by Day, P. J.
Mercy narrowed her eyes at Cassi, as soon as the young receptionist throated a slight vibrato. A weird feeling overcame the perceptive investigator, a familiar sensation, one that witches get, no matter the experience level, when subtle vibrations tickle the nerves leading up through the neck and head, signaling pessimism, or worst, a nefarious presence.
Despite the supernatural intuition, Mercy felt she wasn’t getting very far with the young woman. “You know,” she told Cassi. “I’m starting an advertising business, with a lot of wealthy backers. We’re talking Newport money here.” Mercy pressed a little harder. “It really does sound like you’ve got a lot of stuff going on back there. On second thought, I don’t think your operation can handle our request. Could I perhaps...see the magnitude of your workplace?”
Cassi’s suspicious glare immediately turned defensive. She scrunched her brows and swiftly reached underneath her desk.
To Mercy it looked like Cassi rapidly tapped a button or switch.
“Umm…uh…no thank you, Miss Cruz.” Cassi’s voice cracked higher despite trying to remain casual. Suddenly two black-leather suited behemoths, with the thickest and darkest of moustaches appeared from the hallway beside the receptionist’s desk.
It was obvious they were security. With pistols at their sides, they scrutinized Mercy with heavy eyes, absorbing her looks and features, implanting Mercy’s persona firmly into their minds.
“We do our own advertising...I mean, we’re no longer taking more accounts,” Cassi repeated. “I’m sorry we can’t help you, but, like I said, you can find all the business cards you want online. Good luck.”
Mercy knew when to back off. Especially when encountering a pair of burly and armed men inside a company that had no business employing such a hostile and ominous duo. She caught a final stare from Cassi and a hardened pair from the men before flashing an uncomfortable and awkward smile. “Alright. Thank you for your time.”
Mercy didn’t like the way the men sized her up from head to toe. She turned around and covered the side of her face and profile as she hastily walked toward the door. But as she did, she felt the hair on her neck stand on end, as if someone with pistols as eyes, had pointed them squarely at her back.
Chapter Ten
Ariel Caliban waited for Mercy’s exit before sliding out from behind the door separating the waiting area from the rattling machinery behind the wall. The anxious men threw questioning glances at the tall and imposing man, eagerly awaiting instructions.
“Stay a moment,” he commanded, with a slight and soothing accent; a unique mixture of formal Catalan and a ranch-style Norteño. “Cassi? Who was she and what did she want?”
Cassi swallowed heavily as she glanced up at the regal and devilishly handsome rogue with wavy, jet-black hair and an expertly manicured goatee. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, crackling the sleeves of his luxurious black leather jacket. His slender and athletic legs fit perfectly into a pair of tight black jeans that tapered—seamlessly —down to his lustrous alligator-skinned boots. He’d hired Cassi as a favor to a family member, and she’d taken the job gratefully—at first. Now, she didn’t know what to think about what was going on behind the walls of the print ship, nor was she inclined to ask. She did as she was told.
“Her name is Mercedes Cruz,” Cassi said, as she wiped the sweat off her palms on the sides of her business skirt. “And she wanted some business cards and stuff.”
“Why did you press the security button?” Ariel asked.
“Well, she was kind of pushy.” Cassi swallowed hard again and looked into Ariel’s fiery eyes. “I told her what I’m supposed to say, that we don’t do that kind of thing, but then she fed me some bullshit and asked to see the back.”
“Really.” Ariel sat on the corner of Cassi’s desk. “Let me know in detail, please.”
“She said she was starting an advertising business, and that perhaps she could help us out with advertising. But Mr. Caliban, you said that if anyone asked a lot of questions, I should get security.” She looked into Ariel’s eyes, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake.
“No, my girl, you did fine,” Ariel said, reading her mind. “You did exactly as I instructed.” Cassi exhaled a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. He smiled, dashingly, and peered into Cassi’s eyes, still fishing. She didn’t dare look away.
