Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  Unfortunately nothing does anytime quick.

  ***

  I wait hopelessly for another three hours, and then I am persuaded to try other means. One method I know that helps crack cases fast would be to work from first principles, much like what the everyday police uses to solve regular crimes. Cases of magical attack do strangely bear some similarities to common assaults, so sometimes it won’t harm to employ the same investigational techniques.

  Given that, a useful but routine way to zero down on Casey’s attacker would be to compile a list of his enemies and then eliminate them one by one. That the genital robbery happened just before his wedding is a huge pointer. It leaves me with the conclusion that the suspect or suspects don’t want his marriage to succeed. Which causes me to strongly suspect the work of girlfriends past and present!

  Another thing worth remembering is that Megan is also a player in this case. There could be a bad guy or two out there who loved her so much and are jealous that she has been taken. And one of them could prefer to harm Casey. Meaning therefore that all of Megan’s past boyfriends must be brought in as suspects, though for now I will only concentrate on Casey’s side.

  As soon as I am convinced this will yield clues, I yank the phone out to start on it.

  “Casey, are you there?”

  “Yes, Mel, still in the library.”

  “I got another thing to say. You have a minute?”

  “Yes, no problem, I’m still by myself in here.”

  “Good.”

  I first tell him where I am and what’s going on but must soon get to the point. “Casey, you will have to shed light on what your love life has been like in the past.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Uh, starting from when?”

  “As far back as you can, please.”

  He has an impressive list, but the girl before Megan, one he dated for at least eighteen months tickles my interest.

  “Who’s she and could I get in touch with her?”

  “Her name is Eve. She was once a stripper.” Casey doesn’t talk to her anymore, and so has no clue what she is up to these days. She could be happily married, though, who knows.

  He goes on to give me her address and cell number as he last knew. She lived, and perhaps still lives, on Elmwood Avenue in the Willow Grove Apartments.

  “One word of caution,” I say to Casey as I am about to finish, “please don’t go around accusing people of using black magic on you. It’s a crime to do that, believe me. Let me handle this the best way I know how.”

  He shouldn’t use my drawing up of this list as an excuse to go about harassing his exes.

  We soon hang up. I’m tempted to drive right away to Bryant, but I remember I have set an appointment at a Ford dealership to get my window fixed. Only from there can I be able to go see this interesting ex of Casey’s.

  I coax the Crown Vic to life and then drive straight to the De Lacy Ford on Transit Rd. They almost have everything in order, and in less than half an hour, I’m done and cruising out of the dealership headed toward Bryant. Cautiously I have avoided phoning the ex-girlfriend first, because I want a surprise meeting, which can be effective. The Willow Grove is a series of low-rise apartment blocks on Elmwood Avenue. The ex’s block, according to Casey, is the B-unit, and she lives on the second floor. That’s not too far up, and I have no need to take the elevator.

  My heart beats fast as I go up the stairs. If Eve still lives here, I might land something.

  As I get close to her door, I see a tall guy with straw-colored hair slink out. He doesn’t lock the door, so I assume Eve must be in. I want to confirm with the guy, but he is behaving suspicious, his eyes darting from place to place—his pants, his backpack, and then the unlocked door. I’m beginning to think he must have stolen something, but I have no authority to ask.

  “There’s nobody inside,” he says without my asking as he hurriedly goes, only looking back at me once before vanishing into the stairwell.

  Now I truly think he is a thief. But then why would Eve leave her apartment unlocked for him.

  I go on to knock in spite of what the guy told me. There is no answer. Shall I just slide in? Maybe I should.

  Things might turn nasty, though, if someone were to come in while I trespassed. Rightly, someone might up the charge to burglary.

  I steal in and take out my sniffer nonetheless. The pulses I get are few and tiny. The owner of this place has some exposure to magic, perhaps has dabbled once or twice, but clearly isn’t the one who harmed my client. The trace on here is too weak to indicate someone with the heavyweight status needed to perform that job on Casey.

