by Roy Johansen
“We weren't exactly buddies. Maybe he just liked keeping cash on hand.”
“He hasn't had it for long. Most of these bills were minted in Denver less than ten weeks ago.”
“And it didn't show up on his financials? With that kind of undocumented cash lying around, I'd usually look to drugs, but that really wasn't Nelson.”
Howe picked up the plastic bag of cash. “How are you coming on your end?”
Joe was still surprised by Howe's news. “I'm still checking with experts about the levitations. I saw a guy today who may have something for me.”
“Good. Pretty strange about that reporter disappearing, huh?”
“Very.”
Howe smiled. “Be careful how you interview that kid, Bailey. Make him mad, and we may be peeling you off the wall.”
* * *
Joe hadn't heard back from Cy by the time he left work, but the warehouse was only a little out of the way home. What the hell.
It was dark by the time he rolled to a stop in front of the building. There was a light in Cy's window.
Joe climbed the stairs, cringing at the battle of the bands that had erupted between the alternate-rock-white-boy rap groups rehearsing on the second and third floors. The low bass throbbed through the walls, shaking the floorboards with each pretentious riff. Thank God Nikki wasn't into this crap. Yet.
Cy's large sliding metal door was closed but not padlocked.
Joe rapped on it. “Cy, it's Joe again. I got your message.”
Silence.
“Cy?”
Footsteps. The floorboards buckled and whined.
Thud.
Something hit the floor hard. Joe yanked the door open.
Cy was lying near a futon in the corner of his dimly lit studio. His eyes were open, and he was softly mumbling.
“Cy?”
Cy looked at him pleadingly, then rolled his eyes and vomited.
Joe rushed over and turned him on his side. “Take it easy. Just relax.”
He vomited again. Foamy and white. Christ.
“Hang in there, Cy. Where's the phone?”
Footsteps. Behind him. Joe spun around and saw a figure in a denim overcoat sprinting out through the open doorway.
“Stop! Police!” Joe yelled. He jumped to his feet, but Cy began choking and gagging. Shit.
Joe turned him over and slapped his back. He tried to clear his mouth, but Cy continued to sputter.
“Hang on. You'll be okay.”
Joe had had a feeling that Cy wasn't going to be okay, but he had never imagined that less than an hour later he'd find himself staring at the levitation-ist's corpse in the Grady Memorial Hospital emergency room.
Cy had been beyond help even before the paramedics arrived at his loft, but they still struggled to rekindle some spark of life. You can always get lucky, an emergency medical technician once told Joe.
Cy had never been lucky.
The emergency room doctor, a tall Latino man, tossed his rubber gloves onto the instrument table. “You knew him?”
“Yeah,” Joe said, still not able to take his eyes off Cy's face. “For a long time. Since we were kids.”
“Did you know he was a drug addict?” the doctor asked.
“No, I didn't.”
The doctor motioned toward Cy's needle-scarred arms and torso. “He was a pincushion. It was bound to catch up with him.”
“Are you sure that's what killed him?”
“We'll have to wait for the test results to be sure, but his symptoms were consistent with a heroincocaine mix. Unfortunately, we've gotten pretty good at knowing what those symptoms look like.”
Joe nodded. Poor Cy. It was easy to look at his face and see the gawky teenager he used to compete with for those pathetic birthday party gigs and Rotary meeting shows. They had lost touch over the years, but he'd always admired the guy for sticking by his dream. Only now, judging by those ugly needle marks, was it apparent how much it had cost him.
The guy in Cy's apartment was probably his supplier, Joe realized. A cop was the last person a dealer would want to talk to, especially if he had just accidentally administered a lethal speedball. Still, the timing was suspicious. Cy had been trying to call him for some reason.
“Can you help us contact his family?”
“He didn't have any. He's been alone for almost as long as I've known him.”
Joe gently pulled the sheet over Cy's scarred arms.
Lyles spread out the flat ivory squares on the passenger seat of his new Jeep Cherokee, positioning them to form a large circle. He'd purchased the vehicle that afternoon and had the windows down to dissipate the putrid new-car smell everyone else seemed to love.
His hands worked quickly over the squares. Bertram and Irene had given them to him shortly before he left England. He had carved Latin words on each square, even though most Millennial Prophets chose to write them with indelible ink. This was more real, he thought. More permanent.
Like the scalp tattoo now buried beneath his thick brown hair.
He didn't let the squares rule his life as he knew some of the other believers did. He thought the squares offered alternatives, another way of looking at life, but nothing more.
He completed the circle and placed his small sport compass in the center. He picked up the squares at due north, south, east, and west, then placed them in a row.
Modo. Mortis. Creo. Vita. Modo. Only. Mortis. Death. Creo. Create, or make possible. Vita. Life.
He chuckled. Only death makes life possible.
In his present circumstances it could have been interpreted a few different ways. But here, parked on this stretch of Corsair Street, the meaning was clear.
Lyles looked up at the large third-floor window of the building in front of him, where he could see little Nikki Bailey talking on the phone.
