Third Time's the Charm

by K. J. Emrick

  I just sit there, and stare at him. He wants me to just leave, and I know he thinks he’s doing me a favor by suggesting that, but I don’t run. I don’t hide. I was a Marine for a lot of years and that means first in, last out.

  This is my city. I’m staying.

  “Fine,” he says, seeing my decision written on my face. “Be that way. See ya when I see ya.”

  I stand up and put myself in his path. “Just tell me one thing, Parker.”

  Why should I? is what he’s going to ask.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I paid you.”

  Damn it.

  “Damn it,” he swears. He knows I’ve got him cornered. I know he wants to help me, because we’re friends, but the money in his pocket is what decides him. “Fine. What is it you want to know before I jet?”

  “You’re scared of this family of…you know, wolves,” I say, remembering to drop my voice when I do. “Your first reaction is to run away from them and I’m guessing that’s the way it is with most people who know what they really are. Nobody’s going to be stupid enough to cross them. So. Who would be stupid enough to steal from them?”

  He chews on his lower lip even though it’s obvious to both of us that he already has the answer in mind. “I can tell you this, you’re in for a world of danger, Sister Sidney.”

  I almost laugh. I’m being forced to work for Arnie Chen, well-known criminal with enough magical power to spook my genie. I had to replace my apartment door after it got blasted to pieces by bullets meant to separate my head from my shoulders. My coffee keeps telling me I’m going to die. Even without getting close to a bunch of werewolves, my life is hardly safe. Danger?

  “I laugh in the face of danger,” I tell him, sticking out my chin, crossing my arms to show him exactly what I think of that.

  “Heh. Fine. You win. You put your money down, you deserve your answer. The wolves have their home north of the city. Up near Eight Mile Road, around Woodlawn Cemetery. There’s an estate there with a mansion and everything. That’s their place. Only problem is, that’s also Northside Demons territory.”

  Oh. I know about the Demons. Detroit is home to any number of gangs, both national groups and the homegrown local variety. All of them are deadly in their own way. They commit murders, peddle drugs, kidnap and extort and worse. Bloods, Crips, Juggalos and others, including the Northside Demons. Most people know enough to stay away from gang territory if they can. It sounds like the Dachianas dropped their home smack dab in the middle of one instead.

  Bad blood between a family of werewolves and a Detroit street gang. Well, now I’ve seen everything.

  “So you’re telling me,” I say to Parker, “that you think the Northside Demons went and stole Kurt’s necklace because of this beef they’re having with Kurt’s family?”

  “Uh-huh. Exactly what I’m saying. Lookit. The Demons want the Dachianas to pay protection money like every other wealthy family up there. Instead, every time they send someone to try to convince them to pay, they end up dead. Ripped apart and then returned in pieces. The Demons want revenge but they’re too scared to make a direct move. Their members keep leaving ‘cause they’re scared. The leaders of the gang have to do something to make themselves look strong again, don’t they?”

  I nod my head along with everything he’s saying because, yes. It makes sense. Take away the word ‘werewolf’ from what he just said, and I’ve seen this story before. Powerful wealthy family refuses to cooperate with powerful gang. I was looking for someone who wanted to cause the Dachianas pain. Well, there it was.

  Any street gang, even a comparatively small one like the Demons, would have the skills to pick the locks on Molly’s apartment doors, get in without being seen, and slip out again with the necklace. Like Parker said, they might not know that the necklace was also a magic charm, but they sure as hell would know it was important to the Dachianas. Stealing a family heirloom is a low-down, underhanded move and that makes it exactly the sort of thing a bunch of street thugs would think of.

  I don’t know how they got past Molly’s spells, but that doesn’t keep them from being put on the suspect list.

  Well, well, well. I gave a lot more money to Parker this time than I usually would have, but it had definitely been worth it. Two solid leads in one morning. One for Chen’s case, and the other for Molly’s stolen necklace. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  This girl was going to be busy.