Then he rose. “If she comes back, or even calls, I’d like to know about it right away. No matter what. Understood?”
“Understood, Sir,” Cassi answered.
Ariel Caliban nodded for his men to follow and left Cassi without another word.
Chapter Eleven
“Now tell me, this isn’t better than staying at home?” Lily asked.
Mercy sipped her margarita, a damn fine drink made by the damn-fine bartender Lily had befriended. For a moment, Mercy let down her guard and lifted her glass at him. He nodded back at her with a wicked smile.
Mercy bounced her head in rhythm with the live music. The band was competent; actually they were pretty skilled for being a cover band. They also managed to squeeze in some of their own original tunes during their set, which surprisingly enough, weren’t half bad.
Later that night, Mercy and Lily sat outside on the patio of the Loch Ness Bar, where it was quieter and more private. The patio overhead was festooned with tiny Christmas lights and took in a slight breeze.
“I gotta say...you got me,” Mercy admitted. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“Except that you can’t enjoy it, because you’re thinking about your case,” Lily said.
Mercy sighed. “You’re right.”
Lily sipped her drink. “So you got a strong vibe from this weird printing place. What do you think? You think Javier is in there? And what about that creepy security? Are you gonna call in a favor from Detective Joe?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to scope it out some more myself, first,” Mercy answered. “I didn’t see anything illegal, after all. Probable cause and all that.”
A waitress approached them and set down two more margaritas. “These are from the guys over there,” she said, jerking her head toward two men sitting not too far from where the girls sat. Mercy and Lily followed the waitress’s gaze to the two men who raised their drinks, flashing libertine smiles.
“Nice,” Mercy said, taking her new drink and raising it to them in thanks.
“Nice indeed,” Lily raised hers likewise. “They look fun, cute even. Want to talk to them?”
“Nah,” Mercy said. Mercy had no qualms when it came to a harmless flirting, but not tonight.
“Alright, alright,” Lily conceded, turning back to Mercy.
“I’m going to give it a rest for tonight, let them calm down,” Mercy alluded, back to the matter of the printing company. “I think I rocked the boat a little. But I’m going tomorrow night.”
“You’re becoming quite the detective.” Lily smiled.
“I don’t know about this one,” Mercy answered. “I’ve kind of got a strange feeling. There’s some weird vibe going on at that place. A force or unseen power, perhaps?”
“You mean besides yours?”
“Yeah. It’s like, I could feel it wasn’t right. I mean I’m pretty certain it wasn’t legal, whatever was going on. But there was something more.”
“Well, you hang on to that feeling, my friend,” Lily said, now serious. “You know better than to ignore your instincts.”
Mercy nodded, staring into her strawberry margarita, the guys who bought them a distant memory now. Her Aunt Itzel had cautioned her about the case, but vaguely. Of course she warned her, but something inside her also felt that Aunt Itzel had challenged her.
“Hey.” Lily took her friend’s hand. “Want me to come with you? I could help, maybe distract someone or something.”
“No,” Mercy said. “Are you kidding, Lily? I don’t want to get you involved. I think this is something I have to do on my own. Thanks, though. I appreciate the gesture.�
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Lily turned her head and eyed the men who’d bought them their drinks. Mercy then playfully slapped the back of Lily’s head.
Chapter Twelve
The backside of the printing press was located not far from a set of train tracks and a large empty box car that Mercy used to park behind, blocking her car from view. She felt unnecessarily paranoid, but better to keep her and her car unseen.
She crossed the tracks and headed for the back of the building. The surrounding lot was dark. She soon found a fire escape leading to the second floor. Next to it was a window, just close enough that Mercy felt she could lean in and take a good look.
She pulled the ladder down as quietly as she could, took a last look around and started climbing.
She did have to do a heavy lean to get a good view through the window while keeping only one foot and one hand tightly gripped on the metal ladder. She managed to pull it off and stared through the dirty glass, gasping at what she saw.
