The Art of Madness

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The Art of Madness Page 2

by A. J. Mayall


  He stood in the small office that was more like her second home. A set of stairs led to Phoenix’s loft ahead of him, her desk was to his left and the waiting lounge with a flat screen television was to his right. On a nearby wall, a set of newspaper clippings documented recent escapades.

  “Private Investigator Foils Mob Takeover”, “Lost Masterpiece Discovered by Private Eye”, and “Phoenix McGee Finds Lost Couple” were but a few of the headlines Phoenix managed to earn in the short time he’d been in business. Unfortunately, the recognition had not brought an influx of customers.

  Suzette did her best to smile, an action to which she was not accustomed. “Would you like some coffee? If you want decaf, I’ll have to run across the street for you.”

  Jeremy could sense she didn’t look at you, she analyzed you, dissected you with that gaze, collated if need be, before filing you into her memory.

  “Coffee sounds great.”

  Phoenix was in a room behind and to the right of Suzette’s desk, watching the security monitor amid a massive pile of unused gadgetry. It was a substantial part of his investment in opening the agency, and a constant reminder of the debt he owed.

  He checked the notes. A husband suspected infidelity; Stygus might be involved. Where he saw cause for alarm, he also saw dollar signs. His gaze returned to the screen that showed the office. As Suzette talked Jeremy up, Phoenix looked to the right-hand wall, which functioned as a floor-to-ceiling white board, with his budget for the month.

  Marital trust issues meant a rich field to harvest a commission. He could get in the black if he upsold the hell out of this case.

  Phoenix watched Suzette spin on her chair and push across the room with one foot, stopping herself with the other when she approached the snack area near the entryway to the back room. She blew a wisp of raven hair that came loose from the bun and fell on her cheek, then rose, seemingly to grab Jeremy a cup of coffee.

  The man looked like an overworked and slightly overstuffed ferret in a polo shirt and slacks, eyes darting about the room.

  “Can I get you any cream or sugar, or a substitute, maybe?” Suzette asked, through a saccharine smile. “Let me check the back to see how much we have,” she said before Benton had a chance to respond.

  Phoenix looked up as she entered.

  “Okay, I hope you’re ready, because I’m peopled out for the day,” she whispered, making sure the client didn’t hear her. Phoenix knew it was out of character for her to be nice, but she faked it for the pay. She might not be a people person, but she knew not to drive away business.

  “I’m looking over what we need for this.”

  “You. Go. Help the client, Phoenix,” Suzette growled under her breath. She pulled out a few sugar packets and sweeteners for Jeremy from a drawer, tagging him in by dropping them in his hand.

  Phoenix strode past her, shoulders squared. He gave Jeremy his coffee in a mug emblazoned with a picture of the Vatican.

  “Mr. Benton, I’m sorry for the delay. Please tell me why you need my help.” Phoenix ran his fingers through his hair, wiping off excess gel on his jeans. A moist paisley pattern appeared where his fingers gripped the denim.

  Your first move: hand the coffee to the client. You can’t say no to the guy who gave you your coffee. Hook.

  “Well, my wife, Margaret…things haven’t been normal lately. She’s stayed late at work, something about side projects. I didn’t give it much thought until I found another man’s boxers in the back seat of our car,” Jeremy responded, keeping his gaze averted.

  Phoenix redirected the topic of conversation; he could learn the intimate details later. For clients this worked up, you had to put on the kid gloves.

  “You work for…” he paused as he reviewed the files Suzette had prepared, “…Prescott Electronics. I heard about your buyout a few weeks back.”

  Benton relaxed a little. Phoenix knew polite small talk would calm Jeremy some, but the stresses of the day were a bit much for him to just turn off. He sat, holding the mug with a meek smile.

  “It’s been a change on all fronts. I’m not the happiest with it, but a job is a job. Heck, I met Margaret there.”

  Phoenix made a note to look into Mrs. Benton’s colleagues; she could have found another office romance. He reviewed the file once more and sat near Jeremy, smiling kindly. Phoenix placed his left hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and leaned in, raising his eyebrows as he did so.

