Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Allan T. Michaels

  Regina nodded. “Sounds good. Mind if I tag along?”

  “Not a problem for me.” He checked his watch. “With traffic at this time of day, we’ll be getting down there just in time for lunch.”

  Chapter 6

  Regina drove the two of them downtown, following Connecticut to Dupont Circle

  , then taking Massachusetts. She made a right on 9th at Mt. Vernon Square, then a left on H. Dashiell pointed out a spot as they pulled up to 6th. Regina parked and they got out.

  “Ready for lunch?” Dashiell asked.

  “Shouldn’t we be interviewing your contacts, Dash?”

  “Hey, they have to eat too,” he pointed out.

  “Fine. Any ideas?”

  He pointed across H at a set of stairs heading to a door about five feet above the street. The sign in the window said “Eat First.” It advertised a lunch special for $5.95.

  Regina didn’t look impressed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Dashiell shook his head. “Not at all. Best deal in the city. Good food at a reasonable price. Never have to wait for a table and the service is fast.”

  She shrugged. “Lead on.”

  He headed across H and up the stairs, holding the door for her. She led the way in, indicating two when the hostess asked how many. They were seated at a table in the window and ordered drinks. Regina stuck with a water. Dashiell ordered a Diet Coke. Then, they perused the menu.

  Having been here several times before, Dashiell knew what he was having. Same thing he always had. He was a creature of habit.

  He looked across at Regina as she studied the menu. The first thing everyone noticed about her was her bright red hair. She may have an English last name, but there was definitely Irish in her heritage. She was in her mid-thirties, and had laugh lines around the corners of her mouth. She was just starting to develop crow’s feet around her eyes, which he noticed as she squinted at the menu. She probably needed reading glasses, but was a bit too vain to get them. After all, old ladies wore reading glasses, didn’t they?

  She finished reading the menu about the time the waitress came back with Dashiell’s Diet Coke. They each ordered. She had the General Tso’s shrimp with white rice. He had the sweet and sour chicken with fried rice.

  “So you ever get tired of the gumshoe’s life, Dash?” Regina asked.

  “Haven’t we covered this ground at some point?”

  “No, actually. I don’t think we ever have.” She took a sip of her water. “I mean, I know you used to work for the Bureau, before they shut it down. But you could have transferred to another agency. The FBI for example.”

  “No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “They already had Mulder and Scully working their spook cases.”

  She snorted.

  “Seriously though, when they shut us down, it became apparent any work I did wouldn’t be dealing with the occult. And someone has to do that kind of work. Just because the current Administration doesn’t like it, doesn’t mean it’s going away.” He drained about half of his drink. “With the Government out of the picture, that leaves a thriving private sector.”

  “You really like working for yourself?”

  The waitress came up to the table and dropped off their food. Dashiell prepared to take his first bite.

  “It’s great. But my boss is a real asshole.”

  Chapter 7

  Regina was quiet for a moment. “You know, Dash, since I’m the one that hired you for this case, I find that rather offensive.”

  The fork paused halfway to Dashiell’s mouth and he stared at her with a look of horror frozen on his face. “Oh, come on Regina…you know I meant-“

  Suddenly she burst out laughing. “Oh God Dash. You’re too easy. You should see the look on your face.” She covered her mouth with a napkin as she chuckled. Dashiell just shook his head.

  “You’d think by now I’d recognize your humor,” he grumped.

  “Oh come on now, Dash. Don’t be like that.”

  He chuckled. “Alright. You got me good, Regina. I guess that’s one I owe you.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “By my count, it’s closer to nine.”

  “Oh, so you want to play it that way?”

  “Yeah, Dash,” she said, examining a shrimp on her fork. “I think I do.” She bit down into the shrimp savagely.

  He just shook his head and tucked into his meal.

  After a few minutes, he asked, “What about you, Regina? You have any plans for after you’re done with the force?”

  She looked around the restaurant and gestured with her fork. “And leave all this?” She chuckled. “I’m sure there’s something. But that’s so far in the future. I’ve got at least 10 until I’m vested. Once that happens….who knows?”

  “At least they won’t be shutting down Metro anytime soon. I was 10 years on the job when they shut down the Bureau.”

  “You seem to be doing alright for yourself. After all, you can afford to treat a lady to a meal like this.”

  He looked amused. “So I’m treating now, am I?”

  “Of course,” she nodded knowingly. “You’ll just charge the Department for it as an expense anyway.”

  He laughed out loud and then drained his Diet Coke. “You’ve got that right. You’re halfway to being a private detective already.”

  “Is that an offer?” she arched her eyebrow.

  “Ask me in 10 years, when you vest,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “With my luck, some demon will have sucked out your soul. Or your shrunken head will be decorating some witch doctor’s mantle.”

  “Never gonna happen,” Dashiell said.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Simple. These days, witch doctors use all their shrunken heads as key chains.”

  Regina laughed.

  Chapter 8

  When she stopped laughing, Regina looked at her watch. “Look, Dash, thanks for lunch and all, but we have business to attend to.”

