by K. B. Draper
“I know who she is,” Blue replied, an unimpressed air to her voice as she continued to work on her creation. “Nice watch.”
Kanyon looked down at her Quick Draw McGraw watch and smiled. “Thanks. You have quite the impressive house of horrors theme going on here.” Kanyon took another look around at the horror décor.
“Yeah,” was all Kanyon got in response.
“So, Blue, we need your help,” Daylen started.
“You don’t need me. I’m pretty sure there’s an 800-help line for the overly lame and annoying,” Blue responded.
“I could do that or I could call the queen of the overly lame and annoying …” Blue froze at Daylen’s words. Daylen, knowing she had Blue’s full attention, added for pleasure and effect, “And during that call I’d probably start to blab about coming over to check on you and you had no food in the refrigerator, you were up to your knees in dirty laundry, and I saw a hippie-looking guy coming out of your apartment really early in the morning.”
Blue slowly laid down her scalpel and turned on her stool. “How can I help you, Daylen?” she asked with a forced smile plastered on her face.
“Much better!” Daylen smiled back. “Kanyon’s going to be helping me out for a little bit,” she eyed Kanyon as she emphasized the words a little bit, “and I can’t …” have the media see her and ruin her life, “have her causing small fan riots while we’re on the job. So, I need you to give her a makeover.”
“Whoooaaa, wait. I’m not letting little Miss Freak Show, no offense–” She shot a quick look at Blue.
Blue shrugged. “None taken.”
“… turn me into,” Kanyon circled her finger around the room, “some circus sideshow thing.”
“She’s capable of more than just monsters.”
“Yeah, I do zombies. She’d make an excellent–”
Daylen broke back in. “Zip it, Blue, or I’ll add “there was a marijuana smell” to my story.” She turned to Kanyon. “Blue just has an extra special gift for the creepy, but she can do simple too.” Daylen walked Kanyon toward Blue. “Can’t you, Blue?”
“Sure.” Blue stood up and patted the stool she just vacated. “I can do simple. Simple hooker, simple hunchback, simple alien who escaped from Area 51.”
“And I’m out.” Kanyon spun toward the door.
Daylen caught Kanyon’s arm. “If you’re going to do this, this is my condition. I can’t have you …” She diverted her eyes.
Kanyon caught Daylen’s pained look. “Have me causing small fan riots,” she finished the lie.
“Right,” Daylen agreed with little conviction.
Kanyon walked to the stool and flopped down. “All right, Blue. Have at it.”
Chapter 11
Kanyon crawled in the car and checked herself out in the visor mirror. “I look ridiculous.” She poked at the mole on her cheek, the horn-rimmed cat glasses, and her streaked grey hair spun up in a bun. “I look like a creepy librarian from the sixties who murders people and grinds up the bodies to make kibbles and bits for her fifty cats.”
“You don’t look like a creepy librarian, it’s not that bad. Plus, you’re lucky you got out of there without a hunchback or two heads.”
“No, yoooou are lucky I got out of there without a hunchback or two heads,” Kanyon countered, flipping up the visor. She turned to face Daylen before starting the engine. “Daylen, I know what you’re trying to do with this disguise. You’re trying to protect me from the media, but I don’t need protection. They’ll write what they’re going to write and if they don’t write about this, then they’ll write I broke out of rehab ‘cause I had a craving for green Tic Tacs or something. It doesn’t matter what I do really, they’ll write what sells and I don’t care. I don’t need protection from it.”
“I care. And if we’re going to argue about not needing protection, then let’s talk about what you’re really doing here and why you insist on working with me?”
Kanyon broke eye contact, turning her focus on the steering wheel. “That’s different.”
“Different? How is it different?”
Kanyon opened her mouth to argue, but no reasonable or unreasonable retorts came to mind. She let out a slow exasperated breath. “Fine. Whatever.” She started the car. “I’ll wear the disguise for now. Tell me about this ring.”
