Sunny with a Chance of Monsters: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Sunny Day, Paranormal Badass)

by Marlow, Shaye

  “I gotta go to tutoring this week or he’s gonna fail me,” Arielle sniffled.

  “Maybe you should get some other math teacher to test you,” Sunny suggested.

  Arielle blinked at her, her face reddening. “I…” She swallowed, looking away. Then she jumped up, a bit too hastily. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Sunny caught her arm, frowning. If this girl was like any other potential valedictorian she had ever met, that would have been one of the first things the girl did. “You’ve tried that, haven’t you?”

  Arielle bit her lip, tears springing anew. “I’ve got class,” she whispered.

  “And your answers were wrong then, too?”

  Humiliation was all over the girl’s face as she hefted her backpack over her back. “I’ve gotta get to Chinese.”

  Sunny stayed for a few more classes, but aside from a handful of truly distraught kids with that strange chicken scratch writing, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. At lunch, she went to the staff room and introduced herself as a reporter looking to talk about the Bobby and Drake suicides.

  Most of the teachers didn’t want to talk about it, but there was one dumpy woman in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and black jeans that immediately made a face. “That was horrible,” she said. “Especially after Ellie and Krystal before them.”

  Sunny grabbed a napkin and started to write the names. “All from Dortez’s class?”

  “Yeah.” The woman wasn’t happy. She shoved her sandwich away from her. “I’m just a teacher’s assistant here, but you ask me, the guy should be fired. Stat.”

  “How many years ago were they?” Sunny asked.

  “Years ?” The teacher’s assistant snorted. “Weeks.”

  Four suicides in a couple of months. That was not good.

  “How long has he worked here?” Sunny demanded.

  The woman gave a little frown. “I really don’t know.” She turned to another teacher at a different table.

  Realizing too late what was about to happen, Sunny cried, “No, don’t—”

  “Hey, Marie, how long has Gabriel—” The woman trailed off, then glanced back at her sandwich. Without further ado, she picked it up and took a big bite out of it. Glancing at Sunny, she grinned. “New hire?”

  Gabriel Dortez, Sunny learned after a few dozen frustrating questions of less-than-helpful staff, had been teaching at New Republic High for an indeterminate amount of time, but everyone pretty much agreed it had been less than a year. At first, Sunny thought it had been some sort of running joke, but not even his fellow members of the math department knew how long he’d been working with them. Some went so far as to insist it had only been a few weeks, while others corrected them and said he couldn’t have tenure if it had only been weeks.

  She left the school disquieted and frustrated. What kind of drug was Dortez using on everyone to keep their memories so fuzzy? It had said in his dossier that he was a poisoner. Was he slipping something into everyone’s drinks? Maybe sabotaging the cafeteria fountains somehow?

  What baffled her was that Dortez seemed to be utterly focused in his mission—whatever that was—and it included picking on the good students. The really good students. The ones who took their classes way too seriously. The ones whose parents would ridicule or shame them for not producing top scores.

  It was deeply disturbing, but when she mentioned it, the staff automatically told her she was out of her mind—Gabriel Dortez came as one of the country’s most highly-rated math teachers. Dozens of awards in his name, his teams made stellar performances in national competitions, yada yada yada. They didn’t seem to notice that the laziest, don’t-give-a-shit jocks with their eyes on vocational school and/or jail time were getting compliments and straight As while the best students in the school were being driven to suicide pacts.

  That alone made her want to take Dortez down. But then, as she was following him to what she assumed was his home, Dortez threw on a postal employee shirt and immediately crossed to the other side of 34th Avenue. He went into the Republic of Alyeska Postal Service office facing the school and took up a place as a front-desk clerk instead of going home and grading tests.

  What…the hell? Despite his copious awards and his solid Necessary status, it appeared Mr. Dortez was starving for cash.

  Running the post office, he spent several hours making people miserable by citing obscure rules and regulations—who knew that there was a rule that disallowed the use of red packing tape on shipping boxes, for instance?!—while the line of disgruntled patrons backed out the door. The more people complained, the more cheerful Dortez got, until he was all but beaming as he told them, time and again, that their packages were unshippable.

