by Matt Sheehan
“Well, it was very strange. I wasn’t even really paying attention to what you guys were talking about. Do you know how much a bottle of that whiskey costs?”
I just shook my head no. His cheeks were pink and he was feeling chatty, so I just let him go.
“A lot. And it was good. More peat than I expected. It reminded me of the time Jimmy Nash and I stole a bottle from his dad’s distillery. I always told you his dad had talent.”
He gazed off for a moment before continuing.
“Anyway, I was daydreaming, and I looked up and you were conversing with some dude I’d never seen before. And my headache was gone, and my eyes weren’t blurry anymore. I looked up at Alek to ask for a refill, and that’s when I noticed it wasn’t him.”
“Shamus, I was there, and I can guarantee you that it was him.”
“Looking back now, I agree. It was always Alek, he was just pretending to be someone else.”
“Stage makeup and a fake nose.” Just poking the bear. I got a sigh and eye roll for my troubles.
“No, Helmut. Obviously there was some sort of glamour at work.” He finished off the rest of his beer before continuing. “I heard whispers of chameleons in the old country, but no one I knew had ever seen one. It was always some acquaintance’s close friend who swore they saw a Cretan soldier morph into their antisocial neighbor.”
“So Alek is a shape-changing Cretan?” We had both seen stranger things, but even so it seemed a little far-fetched.
“Not necessarily a Nephilim. The Six Kingdoms fought the Empire to a draw almost a millennium ago. The most fearsome warriors in history, led by battle mages in armor so heavy that an ox couldn’t carry it, supposedly defeated by mortals with Bronze Age technology.” He shook his head and took a healthy swig of beer. “I think the Allies must have had a few tricks up their sleeves, and shape-shifting may have been one of them.”
This was an argument that came up regularly late at night after Shamus was well in his cups and wanted to wax philosophical. Our views were a bit different, and it had made for some interesting discussions over the years. Shamus tended to believe in a higher power, albeit a fickle and uncaring one. I believed in science. My views were more of the mainstream here in Hespera while Shamus’s were strongly influenced by the Old World Druidic teaching that had been pounded into his brain when he was a youth.
The fact that many of my closely held beliefs have since been proven so wrong is a bit of a personal embarrassment. I still haven’t completely come to grips with it, but I wanted to give you an honest account of where I was coming from at the time.
The old stories talk of the Nephilim, the mythical founders of the Cretan Empire, being the product of romantic trysts between angels and human women. They were literal giants, towering over the average warrior and possessing the strength of ten men.
The commonly held belief is that the average Cretan soldier is over two meters tall. That’s pretty big, but I wouldn’t say giant. True believers like Shamus always argue that the angelic blood is simply becoming more diluted over the centuries. I always argued that the size difference was due more to nutritional differences between their citizens and ours. Meat and milk were scarce commodities until our generation, and the lack of protein could easily account for the size discrepancy between civilizations.
Battle mages are the Empire’s version of heavy artillery. According to legend they are huge, even by Cretan standards, and they wade into the fray with impregnable armor and ridiculous supernatural powers, laying waste to anything in their path. Shamus says the Allies send their best and brightest to Troy each generation to learn how to kill them. His name was mentioned by his superiors as a possible candidate, which is likely one of the reasons he lives here.
All the information we have on battle mages comes from books or word of mouth. The last true war ended thirty years ago when Anatolia was liberated. No one I knew in the military had ever fought against one, and I know I never saw one in black-and-white on the evening news. I find it interesting that since the advent of tanks and planes, we’ve had a cold war and not a hot one.
“Fine.” I acquiesced. “So some shape-shifting free agent. Why bother with all the cloak-and-dagger?”
“Well, I have a feeling whatever Johnny has is bigger than company secrets.”
“So you know what we’ve got to do.”
“What’s this ‘we’? I did the heavy lifting today. Willie needs a bath tomorrow. You know where to find Johnny. Just go back in the morning and detect.” He waved his hand dismissively as he said “detect.”
I have excellent patience, mostly due to growing up with Shamus. “Buddy, you have a much better read on this case. I could sure use your help tomorrow. For Johnny’s sake I think we really need to find him and get his side of the story before passing it up the ladder. Plus, I need you there as a truth-sayer, just in case Johnny isn’t what he seems.”
Honey, never vinegar with Sha. I watched the gears grind as he sat there thinking. I knew he absolutely hated to work two days in a row, but I had asked very nicely. And I knew that deep, deep down he has a soft spot for the unjustly accused and downtrodden. He would have felt bad if I turned everything over to Alek and just collected the check. That was the unsaid threat hanging over the conversation.
In this case I really wouldn’t have done that. Oh, I would have threatened to, but I wouldn’t have gone through with it. Shape-shifting aside, Alek was keeping his cards too close to his vest for my taste. As much as I like money, I won’t take a case if it’s on the wrong side of the moral compass. I’ve actually sabotaged a case or two I didn’t agree with. Kept the retainer though.
In the end I got Shamus one last drink and he agreed to tag along, on the condition that he could sleep in as long as he wanted.
