by Jon F. Merz
“Not Jackie?”
“Nah. Jackie wouldn’t have hurt him. She really enjoyed his company. When she told him she was leaving the gym, Derek was all broken up about it. They’d had such a good time together and now she was going to be out of his life again. He moped around here for a few days after she told him.”
“And that was the last time you saw him?”
“I saw him one last time, but he wasn’t moping. He was back to being his happy self again. We all thought he’d found someone new and moved on.”
“How long had Jackie been gone for at that point?”
“A week or two. Not exactly a long time, but I think she helped Derek remember who he was and that he was worthy of finding happiness in his life, too. Yeah, Jackie was gone, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t move on and find someone else who might be…I dunno…more permanent.”
“Do you know if he actually found someone new?”
“No,” said Bob. “No one around here did.”
“But his mood had lightened.”
“Definitely.”
“Any chance Jackie came back?”
“What-to the gym? No way. I would have known about it.”
“What if she didn’t come back to the gym, but just came back into Derek’s life. Could that have happened?”
“Well,” said Bob. “I mean, I guess so. We don’t necessarily know what happens in each other’s lives once we’re out of the gym here, but we talk. Derek didn’t say anything about her. I would have thought that he felt comfortable doing so if she was actually back.”
“Maybe she’d asked him not to,” I said. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone else knowing she was back.”
“So she could kill him?”
I paused. “I don’t know. It’s still a working theory.”
“It’s not a great one.”
I smirked. “Yeah, I’m definitely not in love with it, either. But it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
“You mind telling me why you’re running this down instead of working with the cops?”
“Who said I wasn’t working with the cops?”
“I dunno. Just seems like you’re lone wolfing this one.”
“I’m in touch with the cops. But there was another death recently in Boston. Similar MO to Derek’s death. So I’m interested in finding out all I can about the two victims and seeing if there are any similarities between the two.”
“Are there?”
“The gym,” I said. “And a woman who seems to have had an affinity for a certain type of man.”
“And what type would that be?”
“Broken, I think.” I didn’t know if I’d considered that Amalfi was broken. Maybe just bored. But Cousins was definitely broken. The two of them had something else in common: they were easy targets for a woman who’d set her sights on seducing them. I didn’t think it would have proven very difficult to successfully land either one. And Eileen or Jackie or whoever she was, had certainly proven that.
In blood.
“Can you do me a favor and write down everything you have on Jackie? I want to do some background checking on her.”
“Sure.” Bob opened his drawer and pulled out a notebook, popped it open, and then copied out some information. He tore the paper and handed it to me. “”Name, address, email, and phone.”
“No credit card?”
Bob smile. “This is a cash business, Lawson.”
I folded the paper and pocketed it. “Thanks for your help, Bob.”
He shook my hand. “I hope you find whoever killed him. Before the cops.”
I looked into his eyes, but there wasn’t anything else to say. We both knew how it was going to end if I found her first.
15
“We’ve gotten nothing else on Eileen,” said Niles a few minutes later after I called him again. “I’m guessing that if she had access to Luxe, it wasn’t as a tenant.”
“What-you think she was a on cleaning crew or something?”
“Elevator repair, catering company, she could have gained access any number of ways. Look at the training you’ve received. A secure building isn’t secure if you know how to penetrate it properly and without raising any alarms.”
“She would have needed to have access to the freight elevator, I would think,” I said. “Given what she was carrying in to use for that ceremony.”
“Maybe,” said Niles. “Or she had a really big bag. A piece of luggage? The point is, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to run down all of the possibilities.”
“Give it to the Ferrets. They love that shit. I don’t have time to run all over the place chasing dead ends.”
“What else do you have going on?”
“I’ve got to check back in with the Boston cop who is working the Cousins case.”
Niles paused. “How inquisitive is he?”
“About the same as any other cop with two unsolved murders on his beat.”
“He know about Amalfi?”
“Not for a fact, but he knows I’m interested in the Cousins case. And if his CSI guys pull DNA from the blood all over the Luxe unit, they’re probably going to find that they’re not from the same dude. Cousins’ blood will be mixed up with Amalfi.”
“Ugh,” said Niles. “The last thing we want is any forensics people taking too close of a look at Amalfi’s blood.”
“It won’t show anything unless they do a seriously in-depth screening of it.”
“It’s still not a good thing,” said Niles. “Tell me more about what happened at Luxe. In particular, the sigils you mentioned.”
“I’ve never seen them before. It’s not Taluk, that’s for sure.”
“Go see Wirek.”
“Really?”
“Why? You guys on the outs?”
“No,” I said. “It’s just that Wirek is on the Council now and I don’t know if it’s gotten to his head or not.”
Niles chuckled. “If anything, I think he’s the only one who could serve on the Council and remain unaffected by all the bullshit. Wirek’s seen the bottom of the barrel. I don’t think he’s in any rush to go back down there again.”
