Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  “What’s what?” I replied.

  Andy pointed at the wrapper. “Tire marks. Did you give me roadkill gum?”

  “No.”

  “You gave me roadkill gum!”

  “It’s not roadkill gum. It’s parking lot gum.”

  Andy spat the gum into the wrapper and balled it up. “Dummy.” He threw the silver-covered wad at me and missed. “I’m not tellin’ you anything.”

  “C’mon, Andy. We had a deal.” I pulled a wagering receipt out of my pocket and put in down on the table. “See? Right there. It says ‘Look at the Thyme to win.’”

  He looked at the receipt and then looked at me. “Big deal.”

  “Well, I only bet ten bucks but it pays out at six-twenty. That’s sixty-two dollars and it’s all yours. How’s that for luck?”

  “It’s not my luck, Luck. It’s yours and I don’t want it.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep it,” I said. “But we had a bet and you promised to tell me what you know.” I reached for the receipt. Slowly. Andy pinned it to the table with a chubby finger. He slid the receipt to the edge of the table then slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you,” he said. “Know why I’m gonna tell you?”

  “Because it’s Friday and the moon is waning and you’re a Pisces?”

  He shook his head. “No, moron. Besides, the moon will be full tomorrow and I’m not a Pisces, I’m a Cancer.”

  “Upon humankind?”

  Well.

  That’s what I wanted to say.

  It took all my strength to hold my tongue.

  All. My. Strength.

  Penny Andy was in a semi-agreeable mood. I couldn’t spoil it now.

  “Integrity,” Andy said. “And that’s why I’ll tell you.”

  “I hear you, man. You have a reputation to uphold.”

  Sheesh.

  “Exactly.” He dug around in his shirt pocket and found a semi-sweat-soaked business card. He got busy with his pencil while I held my breath. “It’s mostly rumors I heard. You got your bottom feeders: the guys you wouldn’t hire to get a cat out of a tree. Then you got your expert P.I.s like you and me. We find missing people, we collect evidence, we provide a service. We’re good. We’re very good.”

  He wasn’t standing in a field of manure, but I had to admire his shoveling. He looked up at me and I nodded. Mr. Supportive.

  Andy went on. “But when you have a difficult, technical job, you contact these guys. No job is too hard if money is no object. And among certain circles, to which I am privatized, the word is they can make the impossible happen. Even a fake surveillance video that’s as good as the real thing.”

  I kept nodding. If he was being helpful, he could say anything and I’d agree.

  Andy lowered his voice. “Be careful, Luck. Only a few people know about these guys, and you didn’t get this from me. And these guys are connected. I mean connected like the Boston Tea Party. You even look cross-eyed at these guys, and your luck will run out.”

  Andy grinned at me crooked. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was being a boy scout or because he’d been able to say ‘your luck will run out’ to my face. He gave me the business card.

  “Thanks, Andy. Appreciate the help.”

  Andy stuck out his chin. “Do you have a system?”

  “A system? For what?”

  “Picking a winner. What else?”

  “Oh sure. My system’s pretty sophisticated.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I start by looking at all the dogs.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then I pick the fastest one.”

  Andy blinked. “Ha ha.”

  “Have a good day, Andy. Thanks again.”

  I turned and walked away. I felt Andy’s eyes lasering into the back of my head.

  I hope this is worth it.

  Chapter Thirteen: Palazzo Grande

  Andy had written the name of a restaurant at the Palazzo Grande Hotel and a person’s name, and the fresh clue hit my system with good, old-fashioned anticipation. But it was the Boston Tea Party reference that put a knot in my gut. Andy had said these people were “connected” and then he dropped the Boston Tea Party bit. He could only have meant one thing by that.

  The Irish Mob.

  I sat in my car and pulled all the papers out of my pockets. The info on the back of the business card was worth reading again. I committed the note to memory and put it on the passenger seat.

  The other papers were worthless now, but they’d been invaluable a few minutes ago.

