by Arjay Lewis
I found I was standing, but I didn’t remember how I ended up that way. I stared at the glass to make sure that I’d heard him correctly.
“Come on, Briback,” McGee said as he stood and began to pace the room. “You expect me to believe this load of crap?”
“It’s what he said. So I decided to look into it. I found out he was involved with this company, the Nova Corporation, right?” Briback said and looked from man to man, his eyes on their independent prowl again. “Don’t you get it? Nova? I mean, a supernova is a star that burns up!”
“You still aren’t telling me anything useful, Lonny.”
But he’d said exactly what I wanted to hear.
“That’s the thing,” Briback stated defensively. “This Nova Corporation is involved with a bunch of fires, in really weird ways. They bought the options on stock that a company was gonna lose money, selling short I think it’s called. And BAM! A week later, one of the main warehouses burns down. Another time, a guy invests money in Nova. Then suddenly, his house burns down, the guy dies, and the money don’t got to be repaid.”
“I’ve looked into Nova Corporation,” McGee said. “Most of their corporate signers don’t exist.”
Lonny leaned forward in his chair. “No, they did exist. Did you check death certificates?”
I could sense McGee felt embarrassed.
“I checked the database of—”
“But that’s it. They’re mostly dead. Except for this Wendy Wallace broad, and I find out she works at Mishan’s store. So I check her out, and it turns out her father and stepmother were killed in a fire, too. But the police think it’s an auto accident. And she gets a bundle of money, ’cause they had insurance up the wazoo, and when death occurs in a traffic accident, it’s double indemnity.”
I fell heavily against the table. Wendy got her money by having her own father and stepmother killed? What kind of person could do that? It seems like Jack wasn’t the only monster. No wonder they were lovers; they had been perfect for each other.
And I made love to her, thought we might start a relationship…
McGee spoke up, which pulled me from my thoughts. “And all this was done by the man who shoots fire out of his head?”
“That’s all crap,” Briback said. “I figure Mishan said that because he’s just got somebody with a technology nobody knows about. Like that projectile thing that you heard I invented. If anyone put that info on the Internet, it would have been him, using my name to put the blame on me.”
“So, you found all this out how?” McGee queried.
“I got ways to check on things like that,” Lonny said, his eyes both looking down at his lap.
“Be specific, Lonny. Or I swear, I’ll get you indicted as a co-conspirator so fast…”
“OK, OK,” Lonny said, his hands raised defensively. “I hired a PI.”
“A private investigator? How did a jailbird like you—”
“Hey, I got some resources at my disposal,” Lonny revealed, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.
“I need a name,” McGee said.
“Norris. Roswell Norris. He’s local.”
McGee sat heavily in his chair and exhaled deeply, annoyed. “I know him,” he said with a look that suggested he’d just put something unpleasant in his mouth.
“He’ll back up my story. I hired him to look into Nova.”
McGee nodded. “I will have a talk with Mr. Norris, don’t you worry about that. One last thing, you said Mishan gave you money the day he died. How much did he give to you and why?”
“We talked over the phone, and I told him what I’d found out. He asked me how much would it take to give up the information I had on Nova and leave town. He said I was stirring up trouble for him. He offered me ten grand. I figured I could pay off Norris and blow town, so I did.”
“Just like that?”
Briback shrugged, one eye on McGee, and it appeared as if the other watched me behind the glass. “What I wanted was how they did it, but Mishan only ever told me the fire ‘came out of his head.’ I couldn’t get what I wanted, so I took the money and took off.” He leaned back in the chair. “Besides, with all those people getting fried, I figured I didn’t want to end up on the menu.”
“So you came out ahead on the deal,” McGee said.
Lonny shrugged again. “Hey, look, I’m just a simple capitalist at heart. I show up, Mishan takes me in the back, and I hand him the folder. He asks if it’s the only copy, stuff like that. I tell him, ‘yeah,’ and he starts reading it like all this stuff was new to him. So, he gives me a large envelope stuffed with the money and says, real nasty, that he hopes it’s the last time he sees me. I say, ‘Sure,’ and I’m out of there.”
“And went to…?” McGee asked.
“I’m off to Paramus. Then, the next day, I read in the paper that Mishan is dead from a fire. So, I stay put and lie low.”
“And you heard about the Wallace woman?”
“No,” Lonny said as if he didn’t care. “She dead too?”
McGee nodded. “Where’s the rest of the money?”
“I put it in a bank. What? I should walk around with it?” Lonny said.
“And do you have copies of the information?”
“No, I gave Mishan all I had. I told you, I’m a standup kinda guy.”
McGee rose and shut his folder. “Sure you are, Lonny. As arsonists, blackmailers, and lowlife scum go, you’re a regular prince.” He nodded to Galland, who leaped to his feet. “Lock his majesty up.”
“Detective McGee,” the public defender stated as he rose to his feet. “My client was very forthcoming, there is no reason to be sarcastic…”
“Your client is trying to stay alive, counselor,” McGee said with a glare at Lonny. “My guess is that he heard about the Wallace woman and made sure he’d get spotted and picked up. He figures behind bars, and preferably in California, he can save his bony ass.”
