by Anne McClane
Jimmy walked to her. “Jesus, Lace. Are you all right?”
He grabbed her in a hug.
“Just peachy.” She laughed through the tears. She held on to the embrace for a little while.
She stepped back and saw Trevor watching her intently. Lacey tried to cover. “God, I’m so sorry. We took over your bus!”
Trevor shrugged, and Jimmy answered, “Lacey! Get over it. We don’t need the bus. What the hell happened?”
Lacey looked nervously at Trevor.
Jimmy turned to him. “Go on ahead, Toom. I’ll meet up with y’all in a few.”
Trevor nodded. He walked to Lacey and kissed her, gently, on the top of the head. He poked his head inside the bus, and someone handed him a wallet and a phone.
He gave Lacey and Jimmy a tip of an imaginary cap, and walked off into the night.
“Where did you find this guy again?” Lacey laughed through the last of her tears.
“So, what’s going on?” Jimmy asked, ignoring her question.
Lacey stepped away from the bus and led Jimmy toward the wall of the opposite building. She looked up at him and said, “A friend of mine was kidnapped tonight. Helga intercepted the whole thing and killed a guy in the process.”
Jimmy processed the information. “But something happened to Helga too. She wouldn’t tell me, but I could tell. Is she okay?” he asked.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Lacey paused, careful with her choice of words. “Helga got shot too. I think she lost a lot of blood. She won’t go to the hospital until we’re finished here,” Lacey added, her voice rising in pitch.
Jimmy nodded. “That woman is a machine. Quit worrying about her, Budge, I’ll take that on.” He shifted his weight. “Who’s the friend?” he asked.
“This guy, Nathan. He’s in the bus right now.”
Jimmy raised his eyebrows and shifted on his feet again. “Was the guy alone?”
“Who?” Lacey asked.
“The dead guy, the kidnapper.”
“No,” Lacey answered, touching her forehead. “There was this weaselly dude, the driver. He ran off. The little fuck hit me in the head with the car door,” she added under her breath.
“When did you start cursing so much?” Jimmy asked.
“Lay off.” Lacey folded her arms.
“You didn’t get that bloody from just that cut,” Jimmy said, eyeing her blood-streaked legs.
“No,” Lacey answered. “That’s from Helga.” She clasped her hands before her and looked her brother in the eye. “Yeah,” she said. “Jimmy, something’s happened. Something on top of all this kidnapping and homicide stuff.”
Jimmy quit moving and waited for her to continue. His fidgetiness passed to Lacey.
“Something’s going on with me,” she said, “like some kind of power. Something manifesting. I think I got it from Fox. Or from Fox’s family. I don’t know. I can’t really describe it, but I might be able to heal. There are these Creole healers called traiteurs; there might be something there. I might have healed Helga’s gunshot wound. I don’t have it figured out yet.”
Jimmy raised his eyebrows again.
“You think I’m crazy,” Lacey said, shaking her head. “I know, I might be losing my mind. But I never thought a psychotic break would feel like this.”
“Like what?” Jimmy asked, calm as a Buddha.
“Like, right,” she said. “There’s something about the way I feel when it’s happening, and right after it happens. Everything feels…right. Like the way things are supposed to be.”
They stared at each other for a moment until Lacey cast her eyes to the ground.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Jimmy finally said.
“You don’t?”
“No.” Jimmy finally relaxed into a normal stance. Lacey finally caught her breath. “So, tell me about what happened with Helga,” he said.
Lacey wiped at her brow. “She and the guy were in the alley.” She gestured in that direction. “I was helping Nathan…my friend…out of the car when I heard a gunshot. When I got to the alley, I saw the guy—definitely dead—and then Helga, on her back. There was a lot of blood pooled around her. I remember seeing her leg. It looked awful. Like a fresh shark bite.” Lacey paused, temporarily reliving the moment.
“But now it doesn’t?” Jimmy asked.
“No. The wound looks a lot smaller than I remember, and it looks like she has some old, bad scarring.”
