Game of Stone

by R. L. King

  “Just to be safe. Yeah. Good call. Talk to you later, Doc.”

  Stone put the phone in his pocket and headed back to where Eddie and Ward had almost finished sorting through the pile of books. “Everything all right, mate?” Eddie asked.

  “Yes, fine. I need to go, though. There’s been another crime related to those figurines. If you could put a bit of a rush on that research—” He’d already shared the whole story of what had happened so far with both of them; neither had heard of either the strange figurines or Henry Everett, but Eddie had promised to check into both of them.

  “You got it. I’ll ’ead back to London and get started right away.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it.” He picked up the book he’d put aside—one he thought Kolinsky would find of particular interest—and bid the two of them goodbye. “I’ll try to get back next week, but no promises. Too much going on right now.”

  Verity called when he was driving back from A Passage to India. “Hey, Doc—did you want to get together for a lesson this afternoon, or are you busy? I was going out, but plans fell through.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to head up to San Francisco to look into something for that case I’m consulting on.”

  “Oh, yeah? Anything interesting?”

  “I need to locate one of the tourist hucksters down at the Wharf.”

  “Can I come along? I haven’t been to the Wharf in a long time.”

  He considered. It would be good to have the company, and Verity might even be able to help, since she fit in among the collection of unusual types hawking wares in the area better than he did. He doubted tracking down some stoner in a rasta hat would be dangerous. “Er—sure. I’ll come by and pick you up. Wear something that blends in.”

  She was ready when he arrived, in her leather jacket, jeans, and hoodie. She waited until they were speeding up 280 before twisting in her seat to face him. “So,” she said, deceptively casual, “did you ever figure out what to do about getting more power?”

  “I did.”

  She must have picked up something in either his voice or his aura, because she frowned. “So…you did it already?”

  “Yes.”

  “You…don’t look very happy about it.”

  Stone gripped the wheel, wondering if she’d deliberately waited until he was a captive audience before bringing up the subject. “It…didn’t go too well,” he said with reluctance, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

  “You didn’t…hurt anyone, did you?” Now her voice sounded as tense as his did.

  “Verity—”

  “Come on,” she said gently. “Tell me what happened. You know I’m a good listener.”

  Stone changed to the fast lane and stepped on the gas; the BMW leaped forward, its smooth, purring engine barely noticing the extra effort.

  “Doc?”

  “I—found someone willing to do it,” he said, voice tight, still refusing to look at her. “Someone a friend recommended.”

  She waited several seconds for him to continue. When he didn’t, she asked, “Did you—”

  “No. I didn’t hurt her. But I lost control a bit—took too much energy. She was—” He broke off, not sure how to continue.

  Again, Verity waited.

  “She was—afraid of me. I could see it. It didn’t last long. She claimed it wasn’t uncommon. But—her expression when it was happening—the way she squeezed my hand so hard…” His hands shook on the wheel, and he clamped them down tighter to stop it before Verity noticed.

  But of course she did notice. She put her hand over his. “I’m sorry…” she said softly. “What…what will you do when you need to…do it again?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.” He shot her a sharp look. “And before you say it, no, taking it from you isn’t an option. So don’t even bring it up.”

  She stared at her hands in her lap, then twisted back around so she was looking out the window. “Why don’t you tell me about this case? What are we looking for up here?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Stone let some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “We’re looking for a man who was selling some small figurines along the Wharf earlier this week.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “No idea if he did anything. It’s the figures we’re trying to trace.” They were approaching San Francisco now, so he slowed down and focused more of his attention on navigating the snarled traffic as he gave her a brief overview of the case.

  “Weird,” she said. “So these things are—influencing people’s behavior?”

  “It appears so. But the question is, why? Well, there are a lot of questions, actually. I’m not sure we can answer them all—but right now, I want to find out how many more of these figurines might be out there before anyone else is hurt or killed.”

  They reached the Wharf, and Stone found a parking garage not far from Pier 39. Together, he and Verity headed toward the pier, borne along in the good-sized crowd of tourists. The day was beautiful—sunny and just a bit crisp, with a light, tangy sea breeze blowing in from the Bay. Seagulls wheeled overhead, calling to each other and occasionally darting down to snatch up some discarded bit of food.

  Verity ambled along next to Stone, her hands in her jacket pockets. “So we’re looking for a white guy in a rasta hat selling tourist junk? That’s not much to go on, you realize.”

  “I know that. He might not even be here today. But keep your eyes open.”

  There were quite a lot of sellers out today, lining one side of the sidewalk in a near-unbroken line ranging from small tray-sized tables to some that were almost big enough to qualify as booths. They sold jewelry, artwork, fresh fruit, T-shirts, and other items that they hoped would appeal to the thousands of tourists drifting by. Some sat quietly behind their tables, chatting with friends or reading a book, while others stepped out in front and made a more active effort to lure customers in to examine their wares.

  None of them looked like a skinny white guy in a rasta hat, though. Stone and Verity walked slowly, checking out the sellers and examining each stall or table carefully, but none of what they saw matched what Blum had told them.

  “Seems weird he’s not here today,” Verity said. “The weekends have to be the best time to sell stuff.”

