by Neil Plakcy
Laskin shook his head. “Yale. In Connect-you-cut. But maybe I move up there, too. Only if her father does not now.” He smiled wolfishly, and sat down on the bench. Biff moved over to spot him.
They worked out for the rest of the hour, and parted with plans to meet again. “I like you, Bill,” Laskin said. “You are good guy.”
“You too, Igor,” Biff said.
As he was driving back to his office, Hector Hernandez called his cell. “I’ve got a contact with Customs who can get you on the roster as a supervisor, though you won’t actually work there,” he said.
“I love that,” Biff said.
“Yeah, well don’t spread the word around. You have a pen? Here’s his fax number.” He dictated the number, which Biff wrote down on a notepad provided by Baba Go-Nosh while he was stopped at a traffic light.
“You’ll have to send him a copy of your driver’s license and one other photo ID,” Hector said.
“Will do. You can tell him it’s coming in under the name Bill Adams.”
“Bill Adams? Who’s that?”
“Call it protective coloration,” Biff said as the light changed and he started moving again. “Don’t worry, everything will show up legit.”
“This guy thinks you’re doing research on customs procedures for a dissertation at UM,” Hector said. “You have no legal authority there. You’re strictly an observer”
“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything I’m not supposed to.”
“You’d better not. If this blows up I could get in real trouble. But I want to catch these bastards as much as you do.”
When he parked at the Aventura Beach Shopping Center and got out of his car, Raki jumped down from the frond of a palm tree and landed right in front of him, chittering away.
“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t come with me this morning,” Biff said. The squirrel scampered into his office and climbed up to the second shelf of the bookcase. He ignored Biff and began sniffing one of the books there, an ancient compilation of Turkish recipes.
“Be that way,” Biff said.
He checked his emails. Nothing from Farishta. Then he added notes to the case file on everything he’d done all weekend, and by noon it was time to drive to Presidential Circle in Hollywood and check on Carlos Cardozo’s lunchtime routine.
“You coming?” Biff asked Raki. The squirrel followed without saying anything, stationing himself on the floor of the passenger side of the car with his back toward Biff.
Biff drove north along route 441, then along Hollywood Boulevard to the big glass building. This time he parked and left Raki in the car with the windows open, to stew in his own squirrely discontent.
Biff stationed himself in the lobby with a newspaper, and around twelve-thirty, Carlos exited the elevator, talking on his cell phone. He wore a gray wool sports jacket, black slacks, and a white dress shirt open at the collar. There wasn’t a single touch of color on his body, and Biff had the idea that he and Dilenys were very well-matched.
Carlos walked over to the deli, speaking rapidly in Spanish about the procedure for removing an ingrown toenail at a podiatrist’s office. Biff regretted his ability to speak Spanish and to hear so clearly. With a deep sigh, he folded the paper and followed Carlos to the deli.
As Carlos finished his call, he slipped his phone into the outside pocket of his jacket, and Biff got in line behind him.
As Carlos placed his club sandwich order, which included excruciating details about the bread, the mayonnaise, and the crispness of the bacon, Biff reached forward. With the lightest of touches, he retrieved the phone, slipping it into his hand so quickly that barely a heartbeat passed between the time his hand extended to the time he had the phone.
Fading back, he returned to his place in the lobby, and with the newspaper as cover, he slipped Carlos’s phone into a square black device that he’d found through a genie friend in London who was also an electronics whiz. It would capture all the data on the cell phone, regardless of make or model, using a combination of advanced electronics and a touch of genie magic. The process took a few minutes, and by the time Biff was finished Carlos was on his way back to the elevator.
Biff had to accelerate his pace in order to slip into the cabin just behind him. The cabin was crowded, which should have made it easier for Biff to get Carlos’s phone back into his pocket. But there was a slim young man with wispy blond hair who was very interested in Biff. He felt the man’s attention on him like a laser.
