Cheat (Karma Inc. Book 1) (3 page)

M
y apartment was
on the second floor of the complex, so I hurried up the stairs to change. The whole complex was set up in a square, with the front doors of each unit facing inward toward the pool and the backs of the apartments facing outward to the beyond. The only access out of the complex, into the living world, was through the lobby. A door in Brandon’s office supposedly led to Afterlife. When I had first arrived, we walked directly into the courtyard and pool area. I have never been able to find that door again, though.

My biggest learning curve as a Karma Incorporated operative was the manipulation of the world around me. I was a being of Afterlife now, which threw out the rules of physics. It had something to do with energy and that I technically wasn’t made from matter anymore. At death I had shed my material form and was now something new. I was comprised of energy, the energy of Afterlife, Tiffany called it dark matter. I could control and manipulate similar energy around me into anything I wanted just by willing it into being.

It sounded easy in theory.
It wasn’t.

There were also limits on what I could do. Some guiding factor that kept operatives in check, but no one knew exactly who or what it was. When asked they shrugged and invoked The Powers That Be. These omnipotent and micromanaging PTBs obviously had a rule book that they hadn’t shared with me or the rest of the crew.

One thing I found out quickly, was that it was easier to manipulate things in Afterlife. I could conjure up anything I wanted when I was in the apartment complex, but the moment I set foot within the living world, if it wasn’t related to a case, it was going to dissipate. I hadn’t put it to the test, though. I was barely managing little things. Like my apartment.

Tiffany and Fallon, two other Karma operatives, had helped me set up my apartment. It had started as a door with empty Afterlife space behind it. It was a freaky experience. Try imagining nothing. It doesn’t work. You imagine an empty room, or space…there is always something. My door led to nothing. I had to create my space from the dark matter of Afterlife. I had to make it form to my will and take shape. To make it form to my will, I had to concentrate and will it into existence. Kind of how I willed my nails back to their healthy state in processing. It was easy in theory. It would come as second nature in time. Or so they told me. The two girls flexed their undead muscles by showing me how to form a room, how to change the colors of my walls, the size of my bed and even adding a kitchen, but I never quite got the hang of it.

“Start small,” Tiffany had said. “Start with a window.”

I opened the door to my apartment and my eyes were immediately drawn to the wall of windows at the back of my front room. It was the best view in all of Paris. My windows looked down on the dark waters of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower sparkled in the background. It was a scene I had never witnessed when I was alive. Now, I had the pleasure of looking at it from afar. But only from the other side of a window. If I were to open my window, I would see nothing. It wasn’t real. But it felt real on this side of the glass.

I glanced down at my watch. It would be right around sunset in California. I placed my palm on the glass of the window and thought San Francisco over and over again in my head. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get disoriented and when I opened them I was looking out onto the Bay as the sun was setting behind the iconic view of the bridge.

I was getting better. It had taken me twice as long to get the view of Paris this morning. I watched as emergency vehicles sped across the bridge, heading to some unknown emergency. I had never been to San Francisco either. It had been on my bucket list. But, I hadn’t checked off one thing on my bucket list. The joys of dying at twenty-one.

I had been lying to myself about being used to being dead.

It still didn’t sit well with me. Especially when I caught sight of myself. My shimmering reflection in the glass gave me chills. I wasn’t Cassandra anymore. I didn’t look like myself, I didn’t feel like myself. I was something else, something new, something I wasn’t used to. It was odd.

“You can’t be yourself anymore, Cassie,” Brandon had told me the first time I glanced in the mirror in his office. “You’re dead.”

He was right. Cassandra Mercier was dead. I had to get over it.

I walked into the spacious master bedroom, coming face to face with the new Cassie. The girls had insisted that I have a wall of floor to ceiling mirrors.

“You’ll need to be aware of how you look before you leave, always check the mirror. Back and front, Cassie,” Fallon had told me.

I didn’t like looking at the new me, even though I had to admit the new me was rather attractive. It just wasn’t me.

The new Cassie was a few inches taller. The new Cassie had long brunette hair, which could be changed easily while in Afterlife. The new Cassie was slim and had a mouth that was turned down in a perpetual pout. My eyes were the only thing that I recognized. They had stayed the same. Same green color, same shape. It was true what they said about eyes being the window to the soul. They would never change.

I dug through my closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a dressy blouse. I smelled like sun and pool, so I jumped into the shower to wash off. It took me very little time to get ready, being on this side of Afterlife. You didn’t need much makeup if your skin was perfect and hairstyles were simply a matter of willing them into existence. It was boring, but time effective. Technically, I didn’t even have to shower since any smell or any imagined grime was all in my head. Manifesting because I expected it, not because it actually happened.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again. Everything was in place on this stranger. I slipped on a pair of heels, which will never hurt my feet, and walked out of my bedroom that I didn’t need to sleep in.

