by D. C. Gomez
“Bargain with him? Was that even a choice? What could I possibly have that the Devil might want?” The boys were officially losing their minds.
“You could owe him a favor for information.” Eric turned to face the screen again.
“A favor?” I was outraged. “If I had to owe him a favor for the crap he gave me, I probably would have killed him. Besides, it’s not like you could ever beat the Devil at being cunning and deceiving.” I was young, but I was not stupid.
“That’s a very good insight. Not bad at all, Isis.” Constantine spoke with a hint of a smile and pride in his voice. They had not thought I would survive the trip.
“OK, if you were so worried I would lose my soul yesterday, why didn’t you tell me?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“He’s a client. Every intern has to learn how to work with him. You managed pretty well and didn’t blow up the club. This is great for business.” Constantine was definitely proud.
“We need to work on our reputation. People are convinced I’m the plague. Or worse, a crusader.” I really didn’t want to get strip-searched everywhere I went.
“That’s a pretty accurate description. Interns have a tendency for preemptive strikes and overkill.” Eric looked kind of bashful as he spoke.
“Basically, we’re a bunch of homicidal maniacs.” All three nodded in unison. “Great. That is just great. That explains why even the Devil’s people were worried around me.”
“Everyone, let’s start practicing. I think we’ve been going at this all wrong. Instead of trying to fix your weaknesses, we need to maximize your strengths. Let’s skip the punches and make those kicks of yours killer.” Eric was a little too happy about that. I glanced at Constantine and Eric, and they both looked wicked. This was going to be painful.
“I love it. Bartholomew, start warming up. Isis, hit the mat.” All Constantine needed was a cigar, and he could be a mini Hannibal from the A-Team.
Resistance was futile with these boys. A week at this job, and I really missed my old life. Anyone who complained about having a boring life should have taken over mine. I watched Eric do a few warm-up stretches before stepping onto the mat. He was as limber as a gymnast. I had no idea how a person could be so graceful and hit so hard. While Eric was bent into a table pose, I stretched my thighs and calves.
“Is that all you’re stretching?” How did he notice from his side of the mat? Not only was he a contortionist, but now the boy had eyes in the back of his head.
“Yeah. No need to overtire my muscles before starting. Whenever you’re ready.” Besides, I was going to get a beating regardless of how much I stretched. So why delay the inevitable?
At least I was not disappointed in the training. Eric’s sympathy level didn’t last long, and he proceeded to train me like a madman. I informed the overzealous crazy man that I was not training for the Olympics—just survival. I was not very concerned with form but pure effectiveness.
After forty-five minutes of pure hell, my legs were shaky, and I was sure I was going to collapse. I had no grace, and I just limped off the mat. My legs were jelly. Between last night and this morning’s torture session, I was going to need Epsom salts and a bath.
“You look like hell, Isis,” Bartholomew casually said as he handed me a bottle of water on his way to the mat. To add insult to injury, Eric didn’t even look tired. I really hated that boy.
“I love you, too, Bart.” It was hard to be mad at Bartholomew. He was too damn cute. He was at that age right before boys hit puberty, when they still look sweet and innocent. Too bad they grow.
I was stretching on the floor when an idea hit me. “Hey, Bart, is this your computer?”
Bartholomew was stretching his calves and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. Do you need it?”
“Does it have a recording feature?”
“From Audacity to Wave Horizon are installed. Anything you need should be in there.”
Of course they would be. This was Bartholomew we were talking about.
“Awesome. Do you mind if I borrow it this morning?” I was eyeing his computer like a kid in a candy store.
“Sure thing. Let me know if you like it, and I’ll order you one this afternoon.” The look of shock must have been pretty obvious on my face. “I’m sure it’s in the budget.” He smiled and turned around to face Eric for his lesson.
“What are you thinking about, Isis?” Constantine had walked over to me and was eyeing me very suspiciously.
“Music and how to capture it.” I was still staring at the computer.
Constantine glanced at the computer and then back at me. “Your gift.” He raised an eyebrow, or whatever the equivalent was for cats, and gave me an evil grin.
“You’re right, Constantine. I can’t walk around with a flute and ask people to wait while I play. I need something readily available.” I needed to start thinking like a soldier—working smarter and not harder. Trial and error was going to get me killed if I wasn’t careful. “Do you think it would work?”
“Musical recordings have been causing people to kill themselves for years. I’m sure you can put a few to sleep without a problem.”
“How long does the gift normally last?” I needed a time frame to work with.
“It depends on the intern and the strength of your desire.” Constantine had his philosophical teacher face on.
“Perfect.” Maybe things were finally looking up for us.
“Perfect? What does that mean?” Constantine did not enjoy being puzzled.
“I only need to pour my soul into it for two minutes, tops. Then I can create a loop of it. As long as it plays, the people will sleep.” I loved technology.
“Not bad, Isis. You’re finally thinking like an intern.” Constantine was actually smiling. “You’re going to be like the Pussycat Dolls in their video with Timbaland. ‘Wait a Minute, Girl.’” How did he do that? Constantine’s imitation skills were amazing. I shook my head.
