by Dale Mayer
He frowned at that and studied the huge building that reminded him of the brownstones in England, where they were pinched between two other stone buildings. This one looked to have been built around 1960, and he checked his paperwork to see it was 1965. He nodded to himself. “Everything will have to be redone, from plumbing to electrical and probably even structural.”
He let himself into the building, as the Realtor had told him it was empty. As soon as he saw just how decrepit the structure actually was, he moved swiftly through the place. It was probably 50-50 on costs as to whether this one needed to be dropped or rebuilt as it was. With the property prices in Vancouver skyrocketing in the last five years, the price they were asking for this piece of crap was unbelievable.
He put a question mark beside the listing, but he sure as heck wasn’t in love with it, and he knew, if he decided to take it on, it would strictly be a financial decision and none other. He felt no joy in this building, and trying to restore her would be very expensive. She’d been unloved for a long time, and, although it was unfair to her, he wasn’t sure he needed to take on every building crying out for attention. He would have spent a lot more time and way more money if that had been his agenda.
As he headed toward the next address on his list, he noted it was now midmorning. He’d spent longer at the last building for sale than he’d intended, so something there must have drawn his attention. As he passed a coffee vendor, he stopped, snagged a coffee, and carried on. A bench was just up ahead. As he got closer, he almost stumbled, making him stop and collapse onto the bench with more force than intended, as a number slammed into his brain. The number thirteen.
“What the hell does that mean?” he asked out loud. He set his coffee beside him on the bench and rubbed his face.
The coffee vendor raced toward him. “Are you okay, sir?”
He looked over at the young girl with a smile, then nodded and said, “Sorry, I’m fine. I just tripped.”
She looked like she didn’t believe him. “Are you sure you didn’t have a heart attack?”
He winced at that. Did he look so old? “No, I’m fine,” he repeated, then pointed. “You’ve got another customer now.”
She turned, but looked back at him doubtfully, and then headed over to her next customer.
Simon sat here for a long moment, more pissed at what appeared to be happening again than he could have imagined. He had thought the whole psychic thing was done and over with. After all, he had a logical connection to the last case. He had congratulated himself on avoiding his grandmother’s prediction of a one-way street down the psychic pathway because, ever since they’d found the pedophile ring, he’d been sleeping perfectly once again. No nightmares, no more visions of boys, nothing—well, except for that one black-and-white vision. Otherwise awesome. He’d thought it open and shut forever.
As he sat here, trying to regain his equilibrium, all he could do was watch as a series of thirteens slammed into his brain in a repetitive motion—just like when you finished an online game of solitaire, and the cards did a weird little shuffle pattern at the end of it. But, in his case, every card said thirteen.
Not knowing what to do with the information, he did what he always did. He pulled out his phone and texted the number to Kate. And then he laughed because no way she would have any clue what that was all about. Hell, he didn’t either, and that was the problem. She always expected him to have some idea, and, of course, he didn’t. He was hoping this would mean something to her. It often had, but no guarantee that it would this time.
And, of course, bringing her back to mind also brought back their conversation from this morning and had him wondering about her mood. The knowledge that she had wandered that bridge earlier in her life, contemplating the suicides of her friends, had him off-kilter. It just was a bit hard to imagine. She said she’d never gotten that far herself, but to have been there at all said a lot about where her mind-set had been.
It couldn’t have been easy being blamed for the loss of her younger brother, particularly when she’d been only a child herself. But since her mother couldn’t accept any of the responsibility herself, it had been much easier to push it off on her other child. And the fact that Kate got some closure for the families in some of these pedophile cases, yet nothing that had anything to do with her own brother, just made it that much harder. The wounds would still be raw for her. Simon hated that she did so much work for so many other people, but just no justice was out there for her. He hoped that one day there would be, but that could be a long time coming.
When his phone buzzed, and he saw a question mark from her, he just laughed and sent a smiley face and a message. No clue but that’s what came up.
And he carried on. Hopefully she’d come up with her own answer. He had a lot of work to do yet and was tired and getting cold. He raced through the next couple potential buildings for purchase and ended up seeing more than he had planned when the Realtor had reached out and suggested a couple more that he should take a look at. Since he was already here, and his mind was on the work, he went through all of them and then started back home again. He had gotten a bit farther from home then he’d intended to, so he grabbed a cab and got dropped off outside his place. It was almost dinnertime.
By the time Simon entered the lobby, Harry, his usual daytime doorman, smiled broadly at him, until he got a good look at Simon.
“Oh dear,” the doorman said. “Long day?”
“Yeah, long day,” he said, shaking his head. “Some of them are just that way.”
“I hope you picked up a meal for yourself.”
“Nope. I didn’t get that far,” he muttered. “Though I should have.”
“How about I order something in for you?” he said immediately. “You know you can’t keep working like this, if you don’t feed yourself.”
