by Jason Winn
Madison moped into the poolroom and flopped down. She needed a kitchen, fast. Production needed to resume on an industrial scale.
It was times like this that she wished Blue Petal’s infrastructure was available to her. Nancy had it easy, being able to cook up all she wanted whenever she wanted. There was probably a dusty Moonmilk assembly line somewhere, in another state or country, where vats of the stuff were brewed. But without access to Blue Petal management, and no authority to boss them around, she may as well just point on the map, drive there and hope she uncovered Nancy’s magical kitchen.
That was all wishful thinking. In the meantime, she needed a real kitchen, somewhere safe, people to staff it who could keep their mouths shut and a fifty-pound bag of Brushite. The mere thought exhausted her, as if the work had already been done and she was beat. Cedric had handled all of that, but he was dead. Sarah was only good for so much, but no one was going to negotiate a lease and restaurant supply orders with her. Her youth had severe disadvantages.
Out of simple options, Madison dialed up the Outfit and insisted they find her a kitchen, preferably in the area. Mr. Abbott said he could oblige and as the call ended, Madison figured that action was going to cost her at least twenty grand, before the lease was signed.
Her mind drifted. The rippling water of the pool had a soothing effect. She felt her mind ease and start to work the problem. Sean would produce something on the Blue Dreams attackers. He had to. That’s what he’s good at, she told herself. What else might he be good at figuring out?
The water reminded Madison of Burke Lake Park, where her father would sometimes take all three girls fishing. It was close and a lot less crowded than the other local fishing spots. He would buy them popcorn from the snack booth. And when the girls got bored watching their bobbers in the water, they would start feeding the ducks with the popcorn.
Eventually the three of them would turn to throwing rocks into the water and watching the ripples spread out from the impact. It was simple fun.
Ripples from the center.
Madison sat up in her chair. The tingle of adrenaline coursed through her chest. Nancy Mosby was the center of everything. The connections to people, to Langston, to Margaret, the White Union, the Shiloh Library, and Blue Petal, all started with her. Nancy Mosby was theoretically at the center of a magical world before she disappeared.
The names in the notebook were ripples spreading out from Nancy.
Moving with purpose, Madison ran to fetch the notebook. How could she not have seen it? The names in that notebook were all clues to Nancy and Sean could search for them, find them, and the resulting map would give Madison a better picture of Nancy’s old organization, of how all of this started.
As she retrieved the notebook from the desk, Madison realized that without some sort of security, she was naked and vulnerable to further attacks. She, like Langston, needed an army. Flipping through the pages, Madison pulled out her phone and looked up Rey. A biker gang might answer the mail. And besides, they owed her.
Chapter 36
An hour later, Madison lay on the floor in the poolroom, Carl’s words ringing in her head. “Governments.” How fucked was she?
Totally.
Well maybe less totally, now that she had a meeting with the biker gang. Rey had sounded a little concerned on the phone, but said she would talk to her husband and make it happen. Now all she needed was a kitchen, right? How hard was that to sort out? Get the ovens going again, cart the shit over to the mansion, boom, back in business. No one calls in the federal hit squads. What was she so worried about? They only needed, like, fifty, maybe sixty gallons in the next three days. That’s all.
The solution seemed miles away though, in her current state of semi-sobriety. Madison was trapped in an industrial press, the kind they crush Terminators in, the weight of all her problems applying ever more pressure on her, until she couldn’t even draw a breath.
Sunlight reflected off the water, casting bright waves onto the ceiling. Her mind felt like a television with bad reception, with images flipping in her head, blurry and distorted. Who the fuck was behind the attacks on the bakeries? At least five dead and no clue as to who did it.
But that doesn’t matter. Price of doing business. Need to get back to business. Otherwise, “governments.”
She was reminded of the quote from Sidney Poitier in the movie Sneakers: “There isn’t a government on this planet that wouldn’t kill us all for that thing.”
In Sidney’s case, he was talking about a super decryption computer. In Madison’s case, she was thinking about Chinese or Russian murder squads kicking in her front door and peeling her flesh off for the Moonmilk recipe. And with the power her clients had, that wasn’t so far-fetched.
In her mind, explosions followed dead bodies, covered in blood, fire, Sarah’s frowning face, Dana laughing and counting money, a smoky old woman telling her it would be okay, just shake her hand and problem solved.
Fucking problem solved. Madison smiled up at that one.
Her phone rang. It was Jane.
“Yeah,” said Madison.
“I think we can figure out who attacked us.”
“How?”
“There are several private cameras around the Georgetown location the police didn’t check. I think I can get my hands on the tapes and Sean can run the car plates or maybe get their faces.”
“So what if you get their faces?”
Jane didn’t say anything, and Madison realized she was sounding ungrateful.
“Sorry, Jane. I don’t see what the point is. Unless we see Preen’s face on the tapes.”
“First of all, Preen probably isn’t on the tapes. I doubt he would attack you directly. He’d send his people or freelancers, or hire some street punks to lob the Molotovs through the windows. Second of all, Sean’s got facial scanning software. He can match it against his social media databases and maybe find a match.”