  The knowledge, though, that Eve isn’t the Lady in Red I’m looking for, doesn’t mean Casey’s things aren’t hidden in here. Anything is possible in black magic attacks. Somebody could hire someone, and stolen goods could be passed around to who knows. A quick look might be worth it.

  I ferret in her closet, under the bed, search in drawers, pore through bathroom vanities but there is nothing. Like before in Orchard Park, I am disappointed, although I can’t say I have hit a dead end. There is another little thing I, in fact, can rely on to give me further hope.

  In cases like Casey’s, and others where goods have been stolen with the aid of magic, a tool exists called a dreamstone that can be used to try and locate the missing items. What the stone does is to magically connect with the goods and capture a little of the surroundings where the loot is currently hidden. It then relays back the information to the investigator in the form of a dream. It’s indeed a fantastic piece of magic, but let me point out from the get-go that you don’t actually see the goods themselves but what’s in their immediate vicinity.

  From my tote, I grab the dreamstone that I keep in a glass case. It’s an orange amethyst, polished and patterned to look like a strawberry.

  As wonderful as this stone is however, it has some clumsy weaknesses—one of them being it requires the investigator to doze off before it works. This can be a real let down: imagine when I am in a busy place, and I am pressed for time, and then I need to use it. The requirement will mean I must leave to find somewhere quiet, and then coax myself to sleep, which sometimes isn’t a thing that can be done just like that.

  Now I will use it, but as I am about to lie down with it, I remember yet another problem: I didn’t prime it with the signature of Casey’s missing privates. It’s another important drawback of dreamstones. They need to sit for a certain length of time where the missing goods were last seen. That is how the crystal magic comes to know what’s being looked for.

  And so, because it’s not primed, my amethyst may not work well, but seriously, I haven’t got the time to go back to Casey. I will just try it like that and see.

  “Heavens please help. I want to know where Casey’s things were taken to.” I hold the amethyst tight in my hand and then lie down on the couch. Focusing my mind only on my client, I gaze coaxingly at the dreamstone so that perchance it might get to know whom I am trying to help.

  It takes a long time to court a snooze, but eventually my eyes start to close and a dream is about to play…

  Twenty-four

  In Alden, the punishment continues.

  “Take that.” Another slap catches the client on the face. She stumbles, and just as she steadies herself, she is hurled toward the wall. “You scheming little bitch.”

  The shove is big, and her shoulder slams against the hard drywall. A jolt of pain rises through her, and she almost collapses.

  “Please, please don’t you hurt me, Mage,” Client E screams.

  “Did you break into my home? Answer me.” The Mage swings her hand as though she might strike a second time.

  Reflexively the client’s arms jerk upward to block the blow, which though never comes. Fighting back would be a big mistake because The Mage has too much backup. The bites and scratches from the felines haven’t totally gone, and it’s terrifying what could happen if The Mage could unleash those.

  “Co
me here.” The Mage drags her by the arms. Her hold is bony, and her knobby fingers dig into Client E’s flesh. “Did you do it?”

  “We didn’t mean to.” E chokes on her voice.

  “Liar, you wanted so.” The Mage lashes her hand out once more and another slap thunders. “Look at all this mess.”

  This time the blow catches E on the right cheek, extending to the corners of her lips. Pain explodes there, and it’s a miracle if that soft skin hasn’t split. She yelps as a warm liquid gushes out of her, and soon a salty metallic taste fills her mouth. She swallows; spitting could cause The Mage to fly into a worse rage.

  Blood drips down to her shirt. She stanches the flow with her palm, which becomes bloodied itself. Pain shoots into her mouth.

  “Shut up bitch,” The Mage roars. “Start by cleaning up your shit, this isn’t over.”

  E hardly needs any introduction to the chaos in the house. Seat cushions are strewn all over the living room. Cutlery is scattered about in the kitchen. Salt, sugar, and spices were violently spilled onto the floor. There are pieces of broken china everywhere.

