Firewalk

by Chris Roberson

  Patrick’s skepticism was waning. “And you think that’s what’s happening here? Some kind of voodoo thing?”

  “I’m not sure.” Izzie scratched the scar on the back of her hand, a nervous tic. “It’s not exactly like the stories I heard. But similar enough that I wonder whether there might not be some connection.”

  Patrick nodded, thoughtfully. “So what do we do next?”

  “We continue the investigation, of course,” Izzie said, turning and opening the car door.

  Stepping out onto the curb, she turned and leaned down to look back through the open door.

  “But we keep ourselves open to possibility, and see where that leads us.”

  Patrick sighed. “I hope that will be good enough.”

  Izzie stood on the sidewalk and watched as he drove away. Then she turned and started towards the front entrance of the building.

  “I hope so, too.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Izzie wasn’t surprised to find that Special Agent Daphne Richardson was still in the office when she arrived, despite the fact that it was almost nine o’clock in the evening. With only two FBI agents on staff in the Recondito Resident Agency, there were bound to be times when there was more than enough work to go around, and as the junior agent it would likely fall to Daphne to pick up the slack.

  “Oh hey, Agent Lefevre,” she said, looking up from the stacks of paperwork on her desk. “I was wondering if you were coming by today.”

  Izzie slipped off her suede jacket and draped it over a chair. “Considering how late it is, I guess I just made it under the wire. And please, it’s Izzie.”

  Daphne smiled. “Sorry.”

  Izzie rested a hand on the corner of Daphne’s desk, looking down at the tidy stacks of documents. “Manuel has you burning the midnight oil, I guess?”

  “That slave driver,” Daphne answered sarcastically, then shook her head. “No, just kidding. It’s by choice. I told Agent Gutierrez that I was taking some time off this afternoon to go apartment hunting, but that I’d make it up when I got back.”

  “Apartment hunting?” Izzie crossed her arms and leaned her hip against Daphne’s desk.

  “Yeah,” Daphne said with a sigh. “I rented the first place I could find when I got transferred here last year from San Antonio and, well … I could have been a little choosier. I mean, the apartment was okay, but I could have found somewhere a lot nicer, and in a much better area. My lease runs out next month, and I was planning on renewing, but this morning I got a letter from my landlord informing me the rent would be going up an additional five hundred bucks, and that roach motel is not worth two grand a month.”

  Izzie raised an eyebrow. “That much?”

  Daphne nodded. “I mean, my paygrade is still GS-10 but I got bumped up to step 9 last quarter, so with the locality pay I can definitely afford it. But for that much money, I expect to get something a little nicer.”

  “I mean, why is it going up that much?”

  “Oh.” Daphne shrugged. “The market is just crazy tight right now, and rents are going up all over the place. There’s just so many people moving to town these days.”

  “Any luck with the apartment hunt?”

  “Not yet.” Her shoulders slumped. “There was one place that would be perfect, just a few blocks north of here, but it got yanked out from under me by a guy who just moved to town to work for Parasol. It wasn’t cheap, either. But all these programmers and tech folks who are moving to Recondito get paid a lot more than government scale, so they can afford whatever the going rate is.”

  Izzie remembered the inflight magazine article about the self-made-millionaire and his killer apps. “Parasol just bought a big building here in town, didn’t they?”

  “Pinnacle Tower, right?” Izzie nodded, answering her own question. “Yeah, that’s definitely it.”

  Izzie was thoughtful. “That name has come up a few times today.”

  Now it was Daphne’s term to treat Izzie to a quizzical look. “Something to do with your investigation?”

  Izzie nodded. “Maybe. The police lieutenant that I’m assisting is working a street drug case, and several of the suspects work at the building, or at least have worked there at some point.”

  “Parasol employees, then?”

  “Maybe? I’m not sure.”

  “If they work there now, then they must be,” Daphne said. “Parasol bought the whole building before they started their renovations, and kicked everybody else out. It was a big stink in the local news. A lot of the other tenants of the building— businesses, law firms, medical practices—got eviction notices as soon as Parasol took ownership. They petitioned the mayor’s office to step in, but the owner of Parasol—”

  “Martin Zotovic?” Izzie asked, dredging the name up from her memory.

