The Conspiracy of Unicorns

by Michael Angel

  “I always do, Bob,” I replied. “You know that better than anyone.”

  McClatchy’s mouth curled down in a scowl. He’d just reminded me of our opening shots at that meeting all those months ago. The shots I’d snapped back like a rubber band in his face.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, the scowl vanished. However nutty McClatchy could act in the confines of his office, out here he had to watch what he said. Part of me unhelpfully realized that if he could hold it together, that might spell even more trouble for me.

  “Sacramento had some questions as to several ‘unorthodox’ things that have taken place around here,” McClatchy said, a trifle too heartily. “Therefore, they have sent us someone to help clarify things.”

  “I’d rather you just thought of it as a little extra ‘quality control’,” said the newcomer. His voice carried the faintest trace of an accent, something that sounded akin to Shelly’s. He stood and offered me his hand. “Detective Nathan Gavitt, Internal Affairs Division. You all can just call me ‘Gavitt’, everyone does. Even my mother, at least when she’s feeling out of sorts.”

  I accepted the man’s firm handshake. His expression was as sunny as his voice. It was disarming, pleasant.

  At least until you noticed the hard, unblinking stare of his eyes.

  “Dayna Chrissie, Crime Scene Analysis,” I replied. “I’m happy to help out, but I’m kind of in the middle of some cases that need to be closed. So, I have to ask right up front: What do you want to speak to me about?”

  “IA inquiries always take top priority,” McClatchy said evenly. “No matter what your case load is, Chrissie.”

  Gavitt’s brow moved up a jot as he noted McClatchy’s change in voice and the way he addressed me. Otherwise, he gave no sign that he’d heard anything. He shrugged noncommittally.

  “What do I want to speak to you about? Can’t say that I want to speak of anything specific. Just of shoes, ships, and sealing wax. Of cabbages. And kings.”

  My head jerked up at the man’s last words. Ever since bumping into the men from Crossbow Consulting, I’d started getting paranoid. Paranoid as to whether someone had any knowledge or involvement with Andeluvia. But Gavitt’s expression held none of the cat-that-got-the-cream smugness I’d seen from Archer or Harrison.

  “Cabbages and kings?” I asked. “Someone here reads…what is it, Charles Dickens?”

  “Lewis Carroll, actually. Quite fitting, if you think about it. Because coming down to Los Angeles has felt more than a bit like stepping through the looking glass. Officers on the LAPD have been bendin’ my ear with stories about how they’ve been working with the OME. But most all of them stories involve you. Some of it sounds pretty strange.”

  Now it was my turn to shrug. “Maybe we live in strange times. But I don’t really know what you’re getting at.”

  “Well, for starters, do you have anything to say about the harassment case involving you and Chief McClatchy?”

  Those words sealed it for me. There was no ‘harassment case’ involving me and Bob. Only a disciplinary recommendation from the board member that he’d run afoul of. Gavitt had been telling the truth, in a way. He was just fishing right now. Not for bass, but for bait to reel in bigger game.

  The question of the day was: What game was he hunting for?

  “I think you’re overstating things a bit,” I said. “I didn’t file a complaint or anything. The way I see it, things just got a bit heated between me and McClatchy because I didn’t want to talk about my personal life in public.”

  “That’s right,” McClatchy bobbed his head in agreement. “You heard it from Chrissie as well as me now. Nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

  Gavitt’s mouth twitched. “Well, now. Maybe I misunderstood something myself. See, I was just going over these meeting records here. Things got heated because you claimed Ms. Chrissie ‘ditched’ the escorting officers you assigned for her protection.”

  “I look out for the wellbeing of anyone under the care of my officers.”

  The IA man chewed his lip as he mulled over those words. “So…you think it was worthwhile, then? The escort you wrangled for her?”