  “I want you to put everything in order like it was.”

  Her right eye is watering, and she fights to retain her vision. The Mage’s orders must be obeyed. She rights the fallen chairs. She picks up the scattered cushions.

  The client sweats. The thrown-about cutlery has to be put into the sink; the broken china pieces must go into a garbage can.

  “Where do I get a broom?” She ought to sweep away the remaining mess.

  “Find it.”

  It would be another offence to keep asking. Luckily she makes a correct guess of where the brooms could be kept: in the lower cabinets beside the stack of pantry shelves.

  Her head is throbbing, and a dull pain has taken control of half her face, not to mention the sharp, knife like bite where her lip split. It’s also become hard to see well, as her injured eye is almost closing in on itself.

  Despite the pain, she labors, and after a time, everything is back like it was, except for the soiled cutlery she doesn’t wash.

  “Mage, please, now look.” She begs her tormentor.

  The Mage doesn’t say anything, only gives the floors and countertops a glance. After a few moments, her face actually clouds up more. “Now, where’s the things you stole?”

  “Sorry, Mage what?” The client knows, but it’s just hard to say things out the exact way in these circumstances.

  “You know it. Don’t be stupid.” The Mage swings her hand once more like she could strike.

  “Yes, I took them.”

  “I want everything right back,” she barks, “in the catcher.”

  “Let me go get it.” That might be her escape.

  The Mage stomps back to the couches. “Fetch me a water.”

  Perhaps this is the chance to make The Mage happy. “Oh, is that what you want?” She scampers to the fridge, brings back an Aquafina and hands it over.

  “Stupid, I said sparkling water.” The Mage grabs the bottle and hurls it away.

  Terror crawls once more under E’s skin. She scuttles toward the kitchen.

  “Stop, pick that up and drink it.” The Mage aims a rage-filled finger at the bottle she tossed.

  The client picks it up, then trundles back to the fridge. Her head searing, she peers inside, finds a Schweppes, and that is accepted.

  “Now you take off your damn clothes and lie on the floor. I want to rest my feet on you, bitch.”

  Jove, why is this witch such a devil? To consider she was so friendly last night. Refusing, though, is not an option. Eve fast unbuttons her blouse and then skirt, which dressing items she slips off and throws in a heap on the floor.

  “That, too, slut.” The Mage points at her bra and undies.

  Dear Jove, what’s this now? Scared, she does as instructed, and becomes completely nude. She shivers.

  “Lie down.”

  “On the floor?”

  “Yes, bitch.”

  The hardwood is cold, and her breasts, thighs and kneecaps almost freeze against the hard surface. To add to the pain, The Mage presses her pumps onto her back, and those dig into the client’s skin.

  Obliviously, the witch sips at her carbonated water. It’s like hours before she tosses the empty can away and then takes her feet off.

  “I’m still going on, stay where you're,” she orders.

  Client E wonders what will happen. She watches The Mage unbuckle her belt and swing it to the air. In a moment, three painful lashes have caught her nude bum.

  “I must punish your ass for taking what doesn’t belong to it,” shouts the angry sorceress. “That is what I do to dishonest thieves.”

  The client screams something back, but it’s all incoherent. Oh Jove, where is The Boss? Can he just rush down here to rescue her?

  “Okay now go, betrayer.” The Mage throws her belt away. “Vanish from my sight right away.”

  Eve struggles to stand. Tears flood her eyes. She fights to gather her clothes.

  “You can’t put those on in here, or even in my yard. Go away like that,” the Mage barks.

  “Yes, Mage, I understand.” She gropes everywhere for her clothing. The pain is still intense, but now there is a small chance to escape.

  Suddenly from nowhere, a hand grabs her. “You dare not pay cash for the damage?” the Mage glares evilly at her.

  Oh Jove, why did I even ask for her help? The client takes the envelope with the bribe money out of her pocket and hands it over. “For you Mage, with great thanks.”

