Blood & Spirits (6 page)

“Don’t hold back, Dave. Seriously. Tell me how you really feel.” The words come with a smile, but the undertone of resentment was there, not as deeply buried as they both liked to pretend it was.

For too many years, these two men had worked together and played together. They had trusted each other with their lives. Things like that don’t just go away, even after years. They had chosen different paths, but they were bound together in a way that most people will never understand.

A stifling silence hangs in the room for minutes on end as papers rustle, the phone rings and is answered, more papers are reviewed and replaced. They both want the awkwardness between them gone, but neither of them wants to talk about their feelings that the other betrayed them.

Lewis finally ends the silence. “I think the two witness statements match enough details of another guy we’ve had our eye on for a couple B and E’s that it wouldn’t hurt to do a photo lineup. I can put that together here, if you want to do some off the books leg work on this guy.”

“See where he was, and who he was with when things got hot? I can do that. Who’re we looking at?” Frank finds it all too easy to fall back into old patterns of thinking.

Lewis hands him a mug shot and arrest record for Calvin Hocker. “Remember this guy? He’s been in and out of lockup since he turned eighteen. Not the friendly sort. Assault, three different brands of theft, and an arson conviction five years ago. He’s still on probation.”

“I do remember him. Put his mom in the hospital over a tip off she gave to narcotics about his running a meth lab out of her storage building or something, right?”

Frank is lost for a moment in the past, in the day he arrested a young Calvin Hocker. If everyday could have been like that, a hero day, he’d never have given the job up.

“That’s the one, partner. Think you can handle the leg work?” Lewis says with a laugh, trying to break into a friendly dialogue.

Frank just vacantly nods, reading the address listed for his quarry. “Says here that he’s still out in Native Pines trailer park on the Southside. It shouldn’t be hard at all.”

He stands still looking at the records and court documents for Hocker’s most recent arrests. He flips through a few witness statements before realizing Lewis was staring at him. Closing the file, he cracks his trademark boyish grin and puts the folder down gingerly on the desk before turning to leave.

Lewis rises and catches him before the door opens. “Keep in touch, you don’t have to be such a stranger, and remember.” He turns Frank to face him before continuing.

“We didn’t talk.”

***

The house is full of life when I arrive. It’s as though last week’s antics with the fire and emergency rescue crews hadn’t even happened.

The lighting is perfect, the music is soft but driving, and the light scent of cherry blossoms completes the texture that I love about this place.

I wave to Julie as I pass through the sitting room. She’s talking to a client and I really don’t want anything to keep me from a proper cleaning and some indulgent self spoiling, not to mention putting on clothes from this season. I want to feel at home, and like myself again. Or at least as close as I can with my basement under construction, Piper on bed rest, and Rachel still missing.

There’s still been no sign of her, and I’m beginning to really go insane worrying about her. If someone has her in the spirit world, I’m sure Lucy will find her. If she’s anywhere else, then Frank’s eyes and ears out around town will let us know something.

It’s the not knowing that’s eating me alive. If someone hurt her, worse if they hurt her on purpose, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I walk into the windowless third floor room I usually use for entertaining clients and kick off my shoes at the door. The soft thick cream carpeting is heaven between my toes as I walk to the bed.

I drop my sweater and skirt on the bed and stand for a moment just enjoying the feel of the cool crispness of the air on my skin. Turning and picking up a bottle of lotion from the dressing table, my feet find their way to the bathroom.

Now I’m faced with life’s biggest eternal dilemma: A quick warm shower, or a long hot soak?

There’s a familiar ripping sound in the room behind me, and I turn to face Lucy in all her resplendent glory. She looks me up and down and then asks “Can we talk?”

I can’t help but be amused by her modesty. I reach behind the door and take my red silk robe off the hook, slide it over me and tie it, and exit the bathroom.

“Yeah, we can always talk. Did you find something out about Rachel?”

“I found out, young one, that there is something immensely greater happening than the simple terrorizing of a child and a small set fire.” She says it to intentionally make what’s happened seem small.