  “Perhaps he moved to a different location,” Stone said. He wished he had a better way to trace the guy than a simple physical search, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Maybe we should ask some of these other folks. Maybe some of them know each other, if they’re out here a lot.”

  “It’s worth a try. You do it, though—you’re probably less conspicuous than I am.”

  “Yep.” She grinned. “I’ll be the perky tourist and you can be my bored date.”

  They retraced their steps until they were a quarter-mile or so back from Pier 39. At each booth or stall, Verity paused to tell the seller that her friend had bought this adorable little black figurine, and she just had to have one of her own. “Do you know where the guy is who’s selling them? All she remembered was it was a white guy in one of those Jamaican hats.”

  Stone had to admit she was a born actress. He hung back and played the bored, impatient boyfriend, always trying to chivvy her along to the next stall while she oohed and aahed over the collections on display.

  For nearly an hour, they had no luck. Nobody Verity talked to claimed to know the man they were looking for. By the time they reached Pier 39, they’d questioned at least twenty hucksters.

  “Maybe the guy misremembered?” Verity asked, discouraged.

  “Possibly. Or the seller has moved his table.”

  “I don’t think so. They—” She paused, stopping suddenly, and gripped his arm. “Hey, wait—is that him there?”

  Stone followed her gaze down several tables past their current location. It was hard to get a good look past all the tourists meandering by, but after a moment there was a break in the crowd and he spotted a tall, skinny man sitting on a f
ive-gallon bucket behind two small trays spread with a cloth and various wares. The man wore a tie-dyed shirt and a knitted rasta cap striped in red, green, and yellow over mouse-brown dreads.

  One of the other sellers Verity had been chatting with only a couple minutes earlier stood next to him, and appeared to be bending down to talk to him. Both of them glanced up and scanned the crowd, looking nervous.

  “I think something’s up,” Stone muttered, taking Verity by the arm and pulling her farther back into the crowd. “I think they suspect—”

  The other seller’s gaze locked with Stone’s for a moment, and a look of fear crossed her face. She quickly bent back down and whispered something to the skinny man, who immediately got up and strode off down the street away from Stone and Verity.

  “Come on,” Stone urged, hurrying to follow. If the man managed to lose himself in the crowd, they’d never find him again. He cast a quick spell he’d been working on a few months back, and a bright blue glow appeared high above the man’s head.

  Verity jogged along beside him. “Nice trick. You’ll have to teach me that one. Can anyone else see it?”

  “No. But we still have to move fast—we can still lose him if he gets too far away.”

  The man, apparently, had some major reason why he didn’t want to be caught. He broke free of the crowd and darted across the street, weaving between honking cars that had to slam on their brakes to avoid hitting him. Stone and Verity dashed after him, ignoring the angry yells of the drivers. By the time they’d made it across, their quarry had disappeared up a side street.

  “Hurry!” Stone lengthened his stride and took off after him. He couldn’t see the blue glow now, but he knew it was still there. If he could catch up fast enough, he could locate it again.

  The side street was more of an alley, narrow and lined with cars and dumpsters. Stone skidded to a stop for a moment, trying to get his bearings, and Verity puffed up behind him. “Did you lose him?”

  “I don’t—no! There he is!” Stone muttered under his breath as he spotted the telltale bobbing blue glow behind a dumpster halfway up the alley. He put a finger to his lips and crept forward, with Verity right behind him. The glow didn’t move.

  They’d almost reached it when the skinny man’s head, still topped with the colorful beanie, poked out from behind it. He was breathing hard, clearly not used to this kind of exertion, but his eyes got huge when he spotted Stone and Verity. He scrambled up from his crouch and took off again.

  Stone wasn’t having any of it this time, though. He dropped the glow spell and took hold of the man with a telekinetic grip, dragging him back behind the same dumpster he’d just vacated. “What’s your hurry?” he asked casually. “Somewhere you need to be?”

  “D-don’t hurt me, man! Don’t hurt me!” The man was nearly blubbering with terror, his eyes so wide the bloodshot whites showed all the way around. “I’m sorry!”

  “No one’s going to hurt you. Calm down. We just want to have a little chat.”

  “I’m sorry, dude!” He pressed himself against the wall behind the dumpster and slid down until he was sitting, his skinny knees drawn up. He wore oversized tan cargo shorts and Birkenstocks that looked old enough to vote. His thin chest rose and fell so fast it seemed he might hyperventilate.

  Stone crouched in front of him, motioning for Verity to keep a lookout for anyone approaching. “What are you sorry about? What did you do?”

  “This is about Gordo’s stash, isn’t it? Dude, I know I shouldn’ta—”

  “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

  The man’s expression switched to almost comical confusion. “Gordo didn’t send you guys?”

  “I have no idea who ‘Gordo’ is, nor do I care. I want to know about the figurines.”

  “The—what?”

  “Look—I just want to talk to you. Can I count on you not to run away?”

  “You cops?” The man’s eyes narrowed.

  “No.” It wasn’t the whole truth, of course, but technically it was true enough. “Will you talk to us? I might even make it worth your while.”

  The guy might have been half baked, but he didn’t miss the allusion to a possible payoff. His eyes flashed interest. “Yeah?”

