Kiss the Witch

by Dana E. Donovan

  “A lotto ticket? Carlos, what the hell? You don’t have enough money already? Give someone else a chance.”

  “What? I can play.”

  “Yes, but…. Wait. Dominic. It’s me. What do you mean, me who? It’s Tony. Look, I need you to find out all you can about the relationship between Biocrynetix Laboratories, its investors and the government. I want to know where the research money is really coming from. Can you do that? Good. We will see you soon. What? No. Carlos is swinging by the 7-11 for lotto tickets. You what? All right. Fine. Goodbye.”

  I put my phone away just as Carlos was pulling into the 7-11 parking lot. Before hopping out, he asked me if I wanted anything.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head, “but Spinelli wants a lotto ticket, too.”

  “Oh?” He gave me a look as if not sure what to do. “Did he give you numbers?”

  “No. Can’t you do a quick-pick?”

  “Yeah but….”

  “But what?”

  “I do the quick-pick for myself.”

  “So?”

  “If I get two quick-picks, how will I know which one is his?”

  “Easy. His will be the losing ticket.”

  “Oh,” he said, seemingly satisfy with that.

  Shortly after Carlos went into the store, Lilith called to tell me she was going shopping and wanted to know if I needed anything. I don’t know why; call it pride or superstition, but I did ask Lilith to pick me up a lotto ticket. A big part of me hoped it would not win, though. Listening to Carlos would probably take all the fun out of it.

  We arrived back at the Justice Center on the heels of a torrent. I calculated that if Carlos had not stopped for lotto tickets we would have made it into the building minutes before the heaviest rains fell. Worse still was that Carlos had no umbrellas in his car. Said he left them in his other Vette. I reminded him he was a millionaire and could afford to put one in all his cars. He promised he would if his new ticket won.

  Just as I stepped out of the car, a patrol unit passed by, hit a puddle and dowsed me in dirty water from head to toe. Carlos saw it happen and was quick to inform me that an umbrella would not have helped. He ran ahead of me to the covered overhang. I walked, reasoning that rainwater was better than dirty street water. To be honest, though, it sucked just as bad.

  Upstairs, Spinelli had better news for me. Through the Freedom of Information Act, he was able to produce documents indicating the U.S. Department of Agriculture contracted with Biocrynetix Laboratories to conduct research on a corn syrup substitute. When I asked how much the contract was for, he could not tell me.

  “The problem,” he said, “lies in the fact that the Department of Agriculture has a budget allowed by Congress, but that Congress does not require accountability for every dollar spent. The GAO oversees that.

  “GAO?” said Carlos.

  “U.S. Government Accountability Office,” I said.

  Spinelli added, “I’ve petitioned the Comptroller General’s Office for figures relating to DOA’s affairs with Biocrynetix Laboratories, but they told me to get in line.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they are backlogged with thousands of requests to furnish information on everything from the American Reinvestment and Recovery Act, the Troubled Asset Relief program, the auto industry bailout, and financial aid to Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan–you name it. Cutting through the red tape could take years.”

  “We don’t have years,” said Carlos.

  “Don’t need it,” I said. “But this does swing the pendulum back to the corn syrup substitute question. Which means Snow is not telling us everything he knows.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We need to go back and see Howard Snow.”

  Carlos gave me a look as though I had stepped in dog shit and wiped it on my pant leg. “We are not taking my car, are we?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You and Dominic go. I have to go home to shower and change.”

  “You want us to bring him in?”

  “No. Keep back a ways. Sit on him and observe awhile until I catch up with you. Maybe we will get lucky and find there is someone else involved in this.”

  “Okay. You got it.”

  The two of them started away when I called back to Spinelli. He turned reluctantly, and from the look on his face, I knew he knew what I wanted. I put my hand out and gestured a give it here thing with my fingers.

  “What?” he said. He knew.

  “You know.”

  “Tony, please. I just had the inside detailed.”

  “Come on, Dominic. I’m only dirty on the front.” He knew he had no choice.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  I smiled. He tossed me the keys.

  EIGHT

  It stopped raining about the time I got home. Not that it mattered. I could not have gotten any wetter. I knew Lilith and Ursula had gone out shopping, but as soon as I stepped through the door, I hollered out to be sure.

  “Lilith? I’m home. Ursula?”

  No answer. I took that as an omen that my luck was changing. I stripped out of my wet clothes right at the door, grabbed a towel from the hall closet and headed for the bathroom. I have no idea why I did not find it strange that the bathroom door was shut. I suppose my mind was on the case and not entirely on my surroundings. And it certainly didn’t help matters that I pitched the towel over my head before walking in, covering my eyes as I rubbed my hair dry.

  She saw me first. I know this because she screamed. Then I screamed, took the towel off my head and screamed again. Naturally, she screamed again. I covered myself quickly with the towel, at least where it mattered, effectively putting a lid on all the screaming.

  “Ursula. What are you doing here?”

  She unplugged her earphones from the iPod. “Master Tony, why art thou here?”

  “I just asked you the same thing.”

