The rain started then, a sudden shower. The crowd was gone as suddenly as the rain had come, standing underneath the eaves of the buildings, holding newspapers over their heads, the women shrieking, the men calmly and methodically moving them to dry overhangs, into shops. Ted ran faster, but the wet stones of the street were slick and he nearly lost his footing. The man in green shouted something again, and Ted looked back at him. The desperate look on the man’s face did nothing to comfort Ted, and neither did the fact that now, just now, he was passing the temple square. The rain poured furiously and pooled up in the center drains on the streets. Ted’s feet kicked up waves as he ran toward his apartment. The man in green was gaining—Ted could hear his pursuer’s footsteps over the pounding of the rain. He lost his footing, slid a few feet, windmilled his arms and slammed into the ground. He flew forward through a puddle, his entire body wet and his mobile phone smashing to pieces as it hit the ground. The man in green tripped over Ted’s body, flew beyond him and hit the cobbles, hard, with his face.
Ted struggled to his feet, but the man in green stayed on the ground, on his knees in a puddle. Ted stepped past the man in green, trying to stay out of reach, but the man grabbed hold of Ted’s leg. Ted pulled away, panting, aching. He couldn’t run anymore. Something in his leg burned, and it felt like his hip had popped out of joint. He could hardly stand.
The man in green tried to stand and Ted punched him in the face as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground. When the man tried to stand again Ted punched him again, catching him under the eye and knocking him back to the ground. He followed it with a kick that landed somewhere between stomach and shoulder. The man in green spit blood into the street and then crawled toward Ted. “What do you want from me?” Ted yelled. He pushed his soaked hair from his face. “What do you want?” He stepped backward, away from the wretched man.
The man in green looked to the rain-drenched temple, as if weighing it. He turned his face back up to Ted and held his palms out toward him and rattled off a sentence that Ted could not follow, but it was not the slurred rant of the day before. “Shuo yi bian,” Ted said. “Say it again.”
The man began to sob, his shoulders shaking. He put his hands flat on the pavement and an anguished cry echoed off the walls of the shops, the temple, the restaurants.
The man in the green sweater did not look up from the ground when he spoke. “Duib uqi,” he said, choking on his own voice. “Wo b u yao da ni. Duib uqi.” I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hit you.
Ted stood there, letting the rain use him like a drum. He did not know what to do. He did not know where to put his hands. He could not move, could not think. His hip hurt. His face burned where it had skid along the stone. His entire hand ached, though his knuckles hurt the worst and seemed to be swelling already.
The man looked back up to Ted, his lips drawn back and showing his teeth, mucous and tears and saliva and blood all running from the man’s face and gathering in the rainwater below him. The man tried to draw breaths but only deep wheezing sobs would come. Ted kneeled down beside him in the rain. The man could not even look at him. Ted cautiously took hold of the man’s forearms and told him through his hands that it didn’t matter, that he forgave him. The man shook his head violently, the tears unstoppable. He looked again at the temple and shook his head as if clearing a troubling thought or a bad dream. He looked up to Ted, locked eyes with him, his hands tightening on Ted’s sleeves. His sobs subsided to short jerks of breath.
“Wo nüer bingle,” he said, and the great effort of saying those words told Ted that the man was confiding something in him, was asking something from him. He searched the man’s face for a clue, some sign of how to respond, but all he saw was the bruise forming beneath his eye where Ted had punched him, and a knot on his forehead where it had hit the paving stones.
“I don’t understand,” Ted said. “Your daughter is sick? What do you want me to do? Ni yao shenme?”
And the next words took Ted a moment to translate in his head. He looked to the puddle of water between them while he searched for the meaning of the words, and when he found it he looked back to the man in confusion, for he had said, “Please come to my house, and pray for her.”
Ted tried to formulate an answer. He stared at the cobbled street and the stream of water rushing past him to the drains. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He looked up again to the man, and the man stood and gathered the pieces of Ted’s mobile phone. He placed them in Ted’s hands. Ted could not see a way to repair it. A chunk of the casing was gone, the screen was cracked, the antenna snapped in half. The man stood ten feet behind him now, gesturing toward another street and calling to him. Ted wondered if he should stand and follow him. He wondered if he could just go home, and what Camilla would say.
