by Elle Gray
I also had a long conversation with Travis Schyler. I explained everything that happened and let him know we got justice for Charlotte. Not that it’s going to help him through what he’s going through, but I hope it brings him some sense of solace in those dark times. Losing somebody you love can be debilitating. I just hope he can come through it with more grace than I have.
And the last thing I did today was to set up a private scholarship of sorts for Rachel, the manager down at the Velvet Playground. I sincerely hope she uses it to finish out her schooling and to get her PI ticket. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’d be a great addition to the team, and I wanted to facilitate that coming to fruition. She should be getting her first check within the next few days, so like Lance, it will just be a wait and see kind of thing. But I’ve got faith in her. She’s smart and driven, and I see her making good on this.
All in all, it was a productive day. And I didn’t have to put on a silly costume or get awkward birthday wishes from anyone.
I take the elevator up, then get to my door, balancing the bag of sushi in my hand as I slip the key into the lock. I turn the key, adjust my hold of the bag, and step inside. The place is dark, but immediately, something doesn’t feel right.
I feel the presence of somebody in my home. It’s a vibration or a disturbance in the air or something, but I can feel somebody lurking in the darkness.
Dropping the bag, I quickly draw my weapon and reach over, flipping on the light— and find myself staring into the shocked and uneasy faces of all my friends. My heart is thumping against my ribs, and we stand frozen for a long moment, everybody on one side of the main room in my place, and me at the door with my weapon trained on them.
“Surprise?” Marcy finally says.
The uneasy ripple of laughter breaks the spell. I let out the breath I was holding and quickly holster my weapon. I hear everybody exhale as one and the uneasy laughter suddenly turns into shouts of “surprise!” and actual laughter.
“What are all you people doing in my house?” I ask as I pick up my bag of food.
“You really suck at this whole surprise party thing,” Amy says. “Do you always greet your guests with a loaded firearm?”
“Sometimes. Especially when I’m not expecting guests,” I reply.
“As I said, you suck at surprise parties,” she counters. “We need to teach this man some spontaneity.”
“It’s your birthday,” Brody says. “You didn’t think we were going to let it pass by, did you?”
“I suppose the fact that I told you I wanted you to let it pass by didn’t factor into your thinking?” I ask.
Marcy punches me in the arm. “Stop being such an ungrateful grump. Come say hello to everybody who wanted to celebrate your birthday with you.”
A small laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. The music comes on as I close the door behind me, and I’m swept into the group, exchanging hugs with everybody there. Even my parents and brother made it down to wish me a happy birthday. Kind of shocking, considering that I live in the city and they never come here. But their faces are bright with smiles, and they seem to be getting along with the oddball cast of characters that have become my friends. I don’t know why it hits me so hard emotionally, but it does. It’s good to see them, and they seem genuinely pleased to see me as well.
My brother George walks up, gives me a big hug, and slaps a drink into my hand.
“Y’know Pax, I know you’re busy and all, but next time can you please not force us to resort to breaking and entering just to see you?”
I grin, raising my glass to the crowd. “To the crimes we commit for the people we love.”
That sets off a round of laughter in the room. I make my way over to Marcy.“Did you plan this?”
She shrugs. “Brody and Amy helped. Nick is useless when it comes to party planning.”
“Hey, I helped. Who did all the errand running and heavy lifting?” he fires back in faux offense.
“Okay fine. He takes orders well. Better?” Marcy chirps.
“That’ll do.”
“Hey Pax,” Brody calls over. “You’re never going to believe who just happened to stop by. Like totally out of the blue? I mean, I’m stunned by the coincidence.”
I turn and see May, the waitress from the Pulpit, step out from behind him, and she looks at me with a wide smile on her face. She comes over and gives me a hug, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Happy birthday,” she smiles.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you,” I reply. “Though I admit, it’s strange to not see you in a nun’s habit.”
“He’s gotten a taste for costumes lately,” Brody cracks.
“I can go put it on if you’d prefer,” she teases.
“You’re perfect just as you are.”
We look at each other for a long moment and then she takes my hand. “Introduce me to people.”
And so I do. We walk around the party, greeting everybody and introducing May to them all. Everybody seems taken with her, and rightly so. She’s got an electric personality that’s hard to ignore, let alone dislike. We spend much of the evening talking and getting to know one another better. And I can’t help but catch Marcy and Brody keeping an eye on us the whole time, then turning and laughing with each other when they see me staring at them. All I can do is shake my head.
The party is in full swing, and I have to say, I’m having a good time, despite my earlier desire to be left alone tonight. Ever since Veronica died, I haven’t felt much like celebrating my birthday. It just seemed to lose its flavor for me. But what my friends put together for me tonight is as special as it is unexpected.
Later on, after the cake has been cut and consumed, and the party is winding down, I find myself out on the balcony with May, who’s hardly left my side all evening. And I have to say that I’ve enjoyed spending time with her tonight. She’s an amazing woman and is wonderful to talk to. And one who definitely deserves somebody who can offer her more than I can.
