Mayhem & Mistletoe

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I’ve never been much of a rule-follower,” I admitted. “I kept my coat zipped when I was talking to my boss earlier, so he has no idea what I’m wearing.”

  “That’s smart.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “What do you want to know?”

  I had my opening and I stepped right through it. “That house.” I inclined my head toward the ramshackle halfway house. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “Dude that runs it is a creeper,” Chantelle volunteered. She seemed to be enjoying herself as she did a little dance to garner attention from a passing car. She didn’t look too disappointed when the driver didn’t stop. “He tries to get freebies all the time.”

  “Do you give them to him?”

  “Honey, nobody got time for no freebies.” Chantelle shook her head so vigorously some of her hair shifted, making me realize she was wearing a wig. “We don’t make a living as it is. We just trying to keep alive.”

  “If he knows you don’t give out freebies, why does he keep trying?”

  “It’s part of a game,” Sally Anne replied, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “Everyone in these parts plays a game. That’s how we survive ... and entertain ourselves. You probably don’t understand that.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I thought back to the way I bullied Fish at the office. “Everybody has to play certain games to survive.” I meant it. “Our circumstances decide what sort of game we have to play.”

  “And what sort of games do you play?” Sally Anne challenged.

  “Games in which the stakes are nowhere near as dire as those you face on a daily basis. I don’t envy your life. I also don’t think I’m better than you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Oh, girl, let’s not pretend.” Sally Anne was calm. “It’s obvious you think you’re something special. You got that ... air ... about you.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but she kept talking and didn’t give me a chance to speak.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she explained. “I like a woman who has good self-worth. You clearly do.”

  “Oh, she has it coming out of her yin-yang,” Chantelle enthused. “I saw this thing about her on the TV. It was like a greatest hits thing or something. It was all highlights of her torturing this politician. He racist, so he had it coming. She did some funny stuff and he tried to strangle her a few times.”

  “Is that so?” Sally Anne’s expression was hard to read. “You must be fun at parties.”

  “It depends on who you ask.” I was growing increasingly uncomfortable talking to them about the disparities in our lives. “I’m one of those people you either love or hate.”

  “What’s the ratio?”

  I smirked. “Two-to-one ... in favor of hate.”

  Sally Anne took another drag. “Why you worried about the halfway house? Has Cal gone and gotten himself into trouble? I saw the cops there last night.”

  Oh, well, this was definitely getting awkward. “That wasn’t Cal. That was a dude named Van. He kind of lost it when Cal wouldn’t allow him into the house after hours.”

  Sally Anne’s eyebrows hopped. “Were you there?”

  I nodded. “We were tracking a man we believe was found dead in Macomb County the other day.”

  “You believe?”

  I kept going. Who were they going to tell? I figured it was better to be straight with them than risk getting caught in a lie. “Did you hear about the Santas found by the train tracks?”

  Sally Anne straightened. “You think someone who lived at that house was one of the Santas?”

  “We don’t have confirmation yet, but a representative of the sheriff’s department let one name slip. Beau Burton.”

  “Beau?” Chantelle turned to stare directly at me. “Are you kidding?”

  “I take it you knew him.”

  “Everybody knew Beau. He was a stone-cold pervert. He liked to grab things as he was walking by ... as in these.” Chantelle jiggled her rather impressive rack. “I threatened to break his fingers the last time he tried.”

  “He sounds like a prince,” I noted.

  Sally Anne snorted. “Yeah, he was a real peach.” Unlike Chantelle, who seemed genuinely surprised, her response was more measured. “Why would Beau be in a Santa suit?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I never knew him to like kids and there’s no way a mall would hire him with his background.” She was thoughtful as she took another drag, her eyes on the house. “Want to know what’s interesting?”

  “Always.”

  “Cal’s place had what you might call a robust reputation up until a couple months ago.” She seemed to be thinking hard, so I didn’t interrupt her. “Most of those places are full of guys who come in for a week or two and leave. He had some who stayed for the duration.

  “I mean, we’re not talking good dudes,” she continued. “They weren’t pillars of the community or anything.” She let loose a hollow laugh at her own joke. “Cal managed to keep a lot of them on the straight and narrow.”

  “He did,” Chantelle agreed, bobbing her head. “Most guys don’t finish those programs. They go back to the streets or jail. He had a lot of people ... what do you call it? Um ....”

  “Graduate,” Sally Anne supplied, grimacing. “I don’t know the numbers, but he had a lot of people finishing up the terms of their release while under his roof.”

  “He was pretty solid for a skinny white dude,” Chantelle supplied.

  “Something happened to change that, though,” I surmised.

  Sally Anne nodded. “About six months ago, his people started leaving. I don’t know if he had bad luck with a rough crew or something, but he started getting in a group of guys who spent a lot of time rolling the streets together.”

  I wasn’t certain what that meant. “Rolling how?”

  “You know ... rolling.”

  My television-learned lingo was failing me. “Drugs?”

  “That’s the word on the street,” Chantelle volunteered. “They say he was running Hypno.”

