Skin After Skin - PsyCop 8

by Jordan Castillo Price

  “I’m fine,” I called out to him before he could start in on all the security measures he thought I should be taking. “I’m dandy. Between the two of us, we’ve cleared the cobwebs, restocked the crystals and alphabetized all the herbs. So no need to keep checking in.”

  Jacob paused to take in the improved lines of sight and additional lighting, then joined us at the counter. “Actually, I’m here for Lisa.”

  He handed her a plain white envelope. A few choice sí-nos played through her head, but none of them panned out. “What is it?” she asked.

  Jacob answered with a single resigned headshake. “I don’t know. It’s sealed.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “Just…read it.”

  “Do you need me to leave the room?” I said in annoyance. “It’s only my shop and all, but hey, don’t let me get in your way.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Jacob said. “It’s work-related.”

  Lisa had the envelope open and was already scanning its contents. Whatever it was, she didn’t care to elaborate aloud, other than to ask Jacob, “Why are you giving me this?”

  He considered his answer for a long moment, then said, “Because I’m on the payroll. As of today, I’m officially working for the FPMP.”

  F-pimp? No shit. I was bursting with questions. Why? In what capacity? And exactly how freaked out was his boyfriend? My gut told me nothing, not with Jacob’s aura locked down tight, but experience and logic told me plenty. He might not be happy about this decision, but he was bound and determined to see it through.

  “I need to make a phone call,” Lisa murmured. I gestured toward the office and she slipped through the beaded curtain.

  When we were alone, I said, “Does this mean you’re not a PsyCop anymore?”

  “Technically, I’m retired.”

  “So it’s Mr. Marks now?”

  He sighed. “Agent.”

  “Seriously? A fed? A real life spy?”

  “I’m not a—”

  “I know full well what you are—Vic’s told me all about it. You’re the psychic Big Brother that listens in on his phone calls and tampers with his mail.”

  “It’s not all like that. I’m not in surveillance.” He paused and massaged his temples. “Look, it’s time to stop pretending everything’s status quo and certified psychics are safe. There are dangerous people out there—not just the unstable ones who’d pull a knife on you. I’m talking organized threats. People who want to turn psychic abilities to their advantage and are willing to vivisect psychics to do it. People who want to round up anyone with talent and eliminate them before they can get organized. You and I both know Vic has some serious ability. That makes him a target. And I’m not willing to just stand around and let some extremist pick him off. Not when I’m in a position to actually do something to prevent it.”

  He fell silent when Lisa emerged from the office. She waved the folded letter. “They want to meet with me. I’m gonna go.”

  “Are you sure?” Jacob asked.

  “The sí-no says I should.”

  How handy to have such an unequivocal guidance system. “Be safe,” I told her as she headed out the door. Jacob said nothing. I locked the door behind Lisa with the new deadbolt Jacob had helped me install, and rejoined him at the register. “So this new employer of yours…they don’t have any idea how good you are at Puppies and Bugs, do they?”

  He stared hard at the counter and didn’t answer.

  Unbelievable. “You told them?”

  “Just one guy. I had to, back at PsyTrain.”

  “And this one guy…will he keep it on the downlow?”

  “I don’t know if it matters. He’s the guy in charge.”

  “And now this guy is passing notes to Lisa. With your help.”

  I’d only voiced what Jacob had been thinking, but he looked irritated that I’d come out and said it. “Maybe Lisa should have kept her ability secret. Think about the things a criminal could do with her sí-no. Or, for that matter, what an army could do. Or a terrorist. I have no great love for the FPMP, but right now, I don’t see a better option.”

  * * *

  When it was Carolyn’s turn to babysit me, minding the store together was nowhere near as fun as margaritas and nachos. I’d been grinding through real estate listings, hoping to find a storefront I could afford in a neighborhood where I wouldn’t be robbed, violated and ritually dismembered. And I was trying to ignore the nagging idea that the Nietzsches of this world were perfectly capable of finding me no matter where I chose to plant my flag. Carolyn, meanwhile, was glued to her phone, volleying emails with her union rep to get out of working. Apparently Jacob hadn’t only been shielding himself. Without him by her side at the Twelfth Precinct, she felt vulnerable and exposed.