Sometimes he was sorry he had picked a body to inhabit that was so attractive. Lots of women—and men, too, he had discovered—found a tall, dark-haired bodybuilder very attractive. On various cases, he’d been ogled, romanced, even groped. He usually took it all with good cheer and a dose of flattery, but this young man’s attentions were getting in the way of his job, and that made him cranky.
Cardozo’s office was on the fifth floor, and as the elevator stopped at each level and a few people stepped out, Biff kept hoping the young man would be among them. But he stayed on until five. And then Cardozo’s cell began to ring.
Who in the world would choose La Cucaracha as a ring tone? Carlos Cardozo. Biff couldn’t wait any longer. As the doors opened on the fifth floor, Biff transformed into a puff of smoke, deposited Cardozo’s phone back in his pocket, then reformed himself.
He could perform that kind of action in the time of a single human breath, so even someone who was watching him closely wouldn’t notice.
Cardozo pulled the phone from his pocket and stepped off the elevator. Biff held his hand out to the blond guy, ushering him out of the elevator, but he stayed where he was. Fine. Biff let the door close and pressed the button for the first floor.
Once he did, the man said, “I’m interested in you.”
Biff turned to face him. “Excuse me?” Looking more closely, he saw that the man was so beautiful he looked almost ethereal. He had a small nose, dark eyes and lush lashes. He was tall and slim, and wore white slacks and a white T-shirt printed with a pattern of white butterflies swarming around in tiny cyclones.
“Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not gay,” Biff said.
The young man smiled. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong intention. I’m not interested in having sex with you. I just want to know what you are.” He turned his head in a questioning gesture. “So, what are you?”
25 – The Butterfly
The elevator doors opened on three and a group of office mates got on, laughing and joking, so Biff didn’t answer. Instead he focused on the young man, who stood there quietly, smiling. He recognized the energy; he should have spotted it earlier, but he was too focused on returning Cardozo’s phone.
More people got on, and then the elevator emptied at the first floor. Biff and the young man were the last ones left. “Let’s talk,” Biff said. He walked across the lobby, back to the quiet spot where he’d been sitting. “I guess we should sit down.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to the young man. “I’m Biff Andromeda.” He sat on the couch. The man took the card, then settled into the one across from him.
“You give off a very interesting energy signature,” the young man said, looking at the card. “And that business with the cell phone in the elevator—that was impressive.” He looked up at Biff. “You can call me Syl,” he said. “My real name is quite long.”
“You’re a sylph,” Biff said, nodding. “I thought so.” A sylph was an air spirit, often inhabiting butterflies. “I’m a genie.”
Syl’s mouth opened in delight. “A genie! I haven’t met one of your kind yet. How wonderful.” He sat back against the sofa. “I just emerged from my chrysalis a few weeks ago, so everything is very new to me. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Sure. But probably not here. You want to come to my office?”
“Of course, if you’re not busy.”
“I have some work to do for a client. How about three o’clock?”
“That would be excellent! Thank you so much.”
/> Biff stood up, and Syl followed. “You need directions?” Biff asked, as they walked outside.
“Oh, no, I can find my way,” Syl said. “See you later!” And then, as Biff watched, the young man transformed into a small white butterfly with a pattern of black dots on his wings, and flitted away.
Though Biff knew there were many different kinds of spirits in the world, for the most part he associated with humans, and he was always surprised to run across another in such a mundane part of South Florida. There was a strong concentration on South Beach, and another cluster in the Everglades, Hollywood? He hadn’t known.
When Biff got back to the car, Raki was dozing in the warmth. Biff closed the windows and turned on the air conditioning as he drove back to his office. By the time they arrived, the squirrel was awake, and seemed to have gotten over his snit, because he was chittering away once again. You all right? Biff asked.
