by P. J. Day
“Stop it.”
Keelen leaned over and sneaked a kiss on Matt’s lips. He then grabbed the back of her head and swallowed Keelen’s wet set. As the two young lovers displayed their affection in front of the oblivious café patrons, Cindy walked into the diner. She sat next to Keelen and pinched the side of her thigh.
“What the...” Keelen exclaimed.
“Hey, horny toads,” Cindy joked, making herself comfortable in the booth. “So, you told him, huh?”
Keelen was lost in Matt’s eyes and caressed his cheek with her hand. “Yeah, he’s okay with it—you’re okay with it, right?”
Matt groaned lightly. “I’m cool. I guess he sounds like a good dude.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Matt. Logan sleeps all day anyway. Which was one of the reasons it drove Keelen nuts in the beginning,” Cindy said.
“That’s true,” Keelen said. “The guy is nocturnal.”
“Is he allergic to the sun or something?” Matt joked.
“I don’t know, quite frankly,” said Keelen. “He says he’s a night person. Also, he paints with human blood.”
“What?” Matt exclaimed.
“I think he’s a vampire,” said Cindy. “Think about it. He’s around blood, sleeps during the day, and he’s got longer than usual teeth. He also lives super secretly, too. He doesn’t grant interviews, and he had me and Keelen swear we’d never let anyone know that we know him.”
“Um, Cindy, vampires don’t exist,” stated Matt, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Cindy glared at Matt with condescending eyes. “You’d be surprised how much we don’t know.” Cindy flashed her thumb and index finger in a gesture of measurement. “I’m this close from being able to talk to the dead…this close.” She gestured with both hands. “And I’m this close from making a psychic connection with Keelen.”
Keelen gave Matt a smirk as she sipped her cup of coffee. “She said she knew I was in trouble when you called her to pick me up.”
Matt winked at Keelen. He then asked Cindy, “Is there a dead person sitting next to me right now?”
“Yes, there is a woman sitting next to you.”
“Oh, really,” Matt said. “What she look like?”
Cindy squinted hard. “She looks like...she looks like a prostitute.”
Matt couldn’t contain himself as he let out a cackle.
“She’s actually going for your pants. Yep, she’s trying to pull at your zipper.”
“Cindy,” Keelen yelled. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just telling you guys what I see! Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Keelen let out a deep sigh and smacked her forehead, aghast at Cindy’s strange behavior.
“I tell it as I see it, I’m sorry.”
“I swear, you’re nuts sometimes,” Keelen said.
“Cindy, I appreciate your honesty, don’t worry about it,” said Matt, as he began to count the cash from his wallet. He calmly glared at a pouch on Cindy’s side. “What’s that?”
“Oh, yeah, this is the reason I came here. I wanted to show you guys something and I got distracted about the whole Logan thing,” said Cindy.
She pulled the strings that held the small, velvet tote bag together. She reached inside and pulled out a small, brass hollowed ball with inscriptions written in Latin. She proceeded to place it on the table. Matt and Keelen expected the ball to roll, but it just stayed in one spot, seemingly defying the laws of physics.
“That’s strange, it’s not rolling,” observed Matt.
“That’s the reason I got it. Pretty neat isn’t it?” said Cindy with glee.
“Where’d you find it?” asked Keelen, who pushed the ball with her slender finger, but it slid on the table like a metallic block.
“I got it at Raffi’s place down the street.”
“That’s the pawn shop with the giant hookahs in the front, right?” asked Matt.
“Yeah, he’s got all kinds of strange stuff in there. He gave me a good deal on this thing today. He also said if I came in tomorrow, he’d have more and because I’m his favorite customer, he’d sell me crazier stuff than this little ball here on the cheap.”
“Can I come?” asked Keelen.
“No, he told me not to tell anyone.”
“Well, why not?”
“Keelen, I’ve been his only regular customer all these years and now he’s losing the shop. Actually, he said he’s leaving L.A. for Iran or something, and he has to leave the store behind. So, he’s giving me exclusive first dibs on all the stuff I can afford in his store.”