  “My contract stipulates that I’m to be partnered with a specific PsyCop NP.”

  “Might as well call a Stiff a Stiff,” I told her. “Everyone else does.”

  “Now Sergeant Owens is talking about farming me out to different precincts to forge ‘partnerships.’ I’m not some show pony he can parade out at whim. I refuse to be part of his politicking. Where does it all end?” She jabbed at her phone and huffed. “And what’s wrong with your new wi-fi?”

  “The router’s got something against me.” I was halfway to the office when a customer came in. “Just unplug it and plug it back in so it resets itself. It’s on top of the gray filing cabinet.” As Carolyn disappeared into the office, I recognized my customer and called out, “Did you get a chance to read that article I sent you about psychic chimps? Or were you worried you’d find your own picture beneath the clickbait?”

  I’d expected some banter in return, but Constantine didn’t even crack a smile. He strode up to the counter and said, “I heard about the armed robbery. Are you okay?”

  I half-shrugged. “Nothing wounded, other than my sense of security.”

  “Listen, I know you’ve got your own way of doing things, and far be it from me to elbow in where I’m not wanted, but I can really help you out.”

  “And this is where you finally let me in on what it is you do.”

  “If it mattered, I’d tell you.” He took in the store with a long glance. “We could beef up your security. Add a panic button.”

  “That depends. Who’s we?”

  “No one you’ve ever heard of.” Carolyn stepped back out into the store, and Con gave her a lingering once-over, then murmured, “Or have you?”

  I cut my eyes to Carolyn. She was scrolling on her phone and paying no attention to us.

  “Think about it,” Con said. “And if you need anything…you know where to find me.”

  * * *

  Knowing the extent to which Jacob and Vic went to make sure no one had eyes inside their building, I opted against pursuing Con’s offer of assistance, though every now and then, I found myself sorely tempted to break down and take him up on it. Even between the four of them, my cop friends couldn’t manage to babysit me forever. And with summer giving way to fall and the law gone back to their pursuit of putting bad guys behind bars, a week wouldn’t pass without some kind of situation going down.

  The mailboxes in the stairwell were broken into. Junkies began shooting up on the landing. And of course, the building got egged not only on Halloween, but the next five days running. None of these things were as bad as the knife incident, but I was beginning to understand why Lydia had shown such a non-reaction to the break-in attempt on my birthday.

  Vic offered to help me get a gun and teach me how to use it. “Not that my own marksmanship is anything to write home about, but I’ll show you how to avoid shooting your own dick off.”

  After witnessing Vic’s takedown of Nietzsche, I was beginning to suspect his “all thumbs” routine was nothing more than an act, and he was perfectly capable of blowing holes in anything he cared to aim at. But me? I did some soul-searching and decided I wasn’t willing to point a gun at another human being and pull the trigger. Even in self-de
fense. I did accept a can of pepper spray. No doubt that would make my mother very happy.

  I’d spent my morning scrubbing some brown thumbprints off my stairwell that were most definitely not a result of my decorating party with Maxine, given that neither of us was fond of playing with our own excrement, and I was actually hoping that someone would mouth off to me and give me a reason to put them in their place. As an added bonus, I’d get to feel self-righteous for not macing them. If they were lucky, that is. But the next person through the door threw me for a loop. Because not only was she friend, not foe, but she was bubbling over with such unbridled joy, I thought she’d spark the self-igniting incense if she brushed up against it. “Someone’s in a good mood,” I called over.

  Lisa paused by the hand-dyed wall hangings she’d never once given a second glance, and pulled a gauzy, purply number off the rack with a twirl Stevie Nicks would envy. “I’m okay,” she said.

  Okay? Sure. And the Shedd Aquarium is slightly damp.

