by J. P. Sloan
I turned to face Julian full-on. His face was drawn. Earnest.
Deadly earnest.
I might have even called it eager.
That was one giant warning bell ringing in my ears. I’d known that thirst for the Game. That need to be dealt into the Secret Knowledge. I’d shared it those twenty years ago, when I was gunning for revenge for my parents’ deaths.
Julian was grasping for something, anything, to give his life meaning again. He trusted me. I was his gateway to significance, and that filled me with dread.
Zeal almost always leads to destruction.
“Maybe,” I whispered. “Maybe I do. And maybe I will. But not right now. Okay? I’m not even sure what I’ve gotten myself into.”
He nodded with a squint, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I think Ricky’s going to work out. I mean, for now.”
“That’s good.”
“I hope he goes home. But if he doesn’t, well, he could have a place here I think.”
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m good.”
I didn’t believe him. His shoulders were high and tight, and his eyes were downcast. He was hungry for action. Any kind of action. It ripped a tiny hole inside me, but I couldn’t bring him inside. It wouldn’t be healthy.
I replied, “All right then.”
Julian pulled away, and turned a half-circle. “I’ll call Ronetta.”
Ches stepped up to my side as Julian wandered back to his office.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“He’s okay.” I turned to her. “Can you stick around, give Ricky a ride back home?”
“Yeah, no problem. I have an idea on these glyphs I want to try out.”
“Oh?” I prodded. “Do tell.”
“Nope. You’re going to have to wait until I’m sure.”
“So mysterious.”
She smirked.
Malosi boomed from the corner, “You two going to get a room, or what?”
onetta Claye,” I said as Malosi and I ascended the steps to City Hall in the crisp morning air. “She was one of Julian’s protégés. She’s a Deputy Mayor, and Julian’s heir-apparent.”
“This is your business partner you’re talking about?”
“Yeah. He was big mojo in Baltimore until…”
“You?”
I winced. “Yeah.”
“No offense, Dorian, but you fuck people up.”
“I get that.”
Malosi stopped mid-step. I caught up with the fact a few steps higher, at which point we were almost at equal height.
“What?” I muttered.
“That girl? Ches?”
“What about her?”
“You’re going to fuck her up, too.”
I frowned, and though it conceded a few inches of height advantage, I stepped down into his personal space.
“Let’s not talk about Ches, okay?”
“I’m just saying, if you keep her close to you? She’s going down.”
“I felt I was pretty clear on the Not Talking About Ches issue.”
“You in love with her, or what?”
I balled fists, fairly confident that it wasn’t impressing Malosi one inch.
“She’s my student, Reed. I’m responsible for her education. And by responsible, I mean that a really scary goddamn woman in Portland is going to rain down all kinds of Hell on my head if I don’t. If you think that’s a good pretext for romance, then maybe you’re the one who’s fucked up.”
“I didn’t say you were fucked up.”
“Sounded that way to me.”
He reached out and gripped my arm before I had a chance to flinch.
“Reed―”
“I’m trying to help you, brother.”
I eased my tension as he looked me in the face. His jaw was set, but his eyes weren’t drawn in his usual squint. He seemed earnest.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone, Reed,” I muttered. “I’m actually trying to help people, if you can believe that.”
He chuckled. It was quick and dry… but I heard it.
Malosi released my arm. “Why do you make everything about you when it isn’t? And when it actually is about you, you make it about everyone else. I’m not a psychologist or anything―”
“Don’t worry, Reed. I know I’m a special kind of crazy.”
We continued up into the stately white building, an anachronism in marble against the steel and glass skyscrapers surrounding it. He was absolutely correct, actually. Every hour I kept Ches close to my drama was another hour she approached certain downfall. It was some kind of inevitable consequence of being part of my Best Case Scenario. Every last person I felt good about ended up either a vicious back-stabbing shit, or horribly dead.
City Hall was abuzz with activity, for no obvious reason. It took longer than usual to navigate through the metal detectors, and by the time we’d reached the fifth floor and Ronetta’s office, we had already been queried by city police three times. Security was high, as was the foot traffic. Something was happening.
Claye’s office was on the opposite end of the floor from Julian’s old office, but that didn’t stop me from making the side trip. His door still had his name on it. That was curious. I knew he and Mayor Sullivan were tight. Was it possible Sully was keeping the office open for Julian? And if he made any kind of gesture, how hard a decision would it be for Julian to say “yes”? He was clearly struggling with his sense of direction. This whole retirement debacle may have been a sidebar in what could ultimately be a brilliant political career.
Was Julian part of my Best Case Scenario, too? And if so, would he share in my doom?
Malosi made impatient throat-clearing noises, and I pulled my head out of my own thoughts. We proceeded along the hall to Claye’s office, where we were met with two assistants who seemed uninterested in passing along our arrival to Claye. Finally, after she spotted us from her back office sidelite, she waved us in.
Malosi stood near her office door as it closed behind us. Claye reached out to shake my hand with a grin, but as the door finally clicked shut, her smile melted. It melted quick. Oh, crap.