  “You good, Sister Sidney?” Parker asks. I could hear the concern in his voice even before he said anything. These werewolves really have him scared.

  What he doesn’t know is I’ve got a genie on my side. I’m not too shabby by myself, but with Harry I’m a lot better. Not to mention the help I’m sure to get from Christian Caine, one of the best cops I’ve ever known.

  How can I possibly fail?

  Chapter Five

  Famous last words.

  That’s what I was thinking about as I drove across town to the address Parker had given me for Kato. How many people really had the chance to say something important in the last moments before they passed away? I’m guessing not many. Most people go to the great beyond never having told the people who really matter what they need to say.

  So why am I thinking about this right now? Because I keep thinking back to Harry, and that little moment we had in my apartment, when he said he wanted to tell me something and then backpedaled on me. Was I misreading that whole scene? Was it really as innocent as he tried to make it seem? I don’t know. Guys are hard to read. Especially ones who are centuries old like Harry.

  Then again, the idea that it could have been something more than that kind of led me into thoughts that…well, let’s just say they made me blush. It sure felt like he was getting very personal. But…nah. Harry isn’t that kind of guy. He’s a standup man, a good friend, and he’s never had any trouble telling me what he’s been thinking before. With him I know I can take him at his word. What he says it what he means. Same with Chris.

  Man, guys can make your head spin.

  Anyway. Back to investigating Chen’s case. I can’t do anything on Molly and Kurt’s, really, at least not until Molly gets me that list of names like I asked for. I could look into the Northside Demons, I know, but one thing at a time. I want to run down this Kato lead that Parker found for me.

  So. Samuel Kato, here I come.

  The neighborhood of Fiskhorn is a small, rectangular part of Detroit that most people have never heard of. Literally, it’s a rectangle. It’s on all our maps but it’s easy to miss and easy to drive through without ever realizing you were even there. Appearance-wise, it looks pretty much like the rest of suburban Detroit, which is to say it’s an eclectic mix of carefully trimmed lawns, overgrown lots, nice houses, abandoned buildings, gated car dealerships, and the occasional business like White Castle and the CVS pharmacy.

  Joy Road runs right through the middle of the area, on a nearly straight East-West line. That’s where I find the address Parker gave me for Kato, in an apartment complex of connected units that front right along the street. It’s a nondescript place of rough red bricks and weathered white trim and a parking area half full of older model cars and pickup trucks. I actually drove by it once before I realized this was where I wanted to be and turned around. Once I had Roxy parked next to a Nissan with a bumper sticker that read Feel the Bern, I still wasn’t sure there hadn’t been some kind of mistake.

  On television, the uber bad guys always live in a big house behind an iron gate with guard dogs and security cameras. In real life, the bad people live right next door, in the corner apartment on the second floor. Some of them even belong to the homeowner’s association.

  Tacked to Samuel Kato’s front door is a notice that this week’s HOA meeting has been moved to next Monday due to a scheduling conflict with the local high school’s bake sale. Sorry for any inconvenience, Signed, Chairman Sam.

  Ooookay. So the guy’s active in his community, and he cares about oth
er people’s feelings. Sure doesn’t sound like someone who is secretly trading in stolen Chinese antiquities. Actually, he kind of sounds like a nice guy. Maybe Parker’s information was wrong. I mean, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? It could happen. Now I feel kind of foolish for bringing my concealed .38 revolver.

  Actually, no I don’t. Better safe than sorry. Even if I only end up having a cup of tea with this guy and then apologizing for bothering him, I’d rather be prepared for the worst and be surprised by the best. If Kato isn’t the guy I’m looking for he’ll never even know I’m wearing a gun. No harm done.

  All right. Well, I’m not going to get anywhere standing out here. All I can do is knock and ask the guy a few questions and see where it goes. Either he leads me to the guy who stole Chen’s statue, or he turns out to be a dead end and I’m back to square one. I really hope it turns out to be the first option. I don’t want to explain to Chen why I still don’t have any results for him. He gave me two days to give him results, and he’s not exactly the kind of guy who takes disappointment well.

