by Kim Curran
“Where are we going?”
“To do a little digging.”
“So you believe me?” I caught up with her.
“Of course I believe you, Scott. We’re partners. Now stop gaping. We’re got a fat man to find.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Bigger,” I said. “Even bigger.”
“You’re kidding?” Carl, the E-fit operator, said.
“Think of the fattest guy you’ve ever seen and double it.”
Carl punched a few keys and the photofit face expanded to fill the screen.
“Now make his eyes really, really small. And make his chin even weaker… Him. That’s him,” I said, pointing at the face.
Carl hit P and the printer nearby started churning out paper.
“Thanks, C,” Aubrey said.
Carl looked up at her, all puppy-eyed and pathetic. Seriously, I thought, get a grip. He had no chance. He was a classic IT geek: in his thirties but still dressing like he was sixteen. He wore a brown Tasmanian Devil T-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and he’d pulled his balding hair back into a lanky ponytail.
Aubrey took the page off the printer and handed it to me. The likeness was impressive. I almost sensed those beady eyes staring at me, and that turned-up nose sniffing me out.
“Shame you can’t capture his smell,” I said. “That’s what I’ll never forget.”
“You want me to run this through the system and see if anything pops?” Carl said.
“No, I want to keep this off the radar, you know?”
“Okey dokey, Aubrey,” Carl said, irritatingly. “But anything else I can do, just let me know.”
“Well, there is just one tiny, tiny thing.” She held her hand up, thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart, to show just how small a thing she was asking.
“But it’s a little…” she said, moving her hand to her chest. “A little upsetting.”
“What is it?” Carl asked, taking her free hand in his. I rolled my eyes.
“It’s this Heritage case.”
“The suicide?”
“Yes. And you know it was me who found him?”
“Oh, Aubrey. That must have been awful.”
“You have no idea,” she said. She covered her mouth as if holding back her sobs. I caught her eye and shook my head. She had this poor guy eating out of her hand.
“I can still sense him, watching over me.”
“Displaced spirits often attach themselves to sensitive souls,” Carl said.
“Yes, I think that’s it. It’s like he wants me to complete something. Oh, this sounds so mad, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all, Aubrey. I’ve read all about this sort of thing.”
“Oh you have? Then you understand. You can understand why I feel the need to finish what he was working on.” Carl nodded dumbly as Aubrey continued her brilliant performance. “The only thing is, I don’t know what that was.”
“Do you want me to get into Heritage’s files and find out?”
“Could you, Carl?” She was laying it on thick and he was lapping it up.
“Of course I could, anything to help you Aubrey,” he said. “Just give me a day. If there’s anything going on around here, I’m the man to find it.”
“Oh, you’re like my knight in shining armour.” She kissed him on his forehead and he blushed all the way to his hairline.
“I’d better go. Can’t keep you from all your important work.”
Aubrey nodded at me and I followed her out. She waved her fingers back at Carl and then pushed through the door.
“What was that?” I asked as soon as the door to Carl’s office shut.
“What was what?” Aubrey asked, all innocent.
“All that ‘Oooo, Carl. You’re my hero,’” I said in a squeaking voice.
“That is called using my feminine wiles. I’ve been told they are very effective.” She flashed her eyes at me.
I coughed. “Well, maybe on some men.”
We walked through the Regulators division. This was totally different to what I now thought of as my division, a floor above. The Regulators were full of intense older teenagers and young men and women who seemed everso-serious about their jobs. Huge TV screens flickered in every corner, broadcasting all the news channels at once. Their floor bustled with energy, like each member had a clear purpose and wasn’t going to let anything stand in their way.
I banged into a tall girl, who scowled at me. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Aubrey. “They’re all pissed off up here. It’s because most of them are in the last stages of entropy. Apparently it’s like PMS, all the time.”
“PM what?”
Aubrey looked at me and shook her head. “I thought they educated you out in the real world.”
“Oh!” I said, realisation dawning fast. “PMS. No, it’s, I thought it was another acronym. Like ARES. Or SLF. Or…” I stopped trying to dig myself out.
We reached the lifts and Aubrey pushed the button.
“Where are we going now?” I complained. I seemed to spend most of my life these days not knowing where I was going.
“I think after your first day of fieldwork you deserve a drink.”
I remembered the first time I’d had a drink with Aubrey. It hadn’t gone that well. The ping of the lift doors hid my groan.
It was 6pm and Copenhagen’s was mostly empty. A couple of red-eyed gamblers were trying their luck on the roulette wheel. Not that they had a chance of winning in this place. They didn’t even register our presence as we headed for the back room.
Shipley was standing behind the bar. He grunted as we approached. “What can I do for ARES today?” he asked Aubrey, ignoring me.
She handed over the printout. “Do you know this guy?”
Shipley squinted as he took the paper from Aubrey’s hand. He examined it, looking down his nose then sniffed and seemed to give up.
“That’ll be a no then?” I said
Aubrey raised her hand, telling me to wait.
