by K. J. Emrick
No, he’s not a ghost. He’s magic. “According to Harry he’s some sort of shapeshifter.”
“A snake,” Harry explains. “A snake in a man suit, is how Sidney put it.”
“Uh. Okay,” is Chris’s answer. “I’m going to add that to the list of weird you’ve brought into my life, Sid.”
Harry snickers. “You frighten too easily, Christian Caine. I assure you there are much stranger things out there than a single viperae.”
“Well, you’d know. You are the expert on weird.”
Harry glares at the phone as if he plans on crawling into it and having a few choice words with Chris. I’ll have to explain to him later that’s not how these tiny magic boxes work. I also don’t need the two of them arguing right now. “Ok, guys, we’re getting off track here. Chris, there has to be some record of him somewhere. Nobody can live in a modern society without leaving some kind of fingerprint, digital or literal.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree with you,” he says, and I can hear the disbelief in his voice before he even says the words. “But in this case there’s just nothing. It’s like Kato didn’t exist before you found him.”
“So all that stuff about him being president of the homeowner’s association…?”
“Yeah, about that. It turns out there is no homeowner’s association at that complex. It didn’t strike you as odd that there’d be an HOA in a rundown area like that?”
Actually it did, but Kato had put a lot of effort into making it look like there was. Oh, hell! That’s why he knew I wasn’t for real, right off the bat. I told him I was a reporter there to ask him about a group that didn’t even exist! One that he’d made up to make people drop their guard around him.
Well, it had certainly worked on me.
“What about him being an actuary, Chris? Did you check on his job?”
At the same time, in almost the same way, Harry and Chris both ask, “What the hell’s an actuary?”
I smile, because my two guys really are a lot more alike than they realize. “It’s someone who makes risk assessments for corporations. Tells them how much it’s going to cost if their employees get hurt, how much insurance they’re going to need for next year, that sort of thing.”
“Man,” Chris sighs. “That’s a job? I’m in the wrong line of work.”
“No, you’re not,” I promise him. “You’re a good cop, and the world needs good cops.”
“Needs good private investigators too,” he reminds me. “Okay, well. I’m sorry I came up with a dead end. Do you have anything else that might help? Any known associates for Kato?”
I did, actually. Li Qiang Chen. I knew for a fact they knew each other whether Chen wanted to admit it or not. Thinking back, I remember that Chen didn’t recognize Kato’s name even though he recognized my description of the guy. Now it made sense. Kato was an alias. Mister Taffy Man was living under an assumed name because he was trying to stay hidden.
But…did he? If he wanted his theft of the dragon-and-unicorn statue to stay a secret then why would he ask all around about Chinese artifacts? He had to know that would get back to someone. I mean, it got back to me. It was only a matter of time before Chen heard about it and came looking to see who the guy was in that apartment with such a keen interest in a very specific sort of Chinese antiquity…
Oh. Yeah…of course it would. Chen would have heard. He would have come looking to find the man.
And that was exactly what Kato wanted. He was sitting in that apartment, waiting for Chen to show up. Instead, he got me, and had to change his plan.
This wasn’t just personal between them. This was some sort of grudge.
Dear God, I think Kato is trying to kill Arnie Chen.
But then, my mind argued with me, why do it this way? Why steal from him first when he could have just shown up at the restaurant and put a bullet in Chen’s heart? Or run him over with a car. Or burn his restaurant down with Chen inside. There’s a thousand ways this could have been done. Why draw him out first?
Good questions. I’d make sure to get the answers from Kato. Once we could find him.
“Sid?” Chris is calling my name from the phone. I was caught up in my thoughts, working Chen’s case while I sat here in the car, waiting for de Blanco and his crew to leave the Dunkin’ Donuts so we could continue working on Molly and Kurt’s case…
The door’s about to open.
It does, and de Blanco steps out with the twins.
“Sidney Stone, look,” Harry says. He points at what I’ve already seen, the three Northside Demons walking out of the door all cocky and full of themselves. And, full of mocha that I bought for them, I might add.
“Chris, I have to go.” My finger is already hovering over the red button to end the call.
“What’s going on?” he asks me, and I can hear the concern in his voice.
“Don’t worry, Chris, I’ve got this. I’m a big girl who can take care of herself. Besides. I’ve got Harry with me.”
“Correct,” my genie friend says proudly, leaning in unnecessarily close to the phone. “She has me with her, Christian Caine. I am here to keep her safe. You can just sit in your office and push papers, as you do.”
I roll my eyes. “The testosterone’s getting a little thick in here, guys. Chris, I’ll call you later.” Pushing the button, I hang up on him and put my phone away in my pocket.
De Blanco and crew are on the other side of the parking lot getting into a mid-sized black suburban. The rims are custom. The windows are tinted. There’s a freaking bumper sticker on the back with a slogan in Spanish about riding rough and riding dirty. I could spot that car in the middle of downtown Detroit traffic while wearing a blindfold.
On the other hand, they haven’t seen us sitting here, watching. Guys like that never think they might be the prey.
Perfect.
“Come on, Harry.” I rev up Roxy’s engine and put her in gear. “Let’s go finish our chat.”
