Shade City

by Domino Finn

  Why did he jump?

  "What?"

  Why did the shade jump off the roof?

  "He was running from us."

  He could have retreated. Out of his host. Back to the Dead Side.

  "He could have, but that takes time. A minute, maybe. I would've grabbed him. Identified him. That's what he was avoiding."

  There's no way he knew what you could do.

  "Maybe..." It didn't make a whole lot of sense. A shade being expelled, exsufflated with the smoke of white sage, would likely never be able to regain a footing in the same body. But at least there was a chance. With Sal dead, the chance was zero. "Was he just being vindictive?"

  Or covering his tracks. If you expelled him, he wouldn't remember you, or that he was ever taken. But he'd remember some of the things he'd done. Sal might have been able to answer some of our questions.

  I jingled my car keys in my hand. It was plausible. The dead didn't tell secrets. Well, not unless they became shades, anyway.

  "Wait here," I said as I popped the door of the coupe open.

  What are we doing here?

  "You," I stressed firmly, "are waiting in the car. I have private business inside."

  * * *

  The carpeted hallways were deathly quiet and the office complex appeared little used. I double-checked the business card in my hand. This was the right place. I entered a tiny closet of a lobby and greeted the receptionist.

  "Mr. Glickman, please," I said, showing her the card he had handed me.

  The woman, perhaps once a looker, had over-dyed her red hair to retain some sense of color. "Do you have an appointment?" She looked at me like I was a hoodlum, and I realized she was staring at my swollen cheek.

  I scoffed. "He owes me one."

  "It's okay, Margaret," came the mousy voice of the man from his office. He walked over to the doorway and waved me in. "I can see him."

  I gave the secretary a playful wink.

  "I am sorry," started the lawyer as he shut the door, "about that business with Bedros. He can be a bit overzealous."

  His enthusiasm wasn't what concerned me. The bodyguard was taken and I was wondering what business he had with Violet's father. I shook Mr. Glickman's hand as I greeted him and discovered that he, like Alexander, was clear.

  "I suppose you want to see Mr. McAllister?" he asked.

  "No. This time I wanted to see you."

  The man widened his small eyes as he took his chair behind his desk. I sat opposite him. "Do we have any business? You're not pursuing legal action against Bedros—"

  "No," I said, cutting him off, "but I'd like to ask about him."

  "Well, I will try to accommodate, but I don't know much. The man is a holdover from McAllister senior, who did not employ me. Alexander is my client, but he was the one that dealt with Bedros, not me."

  I nodded impatiently. The lawyer didn't think he knew much, and perhaps that was true, but I was completely in the dark. Even a pinhole of light would be a great help to me.

  "Where can I find Bedros?"

  "Where would anyone find a bodyguard?" he asked rhetorically. "I don't know the man's address, if that's what you mean."

  "What threat is there on Alexander's life? Why does a bedridden man need a personal guard?"

  The balding man shrugged off the question. "Alexander McAllister is a wealthy man who is very protective of his fortune. His father, Finlay, left him an inheritance, you see. He taught Alexander to provide for his child, as his father had never provided for him." Mr. Glickman shook his head sadly. "It is tragic that the money can no longer go to family."

  It was a sad story, but I didn't want to focus on Aster. If I couldn't get a line on Bedros then maybe understanding Violet's family would shed light on their business. "You're saying Finlay wasn't left with anything from his father but built up a fortune anyway?"

  Mr. Glickman leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "It's a long story," he said. Seeing that I wasn't dissuaded, he continued. "I'm afraid the family's gains are ill-gotten. But have no worries, Alexander is nothing like his father."

  * * *

  Finlay and his sister Catriona led a maladjusted life. Their father was a profitable mortician in the early to mid-twentieth century, but the success came at a cost. The two children were left on their own much of their lives and had always struggled with the accidental death of their mother. Finlay was only an infant when it happened—his older sister was traumatized by the events and was never the same afterwards.