Daylen proceeded to tell Kanyon about the 16th century ring rumored to have been first worn by Marguerite of Valois, the first wife of Henry IV. The ring had been in route to the City Museum where it was going to be on loan for a month for an exhibit, but the drivers hired to transport the ring were hijacked and later found tied up in an abandoned warehouse, mostly unharmed, but short one very expensive piece of jewelry.
“Why aren’t the police looking into it?”
“They are, but we were asked by the O’Connellys, the owners, to look into the matter as well.”
“Why? Don’t they think the police can do their job?”
Daylen pondered how much she should divulge. She figured she’d stop somewhere just before, my aunt had a vision of women dying if we don’t return it. “That’s not it. It’s just that the ring is special. It’s rumored to be cursed and the owners called us because we kind of specialize in cases with unusual circumstances.”
Kanyon raised an eyebrow. “Cursed?”
At Kanyon’s obvious skepticism, a plan developed in Daylen’s mind. Maybe if Kanyon thought her job was crazy, she wouldn’t want anything to do with it and she would distance herself. Her heart ached at the thought. She quickly reminded her heart that at least Kanyon would be safe and that was the important thing. She took a deep breath and started to lay on the crazy.
“Yep, cursed. They say the ring has special powers.
It’s made of a ruby, the color of love and blood. Story has it that Henry IV, notoriously unfaithful himself, couldn’t stand for his wife or mistresses to be of the same loose moral character so he had this ring made by a dark wizard. The dark wizard placed a curse on the ring. Legend goes on to say when the ring is placed on the finger of a woman by her lover, husband, promised, or whatever; if she has ever been unfaithful, or while wearing it if she becomes unfaithful, then she would die an immediate bloody and painful death.” Daylen paused to gauge Kanyon’s reaction, but Kanyon was unfazed. “I’d understand if you think all this is crazy and you want to take me back. I can look into this myself.”
“Nope. I’m good. So where now? Off to find this mood ring with an attitude problem?” Kanyon responded, as unaffected as if Daylen had just said “I like chocolate chip cookies.”
Damn. “Ah, I thought we’d start by talking to the two guys who were hijacked.”
“Sounds good. Tell me where to go,” Kanyon said as she pulled out of the parking space.
Daylen directed Kanyon to Remington’s Armor Car Service. Kanyon examined the double row of ten-foot fencing topped with razor wire. “Dang. I hope you have an appointment, because I’m not wearing the right clothes to scale that puppy.”
“You’re wearing jeans, a shirt, and boots.”
“Yeah, but these are my favorite jeans, shirt, and boots.”
Daylen rolled her eyes as they pulled up to the guard at the booth. Verifying Daylen’s appointment and ID they were let through the security gates, met by another security guard, then escorted to the front entrance where they were met by yet another armed guard who escorted them inside, after they were patted down for weapons.
“If you could step over here, I need to see your credentials and for you to sign in on the log.” The guard pointed to a clipboard on his desk.
“Sure.” Daylen reached into her bag, grabbed a wallet, and flipped it open showing a badge and a photo ID. “She’s with me. She’s my … intern.”
“Okay,” the guard replied, eyeing Kanyon suspiciously.
Kanyon could read the “she’s damn old for an intern” thought on his face. “Yeah, intern,” she smacked as if she was chewing on a wad of Juicy Fruit. “I’m just ge
tting to my education. I had to raise three kids after my no-good husband left us for the late-night act from Harry’s Hootie Hut.” She smacked her nonexistent gum again. “He went missing after that. Police still haven’t found him. You know, you kind of look like my husband.” She squinted her eyes to slits, pretending to inspect him suspiciously.
The guard’s bravado quaked under Kanyon’s stare. “Mr. Remington is expecting you. He’s the last door at the end.” He pointed down a hall off to their right.
“Husband? Hootie Hut?” Daylen whispered, shaking her head as they moved toward Mr. Remington’s office.
“Just getting into character.”
Daylen stopped. “Wait.” She grabbed Kanyon’s arm, halting her as well. “What character?”
“The semi-crazy muscle. You know, the kind that might kill you with a potato peeler, deep fry the slivers, and eat your skin chips for dinner with a nice merlot if you don’t answer our questions, kind of character.”
