by M. K. Gibson
She looked back at Deacon and added, “While he has confidence in your abilities, I am having doubts. Regardless, solve this.”
The image of Mother-1 vanished.
“You heard her,” Messer said. “Let’s figure out who killed a god.”
Chapter Eight
13 May - 2:37 pm
Transit Authority Central Office, Room B-117, District of Axis Mundi
“Okay, let’s run over this again,” Messer said, staring at the digital board.
“Do we have to?” Deacon asked as he helped himself to another slice of pizza.
“Yes,” Cross said, reaching across the table and grabbing herself one as well. “This is police work.”
“That I don’t mind. I meant, do we have to do it in this conference room?” Deacon asked. “Why aren’t we in that really cool one in MORTAL HQ?”
“Because you’re still probationary agents and you have to earn your way back in there.”
“Fine,” Deacon said. “Less ghosts here anyway.”
“Fewer,” DeLeon corrected. “You mean fewer, not less.”
Deacon narrowed his eyes. “I bet you’re single.”
“Mother-1 is not a ghost,” Messer reaffirmed.
“She walked through a goddamn table. That’s a ghost,” Deacon said, tapping the top of a pizza box. “Okay New Girl, hit us.”
DeLeon rolled her eyes. She took the holo-pen and began dragging images from the video of Hermes and pasting them on the board. “Victim: Hermes, Greek god. Died 11 May at approximately 2130. After robbing his place of employment, a coffee shop in the District of Brightway, Hermes ran to this warehouse, where he holed up.”
“Don’t forget he killed a centaur,” Cross said.
“Right,” DeLeon said, dragging the image of a bisected horse chalk outline over and adding it to the facts column. “From there, the APD surrounded the warehouse and demanded that Hermes turn himself over. Hermes then emerged from the warehouse and ingested an unknown substance, whereupon he regained some form of his former godly power. Hermes then began transforming APD members into pigs.”
“What’s going to happen to them, by the way?” Cross asked.
“They were picked up by special agents and taken to the elves for possible magical reconstruction,” Messer said. “How are they doing, Gabby?”
The elf shrugged and shook her head slightly.
“Well, keep us informed.”
DeLeon circled the vial from the evidence column, dragged it over, and connected it with a line. “Thanks to Messer and Gabby, we have confirmation that the vial had been enchanted with black magic.”
“So, what was in the vial?” Deacon asked.
“Unknown,” Messer said. “Absolutely zero traces were left behind.”
Deacon crossed his arms. “Huh. I wonder if it’s because of the possible chemical nature of the unidentified substance, or due to the magical weave of the vial’s enchantment?”
“Arby?” Cross asked.
“Oh, sorry,” Deacon said with a small shake of his head. “So anyway, be sure to write down he hated Ted.”
“We already did,” DeLeon said, pointing to the name “Ted” written, circled, and decorated with a frowny face. “Why do you have such a hard-on for Ted?”
“Yeah Arby, why?” Cross asked. “The joke isn’t funny anymore.”
Messer watched Deacon carefully. The big man rubbed his face in frustration, as if everyone struggled with a puzzle he had long since figured out. Deacon pushed off the table as he stood, grabbed a paper towel, and wiped the pizza grease from his hands. Walking around the desk, he stepped up to DeLeon and held out his hand for the holo-pen.
“Please,” he said, tapping his foot.
“Be my guest,” DeLon said, handing him the instrument.
“Thank you,” Deacon said, giving DeLeon a slight nudge with his hips. Blocking the board with his broad back, Deacon began to work while muttering, “I swear, if you can’t make the horse drink the water, then you should just hold its damn head under water.”
Messer couldn’t see what Deacon was writing, although he had suspicions.
“Arby, what are you doing?” Cross asked.
“Shh! I’m working.”
“Why do you call him that?” DeLeon asked as she took a seat next to Cross. “What’s Arby?”
