“I want information on Dionysus.”
Argus’s eyes focused on me. All one hundred of them. “The God?”
I nodded. “He’s been missing for the past month. I’d like to find him.”
“Mind me asking why you want him found?”
“Yes.”
Argus smiled. “Fair enough.”
“It’s nothing personal,” I assured him.
“I know.” Argus scrubbed a stubborn stain on the bar.
“Can you find him?”
“Of course. Won’t be cheap, though.”
“Money’s not a problem,” I said.
“What kind of timeframe are we working with?”
“A small one. Virtually microscopic.”
Argus threw the towel back onto his shoulder and took a cigar out of his shirt pocket. It was the size of a rolled up newspaper. He sparked it with a candle lighter. Smoke billowed, thick and choking. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I waved my hand to clear the smoke. “I want to know what he’s been up to this past month.”
“General or under the table?”
“Both.”
“Gotcha.” Argus bent and tapped his cigar against the edge of a large, metal wastebasket—his version of an ashtray. “You know, there’ve been a lot of government-types running around town lately, shaking people down, asking them all sorts of questions. Word on the street is that something big went down on Olympus. And the Gods are working overtime to keep it covered up.”
That bothered me. So far, the Gods had done a fair job of covering up the murders. But information was gradually trickling down the pipeline. Eventually, the public would discover the truth. Then things would get real ugly real fast.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I said.
“I don’t.” Argus puffed his cigar. “But I take it all under consideration.”
I took another sip of scotch. “When should I expect a call from you?”
“In a week or two.”
“Can you give me something sooner?”
“I’ll do what I can.” Argus finished his cigar in one long pull, then dropped the butt into the wastebasket. He pulled a fresh one out of his pocket and lit it. The end glowed bright orange in the dim light.
“You sure you won’t tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
“I would if I could.”
Argus grinned. “You law-types and your secrets.”
I swallowed the rest of my scotch and reached for my wallet.
Argus shook his head. “It’s on the house.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but try not to get killed, alright?”
“Why, Argus, I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t,” Argus said. “It’s just that dead men can’t pay their bills.”
48
On Saturday night, I drove to Chrysus’s place. She lived in a two-story mansion on the north side of town. A Spanish-style villa with beige walls and sunbaked roof shingles. It was stunning, but looked too much like a summer resort for my taste.
I parked in the driveway, next to an Escalade truck. Its midnight paint and chrome rims gleamed under the light of a nearby lamppost. There’s something incredibly sexy about a woman who drives a truck. I can’t really say why.
I got out of my car. Two chimera statues—creatures with the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a snake—flanked the staircase leading up to the front door. I rang the bell. Chrysus answered, wearing a tight black dress and heels. Her blond hair fell past her shoulders, and her glasses were absent. I didn’t think she could make herself look more beautiful, but she had managed to pull it off.
“Hello, Mr. Jones.”
“Hi,” I said, much too enthusiastically. “You look great.”
Chrysus smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ready to go?”
“Almost. Come in and have a seat. I shouldn’t be too long.”
I stepped through the door and into a long corridor flanked by marble pillars wrapped in ivy. Real ivy, not that fake, plastic alternative. Paintings of scenic vistas ornamented the walls, and gold lanterns hung from the ceiling.
The hall led straight back into the living room, which was decorated with light-blue walls and bronze floral patterns. The furniture was white. A grand piano occupied the far-left corner near the window. There were scuffmarks on the floor from where it had been carelessly dragged across the hardwood.
I sat down on the couch. “Nice place.”
“Thank you,” Chrysus said. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah.”
“I’ll be right back.”
While Chrysus was gone, I stood and strolled around the living room. Everything was clean and expensive-looking. There wasn’t so much as a speck of dust anywhere.
But as nice as the mansion was, it didn’t have that lived-in feeling that made a house feel like a home. I supposed that made sense. Chrysus was Zeus’s personal assistant and director of the Treasury. Her duties probably kept her away from home.
Chrysus returned after several minutes, and I led her outside. I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed about my car. The flaking paint had gotten worse in the past few days, and the passenger-side door now creaked when opened. It was like the old girl was punishing me for trying to replace her.
I was worried that Chrysus would see my car and call off the date. Or at the very least, offer to drive in the Escalade. But to my surprise, she got right on in. No strange looks. No hesitation. Point for her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I figured we’d go to a movie, then get a bite to eat.”
“Dinner and a movie,” she said, smiling. “A classic formula.”
I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or making fun of me. I chose the former.
“What kind of movies do you like?” I asked.
“Comedies.”
“Romantic ones?”
“No.”
I smiled. “We’re going to get along just fine, you and me.”