“Have a seat, Dorian,” she stated as she wound her way back around her desk.
I took the seat, giving Malosi a warning look.
“Ms. Claye,” I began, using as formal a language as I could muster.
“Mister Lake,” she responded in kind. Oh this was going lovely. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Okay?”
With a testy breath, she stated, “Police cameras spotted the two of you near a crime scene on Charles Street.” She lifted a paper from her desk. “A certain Temple of Eastern Solomonic Rites?”
“Yeah. That.”
“A particularly gruesome crime scene with occult overtones. That is your field, as I recall?”
“It is.”
She squinted and folded her hands in front of her. “Care to assuage my frankly deep concerns, Mister Lake?”
“We weren’t involved. The lodge was run by an associate of mine. Perhaps associate is the wrong word. Someone I’d met once or twice is more accurate.”
“You’re talking about this ‘Zeno’ character.”
“Yeah. Goes by Frater Zeno, though it seems he doesn’t care for people outside his lodge calling him Frater. It’s like a title… I’m losing you, aren’t I?”
“You’re not assuaging my concerns, Mister Lake.”
“Listen, I’m sure Zeno’s a Person of Interest right now, but you should know he wasn’t the one who killed those boys.”
She gave me half-hearted smirk.
“What did kill those boys? Demons?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me.
Malosi shifted uncomfortably by the door.
I held her gaze until her smirk melted.
“Mister Lake, you can’t―”
“This was a Goetic temple, Ms. Claye. It’s what they do. They summon and bind demons toward sever
al mundane purposes. Money. Power. Girls. I didn’t say I approve of it, but it’s their business. LLC and everything. Zeno’s good at what he does, Ms. Claye. He kept the demons locked down whenever one of his students colored outside the lines. He may be guilty of sink-or-swim magical theory, but he’s no killer.”
She seemed unimpressed.
“There is a warrant for this Zeno’s arrest, Mister Lake. Which means if you know his whereabouts, then you are compelled to share this information.”
“It was sabotage. That’s why we were there. The park across the street? Someone put a Nordic cursing pole within the public art in the center, and aimed it straight at Zeno’s lodge. I came here hoping we could get some information. Names of whatever committee puts those public sculptures up.”
She stood up and slapped a folder onto her desk in front of me.
“You are supposed to be assisting Detective Turner in the Enoch Pratt vandalism. Julian said you were the best in this field, and that you could be trusted. Instead, Turner tells me you are uncooperative, antagonistic, and unavailable.”
I tapped my finger rapidly on the edge of her desk.
“Yeah, well, Turner’s kind of a tool.”
So much for mustered formality.
“The more I look into you, Mister Lake, the less I trust you. I don’t know what kind of spells you think you’re weaving out there, but I’m very sure the only spell you’ve cast is on Julian. I find you to be grossly insubordinate, self-absorbed, and very likely to be a finely practiced con artist.”
“I suppose this is a bad time to discuss my fee, then.”
She paused on that one.
With a steady breath a voice brimming with threatening cordiality, she replied, “This is a police investigation, Mister Lake. There will be no fee. Failure to assist Detective Turner, or to otherwise impede either the Enoch Pratt or the Charles Street investigations, and you could be arrested for obstruction. We may even find you to be an accessory.”
A heavy silence dropped on the room like a dead whale.
Claye looked up at Malosi. “Same goes for you.”
He didn’t respond beyond adjusting his cuffs.
“Ms. Claye,” I ventured, “I am trying to help you. But there is an entire world of practices and organizations at play in these matters which you have chosen to dismiss. And that’s your right to do so. But ignoring it won’t make it evaporate into a puff of rationalism.”
She sat on the corner of her desk, glaring down at me.
“I couldn’t care less about these practices, Mister Lake. The organizations, however, are very keenly interesting to us.”
“Outstanding. Then let’s talk about this public art committee.”
“Mister Lake?”
“Yes, Ms. Claye?”
She leaned down, her violet-polished lips drawn into a tight scowl.
“I am not Julian Bright. I am not some political advisor. My interest is public safety, which means I’m not here in this building to protect the Mayor against political enemies. I’m here to protect the people of Baltimore from themselves.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because you seem to be taking the loss of life with a bit more ease than I find comfortable. This isn’t some game.”
I straightened in my seat, re-crossed my legs, and inspected my nails before responding, “Ms. Claye, I understand that better than most. The art committee?”
She held her scowl for a while before lifting off her desk. I exhaled when she turned her back, and stole a glance over my shoulder at Malosi. He seemed profusely entertained.
Claye dropped into her chair and reached for a binder from one of her desk drawers. She skimmed several pages, running her finger down until she landed on something of note.
“Here. Committee for Public Enrichment. This isn’t proprietary information, so you can access it down on the second floor.” She scribbled a name and an office number, and passed it over.
“Thank you. Look, things feel kind of adversarial at the moment, but I really am on your side here.”
Her frown softened a bit.