“And you think you had something to do with that?”
Lacey got defensive. “Yes. No. Yes, I know I did,” she said finally, arms crossed.
Jimmy laughed. “Relax, Budgie. I believe you. I’m just trying to get a picture. Do you, like, lay hands on the wound and stuff? Is there any ‘Praise Jesus’ involved?”
“No,” Lacey said, still defensive. “At least, I don’t think so. I kind of black out, or go into a type of twilight.”
“That’s a little scary,” Jimmy said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she answered. “Anyway, it feels more like science than religion. Like I’m channeling some sort of energy. Like a conduit.”
“Maybe that’s what those religious wackos feel too,” Jimmy said.
“Not helping,” Lacey said.
“Actually, believe it or not, the thing that’s got me stuck is you running toward the sound of a gunshot,” Jimmy said. “That’s pretty bold. Almost reckless, one might say.”
“I don’t know, Chump. This is all new to me. Who’s to say I didn’t have this in me all along? This kind of bravery.”
“I’m not saying you’ve never been brave. Just cautious. Especially after Fox.”
Lacey shrugged.
“You said something about Creole healers. Do you think you’re part of a special breed?” Jimmy asked. “Like Highlander?”
“No, at least I hope not,” Lacey said. “Remember he got thrown out of his village.”
“And there were lots of beheadings, too,” Jimmy said. “You’d probably want to avoid that. You said something about ‘a power manifesting.’ That made me think of the Quickening.”
Lacey paused. “Yeah, maybe. There’s a lot of heat. It’s happened twice now. Actually more than twice, but two really big, definite times.”
“What was the other time?” Jimmy asked.
“Oh,” Lacey’s defenses went up again. “Well, I don’t remember everything. But it was that guy, Nathan. I found him underneath the I-610 overpass by my house.”
“Jesus! Who is this lowlife?” Jimmy asked.
“I barely know him! I don’t think he’s a lowlife. I think he’s just caught up in something bad, some bad mojo, maybe.” Lacey realized she still had no idea why this was happening to Nathan. And he had tried to tell her, too.
“Whatever. But Helga got shot because of him too. And someone got killed. Did you come here with him tonight?”
“No! Geez. Settle, please,” Lacey said, trying to assuage her brother’s protective streak. “You know I was supposed to come with Angele. I ran into Nathan inside, purely coincidental.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “You said ‘more than twice,’” he added.
“Well, I think,” Lacey replied, relieved at the change of subject. “There may have been other times, but just not as big. If anything happened, it was super quick and not dramatic. I’m not entirely certain I did anything to help.”
Jimmy was in deep thought. “Like earthquakes,” he said.
“What?”
“In California. Sometimes you feel these minor, quick tremors. You’re not sure whether it’s a truck passing or an earthquake. The big everything-shakes-for-more-than-a-minute ones happen a lot less frequently.”
“Huh. What’s this got to do with me?” Lacey smiled. She rolled her neck, her shoulders feeling suddenly unencumbered. She should have known her brother would take her news in stride.
In the direction of the alley, a group of people began to break up. Lacey sensed the
detective might soon be upon them.
“Hey, Chump? There’s something else kind of weird,” Lacey said.
“Kind of? Because the rest of this isn’t weird at all?” Jimmy asked.
“I know. Stay with me, here. It’s when the ‘big ones’ happen. I think I have to be naked.” Lacey kicked at a pebble at her feet. “Or, I don’t know if ‘have to be’ is right, but somehow I end up that way,” she added, still fascinated with the ground.
A lightbulb snapped on over Jimmy’s head. “Like the Hulk?” he asked, grinning.
“Oh stop it!” Lacey said, finally looking up. “I don’t bust out of my clothes, no,” she said. “It’s more like Superman, except I have to change into my birthday suit.”
“That could get inconvenient,” Jimmy said.
“Ya think?” Lacey looked down at her feet again. “No more comic references come to mind?”
“No,” Jimmy said with a toned-down smile. “I’m sticking with the Hulk.”
