Second Guessing

by K. J. Emrick

  She snorts, and it’s a very unsophisticated sound. Not something I’d expect from someone who would rather drink wine than have a beer. “You think I made good for myself becoming an actress? I’m famous, sure, but it’s not like I’ve done anything important in my life. I’ve been all around the world and all I’ve done is make some crappy movies that made me a lot of money. You’re the one who made something of yourself. You went into the Marines. You fought for our country and for your ideals. Now you’re a private investigator, helping people like me who have no one else to help them. Of the two of us, which one has really done good?”

  Wow. That was an unexpectedly nice thing for her to say to me.

  The question hangs in the air, but I don’t try to answer it. I’m proud of my military service. I’m proud of the work I do now. My name won’t ever go down in the history books, and nobody’s ever going to do an article on me in Time magazine, but I don’t need those things. I like my life. I can walk down the street with my head held high, because I know who I am.

  Sidney Stone, P.I.

  Pushing her hair back from her face, Amelia stands up, and looks around at the dusty, empty walls. “So this is your house?”

  “Uh, well technically it’s the bank’s house.”

  “Does the bank know you’re in here?”

  “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. This is a foreclosed property. Nobody’s lived here in over three years which makes it the perfect place to lay low when I have to.”

  There’s lots of places like this in the Detroit area. In Hamtramck, too. The past few mayors have made revitalizing Detroit a priority but it’s still a very economically depressed area. People move out at a much faster rate than they move in, which means there’s lots of homes where no one lives currently, and where no one is likely to live for months. Maybe years. For all I know this house will stay vacant until it falls down around its foundation.

  “So anyway,” I tell her, “we’ll be safe here for now. I usually use a key I had made to get inside, rather than riding a genie’s wish, but you know how it is.”

  “No,” she says seriously. “I really don’t. Maybe someday you can explain the whole genie thing to me.”

  “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

  I doubt it, because I haven’t ever explained that to anyone and Amelia and I really aren’t close enough to start sharing secrets. I’m glad she opened up to me about why she’s really in Detroit, because now that all the cards are on the table, I can cross her off the suspect list. Especially since the real killer was shooting at us both back at my apartment.

  I roll my head back on my shoulders and shut my eyes tight as certain realities come crashing to the forefront of my brain. The mess at my apartment, for instance. By now the police have been all over my apartment. They would have figured out that someone was shooting in from the hallway, and that I returned fire—once—with the shotgun. There’s going to be a lot of questions and I’m not there to answer them. The police get jumpy when there’s a shooting and the people involved in that shooting disappear before they arrive.

  So, I need to call the police and tell them I’m not dead, and I didn’t kill anyone, and then answer a dozen other questions to keep them from getting grumpy. And Chris. I need to tell Chris I’m all right. No doubt he’s going crazy wondering what happened to me. I’d do the same if it was him on the other end of a shootout.

  Except, my cellphone isn’t with me. It wasn’t on me when I wished us here and I didn’t think to ask for it to come with me. Would that have counted as two wishes, though? Gah. I really need to have Harry explain these things to me better. I need to plan out my wishes better, is what I need to do.

  In my defense, I was being shot at while making this wish. I wasn’t exactly able to think it through step by step. I’m lucky I didn’t wish me and Amelia both to Disneyland.

  Okay, next time I see Harry we’re going to lay down some guidelines. Some rules for my wishes. He has all those rules about what I can and can’t wish for, well I’m going to make a few rules of my own. Like, whenever I wish to be sent somewhere, I want to go there with my phone. Always. And my gun! I want my revolver to come with me next time too, because right now I am decidedly gun-less. Yes. All of that’s going to be part of the deal from now on. If I ask to get poofed into another part of town, I mean I want to go there with my gun and my phone.

  Which doesn’t help me right now, when I need to call the police and Chris, and I can’t do either.

  “Amelia, I need to make a call. The police are going to be looking for me. You too, probably. If I don’t call and talk to the right people now there’s going to be police officers combing Detroit door to door looking for the famous Hollywood actress who’s been accused of murder and who just escaped from a shooter in my building. They might even get the wrong idea about what happened at my apartment. Like, maybe you decided to kill me, too.”

  Her eyes flick over to mine, and I saw the implications of that rolling through her brain. If she didn’t understand the predicament she was in before, she sure does now.

  “I didn’t kill Donnie.”

  “I know.”

  “I loved him, and he loved me.”

  “I know that, Amelia.”

  “He loved me because I was trying to be a better person, is the irony of it all. When I started this whole thing, trying to find everyone I might have treated badly in my past, apologizing to them… he supported me. It’s what made him fall in love with me. He told me so, the first time we fell into bed together. Then he told me again, and again, and I swear to you Sidney I’ve never felt such a rush of—”

  “Okay, okay. That’s enough. I get the idea.” I really didn’t want to know what sort of rush Donnie was giving her in bed. “You’re just going to have to trust me, okay? I need to call the police and let them know what’s really going on.”

