Kiss the Witch

by Dana E. Donovan

  I knew Carlos would not be a big help to Spinelli in finding more on Snow. But I wanted some alone time to think about my home situation the last few days. I know nothing in the past could ever compare to the enrichment Lilith brings to my life. Sure, I often complain to Carlos and Spinelli about her, how aggravated I get with her sometimes. I imagine they must think she makes my life miserable beyond tolerance. The reality, of course, is that nothing could be further from the truth. I love Lilith. She completes me. Life with her is a never-ending amusement ride filled with excitement. And in her weird, noncommittal way, I know she loves me, too. Yet, for the life of me, I cannot understand why these curious feelings for Ursula remain.

  Carlos once suggested Ursula represents the side of Lilith I rarely see, but know is there. He explained it as the sweet and sour theory, the hot and cold, yin and yang effect. ‘The dualistic cosmology completes the balance you seek in a woman,’ he told me. Where he comes up with this shit, I will never know. But I suspect he is right. If Lilith is fire, Ursula is ice. Together they comprise a temperate ease suitable for existential harmony. I want them both, but can have just one. Something I need to accept.

  As I drove down Monroe Street, I noticed a suspicious vehicle in my rearview mirror. It was not the sedan from earlier, but it did have similar tinting on the windows and displayed a conspicuous manner of evasive maneuvers designed to blend in with traffic. It looked like just the driver this time, perhaps having split with his partner to watch both Carlos and me. I imagined he probably followed me since leaving the precinct, but I was too wrapped up in thought to notice. By then it was too late to call for backup. I proceeded as if I didn’t suspect a thing, pulling to the curb in front of Leonard Dwyer’s home and getting out without looking at him.

  He stopped at the corner, tucking the front of his car in behind a white van and leaving the back end sticking halfway out into the street. Clearly, he did not expect me to pull over, making me wonder if he even knew whose house I had stopped at.

  I shoved my keys into my pocket and started up the walkway to the house. Next door, a neighbor watering her flowerbed followed me with a watchful eye. I waved to her, smiling. She turned abruptly, pretending not to notice. I stopped.

  “Excuse me. Ma'am?”

  She stepped away from the property line and began spraying the rose bushes along the side of the house. I tried again, this time presenting my badge.

  “Hello, ma`am. Excuse me.”

  She looked over at me, squinting for the sun in her eyes. I held up my badge. “I’m Detective Marcella from the Second Precinct downtown. Do you have a moment?”

  She shook her head. “I already told the man everything I know.”

  I walked to the edge of the property. “What man was that, ma`am?”

  “I don’t know. Some cop.” She gestured at my appearance. “Plain clothes. Like you.”

  “Did he say who he was with?”

  “What, don’t you people talk to each other? How should I know who he was with?”

  “Did he show you a badge? Like this?” I held mine up again.

  She dismissed it. “I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter. Told him I didn’t know anything. Same thing I’m telling you.”

  “Ma`am. Can you tell me about Mr. Dwyer? When was the last time you saw him?”

  “The last time I saw him?” She sighed. “Poor Mister Dwyer. The last time I saw him is when he ran out to that car right before it blew up. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She turned the garden hose off and pitched it to the ground. “I have something cooking on the stove.”

  I watched her hurry away. Frightened, I thought, but I suppose I could not blame her.

  I turned back and headed toward the house. The car that tailed me was still semi-hidden behind the white van. Its driver now standing outside, leaning against the rear quarter panel. If he thought I would not notice him, he had another thing coming. I have seen late-day shadows follow less conspicuously.

  The front door to Dwyer’s house was unlocked, so after knocking a few times for the neighbor’s benefit, I let myself in. My friend, the tail, made his move the moment the screen door hit my heels. I peeled the curtains back from the window just enough to spy him hurrying up the walkway. He started up the steps, reached into his jacket and pulled a Glock 9 from his shoulder holster. I faded back behind the door and drew my .38.

  The screen door opened, its rusted spring croaking against the pull. He planted his foot at the bottom of the door to keep it from slamming shut. My thumb dropped, disengaging the safety on my piece. The knob turned. He pushed. The door moaned in protest, but opened a full ninety degrees.

  I saw the Glock come in first. He followed. One arm rigid, the other bent at the elbow, left hand supporting his right. The screen door came to rest on the jamb. He had passed the threshold. I crossed my arms at my chest and pressed my back to the wall, making myself as skinny as possible. He pushed again on the door. It swung back under similar protest, coming to rest against the tips of my shoes. Across the room, a grandfather clock chimed the eleven o’clock hour. He waited until it fell silent before continuing, his footfall muffled by the welcome mat. Beyond the entry, varnished wooden floorboards awaited. They would tell me when he was all the way in.