“First of all, you’re sick. Second, no. The character you’re after is silent librarian. More the, I’ll stare at you if you talk too loud, kind-of-muscle.”
Kanyon gasped dramatically and pointed an accusing finger at Daylen. “You lied! I knew I looked like a librarian!”
Daylen smirked. “Ahhh, I actually said you didn’t look like a creepy librarian.”
Kanyon smirked back as she unbuttoned another button of her shirt, revealing just enough cleavage to make Daylen’s heartbeat race.
Daylen swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”
“New character: quiet, sexy, but still semi-crazy, librarian muscle,” she said, looking down at her own exposed chest, adjusting and straightening her shirt for maximum viewing.
“Right,” was all Daylen could muster, as the rest of her brain power was rechanneled to force her feet to turn and distance herself from the open v of Kanyon’s shirt.
“When do I get one of those badges?” Kanyon asked, skipping once to catch up to Daylen.
“Hummm, two maybe three days after never,” Daylen answered as she knocked on Mr. Remington’s door.
“Come in,” a deep voice responded.
“Try to behave,” Daylen whispered to Kanyon as she opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Remington. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
Kanyon rolled her eyes then followed Daylen into the office. They were met by a large man; spilling over the sides of the chair, kind of large, hope he doesn’t sit by me on the plane, kind of large, get ahead of him in the Chinese buffet line or you won’t get any egg rolls, kind of large. But once she got past his size, Kanyon also saw kind and worried eyes that told her somehow the guy didn’t have anything to do with the theft. But being Detective Kanyon, wait, Kanyon P.I.? Investigator McKane? McKane 007? Still needs some work, but whatever. This new investigative role probably required more evidence than first impressions and gut feelings, so she started a mental suspect list and added his name.
Daylen walked in and tried to meet the man’s eyes which she quickly noticed were not looking at her, but having their own little meet-n-greet with Kanyon’s chest. She couldn’t really blame him, but she didn’t have to like it. “Mr. Remington.” Daylen snapped her fingers then waved her hand in the line between his gaze and Kanyon’s chest.
“Sorry. Yes?” Mr. Remington turned his reluctant eyes to Daylen. When their eyes met, Daylen was immediately assaulted by a sense of over-whelming lust which quickly faded to guilt, distress, and worry. The feelings nearly caused her knees to buckle. Her aunt had been teaching her to recognize and translate feelings so she knew what was happening, but when they practiced the feelings had never been so clear, so powerful. His feelings were nearly visible and for a second Daylen thought she had even seen colored lights radiating from the man. She blinked and gave her head a quick shake. She refocused and knew instantly he was not involved in the theft.
The sensations cleared and she tuned into him saying “… horrible, you know? Anyway, I really appreciate you coming by. I’m at a complete loss of how this could’ve happened. My client. I guess your client. Well, our client, the O’Connellys, are very important to us and I’ll take any help I can get to resolve this little matter. I’ve given a full statement to the police, a Lt. Boston,” he added anxiously.
Kanyon was concerned as she watched Daylen’s eyes go distant and saw her sway slightly. She was just about to reach out to her when Daylen blinked, shook her head as to clear it, and then spoke.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Remington, and I know Lt. Boston. I’ll be discussing this matter with her as well.”
Kanyon continued to watch Daylen closely as this wasn’t the first time she’d seen this look come over her.
“Please, call me Tony and sit, sit,” Tony offered, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk.
They both took seats and Daylen began her questioning. “Can you walk me through the operations here, starting with how you got the job, who knew the route the ring was going to take to the museum, and give me a little background on the drivers assigned that day?”
He nodded as he leaned his hefty back into the chair and it groaned in protest. “Okay, well. The O’Connellys have used my service several times over the years. They often loan things from their private collection to local museums or events. I’ve also transported items they’ve purchased, picking them up from the airport, galleries, wherever. As you can imagine, they are very important clients so they have my private number and contact me directly for their needs.”
“The O’Connellys contacted you on …?” Daylen pulled a notebook out of her bag and began taking notes as he talked.
“No. Ms. O’Connelly’s personal assistant, Lydia, called me on Thursday and requested the transport for Saturday morning. The item was to be picked up at their home and taken to the museum.”