“Imagine you liking a group named Pussycat.” Constantine smiled. “I’m going to finish my workout and then head upstairs. I still need to check out Sacred Heart today.” Constantine agreed and headed back to watch Bartholomew, shaking his tail. I was amazed he was still singing to himself. He even moved in sync. Unbelievable.
I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take me to do the recording and then the editing. The sooner I started, the safer I would feel. I also needed a few disposable players—I wasn’t planning to leave my phone everywhere. This whole business made me nervous. I wasn’t that crazy about a soundtrack, especially one that was going to knock people out.
Chapter 26
The next time I decide to pass out my business cards to people, I really should ask for names. I got a text from an Ana, who claimed to have info. First of all, who was Ana, and why didn’t Ana have a last name? I had enough issues with no-last-name Bob; I really didn’t want to add another to that list. Ana was an early riser, since the message had been left at 7:00 a.m. By the time I finished trying to track down Ana, it was almost 10:00 a.m. Ana was scared and irrational. After lots of pleading, she agreed to meet.
I felt as if I were back in the army. I was doing a lot of “hurry up and wait.” I rushed my shower to meet Ana at the Salvation Army by 10:30 a.m. I was praying nobody would stop me. Bumblebee was packed like a small military convoy. After my last adventure, I was not taking any chances. I really didn’t want to kill anyone, but I had no issue seriously injuring people. Thoughts like that were probably the reason interns had such a bad reputation.
Downtown was pretty slow. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to meet this Ana. She hadn’t stated whether this meeting was on the street, inside the Salvation Army, or at a nearby building. Her directions were sketchy at best. I parked Bumblebee on the opposite side of the street and walked over. My stomach was growling so loud, I was sure the dogs could hear it. I had forgotten to grab food again. I walked slowly toward the entrance; hopefully, the scary volunteer wasn’t on duty today
.
“Pssst—over here.”
Anytime you hear a pssst, you know it’s not a good sign. I stopped short of the door and turned around.
The mystery Ana with no last name was the girl from Randy Sam’s with the missing boyfriend. She was looking really rough. She was wearing the same clothes I had seen her in, but they were dirtier and ripped. Her hair looked as if she’d gotten hit by a weed eater. I was starting to think I would be safer with the crazy volunteer. This was how being stuck on a horrible blind date felt. It was the moment after you realize you’re stuck and can’t run away.
“Hi, Ana. Are you OK?” That was the understatement of the century. But what else could I say? Hey there, you look like shit.
“There is a door. We need to avoid it.”
Oh, wow. This was going from bad to worse very quickly. What in the world was she talking about?
“I’m sorry; what door?” This was nuts, but at least I sounded really sweet and nice.
Ana was looking over her shoulder. “The ghosts—they told me. Avoid the door. They’re coming for me.” OK, at least that explained why she looked like hell. I would look like death rolled over if ghosts were talking to me and Constantine wasn’t there to explain it. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Oh no, sweetie. Trust me. After the week I’m having, I totally believe ghosts are talking to you. But there are a lot of doors around here. You might need to be more specific.” It would be really nice if they could give exact locations or better descriptions now. If they were going to get involved, the least they could do was be helpful and not just annoying.
“The golden door is coming at the lines crossing.” It was official: ghosts sucked.
“What does that mean?” I had a horrible feeling this was as much as I was going to get from little Ana.
“Oh, no. They’re here.” Ana was staring over my shoulder as if Death were walking behind me. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I slowly turned around. The last thing I needed was to get jumped again. There was nobody there, and by the time I looked back, Ana was running away.
For a fragile, crazed person, she could really haul ass. I had no idea what motivated me to do it, but I took off after her. I was probably safer in front of the building by Bumblebee. At least I was carrying the mace and Taser. Anything that came my way was going to be sorry.
Ana took a quick left at the end of the block. I was amazed her skinny legs could move so fast.
I pushed to a sprint and reached the end of the block just in time to see Ana get abducted by my favorite black van. I wasn’t sure whether Ana tripped into the van or they pulled her in. Ana was so occupied getting away from me that she didn’t even notice the people in front of her. The van didn’t even stop. They were rolling before the doors were closed.
“Dammit.” This was becoming a horrible pattern. I really wanted to choke the shit of out those witches. There was no sense in trying to chase them—by the time I reached Bumblebee, I would never find their trail. How could you hide a black van in Texarkana? There were not that many of those stupid things running around. An F-150—that was a different story. But a twelve-passenger van? No way.
Time was running out. I headed back to Bumblebee. Another trip downtown that was a total waste of time and demoralizing. I was so consumed with self-loathing that I almost missed the man sitting on the hood of Bumblebee till it was too late. Bob’s friend from Beverly Park was having a picnic on Bumblebee. I placed my hand in my pocket, in case I needed to use the Taser.
“Comfy?” I was skipping this part of my report to Constantine.
“Not a bad place to be for a Friday morning in September.” The man wasn’t even looking at me. He looked pretty defiant. He was peeling an orange and dropping the skins on the street.
“That’s lovely.” I forced myself to calm down. It was not his fault I’d lost Ana. But he was still sitting on Bumblebee.
