“Never expected you to, Catie. If I turn up anything, it’s on the house.”
As he headed for the front door Sister Catherine put a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Frank,” she said, and let him go.
Now what? Every time Bishop turned around there was another weird twist in the case. If he was being conned he should stay away from Ariel and Mouser. If he wasn’t, and the universe really had just been turned on its ear, Ariel could be in a lot of trouble that she had no idea was coming her way. At the very least, Mouser’s info had panned out, and he’d also promised Bishop a witness to one of the disappearances. Bishop unlocked his, car, got in and started the engine. It was too late to do anything else, so he headed for the Caf’.
* * *
As he started down the steps to the Caf’, the dim blue glow of cheap neon lighting coming through the single window at the bottom made Bishop think of the aquarium his uncle had given him as a kid. The floor of the rectangular glass tank had been covered in bright blue gravel into which he and his uncle had stuck some limp plastic fronds, a plastic diver and a cheesy miniature pirate’s chest. The combination of the blue gravel and the dim light illuminating the tank made the few varieties of fish Bishop could afford look even more anemic and colorless than they had at the fish store.
He’d quickly discovered that since they did nothing but swim around, fish were really boring, except that everyday there seemed to be fewer in the tank. His uncle finally told him that was probably because they were eating each other. Alarmed, Bishop started to feed the fish more often, only to find his former cannibals floating belly-up on the surface of the water, ready to be recycled by the great cosmic flush.
Except for the cannibalism, the occupants of the Caf’ reminded him of his fish, only instead of guppies they were geeks, vagrants and losers, swimming around in the same place, with no obvious interaction with anyone else, including each other. When he opened the door, no one even bothered to look up.
Before Bishop could ask, Ez jerked a thumb in the direction of the swinging doorway behind the bar.
Jesus, I’ve become a regular at ‘Loser Central’. He flipped up the hatch that allowed entry behind the bar and pushed against the grimy hand plate on the swinging door that led into the café’s kitchen. An old Chinese man in a filthy, food spotted cook’s jacket was leaning against a counter smoking an unfiltered cigarette, letting the ashes drift onto the floor.
Mouser’s back was to both of them. The young hacker was wearing headphones connected to a small box at his waist, his body bopping and swaying to music only he could hear as he transferred dishes covered with suds out of one side of the sink, into water in the other before setting them in a wooden rack to dry. Bishop had to touch the boy on the arm to get his attention.
Mouser looked over his shoulder, then pulled the head phones down around his neck. “Hey, Bishop,” he said cheerfully, shaking the suds off his hands. “How’s it goin’? I’ll be with you in a minute, I’m just workin’ off a couple of pizzas here. You want something to eat? Chen makes a mean bacon chili-cheeseburger with everything.”
Bishop eyed the cook who narrowed his eyes as if daring him to interrupt his smoke.
“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think I’m up to date on all of my shots.”
The cook snorted and started waving his cigarette around, muttering to himself in Chinese.
“Aw, Dude, I think you hurt his feelings.”
The large cleaver sunk tip first into an old butcher’s block not too far from the cook hadn’t totally escaped Bishop’s notice. “Sorry,” he called and beat a hasty retreat back into the café.
A beer and a double espresso were waiting for him on the counter. Scooping them up, he took them over to the nearest table. Mouser joined him a few minutes later, after stopping to retrieve his laptop from under the bar.
“Is El with you?”
Bishop shook his head. “I was hoping she was here, or if not, that you’d know where she is.”
“Has something happened?”
“In a way,” Bishop said. “El could be in trouble—hell, the both of us could be in trouble—I need to find her.”
Mouser spread his hands. “I don’t know where she is. She always comes here to see me.”
“You don’t have a phone number, email, something?”
Mouser shook his head. “Is she in danger?”
“If a mutual acquaintance finds her, I’d say yes.”
Mouser tugged at his ear. “You’re putting me on the spot here Bish.”
