The Wicked City
Page 8
Micha stood behind her, dressed, digging through the duffel bag on the bed.
“Cindy brought me some mousse,” he said. “That’s all I use.”
“Something.” June scowled at her reflection. She looked like a limp black mop.
“I can probably call downstairs and have them bring some up,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to hanging out here by myself. Maybe I’ll just nap.”
“Hopefully we won’t be gone long. It’s scary out there.” She checked the gauges in her ears and stuck her tongue out to check the underside of the bar. Micha was watching her in the mirror, and she closed her mouth.
“I’ve swallowed the ball twice,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“My tongue piercing.” She turned around. “The ball pops off sometimes. Not a big deal. You don’t wanna swallow the bar, though. That thing comes out the wrong way on the other end and you could be bleeding for days.”
Micha winced. So cute and gullible.
June, Sam, and Cindy left the hotel shortly after eleven. Muse left as well, but when they got downstairs and a car appeared for them, she walked off down the street instead of getting in. Sam made Cindy drive.
“I don’t understand how you think Kevin can help us,” Cindy said, as they pulled out of the valet area. “He’s a huge douche bag, I hope you know.”
“Did you call to see if he was there?” Sam asked.
“I texted him. He is. He probably thinks I wanna screw him for old time’s sake. Thanks a lot for that.”
June was tense on the drive, but she knew better than to ask what they were doing. The “second test,” after all. Wicker Park resembled the Mission District in Sacramento: full of shops, galleries, bars, and restaurants designed to draw the young dreamers, the artists and philosophers looking for good coffee, whole foods, and pretentious conversation about ridiculous things like post-modernism. They pulled up in front of a painted-over white brick façade with a black and gold sign that said Seventh Heaven. An empty patio encompassed the area in front of the building.
“Are we all going in?” Cindy asked as she turned off the car.
Sam replied by opening the door and getting out.
June followed suit. “I hope they sell cigarettes in here,” she muttered.
Inside, the bar sported a mess of brown-and-tan patterned wallpaper, Oriental rugs, and leather couches and glass-topped coffee tables in lieu of tables and chairs. The place looked like a seventies drug den, with subdued eighties rock playing in the background.
As she suspected. Hipster Hell.
They approached a long, gleaming wooden bar on one side of the room, empty of patrons. A man emerged from the back carrying a case of beer. He had dark hair, cut short but long on top, his face narrow and finely-boned. He was tall and waifish. He looked like a model. Cindy waved.
“What’s up?” He set the case down. He spoke to Cindy, but stared at Sam.
“Uh,” Cindy said. “This is, uh—”
“Hello, Kevin.” Sam stepped forward, sliding a hand inside the breast of his coat. He drew out a small white box, set it on the bar, and slid it toward Kevin.
The way Kevin’s expression changed intrigued June. His eyes widened; the rest of his face paled and sagged. He took a step back.
“I’m sorry.” Sam sounded anything but. “It’s time.”
“What’s going on?” Cindy asked.
Kevin stared at the box for a moment; then he looked up at Sam. His expression changed again, becoming stony and resolved, his pale hazel eyes glittering. “Didn’t think it would take this long. Hello, Sam.”
“Hello,” Sam said.
“Fuck,” Kevin replied.
Chapter 6
They moved to a dining room beyond the bar, full of high wooden tables with chairs on them. The walls were brick, covered in beer signs and band flyers. They took the chairs down from one of the tables and sat, Sam and June on one side, Kevin across from Sam. Kevin stared at the box on the table between them. June had never seen a man look so despairing. She expected when he opened the box to see a severed finger inside. Or a cursed amulet. Or a notice from the IRS.
“Someone better tell me what’s going on,” Cindy said. She stood next to June, rather than sitting.
“Is this what I think it is?” Kevin asked.
“Of course it is,” Sam said.
“What is going on?” Cindy demanded again, shrilly.
Kevin opened his mouth.
Sam spoke sharply, “Don’t tell her anything.” He glared at Cindy. “If you can’t shut up, leave. I don’t need you for this.”
Cindy gaped.
June sat back and impulsively pushed a hand into her jacket pocket but found it empty. “Go get me a pack of smokes,” she told Cindy and jerked her head toward the bar. “I saw a machine out there. Nothing menthol.”
Cindy clenched her fists.
“Yes, do that,” Sam said.
Cindy stormed off.
Sam leaned forward and addressed Kevin. “You will not talk to her about the situation that has led to this conversation.”
Kevin scowled. “Of course I won’t. I wouldn’t even if you didn’t tell me not to.”
“I’m so curious as to what the hell is going on here,” June said.
Kevin snapped his gaze to her. “Who’s this?”
She smiled. “Apparently, you don’t pay attention, huh? I hear I’m the talk of the town.”
“Oh, he doesn’t read the Paranormal section of the Tribune, trust me,” Sam said.
“You’re right on that,” Kevin retorted.
“This isn’t exactly a paranormal friendly place,” Sam told June. “In fact, most of Wicker Park isn’t paranormal friendly. Of course, it’s illegal for businesses to discriminate, but that doesn’t change people’s attitudes. For that, you usually need to use your fists.”