“Damn, really? I thought only the FBI or CIA does that shit.”
“Actually, the government contracts a lot of that stuff to private companies and Sean has a bunch of the software they use. So yeah, it’s actually not that big of a deal.”
“Well, shit, that’s awesome. Although, I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Watch it be fucking Dana. That would be my luck. Why did I think that? Jesus, I’m a terrible person.
She spilled vodka into her mouth, trying to blot out enough of the pain to think. The gulps of liquor had stopped burning four mouthfuls ago.
“I’m not getting my hopes up either,” said Jane. “But, it’s worth a shot. Are you good with that plan?”
“Sure, do it. Hey wait, don’t go.”
Jane didn’t say anything.
Madison bit her lip. There was something she needed to know. “When we were at the prison, what did you mean when you said that’s where they took me?”
The words hung in the air, like storm clouds.
Jane sighed before she spoke. “Before I left the force, they took me there as punishment.”
“Punishment for what?”
“I snitched, went against the blue brotherhood.” Her voice was quiet, stoic.
“About what?”
“There was a group of cops in my precinct that were dealing on the side, running protection for the local cartels. I told my captain.”
“They found out, the dirty cops?”
“Oh yeah. The captain was leading the crew. So they decided to take me to that room with the smiley face and convince me to keep my mouth shut.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, and before you ask, they took turns beating and raping me. Broke my jaw in two places and dislocated my shoulder. I got the message and quit. So yeah, you can see why I was a little anxious to tear that place apart.”
“Fucking assholes. Glad we torched the place.” Madison paused, contemplating. “Wasn’t there someone you could report them to? You got to bring that shit down.”
“Oh y
eah, and run the chance of the chief being crooked too? No thanks.” Jane’s voice went soft. “That place had knives around every corner.”
“I never would have thought you’d been through something like that.”
“I had a rough childhood. Wearing masks is easy for me.”
A rare swell of empathy overcame Madison. “I just want to hug you right now.”
Jane snickered. “It’s okay, Madison. I’m fine.”
So you say.
“Anything else?” asked Jane.
“No. Be careful with the camera stuff.”
“Always am.” Jane hung up.
For the next half hour, Madison convinced herself Sean and Jane wouldn’t find anything. That wasn’t how the world really worked. Not like on TV where they hit a few computer keys and “poof,” there’s the bad guy killing the cop. She fell right back into the despair she felt before Jane’s call.
Where was Langston, the lifeline she needed to sort all of this out?
“Huh?” she shouted. “Where the fuck are you, Langston?”
She slammed her fist against the wet floor.
They’re coming for you next. Walk out to the street and pop pop, you’re dead, stupid.
The palpitations were back, irregular heartbeats, each accompanied with a little pinprick in her chest.
The cops, where were they? Were the attackers connected to that Hampton Corner place? What kind of hornet’s nest had she stirred up? She was so stupid. And speaking of cameras, there were probably a few filming her blowing up the place. It was only a matter of time before the cops were rolling up on her.
“Now I know why you ran off, Grandma.”
Where can I run? Nowhere, probably. And who was to say someone didn’t find and kill her?
With Madison’s luck there was an army of Langstons waiting to pounce on her if she decided to stop selling Moonmilk. The money had become its own prison.
‘Here, little girl. Have some cash, but make sure you keep shitting this stuff out. See you next month after I’ve toppled a few governments.”
Madison pushed herself up into a sitting position and rested her head in her hands. Tangled brown hair fell in front of her face. She took another gulp of vodka and her heart punched her ribcage. She retaliated by pounding herself on the chest. “Settle the fuck down, or I’ll replace you.”
Fucking heart, that’s all I need.
Next her stomach roiled. How much had she been drinking? She held up the bottle, seeing it was three quarters empty.
“What’s the play, Grandma?”
The cosmos responded by kicking on the pool pump with a gentle hum. She tried to stand, but the room spun a bit and she decided it was best to stay sitting. She let the bottle fall on its side and roll over to the wall, the remaining vodka dripping out.
“Contessa?” she asked aloud. “I bet she’s got connections to deal with this. Sean’s not up to this. No.”
Madison dug into her pocket and found the gold coin.
Let’s see if this works.
She flipped the coin into the air. It glinted in the morning sun.
“Torchlight.”
Hissing smoke emanated from the coin as it fell into the water with a tiny “bloop.”
Contessa’s smoky outline appeared, halfway submerged in the shallow end of the pool. Little tendrils of smoke spread out from the cloud going with the ripples in the water.
Madison couldn’t help herself. “Well, that’s cool as shit.”
“Madison?” Contessa looked concerned, maybe a little shocked too. “Is everything all right?”
That was funny, but not worth laughing at. “No. No, everything is fucked. All the selfish people left me.”
“The crown can be heavy at times. What can I do for you?”
“I guess I just wanted someone to talk to.”
Contessa frowned and pulled a cigarette to her lips. “Oh, Madison. I hate to see you like this.”
“You don’t even know me. How can you say that?” There was a pause, and neither of them seemed to know what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I, I sometimes say the wrong thing and it gets me into trouble.”