Great! Raki returned. Maybe squirrels didn’t have much long-term memory, Biff thought. He was glad to have the squirrel back. Raki followed him back into the office and promptly went to sleep on the rug in the corner. Biff connected the device that had captured Carlos Cardozo’s phone data to his computer and downloaded the contents. When he clicked on the data folder, a password window popped up.
Just for grins, he put in “dilenys.” Wrong.
He did a quick online search for her birthday, and entered that. Wrong. Their anniversary didn’t work either.
He was stumped, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then he tried 1-2-3-4, and voila, the phone’s contents appeared.
Hardly worth the trouble to set up the password, he thought. He scanned through the records of Carlos’s email usage. Nothing unusual there; he wasn’t attaching any pictures to emails. As a matter of fact, he hardly used email at all.
The only thing unusual he found was a series of emails back and forth from a website called UnderMen.com. It looked like Carlos was a good customer; he had bought a lot of men’s underwear from them.
But that was it. No torrid emails with other women—or other men, for that matter, which was what Biff had been anticipating. So what was he going to tell Dilenys Cardozo? Your husband isn’t cheating on you, he’s just buying sexy shorts?
He opened up a new window on his computer and went to the website. Even he was surprised at the wide range of men’s undies you could order. Athletic supporters in a rainbow of colors and thongs in silky or satin. Structural undergarments for men that kept your tummy pressed in, or pushed your three-piece set forward. Boxers, briefs, and boxer briefs in a wild array of fabrics and patterns. He was tempted to make a few purchases of his own, but held back until the case was complete. No need to muddy the waters.
Just before three o’clock, he looked up to see the white butterfly flit into his office, and then he watched as the creature morphed back into the human form Biff had met earlier in the elevator, though this time he wore a pair of baggy white cargo shorts and a white polo shirt with a black and green butterfly on the left breast. “Hi, Syl,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Raki woke up with a start, chirping loudly. He hopped from his pillow to hide behind Biff’s chair.
It’s okay, Biff sent to him. Syl is a friend.
Raki didn’t respond, but at least Biff sensed him relaxing.
The squirrel didn’t seem to bother Syl. “There is such a wonderful energy here,” he said, leaning toward the lamp on the edge of Biff’s desk. “May I?”
“Sure.”
But instead of picking up the lamp, as Biff expected, Syl transformed back into his butterfly form, folded his wings like a kite collapsing, and dove into the lamp’s spout. A curious aura, like rainbow thrown into a blender, arose around the lamp, and Biff stared at it. Biff could understand why Raki was suspicious of any creature who could change shape so quickly.
Then the butterfly shot back out of the lamp’s spout and back into Syl’s form. “Wonderful!” he said. “So much power and energy there. I feel like a chrysalis again.”
“That’s a pretty neat trick,” Biff said. “The way you go back and forth between human and butterfly. Does it drain you?”
Syl cocked his head. “Drain me? The transformation? Not at all. It’s just part of who I am. Does yours make you tired?”
Biff nodded. “Sometimes. If I’m out of this form for too long. But the lamp helps me rejuvenate.” He sat back in his chair and looked at the beautiful young man. “You said you just hatched from your chrysalis a few weeks ago. How long do you live?”
Syl shrugged. “It depends. Some of my kind can only survive a few weeks, or months. Each of us is different. It depends on our purpose in life.”
“What’s yours?”
“I have yet to discover it,” Syl said. “My paperwork says that I’m an HVAC maintenance engineer—working with the ventilation and air conditioning systems of large buildings. The agency that places us lined up an interview for me in that building where I saw you today.”
“Paperwork? Agency?” Biff asked.
“It’s a long, tedious story,” Syl said. “The short version is that unlike real butterflies, sylphs have to make a difference in the world they inhabit. When a sylph emerges from his cocoon, he’s presented with papers that allow him to work in the human world. HVAC is a common placement, because we can transform into butterflies and troubleshoot problems in the ductwork or the machinery. But the very idea of it bores me to tears.”