  “But… but how can you call them?” she asks me. “I don’t have my phone with me. It’s in my purse back at your place. Ugh, which means the police will definitely know I was there. This is a disaster, Sidney. When I was charged with murder, I thought it was the worst day of my life and then you showed up to save me and I thought, hey, I’ll be okay. And now everything’s falling apart again.”

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll explain everything to the police. About the mess at my apartment, and about the murder, too.”

  Her eyebrows scrunch together. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, I know who killed Donnie Sterling. That was them at the door to my apartment.”

  “You… what? Who?”

  “Exactly,” I say cryptically, because she’s certainly hit all the right questions. “I’ll be able to explain it better once I check one more thing. In the meantime, we need to go downstairs. The landline phone is still hooked up down there. It’s old school but we can call from there—”

  Knock, knock.

  I sense the knock coming before it echoes through the nearly empty house.

  “Sidney?” Amelia says, her eyes frantic. “Not again. Please, not again.”

  Nobody could know I’m here. Nobody could know how to find me. Not the good guys. Not the bad guys. Not even Girl Scouts going door to door selling cookies could find me here.

  There can’t be a shooter at the door. Not again.

  Can there?

  “Stay here,” I tell Amelia. “Don’t let yourself be seen until I tell you it’s safe to come out. Do you understand?”

  She nods her head and backs up against the wall, pressing herself flat against it. “Can’t you just wish us out of here? The genie and the magic powers. You said you could make wishes. You said that’s how we got here.”

  “It is how we got here, but I can’t just… it’s hard to explain. My genie’s not here right now. Let’s leave it at that.” Halfway to the door I stop, and turn back, and lock eyes with her. “Amelia, you can’t tell anyone about the genie. Okay? You have to keep it secret. If you tell anyone about it, they’ll just
think you’re crazy. Do you understand me? Nod your head again if you understand.”

  After a moment she does, just barely, but that’s going to have to be good enough because we hear knocking again. Someone’s here, and I doubt they’re selling cookies. I need to protect my client.

  And find out who’s at the door.

  And protect my own life in case they start shooting.

  And get Amelia out of here again in one piece.

  Not necessarily all in that order.

  Knock, knock, knock, I hear, and the echo from my future-sense makes it seem all that more ominous.

  Up here the house really is empty. No furniture in the rooms, no curtain on the bathtub, no blinds on the windows, nothing. Downstairs is a different story. There’s a couch in the living room and a few stand-up lamps that aren’t plugged in and don’t have bulbs in any event, some plastic nick-nacks on the shelves, some magnets on the fridge and pots hanging from hooks over the stove. It’s just enough that a realtor would be able to show a prospective buyer the wonderful home it could be, should they choose to buy it now with just ten percent in escrow.

  What it does not have, upstairs or down, is a secret weapons stash. I know you read that in every mystery novel ever, where the P.I. has a safehouse somewhere and they just reach in behind the refrigerator and pull out a shotgun, or there’s a gun taped to the bottom of a drawer, or whatever. Here’s the thing that makes that not a good idea in reality. If I had left a gun in this house, and some kids broke in to have a party and found it, anything that happened with the gun after that would be my responsibility. If they shot one of their friends accidentally, or went to school and threatened the teacher that gave them a failing grade in gym, or whatever. It would be my fault.

  I’d rather not go to jail for something that stupid. And, I’d rather not have that on my conscience either. So. There’s no guns in this house. No baseball bats, either, but now that I think about it I probably could have left one of those here and not worried about it too much. I wish I’d thought of that.

  The stand-up lamp in the corner of the living room is going to have to do.

  I take off the shade and wrap the cord around the bottom to make sort of a handle and then hold the heavier base up in front of myself like some sort of ungainly club. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  The front room of the house is the kitchen. There are heavy curtains covering the windows here. No way to see outside. I stop at the door, and take a breath, and reach for the handle, using my future-sense to see what’s going to happen three seconds ahead.

  One.

  My hand on the doorknob.

  Two.

  I open the door and swing the base of the lamp at the same time.

  Three.

  I smack Chris in the face, breaking his orbital socket and his nose.

  Stop...

  Chris!

  Thankfully, I only got as far as turning the handle before I saw that in my mind. So, I would have cracked my friend’s skull if I’d gone through with it, but instead I got the chance to stop myself. Only, the memory of it is going to stay with me forever, even though it didn’t really happen. Probably give me nightmares tonight, too.

  Welcome to my life.

  Nobody could know how to find me here in this empty house in Hamtramck. Nobody, except Chris. Somehow, even without magical genie powers, he always knows how to find me.

  I drop the lamp, and it clatters and rolls across the cracked linoleum as I whip the door open and grab him by the wrist and yank him inside. I already know he’s alone, thanks to my gift, but this is a street of tightly packed homes and I don’t want anybody seeing that there’s people coming in and out of a house that’s supposed to be vacant.

  “Chris! What are you doing here? You scared me half to death.”

  He gives me one of those annoying smiles that he does so well, and actually leans up against the refrigerator like he just came over for a visit.

  “I’m here because somebody shot up your apartment. Shot it up pretty good, actually.”