Chapter Twelve
I have a dog whistle. I don’t use it very often, because I don’t want Shamus to catch on that Willie wakes him up barking when I’m around. I slept over that night in one of the spare rooms upstairs, woke up at my normal crack of dawn and waited patiently, then impatiently, for Shamus to wake up naturally. At 10:00 a.m. I finally blew the whistle a few times and was rewarded by Willie’s frantic barking. When I heard Shamus trying to quiet him, I headed into the kitchen to start breakfast.
I can’t match his coffee, but my eggs and potatoes are much better than his. I had the onions and peppers chopped and in the pan with the potatoes and olive oil when Shamus and Willie came shuffling into the kitchen. Shamus’s hair was sticking up at a ridiculous angle in the back where he had slept on it. I said good morning to Shamus, not Willie, and got a grunt and a soft growl for my trouble. Shamus sat down at the table and started on the newspaper and Willie flopped down on the floor next to him.
I fried up five eggs sunny-side up and finished up the potatoes. Shamus was adding a wee nip of whiskey to his coffee as I brought the plates and Willie’s bowl to the table. Sha and I got two eggs and a third of the potatoes apiece and Willie got the rest in his bowl, mixed with kibble, ketchup and a splash of whiskey. Willie sniffed the bowl and glared at me for a few seconds before digging in. There’s just no winning with that mutt.
Even though I was anxious to get back on the case, I gave Shamus plenty of time to finish his breakfast and an additional cup of coffee and read through every section of the paper. I’ve learned, after years of trial and error, that this is the best way to start the day if I expect to get any productive work out of him later on. Eventually he had to get up from the table and face the day. The duo shuffled back upstairs, and a few minutes later Shamus reappeared with his hair meticulously coiffed and clothes that looked like they were picked up off the floor.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“You know, I have an iron if you want to borrow it.” The look I got suggested he did not want to borrow it. I decided to dress a little more incognito
this visit. Instead of my usual dress-casual attire, I went full slacker: jeans with holes in the knees (cut that morning) and an untucked and unbuttoned flannel shirt with a black pocket tee undershirt. I didn’t shave and wore a pair of old exercise sneakers. To cover up my military cut, I wore a paperboy cap rather than my standard fedora.
We piled into the car, me driving as usual and Shamus in the shotgun position with a thick book in his hands. Given the two options of reading or talking, Shamus will almost always choose the former. It works for us on car rides because he hates my music but is oblivious to it when his nose is in a book. If he’s being irritating I take corners fast or aim for bumps in the road, but he had been a relative trooper for this case, so I kept it smooth and steady.
Halfway to our destination he looked up from his book.
“Did you know that every possible decision that can be made, is? They just happen in an alternate universe.”
It took me a moment to digest what he’d said. Talk about cold starts. “So there is a universe where I actually strangle you?”
“Probably several. You mention wanting to do it often enough.”
“What exactly are you reading? More of your science fiction?”
“Nope, science fact. It’s a book about quantum mechanics.”
“That sounds awesome! Why is it that the only science that interests you is of the nut job variety?”
He chose to ignore my sarcasm. “There’s a group of physicists in Huanbei who have dedicated their lives to the study and testing of the many-worlds theory.”
“Well good for them. I bet on Saturday nights they are all at home alone dreaming about what I was doing ’til 2:00 a.m. in this world.”
Shamus went back to his book, and I started mentally planning for next Saturday. It always pays to be prepared. We had already missed the rush-hour traffic with all the poor suckers commuting to their nine-to-five jobs, so the ride didn’t take too long. Parking, however, was horrendous, and I ended up having to leave the car in front of a grocery store several blocks away.
Shamus was twitchy on the walk in, constantly looking up the fire escapes or over his shoulder. When I asked him about it, he just shrugged his shoulders but was otherwise unhelpful.
The coffee shop was full of the collection of shiftless layabouts that had been there the day before. Unfortunately, no Steph behind the counter or Johnny anywhere in sight.
We got in line and waited to order. The guy at the counter had a pin on his chest that said Sun Gets Me High, but he was pretty pale and had a sharp herbal smell wafting off him. I hate false advertising. I ordered a tall black coffee, and Shamus got a vanilla latte and a wedge of baklava.
We grabbed a table where we could watch the front door. I sat and fretted while Shamus read the paper and had his little snack. After two cups of coffee and one trip to the bathroom for me, Johnny and Steph finally arrived, neither looking particularly happy. Steph went into the employee section and came out a few minutes later dressed to work. Johnny sat at the closest table to the front counter and sulked.
“Okay, how should we play this?”
Shamus thought for a moment then answered. “I’ve got an idea. Wait here.”
He went up to the counter where Steph was working, and a few minutes later he came back with a small fruit-and-cheese tray and a glass of milk.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“What was your big idea?”
“Well, it’s getting close to lunch and I was getting hungry, so I grabbed a snack.”
“Any idea how we should approach Johnny?”
“How the hell should I know? You’re the one with the people skills.”
