by Domino Finn
I blinked at the letter. "Did he do it?"
"Unknown," she answered without emotion. "Of the homicides in the Greater Miami area the previous week, there are three potential matches given the limited information. Two of them appear gang related. None are solved."
"So it's him. At least two of them."
"Unknown," she repeated. "The limited facts were publicly reported. It's not uncommon for killers to take credit for deaths they're not responsible for as a means of self-aggrandizement. You're familiar with aggrandizement, aren't you, Mr. Suarez?"
"It's Cisco. What do you mean?"
"Just that a decade ago you were a poor college dropout who, based on statements by your professors, thought he was smarter than everybody else. Then violently murdered, apparently. Except you return unharmed with questionable financing and find yourself a new media sensation." The agent pulled a few more photocopies from her folder. Press clippings from the local papers. "Dead Man Lives." "The Voodoo Life."
"What is this?" I asked sharply. "What am I doing in that folder?"
"My job is looking for links, Cisco. Do you believe the Marvelous Mordane was complicit in your ritual kidnapping ten years ago?"
"Eleven. And why would he have anything to do—"
"He was in the area at the time, in between shows."
"He lived twenty minutes away in Fort Lauderdale. Of course he was in town."
She leaned forward. "Was he? Was he there? Did you hate him for it?" She narrowed her eyes. "Did you kill him for it?"
Chapter 5
"Wait." The interrogation room was suddenly claustrophobic. I took a slow breath. "Wait. This is crazy. You don't think I'm the Manifesto Killer?"
She rattled off the list matter-of-factly. "A disenfranchised male who believes he's smarter than others. History of trauma, in this case a forcible introduction into the occult. Then salvation—no—infamy. You're a media sensation. Everybody in the city knows you. And you like it."
"It's a pain in the ass," I asserted. "I did the interviews because I needed to. To make sure my name was clear."
"And now you're a police consultant. Do you fancy yourself an occult sheriff of some sort, taking out the metaphysical trash?"
I shook my head at how off base she was. "This isn't me," I said, tapping the Manifesto letters.
"Would you be willing to submit a handwriting sample?"
"This is ridiculous!" I pushed away. The chain of the handcuffs dragged against the table. I wasn't under arrest. Could I just ask to leave? Would that make things better or worse? Should I call Evan?
"Look at the facts, Cisco. People on the street call you the dead man, and Manifesto claims to be above death. He says he was born in blood. Was that bloody incident on Star Island the moment you were reborn? The moment you became aware of the Other Kind?"
"Lady—"
"Then there's this." Agent Bell reopened and pressed play. "The man in the video used a shotgun."
"That wasn't me."
"It was."
"Prove it," I growled.
Her thin lips stretched into a smile. "Cisco, Manifesto claimed two victims using a twenty-gauge. Same as the shells in your fanny pack."
"Belt pouch."
"Sorry?"
I crossed my arms. "It's not a fanny pack. It's a belt pouch. They're different."
She blinked dumbly.
"And anyone can walk into Walmart and pick up the same ammunition."
Her voice went stern. "Where is your shotgun, Cisco?"
I ground my teeth.
"Where... is... it?"
The hair on the back of my neck pricked up. Much like before, the door slammed open. This time it was Simon Feigelstock.
I jammed my hand in the freezer bag, leapt from the chair, and recoiled against the wall. The handcuffs snapped taut against the table. The dog-collar fetish was at the ready against the powerful lightning animist slash enforcer.
Simon Feigelstock set down his briefcase, straightened his tie, and brushed the jacket of his pinstripe suit. A large grin splayed across his face.
Agent Bell had stood at the sudden movement. Taller than either of us, she stuck out more because she didn't know spellcraft. Her hand instinctually reached for the firearm at her waist, but she wasn't wearing it during the interrogation so she paused. We all did.
"Mr. Cisco Suarez," said Simon carefully.
I nodded. "Pinstripes."