Simon laughed at that because it was one of the arguments he always used against Kate to get her to eat properly. She was always on the go and missing solid meals. The last thing he wanted to do was follow in her footsteps in that regard. Besides, anything from Mama’s place was to die for. He nodded. “The special of the day at Mama’s would be great. If you could bring it up,” he said, “I’ll pay you then, if that works.”
“Not a problem,” Harry said. “We’ve got a fund here for just such emergencies.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Otherwise I can pay you right now.”
“Let me bring it up, and then we’ll know what it actually cost.”
With that, Simon headed upstairs, the rain starting just before he made it home. He threw off his suit and hopped into a hot shower. By the time he came out, dried off, and had redressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck, he felt 100 percent better. When the doorbell rang, he walked over to his penthouse elevator door, checked the peephole, and opened it to the doorman. “Wow, that was fast, even for you, Harry.”
“That’s Mama for you. The minute she heard it was for you, she was all over it.”
Simon laughed. “What would we do without her?” He checked the tab, then pulled bills from his pocket. “Here’s for the meal and a tip for you and a tip for her.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said respectfully. “I’ll make sure this gets to her.”
“You do that. You know I’ll ask.”
The doorman laughed, knowing full well Simon would do no such thing because they had a mutual trust and respect that didn’t require it.
With that, Harry headed out swiftly.
When the elevator door closed, Simon locked it behind him and took the very large container to the kitchen, where he placed it on the counter and opened it up. Mama always sent far more food than was necessary. He didn’t know if she thought he kept a harem at his place that she had to feed at the same time or if she figured he could at least eat good food two days in a row. Regardless he had to appreciate it because her food was always good home cooking. She was Italian and had married a Mexican man, and the two of them had somehow
created a special cuisine between them that worked. Simon didn’t even know what to call it, but it was good. It was hot. It was fresh, and, as always, it went down with joy.
Even hearing that phrase made him want to laugh and to cry at the same time. He’d heard it time and time again. Some Japanese woman was all about joy and finding joy in the day, in your life, even in your possessions, and making a fortune with that.
He looked around and smiled. “Well, I find joy in my location. Does that count?” There was some merit to what he said because he definitely only liked to take on buildings where he found joy in their rehab because it was one of the things that he loved to do. He loved to see something old and broken-down be fixed and brought back up to their former glory again. Or sometimes they just needed to be completely dropped and rebuilt in the same space, but that didn’t give him the same sense of accomplishment as a restoration.
And, as such, he wasn’t too thrilled with three of the buildings he’d looked at today. One of the latter ones held the most promise, but still he wasn’t into getting pushed by the Realtor. As he sat down to his meal, the Realtor called him. He looked at the number and just let it ring. No way he would answer her call and ruin what was no doubt the best meal he’d had in several days.
He wasn’t a bad cook, but he didn’t particularly enjoy cooking if it was just for him—any more than he bothered about eating sometimes if it was just him, which put him in the same category as Kate. Only she didn’t eat because usually she overworked herself to the bone and had no time to eat or no time for a good meal, or she didn’t care because she was already past hunger and looking at the next job on her desk. He’d given her enough shit about it that he pretty well had to make sure he stepped up and looked after himself; otherwise he was being a hypocrite, and she’d be the first to call him on it too. He laughed at that.
When the phone rang a second time, he pushed away the empty plate away, looked at the number, and answered it. “Hey, did you figure out what that number meant?”
“No,” Kate said crossly. “How about a little more explanation?”
“I got nothing,” he said. “It literally was a case of that number damn-near dropping me in my tracks,” he said. “I didn’t like it either because I figured all this woo-woo stuff had gone bye-bye, and I was free and clear.” Hearing the frustration in her voice, he asked, “Where are you?”
“I’m still at the office,” she said. “We had a couple drive-by shooting cases that broke open today but not enough to close them quite yet.”
“Well, that’s good,” he said. “You seem to be busy, as usual.”
“As long as assholes are out there killing each other,” she said, “I won’t run out of work anytime soon.”
“Sorry about that,” he said. “It would be nice to think that they’d take a holiday once in a while to give you a bit of a break when you’re tired.”
“Nah, if they thought I was tired,” she said, “they’d be in there looking to do some serious damage to everybody they hated.”
“Unfortunately that is quite true.”
“Anyway,” she said, “I was just checking to see if you had any clue what that number meant.”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’m tossing that on your plate.”
“Great,” she said, “the least you can do is make it a useful toss.”
“Always,” he said. “There’s got to be something you can do with it.”
“Not yet,” she said, “not yet.” And, with that, she hung up, as was her custom.
He smiled and looked down at the spaghetti, thinking he should have asked if she’d eaten. He was thinking about calling her back when his phone rang yet again. He groaned and noted it was the Realtor yet again. He answered it and said, “I haven’t made a decision.”
“Well, you need to do it fast,” she said, “because I’ve got other offers coming in.”