“Well, make sure to get me a new rug. I’ll pay you back,” said Matt, rising up to take the bill to the register.
Keelen scooted out of the booth and walked right up to Matt. She wrapped her arms around his powerful torso and snuggled up to the side of his face. “You okay with everything?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Seriously, it’s not a problem,” he said. His body tensed a little.
“Let’s go, Keelen. We should get you to work before Logan wakes up from his trendy coffin,” said Cindy.
Keelen’s green eyes transfixed on Matt’s and they froze with concentrated affection. He appreciated Keelen’s passionate attempts at direct eye contact, but it made him squirm. “I hate it when you do that,” he said.
“What, just stare into your eyes blankly?”
“It makes me feel uncomfortable. My eyes can’t stay locked for that long.”
“Then you still don’t feel what I feel.”
Matt groaned and rubbed her arm with his finger. “Olympics, baby. The Olympics.”
8
Pins and Emails
A large map hung on the wall. It was an old ratty one extracted from an ancient Thomas Guide, with torn edges and its conspicuous red, cursive logo faded by the many months it had fronted the sun. Red thumbtacks littered the street names like a general’s war table. Logan stood in front of the map, hands on his hips and pondered the results. A mother and daughter sat behind him on the sofa, smiles on their faces, tension wrinkling both their foreheads.
“This one right here?” Logan asked.
“Yes,” nodded Janet Ramirez while caressing the head of her six-year-old daughter, Marissa.
Logan wriggled his lips left to right and turned around. “They really nailed most of you in this area, didn’t they?”
“Every other one is empty. Marissa can’t even go out and play. Tweakers go around the neighborhood stealing the copper from homes. One of them growled at Marissa like a dog when she rode her bicycle by one of the houses.”
Logan sat on the chair next to the couch. “What about the police?”
“The city’s bankrupt. They funded the entire budget on year-to-year growth based on property tax revenue. There are only a dozen officers patrolling the entire city, and they don’t have enough funds to hire sheriffs either.”
“Where’s Mr. Ramirez?”
Janet’s leg began to shake. Marissa solemnly peered up at her mom. Janet couldn’t hold back the pain and began wailing. She fought through the tears and the uncontrollable anger. “He left us. He left everyone.”
Logan tried to console Janet by lightly massaging her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I hope he’ll come around and do the right thing by supporting Marissa, eventually.”
Janet flashed Logan an empty set of eyes, ones that were completely devoid of hope. She shook her head slightly. “He’s no longer with us, Mr. Drake.”
“Oh, I see,” said Logan, his cheeks blushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It has been the most horrible year of our lives. We’ve lost everything. I need to stay strong for Marissa, though.”
“Do you have a place to stay? Family? Friends?”
“We’re moving to Boise next week, as soon as we can finish scavenging what’s left of our belongings. My cousin is letting us stay until I can find another job up there. We’re staying at a motel in the meantime.”
“Giv
e me a sec.” Logan stood up and walked to his desk. He opened up his checkbook and quickly scribbled a number he thought generous and signed it at the bottom. He walked toward Janet and handed her the check.
“No, no, no. I can’t take this. You just listening to us is enough,” said Janet, pushing Logan’s hand away.
“I don’t care, seriously. I get paid thousands of dollars for doing what many wish they could do for a living. I’m extremely fortunate,” Logan added. “This is gonna pay for one more week at the motel, pay for your trip up to Boise, make sure your car is well-maintained, and also help pay for a new wardrobe for you and Marissa—it’s a bit colder up there.”
Janet stood up and hugged Logan. Marissa’s tired eyes brightened as she continued to grip her mother’s arm.
Logan stepped back and said, “Thank you for everything you’ve told me. I’ll instant message you or email you when the website is up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Drake.” Janet gently grabbed Marissa by the hand and walked toward the door. “You’re a special person.”
Logan’s face reddened. He sincerely appreciated Janet’s kind words.
As he opened the door, Keelen, with Cindy at her side, stood at Logan’s doorstep, ready for her first day of work. “Oh, hello,” she said.
