Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

*****

  Later that day as the sun shrank behind the skyline Benny and I headed to a little hotel on the edge of the city. Structures of glass and fluorescent light slipped past on either side.

  “So they think it’s Selena?” I asked.

  “Report filed earlier today says the injured Enforcer identified Selena, yes.”

  My stomach turned into a pit. “Shit. And he’s reliable?”

  “It didn’t say ‘potentially Selena,’ so yes I guess he’s sure.”

  “I though she would have been miles away by now. I don’t get it. What the hell is she thinking?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out, buddy. But if I know Selena…” His words trailed off.

  I sighed. We drove on in silence. Part of me clung to the hope the identification had been wrong, but another part had already completed Benny’s unfinished sentence.

  “Notice you have your Active medal.”

  “Oh. I do, yes,” I replied, looking at it closely for the first time. A simple green square laminated in shining plastic.

  “Any trouble with it?”

  “Not really. One guy was pretty sneaky, but I did last minute damage control.”

  “Any word Delaney stirred up shit?”

  “None.”

  “Good.” He grinned in pride. “Congratulations. Won’t be long before we’re equals as far as the law goes.”

  “Still my Basics to worry about. I’d lie if I said I wasn’t concerned.”

  “It’s the theory part that really gets people. Everyone’s worried about the magic. They forget that text books are the real enemy. Been going through them, I assume?”

  “Enforcer Etiquette. History of Magical Laws. Not riveting subject material.”

  He chuckled knowingly. “That they are not.”

  There was a pause; I could sense wheels in his head cranking over.

  “Think you’ll pass?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Long way to come to be put down by text books.”

  I finished the thought. “You’re offering to help me cheat.”

  “Help you cheat?” He glanced at me with wounded indignance. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

  “Sorry. I just assumed.”

  “Assumptions can hurt, Jet. I’m your mentor, I’m responsible for your learning experience, and the Academy is…”

  “I know,” I cut in, “I’m sorry.”

  Another pause.

  “So?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want the answers? It’ll cost you, of course. I’m not sure how much but I can find out.”

  I turned in my seat to stare at him. “You’re serious?”

  “What are we talking about here?” he snapped in exasperation “Do you want the answers or not?”

  “Well no I don’t. Is it impossible to think I could pass this thing legally?”

  “Look, no offence, Jet, please don’t take this the wrong way, but it is an accelerated program. You do understand that?”

  “Of course I understand.”

  “Fine. Alright. Good on you, then. Well done.”

  My eyes drifted off out the window, watching the black shapes of partially illuminated pedestrians slide past in an endless parade. A few calculations clicked off in my head.

  “What happens if I fail?”

  “Apply for reenrolment and retake your basics in two years.”

  “Two years?”

  “Sure, Jet. Unless you can get into the Accelerated Program.”

  I blinked. He glanced at me.

  “What? I’m not getting you in a second time. The first time was a nightmare.”

  “I see. Just how much do you think those answers might be? In case.”

  His head was thrown back as he bellowed laughter. “I sometimes wonder if you’re aware of your own obscure moral code.”

  “You and me both.”

  We turned into a side road that guided us away from the central metropolitan area of the city. A few minutes later we arrived at a hotel, situated in the kind of neighbourhood that seemed inexplicably to have been forgotten by the rest of the world. In both directions the street was dead.

  The little shops, however, seemed well maintained and healthy, this despite none having decent signage. It was anyone’s guess as to which were doing business. In fact, some were even hidden behind trees as if terrified a customer might accidentally wonder in.

  Benny pulled onto the curb outside a three story building. Like those surrounding it, the hotel was of an unimposing but pleasant design.

  “This is it,” Benny declared.

  We climbed from the vehicle.

  “Place is a ghost town,” I muttered, “How are these places staying in business?”

  “In this neighbourhood, Jet my old chum, the customers seek out the shops.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Come. I’ll show you.”

  We advanced up a stone path through a flower garden. Benny nodded to a poster beside the front door.

  “Behold.”

  I scanned the poster. It was from an establishment titled “Spirit Masters”, and in large block letters announced; “Guaranteed demon haunting in 62 days, or your money back!”

  I squinted. “I don’t understand.”

  “Magic and demons, demons and magic. If you’re not born with one or the other, all you can do is wish you had been. Or, apparently, pay someone to inflict enough traumas that you develop one of your own.”

  “They’re offering the service of…torturing you?”

  “Correct. As far as I understand the process is popular recently. Even, sometimes successful, believe it or not. This neighbourhood has guests from around the world looking to participate.”

  My head reeled at the implications. “Sometimes I really hate the world.”

  “Think that’s bad,” he chuckled, smiling radiantly, “I investigated a guy on this very same street who claimed he could increase your Spirit Level by having sex with you.”

  “At least he managed to get sex involved.”

  “Investigation found that not one of his customers had been magically manipulated. They had all done it of their own free will. No magical crime committed. You have to respect the guy for his liberal standards though, since one of his customers had been a seventy three year old woman. A regular. Apparently she felt the Spirit bursting from her seams after visiting him.”

  I grimaced. “I’ll bet she did.”

  He chuckled again and nodded into the hotel. “Let’s get busy. Be discreet, be polite, and try to avoid saying we’re here on official departmental business. In fact, just let me do the talking.”

  “Okay.” I followed behind as he entered. “What would Selena be doing in a place like this?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Inside we were greeted by quaint décor, with ancient paintings and vases of dried flowers as centrepieces. From nearby the artificial laughter of an early evening sitcom radiated from a front desk.