  Bob puffed himself up a bit at that. “Of course it was! Surely you’ve read about the events that have taken place at Chrissie’s house. I’d say that whoever threatened her in the first place is still after her. She needed the best protection!”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to look more into these ‘events’ come the next sunup. But I can’t help but ask you another question.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Gavitt’s eyes didn’t waver from McClatchy’s face as he spoke again. “If you felt that Dayna Chrissie needed ‘the best protection’, then why didn’t you hire Crossbow Consulting on her behalf? Instead of yours, I mean.”

  McClatchy seemed to deflate a bit. “There were other considerations to take into account.”

  “Are your men not capable of protecting a targeted person? Even if the target was yourself?”

  “The officers of the LAPD are very capable,” came the dogged reply. But while the IA man’s expression didn’t change, he continued to bore in on McClatchy.

  “I agree, your people are competent. But if you felt that you had to hire private security, you doubted their loyalty. Curious as to why you’d feel that way. Should be interesting to get to the bottom of that.”

  Bob let out a sputter of outrage. Before he could say anything coherent, a jarring ring cut through the air. I didn’t recognize the sound, but both Gavitt and McClatchy went to check their phones. The IA agent squinted at his screen and then stood up.

  “Sorry to be so darned rude,” he said. “But I have to take this. I’ll follow up with both of you sometime later.”

  Gavitt thumbed his screen and said ‘hello’ as he exited the room. McClatchy and I both got up. He headed towards the door, while I trailed a step or two behind. Then Bob stopped and fairly growled over his shoulder at me.

  “This is your fault, Chrissie.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I shot back. “I didn’t call Internal Affairs. You did this your own damn self, Bob.”

  He swung around and stabbed an accusatory finger at me. A stray fleck of spittle sprayed from his lower lip. It flew a bit too close for comfort past my cheek.

  “IA is here because of your stupidity! You’ve been messing with my destiny!”

  I probably should have backed down. McClatchy was flying a half-dozen brightly-colored flags that said ‘do not touch’. But I was tired, so damned tired of this ‘destiny’ spiel. I couldn’t come right out and say that a magical dream-horse had scrambled his brain, but I could try and talk some sense into him.

  “I told you to get rid of Crossbow Consulting before it was too late. If you don’t come clean, then Internal Affairs will put a bigger dent in your so-called ‘destiny’ than I ever could!”

  McClatchy’s eyes were bloodshot, and they jittered ever so slightly. They weren’t the eyes of a sane man.

  “The Monseigneur won’t let anything happen to me,” he insisted. “He’s been watching me…shaping my course, nudging me where I was needed. All to fulfil a grander design, a great purpose.”

  “Come off it, Bob! What this ‘Monseigneur’ told you is a delusion. A delusion that he fostered from your own sense of self-importance!”

  The Police Chief’s fist was a blur as it shot past my face. It connected with the stucco wall an inch from my left ear with a BANG. I flinched even as I reflexively reached for a holster that I wasn’t wearing.

  McClatchy fairly loomed over me. He panted as if he’d just run a marathon. The stink of sweat rolled off his skin in a sour-smelling wave.

  “Don’t you ever,” he gritted, “soil the Monseigneur’s name by speaking it again. That won’t happen. I won’t let that happen. I was a fool to listen to Archer. To let him handle your case, when I could have crushed you underfoot.”

  I didn’t say anything. My big mouth had pushed things with Bob to
o far already.

  “But Archer’s not around anymore,” McClatchy murmured.

  His eyes went to where his arm was still outstretched, fist against the wall. He lowered his arm and looked surprised at the trickle of red that dripped from the knuckles of his three middle fingers. Bob straightened up. His eyes flickered, as if remembering that he wasn’t supposed to threaten people during work time.

  “Archer’s not around,” he repeated, as if to himself. “I think you and I have been doing this little dance long enough, Chrissie. It’s going to be time soon. Time to bring it all to an end.”

  With that heartening thought, McClatchy turned away from me. His face had taken on an expression as sour as his body odor, but it had lost the look of pathological rage.

  And then, he simply walked out of the room, as calmly as you please.