Mercy immediately recognized Javier among the couple of dozen men and women working inside. Mercy gazed down at the expansive operation. All worked like mindless drones, hard to the bone it seemed. Sweat gleamed on their brows and their mouths perpetually closed. Even through the window she could hear the printing machines making such a din that even if they decided to speak, speech would probably be rendered inaudible anyway. The place was also teaming with armed guards; all dressed like the men she’d encountered the day before in the lobby, only this time they seemed to be wearing elaborate earpieces and with semi-automatic weapons strapped around their shoulders.
But it was what they were printing that surprised Mercy. “They’re making money,” she whispered to herself. Particularly and exclusively one hundred dollar bills, printed by the thousands. She also noticed vast empty slabs of concrete on the floor which was used for drying the counterfeit cash, alongside state of the art cutting machines and workers bundling the finished bills with machine-like precision. On the far side were stacks and stacks of the loot, tied together and placed on pallets near a garage door lift—obviously waiting to be picked up and transferred somewhere.
Mercy almost lost her grip. She pulled herself back onto the ladder at the last moment. Without warning, she felt someone or something possibly sensing her presence, as if a pair of all-seeing eyes were staring at her. Mercy closed her own eyes and tried to set a protective block around herself; a mental cloak of sorts that Aunt Itzel had taught her over a year ago. And it seemed to almost work. Almost.
She risked one last look at Javier who was now pouring a jug of a thick, black oily substance into a container. The black ink streamed down his stained hands and arms. That was the smell! Mercy thought. The smell she’d detected on his shirt was no ordinary ink, and from the looks of it, she determined it was quite extraordinary. This was no amateur set-up at all.
Mercy glanced away from the window and down to the train tracks below. Suddenly it all made sense to her.
* * *
Through a soot-stained office window, Ariel Caliban watched Mercedes Cruz peer through the large window as she spied on his plant. He was masked, as were the guards, not only to keep their identities secret if intruders were to actually infiltrate their operation, but it ensured that they didn’t inhale any of the carcinogenic ink that had been puffed into the air by the massive printing press.
Nobody saw his eyes smoldering at this woman who so blatantly watched him break a dozen or more federal laws. Whoever she was, she’d be sorry, Arial thought to himself.
He tried to get a sense of her, but she ducked away from the window and blocked herself from view every time she felt his eyes firmly planted on her. Does she sense me watching her? Ariel wondered. He then smiled to himself and felt an urge had to find out more about this woman and just what kind of power she might hold.
There was no doubt there were metaphysical mind games at play here, considering she moved away from view every time Arial narrowed and dilated his eyes for a clean look. “This is turning to be quite the diversion,” he said out loud. “How does she know? Whoever she is, there’s a tough lesson coming for being such a metiche.” A word Arial always used for anyone who dared to be such an obvious snoop.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Mercy knocked on Joe Patterson’s opened office door. “Hey, you.”
Joe’s eyes perked when he saw her. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” Mercy nodded, entered and took a seat. “That’s kinda swee…”
“No, really. I was going to call you. I got the results back from forensics on the shirt. You’re not going to believe it...” His enthusiastic smile wasn’t lost on Mercy, but she just had to beat him to the punch.
“Counterfeit,” she declared. “That’s the nasty smell. A special kind of ink. Am I right?”
Joe’s jaw dropped. “How in the world did you know that?”
“I found him. Javier. At this dank and creepy print shop. Last night I scoped the place out, and I saw the whole operation with my own eyes.”
Joe whistled. Took a swig of coffee. “You are something else, Mercy,” he said, as he took out his notepad and pen. “How’d you find him? The place? And what did you see?”
Mercy brought him up to date on the previous evening’s exploration. When she finished, Joe stared at her in disbelief.
