by Domino Finn
"You're the renegade, Cisco. I'm part of a large force that's dedicated to protecting the city. We'll do this through the proper channels until we have enough evidence to shut them down. The Obsidian March won't even know we're looking into them."
"What if they have someone in the department?" asked Milena. It was a good question.
"Just look out for black fingernails and sensitivity to light," I instructed. "Any familiars would be too drugged up to gather effective intel. The real worry is normal people on their payroll."
Evan frowned. "That's always a concern with organized crime. I'll keep everything within the DROP team for now."
Emily leaned a tired head on her husband's shoulder. "Speaking of organized crime, what do we know about Beaumont?"
"Good question. He's not a crime figure as far as I know, just an investor in Brickell. A businessman."
"Aren't they all?" I muttered, rubbing my temples. "And he's taken an active interest in me. As if I didn't have enough on my plate."
Emily smirked. "Might this be a good time to inquire about the bloody knife you stashed in the wine cooler?"
I feigned embarrassment. "You caught me. I'm a serial killer." Which, of course, just flooded my brain with entirely separate issues I needed to address. I went to the fridge, pulled out the bloody bread knife from Marie Devereaux's house, and set it on the bar in front of Evan. "I was hoping you could run it for prints."
He arched an eyebrow. "Why was it in the cooler?"
"I don't know. Maybe in case you needed the blood." I shook my head. "It should be the kid's anyway. I just wondered if we could get a bead on the scumbag who used the knife." I stepped to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the baggy with the crystal ball. "This one's for you, Emily. It took a salt water bath, but I was hoping you could get a trace on the last thing Marie Devereaux saw."
"I thought you said this Manifesto Killer wasn't an animist," she said.
"He's not, as far as I can tell."
She frowned. "But he's familiar with spellcraft, or at least what interferes with it, so he knows it's real enough." She hefted the ball in her hands. "It'll require a cleansing ritual before being of any use."
Their faces were solemn as I explained the crime scene to them and showed them pictures from my phone. Evan didn't like Emily using magic, but he knew what was at stake. I printed up several copies of the cipher. Evan folded one up with a promise to do what he could tomorrow.
"Letter puzzles," muttered Kasper as I handed him a copy. "You really do throw the best parties."
I grinned magnanimously in the face of his sarcasm. "I figured you were good with script..."
"This isn't really my flavor of fun." He shook his head. "Only two short lines here. 'Wivo ivo wero ev.' It isn't much to go on. But I'll give it a gander." He shoved the evidence in his pocket. "Tomorrow. I'm too drunk now."
"Mom?" squeaked Fran from the hallway. "Dad?" We turned as Emily met Fran halfway into the living room. They hugged.
"My baby," said Emily. "You should be asleep. You have school tomorrow."
"I thought I heard talking." She disengaged and went to hug Evan, who held her tight.
"It's late," he agreed. "Maybe we should all call it a night."
I pointed my drink down the hall. "You're all welcome to stay here too."
"How many bedrooms do you have in this place?"
"Five. You guys should know," I ribbed. "You cosigned on it."
Evan smiled and turned to his family with a silent exchange. "I think we'll go home anyway. Fran can come with us."
It was disappointing I wouldn't get my father-daughter sleepover after all. I turned to Fran for a hug but she gave me a high five. "That's okay, Cisco. I'll see you tomorrow," she said with a wink.
"Okay, little one."
Evan wrapped up the knife so Fran wouldn't see it and we said our goodbyes. I took a measured breath and turned to Milena, who'd been unusually quiet. I figured she was tired.
"Guess I'll turn in," chimed in Kasper with a knowing look. "Glad you kids are all right." He disappeared down the hall, leaving us alone.
I slid my stool toward Milena. She leaned on the bar, ear resting on crossed arms, empty stare filling me with doubt. I brushed a hand on her back. "You okay?"
"I almost died." She said it matter-of-factly, without emotion. That was the kind of thing usually associated with strong feelings. She was in shock.