  “That’s him.” Daphne nodded. “Well, I read this big exposé on a renter’s advocacy site the other day, all about Znth, Zotovic’s private equity outfit that’s been buying up all kinds of real estate around the city … and not just office buildings like the Pinnacle Tower, either, but residential properties, ranches and farms outside of town, old mining claims, all sorts of stuff…. Anyway, turns out that Zotovic was one of the principle contributors to the mayor’s re-election campaign. So it wasn’t that surprising when the mayor sided with him over the tenants.” She swiveled in her chair, idly. “So far as I know, it’s just Parasol in the building now. And from what the rental agent told me this afternoon, there are a lot of people moving to town just to work for them, so they’ll probably end up filling the building before too much longer.”

  “I guess there’s a lot of money to be made in phone apps,” Izzie said with a shrug.

  Daphne picked up her own phone from the desk, and grinned. “They’ve got my money, anyway. I couldn’t live without this thing.” She tapped the phone to display the time, then let it clatter back onto the desktop. “Well, it’s nine o’clock, so I think I’m done for the day.” She pushed her chair back from the desk. “I was thinking about grabbing a drink on the way home. Care to join me?”

  Izzie chewed her lip, considering. “Well, I’d planned on filing an update, but …” She glanced over at the guest cubicle that had been assigned to her, and discovered that she had absolutely no desire to keep working. “That could wait until morning, I guess.”

  Daphne stood up, and unclipped her holster from her belt. “I’m locking this up in the gun vault, since I’m planning on having at least a couple of rounds.” Federal agents were allowed to carry firearms at all times, off duty or on, but mixing guns and alcohol was another matter entirely. “You planning to stick with soft drinks or … ?” She let the question hang expectantly in the air.

  Izzie smiled, unclipped her own holstered pistol from her belt, and held it out to Daphne. “I’ll get it back when I come in to type up my report. Because, sister, after the day I’ve had, I deserve to tie one on.”

  “So, where are we drinking?” Izzie shivered slightly as they emerged into the cold night air.

  “There’s a new craft cocktail bar that just opened up a few blocks that way,” Daphne answered, gesturing to the right up Hauser. “I haven’t tried it yet, but the Yelp reviews are good.”

  “Let’s give it a shot,” Izzie answered.

  The after-dinner crowd was out in force, and there was a crowd lining up to get into a live music venue across the street. Izzie had never heard of any of the acts on the marquee, and wasn’t sure if that was because they were local musicians who hadn’t made it big outside the city, or if she was slowly easing into middle age and growing out of touch, or both. Daphne was familiar with all of them, though her tone suggested that she wasn’t impressed with the lineup.

  “They’re okay, I guess. But not worth standing in line out in the cold for.” She pushed her hands deeper into her coat pocket, hunching her shoulders. “To be fair, I stood in that same spot for hours during a torrential downpour to see Ciren play a live set last December, so I’m n
ot really in any position to judge.”

  Izzie wheeled on her. “You got to see Ciren live?”

  Daphne turned and smiled. “Are you a fan?”

  “I’m burning with jealousy, is what I am.”

  “It was her first live performance in a few years,” Daphne went on. “A special solstice show. Natalie’s Charm was the opening act, and they joined her onstage for the closing number.”

  “You’re kidding. When I was in my twenties I would have straight-up murdered someone for a chance to see Ciren and Natalie’s Charm live on the same stage.”

  Daphne’s grin widened. “It was pretty awesome. And totally worth getting completely drenched in the rain for.” She glanced back at the crowd huddled on the sidewalk in front of the club. “But the Miller Street Rats? Give me a break.”

  They continued on up the street.

  “This is the place.” Daphne nodded at a brightly lit storefront bar up ahead.

  It was narrow, with a marble bar running along one side and dotted with barstools, a scattering of tables and chairs along the other side. The tables were already all taken by patrons, as were most of the barstools, but it looked like there was room for them to squeeze in at the back.