“Because when you’ve known this ‘Royal Bitch’ for as long as I have—”
Deacon paused his work long enough to hold up a middle finger over his shoulder. “I can hear you.”
“I wasn’t whispering,” Cross said, putting a long leg up on the desk.
Deacon turned and revealed his work. Cross took her leg off the table and leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. “What is all that?”
Messer too saw what Deacon had done. The majority of the evidence and notes had been lined out, erased, or marked with obscene, condescending language.
“This is what you all should have been paying attention to,” Deacon said, tapping the word “Ted.” “It isn’t the robbery or the centaur murder that’s important, and it damn sure isn’t the vial, but we’ll get to that. It’s obvious that whatever was in the vial made Hermes go crazy. But what does that do for us now? Nothing. We don’t have a clue what it was and guessing is a waste of time. For now, anyway. The vial itself was enchanted with black magic. But there are hundreds of illegal BM operations out there. Heh . . . I said ‘BM’, but no time for laughs. So the vial and what was in it are both needles in a haystack. What isn’t is Ted. Him, we can find. That will give us a starting point.”
“But whatever was in the vial gave him temporary god-like powers,” DeLeon said.
“True. But I’ve never heard of a substance that can do that, have you?”
“No,” DeLeon admitted.
“So I’d rather not waste my time speculating on the ‘what-if’s.”
“Do you think Ted killed him?” Cross asked. “Or is at least responsible?”
“No,” Deacon said. “Hermes cursed this guy with his last breath. Why? Simple: Ted was his roommate.”
“Why?” Messer asked, more concerned about the thought process. “Why do you think that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cross said. “We have Hermes’s apartment on file and the only name on the lease was Hermes Olympia. And while Alpdruck is a crap hole, the rent is fairly cheap.”
“We also have the report from the patrolmen who went by the apartment,” DeLeon added. “They didn’t report anyone else.”
“But the only job Hermes had was at a coffee shop,” Deacon countered. “That’s not enough money to make rent and to have any sort of life. Which is why I’m willing to bet Ted was his roommate. Everyone hates their roommate.”
“I dunno,” Cross said. “Seems thin.”
“I don’t know,” DeLeon said, “I think he might be on to something. I’ve had roommates I’ve wanted to kill in the past.”
“Don’t be a suck up,” Cross said. “He loves that.”
“I do,” Deacon agreed. “Go on, New Girl. Tell me more about why I’m right.”
DeLeon shook her head. “God, you’re both assholes. Look, what I’m agreeing to is that Hermes clearly had fallen on hard times. It makes sense that he’d have a roommate. I’m not saying that it is Ted, but the reasoning is sound. Especially if Hermes had a drug habit.”
“Who said that he had drug problem?” Messer asked, looking for DeLeon’s reasoning.
“This entire thing started because he most likely freaked out after ingesting something. Heavy users almost always have an episode because they’ve become numb to the normal stuff and switch to something more potent, looking for a bigger high.”
“You an expert on substance abuse now?” Cross turned to her right and asked.
“I know what I know,” DeLeon said, refusing to look at the woman.
“Okay, I’ll take that bet,” Cross said.
“What?”
“Arby. He said he’d bet on it, and I’ll take
him up on it. The usual?”
“You’re on,” Deacon said with a smile. “Me and New Girl agree to the standard bet.”
“Wait, what?” DeLeon asked, confused.
“I know just the one for you two,” Cross said.
“What bet?” DeLeon asked again.
“Don’t worry about it,” Deacon said. “We got this. My gut’s never wrong.”
“Or flat,” Cross said.
“Ouch,” Messer said with a wry grin while DeLeon looked away.
Deacon looked down at his stomach, sucked it in a little, shrugged, then let it back out. “And she calls me a bitch. Alas, carbs are the enemy of us all. Okay, body shaming aside, the daylight’s burning. Let’s go to Hermes’s last known address and find us a Ted! Gabby, your wand portal thingy!” he said, pointing his finger to the sky with a flourish.
“Nope,” Messer said.