  Like their misery feeds him , Sunny thought. She’d met people like that, petty tyrants on power trips, but never someone so extreme.

  When Sunny casually asked his coworkers why they had a teacher working a second job as a postal clerk who seemed to find an excuse not to ship every package that was presented to him, however, they denied it completely.

  “Oh, he’s great,” one of the women said fondly. “Nice guy. Real good with the customers.”

  Looking back at the irritated patrons waiting in line, Sunny raised a brow. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the grim-faced, tight-lipped patrons. “Those customers don’t look too happy.”

  The clerk frowned a little and looked past her. Immediately, she started smiling again. “I’d say they’re very cheerful.”

  One guy had a phone to his ear and was glaring at the front desk as he said, “…just said the paper-pushing cocksuckers are gonna be another fucking hour…” Another person was etching a Tic-Tac-Toe in the postal counter island with a hunting knife, glaring at Gabriel. Even as they looked, someone in line raised their voice and said, “Jesus! Hurry the fuck up!”

  Sunny raised her eyebrow at the clerk in front of her.

  The woman leaned around Sunny and cheerfully said, “Thank you, sir! I’ll tell him—he puts so much time into the decorations!”

  The patron who had shouted glanced at another patron in line with a ‘…the fuck?’ look, then he shook his head in disgust and walked out.

  Testing a theory, Sunny turned back to the clerk and said, “What did he say? I didn’t catch it.”

  “He said he loves the spring decorations Gabriel put up,” the clerk said, smiling. “I’m sorry…do you have a package to mail?”

  “No, that was it.” Sunny walked back to the edge of the room, watching in growing confusion as Gabriel proceeded to turn what should have been a simple evening of mailing packages into a clusterfuck from hell.

  “I hate this post office,” one woman complained bitterly. “Was great for twenty years, but three weeks ago, damn thing went completely to shit.”

  A nearby man muttered his agreement. “I’ve started going to the one on 35th to get away from the lines, but this is the only one open late.”

  “The one at the airport’s open all night.”

  “That’s across the inlet, though,” another complained.

  The first man seemed to consider that, then grunted and gathered up the packages he’d left on the counter. “To hell with this. A drive across the bridge to New International can’t be as bad as listening to that paper-pushing asswipe.”

  Sunny listened to the growing complaints as the line continued to lengthen for another three hours before Dortez traded his postal uniform for a shirt and tie. He took the public rail down to 5th Avenue, where he spent a few hours on late-night psychotherapy sessions at a tiny one-man business called Knik Counseling.

  Sunny didn’t actually follow any of his patients into the tiny office, but upon their exits over the next three hours she did notice a theme: Of the five people Dortez saw over that time, four of them—the four women—left the room in tears. The fifth one, a big lumberjack-type man’s man, left the clinic with a dark look that bespoke some sort of violence.

  That…worried her.

  And then, to top
it all off, at ten minutes to midnight, Dortez took the rail to a little one-room business on 60th Avenue with the sign All-Hours Accounting and let himself into the otherwise dark commercial building.

  Because she was tired of waiting on the street, Sunny followed him inside and quietly shut the door behind her. Deeper in the room, she heard Dortez sit down at his desk and turn on his computer. A few moments later, she heard him pick up a phone. Sunny leaned around the corner to see what was happening. She saw him dial, then put the phone on speaker so he could lean back comfortably in his chair.

  “Yes, Mr. Yansu? This is Gabriel Dortez, your accounting representative in Alyeska.”

  Someone with a heavy Chinese accent said, “Oh very good, very good! Good morning, Gabriel! But it is not very late for you there?”

  “Oh, it’s no bother Mr. Yansu. I don’t sleep. But about this latest set of numbers you sent me…” Gabriel paused to glance at his computer. “Sir, I know you put a lot of trust in me and I don’t have any other way of saying this…” Gabriel trailed off, making an uncomfortable sound. Then, almost in a rush, he said, “Have you or one of your sons been embezzling money, Mr. Yansu?”

