by K. C. Finn
“Oh?” Cae asks, feigning surprise.
“Some of the bottles have been emptied,” Kendra reveals. “But nobody’s noticed, because someone replaced their contents with something else.” The police chief turns her head sharply, leaning down on Cae’s desk and fixing him with a furious glare. “Do you know what that something else was, Cae?”
As he looks into her eyes, Cae sees past Kendra’s immediate fury into what seems like intense disappointment, and he knows there’s no point lying now. One glance at the security footage over the last few months would reveal the bizarre ritual of his trips to that storeroom, and the thickness in his throat and stomach can only be cured by confession.
“Table salt,” Cae answers, finding he can no longer hold Kendra’s gaze. “I filled them back up with table salt.”
Kendra lets out a huffy sigh and slams her fist down hard on the desk.
“You’re my friend Cae; I don’t want to see this happen to you.” She takes him by the chin and lifts his head back to face her. “So here’s what I’m going to do. You’re suspended until further notice.” Cae moves to protest but Kendra holds his jaw firm to stop him from replying. “So get yourself off these chemicals,” she orders sadly. “And don’t even think about setting foot back in this building until you have.”
She lets go of his pale face roughly and stands up straight.
“Kendra, just let me explain,” Cae pleads, but all he sees is her proud back as she marches from the doorway. He looks on into the empty space hopelessly, surprised to find it suddenly filled with Angelica’s concerned face as she steps into view.
“Have you been behind that door this whole time?” Cae half whispers in shame.
Angelica nods slowly, but her expression is more akin to worried than judgemental.
“It seems to me like you could use a friend,” she offers.
The Show Must Go On
11.
“I don’t understand, sweetie,” says Lady Locke as Cae puts half a bottle of his special blend back into her manicured hand.
“I have to get clean,” Cae explains. “My job’s on the line.” He does his best to keep his expression level and emotionless, though it’s not easy when his whole body is crying out to take back the bottle and down the powder immediately. “I’ll take my information on The Face as payment as soon as you can get it,” he adds.
“Actually I did pick you up a little detail from Gideon, my brother,” Lady Locke confesses with fluttering eyelashes, “it’s not much, but do remind me to fetch it for you sometime tonight.”
“I will,” he replies. The news allows Cae’s spirit to surface for a brief moment before withdrawal beats him down once more. The pair stand alone in the far corner of the large gambling hall, and Cae watches as Andre crosses the space with a platter of food for Cara. Several excited customers are gathered at her tank not far away, waiting to see the rare and mysterious beast take her supper. Their excitement flares the young detective’s nerves; one gloved hand hovers over the concealed holster under his jacket as his eyes dart around.
Lady Locke looks at her sparkling watch and preens her bouncing blonde curls, patting Cae gently on the shoulder. He tenses a little in his paranoia, his gaze snapping back to the glamorous lady.
“Zerafina’s going on in a minute,” she guides with a lilting tone, “I want you right next to Cara during the show, just in case.” Cae nods sharply. “If you thought her contortionism was good, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
They part ways there, and as Cae heads for the feline’s tank Andre catches his eye with a dark look. He passes by with the empty supper tray without a word, gritting his tanned jaw. Cae weaves his way through the fawning mass watching the little cat guzzling away until he is beside the tank, but his bright eyes soon fall away from Cara. From this angle he can see behind the shimmering curtains of the little black stage, to where Zerafina Xiao is preparing for her next performance.
In her hands the lithe beauty holds what looks like a trinket box. It has a coating in wood effect painted with lilies and leaves, and Zerafina unclasps its golden fastener to reach inside. With a pang of jealously Cae sees her retrieve a series of little white bottles from inside the box. She sets the box down carefully behind the curtain, clutching the bottles in one elegant hand, until her small face flicks upwards and catches Cae watching her. Zerafina’s narrow eyes give him a chiding look, and she turns her back on him, huddling further into the curtains and out of his view.
