by J. C. Staudt
I call Quim.
“Hey,” he says.
“You free at the moment?”
“Sorta.”
“See what you can dig up on a Jerry Douglas. Widower to the late Ramona Savage.”
“Uh, sure. Where are you?”
“Driving. Let me know what you find.”
“You got it.”
When I park the hearse along East Jefferson Avenue and approach the Young Municipal Center, I find Lorne and Carmine Savage standing outside beneath the Spirit of Detroit monument, speaking in agitated tones.
“There you are,” Carmine says. “Where’ve you been?”
“Has the hearing started yet?”
“It’s over,” says Lorne. “You’re an hour and fifteen minutes late, dude.”
“I can’t believe you,” Carmine says. “We’re going to lose everything, Arden. That bastard is going to take every penny.”
“What about the settlement?”
“There’s no settlement anymore,” says Lorne. “Under the terms of Jerry’s offer, we were forbidden from contesting the will in court. Since we did, Jerry rescinded it. We’re not getting a damned thing.”
“You really screwed us, Arden,” Carmine adds.
“You think me being here would’ve changed anything?” I ask.
Carmine’s eyes blaze with anger. “It would’ve changed everything. The judge even said we might’ve had a case if we’d all bothered to show up.”
Lorne points at the hearse. “Something happen to your wheels?”
“Big accident. That’s why I’m late. Ten-car pileup, something crazy like that.”
“God, are you okay?” asks Carmine.
“I’m fine. I was lucky. Walked away with hardly a scratch. I just wish I could’ve been here.”
Lorne shakes his head. “So do we. I was going to use my share to start up my company with Brian. Now it looks like I’ll have to raise the money through venture capital.” He shudders.
“Look. I’m sorry I let you down. Both of you. I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I promise.”
Lorne wrinkles his mouth. “Unless you know of a way that’s worth three hundred million dollars, don’t bother.”
“Was Jerry at the hearing?”
“Yeah, of course he was. Why?”
“Where is he now? I want to talk to him.”
“Upstairs in his office, probably,” Carmine snaps.
“In the building?”
She frowns at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Did you hit your head during the accident?”
“Twice.”
Her expression morphs from snide to sympathetic. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. You should get checked out. Let me drive you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine. I want to talk to Jerry.”
Carmine inspects my forehead where the red marks from the steering wheel are fading. “You need to see a doctor.”
“Nothing’s wrong with my head,” I insist. “Where’s Jerry’s office?”
“I don’t think going up there right now is a very good idea,” says Lorne. “Things got heated during the hearing.”
“I don’t care. I want to see him.”
“You’re only going to make things worse, Arden.”
“I won’t do anything crazy. I just want to have a sit-down with him.”
“Don’t do it, man.”
“Where’s his office?”
Lorne shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s the mayor’s office. Look it up.”
I pause. He works in the mayor’s office? I almost say. “Don’t wait up.”
Lorne and Carmine protest, but neither one pursues me into the building. The lobby directory says the mayor’s office is in the Administration Tower, so I traverse a series of atriums, elevators, and hallways to get there. I storm into the waiting room and start shouting at the first person I see, the dark-skinned elven secretary behind the front desk. “Where’s Jerry Douglas? I’m his stepson, and I demand to see him immediately.”
The secretary tosses her black hair and raises a finger of warning. “Okay. Sir? You need to calm down. Why don’t you have a seat while I give Mr. Douglas a call?”
I fling myself into one of the upholstered wood-frame armchairs in the waiting area. There are probably security officers standing by, and I don’t want to be the guy she calls them on. The secretary picks up the receiver and speaks in quiet tones, muffling her voice with a hand. She hangs up. “He’ll be right out to see you, sir.”
Jerry arrives from down the hallway moments later. “Arden. This is a surprise. What are you doing here, son?”
“Don’t call me son. We’ve got some shit to talk about, you and I. Why are you being such a greedy cocksucker?”
“Whoa. Hey. I’m sensing some hostility here. There’s no need to insult each other. Let’s step into my office and talk about it, huh?”
He escorts me through the minstered-glass door at the end of the hallway and takes a seat in a high-backed leather chair behind a formidable mahogany desk. He gestures toward a chair across the desk from him. “Please.”
I sit.
That’s when I come face to face with the brass nameplate on his desk.
Gerold T. Douglas
Mayor
“Can I get you anything?” Jerry asks. “Coffee? Tea? Water? Soda?”
“I’m fine.”
My head is spinning, and so is the room. It all comes rushing back to me; the news bulletin at the gym last Friday night, with the blonde pixie newscastress in the navy-blue suit jacket talking about mayor Everton’s death. The reel plays through my head like a rerun. Earlier this evening, Mayor Jack Everton was found dead in his home, the victim of an apparent heart attack. Special investigations units were dispatched to the scene, though police have reported no evidence of foul play. City Council President Gerold T. Douglas is set to serve as acting mayor until the end of the mayoral term in January.
