by Virdi, R. R
“I didn’t,” I replied rather simply.
“But you’re going to?” she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow as she reached to take another sip from her soda. It was a long exaggerated sip and she never broke eye contact while taking it.
I got the message, “fine,” I said with a sigh, “I’ll spill.”
She stopped taking a sip, dug back into her burger, chewed a bit, all while completely ignoring me until she was done. She then turned back to address me, “I had a feeling you would.”
I grunted, “yeah well, you’re not getting the whole story.”
“Yes,” said a thunderous voice, “she will, she’ll find a way, she’s good at that sort of stuff.” Said a booming Rich, standing before us, how he managed to get so close while remaining so quiet was a supernatural mystery in and of itself. He stood there holding a ginormous thick frothy chocolate milkshake and a small plate in the other. He placed them both down, gave Agent Ortiz a smile, gave me a grunt, turned and walked into his back room.
“So Norman?”
“Pie,” I said simply.
“What?!” she exclaimed.
“Pie first,” I repeated just as simply, picking up a fork and digging into the slice of pumpkin pie Rich had provided. The fork sank in without any resistance, my God it was soft, it cut through the crust effortless as well. I brought the darkish orange piece close to my mouth, salivating at the very smell and sight of it, gently blowing away the wisps of steam. I bit into the piece and almost fainted, it was amazing, it tasted like Christmas, I had no other way to describe it!
I ignored the sound of Agent Ortiz rapidly tapping her impatient foot against the steel legs of the stool. I lazily stirred the straw through the immensely thick milkshake, eyeing Agent Ortiz for her reaction out of the corner of my eye and she was getting really agitated. Too bad, my turn for some playful payback, I took a long and exaggerated sip just as she had done. I shouldn’t have done that though, while the drink was mind blowingly good and energizing, it was icy cold and my brain paid the price.
“Ackh,” I winced, my palm flying to my forehead, gently compressing and rubbing it.
“Serves you right,” muttered Ortiz in a playful tone.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled as I continued massaging my head.
She waited until I was before she spoke, “you going to tell me or what?”
“I have a source, he’s got access to information networks all over the world, normal and not so normal,” I explained.
“Your source have a name?” she asked, the intrigue in her voice abundantly clear.
“Yup,” I replied.
She sat there, eyebrow arched, waiting for an answer I wasn’t going to give unless prompted. She sighed, “and his name is?”
I cut of another piece of the small slice and shoveled it into my mouth, “ohh it’s so good,” I murmured through pieces of pie. I heard her exhale in frustration but she kept her composure fairly well. I reached over and began sipping on the thick shake with its mud like consistency, slower this time however; I had learned my lesson the last time. “Ahhh,” I sighed in satisfaction, “so where were we?” I asked.
“Your sources name?” she asked politely but through gritted teeth, she was trying to be nice but I was making it difficult. Oh well.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Sorry?!” she said, sounding shocked.
“Yeah, can’t tell ya,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Would you consider my work important?” I asked her.
“What does that have to do with—” she started before I cut her off.
“Just answer the question, yes or no?”
She inhaled deeply before answering and when she did, she said, “given all that I’ve seen and experienced with you today, yes, I feel your work is important.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, “I’m in the investigation business same as you and I need information sources, the thing with information brokers is that many of them like to their identities kept secret. The one bit of information they don’t want to share too much about is who they are. If I am to remain on their good side, I can’t share that info, especially since I really need info like that from time to time,” I finished, nodding at the binder in her hands.
“Fine,” she conceded, “fair enough.”
“Sorry, he’s not too big on sharing, or anything for that matter,” I said trying to suppress a laugh.
Ortiz gave me an odd look but then she would, she didn’t get the joke, she didn’t know Gnosis, but she let it go.
“So,” I said, “anything else you wanna ask?”
“Yeah, you have idea who this monster of yours might be posing as?”
“Tough one,” I replied, “I’m not sure but we have established it’s got someone way of getting in contact with museum employees. My bet’s that it’s one of them, I just can’t figure out who,” I said edgily.
“Well you mentioned that one victim, who’ve you’ve failed to identify to me by the way, died what, several days ago?” she asked.
I nodded in agreement but remained silent, the poor unidentified stiff she was referring to her was sitting right next to her in a manner of speaking. I had hijacked Norman’s body and been putting it to good use.
“And then there’s the janitor,” she muttered to herself, “he died within the month.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
She didn’t hear me I think, instead she brushed asides both of our plates and slammed the binder down onto the counter between them.
“Hey!” I exclaimed indignantly as my pie was pushed away from me.
She was still ignoring me, heavily engrossed in the binder, flipping violently and quickly through page after page. “This!” she exclaimed, pointing at the contents of one the pages as she slid the binder over towards me.
“Marsha Morressy,” I read aloud in a befuddled tone, not seeing her point yet.
“She’s one of the museum’s employees, she works under you right?” Ortiz asked.
