The Jetpack Boogie: A Dieselpunk Adventure (The Crossover Case Files Book 4)

by Richard Levesque

  “Let go of me!” she barked, trying to yank her arm away again.

  “So you can scramble away from me and out that door? No way.”

  “I won’t! I promise.”

  “All right,” I said. “I don’t want to hold onto you if you don’t want to be held. Let’s make a deal. I let you go and you tell me what happened. You don’t try to run away. And when you’re done telling me your story, I’ll give you some cash. You can do with it what you want, and I won’t tell anyone I found you.”

  She said nothing to this, just gave me a little nod.

  “Deal?” I asked.

  “Deal,” she whispered.

  I let go but kept my hand close for a second until I saw that all she was going to do was reel her wrist in and hold it with her other hand, almost like the offended limb was a kitten she needed to cuddle now.

  “Walk me through it,” I said again.

  “It’s like you said. Penny was late. Peter locked her out. We heard her open the garage door.”

  “And then?”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and started spilling onto her cheeks.

  “I tried to calm him down,” she said.

  “He get rough when he’s not listened to?”

  She nodded.

  “That what happened to you? To your nose?”

  She looked away again, only for a moment, and then back again.

  “I tried to calm him down,” she said again. “Tried to make him happy. You know. In bed. But he wouldn’t. He kept saying he was going to teach her a lesson. Like he did me.”

  “The steering wheel,” I said. It wasn’t a question. I pictured Peter smashing this woman’s face against the wheel of her car, breaking her nose, and doing the same to the other woman in the love triangle he’d set up in his mansion.

  “I didn’t want her to get hurt. I tried to tell her what would happen. But she wouldn’t listen. And now look what happened.”

  “You two weren’t rivals, were you?” Carmelita said from over my shoulder.

  Katrina looked at Carmelita and shook her head. “I loved her,” she said, and then tears were falling freely. “I knew she was going to get hurt if it kept going. I knew he couldn’t hold in his anger forever. I didn’t think she was going to die, though. I tried to warn her. I tried. She said…” Now a sob racked her, and then she finished, “She said he’d never do to her what he’d done to me. She thought her face was too valuable.”

  Then she crumbled into sobs, and I stepped back to give her a little space. I caught Carmelita’s expression as I turned and could see that she looked mortified, clearly not having expected her single question to have caused such a breach in Katrina’s dam.

  “It’s all right,” I said quietly, and I meant it. Once again, I was surprised at Carmelita’s ability to empathize and to make observations based on a real instinct for human need. She’d had a lot of practice dealing with human beings and fooling herself into thinking she was one, and she still had the ability to say and do things that clearly marked her as unlike the people she blended in with, but I couldn’t recall this potential for connectedness in her before. Maybe it was an outgrowth of the bond she’d formed with Osvaldo. And maybe it stemmed, paradoxically, from her final realization that she was ultimately alienated from the people she’d been convinced she was a part of. “I think that was good for her to be able to admit to herself,” I offered. “Maybe now she’ll be able to get out of the hole she’s dug herself into.”

  Turning back to the bed, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out Jetpack Jed’s wallet. Riffling through the currency, I saw several hundred-dollar bills, a few twenties, and two tens. I didn’t recognize the faces on any of the money. A hundred would likely have done a lot to change Katrina’s situation, but given her circumstances I recognized that it might also provide enough excess to seal her death warrant. So, instead of giving her what I felt she should have, I peeled a ten-spot free from the billfold and put the wallet away. Then I reached into my front pocket and pulled out the note Elvira Ruiz had written. I tore the fancy letterhead free from the hand-written portion and folded the letter again before slipping it back into my pocket.

  I sat on the bed and reached out for Katrina’s hand, gently this time. When she yielded easily, I knew I was doing the right thing. I put the ten into her hand.

  “This should get you some food,” I said. “And a room in a decent place. You need to get out of here, Katrina, or the next person who finds you is going to be identifying you in the county morgue. You understand?”

  She nodded feebly, her expression reminding me of a little girl who’s been caught doing bad.

  “I also have this for you,” I said, and I laid the torn scrap with the letterhead on top of the ten. “There’s a phone number there for a friend of mine. She’s a lawyer. I don’t know if she takes murder cases, but I bet she’ll know someone who does. And she’ll help you if you tell her I sent you. My name is Jed Strait. Can you remember that?”

  She nodded again.

  “Say it.”

  “Jed Strait,” she whispered.

  “That’s right. Just remember the dire straits you’re in now. That woman, Elvira Ruiz, she’s the key to getting you out of this jam. You want to live?”

  She nodded but said nothing.

  Carmelita weighed in. “Do you want to see Penny get justice?”

  A more vigorous nod.

  “Good,” I said. “Then you call that number. I’d be happiest if you put on some clothes and went right now. Break that ten on a cup of coffee and pop a nickel into a payphone. Remember. Jed Strait.”

  “I’ll remember,” she said, more assurance and strength in her voice.

  “All right. We’re going to go now. Don’t hang around here. And don’t come back to this room. It’s like a coffin.”