  “Is it not obvious?” She looked down at the bed of soap bubbles floating on the water and gathered them around her. “I am in the bath.”

  “I see that, but why are you here?”

  “Why?” Her eyes meandered in silent drift, as if the answer might lie in the candles and incense burning all around her. They came back with a curious blink. “Where else would thou have me bathe?”

  “No, Ursula, what I mean is, I thought you and Lilith went shopping.”

  “Aye, so we were.”

  “And?”

  “My mind changed.”

  “I see. Well, forgive me for barging in. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “Thou hast startled me wicked.” She pointed at the towel. “But I recognized thee in time.”

  “What, you mean….”

  “Aye.” She nodded lightly, and a guilty smirk dimpled her cheeks. “Art thou not happy to see me?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Lilith explained it to me you know.”

  “Explained what?”

  “Men. How thee can tell when men are happy to see you. She said you were most happy to see me last night, but not so much now I see.”

  “Ursula. Lilith did not… It does not exactly work that way. Did she really say that?”

  “Aye. `Tis still a wonder to my thoughts what doth birds and bees to do with it.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the whole situation. “Okay then,” I said. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

  “My hair?”

  “It’s an expression. Don’t over-analyze it.”

  I backed out of the bathroom with the towel firmly in place and my dignity firmly displaced. Ursula kept her eyes on me the entire time, either to make sure I shut the door behind me or to catch a glimpse of my retreating ass. Naturally, I assumed the latter, as I still had an ounce of shame to surrender.

  I showered in the other bathroom, dressed and returned to the living room to collect my wet clothes. Ursula was there. She had finished her bath, dressed
in jeans, a pullover blouse and sneakers. Although I was happier to see her like that, she likely would have been disappointed to find that my barometer for measuring such things remained unchanged.

  Later, when I decided to fix myself a bite to eat, I asked Ursula to join me. I expected she would say no, assuming she would rather avoid the uncomfortable banter that comes with the territory after one walks in on another taking a bath. To my surprise, she accepted, and oddly, did not seem uneasy. For her, there were no awkward glances, no pussyfooting around the obvious elephant in the room. Perhaps because there was no elephant in the room, as far as she was concerned.

  For me, things were different. I could scarcely look into her eyes without imagining the two of us entangled in cardinal embrace. It drove me crazy, and I hated myself for thinking about her that way. Yet I could no sooner arrest my thoughts than stop breathing. I thought of Spinelli, my friend, my partner, my brother in arms. Had I no shame? No loyalty?

  I finished my sandwich, downed my drink and made an excuse for hurrying out the door before saying something stupid like telling Ursula what was on my mind. I barely made it across the room, when Lilith walked through the door. I grabbed one of the two bags she carried and escorted her back into the kitchen.

  “Lilith,” I said, setting the bag on the table. “Am I ever glad to see you!” I saw Ursula cock her head to one side, as if gauging the accuracy of my statement. “What?” I asked, only then realizing what she was looking at.

  She shook her head. “I do not know, Master Tony. Methinks I have seen you more glad.”

  Lilith donned an I don’t get it look. “What?”

  “Nothing. Listen, I have to get back to work.” I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek and whispered, “I can’t wait until she’s married and out of this house.”

  As I headed for the door, Lilith called back. “You want the car?”

  “What?” I turned around and saw her holding the keys up, jingling them like a bell. “No. I have Spinelli’s.”

  “Okay. Are you going to be home for dinner?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Again, that look crossed her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. I’m fine.”

  On the way out the door, I heard Ursula say, “I do not think he is very happy today. I can tell.”

  I hoped Lilith would leave it at that.

  I had not driven two blocks from the house when Spinelli called. He sounded panicked and out of breath. “Tony. You won’t believe it.” I could hear his voice straining above the sirens wailing in the background. “Oh my God. It is awful. We saw the whole thing.”

  I pulled the car over to the curb and worked on calming Spinelli down. “Dominic. Slow down. Where are you?”

  “We’re out front of the residence on Monroe. Tony, it happened so fast.”

  “What happened, Dominic?”

  “They blew him up, Tony. Jesus, they blew Howard Snow right the fuck up!”

  “Dominic. Dominic. Calm down. Stay with me. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

  “Where is Carlos? Is he all right?”

  “Carlos is fine. We’re both fine. Jesus, will you stay back? Let the fire truck in.”

  I was sure that last part was not meant for me. “Dominic. Are you there? Come back. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Auh, Tony, man. It’s chaos. I’m tellin` ya. The Hummer is gone. They blew the fucker sky-high with Snow in it. We saw the whole thing. There’s nothing left.”

  “All right, Dominic, listen to me. I’m heading your way now. Get with Carlos. See if you can locate the owner of the house. Hold him there until I reach you. You got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Hurry, Tony.”

  I dropped the car into drive and laid a patch of rubber in the street thirty feet long. It was six miles from where I pulled over to the house on Monroe Street. I made it there in less than five minutes. That was without lights and siren.

  Dominic described the scene to me over the phone as chaotic. I suppose it might have been chaotic immediately after the explosion, but more likely it was his adrenalin talking. That’s not to say things were not interesting. Nearly a hundred people from throughout the neighborhood gathered to check things out. Thick black smoke rising over the rooftops can pose a strong attraction for the concerned and curious.