“I’m not at all sure you’re on my side, Mister Lake. But I’m used to that. All I care about is whether you come through or not.”
“Fair enough.”
She stood up, my cue to do the same. When Malosi opened the office door for us, Claye’s face blossomed into the same genial, bubbly smile I saw when we first met at the Tavern. She may not have been a political operative, but she sure as shit had her game-face locked tight.
When Malosi and I reached the hallway, he grumbled, “That was enjoyable.”
“Sorry about that. She seemed nicer last time.”
“I like her.”
I gave Malosi a side-eye. “Sure.”
“Seriously. She’s doing her job. Time we did ours.”
“Then let’s get that list of names. Odds are, we’re going to find some overlap with the esoteric community―”
A voice bellowed from down the hall, and I froze.
“Dorian Lake?”
I turned to find a crowd of similarly-suited individuals winding down the hall with David Sullivan’s head looming above the rest.
“Heads up,” I whispered as Sullivan’s eyes landed directly on us.
The Mayor called out from his entourage. “It’s been a while.”
As the mob moved in our direction, I spotted Madelyn Sullivan clutching her husband’s arm, her face swimming with confusion.
Sullivan’s security surrounded Malosi and me, and Sullivan extended his hand to shake. I took it and gave it a quick, brisk grip.
“Your honor.”
Sullivan’s face wilted slightly. “Listen, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to apologize for that business with Durning.”
“No need to apologize. Absolutely no one saw that coming.”
He nodded with a tight grin. “Tragic, really. He was a good man. And a good friend.”
“I’m sure he was.”
Sullivan clapped my shoulder. “How is Julian faring in the restaurant business?”
“Hmm? Oh. We’re still getting our feet underneath us.”
“He’s doing okay, though?”
Sullivan lingered on the question, and I picked up on an undercurrent flowing behind the mayor’s eyes. Julian was still on Sullivan’s radar. It must have been a quiet season for Sullivan, politically speaking. The election was behind him, but if Julian’s instincts were correct, Sullivan might be missing his old political advisor sooner than later.
Sullivan’s wife chimed in. “Oh, this is Julian’s friend?”
I nodded. “I’m happy to be counted among his friends.”
She beamed, then turned to her husband. “Did you send Julian an invitation?”
Sullivan’s face tightened. “I believe we did. We can double-check.”
“Good! We should extend our invitation to Mister Lake, of course.”
I smiled at the two of them. “What are we imposing ourselves into, might I ask?”
She reached out and gave my arm a light tap.
“No imposition at all! It’s a casual sit-down at North Green with some of our supporters. Short notice, I’m sure, but if you can make it Thursday night, we’ll be sure to save a chair for the two of you.”
I forced a smile, and replied, “I’ll pass along your invitation to Julian.”
“We’ll be in touch, Mister Lake,” she added as she moved on. “We miss Julian terribly, you know.”
Sullivan shook my hand again, gave Malosi a nod, then shuffled on.
When the entourage disappeared back into Sullivan’s office, I turned to find Claye glaring at me from her office door. I offered an easing gesture with my hand, and moved for the elevators.
After a quick stop at the second floor to collect a single print-out listing the members of the Committee for Public Enrichment, we stepped back out into the light of day onto the steps of City Hall.
“That was a heaping handful of complica
ted,” I grumbled.
Malosi smirked. “I’m missing something, here.”
“Hmm?”
“Your business partner. He retired from public service, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it took?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think he’ll ever leave it behind, to be honest. Though I think he’s got Claye sized up wrong.”
Malosi’s phone rang, and he held up a finger and stepped away to answer. I stood alone, looking out over the steps to the sides of the skyscrapers surrounding us. It was like a tiny hole in the center of the city. A black hole sucking Julian back into its clutches. But would that have been so bad? Julian was clearly lost in his own tavern. The whole sex scandal that had ousted Julian from his position was engineered by Sooner, who was now as irrelevant as he was before McHenry tied the puppet strings on his arms. The Durning incident seemed to have dealt a blow to Sullivan on a personal level. He could have used Julian at his side through this.
And perhaps Madelyn Sullivan saw that? Perhaps she was pushing her husband to make the inconvenient but correct decision?
“Yes. Yes, I remember. I’ll get it done.” Malosi hung up his phone and turned back to me. “I have to tend to some business. You head on back to the house. I’ll catch a car back.”
I squinted at Malosi. “What kind of business?”
“None of yours.”
“I think I kind of need to know, at this point.”
He crossed his arms, and seemed somehow taller by at least a foot and a half.
“Dorian? You know I don’t actually work for you, right?”
“I… suppose that’s not the point.”
“You need to get it out of your head.”
“What out of my head?”
He unfolded his arms and stepped into me, lowering his volume. “I’m not your thug, Dorian. I’m no one’s thug. I may drive the car, I may tend to Mister Clement’s security. But I presently have an appointment with an investment banker and a tax attorney, and the subject of conversation… not that it’s any of your business… is import duty. You want to step up and take my place, I’d like to see how you do.”
