Booked for Murder

by RJ Blain

  Why did people automatically think someone going through a difficult time would automatically resort to suicide? I enjoyed living, and I’d taken a great deal of pride in my work. Being crippled created many problems for me, but I did what I always did: I made the most of a bad situation. “For the record, I was not suicidal, nor am I generally what I would consider to be suicidal, although I might become homicidal should certain freedoms and liberties be taken from me at this point in time.”

  “Yes, your reappearance has certainly done a good job of convincing some people their preconceived notions were rather incorrect. You might be interested to know that Mrs. Hampton has enjoyed informing her son that there was no way someone as obnoxious and proud as you would ever cave to something like suicide. No, you are not the suicidal type. While you could certainly be pushed to that under the right circumstances, it would take something far more severe than a crippling injury to drive you that far.”

  “Well, Mrs. Hampton is one of the few, then.”

  “I agree with her.”

  “I’d clap, but I’d fall over if I let go of my cane at this point in time. Please assume I’m clapping.”

  “Is your foot bothering you?”

  “Ask me when my foot doesn’t bother me, Ren. That’s much easier to answer.”

  “Ah. Your foot always bothers you, but the severity varies.”

  “You’re smarter than you look.”

  He smiled. “I have to be. The body I guard is Bradley Hampton, and only the smart, the wise, and the quick keep up with him. You’ll find he hasn’t changed that much.”

  I pointed at his car. “A practical, comfortable family car. If he ever wants me to even think about getting into a vehicle with him, that’s what he’ll have. He might even be able to drive without him having nightmares about it transforming into a hummingbird and mating with the roof of a nearby building.”

  “Brand?”

  “It can be one of his prized luxury brands, but it needs to be a family car. He’ll like it a lot better when he doesn’t think his car is trying to kill him.”

  “I shall try to impress upon him this would be a wise choice.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll use my new phone and browse models and talk about what I’d do if I could drive one. It involves car camping somewhere nice and quiet with my cat.”

  “You’re a strange woman, Janette.”

  “You know what happens when women get a hold of books. We get ideas, and you know there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman with ideas.”

  “I said strange not dangerous.”

  “Same difference. Tend to your charge, and I’ll even let him sleep it off in my apartment so his mother doesn’t flay the flesh from his bones with the power of her voice alone. Heaven forbid she finds out he had dairy and ate meat in the same day if she’s on a new diet kick.”

  Ren chuckled and followed me back to my apartment to witness the slow and painful demise of Bradley Hampton.

  True to my threat, I ate Bradley’s share of lunch, and while he waged his war with lactose in my bathroom, I rummaged through my cupboards to make him something that would treat his abused digestive system a little kinder than spicy Chinese and milk. I went with rice, mushrooms, and some beef stock so he could enjoy the taste of his beloved meat without trying to digest too much of the protein likely helping the milk tear through him. Ren made no effort to hide his mirth over Bradley’s misfortunes.

  “This is not how I expected to spend my day,” Beatrice admitted from where she worked on my couch with her laptop. “While you’re tending to the ailing one, I’ve started doing some footwork on the investigator cell. We’re going to need at least five people. He was correct in that there can only be one licensed shooter, and you’re going to have to be sharp if you want to qualify. The government is trying to disband cells by disqualifying them on the shooter requirement. You’ll have to score in the top five percentile to qualify. You get three tries at the test, but the two previous tests have to prove you’re in the top ten percentile. There are a few benefits to your enrollment as the shooter.”

  “Top five percentile? Who is included in the scoring?”

  “Cops, FBI agents, and all forms of law enforcement, and you’re also competing against the military.”

  Shit. They’d make me earn it. “Do they test familiarity with a range of weaponry?”

  “Yes.”

  Double shit. “And the other members of the cell?”

  “We need one adept with a rating of over 70.0%.”

  “You fit that criteria.”

  “I do. I also have the required abilities. I have two of them, so we’re fine on that. Mickey qualifies as our researcher; his seniority at the library qualifies him. That we’re all librarians will actually help our application.”