  I had seven different receipts left over with seven different dogs picked to win. I’d bet ten dollars on every dog and asked the cashier for separate slips, which had provided me with eight receipts. Then I’d put two in each pocket of my pants, based on the order of their names on the racing form. As soon as the race was over, I knew where the winning ticket was and that’s the one I’d pulled out and given to Andy.

  It usually cost at least a hundred dollars to bribe an informant. I’d gotten what I needed for eighty bucks, and he’d gotten sixty-two of it, so I felt like the game had been well played. I tore the seven remaining slips in half and dropped them on the seat. If Andy’s information panned out, I’d gotten a bargain and I’d be one step closer to helping Hope.

  Andy had mentioned the moon would be full and that reminded me I needed to check with Max so I’d know when to be ready to go to the Behindbeyond.

  So much to do and so little time to do it. I didn’t know what kind of task my father was going to ask of me, but I hoped it wouldn’t take too long or interfere with helping Hope. I especially wanted to avoid some full-blown quest like destroying a ring by throwing it into a volcano. I was too tall for the job and my feet weren’t hairy. Plus, it would take weeks or even months and I was prone to temptation, which was a very bad thing when it came to rings of power. Give me a quest like that and the world was doomed.

  The address on the card was in Miami Beach, a few minutes away, but first I wanted to check things at the office and maybe get some lunch. I hadn’t gone to my office in a couple of days and I never knew when there might be a check in the mailbox. Or a dead body on the welcome mat.

  I stopped at the Korean Restaurant under my office. There would be no repeat of yesterday where I’d ended up starving all day. I asked the owner, whom I jokingly referred to as Qui Gon, if there was a special today and he nodded. A minute later, I had a healthy serving of bindaetteok, which was kind of a pancake made with mung beans with some pork and kimchi mixed in. Filling but not heavy. Perfect for the private eye on the go.

  No checks and no dead bodies waited for me. I thought about calling Nat to see if he knew anything about the Palazzo Grande or the Irish Mob, but at this time on a Friday he’d be running classes at the gym. I knew someone on the vice squad who might talk to me, but I needed to find out more information before going that route.

  Having resolved my options for procrastination, I headed back to my car.

  I didn’t know what Irish Mob guys looked like. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be walking around sporting shamrocks and shillelaghs and shotguns. They might all resemble Liam Neeson and drink Guinness. I’d keep my eyes peeled because a hot tip didn’t always stay hot.

  Cruising across the MacArthur causeway, I wound my way into Miami Beach. When tourists thought about Miami, they pictured Miami Beach with its Art Deco buildings on Ocean Drive or the string of high-rise hotels north of there, thanks to the innumerable helicopter fly-by shots featured in movies and on TV. It was upscale and clean and beautiful here and I loved the views of the city and the beach.

  The Palazzo Grande was north past the end of Ocean Drive, between Collins Avenue and the Atlantic Ocean. The hotel sat alone on the block with wide streets on three sides. Like all the resorts in the area, the east side of the hotel opened straight out onto the sand. No street. I turned right and drove slowly along the south side of the building, checking the entrances and the parki
ng access and the views through the windows.

  A valet entrance with a short driveway waited for patrons and the parking structure itself sat further to the east, next to a pedestrian mall that ran out to the beach. Where the road ended, there was a turnaround and I ended up going back to Collins Avenue where I turned right again. There were shops and restaurants at street level with another hotel entrance on Collins and a separate parking structure for the public. At the next street, I turned right once more. This was the north side where deliveries were made and the maintenance facilities like the laundry were located. There were probably ways in and out of the hotel here, but they would be closed to public entry. This street also ended a block or so away from the beach but there was parking here so I found a slot and got out.

  Palazzo Grande was Italian for “Grand Palace” and although it didn’t resemble the palaces I was familiar with in the Behindbeyond, it was well-designed and cared for. There wasn’t much to see on the north side of the resort but the west side with the restaurants was very pretty, with decorated columns and strings of lights that would be inviting after sunset. I walked into the lobby to find warm wood walls and a sparkling fountain and a mezzanine balcony running all the way around the second floor. A couple of clerks waited behind a massive oak check-in desk but they didn’t look up from their tasks to see me.

