by J. C. Staudt
“Sounds expensive.”
“Everything’s expensive these days.”
The cop smiles. “Don’t I know it.”
I turn toward her and rest my glass on the island between us. “I’ve learned to keep money around for stupid mistakes. I’m bound to make them. Life happens, you know?”
She stares at me. “So I assume you know why I’m here.”
I nod.
“Have you talked to your brother Lorne recently?”
“Haven’t heard from him in a few days, no.”
“Were you aware he was reported missing this morning?”
“I was, yes.”
“A young woman came into the station around lunchtime and gave us a story that sounds pretty incredible.”
“And you waited until now to come talk to me?”
“This is the third time I’ve been to your residence today, Mr. Savage.”
“I’ve been out.”
“Mind if I ask where?”
“Running errands.”
“Actively,” she says, scrutinizing my charred clothes.
“You ever walked through River Rouge on a windy day? It’s like sliding down a chimney.”
“Yeah, the industrial zone down there is bad, and getting worse. No wonder you’re coughing up a storm. What were you doing in River Rouge?”
“I told you. Errands.”
A pause. “Okay. Did it not cross your mind to come tell us about your brother?”
I raise a silent detection spell. Officer Dolman glows bright blue, the unmistakable signature of an othersider. I’ve always wondered how othersiders become police officers. I mean, how do they pass the background check? Dolman appears human, but there’s an uncanny tranquility about her; a calm self-assurance few humans possess. “I’ve been so busy trying to find him I haven’t had time.”
She gives me a weary look. “I hear you’re a bounty hunter.”
“That’s right.”
“While I can understand your desire to help your brother, any informal training you might’ve received as part of your profession isn’t really a substitute for coming to us with these sorts of things. This is our job, Mr. Savage. It’s what we do. We’ve got people trained to manage situations like this. As it stands you’re one step shy of taking the law into your own hands. That’s something I don’t recommend.”
There are two ways I can go here. I can get lippy with her, or I can subdue my righteous indignation and accept her reprimand like a mature adult. Naturally I choose the former. “Let me ask you something, officer. As an expert in your field, you probably know the chances of recovering an abducted individual decrease exponentially for every hour they’re gone. So in the ten-or-so hours since my brother’s been reported missing, what have your people done that’s brought you any closer to finding him? I’m guessing you’ve heard Paige Tarpley’s testimony. She doesn’t remember much, but she does recall a few key facts. For one, she and Lorne were abducted together at the old Civic Center. Have you raided the building in search of him yet?”
“These investigations take time, Mr. Savage. We need probable cause, and we need a search warrant.”
“The victim knows the exact location where she was kidnapped. Isn’t that probable enough cause for you?”
“Ms. Tarpley is undergoing psychological evaluation, and we’re waiting on the results. It’s likely she’s in shock. Experiences like these can be traumatic. Sometimes people block things out, or confuse certain events with others. In the meantime, we’re doing everything we can to find your brother.”
“Bureaucracy at its finest. This is exactly the reason I didn’t come to you. Lorne is my brother, and I’m not going to sit by while you seal his fate with red tape.”
The cop rests her hands on her thighs. “I’m going to give you fair warning here, Mr. Savage. You’re saying things that could get you in trouble. It’s a fine line you’re walking; keep it up, and you’re looking at obstruction of justice charges.”
“Alright. You want to get real here? Let’s get real. You’re an othersider. Are you really on the police force, or are you some clown they sent here to bully me for information?” I hold a spell at the ready in case she makes any sudden moves. I’m still trying to figure out what species she is, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“What do you know about the otherside?” she asks, shifting on her barstool.
“I know this city is full of creatures from it. Yourself included. You want to come into my house and threaten me with the law? Fine. But if you want my truth, you’d better tell me yours.”
She takes out her badge and slaps it on the island. “I’m a police officer, Mr. Savage. I’m doing my job.” She glances at her wristwatch. “I should be home right now, watching CSI reruns over a glass of wine and a TV dinner. I crossed over nine years ago. I’ve been a cop for six of those years, and never in my career so far have I interviewed someone as overconfident and underqualified as you to carry out a criminal investigation. Doing this on your own while the police department sits around doing nothing would be like buying a top-quality steak and feeding it to your dog while you eat Kibbles ‘n Bits. It’s a waste of resources, it makes no sense, and it doesn’t accomplish anything besides demonstrating your complete lack of good judgment. So you can keep acting high and mighty and thinking you’re better than us, or you can tell me what you know and we can both go home and enjoy our evenings.”
“Paige told you everything there is to know. If Lorne isn’t at the Civic Center, I’ve got no clue where he is. That’s my only lead on him.”
She takes her badge and stands up. “If that’s the god’s honest truth, I’ll get a warrant and have the whole place searched from top to bottom.”
“That would be progress I could get behind. Will you let me know as soon as you’re done?”
“Sure, I can give you a call. Let me take down your number.” She pulls a pen and a wirebound notepad from her breast pocket and flips the page. “Go ahead.”
I pause, remembering my cell phone is a pile of plastic sludge in my pocket. I give her the number anyway. First thing tomorrow, a trip to my friendly local wireless retail location is in order.