“A magician never reveals her secrets,” comes a robotic voice all too close to Cae’s right ear, making him jump suddenly.
“Oh, hello Croop,” Cae sighs as he discovers the well-dressed croupier bot beside him. It is carrying a tray with a glass of clear liquid upon it. “Martini, sir? Lady Locke thought you might like a drink for the show,” Croop suggests.
“How kind,” Cae says, taking the glass.
The robot sidles away as the lights around the stage begin to dim ready for Zerafina’s grand entrance, but to Cae’s annoyance the light illuminating Cara’s tank only gets brighter. The crowd gathered around the stage for the show let their eyes fly back and forth between the dark curtains and the lit up tank, apparently not wanting to miss out on either spectacle. Cae has half a mind to stand in front of the cat altogether and force their gaze to Zerafina, but he knows too well that Lady Locke won’t be pleased if he does. Instead he sips on his drink slowly, turning his head to try to block out the tank’s garish glow.
When Zerafina Xiao emerges through the curtains, she is dressed in a flowing, silky creation the colour of blood. She carries with her a small clear box that is totally empty, and music slowly builds as she shows the box to her crowd. A glimmer of annoyance crosses her beautiful face at the eyes still flickering between her and the feline, but Cae has to admire the grace with which she continues to perform. She covers the box for the shortest of moments with a swathe of her floaty crimson sleeve, and a rattling sound alerts the crowd to the miracle of her sleight of hand.
The box is suddenly filled with gambling chips. Polite applause breaks out, but Zerafina knows how to build her audience up. She opens the lid of the box, long fingers toying with the chips. She throws one out into the crowd and a gambler catches it eagerly. The oriental figure smiles in total silence, gesturing at the box, and then at the crowd as if to say “Who wants some more?”. The men and women of the audience dare not look away now, not even to see what the incredibly valuable Cara is up to. Zerafina lifts the box high into the air, then suddenly thrusts it forward over the crowd, some of whom cower in anticipation. But nothing comes, for the chips have vanished from their container once more.
Zerafina gives an enigmatic little shrug, discarding the box as though it is perfectly ordinary whilst the crowd give a much more animated round of applause than before. But their eyes are still fixing on Cara’s tank more often than Cae would like, and he knows that Zerafina is noticing it too. Through the rest of her tricks for some twenty minutes, only half the attention is on her at any one time despite the array of spectacular illusions she performs. Stunt after stunt amazes Cae, but he too-often feels that he’s the only one really watching her.
The illusionist’s musical accompaniment builds to an awesome crescendo as she prepares to leave the stage, but just before she does the elegant little woman turns her back on the crowd. Cae sees her hand go to her mouth for the briefest moment before she turns back, taking her bows. Her stunning crimson robes billow as she moves, and some seconds later the crowd finally gives her the awestruck gasps she deserved all along. Zerafina rises gently into the air.
And now Cae understands the stash of powders in her little trinket box. Zerafina leaves the stage by rising into the high ceiling of the gambling hall, where she catches a rope that must have been placed there for her, waving elegantly at the crowd before everything turns black. When the lights flicker back into full brightness, the conjurer has disappeared from the ceiling too. As the applause dies down Cae feels hi
s crushing withdrawal returning, a sickly shiver creeping up inside his polo neck top. He gives Cara a bitter look, but the little black cat just carries on toying with its tail.
“Oh, there’s my little baby, safe and sound,” coos Lady Locke, winding her way gracefully to front of the crowd now gathering once again at the tank-side. She raises her willowy arms in welcome to the customers, and Cae notices the little blue envelope in her right hand. “Now everybody,” she announces in her most excited tone, “don’t forget that Cara is moving exclusively to the VIP Lounge as of tomorrow! Sign up for the package now so you can visit her whenever you like!”
Croop and Andre merge into the mass of people with little red flyers bearing the package details, and Cae is amazed to see how many people immediately start reading them and searching for pens to fill in the application page. Lady Locke gives the crowd a satisfied smile before stepping a little closer to Cae. She waves the blue envelope past his eager eyes.