“Hey! I was just doin’ my public duty,” Briback sneered as he was led out by Officer Galland.
The lawyer stood his ground. “He’s not to be questioned without someone from my office here. Is that clear, Detective?”
“Very clear,” McGee said, his voice flat. “But as you can see, Briback is a material witness, and worth more to me in one piece. So trust me, counselor, we’ll treat him like visiting royalty.”
“If anything happens to Mr. Briback, I will hold you personally responsible, Detective.” The lawyer grabbed his briefcase and stalked out the door.
Watching him leave, McGee turned to the mirror and said, “Come on in, Len.”
I went through the nearby door and into the room.
“Well, that went badly,” McGee said. “Any comments?”
I stood for a moment and tried to gather my thoughts. How much could I—should I tell McGee?
To me, the concept of a pyrokinetic was strange, but I’d seen stranger things in the last seven years. When it all started the night Cathy died with that frightening vision in the road, I am still unsure if it was real or not. But McGee was a cop, and it would all sound implausible to him.
“I was limited in what I could get,” I finally said. “The glass acts as a barrier, and I need to make eye contact.”
“Eye contact? Don’t you—I don’t know, read the ether or something?”
“I read energy, Bill. Sometimes, I get bursts of precognition—buzzes I call them. But to get information from someone, I have to meet their eyes. It’s like communication occurs from their mind to mine.”
“Do you think he was being honest or not?”
“Honest?” I shrugged. “As much as he’s capable of.”
McGee nodded. “OK, so what impressions did you get?”
“This PI is the key. He may have information on our firebug,” I said.
“If he kept a copy of h
is research.”
“I hope so. I couldn’t find much on Nova at all, and according to Briback, this guy hits the mother lode.”
“I’d like to know where Norris got his research,” McGee said, his mouth tight.
“I take it you are familiar with Mr. Norris.”
“I’m not one of his favorite people, which is fine because he’s real low on my list of scumbags pretending they are in law enforcement.”
McGee shut his folder and gulped one last sip from a Styrofoam cup of cold coffee.
“Don’t hold back,” I said. “Say what you really think.”
He exhaled loudly and leaned against the table.
“I was here about a week when Mr. Norris and I had a run in. He was working on a case, a divorce, and got some photos of a husband with his mistress. Well, the wife ends up dead, and I go to Norris, who tells me he’s got nothing. I threaten a warrant. Then he tries to sell me the photos, claiming he can’t afford to lose money on the deal.”
“A fine, upstanding citizen,” I said.
“Yeah, right! Well, I nailed the husband, and the photographs came in handy for showing motive. I even got Norris to testify, but he was uncooperative the whole time.”
“Now, if you had paid him…”
McGee smiled wanly. “If I paid him, he would’ve told any story I wanted. Hell, he would’ve made shit up.” He crushed the cup and threw it in a nearby trash can. “Well, I guess I’ve got to talk to him. You free?”
“Me? Uh—sure.”
“Good, can you tag along? Maybe if he sees me with another tall guy, he’ll figure we’re there to beat him up, and he won’t mouth off.”
“I’m not sure I look terribly threatening with the cane and all.”
“So, hold it like it’s a weapon. Come on.”
We walked out of the room, through the detective’s room, and made a right in the corridor. I limped along as fast I could to keep up with McGee’s gait. McGee waved at the window of the processing unit, and a buzzer went off. Then he pushed his way out the door and through the release vestibule to grab the next door while the buzzer still sounded. We stepped directly out into the MPD parking lot and got into Bill’s unmarked police car.
He started up and drove onto Bloomdale Avenue, heading toward the nearby town of the same name. Soon, we’d left Mountainview, and the stores became run down and the neighborhood seedy.
Finally, somewhere on the border of the town of Orange, he turned onto a side street, then pulled into a lot and parked. Across from us, there was a car that was battered almost to a state of nonrecognition as a vehicle. Oddly, it still possessed all its glass and might have even been able to run, but I doubted it. McGee pointed to a small three-story building that rose sullenly from the one-story storefronts.
“That’s his office. Third floor,” he said, as he got out of the car.
I pulled myself up and out and looked at the building in the clear sunlight. Then the sidewalks appeared to move, and I felt as if the ground shifted under me.
Everything was amplified and moved very slowly. I heard what sounded like a bass drum and a whooshing of wind that I recognized as my own heartbeat and breathing. I raised my head, which felt as if it now weighed two hundred pounds and the air around me had become the consistency of molasses.
I looked up: everything was in sepia tones, shifted in black and white variations as the color had drained out of the day. I could see the building McGee pointed to, but it was different.
It was on fire.
Flames shot out of the second floor and completely engulfed the third. I heard a voice in the back of my mind.
Nothing could get out of there alive…
fifteen
There was a bright light, like a camera flash, and all at once the ground was back to normal. I stood on a broken street and gazed up at the building. The flames were gone, and color had returned to my surroundings.
