Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  Like before, and to my disappointment, Casey still won’t speak to me. Yesterday I spent the whole day making efforts to contact him but he never got back to me. His phone just goes to voicemail and texts get no response.

  That, though, doesn’t matter much; he is still my client. We agreed on work to be done, and everything stands like that.

  Yesterday after doing that reveal, I drew only one conclusion from it: the last person to get hold of his items decided to keep them in a frozen state. And that someone is ignorant about magic—because the parts don’t need refrigeration to keep them alive. They just won’t decay until Casey himself dies. This I now know to be true, unlike before.

  We then must find this cold place and dig it out!

  Let’s see how today’s reveal will go. I will do it in the afternoon when it’s easiest to catch a nap.

  For now, it’s time to go to the office so I shower and dress up. Today, being the start of my working week, there is always that excitement to catch up with things. Most expectedly I also will get to reunite with Mr. Gillz, whom I am so fond of but don’t get to see during my off days. He indeed must know I’m not in so much of a good mood after having failed to deliver to my client, but hey, I am trying. He needs to be fed, too, and I will drop in a little food into his tank.

  After that, I can then listen to any and all messages left while I was away. Some other big things could have happened somewhere, who knows, but I sure hope not. Who needs another big black magic disaster on their hands? Not me, thank you very much.

  The Vic is there inside the uncluttered garage—where I have developed a practice of parking it ever since that attack of last week. The garage’s solid, fire-resistant walls give me a huge sense of safety, and I could even sleep in the car for the whole night if it was desirable to do so.

  I start the engine, press the garage remote, and once the door is up start to back out. On the driveway one wheel bumps up like I drove over a piece of wood. I wonder what it is, but when I clear the area and look, there is nothing. It’s so funny, because I really felt it, but then these days I’m so jittery about things that go bump, I must let this one pass. Soon I am going up Emerald.

  Just before I get to St David’s, a young mother pushes a stroller across the T intersection. I stop and wait. When I go, and try to turn right, suddenly the steering wheel resists. It’s almost like it will twist my hands. In a second it has overpowered me and is swinging opposite. The car turns left.

  “Oh, what is this?” I panic.

  A strange smell starts to filter in, and I don’t know whether I am imagining things or not. The Vic is moving on its own, and Jesus, it’s gaining speed without me doing anything. I press on the brakes. My foot is resisted; it’s like there is something lifting it off the pedal. There is a demon in here.

  My heart wants to explode out of my chest as the hormones of fright flood my body. My spine has turned to ice, and it’s incredible my brain can still communicate with my muscles. Everything is a blur

  I fight to keep the car straight on St David’s, but where the road ends onto another, the Vic looks like it will overshoot the intersection and smash into the bush. I struggle to swing it left, barely managing to stay on the road. The car swerves from curb to curb, and it’s a wonder I don’t hit any of the other vehicles left parked overnight. I am fighting to stop the demon; oh Jesus, I really am. The brakes sometimes hold and then they don’t, but the tires just squeal, and the Vic keeps going.

  Now we are on Sunbriar, heading toward Willowdale. My hands grip the wheel tight, and again my feet are glued to the brakes, but the accelerator defeats me by going down to the floor on its own. The engine screams with the load of gas pumped into it.

  At the second T junction, the Vic will surely overshoot and go down to the Cazenovia Creek. I fight to stop that. The steering has become a slab of iron, and my hands and brow sweat. The Vic races like the state trooper vehicle that it used to be. It wants to jump curb, but I still cling to the wheel and force it onto Southgate.

  Up Southgate we go, and it speeds up even further. I wrestle it on two more dangerous turns and then we hit Parkdale. My head is spinning, and my hands are useless. The Vic is possessed. It flies down the road, and now with sweat pouring over my eyes I see again the deadly waters of the Cazenovia. I scream and fight. One wheel hits the curb and jumps. Something happens, I have lost sight once more. There is a huge boom and a hot black cloud is shooting toward me. I smell something else, too, like burnt rubber.

