"What can I get for ya?" she asked, sliding a napkin and bowl of trail mix my way.
"Bloody Mary. Extra Spicy. Double shot of vodka." You can blame the time I spent in Mexico hunting a chupacabra for one of the coastal villages for this addiction. Out of all the things I liked most about Mexico, the food and relaxed lifestyle tops the list.
Once you get used to drinking the water that is.
She walked away for a few minutes before bringing my drink. She set a straw next to the glass, something that struck me as odd. Most bartenders I've met would have put the straw in your drink, expecting you to pull it out if you didn't want it. It almost seemed like she didn't want to offend the macho types that were OK with drinking from the glass.
"Where ya headed?" she asked, cleaning a glass.
"Columbia, Missouri after I catch a flight to St. Louis."
"Have family there?"
I shook my head. "No family. Just where I live." She walked to the other side of the counter as another patron entered the bar, another man wearing a light gray business suit with a blue and white striped tie. He had short brown hair that almost looked like a crew cut with a finely polished face.
I grabbed my drink and made my way for one of the tables while her attention was diverted. I didn't mind the small talk, but I wanted to sit in silence for a while.
As I looked around the bar, I caught a glimpse of the TV screen along the inner wall. From my angle it is hard to make out, but it almost looks like another wreck on 36. Probably the technomancer doing his thing. Trying to ignore it, I shook my head and took another drink.
These guys don't understand what they are in for here.
I was about to ask the bartender to change the channel to ESPN when something on the screen grabbed my attention.
Was that a cop car in the wreck?
"Can you turn up the sound?" I asked, walking closer to the screen.
We are live at the scene of another car crash on 36 in downtown Boulder. Our latest victim, a veteran of the Boulder police force, was determined to be dead at the scene. The cause of the accident is still under investigation, but we don't believe it was drug or alcohol related.
The officer's name was Detective Trevor Fields, a career cop that moved here from Kansas City just three years ago. We just got word that he was the officer in charge of investigating the rash of accidents in this stretch of road over the last few days.
Our prayers go out to his friends and family...
I turned my back at the TV to avoid throwing my drink at it.
Someone wanted to make a point by killing Trevor. There was no other explanation. He wasn't even getting close to them. It was all me. The only thing that made sense was if someone learned of our link.
I wondered if the technomancer had been watching me the whole time. That's the only way he would even know that Trevor brought me in. Why else would he bother to kill a cop that wasn't even close to putting together a list of suspects, let alone coming up with a motive. It seemed stupid to risk pulling in the feds unless he had something to prove.
I downed the rest of my drink and placed my glass on the bar. The bartender smiled as I placed a ten on the counter next to it. As much as I hated wasting money, there's no way I was going back to St. Louis now. He crossed the line when he killed Trevor. And I was going to make sure he paid for it.
- 10 -
I took a taxi to a Ford dealership outside of Denver, hoping to pick up another ride. If I was going to stay in the area, I needed a new way around town. The last thing I wanted to do was to write a blank check to a taxi company. That would get expensive very fast.
I walked inside and looked for that one salesman who looked to be down in the dumps. The kind of guy you know is on the chopping block if he didn't sell a car fairly soon. I was hoping to get a nice deal without having to answer too many questions.
In the back of the showroom, hovering close to the employee coffee pot, I spotted my winner. He was a short man, maybe five-three with slicked back black hair wearing the nicest suit in the place. None of it bolstered his appearance, however, thanks to his nervous glares into the showroom.
"I need something reliable with some storage space," I said walking up to him. "In a hurry."
"Would you like a car or SUV," he asked, nearly spilling his coffee when he placed it on the counter.
"Surprise me," I said, taking a seat near the soda cooler. Once the salesman was out of my way, I pulled out my phone to give Stacy a call. I needed to see how the first five victims were linked if I was going to figure this out. Trevor was supposed to be working on this, and I doubt his source in the precinct will be willing to talk to me now.
"Raymond Gilmore's office. How may I help you?" she asked, answering the phone.
"It's Ray. You busy?"
"Nope, what's up?"
"I need you to check on a few things for me," I said, grabbing a newspaper off of the nearby table. "I need you to find a link between the crash victims here in Boulder the last few days. The ones on 36."
"I'll call you back," she said, hanging up the phone.
One advantage to working in a college town is the availability of cheap labor looking for a talking point on a resume. At least that is what Stacy told me when she took the job five years ago.
She graduated with honors with a degree in forensics, which comes in handy when I need to dig up information about someone. She can dig up dirt on anyone alive if she wanted to though thankfully she isn't the vindictive type. Over the years she helped me solve more cases than I could imagine. Top that off with her skinwalker abilities, and you see why I keep her around though she left the 'cheap labor' camp a few years back.
The salesman walked up holding three sets of keys. An Escape, and Edge, and a Flex. "I didn't know what color you wanted, so I grabbed three different ones."
