Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  “You don’t seem none too happy. Are you chickening out?” Shauna quizzes him with a smile.

  “He’s scared. He needs a drink.” Gus grins broadly. “Is there anything in the fridge?”

  Shauna takes him into her arms a second time, radiating all the warmth. From her side, the sister-brother connection is unbreakable. She loves him and is happy for him. She will do anything to make the coming occasion great for everyone.

  “I have a rehearsal to attend,” Casey soon says, hoping that will rescue him from these two.

  “That’s nice. Can we come?”

  “Yes, very much,” he mutters out of hand.

  “Good, let’s put some things in order,” Shauna says. “You aren’t too late I hope.”

  “No, first we find which bedroom will be ours,” Gus says, starting to drag Shauna upstairs.

  Casey follows, just so to help if needed, but he is aware the duo knows this house too well to need anyone’s help. There is a choice of only two bedrooms, since he is already using the main one. The two grab for themselves the one that faces the road. They snap the door shut. Soon he hears some kissing, reminding him of certain things.

  In his family, they are three. Shauna is first, he is second, and then there is a brother in university at Michigan State. His sister, though, has always been a favorite sibling of sorts, and rarely does he ever shy away from telling her any problem. They used to do shit together, conniving to perform some inappropriate things behind Mom and Dad’s back. And she always covered for him. Could she be the first person he will let on what troubles him?

  Husband and wife decide on a shower, so he has to wait. After they come out, a certain halo of sex radiates around them. Casey doesn’t need anyone to give him an image of those things he now can’t do.

  Finally going, they head into the Impala with Gus talking loudly. The rehearsal is to be held in a party room at a condo where one of Megan’s friends lives. Most others are already there when they show up. Megan wears a flowing cocktail dress, a green one with some glinting sequins. The theme among her maids seems to be the same, as they wear greenish outfits.

  His groomsmen are here, too, but they don’t sport any color similarities. Jeff, his best man, is actually in jeans and a T-shirt.

  Casey sizes the small gathering, which provides him with a window to the actual day. So this is what things are going to be like? Would Mel and crew have cracked something by then? He hopes so. Otherwise a big disaster is waiting to happen.

  “Hold her tight,” says Gus when it’s time to promenade down the contrived aisle. “Or she becomes the run-away bride, and you’re left clutching nothing.” His grin is as broad as it is cheerful.

  Everyone chuckles except Casey. Because if there is anyone at the point of escaping away, it’s him.

  “Tell Gus no one can ever run away from a McLong.” His sister comes to his aid.

  Everyone else laughs again.

  After the mock vows, and then the cheers and handclapping and kisses that follow, the atmosphere between him and Megan is almost like that between man and wife. Megan smiles shyly but sweetly at him. Just like a doting wife should.

  Dinner is served. His groomsmen sip whiskies. Everything here has been a success, but Sunday will it?

  Thirty-two

  It’s now a long while since I last was with Casey, and I wonder what he is doing at present. The reveal turned out to be somewhat reassuring, but I still grate at the flopped locate. I’d driven to Alden prepared for all kinds of action, but I came back with nothing.

  The days don’t stand still, and Sunday inevitably approaches. I need results. I was with Casey; he is tormented.

  “I feel like I’m beat,” I say to my companion fish.

  Mr. Gillz stays at dead center, suggesting I have hit a deadlock and nothing will get better in the short term. It doesn’t do much to raise my hopes.

  Reeling from the disappointment, I have already phoned Sara to tell her I won’t be in for dinner. Although I have enough time on my hands to make it home, the fact is I am too down. The guilt of sitting around and relaxing while a guy is burning would surely kill me, and so here in my office I remain.

  It’s that sad.

  ***

  Many hours later, it’s gotten really late, but I must attend to another very important task. I am slated to appear in Witch Court, and it’s a big thing I can’t miss. Two months ago I arrested a bad wizard whom I must make sure is convicted. His name is Devlyn Wilkes, and he committed a crime I, up to this day, consider seriously aggravating, the details of which I shall lay out at the appropriate time.

  Although some might argue witch courts aren’t necessary and are a relic of the past, that in fact is so wrong. They are indeed needed, which is why we have them up to today. The courts bring justice to society, and they do that in two ways.

  First, they make sure that any apprehended rogue mages and wizards are punished for their wrongdoing. Without them, the baddies would go unpunished and that can’t be allowed.

  Second, they ensure fairness in the witch hunting system. No one wrongly accused must ever be convicted, and the courts make sure it never happens. The protection of everyone matters, and any lapse in justice is intolerable.

  Logically looked at, the second reason is actually more important than the first, and there is no need to go far to find an example why. Here in America we had the tragedy of Salem four centuries ago—when several innocents were wrongly convicted and executed. Those days truly were dark, and some unfortunate events that occurred in society were attributed to black magic when in fact they shouldn’t have. The old courts never fully analyzed evidence, so the slightest suspicion led to punishment. Not to say there was no bad magic then. Of course, it existed and was causing grief, but many of those convicted shouldn’t have been.

