The Hex Files_Wicked Long Nights

by Gina LaManna

  Before I could ask where he was going, he disappeared into a dark back alley. I strained my eyes, looking for him, but caught nothing aside from the briefest glimpse of white fur along the rooftops. Then again, that might have been my imagination.

  He was back in minutes, gesturing for me to follow him through the crowd. Soon enough, he stopped and nodded ahead. “Is that your guy?”

  I spotted the long-haired man wearing the same grimy sort of tunic as he pushed a cart before him laden with all sorts of greens and dried spices and beads and junk.

  “That’s him,” I said. “I’d better take it from here. Thank you for your help, and for the talk.”

  “Anytime,” he said, and he was gone.

  I reeled from his disappearance for a moment, trying to determine if he’d left on a good note or a bad one, before I spotted the Herbals vendor moving farther away from me. I pushed thoughts of Grey and Matthew away, then dodged through traffic until I got ahead. Parking myself in front of his cart, I waited as the vendor came to a stop.

  “How can I help you?” the man asked. “We’re selling Organic Oregani and Hexless Huckleberries. Can I tempt you in a bit of Spellfree Spices or Homegrown Horticulturals?”

  “Sure,” I said, flicking my badge open. “And then you can interest me in your illegal Herbals.”

  The man froze in a ray of panic, but thankfully, I was prepared.

  I pulled out my Stunner and aimed, then spoke in a low voice. “I don’t want to make a scene. Give me five minutes of your time, and I won’t even ask your name.”

  The man’s eyes shifted around, searching for any witnesses. “Fine,” he hissed, “but get inside here and put the gun away. It’s bad for business.”

  “Going to jail is worse for business,” I said, climbing into the center of the hut. The cart was a square thing with counters on all sides and wheels beneath. The man, Juno, if his nametag was anything to go by, stood in a small rectangle in the center and pushed the cart forward from the middle. With two of us there, the surroundings were tight.

  Shuffling like an awkward dance troupe off to the side of the road, I finally exhaled a breath of relief as Juno parked the cart against the wall and leaned back. We were shielded somewhat from the sun and the stares of onlookers by the thatched roof that hung low over the sides, and I waited an extra moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness before beginning my questioning.

  “Harmony,” I said, jumping right into the heart of the matter. “What do you know about it?”

  “Dude,” he said, his eyes darting around. “Why are you asking me the hard questions?”

  “Dude,” I responded. “It’s the first one. Tell me the truth, and I won’t ask your name.”

  “Dude, I have a nametag,” he said. “Call me Juno.”

  “Fine, Juno.” I expelled a breath. “I’m not looking for someone on your level, so it’ll serve you best to be honest with me. Who is responsible for the narcotics you’re distributing?”

  “I’m not distributing narcotics.”

  “I can get a narcotics shifter over here in seconds,” I said. “Do you really want to see what they can find in this cart? They’re the best in the business.”

  He stiffened, his face paling. “Fine, I don’t have Harmony myself, but I know of it. I only sell basic Herbals, and a few of them are laced with a little something extra. It’s nothing like Harmony.”

  “Tell me about Harmony.”

  “Dude, I don’t know—I’ve never done it.” He shrugged, saw my lack of amusement. “Fine. It’s supposedly this strain of Herbal that you can lace anything with and it will take away the pain. It’s perfect for Herbals because that’s the name of the game: supplements to help you sleep, eat, shit, relax, clean your mind, get Zen, whatever.”

  “And without Harmony laced in, it’s basically just a load of junk,” I said. “Some herbs put together with a fancy label.”

  “No,” he said uncomfortably. “It really can help some people. In our Sleepers, we have this soothing chamomile concoction that’s great. It’s a lozenge and really helps you sleep.”

  “So does tea,” I said dryly. “But that wasn’t enough for some people, was it?”