  So here goes.

  “Coming!” I hear after I knock. “Won’t be a tic.”

  I’m not sure how long a tic actually is but the door opens before I can even count to three, and before I’ve had a chance to see anything with my future-sense. The man standing there leans against the doorframe while he rubs his hands on the front of the white apron tied around his waist. His dark skin and narrow eyes highlight a Polynesian heritage. That’s not all that surprising. Detroit does have a very small Pacific Island population. He’s short and bulky with muscle, and he smiles uncertainly to see me standing here.

  “Eh, can I help you?”

  “Mister Kato? I’m from the radio station. We’re doing a piece on the local community and we were hoping to get a moment of your time.” I let the lie roll smoothly off my tongue, making sure to meet his gaze evenly as it does.

  “You want to interview me?” he asks, folding his arms across a heavy chest. He’s shorter than I am but I have no doubt he could snap a two-by-four in half with those arms. “What could you possibly want to speak to me about, Miss...?"

  “Berkenstein," I tell him. “Laura Berkenstein. We’re interested in the revitalization efforts all across Detroit, and here in Fiskhorn. You’re the chairman of the homeowner’s association, right? You’re just the kind of person with the information we need. For our story, I mean.”

  When you’re going to interview a potential suspect in whatever case you’re investigating, you need to have a cover story. Going up to people and saying, ‘Hi, I’m a private investigator and I think you’re involved in criminal activity’ will usually kill any chances of them talking to you. At that point you’re lucky if they don’t call the police. So you lie instead, because sometimes you need to lie to get to the truth.

  ‘Laura Berkenstein’ is the name of a girl who used to bully me and other girls back in high school. I always use her name when I’m doing undercover work. If anyone ever makes a complaint against Laura Berkenstein for something I’ve done, it is my sincere hope that Laura gets arrested for it and has to explain herself from a jail cell.

  Anyway…

  Kato gives me a very appraising look. “What radio station did you say you were with?”

  And it helps to have all the pieces of your cover story in place, so you can answer questions like that one without having to think about it.

  “I’m from 98.7,” I tell him. I know that’s a radio station. It’s one of the few that Roxy can tune in on her outdated car stereo system. She plays 8-track cassettes, too, which I think is kind of cool.

  Whether he knows 98.7—The Breeze, Detroit—or not, he’s apparently satisfied with that answer. Sometimes saying anything at all is enough. With a shrug, he steps aside and motions toward the inside of his apartment. “Come on in. I just made some tea. Would you like some?”

  “I’d love some, thank you.” I actually can’t stand tea. Not unless it’s iced, with a lot of sugar in it. But I keep on smiling as he brings us to the kitchen area to the left of the door and has me sit at his little round table and then gets out an extra teacup for me. An actual teacup. One of those little ones with the fancy handle that look too fragile to hold the weight of the drink. Not something I’d expect a single guy to have in his cupboard. I’m more interested in scoping the place out than listening to him, actually, and I’ve only been giving him half an ear.

  Actually, the whole apartment is kind of unexpected. The wallpaper has birds and flowers on it. There’s no dust anywhere and the red rug is spotless. The countertops are spotless. A cinnamon-scented candle is burning in the middle of the stove. In the background, soft classical music is playing from a Bose radio. I swear there must be furniture polish on the table to make it gleam like this.

  Kato’s place isn’t a bachelor pad, that’s for sure. He takes a lot of pride in where he lives. Definitely has all the signs of being a nice guy, and so far no sign at all of being a crook.

  Looking around at the pictures of sailboats and sunsets on the wall—no personal photos, though—my eyes fall on a curio shelf in the corner. There’s a teddy bear on the bottom shelf. A model car on the top. And on the middle shelf there sits a jade Chinese dragon, long and twisted, its one front paw raised and its wavy tongue stuck straight out between its open jaws.

  Now that looks promising.