"Sorry. I totally screwed up your night." I thought about Evan and Emily, probably too exhausted for anniversary sex and without an empty house anymore anyway. I could've spent a late night playing games with my daughter. "I bet you're wondering what it would've been like to go to Gavin's place and listen to bad music." There was no derision in my voice at the mention of her date's name. It really was a simple pleasure I'd deprived her of.
"Actually," she said, "that hadn't crossed my mind at all."
Our eyes met and we shared a longing gaze. Then she looked away with that same blank stare and sighed. "I think I'm gonna go home now."
I nodded sullenly. "Yeah... Of course." We meandered to our feet and toward the front door. "Though you should probably unstrap that Uzi first."
Chapter 21
Kasper had cleared out by the time I woke up. I would need to thank him later: the gashes on my arm were mostly healed up. I went through my morning routine with only a bit of stiffness and aching, and most of that was due to the wine. I downed a glass of water while recollecting how great it had been to get everybody together. The thought made the condo feel empty.
I was in the middle of looking for breakfast when Simon called.
"We got a letter," he relayed. "From Manifesto. The Herald's likely to have a similar copy so we need to move fast before the police request it."
I was still sleepy and not thinking straight. "Why would he send the letter if Marie's body was cleaned up?"
"He doesn't know that. He probably dropped it in the mail two days ago after doing the deed."
"Right."
I shifted into high speed and agreed to meet them first thing. I was good at that, rolling with the punches. Doing what needed to get done. So good it was sometimes to the detriment of other aspects of my life.
I pulled the Firebird into a strip mall and made my way to the address I'd been given. I paused on foot, double-checked the numbers of the adjoining storefronts, and finally frowned at the door of an entirely unremarkable dry cleaner. It seemed an odd place for a homicide investigation, but these were my instructions. I walked in carrying a bakery box and a Styrofoam cup. My arrival was announced by a door chime, and a cute Asian woman smiled at me from behind the counter. Not to generalize, but she was younger and prettier than I'd have expected in this line of work.
"You must be Cisco," she said with an infectious grin. Her hair curled around her face and she had a freckle in the middle of her nose.
"I sure am. And you must be..."
She giggled, hooked a finger for me to follow, and led me to the back. She was a petite thing with a playful attitude. I decided to roll with it.
"Play hard to get all you want. You're not getting a cafecito without giving me a name."
Her eyes flared back hungrily. I was back in my tank top and couldn't tell if she was looking at my coffee or my biceps. "I'm Diana," she said with a wink.
Progress. I was just getting into the swing of things when she greeted Shen Santos with a long kiss, extra tongue for my benefit, I was sure. He hooked his arm around her territorially. Diana tucked her head into his metallic-blue tie and smirked.
"Coffee it is, then," I grumbled.
I placed the communal Styrofoam cup on a counter with the stack of miniature plastic sipping cups and poured a round of shots for everybody, even Shen. Despite the misstep with Diana, I was determined to keep things professional today.
Simon huffed with indignation. "I asked you to come as quick as you could and you stopped for coffee and donuts?"
"No way," I contested. "I'd n
ever do that. These are ham croquettes. You should try one."
Shen immediately opened the box and dug in. It was easy to spot the true locals.
I downed a shot of liquid energy. I'd already had one at the counter where I bought it. The second hit me like an encore. Now I was ready to work. Diana and Shen poured a second helping of espresso as I made my way past. "Let me see what you got."
Simon refused to partake. He sternly signaled to the letter on the table. It was handwritten in black ink on white computer paper. An original.
A New Letter to The New Times,
This is my manifesto. Ignore it at your own peril.
Do not, Play not, See not, Show not. Another pair of performers has fallen, this time a mother who corrupted her own son. She deceived humanity with platitudes and visions. The vile spirits could not save her in the end.
Her eyes are forever mine but I have granted you a single lash in hopes you see the light. You will find her where she leads men astray. She was a fortune teller—the boy had the misfortune of being a Devereaux.