“I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t want your kind around here,” Kevin said. “Manipulation is so damn charming.”
“This is June Coffin.” Sam gestured to her, with a cruel smile at Kevin.
Kevin closed his eyes and pulled in a breath through his teeth. “In my bar. This keeps getting better and better.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” June said.
Kevin opened his eyes.
“Wait until I get up and take a crap on the table,” June said.
Cindy returned. She threw a pack of cigarettes down in front of June. “There.”
June snatched them up. “Your offering pleases me.”
“I heard you left Chicago,” Kevin said to June. “Like that researcher’s husband who probably offed her so he could blame it on the normalists.”
Cindy gasped. “Kevin, Micha didn’t kill Rose!”
June started unraveling the cellophane from the pack of cigarettes. “He didn’t, actually. I watched her blood splatter all over the trunk of a car, but he wasn’t holding the gun. However, I can appreciate a healthy sense of cynicism.” She turned to Cindy. “I need some matches. I left my lighter in the room, I think.”
“There’s some behind the bar,” Kevin said.
Cindy stomped her foot and stormed off again.
“You know she’s friendly with Micha Bellevue,” Sam said.
“I know,” Kevin said. “There’s a reason why we’re divorced. Many reasons.”
“Cindy said you’re a ‘normalist sympathizer.’” June shook a cigarette out. “Is that like a paranormal Nazi?”
“Killing, no matter who does it, is a terrible thing.” Kevin leaned toward June. “But I don’t trust your kind anymore, not one of you. The only ones I have any respect for are the militant vampires, because they don’t sit around whining about how they’re oppressed. But that’s only a small respect. They have plenty of other foul qualities.”
June held the cigarette between her fingers, noting Kevin’s use of the word “anymore.” “Go on,” she said.
Darkness loomed behind Kevin’s eyes. Something haunted him.
June pointed the cigarette at him. “You know where your lines are drawn. I respect that.”
Kevin frowned.
Cindy came back and threw the matches at June. They bounced off June's chest, and she caught them in her hand.
“Thanks.”
“You’re damn right I know where my lines are drawn,” Kevin said. “They’re drawn where you people can’t ruin my life. More than you have.”
“Don’t tempt me to cross lines, Kevin,” Sam spoke ominously.
Kevin stiffened.
June opened the matchbook, peeled out a match, and struck the end.
Kevin glared at her. “This is a non-smoking bar. There’s a smoking ban in Illinois.”
June shook the match out and took a drag. Sweet nicotine relief rushed in. “Unoriginal.” She blew the smoke out the corner of her mouth. “California started that.” She plucked the sugar caddy from the middle of the table, dumped the packets out, and flicked her ash in the receptacle.
Kevin clenched his fists, like he might come across the table and throttle her.
“Why are we here, visiting this lousy little smear of a man?” Cindy asked.
June liked Cindy’s ability to cut directly to the insults.
“So nice to see you too, Cindy,” Kevin said. “I was really hoping that piece of paper we signed two years ago meant I’d never have to listen to your mouth again. But this is what, like the sixth time I’ve had to look at you since then?”
“Why don’t you go get me a whiskey, bartender?” She fixed him with a crazy-eyed stare. “You don’t want my condition getting riled up, now do you? Or maybe you do.”
“Why don’t you walk your oversized ass to the bar and get it yourself? Len’s back there. He likes fat broads with big mouths.”
“I hear he likes working for assholes with tiny peckers, too,” she shot back.
June took another drag, enjoying the show.
“Still bartending in Wrigleyville?” Kevin asked, high and imperious. “Won any competitions lately?”
June blew the smoke out. “Competitions?”
“Kevin is a flair bartender.” Cindy waved a dismissive hand. “A glorified clown. I don’t have to compensate for anything, Kevin. I know I don’t have a dick.”
“We have important business to discuss here,” Sam spoke up. “If you two could finish your fucking conversation?”
Cindy snorted. “Important business? Sam, this man is a closet member of the SNC. He would love to see the paranormal wiped from this city. What do you even want with him?”
“The Secular Normalists’ objective is to demand ethical behavior from the Institute,” Kevin said, “not to wipe the paranormal out.”
“So how long have you been a member?” Cindy asked. “Were you with them when we were married?”
“I’m not a member. I just do my reading. Knowledge is power, something you wouldn’t know anything about.”
“Their crazy booklets I’m sure,” Cindy said. “Read the Paranormal Alliance’s manifesto on the SNC if you want some ‘knowledge.’”
“Because that’s not a biased piece of literature.”
“And theirs isn’t biased? We may have a treaty, but that doesn’t mean they’ve changed their ways. They’re still killing us.”
Sam was rubbing his forehead and gritting his teeth.
June couldn’t hold her curiosity in check any longer. “Why did you two get married if you have these wildly differing viewpoints?”
Kevin was glaring at Cindy. “Let’s just say I was on the fence about the paranormal when I met her, but she pushed me right off it by the time we got divorced.”