“Okay. Then what did you do?”
“Well, we have a system here we use. It’s kind of like a work order program. I entered the information into the system to schedule the pickup.”
Daylen looked up now, curious. “So, you put all the info into the system? Who exactly can access this information?”
“Not all the information. I enter just enough for my dispatchers to see and schedule personnel. They can only see that we have a pickup, how many officers are needed, and what kind of equipment is required; like type of vehicle, number of vehicles, and any specialty security containers or devices that may be needed. Just enough info so they know what to arrange for that day. They can’t see where the pickup starts, what is being picked up, or where it’s going until the day of the transport. Then I release the addresses and a route, which I have personally pre-designed for them to take.”
“Could anyone have breached the computer system?”
“No. I have state of the art, pentagon level security systems. My firewalls are thicker and wider than the Great Wall of China.”
Daylen continued to question Tony for another twenty minutes about his processes and possible breaches. Kanyon was a little in awe. She’d never seen Daylen in any other work environment than on the set, so she was impressed at Daylen’s logical mind and the way she worked through the possible vulnerabilities.
“Okay, so you had two officers assigned to the job, Rick Brakebill and Jeff Raines. I’m going to need to talk to them. Can you arrange that?” Daylen asked.
“Sure. Jeff’s here today. He’s on desk duty ‘cause he was a little shaken up, hurt a little too, but nothing serious. I tried to give him a few days off, but he refused. He wanted to come in. I think he blames himself and just wants to be here to help. But Rick is off; he took me up on my offer of a few paid days out of the office. I mean, it was the least I could do considering what they went through.”
“We’ll start with Jeff if you don’t mind and then if you can get me Rick’s address we’ll go by and chat with him at his home.”
“Yeah, sure. We can do that. I’ll call Jeff in and then get you Rick’s info. But, will you do me a favor?” Looking tr
uly concerned, he continued in Daylen’s non-committing silence. “Will you keep me informed and let me know how Rick’s doing? I’ve called him a couple times, but I haven’t gotten an answer.”
Daylen and Kanyon gave each other a slow “that’s interesting” look before Daylen turned back to Tony. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Great, thank you. I’d really appreciate it. I’m worried about the boy. I’m sure it was an extremely traumatizing event for him.” Tony heaved his large frame from the chair which creaked in relief. “You can use my office. I’ll go and send Jeff in.”
Tony lumbered out of his office and Kanyon turned to Daylen. “He’s innocent.”
“Agreed,” Daylen replied as she jotted down a few more notes.
Kanyon stood and walked around the room looking at the photos lining the office walls. “I’m calling it now, it’s Rick. A little movie plot cliché, but we’ll either find him dead in his shabby apartment or he’s already blowing his newfound wealth on strippers and/or man-tronics.”
“Man-tronics?” Daylen looked up, confused.
“Yeah, you know, man stuff; game stations, big flat screens, stereos …”
“Ahh, rightttt.” Daylen nodded. “First lesson in Detective 101: Keep an open mind.”
“Human Nature 101: People do stupid things for stupid reasons. Reason one being for women; reason two is for man-tronics.”
Daylen couldn’t disagree being she was currently guilty of being stupid for reason number one. She agreed with a nod of her head then went back to her notepad.
Daylen went through the same routine of prying Jeff’s eyes off Kanyon’s cleavage with a wave and a finger snap. Once she had his attention she asked him to sit and walk her through the day’s events.
Kanyon remained standing, leaning against the back wall as she gave Jeff the once over. He was good-looking in a tough, just fresh from the military kind of way. He had short, cropped hair, toned muscles, and he sat straight up in his chair without using the back rest. The kind of posture you only find in soldiers, fashion models, and her mother’s dream daughter. Kanyon hunched a little in subconscious rebellion. Jeff had bruising at the bridge of his nose and one eye was swollen, turning a dark shade of purple. Kanyon moved down to examine his hands and forearms that were resting on the desk in front of him. There were two distinctive bands of bruises and raw wounds encircling each of his wrists. Restrained.