“I know it.” And I did. I was one of the people who had helped Wirek through the darkest points of his life. He’d been an alcoholic vampire. Which, if you understand how my kind processes alcohol, means the poor guy was downing a serious amount of liquor on a daily basis in order to stay drunk.
“He’s one of the only ones who can probably tell you what those sigils mean, Lawson. Go see him and find out what the hell we’re dealing with.”
I sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Call me if you turn up anything on Jackie.”
“I’m willing to bet it will be about as much as we’ve found on Eileen so far.”
“Probably so.” I hung up and dialed Wirek. He answered after four rings, just as I thought it was going to go to voicemail and I’d have to leave some corny message.
“Lawson?”
“Hey, dude…I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“I need your help.”
He paused. “I’m not really so much an Elder these days, Lawson. You know my primary responsibilities are with the Council now.”
“Yeah, but once and Elder, always an Elder. And I’ve got some stuff I’m dealing with that I don’t think anyone else can really figure out except for you. We’re dealing with some crap and I need the help. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
He paused again. “All right. You know where I am now?”
“You moved?” Wirek used to have a walk-up apartment on the backside of Beacon Hill. He could walk to the Council building, but the apartment itself had been a real shit hole. I knew he’d moved out of that one some time back when he started cleaning his life up, but I didn’t know where he was calling home these days.
“I bought your old house, Lawson.”
I shook my head. “What?”
“Your old family home. In Jamaica Plain. I bought it.�
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“What? Why the hell would you do a thing like that?” I’d kept the home for a long time but I’d sold it off when it became clear that I needed to disappear. I had too many enemies and they had access to far too much information about my whereabouts. For my own personal safety, I sold it and took a condo in the city and a bigger home in Medfield.
“Because I thought there might come a day when you’d want it back. And it didn’t seem right that just anyone should have it.”
Was I mad? I didn’t know. On one hand, it was cool to know that Wirek was living there and taking care of the place. But on the other hand, why hadn’t he told me? Part of knowing he was living there, felt…I dunno…almost like he was intruding into my world too much.
“Uh…okay. I guess I’ll see you in a little while then.”
“Okay.”
I hung up the phone and didn’t do anything for a few moments. Wirek was in my old house. Why? I shook my head. I couldn’t make sense of it now, and frankly, I couldn’t devote the necessary brain power to figuring it out. I had enough on my mind at the moment and Wirek’s peculiarities didn’t fit. I’d figure that crap out later.
Still, it was…weird.
I took my time driving into Jamaica Plain. I had a lot of history in the place. I’d grown up on an awesome street nestled between two beautiful parks: Jamaica Pond at one end and the Arnold Arboretum at the other. I used to spend hours at both places, an oasis for me whenever I was dealing with shit. I’d walk among the trees and watch the water and just think about life and how I couldn’t wait to get out into the real world and find my place.
Over the years, that home had been my connection to a lot of things in my past. When my father passed at an early age, the house was a reminder of him to me. I thought it was to be my destiny to hold onto the place forever; I thought he would have wanted that. It was only later I found out that he’d always figured on selling it eventually.
My ancestors had built the home and a bunch more in Jamaica Plain when they’d come over from Germany. We were carpenters. Well, most of us were. I didn’t seem to have inherited one ounce of carpentry skills aside from being able to hammer a nail if the occasion called for it. I could remember growing up and my dad would always have home improvement projects that needed doing. We’d replace the old window sashes when the rope wore away, fishing our hands into the shallow crevice to pull the weights out, run fresh rope, and reinstall them.
I hated every minute of it.
To my father, this was how he passed on his knowledge. To me, it was mind-numbingly boring stuff. I was full of ideas of stuff I wanted to explore and not one of them involved stuff like using a drill or hanging a window. It just wasn’t in my blood.
I found out why later, of course. When I had my centennial and the Council informed me that my destiny lay elsewhere - specifically, that I was destined to become a Fixer - it all made sense. The dreams, the longing for adventure. My interests in all manner of things not normally associated with kids. It was simply the universe telling that I was going elsewhere. Not into carpentry.
And I had.
Nowadays, I look back on those memories not with a hatred of what they entailed, but with a fondness for the time I was able to spend with my father. I spent a lot of my youth hating him because he used to push me to try harder, do better, and to step out on my own when all I really wanted to do was retreat to my room with a load of books and read. He was a force of nature, my dad. His personality was bold. He walked into a room and people knew it. He was kind, though, and most never saw that.
It wasn’t until I came back from my first bout of Fixer training that our relationship changed from an adversarial one to one of friendship. It was the first time I can remember seeing the respect in his eyes. He knew a little of what I’d gone through. He knew a little of what my life would entail from that point forward. And I think he knew that you didn’t graduate from the training if you hadn’t seriously proven yourself to the instructors.