  “Are you serious? Being librarians helps us qualify as private investigators?”

  “According to the government page, public servants typically have the training to understand the proper handling of sensitive documentation. There’s a lot of red tape we’ll have to deal with. One of us will have to qualify as a low-level accountant.”

  “Meridian plays at being our branch’s accountant, and we haven’t gotten nailed on our paperwork yet.”

  “Yes, she qualifies. Despite appearances, she has an accounting degree and stays up-to-date on her certifications.”

  “Okay. We have four. Number five?” I asked.

  “That’s where things start getting sketchy.”

  “Define sketchy.”

  “We need an adept sponsor.”

  I pointed at myself. “There’s no reason I can’t play that role.”

  Beatrice frowned. “No, there isn’t a rule about the sponsor being in the cell. But you’ll have to pay the bills. Neither one of us makes enough to pay for the license. The testing alone would bankrupt us.”

  I pointed in the direction of my bathroom. “He will pay me if he knows what’s good for him, and I’ll play the sponsor. Ren, make it happen.”

  “He will sponsor your cell. You do not have to sponsor the cell,” Bradley’s bodyguard replied.

  “No. It’s better he does not openly sponsor the cell. People are going to discover I’m alive eventually. I’ll maintain my pseudonym and I will sponsor the cell under my birth name. That’ll add a few layers of complexity. I can route the paychecks for the license through a different state to cover my tracks. Since Bradley seems to like adding miles to his cars, he can swing over to Pennsylvania and drop my letters in some random mailbox as often as needed.”

  “Licensing is done every six months, and in the government’s effort to curtail private investigator cells, the shooter’s qualifications must be confirmed with the licensing fee. After a group is licensed, if the shooter fails, the cell is disbanded until the shooter qualifies again. The shooter may only try to qualify once per month,” Beatrice announced.

  “That’s stupid. Private investigators often help the defense keep innocent people out of jail.”

  My fellow librarian looked me in the eyes and replied, “Exactly. Now you understand the situation. I hope you’re a good shot, Janette, or this shindig dies before we even get started.”

  “I’m going to need a gun and a lot of ammunition, Ren.”

  “And a new foot,” he muttered. “You can’t just stand still and shoot up a target. They mean business on those tests.”

  “That’s what the painkillers are for. Chop, chop, Ren. I need some guns, and I need them yesterday. And I’ll need an all-expenses paid trip to the range. I have a lot of practicing to get in.” I returned to preparing something for Bradley to eat so he wouldn’t starve to death by the time he could go home. “Also, tell his mother that some hussy is corrupting him but neglect to tell her who. I’ve always wanted to bring chaos to the Hampton household.”

  A little chaos interrupting their structured days seemed like a fun time to me.

  “There is no evidence you’re a hussy,” Ren replied. “As for th
e rest, I’m sure Mr. Hampton can decide for himself how he presents his culinary adventures to his family.”

  Beatrice cackled. “I cannot pay for better entertainment than this. Crabby Janette is in her kitchen, hobbling around on one foot making lunch for an idiot adept who guzzled milk while lactose intolerant, the bodyguard is totally going to win this one, and I get to enjoy the show. Do you have popcorn, bitch?”

  I pointed at the cupboard with my stash of popcorn. “I assume you know how to operate a microwave.”

  Beatrice bounced to her feet, rummaged through my cupboard until she located the bags of popcorn, and stuffed one into my microwave, pressing the popcorn button. “I do love when the microwave removes most of the guesswork.”

  I did, too. I’d managed life better than most adepts when I’d made the jump to my low rank; my parents had enjoyed some luxuries, but I’d grown up in a household where we’d done everything for ourselves, so I’d entered service aware of how to use a stove despite never using them while in Bradley’s employ. “I don’t think anyone in that prissy family has used a stove in their life. Honestly, the only reason they have a kitchen is so their staff can cook for them.”

  “Mr. Hampton has some basic education in cooking,” Ren announced.

