Wiping the fog off his medicine cabinet mirror, she looked at herself, checking for anything that she might have missed. Soft brown eyes stared back at her. She barely noticed her angular face with a distinct lack of fat that was reflected everywhere on her body except in the area of her breasts. Her lips were full and the shade of freshly plucked berries, but they weren’t bruised by anyone’s hand, so they were ignored as well.
Wordlessly, Penelope continued to look at herself and do a mental inventory of her ailments. The wrist was slashed just above the bone. It probably needed a few stitches, but she wouldn’t be going to the hospital. She taped several Band-Aids across it like a butterfly bandage in order to hold it together until it healed. There was a large scrape across her back and a scratch across her forehead that spoke of a battle with a vicious cat or a ferocious tree. Her thigh ached as if she had won a horse track race, and she supposed in a way she had. Her shoulder felt like it had been wrenched and there was a dull throb that indicated a bruised lump on the back of her head. All of which she didn’t particularly recall receiving.
“Looks like I’m going to walk away…again,” she murmured to herself and was a little ashamed when she flinched from the noise of her own voice.
Penelope borrowed a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from Jeremy’s closet. Her friend was close to the same size, even if he was a few inches taller. Her hip bones narrowly prevented the jeans from falling to her knees. She even borrowed some oversized shoes.
The truth was that the Jeremy she knew, the man who was her friend, would have never minded her using his clothing. He would have laughed at her predicament, and he would have teased her endlessly about her great escape, certainly one of their top ten supreme flights of noteworthy success. Noteworthy didn’t even cover what had occurred. Amazingly lucky was more like it and Jeremy would have been rolling on the ground in jocular mirth.
Frowning again, Penelope noticed that her face was wet, and irritatedly, she wiped a slow rain of tears off her face. She didn’t want to think about Jeremy anymore.
Methodically she put everything in the garbage bag. Clothing to shoes to the Leatherman Tool. She included the cloned cell phone, the various freshly rinsed gloves, and the empty cloth bag that had contained the rest of the loot from her ill-conceived haul. The booty was put into an empty Walmart bag. She looked skeptically at the still damp stacks of cash and shrugged, knowing she couldn’t do anything about it at that moment. Last to go into the plastic bag was the black gemstone. She wrapped it carefully in a hand towel and realized that her stomach was growling with hunger.
Penelope prepared to sneak out of Jeremy’s apartment because she didn’t want Mrs. Johnson to see her with the two bags. However, before she could make a break for it, she looked out the window and saw the older black woman drive off in her pristinely maintained 1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Probably going to church for some reason or other, she thought thankfully but sorry that she had to surreptitiously avoid Jeremy’s landlady.
She also took Jeremy’s cell phone. Penelope was going to need one. And perhaps, just perhaps, Jeremy would return to his senses and call his own number to find out to where it had vanished. Another unwanted thought fluttered through her mind. If he’s still alive.
When Penelope finally left the apartment, locking up after herself, she took the garbage bag full of things she would never see again and the plastic Walmart bag. It didn’t even occur to her to miss the folded piece of paper that had the Durfrene house safe’s combination written on it.
*
Blearily, Will looked around him. He had discovered that sitting all day in a rented car wasn’t comfortable. Several times, he used a local Starbucks’ bathroom and purchased enough white chocolate mochas to energize a thousand yuppies. The clerk looked at him oddly on his third trip inside, and he decided to use another bathroom in the future. He fed the meter quarters, dimes, and nickels until he ran out, and since he hadn’t seen a cop all day, he let it go.
Will didn’t think the Jetta would get towed until a meter maid came by with the third or fourth ticket, when it was obvious that the car was not going to be moved. Perhaps the thief was very cautious. She could have come by and made Will before he had a chance to see her.
Will considered that and dismissed the thought. She certainly wasn’t dead. The coyote fetish still rippled with her life source, but the sun was on the decline, and he knew that she wasn’t aware what darkness could bring. The seatco and the other humans could work in the daylight; they were hardly vampires. But in the heavily populated area that was the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, Anthony would keep them from going out after dawn. He was too close to his goal to jeopardize it by thoughtless actions. However, the thief had the gemstone, and Anthony would do anything to get it back. All bets were likely off.
Something had brought Anthony to Texas. It was hell and gone from central Oregon. There, if one was close enough to the Three Sisters Mountains, one could get lost in the wilderness of towering pine trees and see the deer still running as free as the day the Great Spirit changed Indian maidens into the mountains for which they were named.
This part of Texas was full of moisture and greenery unbound. It had been a rain-filled spring, and the land had yet to dry out. The atmosphere itself seemed to be alive, pulling and tugging at Will’s body even as he sat in his car waiting for the thief to show her face. If she would. She has no reason to think that her car has been identified.
That brought another round of thoughts. Would they sniff out the thief’s car? Had the blood been overlooked? No, Anthony isn’t stupid. On the contrary, he would know almost everything that Will knew. Furthermore, he would have no compulsions about using that information in a most evil and twisted manner. The thief had thwarted Anthony. She had the Tears of the Spirit. Obviously, since she was merely a thief, she didn’t know what she had.