But she is here for me. And that means more than anything I can put into words.
I turn and lean back against the railing, watching everybody inside milling about and talking. My folks have long since departed, but the fact that they showed up at all was really special. As are the people inside. One thing this last case has taught me is that not all family is defined by blood.
There is a family you can choose to keep close to you, and those bonds every bit as real and strong as those forged by shared DNA. Perhaps even stronger simply because they’re the people you choose to have in your life.
“Your friends are really amazing,” May says. “They’re special people. All of them. Just really good people.”
“They’re very special,” I say. “They’re my family, and I love them all.”
Epilogue
Cascadia Crest Condominium Community; Belltown District, Seattle
Two Weeks Later…
“You’re sure this is the place?” I ask.
“That’s the place,” Brody’s voice comes through my Bluetooth earbud.
“This is not what I was expecting,” I note.
“That makes two of us,” he replies.
A few days ago, Brody solved the puzzle and cut the Gordian knot. He was finally able to trace the source of the mystery email to a computer hacker named Brian Takahashi. I instantly figured he’d be living in a basement of some run-down building on the verge of collapsing, with tin foil over all the windows.
The Cascadia Crest, though, is a high-end condo complex. Veronica and I looked at it before settling on the place we did. This community is for the affluent, though not necessarily the mega-rich. But it caters to an upper-middle-class demographic.
Suffice it to say; it’s not the place I’d expect to find a computer hacker who sends out cryptic emails. Everything Brody’s found on him— which hasn’t been much— points to somebody a bit unstable. A bit unbalanced. And perhaps a lot paranoid. Takahashi's your typical conspiracy theor
ist, basically. He posts to sites like Reddit and 4Chan regularly, espousing end of the world sentiments, government conspiracies, the danger of chemtrails, and a host of other even crazier garbage.
Takahashi apparently works from home as an IT consultant or something. He obviously makes pretty good money doing what he’s doing, given the fact that he can afford a place here. The golden age of telecommuting is perfect for a guy like this. I got the idea that he’s a bit socially awkward, to say the least.
Suffice it to say, that’s all made me wonder what in the hell he was doing with my wife. I know Veronica was a champion of the downtrodden and the marginalized, but how would her path have ever crossed with a guy like Takahashi? And what did he mean that it should have been me, not her, who died. I can’t say I disagree with the sentiment, but I’d like to know why he holds it.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“You know I am.”
“Okay, I’m heading for the front doors.”
“Roger that.”
“Be careful, Paxton. I will seriously kick your ass if you get hurt,” Marcy calls into the mic. “I think we all know now that you’re not indestructible.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” I reply. “And thanks for the reminder.”
“Anytime. And I’m not kidding,” she shoots back.
With Brody in his control center at home, he’s hacking into every system he can find to aid my entry into the community. When I get to the block where Takahashi’s condo is located, he’s going to shut down the cameras so I can go in unseen.
Takahashi himself is a wild card in all this. I have no idea who he is or what he’s capable of. He could be a gun nut. He could be a martial arts master. He could like stabbing people for all I know. The guy might have a refrigerator full of human heads, and I won’t know it until I’m actually inside.
I walk up the five steps to the covered porch that fronts the doors that lead into the community and pull the keycard Brody had cloned yesterday out of my pocket. I slip it into the reader. A moment later, the door unlocks with a loud thump. I pull it open and step inside.
“Worked like a charm. You are Picasso with a computer.”
“Eh. I prefer to think of myself more like a Carravaggio,” he counters.
“You’re barely a five-year-old drawing stick figures,” Marcy says.
Her words are followed by a screaming howl of laughter, telling me Brody is probably tickling her. That’s fine. Let them have their fun since it’s going to take me a couple of minutes to get to the block where Takahashi’s unit is located.
They quiet down as I approach it. The night is dark with patchy clouds overhead, leaving the world around me in dappled silver light. A fine mist is falling from the sky, and my breath is coming out in steamy plumes. I pull my hood down tighter to my head and move out.
“Almost there,” I whisper.
“Camera outage in three… two… one,” he says. “Security’s blind. But you need to move quickly. They’ll be out to check on it as soon as they notice.”
“Copy that.”
Each parcel of land contains two two-story condos, arranged back to back. They’re beautifully designed, with a modern asymmetrical style that incorporates a lot of glass blocks and black stone. I approach from the side and walk quietly down the three steps that lead to the basement door. Pulling the lockpicking gun from my bag, I slip it into the keyhole and fire it. There’s a soft pop, and then the doorknob is turning in my hand.
I slip the lockpicking gun back into my bag, sling it over my shoulders again, and pull my sidearm. I open the door and go in low, my weapon out in front of me. The first room is clear. I gently close the door behind me, careful not to make a sound. I move up the steps, taking care to stay to the side of the steps to avoid any of them creaking.
When I get to the door, I press my ear to it but hear nothing. Holding my breath, I grip the handle and turn as I push the door outward at the same time. I find myself in a laundry room. Stepping out of the basement, I move low, fast, and as silently as possible. It’s only when I turn into the kitchen that I find who I came here for.