We talked a little about the danger my life would have in it. And I knew he was worried for me. But at the same time, I think he was happy that I’d found my calling. It wasn’t carpentry, and that was fine with him. But it was something noble and I think that meant a lot to him.
He died a few years later, leaving an aching hole in my heart that had taken me a long time to get over. In some ways, I don’t think you ever get over it completely. You just carry on, because that’s what you have to do. It’s life. And I’d certainly seen more than enough death since then - a lot of it by my own hand - to know that tomorrow is promised to no one. You just live as much as you can while you’re able to and hope that some day, what you’ve done isn’t condensed down to a few lines in a shitty obituary and you’re forgotten about a few weeks after that.
I swung down the VFW Parkway and merged on to Centre Street, bearing left and eventually passing the Faulkner Hospital where my father had ended up working later in his life. He’d never gone to medical school, but had somehow managed to obtain the respect of every doctor that worked there through his work running the laboratory. My father didn’t just tell me to do my best; he showed me how to by walking the walk. Even in the things he didn’t particularly like doing, my father always gave one hundred percent. There are those who help instill in you the qualities you’re going to need to do your job later in life - even if that job is completely removed from what they’re doing - and my father was that man. I owed him a lot; I owed him my life. If it hadn’t been for his upbringing, I don’t know that I would have been able to endure the Fixer training. But every time I thought about quitting, I knew I couldn’t.
And I didn’t.
At the rotary where Centre Street merged with the Jamaicaway, I eased in and then took the third option to merge onto the Arborway and then swung a quick right onto Prince Street.
My street.
I slowed the car as memories came flooding back into my head from years long since gone now. I passed Eric’s house at the top of the street, which had been home to an early childhood friend who happened to be an incredible genius. We used to ask him bizarre math problems like what is 43,127 multiplied by 1,087,232 and Eric would come up with the result. We had no idea if he was right or not (he was), but it didn’t matter.
I rode down past my other friend Eric’s house who had moved away early on. His house used to have the best trees for climbing and I made use of them extensively when we played hide and seek.
And then my closest pal growing up, Dennis’ house. He was one of a whole brood of kids and we used to hang out all the time until we grew up and grew apart.
And finally, my house.
Number 44.
Right in the middle of the street.
I pulled my car into a space and shut off the engine.
I was home.
16
Wirek greeted me at the door and we embraced. When he pulled away from me, I got a look at him for the first time in a number of months. He was older than I remembered him looking, but then again, he was already old when I first met him way back fifteen years ago. Deep lines still scored his face and bracketed his eyes and his face had the look of someone who had seen a lot of life. There was a depth to his eyes that felt almost like they could suck you in and never let go, as if they were beholden to secrets the likes of which would occupy both mind and soul for eternity.
He’d also trimmed his beard back again.
For an Elder, Wirek was a handsome dude. And women seemed drawn to him like moths to a flame.
“It’s good to see you, Lawson.”
“You as well.”
Wirek stepped back. “Please come in.”
It felt weird being invited into the home that I once owned, once grew up in. But as we crested the stairs to the second floor, it also felt like sliding back into an old pair of comfortable jeans. I knew this house better than anyone else, and it didn’t matter how many owners it passed through, the lifeblood of this place was still my family’s
blood. It would be that way until they tore it down.
The reception hall was still as I remembered it, leading out to the porch overlooking the street, while ahead to my eleven o’clock was the living room, at my twelve was the dining room, and one o’clock was the kitchen. To my immediate right, a hall ran away from me leading to the family room and further down a bathroom. Nestled between the hall and the dining room was another set of steps leading to the third floor where the bedrooms and another bathroom were located.
I took a moment and breathed it all in. Nostalgia is weird. You think you’re immune to it, that you’ve made peace with what you left behind. But then you come back to the place and it washes over you like a torrent of waves filled with emotion. I’m not usually so sentimental, but I had to admit, I missed the place.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Just taking it all in.”
Wirek had redecorated a little bit, giving the place his own touch, but the bones were all the same. Still the same. Still the place I remembered.
“Come, let’s sit.” Wirek led us into the living room, which now had more bookcases than I’d had. They were filled with all manner of ancient books - copies of the originals that were securely stored elsewhere. As an Elder, Wirek was charged with protecting the ancient knowledge of my race. Rituals, magic, history - all of it fell under his purview.
It was Wirek I’d turned to often over the years for his help in dealing with magic especially. That was not a field I understood much about. Nor did I want to. As far as I was concerned, things would be a lot simpler if we could dispense with magic.
But it was there. Always had been. Probably always will be.
I sat in a leather wing chair, smelling the aged leather as it embraced my back. “I need your help, old friend.”
Wirek sat opposite me. “What can I do to help?”
I gave him the brief rundown on what I was dealing with. Two killings, each probably the same killer. The MO, all of whatever I had. Which, I realized as I was talking to him, was not much.