“I'm fine, Dad, except that Vince is ignoring me.” Nikki spoke into her pink cordless phone, pacing back and forth in front of the living room windows. She shouted across the room. “Aren't you, Vince?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah …” Vince was hunched in front of the television, watching Jesse Randall's Dallas test sessions.
“He's beating his head against the wall because he can't figure out the miracle boy's tricks,” Nikki said.
“He can join the club.” Joe's voice broke up as it always did when his portable phone passed between the tall downtown buildings. “I'll be home in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay, bye.”
Nikki pressed the talk button to cut the connection. She stared at the street below and wrinkled her brow. A man was sitting alone in a Jeep.
He had been there the entire time she'd been talking to her father. She might not have noticed, but Wanda, her next-door neighbor, had recently filed a restraining order against her ex-boyfriend. It was too dark to tell if this was the guy, but he was definitely facing their building.
“Vince, can you come look at something?”
Vince's eyes didn't leave the television screen. “I'm already looking at something.”
She turned from the window. “Please …”
He sighed. “That's not fair. You know I'm powerless when you ask like that. You girls learn it in the cradle, don't you?” He stood and shuffled toward the window. “What is it?”
“See that man in the Jeep down there?”
Vince squinted. “No.”
Nikki turned back sharply. The Jeep was gone. “It was just there!”
“Sure it was.”
“I promise!”
Vince laughed and went back to the couch. “Maybe Jesse Randall made it disappear.”
She glanced up and down the street. No sign of the Jeep or the driver.
Obviously, the man had driven away, but it made her uneasy that he had left in those few seconds when she'd turned from the window. It was sort of… spooky.
She closed the blinds.
Sharp kid, Lyles thought. Like her father. She'd spotted him.
That was okay
. He wasn't close enough for her to get a description, and he'd gotten what he needed. He was just doing some preliminary legwork, establishing patterns of behavior, and gathering information.
He wasn't sure he would need the knowledge he'd gathered on Joe and Nikki Bailey, but it was always wise to arm oneself with as much information as possible.
But was someone else doing the same thing? For a moment, he thought he'd seen a man lurking in the shadows across the street, also looking up at the Baileys’ window.
Who the hell was that?
Good morning, Ms. Randall. Is Jesse here?” Joe and Nikki stood on the front porch of the Randall home early the next morning, trying to ignore the television cameras pointed in their direction.
“He's here,” Latisha said coolly.
“This is my daughter, Nikki. Would you mind if we came in?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Is Jesse a suspect?”
“Not as far as I'm concerned.”
“Then why are you here?”
Joe glanced at the cameras on the sidewalk. “Ms. Randall, at least two of those cameras are connected to high-sensitivity parabolic microphones. They can probably hear everything we're saying. May we come in?”
Latisha looked at the news crews, then opened the door wide for Joe and Nikki. They walked into the small living room, where Nikki immediately gravitated toward the collection of ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers on the mantel.
“Wow,” she said. “Did you make these?”
Latisha's suspicious attitude toward Joe did not transfer to his daughter. “I made some of them, honey, but most of them I bought.”
Nikki nodded. “Very cool.”
“Thank you. I'm proud of them.”
“Ms. Randall, it's important that I be able to talk to Jesse,” Joe said gently. “Jesse spent more time with Dr. Nelson than anyone else did in those last few weeks.”
Latisha pursed her lips. “But your being here makes it even—”
“He may be able to help me end all of this. That's what we all want, isn't it?”
“Yes.” A small voice came from the hallway.
Joe, Nikki, and Latisha turned to see Jesse standing in the doorframe. “That's what /want,” Jesse said.
“I told you to stay in your room.” Latisha turned back to Joe. “He's a prisoner here. He can't leave the house without people bothering him, and they've asked him not to come back to school for a while.”
“Why?” Joe asked.
“They say he attracts too much attention.” She made a face. “They brought his books and lessons, and they're supposed to send a teacher a couple of times a week. Personally, I think the principal is afraid of him.”
“You're probably right about that. I can talk to her if you'd like.”
“No, I think he's safer here.”
Nikki stepped toward Jesse. “You like Star Wars, don't you?”
“Who doesn't?”
“Dad says you have lots of Star Wars toys. I have Queen Amidala's spaceship.”
“Chrome?”
Nikki nodded.
“I have a Naboo fighter and a bongo.”
Joe leaned over. “Maybe he'll show you his collection, Nikki.” He looked at Latisha. “If it's all right with you.”
Latisha finally nodded. “It's okay, Jesse.”
Jesse walked toward his room, and Nikki followed him. When they were out of earshot, Latisha turned back to Joe. “Do you always bring your little girl along on police investigations?”
Joe shrugged. “I thought Jesse would like to be around someone his own age who isn't afraid of him. It's only natural— Did I say something wrong?”
“No. A little too right, I'm afraid.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay. But can I ask you a hypothetical question, Ms. Randall?”