“Good,” he said, “you better take them then.”
There was silence at the other end. “Seriously?”
“Sure,” he said. “Depends on which buildings you’re talking about of course. But, if somebody else wants it, I won’t sit here and get into a bidding war over those decrepit shacks.”
“Hey, they’re really good real estate,” she said. “These prices, you know they’ll only go up.”
“That’s the amazing thing,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been talking these kinds of millions.”
“We are,” she said, “and I’m loving every minute of it.”
“Sure, you get a commission on every sale,” he said, “but I won’t get pushed into anything.”
“That’s fine,” she said comfortably. “If you want something, let me know.”
“Will do.”
And then she stopped and said, “You know, the offers are only on two of them.”
“Yeah? Which two?” he asked, sitting back. When she listed the addresses, he smiled. “What about the other one you mentioned?” he asked and gave her the address for clarification.
“No offers on that one,” she said. “It’s been on and then pulled off the market a couple times.”
“Pulled off why?”
“Because they couldn’t sell. They decided they would go and rehab it themselves, then decided it was too costly. Now they’ll try and sell it again,” she snapped. “Honestly I really wish they’d just make up their mind and stick with it.”
“Well, it depends on whether they really want to sell or not,” he said, “but I can put in an offer.” He went on to give her an amount well below the asking price.
She gasped and said, “Are you trying to insult them?”
“Nope,” he said, “it’s worth that to me and not a penny more. Talk to them, see if they want anything written up,” he said, “but that’s my offer.”
With that, he ended the call. He chuckled because, as much as she didn’t like his offer, if she could make the deal happen, she’d like it very much because it still brought her a ton of money. But he wasn’t interested in the place unless he could get it at a price that allowed him to make a profit on it. With building costs going up, and supplies being a huge issue right now, absolutely no way would he pay more than he needed to for a building like that. And, if they’d had it on and off the market multiple times, then the sellers were willing to accept a lower price than they had in mind earlier—something this Realtor didn’t want to hear. Either way, he was prepared to let it go if he couldn’t get it for what he wanted. But, if he could, then he’d take it. Other than that, no way.
He cleaned up after his meal, then poured himself a glass of wine and made his way over to the couch, where he sat down to stare out at the beautiful view. He was tired after all the walking today, weary after having that number slam into his consciousness, and more upset than anything over that vision because he had thought his psychic events were a closed chapter of his life. He just wanted to relax. But it wasn’t to be.
When his phone rang again, he stared at it, pissed, because this time it was his ex-girlfriend. He refused to answer it, and, when he didn’t, a text came through.
Thank you again.
He rolled his eyes at that.
No way he was opening that door. He knew what she meant, in that he’d been instrumental in finding her nephew. She’d been derelict in her duty, and the boy had somehow slipped into the hands of a pedophile. At the same time, if Simon opened that door to Caitlin and even acknowledged her words, she would feel that she could contact him anytime. And she most definitely could not.
It was all water under the bridge, and it had taken a long time for her to get out of his life as it was. When he didn’t respond, another text came through.
At least you could acknowledge that you received my message.
He stared at it and wondered. “And why the hell should I?” he murmured out loud. Then another text came through.
I really am sorry. I treated you like shit, and I shouldn’t have.
&nb
sp; He laughed at that. “You think?”
He got up, put on some music, and sat back down again, shutting off his phone. He liked an awful lot of technology, and one of the best ways to enjoy it was when it was time to shut it down. He closed his eyes and rested.
Chapter 2
Kate’s Tuesday Morning
Tuesday was a repeat of the day before. Time went by in a blur of cases and research. When Kate got some time, she’d gone back to the original drive-by case that Rodney had mentioned. She walked over to his desk with the file in her hand and said, “So a couple more similarities are here.”
He looked up at her in surprise. “What are we talking about?”
“The Chevy trucks and the drive-by cases.”
He frowned, his mind shifting gears, and said, “We’ve been busy since we talked about that last.”
And their desks were piled high. Plus, the detectives had added pressure to maintain the good press the department had just received for breaking up that pedophile ring. It was still in the media, still all over the news, and they were still being hounded by people for interviews.
“Similarities? Like what?” he asked.
“The same color,” she said, “aqua blue. That’s a fairly unusual color.”
He nodded. “Huh, I thought it was black.”
“According to what’s here,” she said, “it says aqua blue.”
“Interesting. Okay, so what else?”
“It didn’t have a bed liner, but it had hooks on the sides. Metal ones, like Ts coming up off the bed.”
He nodded. “Tie-down hooks?”
“Yeah, something like that,” she said.
“So, it could be the same truck,” he admitted. “Although there’s how many models in the Lower Mainland like that?”
“If we could narrow down the year,” she said, “I could spit out a run, and we could check on them. But other than it being clunky and old looking, I’m not getting any clue on how old it was. I could pull several images and see if I can get any of our witnesses to narrow it down again.”