Now that you understand how serious I am, you will print this letter and the first in full, including both ciphers. If you do not, more blood will be on YOUR hands. This is my work. This is my manifesto.
The cipher at the end of this letter was similar to the other, but slightly different.
"Any conclusions?" I asked Simon.
"Just what's obvious. This is a breaking development. We're the first to see it."
I took the note to a dark corner. Then I looked around. "Why are we in a dry cleaner anyway?"
Simon shrugged. "Shen didn't want you seeing where he lived."
The illusionist just munched on his snack silently. Diana leaned on him.
Whatever. I didn't press it. I returned my attention to the note. My eyes cracked and filled with black. I examined the ink closely.
"It's not enchanted," I said. "Nothing about the cipher is magic."
Simon's face told me he'd come to the same conclusion. I handed him the letter. "This one was more specific," he said. "It included the victim's name because there was no maid to discover the body. The police are already scouring the house."
"They won't find anything," assured Shen. "There's no proof of murder. No victim to match the eyelash to."
"That's right," said Simon. "We're counting on the FBI to keep a lid on things a while longer."
As he set the letter down, I made sure to snap a quick picture with my phone. Kasper and I weren't the sort to work out word puzzles, but I'd give him a go at it.
"I think the performer angle is interesting," I said.
Simon chewed his lip and waited for me to elaborate.
"Well, he uses that word. Performer. And besides being animists, it's a link all the victims have in common. Mordane was a card mechanic. The piper was a musician, a charmer. Marie told fortunes. So who's next?"
Shen scoffed. "It's impossible to know what two-bit performer he's gonna strike next. Or when for that matter."
I nodded to partially concede his point. "We can narrow down the timing a bit. Mordane was five weeks ago. The piper was a week ago. Marie only a couple of days."
"His timeline's accelerating," noted Simon.
"Maybe. Or the screwup with the fire forced Manifesto's hand."
Shen crossed his arms. "So we have anywhere from one week to one month. Great."
"Or only a few days," added Simon. "If he's speeding up."
Their frustration was well founded. I studied the note and recited the words aloud. "Do not, play not, see not, show not. That's the guidebook."
"How so?" asked Simon.
"Go down the list of kills. Mordane used his hands. He did things. The piper played."
Simon nodded. "And Marie Devereaux saw the future. Do not, play not, see not. Which means the next victim—"
"Is a show-er." I banged the table. "Show. Perform."
Diana's face brightened. "Quentin Capshaw's in town this weekend. He has a hypnotism show at the Arena. It's a pretty big deal."
Shen glared at her for encouraging me, and I couldn't say I was all that encouraged to begin with. "That hack?" I asked.
"He's not a hack," she insisted. "He's one of us. His performances are full of demonstrations of his power. Because his spellcraft is subtle, he shows everyone in broad daylight."
Simon's eyebrows went up. I clicked my teeth and repeated, "Show." It was worth a shot.
"This is your big investigative revelation?" snorted Shen. "You just wanna stake out this guy in case he gets attacked?"
I shrugged. "It's not quite Sherlock Holmes, I admit. This is about boots on the ground and knocking on doors."
Simon chimed in. "The mantra of the police detective."
"How else to catch a killer? We need to cross every 't' and dot every 'i.' I guarantee you Manifesto is meticulous. We can't afford not to be."
We stared at one another for a long moment. With nothing else on the table, it was the best lead we had.
Simon scooped up the letter. "I need to get this back to the paper. The police will want to examine it."
"Jesus, I touched that."
"We all did." Simon plucked a handkerchief from his suit, wiped the letter down on both sides, and placed it in a manila envelope. "Walk me outside, Cisco."
We left Shen and Diana whispering sweet nothings in the back room. The loud chime sounded as we stepped through the dry cleaner door and into the sun. "Good news," he said. "We've already started your bank paperwork." He led me to his Lincoln where a driver waited. The lawyer retrieved a briefcase and plopped papers on the roof and handed me a pen. "Don't forget to read the fine print."
"Don't worry. I’ll read it."