“That information I mentioned,” she says with a painted smile.
12.
If Cae paces any harder in the air chamber of his home, he knows he’ll wear a hole straight through into the basement. He stops dead in his tracks, pulling at his gas mask and looking out of his window into the smoggy day out on Buchanan Street, relieved to see a slim little figure cutting through the smoke. The blonde wears a bright orange gas mask, prison issued, and she totters across the road carefully in her shiny black heels as she heads for his door.
Cae opens it before she arrives, standing waiting in the doorframe as she ascends the few short steps into his home. In silence Cae shuts the door after her, and the pair proceed through the partition into the clean, filtered air of the rest of Cae’s house. Angelica is the first to de-mask, setting down her breathing apparatus on the phone stand and fluffing out her straight blonde hair with a few heavy breaths.
“Sorry I’m late,” she breathes through her perfect smile, “I left my purse on the prison boat and had to go back.”
“No problem,” Cae says with a shake of his black hair. He too sets his mask down, leading Angelica through to his kitchen. “It’s just that Kendra’s home for lunch, and-‘
“You didn’t want her to catch me coming here?” Angelica asks, a blonde brow raised amusedly.
“Basically,” Cae admits with a nod. “I don’t want her to think I’m still investigating while suspended, she’s angry enough with me as it is. Coffee?”
“Please,” Angelica nods. Cae sets about filling the percolator. “You know,” she begins slowly, “Lies on top of lies doesn’t make for a happy, healthy couple.”
The detective turns to face the young woman, whose glassy eyes sparkle at him while she takes off her coat. He sets his level expression very carefully.
“We’re not a couple,” he confirms.
Angelica breaks into a mischievous white grin. “Oh, you know what I mean,” she says with a wave of her pale hand, “What did you call me for, anyway?”
As the coffee starts to simmer, Cae shows his guest through to the living room, where she immediately parks herself in Kendra’s usual seat. Trying to hide the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, Cae settles opposite her and produces the blue envelope that Lady Locke had given him the previous night. He passes it across to her slowly, watching her curious expression as she retrieves it.
“Read this whilst I finish our drinks,” he presses.
August 16th
Calista,
As you may have heard on tonight’s evening news, your brother’s done some damn fine work for me of late dealing in certain commodities. I know his arrest’s going to come as something of a shock, but I’ll see to it that he walks free as soon as I can. I have a friend in the system and a few on the parole board who’ll smile and nod for the right price.
In the meantime I’m going to need a body to pick up where Gideon left off, and I wondered if the talent for trafficking ran in the family? I’ll give you double his pay for the first consignment to sweeten the deal, of course. If you could do with the cash, talk to the man who buys you a Martini tomorrow night.
“There’s no signature,” Angelica states as Cae lays their coffee out on the table. Her eyes are suddenly a little heavier, and she holds the letter delicately between finger and thumb, where it quivers a little in the air filtration waves.
“But it’s him,” Cae answers, sipping at his drink with a bitter look. “Gideon Locke had this letter intercepted so that his sister would never speak to anyone connected to The Face. He only now surrendered it to the lady in question to give to me as payment.”
“So this was written when Gideon was arrested?” Angelica asks, pursing her lips as the wheels of thought turn behind her eyes. “So this was about five years ago.”
“Six,” Cae corrects.
The blonde cocks her head to one side a touch. “How can you be so sure?”
Cae points out the date on the letter with another swig of dark energy. The caffeine aggravates that angry little part of him still crying out for the plastic bottle he no longer has stashed in his pocket, but he forces his mind past the nagging urge.
“August 16th?” Angelica asks.
The detective swallows his coffee along with the lump in his throat.
“August 15th, six years ago, my mother died,” he begins, his voice low and throaty, “She was burned alive in a solution of the HCX superacid, and the very next day this guy goes down for acid trafficking.” Cae runs a gloved hand up over his face. “But they never released his name to the public, so I could never track him down until now.”