This was not a misunderstanding. He was simply being difficult since I’d twisted his arm in order to get him here. I just stared at him and drummed my fingers on the table. After taking a few bites of cheese, he finally relented.
“You know, Steph’s pretty and all, but she’s got issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
He gestured vaguely with his hands in the air. “You know...issues. Anyway, he has a broken heart. You’ve been the heartbreaker many times. Just imagine it from the other set of shoes. Console him or something.”
“So just go console a stranger about problems I shouldn’t know anything about.”
He just shrugged, gave me a look that implied indifference and went back to his second snack. I inferred that the conversation was over.
Since we had arrived the cafe had filled up, and it was likely with the state of Johnny’s emotions that he hadn’t even noticed me sitting at the back table. I went and ordered my third coffee and walked over to Johnny’s table. He was sitting with his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, staring out the window.
“Excuse me... Do you mind if I sit here? The place is packed.”
He looked up at me blankly for a second, his mind seemingly a million miles away, then seemed to register what I had asked and with a gesture invited me to join him. He was wearing a grey knit cap, a loud, open-collared short-sleeve shirt and khaki cargo pants.
“You’re welcome to join me, but I can’t say I’ll be much for company. I’m Johnny, by the way.”
“Helmut. Nice to meet you, Johnny. Why do you feel like poor company?”
“Girl problems.” He snuck a peek at Steph behind the counter, then quickly looked back at me. “I left my job and all my friends behind to follow a girl I met on what she called a ‘grand adventure.’” He absently reached up to his breast pocket for something before realizing it wasn’t there. He noticed that I noticed. “I even gave up smoking for her.” He smiled a sad smile and looked back out the window. “I do have to admit, I’m enjoying the weather. It’s near zero in New Athens this time of year.”
“I passed through there myself years ago. What kind of job did you walk away from?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and reached for the pack of cigarettes that was still not in his pocket. He took a deep breath before answering. “I’m sort of not supposed to talk about it.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “What, are you a spy or something?”
“No, no. A scientist, actually. I’m contracting with the federal government on a project...that I really can’t talk about.”
“I’ve been reading about the zeppelin project in the paper. Is that you?”
He crinkled his face and shook his head. “That’s simple engineering. I’m doing hard science. At least I was. I bet I could get my old job back. Albert was pretty good with theory, but I’m not even sure they can get the project off the ground without me.” He brightened up for the moment, then snuck another peek at Steph and frowned. “I just hate to give up on her without a fight.”
The meeting was working out better than I could have ever planned it. I was actually beginning to like the guy, but that was beside the point. I had to get to the bottom of who he was and what he did. In the end I decided caffeine was fine, but liquor was quicker.
“Listen, Johnny. My plan today was to get caffeinated, then hit the street and make some sales. I sell vacuums door to door. Now I know what you’re thinking...boring, right? Well, I have the added perk of lonely housewives looking to liven up their days. But I digress. You know what sounds like more fun? Let’s hit the bar down the street and see if we could meet a couple of nice ladies also down on their luck.”
It was weak and he wasn’t exactly fired up for it, but his alternative was drinking coffee and pining after Steph, so after a little arm twisting he followed me down the street to Bells Tavern. Shamus followed us from a discreet distance and sat down at the bar a few stools away.
The bar wasn’t really my style—too many couches, frilly curtains and potted plants. Their “special” was a drink with gin and carrot juice, and instead of nuts they had
some sort of peas in pods out on the counter. I pushed them out of my line of sight.
Shamus started right out on the top-shelf whiskey. That had me worried, because while this was a legitimate expense, we were in the process of screwing over our client, and the odds of getting reimbursed were slim to none. I ordered a couple of beers for Johnny and me, and I would have had to put those potted plants to good use if it weren’t for Shamus. He slipped the barkeep some money and made sure all my brews were nonalcoholic. That way I could keep a cool head while getting Johnny tipsy and chatty.
“Sorry, Johnny. I guess midday on a Tuesday isn’t the best time to find the beautiful babies at this bar.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate the effort. Steph needed some space, and I probably did as well. I honestly don’t want to meet anyone new.”
We chatted about normal guy stuff while we put away a few beers. Once he started getting a little rummy, I started back with the probing questions.
“So, we’re friends now right? What is it that you do that’s so top secret? I’ve heard something about mechanical gizmos used for breaking codes.”
“No, no, no, I told you.” His voice was getting thick, and he shook his head side to side slowly. “I do hard science.”
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means.”
“Do you know what atomic fission is?”
I started to get a real bad feeling at about that point, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Shamus’s head jerk up. I half remembered Shamus reading me something a few months prior about making bombs out of atoms. I don’t get the science, but I do understand it makes a real big boom. For Johnny’s benefit I looked confused and shrugged my shoulders.
“It involves splitting atoms. The amount of clean energy that can be produced is astounding. You could also make weapons out of this technology, but that’s not really my thing.” He got the bartender’s attention and ordered another round before continuing. “The next step is fusing the atoms together, but the technology for that little feat is beyond our current level of technology.”