  I closed her fingers on the money and the letterhead, and then I patted her closed fist for good measure. Getting off the bed, I nodded to Carmelita, and we went back into the hallway.

  As I closed the door, I caught one more glimpse of Katrina Mulligan. She had opened her hand and was looking at the money and slip of paper like she’d just found a diamond in her palm.

  Something about the scene bothered me, but I couldn’t place it.

  Then I closed the door the rest of the way, telling myself it was nothing—just a hangover effect from having seen a slightly different version of the room in my vision and now having to reconcile the strange future memory with the odd reality I’d just confronted.

  “Go ahead,” I said to Carmelita.

  “Ahead?”

  “Yeah. Open the portal. Take us back.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I knew it was risky stepping back into our world in the middle of a hotel hallway. On the other side of the portal Carmelita created, The Tidepool Inn was a posh spot for flashy tourists rather than a graffiti-pocked flop full of the addicted, indigent, and forgotten. Even so, hopping to the second floor via another world was easier than trying to storm the lobby gatekeeper, and if a fancy patron saw a weary gumshoe and a gorgeous brunette appearing in the middle of the hallway, seemingly from out of nowhere, I could only hope the vision would be written off as one too many poolside martinis.

  We passed through the portal, and I was relieved to see my apprehension had been for nothing. It was early afternoon, probably still before check-in time. Most of the guests who’d stayed over would be at the pool or down at the beach or the pier. The newly arriving wouldn’t have their keys yet, and the housekeeping staff would probably have finished tidying up from the previous night’s guests by now.

  I looked up and down the hall in both directions, a bit taken aback at the contrast. Lights blazed in the wall sconces. None of the carpeting was torn. The walls were painted a solid beige, not marred by graffitied scrawls. The windows in the distance were unbroken. How and why the place had fallen into such disrepair in the other world was a mystery I wasn’t about to try solving.

  Tur
ning back to room 254, I saw all three brass digits still in place on the door.

  The question was: did the same door conceal this world’s version of Katrina Mulligan? Instinct—and the vision I’d had—told me it did, but neither of those things was a solid enough lead to hand Imelda Bettencourt.

  Leaning over, I whispered into Carmelita’s ear. When I was finished, I stepped back and saw her nod of understanding, which I returned. I watched her unfasten her earrings—little pearls—and slip one into a pocket in her blouse. Then I moved away from the door, hugging the wall so that if the door opened, no one inside would see me unless they decided to come all the way into the hall.

  Carmelita knocked, her perfect hand rapping just below the brass numbers nailed to the door.

  There was no response from inside.

  She knocked again, a little more firmly and then announced herself.

  “Housekeeping!”

  Instantly, there came a reply from beyond the door.

  “Go away! I don’t need anything.”

  It was Katrina’s voice. Or at least I was reasonably sure it was. While the voice sounded the same as the woman I’d just been dealing with in another world, this woman’s tone suggested a very different personality from the meek, broken thing I’d tried to help moments earlier.

  “I’m sorry,” Carmelita said. “But I’m afraid I left something behind when I cleaned your room.”

  “There’s nothing that got left in here,” the woman in the room barked back.

  “It’s something personal,” Carmelita said. “Please?”

  After a few seconds, I heard the key click in the lock, and then the door opened about six inches. I edged farther away from the jamb to be sure I wasn’t seen.

  “What is it?” Katrina said, her tone short and sharp. Then, apparently having had a moment to look at Carmelita, she added, “You’re not from housekeeping!”

  “I just got off my shift and changed,” Carmelita said. “I’m very sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to check all the rooms I cleaned today.”

  “What for?”

  “I lost an earring.” Now she held out the single pearl earring and added, “It was my grandmother’s. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t get it back.”

  From where I stood, there was no way to see Katrina’s face, but based on her tone of voice, I guessed she was giving Carmelita a sneer as she said, “Well, if it meant so much to you, then you shouldn’t have worn it while you were cleaning toilets, should you?”

  Carmelita dropped her head, perfectly executing a look of shame. “I’m sorry. If you find it, please leave it with the front desk. And…I’m begging you. Please don’t tell the manager I disturbed you.”

  Then the door to room 254 closed again with a sharp thump and not another word from Katrina Mulligan.

  I signaled Carmelita, and we both walked away from the door, heading toward the stairs we’d climbed in another world.

  “It was her?” I asked as we descended. No inert body distracted us on our way down.

  “Definitely,” she said as she worked at getting one of the earrings seated again.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. She looks much more together in this world, more glamourous, but it’s definitely her.”

  “Good.”

  “What now?” she asked, the second earring now in place.

  We had reached the bottom floor. “Do you know which door we came through earlier?” I asked.

  She pointed. A door marked “Housekeeping” was nearby.

  I walked to it, tried it, and found it locked. When I gave it my knuckles and waited, no one came from inside to let us in.

  “Well, then…” I said. “What choice do we have?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “We’re not going through the portal again just so we can get out of here, are we?”

  I smiled. “No. That would be excessive, even by my standards.” I shrugged and said, “We got what we wanted. Let’s get out of here.”

