Something Wicked This Way Comes
Allan T. Michaels
Chapter 1
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady ringing of the alarm was silenced as a meaty hand slammed down on the sleep button. Dashiell Aldridge opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the light streaming in through his south-facing window. He grunted sourly. He’d never been a fan of Thursdays.
He breathed in deeply, stretching his hands over his head, and decided he’d better get up. If he were late into the office again, his boss would give him hell. He sat up and carefully got out of bed, being sure to place his right foot on the floor first. He stood up and crossed to the bathroom where he took care of his usual morning business.
After a shower, he was feeling almost human again. He dressed quickly, grabbing the first thing he saw when he opened his dresser drawers. He paused in putting on his shoes, making sure to put the right shoe on first, then the left. He reached into the top drawer and grabbed a clean, white handkerchief. He unfolded it, grabbed the opposite corners, and very deliberately tied a knot in the middle. He examined it, nodded to himself, satisfied, then shoved it in his right front pocket. Then he reached for a necklace on the dresser top. It was a simple leather cord with a blue bead hanging off it. He tied the cord around his neck and dropped the bead down the front of his shirt.
He headed out his front door, which was painted a friendly blue, and smelled the fresh scent of rosemary from the planter boxes on either side. Spring was coming early this year. He looked toward the large oak tree in his front yard and spotted a squirrel that was out for a morning snack. He strode quickly toward it, his long stride quickly eating up ground. The squirrel, startled, ran up the trunk of the tree. Dashiell bent and picked up the acorn it had dropped.
“Thanks,” he said, with a nod of his head. The squirrel chittered angrily, deprived of its breakfast, as Dashiell put the acorn in his front left pocket. He headed toward the sidewalk, turned left and started walking down the street.
He came to Braddock and made a left, heading for the Metro Station. He grabbed a copy of the Express from Henry, the guy who passed them out every morning, nodding a hello before pulling out his wallet, passing it over the SmarTrip spot and sliding through the automated gateway. He heard the soft roar of an arriving Metro as he replaced his wallet, and hurried up the escalator, staying to the left to get around the standing passengers.
The Yellow Line train toward Fort Totten was just pulling in as he reached the top of the escalator, and he stepped up to the flashing lights of the platform, waiting for the doors to open. When they did, he made his way toward the center of the car, as the feminine voice suggested, grabbing a seat. His stop was close enough to the end of the line that a seat was still available. Towards the center of town, it got to be like a cattle car, the human flesh squeezed together.
He settled into the seat, trying to ignore the greasy smear on the window where some earlier commuter had rested his or her head. These were the things you got used to using public transportation in and around the District. He turned his attention to his paper. There were the typical stories from around D.C. and the world. They were considering raising Metro fares again to compensate for increased costs, and there was talk of extending a spur off the Orange line out to Dulles. There’d been a pretty bad accident on the access road the night before, something this new line might help avoid.
He had just finished reading through “This Day in History” as the train pulled into the China Town/Gallery Place
station. He rose from his seat, squeezing toward the doors at the end of the car. He headed up the escalator toward the side marked Shady Grove, to catch the Red Line. The platform was crowded and he had no hope of finding a seat on this train, which meant he wouldn’t be able to do the Sudoku. So he people watched instead. You always got such an interesting mix here in the nation’s capital. There were uniformed soldiers going about their business, men and women in suits heading into work and the inevitable tourists, looking like lost sheep, dressed in garish outfits, even in the middle of winter.
It was three short stops to Dupont Circle
, where he sliced through the crowd in the car and squeezed through the double doors before the dreaded “ding ding” which indicated they’d be closing on you, whether you were fully out or not. He headed toward the Q street
exit.
The cold hit him as the escalator emerged into the winter air. At the top, he turned right, heading up Connecticut to R. He made a left and followed R to 21st. He let himself in the door of the converted three story townhouse, climbing to the second floor. There was a broom leaning against the wall next to the frosted glass door, which bore the following legend:
Dashiell G. Aldridge
Private Investigator
Specializing in
Occult Investigations
He opened the door and let himself in.
Chapter 2
He stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. The pair of scissors hanging on the wall rattled lightly as the door closed. He checked the answering machine on a small end table by the door. The light was steady. No messages today.
He walked down the short hallway to his office at the back. The converted apartment was too large for his needs, but thanks to rent control, it was not above his means. Besides, it comforted clients to see that he had a large office. Gave them the impression they weren’t deluding themselves in coming to see him.
The hardwood floors creaked beneath the red carpet that ran down the middle of the hallway. He kept his desk in a back room, so that he could enjoy the view from his windows. In his last job, he’d been on the interior of a large government building. He had grown tired of the institutional off-white they painted the walls and florescent lights tended to give him a headache. Now that he was in the private sector, he was determined to have natural light as much as possible.
He strolled into his office.