I waggled my hand in a so-so gesture, implying that we worked together in some capacity, or atleast technically speaking. Perhaps Norman had the chance to actually work with but I on the other hand had only just met her.
“Well,” Ortiz began, “look here,” she said, pointing a bit further down in Marsha’s info.
I followed her finger and read the contents; it said exactly when Marsha had began working for the museum.
“Near about a month,” I murmured.
“About a month,” repeated Agent Ortiz, “a time frame which coincides perfectly with the deaths of the janitor and your mystery man.”
“Hmm,” I said as I pondered the possibilities, I had to admit that Ortiz had a good point. But something just didn’t sit well with me about that theory, I didn’t know what, it was just a feeling. Over the years I’ve worked this gig, I’ve learned to trust those feelings. On the other hand, I’ve also learned to follow up on any and every lead possibly, you might not get the answers you want but you might learn something helpful. Something either inside me or from Norman’s memories didn’t quite buy the idea that Marsha was responsible, but it wouldn’t hurt to go pay her a visit. Nope, it would only be extremely awkward to have your boss show up in the wee hours of the morning with a federal agent and accuse you of being an Ifrit. What could possibly go wrong?
My face must’ve shown signs of the mental Olympics I was performing because she immediately chimed in. “You have to admit Norman, it’s pretty convenient for her to stark working there just before the murders start happening.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I sighed. I nodded towards the door and her car, “let’s pay and go,” I said.
Agent Ortiz let out a merry chuckle and said, “you mean let’s just go, I eat free here,” she finished with a smile.
My eyes widened in gleeful surprise, “well then, it seems I’m going to have to make a habit of eating more often with you.”
“Sounds good to me,
gives me more time to question you,” she said with a wolfish smile.
Damn, I completely fell for that one. “Uh…” I began, “on second thought, maybe we should be more focused on going to question a possible monster rather than me?” I suggested.
“Yeah alright there,” snorted Ortiz, “I’ll save you for you later, you’re not getting off the hook that easy.”
This time my sigh wasn’t suppressed and it brought another smile and laugh to Agent Ortiz’s face.
“Come on Norman,” she said, rising from her stool and walking towards the door.
I rose up from my stool as well, starting to follow her when there was the loud sound of someone clearing their throat rather forcibly. I turned around to see Rich’s massive frame standing there, he looked down at our plates and then up at me expectantly. “I uh…” I started, looking back out the window to where Ortiz was, “she said that she uh, eats for free.” I finished with a shrug.
He gave me a grunt and proceeded to pick up the plates, stacking them atop one another and then scooped up our glasses, shuffling towards his mysterious back room.
“So…this mean I don’t have to pay?” I called out behind him.
No answer, just a series of clinks from the backroom, guess I was free to go. I took one last confused look at the door leading back to the room Rich was currently in, wondering if he’d come back out any second, having changed his mind about payment. When that didn’t happen, I exited, rather quickly I might add, the diner and hopped into Agent Ortiz’s car.
Ortiz had already started the car while I was inside. She shot me a quizzical look when I entered and asked, “what took you?”
“Ah, Rich back there gave me a look that was rather ambiguous, I didn’t know if he wanted me to pay or not.” I replied.
“Oh,” she said simply, “yeah, sorry about that,” she finished.
“Maybe you should’ve said something to him before we left?” I hinted.
“Maybe,” she said, her expression neutral but I swear, even though it was dark outside, her eyes shone with humor.
“Is that payback or something for me not being completely open and honest with you?” I asked.
“Or something,” she replied with a smile.
I gave a dismissive grunt and said with a bit of a growl, “let’s just get to Marsha’s place.”
She gave an agreeing nod and put the car into reverse.
I quickly cast a worried glance at my left forearm; my little blackout had cost me a fair amount of time, three hours left…
Chapter Thirteen
“Are we there yet?” I groaned in both annoyance and an attempt break the silence we had been driving in for nearly fifteen or twenty minutes.
“Cute,” said Ortiz rather dryly, “real cute.”
“Yeah well,” I began, “I’m on a tight timeline so if you’d be kind enough to—”
“To what?” interject Agent Ortiz, “drive you the apartment belonging to one of your employees who may or may not some sort of evil genie with a penchant for burning things down? Is that it?” she snapped indirectly at me, her eyes never wavering off the road…for once and to my great relief.
“Sorry,” I said, throwing up my hands as a gesture I had had enough, hoping that would placate her somewhat.
She let out a heavy exhale but otherwise remained silent.
“Where’s her place anyways?” I asked.
“Didn’t you look at her information?” she replied.
“You can’t answer a question with a question!” I retorted.
“She’s got a place down in Midtown,” answered Agent Ortiz, “that’s where we’re headed now.”
“So, uh…. how—”
“Don’t you dare ask me how long!” she snapped.
I shut up very quickly, not even finishing my sentence.
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the seats behind us, “the binder’s back there, I need you to find her exact address for me.”