Deacon looked at him, finger still in the air, and sighed. “No offense boss, but you’re really killing my joy.”
“Sorry. Gabby moves on her own,” Messer explained. “The rest of us are stuck with conventional, non-Fey-based modes of transportation.”
“To the conventional, non-Fey-based modes of transportation then!” Deacon said, swinging his arm around to point at the door.
“It—it’s just sad to watch you sometimes,” Cross said, getting up and walking out of the room.
“But—”
“Shh. Don’t make it worse,” Cross said as she to walked to the door.
Deacon shrugged and then joined her in the hall.
DeLeon remained in her chair as the door closed. She shook her head. “They really are assholes.”
“No, they’re cops,” Messer said. “And they’ve been cops longer than you’ve been an adult. It’s why you feel intimidated.”
“I’m not intimidated by them,” DeLeon said. “I’m younger and I’ve come further in a shorter amount of time. I—”
“Have competition,” Messer said flatly. “It’s good for you. It’ll knock that stupid chip off your shoulder.”
“What’s your angle, Sergeant?”
“I like broken things,” Messer said, looking at the young officer.
“You think I’m broken?” DeLeon asked, looking mildly offended. “You saw the fool and slut you hired just leave the room, right?”
Messer gave her a stern glare. “All of you are broken. But a broken thing sometimes heals in the most amazing and unique ways. You, DeLeon, are honest to fault. That will either get you far, or get you killed.”
“You’re talking about my old partner.”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Which is it then?” she asked. “Will I go far, or will I get killed?”
“I don’t know,” Messer said honestly. “But it will interesting to watch. Now, go catch up with your team, and tell them to head to the parking garage. I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Yes Sergeant,” DeLeon said, leaving the conference room and shutting the door behind her.
“So, any new revelations?” Messer asked Gabby.
The elf walked to the front of the room, crossed her arms, and canted her hips. She sniffed the air again and gave him an amused smile.
“Yeah, I like them as well. Imagine what they’ll be like when they gel.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out her wand. Quirking an eyebrow, Gabby stared at him.
“Oh, I know. I just told them that because I didn’t want them to rely on it. If they knew half the toys at our disposal, they’d get soft. For now, let’s go slow. You wanna ride along? I’ll let you run the siren.”
Gabby gave him an impish grin and two eager thumbs up.
Chapter Nine
13 May - 3:52 pm
Who Gives A Puck Apartments, #311 - District of Alpdruck
There was a sharp banging on the front door. Ted Wilkins hit pause on his movie put the spoon back in the tub of ice cream.
“Who is it?”
The banging continued. Ted sighed, put the ice cream onto the coffee table, set his data tablet down, and got up from the recliner. He walked over to the front door and tapped the security camera. In the door’s screen, he saw a large black man with dreadlocks in a ponytail standing in front an older guy, two girls, and an elf.
“Can I help you?” Ted asked.
“This is a very important question, one that determines the fate—nay, the destiny, of others,” the black man said, leaning in so close that the whites of his eyes filled the screen. “The next few words out of your mouth are critical. Do you understand me?”
“Uh, sure?”
“Good enough. Okay, here it is . . . is your name Ted?”
“Y-yes?” Ted said.
“And are you, Ted, the roommate of Hermes Olympia?”
“I, well, sorta? I sublet the spare bedroom—”
“Not an answer!” the man yelled back as he slammed his large fist against the door. “Yes or no, Ted. Are you—his goddamn—roommate?!”
“Yes?”
“HA!” the man shouted, throwing both fists in the air. “Victory! C’mere New Girl, victory dance!”
“Get your fuckin’ hands off me!”
“Whatever! Solo victory dance!”
Ted watched the man do a dance in the hallway that was like the funky chicken, but with finger snaps and butt shaking. The taller women with the scowl shook her head and pulled out a leather wallet from inside her long coat. Unfolding it, she flashed an Avalantis PD badge while also letting out a large sigh.