  Follow the first impression with secure and comforting body language. Line.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Mr. Benton, but you need to ask yourself if you’re sure you want to know the truth.”

  He gave the shoulder a few pats as Jeremy shook, fighting back tears.

  Trust issues.

  “I’m sorry for falling to pieces,” Jeremy said, wiping his eyes. “This wasn’t what I was expecting. I was considering that other agency, Pyramidion, but your reviews…I’ve seen you in the newsfeeds but I thought you’d be…”

  Phoenix finished his sentence, “Shorter, I get that a lot.”

  “You Catholic?” Benton asked, pointing to the mug.

  “No, but I have a friend who works at the Vatican; he sent us the mug as a thank-you gift for a favor.”

  Suzette watched Phoenix on the monitors; he was giving Benton what Suzette called the Number Four. In three minutes, either Benton would be signing the documents and negotiating higher prices, due to more expensive surveillance measures, or they would be in a post-signing handshake.

  The Number Four never failed. Heaven knows how many times he had avoided getting the power turned off due to that fun little bit of psychology.

  When Suzette returned from the back office, she blinked in mock surprise to Mr. Benton, signing a hard copy of a contract placed before him.

  Phoenix turned a bit so he was between Suzette and the client. He reached a hand behind his back and gave her a thumbs-up, then opened his hand three times. Jeremy had signed for the more expensive measures that meant an additional fifteen percent fee.

  “Mr. Benton, have a good day. We will call you when and if we need to use any of the more intimate measures.

  Sinker.

  “Thank you, Mr. McGee. I apologize for being emotional. I’ve been run ragged by this whole thing.” He checked the time. “I should head out; a project of mine needs attention.”

  Suzette attempted another smile. Jeremy nodded to them and excused himself. Suzette’s posture stiffened as Phoenix peeked around the corner of her desk and went to the blinds, ensuring the man was out of earshot.

  “The Number Four, you gave that guy the Number Four…” She placed a hand to her face, holding back a wicked smile.

  “Suzette, stop calling it ‘The Number Four’. So, I greased him over a bit with some kindness and sympathy to our benefit, sue me.” He grinned at her, feeling proud of himself on this one.

  Suzette checked the time and motioned to the door. “Lucky is opening his cart, go get some slawdogs. Try to avoid guns this time, and actually bring me back some food, would you?”

  “Fine, I deserve that. Be right back,” Phoenix said as he stepped back outside.

  He breathed in the warm afternoon air of the canyon metropolis as he walked the busy streets. Being in the middle of the high-end merchant sector had its benefits when it came to a cheap meal. Nothing readied him for a busy workday like one of Lucky’s Apple Onion Slawdogs. It was three blocks before he ran into his favorite food cart, the whir of the metropolis buzzing around him all the while.

  Every town is known for something, and Rouge Mal, Nevada, the Bad Red, was a home for the outsider. It had been a few decades since laws about the public use of “superpowers” and matters “supernatural” were pushed through Congress. If you were lucky enough to have abilities or attributes beyond those of normal men, you had to carry your Black Card.

  The laws changed over the years. At first, they were restrictive. As understanding of the hows and whys of the supernatural Stygus and the supe
rpowered Omnus grew, their rights had broadened but for a few barely objectionable limits.

  These days, the concepts of the supernatural and superpowered were banal. It allowed for specialty shops, and ad campaigns occasionally featured the more colorful citizens. For anyone who stood outside the norm, the laws on use of their abilities were just a part of daily life.

  This was not true for one man a few blocks away from getting his favorite food.

  Phoenix had his fifteen minutes of fame, coincidentally, when he was fifteen; an ancient order known as The Cloister chose him to channel and manipulate “the clockwork nature of the universe”. At first, it sounded like the boasting of a teen seeking attention, but became a topic for closer study by the law. The court case had been kept local, but threats to take it to higher courts persisted. The problem with the State vs. McGee case was an inability to classify him.

  Phoenix submitted himself to many tests, which yielded no results. As part of getting their Black Cards, potential Omnus and Stygus were scanned; their auras indicated their classification. If anything, the average “normal” citizen had a more brilliant aura than the red-haired boy, the crux of his defense. For all legal purposes, he was a normal human being; the restrictions on Omnus and Stygus did not and would never apply to him. However, neither could he enjoy their legal protections.