  He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Another muffled footstep followed. The next step sounded like hard rubber on wood. I thought of Lilith’s shadow spell and what a good diversion it might make. I remembered how she did it. Made it look easy. Told me I could do it, too. I just needed to try. In my mind, I pictured what it should look like. The bigger the better. Give him something to think about. I turned my wrist and flicked my fingers, concentrating on the phantom I wanted to conjure. Across the room, a dark silhouette appeared on the wall. It looked like grizzly bear wearing a top hat. Funny for me, but I know it scared the bejesus out of him, especially when it scattered like splinters across the wall. I could not hold it together. But I did not have to. The intruder let out an audible gasp, swung his Glock around and fired. The bullet shattered a lamp and lodged in the head cushion of an easy chair. I took my cue from that and pushed on the front door. It slammed shut like another gunshot. He whirled about on his heels, his weapon lagging the twist of his body. I reeled back and cracked him on the face with the butt of my gun, sending him to the floor in a spiral of spitting blood. Once down, I kicked the Glock from his hand and drew my weapon on him.

  “Freeze. NCPD.”

  I love saying that.

  He rolled onto his knees and attempted to stand. I placed my foot against his ribcage and shoved him back down. “I said freeze, maggot. Now who are you?”

  He held his hands to his jaw and nose. Blood oozed through the spread in his fingers. His eyes blinked in tight exaggeration for the sting, but he did his best to keep them open.

  “Don’t shoot. I’m a government agent.”

  “F.B.I?”

  “CICU.”

  “CICU. What’s that?”

  “Criminal Investigation Command Underground. We’re a sub-branch of CID under the Department of Defense.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  He laughed at that, forcing a squirt of blood past the web of his thumb and up the side of his cheek. “Of course you never heard of it. That’s the whole idea, asshole. We’re underground.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  He reached for my hand. “Help me up.”

  I grabbed a pillow off the couch and offered him a corner. He took a seat on the couch and wiped his bloody nose on the pillow.

  “I’ll ask you again. Why are you following me?”

  “We’re looking for Snow. I know you’re looking for him, too. I was hoping you might lead me to him.”

  “Snow is dead.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean? Are you trying to kill him?”

  “No. We want him alive.”

  “Is that why you tried to blow him up in his car?”

  Again, he shook
his head, this time sending drops of blood in a splatter pattern against the back of the couch. “That wasn’t us. We don’t kill Americans.”

  “Who was it then?”

  “Nobody. That bomb was Howard Snow’s doing.”

  I gave him a disbelieving scowl. “Why would Snow kill his best friend?”

  The agent scoffed at my naiveté. “He’s covering his tracks. The explosion was a diversion. He wants us to think he’s dead. We found evidence of the stolen documents among the ashes. He destroyed everything.”

  “The QE647 documents?”

  “The documents. The flash drives. Everything. He wants us to believe that he and all the research materials were lost in the blast.”

  “So you would stop looking for him.”

  “Exactly. The man is a genius. He does not need those documents. He has everything he needs in his head. He can replicate the entire project anytime.”

  “But why? What has he to gain?”

  “Are you kidding? Do you know what QE647 is?”

  “I know it’s not a corn syrup substitute.”

  “Then you should know there are governments out there willing to pay millions for what he knows, perhaps billions.”

  “That’s why you want to find him, isn’t it. Not because he committed a crime. You want to keep other governments from getting their hands on the compound”

  “Detective, Howard Snow is a national security risk. My department has every resource at its disposal dedicated to finding him.”

  “Why not tell us then? Why threaten my partner and me with a helicopter gunship?”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t us.”

  “Come again?”

  “At the docks?”

  “Yes.”

  “That wasn’t us. We didn’t have anyone watching you before now.”

  “Who was it?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “That was your car we chased, wasn’t it? We tracked the license plates to the Department of Agriculture. Don’t you boys use them to hide your dirty work?”

  “Yes we do, and no, that wasn’t us.” He pulled his hand away from his face and a splash of blood dropped from his nose onto his lap. “Shit. I think you broke it.”

  “Get over it.”

  He rocked his head back against the cushion and pinched his nostrils shut. “That was our car all right, but it was stolen an hour before you gave chase to it.”

  “Nice. So you have no idea who else is looking for Howard Snow.”

  “We have some ideas.”

  “Care to share them with me?”

  “Forget it. As far as you’re concerned, I’m not even here right now.”

  I stepped back and looked down at my feet. Small pools of blood on the floor were already beginning to coagulate around the edges. “Really? Funny, `cause that’s not my blood down there.”

  “Look, Detective.” He let go of his nose and sniffed back a thin trail of blood gathering on his upper lip. “We swept this house thoroughly, top to bottom. There is no sign of Snow ever being here. He covered his tracks completely.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying don’t make me follow you to cold spots. We are looking for the same thing. Maybe we can help each other.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “We are not looking for the same thing. You are looking to sequester spontaneous biogenic propagation for government rule. I’m looking for the truth.” I pointed across the room. “Your gun is under the dining room table. Lock up on your way out.”

  TWELVE

  I arrived back at the office around noon. Spinelli saw me stepping out of the elevator and headed me off in the hall. I could tell from the look on his face he was pissed. I just didn’t know why.

  “You son of a bitch,” he spat. “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” I honestly did not know.

  “You know damn well what.”

  Carlos came out into the hall then. I still was not sure why Spinelli was so bent out of shape, but I was getting an idea. “What? Did Carlos say something to you?”