  Now I was really confused. “I don’t know what that is.” I looked to Sally Anne for an explanation. “Is that a new drug?”

  “It’s more like two old drugs,” she replied. “It’s basically acid, but in liquid form, cut with heroine.”

  That sounded absolutely terrible. “And what does that do?”

  “Gives you one heckuva a trip. Like ... a trip to Disney World without leaving your couch.”

  “So, a hallucinogen.” I ran the information through my mind, debating what to do with it. “What’s the heroin do?”

  “Makes the pain go away,” Sally Anne replied on a shrug. “Hypno was supposed to make all the people in neighborhoods like this not hate their lives. It was a new drug, so it was cheap at the start. Now ... not so much.”

  That part I could follow. “They got the residents hooked and then raised the price. Where were they manufacturing it?”

  “That I can’t tell you. People with any smarts know not to touch something new. The dudes out here cutting that junk will throw in random garbage. They’re not exactly measuring.”

  Chantelle cackled like a loon. “They definitely not measuring.”

  “I’m assuming people have died.” I thought of Van. “Could someone have an adrenaline rush from this stuff?”

  “Anything is possible.” Sally Anne said. “All I know is that Beau was supposedly selling that stuff ... and the new guys going into that house were tight with Beau.”

  “Did they all disappear at the same time?”

  She shook her head. “It happened over a few weeks.”

  While debating what I wanted to ask next, footsteps echoed on the sidewalk behind me. I stepped to the side to let whoever it was pass, but the man stopped directly in front of me.

  “Who is this?” The older man, silver hair standing up in odd patches, looked me up and down as if I was the last taco on the plate. “New recruit
, girls? I have to say, she’s ... very nice.”

  I was obviously offended — seriously, what sort of prostitute wears Chucks on the job? — but I didn’t want to irritate Sally Anne and Chantelle in the process of standing up for myself. While I debated how to respond, Sally Anne did it for me.

  “She’s not new, Rick,” she drawled, shaking her head. “Don’t be stupid. She’s asking questions about the halfway house.”

  I was surprised by her honesty.

  “Oh, yeah?” Rick’s caterpillar eyebrows migrated north. “Why would you care about that place?”

  “She wants to know about the Hypno,” Chantelle said. “Seems old Beau got himself into a world of trouble and died in a Santa suit in Macomb County.”

  If Rick wasn’t interested in the conversation before, he was now. “How did that happen?”

  “That’s what she wants to know,” Sally Anne replied. “You lived in that house for a bit — with Beau.”

  Rick pinned Sally Anne with a dark look. “You got a big mouth.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  He glanced at me. “I don’t know nothing about what they were running. I didn’t want no part of that. That’s why I left.”

  I was doubtful he left the house out of a sense of honor, but I let it slide. “Was Beau the leader of the gang, so to speak?”

  “He was in charge,” Rick replied, “but I don’t think he was the big kahuna. I don’t know who he answered to, but there were a bunch of them running together.”

  “And then there were a bunch of them leaving right after one another,” I mused, tapping my bottom lip. “I need to figure out why.”

  “I don’t know that anyone in this area has that answer,” Sally Anne offered. “The thing is, this neighborhood isn’t the best place for you to be hanging out. You saw what happened last night at the house. You don’t want to get caught up in that.”

  “Yeah, you’re tough for Macomb County, girl, but you’ll be swallowed up and spit out down here,” Chantelle said.

  I recognized the truth when I heard it. This was not my normal territory and I stood out far too much. “That Van guy who was arrested last night died in the jail,” I said. “At first I thought it wasn’t possible he was high, that maybe he was killed by the cops and they covered it up, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Does it matter?” Sally Anne was blasé. “The dude is dead. He was into some bad stuff. Watch your back. You don’t want to get caught up in bad stuff either.”

  “She’s a superhero,” Chantelle argued. “She fights bad dudes all the time.”

  “Not bad dudes like this.” Sally Anne was matter-of-fact. “It’s all well and good that you want to solve mysteries, but sometimes the detective dies in those stories you probably read. Make sure you’re not one of those dead detectives.”

  I swallowed hard. “That’s the plan.” I dug in my pocket for the money and handed them the entire wad. “Split it up ... and thanks for the information.”

  Sally Anne’s expression was grave. “Don’t forget what I said. This could go badly for you if you’re not careful. This isn’t your sort of neighborhood. You should stick to your racist politicians. They’re jerks, but they’re more your speed.”

  Oh, if only that were still a possibility. I was in this now. I just had to figure out my next step.

  17 Seventeen

  Back in Macomb County, I drove to the sheriff’s department. I had more questions for Jake, and this time I was going to insist he answer them. Unfortunately for me, I met a brick blue wall of mistrust at the bubble in the lobby.

  “I’m sorry, but the sheriff is otherwise engaged,” Deputy Barney Patterson drawled, his smirk exaggerated. “I can take down your information and have him call you if he has the time ... but I’m guessing that won’t be for weeks or months at this rate.”