  Today, he needed lunch, which involved waving to his favorite street vendor and ordering a full bag of his famous Slawdogs. It was a tradition broken by a twenty dollar bill thrust in front of him.

  “I’ll cover his bill.”

  Phoenix recognized the voice; he stared into the steel gray eyes and ivory smile of Gregori Stevenson, lead investigator for Pyramidion Investigations. A few run-ins in the recent past had soured Phoenix to their offices, and especially Gregori.

  “Christ on a crutch, what now?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Gregori Stevenson stood an even six feet in height, with shoulders so square, you could put a level on them and his vertebrae could chat with the bubble. Phoenix had no idea what a cheap suit looked like, but he liked to think the gray two-piece Gregori wore was. It was easy to hate a man in a cheap suit.

  “What the hell do you want, Stevenson?”

  “I’ve been assigned to keep tabs on you, and frankly, I thought a professional courtesy was in order.”

  Gregori smiled, well-practiced in making it look genuine. Phoenix, however, knew better.

  “Professional courtesy, my ass. You’re gloating.” Phoenix lifted his hands in defeat. “You have my attention; who’s putting eyes on me?”

  “Francesca DiMarco. Seems you owe her a lot of money. Thought you were doing good for yourself, new kid.”

  “Shut up, Stevenson,” Phoenix hissed. “Come to rub it in my face?”

  “Not at all.” He grinned like a viper, eyes narrowing. “I came to give you an out.”

  Lucky looked between the two private investigators. Money was being offered to him, but his regular wasn’t happy about it.

  Phoenix looked at the vendor and nodded. He may dislike Gregori, but a free lunch was a free lunch. He paused, as Lucky bagged up his order, signaling to him to keep adding more.

  “I’m listening.”

  Gregori realized too late he was being taken for every penny possible. “When we heard DiMarco was looking to track you, wanting to make sure you knew tabs were being put on you, we jumped at the chance. When we found out why, we insisted on taking the contract.”

  “Enlighten me. Why?”

  “We could use talent like you.”

  “Pyramidion only hires Omnus. I’m not Omnus, and you know it, so…”

  “You have all that power at your disposal.”

  Phoenix glared at him. “You’ve been getting calls about your hiring practices, and you want to bring on a ‘normal’ to show you’re on the up and up. Who cares if that ‘normal’ happens to be able to fly and lift buildings?”

  Gregori’s smile widened. “I knew you’d understand. Wouldn’t it benefit you to share your talents instead of locking yourself away, barely making ends meet?”

  “I like where I am, thank you,” Phoenix muttered under his breath, taking the bag of slawdogs from Lucky.

  “We’ll pay off all your debt. You can keep your little home, have steady income, and call on us for backup if you need it. Where’s the downside?”

  “I wouldn’t be my own boss. I’d be hired for my powers and not my talents. Oh, not to mention, Pyramidion tried this before and fuck you sideways.”

  “McGee, come on. We can help you.”

  Stevenson produced a card and handed it over to Phoenix, the familiar triangular logo of Pyramidion in white over their phone number atop the black card. Phoenix pocketed it. Closing shop and working for the big name in town was the last resort. If business continued its current downward trend, he might be forced to jump ship to save his home, or he’d default and be homeless and out of work. Which meant he’d go to Pyramidion, tail between his legs.

  “I’ll consider it,” McGee muttered. “Thanks for the grub, Stevenson. I gotta ask, if everyone at your place is Omnus, what’s your trick?”

  “You’re a detective, you tell me.”

  Phoenix grumbled and stormed back to his office.

  Gregori leaned on the brick wall and gave him an exaggerated wave. “I look forward to your call!”

  Phoenix burst through the front door to McGee Investigations, nearly throwing the bag in fury.

  “Change of plan, Suzette, bump Benton to the top of the pile. Also, I have a few things I want to say to your grandmother, if you wouldn’t mind being the messenger.”