  There was a very long pause on the other end. Gabriel leaned back in his chair, a weird little smile creeping over his face.

  “I…” The man on the other end hesitated. “I don’t understand, Mr. Dortez. I think I mistake your words for another?”

  “I’m sorry, this is hard for me, but I’ll try to lay it out there,” Gabriel said. “You say you’ve always been completely above-board, but the Treasury is going to want to know why there are glaring omissions in your tax payments here. I mean, it’s a very tricky loophole, but it’s my job to report these things to the government when I find them. If I don’t, I could lose my accounting license.”

  Sunny frowned. Dortez was smiling like he was telling the guy he’d saved him a million bucks on his taxes. And it wasn’t a happy smile—it was strikingly cruel.

  “I’m…still not sure what you mean.”

  “My job ,” Gabriel said. “I have to report illegal activity.”

  “But there was no illegal activity.”

  “Oh, yes, well…” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Sir, I’m not sure how I should say this, but if it wasn’t you, then perhaps has one of your sons tampered with the books?”

  “Of course not! Why would you suggest such a thing?”

  Gabriel Dortez’s cruel smile stretched even further. “Sir, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Someone’s been doctoring the books—it’s completely unmistakable—and the BPI is looking to figure out who. If I don’t give them a name, they’ll come after you all.”

  There was a stunned silence. Then Mr. Yansu said, “You…told the BPI?”

  “Sir, that’s part of my job. My first loyalties are to my country, and when the Republic does trade with outside businesses, those businesses are monitored very closely to ensure they’re not smuggling bankstones. Whiiich, by my estimates here, it looks like someone in your leadership might be doing. Which is a crime , Mr. Yansu.”

  “But I just asked you to compile this year’s investor report!”

  “I understand, Mr. Yansu,” Dortez said patiently, “but I’m obligated to report malicious criminal behavior that affects the good of the Republic whenever I see it.”

  The poor man on the other end sounded stunned. “…malicious…? We’re just a manufacturing company.”

  “With ties to Canada,” Dortez said. “Canada tried to annex the Republic thirteen years ago, Mr. Yansu. There are still very strong tensions. Canadians aren’t allowed within our borders.”

  “We’re China-based!” Mr. Yansu replied. “All of our factories are overseas!”

  “Still…” Dortez filled his words with ominous foreboding, despite the fact that he was smirking. “…the numbers don’t lie, Mr. Yansu. Someone you know has been making clandestine trips to Canada.”

  “I fought to liberate Alyeska in the war,” Mr. Yansu insisted, getting indignant. “Alyeska is our only trade partner. We have no ties to Canada.”

  “Isn’t your wife Canadian, Mr. Yansu?” Dortez hesitated as if he were thinking. “Could she have been sabotaging the company’s records? Using it as a front to smuggle bankstone, sir?”

  There was a very long, very pregnant pause. Then, “My wife was six when she moved from Canada. She was Alaskan for thirty years before Alaska seceded from the United States.”

  “Still…” Dortez hesitated and picked up a bronze octopus paperweight from the desk in front of him. As he twisted the statuette in his hand, examining it, he said, “Unless someone else can be blamed for these discrepancies, Mr. Yansu, the BPI will find her the obvious culprit.” He hesitated again. “Wait… Isn’t she in Alaska, Mr. Yansu? Would you like me to talk to her? Crimes like this, in the Republic, can be judged, well, rather harshly. We have a place up north where they work fourteen hour days digging bankstone out of the ground. They call it the Pit—”

  “You can’t involve my wife,” the Chinese man on the other end insisted hastily. “She had nothing to do with any of this. If anything, I’m the one to blame…”

  “Are you the one to blame, Mr. Yansu?” Dortez asked pointedly. He set the octopus paperweight down, grinning.

  Why the fuck is he grinning? Sunny thought, watching the exchange with a frown. It seemed like Dortez was reveling in the bad news. Or, rather, Mr. Yansu’s reaction to the bad news.

  There was a long pause on the other end. Then, “Yes.”