  Fire trucks, police cruisers and ambulances lined the curb from one end of Monroe to the other, forcing me to park on the next block over. By the time I got to the scene, the fire was out. The only things recognizable were the skeletal frame of the Hummer and some twisted chunks of sheet metal from the doors, hood and roof that had blown yards away. As far as a body, well, there was nothing left.

  I caught up with Carlos and Spinelli inside the residence of Howard Snow’s old roommate, a man named Leonard Dwyer. Not surprisingly, Dwyer was not there.

  “How did you get in?” I asked Carlos.

  He pointed to the door. “It was open.”

  “Unlocked?”

  “No. Opened. The screen door was shut, but this one was wide open.”

  “Anyone home?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. We called out to identify ourselves upon entry. No one answered. I cleared the downstairs. Dominic took upstairs. He’s checking the basement now.”

  “Nothing so far?”

  He gestured toward the kitchen. “No, but we didn’t miss someone by much. There are two iced teas on the table. Lots of ice. Little condensation. The back door was open, too.”

  “I’m not surprise.” I looked around the room. “Place doesn’t look disturbed. Whoever killed Snow must have been satisfied with that.”

  “Do you want to put an APB out for Dwyer?”

  “Yes. Do that.”

  “Tony.” Spinelli came up from the basement carrying a flashlight in one hand, his weapon in the other.”

  “Dominic. You all right?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  I pointed at his weapon. “You can put that away.”

  He looked at it as if he had forgotten he had it. “Oh, right.” I noticed he holstered it backwards.

  “Listen. Carlos and I were talking. I want you to put an APB out for Dwyer.”

  “You got it. You want me to put one out for his wife, too?”

  “His wife?”

  “Yeah. I suppose he has a wife. We found a woman’s handbag on the chair there.” He pointed to an overstuffed wingback in the parlor.

  I walked over and picked it up. “Did you check it out?”

  “Sure,” said Carlos. “There’s no ID in it.”

  I frisked through the bag’s contents briefly before tossing it back on the chair. “Yes, make sure you indicate Dwyer may be traveling with a female companion.”

  “Roger that.”

  “So, what do we do now?” asked Carlos.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure, but I have to tell you. There is no way in hell someone is blowing up people and houses all over town because of some stupid corn syrup substitute. I think we have to get to the bottom of that question first and foremost.”

  “Back to see Ferguson?”

  “I think we have to.”

  “He won’t tell you anything,” Dominic remarked.

  “He has to,” I said.

  “He won’t, especially now with Snow blown to smithereens. He’s going to clam up like a bear trap.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Witchcraft.”

  “What?”

  “Use witchcraft on him.”

  “No, I don’t think––”

  “Tony, you have to. Besides, isn’t Lilith always getting on your case about not employing magic to keep your powers strong?”

  “Yes, but….”

  “He’s right,” said Carlos. “It wouldn’t take anything for you to go there and get into his head.”

  “You think?”

  Dominic said, “What do you have to lose?”


  I shrugged uneasily. “Auh, not much, I suppose.”

  “That’s right. So what do you say?”

  I thought about it. There seemed nothing wrong with the proposal. Besides, I knew I could do it. And he was right. Lilith was always getting on my case about not exercising my powers––now the powers of the coven. I looked at them both and smiled. “Okay. Why not? I’ll do it.”

  I have to admit, the idea of using witchcraft on another human being excited me. Except for unleashing a whisper box or two on Lilith, I had never done that before. But something about it felt right. Using my powers to solve a case made perfect sense. It occurred to me then, perhaps that is what Lilith intended all along. Before including me in the rite of passage ceremony, I meant nothing to her. I was just another aging cop working my last case–a washed up has been. But she gave me this incredible gift and I realized, instead of subordinating it to my job, I should employ it to help me do my job.

  I said to Dominic. “Go ahead and put that APB out on Dwyer. Oh, and your car is on the next block over. Keys are in it.” I turned to Carlos and backhanded him on the chest. “You. Come with me. We’re going to see Ferguson.”

  “What are you driving?”

  “I’m not. You are.”

  He backhanded me likewise. “Then I guess you’re coming with me. Aren’t cha?”

  He is such a smartass sometimes.

  We showed up at the front gate of Biocrynetix Laboratories at exactly four o’clock. A guard there with the nametag, Johnson, refused to let us in, citing instructions from Ferguson himself. I asked him what Ferguson had to hide. He replied he was only following orders.

  “Well then you’re a good man,” I said. “We don’t blame you for following orders.”

  Carlos shot me a panicked look as though I was giving up too easily. “Tony, we cannot turn back now. We have to get in.”

  “We will,” I told him, holding my hand up to shush him. “Don’t worry.” I leaned across the center console enough to see out the driver’s side window. “Excuse me, Johnson. Do you have an empty envelope there?”

  “Envelope, sir?”

  “Yes, an envelope. I would like to give you something. I need an envelope to put it in.”