“Do you know how much that fire cost me?” I ask indignantly, “Or how much Rachel means to me? C’mon Lucy, talk to me. Tell me the truth.”

I reach down to the edge of my bed and take the skirt and sweater in hand and fold them. It’s a positive outlet for my nervous energy. It helps me deal with my stress in more productive ways. I’m seriously considering killing the next shrink I meet.

Lucy takes a long pause and looks deep into me before she speaks. “The truth of the matter is that the scope of what’s going on is beyond what I am accustomed to dealing with. There is a storm coming, Veronica. It will be difficult to weather. For all of us. You must prepare yourself. The world is about to turn on its end. There are more unquiet spirits active than I’ve ever known at once. I’ve never seen them act with the focus, or determination, more importantly I’ve never seen them play nice with each other before. You must heed my warning, child. Choose your path with caution in the coming nights.”

“Are you being cryptic on purpose? What the hell is an unquiet spirit? What are you so worried about?” I’m confused and in the last few days Lucy, who was usually my rock, was doing nothing but stressing me out. I throw the twelve times refolded dirty clothes on the floor in exasperation.

“If my words are making you uneasy then they are serving their purpose. You should be on edge. An unquiet spirit is often mistaken for a demon, or called a poltergeist by the living. They are dangerous, powerful, and completely mad. They have, due to their insanity, less holding them back from affecting the world of the living. What has taken me almost two hundred years to master, they grasp in weeks or months. I’ve never known times as dangerous as these.” Her words fall into the void between us. It feels to be growing into a gulf.

I didn’t realize until now how emotionally bonded she and I had become, and now she was shutting it off like a switch. She and I shared similar childhoods, and even both sold our bodies to survive for a time. She’s like my personal patron saint. Feeling the hole where she’s pulled back from me is almost painful.

“What about Rachel?” My voice comes more timid than I had intended.

“We will both do all that is in our power for her. But we must be wary for ourselves as well. You must keep that in mind.” Before I can even respond, there’s the sound of ripping and she’s gone.

Lately I’m not happy to hear what she has to say, and yet I’m more uncomfortable with what she isn’t saying. She knows more than she thinks it’s safe to tell me. I don’t like that at all.

“VERONICA, YOU’VE GOT A PHONE CALL.”
Julie calls up on the intercom. She sounds tense, it can’t be anything good. I put down the county map I’ve been looking at, hit the button for the outside line, and pick up the receiver.

“This is Veronica Fischer, what can I do for you?”

“Good evening Ms. Fischer. This is Detective David Lewis. You do remember me don’t you?” His voice betrays that he’s still holding a grudge. Some things never change.

”How could I forget? What can I do for you, Detective? You catch the firebug that lit up Julie’s house?” He and I both know that I own the place, but he can’t prove it and I love provoking people.

“I’m calling tonight regarding a different matter, Ms. Fischer.” He’s too calm. He thinks he has something on me. “What can you tell me about Michael Moran?”

“He’s a scum bag, and a thief? What are you looking for?” Maybe if I’m arrogant enough I can piss him off and he’ll let me know something he didn’t mean to.

“I’m afraid he’s neither of those things anymore, Ms. Fischer.”

He continues, letting me know that Mikey Moran, who used to do some work for me here and there, driving mostly, was found dead, and that I need to come in for questioning. Evidently witnesses have come forward claiming that I had been seen arguing with him the night before his body was found.

I’m on autopilot now. Letting the calm flow on the outside, while I’m ripping things apart in my mind. Who is setting me up for this? Does everything have to happen all at once? I need a vacation, but prison isn’t one of my choice exotic destinations.

This is trumped up bullshit, and Lewis isn’t being nice about it. He’s enjoying having something on me. He’s never forgiven me for ‘corrupting’ his precious little Frank. If he only knew. He needs to just sleep with him and get it over with, put us all out of our misery; it’s been years in coming.

I get a bit more dressed up than usual for tonight, what Rachel would call my ‘hot stuff’ attire. I have a date with a client that I don’t see very often. He has more money than good sense, and he doesn’t care how much it costs to show a girl a good time. My kinda man.