“Do you know how weird all this shit is for me, kid? Either I’m being conned by a pro, for reasons I can’t begin to imagine, or your feathered friend saved my life. Maybe she’s perfectly safe, but I feel like I owe it to her to warn her.”
Mouser stopped tugging his ear and scratched nervously at the back of one hand.
“I could give her a message.”
Bishop shook his head.
Mouser sat.
Bishop drummed his fingers. “Okay,” he finally said. “Tell her a mutual friend of ours showed up in court this morning.”
Mouser stood up with a suddenness that made Bishop lean back. Picking up his computer in both hands, he ducked behind the bar and leaned over to say something to Ez. As Mouser whispered urgently in his ear, Ez raised his eyes and gave Bishop a penetrating stare. Bishop stared back. Without looking away, the barman gave the boy a barely perceptible nod, then took Mouser’s computer and stuck it back under the bar. Mouser slipped through the kitchen door and disappeared.
Bishop sighed and turned back to his beer. He had no idea whether or not he’d done the right thing, or just worked himself deeper into the trap.
- 12 -
Ariel had just poured hot water on the tea leaves in her cup when the tapping on her window began. She cocked her head wondering if there was a wire loose outside, or if the wind had finally managed to start taking the building apart, one piece at a time.
She had become very philosophical about the old building’s eccentricities. Alternating current meant ‘sometimes I have electricity’ and hot water was often accompanied by loud banging in the walls and strange burping noises from the drains. Nevertheless, she found her roof top apartment a comforting sanctuary. It was funky and basic, with a big open living space, large windows and few amenities. The rent was cheap and the building was built like a fort. She felt both safe and protected and the bikers who ran the motorcycle repair shop in the attached garage on the ground floor seemed to look out for her. She’d decided it was probably the weird hours she kept and her cool leather coat.
The tapping started again. She leaned toward the window over the sink. A rusty brown hawk was flapping its white striped wings against the glass.
Ariel cranked the window open and the hawk streaked through. It landed on the wooden floor and quickly morphed into a naked Mouser. Ariel grabbed her coat from the back of a kitchen chair and tossed it to the young hacker who dove into it lapping the front.
“Sorry.”
“No problem,” Ariel said dryly. “Where did you leave your clothes?”
“On the roof, back at the Caf’. Can I have something hot to drink?”
Ariel handed him the cup of tea she had in her hand and pulled another mug off the shelf and made another cup for herself.
“This place is so cool. You could skate board in here.”
“It’s changed a bit since you were here last.”
“More paintings.” Mouser walked over to take a better look. “I like the blue one.”
Ariel smiled. Blue was Mouser’s favorite color. “Be careful, it’s still wet. What are you doing here, Mouser?”
“Bishop is at the Caf’.”
“So?”
“He came looking for you. He says you might be in danger.”
Ariel’s brow wrinkled. “Why?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, but I could tell he was worried. He said something about a mutual friend showing up in court this morning. Ez’s keeping an ey
e on him ‘til we get back.”
The wrinkle turned into a frown. “Did he give you a name?”
Mouser shook his head. “I don’t think he wanted me to know. But I got the idea it was one of the names he gave me to research.”
Ariel ran a hand through her hair. Bishop had to have meant Zaki. Tesslovich was dead. Why would he care if Zaki ended up in court?
“Okay,” she said, indicating the metal French doors that opened onto her black tar front yard. “I need to change my shirt then I’ll follow you back. You can wear that coat until we get out on the roof.” Mouser was a dot in the air before she finished her sentence.
* * *
A fully dressed Mouser was waiting for Ariel when she landed on the roof of the building that housed the Caf’. “Speed demon,” she told him.
“It’s a nice night for flying. I gave those falcons that roost on the Kastle Building a run for their money.”
“You need to be careful, Mouser. There’s more predators out there than you think.”
Mouser just grinned at her and headed for the stairs.