  Modern day Witch Court, however, and I am honored to say, works differently and such travesties don’t happen. The most effective safeguards are integrated into the system to prevent any lapses.

  The most famous thing, though, about today’s courts is that they operate secretly, and will never publicize their activities. Why that is so isn’t hard to fathom, and it all again dates back to the heydays of colonial Massachusetts. After the trials of 1692—3, and the blood of a few innocents had flowed, some supposedly sensible men in authority decided on what they thought a permanent remedy. They banned witch trials completely. No one could any longer be jailed or executed on magic grounds. All witch hunters and huntresses were to stop their activities forthwith. Anyone seen publicly pointing at another as an evil wizard was now liable to prosecution, and the authorities never wavered in their zealous enforcement of the edicts. The tables had indeed turned.

  Needless to say, however, the blanket ban was no great answer. It ended one half of a problem while allowing the other half to fester. Wrongful convictions ended, but on the flip side, evil prospered. Warlocks and rogue mages could now practice without fear, and did so at will. Black magic covens recruited and multiplied. All deterrents had been removed, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that the devilry should spread to the rest of settled America as the days went by.

  It was this sad development that led some few but very thoughtful people in society to come up with the idea of secret enforcement. That became the birth of the Witch Court of today, and it proved the single realistic answer to black magic’s flourish. An underground association of able hunters and paranormal investigators was formed to carry on with the good work of apprehending felons. That guild still exists today, and I am a proud member of it. Above it we have the Bureau of Paranormal Investigations and Enforcement, which is the one that actually runs the court system, secretly punishing evil witches and magicians, even though our government says no to such a good thing.

  So, like can now be seen, justice against evil magic did not end with the blind edicts of 1690s Massachusetts. And tonight I am going to serve justice—can’t afford not to. I will be the prosecutor, and you can�
�t hold a court without someone playing that role.

  Before I leave, however, I must talk to Zed and update him on where I am going. Also I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday.

  “It’s me, buddy,” I say into the phone.

  “Nice, how’s the night?”

  “Nothing new, same old, really. Listen...”

  Zed cuts me short. “Takes time, you know that. How far are things, though?” he asks for an update on Casey’s case.

  “Had a big miss at the Alden strip mall.” I go on to narrate everything. He acknowledges me with grunts and exclamations.

  “The only silver lining,” I say at the end, “is that Casey’s things aren’t kept under hostile conditions at present—at least according to the reveal.”

  “Really good. How is he otherwise?”

  “I met him. He’s doing fine under the circumstances.”

  “Perfect, keep me posted,” he says after I remind him of tonight’s Witch Court date. He knows all about the case, and the perpetrator, Devlyn Wilkes.

  I need to gather a few things before I head out. Although trying a black magic practitioner might seem easy to some, securing a conviction certainly isn’t. First, there is the need to amass convincing evidence, and you will never know how hard that is until you start. Second, because the trial is held in secret, no one can call witnesses. Then, too, there are other small subtle issues that inevitably crop up as trial goes.

  Consequent to its opaque nature, the court must be held only in the most-suitably private of places, ones where there isn’t any possibility of the public walking in. No one who doesn’t understand how magic works must learn of the court’s proceedings. All those who attend are sworn to protect the confidentiality of the process, and nothing must be leaked out.

  Accused magicians know this, too, and respect it! And should a convicted person ever want to report to police, they face a harsher penalty. Something we call the Pendle Curse is very effective in that regard.

  One question I often get asked by those who have newly joined the guild is how do you force accused mages to come to court, while the court itself is not recognized by government and has no power under regular law? “You are operating under the radar, right?” they ask, “so why must I obey you?”

  The short answer to that seemingly reasonable question again is: the Pendle Curse that I just mentioned. Everyone who has ever practiced or possessed magic, whether good or bad, will know about that divine force. When an investigator has caught a dark witch or wizard practicing, they utter to him or her the Curse. It’s that simple.

  How this Pendle device actually compels an accused to attend court is that it acts like a sentence. When a suspect is apprehended, a penalty is specified, but the punishment doesn’t take effect until a certain date after the hearing. If the accused comes to trial, he or she can prove their innocence and go free. Or they could argue for a lesser punishment. Bunking court altogether works against the accused, because then the Pendle sentence takes effect, and punishment can be severe.

  It’s after eleven, the city lights are shining bright, and I am heading out. The proceedings are always done starting around midnight, prompting others to call them night courts, but I stick to the normal term.

  Today I don’t see any of those smoking-light ghosts even though I look out for them. The fates smile at me however, because a flaming star shoots in the direction I drive. I am fighting for justice, and that mysterious meteor is a great source of validation; it’s as if the authorities up there are pointing me the way to go.

  Tonight we are to meet in a relatively inaccessible room at a church on Bidwell Parkway. The church is Episcopalian, but even though priests generally aren’t supposed to be acknowledging the existence of witchcraft, one of them who preaches there is a guild member and will sit on the scrutineers’ bench. The reason why I will be the one prosecuting is that it’s me who caught Devlyn and hit him with the Pendle.