  “The dude started introducing Harmony laced items at first without telling people.” Juno shifted from one foot to the next. “If you want my opinion, that was a low blow. He was getting people addicted to stuff—and they didn’t even know it. They thought they were buying...okay, yeah. Some fancy packaged herbs. It’s all the rich folks, you know? Then they started talking about it to their friends and buying more and more, and sooner rather than later...people couldn’t get enough.”

  “The dude,” I said, reverting to the first part of his sentence. “Who is the dude?”

  “The guy behind it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do,” I pressed. “And Narcotics is already onto him. So, you’d better spill before we find out exactly who he is, or else your word means nothing, and you’ve got no clout to earn a get out of jail free card.”

  I was bluffing some, but not a ton. According to Nash and Peter, they were onto someone distributing Harmony, but they didn’t have a name or any identifiable information. It also wasn’t a lie that it would turn up sooner or later—it was only a matter of time before someone squealed.

  “They call him The Farmacist.” Juno was really sweating now, leaning close and hissing in a barely discernable whisper. “He’s the mastermind behind it all. The developer, the distributor, the moneymaker. He’s got all of us by the balls.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we distribute the goods and take our cut, but we’ve got to pay him a tax.”

  “Like the mob,” I said. “You don’t pay, and you’re done.”

  “Exactly. Everyone’s gotta pay.”

  “Do you know Farmer Marcell?”

  Juno’s face brightened. “He’s a good dude. Sells good herbs.” His face paled again. “I mean the legal stuff. He really does a good job, but I heard he got wrapped up in this, too. The Farmacist got greedy and is demanding payment from him, too. It sucks—really cuts into our profits.”

  No wonder Farmer Marcell was nervous. Even if he hadn’t wanted to be a part of the Harmony business, he’d somehow gotten roped into it. I wondered if he was a victim—if maybe he’d been blackmailed by The Farmacist—or if he was a cleverly involved mastermind masking as an innocent.

  “How might I find this Farmacist?”

  Juno outright laughed. “Lady, you’re the one on drugs if you think he can be found.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

  “I’m telling you,” he said, clucking his lips. “That’s impossible. Literally. Marcell won’t know, either. Nobody does.”

  “Then how do you know of him?”

  “He sends us messages.”

  “How so?” I glanced around, as if someone might be listening. A brief moment of doubt washed over me as I wondered if Juno could be The Farmacist himself and just a very good actor. Maybe he’d vanish the second I left his cart, never to be heard from again. “How do you get payments to him?”

  “I see you looking at me all weird. Trust me, I’m not The Farmacist.” Juno tugged on his tunic. “I wouldn’t be dressed like this if I were him. The man’s making bank. He probably lives on some island in the distance making his thugs and minions do all the work.”

  “But someone knows how to get to him,” I said. “He can’t be working in an isolated bubble.”

  “I’m low on the totem pole. Feel free to follow me around—I promise I won’t disappear on you, so long as you don’t arrest me for dealing a little Hash now and again.”

  “God, Juno! Don’t say that.” I raised a hand, covering my ear. “If you want some leniency, then don’t tell me these things. I don’t want to know, okay?”

  He winked. “I read you, lady. Anyway, like I said, you’re not gonna find him through me. I found a lett
er here a few months back that said I could start leaving my ‘donations’ to The Farmacist in the bottom of a bag of apples. I was supposed to mark it with an X and not sell it until someone comes asking for the extra crispy variety.”

  “So, you have seen someone come to collect money?”

  “Yeah, but I know exactly who it is. It’s just Crazy Dan.”

  “Crazy Dan?”

  Juno pointed across the street to a dimly lit alley where a few homeless people crouched against the wall, cans and signs splayed before them requesting help and kindness in the form of donations. “Crazy Dan has been around here for years. Talks to himself in mirrors, puddles, you name it. Dude is batshit psycho, but he follows orders okay, I guess.”

  “So, he comes and requests extra crispy apples?”

  “Yep. Freaks me out because he’s got this weird eye that never looks right at me. I wonder if it’s glass.” Juno got lost in his musings a moment before he returned to earth. “Right, sorry. Anyway, I give him The Farmacist’s cut of the ‘donation’ and he takes it.”