And I did, because I didn't trust the Society as far as I could throw them. The papers concerned a holding company, investments in the Caribbean, and new bank accounts to link to mine. "You're gonna backdate this?"
"We don't need to. These subsidiaries exist in limbo until we need them. They're not US-based so the paperwork is dodgy."
Sketchy, maybe, but things looked legit enough to convince me. Granted, I wasn't hard to fool. I had the financial acumen of a prize fighter. But I doubted I had enough money to tempt the Society to steal anyway.
"Congratulations," said Simon. "Your stolen drug money now comes from a legitimate enterprise."
"It's that simple?"
"There's still some behind-the-scenes approvals that need to happen, but your records will be above reproach."
I handed the pen back. "Thanks," I said, surprised at the weight lifted from me.
Simon stuffed everything back in his briefcase and tossed it in the car. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to my shoulder. While mostly healed, the wound was obvious.
"I got in a scrape last night."
"Vampires?"
I nodded. "You never told me they could compel their victims."
"Don't you ever watch the movies?" He laughed, but his face quickly sobered. "Are they gonna be a problem?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. Just try not to draw attention to yourself. Remember, the FBI's looking into you."
I nodded and hesitantly shook his hand. I half expected him to zap me. Old habits and all.
I found it unnervingly odd to deal so cordially with the Society. They were doing so much for me over one serial killer. As Simon drove away I considered his Town Car and then the dry cleaner. His secret group had impressive resources throughout the eastern United States, but South Florida was a different beast. The state government in Tallahassee was light years away from this banana republic. With recent events and Connor Hatch's failed attempt to place a dirty mayor in office, the Society was desperate for any influence in the area they could find.
Their current target was me.
That's what the gifts were for. This investigation. It was a way for us to work together, to play on the same team. And that was assuming the whole thing was on the up and up.
It was tough n
ot to be suspicious of the circles I rolled in. I told myself it was a necessary part of being back and staking a claim to the city. There was nothing to do but face the realities presented to me, realities which did not always match my ideals. I frowned and headed back inside.
Chapter 22
Shen Santos admired the silver leather from the Firebird's passenger seat. At least, that's what I imagined he was doing. I revved the engine louder than usual, but he still failed to confess what a rad car I had. Maybe he preferred to bask in glory rather than comment on it.
The silence gave me time to process recent events. The meeting with the Obsidian March could've gone better. Really, besides me dying, how could it have gone worse? Evan and the police were the ones with the right idea. Investigate crime in the background instead of introducing yourself as a target. I usually chose the latter path. It was simple and straightforward, which was nice but had drawbacks. That's the nature of Whac-A-Mole: stand up tall and risk getting beat down by a big stick. Except they don't use padded toys in the real world.
From now on I was gonna give these situations more consideration. It was just so damn hard to keep emotions out of the equation when dealing with monsters. A missing girl from Fran's school had hit too close to home.
Not this time. I was determined to handle Manifesto in textbook fashion. Today was a workday. Shen and I were two seasoned professionals. Keep it simple. No surprises. I'd do some light investigative work, knock out a training sesh with Fran, and catch up on some sorely needed Netflix. Blue-collar stuff.
I parked outside Kasper's tattoo parlor. "Wait in the car."
"Not a chance," grumbled Shen, climbing out. "We're in this together."
"This guy doesn't like strangers."
His face tightened and he slammed the car door. "Then introduce me."
"Whatever."
We approached the nondescript shop. It was by the River but in an industrial neighborhood, undesirable but exactly how Kasper liked it. I was happy to find the parlor was open, which wasn't always the case during normal business hours. We pushed into the eclectic space, not altogether distinct from a junkyard. Stray items were piled on chairs and counters and the picnic bench beside the entry. Scraps of paper covered with tribal symbols plastered the walls, interrupted only by medieval polearms and other weapons of the bashing and slashing varieties. In fact, the main feature distinguishing this from a museum was the mess. We discovered the old man inking a heart on a woman's butt cheek.