  “Are you a collector of Chinese art, Mister Kato?”

  From where he’s standing at the counter, putting together a plate of crackers from a box, he turns to look at me. He’s already hung the apron on a hook next to the fridge and now he’s ready to have guests. His eyes follow my gaze over to the curio, and he laughs. “Oh, that old thing? That was here when I moved into the apartment. I thought it was kind of cool, you know? So I kept it. That’s me. Sort of a pack rat, I guess.”

  There’s something not quite genuine about his answer. It wasn’t what he said so much as the way he said it, but something really bothers me about it. I guess one liar can always recognize another.

  Interesting. I might just have found my opening.

  “So when did you move here to Fiskhorn?” I ask him.

  “Hmm? Oh, a few years ago. I like the quiet of the area. I like the people, too. You said you wanted to talk about the community, right?”

  “Well, sure. We definitely want to hear all about that, but we want to get to know you a little better, too. It’s background for the piece. I mean, who is Samuel Kato, really?”

  He sits down with the two teacups, passing one over to me. He takes a deep drink from the other before giving me an answer. “Well, I’m no one special, I guess. I’m just a man who likes to give back to his neighbors. Personally, I think community is one of the most important things in the world. You have to be willing to give up your own time to help others.”

  I sip at my tea, which tastes just like warm dishwater in my opinion, but I’m only drinking it to give myself a moment to think. Is it my imagination, or is he changing the subject every time I try to bring the conversation around to him? Now why would he do that, I wonder? Even nice guys like to talk about themselves. How many noble figures have written their own autobiographies for sale on Amazon for thirty bucks plus shipping? Nelson Mandela, Booker T. Washington, Benjamin Franklin…Julie Andrews. The list goes on and on. Everyone likes to talk about themselves.

  So why won’t Mister Kato talk about Mister Kato?

  Whatever was bothering me before came back to me as a little bell in the back of my mind, ringing a warning about…something. Maybe it was just the falseness I could read in Kato’s every word. Nobody’s this selfless. Even dyed-in-the-wool goodie two shoes aren’t this good.

  “Do you have any hobbies?” I ask him, refusing to be led away from my goal. “A man as busy as you are, I mean, you must make time for yourself too, right?”

  He takes a drink from his tea. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I’m all about other people, you know. O
h, you can quote me on that if you like. Next week, we’re actually going to start a fundraiser for a playground. Something for the kids. It’s very important to provide for the kids, you know?”

  “Um, yes. I agree completely.”

  “Do you have kids, Miss Berkenstein?”

  “No, I don’t. We were talking about you, though. What does Sam Kato do for himself? Do you collect stamps, or build model airplanes? Restore cars?”

  His teacup lifted up to his lips again. He adds a little “ah” when he swallows, like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. I’ve already put mine aside. I’ve had a sip of it to be polite. That’s plenty for me.

  “I don’t have a lot of time to myself, I suppose,” he says to me now. “I do so much for the community, this and that, and it just takes up most of my day.” He shrugs. “I watch TV a little, I guess. Do you like TV, Miss Berkenstein?”

  Damn it. This sure doesn’t seem like a guy who was asking all around about ancient Chinese stuff. This doesn’t sound like a man who has any interest in anything, except community service.

  This is going to be a waste of time if I can’t get anything out of him. Dead end.

  He takes another drink of his tea and waits for me to say something.

  There’s something not right here and I wish I knew what my instincts were trying to warn me about. Everything about him seems so…vanilla. Plain. Ordinary. Move along, nothing to see here. In other words, boring. Yes, he’s lying to me, I know it and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s lying about what I need to know. So…how about I try a different tactic.

  “What do you do for work, Mister Kato? You must have time for work, right?”

  “I’m an actuary,” he says quickly. “I crunch numbers for big businesses so basically I can work from anywhere, even my living room. It doesn’t take any time away from the rest of my day at all, thankfully. There’s so much to do with the homeowner’s association and my other service organizations.”