  Mr. Wilkes, as Devlyn apparently likes to refer to himself, was—and probably still is—a member of the hazy but ruthless coven called the Fiends. He is a warlock of course, though I wouldn’t classify him as seriously badass. His case is one of voyeurism and invasion of privacy, with the aid of malicious magic. He haunted a certain woman named Ivey Malpas.

  Ivey herself is married, but the husband is a long-haul truck driver who isn’t home for many days at a time. He goes as far as Mexico and Western Canada and could be away for days. What Devlyn would do is to come to Ivey’s condo at night, and even though the doors were locked, he had no problem because mechanical or any other locks are never a blocker to witches or mages who possess magical door openers. Wilkes himself had his that I captured, and it didn’t surprise me he would have it. Such devious implements anyway aren’t a high mystery, and anyone who has reached a certain level in magic will be able to obtain one. They come in all sorts of forms.

  Anyhow, suffice it to say Devlyn would work his magic on the condo door, get inside, and then do the same thing on Ivey’s unit. He then would breeze into her bedroom to watch her. And Ivey, being unaware, slept without pajamas so her private parts became fodder to his prying eyes. If she was under sheets, he would toss them aside. He always wore Halloween-style disguises, and she’d dream about him, but never actually caught him because he would hide in another room as she was about to wake up. After his villainous acts, he would drink a beer or wine from her family fridge. Ivey showed me empty bottles to prove it.

  That single day she properly realized what was going on, she woke up to find him guzzling a nice cold one while he had his fingers inside her pajama pants. By that time she had resorted to putting on something before going to bed. She screamed, and he rushed out, but the haunting continued, which was why she sought help from the guild.

  To catch him, I actually had to spend a night in Ivey’s unit. The Breaker doesn’t sleep when she has a job to do. I just lay quietly on the bed in the other room, bathed in a spell I call concealer. What this spell does in a nutshell is to prevent enemy wizards or witches noticing you too quickly. I trapped Devlyn red-handed that very night—when I tiptoed into the bedroom while he was in the middle of his heinous act.

  To lay a Pendle Curse on a rogue warlock, one actually needs a special wand issued by the bureau called a Pendle wand. Every black witch or wizard knows what that wand does, just like every common criminal knows of a cop’s handcuffs, or a court summons. That wand is the one thing that’s common to all witch hunters, unlike the others whose form and functions vary with person. And aptly it’s shaped like a justice scales, with two rocking cups.

  I took Devlyn aside and showed him the Pendle while rocking it. “By the powers vested in me by the Bureau of Paranormal Investigations and Enforcement, I hereby order for you a sentence of two years severe arm pain with complete loss of use,” I chanted.

  “No, you can’t do that.” He protested.

  “Yes, I can; we meet in court,” I declared.

  “What if I don’t come?”

  “You know the consequences.”

  If he doesn’t come tonight the punishment will still take effect, and furthermore the court, if miffed by his absence, might order something more severe. That hand that used to pilfer Ivey’s beers isn’t to be good for anything and would pain him a lot, should the court agree with the punishment I set.

  That is it; he has to attend.

  In the church we sit at a table waiting. At the head is the president and the two scrutineers, while myself I am on the left—since I am the investigator and prosecutor. On my side I am alone today, but I could have an assistant or apprentice seated with me or just another observer from the guild, if needed.

  Suspects, when they show up, always sit at the rear, and that’s where Devlyn will be. I didn’t receive any communication to say he will be with an advocate, so I presume he will be alone. Believe it or not, under special conditions, a suspect can bring an adviser to plead on their behalf, but that person has to be a member of the guild.
<
br />   Soon there is a knock on the door. We exchange looks. In he comes: Devlyn. He has changed a lot from that last day I arrested him. He wears a black top hat. There is a reddish lipstick on his lips, and his eyebrows are dyed an intense black color that garishly contrasts with his blond mustache. My heart beats faster. Something could go wrong, and Devlyn might escape the law and go without punishment. What an insult that would be—to imagine all the indignity he brought on Ivey. When I slapped him with the Curse I said it would be two years of extreme pain in one arm, with complete loss of use. Now he might run away from all that.

  I stand to address the court. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the case we are to hear tonight involves a man who harassed someone innocent by means of magic. The aggravation went on for months.” I tell them everything, including about the last time I waylaid him and then caught him in the act.

  “You got anything to say for yourself,” the president asks him.

  “I’m not really that guilty,” says Devlyn. “All I meant was to play a few games with Ivey but never intended to harm her. Honestly, I could have, had that been my intention.”

  “But you entered her condo without permission, and in the dead of night, spooking her,” I counter.

  “That was all supposed to be just a joke. I will pay back for any of her beers I drank.”

  “Raiding her fridge without consent will be another charge,” I declare. “You damn well violated the privacy of Mrs. Malpas. You watched her undressed without her permission.”

  “I was going to court her eventually. She is a lonely woman whose husband is always away.”

  “But you can’t do it that way. It’s a crime.”

  “Excuse me.” One of the scrutineers addresses me. “Can you show us any evidence of Mr. Wilkes using black magic. Because if he was just entering as a regular burglar, then this court has no jurisdiction.”