  God, I am going to pass out.

  Forty-eight

  Two days ago, Sunday, when Casey hastily departed the La Galleria Convention Center and Banquet Hall, he did not go back home like most of those he left behind believed. He instructed the driver of the Yellow Cab to take him to a reasonably priced motel with quiet surroundings. The driver chose for him the two-star University Manor Inn on Main.

  That is where he still is. It’s a fairly reasonable joint, but on the upper limit of what he is prepared to fork out nightly. Not that he can’t cough up the inn’s slightly over a hundred regular rate. Problem is he is going to be here for long, and he needs to keep his finances in check. There is no hurry to get back to Dick, if ever he will. The life he used to live there is over.

  Megan has been calling. And calling. How shall he treat her? Didn’t she hear what he said at the wedding? She says she wants answers—what, for Christ’s sake? Does she have to look into his pants? As far as he is concerned, he is done with her but she keeps wanting to drag him back to that old life.

  The room he is in does allow whatever little peace of mind he can get from his tortured thoughts. It has a single queen bed—which actually is too big for his needs at the moment, because that size is always meant to be shared, and he has no one to share it with. There is also a desk with drawers, and a chair, plus a closet with a steam iron in it. Also a minibar, even though he isn’t drinking.

  The Pixel starts to blare again. Fuck, it’s Megan. Won’t she know he doesn’t want to talk to her? She must give up. Same with Mel who yesterday was calling endlessly. He is here to start a new life the way he now is, no need to revisit what’s not coming back.

  Finally, he decides to answer, and he will just tell her to go and leave him alone. “Hello,” he says.

  No answer, just a lot of sobbing.

  “Megan, I know it’s you. What do you want?” he growls.

  “Casey.” She weeps. “Why did you ever do…?”

  This crying business is never going to end; better just deal with it the right away.

  “Megan,” he says once more but without any sympathy in his voice. “if you really want to know, come visit me.”

  “Where are you?” Her voice steadies a bit, though the hoarseness of crying is still detectable.

  “University Manor Inn. Room twenty-three.”

  She doesn’t demand to know if he isn’t lying, if he is actually in that hotel. The phone cuts off and goes silent. Recent technology has done away with line beeps, thank God.

  Rather than berate himself for taking the call when previously he has sworn not to, Casey congratulates himself. Now he can say an emphatic goodbye and be done with it. This is great and deserves some celebration. There is a liquor store right close to the university and he goes there to order a six-pack of Heineken for himself, and then for Megan, as a parting shot, a white Inniskillin VQA.

  Within the hour, via his room window, Casey sees a blue Mazda purr into the lot. Out, she comes. She is dressed in green jeans, with a very light turquoise sweater, a button-up with the top two buttons undone. In a moment, the door is knocked. She comes in, and straight away crumbles onto the bed he lays on.

  “Tell me, why did you run away?” The tears pour out of her eyes. “What did I do wrong?”

  Casey had meant to be brusque, and in fact will be so, but for now he reaches for the tissue box and helps to wipe away her tears.

  “Because it’s all over,” he says. “Didn’t you hear what I s
aid, Sunday?”

  “Nothing made any sense.”

  “That’s because I couldn’t say much.” He surprises himself by offering explanations. “There were too many people.”

  “Why didn’t you cancel before, then? Did you have to wait?”

  “I was hoping, maybe, there would be a last-minute change.”

  “Change of what? Tell me, we are alone.” She sits up and he does the same.

  “You really want to know it?” He stands up. Now is the time.

  “Yes,” says Megan.

  “I don’t have a dick anymore.”

  “Whaat?” Her pretty eyes go wide.

  Fast he unbuckles his belt, unzips, then lets his cargos fall to the floor. His undies join them.

  “See,” he says. “I told you.”

  She glimpses the lack. “God in heaven, Casey what has happened?”

  “Exactly what you’re gazing at.”