  Dashiell signaled for the check, then turned back to Regina. “Oh ye of little faith. I’ve been working.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Sure.” Dashiell pointed out the large window they were seated next to, towards Regina’s car. “You see the old Chinese gentleman entering the shop?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s my contact. I noticed when we pulled up that the shop was marked ‘Closed.’ We needed to kill some time until he came back, and I figured lunch would be a good way to do that.” The waitress returned with the check, and Dashiell reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He left a 21% tip, then signaled to the door with a nod of his head. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, rising from the table and leading the way out the door.

  They crossed the street and Dashiell held the door open for Regina. The shop was underlit, with the smell of incense thick in the air. It was decorated in a strong Asian theme, with paintings of demons and dragons on the walls. There were assorted odd curios throughout the shop. Behind the counter sat the old man that Dashiell had pointed out. He was Asian, with a long white beard, reminiscent of Fu Manchu. He was that indefinable sort of old, between 60 and 3000. He looked up as he heard them enter.

  “Welcome, welcome. Please come inside.” His English was very good. He had a slight accent, but one could almost believe he had been raised in the United States.

  Dashiell had paused for a moment on entering, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then approached the counter. “Hello Frank. How are you?”

  “I am doing well, Agent Aldridge. And yourself?”

  “I’m fine Frank. But you should know by now it’s not Agent Aldridge. Just Dashiell. Allow me to introduce Detective Regina Robins, Metro Police. Regina, this is Frank Chen.”

  Regina offered her hand, with a raised eyebrow. “Frank?”

  He shook her hand with his own, the skin feeling like old parchment. “It’s my American name. I find it easier to use than my birth n
ame, at least when dealing with Americans. What can I do for you today?”

  Dashiell took the lead. “What can you tell me about tiger organs?”

  “Tiger organs…. They are used for virility and fertility. Why? Looking for some help?” He eyed Regina up and down.

  “Don’t be crude, Frank. Anything else you can use them for?”

  “Well, various parts of the tiger have been used in folk remedies for centuries. Back home, there is a thriving black market in tiger organs. You don’t see much call for them here though. First, they’re hard to come by. Second, most folks who live here have become acculturated. They use Western medicine.”

  “So who would be interested in tiger parts?” Regina asked.

  “Well, in all honesty, if I could get my hands on some, I wouldn’t object. Some people will pay handsomely for the old remedies,” Frank said.

  “How handsomely?” she asked.

  “Well, if you rationed it carefully, and had a large specimen, you could make several thousand dollars from traditional remedies.”

  Dashiell whistled. “Look Frank, I’ll level with you. Someone killed one of the tigers at the zoo last night. Cleaned out the torso. If you hear anything about someone suddenly peddling the home remedies, will you let me know?”

  Frank nodded. “Of course, Agent Aldridge. You know I always cooperate with law enforcement.”

  “Good,” Dashiell said. “Then I assume that means you know nothing about it?”

  Frank looked innocent. “Of course not, Agent Aldridge. I try to get all my ingredients legally. All the money in the world does me no good if I spend it on legal fees.”

  Dashiell chose to ignore that. “Very well then. Any idea whe—“

  Just then, Regina’s phone rang. She looked apologetic as she pulled it out and answered it. “Yes?....Alright. I’ll be right there.” She turned back towards Dashiell and Frank. “Sorry about that. Dash, I have to run. Will you be okay getting back to your office?”

  He nodded. “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah. That was dispatch. Apparently another body’s turned up.”

  Chapter 9

  “Another body? At the zoo?” Dashiell asked.

  She shook her head. “No, unrelated. A hooker up on 13th and K. But you know how short handed we are. I’m the nearest detective, so I caught the case. Besides, you’ve got this covered. I’ll call you later.”

  He nodded as she headed out the door, and he turned back to Frank.

  “Look Agent Aldridge, if this tiger was killed last night, it’ll be all over the six o’clock news. No one’s going to be trying to move tiger parts with that kind of attention,” Frank said.

  “Too much heat, huh?”

  Frank nodded. “Exactly. Whoever did this either has an out of town buyer or plans to use them for himself.”

  Dashiell considered this. “Hmmm. It was an awful big tiger for home use…Still, do you have a list of anyone who might be interested in that sort of thing?”

  Frank scoffed. “Who’d be willing to talk to you? Look Agent Aldridge, you may talk the talk, but you’re still a white man. Most of the folks who are still into the ancient remedies won’t give you the time of day. On top of which, they’re my customers. You know I like to cooperate, but I can’t afford to be held responsible for a nosy white man poking around.”

  “Look, Frank, I understand. But here’s the thing. It wasn’t just a tiger that got killed last night. Someone knocked off the zoo keeper too.”

  Frank looked concerned. “Well, that’s another matter.” He considered for a minute, then reached under the counter and pulled out a large black binder. “Alright, Agent Aldridge. I’ll give you a list of the most common customers. People who look for the old remedies. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread my name around….”