“You can ask.”
“Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd like you to think about something for me. If, hypo-thetically, Jesse had a way to fake his special abilities, what would you guess would be his motive?”
She stiffened. “You're calling my son a liar?”
“No. Just hypothetically.”
“Don't give me that hypothetical crap. You're asking me to think of him as a liar.”
“Okay. Whether or not he was faking his abilities, he obviously hated Dr. Nelson's tests. Why did he go through with them?”
Latisha hesitated. “He didn't always hate them. He really liked Dr. Nelson. I liked him too. In the beginning, he treated Jesse very well. Jesse's father left when he was three, and I think he liked having a decent man around who would take him places and give him some attention, you know?”
Joe nodded.
“Jesse liked going on TV with him, appearing at the lectures and doing the tests. It was fun for him.”
“Until Dallas.”
“Yes. Dr. Nelson changed. It got to be less about Jesse and more about his own career, I think. Maybe that's the way it was all along, but he just stopped hiding it.”
“It's been an upsetting week for Jesse. Has he been having nightmares?”
“More than ever.”
“Have there been any more … disturbances while he sleeps?”
“None that I know of. But, like I told you, there have never been any shadow storms around here. They were always someplace else.”
Nikki sat cross-legged on the floor, lifting the yellow Naboo fighter toy over her head. “I saw your videos.”
Jesse put down the Darth Sidious action figure. “What videos?”
“I saw you moving things around a table and bending pieces of metal. It was cool.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You sound real thrilled.”
“People are always asking me to do stuff for ‘em. I'm surprised you haven't asked.”
“My dad told me not to.”
Jesse leaned against the bed. “Some people were yelling at me from the sidewalk yesterday. An old man who had cancer, and a lady who couldn't hear. They wanted me to help them, but I couldn't. The man started crying.”
“Wow,” Nikki whispered.
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Your dad doesn't believe in my stuff, does he?”
She paused. Her dad had told her not to discuss Jesse's abilities with him, but how could she not? Especially when Jesse didn't seem to mind. “My dad doesn't believe in a lot of things,” she said. “He doesn't believe in heaven.”
“Really?”
“I know my mom is there, but he doesn't think so.”
“Where does he think she is?”
“Nowhere, I guess. Except in our memories.”
Jesse looked down. “ I think your mama's in heaven.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
* * *
Latisha wrung her hands and spoke softly to Joe. “What I hate most about this is how it's changed my boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“He's gotten tense. Irritable. Dr. Nelson and the others put too much pressure on him, and with everything that has happened in the past few days, it's just gotten to be too much.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe he feels guilty?”
“For what happened to Dr. Nelson?”
“No. For fooling Nelson, you, and everybody else.” She started to object, but Joe raised his hand. “Assuming I'm correct when I say that Jesse is using some kind of trickery, how do you think he would feel right now? This has gone from a few tricks for his family in Macon, Georgia, to a national news event. Maybe the bigger this got, the harder it was for him to see a way out without embarrassing himself, you, Nelson, and all the others. Have you thought of it that way?”
“I've thought of it every way.”
“Have you ever asked him if his powers are genuine?”
“How else could that boy do the things he does?”
Joe leaned closer. “Have you ever asked him?”
“What is there to
ask? He told me that he thinks about things, and they happen. And then he showed me.”
Joe nodded. “Maybe you can tell him that it's okay if he doesn't really have these powers. He may need to hear that from you.”
“He'll think I don't believe in him.”
“Probably. But that might be exactly what he needs. Right now he may be afraid of disappointing you.”
She rubbed her temples. “I just don't know what's the right thing to do.”
“I know this has been hard on you.”
“You have no idea. It's tearing me apart.” She bit her lip. “Yesterday, after that TV reporter went missing, Jesse was … upset. He looked at me and—I'm not used to seeing him that way, and coming right after hearing about that woman …”
“You were frightened of him?”
“Of course not. I could never be—” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“I'm sorry.”
“I love him so much, but it's been so hard. I never imagined …”
“Mama, what's wrong?”
They turned to see Jesse and Nikki in the doorway.
Latisha quickly wiped her eyes. “Nothing, honey.”
“What's wrong?”
“It's okay, honey.”
Jesse whirled on Joe. “You made her cry.”
Latisha shook her head. “No, honey.”
Jesse glared at him and stepped closer. “It's your fault! You made her cry!”
“We were just talking,” Joe said gently.
“Get out!” Jesse's nostrils flared and his eyes bulged. “Get out of here now!”
Latisha grabbed him by the wrists. “Don't you talk to him or anyone else that way, you hear me?”
“Get out! Now!” Jesse screamed. “Leave us alone!”
Joe nodded to Latisha. “I'll be in touch.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. Thank you for talking to me.” Jesse was still glaring at him as Joe whisked Nikki out the door.
Garrett Lyles watched as Joe Bailey and his daughter hurriedly left Jesse Randall's house. The little girl was clearly nervous and upset. What had happened?