  I twisted around and pointed my cane at him. “Don’t you lie to me. He does not have any cooking education. I’ve witnessed him ruin a stupidly expensive pot burning water. He told me not to help him.”

  “He dislikes failure, so he decided he would learn. He has destroyed a remarkable number of pots, but he wisely purchased cheaper pots and pans until he stopped wrecking them attempting to cook. As he is rather inept at cooking, this still proved to be an expensive endeavor.”

  The bathroom door opened, and a pale, tired Bradley emerged. “I hate myself so much right now.”

  I bet he did. As he had one foot in the grave and might pass out on my floor otherwise, I limped out of the kitchen and pointed at my bedroom. “If you’re going to sleep, sleep there. I don’t want to have to step over you.”

  Bradley staggered into my bedroom, and I grimaced at the thump a moment later. Afraid of the answer, I asked, “Did he even make it to my bed?”

  Grinning, Ren checked, and a moment later, he shook his head. “Almost.”

  “That is not a normal reaction to milk, Ren. What’s wrong with him?”

  “The milk just finished him off. He’s used his talent to his limits the past few days. I’ve been waiting for this to happen, truth be told. He’ll be fine with some rest. Let me get him off the floor. A moment, please.” Ren stepped into my bedroom, and a few minutes later, he returned with Bradley’s suit jacket draped over his arm. “My apologies. I was hoping he would have managed until this evening, but it seems that is not the case.”

  I returned to the kitchen to finish making the rice, which I’d likely turn into a soup after my unexpected guest regained coherency. “Well, since our informant is sleeping on the job, I guess you’ll just have to sit down and start talking, Ren. What isn’t Bradley telling us, why does he want his own private investigator cell to solve this murder, and what’s really at stake here?”

  Ren took a seat on my couch, tossing Bradley’s jacket over the back. “Senator Godrin was in process of sponsoring a bill that would eradicate the current magical aptitude system entirely. The bill would replace the current system with mandatory yearly testing starting at age ten, allowing the talented to be identified. Employers would be required to pay all testing fees, and they would be required to test all new employees, and they would need to do a yearly testing for changes in aptitude.”

  The current testing system stressed out most people, especially as rating directly influenced pay. “You think someone killed him over this bill?”

  “Mr. Hampton believes so. There are a lot of people who are against the bill, as it would set some severe restrictions for those of certain ratings.”

  I could make a few guesses. “Like mine.”

  “You would have a set pay rate, limited options, and very little recourse. The bill is designed to give adepts more power, turn pure mundanes into trophies for adepts, ultimately eradicate pure mundanes and low rated people, and control everyone else. The murders have all involved senators and politicians supporting this bill. Worse, there are a lot of people who recognize the dangers the bill poses, so many adepts are supportive of the diminished odds of the bill passing. However, there’s another issue.”

  “There’s always a however. No matter how grim a situation seems to be, there’s always a however lurking around the corner to make it worse,” I complained.

  “Mr. Hampton has reason to believe that the culprit has even worse intentions, and getting rid of the supporters of the original bill will open the way for a worse bill to be brought to the table.”

  “How could it get worse than that?” I blurted.

  “A bill to force sterilization of any individuals who do not meet minimum thresholds.”

  Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. “Sterilization? Like chemical castration?”

  “No. The last rumors I heard would invoke mandatory military service for anyone without the appropriate rank, and sterilization would occur during combat.”

  Murder. Legalized murder through a draft—and if a draft would be a possibility, that meant a war brewed on the horizon, one the American people didn’t know about. Yet.

  Shit.

  “Please tell me you mean that the government would give the lower rated individuals more dangerous jobs,” I muttered.

  The alternative disgusted me—and would make me do more than exsanguinate someone for the fun of it. I’d take vigilante justice to extremes.

  “If I told you that, I would be lying to you. Mr. Hampton has made it rather clear you get upset when people lie to you.”

  That counted as an understatement. “You’re saying the government would be deliberately murdering our own people in combat situations to hide the killings.”

  “That is what I’m saying.”