Another minute passed and the man’s shoulders fell. He turned and began to walk away, looking at Ted one last time, imploringly. Then the rain lightened and at last stopped, and a flood of people washed around him. For a brief moment Ted could see the man’s green sweater in that tide, sweeping through the new and golden sunlight. Then the man in the green sweater was gone, replaced with a thousand like him, all streaming toward the market, or the temple, or distant, unseen destinations. Ted stood unmoving for a moment, searching for one last glimpse of green. Then the crowd swept him toward home, the temple at his back and receding. He turned back once to see it, but the sun flooded everything and he saw only a brilliant and unutterable whiteness beyond the bridge, a construction of light and moisture, as if a mighty hand had reached down and spread a curtain over the temple, as if the ground had swallowed it.
He would hold Andy when he got home and not think of the sick girl or her father at all, not for hours afterwards; he would only think on this edifice of light. He would reflect on the peculiar way the light washed the temple from the sky. Ted touched his hip and limped toward home, eager to see Camilla’s face in the window, eager to lift his hand in greeting and show her that he was safe, and that they were beyond all harm.
BLIND DOG DETECTIVE
S. J. KESSEL
The rain drenched everything; nothing and nobody escaped. Grand River Avenue’s pavement shined from gas vapors released by cars on the unusually dark Wednesday afternoon. Traffic inched along the street as a truck delivered supplies to Flat’s Restaurant a block down. Ace Jackson observed the scene through the window of his shabby, but thankfully dry office. He stretched his long arms and placed them behind his head, holding his short brown hair. Currently, there was no work for the detective to complete. Jackson enjoyed the break while it lasted, because it didn’t last long.
Two girls opened the glass windowed door that read “Jackson Investigations” and entered the office. They remained as close to the exit as possible, scanning Jackson and his surroundings. Neither of them looked impressed. To be honest, Jackson wasn’t impressed either.
He gave the girls his full attention from the seat behind his desk. Both were skinny and beautiful in a way that few girls are, but many young girls want to be. They could have been models. One was a brunette. Jackson mentally placed her age as nineteen, trying to pass for twenty-one. She wore jeans and a tight sequenced top. Her body language clearly expressed that she was both unhappy with the recent rainy weather and with being in the detective’s office.
The second girl had blonde, shoulder-length hair. She somehow remained untouched by the rain, wearing exquisite makeup. Jackson would have bet good money her entire wardrobe held designer labels. She looked to be of drinking age and proud of it.
College students. Jackson hated college students as clients. Half of them were intoxicated, petty, or paid late. The other half wouldn’t need any service he could provide. Whenever the former came to his office, Jackson would always be reminded of how stupid he had been to locate his office across the street from a major party school. At least the cases were easy when the kids had the money. A freshman would want a few treasured possessions back from a failed roommate.
No big deal and no police involvement. All Jackson would have to do was flash around the word “detective” to the roommate and the problem would be solved. Case closed.
The blonde stepped forward giving Jackson a confident smile that was clearly meant to make him fall in love with her. It didn’t work. Jackson had known too many girls over the years for that trick to work anymore.
“Are you Detective Jackson?” The blonde’s voice was as sweet and nice as her appearance.
Jackson gave one slow nod. He didn’t feel like speaking. Maybe there was still a chance the college models would go away.
The blonde didn’t scare easy. She took another step toward Jackson’s desk. In the small space of the office, she was only several feet away from him. Her expensive perfume radiated in his direction. “I have a situation I’d like resolved.” The blonde smiled again.
Jackson stared at the girl. He swore if this girl had lost her precious poodle or something, he would leave Michigan and never return.
“He doesn’t want to help us. I told you, we can handle this on our own.” The brunette said. She was more observant than she looked. His face had remained, as usual, perfectly blank. He ignored her.
“Who are you and what’s your situation?” Jackson waved at two well used, scratched chairs at forty-five degrees to his left. The girls didn’t sit in them. Jackson supposed they didn’t want to stay long and the blonde probably thought the chairs were too dirty for her. All the better.