“There’s a big price for info on your pretty self, Ms. Isis.”
I froze. I realized he wasn’t drunk today. I gave him my undivided attention.
“Is that why you’re here? To make some money?” If the underground community of Texarkana as well as the supernatural one was spying on me, I was screwed.
“Hell no, girl. Those crazy bitches took Bob, and more are missing. We’re not cattle. They can’t push us around.” The man was pissed. He spit the seeds of his orange for pure emphasis.
“Why are you here?” I was a little nervous.
“Payback.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer. “You want payback? Really? You came to me.” He obviously had not seen me fight.
“You’re friends with Bob, and you had some really gangster issues with those bitches. We heard they’d been beating you up, and here you are, still asking questions.” The little man was eyeing me up and down. If Constantine had been there, he would have approved. “You have guts, little girl.”
“That or I’m just dumb.” Honestly speaking, this wasn’t about the job anymore. I really hated those witches.
“This is our town. We refuse to be run off.” The man noticed my confused look. “The underground citizens of Texarkana stay out of trouble, and the community is good to us. We’re planning to keep it that way.”
“That’s a good plan. So why are you here?” It was way too early to have philosophy discussions about Texarkana. We needed to get to the point.
“You need help.” He said that with a smile, as if it should answer all the world’s problems. Maybe I needed to start doing drugs, because some people made no sense to me.
“OK, continue.” Why did I always had to pry the information out of people?
“Ms. Isis, you need eyes and ears in this town. I’m your man.”
“You’re here to offer your services, no questions asked? I could be a cop or some crazy nut on a vendetta.” People were not this trusting.
“I confirmed you’re friends with Bob. Bob is a good man. He helped others and never let anyone be abused. You bring Bob back, we can be square. A friend of Bob’s is my friend.” He looked sad as he mentioned Bob’s name. He didn’t believe there was any hope for Bob.
“We’ll bring him back. We just need to find these witches by tomorrow at sunset. Can you help me with that?” We had a common goal.
“With pleasure.” A devious smile spread over his face.
“What do I call you? Unless you’re cool with Bob’s friend.”
“Shorty.” Well, that was fitting. And again, no last name. The underground community could all be pop stars with this one-name thing.
“OK, Shorty, you know I need help. What do you know about this group?” I was a ready to test this new informant thing.
“They got money and connections all over the city. They have infiltrated most nonprofits to get info on the underground.” Shorty started cleaning his nails with a pocketknife.
“That explains why they can find people and pick the ones nobody notices.” Damn, they were organized and smart. No wonder ninja intern hadn’t found them. He had underestimated them.
“They also move all the time. They’re never at one location for more than a night, maybe two. They have big muscles with them.”
“Shorty, are you sure you want to get involved? Everyone who talks to me goes missing. You said it yourself about Bob.” I really didn’t want to add Shorty to this list.
“Ms. Isis, nobody’s safe anymore. A gypsy came from New York yesterday. The same thing happened there. All they found were dried-up bones. He left town.” Wow, I really had underestimated the underground community. They had a better communication system than the gossips on Facebook.
“That’s right. Nobody’s safe, Shorty.” We stood in silence, staring at the Salvation Army. “Shorty, do you have a phone?”
“Obamacare, baby.” Shorty pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Blessings for government programs. If Bob had a phone, we could have used the GPS to track him. But no, he had to be a paranoid vet. I was going to strangle th
at man.
“Good. Here’s my number.” I handed him a card. “Save it in your phone, then burn the card. We don’t need anyone finding it on you.”
“Oh, nice. This is very Mission Impossible–like.” Shorty was easily amused.
“I would love for this to be simple.” I reached for my wallet. Shorty looked malnourished.
“Whatever you say, boss.” He was already busy programming his phone.
“Shorty, when was the last time you ate? Besides the orange.”
“I eat all the time.”
I was sure it wasn’t anything healthy, or even enough. “Here, Shorty, go get some food, and maybe take some of your peeps with you. I normally work at Abuelita’s on the weekend. Come and see sometime.” I handed him a stack of twenties. I didn’t care how he spent the money. I didn’t want to disrespect him, but I knew what it was like to be hungry.
“You don’t have to pay me.”
Now that I had a job that paid over the top, giving away $200 didn’t hurt. I was glad I had made an ATM run on Wednesday. I needed to do another one today.
“I’m not. Just buying you lunch.”
“Where? At Tao?”
I had to smile. I had never been a blessing to others. I hated receiving charity, but I always welcomed a meal. Shorty was the same way.
“If that’s what you like, why not? My boss pays me well. I’m sure she would appreciate me buying lunch for our friends. We are friends, right?” I didn’t want to insult him.
“Yes, ma’am, we are.” He pocketed the cash and smiled brightly.
“Good. Now get off the car. Don’t you ever dare tell a soul you were sitting on Bumblebee, or the owner will kill you.”
Shorty’s eyes got really wide, and he hopped off the car. “This is not your car? Why didn’t you say something?” He was actually polishing poor Bumblebee.
“I wish it was. Those witches blew up my minivan.” My poor Whale.
“They did you a favor with that one.” Shortly was shaking his head at me.