Madison lay back down on the floor. It felt warm from the sun’s heat.
“We can all get stressed at times. Tell me, how is business?”
“Hah! Fucking business?” She noticed her voice echoing in the empty space. But she didn’t give a damn at this point. “I’ll tell you. I’m fucked. I’ve got burned-up kitchens and several people dead. I’m surprised the cops aren’t over here right now arresting me.”
“Oh, dear. Why would the police come and arrest you? It doesn’t sound like you’ve done anything wrong. Who attacked you?”
“No idea. Maybe Preen’s kid, or a street gang looking for a shakedown, or more of these cops we got into it with.” She put her arm over her eyes. “Fuck me.”
“You had an altercation with the police? That doesn’t sound good.”
“Don’t worry—they were crooked. They had it coming. I don’t think they’re dead, just burnt up.”
Contessa’s face went from concerned old woman to blank. “Hmm, that is concerning. Do you know their names?”
“Hard to read a name tag when they’re half naked and shooting at you.”
Contessa gasped. “They shot at you? What on earth for?”
“Well, people will do that when you bust into their secret hideout and take things from them.” Madison grunted a laugh. “Believe me, I know.”
Fucking Trask, Madison thought.
“I, well, I don’t know what to say, Madison. This is not something you should be engaging in. We need to keep a low profile.”
“Yeah, well they had it coming. They fucked with my people.” She reached for the vodka bottle, but it wasn’t there. “Fucking A.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Madison looked over to the wall, seeing the faint trail of wet spots that led to the bottle. “There you are.” She pushed herself up onto all fours and crawled over to her quarry.
“Madison dear,” said Contessa in a soothing tone. ”You know I would be more than willing to help you with making Moonmilk, if that eases your burden. Customers can be so demanding.”
Madison paused and thought about that. In her mental haze, that sounded like the best thing she’d heard all week.
“Where are you going, child?”
“Just got to get something.”
“Maddy!” shouted Sarah.
“And who is that?” asked Contessa.
“Oh, that’s just Sarah. She helps out.”
“Maddy, who is that?” Sarah stabbed a finger at Contessa’s smoky outline in the pool.
Madison picked up the bottle and drained the last drops. She slouched against the wall. She could still see the top of Contessa’s head. “We’re partners like that. Hey, look, I’ve got to go. Bye.”
“Madison, wait,” said Contessa. “I want to ask you…”
“Torchlight.”
Nothing happened.
“Oh, fuck, the coin’s in the pool. Go ahead and hang up.”
Nothing happened. Contessa just stared at Madison, before speaking up. “Madison, tell me more about these police.”
Madison crawled toward the pool’s edge. Sarah, eyes locked on the Contessa cloud, came over to help Madison to her feet.
“Thanks, Sarah. I got this.”
“Got what?” asked Sarah. “Who’s that in the pool?”
“It’s Contessa. Hold on.” Madison got to the edge of the pool and fell more than jumped in, causing a huge splash of water all over the floor. At the bottom of the pool, Madison found the coin and shouted “Torchlight.” And the smoke retreated into the coin, before she planted her feet on the bottom and stood up.
Sarah was still standing there, hands on her hips. “Maddy, who was that?”
“It’s cool, she’s an old friend of Grandma’s.”
“And how do you know that?”
“R
elax, she told me she was.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing, just how everything’s fucked up right now and I think I mentioned the Hampton Corner thing.”
“What?” shouted Sarah. “Maddy, you don’t just go telling strangers you shot up a black site prison. What the fuck is the matter with you?” Her face was flushed red and her eyes full of anger.
Sarah’s swearing had a sobering effect that, along with the pool water, gave Madison a moment of clarity. At that same moment her stomach rejected her breakfast in a bottle. She wretched into the pool.
“Jesus, Maddy.”
Chapter 37
“Madison?” asked Contessa. But there was no answer. Madison had broken the connection with the totem.
The parlor was silent again. Contessa thought for a moment. Madison’s mention of “crooked cops gave her an idea. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to kill this little troublemaker after all. Disposing of bodies could be such a hassle.
And once she’s been convinced to hand over her recipe, down you go, little Madison, for the big sleep.
Having Madison dead, strengthened her play to eliminate Preen and the rest of the East Coast cartels and would make her perhaps the most powerful dealer in the country.
Contessa got up from her chair and walked through the summer hallway to her office, which overlooked the flower garden with its collection of rare hostas ringing the koi pond. The sweeping hallway was one of eight that converged at the center of the octagonal house, all terminating in the Tempus Ballroom.
She passed original works by Matisse, Cezanne, and Chagall, ignoring them as if they were just wallpaper. The long-ago purchased trophies of her dear departed husband, Guido. The Degas at the end always felt out of place to her. Passing the frozen ballerinas reminded her that it should be moved to the spring hallway, but that was for another day.
Once in her office, she picked up her phone and dialed her most trusted man, Clipper. He picked up after one ring.
“Clipper?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Be a good boy and see if any of our friends in the law enforcement community suffered any undue stress in the last few days. Especially the ones in the DC area.”