I nodded and without making much noise, I reached back there and picked up the binder of info Gnosis had provided me with. I flipped through it until I found the page with Marsha’s entire life story on it; no seriously, this thing literally had every piece of information conceivable about her. I hadn’t gotten the chance to really truly delve into how much information Gnosis had gathered on each person but man, this was impressive. The information listed every possible detail, from Marsha’s first recorded fillings at the age of five, to her first boyfriend at age thirteen and it kept on going up until the very day I had asked Gnosis for this bundle of info. Credit card transactions, phone calls, everything, I mean everything was in here; I knew Gnosis was good, damn good but this was on the verge of stalker like and definitely illegal.
Nice to know I have acquaintances who are willing to break all manner of rules and can provide me with a whole helluva lot of solid info.
“Well?” asked Ortiz, effectively shaking me out of my little Gnosis appreciation daze.
“Oh yeah,” I replied quickly, scanning down the page and repeating the info Ortiz had asked for, “East 39th street is where we’re headed.”
“East 39th street,” repeated Ortiz, it was a light whisper, more to herself and for herself than anything else. “Got it Norman, it say what apartment number?”
“Yeah, 204, nice little studio number,” I answered.
“Atleast it’s not up on the twelfth floor,” she commented flatly.
“Afraid we might have to jump out of another burning building?” I quipped. “Hey!” I exclaimed as my shoulder began throbbing, courtesy of Agent Ortiz’s totally uncalled for punch.
“I didn’t jump from that building now did I?” she asked, “no, someone pushed me out of a window!”
“Hey, I did that to sa—” I started defensively.
She pursed her lips in mock curiosity, “now, who was that?”
“Alright, alright,” I conceded, “yeah, I pushed you out a building, I’m sorry…again,”
“Damn right,” she muttered under breath but there was a smile playing across her face.
“Happy you managed to force me to apologize for something I’ve already apologized for?” I asked,
“Very,” she replied, still smiling.
“Let’s just hurry up and get there please,” I growled, tapping my forearm to accentuate my waning timeline.
Ortiz didn’t offer a reply; she set her jaw and sped up.
The ride wasn’t too lengthy but it was longer than I had hoped, we had burned through a little more than half an hour.
“Which one?” asked Ortiz as we drove down East 39th street.
I looked out the windshield, trying to spot the apartment complex in which Marsha resided. It only took a few seconds for me to find it, “that one,” I said pointing to very building.
Ortiz didn’t respond, just a simple head nod to let me know she heard me and saw the building I was pointing at.
The building wasn’t too difficult to describe even though it was dark outside. There were plenty of lights to illuminate its features, it was squarish, made of largely ruddy brownish red concrete and massive panels of glass windows ran along it. That was pretty much it was all rather simple. Not all apartment complexes in New York are art deco nightmares.
Ortiz pulled into the complexes underground parking lot, pulling into a reserved parking spot right near an elevator.
I shot her an oblique look, “uh, pretty sure we can’t park here, see, there’s letters and all saying we can’t,” I said gesturing to a sign.
She looked at me, rolling her eyes as she said, “We’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
“Whatever you say, it’s not my car,” I said with an indifferent shrug.
“No one’s up at this hour, the spot was clearly empty so it’s not being used and we won’t be too long.”
“Unless we get another visit from our fiery friend,” I replied.
“Don’t even joke about that,” she said firmly.
&nbs
p; I shrugged, “with my luck, it’s bound to happen, it really is,” I told her.
“Well your luck sucks then.”
“Tell me about it,” I mumbled in agreement as I stepped out of her car and onto the pavement of the parking lot.
Ortiz got out and headed straight to the elevator without so much as a backwards glance at me, speaking over her shoulder she said with a chuckle, “remember where we parked.”
I snorted and actually bothered to mentally jot down where we were, wrongly parked in spot clearly reserved for someone else and next to a rusted Ford Bronco. After that, I jaunted after Ortiz, quickly falling in step right behind her as she entered the elevator.
“So,” she began, “how you do plan on stopping her?”
“If it is her,” I replied.
“You’re not sure it is?” she asked.
I shook my head, “no, no I’m not,” I answered.
“Why don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “just a feeling, a hunch.”
“You trust it?”
I shrugged again, “I have in the past, always served me well.”
She began chewing on her lip, I could see her mulling through her thoughts, I left her to it.
We arrived on the second floor within a minute or so, stepping out onto the fairly thin and hard gray carpet of the hallway.
Agent Ortiz pointed at one of the doors.
I followed her finger to where she was pointing, the door was numbered 245, Marsha’s apartment was 204. I scanned the doors and figured out which way the numbers were descending, giving a head nod to Ortiz to follow.
We walked for about a minute in silence before coming to Marsha’s door, it was a pleasant surprise because her door, was wooden. Now I know that that’s such a small and insignificant thing to most people, but for me, well, now I had a door I could break down…if of course it came down to that. Breaking down doors for kicks and giggles is also known as destruction of property and some people seem to have a problem with that…