Shipley hadn’t finished with the fat guy yet. He pulled out a drawer behind the bar and rooted about. I saw papers, scissors and a black thing that I really hoped wasn’t the butt of a gun. Finally he pulled out a tiny pair of brass-rimmed pince-nez and perched them on his bulbous nose. He glared at me, his eyes made larger behind the small lenses, and dared me to make a comment. I didn’t. Shipley didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who liked being laughed at. He coughed and held the photofit up to the light.
“Oh, yeah. This guy. I’ve seen him about. Had to kick him out once.”
“Why?”
“He kept sniffing people.”
Aubrey and I both shuddered.
“And he broke a chair. Yeah, he was really freaking some of the kids and wasn’t even playing any of the games, so I asked him to leave. But he just grinned. I couldn’t budge him myself not even with five guys helping me. He finally just up and left himself. And I haven’t seen him since.”
“Do you know his name?” Aubrey asked.
Shipley pulled the glasses off his nose and looked up, thinking. Finally he clicked his fingers. “Benjo. I remember because I thought it sounded like a dog.”
“Benjo what?” I asked.
He handed the paper back to Aubrey. “No idea. Not many of my customers bother with surnames here. Or names at all, for that matter.”
Aubrey folded the picture up and slipped it inside her jacket, looking disappointed. A first name wasn’t much to go on.
“Why don’t we just go to Abbott with this? It would be so much easier,” I said. Not to mention the fact that we wouldn’t have to be interrogating scary casino owners.
“No,” she said sharply. “We’ve only just started.”
“If you wanted to know where to find this man,” Shipley said, “you could ask Rosalie.”
“Rosalie? Don’t tell me, she’s a hooker with a heart of gold right?” This was getting more like a bad detective
movie by the second.
“She’s a hostess,” Shipley snapped. “And as sound as they come.”
“You think she’ll know this Benjo guy?” Aubrey said.
“Maybe. I remember one night she was talking about a job she’d just walked out on. She ordered a double gin to try and block it out. But said that she didn’t think there was enough drink in the world to wash away his stink.”
“That’s definitely him,” I said.
“And where could we find this Rosalie?”
“I’m right here, darling,” said a voice from behind us.
She was a couple of years older than me, with golden brown skin, dark, wavy hair, gathered up into a loose bun, and large chocolate eyes that looked familiar, although I couldn’t place from where. She wore a tight pencil skirt and heels that were even higher than my mum would wear, but which Rosalie carried off without a hint of my mum’s wobble. The words High Class came to mind. She smiled.
“You’re the croupier?”
“And would you like to play?” she said, her voice dripping with suggestion.
“Can we have a word?” Aubrey asked, nodding towards one of the booths.
We took our seats and Shipley brought us over some drinks; Aubrey had ordered a beer, Rosalie sipped on a martini and I’d stuck with a Coke.
“So, how can I help you?” Rosalie said, sucking on an olive.
“We’re looking for this guy,” Aubrey said handing over the photo.
Rosalie visibly shuddered and swallowed hard, like she was trying to stop herself being sick. She quickly recovered her poise. “Mr Greene. I had hoped I would never see him again. What do you want to know?”
“You know him then?” I said, stating the obvious as usual.
“I wouldn’t say I know him. We had a business arrangement. One which I… I had to renege on.” Her voice was like maple syrup: sweet, dark and smoky. “Why are you looking for him?”
“Just after some information, is all.”
“Well, little ones, let me give you some advice. I would not go after Mr Greene without some back-up. I only got out of our arrangement thanks to the help of a little friend.”
“What friend?” Aubrey asked.
Rosalie raised her knee above the table and, with a hiss of material, she slowly hitched her skirt up to reveal the top of a stocking. Rather than a garter belt holding the stocking in place there was a thin leather holster. And nestled in that was a small pistol. She tucked her leg back under the table and brushed her skirt back into place.
“But you’re a Shifter,” I managed to say when I got my voice back. “I thought that guns were kinda redundant.”
“Not always, sweetie. Shifting, as I am sure you know, is about finding the little point of pressure that leads to the best possible reality. And sometimes my Jennings .22 is just the pressure a girl needs.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Besides, why waste energy Shifting when you can just pull a trigger?”
“So you shot Benjo?” Aubrey asked.
Rosalie sipped at her Martini and licked her lips. “I’m afraid to say I did. Not that it had much of an effect. That tiny bullet of mine might still be lodged in his flesh, for all I know. But it helped me make a point.”
A silence settled over the three of us as we examined our drinks. Were we seriously trying to find someone who didn’t even notice when he was shot?
“Where can we find him?” Aubrey asked.
“Are you sure you want to?”
“Not really,” I said.
Aubrey threw me a look. “Yes, we want to find him.”
Rosalie sighed and looked down at the photo lying in the middle of the table. She dragged it towards her with a perfectly manicured finger and turned the photo over. Then she reached into her small black handbag and pulled out a bright pink lipstick, scribbled something on the page, and slid the paper back. She twisted the lipstick back into the holder and put the lid back on.
“But don’t forget,” she said returning the lipstick to her bag. “Bring back-up.”
Aubrey nodded and finished her drink. “Thanks for your help,” she said and slid out of the booth.