Bishop had just started his second beer when Ariel pushed her way through the kitchen door, Mouser in her wake. A flood of unexpected relief hit Bishop. He’d told himself that he needed to see Ariel again to hear her explanation for a resurrected Tesslovich, but he also wanted to see that she was okay, especially after her refusal to ride home with him from Zaki’s.
Ariel flipped open the hatch in the bar and threw herself into a chair at Bishop’s table, long legs out in front of her, hands thrust deep into her coat pockets.
“Well?” she said.
Bishop checked out the rest of the room. Just because he saw most of the same faces didn’t mean he should be sharing Ariel’s business with them.
He hunched toward her. “Is there someplace more private we can talk?”
Ariel got up and headed for the far corner of the room where three over-stuffed chairs were pulled close together around a battered coffee table. Two were occupied by sallow teens with laptops.
“You mind?” Ariel asked. “Thanks.”
The lapsters headed for an unoccupied table out of earshot. Bishop sat, sinking deep into the tired springs of his chair. Ariel sat a bit more carefully, having experienced the quality of the Caf’’s furniture. Mouser perched on the arm of an empty chair.
Bishop cocked an eyebrow at Mouser. “He can stay,” Ariel said. “We might need him.”
“A guy I know, had to be in court this morning,” Bishop began. “He told me a client of Tesslovich’s was on the docket for a bail hearing—-the counselor showed up with his client, ‘big as life’ you might say.”
Ariel looked at Bishop as if he’d just said ‘pigs fly’.
“I mean it. He was there. My friend said he didn’t look too good. Had on one of those cervical collars that hold your head up straight, but he was alive and talking—well whispering.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Maybe he’s some kind of regenerating demon? Pop his head back on and he’s good to go?”
“He’s not that type of demon. Plus, even that kind of demon doesn’t regenerate after being decapitated.”
“Cool,” Mouser said.
“You’re absolutely sure it was him?”
“I didn’t see him, but my friend said there was no mistake. Everybody knows Tesslovich and everybody thought it was him.”
“Maybe it was some kind of Zombie animation spell?” Mouser offered.
“See, I knew there had to be Zombies,” Bishop said.
“Shut up Mouser,” Ariel said. Then to Bishop, “He’s not a Zombie.”
“Maybe it was a glamor?” Mouser continued.
“Then why put him in a collar? Why not just make him look normal?”
“You’re sure you actually . . . ?” Bishop asked.
“Right off his shoulders in one clean stroke.”
“He’s seen us both, you know. He knows my name and address. I showed him my license.”
“And if he finds you, he’ll be one step closer to finding me,” Ariel pointed out.
“Hey, I didn’t tell him anything when he was having circus boy slap me around.”
“That’s because you didn’t know anything, Frank. Now you do. And that beating you were getting? That was foreplay. The fun part was yet to come.”
Bishop rolled that thought around in his head for a few seconds. He didn’t like where this was going. “So what do you suggest?”
Ariel shrugged. “He doesn’t know what happened to you, and his witness went out a ten-story window and didn’t get up and walk away, I can guarantee that. Maybe he’ll leave you out of this.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky like that,” Bishop said. “C’mon. You know I’m right in the middle of this, whatever this is, and Tesslovich isn’t going to forget about me, because I’m not going to forget about him. I went to the Runaway shelter tonight. The nun who runs it is an old acquaintance of mine. She’s filed missing persons reports on twenty-two kids over the last five years. The police paid no attention, and none of the kids have ever shown up again.”
Bishop reached into his coat and spread the pictures out on the coffee table. “She gave me photos of some of them. This one was a bit older than the rest.” He pushed the photo forward. It showed a tallish, nice looking African American kid in his late teens with smooth mahogany skin, a short cap of copper dreads and an open smile. “He worked at the shelter. I got the impression he was a pretty responsible kid.”