“Hey,” Logan said. He placed his hand on Janet’s shoulder and introduced them to Cindy and Keelen. “This is Janet and her daughter, Marissa.”
“Nice to meet you.” Keelen smiled.
Janet and Marissa both nodded and smiled and walked toward the elevator.
Logan waved at them one last time before turning his attention toward Cindy. “How you been? Still working at Trance?”
“You bet your ass,” Cindy replied. She walked into Logan’s apartment and marveled, “Goodness gracious, where do you get all this blood?”
Logan scratched the back of his head. “It’s donated by fans…all through legal means, of course.”
“Shouldn’t all this go to blood banks?” asked Cindy.
Keelen sneered at Cindy’s inquisitiveness. “Stop asking all these questions,” she whispered.
“Well, this is all blood that wasn’t up to par,” added Logan. “About to expire, or whatever.”
“Umm, eww,” Cindy abhorred. “That’s kinda unsanitary. Aren’t you scared of catching stuff?”
“No,” Logan said, abruptly. “Keelen, ready to get to work?”
“Of course,” Keelen said. She then turned to Cindy and put her hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride. Since you’ve got an evening shift, I’ll take the bus home.”
“Oh, yeah, most definitely,” Cindy answered, getting the hint that it was time to go. She then patted Logan on the chest and quipped, “My goodness, you’re still a beautiful man.”
Logan smiled and escorted Cindy out the door. “I want to thank you for giving Keelen a ride. You’re awesome.”
Cindy beamed with tenderness. “Thanks for helping out with a job. I don’t know what we would have done about our rent and all.”
“No problem.”
As Cindy walked toward the elevator, she abruptly turned toward Logan. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you; she’s in a love-filled relationship.”
Logan smiled and closed the door. He then turned to Keelen, looking sharp in business pants and a matching jacket. “She still chasing ghosts?”
“Yeah, she’s still trying to rein in the supernatural.”
“Bless her little heart.” Logan smiled. “You know, you don’t have to dress up for this job.”
Keelen blushed. “Oh this, this isn’t me dressing up. Plus, this outfit makes me feel serious.”
Logan pointed to a desk in the corner with a brand-new laptop that had been opened. “You’ll be working over there. I’ve also stocked the fridge, so if you’re hungry, you can make whatever you want. For now, just answer my emails and stuff, at least until I wake from my nap.”
“What do you want me to do when I’m done?”
“Umm, there are over 100 emails that haven’t been answered. You’ll be there for a while. If you don’t know how to answer them, just tell them I need more time to contemplate an answer. Just use your imagination. You’re an actress, pretend you’re me or something,” Logan said, as he took off his button-down shirt, revealing his athletic, slender, cut swimmer’s torso. He grabbed a T-shirt from the chair and unfurled it.
Keelen averted her eyes toward the floor. “If you don’t mind me asking, who was that lady with her daughter?”
Logan started unbuttoning his pants. This time, Keelen turned her entire head and cleared her throat.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Because we have history, I always overestimate my comfort zone with you,” he said with a sincere and awkward grin. “I’m loopy right now. I haven’t had that much sleep as of late.” Logan slumped toward his bedroom, leaned on the doorway and faced Keelen. “She’s someone who’s been victimized by our shitty system. She’s participating in the project I’m working on, which is why I hired you to handle my other stuff that relates with my artwork.”
Keelen walked toward the desk and sat in the expensive ergonomic, titanium-framed chair. “Oh, wow, I could fall asleep in this thing,” she said, as she sank her entire body into the leather comfort pit. She leaned back on the chair and asked, “Is that okay if I make myself some coffee?”
“Of course. I also got some bagels and stuff,” Logan said. “Wake me up only if there is an emergency.”
Logan walked into his dark bedroom and closed his door.
Keelen nodded, and stared at the monitor. “You got it,” she said, loudly. Her eyes then popped as soon as she moved the mouse. “Crap? Are you serious?”