  Pointing, I started leading the way toward the front of the building. In the distance, the hallway ended in an open doorway, and I knew the officious clerk would be beyond it. He might fuss as we strolled past him, but then we’d be gone, and there’d be nothing he could do to stop us.

  As we walked, though, we passed an open guestroom, and I couldn’t help casting my eyes to the left for a peek inside. The room looked like a clean and civilized version of the destroyed room 254 where we’d been minutes before. Again, my glance from the doorway triggered a feeling of unease, and then I remembered one other part of my vision.

  “Carmelita,” I said, my voice hushed as I didn’t want the conversation to carry all the way down the hall and into the lobby. My companion stopped and turned toward me. “I’m guessing the clerk wasn’t as focused on you as he was on me when we bothered him before. Why don’t you go through first? Ask him something and then I’ll scoot out behind you while you’re distracting him.”

  “All right. What should I ask him?”

  “Ask him if they have any suites in this hotel.”

  “Suites? What for?”

  “Just a hunch I’m trying to put to bed.”

  “All right.” She looked at me as though I was crazy, but then she resumed her stroll toward the doorway. I hung back.

  When she entered the lobby, it was as I’d expected. I couldn’t see the clerk’s expression, but the way he didn’t hesitate to respond after Carmelita asked about the suites told me that he wasn’t associating her with the nosy PI who’d tried waltzing in and bothering his perfectly nice guests earlier. I remembered that she’d worn her sunglasses when she’d accompanied me before, but she’d taken those off when we’d gone through the dark hallway in the other world—which might have been one more reason the clerk didn’t connect her to my earlier visit.

  “Suites?” he answered. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid we don’t have any suites. Is your room unsatisfactory?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, and I was proud of her for being able to adlib like that.

  Without turning toward the clerk, I chose that moment to exit the hallway, walking past Carmelita and toward the door.

  “Hey!” the clerk said. “Hey! How’d you get in here? You can’t be—”

  I was through the door with Carmelita in tow. It closed behind us, cutting off whatever the little man had to say about our breaching his security. Part of me felt a little bad that the guy was going to have to walk the perimeter now and try to figure how we’d gotten in, but the feeling passed pretty quickly.

  Instead, I was more concerned with the way he’d answered the question about suites; in the vision I’d had while listening to myself and Sherise on the record, I’d seen the posh room that Katrina was likely in right now, the destroyed room like I’d visited in the other world, and a third room—a suite where a struggle had taken place in the bedroom. That last version of the vision made no sense, and all I could surmise was that in some worlds, Jed Strait discovered that Katrina was hiding out in a different hotel, one with suites, but in that world, he arrived too late to help her. There was nothing for it, of course. In the worlds where Katrina had hidden in a suite, both she and Jed were out of luck. I was glad not to have been stuck in one of those worlds.

  Halfway down the block, Carmelita asked, “So, are you going to call Imelda when we get back to the car?”

  I’d been thinking about this since the moment we’d found Katrina. “You know…” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I think I’ll call the police instead.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The police are looking for her,” I said. “They want to interview her about the night Penny King died. If I tell Imelda, then she gets a shot at Katrina first. Might even feed her a story that will benefit her client.”

  “And her client is Peter Mulligan,” Carmelita clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s what Imelda
hired you for, right?”

  “She did. But…I have to say, Carmelita. When she hired me, she did a pretty good job of convincing me not to play sleuth on the case. And I went for it, mostly because I needed to get paid. But now that I’ve talked to Katrina—or at least a Katrina—I think I figured out why Imelda was so hot to keep me from digging into the actual murder.”

  “Because her client is guilty,” Carmelita said, her tone suggesting she’d just figured this out. “Guilty in this world just like he is in the other one.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And even if he’s not, I’ve decided I don’t like the way Imelda played me.”

  “She’s not going to pay you.”

  “Maybe. I can still bill her for the hours I spent up to now. Threaten to sue her. But besides…you heard that song on the radio. If things go well for Sherise and me, I might be able to hang up my fedora.”

  She stopped walking so suddenly that it took me two strides to realize I’d lost her. I stopped and looked back, immediately seeing the hurt and betrayal in her face.

  “Carmelita,” I said. “I promise you that I am not going to just quit the business. I’m going to do everything I can not to go bust. You understand?”

  “You’re not going to hang it up to start playing music full time?”

  “I can’t promise what’s going to happen in the future any more than you can, but I can tell you right now that I’m not planning on hanging it up. And if I change my mind or fate changes it for me, then I’m going to make sure you’ve got a future in the business if that’s what you still want.”

  “It is,” she said. “And I can guarantee that in the future I’ll still want to.”

  I nodded and smiled at her. “All right, then. It’s settled. You work toward partner and maybe someday you’ll be sole proprietor.”

  This seemed to appease her. Of course, I kept to myself the fact that Detective O’Neal might have something to say about the fact that my robot assistant might someday be set loose to solve crimes on her own, but that was a problem for another day, and it was one Carmelita didn’t need to know about. At least not today.