“I should have pushed you into traffic,” Cindy said.
“That’s enough! I want you to leave us,” Sam hissed at Cindy. “Go. Now.”
Cindy stood steadfast.
“Go.” he reiterated, more severe. “Or I’m going to have her make you go.” He indicated June.
“I’m your dog now?” June said.
“Good, you passed the third test.”
Looking highly put-upon, Cindy swiveled on her heel and stalked off. June took another drag from her cigarette.
“God, I hate that woman,” Kevin muttered, as Cindy left the room.
“Yeah, I can’t figure women out, either,” June said.
“Back to the matter at hand.” Sam focused on Kevin. “You know what I’m asking of you. We just have to find a body.”
Kevin sighed, heavy and long-suffering. “Of course we do.”
* * * *
Sam ordered Cindy to stay at the bar and wait for Kevin to get off work, perhaps as punishment—though whether he meant to punish Cindy or Kevin, June was unsure. He said he needed someone there to make sure Kevin didn’t try to weasel out. Sam and June left, and inexplicably, Sam took her to Navy Pier.
“What are we doing here, exactly?” June asked. The sun was out and glittered on the water, so the lake didn’t resemble desolate doom this time. The island-sized patches of ice gleamed like glass.
“This is my territory,” Sam said. “I feel a lot safer here. A hell of a lot safer than in Wicker Park, without my bodyguard. I could be killed, or worse, kidnapped.”
“This is your territory? Like you own the place?”
“In a manner of speaking, as per the treaty between the Paranormal Alliance and the SNC. We have our territories.”
“What about the Institute? Do you have a treaty with them?”
“No, but most of the time they know better than to go on either of our stomping grounds. Incidents have happened.”
“Aren’t you worried about leaving Cindy at the bar?”
“No one wants to kidnap her.”
“You have a point.”
They parked in a brightly-lit garage. From one of the exits, they entered the vast mall-like interior of the pier, not terribly crowded but busy enough to make June instantly uneasy. Adults and groups of teenagers drifted by, laughing and talking, texting on phones and carrying shopping bags, involved in their own little microcosms and ignorant of the drama June was experiencing. The air smelled like pretzels and coffee, as if to underline the absurd normalcy of it all.
“Aren’t you afraid someone is going to recognize me?” June asked.
“Do you realize how little strangers actually look at each other? And how little they care about what they read in the paper? No one cares about you right now, I’m afraid. They’re all looking for Micha. And even if they do recognize you, aren’t you an aural captivator?”
“Touché.” She frowned. “What about you, though? I’m sure people around here know who you are.”
“Unless it’s a member of my organization, I don’t have fans.”
They passed a little jewelry store. She wanted some new body jewelry. She needed her wallet. Her money. Her damn life back.
“If you’re hungry, we can eat,” Sam said. “I’m sure we have time.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that box was, or why you need a body?”
“You’re getting smarter. No, I’m not going to tell you. Trust me, you’ll find out soon enough.”
A few people did look at her as they passed. They weren’t looks of recognition, though; she often got such looks. People either thought she looked cool or was a scary criminal.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you had so much power over that angry little bartender, either,” June said.
“I barely know you. Why should I tell you my secrets?”
&n
bsp; “Maybe because I’m in terrible danger right now and my brother is in even worse danger.”
“None of which will be resolved by me answering any of those questions.”
“Maybe after you collect your fee from me you’ll be a little more talky, huh?”
They were in a food court-type area. Sam stopped.
“I’m not a prostitute,” June said. “But in this case, if that’s what you’re asking in return for saving my brother, I’ll close my eyes and think of Kansas or something.”
Sam looked to one side and then the other, and then back at her. “You want some coffee?”
“No?”
“You can get booze in it.”
“All right.”
They got coffee—June ordering hers with a double shot of Jameson—and sat down in a red plastic booth. The place had a Wi-Fi area with computers nearby. June considered e-mailing her mother, to let her know they were all right—or at least she was—since her mother hadn’t heard from them all week and had probably started to worry. Unfortunately, contacting her might bring more danger to the people she cared about. She doubted she could lie effectively to her mother.
“I’ll tell you something, if you want to know a secret so badly.” Sam sat across from her, hands wrapped around a paper cup.
“Is it an interesting secret?”
“I know what’s going on at the Institute. I know what they’re doing. But proving it, that’s another matter.”
The light over the table glistened in his eyes and shone on his sleek dark hair. He was an attractive man. Maybe she wouldn’t have to think too hard about Kansas.
“I don’t think they’ll kill your brother,” Sam said. “They need him alive.”
“They shot at me.”
“They only need one of you.”
June sat back and draped an arm over the back of the booth. “Go on.”
“Your power isn’t unique, but it’s rare. A little over a year ago, there was a woman, like you, an aural captivator. Her name was Missy Chase. She came here to be studied at the Institute. A sheep to slaughter, just like the two of you. She was the first aural captivator they’d gotten to study, so there was a lot of hype about it. She wasn’t staying at the Institute, just at a hotel.”