Will finished the last gulp of a now-cold white chocolate mocha and grimaced at the taste of it. If he were going to be without sleep as he quite rightly suspected, then he badly needed the caffeine. He put the cup aside and considered another trip outside the car to work out the strained muscles in his thighs. He was used to regular exercise and worked out, but it had no effect on sitting on his butt all night and again all day.
He was reaching for the handle of the rental car, when she appeared as if from out of nowhere. It took him a moment because she didn’t have pale blonde curls, and her clothing was fresh and clean. Her shoulder-length brown hair glistened in the last vestiges of the sun’s light as if it had been freshly washed. Her eyes were clear and sharp as she looked around.
Will only had a second to lower his eyes as if he were intently looking at something inside the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her trim form hesitate. Her gaze was heavy as she considered him, but he knew the moment she dismissed him. He didn’t look like a threat with long black hair that spilled over his shoulders and dark, fathomless brown eyes.
It is her. The thought speared through his brain. The thief was a pretty, young woman with a certain aura that proclaimed her innate intelligence.
When Penelope retrieved her hidden key from the magnetic box under the bumper, she glanced at him again and found him with a map in his hands. She quickly got into the car, started it without incident, and drove off. Two blocks away, she stopped again to change license plates.
Chapter Ten
Saturday, July 5th
Clean Sneak (slang, origin unknown, probably 1950s American) - to get away without leaving clues
Penelope turned on the radio as soon as the car pulled away from the parking place. An oldies station was playing “Brown-Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. She tried to divert her attention, but it wasn’t working. Endless unstoppable thoughts rampaged through her mind like a horde of brides through the annual wedding gown sale at Macy’s.
Ticking off items in her head was a common and reassuring habit for Penelope. She did it before going on a job. Then she went over another ment
al checklist about what she had done after the creep. She had disposed of the evidence including all of her clothing and items used in the burglary, using not one but three geographically separate dumpsters. After getting off the bus in downtown Dallas, she had placed the most identifiable items, the jewelry including the large gemstone, in a bank’s safe-deposit box, until she could get them to her regular fence. She had taken the money bands off the cash and kept half to be used at her whim. She had used false plates on top of her own license plates and stopped briefly to dispose of the ones she’d borrowed previously from a newer VW Jetta of the same color in a strip mall. Other than having left a few drops of blood, there was no evidence of her being in the house on Durfrene Row.
However, two of the victims, if she could bring herself to call them that in light of what they seemed to be, had seen her face. The thing in the mask and the beautiful icy woman, both of which didn’t seem human. But as they had an opportunity to use the police and clearly passed, Penelope knew that they weren’t interested in reporting the crime to the authorities.
So who reported me to the police? McAdams was looking for me or someone dressed just like me. His eyes glittered as soon as he caught sight of me. Penelope thought about it. A neighbor? The men on the street I bumped into? And there were more important questions to answer. For example, just what in the name of jumping Jehoshaphat is going on here?
They want the gemstone back. Penelope’s inner voice suddenly spoke up. The weird rock that gives me the willies to even touch it with bare fingers. They…need it. And I have it.
The abrupt conclusion startled Penelope. She had taken something very precious, and they would do anything to get it back. They weren’t nice. They weren’t normal. In fact, they might not even be human, and that was the part that really had her knees knocking together.
There were always stories to be heard from Jacob’s old crew at the tavern. She had casually listened about thieves who messed with the wrong people and paid the price, but Jeremy and she had always been careful. However, it was the idea of easy money. His friend, Jobe, from the security company, had caught a glimpse of the safe’s contents and knew the combination. He also knew that most people don’t change their combinations after they get the safe installed. So for a finder’s fee, Jobe had contacted Jeremy. Jobe had come through for Jeremy before. After all, he had sincere access, and if he wasn’t caught robbing the place himself, then hiding a cash amount in his girlfriend’s house was worth the risk.
After watching the Durfrene Row house, Penelope had thought it would be an in-and-out job. She’d be putting the cash in her pocket before the owner could think to report it stolen to the police. That was the way it usually worked. Not human. They’re not human. That wicked inner voice spoke to her. And now Jeremy is one of them.
It was a preposterous notion. Of course, they’re human. Of course they are. They’re just very, very strange. They managed to track me somehow. Logical deduction of where I would go and a willingness to do what they had to do in order to get the gemstone back. Her own mental reassurance made her sigh, and the thought made her wonder what the black stone really was and what it was really worth. If it was something very rare, then it would be hard to unload. In that case, Penelope knew she’d be better off simply tossing it down the nearest sewer. But that inference was oddly dismaying, and in the end she didn’t know what would happen.
They’re still after you, the annoyingly interfering inner voice informed her. You know that. You think it’s safe. It isn’t. Deal with it, Pen. Because if you won’t, they will.
“Brown-Eyed Girl” died away, and a disc jockey said, “That was Van Morrison. And hey, if you didn’t get to Trinity Fest last night, you missed the fireworks show of the century. Of course, most folks missed the trouble last night. It seems someone went a little nuts on a DART train and tried to brain a Dallas City Police Officer. The officer is at Parkland Hospital in critical condition, and his name hasn’t been released to the public yet, but I’ll keep you oldies fools informed. Next we have a little Beatles, a little Herman and the Hermits, and my personal favorite, ‘Love Potion No. 9’ by the Searchers. Yessiree. No crummy remakes here.”