When they pull around to the parking lot entrance, I ease my Mustang out of her spot, and follow.
Chapter Ten
It doesn’t actually matter to me how unique de Blanco’s car is. I can hang back here in traffic and follow it anywhere. All I need is to listen to my future-sense.
“They’re going to take the next right,” I tell Harry.
When the light turns green three seconds later, they turn right.
“Straight up the block.”
At a four-way intersection, they keep going straight.
“Right again.”
At the stop sign, they turn right.
Harry chuckles low in his chest. “Show off.”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Hey, it’s not boasting if it’s true.
I’ve been keeping an eye on the traffic. Street to street, we’ve been moving away from the busy areas into sections with fewer and fewer cars. Where we are now there’s only a couple of houses, and hardly anybody on the road with us. Nothing but tall, skinny trees waving in the breeze. Nice. Quiet. Secluded.
Most people think Detroit is nothing but car manufacturing plants and steel skyscrapers as far as the eye can see. The truth is there’s a lot of undeveloped plots of land in Detroit, and parks, and grass, and suburbs. Driving most of the streets in Detroit, you’d think you were in small town America, instead of a major city.
There’s also a lot of places like this, where the houses are rundown or abandoned, where property values are next to nothing and the police hardly ever patrol unless there’s a call for help. Which is rare since the people who live here don’t call the police. They hide, or they deal with the issue themselves. When it comes to the Northside Demons, people hide. The Demons probably have a house up here somewhere loaded with gang members and guns, where they operate freely because no one dares to call the police on them. No way am I going to let these guys get to a place like that.
For what I’ve got in mind, I don’t think I’ll find a better spot than right here on this quiet street.
“Ready to grant another wish, Harry?”
“So soon, my lady? Are you sure you want to use your second wish already?”
“Yup. I think you’re going to like this one.” I check my mirrors again, and in front of the black suburban, and find the street still clear of traffic. “Okay. I wish all the tires on their car would go flat. All at once. Right…now.”
This time instead of a snap Harry claps his hands, a resounding slap inside the car. The motion he uses to grant each wish doesn’t really matter. I’ve seen him rub an earlobe and make things happen. It’s his intent that matters, and right now his intent is to disable that black car so it can’t go anywhere.
The reverberating, flatulent sound of all four tires having a blowout at the same time is followed by the screech of brakes and the grinding noise of those custom metal rims trying to roll on pavement. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a car that has had a catastrophic tire failure, but motor vehicles were never meant to run on their rims. It’s almost impossible to steer with one flat… but with four…well, let’s just say their car angled a hard turn to the right and ended up jumping the curb and planting itself hard on the lawn of a burned out house that’s been overgrown in weeds for a few years.
I smile smugly to myself. That worked even better than I’d planned.
“Now what?” Harry asks me.
My answer is simple. “Now, we do this.”
I pull Roxy up and around their disabled vehicle, front in over the curb. I don’t need to block them, so it’s more for dramatic effect. It’s not like they’re going to be driving away. What I’ve found over the years is that a little drama goes a long way to making your point.
“Harry, can you…?” I don’t need to finish asking him. I can feel it when he transfers himself back into the tassel. There’s a sort of weight to it when he’s inside. A pressure from it laying against my hip that lets me know Harry’s close by.
The three goons emerge from the suburban, one at a time, looking annoyed at the world.
Time to start this game for real.
“Hiya, guys,” I say as I step out. “Car trouble?”
They all stare at me as I come around Roxy’s front end, asking things to each other in Spanish like, Que te pasa? and Golpeas algo? even though I would think the answer to all that was obvious. I mean, even someone who doesn’t know much about cars knows what a flat tire looks like.
“Did you do this, chica?” de Blanco asks me in that too-high voice of his. “You break mi ranfla?”
His hand’s going for that gun again. Technically I didn’t touch his car, but I am responsible for what happened to it, so I don’t bother answering. I don’t stop, either. I march right up to them and as the twin thugs move in front of their boss to cut me off, I show them exactly what a real puta looks like.
“Stop right there or we’ll break your—ugh,” the one on my right starts to say, before the blade of my hand chops into the front of his neck, and into the soft cartilage of his Adam’s apple.
He sputters, and chokes, and backs away from me reflexively as his hands fly up to his injured throat. As someone who’s had that done to them before, I can tell you that it hurts. A lot. And with guys there’s a more pronounced laryngeal prominence—that’s the Adam’s apple. Easy target.
The other twin wasn’t expecting that move but it doesn’t take him long to figure out I’m more of a threat than I look. With a startled shout he pulls his fist back and throws it toward me.
Step back.
I see the punch coming and know where to be stand so it will miss.
He stumbles past me, his own momentum carrying him too far.
Uppercut to his midsection.
I can see the perfect moment when his body is stretched out right where I need it to be and my punch is already there and waiting for him. The guy’s gut is hard with muscle, but I’m no softy. My fist lands, and the air whoofs out of his lungs, and he doubles over onto his knees.
For good measure, I land a kick to his midsection that sends him flopping to the ground, moaning and curled up around himself.
Step left.