His eyes dropped to the dog collar in my hand. I turned to Rita Bell.
"Oh, yeah. I was... uh... reaching for my cell phone. I grabbed this by mistake." I scratched the back of my head. I didn't put down the fetish. I glanced at the two-way mirror, wondering if this was some kind of setup.
Simon cleared his throat. "Special Agent Bell, they tell me?" His outstretched hand was not met by Rita's. He shrugged and straightened his jacket. "Yes, well, I'm Mr. Suarez's attorney."
My face deflated. "Of course you are."
Agent Bell glared at the window.
"Oh," chuckled Simon, "they're not there anymore. Attorney-client conversations are privileged."
She crossed her arms. "If your client isn't guilty then he doesn't need an attorney."
"The hell he doesn't. What is he charged with?"
"He's not."
"Why is the FBI questioning him? Is this voluntary?"
She worked her jaw. "He was already in custody for a separate matter. Why don't you sit down Mr. Fey... F... Mr.—"
"It's Feigelstock."
I snickered.
"And we're not going to sit down. If my client is not under arrest, we're going to leave." He handed her his card. "If the FBI would like to follow up with my client, make sure to contact me first. He has nothing to hide. We're perfectly willing to cooperate given he doesn't become a victim of gestapo tactics and intimidation."
She scoffed but held her tongue.
"Gather your things, Cisco. We're outta here."
I watched in quiet bemusement. Simon wasn't a friend. He was the exact opposite.
Even worse, he was one of the most dangerous animists I'd ever met. His patron was Ishkur the Thunderer, about as ancient as they came. And, boy, did he know how to crack a lightning bolt.
So did I go with the king of static cling, or did I stay with the overzealous FBI agent?
It was an easy decision. I preferred a beatdown to jail time any day. The enemy I knew, then.
I collected my possessions, wrapping the collar around my arm and draping the silver whistle around my neck. I stuffed my pockets and grabbed the belt pouch, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.
"For what it's worth, Agent Bell," I said, "you're on the wrong scent. I didn't kill those people."
"We're not finished with this conversation," she warned. "And everything we talked about is private. I can charge you with interfering with an active investigation if the details get out. The world doesn't know about Manifesto."
I showed my contempt. She had smarts but lacked instinct. It was a dangerous combination. There was also something else, like maybe she knew more than she was letting on. Maybe she actually believed in magic.
A knock on the door spurred Simon to open it. An officer in a brown uniform stepped in. "I'm here to escort you two out of the station." His eyes snapped to the FBI agent.
She nodded. "It's okay. You can take him." As he unlocked my cuffs, she toyed with the card in her hand. "Kramer Schiff. I'm surprised you can afford a Big Pharma lawyer, Cisco."
Simon smiled sarcastically as I rubbed my wrists. He pushed me out ahead of him. "We handle a variety of clients, Ms. Bell, and this one's pro bono."
"How charitable of you." She walked right up to him and looked down, head and hair towering above. "And it's Special Agent Bell, from now on."
His grin doubled in size. "Of course, Special Agent."
Chapter 6
We were silent the whole way through the police station. I put the belt pouch back on and we made it into the light of day. S
imon walked at my side.
"So you're a Big Pharma lawyer?" I asked. "Big surprise. You're a scumbag."
He flashed a dry smile. "Like I haven't heard that before. You need to try harder, Cisco."
A gust of wind blew his comb-over askew. I almost said something but didn't want to be accused of being unoriginal again.
Simon waved to a black Lincoln Town Car that pulled to the curb. "Don't worry," he said as he opened the back door. "This is just a company car. From the law firm."
I dug my heels into the sidewalk. "You're kidding, right?"
He looked around, missing something. "What?"
"The last time I saw you I was on the wrong side of being tortured."
His face soured. "Oh, grow up. We didn't break anything. Besides, I just bailed you out. Metaphorically, anyway."
