hazel scoffed.


“I think so. It’s not showing anything. Look,” Cha-Cha said, tossing the device to Hazel, landing it on his stomach.


He picked it up and inspected it. “I think it’s working as intended…”


“Then why isn’t it showing anything?”


“The guy we’re after is experienced. I wouldn’t be surprised if he figured out how he was being tracked and destroyed the device.”


“Then how the hell are we supposed to find him if we can’t track him?”


Hazel sighed, tossing the device back to Cha-Cha. “That leaves us with good old-fashioned detective work. It’s what we were trained for, no? We start where he was last spotted, where he killed the hired dummy, and go from there.”


Cha-Cha paused before giving him a look. “You know… for a dumbass, you sure have your moments.”


“Now that’s just mean and unnecessary name-calling.”



---


Back at the diner:


Police tape surrounded the scene, cop cars parked all around. Officers were searching for evidence as sirens blared in the background. Inside, the same process continued.


A tan-skinned woman with crossed arms surveyed the scene. “This is a blue moon kind of situation, I’d say.”


A policeman sighed as he stood from crouching. “I’m inclined to agree.”


“The same gun on every vic, all M4s. The casings are .223s… Now, this part confuses me,” the woman said, waving her hand over a cluster of bullets scattered near the seats. “It’s like the guns were fired, but something stopped their momentum, and they just fell to the floor.”


"Want to know what I think?" the woman asked the officer who had arrived earlier. "I think these idiots all shot each other." She walked around the scene, glancing at the bodies.


The policeman scoffed. "And stabbed. One in the throat, another in the eye." He motioned toward the corpses scattered around. "All quick, efficient kills."


"Professionals, definitely. Stupid ones, but still professionals." She crouched by a body. "Any witnesses?"


"Yeah, one. It happened during her shift." He gestured toward Agnes, who was sitting by the window, visibly shaken.


"Well, that's some lousy luck," the woman muttered as she approached Agnes.


"Good evening, ma'am. My name's Officer Patch. Do you mind if I sit and ask you a few questions about what you saw tonight?"


Agnes shook her head, biting her thumbnail nervously as Patch sat down. "Can you start from the beginning? What happened? What caused all of this?"


"Well..." Agnes began, her voice shaky. "It was a slow night. I didn’t have any customers when this man came in with his son."


Patch leaned in slightly. "Can you describe them? What they looked like, what they were wearing?"


"The man… he was stunning, like a model. Looked to be in his twenties. Bright red, wavy hair down to his chin, and striking green eyes."


Patch raised an eyebrow but motioned for her to continue.


"The boy looked about ten, black hair and eyes, wearing a school uniform, I think. When they sat down, the boy was a bit rude, ordering for himself and his dad—two black coffees. Then, suddenly, these guys with guns showed up and pointed them at the kid. But neither the man nor his son seemed fazed. They just kept chatting."


Patch's brow furrowed. "And then?"


"And then the fight started. The boy... you're going to think I’m crazy, but he teleported. One second, he was sitting there, and the next, he was behind one of the men, stabbing him in the neck."


Patch interrupted, holding up a hand. "Wait, did you say he teleported?"


"I know, I know how it sounds!" Agnes exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "But I swear, he was teleporting! Dodging bullets, making them shoot each other. But none of the bullets came near me or the man. It was like he was stopping them with his mind or something. And through it all, he kept asking me for a refill. I'm sorry, but how many more times do I have to tell this story?"


Patch blinked. "Sorry? What do you mean?"


"I mean, I’ve already told this to the other two detectives who came earlier," Agnes said, frowning. "How many more times do I have to repeat myself?"


Patch froze. "Other detectives? What other detectives?"