  Behind the desk, engrossed in a small black and white television, an old man in his seventies sat mute. His hair and bushy eyebrows were so white they appeared bleached in some obscure fashion statement.

  “Evening,” Benny said to him.

  He looked up and smiled. “Hello gents, how can I help?” His eyes flicked to Benny’s Junior Enforcer medals. “Oh, more Enforcers. Are you boys running late?”

  “Not at all, we’re right on time,” Benny replied, returning the smile.

  “I spoke to the other Enforcers earlier. Is there something they forgot?”

  “We’re just here to do a quick last minute sweep for information. Nothing to worry about, be out of your hair in no time.”

  “Well, alright then. Let me show you the room.”

  He took a key from a board and proceeded up a flight of wooden stairs. We hovered behind as he mounted each step individually.

  “She seemed a perfectly normal girl,” he said
, shuffling his slippered feet onto the next step, “Maybe a bit tense, but I thought nothing of it. Then I heard the booming sounds and saw the light in my room shaking like there was an earthquake. I was just going to see what was happening when Mrs. Rossi, who had been staying in room seven, came rushing down the stairs. You should have seen her face! So pale I thought she might have seen the ghost people sometimes report.” He paused and turned to face us. “You people don’t deal with ghosts, do you?”

  “No, sir, not our department,” Benny responded, neutrally.

  The lethargic advance continued. “So Mrs. Rossi screamed at me I needed to call the Enforcers, and you bet I did. Not a moment too soon either. The whole place just about came crashing down, and I heard that nice young lady screaming like she thought the sky was falling on her head.”

  He mounted the top step and headed over to a door numbered six. We followed, and as the first floor came into view signs of damage became evident. The wall behind which room six sat bowed outward in multiple circular patterns.

  “Insurance was not pleased, I’ll tell you that,” the old man said, unlocking the door. He gestured for us to enter.

  We stepped inside and Benny flipped a light switch. The interior of the room, walls and floor, were pockmarked with dozens of ragged impact craters, each the size of a wagon wheel. Some on the walls were so severe they allowed glimpses of rooms beyond, while others on the floor sank so deep that stepping into them would have swallowed a leg halfway up the shin.

  Benny whistled as his eyes scanned the scene.

  “Think you might have a rodent problem,” he said, “Big ones by the looks of it.”

  The old man chuckled. “Yes, she sure did a number on this place. Would never have believed such a little creature could have done this. And that’s not even the half of it.” He pointed to a rust coloured stain beside the entrance, and another in the centre of the room. “She gave a beating to that first Enforcer when he pitched up. Saw him being taken out a bit later when the D.O.M arrived. Looked like someone had taken a lawnmower to his face. Terrible sight. Chair in here was also covered in blood, so I had it removed. The other Enforcers said I could. Is that okay?”

  “No problem, sir,” Benny replied, “You’re very helpful, thank you.”

  We stood silent, three heads craning about. I glanced at Benny and he shrugged, apparently having similar doubts that Selena was capable of such destruction.

  “So she attacked the Enforcer?” he asked the old man, crouching to inspect a blood stain.

  “That’s right. He stormed in soon after I called. I didn’t see what happened but heard a whole lot of shouting. Next thing I knew the girl was running out the front doors. The second group of Enforcers arrived a couple of minutes later.”

  “I see.” Benny scanned the room again from his crouched position, eyes squinting. For the briefest moment his gaze settled on the old man’s face. “What was your name again, sir?”

  “Chester.”

  “Chester, I would like to see the footage from that camera there.” He pointed to an upper corner of the room near the bed. There was nothing.

  Chester, however, froze, His face drained. “Beg your pardon, sir?”

  “The camera, Chester. Show me the footage please.”

  The old man’s mouth flapped. “Not sure what you mean?”

  “Now, please.”

  There was a lingering moment in which Chester’s brain must have cranked into sixth gear. Finally, after twenty seconds of silence, his expression morphed to cold defiance. “You can’t do that. It’s not allowed. You’re not allowed in my head unless you have good reason. And you didn’t have it. I’ll take you to court, get your Enforcer status revoked…”

  Benny sprang back to his feet in a blur. Chester took an involuntary step backwards.

  “You listen to me, you old pervert. My stealing information from your greasy brain is the least of your worries. Understand? I can make you show us the supply closet at the end of this hall, or you can do it yourself and try gaining some goodwill. Either way, I’m seeing the footage from your little voyeuristic camera party. What do you say?”

  The old man’s brain now flew into overdrive, eyes flicking between me and Benny, bushy eyebrows knitting together.

  “I didn’t sell it,” he muttered sincerely, “It was just for me I swear it. The footage has never left this hotel. Could have made a tidy sum selling it, but I never did…”

  “I don’t give a shit what you did with it. Just show me. Okay?”

  “Okay…”

  “Okay, Chester?”

  “Yes, yes, okay.”

  “Good. Move it.”

  He turned and shuffled out the room, up towards the end of the first floor corridor. We passed rooms seven to ten before arriving at a door labelled “UTILITIES”. It was unlocked with a key from a hip pocket.

  Inside the space was no bigger then an average bathroom. There was indeed a bucket, mop and other cleaning supplies, but beside them stood a monitor and array of professional grade surveillance equipment. The screen, bathing the walls with ghostly white light, currently displayed the interior of four separate rooms.

  “I wasn’t selling it,” Chester insisted, adopting a posture of exaggerated frailty, “I wasn’t. I swear.”

  “Just show us.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He crossed to the desk and sank into the well used chair. Buttons were pressed, a disk inserted, and an image appeared. It was Selena Stephania, pacing the room we had left moments ago.