Chrysus and I didn’t talk much on the way to the theater. I wanted to question her about Hera, but it was too soon for that. First I had to gain her trust. Make sure she was comfortable being around me. Then I’d see what I could get out of her.
It was time to lay on the old Jones family charm.
“Thanks for coming out,” I said.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Jones.”
“Plato,” I corrected her.
“I apologize.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll have to excuse me for not being more sociable,” Chrysus said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “I don’t get out much.”
“Work?”
She nodded.
“I know how that is,” I said. “No matter how much you do, there’s always more to be done.”
“That’s the truth.”
I got onto the freeway, drove for several miles, and took exit twelve onto Cold Water Road. From there it was a straight shot to Laurel’s Crossing, a popular shopping center.
The theater was at the far end of the center. A yellow neon sign that read GOLD BOW CINEMAS glowed above the main entrance.
Tonight the parking lot was packed—as it was every Saturday night. The line to the ticket booth extended out into the street. Kids ran wild all over the place, mobs of them, with no parents in sight.
Must be a new vampire flick premiering tonight.
As Chrysus and I waited in line, a group of preteens came to stand behind us. They chattered like parrots on caffeine pills. With them was a little girl in a blue-and-white dress. She couldn’t have been any older than five or six. Her pale blond hai
r was in pigtails, and blue stickiness covered her mouth—she must have just eaten some candy.
One of the kids, a boy, bent down and whispered into her ear. I heard what he said. He told her to kick me. I hoped the little girl would be too timid to comply. But seconds later, her tiny foot struck me in the calf.
The kids all burst into laughter. My anger was hot and immediate. The immature part of my brain urged me to turn around and get cantankerous on their little asses. Under other circumstances, I might have given in. But something told me that Chrysus wouldn’t condone my yelling at children, so I collared my emotions. Kept it cool.
The little girl kicked me a second time. I forced myself to do nothing. The kids laughed louder. I wanted to hang my head in shame, getting bullied by a prepubescent girl with pigtails. I had officially hit a new low. As we moved up in line, the kicking continued.
Now don’t get me wrong. I like kids. I like them a lot. Heck, I’d even like to have a few of my own one day. What I don’t like is parents who drop off their in kids public places—movie theaters, malls, bookstores—and expect society to fill the role of babysitter.
When Chrysus and I reached the ticket booth, I felt as though a weight had been lifted off me. I bought two tickets for the new Steve Carell movie. After we secured our seats, I went to the concession and picked up two large drinks and a large popcorn.
On the way back to the auditorium, we passed the little girl and her mob of deviants. The largest of them, a boy with a blond fauxhawk, held an extra-large cherry slushy. He was the first to spot me and began snickering. The others joined in. I accidentally bumped into slushy boy, causing him to spill his drink all over the little girl. She pouted and ran off, her entourage chasing after her.
That’ll teach you to respect your elders, I thought.
Feeling vindicated, I returned to the auditorium and took my seat. As Chrysus and I sat in the darkness, waiting for the movie to start, I couldn’t help noticing how stiff her posture was, and how daintily she ate her popcorn, meticulously picking out one kernel at a time, putting it in her mouth, and then wiping her fingertips on a napkin.
Was she always like this? Was this dry, bureaucratic persona the real her, or just a byproduct of working in a world of procedures and red tape?
Maybe there was another side to her. A fun, wild side she kept hidden from most people. I hoped so. It was disappointing to think that someone so pretty could be such a square.
I guess it didn’t matter either way. My goal was to get information on Hera, not start a relationship.
After the movie, we drove to Claudia’s Famous Steaks. The waiter seated us at a cozy corner booth. Chrysus had a plate of chicken parmesan. I ordered the top sirloin with fries. One bite and I could see why Claudia’s steaks were so famous.
“Did you enjoy the movie?” I asked.
“Very much.”
“That’s good.”
We ate in silence for a while. Chrysus cut a chunk of her chicken into bite-size portions and moved them to the side of her plate. Whenever she ate a piece, she followed it up with a bit of pasta, twirled neatly around her fork. Then she gingerly wiped her mouth with her napkin. Watching her, I could only imagine what my mother would say: “I like this one. She’s so refined. You should marry her.”
I pictured myself dying of embarrassment.
Chrysus sipped her champagne and wiped her mouth. Despite her red lipstick, she left no marks on the glass, or on the napkin. Impressive.
“Tell me,” I said, cutting into my steak. “How long have you worked for Zeus?”
“Since he formed the council.”
“That’s a long time.”
“For a mortal, perhaps,” Chrysus said with a smile.
I ate a piece of meat. “How is Hera holding up? I can’t imagine she’s doing well considering everything that’s happened.”
“The First Lady is . . . upset by the recent losses.”
“Understandably.”