  Not me.

  I staggered back to the meeting table, sprawling in a chair and putting my elbows on the table as I rubbed at my throbbing temples. A band of pain encircled my head like a rubbery vise, and I got up to grab a bottle of aspirin. As I did so, another chime rang out. This one was from my phone, and my headache diminished to half-strength as soon as I saw the number.

  I slid my finger across the answer button. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, mi querido.”

  “Back at you, mi angel,” Esteban said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “McClatchy just passed me in the hall. The expression on his face…wow. It looked like you’d made him eat a scrub brush.”

  “It wasn’t me, for a change. Although he blames me for it.”

  “It wasn’t you? You’re slipping.”

  Despite myself, I let out a short laugh. I had to, or I’d have cried.

  “No, I think that Bob’s finally bitten off more than he can chew with this detective from Sacramento. He can’t bully or berate his way out of things this time. He’s like a drowning man, and I bet he’s working that tiny mind of his trying to figure who he can take down with him.”

  Esteban’s voice grew softer. “He won’t take you down. You’re not alone in this.”

  “As long as you’re there, I know that. But he’ll have Internal Affairs snooping around me soon. And you know how much stuff around me is just plain…chueco.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I heard him sigh, and I could just picture Alanzo running his fingers through that delightful tousle of hair on his head. “Look, I know this has you stressed out enough. If you need to cancel our dinner tonight…”

  “No, absolutely not! But I do need to change our plans a little. Would you mind eating dinner with Shelly? We’ll be over at her house, and she’s a great cook.”

  “Dinner with el gran cocinero? I’m there. But I know how she likes to cook. I’m going to have to schedule more time at the gym.”

  That brought a much-needed smile to my face. “Good. And there’s something rather unique happening tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It took me quite a while to set it up,” I said. “But I’ve arranged for someone extra special to join us for dinner. They’ll have come a long way.”

  I could hear from his voice that I had him hooked. “Really? Someone from Andeluvia?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hm…I don’t think King Fitzwilliam can leave the hospital just yet, but I could be mistaken. Am I close?”

  “Not even warm. But trust me,” I said, savoring the suspense, “this is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time I got back downstairs, Shelly had finished up with the slab work and left for the day. I’d also been cleared for working an ‘abbreviated’ workday, but I still had to go back to my office and slog my way through paperwork for a couple more hours before punching out.

  Leaving the OME building was a bit complicated for me. I still hadn’t let my guard down regarding the parking lot. Since I couldn’t carry a firearm into work anymore, I followed a two-step plan fitting for any budding paranoiac like myself: ‘reconnaissance’ and ‘safety in numbers’.

  Step one was simply walking through the exit lobby to just past the security point. I ignored the awful click-and-squeak noises that everyone’s shoes made on the black marble floor and squinted as best I could through the smoked-glass windows. If I didn’t see Damon Harrison lurking about, I went on to step two.

  Step two took advantage of the fact that the OME was practically around the block from LAPD headquarters. About one out of seven or eight people walking out the door was a uniformed patrolman or detective. Either person had a firearm on them. While I knew that even a direct hit from a big-effing-gun would only slow Harrison down a bit, that margin might be all I needed.

  Sometimes, when the flow of people was sparse, I’d end up dawdling in the lobby for several minutes. None of the security agents at the checkpoint ever bothered me about it. I did get the occasional puzzled look, but that was small potatoes for me these days.

  Some of Liam’s luck must have rubbed off on me today, though. A quick squint through a freshly washed window confirmed that the lot was Harrison-free. Then, a pair of uniformed policemen passed by. I followed discretely in their wake until I got to the row where I’d parked my car. A quick sprint to the driver’s side door, a jab of the key in the ignition, and I was on my way.

  I had someplace to go before I returned to Shelly’s for dinner. Two places, actually.