  I waited to see if she was about to elaborate on her sublime okayness, and eventually she meandered her way up to the counter and draped her purple hanging across the plexi.

  “There’s definitely something different about you,” I said.

  “My hair is down?”

  “Nope. Not your hair. Something else. Someone else.” She fluttered her eyelashes like she couldn’t possibly know what I meant, and I said, “You’ve practically got little hearts and cherubs floating around your head. So, dish: how hot is he, how big is his dick, and how many times did he rock your world last night?”

  She didn’t dignify that with an answer, but judging by the shade of crimson she turned, I’d say the answer to the last question was several. But most of my gal-pals didn’t go into spurt-by-spurt detail like my male friends did, so I relented and said, “Fine, how’d you meet him?”

  And with that, her energy faltered.

  “Daaang. He’s not married, is he?”

  “Nuh uh, no way. No one’s taking advantage of me like that ever again. He’s free and clear and totally available. But…Vic and Jacob aren’t gonna like it.”

  “Why on earth should they care?” Was she seeing one of their exes? Possible, but unlikely. Maybe one of the other PsyPigs, but again, so what? She wasn’t even working for the force anymore. But she was pulling a hefty retainer from…. “F-pimp,” I announced. “You’re bonking one of those peeping toms.” She dropped her gaze and I knew I was right. “So he admitted to watching you shower from the hidden camera in your toilet tank and things just got steamier from there?”

  She slugged me in the arm. Playfully, though it still hurt—the girl works out. “He’s not in surveillance.”

  Sure, that’s what they all said. “I’ve been known to date against my friends’ wishes. You know Carolyn, she didn’t mince any words. They get used to it.”

  “I guess they will.” He eyes tracked back and forth as she verified this notion with her inner guidance system. “Eventually.”

  “But the chemistry is good?”

  “It is. But it’s not even the romantic stuff that’s so incredible. It’s like…it’s like he really understands me, you know?”

  Did I? Who’s to say what anybody made of me. Jacob saw a failed psych. My Junior fuck-buddies saw a failed stylist. In fact, none of the guys I dallied with knew me for who I really was. None of those men made the effort to see the real me.

  “And I feel like the world is a safer place with him in it. The very first sí-no he hired me to do, I knew he was different. He cared. Spent a bunch of time and effort making sure an empath—a kindergarten teacher—didn’t lose her job just because some parents got freaked out and started weird rumors. He’s looking out for real people, certified Psychs with regular jobs. Which is more than I can say for the police up here. The minute they figured out how I scored average on my testing….” Her eyes went distant and her lips moved. “Oh my God. He knew. All the way back then. He knew they locked me up. And he was the reason I got out of holding when I did.”

  “Sounds like a real peach.”

  “You don’t understand, it’s a big deal. I could’ve been stuck there for days…weeks. He didn’t have the jurisdiction—I’m not officially certified. He managed it all under the table. At his own expense.”

  “I’ll admit, that’s a spiffy way to try and get in someone’s pants.”

  “We didn’t know each other yet. I was just a name on a report. He had no reason to try to make an impression.” She consulted her sí-no again, and added, “No, he did it because it was the right thing to do.”

  Between Lisa and me, she was most definitely not the one you’d expect to end up in a jail cell. Even though she would’ve never struck me as a damsel in distress, I could imagine being sprung from confinement would be the stuff of some pretty hardcore romantic fantasies. Security might not rank with fluttery notions like intrigue and fascination and good, old-fashioned lust. But in the end, there was definitely something to be said for a man who made you feel secure.

  Chapter 47

  It seemed like everyone I knew found my relationship advice indispensable, though given my personal track record, I had no idea why.

  It was a slow, mid-week mid-morning. Drunk Tony hadn’t started drinking quite yet, though given how worked up he was getting about his lady problems, I suspected his sobriety wouldn’t last long. He’d parked himself beside the counter in one of my various folding chairs, but I’d hardly call what he was doing “sitting.” With every emphatic statement he made, he jumped up and ran his fingers through his dishwater brown hair, which was sticking out every which way. He was a paunchy middle-aged guy who couldn’t really carry off the punk aesthetic, but even so, it was difficult to keep myself from breaking out the hairspray and giving him a good spritz.