“President Zeus is helping her cope.” Chrysus sighed then. “I can only imagine what she must be going through.”
“Has the OBI made any progress?”
“Not much. Their forces are divided between hunting down the killer and protecting the First Family. After Eileithyia’s murder, Zeus and Hera confined themselves to their complex on Mount Olympus. A team of agents watches over them day and night.”
“They’ve been at home for the past month?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I nodded, not at all surprised. Despite Hera’s attempts on my life, I had reservations about her actually being the killer. Her hatred toward Hephaestus was evident. But she had nothing against Eileithyia. It made little sense that she’d kill both of them. All the same, I wasn’t convinced that she and Zeus were totally innocent. Somehow, the two of them were at the root of this whole mess. Of that I was certain.
The waitress came by our table and refilled our drinks. I waited until she left before speaking. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Zeus and Hera?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Chrysus said. “The First Family has many enemies.”
“Do you know of any that live in New Olympia?”
Chrysus pursed her lips. Then she said, “Callisto is the only one that comes to mind.”
I recognized the name. Callisto was a nymph—a minor nature goddess—who had an affair with Zeus thousands of years ago. When Hera found out, she punished Callisto by turning her into a bear.
Images of Hephaestus’s mangled body flashed in my head like snapshots. His injuries suggested he’d been attacked by a large animal. Could it have been a bear? The possibility was worth looking into.
“Thanks for the info,” I said.
“Anything to help.”
After dinner, I drove Chrysus home and walked her to her front door. For almost a minute we stared at each other, not saying a word. She was smiling. Her blue eyes sparkled in the night. I couldn’t tell whether she wanted me to kiss her or not. I knew I wanted to. But I wasn’t willing to risk it. Not yet anyway.
“Thank you for a wonderful time, Plato,” Chrysus said.
“My pleasure.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“No, I just—” She shook her head.
“Hmm?”
She laughed softly. “This is a little embarrassing, but would you like to do this again sometime?”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you like to go out again?”
I hesitated, taken by surprise. During our date, I never got the sense that she was having a good time. Showed how little I knew about women.
“You’re not interested,” Chrysus said. “I understand.”
“No, it’s not that,” I objected. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think you had a good time.”
“I see.” Chrysus shifted toward the door, her cheeks reddening.
“But to answer your question, yes, I would like to go out again.”
She beamed at me.
“I’ll call you sometime,” I said.
“I look forward to it. Good night, Plato.”
“Good night.”
Chrysus stepped inside the mansion and closed the door. I walked back to my car. In terms of personality, she wasn’t really my type. Too stuffy and guarded. But she was hot enough to justify a second date.
49
My cell phone rang in the middle of the night, jerking me out of my sleep. It was Hermes.
“Hello?” I said, yawning.
“Jones, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A big one. Do you know where Enyo’s house is?”
My heart gave a jolt. I didn’t have to a
sk what was going on. “Yeah, I know where it is.”
“Meet me there immediately.”
“On my way.”
I ended the call and rolled out of bed. I wrestled on a T-shirt and jeans. Before leaving my apartment complex, I bought a Coke from the vending machine outside the laundry room. I needed the sugar and caffeine.
At Enyo’s mansion, four black sedans idled in the driveway. Hermes stood near the front door. I parked behind one of the sedans and got out.
Hermes came forward to meet me, frowning. “What took you so long?”
“I got here as fast as I could.”
“Typical mortal. Full of excuses.”
I was too tired to offer a witty rejoinder. “I need to see the body.”
Hermes nodded. “Come with me.”
The inside of the mansion reminded me of a mountain cabin. The walls, floors, and furnishings were all made of polished wood. A chimera-skin rug hung above the fireplace. I wondered if Enyo herself had slain the beast and skinned it. We went into the kitchen, where five OBI agents were snapping pictures and taking notes. The air reeked of decay, and was alive with swarms of flies.
Enyo’s torso lay beside the island in the middle of the kitchen, rotting and covered in flies. The other half of her body was missing. Blood pooled beneath the body, but not as much blood as there should have been.
I knelt beside the torso and shooed the flies away. What remained of Enyo’s corpse was clad in a black leather corset and a spiked collar. Dominatrix gear. Four large puncture wounds spotted her face. Her right eye had been gouged out. Maggots squirmed and wiggled inside the wounds.
Hermes remained near the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe.
“She’s been dead at least a week,” he informed me.
“Who found the body?”
“One of our agents.”
“Why was he in the area?”
“We received an anonymous call. The caller stated Enyo’s address, then hung up. The voice was altered, but we suspect it was the killer.”
“Did you gather any more info from the call?” I asked.
“No.”
“Were you able to trace it?”
“There wasn’t enough time.”
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