“Len, you coming?” McGee said. He stood and watched me, puzzled. How much time had passed? I decided not much, McGee had only walked a little ahead and turned to see me frozen to my spot.
“I—uh—saw something,” I said, and closed the distance between us so I could talk in low tones.
“Saw what?” McGee asked and glanced up at the building as we approached.
I decided it was best if he knew.
“Fire,” I said. “The third floor was ablaze.”
He looked up at the structure again as if to scrutinize the structure for any flames. Then he returned his gaze to me. “A vision?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think a premonition-or perhaps a warning.”
McGee stopped in his tracks. “Could it be our firebug?”
“Hallman?” I said.
“Yeah, he might think it’s a good idea to eliminate the PI.”
“And perhaps the police officer on his tail as well the man who slept with his mistress. We need to be on our guard.”
“What do you want to do?” McGee said.
“We’ll visit Mr. Norris. But if for some reason, I say we have to leave, then and there—”
“You want to make a run for it.”
“No elevators, no fire escape, just go.”
“Ten-four,” McGee said in police jargon. We reached the lobby of the building, which was as seedy as the facade and the neighborhood suggested. Cracked paint hung in loose flaps from the ceiling and exposed the tin, which was spotted with rust and neglect. The walls were painted a vomit yellow with marks and discoloration that covered the open areas.
I stopped. “Which room?”
McGee looked back. “302.”
“You head up, I’ll be right there,” I said.
McGee nodded and went to a door with a filthy sign that read STAIRS. He opened it and disappeared up the dimly lit staircase. The treads, though covered in grime, were marble and hinted of a time when this broken-down building was a fashionable suite of offices.
I stepped back outside and took a quick glance at my surroundings. There was not a lot of foot traffic, even on a spring day, but a few people trudged down the broken sidewalks.
No sign of the man in black.
I took a deep breath and let my mind reach out. I wanted to be aware of him if he came close. After a moment of quiet concentration, I felt at one with my surroundings. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. If Hallman approached, I was sure I would sense it, which would give us enough time to get out before fireworks started.
I took the stairs, though it was a slow process. I lifted up with my left leg, then pulled my right up after me. In what felt like an interminable amount of time, I arrived on the third floor.
The hallway was a variation of the same puke yellow and just as foul. There were several doors with dirty opaque glass windows and plastic numbers stuck to them. I walked to 302, where I could hear McGee’s powerful baritone behind the glass.
“If I have to come here with a warrant…” McGee was saying.
“You shouldn’t have wasted your time coming here without one, Detective,” another voice scolded.
I opened the door and entered the room, which caused both men to turn in my direction.
McGee leaned over the crowded desk of a man who had risen from his seat. He was short, almost cylindrical in shape, with a balding head poorly hidden by a bad comb-over. He wore a cheap brown suit with the tie open and looked as much a part of the building as the faded linoleum. On the front of the desk, piled high with folders, papers, knickknacks, and outright junk, was a small plaque reading:
ROSWELL NORRIS
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
The room was filled with bookcases, and each was piled high with books, papers, folders, and bric-a-brac. There were several metal cabinets, also piled with papers. The place looked like a firebug’s dream—flammable objects everywhere.
&
nbsp; Norris’s eyes went questioningly to me and then back to McGee.
McGee gave a nod in my direction and blurted, “He’s with me.”
Norris let out a breath, which caused his flabby cheeks and chin to quiver. “What didn’t you bring, the goddamn Marines?”
“I’m Doctor Leonard Wise,” I said, and extended my right hand. “We believe you are in danger, Mr. Norris.”
He limply shook my hand in a move that was more dismissive than friendly. “I’m in danger? The only danger here is the police trying to see confidential records. I got rights, you know.”
“You barely have an investigator’s license,” McGee said. “Look, Norris, Lonny the Match spilled the whole thing. He had you dig up information on Nova Corporation, and I want to see it.”
“And I told you I gave my only copies to Mr. Briback,” Norris said, his hands up. He glanced over at me and that was all I needed, a moment of eye contact.
And one other person…
“And one other person,” I said aloud, the words falling out of my mouth before I took time to analyze it. Since my episode on the sidewalk, I felt I operated in a state of higher awareness, and our brief contact made me able to instantly plug into the mind of Roswell Norris.
Norris stared and gave me a questioning look as if he wondered how I could possibly know this tidbit. If I had any hesitancy about being able to reach into his mind, I dismissed it. What he knew could get him killed, and that vision of the building in flames felt—imminent. I took advantage of his gaze to reach further, put a face with my impressions.
This images came fast and furious.
“A tall man, almost my height, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses. You signed a contract with him and gave him a folder,” I said, as I followed the images playing out in my mind.
“What the hell— is this?” Norris stammered, visibly shaken.
“You gave your findings to the man from the Nova Corporation,” I said. “He paid you money, but you kept a copy for yourself as insurance.”