  “I didn’t know that kids were still into Ciren,” Izzie said as they waited to catch the bartender’s eye, having to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the conversational din.

  “Are you suggesting that I’m a ‘kid,’ Agent Lefevre?” Daphne’s tone was playfully scolding.

  “You’re younger than me,” Izzie chuckled, “and I refuse to accept that I’m getting older, so that makes you an honorary kid.”

  “Not that much younger, surely.” Daphne caught the waiter’s eye and he headed their way.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?”

  “Amaretto sour,” Daphne answered.

  “I’ll try this one,” Izzie said, pointing to a complicated-sounding signature cocktail on the menu involving small batch gin, bitters, simple syrup, muddled limes, and mint, among other ingredients.

  “Can I see some ID?” the bartender asked Daphne.

  Izzie laughed as Daphne pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to him. “See!” she said, nudging Daphne’s shoulder.

  Then it was Daphne’s turn to laugh when the bartender turned to Izzie. “You too, miss.”

  Izzie knew she should be flattered, but she wasn’t really. “Here,” she said, holding out her own license.

  Satisfied that they were of age, the bartender moved off down the bar to fix their drinks.

  “Ohio?” Izzie said, catching a glimpse of Daphne’s driver’s license as she put it away.

  Daphne shrugged. “Columbus. I grew up there, and that’s still technically my permanent address.” She sighed. “I inherited the house when my mother died, and couldn’t bear to sell it, so I rented it out. The license …” She gestured airily. “Well, it’s just easier to keep renewing my Ohio license than to go through the rigmarole of getting a new one out here, I guess. I know I should, but …” She shrugged. “Where are you from?”

  “New Orleans,” Izzie said.

  “Ah,” Daphne sighed. “N’awlins.”

  “Nuh uh.” Izzie shook her head, her expression twisting in a moue of distaste. “That’s how tourists say it, honey. Not locals.”

  Daphne grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Sorry. I just went there the one time on spring break, thought that was how it was done.” She accepted the Amaretto sour as the bartender slid it across the bar towards her, nodding thanks in his direction. “I loved the city, though,” she went on, turning her back to Izzie. “The French Quarter. Jackson Square. All of that stuff.”

  Izzie muttered polite thanks to the bartender for her cocktail, and swirled the liquid in the glass. It had so many mint leaves in it that it looked more like a salad in a glass than a cocktail. “That stuff is just one tiny sliver of New Orleans. Most tourists never get to learn about the rest of it.”

  “Well, here’s to learning new things,” Daphne said, raising her glass.

  “Bon santé,” Izzie toasted as their glasses clinked. And then, seeing Daphne’s somewhat perplexed expression, translated, “Good health.”

  They each took a swig of their drinks. Izzie’s was halfway gone after the first sip, it seemed.

  “How is it?” Daphne asked, gesturing to Izzie’s drink.

  “Good,” she answered, equivocating. “But with all this foliage in here, there’s not much room for the damned drink.” She took another sip, and the glass was almost empty. “I think I’ll stick with something simple for the next round.”

  Daphne’s expression seemed to brighten. “Oh, so you’ll stick around for another?”

  Izzie shrugged noncommittally. “Like I said, after the day I had, I think I deserve it.”

  “The investigation isn’t going well?” Daphne asked, looking over the rim of her highball glass.

  “It’s … complicated.” She thought back over the events of the day, from the visit to the Property and Evidence warehouse that morning, to the midday visit to Ross University, and then finally the late afternoon drug raid out in Hyde Park. It had been a busy day. No wonder she felt so exhausted.

  But she found that she was in no hurry to get back to her hotel room. For one, because she was sure that her sleep schedule was still out of tune, and she didn’t relish another long night’s attempt to find slumber. And second, because she was enjoying Daphne’s company far more than she had anticipated she would. When they’d first met the day before, Izzie had seen her only as the Resident Agency’s resident rookie. But the longer they talked, the more she got to know her…. Izzie didn’t socialize much, as a rule, and dated even less. She was enjoying the novelty of just hanging out and talking with someone new.