  Cringing, she crashes herself onto the bed. “Is it possible?” She slaps the pillows.

  “I don’t know,” answers Casey, “but now you see.”

  He is in no hurry to pull his undies back up, less so to wear his cargos again.

  “No, I don’t want this.” Megan screams hard. Fresh tears burst out of her eyes, but Casey senses the pain is of a different kind.

  “Isn’t it that psychic friend of yours told you,” he says tauntingly, “that I’m changed.”

  Megan says nothing and won’t even look.

  “Didn’t she say I had been rendered inadequate,” he continues, “or what was the other phrase… totally incapacitated?”

  Truly, this is great. He is loving every bit of it.

  Forty-nine

  I am almost at the point of losing consciousness, but the rising sound of sirens keeps me alert. The air bag that pressed against my chest has deflated but is still scalding. I can’t free myself because my seatbelt is stuck. My whole body is a mess of sweat, panic and exhaustion.

  The smells in the car have increased and are so overwhelming. In addition to that strange magic one I sensed before, there is now a tang of gasoline and engine oil. The airbag, also, has a reek of its own, and almost chokes me with sulfur, corn, and talcum. Further, a few of my body hairs have been singed, for I pick that unmistakable whiff of roasting keratin.

  God help me I need to escape. My right hand can move around but can’t do much on its own because the left is entangled in the belt. I want to open the door, but the Vic is that older type with the vintage pull-up and push-down locks that aren’t so easy to operate.

  Trying again I stretch my right hand, which is free, and succeed to pop the lock. Still, I can’t get out because the door handle is too far down to access. Jesus, what am I going to do? It’s so hot in here. I shall have to continue barbecuing unless help arrives, of which thankfully it doesn’t seem so far.

  The first police car shows up. Officers only kick the driver door in slightly and it gives. Paramedics follow. What happens after that is a lengthy process of on-site triaging and some treatment. Next, I am ferried to the Mercy Center Hospital and put into a small room of my own. Wires and tubes I know aren’t needed are hooked up.

  The room is painted light blue, and it has a curtained window. The linen smells of starch and commercial fabric softener. A machine with a green display blinks by every thirty seconds or so. In the hallway is the constant drum of booted feet and wheeling gurneys.

  Trapped in a ward, I have my first inkling of what life on a deathbed might be like. Everyone who matters comes to visit me. Kay wears a look of sadness and concern, and even though he doesn’t cry, I catch a distant veil of liquid in his eyes. Elder Sweeney also comes. He squints at me gravely, his old eyes barely glinting out of their bags.

  Sara shows up, too, and hugs me.

  “I’m so sad, you are here sis,” she says. “What happened?”

  Zed is mad about it all and says he will find out who did this. Something is very unusual about the accident—because a car can’t just drive itself to destruction. This will need to be investigated.

  The nurses come and go. They record temperature and pulse on a sheet. They glare at the connected machine and sigh or snort when it beeps. Then they go back without telling me I am fine, I’ll be released.

  About six o’clock, when I am tired of lying in bed, I get the most surprising of visits. It’s Casey and Megan—or will you allow me to prematurely call them Mr. and Mrs. McLong. Casey has previously called, and I told him I was in hospital, but he never indicated he wanted to come.

  “This is Megan,” says he, “one you’ve heard so much about from me.”

  “And haven’t had the privilege of meeting up till now.” I extend a hand.

  He smiles; he knows I am fine.

  Megan looks shaken, but she is warm. “Pleased to meet you, Mel.” She almost is the same height as me but may weigh slightly more. She has a well-proportioned face with dark brown eyes. Her hair is blonde but perhaps may have been so dyed for the sake of the wedding. In her face is a silent troubled sorrow, though she is trying to be as bright as can be.

  I sit up. An awkwardness—perhaps I should have predicted—pervades the room. No doubt Casey has told Megan what his problem is, despite I told him to wait. Anyway I wouldn’t have been able to live with the lie for long myself, so I understand him.