As I walk down the stairs, I can smell something odd that might just ruin my good mood. It’s old, and it’s dead. Others of my kind rarely come to visit here. It’s beneath them.

At the door to the basement I’m fairly certain I know who it is, and they’re in my office. That pisses me off unbelievably.

Walking softly down the stairs, I find a cockroach in an expensive hand-tailored suit going through my filing cabinet.

His name is Marcus Learner. He’s the nephew of Jacobi, the oldest and most powerful of my kind in the tri-state area. Jacobi is in charge because of his age; it’s how our kind function. Because of who his uncle is, Learner is a little spoiled, always has been. He gets away with a little too much.

Apart from having a similar addiction to arterial fluid, this thing and I share nothing, least of all any affection for each other. Why is he here?

“Wow! Is it asshole day, and nobody told me?” I startle him and he drops a handful of papers on the floor. Now I have more things to do, add cleaning up after nosey grease balls to the list.

“I was just… uh,” It’s funny to watch a feeble mind at work, as he tries to find words that make him sound smarter than the inbred hick he is. “Taking inventory. Seeing how these holdings were… allocated.”

“That’s my business. Not yours. Why are you in my house?” This is bold for him. Not completely out of character, but more brazen than I’m used to from him.

He steps out away from my cabinets as he slicks his coarse salt and pepper hair down. Looking around the room, his eye catches on a gold statue of Venus I have in the corner.

“Ya know, one day Jacobi will stop protecting you? You do know that, right?” He’s daring me to say something he can take back and ‘tattle on me’ for. “And when that day comes, all that you have will be mine.”

“Since when did you stop calling him ‘my uncle?’ You trying to sound like a grown up now?” I can tell that hit home. He looks like he’s about to start spitting bile, so I decide to beat him to the punch.

“Look, you’re pissin’ me off. I don’t want to spank you, but I will.” I take a step toward him and he flinches back. What a pussy. I motion toward the door.

”My horoscope today said I’d
get into strange arguments or weird conversations”, I look him up and down
dramatically, “I just didn’t know how weird it really meant. I think it’s time for you to be somewhere else, wasting someone’s time that isn’t mine.”

***

The Native Pines Trailer Park is little more than a modestly sized mud pit, with what’s left of broken asphalt roads and speed bumps dividing up a sea of rusty mobile homes and the used up husks of what were once people. Depression here is at a premium.

Frank pulls into the parking spot in front of the 1978 red, white and rust special that he’d arrested Calvin Hocker at all those years ago and it really felt like yesterday for him.

He steps out of the Charger and gets halfway to the door before he’s stopped by the neighbor across the way. “She don’t live there.”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry?” he asks, a bit baffled by the statement.

“You’re looking for Ally, right? She always has men stopping by.” The bulbous car wreck in a house coat walks closer before continuing in a quieter yell, as if to keep others from overhearing her shouts. “Her and Calvin, that good-for-nothin’, moved out by the airport. And good riddance to him. Poor girl, I was sorry to see her go. She coulda done so much better than that one, let me tell ya.”

Frank nods his agreement and looks around at the people standing around outside. He decides that he might be able to turn this to his advantage. “Did he hang around with any of the folks around here? Someone that might be able to tell me what all he’s been into? I’m a friend of her family, and I’d like to see that guy behind bars and away from her.”

She examines him for just a moment and then leans in close. “He’s been running around with a different crew than he used to, worse fellas, and his old friends don’t like it none.”

She points to a man on a piece of cardboard under a rusty old minivan. ‘That there is Freddie Tubbs. Calvin owes him money. If anyone knows, he does, and he ain’t too fond of ol’ Calvin right now.”

“I thank you, ma’am,” Frank says as he starts walking in the direction of Mr. Tubbs. The woman continues to talk behind him, but he’s gotten all he needed from her. He just keeps walking.

After a quick conversation with Freddie, a couple of bills from his wallet, and a twenty minute drive, Frank pulls into the driveway of one Calvin Hocker.

Stepping up onto the rickety old porch, he notices a cigarette still smoldering in an ashtray. Someone’s at home.