  That Daphne had confessed to idolizing Izzie the day before was never far from her thoughts, though. She had intentionally avoided the limelight that former agents like Tom Henderson sought, and she wasn’t looking for hero worship now.

  But Daphne seemed to have relaxed somewhat, now that they were getting to know each other a little better, and was talking to Izzie more like a colleague than as someone she’d idolized from afar.

  “Is it anything you can talk about?” Daphne asked. “The investigation, I mean.”

  Izzie finished the rest of her drink while she considered her answer. Having someone who was willing to act as a sounding board, who didn’t have the same prejudices and preconditions as Patrick Tevake, might be useful. But at the same time, she wasn’t eager to admit out loud some of her more outlandish theories about what they’d discovered, much less to another Bureau agent. Patrick was concerned about his superiors at the Recondito PD ordering psych evaluations, but Izzie was concerned about losing her security clearance, or worse.

  “Like I said,” she finally answered. “It’s complicated.”

  “But it has something to do with the Reaper case, right?”

  Izzie set her glass back down on the bar, and motioned for the bartender. She ordered a gin gimlet on the rocks when he came within earshot, and Daphne raised a couple of fingers, telling him to make it two.

  “Yeah,” Izzie replied, turning back to Daphne. “Tangentially, at least.”

  “Is it a copycat thing? Somebody new out there following the same M.O.?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s more to do with the reasons behind the Reaper killings. As in, what Nicholas Fuller thought he was accomplishing, why he targeted the victims that he …” She paused, and glanced around the room. None of the other patrons seemed to be eavesdropping on their conversation, but it never hurt to be cautious when discussing sensitive matters out in public. “Why he targeted those specific individuals,” she continued.

  “Mmmm,” Daphne hummed, suspiciously. She was a clever woman, and could clearly sense that Izzie was talking around something big without mentioning it. “Okay. But why now, after all this time? What’s different now that wasn’t the case last year, or five years ago for
that matter?”

  “Well, Patrick … Lieutenant Tevake, that is … he is working with Vice, investigating a new street drug.”

  Daphne sat up a little straighter, raising an eyebrow. “But he was like this superstar of the Homicide squad during the Fuller case, right? I’ve read all the files, remember. He was the one who was with you that last night …” She trailed off, seeming to recognize some flicker of discomfort in Izzie’s expression. “I’m sorry if that’s insensitive of me to mention.”

  Izzie laid a hand on her arm. “Not at all. It’s all a matter of public record, after all. And you had already told me that you read the files when you were at Quantico, so I knew you were familiar.” She smiled. “It’s kind of nice not to have to explain what happened that night, actually. I’ve been in circumstances a few times in the years since then where I’d be talking with someone who didn’t know, and found it difficult to figure out just how to explain. That night was … it was …” Even now, she was having difficulty putting it into words.

  “Like you said yesterday,” Daphne said and laid her hand over Izzie’s arm. “It was a rough night, but it worked out okay in the end, right?”

  The soft touch of Daphne’s fingertips was cool and smooth against the back of her hand, but Izzie felt warmed.

  “Yeah.” Izzie’s smile was weak but sincere, and she met Daphne’s unbroken gaze. “I suppose you’re right.”

  The bartender returned with two glass tumblers filled with ice cubes and gin, and sat them down on the bar. Daphne lifted her hand from Izzie’s, and that brief moment of connection between them faded.

  Izzie reached for her drink, gratified that aside from the slender wedge of lime nestled on the rim, it was otherwise free of plant matter. The first sip was good, icy cold and exactly what she needed.

  “Oh, man, that takes me back,” Daphne said after taking a sip, putting the tumbler down on the bar, the ice cubes clinking delicately. “I’m not sure I’ve even had gin since college. It was my drink of choice back then.” She cast a sly sidelong glance at Izzie. “Of course, I smoked like a fiend back then, so one sip and I’m already craving a cigarette. Sense memory or something, I guess.”