The room was a mess, cluttered with the detritus of cases, past and present. He stepped through this cluttered space, not even bothering to avoid the papers littering the floor. It looked as though someone had ransacked the place, yet Dashiell walked through it as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
He walked to his desk and sat heavily in the large leather chair, swiveling to look out the window. It was a nice view. The trees were just starting to bud with new leaves, letting the world know that winter was once again coming to an end.
He leaned forward to the small mini-fridge and opened it, pulling out a can of Diet Coke. He popped it open and took a sip, leaning back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. There was a loud clatter in the silence as a piece of silverware that had previously been on the desktop fell to the floor.
Company was coming.
His eye traced over the curve of the spoon.
Female company.
Chapter 3
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
“Come on in, Miss,” he called to whoever it was.
“How do you always know it’s me?” a female voice asked from the entry hall. Dashiell got out of the chair, bent over to pick up the spoon, setting it on the desktop next to a fork that lay in repose there, and started walking back up the hallway to greet his guest.
“I didn’t know it was you. Could have been any woman.” He entered the main foyer inside his door and nodded to the woman who was standing there. “Hello Regina. What can I do for Metro’s finest?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Dash.” She stood about eight inches over five feet, lean, with a runner’s body, and a crop of bright red hair. It exploded from the back of her head like a firework on the Fourth
of July. She had been growing it out recently, but it wasn’t quite long enough for a full ponytail yet.
“Well that makes us even, since you didn’t answer mine.” He leaned against the doorjamb that separated the foyer from the hall.
“I asked you first.” She was dressed in street clothes, not a uniform, but professional, the black skirt suit showing off muscular legs. She was wearing sensible, closed-toe flats. Even standing perfectly still, she looked like she was full of energy, ready to burst out at any second.
“What are you, twelve?”
She stuck her tongue out at him, as if to prove his point.
“Keep that up, your face will freeze like that.”
“Is that a threat?” she asked, in mock affront.
He chuckled. “If I had that power, I’d have used it on you long ago, Detective. Now what brings you to see me?”
She arched an eyebrow at him, then grinned wickedly. “If there’s something strange in the neighborhood,” she sang. “Who you gonna call?”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Very funny, Regina. Now you have something for me, or are you just here to bust my chops?”
“Can’t it be both?” she asked, smiling innocently. When he responded with nothing more than a flat stare, she decided it was time to get to the point. “We have a strange case and the Captain asked me to see if you might be interested in a little work.”
At the word “work,” Dashiell perked up considerably. “What’s up?”
“There’s been a break-in at the National Zoo,” suddenly, she was all business.
“What makes you think it has anything to do with the occult?”
“Captain wasn’t specific. Just said he got a sense the occult might be involved. I got the call on my way into the office this morning. Asked me to stop by on my way up there, see if you might be interested in joining us. I just assumed we always called you for all that ‘eye of newt, wing of bat’ stuff.”
“Well, I’m always happy to assist the Metro Police in their investigations,” he said.
“Funny, that’s not how I remembered it when you worked the Bureau. Why the change of heart?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, a smile returning to his face as he grabbed his jacket, “these days, I can charge you when Metro gets in my way.”
Chapter 4
Dashiell and Regina went down to the street and walked the block to Regina’s unmarked car. It was a standard dark blue Ford Crown Vic. The official car of police detectives everywhere. He was fairly impressed she found a spot so close. Parking in this neighborhood was a nightmare, which is why he usually took the Metro.
She slid behind the driver’s seat and Dashiell joined her in the front. She pulled out and made a right onto 22nd, then a quick right onto Decatur Place
. She made the left when it turned into Florida, and then another left onto Connecticut. After that, it was a straight shot to the National Zoo.
Dashiell looked down into the green when they crossed the bridge over Rock Creek Park and the Potomac Parkway
. It always struck him that there was this huge park in the middle of the Nation’s capital. And it was huge. It stretched from the Potomac, near the Kennedy Center, all the way to the Maryland border and beyond. Parts of it were sectioned off into other parks, but they were all one large connected greensward. They offered horseback rides near the northern end.
They pulled up near the front of the Zoo and Regina pulled into the parking lot on the right. She drove down the long drive and parked near the other emergency vehicles that were already there. The ambulance was just shutting it’s doors, a black zippered bag visible on the stretcher. Dashiell arched an eyebrow at Regina. She just shrugged.
They entered the zoo through the side entrance, near the panda enclosure. They asked the officer on duty there where the Captain was and he pointed down hill, telling them to head to the tiger exhibit. The zoo had been open since 6 am, but it wasn’t exactly tourist season, and it was still before 9, so there weren’t many people wandering around. They made their way down past the Ape House and Reptile Discovery Center, swinging around to the Sumatran tigers. They had new cubs if Dashiell remembered correctly.
As they came around the final curve in the path, they were spotted by Captain Montgomery. Charles Montgomery was a small, officious looking black man. He’d been a cop since he was 18 years old. A life-long D.C. native, he’d grown up in a rough neighborhood and fought his way out to become the highest police official in the District. In the most political city in the world, he was a master of politics. And right now, he was standing next to a zoo official and a janitor near a pool of blood.