Takahashi’s phone sits on the counter beside him as he cooks. Music is playing from his phone, and he’s singing along with Beyonce. Takahashi is a stocky man. He’s no more than five-six and has some padding around the middle. He’s got dark, frizzy hair, and I can see the earpieces of his black-rimmed glasses.
I don’t see any weapons and don’t get the idea that he’s a black belt in anything but cupcake eating. But still, I’m loath to take chances, so I keep my weapon trained on him anyway.
“Brian Takahashi,” I say.
He drops the metal spoon he was holding, and it hits the tiled kitchen floor with a loud clatter. He turns, his mouth agape, grabbing the counter behind him.
“Who the hell are you?” he gasps.
“I’m the guy you said should be dead,” I reply.
“How in the hell did you find me?”
“I have friends who can do what you do… only better.”
“Thanks for the shout out,” Brody says through my earpiece.
“Y—you’re Paxton Arrington,” Takahashi stammers.
“Last time I checked.”
“Are you here to kill me?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Should I be?”
He shakes his head. “No, no, no. If he was here to kill me, I’d be dead already,” he says to himself. “Which means he wants something from me.”
Through an archway that leads to the living room, I see stacks and stacks of newspapers and magazines. The stacks I can see are waist high to me, and though I didn’t notice tin foil on the windows, the drapes are all shut tight and apparently pinned together.
This is about what I was expecting when Brody said he was a hacker. This sort of detached from reality dysfunction. Except that, aside from talking to himself, he seems lucid enough.
He raises his eyes to me. “So, what do you want?”
“I want to know what you were doing with my wife.”
“That’s classified.”
“Then declassify it.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can,” I growl. “If you were doing work with my wife, then as her husband, I can be read into it.”
I have to keep from rolling my eyes. Playing into his delusions and conspiracy theories was not what I wanted to do. But it’s a card I have to play; otherwise, I might not get anything out of him. And I don’t think I could bear that.
“Yeah? That sounds okay,” he mutters. “I guess that’s good.”
“How long did you know Veronica?” I ask.
“A few months. Somebody recommended me to her when she was looking for a hacker.”
The only reason she wouldn’t have asked Brody to help her with whatever computer hacking was required was if she knew what she was doing was going to be dangerous. She never would have mixed him up in something dangerous.
Takahashi looks at me, and his eyes grow wide. He points at the Bluetooth earpiece, a stricken look crossing his face.
“You have to go. Go now. They’re tracking you with that. What were you thinking bringing that in here? You have to go,” he stammers.
“It’s my phone, Brian. Nobody’s tracking me.”
“I know you want to believe that, but they are. You’re leading them to me. You have to go. You have to go now.”
He’s starting to grow more agitated, and I need to keep him calm enough to give me the information I need before I go.
“Brian, tell me what you and Veronica were working on together. What were you guys doing?”
He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. He’s turned off the stove and is standing there, looking at me, as if trying to decide whether to tell me or run from whatever imaginary government spooks are coming.
“Please, Brian. I need you to tell me what you and Veronica were working on. It’s critical.”
He chews on his bottom lip and tugs on the hem of h
is shirt, indecision gripping him. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his frustration and that fear of the men in black coming for him warring on his face.
“You’ll go after I tell you?”
“I swear it,” I reply. “I’ll leave and lead them away.”
He sighs. “She had me look up a drug. I don’t remember the name of it right now.”
Xytophyl. I remember it from the note Alvin Perry left for me before he was killed in prison.
“Okay, what about the drug?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” he says, his voice growing tighter and more agitated.
“Remember,” I say. “I’ll go just as soon as you tell me what you and Veronica were doing.”
He sighs. “I researched the drug. Found the name of a group behind the drug. I told Veronica, and she ended up dead,” he says. “Now, you need to go.”
“The group, Brian. What’s the name of the group?”
He frowns and pulls harder on the hem of his shirt. His eyes are wide, and his body is taut. He looks like he wants to run.
“Just tell me the name of the group, and I’m gone. I swear it.”
He looks up at me, and I can see the stark terror in his face. He’s obviously been waiting for the people who murdered Veronica to come for him. I can’t blame him for that. Whoever these people are, they’re not messing around.
“The group, Brian. Tell me the name of the group.”
“They’re bad. They’re really bad,” he says. “They killed Veronica.”
“I know. And I want to punish them for it. But I need your help,” I plead. “Tell me the name of the group.”
He’s still biting his inner cheek, staring at me. But then he nods as if he’s come to a particularly difficult decision in his own mind.
“Aurora Nova,” he says. “Now you need to go. Now. Now. You need to go.”
It’s not until I’m outside and breathing in lungsful of the air that I feel free of the persistent crazy that hangs heavy in that place. When I’m far away enough to turn back and study his condo, I see him peering out from behind one of the curtains suspiciously. I step back and let the shadows consume me.
