Even Villains Have Interns

by Liana Brooks

  Addison smiled drunkenly at her. “Kiss me?”

  “You’re still not my type,” Delilah said.

  Travys ran up to them carrying everyone’s coats. “I grabbed them from the jacket claim,” he explained.

  Delilah held Addison’s coat by the shoulders. Addison stuck her arm in the sleeve on the third try and Delilah zipped her up. As she turned Addison around, Delilah slipped a hand into the coat pocket and palmed the phone she found inside.

  Their party made it to the waiting vehicle without trouble, but as soon as Addison sat down she reached for her phone. As everyone else buckled up, Delilah watched the drunk girl check her each pocket three times over.

  “Problems?” she asked when it was clear Addison had run out of places to search.

  “My phone.” Addison pouted.

  Dylan sighed and rolled his eyes. “It probably dropped out at the coat claim.” He reached to unbuckle himself from the front passenger seat.

  “I’ll get it,” Delilah said, holding up a hand. “Go on ahead. I’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

  “I don’t like that,” Chad said in her ear.

  Dylan nodded at Chad’s comment. “We shouldn’t split up. Addison can wait until morning for her phone, right?”

  Addison gasped as if she’d been slapped. “No phone? All night? Are you crazy?”

  “It won’t take me more than five minutes to find the phone. I’ll be right behind you.” Delilah waved away Dylan’s next argument. “My call. It’s okay.” She took her earpiece out and tossed it to Travys. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, give or take a stoplight.” With a flash of a smile she stepped back into the bitter winter cold.

  The car wheels were turning before the door locked. Delilah watched them drive off. In her pocket, she thumbed Addison’s phone off. The last thing she needed was the GPS tracking her every movement. The cab which had followed Addison’s car pulled up, cabbie hidden by an upturned collar and an oversized flat cap.

  “Where to?” Freddie asked as she climbed inside. He turned down the police radio built into the dashboard.

  “To wherever the mayor was shot.”

  ***

  Snow crunched under Delilah’s boot as she stepped out of the cab on East Jackson Drive. “Park down by the university,” she told Freddie as a voice on the police radio confirmed an ambulance was en route to collect the final remains of Mayor Arámbula.

  Buckingham fountain was beautiful, even late on a winter night. Past the skeletal trees, golden lights illuminated the sparkling water—the strobe of blue and red from the waiting squad cars rather ruined the romantic affect.

  The cab pulled away. Delilah walked through the fresh-fallen snow, drifting across the icy sidewalk with the calm demeanor of someone exactly where they belonged.

  At the edge of the square, one of the officers noticed her. “Ma’am, can I help you?” he said stiffly, shining a flashlight at her face.

  “No.”

  He squinted, trying to make out her face under the black top hat she wore. “Did you hear anything? See anything?”

  “I didn’t.” She watched as the ambulance pulled up and paramedics hurried to the body. They lifted the dead mayor onto a stretcher and a scrap of paper fell out of his pocket. The wind caught it, lifting the paper up out of the snow and blowing it toward her.

  “Hey!” one of the officers shouted. “Somebody grab that! Gelphi! Catch that!”

  Delilah snatched the paper out of the air with a gloved hand. “Here,” she held it out to the policeman she assumed was Officer Gelphi. Three barely legible words scrawled across the paper: Kalydon - 77 Wacker.

  “Thank you.” Gelphi took the paper back with obvious hesitation. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to move along. This is a crime scene.”

  “Of course.” News vans were already parking on Lakeshore Drive and she didn’t need to be on camera. “Have a good evening.” Pivoting on her heel, Delilah strolled back along the snowy streets until her nose was numb. Seventy-seven Wacker was an office building that had been on the market for several months. It wasn’t somewhere the mayor would have gone for a party, but a black market business deal? That sounded plausible.

  A warm breeze alerted her to company. “Fancy meeting you here,” The Spirit of Chicago said.