“Ah, Mr. Aldridge, Detective Robins good morning, thank you for coming. This,” he indicated the zoo official, “is Dr. Frederick Matthews. Dr. Matthews is in charge of the zoo.”
Dashiell nodded to Dr. Matthews, indicated the pool of blood. “Someone was murdered?”
Captain Montgomery nodded.
“Any surveillance video?”
Dr. Matthews spoke up. “Actually no. The zoo hasn’t been equipped for 24 hour surveillance yet.”
This surprised Dashiell. After 9/11, he thought most of the popular tourist destinations in the city had been hardened with at least the addition of video cameras. He said as much.
“Well, Mr. Aldridge, we do have heightened security during the day, when the people are here. But at night, with the zoo closed, the feeling is it’s just not that attractive a target. And on the list of government buildings in D.C. to protect from terrorism, sadly the zoo is low man on the totem pole.”
Dashiell nodded. That made some sense. He turned to the Captain. “So what’s my role in all this? You don’t usually call me in on the run-of-the-mill murders, and I’m looking around the spot where the body was discovered and don’t see anything that would call for my involvement. Unless there’s something about the body itself?”
The Captain shook his head. “No, we didn’t call you in for the body, Mr. Aldridge. At least, not that body.”
Dashiell looked a question at him.
He gestured into the tiger pit. “You’re here for that body.”
Dashiell followed the Captain's gaze. He saw up on the grassy hillock of the enclosure the prone form of a large tiger. When he’d first walked up to the cage, he’d been distracted by the blood on the ground. Now that he gave it a closer look, he saw that the tiger, which he thought had been sleeping, was in fact dead. The white fur on its underside was covered in red.
It was hard to tell for sure from this distance, but it appeared the tiger’s belly had been slit wide open.
Sun, 08/17/2008 - 21:02 — Allan T Michaels
“The other tigers are locked away?” Dashiell asked.
The Captain nodded. “They’re in the cage, the female and the cubs. If you walk around to the other side of the enclosure, they’ll let you in to examine the body.”
He walked around the enclosure and through the tiger cage, making his way out over the grassy verge toward the limp body. In his mind, he ran over the various uses for tiger parts. In China, the various organs of the tiger were used as parts of folk remedies. Perhaps a trip to China Town later would be in order.
He arrived near the tiger’s body and carefully examined it. As he had suspected from the path, the tiger’s body was neatly slit right up the middle. The cut was clean. Perhaps a surgical instrument had been used. There were no other obvious injuries, so cause of death was unclear. What was clear was that the tiger’s body cavity was completely empty. Whoever had done this had taken all of the internal organs.
His eyes scanned the grassy area around the body. He didn’t see any obvious signs of occult practices. No stray wax from candles. No impressions from a brazier. No. Whoever did this was not wasting any time. Get in, get out. Any rituals would be performed later, to the organs themselves, rather than at the time of harvest. Some might say it would make the organs less potent. Others argued that the ritual at the time of use was more impor
tant.
Whoever did it had to deal with not only this tiger, but his mate and their cubs. To do that, and get out alive, without injury, indicated a great deal of skill. He or she would have had to cast a powerful charm spell on all five animals. The fact that he didn’t go after the cubs would have helped. The protective instincts of mother over cubs, and the need of a cub for its mother would have been difficult to overcome. No, if it had been him, he’d have gone for the male too.
Still, that was a powerful piece of witchcraft.
He finished examining the area around the tiger, then headed back out to see the Captain and Regina. As he walked back around the exhibit, his eyes scanned the ground. About the middle of the path around the tiger enclosure he saw what he was looking for. A spattering of black wax on the asphalt. It had blended in fairly well. He knelt down and gave the wax globs a closer look. From their dispersion, it appeared there had been three candles here. That was unusual. You only needed one, for concentration. Then again, every caster was different, and if you were trying to charm multiple targets, perhaps multiple focal points was best. Yes. That made sense. One for the male, one for the female, and one for the cubs. Being younger, they’d be easier to charm.
He took out a pocket knife and scraped up some of the wax. He sniffed it. Odorless. He put the knife away and held the wax in his clasped hands, eyes closed. He spoke a short cantrip. Nothing. Whoever had used these candles had been smart. He hadn’t owned them long enough for traces of an aura to develop.
When he opened his eyes, Regina was standing next to him. She had been quiet during the ritual. She spoke now.
“Find something?”
Dashiell stood. “The tiger’s organs were removed. Someone set up some candles here, probably to charm them. Can’t get a read on who it was, though.”
“Ideas?”
“Well, Eastern cultures have various uses for tiger organs. Since tigers are indigenous to that part of the world, that’s our best bet. I was thinking about taking a run down to China Town, checking in with some sources I have there.”
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