"If you think I'm getting in that car with you then you're a crazy person."
"Stop being a drama queen. I need to show you something." He leaned close and waited as an officer walked by. "It's about Manifesto."
"You know about him?" I shook my head. "Why am I not surprised? It could be you for all I—"
"Keep it down!" We both hushed as a pair of uniforms eyed us on the way into the police station. One of them glared at the double-parked Town Car. "First rule of Fight Club, Cisco. We don't talk about this in the street. In front of a police department for chrissakes. As your lawyer I need to stress—"
"You're not my lawyer." I crossed my arms. "Did Winthrop send you? 'Cause I don't trust that old hippie."
"No. He's out of state, and I don't blame you."
"The Gray Lady, then. If Margo wants to talk, I'll need assurances."
"You already have them through me."
"I don't trust you. I'll need it from her. Personally."
Simon Feigelstock took a breather. He didn't like terms dictated to him, but that was tough because I didn't trust his club of wizards one bit. Far from some sort of ancient wizard protectorate, they were a business group that operated more like a cartel. Big Pharma was probably only the start of it.
"Margo's not in town either," he said. "Society leadership is far away from Miami. From Manifesto."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why is that?"
"Let me show you." He swept his hands to the open car door.
I ground my teeth stubbornly.
Simon took a breath and arched an eyebrow. "Darcy's over there."
I grumbled. "The kid?"
"Yes. I know you trust her."
"The problem is she trusts you. She's too young to know better."
"So come along. See how she's doing."
Simon stood with a proud lean, no doubt a product of grandstanding before countless juries. He knew how to read people. He knew I was hooked.
Mainly, I didn't like the thought of Darcy being around these assholes. And they had just saved me a hassle from the feds. But even more than that, I had a vested interest in knowing about the Manifesto Killer. It's not that I was determined to clear my name, necessarily, but it didn't hurt to know more about the guy.
And the worst part was Simon knew it. His smirk was downright sickening.
"Fine," I said, giving him the satisfaction he wanted, "but under three conditions. You need to promise me that you or your cartel won't hurt me while we do this."
"Already promised, but I give you my word again if you need it."
"Also, you give me a ride back to my car when we're done."
He scoffed. "Of course. What's your last term?"
I cleared my throat. "I get to punch you in the face."
His expression went blank. "You..."
"Get to punch you in the face. Once. As hard as I can."
He eyed several officers loitering nearby and turned to me, incredulous. "We're in front of a police station."
"Don't care. You deserve it and you know it. It's the only way I'm getting into that car."
He hissed but I saw the resignation on his face. I knew I'd hooked him too. He shuffled his feet for a moment and nodded. "Okay. One punch."
"In the face."
He nodded again. "Go for it."
It was bright out. My boot slid into the shadow of a "No Parking" sign as I drew some power to my fist. Simon stood tall and clenched his jaw. A small glimmer of electricity sparkled across his cheek.
"Wait a minute," I said. "You're running your defenses."
"Fair's fair." He pointed sharply at the veiled glove of shadow over my fist. I frowned and noticed the nearby officers had taken an interest in us. They weren't approaching, but the attention was avid enough they might as well have been sharing a bucket of popcorn and Raisinets.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath. "No spellcraft. Either of us."
Simon grimaced at the thought of leaving his defenses down, but it was better all around. He quenched out his electricity and I dispersed the shadow. I squared my body with his and decked him.
Simon tumbled to the cement. The officers straightened, ready to intervene. I shrugged. They erupted into laughter once they saw the fight wasn't continuing.
"Hey, legal counsel," one of them guffawed, "you wanna file a report?"
"No," snapped Simon, clenching his jaw. His lip was busted open. "No. We're two consenting adults. That was perfectly voluntary."
They couldn't stop laughing. One reached for the club on his belt. "I could hand him my ASP if you want."