  A feeling bubbled up in my chest, a heated spark that came quickly and then disappeared just as fast. I pressed my hand against my sternum. When it passed, I decided it must have been lunch, saying one last good-bye. Maybe I should check the gift shop for antacids.

  The design of the lobby was worth admiring, so I wasn’t in a hurry to move on. I debated whether I should let building security know I was here in an official capacity. It was entirely possible—even likely—that the security team was connected to the Irish Mob. I put a “never mind” on the idea of checking in. A sign pointed to the elevator where I could get to the top floor and the restaurant. I had no intention of going up yet. I wanted to walk around the ground level to find all the exits. And maybe find that gift shop.

  After one whole minute walking around, I heard, “What are you doing here, Mr. Luck?”

  Tweedledumb appeared from behind a column like he’d been waiting for me. While I calculated the odds of him accidentally being here, which were high enough to land somewhere between the stratosphere and the planet Saturn, Tweedledumber came up behind me.

  “Let’s go have a chat,” Dumb said. I spied the corner of a bandage peeking out from under his dark glasses.

  “Sorry about your face,” I said. “Oh, and as a side note, sorry that I punched it.”

  Dumb nodded at me. “Won’t happen again.” It sounded like a promise.

  It was hard having a staring contest with someone in dark glasses but I gave it a try. We faced off for long moments. Finally, I said. “Lead the way.”

  The Tweedles escorted me in the direction of the elevators. We walked together as if we were three swell guys heading lunchward. I told myself I could get out of here anytime I wanted and almost believed it. I was here for answers. Might as well get some.

  The elevator ride was brief and we headed to a table in a corner of the restaurant that offered a spectacular ocean view. It sat behind a screen that gave the table privacy, away from the kitchen and most of the dining area, which was empty anyway ahead of the dinner service.

  If anything went sideways, there’d be few witnesses.

  A waiter indicated a chair for me facing the window. He asked, “Would you like lunch?”

  “I ate before I came,” I replied.

  “Something to drink?”

  “I’m driving. No thanks.”

  “Fruit smoothie?”

  Well, poodle skirts. A smoothie sounded great.

  “Strawberry-pineapple?” I asked.

  The Tweedles took up posts behind the chairs. The table itself sat empty except for me.

  “Who are we waiting for?” I asked. “Is your boss the Keebler elf?”

  Nobody answered. The wait staff didn’t answer, probably because they didn’t know, and the Tweedles didn’t answer, probably to annoy me.

  Fresh flowers had been cut and artfully arranged for a centerpiece. None of them were dianthus, but they made me think about Erin anyway. One day, I’d bring her to a nice restaurant like this and there wouldn’t be any distractions. Like Tweedles.

  I sat alone. Like my father. Which was not cool. I looked at the staff and they remained in place. Waiting. What waiters do. After ten seconds, I wanted to take the dishes and drop them on the floor just to see if they’d break. Thankfully, my smoothie arrived. The waitress left a spoon and two different kinds of straws, standard and bendy. I went for the bendy.

  The smoothie was delicious. After a few slurps through the straw, I switched to the spoon. The smoothie was also thick. “Give me a hint?” I asked.

  Tweedledumber looked at Tweedledumb. Neither offered an answer. I kept eating my smoothie while the atmosphere grew more awkward.

  It took a moment for me to realize there were three figures coming around the corner. From the shadowed alcove, I saw a single large and lumbering shape moving towards the table. I swallowed all the smoothie in my mouth in a single gulp and got in touch with my power.

  Holy American horror story.

  There was very little movement side-to-side, as when a person is walking, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Instead, the dark, trembling silhouette floated toward me like a massive blob of ink.

  I let fire bloom in one hand.

  “Relax,” Tweedledumb said. “He’s asleep.”

  “Who’s asleep?” I replied. “The floating nightmare?”

  The ink blob drifted forward, the light of the room finally coming to rest on a man in a wheelchair.