I looked behind him at the three cars sitting right outside the doorway before I made my decision. "I'll take the Edge," I said. There was no rhyme or reason for my decision other than seeing the Edge in Ford Blue. There was something about that color I loved. All things considered, the vehicle didn't matter. It was probably just an insurance claim waiting to happen, but I won't tell him that.
His eyes widened and jaw lowered as he processed the news. Something told me this kid would never get another sale quite like this. I only hoped it helped him with his confidence. Making a nice commission can do that to a person.
He left and came back with a set of paperwork for me to fill out. This has to be the part I hate the most about buying a new car. You can come in with all your ducks in a row, payment in hand, and still spend a few hours here while they sort it out. I doubted the kid let it go on for too long though. He looked eager to secure his check.
"OK, sir," he said, taking the completed paperwork. "The finance department will go through everything and we will call you back in a day or two."
"No can do. If I can't drive out of here with a car today, I'll find another dealer that will make it happen."
His face went pale before he took off at a full sprint down towards financing. I hated to disappoint the kid, but there is no way I could do this without a car. I grabbed another Coke from the fridge, my phone ringing no sooner than I popped the top.
"Gilmore here."
"Got your goods," Stacy said. "The first five all worked at the same investment firm on the outskirts of town."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah," she said, giggling. "I have a good idea who the sixth was. Surely I can find something on him."
I sighed. It wouldn't have been difficult to know I was involved when the news reports talk about a guy rising from the dead.
"The last one was Trevor," I said, stomach in knots. "Have an address on the firm?"
"I'll send you a text. I know you like to forget things while you are working."
"Remind me to give you some time off when I get back," I said. "You're a life saver."
"Anytime, Ray," she said. "Just do me a fav
or and be careful. I don't want to find out you died again."
"I will."
No sooner than I hung up the phone than the salesman came running down the hall, nearly knocking over an elderly woman using a walker in the process.
"They approved your loan, Mr. Jacobson. We just need a few more signatures."
I smiled as we walked towards the back. I had to remember to thank Sam for the name when I got back home.
Around 1 PM I pulled into the parking lot of Boulder Investments. The company had either grown recently, or are brand new, because there is no way this building had been there for more than a few months. The freshly cut sod was a dead giveaway.
I parked my new car in one of the visitor stalls and pulled out my phone to do some research. The company had been around for a year or so now, apparently started in the basement of one Paul Simmons, the first victim. It didn't take them long to build a reputation for choosing solid investments as they pulled in high returns for their first clients. With that reputation, they were able to get more business than they could handle. They bought this building a few months ago from a bank that lost its funding right as it was completed.
If my math was right, they had about six more investment bankers with the company since the website listed them as having eleven.
I pulled my staff out of the car and walked through the front door. The interior was decorated with various pieces of streamlined metallic furniture all painted black with red cushions on the seating. It was a little too post-modern for my tastes, but I appreciated the coordination. On either side of the front office were elaborate floral arrangements consisting primarily of black roses. I didn't bother to look at the cards to know for sure, but the word 'condolences' on one told me I was in the right place.
A short girl with black hair stood up behind a counter that was easily a foot too tall for her. She had long dangling earrings in both ears, each with a red ruby hanging on the end. Her wardrobe consisted of a black skirt with a matching black top though she wore a white laced scarf around her neck.
"How can I help you?" she said, in a thick country accent.
"You sound like you're from Kansas," I said, leaning onto the counter.
"Wichita," she said, failing to hide the surprise on her face. "How did you know?"
"Travel a lot."
She flashed a toothy grin. "What brings you here?"
"You guys lose someone recently?" I asked. "That's a lot of flowers."
"Five, actually," she said, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I grabbed a Kleenex from her box and held it up to her eye. "All of them this week."
"Wow, really?" I said. "I'm sorry to hear that." I reached into my wallet and pulled out one of my business cards. No, not the ones that say 'Raymond Gilmore, Paranormal Investigator.' Those tend to get me dirty looks when I try to hand them out at cocktail parties. Instead, I gave her one of the cards that said I was a private investigator instead. They don't always get me into the door, but most people will drop their guard the moment they think they are working with someone 'official.'
"That's why I'm here. I believe your other co-workers may also be in danger. Is there any way I can talk to them?"
She studied the card for a moment before looking up. "They left the office an hour ago."
"Will they be back soon?" I asked. "I can wait."
"They are flying to Miami for a conference," she said, watching me close. "They won't be back until Monday."
That was going to complicate things. If the rest of the office was all going to be on the same flight, the technomancer would surely want to take it down.
"If you don't mind me asking, what time was their flight?" I asked. "I might be able to stop them from getting on that plane."
"I'm not sure I should tell you that," she said, looking down at my card.
"Someone is targeting your co-workers. If you tell me what time their flight is, I might be able to save their lives."
She looked at me, the concern visible in her eyes. She turned around and reached across her desk for the phone.