I chuckled. Simon climbed to his feet and brushed his suit off, glaring at anyone and everything that dared meet his eyes. "Okay, hotshot," he growled. "Get in the car." He turned to the police. "Show's over."
I made sure the back seat was empty and climbed in, grinning like a stupid kid. One punch and my whole day was a lot better already.
Chapter 7
The Lincoln navigated the downtown streets with cool comfort. It was a much smoother ride than I was used to. A professional driver sat in the front behind a closed privacy window, which left Simon and me time to chat.
He rubbed his jaw. "You've got a hell of a right hook."
"I've had lots of practice lately." I kept my gaze outside the window. "Some of that due to you."
"Don't blame your troubles on me. Your checkered past has zero to do with the Society and everything to do with your greedy little fingers. The problem with artifacts is that everybody wants them."
I didn't satisfy him with a reply.
"You know, I really was on your side with the whole thing."
I turned my glare on him.
"Once I knew what you were about," he hedged. "My first impression was that you were a power-hungry prick, but I realized your intentions were more honorable."
"So you had me hog-tied and kidnapped."
He continued snaking his way through an explanation. "Look, guys like us, that's how we communicate. We're muscle. And, technically, I was right about you losing the Horn to Connor. I warned you that you couldn't adequately protect it and I was right."
I swallowed and turned back to the window. The Town Car headed out of Downtown, leaving me wondering where we were going. Was all this really just to make sure an acquaintance was okay?
"You've been difficult to track down," noted Simon. I guess he'd taken the apology as far as he could.
"I went dark for a while."
"I don't blame you. The streets were pretty hostile to you after what you pulled."
"They still are, but at some point a man's gotta dig his heels in and stand his ground."
"Preaching to the choir, my man."
I huffed and considered him. The sharply dressed animist wasn't exactly subtle. Large cuff links and big words. He was just an enforcer of sorts himself, with no real power in the secret society. I'd been hoping his little wizard cartel had forgotten about me as I attempted to turn a new leaf. No such luck, apparently.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked plainly. "You could have left me to fend for myself with the police."
Simon smiled. "This city owes you a debt, Cisco. Even if they
don't know it. The Society rewards heroes like yourself."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right. I'm thinking the Society wants to remain hidden, as always. If the popo digs into me, they'll dig into the Connor Hatch connection. It's only a small leap from there to find you."
He winced in halfhearted concession. "I'm not denying we share similar concerns. At least we're not trying to kill you to keep you quiet, right?"
I tightened my fist.
"A joke! It was a joke!" He shook his head. "Sheesh, brother, you really need to lighten up." He scratched his head nervously. "Funny you should mention Connor..."
"He's gone for good," I said. "That's all you need to know."
Simon's face went flat. "You're acting like you killed him or something." When I didn't say anything, he extrapolated. "Listen, Cisco, I know you're a tough guy, but I don't believe for a second you killed a jinn. Our organization is well informed." He leaned toward me. "You wanna know a secret? We just so happen to have word—straight from the Aether," he added in a reverent whisper, "that confirms Connor was exiled from our realm."
I kept a straight face for exactly three and a half seconds before I burst into laughter. Simon here was trying to impress me with how connected he was, when the truth was I had gone to the Aether myself and saw to the jinn's exile. Simon's hushed words revealed he knew very little of the actual truth, which involved me trapping the jinn in the Horn of Subjugation and burying that artifact so deep even he didn't know where he was. Exiled was right, but by my own hands.
Simon's face flushed slightly as my mirth died down. Far as I saw it, there was no reason for him to know the whole truth.
"You know," he continued, idly picking at the door handle, "Connor was known for his stockpile of magical antiquities. After his final days, when it was clear he wasn't returning, a few of us visited his island compound."
I held onto my smile.
"It was raided. The collection was cleaned out. You wouldn't happen to—"
"No," I said firmly.
He searched my face but I wasn't giving anything up. "Quite a bit of his cash reserves went missing as well."