“What about the X-Men?” Lacey asked. “They’re the first thing I thought of. And if I have to be non-flesh-colored, I’d rather be Mystique than the Hulk.”
“No way,” he said. “Mutants are born that way. Same thing with the Immortals. And Superman too.”
“Maybe I was born with this,” she answered lamely.
“Uh-uh. You said you think you got this from Fox. It’s something that happened to you, so that makes you the Hulk. Fox was kinda like gamma radiation,” he added.
“Not sure where to go with that,” she said.
They stopped talking as a rumpled, barrel-chested man in an ill-fitting suit coat approached.
The detective had a hard time opening the bus door. Lacey and Jimmy stood behind him, glanced at each other, and Jimmy spoke up.
“Sir, yeah, the door’s a bit tricky.” It wasn’t.
The detective stumbled as he stepped aside and let Jimmy get the door. Inside, Helga bolted upright from her chair. She and Jimmy spoke for a few moments. Lacey noticed her brother was only an inch or two taller than Helga.
Nathan also stood and stepped away from the sofa. He looked much bigger standing than he did seated, filling a small space near one of the windows.
Lacey got her first good look at the detective when he finally made it to the deck of the bus. The man was shambling and looked like he had just gotten dressed, and not done a great job of it. The buttons of his shirt were misaligned, leaving one collar higher than the other, and the opposite shirttail longer. The jacket thrown over it was wrinkled. She prayed he’d remembered the zipper on his pants.
“So who do we have here?” the detective asked. The alcohol on his breath permeated the bus.
Helga took the line of fire. “I’m Amy Hoskins, Ridgeline Security. Detective…?” He had shown a badge to Jimmy and Lacey, but no one knew his name.
He looked exasperated, and flashed his badge again. “It’s Aucoin. Detective Aucoin. Where the fuck is Officer Stiles?”
“In the back for a moment,” Helga answered.
Detective Aucoin shook his head. It seemed like he might fall over from the effort.
“I need the names and identities of everyone involved,” he said.
Helga indicated herself, Nathan, and Lacey, and the detective pulled out a notebook.
“Who are you?” he asked Jimmy.
“I’m her brother,” Jimmy said, nodding his head at Lacey, “and this is my bus.”
“You can’t stay here,” the detective said, agitated and about to get in Jimmy’s face.
Lacey harkened back to evenings with a drunken Fox, and put into practice some well-used tactics.
“Detective Aucoin!” Lacey said forcefully, without any hint of emotion. She approached him with her hands out and lightly touched his forearm, which was hanging slack at his side. “We can separate while you question us. The bus has several compartments,” Lacey said. She wasn’t sure if that was true.
The detective looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, and looked down at her hand on his arm.
Lacey’s hand grew warm, and she felt a tingling sensation radiate up her arm. She pulled away as soon as she realized what was happening. Why would a drunk need healing? The effect of the alcohol would wear off on its own.
Nathan, Helga, and Jimmy stared at her. She put her hand up to her cheek to feel if she was flushed.
The detective ran his hands down his shirt to straighten it, noticed it was misbuttoned, and attempted to pull his jacket closed over his protruding belly. “I’m sorry,” he said, addressing Jimmy. “Is there a private room here?”
Jimmy looked at Lacey and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Detective,” he said.
The detective pointed at Helga. Lacey winced as she watched her limp toward the back of the bus. An awkward silence settled over Lacey, Jimmy, and Nathan.
Jimmy eyed Nathan. Nathan took the opposite approach and held out his hand, with all the confidence and poise of a friendly business meeting.
“I’m sorry, we haven’t met, with all this. Nathan Quirk.”
Jimmy accepted. “Jimmy Campo.”
The impossibly fit Officer Stiles reappeared and shut down any further conversation. Jimmy approached her, and after a brief conversation retrieved his laptop from the recesses of the bus and sat next to Lacey.
Lacey stared at the blinds on the window opposite. She closed her eyes, the easiest way to avoid Nathan’s gaze. She focused on the sound of Jimmy typing, and tried to clear her mind.