“Ted, we’re the police. Please open the door.”
********
13 May - 4:01 pm
Ted’s Apartment - District of Alpdruck
Cassy sat next to Messer on a ratty couch while Arby, New Girl, and Gabby searched the apartment. Ted had planted himself back into his recliner and ate ice cream directly from the plastic tub. The young slacker was shirtless, with long hair and a stubble beard. Despite his junk food diet, Ted was lean and nearly hairless. In the corner near him was an acoustic guitar. Cross forced herself to focus, as Ted was the physical representation of every mistake she’d made in her twenties. And several in her early thirties.
“So, am I like, in trouble?” Ted asked.
“Depends,” Messer said. “We would like to ask you some questions.”
“Sure.”
“Where were you on the night of 11 May?”
“I had a gig,” Ted said between bites of ice cream. “Why?”
“Where was this . . . gig?”
“Down in Agartha,” Ted said, then set down his ice cream, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Leaning back in the recliner, he threw his arm over his head in a relaxed manner. “My band—”
“So, you do play in a band then?” Cassy asked, sounding slightly more eager than she intended. From the corner of her eye, she saw Messer give her a stern look.
“Yes, what’s the name of your band?” Messer asked, then gave Cassy the tiniest of winks. “For our records.”
“Nachtkrapp’s Sight,” Ted said. “We played this folk metal tribute showcase at Brok & Sin. Turned into a two-day party and I just got back this morning. What is this about?”
“Cross?”
“On it,” Cassy said, taking out her data tablet and connecting to the APD’s database. Pulling up the Eye of Balor feed from that time, she saw that there was a rock concert the night of 11 May. Scrolling though the various feeds, she saw Ted on stage playing guitar. He was shirtless and covered in sweat.
“Well, I’m . . . good.”
“Cross?” Messer asked in a tone that said his patience was growing thin.
“What I meant to say was that I’m, uh, good with the findings.” Messer was still giving her an odd look. “Yes, Sergeant, he was there.”
“Do you need a cold shower or a cigarette?” Arby called out from the kitchen.
Cassy looked over and saw Arby peering over an open refrigerator door which blocked the kitchen entryway. He ha
d a smart-ass grin on his face and a canister of whipped cream in his hand.
“Shut up Arby,” Cassy said to the smirking man as he took a hit off the whipped cream.
“Do you need either of those things, Cross?” Messer asked. “Or can we continue like professionals?”
“No, Sergeant. I’m fine.”
“Good. Deacon, why aren’t you assisting DeLeon in the investigation?”
“New Girl said she had it,” Arby said. “Plus, Ted did say to help ourselves to whatever we wanted.”
“Actually, you asked if you could look around and I said ‘Sure, it’s not my place anyway’,” Ted said.
“Basically what I said,” Arby countered, then took another hit off the whipped cream.
Messer sighed. “Where’s Gabby?”
The elf popped up from beside Arby with her own can of whipped cream. She flashed a smile, then sprayed some directly into her mouth.
“You too?”
The elf shrugged.
“Fine,” Messer said with a slight shake of his head, then turned his attention back to Ted. “I want to show you something, and it may be shocking.”
“Okay?” Ted said, ashing his smoke.
Messer set a small vid-pad on the coffee table and turned it towards Ted and pressed play. Cassy watched Ted to gauge his reaction. The man’s eyes went wide with shock, seeing Hermes speak his last words and then explode. When the video was over, he sat forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Huh,” Ted said, seemingly stunned as he absently put his cigarette into the ashtray. “That’s . . . that’s kind of fucked up.”
“So you had no idea he was dead?” Cassy asked.
“No,” Ted said. “I . . . I knew he was messed up, but—”
“But what?” Cassy asked.
“But where am I going to live now?” Ted asked.
“Well, that’s between you and the landlord,” Messer said. “I don’t know your financial situation, so you may have to sell some things—”
“The H-Man already sold everything of real value,” Ted said absently as he rubbed at his forehead.