  “Where does he go?”

  “You’re lucky I followed him once,” Juno said, wagging his finger at me. “See, I thought maybe Crazy Dan was taking me for a ride and playing me.”

  “Was he?”

  “Nope.” Juno gave a shake of his head. “He dropped the sack of apples down a well way the heck over in the fields near The Depth. That’s it. Crazy Dan didn’t even look in the bag. I assume The Farmacist pays him a cut somehow, but he wasn’t taking my money.”

  “How do you know this Farmacist isn’t yanking your chain?” I shrugged my shoulders. “What if it’s just some lazy guy in his underwear scamming a bunch of street vendors?”

  “Headless Thomas thought that.” Juno shook his head sadly. “Poor Thomas.”

  “What happened to Headless Thomas?”

  “His head got chopped off.” Juno sounded so matter of fact about the tragedy that my jaw must have hung open in surprise, prompting Juno to explain further. “Seriously. He was a berry vendor that worked the western end of Wicked Way. We were friends—traded stuff back and forth like we do over here,” he said. “Well, he was complaining about the new Farmacist’s tax and one day gave Crazy Dan an empty berry box.”

  “I assume it was supposed to contain payment?”

  “You assumed right, lady,” Juno said with a nod. “Next day, Headless Thomas’s cart was right there, and his head was in a berry box. It was disgusting.”

  “Yes, I imagine that cart’s not sanitary anymore.”

  “Two-Toed Teddy is using it,” Juno said with a shrug. “Nothing a little bleach and a pinch of magic can’t clean up.”

  I reminded myself to never buy berries from Two-Toed Teddy’s historic cart. “Why does The Farmacist think you vendors owe him a tax?”

  “It’s not like I received a formal invoice or anything, you know?” Juno grinned at his own cleverness. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the one who created Harmony. It’s lacing almost every Herbal these days that’s...you know, enhanced. And people get addicted to it like crazy. They buy this one thing because their buddy told them to, and then voila...before they know it, they’re back buying a pack a day.”

  “What have you heard about Harmony?” I asked. “Have you been losing any customers due to drop-off?”

  Drop-off is a common phrase that’s been adopted by the Narcotics Unit over the last decade. It refers to the rate at which illegal spells kill a customer. If drop-off is too steep, the business becomes unprofitable because there aren’t enough users to continue buying it. Manufacturers keep careful watch on the rate of death due to their narcotics. Charming business practice, I thought dryly as I watched Juno shift uncomfortably before me.

  “Drop-off is minimal,” he said eventually. “That’s what makes it such a great business model. Heck, it’s actually probably healthy in small doses.”

  “But large doses haven’t been tested much, have they?” I asked, seeing doubt in his eyes. “What do you think about that?”

  “I think—”

  “The truth,” I said, before he could formulate a nifty little dodge of the question. “Or you’re coming with me. It’s my final question.”

  Juno gave a hefty sigh and looked down at his feet. “I’m trying to get out of this business.”

  I waited patiently.

  He looked up, his eyes clear, pained. “I didn’t get into the Herbals business to kill people. I just needed a few bucks to pay rent and it was quick money. I wanted to stay far away from narcotics.”

  “But narcotics found you, and now people are dying, aren’t they?”

  He blinked, his eyes welling with tears. “Yes,” he said, his lip trembling in a surprisingly genuine display of emotion. “I’ve lost two customers this month, Detective, and I don’t know how to get out.”

  Chapter 16

  “Detective—” Juno looked at the front doors of the Sixth Precinct and shook his head. “I can’t go in there.”

  “I promise you’ll be fine,” I assured Juno. “Everyone will know exactly how cooperative you’ve been.”

  Juno’s eyes watered more, turning into big pools of distrust. “I’m not going to make it out of here alive, am I?”