"Thanks for your time," I said, bolting out the door. She yelled for me to stop, but ignored her pleas. The last thing I wanted to do was wait around for Boulder PD. They won't be happy to see that I'm still around. If their secretary doesn't want to help me out, I'll just have to call someone who can.
It took me a few minutes to sync my phone to the stereo. I figured it would be handy if I could talk while keeping both hands on the wheel. The benefits of modern technology. Now if they could find a way to disable texting when a vehicle is in motion, the roads would be a much safer place.
"Raymond Gil..."
"Stacy, it's me," I interrupted. "I need you to look up flights from Denver to Miami. As fast as you can."
"I'm on it." There was silence for the next two minutes, bar for her fingers tapping on the keyboard furiously. "Next flight is leaving in about an hour. Planning a trip?"
"No, but the rest of the dead bankers' co-workers are," I said. "Any other flights leaving soon?"
"Nothing for a few hours."
"That has to be my flight, then. I better let you go so I can focus on getting there before they take off."
"Wow," she said. "Well, good luck."
I pushed the end call button and checked the time before throwing the phone into the passenger seat. This was going to be tight.
Real tight.
Thankfully the traffic on 36 wasn't too heavy though I was getting tired of making the trip. I talked to my brand new GPS unit and set my route to the airport, choosing the one without toll roads. It may cost me a few extra minutes that way, but all it would take was one line at a toll booth to ruin everything.
I turned onto Peña Boulevard with about ten minutes to spare. With any luck, I'd be able to see the plane before it took off. When I approached the terminal, I took the departures exit that should shoot me on the side of the west runway. Traffic slowed to a crawl as I squeezed my way through the parking cars and shuttle busses all waiting in line to drop off their passengers.
It took a few minutes longer than I expected to reach the other side and make the turn to the west. Up ahead, I notice a Delta airplane taxiing to the runway. I wish I asked Stacy if Delta had any other flights heading out at this time, but it was too late to turn back. Even if this was the wrong plane, if I was able to create enough of a mess, they might shut the runway down long enough to get the other bankers out of here.
I swerved to the right, crashing through the fence surrounding the runway. From here I needed to move fast. It was only a matter of time until the National guard was hot on my tail. I doubt they will give me time to explain myself.
The steering wheel jerked around rapidly as I made my way onto the concrete runway. In my rear-view mirror, there is another plan heading my way.
The engines to the Delta plane fired up as I approached, sending dust and debris swirling into the grass. The plane crept forward, slowly speeding up for its ascent. I slammed my foot onto the gas, wailing on the horn as I swerved to dodge the wing. I moved in front of the plane, trying to get it to stop, but it kept moving, unaware of my presence leaving me no other choice than to resort to more drastic measures.
With my right hand on the steering wheel, I created a ball of flame in my left. The heat melted the plastic interior of my car, forcing me to hold my hand outside. I continued to pump essence into the flame until I had a two foot wide fireball ready to fire.
Slamming on the brakes, I toss the fireball at the right engine as the plane passes, but it misses the wing by inches and instead scorches the grass on the other side.
I looked down at my speedometer, noticing I was approaching 60 MPH. That would give me enough time to take one more shot before the plane can take off.
Holding my hand out of the window to start this time, I created another ball of flame. This time I stopped just short of the last one, hoping the lack of weight will keep it in the air longer.
I thrust my hand f
orward, sending the fireball careening in the air. I held my breath as it sped ahead of the plane, looking like it was going to hit the body of the jet instead. But when it got close, the air pressure from the engine pulled it in, exploding the moment it did.
Pieces of flaming metal shrapnel fly through the air, pelting my car as they fall back to the earth. I let out a cheer when the plane lurches to a crawl, coming to a complete stop when it reaches the end of the runway.
"I'd like to see a technomancer take down the plane now," I said, in triumph.
- 11 -
Before I had a chance to celebrate, an armada of emergency vehicles came my way, led by three camouflage schemed military grade Hummers. I didn't get the feeling they were coming out to celebrate my victory, so I stepped on the gas and did my best to avoid the debris on the runway.
I heard a loud thud two car lengths into the freshly manicured grass. Thanks to the impact, I ate the steering wheel for the second time in the last twenty-four hours as the car came to a complete stop. My eyes watered instantly from the impact with blood dribbling out of my nose and into my mustache. I looked in the rear view mirror to confirm what I already knew, my nose was broken. There wasn't any time to waste, so I quickly balled up a pair of Kleenex and shoved one in each nostril to stem the flow.
My tires spun, sending a cloud of white smoke into the air filling the cab the smell of burning rubber. Not the most pleasant smell in the best conditions if you ask me.
I stepped out of the car, noticing my problem right away. There was a circular piece of metal wedged between the rear tire and bumper, keeping the wheel off the ground just enough to keep me from moving. I walked to the rear of the car and fortified my strength. This is a spell I've perfected over the years after spending countless hours in ditches during the winter. It comes in handy when I need to do manual labor or when I need to lift my car out of a rut.
Sparked: The Nephalem Files (Book 1) Page 6