  I narrowed my eyes. There were very few members of the sheriff’s department I could say I liked. There were a number I hated, and Barney was pretty close to the top of that list. He was just hanging on until retirement — he had something like two years left — and he wanted the least taxing assignments available. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him at a crime scene or working patrol.

  “Are you really telling me you won’t at least call back there to see if he wants to talk to me?” I challenged.

  Barney shook his head. “He said he didn’t want any disturbances today.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean me when he issued that edict.”

  “He didn’t qualify the statement. If it were me, you would be the last person I’d want to talk to.”

  “Right back at you.” I planted my hands on my hips and debated. “Fine. Call Derrick. He’ll see me.”

  “He’s out working a case. That’s what we do here. If you need to see him, you’ll have to call him on your own time ... and hope he picks up.”

  “Listen here, you little ferret ....”

  Barney straightened in his chair. “Did you know that insulting a police officer is a felony?”

  He might’ve been able to run that shtick on some newbie off the street, but I wasn’t going to fall for it. “Then arrest me.” It was a challenge, a dare really, and we both knew it. “Just be forewarned, if you take me into custody — which I can see you doing because you’re a walking turd — the story I write on my incarceration will be front-page news the second I’m out.”

  Barney didn’t look bothered at the prospect. “I’ve always fancied myself a celebrity.”

  “Will Jake feel the same?”

  That was enough to back Barney down. I knew for a fact that Jake considered Barney a drain on his payroll. The man refused to take early retirement and Jake didn’t have the evidence to force him out. Shoving me in a cell on a trumped-up charge might give him what he needed. It would be worth it to me, but Barney didn’t look as if he agreed.

  “The sheriff is not receiving visitors or taking calls.” Barney’s tone was icy. “You can leave your name and I will forward the information to his secretary.”

  I racked my brain, hoping for a way to force him to my way of thinking. “Fine. I’ll figure out a different way to get in touch with him.”

  “Have fun.”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  I was huffy when I stormed out of the sheriff’s department. Instead of hopping in my car and zooming away, I decided to walk around the building. I had hope one of the doors that led to the inner sanctum had been left ajar. The odds were long, but I had to try.

  Unlike in parts of northern Michigan, southeast Michigan’s snow patterns were much weaker. That’s not to say we didn’t see big dumps of the white stuff here and there. The storms didn’t usually hit until after Christmas, though, and the time between storms was generally significant enough that most of it melted before the next round. I could walk close to the windows without getting my feet wet or losing a toe to the cold.

  I was halfway down the line of offices when I came across one without the shades drawn. I found Jake sitting at his desk. I leaned back, surprised, and counted the office windows. Sure enough, I’d made it down far enough to reach his inner sanctum.

  His back was to me and he looked engrossed in whatever he was looking at on his computer, a hand on his forehead rubbing at the tension most likely building there. Even though it had been more than a decade since we’d graduated high school, he looked the same.

  His hair was still thick and black, and he wore it longer when we were younger. When he joined the military, it was shorn so short you could almost see his scalp. These days he opted for something in the middle, pushing his hair into a messy bird’s nest that made him look like a model rather than a sheriff.

  My heart pinged watching him. I could’ve banged on his window and demanded he let me in, which he would’ve done just to shut me up, but he looked vulnerable enough that I had second thoughts and took a step back.

  That’s when he saw me. Er, well, he probably didn’t realize it was me. Perhaps it was
a moving shadow that alerted him to my presence. He jerked his head in my direction, widened his eyes when he realized who was staring at him from outside, and then grimaced.

  I had a choice. I could slink away, leave him to whatever he was doing, and pretend I wasn’t acting like a crazy stalker, or I could do something else. Instead of going the polite route, I squared my shoulders and headed for the external door just outside of his office.

  Jake slowly shook his head.

  I narrowed my eyes and waited.

  He didn’t move to get up from his desk to let me in. That meant I had to convince him it was in his best interest to go against his instincts.

  I walked back to the window and unleashed my most belligerent glare.

  He held strong for a moment, but then shook his head and slammed his hands on his desk before pushing himself to his feet. “Go away,” he yelled through the window. “I’m too busy to deal with you today.”

  “No.”

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  His eyes flashed dark, his voice muffled by the glass. “Avery, I have a lot to deal with today. It doesn’t include you. I need you to go away.”

  “I have something I want to tell you about.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m busy. You’ll have to wait. Go to the bubble and make an appointment.”

  Like hell. “I want to talk to you now.”

  “No. Go back to work.” With exaggerated calmness, he pulled out his desk chair and sat back down, turning his back to me. I knew he wanted to turn and check to see if I was still standing behind him, but he held strong.

  That didn’t mean I was finished.

  I dug in my pocket for my shark mittens. I tugged them on and held them up to the window, fashioning them as puppets.

  “I think the sheriff means business,” the first shark said to the other in a loud voice. “He wants us to go away.”

  I lowered my voice for the second shark. “I don’t really care if he means business. We have a job to do too.”

  “But he saves lives,” the first shark whined.

  “We inform the public,” the second shark said. “I think the public wants to know about Hypno.”