The emails populated fast and furious in an endless stream. The hand Keelen had on the mouse stiffened with panic. She swallowed heavily and with a skilled actress’ wit, she conjured a halfway decent reply to someone she’d never spoken to, about a painting she’d never seen or heard about.
9
Rumors and Half-Truths
Adam walked into the FBI building off Sepulveda Boulevard and met with the security detail in the lobby. Two large, square-jawed men wearing snug black suits sat behind the marble counter. Fully self-aware of his oafish appearance, he went out of his way to regally lift his chin. “I’m here to see Mr. Fisker.”
The one resembling Ray Lewis, but bigger, picked up the phone. He maintained stern eye contact with Adam. “What’s your name?”
“Adam Cagle. I’m editor-in-chief for Estil Magazine.”
The other guard, who appeared like a jacked G. Gordon Liddy, analyzed Adam and sneered.
The phone’s receiver touched the security guard’s lips—a disgusting habit, Adam thought.
“Sir, I have an Adam Cagle from Estil here to see you?” He paused and peered into Adam’s eyes with steely judgment as he continued on the phone. “All right, no problem, sir. I’ll send him on up.”
Upon hearing the clearance, the other mustachioed strongman typed on his keyboard with his large fingers and printed out Adam’s badge.
“Here you go,” said the guard. “You gotta wear this at all times, you got me?”
Adam nodded.
“Don’t go snooping anywhere else. He’s on the sixth floor. Double doors. The only double doors on the entire floor,” he said.
“Of course,” Adam agreed, with slight contempt, as he stared into the guard’s eyes. Adam wasn’t too fond of mortals with a superiority complex—especially the uncultured kind and ones that he knew he could crush with only one of his pinky fingers.
“I’ll escort you up the elevator,” said the other security guard as he rose up from his chair. Adam followed closely behind.
While both men ascended in the elevator, the guard broke the awkward silence and asked, “Estil Magazine, huh?”
Adam smiled.
“That’s like GQ, isn’t it?”
“GQ is one of our competitors, but we try to appeal to both men and women.”
“Did
n’t know Augustus Fisker was a fashion icon,” the guard chuckled.
“We do stories other than fashion. Serious stories. But sometimes with a slight fashion angle.”
“I get it,” said the guard. “Make sure to describe me as debonair in your story, okay?”
Adam flashed a polite smile. “I will.”
The elevator doors opened. The guard pointed toward the ceiling.
“We got cameras everywhere. It’s meant to keep you safe,” he said with a wink.
Adam plodded toward the double doors at the end of the hall. He glanced over his shoulder. The security guard was no longer there. Adam was rarely intimidated by the earthly plane. However, something about lonely hallways gave him anxiety.
A sudden cold gust brushed the side of his cheek. All the doors on the floor were closed and the faint flicker of fluorescent lights was the only movement in the hallway.
Adam reached down and placed his hand on the doorknob. It was freezing. “Interesting,” he said. He didn’t dare twist the knob and instead, knocked on the door. “Mr. Fisker. It’s me, Adam Cagle.”
There was no answer.
Adam turned around and contemplated returning to the lobby, but doing so could make matters worse.
This time, Adam knocked louder. “Mr. Fisker, I’m here.”
The lights flickered more rapidly and the door began to make loud clicking noises. A muffled voice traveled from beyond the double doors.
“Come in.”
Reluctantly, Adam twisted the doorknob. The brass was a little warmer to the touch this time around, which gave him pause.
“This better not be some type of ambush,” he said, making sure the person on the other side of the door heard him.
“You’re in an FBI building. We don’t ambush. We’re not predators, we catch predators. Besides, are you hiding something that we don’t know about?” Fisker asked playfully.
Cautiously, Adam pushed the door and sneaked a peek into the office before entering.
Fisker’s office was long, narrow, and dark. The curtains in the back were drawn over the large windows. Light slipped through the cracks, giving Augustus Fisker a faint glowing silhouette. Fisker’s workspace resembled an old library. Wooden bookshelves lined the walls. Marble busts adorned his desk and the fancifully carved shelves contained brass trinkets, among other things.