  Delilah stopped, watching him from the corner of her eye. “How did you hear about this?”

  “I have friends at the police department. You?”

  She shrugged. “I know all the good gossips.” She turned to face him, or as much as there was of him. The festively lit streets twinkled through his gossamer body. “Where were you tonight, superhero?”

  “Where were you, do-gooder super villain?”

  With a grimace, she shrugged again. “Busy. I have an airtight alibi. Over a hundred people saw me flirting with a handsome man tonight. We didn’t get as far as drinks. Disappointing, overall. Your turn.”

  “I was trying to attract the attention of devastatingly beautiful woman.”

  Delilah almost laughed. “Oh? How’d that work out for you?”

  “She looked right through me.”

  They turned side by side to watch the paramedics cover the late mayor’s body. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the muted pallor of death wound its way up her spine, leaving her feeling isolated and angry. The ripples of this would spread far and wide, destroying the peace she worked hard to maintain.

  The Spirit of Chicago solidified a little more, filling in enough space to cast a shadow of his own and whistling the first few bars of All I Want For Christmas.

  Delilah sighed and shook off her malaise. “I guess that’s our social plans canceled.”

  “Ours?” the Spirit asked. “My invite to the cookie swap must have been lost in the mail. I was going to make snickerdoodles.”

  “There’s a man dead and you’re joking?”

  He held up a translucent hand. “Ghost?”

  “Who can swim and grab towels?” Delilah raised an eyebrow. “Let’s try the truth. You’re alive and well but you can phase in and out of places.”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Physics is not a class I really understood.”

  Delilah watched the news crews and police for a moment longer before walking away.

  The Spirit of Chicago kept pace with her. There were no footprints, something she should have found more disturbing than she did.

  “Are we sharing information?” he asked.

  “If I find any, I might be persuaded to share. There’s no profit in this kind of crime, and I’m vexed beyond words that someone would invade my city like this,” Delilah said.

  “Yours?”

  “I’m very possessive.” Delilah hit the call button hidden in the folds of her coat, summoning Freddie.

  The Spirit stood beside her, staring up at the sky. “How will I find you?”

  “How do you usually find me?”

  He eyed her sideways. “I show up at a scene of a crime and you’re there waiting for me.”

  Delilah smiled as the cab pulled up. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you at the next crime scene, then.”

  Chapter Six

  Dad,

  Something’s being brokered in Chicago this week. Things have been quiet. Too quiet. And I’ve been told a hunter’s coming to town. I don’t know what’s going on, or if the mayor’s death is related at all.

  Help me figure out what I’m looking for, so I can deal with it ASAP?

  D

  The Spirit of Chicago drifted through the walls of the late mayor’s office. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, another was occupied by a window overlooking marble columns to the street below, and the last was covered a detailed map of the city. No personal objects on display; the family photos had come down a few years ago when Mayor Arámbula and his wife had separated.

  The Spirit of Chicago reached out and tapped in the security code on the keypad. For a few minutes at least, he was free to look around.


  All the books were in their places. They were the first things he remembered. Very early in his career, Arámbula, then a city alderman, had invited him over to see the house. There was a duplicate library. The mayor bought two of every book, one for home and one for the office, so he never had to worry about forgetting something.

  People had underestimated Arámbula. He’d been a force of nature, a bombastic man who steamrolled his competition and naysayers. He was loud, larger than life; almost immortal.

  The Spirit of Chicago frowned as he surveyed the room. Everything was eerily normal. He half expected Arámbula to come charging down the hall like a small locomotive, bellowing rage as he shook one of the increasingly rare print editions of the Chicago daily paper.

  The police were going to pin the murder on either family trouble or political enemies, but that didn’t feel right. Arámbula was rumored to be involved in half a dozen scandals on any given day, but The Spirit of Chicago knew he wasn’t. And the divorce had been amicable. Elsa had a new husband, and Arámbula had walked her down the aisle. Privately, he told his friends he was hunting for someone a little younger. A mid-life crisis wife. It was his idea of a joke.