  Suzette clicked her tongue and tensed her jaw, looking up at the red-haired beanpole of a man. “Oh great, what now?”

  “You know how Benton almost went to Pyramidion?”

  “What about ’em?”

  “Guess who hired them to tail me because I’m a little late with payment.” He slammed a fist on the doorjamb leading to his loft.

  “She didn’t,” Suzette said, frustration rising. “I’m sorry. You know how she gets.”

  Phoenix calmed himself, moving behind Suzette. “It’s fine. I’ll eat crackers and drink water until I pay her back every damn penny if that’s what it takes.”

  “How’d you find out about Pyramidion?”

  “That asshole Stevenson was at Lucky’s cart, told me she wants me to know I’m being watched.” He sat, rummaging through the haphazard pile of papers Suzette tried in vain to keep organized for him. “One second, I gotta see what’s on my docket. If I gotta scrounge for lost cats, I will.”

  He had a handful of insurance cases. It kept food on the table and paychecks coming to Suzette. The local insurance companies found his methods a bit reckless, but his reputation and outstanding track record kept him at the top of their lists. Undercutting Pyramidion by thirty percent didn’t hurt.

  He nearly lost himself to his lunch routine of checking email and bank statements. Keeping a proper schedule would be tight, but the insurance cases were easy. He liked it when people were honest. It meant less work and more time for interesting cases, “interesting” meaning “lucrative”.

  He grabbed his cell phone, tapping in Benton’s number, certain Jeremy would be at work by now. After a few rings, the milquetoast voice answered.

  “Mr. Benton, this is Phoenix McGee. Sorry to call so soon, but I have an opening for you today. Do you have the house to yourself for an hour? We can install those cameras and data collecting devices.”

  Speaking in hushed tones, Jeremy informed McGee he would take an extended lunch and meet him at his residence.

  “Most of this stuff is easy to set up. Just make sure we aren’t interrupted; I’d hate to be made before this whole thing starts. I need to check on a couple other clients, then I’ll be over. Give me two hours to get there?”

  “That sounds fine. My wife’s the head of security here and is currently consulting with some of the local police on a recent
event with some of the staff.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

  “Not that I know of, our NDAs are tight. Some of what we do, we can’t discuss with each other. Part of the buyout, you see. Heightened security measures all around.”

  “All right, I’ll see you in two hours.”

  Phoenix ended the call, and his lunch. He looked to Suzette, who chugged coffee and did case research.

  “Suzette, can you work up a file on Margaret Benton?”

  A grunt was her response as he heard furious typing and clicking, tapping screens. Research mode, activated.

  “I should have the basics up by the time you’re ready to leave. Five minutes, I assume?” she muttered, eyes darting across a half dozen dossiers.

  “Yep. Take my fliptop and swipe it over. I still have two insurance cases before meeting with Benton. Swipe the address over to me too. I’ll need the whole shebang for monitoring, plus a FogDrive.”

  “That’s quite a bit for a cheating wife.”

  “Fifteen percent extra; he checked off everything. Gonna give him what he paid for.”

  He passed the fliptop to Suzette, who sat it down, spun in her chair, and continued the momentum to fistbump him as he went to his loft.

  “Go get ready, McGee.”

  Phoenix bounded up the steps two at a time, opening the door to his loft, where he kept his “essentials”. These consisted of his beige trench coat and his necklace, a large silvery gear on a loop of leather, with a clasp on the back. If not for the chaos of the morning, he’d already be wearing them.

  He peeled off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. A few scars littered his body. He tossed the shirt onto his large bed, just to the left of a plush raccoon. The stuffed animal drooped to the side, which Phoenix rushed over to straighten up. Bouncer was, by far, his most cherished possession.

  “Sorry, buddy,” the man said with a smile. He gave the toy a wave as he got ready. A dress shirt replaced the t-shirt, as he plotted out the rest of the day in advance. Fly to the east end of town, monitor Mr. De Vega. A recent work accident left him on crutches; the doctors recommended he use a chair, but De Vega refused. Any signs of better mobility than that meant a quick snap of the camera and a report to the insurance company. Afterwards, verify the neck injury of Mrs. Wilson on the north end of town.

 

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