  The smug look on Dortez’s face made no sense at all to Sunny. “Mr. Yansu,” Dortez said, depressing a button on his phone, “I must warn you that this conversation is being recorded for my professional integrity. Did you just tell me that you were to blame for the money-laundering scheme I uncovered in your company’s accounting records between the years of 2003 and the present?”

  There was a long, horrible pause, then, “Yes. It was me. I am ashamed of my actions, but glad they have finally come to light so that I can make peace with my past.”

  In a solemn tone, Dortez said, “Unfortunately, Mr. Yansu, confirmation of criminal behavior concludes my ability to be retained by your company. You and your wife will be contacted by the BPI in the morning. Thank you for working with All-Hours Accounting.”

  “Please keep my wife out of this!” Mr. Yansu cried. “It was me.”

  “This is no longer within my jurisdiction,” Dortez replied. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yansu.” Without another word, he hung up and ended the recording. Then he replayed it, listening with a smug look.

  “Please keep my wife out of this! It was me…”

  Then, oddly, Dortez leaned back into his chair and took the deepest, most airy breath she had ever heard. Hell, it sounded like an elephant sucking in a lungful and then expunging it a moment later.

  That’s…weird… Sunny wondered if he had turned on a humidifier out of her sight or something. Or a vacuum cleaner. Or if he owned a pet elephant.

  She was puzzling at that when Dortez shut off the recording and said, “I give him forty-eight hours.”

  Forty-eight hours for what? she thought.

  But Dortez was chuckling. “I hope he uses rope. Buckshot’s so…messy.”

  Who the fuck is he talking to?

  Then Dortez turned towards her, still smiling. “Don’t you think, whoever you are? Rope is less messy?” His eyes found her and his look became vicious. “But we already know who you work for, don’t we?”

  Sunny swallowed hard. “I…”

  Dortez cocked his head. “Strange. You don’t smell like you work for the BPI. You smell…” He took another big whiff, and again it sounded like the mouth of a cave filling in, “…poor.” He wrinkled his nose. “What are you, a blockker they roped in to feed the wildlife?”

  Having no idea what the hell that meant, Sunny said, “Hey, uh, I saw a light on in here and I needed help, so I came on in. My car’s outside and it ran outta juice…”

&nb
sp; Gabriel snorted, his dark eyes hard. “Of course. That’s why you were crouched behind my door, listening to me talk.” He started to stand, and there was a dangerous vibe to the way he moved.

  Sunny, who was getting a weird, goosebumpy feeling, backed to the door. “Look, I really don’t know what you’re—”

  “I can run faster than you,” Gabriel said calmly. “Much faster.”

  Sunny narrowed her eyes at his confidence. Yeah? Bet that wins you a cookie. She jerked the door open, ducked through it, and slammed it shut again.

  Gabriel Dortez opened the door with a slightly confused look on his face. His eyes found her and he frowned.

  “You order a pizza?” Sunny asked. “I can get you a pizza. Twenty bucks.”

  Gabriel’s face twisted in obvious disgust. “Go home, blockker.” He slammed the door in her face.

  Heh heh heh sucker… Sunny loitered across the street from his office for the remainder of the night, keeping herself awake playing games on her phone.

  Gabriel emerged around 3:00 am. As soon as he saw her sitting there, he scowled. “Who are you and why are you skulking outside my place of business?” The man had to have inhuman stamina to go so long without sleep and still be a snooty prick afterwards.

  “It’s a free country, domer,” Sunny snapped, making a blockker’s crude gesture usually reserved for the upper crust.

  Gabriel made a disgusted face and left her there.

  Sunny got up and followed him, via public rail, to a small luxury apartment on coveted 8th Avenue. He glanced at her several times with suspicion, but each time, he forgot she was there and continued his routine.

  Sunny followed him all the way up the elevator to a door on the 50th floor, but didn’t try to get inside his apartment. The whole way, she sized him up, feeling uneasy. There had been something wrong about that moment in his office, where he told her he ran faster than she did. Almost like he had been about to do something nasty.

  …Serial killer, maybe?

  But if he was a serial killer, and the BPI knew who he was, why were they wasting time putting out a bounty for his capture? Why not just capture him?