  Marcus.

  He was asleep, all right. His head nodded forward with his several chins bumping his collarbones. His breathing sounded deep and slow like a bellows in a blacksmith shop. I’d been to a blacksmith’s shop in the Behindbeyond. It was as hot and noisy as you’d expect.

  If Marcus knew how much he resembled Hope’s dad right now, he’d be mortified.

  Another waiter had his hands on the wheelchair, pushing it forward. Maybe he didn’t want to wake up Marcus because he was going slow. Or maybe he was on a leash held by the quavering cloud of black that trailed behind them both. The waiter set the brakes on the chair and stepped to the side, giving me a better view of the indigo vapor.

  The mist was completely opaque, like smoke from an oil fire. Instead of a petroleum stench, however, the cloud carried a feeling of wrongness as if the smoke were fueled by tragedy and fear and bad things being eaten by things far, far worse.

  Looking at the roiling dark made my smoothie want to come back up. I swallowed hard.

  A voice came rumbling from someplace deep, as if someone’s vocal cords had been relocated to the bottom of a deep, narrow hole.

  “How did you defeat the bomb?”

  The voice came out of Marcus.

  “I’ve seen the pieces,” the voice said. I couldn’t get over how hollow and cold the voice coming out of Marcus sounded, as if the words had to be pushed down a rat tunnel before arriving in Marcus’s mouth. “How did you defeat it?”

  There were all kinds of holy-crap magic going on here. My first instinct was to run. I shoved the urge down and buried it.

  “I can tell you the same thing I told Hope about that,” I replied.

  “All right.”

  “As soon as I come up with an explanation that I can give her, I’ll let you know.”

  A little wind came ahead of the words. “She doesn’t know how you saved her?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yet she trusts you enough to get help from you?”

  “That’s what happens to the good guys. You do what you can to help and you don’t have to try so hard convincing people to trust you. Funny how that works, right?”

  The voice
didn’t answer. Maybe it was thinking. Maybe it was stuck in the rat pipe.

  “What was supposed to happen with the bomb?” I asked.

  The hollow voice returned. “Hope was supposed to die. You along with her, if possible.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then Marcus becomes a grieving widower and we show him devastated. Publicly.”

  “What does that accomplish?”

  “It creates one side of a coin. Sympathetic husband going through a divorce and the wife, whom he still loved, is killed. Then the other side. A wife who couldn’t be trusted.”

  I got it. “So, a couple days later, the video showing Hope having one affair after another gets leaked, ruining her reputation posthumously and that’s the other side of the coin.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All to nullify any claims for her or her father in a prenuptial agreement? That’s just playing dirty.”

  “All’s fair in love and war, as they say. Divorce is both.”

  I’d seen enough of love and war and divorce to have a hard time coming up with a counterargument. I considered everything I’d been told so far. “What do you get out of this? You’re from the Behindbeyond. You don’t need mortal money.”

  “Don’t we?”

  “What for?”

  Nothing but wind in the rat pipe. I didn’t need a response to put two and two together to come up with a whole lot more than four. Getting Marcus out of the prenuptial agreement could easily be worth millions.

  On the other hand, the residents of the Behindbeyond did love to meddle.

  “Fine,” I said, “You’re Fae and you’d probably do all this for the giggles, but we’ll just state for the record that you’re going to get a whole lot of mortal money. Now we’re sitting here talking, which tells me you want my help somehow. I have to tell you it’s hard for me to even conceive of helping you after you dropped Hope off at my house and tried to kill me too.”

  During the conversation, I kept my eyes fixed on the dark, nauseating mist constantly swirling behind Marcus in his wheelchair. Looking at it made me want to gag.

  “Why get me involved?”

  “Marcus needed—“

  “Not Marcus,” I kept my voice even but fed all the intensity into it as I could muster. “This isn’t for Marcus. You came after me. For a reason. I don’t want to talk about Marcus. I want to talk about Lord Moldyfart back there. Whoever’s hiding in that nasty mist.”