“I’m Mary Wellington and this is my friend Anne Marsden,” blonde Wellington smiled while motioning to the brunette. “My laptop was stolen last night, I reported it to the police, but I’d prefer a fast and discrete return to a long investigation.”
Why would a college kid care about discretion? Jackson opened his mouth to speak. He was going to go into how the young ladies should rely on the campus police. He didn’t get to.
“We know who stole it.” Wellington smiled again, possibly impressed with her own knowledge.
“Her name is Jane Hansom. She was visiting Alpha Kappa house last night.” Marsden finally spoke up from by the door. “She’s a sophomore and lives in the dorms.”
Sorority? Figures.
“If there were witnesses to Miss Hansom’s theft, then the police should have no problem—”
“There were no witnesses to the actual theft,” Wellington stated as though there should have been an “obviously” at the beginning of the sentence. “Jane was a pledge earlier this fall. She didn’t get in. I’m a major part of why she was rejected,” Wellington continued as she took another step forward, to stand immediately in front of his desk. “This is her lame attempt at revenge.”
Jackson leaned his chair back on two legs, teetering for a few seconds before bringing all the legs down again. “What is it you want me to do exactly, Miss Wellington?” Jackson questioned.
“Please, call me Mary.” Her smile remained fixed in place. Jackson resisted grimacing at the younger girl. He had no intention of calling her Mary. “And I want you to get me my laptop back. It’s a small, silver, and very expensive Gateway.”
Jackson stared at her.
“I need it for several of my classes and I detest using the computer labs. All I am asking is that you return my computer to me by Friday. The police can’t do that. And I don’t really care if Jane the Idiot is punished. She obviously already has problems if she’d steal my laptop. I want what’s mine. And I can pay you.”
Hearing the magic words, Jackson let out a sigh. He’d take the case. Easy money. Plus, nothing that the girls had said, besides their actual presence, had put up any immediate red flags that should stop him.
“A hundred dollars a day, plus any expenses.”
Jackson’s price seemed to have gotten Marsden’s full attention. “We can do this ourselves, Mary. Just because your dad has threatened . . .” Marsden seemed to have stopped herself from giving something away. “It’s too expensive.” She finished.
Wellington hadn’t seemed phased by Jackson’s price. But Jackson had detected her smile falter at the mention of her father. He tucked that fact away. “Do you have a picture of Jane Hansom?”
Mary took a photo out of her elegant black purse and handed it to
Jackson. He made sure that his fingers didn’t touch hers.
The picture was of a group of girls. They all wore pink shirts with the word “pledge” on them. One’s face was circled with pen marks. Jane Hansom was beautiful, but in a natural quiet way that Mary Wellington could never comprehend. Hansom’s smile looked forced, but even the photo showed that her eyes sparkled with intelligence. “Do you know her schedule?” Jackson didn’t bother to ask for her address. He could check that from the MSU website. Gotta love technology.
“She has class at 3 in the Kiva of Erickson Hall. Besides that, the nerd probably spends most of the day in her dorm,” said Marsden.
“That’s all I need for the time being. I’ll contact you tomorrow with my progress, Miss Wellington.” He’d check their address and phone numbers on the website as well.
After Wellington paid cash for the day, Jackson went online to msu.edu. Turns out Hansom was a psych major and a member of the honors college. Jackson wrote down her room number. Within 20 minutes of Wellington’s insistence that Jackson not hesitate to call at any time and the girls leaving his office, the rain had stopped. He closed up for the day and went to his car to head towards Mason Dormitory.
JACKSON PARKED ILLEGALLY and rolled down his windows despite the remaining humidity from the rain shower. While the other side of Grand River Avenue had been dark, cold and wet, entering campus had taken Jackson to a brighter world. The remnants of the storm seemed like dew in the green grass of the campus. Here, birds chirped. Squirrels and chipmunks chased each other around trees. It was hard to believe he was only a hundred feet from the traffic and noise pollution of Grand River. Uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat.