  “What did you do now?” I asked him.

  “Do you want to drive, or should I pick you up? That’s what I said.”

  I considered the new and interesting silhouette into which he’d tugged his hair. “Uh huh.”

  “Then she said, It’s up to you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you believed her and told her to drive herself. Instead of picking her up. Like a gentleman. And it’s been how long since she’s returned your calls?”

  Tony started counting back. I was about to ask if he needed additional fingers and flip him the bird, when the staccato burst of breaking glass startled me so badly, I jumped right up beside him. I didn’t only hear it, I felt the reverberation through the soles of my boots. If I were on the bus, I would’ve figured I’d been rear-ended. But I was safe and sound on the second floor of my walk-up. Unlike…Lydia.

  I barreled out of the shop and down the stairs, wrenched at her locked door, and started waling on it. “Lydia? Lydia!” The stairwell looked the same as always and whatever had struck the building was over and done, but I didn’t know that for sure with my pulse pounding in my ears. “Lydia!”

  I considered flinging myself against the door to break it down, but figured the only thing I’d break was my shoulder. The building might be shabby, but it was made of sturdy stuff. While Tony thundered down the stairs hollering, “What happened?” I charged outside.

  Lydia’s storefront window looked like it had seen the business end of a wrecking ball. Her neon sign was gone, and one curtain was down, pooled on the sidewalk like a puddle of black window-vomit. It looked so wrong, I could hardly believe it was my building, and I stood there for a second, dumbfounded and reeling. But the sound of stomping and harsh laughter pulled me out of my stunned daze.

  Fabric shrieked as the remaining curtain was torn from Lydia’s window, and a guy swaddled in black material hopped through, then wadded the curtain and tossed it back inside. Lydia’s laptop was in his free hand. Another guy called out to him, and passed the cash box through the broken window, then hopped through himself. He had the Buddha-cam tucked under his arm like a football.

  “Lydia!” I yelled—and belatedly, I realized it wa
sn’t a great idea to call attention to myself—but the guys didn’t even look, just kept on running. I also realized they’d been using the curtains to shield themselves from broken glass on their way through the window. A long shard of plate glass grazed my cheek as I plunged in, but I barely noticed. I was soaring on adrenaline, tripping on visions of Lydia battered to the floor over a shitty laptop and a few hundred bucks. But as I crunched my way through the wreckage of her shop, I soon realized I was blessedly, thankfully, alone.

  Only then did it occur to me that if her door was locked, she must’ve been out.

  “Oh my God!” Tony bellowed from out on the sidewalk. “Is she…? Oh my God!”

  I couldn’t vouch for God, but someone must’ve been keeping an eye on Lydia. “It’s okay,” I called back. “She’s not here.” I had to pick my way back out the broken window, through all the shattered glass, and backtrack up the stairs to find I’d dropped my phone on the second-floor landing. Luckily it hadn’t met the same fate as Lydia’s window. My hands were shaking so hard I nearly called half a dozen of my old clients in my attempt to get hold of my neighbor. She answered in a few rings to the ambient noise of a checkout line scanner doing its rhythmic beeps. “What’s up?”

  As calmly as possible, I said, “Someone broke into your shop.” And I really had to hand it to myself, it sounded a hell of a lot better than We’re freaking out because we thought you’d been murdered.

  Lydia processed the information for a few seconds, then sighed, and summed everything up with, “Well, fuck.”

  While we waited for Lydia, Tony paced in a tight circle between Lydia’s couches, which matched even more marginally by the daylight now streaming into the room. “What’s the world coming to these days,” he ranted. “People used to care about their neighbors, man. They had a sense of compassion. Humanity. Nowadays no one gives a shit about anyone but themselves.”