  “Don’t worry about it, Frank. I don’t want to put you out of business. I’ll do my best to keep your name out of it.”

  Frank looked grateful. He copied over a list of about 15 names and addresses, which he handed to Dashiell. “These are the addresses I have for people. But I have to be honest Agent Aldridge. None of these people strike me as the kind who would do this sort of thing.”

  “I know, Frank. But then, they rarely do.”

  Chapter 10

  Dashiell spent the rest of the afternoon in an unproductive visit to fifteen residences. True to Frank’s prediction, no one on the list was willing to talk to him. Many of them pretended a complete ignorance of the English language. They gave really obvious bad excuses – “No Engrish” and the like. Dashiell wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t want to push too hard.

  After each interview, he would perform a little cantrip outside each door, to detect the presence of witchcraft. He would occasionally detect some small traces, probably from various knickknacks around the house. But there was nothing powerful, that would indicate the use of the tiger parts. And nothing that came close to the level of magic he’d deduced had been used at the zoo.

  His feet tired, he decided to head back to his office. One thing he’d learned as an investigator, both as a government agent and in private life, was that sometimes, he just had to wait. Sure, for some crimes, the first twenty four hours were key. But for others, he just had to sit back and wait for something else to happen. It was even possible that the police lab’s mundane detection methods would discover something useful.

  But waiting didn’t mean not doing anything. He spent some time in his office looking over alternative uses for tiger parts. Then he expanded the search to include all large cats, and then all mammals. Sure, the tiger was most likely picked specifically. The amount of work that went into getting the parts indicated as much.

  But he’d learned long ago not to make any assumptions. Assumptions closed off possibilities, and sometimes you had to explore possibilities in order to find the truth. That was the thing about witchcraft. As much as people relied on the old ways, it was a growing field, and people were constantly discovering new spells, and new uses for old ingredients.

  There were limits however. Each item used in witchcraft had certain inherent properties. If you wanted your spells to have maximum effect, you had to harness those properties, and work with them. New spells for newness sake didn’t make sense. Not when you could rely on the old way for the same, or a more potent effect.

  So he researched the uses for tiger parts. Tried to discern their inherent properties. Tried to figure out what sorts of magic he’d use them for. Because if he could figure out what the spellcaster intended, well that told him a great deal about them.

  After reading over about the fiftieth spell that incorporated tiger parts, Dashiell was no closer to solving the mystery. For obvious reasons, most of the spells were Asian in origin, Far East, Southeast and South Asian. There were even a few European spells. But not many of those.

  Tiger parts were mainly used for spells of power and strength. So…he was looking for someone interested in power. Well, Dashiell thought to himself, that really narrowed it down. He looked up at the clock. It was past seven. He decided to call it a night.

  He stopped by a little café he knew, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Then he hopped the Metro and headed home.

  He got in around eight and flopped down on his couch, flipping on the TV. He channel surfed until he ended up on AMC. They were playing Casablanca. He set the remote down and grabbed a glass of Diet Coke. It was going to be a good night. He really enjoyed the classics. Bogey was a particular favorite of his.

  When the movie ended, he flipped to the local FOX affiliate, to catch the ten o’clock news. After covering the elections, the anchor moved on to local news. The lead local story was the case of a dead hooker found early in the day. He smiled as he saw Regina in the B roll running in the background.

  It sounded like a particularly gruesome case. Apparently, she’d been slashed pretty badly, with special attention paid to her nether regions. There was a theory that a psychopath had done it, someone with a patho
logical hatred of women. He silently wished Regina good luck, and hoped she wouldn’t have trouble sleeping. Some cases could really get to you.

  The dead zookeeper and tiger were next. There was no mention of Dashiell’s involvement, which didn’t surprise him. Metro PD probably wouldn’t want it known that they’d hired outside help. And they certainly wouldn’t want to mention any occult involvement in the case. The general public had a strong disbelief in the occult, and that probably wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

  When the sports scores came on, Dashiell watched until they reported the score of the Duke game, then he flipped off the TV and yawned. It had been a long day. He decided to call it an early night. He headed upstairs, used the facilities, and emptied his pockets onto the dresser. He placed the acorn in a dish, and untied his handkerchief before dropping it in the laundry, along with his shirt. He hung his trousers on the back of a chair, then climbed into bed, making sure he was facing south. He slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  One of these days, Dashiell told himself, he was going to throw the alarm clock right out the window. He pressed the button that turned off the alarm and stretched. He turned to get out of bed, careful to put his right foot down first, then his left. He headed to the bathroom and took a shower.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, preparing to shave. As he often did, he considered letting his hair grow. It would be easier than shaving every day. Then he got over it and shaved.

  He headed back into his bedroom and got dressed, putting on a shirt and tie. He was going to be dropping by a government office today, so he should look decent. He placed the blue bead on its leather thong over his neck, grabbed the acorn from the dish he had placed it in and dropped it in one pocket. He then took a clean handkerchief from his top dresser drawer, carefully tied a knot in it, and stuck it in his other pocket. Lastly, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the front door.