“Hang on,” Angelica says, tossing the letter aside with a puzzled look. “If Gideon Locke went down the day after the murder, why wasn’t he interrogated fully? Why didn’t they discover The Face there and then?”
It’s a good question, but unfortunately Cae already has the answer.
“Because The Face had a friend in the system, remember?” He prods. “Have a guess who the chief detective presiding over my mother’s case was.”
Angelica doesn’t seem to have to think for too long. “Damian Jobe?” She tries with a grimace.
“Spot on,” Cae spits, “Damian must have been working for him for years before the decision came about to try and kill me.”
Angelica’s pale fingertip skims the rim of her coffee cup, cleaning off the stain left by her lipstick.
“So what are you going to do?” She asks, eyes downcast.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Cae remarks, “I’m going to ask Lady Locke to introduce me to this brother of hers.”
13.
Upon arrival for his next shift guarding the rare feline Cara, Cae discovers that her tank has at last been moved back to its exclusive position in the VIP Lounge. As he crosses the main floor of the gambling hall he catches sight of Croop leaving the roulette table. A few wide paces later he is side by side with the robot, who looks at him with vacant camera sockets.
“Is the lady of the house around?” Cae asks, struggling to keep pace with the machine as it strides towards the guarded VIP doors.
“I’ve not seen her yet, sir,” the bot replies in its emotionless masculine tone, “however I am on my way to oversee a poker game in the private lounge, and Lady Locke does like to welcome her VIPs personally each evening.”
Satisfied that there will be ample opportunity to get her alone and ask about Gideon, the young detective lets the bot speed on towards the doors whilst he lags behind. An odd fever of sorts creeps in at the back of his neck, half hot, half cold and all unnerving. Cae can’t be sure if it’s the cloud of obnoxious greed generated by the eager punters that he’s passing through, or if it’s his own shady cravings that are making him want to shake out his body. He chews at his dry lips, looking back over the busy hall as he reaches the bouncers at the doors to the VIP Lounge. Everything looks normal; perhaps he’s the one out of place.
Within the lounge itself the plush furnishings have been moved aside to allow for a card table to be con
structed. A collection of non-gamblers are assembled with flamboyant looking drinks at one end of the room, all of whom are gazing fervently at Cara in her tank. The cat takes pride of place in the room’s centre, and when it sees Cae approaching its tiny green eyes turn on him, pawing at its plastic prison.
“I think it likes you,” drawls a flat voice.
Cae finds the visage of Andre Lutz, as thoroughly unimpressed as ever, looking at him as he approaches. As Cae comes to lean against the tank, Cara sidles up to the clear wall nearest him and settles down again. Andre’s contemptuous apathy transfers its focus to the cat in the box, at whom he sighs deeply, but after a moment he removes a fresh pack of cards from his pocket and plasters a feigned smile to his tanned face.
“If the players would take their positions, please,” he announces loudly to the contents of the swanky room, “we are ready to begin.”
Croop seats himself at the table directly opposite where Cae stands, and slowly a collection of wealthy looking pundits take their places around him, until one silky-suited man slips down into the seat in front of the young detective. He looks at the dark-but-greying wave of hair in front of him, the olive skinned ears and the beringed hand of the conman as he sips his cocktail, and waits begrudgingly for the sound of that awful smug voice.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” schmoozes Redd Richmond, “I sincerely hope you haven’t remortgaged anything for a stake in this game.”
The players at the table chuckle politely, but Cae can do little to supress the annoyed grumble that escapes his lips. Redd turns to see the source of the defiance, but his disturbed expression explodes into a perfect depiction of smug joy when he finds Cae’s face. His green eyes twinkle brightly with delight.
“You’re not still working here?” Redd exclaims, his voice laden with humour. “I mean, I thought you were here to catch Flash, Rex. You’re actually earning a living here though! Don’t the police pay well enough these days?”