When she opened her eyes, Nathan was emerging from the room with the detective. Helga was gone.
Crap! How could I have fallen asleep? Lacey thought.
Lacey looked at Jimmy. “Did Helga—” she started to ask.
“In the ER waiting room at UMC, as we speak,” Jimmy said. “She’s fine, she’s been texting updates.”
“Okay, good.”
Nathan stopped in front of them. “Detective Aucoin’s ready for you, Lacey,” Nathan said.
Lacey nodded. Her steps toward the back of the bus were weighted with dread.
The detective was wedged into a cramped cubby opposite the toilet. His notebook was on a ledge in front of him. There was only one place to sit, and he motioned for Lacey to take it. He remained standing.
“Stacey Becnel, correct?” he said without looking up.
“Uh, it’s Lacey,” she said. “Lacey, with an L,” she added when he didn’t seem to understand.
“So, what happened to you tonight?” he asked.
She started by trying to explain why she looked so bloody. The detective didn’t seem interested in her appearance. So she tried recounting, as plainly as she could, everything she remembered after walking out of the Publiq House. She didn’t get very far before the detective countered nearly every sentence she spoke with a question:
“Why did you start running toward the alley when you heard a gunshot?”
“Did you look at the body when you passed it?”
“Did you see anyone fire a weapon?”
“Where was Ms. Hoskins’s weapon?”
“When did Mr. Quirk appear on the scene?”
“Did Mr. Quirk show any signs of struggle?”
Lacey answered every question truthfully, flat, and with no hesitation. She only faltered when the detective asked how long she had known Nathan.
“Is there something you know about Mr. Quirk that you’re not telling me, Stacey?” he asked, cutting her off.
Lacey flared. “No, Detective Aucoin.” She emphasized his last name.
He stared at her. “It’s not salient, anyway,” he said, moving on. “But I will tell you, Stacey, we could finish up quickly if you could be more substantive in your answers.”
“But I—” Lacey stopped herself. She looked down at her shoes but imagined jumping up, overturning her flimsy chair, and stomping out of the bus and into the night. It took every ounce of grace she possessed to say, “Okay.”
She squared her shoulders and raised her c
hin. He looked over his notes, then asked about the driver of the car.
Hoping she was almost done, she chose her next words carefully. “He was a very slight man, no taller than me, five seven, and maybe one hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed poorly, like he might have come in off the streets. He was driving the car, and the man who is now dead was in the passenger seat, and Mr. Quirk was in the backseat. I got a better look at him after the car had stopped. He hit me with one of the rear car doors, and then fled down an alleyway.”
The detective considered her statement. “Did he intentionally hit you with the car door?”
Lacey thought before answering. “I can’t speak for what he may have intended, but it did seem he meant to stop my forward progress by pushing me with the door.”
The detective scribbled something in his notebook. “I might need you to give a detailed description of this individual. I will have someone contact you in that case.”
Lacey sat expectantly.
He finally looked up at her. “You can go,” he said, uninterested.
Lacey walked, zombified, out of the cubby. Her desire of just a few moments ago—to bolt out into the night—had completely abandoned her. Jimmy sat in his chair, still accompanied by his laptop. Nathan was gone.
Everything felt foreign to her. There sat her brother, but he was the brother she knew the least, the famous rock star. She sat on the little sofa opposite Jimmy, like she was taking a seat on a bus full of strangers headed to unknown destinations.
Jimmy looked up from his screen. He had a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
“You okay, Budge?” he said.
The detective lumbered past them without a word. He motioned to Officer Stiles at the front of the bus, and they both left.
Lacey giggled. She looked at her brother, and the glasses made her laugh outright. He stood up and walked to her side.
“Okay, you are definitely not all right,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Nervous letdown, I guess. How long have you needed glasses, Chump?”
He pulled them off his face and set them atop his head. That made her laugh more.
“Just wait,” he said. “They’re in your future too. You’ll rue the day you laughed at me about them.”