“I’ll let you know if anything turns up,” she says.
“Call me even if you don’t find anything. I want to be sure.”
“Alright.”
“When do you think they’ll get around to it?”
“It really isn’t up to me. I’ll advise them to act quickly, though.”
“Great. Thanks for your help.”
“You bet. I’ll see myself out.”
I wait until I hear the apartment door close before I take a breath. The clock on the stove says it’s 10:47 p.m. I empty my pockets onto the island, lamenting over my poor melted phone. The Oberon Consulting business card is peeking out the top of my wallet, one creamy white corner against the gray marble countertop.
Then it hits me. I forgot all about the business card when Calyxto asked for something Lorne owns. Maybe I can cash in my freebie to find Lorne after all. Calyxto said I’d need something more substantial than a mundane piece of paper, but this is a mundane piece of cardstock. It could work. “Ersatz, where are you?”
“Here,” he says, somehow behind me on the wall.
I jump. “Geez. Every time. Do you have to lurk like that?”
“It’s a talent,” he admits.
“I need to summon Calyxto. Any idea how?”
“I’m not certain there’s a way, aside from another visit to the Department of Monstrous Vulgarities.”
“I could go without.”
“As could I.”
I open my palm and shout into my tattoo. “Calyxto. Hey. Can you hear me?”
No answer.
“What are you on about?” asks Ersatz.
I tell him about the business card, and about my disastrous meeting with Buster. “The Warrendale Crew isn’t interested in teaming up with me to get the grimoire. They don’t like sharing, and
they don’t like competition. They see me as a threat and they want me dead, even though they’re giving up on the book.”
“You could use Calyxto’s free favor to locate the book, assuming you can procure a bit of residue from Gilbert Mottrov.”
“Vampire residue isn’t easy to come by, seeing as how they burn up when you kill them. Even if I could get a hair from Mottrov’s head without him noticing, I’d still need to get past whatever security he’s placed around the book. If a bunch of goblin sorcerers think that’s a bad idea, I should probably think so too. In any case, I’ve already decided I’m going to use the freebie to find Lorne.”
“You should visit the Civic Center before you use Calyxto’s favor. Lorne may be within reach. You’ll never know unless you look.”
“There’s no reason to go to the Civic Center now. The cops are gonna raid the place.”
He wrinkles his mouth. “Do you honestly believe they’ll follow through in a timely manner? Every second you waste, Lorne may be slipping further into danger. And since when do you rely on the police to do what you can do yourself?”
“Since never, Ersatz. Since never.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“The hearse is still parked outside the Neon Cafe. The place’ll be crawling with feds by now.”
Ersatz grins. “Guess we’ll have to take the Maserati.”
Flying down late-night city streets in a luxury sedan worth four times the average salary in these parts is what some might call a surreal experience. That it’s something I’m now free to do any night of the week makes it all the more surreal. The Civic Center’s rooftop parking deck and its two garages are closed at this time of night, so I park at a bar and grille across the street and walk to one of the building’s many entrances, a long row of glass doors with stainless steel handles.
Four stories tall with over a million square feet of meeting spaces, ballrooms, and exhibit halls, the New Detroit Civic Center is truly massive. I pop three residue pills and slip into mistform to escape the notice of any night watchmen who might be prowling nearby. I slide beneath one of the doors and enter the warmth of the open multi-level concourse leading down the building’s east side. Ersatz follows suit.
It quickly becomes obvious just how long it would take to search the whole of this place. Officer Dolman was clearly pacifying me by claiming a few cops were going to scour it from top to bottom in a couple of hours. A thorough exploration could take days.
A detection spell will help narrow my search, but I can’t cast spells while I’m an insubstantial cloud of mist. I float to one of the tall marble pillars girding the concourse and transform back into Arden. My detection spell picks up traces of magic on the carpet where recent hair and skin samples have fallen from othersiders in high-traffic areas. The spell can see through thin layers of material, but unfortunately it can’t see through walls.
Ersatz shadows me as I follow the concourse looking for anything out of the ordinary. I hear a noise down the way and duck behind the closest pillar. It’s a night watchman, headed toward me down a set of escalators. I hug the pillar opposite him as he comes past, whistling a synthpop song they’ve been playing on the radio nonstop lately. I wait until he’s a good distance away before leaving the pillar to continue down the concourse.
Dozens of doors go by. Each knob I try is locked, and I begin to lose hope. There are three more floors above this one, and it would take a bottle’s worth of residue pills to change back and forth from mistform and search each room with a detection spell. That’s more pills than I’ve got at home, let alone on my person.
I evade two more security guards along the concourse before realizing this is a futile effort. Even if someone could be imprisoned here long-term, I’m not sure where their captor would hide them. It’s not a hotel; there are no bedrooms, and the available rental spaces must be cleaned between events. It’s possible Paige Tarpley misremembered the details of her capture, and she and Lorne were transported elsewhere.
The most chilling possibility of all is that they left Lorne unconscious in the cold like they did with Paige, and his frozen body has yet to be discovered. Dread fills me as I consider the implications of this. I need Calyxto, and I need him soon. If he doesn’t show up and something happens to Lorne, I’ll never forgive myself.