The pale strains of “Hey Jude” followed up the disc jockey’s announcement, but by that time Penelope was off in another world. The police officer was still alive. She could actually breathe a little better with that news. Critical condition didn’t sound so hot, but he was alive. The only conclusion she could come to was that if those people were going to keep coming, then she needed to know everything she could about them. But especially about the jewel they wanted. It reminded her of another oft-quoted Jacob Quick axiom; knowledge is power.
Penelope cut off a fat man in an Audi and didn’t notice when he honked the horn impatiently at her. Nor did she notice the other car following her.
*
Will picked up his cell phone while he expertly directed the Lexus through the increasingly heavy traffic. The closer they got to the elaborate system of interstates that run around and through downtown Dallas, the busier the traffic. It was getting harder to follow the thief ,and if she happened to look up and see him there, then it was going to get even harder. She wasn’t stupid, after all, just rattled from her experiences.
He smiled wryly. The outsiders wouldn’t know what to do if a seatco came upon them. But the thief had escaped in spectacular fashion. Not only had she evaded the seatco but also the shadow people and whatever evil thing that Merri had become. She was still alive, and that spoke volumes about her courage and ability to think quickly.
Blinking tiredly, he watched the tail lights of the VW Jetta as it turned onto I-30 headed toward the middle cities of the metroplex. It started mixing with a dozen other cars, and Will decided to cut the thief off at the pass. He pushed a button on the cell phone that started a prerecorded number. He didn’t use the number very frequently, but it was on his speed-dial for a specific reason these days.
“Swann,” a deep voice answered.
“Jim,” Will said, “I need your help.”
“William Littlesoldier!” Jim Swann exclaimed. “You need to stop all your work at those fancy white museums and come back! Those Texans need an Indian cultural anthropologist like they need another hole in their heads. Of course, some of them do need another hole in their heads. To let all the evil spirits messing around in their tiny brains get out.”
“Jim,” Will said patiently. The Jetta was now about five car lengths ahead of him and headed for a complicated split in the road. She could go left. She could go right. And if Will wasn’t right behind her, then he was going to lose her. He wasn’t used to doing this kind of work. Sitting down the street from an unmoving house was one thing, but this was something altogether different, and his eyes were burning with fatigue. “You know why I’m here.”
Jim sighed reluctantly. “I know, I know. But the tribe is like the walking dead in that old movie. They move around. They shuffle. They mourn for what they believe is to come. They take care of business, but it isn’t the same. Come back, Will, pretty damn quick.”
“I have a license plate number,” Will said, unable to answer the unspoken questions that his old friend Jim Swann was asking. “Are you close to Anthony yet? Will you succeed?”
“You want the name and address?” Jim said. “A Texas license plate?”
“You’re hooked up to the state computer, right?” Will persisted. “As a reservation cop, you can do that.”
“Yeah, but I have to have a reason.”
“Tell them it belongs to a suspected thief who stole the Tears of the Spirit from Anthony. A woman.”
“She did,” Jim’s voice was full of awe. “Buy that woman a drink, man. Give me the plate number. I’ll think of something good. If she’s a thief, then she won’t be complaining about me running her numbers. Call you back in about ten minutes.”
Disconnecting the phone, Will watched as the thief in the Jetta merged to the right and headed due west. She kept t
o the speed limit, which made it easier for him to follow.
Will badly wanted to know what her given name was, what her parents called her so that he could get a handle on the inner workings of her soul. Can I trust a thief? It made him think of the legends about one of the animal-god icons of his tribe. In legend, the coyote was the trickster, the one who bedeviled the people, but Coyote also had a good heart and would help the people in his own roundabout manner.
It suddenly occurred to him that a clever woman like that might even have stolen the car in order to make the heist. The original plates might not even belong to her. Will needed to stick to her like glue until he could speak with her. Perhaps she just might believe him. But would she help him? Perhaps if she truly knew that her life was at risk, then she would. But how much convincing would that take?
The phone rang exactly eight minutes after Will had disconnected it. Jim said breathlessly, “The car is registered to one Penelope Quick. It is not reported as being stolen. She lives in Arlington, Texas. You sound like you’re driving, so can you remember the address?”
“I can remember,” Will said.
Jim gave him the address and wished him good luck.
Then Will abruptly lost Penelope in heavy traffic. Just in front of him, a Cadillac Escalade cut off a Toyota Tacoma, and a flurry of angry honking ensued. By the time Will got around the problem, the VW Jetta had vanished almost as if it had never been there.
*
Penelope barely noticed the bout of activities on the freeway behind her.
Her overactive thoughts had finally slowed to a crawl. All she really wanted at the moment was to fill up her growling stomach and get home to take another much-needed long hot shower. She knew that she was clean, but she could still get a whiff of river water when her hair swung over her shoulder, and in a way she was still itching to get the touch of the monstrous man in the kachina mask off her flesh.
Shadow People Page 9