  “Now go and never come back. I don’t want to see that damned ungrateful face again.”

  The client saunters away, and then once she is out the door, relief washes into her. She can only worry about nudity if she isn’t running away from a beast.

  She clambers into her car, throws her clothes onto the backseat and drives away fast before the Mage follows. It’s only when she has left Savage that she finds a place to dress up. She doesn’t leave the car.

  Things get better when she is clothed up, and then she drives home. The bodily pain is still real, but there are things to look forward to. The Mage and her rage are left behind, but in her room there is Tyler, there’s Casey’s things, there is wine and beer and an empty bed…

  Twenty-five

  I am still sunk in that reveal thing, holding on to the amethyst. In the dream I see a green velvet lining, and it’s contained in something that glows pink. Outside of the case I don’t see much, just darkness.

  Before I have made sense of anything I am yanked awake by a piercing scream, a woman’s. With a jerk, I peel my eyelids to see what’s going on. I am still in that strange apartment, lying on a couch.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in here?” It’s again that female voice.

  The figure that stares at me in fright is a woman in her mid twenties, very disheveled, with a huge black eye and a split lower lip. Blood shows on her blouse and her palms. It’s like I am suddenly cast into a horror movie. Who is this?

  It occurs to me fast, though, that I am gazing at Eve Lynn, the ex-girlfriend of Casey’s and owner of this apartment. But hell, why is she so bloodied? Was she in a fight?

  “Tell me, what are you in here for?” she screams.

  The terror and shock in her voice rouses me to full alertness. What shall I say to her? “Hello, Eve,” I offer. “It’s me, your friend.”

  “No, I don’t know you. Get out.” She points to the door.

  It’s tough, but I put on my friendliest look. “I mean no harm.” I offer again, and then rise up to extend a hand. “Jeez, you don’t look fine, and I am really sorry.”

  “Don’t greet me. I don’t know you.” She snarls.

  “You will, soon.” I struggle, clawing around for sympathetic words. “Who hurt you like this, Eve? Tell me, and we can report to police.”

  “None of your business okay. Now get out fast.”

  “Fine, I’ll leave but let me just introduce myself
,” I say tentatively. “My name is Mel, The Breaker, Perkiss. We have a friend in common.”

  Eve’s shock seems to mellow somewhat. “Who let you, or how did you get in?” she demands nevertheless.

  I scramble for an answer. “There was a guy here. He invited me in.”

  “Liar, where is he? I want to ask him.” She licks her split lip, where a little blood has begun to simmer.

  “He left just a while ago,” I say. “How do you suppose I’d know about him if I hadn’t seen him?”

  Eve shuffles toward the closed bathroom door and yanks it open. “Ty, are you in there?”

  “He’s gone, trust me,” I say, resisting to sound smug. “He had a backpack; tell me if I’m lying.”

  That disarms her further, at least going by the look on her face.

  “What’s he to you?” She rests a hand on her chin. “Do you work together?”

  “No, I just met him, and then he said come in, before he left.” I glance around. This probably is the best chance to start looking around for that pink case I glimpsed in the stone dream.

  “Just go away, before I call the cops.”

  What I need now is more time. I figure continuing to play the sympathy game will help. “Jesus Christ, Eve, you look awful. Where is the barbarian who did that? I want to eat him alive.”

  “Didn’t I say it’s none of your business.” She huffs.

  “Okay I’m leaving but just one question, please.”

  “No, absolutely, no questions.”

  “Are you sure you don’t what to know what I was really looking for?” I say.

  She peers at me, showing a slight hint of interest.

  “I’m looking for someone’s missing cock, ever seen it?” I eye her for any incriminating reactions.

  Her one good eye squints, and then her whole face shoots to the couch. She takes in a deep breath, then just gapes at me as though I was an evil apparition.

  “Is it hidden underneath there?” I eye her once more and then turn to look at the couch.