Chapter 15
I’m dozing off as I speed down the streets toward home. After shedding the day’s exertions under a hot shower, I fall into bed and wish for sleep to come quickly. My mind has other plans.
I’m stuck ruminating on the peculiar bond I feel toward Lorne and Carmine. It’s funny how my surrogate family has grown on me. Funny how I try to avoid them, and yet they’ve come to mean something real and essential to my new existence. I can’t say whether it’s the burden of living Arden Savage’s life like he would’ve wanted, or a true sense of kinship toward them, but it’s there.
My worry over Lorne’s well-being strikes me as strange, considering our tenuous and fabricated relationship. The altruistic part of me wants to protect my brother and sister from the things that prowl in the dark; the things they and most other normals don’t know are there. The selfish part of me fears the microscope the authorities will put me under if my next of kin turns up dead. A death in the family so soon after a gigantic fortune changes hands is sure to trigger an investigation. Officer Dolman didn’t go so far as to say I was a suspect in Lorne’s disappearance, but I’d be an idiot not to assume I’m on the list.
I wake up before the sun, feeling drained and sleepless. I put in a nice long workout in Arden’s home gym, blasting Sinatra over the built-in speaker system, before heading to the wireless store. I arrive twenty minutes before the store opens and twiddle my thumbs in the parking lot until the opening manager unlocks the door.
An hour later I emerge holding a brand-new cell with the same phone number as the old one and all the bells and whistles inherent with cutting-edge tech. The first person I try calling is Quim, but there’s no answer. He must be busy with work.
I bring the Maserati home, then take the bus to the Neon Cafe to pick up the hearse. The place is deserted, though police tape bands its outdoor patio. There are a couple of dark scuff marks on the hearse’s hood and passenger door, but I take her for a quick car wash and she’s good as new. All morning I’ve been hoping I’ll turn around and find Calyxto sitting cross-legged on a stack of milk crates, but he never shows. The Lords of the Underworld must’ve sent him on a business trip.
By late afternoon, I’m wondering if Calyxto’s infernal bosses haven’t snuffed him out for offering me a freebie. Quim still won’t pick up his phone. Either he’s madder at me for lying to him about the grimoire than he let on, or he really can’t be distracted from work, so I’m left to stew in my own juices and debate with Ersatz in circles about what our next step should be. It’s driving me insane, and now I have to go on a date with Shenn and act all chipper and charming while we watch a band play a bunch of songs they made using computers for instruments. The state of modern music convinces me Sinatra has rolled a tunnel in his grave.
I pick up Shenn in one of my two cars—I’ll let you guess which one. She’s waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of her house, a modest bungalow with a two-car garage in Dearborn Heights. She’s all done up in black vinyl and post-glam makeup, dressed more for kicking ass than going to a concert. I don’t know whether to be turned on or afraid for my life. The outfit hugs her curves, showing off the lithe elven half of her bloodline.
“Hey,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat with a smile. She leans over and kisses me on the cheek before putting on her seatbelt.
“You look great,” I tell her.
“So do you. Damn, this is a nice car.”
“It’s whatever,” I say, my token cool-guy answer. The kind of answer I imagine a trust-fund kid like Arden Savage would give to a compliment like Shenn’s.
On each of our dates so far, we’ve met up at a cafe or coffee shop. This is
the first time either of us has been to the other’s place or in the other’s car. I thought Shenn might invite me inside to meet her dad, but I guess it’s not to be. Maybe she’s ashamed of her modest means, but I don’t mind.
Along the way to Megatavern she holds her cell against the car’s console sensor and dials in some Green Mercury, cranking the volume knob so high it makes my ears buzz. She bounces in her seat, rocking out to some of the cheapest, most shallow noise-called-music I’ve ever heard. What little I’ve experienced of Green Mercury was pretty bad, but this is worse than I remember. Digitized beeps and boops overlay a pounding, repetitive drum beat alongside auto-tuned vocals. It sounds like a robot humping a heart monitor to death.
I’m about to be subjected to another hour of this. Why are we listening to it now? I turn down the volume with the steering wheel control as covertly as I can. “Let’s talk,” I suggest. “How’s your week going?”
“Hold on, this is the good part,” she says, cranking it louder than before.
I wince and turn it down a few notches.
“Get amped,” Shenn shouts, shaking her hips. “Get amped.”
I’m as amped as I’m going to get, honey.
Dating is the process of learning a person and deciding whether you can stand them. Most people in new relationships obsess over presenting plastic versions of themselves, so I’ll admit there’s something attractive about Shenn’s unabashed authenticity. She isn’t here to impress me. She’s here to have fun, and she doesn’t care who’s watching. I should be watching the road, but instead I find my gaze wandering.
The Maserati’s speaker system is no joke, and the tunes blast me out until we reach the venue. I’ve never been to Megatavern before. It’s the kind of place I’d never go unless heaven came down on top of it and the Rat Pack were populating the angelic chorus. Everything’s black; the walls, the floors, the ceilings, and the clothing of every patron but me, who decided blue jeans and a maroon collared button-down beneath a brown overcoat was the best I could do to fit in.