A butterfly who could take shape as a human being too could be a real asset to a detective agency, Biff thought. Perhaps Syl could flit around Petrov and Laskin and gather some information.
“Ever thought about becoming a private eye?” Biff asked. “I could use someone with your skill sets.”
“Really?” Syl leaned forward. “Doing what?”
“Just a freelance thing, you understand, though of course if you can bring any work in yourself, you’d get a substantial cut. You’d be able to make that difference in the world you’re supposed to. Right now I could use a spy.” He explained that he needed someone who could get into restricted places and listen in on conversations. “I’ve got a case right now, where I need some information I can’t readily get myself.”
“Sounds fascinating! I’m all ears. Well, not in this body. But you get the point.”
Biff pulled up his files on the case that had begun with the theft of Sveta’s digital photos. Quickly, though, he discovered that Syl didn’t have a very long attention span. His eyes kept darting around the room, and his shoulders fluttered a bit.
“I’ll get to the point.” Biff pulled up photos of Igor Laskin and Viktor Petrov on his laptop, turning the screen so Syl could see. “These guys bring guns and other illegal materials through Miami. I need to know when their next shipment is due.”
Syl nodded. “So you want me to flit around them until I hear the details.”
“Absolutely.”
Syl nodded. “You’re going to have to take me to them the first time. Once I imprint with them both, I can find them whenever I want.”
“Like you did with me,” Biff said.
Syl nodded, and Biff heard the sylph’s stomach grumble. “Sorry, I’m behind on my nectar,” Syl said. “I need to find a hibiscus hedge pretty soon. When can you introduce me to these guys?”
“Tomorrow morning. Igor and I work out together at the Bolshoi Gym. Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Syl said, standing up. “Must fly now. Bye-bye!”
In a flash he was a butterfly again, flitting out of the office.
Biff sat back. First a rodent, now an insect. His staff kept on growing. He just shook his head and called Dilenys Cardozo. “I have the report for you,” he said. “Your husband isn’t cheating on you, Mrs. Cardozo. He’s just buying a lot of stuff online.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You are in your office?”
“Yes, I am, but…”
“I will be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”
&
nbsp; Before he could agree or disagree, she’d hung up. He remembered that she worked only a few minutes away. “Raki?”
The squirrel emerged from behind his chair.
Client. Stay under table.
Hungry, Raki said, though it was more a demand than a statement.
Biff opened his desk drawer and brought out a bar of halvah. He broke a piece off and gave it to the squirrel, who took it under the desk and remained there when Dilenys Cardozo appeared in the office doorway.
She was wearing a black and white striped dress, and black bangle bracelets, but otherwise looked just as drab as when she’d hired him.
“He’s not cheating?” she said, striding in and sitting down, her baggy black purse on her lap. “You’re sure?”
He opened a folder of photos he had printed from Carlos Cardozo’s emails. “Recognize these?” he asked, showing them to Dilenys.
She looked at the pictures, all slim, handsome young men in different types of underwear.
“He’s gay?” she asked, her mouth dropping open.
“Not that I know,” Biff said. “I’m not talking about the men in the picture, but the underwear.”
Dilenys looked at him quizzically.
“Does your husband own any of the underwear in those pictures?” he asked.
She looked again. “Yes, these,” she said, pointing at a pair of boxer briefs. “And these, too.” She kept shuffling through the pictures, nodding and mumbling to herself.
When she had gone through them all she looked up at Biff. “I found he has a place in the garage, where he has many of these stored in boxes. But I don’t understand.”
“Call it a fetish,” he said. “Perfectly innocent. It seems like your husband has a thing for sexy underwear. And for whatever reason, he didn’t want you to know he was ordering it all. Maybe he’s embarrassed.”
“So he’s not cheating? Sending pictures of his crotch to other women—or men?”
“Not that I can find. I think he’s just a secret shopper.”
She frowned. “So what do I do now? Confront him?”