I hesitated for a moment, watching Rosalie. She tilted her head and looked at me, an amused smiled playing about her lips.
“Why?” I said.
She looked surprised. “Why what, darling?”
“Why do you do…” I hesitated. “What you do?’
“Ah, you mean why, when I can undo every decision, would I moonlight as an escort?”
I flushed and nodded.
She drew me in with a bent finger and whispered. “Would it help if I told you I never actually sleep with any of my clients? There are other ways to show them a good time.” She winked.
I coughed, my throat suddenly very dry.
Rosalie laughed, a surprisingly girly laugh. “Although for the right price I might be persuaded to change my mind.” She tapped my hand. “And should you ever make enough money, make sure you come and see me.” With a flick of two fingers she produced a slim business card. Aubrey snatched it away before I had a chance to reach it.
“Thanks again,” Aubrey said, grabbing me by my collar and pulling me away.
I heard Rosalie laugh as we left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Afaded sign on the front of the building read Grouber & Sons Upholstery. The windows were either boarded up or smashed.
“Seriously, no one would actually live in there,” I said, looking at the abandoned factory. “Even him.”
“Just wait,” Aubrey said.
She’d been saying that ever since we arrived at the address Rosalie had given us. We were sat in the window of a café on the other side of the street and had been watching the building for hours. I was on my fourth cup of coffee and feeling twitchy.
“I reckon Rosalie was having us on,” I said, twisting a wrap of sugar in my shaking hands. The wrap burst open, spilling sugar all over the table. The waitress leaning over the counter rolled her eyes at me.
“Wait,” Aubrey said this time with real urgency. The door to the building jerked open and Benjo Greene squeezed through the doorway. It looked as if it took a lot of effort. He got one leg through and then had to struggle to get the other one free. I ducked away from the window, afraid that he might see me.
“Oh my god,” Aubrey said.
“What? What?” I asked, panicking.
“He’s so fat.”
“I told you.”
“But I mean, like, huge.”
“I know. You see why I never wanted to run into him again.”
“He’s crossing the road,” she said.
I risked a peek over the table. Benjo stepped off the pavement, not even bothering to look. A truck screeched to a halt in front of him and I didn’t blame the driver. I reckon in a collision with Benjo the truck would have come off worse.
“Please, please don’t come in here,” I prayed as he reached the other side of the road. I ducked back under the table and hid. I didn’t care about the weird looks I was getting from the waitress. She could tut and roll her eyes as much as she liked. Let her deal with him. A shadow passed over the window, blocking out the light, and then it moved away. Aubrey kicked me and I crept out. Benjo waddled away down the road, ignoring the people who stopped to stare as he passed.
“Come on,” Aubrey said standing up.
“You’ve seen him now, can’t we go home?”
Aubrey drained the last of her mug and headed for the door.
“Come on,” I said racing after her. “You’re not really serious about going in there?” I pointed at the crumbling factory. “What if he comes back?”
“He walks at a metre an hour. We can be in and out before he’s even turned around.”
“But what if it collapses on our heads?”
“Do you want to find out what’s going on or not?”
“If I said ‘not really’ you’ll give me one of your looks, right?” She gave me one of her looks anyway.
I sighed. “All right then.”
We darted across the road in a break in the traffic. Aubrey stepped up to the front door and tried the handle. It didn’t open.
“Shame,”’ I said, not really meaning it.
Aubrey wasn’t put off. She gestured with her head for me to follow her down the alley running alongside the factory.
Crumbling crates were stacked on top of each other, each stamped with the factory’s logo. Aubrey started climbing up.
“Hang on. I should probably go first,” I said, years of chivalric conditioning giving me a nudge.
She turned and looked at me. “Because you’re a boy?”
“Well…”
She shook her head and took another step up.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
She stopped mid climb. “You want to play rock, paper, scissors to see who goes first? With me?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess you’ll just Shift if you lose.”
She jumped down to the ground again, grinning. “Go on then. I promise I won’t Shift.” She clinched her hand into a fist and stretched it out.
“On three?” I said.
She nodded.
“One.”
I focused my mind, thinking about the three options I had. Just because she’d promise not to Shift didn’t mean I couldn’t.
“Two.”
I’d go with paper. No one ever thinks you’ll go with paper. But if I was wrong, then scissors it was. I held both choices in my mind, so it would be simple thing to flip to the alternative.
“Three!”
I flattened out my hand readying my mind to undo the decision.
Aubrey had a single digit raised. Her middle finger. I guess the bird beat everything.
“OK. You go first,” I said, slipping my hand into my pocket.
She shook her head. “Boys,” she said, and resumed her ascent.
The wood cracked under her weight. I flinched, expecting her to fall to her death at any second. But like a cat, she leapt from crate to crate and pulled herself up on the windowsill. She kicked the board covering the window and it fell through to the other side with a crash.
“Wait,” I said, just as she had slipped one leg through the empty frame.
“What now?” she snapped.
“I want to think about this. Properly consider what we’re doing. So that when it all goes wrong I can Shift and never have bothered going through that window. That’s how it works, right? As long as it’s a real decision?”