  “I know they shot it up, I was there when it happened!” I can’t help shouting at him. Everything that’s going on, and he just strolls in here with that infuriating, irritating, devilishly cute smile of his. I mean, seriously? “The question is, what are you doing here? How did you know to find me all the way out here in Hamtramck?”

  “Come on, Sid. It’s not like you went over to Canada or something. You always go to the same safe houses when you need to disappear. I flipped a coin. I was going to go to the one in Corktown next if you weren’t here.” With a shrug, he opens the fridge, and then frowns when he finds it empty. “You could at least stock some beers in here.”

  “You don’t need one. You aren’t staying that long.”

  “I think you mean none of us is staying long. Amelia’s upstairs, I take it?”

  “Yes, she is.” I’m still mad at him. “We’re fine here for a while. Let’s take the time and figure a few things out.”

  “You can’t be serious. Sidney, you just had somebody shoot up your apartment. By the looks of things, you fired one round back before dropping your shotgun. Did you hit anybody?”

  I cross my arms defensively. “No, I didn’t. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Well, there was no blood in the hallway so I’m betting you’re right. How’d you even get out of there and over here so quick? Did you catch all the lights or something?”

  “Uh, sure. Something like that.” Speaking of that, how long had I been upstairs, mulling things over and trying hard not to explain too much to Amelia? Too long, obviously, for Chris to have come looking for me here. I needed to get back to work. “Listen, the reason I was getting shot at is because the plan worked a little too well. Amelia came straight to my apartment when she got bailed out. I take it you left my address for her?”

  “Yup. Just like we planned so that you could get her to talk. The flaw in that plan was the killer followed her right to you and then..?”

  “Yeah, well. You know what they say, the best laid plans of mice and women often go astray.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes.”

  “It is in my world, buster. Did you get my text?”

  “Yep. Sure did.”

  “So, you’ve looked into the bodyguards’ finances then?”

  “I did indeed,” he tells me. “Interesting stuff. I think that might have worked out better than your plan to get Amelia to talk.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. I figure he deserves it. “My plan was a good one. I just didn’t expect to be shot at through my own door when the killer showed up. I guess I should have figured whoever did this would follow Amelia when she got bailed out, which they did. I should have figured she would lead them right to my doorstep, which she did. It wasn’t until I was talking to her over a plate of chicken marsala that I realized the killer might have followed her and also be armed.”

  “Ever consider getting a metal-core door? You tend to attract people with guns.”

  “Says the guy who almost got blown up on the last big case we worked together.”

  Now he sticks his tongue out at me, and I figure I probably deserved it this time, too.

  But he’s not wrong. I could have died in my apartment today, just one more of Detroit’s sad statistics. Without my future-sense, and without Harry there to warn me, I would have been killed answering my own door.

  I’ve been shot at before, plenty of times, and despite what people might tell you it does not get any easier. There’s always a rush of adrenaline and fear that your body has to process after the event is over. I’m way too hyped up right now to fully realize just how close Death was to my doorstep—pun intended—but when I have a chance to slow down and really think about it, I’m probably going to need a few beers. Or a long steam in a sauna. Or a good hour in a church sitting alone with my thoughts and the feeling of a presence that might just be listening.

  Hey, don’t knock it until you�
�ve tried it.

  “Chicken marsala, huh?”

  Chris’s sudden question takes me by surprise, and I have to think back to remember I’d just told him about the meal Amelia and I were having before the bullets started flying. “Yeah, so?”

  He shrugs. “I like chicken marsala. I didn’t know you could cook anything that complicated.”

  I shrug back, because I can’t very well tell him a genie whipped it up. “When this is over I’ll, uh, make some for you to try. Or hey, I’ve got two free passes to the Rising Sun Palace.”

  “That Chinese restaurant in the University District?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place. You ever been there?”

  “No. You?”

  Uh, well… “Not to eat,” I tell him, which is true. It’s just not the whole truth. “Anyway. You and me, and a quiet dinner to celebrate once we arrest the killer?”

  “Sounds good. Now, can we please get to the station?”

  “No, I need to piece this together and I’m not leaving until I do. You said you checked into the bodyguards’ finances?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He goes back to leaning against the fridge, apparently giving up on trying to get me to leave before I’m ready. “I mean, this is something that Lieutenant Baker should have done, since it’s his case, but that would require him to do his own work instead of pawning it off to one of the junior grade detectives. That’s asking a lot from him. Took me about thirty minutes to find what I guess we were both expecting to see.”

  A large cash deposit, dropped into that account. That’s what we were expecting to find. Chris had looked into those accounts after I’d sent the text asking him to see if there had been a sizeable deposit dropped in there. If he found that money in there, just like we expected it to be, then that proves it.

  We know who the killer is.

  I was about to say something exactly to that effect when I stopped myself. I’d been so distracted with putting pieces of this mystery together that I hadn’t heard Amelia coming down the stairs. Thankfully my future-sense showed me her walking into the kitchen just before she did. Just before I gave away the secret to the whole mystery.