  When their father passed away, it was up to the twenty-year-old Finlay to support the family. Unfortunately, their mad father, who had never truly showed his children love, left all of his fortune to a third party. Poor Finlay struggled to get ahead while Catriona broke down completely and was eventually admitted to a mental ward.

  After years of struggling through financial hardship, the sociopathic Finlay resorted to a life of crime and quick pay-offs. He was a mildly successful gangster but lost sight of the fact that his lifestyle had led to isolation. In the end, even his illicit gains could not save him from the law.

  In 1956, Finlay was imprisoned for racketeering. He lost all contact with his sister and fumed behind bars at the thought of living much of his life in a cage. The McAllister family was nearly wiped out and forgotten.

  During his long sentence, reports from therapists, guards, and fellow inmates all indicated that Finlay made honest attempts at rehabilitation. His behavior became less erratic, he displayed true remorse at the state of his family, and he became more studious. After fifteen long years in prison, Finlay's sentence was commuted and he was set free.

  He was afflicted with a troubled childhood, an untenable burden thrust upon him as a young man, and had his prime years of adulthood stolen from him. Finlay, released from incarceration but still in a shambles, resolved to correct his life.

  At the age of fifty, only five years removed from prison, Finlay McAllister had somehow turned things around and led an affluent life. He established himself as an investor and was quickly married. His wife bore him a son, Alexander McAllister, but she died in childbirth. Refusing to acknowledge the setback, Finlay remarried. Unfortunately, his new wife was barren and he had no more kids.

  The seventies and eighties proved decadent years. The former criminal finally had his family and fortune and lost himself in excess. He put his coarse life behind him and had no outward cares. Many years passed as Finlay enjoyed the twilight of his life.

  When his son married Livia, Finlay encouraged the arrangement. When they bore him a granddaughter, he doted on her. Finlay stressed the importance of family to his son and always made a point that Alexander was heir to his fortune. He lined his son up as his successor and lived until 2004, dying when he was seventy-eight.

  Alexander McAllister, without the same burdens that plagued Finlay's early life, became a respected investor in real estate. His life was perfectly scripted until the death of his father. That's when the rot of his marriage set in.

  It was only four years later that Livia went mad.

  * * *

  Mr. Glickman's story was told with a craft that evoked the misery of the McAllisters. Even what was to be a happy ending with Finlay's rebound of wealth and focus on family would later have ended in tragedy. By this point, I knew about it all too well.

  "A crying shame," said the lawyer, taking off his thin glasses and wiping his eyes. "Alexander tried to be a devoted father, but young Aster was a depressed little girl. I think he blamed himself. I recommended a child therapist but Alexander wouldn't hear of it. He was very stoic. Not the type to accept outside help. He's always been a very proud man."

  An independent man, if not self-made. Alexander sounded like the kind of person that was used to handling everything himself. But he had no way of knowing about shades and the decay they instilled. A perfect life wrought into misery. I well understood the tragic side of that coin. It was the other that puzzled me.

  "So Finlay was beref
t of his father's fortune and went to prison a poor man, yet somehow came out and made his riches?"

  The lawyer nodded solemnly. "It does raise eyebrows, doesn't it? As I said, the man was a gangster. I can't attest to the legitimacy of the money, only that what was built from it and passed on to Alexander was clean."

  I nodded. Mr. Glickman was a lawyer. He would have said things were legal whether they were or not. But I hadn't seen anything to make me think otherwise. Was the son cursed by the sins of the father? "What did Finlay do to lose his inheritance?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Finlay's father invested it all into a regimental company for the war. Blue Bell, Blue Bonnet... something along those lines. It crippled the family. Finlay swore to pass on his wealth."

  "Only now there isn't a single McAllister left alive besides Alexander."

  Mr. Glickman hesitated. "More or less," he offered, but there was a hitch in his voice.