  “You know he did. That’s because Carlos is a friend. A concept you obviously don’t understand.”

  “Okay, look. I know why you’re upset. I should have said something. I didn’t know she was home. I walked into the bathroom and there she was. In the tub. What was I supposed to do?”

  He looked at me as though I had just told him I screwed his pooch. “You walked in on Ursula taking a bath?”

  “Well...yeah, that’s what you were talking about, isn’t it?”

  I looked over at Carlos. He was waving me off in a silent shout. “Ick-schnay,” he said, or mouthed it.

  Spinelli said, “Tony, I’m talking about you getting a hard-on for my girl. Whatthefuck? Now you tell me you walked in on her taking a bath?”

  “Dominic. That was an accident. I swear.” I looked over at Carlos again. “Carlos. Tell him.”

  “No. Carlos is not going to tell me. You are going to tell me. What else did you do? Did you fuck her? Huh? Did you fuck my fiancée?”

  “Fuck her? No! Carlos, what did you tell him? Dominic, you are blowing this way out of proportion.”

  Spinelli palmed my chest and shoved me into the wall. “Screw you,” he said, and I swear that if he were not my second best friend, I would have decked him. “No. Better yet. Screw Ursula. I know you want to. You can have her. The wedding is off.”

  “Dominic. Wait. You know I would never....”

  He tore off in a head of steam, slamming walls and kicking open doors in his wake. I turned to Carlos, who shrank at the sight of me gritting my teeth and presenting clenched fists.

  “Tony.” He walled his hands up to keep me at bay. “I only told him about you getting a stiffy. I didn’t say anything else to him.”

  I unclenched my fists and dropped my hands. “Okay. You know what? You’re right. I should have been straight up with Dominic.”

  “Sure. Why not? You were straight up with Ursula.”

  I deflected his joke with a stabbing glare. “The truth is I had nothing to hide. It was all perfectly innocent.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “About what?”

  He gestured down the hall. “Dominic. He’s calling the wedding off.”

  I looked down the hall almost expecting to see a trail of residual steam lingering on the carpet. “I don’t know.” I shook my head and returned to Carlos. “He isn’t going to call it off. He’s just pissed. Cannot say I blame him. Maybe I should make myself scarce for a while.”

  He looked at his watch. “It is almost lunch.”

  “Lunch? I can’t eat. My stomach’s tied up in knots right now.”

  He smiled. “Good. I mean, too bad. I’m buying.” He put his arm around my shoulder and led me to the elevator. “You want to drive my Vette? That will cheer you up.”

  “You want me to crash it? That will really cheer me up.”

  He thought about it. Seriously, I think. A good friend will do that. In the end, though, he decided he should drive, what with the new lights and siren just installed.

  At the restaurant, I asked Carlos why he told Spinelli about Ursula and me. He said Dominic tricked him into telling him.

  “He tricked you?”

  “Yes, Tony. You know how clever he is. He backed me into a corner. I had to tell him.”

  “How did he back you into a corner?”

  “He said he would find it hard to get naked in front of Lilith and Ursula like that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I said you found it hard, too, and Ursula saw it.”

  “You know, Carlos, that is the last time I tell you anything in confidence.”

  “Tony, please.”

  “I mean it. Last time. You have a big mouth. And I’m leaving it up to you to make it right with Spinelli. If he calls off this wedding, Lilith will make my life miserable. And if I’m miserable, you know who else will be miserable?”<
br />
  “Me?”

  “Yes. You. So you better begin thinking about what you’re going to say to him.”

  Carlos started to come back with a word of protest, but our server showed up to take our orders. We let the conversation go at that. After she left us, I told Carlos about my run-in with the agent from CICU.

  “CICU? Sounds like military?”

  “It is,” I told him. “It’s a shadow operation within the DoD, tasked with monitoring CID activities.”

  “But the CID investigates criminal activity by the U.S. Army?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So now CICU is investigating CID?”

  “Yes.”

  “The people investigating the army are being investigating.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Damn, I need a score card.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, who were the guys with the chopper, CICU?”

  I shook my head. “He said it wasn’t them. I don’t know if I believe him. Who else can get away with swooping in with an attack helicopter in broad daylight and then disappearing into thin air like that?”

  “With enough money, anyone can. You remember those men in the lobby at Biocrynetix Laboratories?”

  “I do.”

  “Remember what they were wearing?”

  “Nice suits.”

  “Not just any nice suits. $4000 Caraceni’s.”

  “Hmm, I see what you mean.”

  “What was your agent at Dwyer’s place wearing?”

  “Cheap polyester.”

  “And he was looking for Howard Snow?”

  “That’s why he followed me. Thought maybe I would find him first.”

  “You think he wants to kill him?’

  “He says no. Says Snow blew up his own car to bury his tracks.”

  “Oh right, and bury his old roommate, too. I don’t believe that. You know what I think?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think the agents have the compound. I think they want to kill everyone associated with QE647 so that the guys in suits don’t get their hands on it. We know those other deaths were not coincidence.”