“Yeah?” Ariel scooped up the photos, shuffling each one to the top of the pile for a few seconds of scrutiny, then handed them to Mouser. “You know anybody here, Mouse?”
“A couple look sorta familiar. I can show the photos around.”
Bishop nodded at Mouser. “I also want to meet that friend-of-a-friend you mentioned,” he told him. “But I’m not finished. The most interesting thing I found out, is that Tesslovich was, is, a volunteer lawyer for the Shelter. He helped with petitions for Emancipated Minor status for some of the kids, negotiated some foster placements. Met with his clients at the shelter--alone. And he introduced Sister Mary Catherine to Yamazaki Kiriyenko at a fund raiser. Zaki gave them a donation.”
“Could just be coincidence,” Ariel said.
“Like Tesslovich’s resurrection--pure chance in a random universe? You believe that, huh?”
“No,” Ariel said, taking the photos back. “I believe something really nasty is happening, I just don’t know why or how. But I do know that when I kill a demon, I expect the damn thing to stay dead! Can I keep this one?” She held up the photo of Jamal. “I think I might’ve seen him somewhere?”
“Keep them all, I have copies.” Bishop took two business cards out of his pocket and handed them to Mouser and Ariel. “Call my cell if you come up with anything.”
“You want us to talk about this on a cell phone?” Mouser seemed appalled. “Dude, does it have a scrambler?”
Bishop sighed. “I’m a private investigator, kid, not James Bond. The best deal I’ve got on my cell phone is unlimited long distance on weekends.”
Mouser’s disappointment in Bishop’s judgment was palpable.
“Look. If you have to call just pretend you’re talking about something else, okay? I’m sure I’ll figure it out. In the meantime I need to stop by M’s workshop and pick up my new Demon Detect-o Ray 5000. Then I might try to actually get some sleep before the next Bat-Signal goes up.”
Bishop stood up and headed for the door. As he disappeared up the steps Mouser turned to Ariel. “We have a Demon Detect-o Ray? When did that happen?”
Ariel shook her head and leaned back against the grimy leather of the chair. She closed her eyes, fingering the photograph she’d slipped into her coat pocket. She didn’t know what to think about the young man in the picture, let alone the fact that the demon she’d been instructed kill was still very much alive. It was only a matter of time before someone higher up noticed she’d blown her assign
ment and demanded to know the reason why. She didn’t have a very good explanation for that yet.
And then there was Bishop. The Guardian’s reaction to bringing a civilian into this mess was going to be really ugly. She needed to pay somebody a visit before the whole thing blew up in her face, and she preferred the Raven to the Guardian any day of the week.
Besides, she had his picture in her pocket.
- 13 -
Ariel left the Caf’ through the door to the alley behind the kitchen. She startled a cat foraging for food in the garbage cans next to the door. The thump and rattle it made lunging for safety behind the dumpster made her jump. That pissed her off, she was usually the one that made people look over their shoulder as they scuttled down alleys trying to escape.
She’d made up her mind to go talk to the Raven, better known to her as Tomas. Tomas had trained her. Taught her how to fight, choose the best weapons, how to survive. The Guardian had taught her the mission. She’d argued and fought with and even loved Tomas. She obeyed the Guardian.
When it was time, she’d been sent to the city. She had been here two years and in all that time no other Raptor had visited her even once. She liked to think that was because they had their own responsibilities, but it was also lonely.
She assumed Tomas was still in the same place. He’d been given a Dojo in another city about six hours drive away. It was a good cover and no one ever questioned why he had all those strange weapons and taught special students how to use them in ancient forms of combat.
Ariel didn’t have a car. The night was still young and she could fly the whole distance, but it would take her longer than other forms of transportation, and she preferred to get there before first light. That meant the train. There was a freight that left the city yard at midnight. It always moved at a much slower speed until it reached the outskirts of the city where it could pick up the pace. Ariel knew which trestles and bridges it passed under as it headed out of town.
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 6