“I must say, that was a stroke of genius, you not showing up at the hearing,” Jerry is saying. “Unexpected, I’ll admit, but a real power move. Don’t do shit like that anymore. I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong. But if Lorne and Carmine start to suspect you’re on my side, this could get uglier than it already is. Now, what’s gotten you so upset? You said something about me being greedy. That’s a laugh. Haven’t I been generous?”
I stare at him, attempting to reconcile my disbelief with my anger. “Why did you pull out of the settlement?”
“I warned them not to test me. The amounts I was offering were more than fair. I thought you were with me on this.”
It’s looking more and more like Arden Savage was on Jerry’s side. I’m not on Jerry’s side, though. Lorne and Carmine may not be my real family, but they’re the only fake siblings I’ve got, and blood is thicker than any financial wrangling Jerry might want to pull over on this family. “Apparently I didn’t understand the terms of your offer. What gives you the right to take the entire fortune my dad worked his whole life to accumulate?”
“Nothing,” Jerry says. “Nothing gives me the right. It’s a privilege. A privilege your mother gave me when I married her—and one she gave willingly, despite what your brother and sister are inclined to think. Ramona was the light of my life, for the short time we were able to spend together in this world.”
“Tell me something,” I say, knowing the question I’m about to ask is a huge risk.
“What’s that?”
“Where did my mom’s will come from?”
“What do you mean?”
I clear my throat. “You know what I mean.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. You know the answer to that, so if you’re suggesting what I think you are, you can go to hell.”
“Is it real?”
Jerry flexes his jaw, inhales through his nose. “Your sister has her claws deeper in you than I thought. For those snot-nosed brats to accuse me of anything but loyalty to your mother is a slap in the face. That’s why I retracted my offer. They’re going to have
to learn the hard way that life isn’t a bunch of free handouts. It’s not like I’ve thrown them out on the streets. All three of you still have your trust funds.”
“They deserve more. We all do.”
Jerry is surprised. “You’ve changed your tune. Or have you forgotten what you called them? Deadbeats. Boils on society’s ass. You said they could use a wake-up call. Learn what it’s like to work for a living. Why shouldn’t they? You’ve carved out a career for yourself. Just because they don’t respect you for following your ambitions doesn’t make them better than you. You’ve amounted to more in your young life than either of them ever will.”
“I was wrong about them. Lorne wants to start his own company.”
He laughs. “Yeah. So he can order his paid minions to do what he wants.”
“So what? It’s something. Carmine—”
“Don’t even get me started on her,” Jerry interrupts. “She wants to keep frittering away her trust fund on thousand-dollar handbags and Italian shoes, more power to her.”
“I didn’t ditch the probate hearing on purpose. I was late.”
Jerry studies me. “I thought you looked a little rough around the edges. What happened?”
“Krydos and his thugs caught up with me.”
Jerry makes a face. “I told you he wasn’t going to be happy. Are you telling me you still haven’t captured the prince?”
“Not yet. I’m bringing him to the revel Friday night.”
He leans forward. “You do that. And hope to hell that gives the Disciples enough time to convert him. Prince Cadigan’s going to wind up like Mayor Everton if he doesn’t come around.”
A chill runs down my spine. Cade Cadigan can’t end up like the mayor. That means me. Dead. In a casket. “It would serve him right, if he doesn’t come around.”
“That’s enough talk about that. You’d better go. I’ll see you at the revel.”
I think quickly. Since I don’t know where this revel is supposed to take place, maybe the best way to find out is to follow Jerry. “Want to meet up somewhere beforehand?”
He frowns. “For what?”
“Grab a bite or something.”
“The feast will be more plentiful than you can imagine.”
So much for that idea. “Okay. What time are you planning to get there?”
“Nine.”
“Right. Me too.”
“You should be there early, since you’re bringing the prince.”
“Ah. True.” I smile sheepishly. “Forgot about him.”
“Just you make sure you don’t forget him on Friday.”
“I’m not going to, Jerry.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a city to run.”
Chapter 27
When I trudge into Arden’s apartment an hour later, Quim is sitting at the kitchen island playing poker with Ersatz while munching on a bowl of cashews. “Loving the new digs, man.”
I grab a couple beers from the fridge, slide him one, and take the nearest barstool. “Yeah, me too. What are you doing here? This degenerate convince you to leave the house?”
Quim nods, intent on his cards. “Says you’re going to stay here a while.”
“Maybe. After a day like today, I’m not sure.”
“What happened?”
“While driving the casket of our late Mayor Jack Everton to his double-decker funeral, I got chased down by a couple of sex-crazed satyrs and dragged before their leader to answer for my delinquency in capturing Prince Cadigan. That’s me. Then I got chewed out by my fake siblings and ridiculed by their stepfather when I tried to stick up for them.”
“I’ve had a rough day myself,” says Quim. “Overslept until two and burned my frozen pizza in the oven.”
“All three of us have suffered misfortunes today, I’m afraid,” adds Ersatz. “I swallowed a roach in my sleep.”
“You guys are asshats.”
“Everything squared away with Mr. Montague?” Quim asks.
“Speaking of asshats. Yeah, I guess.”
“How was the probate hearing?”
“I missed the whole thing.”
“Bummer, man. Why?”