  Now, by the looks of it, these guys might want to know if I have any new information regarding their case. Before the accident, I had planned to do another reveal but now I can’t because the amethyst is gone with my tote in the Vic. What I saw yesterday scared me, though, and I don’t think I can stand to tell these two. That freezer didn’t bode well, and I can’t guarantee what the two would feel about it. It’s so bad.

  “So peeps, are you enjoying yourselves?” I say out of hand, but immediately regret it. It only adds to the discomfort.

  “A little…you know,” says Megan.

  “Don’t worry,” I say.

  A lot other things aren’t mentioned but are there. Megan is desperately in love with Casey and won’t want anything to separate them. Casey has all but given up and doesn’t intend to hold on. God what can I do to bring these two the happiness they so deserve.

  When they finally leave, I resolve I must go, too. I summon the duty nurses to badger them. I don’t want to be in this dump anymore and want to head to my office and start work, even though it’s going on to nighttime. I have clients who need help out there. Also I have dropper wands and sniffers and dream stones that need to be put to use.

  The duty nurse is pleasant but powerless. She is big, with pleasing light-gray eyes, and a soft, Eastern European-accented voice, though her teeth may be a little stained with coffee. Her curly hair is restrained in a cap. Her name is Katerina.

  “You know what Kate, I must go.”

  “It’s the doctor’s call, but I see you’re good.”

  After many minutes of back and forth tugs of war, I am finally allowed to leave. It’s Kay who comes to pick me up. He has rented a Nissan Rogue. Today he practically spent all the time in here but took a couple hours off to go shower and change. He now wears a monogrammed long-sleeve T, with blue pants and a good pair of Puma sneakers. His red hair is well combed and blends fine with the slight freckles on his face. I am smitten. Vulnerability has its way of turning me into fodder for raging hormones. I need him so much even while I am in this hospital.

  Since they only brought me here with my wallet, I don’t have lots to carry. I say goodbye to Katerina, and then the doctor who discharged me, a dark-skinned Asian with a name difficult to pronounce. The halls are swept and mopped. The swing doors creak slightly as they open. Everyone in uniform is polite.

  In a moment, we are out. The setting sun is a blessing to my fluorescent-light glazed eyes. The slight wind is sweet, and the evening blooms sway in it, releasing their aromas. Post a magic attack, I am back to my regular existence.

  Arm in arm we walk with Kay to the lot. The promenading is way more
romantic than all those dates we have had. I would like to kiss him…but hey, probably this isn’t the best time.

  “Don’t let’s go home yet,” I say. “Let’s go check the Vic.” I just can’t wait to look at what happened. Did that tire bump I got when I drove out of the garage cause all this?

  “No, sweetie you need to rest. We go home.”

  “I rested enough. I am dying for action.”

  “Okay,” says Kay.

  Credit to him, he has done some running around and knows where the Crown Victoria has been towed to. He pays for his parking with a credit card, and the boom lifts.

  We drive easy—Kay is such a careful man—all the way to Bullock where the wreckage lot is.

  “I’m so glad you’re fine,” he says again.

  “Don’t you know I am immortal?” I glare jokingly at him.

  The yard is officially closed, but a guard stands at the gate. Normal instructions are that he isn’t supposed to open for anyone after hours, but he will accommodate us if we only mean to get bags out of the damaged car.

  We get in. I can already see the Vic at a distance from the gate, but we will reach it soon enough. I hurry in front of Kay, risking to trip on the uneven, potholed asphalt.

  Just like I want it, it’s not too dark yet to see things in fine detail, thanks to Uncle Sam for daylight savings. A chill envelopes me as I glimpse the damage, forcing me to cling to Kay for a second.

  “It probably wasn’t a good idea to come so soon,” he says.

  I don’t say anything, but just hang tight to him as I remember every little bit about how I fought the beast who was in control of the car for no less than three street turns. The last tussle had been the worst, with the Vic heading toward the creek and then suddenly flying to strike a lamp post.