  "Who else is still alive?" I demanded. "Who is set to get the inheritance?"

  The man scratched the brown hair that clung to the side of his head and had a puzzled expression on his face. "Those questions do not have the same answer. As Mr. McAllister's attorney, I can't provide you with the details of his will, but since she isn't a part of it, I can mention that Catriona is still alive."

  "Alexander's aunt? She's got to be..."

  "In her nineties, I would wager."

  That would make her Violet's grandaunt, or great-aunt, or whatever the terminology was. Violet had told me she had no living relatives...

  "Catriona bounced around mental institutions and hospitals for the majority of her life. She's still mad, from what I understand, but much too old to be a nuisance. She's at Willow Gardens. They specialize in problem cases. But I won't recommend a visit. You wouldn't be able to get anything coherent out of her."

  The man put his glasses back on and shifted in his seat. He was being cordial because I had been assaulted in the hospital, but it was obvious I was nearing the limits of his tolerance for easy information. Alexander's predicament, his life, read like an open book. All except for the business with his father, with Bedros. In my mind, the will was the key.

  "Okay, Mr. Glickman. It makes sense that Catriona isn't seeing any of the inheritance money, but Bedros is sticking around for a reason. What's his stake in the will?"

  The attorney rose to his feet. "The will is of little import now. Alexander is free to spend his money as he wishes."

  He was playing with semantics now. "A man in a coma can't likely do that, can he?"

  Mr. Glickman looked at me, befuddled. "You don't know?" he asked. "I thought that's why you were here. Alexander McAllister is awake."

  * * *

  I sat in the metal patio chair with my back to the sun. The pocket watch was on the table, next to my soda. I was restless as the girl put my pastrami sandwich and fries down in front of me. I faked a smile, told her I didn't need any ketchup, and was relieved when she left me alone.

  "So you have no idea who Mr. Glickman is?" I reiterated.

  I've never heard of him. What did he say?

  "He told me an interesting story." I wasn't sure how to broach the subject with Violet. The good news about her father was supposed to be a surprise. The only thing was, I didn't feel she was being forthcoming with me. As I dug deeper, I could feel the chasm between us widening. What was she hiding? From me?

  I picked at my sandwich, but my attention was on the web browser on my phone. Eventually I stopped worrying about getting grease on the screen.

  "Ever heard of Blue Bell or Blue Bonnet?" I asked.

  No.

  More denials. Why was it that I got more information about her family from everyone else? Violet was supposed to be on my side. The words of the man in the Last Bookstore came to my thoughts: you can't trust shades.

  Google didn't bring up promising results. It listed day-to-day news in spades, as well as information about notable historical events. Historical day-to-day trivialities? Not so much. Violet's great-grandfather had left a good deal of money to a company when he died. I had no idea why. And neither did the internet. Maybe I was focusing on the wrong facts.

  Does any of this have to do with Red Hat Events?

  "What?" I asked. "No. I'm waiting for the party on Friday night to deal with them. I was looking into something else."

  Why won't you tell me about it?

  I stuffed my mouth with the biggest bite of pastrami I could manage to stall my answer. I chewed the thick strips of meat as I bided my time. Maybe showing Violet was better than any explanation I could come up with.

  "It's not important," I finally said. "It's probably nothing."

  Okay.

  I took another bite of my sandwich.

  It's just that Blue Bonnet sounds an awful lot like Red Hat.

  I almost choked. What did the man in the bookstore say about Red Hat? That it started as a millinery, a hat shop? He'd said that the company went through various iterations, with Red Hat Events being the latest. I searched but didn't see anything about Blue Bonnet and uniforms.

  But then it hit me. Blue. Blue was the wrong color. I scrolled back a page and saw the reference: Blush Bonnet. Blush is close enough to red, unless you're talking wine. I clicked through some pages before I found what I was looking for.