  “But why?” No matter what angle I considered the problem, I couldn’t figure out why the government would murder its own citizens to make certain only the magically inclined survive.

  “I don’t understand it, either. But there’s enough support for the plan within the government that it could come to pass if a better way isn’t found. Pure mundanes and those with low magical aptitude will be targeted. The mundanes might be spared—assuming they don’t add to the numbers of low ratings.”

  “What rating is the threshold?”

  “40.5%.”

  Over the years, magic had strengthened, but if the government eliminated everyone with a magical aptitude rating below 40.5%, a staggering number of people would die. “That’s twenty percent of the population, Ren.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “But why? Why would anyone want to kill so many people and use a damned war to cover it up?”

  “I don’t know. Mr. Hampton doesn’t know, either, but he wants you to find out.”

  Nine

  A vigilante magical librarian, Janette?

  Before I could begin dealing with the problems Bradley brought to my door, I needed to verify the truth of Ren’s claims. Just yesterday, I would have done my research at the library, but my new phone offered me the tools I needed to determine if there was a prejudiced group of assholes out to eliminate the mundane. Within ten minutes, I had my answer.

  The staggering number of websites calling for the removal of mundanes, even the pures, shocked me into silence. Beatrice searched with me, and what she found disturbed us both. The extremists wanted people like her gone, too—people who hadn’t shown any significant increase of abilities between generations.

  Under the new system, I would be a prize, someone other adepts would want to use as a mother to bear strong children to further establish adept populations. Worse, they revered abilities like mine, the lethal ones the wise feared.

  Not only did they value my reproductive
system, they wanted me as a weapon of war, a tool of fear meant to keep the weaker in line.

  It made me want to throw up.

  “With this knowledge, I have a much better understanding of why they want to disband investigator cells. If these radical groups actually succeed at their goals, investigators would be needed. In high numbers.” I scowled and tapped at the screen of my phone to bring up the list of politicians supporting the cause—and the list of politicians their cause loathed.

  Sure enough, Senator Godrin, along with the other victims of brutal exsanguination, counted as the movement’s enemy. They viewed him as too moderate to do the work they believed they needed done in society.

  “I have never wanted to become a vigilante more than right now,” I grumbled.

  “A vigilante magical librarian, Janette?” Beatrice asked with a hint of laughter in her voice. “I could see you being quite good at that job. I’m of a mind to join you, too, except I wouldn’t be quite as good at the vigilante justice as you. You can exsanguinate people and shoot them. You could exsanguinate them and then shoot them.”

  “Why would I waste a perfectly good bullet on a corpse?”

  “I don’t know. It seems somehow satisfying.”

  “Gunfire is loud, the thump is pretty awful, but corpses can’t scream, so you have a decent point,” I conceded.

  Ren, who joined us on our quest for knowledge on his phone, glanced up from his screen. “This specific hate group began gaining momentum after the first murder. What I don’t understand is why use the method they picked if their goal is to eradicate lesser magical abilities. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “Red herring, Ren. It draws attention to the wrong party. Senator Godrin’s general attitude would have made him a target for a lot of people, so it’s not unreasonable to believe an adept took offense to his behavior and wanted to get rid of him. It’s just smoke and mirrors. Six murders done in the same way for supporters of the same bill is not a coincidence. Modeling after a serial killer would also serve as another potential red herring. Senator Godrin’s general behavior makes it easy to pin the blame on the wrong people. There are adepts who are against his policies, and they’d have the range of abilities needed to pull off his murder. I’m one of the adepts with a known dislike of his policies, and I’d be an excellent target for such a scheme. As I fit the exact profile of those this hate group likes, it would draw attention away from their activities. Those who know me would understand I would be against their organization’s beliefs. All of that said, it doesn’t change the fact that someone with strong abilities killed Senator Godrin, but it would turn the blame away from this group’s general activities. And if they’re part of the group trying to prevent private investigator cells from forming and maintaining their licenses, then it makes sense to me. Investigators would look into their activities, as they’re the first logical choice of groups who’d want Senator Godrin to permanently disappear.”