  “Depends on what kind of information you can give us.”

  He glanced around, almost as if looking for reinforcements, then let his breath out. His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, man, okay. I’ll talk as long as you promise not to hurt me.”

  “As I said, no one needs to be hurt. Tell me about the figurines.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, dude.”

  “You had some little things—sort of looked like black chess pieces. You were selling them.”

  Light dawned. “Oh. Yeah! Those things! They were weird! Cool, though.”

  Stone glanced at Verity, but she shook her head. Nobody was nearby. “Where did you get them?”

  The man dropped his gaze. “Uh…”

  “Come on—I’m not going to do anything to you. I just need to know where you got them. And I’ll know if you’re lying, so please don’t.”

  His gaze came up. “You sure you’re not a cop?”

  “He’s not a cop,” Verity said. “Me neither. Just tell him, okay, so we can all get on with our day?”

  “Uh…” he said again, studying Stone’s face. “I…uh…I found ’em. In a…in a dumpster.”

  Stone, watching his mellow green aura, saw it flare bright red. Even though auras weren’t always effective as lie detectors, some people were just naturally lousy at controlling their response to deception. “You’re lying. I told you I’d know. Now tell me the truth. You stole them, didn’t you?”

  The man swallowed hard, looking scared again. “I—”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He looked at his lap. “Yeah, man. I stole ’em.”

  “From whom?” Stone kept his voice calm and even.

  “From this dude’s truck. At Denny’s.”

  “When?”

  “A few days ago. Like…Monday, maybe? I don’t remember exactly.”

  Stone believed that. He wondered how much weed this guy had been smoking today; up this close, he positively reeked of the stuff. “Tell me what you did. Everything you remember.”

  The guy shrugged. “Like I said, I took ’em from the seat of this guy’s truck. I was in the parking lot lookin’ for somebody to give me money for dinner, and I saw ’em through the truck window. In this wooden box, you know? It wasn’t even locked. The truck I mean. The box, too,” he added quickly.

  “How many of them were there?”

  “Huh?”

  “How many of the black figurines?”

  “Uh…” He appeared to be thinking hard, then started counting his fingers and muttering to himself. “Uh…there were like…five of ’em. And two holes.”

  “Holes?”

  “You know, spots where other ones shoulda been. But they weren’t.”

  That made sense, if one had been left at the locker and Ralph took another. “So you took them. What did you do with them?”

  “Figured I could sell ’em, y’know? I sell all kindsa stuff. Artwork, jewelry my girlfriend makes, that kinda stuff.”

  “Do you remember what they looked like?”

  He thought hard again. “They were all different-lookin’. I think maybe they was supposed to be animals or birds of some kind, but I couldn’t tell what kind, exactly. Couple of ’em had wings.”

  “And did they have any sort of cracks in them? Did they all have jewels for eyes?”

  “Wow, you really know about these things, man.” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, examining Stone in a new light. “Hey, you ain’t the guy I lifted ’em from, are you? That wasn’t your truck, right?”

  “No. I just know something about them. Answer the question, please.”

  For a moment, it appeared he didn’t remember the question. Then he grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Oh. Yeah! Um, no crac
ks. They were all of ’em shiny. Real pretty things. And they all had little gem eyes, yeah, like you said. Different colors.”

  “All different?”

  “Yeah. Green, red, blue, orange—real pretty.”

  Stone crouched a little lower and fixed his gaze on the man’s. “Did you keep any of them for yourself?”

  “Nah, man, nah.” He shook his head back and forth several times. “I got no need for that kinda shit, ’cept to get me money. I showed ’em to my girlfriend, but she didn’t want any neither.”

  Stone glanced at Verity again, but again she shook her head. Apparently this alley wasn’t a popular tourist destination on a Saturday afternoon. Still, he wanted to wrap this up soon, before somebody did come by and he had to answer uncomfortable questions. “All right. So what did you do with them, then? Did you sell them all? Do you have any left?”

  “Nah, man, sold ’em all.” He swallowed again and ran an arm over his forehead, then picked at a scab on his knee. “It was weird, though. Freaky.”

  “Freaky? How so?”

  “Well…it was like most people didn’t even look twice at ’em, y’know? Most people don’t look twice at most of my stuff, most of the time, anyway. But every once in a while it was like somebody was…like…pulled to ’em. Freaky, huh?”

  Stone exchanged glances with Verity. “Pulled. What do you mean by that?”

  The man settled back against the wall, stretched his legs out, and crossed his arms behind his head. “I mean like they’d be walkin’ along, doin’ their thing, and suddenly they’d like stiffen up and come over, all focused-like. All the ones who did that bought one o’ those things. I shoulda raised the price,” he added, rubbing his chin as if that was the first time he’d considered that. “Damn, shoulda done that. Ah, well. Too late. They’re all gone now, and I don’t know where to get no more. I went back to Denny’s next day, but didn’t see the truck.”

  Stone pondered that, remembering what Bob Pisani had said. “Interesting. And each person who came over seemed interested in one particular figurine.”

  “Yeah, exactly, man. It was like they were soulmates or some shit.”