“I mentioned I was being chased by a cult of hedonistic goat-men, didn’t I?”
“You’re acclimating well to your new lifestyle,” says Ersatz.
“You more than me. Now Lorne and Carmine both hate me because I cost them their inheritance.”
Quim clears his throat. “Remember how you asked me to look into that Jerry Douglas guy? Well I was just telling Ersatz about what I turned up in my research.”
“You found something?”
“Well for one thing, he’s the acting Mayor of New Detroit, in case you didn’t know.”
“I found out this afternoon. I should’ve known it this whole time, I was just too stupid to put the pieces together. What else?”
“For the past three years, he’s been making huge donations to an organization called the Disciples of Velos. You ever heard of them?”
“The Disciples. Yeah. Those satyrs who’ve been chasing me around? They’re them.”
“No kidding. Jerry’s in deep with those guys. Including large infusions of your late surrogate mother’s cash, apparently.”
“So far this all making perfect sense.”
“Then you’ve probably concluded that these Disciples of Velos are up to no good. They like to throw wild parties as a means of recruiting new members. They exert control over their devotees through the use of a substance called lotus.”
“Hold on a minute.” I grab my backpack and pull out the tin box and the Ziploc bag I found in Arden’s pocket. The dozen light-brown nuts give off the same bitter, sweet smell I noticed in the Kingdom’s Keepe hookah bar. “This stuff?”
Quim is surprised. “That’s it.”
“Yeah. Arden Savage was carrying it when he came to my house.”
“More disturbing than their use of the lotus is the sorts of things they make their adherents do once they’re addicted. The Disciples of Velos have recently been linked to a number of events classifiable as terrorism. That explosion in the maternity ward of the downtown hospital a few months back. A fire that burned down a cancer treatment center in the suburbs. Rumor has it they’ve even perpetrated murders considered by the police to be gang-related.”
“What about murders considered to be heart attacks?”
“Didn’t read about that.”
“I think they colluded to kill Mayor Everton. Jerry basically admitted to it, in so many words. No evidence of foul play, my ass. And by the sounds of it, I’m next. They’re throwing one of those wild parties this Friday. I’m supposed to be there, but I have no idea where it’s being held.”
“Listen to you, referring to Arden Savage in the first person.”
“I don’t mean me Arden Savage. I mean me Cade Cadigan. Arden is supposed to bring me to the party, tied up in his car. I’m guessing so they can sacrifice me to their evil god, or do whatever they did to the mayor that killed him.”
“They serve no god,” says Ersatz. “Their only master is anarchy. Their agenda defies reason; their only desire is to let chaos reign. They are outcasts from conventional society who believe order has failed to serve their needs. They thrive on the dangerous and the decadent.”
“How do you know all this?”
“A mixture of memory and Quim’s research.”
“I’d rather not have anything dangerous or decadent done to me, but I need to be at that party. If I don’t find a way to bring them down now, they’ll chase me until I stop running.”
“These aren’t the sort of people you should be getting mixed up with.”
“Too late. I can’t ignore this, guys. I keep thinking maybe I got put in this situation for a reason. Maybe pretending I’m Arden Savage for a while will give me the chance to turn his life around before he’s gone for good. We know he kidnapped people for a living, he smoked this lotus stuff, he hated his mom, and he be
trayed his siblings. I think it’s time Arden did some good for a change.”
“Where’s this party being held?”
“I don’t know. The leader of the Disciples said something about a club.”
“There are tons of clubs in New Detroit.”
“So let’s narrow it down.”
Quim gives me an annoyed glance. He slaps his cards down on the island and picks up the bowl of cashews. “Is there a computer in this place?”
We head to the office and gather around the laptop desk while Quim exercises his best Google-fu. He reads off a bunch of names until one sticks out to me.
“Hold on. That sounds familiar.” An image flashes through my mind. Two memories overlaid. The license plate on the silver Mercedes. NITEC4A. And something else. Something handwritten. I take out Arden’s wallet, withdraw the slip of paper with three characters written on it. C4A. C four A. See for A. See for uh. Se-for-uh. Sefora. Sephora. “Nightclub Sephora.”
Quim opens another tab, types and clicks through a database of Wayne County property assessments. “Says here the building at that address is owned by a Craig Dosier.”
“Craig Dosier. Kry… dos. I mean, close enough, right?” I show him the slip of paper, tell him about the license plate on the silver Mercedes.
“I’d say you’ve got a pretty convincing case,” Ersatz remarks. “Say Sephora’s the place. What are you going to do when you get there?”
“I have no idea.”
Quim shoves a handful of cashews into his mouth and smiles, chewing. “Great plan.”
“Thanks. Dickweed.”
“It’s too bad you can’t clone yourself. With that belt, you could show up as both Arden and Cade at the same time.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re a shifter. You could be Arden Savage without breaking a sweat.” I stop, stunned by the epiphany of my own words. “Holy shit. You could be Arden Savage without breaking a sweat.”
Quim swallows. “Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. I don’t like where this is going.”
“Quim, you gotta help me.”
“Sure. I’ll help you from home, on my computer.”
“Not this time, buddy. This time I need you with me. On the front lines.”