  My first stop took me to a local place which leased out rental vans and provided long-term parking. I parked my car in one of the extended-term spaces and discretely removed both gun and holster from the trunk. Slipping the holstered firearm on under my jacket, I went to pick up the reserved ‘studio sized’ moving van. Said van was about as jouncy and uncomfortable as one from the OME, but at least I made it back to my house before the rush hour traffic really made a mess of things.

  The late afternoon sunlight didn’t make my second destination look any more welcoming. My house looked like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie. The garage door had so many bullet holes gouged into its surface that it could’ve been made from sponge cake.

  A good chunk of the building’s main structure lay strewn across my front lawn in a pile of glass, stucco, and concrete rubble. What remained standing had been tented under a huge mass of plastic. Each semi-transparent sheet reflected the westering sun. It made my house look like it was bleeding to death.

  I took a deep breath before doing anything more. The shot-up police cruiser had been removed from my driveway, of course. The spent shell casings had all been gathered. The crime scene tape had been taken down. Even the bloodstains had been scrubbed away.

  Yet I could still see the outline of the cruiser. The glitter of broken glass from the vehicle’s windows. The tiny, coffin-like space by the garage where I’d huddled with Esteban as bullets flew overhead.

  The dark spot where Isabel Vega had died.

  But I had to put that out of my mind for now. I parked the van at the curb and got out. Opening the rear doors, I pulled out the pre-installed cargo ramp and rolled out the included utility dolly.

  The dolly’s wheels squeak-squeaked in protest as I pushed it up the path to the front door. It wasn’t rated for more than two hundred pounds, but I wasn’t planning on getting anything super heavy. I had already written off most of my furniture as a loss.

  For starters, I wasn’t sure if I could eat at my old kitchen table again. Not after finding Max Cohen’s remains on it. And the living room couch was on its last legs, especially after Shaw had busted out the springs and clawed the upholstery to shreds.

  No, I was only going to wheel out some boxes for my clothes, toiletries, and some books. I was already making a mental list of items to grab when I brought my dolly to a halt in mid-squeak.

  Someone had already pulled the plastic sheet covering the front door to one side. That was helpful, in that it saved me some labor. But the suspicious bundle lying at the foot of the door was a whole other thing. I was starting to get g
un-shy about suspicious packages these days.

  Yeah, my brain helpfully put in. You’re going to be a real blast to be around come Christmas.

  I approached the porch, hand held close to where I could reach my holster in a hurry. My nerves were taut, expecting any one of a hundred dirty tricks. However, my suspicions abated somewhat as I realized that the ‘bundle’ was a wicker basket sporting a purple and gold ribbon. Inside lay a pile of red Anjou pears, kiwis, pineapples, a bundle of small cards wrapped tightly with a rubber band, and a bright pink envelope marked with a smiley face.

  I reached for the envelope first. If Harrison had found a way to get past Galen’s magical wards, at least he had settled on a cheerier way to threaten me. A quick flick of a finger allowed me to open the envelope and read the letter inside.

  Dear Homeowner,

  We, the combined members of your local neighborhood association, wish to express our condolences for the loss of life that has taken place at your residence. It is our hope that this convinces you to refrain from further activities that threaten the peace, quiet, and housing prices of our community.

  We have heard that, due to the massive damage to your dwelling – which seems quite severe to our eyes – you are considering selling the property and moving elsewhere. We would like to thank you in advance for taking the opportunity to make a fresh start! To that end, we have included a few cards from local trustworthy realtors.

  If there is anything else we can do in order to assist you in this process – or speed it up a little, ha ha! – kindly let us know.

  Very Truly Yours,

  Your Extremely Grateful Neighbors

  I hefted the bundle of business cards in one hand. The rubber band encircling it was stretched so tight that I could barely get my fingers around the stack. The topmost card announced in big bold letters that the realtor specialized in OUT OF STATE MOVES.

  Nice. Not exactly subtle, but at least the latest letter didn’t accuse me of making or selling meth. That was about as good a rep as I could get on my block these days.