He watched as a young boy, probably the son of one of the female students talking on a patch of grass, played with a long stick. The boy broke the stick in half against a tree, then tried to put the two pieces back together. Jackson knew from experience it wouldn’t work. The crack would remain. Broken things tended to stay that way.
There was still over an hour until Hansom needed to be in Erickson Hall, so Jackson was surprised when she came out of the far exit of Mason. Miss Hansom liked to be at class early. She probably never missed.
The girl went to unlock her bike. Her backpack shifted as she bent down. She’d obviously overloaded it. Only a matter of time until that broke too. She probably carried the laptop with her. Jackson waited until she had gotten on her bike and was riding in the direction of Berkey Hall to start his car. He followed her direction when she was out of sight. Hansom was not heading toward Erickson Hall.
The mystery of her destination was solved when the girl peddled to the side of the Student Union. Jackson motored past her, going only the speed limit unlike most drivers, and managed to park in the only metered parking spot left. Grabbing an empty backpack from the passenger side of his car that he kept for just such occasions, he exited the car. He paid too much for a mere 35 minutes of parking time and avoided getting hit by oncoming traffic to follow Hansom, who had just finished locking her bike to a rack. He wasn’t too surprised to notice Marsden locking up a bike at the side door of the Union. She locked eyes with Jackson. The girl was following them. Jackson swallowed his irritation. He needed to keep Marsden away from Hansom so he could do his job.
Jackson entered the Union five yards behind Hansom. Thankful that she did not go into the women’s lounge, he watched as she entered Beaners Café. Jackson proceeded to walk to the right to meet Marsden as she entered the main floor from the side of the building. Once she was outside of the stairwell he surprised her and took her by the arm, bypassing Beaners and leading her towards the food court. He guided her to stand in line with him at Subway. There was a window between Beaners and the dining area beside
Subway. He watched as Hansom received her four-dollar coffee and sat down. No sign of the silver laptop.
Students filled the food court, cramming for tests, talking loudly, and enjoying unhealthy fast food. Marsden had remained silent thus far, but her patience appeared to have run out.
“What are you doing?” She spoke through gritted teeth.
Jackson tried to hold back his own temper. “I could ask you the same thing.” They remained silent until the Subway employee asked for their orders. Marsden ordered some fancy fruit smoothie. Jackson asked for a Coke. Fast. Caffeinated. Cheap.
After receiving their drinks (Marsden’s took three minutes to make), Jackson proceeded past the main lounge area and toward the front door of the Union still clutching Marsden by the arm.
“Stay out of my investigation.”
Outside on the steps, Marsden made a tisking noise. “You know, Mary’s not the only one affected. I don’t trust you to do the job.”
Jackson tried not to think about the possible meaning behind her first comment. Red flag. “I can’t do the job with you here. Hansom knows you. She has never seen me before. You’re putting my work at risk. I don’t want to see you near Hansom again. Go away.”
Releasing the girl, he turned and reentered the Union without looking back at Marsden. She’d listen. As he had spoken, his grip on her arm had tightened. She’d listen.
Jackson went into the main lounge, taking a seat where he could see the path between Beaners and the exit where Hansom’s bike was located. He crossed his arms, put his foot up on the small table in front of him and attempted to look like a grad student contemplating a philosophical issue that no real person ever worried about.
At 2:30, Hansom left Beaners and the Union. Jackson followed at a safe distance, put several dimes in the meter to buy his car several expensive minutes and made the long trek to Erickson at a lazy stroll.
A little over ten minutes later, Jackson entered Erickson Hall’s Kiva and sat down in the nearest seat. Gotta love big lecture classes. There were already 40 to 50 people at various desks. He was surprised to realize Hansom sat toward the back, near another exit. She had struck Jackson as the kind of girl that liked to sit in the first row. He stared around the room as any bored student would. The room was still only half full. Most of the students would probably wait to enter until five minutes before the class began. He watched as Hansom took out a small silver laptop from her backpack. Bingo. She went through the process of starting up the computer’s system.
MIdnight Diner 1: Jesus vs. Cthulhu Page 22