The other twin is back, still rasping for breath but ready to kill me if I’m too slow to sidestep the knife that he jabs at my back. Spin left. Duck. Throw my arm out to block his.
Each slash he makes with the knife misses me, although at least one got a lot closer than I wanted it to. Move right. Move right.
Spin.
Catch his wrist.
Using a move the Marines taught me, I pull his arm forward and under my armpit and twist my hips low which puts too much pressure on his elbow…in the wrong direction.
With a loud crunch, his arm hyperextends backward.
The knife drops point first into the dirt and sinks down to the handle. The crunch doesn’t necessarily mean it’s broken. I might have just torn a tendon or two. He screams, and I don’t mind telling you that I like the way it sounds. When he drops to his knees, I drive a hard kick to the side of his head. He doesn’t scream after that. Just faceplants onto the ground, knocked unconscious by the tip of my sneaker—
DUCK!
Of the three, de Blanco is the only one still standing. He thought he was going to come up behind me and slam the butt end of his .40 caliber automatic into the back of my skull. I saw it coming, because I’ve learned the hard way that cowards always try to attack you from behind. When I’m in a fight, I pay very close attention to my future-sense. It’s saved my life more than once.
By the way, I don’t suggest taking on three attackers who are stronger than you by yourself. Not unless you have an edge like mine. Or pepper spray. Or an assault rifle with an extended clip.
Crouched down on my heels I avoided his attack but unlike his thugs, de Blanco keeps his balance and comes back with the gun pointing down at me this time, finger on the trigger. My back is still to him, but I know what’s coming next.
With every bit of push I can manage, I spring backward, striking his chin with the top of my head.
One of the best ways to avoid being shot is to be inside the reach of the gun. When I hit him, his finger jerks reflexively, and the gun goes off, but now I’m standing flat against his chest and the gun is too far out to be pointed at me and the bullet ricochets harmlessly off the pavement and into a group of trees.
Damn, he’s got a hard jaw. My head instantly throbs from the impact of using my skull to punch him, but I don’t let that stop me. He staggers back, his eyes wide, momentarily stunned, but now I’m in front of his gun again. Blinking, shaking his head, he forces himself to focus on me and raises the barrel up…
“Harry!” I call out for him.
Instantly there’s a push of displaced air as my genie friend pops into sight between me and de Blanco. He’s more than a foot taller than the leader of the Northside Demons, and physically stronger by far, but the gun is still there, and that’s still a problem.
At least, it is until Harry simply jumps on the guy, and then rides him to the ground, and sits on his chest, and slaps him hard across his face. The gun and his sunglasses both go skittering off along the ground.
Just like that, the fight is over.
It’s almost anticlimactic, but I’ll take it. I’d say we got our point across at any rate. Don’t mess with me or my friends. Don’t call people nasty names in a restaurant assuming they can’t understand you. Basically, don’t be a bully. You never know when it’s going to be your turn.
“You got him, Harry?”
“Of course, my lady. He is nothing more than a fly. Say the word, and I will crush him.”
See, I know he’s lying. Harry won’t kill people. It’s actually one of his genie rules that he can’t kill people. I mean, push come to shove I think he might take someone’s life to save me, but that’s not the same thing. He won’t kill someone just for the fun of it, and not just because the jerk deserves it, either. I know that.
But de Blanco doesn’t.
“Get him off
me!” he cries out, his scared tone very unmanly. Especially with the blood from his split lip staining his teeth. “Carlos! Cisco! Ayuda me!”
I’m assuming those are his two thugs he’s talking about, the ones lying prone on the ground not far away. “They aren’t going to be any help to you. Not for a while.” I sit down on the ground, up close to his head. I give Harry a passing slap on his leg. “Make sure he can breathe big guy, okay?”
Harry leans into de Blanco more and the man chokes and sputters and squirms uselessly. “Of course, my lady. We would not want him to die before he answers your queries.”
“My friend is upset,” I tell de Blanco, playing off what Harry just said. “He heard all the nasty things you and your buddies were saying about me in Dunkin’ Donuts. Why don’t you apologize and make him feel better?”
“Screw you,” is his gasping response.
Harry puts a single finger against the middle of de Blanco’s forehead, pinning his head in place. Very slowly, he says one word. “Apologize.”
De Blanco’s eyes go wide with a panic he can’t hold back anymore. “I’m sorry! Okay, you crazy—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
His voice cracks, and I swear his eyes are about to pop out of his head. Good. Now I think I have his attention.
“Thank you, Harry.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Now, Mister de Blanco. Let me ask you again. The Dachiana family had a necklace stolen from them. It’s something of great personal value, and they want it back. Hey. You listening to me?”
Pressed against Harry’s finger like that it’s hard for him to nod, but he does his best.
“Okay, just making sure. So. They had this necklace stolen from them, and they’ve been having all this trouble with you and the Demons. Sort of a turf war, I guess? I never will understand these things but that’s why I’m a private investigator, and you’re in a gang. So tell me. What did your guys do with their necklace?”
“We…didn’t…take it,” he says in between short gulps of air. “Didn’t…take it.”
Hmm. “You want the Dachianas out of here, right? Out of what you consider your territory?”