  The Royal Ruby Millinery was founded in the nineteenth century. Nearing World War II, the frivolity of hats was wearing thin in the United States and Blush Bonnet Clothiers was born. They started out making dresses and women's wear, but transitioned to uniforms to assist the war effort. In fact, this was around the same time that Finlay's father had died. His life savings, instead of going to his family, served as a bastion for the millinery's young venture.

  "How...?" I asked out loud but was unable to finish my question. I didn't even know what I was thinking. None of it made sense.

  On one hand, I had tracked Soren and found out that he was involved with Red Hat. Sal, or the shade who possessed him, confessed his motivations to me. Red Hat emerged as an entity that I needed to watch. I got that much.

  But then, in a completely unrelated thread, I had decided to look into Violet's family. I found out about Livia and Alexander and Finlay and Catriona. But Bedros was there. There was something suspicious about that.

  Two paths to travel. Two completely separate tangents with different goals. How in the hell did they both end up tied to Red Hat?

  I glanced hesitantly at the Hamilton pocket watch that rested on the table. It was the late afternoon, still within visiting hours. If I was going to figure this out, I needed to bring all the actors together on the same stage. I slipped Violet into my jeans and marched back to my car.

  I didn't believe in coincidences.

  * * *

  "You have no idea why we're here?" I asked.

  I advanced through the neurological ward, pretending I belonged. Thanks to the altercation with Bedros, I had to keep an eye out for him and the nurse that had threatened to call the police. If they were around, I had to see them before they saw me.

  I've never been here before.

  "Maybe not," I said, "but don't you know why I'm here? Can't you feel it?"

  The hall was clear. There were no signs of obstacles or complications.

  Why would I know anything about hospitals?

  I stopped cold.

  I hadn't really thought about how to bring the subject up yet. I knew Violet wasn't being truthful with me, and I wanted to set her straight, but it wasn't fair to ambush her. Not with news of her father.

  "Violet," I started, taking a heavy breath and leaning against a white wall, "can we be honest with each other?"

  She hesitated before she answered.

  Of course.

  I nodded, looking down at the watch in my hand.

  "We've known each other four years. We're friends, right?"

  Yes, Dante.

  "Then why is it you never tell me anything about your life and your fam
ily?"

  This time there was no response. I knew it was a sensitive subject. I had always trod lightly in the past but there was a clear need to press now. I waited in the hallway, still on the lookout for any trouble, for the girl to answer. She didn't.

  "Violet—"

  My father isn't important to any of this!

  "Isn't he?" I asked coldly.

  What's that supposed to mean?

  "I've been looking into it, Violet."

  You have no business!

  "Is it not my business to know what my friend's real name is?" I got a little heated, a little loud. A man walking down the hall eyed me strangely and I shrugged. I waited for him to pass in silence before resuming with a whisper. "Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

  I could tell she was conflicted.

  You might not like the real me.

  Her answer hit me like a brick. Sympathy replaced suspicion. I remembered that she was just a little girl, only twelve years old. She had been through a lot. Seen her father struck down. Murdered by her mother. Of course she was haunted: she was a shade.

  "I know your real name is Aster McAllister."

  Stunned silence. I pictured the same little girl I saw in the dream with purple-white hair, staring at me aghast.

  "That lawyer I met with works for your father."

  ...My father?

  "Yes, Violet. He told me about your family, about your grandfather Finlay and his sister, Catriona. They were stripped of their inheritance because all of it went to Blush Bonnet Clothiers, another incarnation of Red Hat."

  Red Hat. I never knew...

  "You see how it's all connected now, Violet? I need to understand how Red Hat operates. But there's more." I peeled myself away from the wall and headed down the hall. "I know why you've been alone. I know why you can't find your father."

  Dante...

  "I know it must be bittersweet, Violet, but you need to be happy for him."

  What are you talking about?

  "Your father is still alive. Your mother didn't kill him."

  You mean—

  "He's been in a coma this entire time. Here. And now he's awake."