  The Spirit of Chicago nudged the curtains aside, not willing to risk turning on a light that could be seen from the streets outside. Moonlight spilled through the clouds and glittered on a golden apple.

  That was new.

  The Spirit of Chicago picked it up. Arámbula was not a man who invested in paperweights, and an apple wouldn’t have been his style at all. A recreation of a Mycenaean bull statue, yes. But an apple? Apples were for teachers, a moniker no one would have dared use for Arámbula. The Spirit picked the apple up, peering at the smooth surface for an engraving, some hint of where it had come from. The moonlight fractured oddly as he turned it. So many angles. Almost like... He tilted his head and saw a number in the pattern: seventy-seven.

  ***

  Delilah growled under her breath and switched the police radio off. All the chatter about the morning commute was distracting her. So, Arámbula was dead. That left a power vacuum at the top of two food chains.

  She grabbed Alan Adale’s file from her desk. File folders were dinosaurs, and the office staff loved teasing her about her manila addiction, but there were advantages. No one could hack a paper file. No one could search her hard drive and find a copy of this information.

  Not that she had much about Adale that wasn’t public knowledge. For all his cold, mafia-man appearance, he had a record cleaner than a priest’s miter. Normally she liked men without any obvious vices, but this one was getting annoying. Especially since she couldn’t seem to give him no as an answer.

  There was a shortage of perfect men in the world. Adale was attractive, intelligent... If she compared him to a list of qualities she wanted in a long-term partner, he looked like a winner. But the relationship had one fatal flaw: she didn’t want to know what he honestly thought of her. Honesty was the death of infatuation.

  “I need a social life,” she muttered with a sigh.

  “What?” Travys said, freezing in the doorway, his arms once again full of boxes. Luckily for him, one of those boxes was donuts.

  “You brought me breakfast?” Delilah asked as she took the donuts and set them on her desk beside a stack of manila folders.

  He shucked his bulky winter coat and kicked it carelessly under the chair. Such a boy thing to do. “Hungry bosses are mean bosses.”

  Delilah smiled and peeked inside. “Boston creams! Now I know you want something. What is it?” She picked up the chocolate-covered pastry and bit in.

  “I have a Christmas wish list.” His eyebrows bounced up and down in a hysterical attempt at an eyebrow waggle.

  “Mmm?”

  “Well, I was thinking, since I’m spending Christmas alone—”

  “You’re not spending it alone!” Delilah huffed around a mouthful of donut in annoyance. “We’re doing a family Christmas in Vermont, New England’s Winter Playground. I’ve already rented the house.”

  Travys looked at her in confusion. “Who is doing a family Christmas?”

  “All of us. Angela, Ty, Aaron, Maria, Blessing, Gideon, Mom and Dad of course, you, me, most the minions will be up there. You know, the family.”

  He picked his own donut out of the box. “At this point we probably need to start putting a capital F on Family.”

  “Daddy is not the Godfather type.”

  “Are you sure he’s still not trying to take over the world?” Travys asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  Delilah shook her head. “We convinced him to settle for a fiefdom. He has the castle and we own most of Llano County now. It’s enough, I think. I mean, taking over the planet in one generation is a pretty ambitious project, and he’s retired.”

  “From being a super villain,” Travys said.

  “Exactly. His activities are strictly legal right now.” She finished her donut and guiltily added, “Ninety percent of the time. Probably. Maybe more like sixty. Still. He’s getting better.”

  Travys rolled his eyes.

  Delilah sighed. “Never mind. You’re coming with us. Christmas is handled.”

  “And how am I supposed to get gifts for everyone?” Travys demanded. “Aaron’s got his brother’s bank account. Gideon has his own company. Am I supposed to go shopping with my intern salary? What’s that gonna buy?”