“Well,” Mercy said. “Isn’t that good news for you? I mean, you can do your thing, arrest them. I’m giving you good information here.”
Joe Patterson straightened his coffee cup into position, thinking hard. “Mercy. Do you know how much danger you could have been in?”
“Yeah, but as a P.I. I kind of expect it.”
“You know that now, with your information, you’re going to have to make a report, with your P.I. credentials, under oath? This is a huge deal, if what you’re saying is true, then we’re gonna have to get the Feds involved.”
“Do it,” Mercy answered. She leaned back in her chair and leveled eyes with the Detective. “Do whatever you have to do. I swear to you, I’m telling the truth and I know what I saw. This is a big deal.”
Chapter Fourteen
It took two days for Detective Patterson and Mercy to get through the red tape of being granted warrants and presenting enough evidence to the F.B.I. for cooperation. They worked as a team, close together, with all the information Mercy had gathered.
Finally they were ready to convene at the so-called print shop and carry out their plan of action with the help of local and federal law enforcement.
Mercy and Joe watched from the train tracks as every official, brave enough to agree, or skilled enough to be chosen for such a dangerous operation, assume their coordinated positions. From a distance, a crew of well-armed police, US Marshals and FBI crew surrounded the site. All waiting with baited breath for their signal.
“What are they waiting for?” Mercy asked. She felt overwhelming tension, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she was witnessing her first raid ever or because there was something off about the operation.
“It’s the Feds. They’re the ones with the thermal night vision goggles and the snipers —the ones that call the initial order,” Joe answered. He was excited to be involved with the case, and also, next to the woman who so far hadn’t said yes—or no, for that matter—to a date. “It’s just a matter of time. It won’t be long now.”
Mercy nodded and focused on the plant. She recognized the same aura of intrusion from the time she was up on the ladder, as if someone was trying to probe her from afar. She kept quiet about it, and did her best to keep her thoughts contained. Waiting was the worst. Worse than the probable gunfight she was certain was a few minutes away from happening.
* * *
Ariel waited and watched, hidden on the roof of his plant, as law enforcement surrounded the building. He saw Mercedes Cruz, the same nosy woman with the wild hair who leaned in from the ladder outside the window, crouching next to another man, waiting for the action to t
ake hold. He grinned, held out his arms and wiggled his fingers with a wave-like rhythm.
The small law army, some dressed in night gear, others still in suits, approached cautiously. Ariel took in the encroachment, knowing that show time was near. His fingertips flickered a dull, reddish glow; a form of bio-luminescence that shone through skin and in stark contrast to the darkness permeating the lightless rooftop.
Mercy held her breath as the various officers made their way closer to the building. She felt herself sweating, her heart racing. Stronger forces were at work here.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
“Yes, and no, actually…no. I have a bad feeling about this, Patterson.”
“Just wait,” he told her. “These guys know what they’re doing. Trust me,” he grinned. “They’ve done this before.”
But she didn’t believe him. She knew he wouldn’t understand what sort of powerful forces she could feel gathering. And her intuition felt off. But Mercy owed it to Joe. She waited.
As the men assumed strategic placement for forced entry, Ariel Caliban lifted his arms in the air, and the subtle glow inside his fingertips gave way to a pulsating splash of energy that coiled itself around the sleeves of his jacket. He slapped both his hands on the rooftop with tremendous force, causing a ripple of radiant energy, starting from the tips of his boots down the building’s back wall and finally webbing the ground below.
With guns in hand, the small army became paralyzed as they noticed a faint web of light pass underneath the soles of their shoes. Alarm transformed to fear as their guns grew warm, and static crackled their earpieces, cutting off all communication.
But the weapons. Mercy watched as their weapons took on a bizarre oxidization, not unlike radioactivity. Pistols, rifles, even the officer’s handcuffs shone with a silver brilliance, then within seconds, they became dull, yellow and flaky. She watched them, gawking at their weapons with terrified disbelief.