  “What are you talking about?” I nudged him inside the building ahead of me and nodded for him to lead the way down a side hallway. I’d brought Juno to the department for further questioning—and to keep an eye on him. The fact that he’d admitted to an increasing drop-off rate was a huge signal that we needed to get to the bottom of this Harmony mess—and quickly. Otherwise, the death toll would only continue to increase. “Why do you think you won’t make it out of here?”

  “You’re questioning me at the station for ratting on The Farmacist. Oh, God, I’m going to become Headless Juno. Or maybe Junkless Juno. You know he’s threatened to cut off my privates?”

  “Um, nope.”

  “Well, that’s what I heard. And the name really has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Juno, relax.” I urged him to breathe deeply and rested a hand on his shoulder for support. “You’re going to make it out of here alive. We’re going to catch him.”

  “You might think you are, but you’re not. What if he’s here now? What if he’s listening?” Juno flinched, looking up at the ceiling as if for hidden cameras. “He knows everything. Headless Thomas wasn’t trying to end up dead, and the second The Farmacist found out he wasn’t listening to him...” He mimed an off-with-his head sort of gesture.

  “Right, but that’s not the case with you. I came asking for information. You’re not snitching on him.”

  “I ended up here, didn’t I? If he thinks I know too much, he’ll kill me—no questions asked. He knows I’m here already, I guarantee it.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said. “We took the back way to the station and you had that stupid cloak covering your face. I was barely sure I had the right guy with me half the time.”

  “Somehow...” Juno said, his voice coming out in a slithery sort of whisper. “He’ll find me.”

  I stepped back, waved for the front desk clerk and the two officers who’d shown up to escort the new guy to an empty interview room, and gave them instructions to keep an eye on Juno.

  “A private room will only make things worse,” Juno said. “No witnesses when he comes for me.”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “I don’t think so.” Juno forced a watery smile. “I think this is goodbye, Detective.”

  I watched as the officers took him away, wondering when everything on the job had become such a gray area. When I first got into this career, I’d thought right and wrong would be simple concepts: black, white, red, murder. But if I’d learned one thing in all my years on the force, it was that nothing ever quite fit perfectly in place.

  Sure, there were the bad, bad guys—the truly evil serial killers and cold-blooded murderers, but they were rarer than I’d expected. The truth of the matter wa
s that good and evil blurred into one another and became an awfully slippery slope more often than not.

  I considered Juno for example, a dude running away from some sort of life at home and looking for a leg up to get started in a new place. Something most people could relate to in some form or another. He took a job to pay some bills, found himself roped into something much larger than his need for a few coins, and before he knew it, people were dying around him.

  Was he a murderer? My heart said no. My heart said the man had gotten into something overwhelming, faced a powerful enemy that he’d never predicted, and had gotten swept along for the ride.

  My brain, however, said that he’d contributed to the deaths of at least two people. He hadn’t come to the police. Should he have risked his life to snitch on The Farmacist?

  I sighed, turned from Juno, and began a slow trudge toward Felix’s office. I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t know if anyone except the Man Upstairs could say for certain.

  I found Felix in the lab, buzzing with energy in front of Matthew. There was a distinctly frosty vibe coming from the vampire, one that only grew colder as he took a deep inhalation.

  I knew at once he was mapping my route in the time we’d spent apart, wondering how I’d gone from a quick bout of personal time in the marketplace to walking side-by-side with an Herbals vendor across town. He was probably sifting through the scent of meatball SandWitch and the cluttered mix of aromas coming from the streets of Wicked to extract the hint of Grey’s scent that clung to my skin. I imagined the latter is what gave him the murderous stare.

  “I see you’ve been busy,” Matthew said simply, and then turned back to Felix.

  I narrowed my eyes at Matthew and moved closer to the tech genius. “Mind catching me up?”

  “I don’t know what crawled between the two of you, but I want no part of it.” Felix stuck his hand out and shook a finger at each of us. “That’s part of the deal when you’re sleeping together on the job.”

  “We’re not sleeping together,” I said pointedly. “Anymore.”