  “Do you never check your emails?” Delilah shot back. “Everyone was given a name and twenty dollar gift limit. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

  “Twenty bucks?” Travys sat down with a frown. “So that’s a no to my new car for Christmas?”

  “Maybe for graduation.” Delilah patted him on the head and turned back to her white board filled with purple ink and power struggles. “I need a pattern to emerge. Does the oracle of Delphi have anything for me?”

  Travys shook his head. “Nothing.” He closed his eyes. “I can give you a solid bet on who the next mayor will be.”

  Delilah waved a dismissive hand. “Alan Adale. He’s politically hot right now, the press loves him, the people are enamored with him.”

  “Which is why you’re not dating him?” Travys guessed.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Adale has every red flag for a user: bad childhood, no significant relationships, and too much money to care about people.”

  “Have you ever considered that he’s maybe not a bad guy?” Travys asked. “It’s possible to be devastatingly handsome, have a bad childhood, and still be amazing.”

  Delilah gave him a look.

  He held up his hands in defense. “All I’m saying is that I have red flags all up in my background and you gave me a chance.”

  “Stop using logic and reason on me. My mind’s made up.” She uncapped her white board marker with a click. “Help me find my killer. Adale is the best suspect—”

  “But he was at the party last night,” Travys said.

  “Could be a well-planned alibi.” She shrugged. “But anyway, I don’t think Adale is the killer. I think he’s the next victim.”

  Travys frowned at her. “You getting premonitions now?”

  A whisper of ice slid down her spine as she remembered Ivan’s words at the party. “No. Just something a little bird told me. Chicago’s become ground zero for a hunter who likes big prey.”

  Travys’s eyes widened. “I really hope you mean street rats.”

  She shook her head. “Serial killers.”

  “Plural?”

  “If my source is accurate, yes. The thing is, they like to know their victims first. Buddy up and give them the choice to join or die.”

  “Arámbula must have said no.”

  Delilah rocked back in her chair. “Let’s get the mayor’s phone records. Then get Adale’s, and see if we can tap the police street cams and find him. I want to make a timeline for him from, oh, let’s say first of November through whenever we finish this project. Phones, schedule, witnesses, bank accounts. It’ll be a fu
n little side project for you.”

  Travys gave her a skeptical frown. “Superheroes on TV are way more exciting. No one sits in front of white boards in the movies.”

  “Sue for false advertising,” Delilah advised.

  Travys glared at the board. “You sure it was a serial killer?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll find out—” A buzz from the front office interrupted her. Delilah nodded, and Travys hit the button on her desk for her. “Yes?”

  “Miss Samson, Detective Morrow of the Chicago PD is here. Are you with a client?” Margo the secretary asked.

  “No, I’m free. Please show him back.”

  Travys raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  She shrugged with a frown. “I’ve got airtight alibis for everything.”

  “I bet.” He stood up and grabbed the files. “I’ll go start that file on the deputy mayor.”

  Delilah opened the door for him. “What else is there to do, right?”

  “I have my mom’s file. There’s a business card in the box that I thought might be a lead.” The box was still sitting by the donuts.

  “I’ll look at it after I talk with the police. Promise.”

  “Thanks.” Travys hurried down the hall, nodding to the gruff police officer coming the other way.

  Delilah stayed by the door as she waved the policeman into her office. “Detective Morrow, always a pleasure to see you. Although I doubt you’re here for fun.”

  “I wish,” Morrow said. He took his hat off, but remained standing. “This is, officially, a social visit. I came by to invite you and Wil to the annual benefit dinner we’re having next week.”

  Delilah returned to her seat, hiding her internal turmoil and boiling curiosity. “Unofficially?”

  “Wil says you sometimes do side projects.”

  Her pulse skipped. “We all do. A little light body guarding, fieldwork for bonuses. It’s all above the board.”

  Morrow pulled a video stick from his pocket and flipped through the pictures before holding it out to her. “Images from the mayor’s office taken this morning by the forensic crew. Notice his desk?”