Brandon was waiting for me in my front room. He had pulled something up on my personal computer. This was my first time using the thing, since this was my first case. I referred to it as a computer lightly, it was a panel that took up a third of my front room wall and was controlled by our will. Another thing I hadn’t gotten the hang of quite yet. Brandon had told us that we could will anything into existence as long as it had been invented in the living world. The computer was one of those perks, some crazy NSA tech.

“Case 101, Mercier,” Brandon said to my wall, the background color faded to a light gray and a folder appeared, pulsing slightly. He touched the folder and a series of files appeared. He touched one, titled Summary, and it enlarged. A picture spun and zoomed in. The picture was of an attractive man in his late twenties, early thirties. He had the look of a free spirit. His hair was long and almost touched his shoulders, falling in waves around his face. He had sexy bedroom eyes that were a bright shade of blue and his lips were turned up in such a way that made him look like he was about to break out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s pretty,” I said.

“He knows it too. Meet Bishop, Bishop Klein. He’s the bartender at the Spotted Calf.”

“I’ve been there a few times,” I mused. Knowing that I had, but not able to focus on any particular memories.

“He’s been the bartender for the last six years.”

“I don’t remember him. What’s his issue?” I asked, touching the wall and bringing up a packet that was titled Negative Offenses. The list was long and went on for page after page.

“Top offenses includes stealing, cheating on his girlfriend, who’s pregnant with his child for a bonus, and he’s thinking about venturing into pharmaceutical sales. If he goes down that route, he’ll not only ruin his own life, but that of his unborn child’s, and his sister’s. So, he needs to be put in check. He needs a taste of the bad karma he’s been accruing, but not so it will push him into selling. The girlfriend’s got quite a bit of negative energy built up too, but he’s your main target. The goal is to put that baby in a stable environment when it’s born.”

“Way to give me an easy one, right off the bat, Brandon.”

“None of your cases will ever be easy, Cassie.”

“Is that a threat?” I laughed uncomfortably. “That last one with Tiffany was a breeze, sail in, destroy that chick’s identity theft ring and bug out.” I pointed to the panel. “We didn’t have to worry about being too harsh to push the chick to do more damage. What if I screw up?”

“You’ll know what to do. I told you, you’ve got that intuitive thing kicking. The Powers That Be assign the cases, they must think highly of you. I don’t know why they want to up your ante, only that this is what they want.”

“I don’t think I like this, and up my ante? What’s that? Who decides this?” I asked, wincing at how squeaky my voice came out.

“The Powers That Be, Cassie, don’t tell me why. I just get my orders and I’m expected to follow them. They’ve given you a case that would normally go to an operative that’s a little more seasoned.”

“Do they ever give a reason?”

“No,” he said with a shrug.

I sat down with a sigh and looked at the panel, taking in all the information. Whoever compiled all this crap was thorough. Everything about this guy Bishop was in here, from his favorite foods, to his weird habits.

“I figured the easiest way to get to know Bishop is by working at the bar with him, there’s an opening for a bartender position. This way you’ll be working with him and be able to assess what will turn him around quickly.”

“I’ve never tended bar in my life,” I whined.

“Not necessary.” He grabbed my hand. “You’re Cassidy Hail, you were working at the college bar, The Black Cat, for the last year, but want to move closer to the city.” I felt the tickle of the truth in his statement. Drink recipes flashed in my head and I had a sudden craving for fried onion rings.

“Hail, really?” I glanced at the mirror over the sofa and saw that my hair had lightened to an almost white blonde and with a glance down I realized that my tits were now filling out my bra better. Suddenly the last name was the last of my worries.

“Gah, Brandon, do I need bigger tits to tend bar?”

“More tips,” he smiled.

The new tatas looked lewd in the top I wore. It needed to be a size bigger. I tried to concentrate on it and broke into a smile as the material gave way and my new breasts had a bit of breathing room.

“You’re almost a pro,” Brandon grinned and I shot him the bird.

W
e walked
into the Spotted Calf and Brandon went directly to the bar. Bishop was the bartender on duty, I recognized him from his headshot. His picture didn’t do him justice. He was all sorts of good looking in that laid back dreamer type of way. He was quick to smile and I could tell his ego was full to brimming as I watched him catch his own reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. He stopped to fix his hair and check his teeth. When he turned to take our order, his eyes lingered for a second on my face and then didn’t come up from my tits as Brandon ordered.

Brandon ordered a pint of the local microbrewery IPA for both of us. He was paying so I couldn’t argue. I had no way of paying. Everyone always paid for me. I forgot to ask about that. Could I concentrate and will up some cash? A bit of meditation and I’ll get a Black card?

“Stop over-thinking things. You look constipated and you’re supposed to be vapid and easy, the perfect bartender,” Brandon hissed as Bishop was filling our pints.

“I think you just insulted bartenders everywhere,” I rolled my eyes. I pointedly ignored his constipated insult.

He slid over a phone, one of the slick new models nestled in a bright pink case.

“Press your index finger to the home button,” he said gesturing to the phone. I did and the phone came to life.

“All your information is in there, check the wallet app, your driver’s license and credit cards are all in place. For case related purchases only, if you try to buy random crap it comes back denied.”

“How do they even know?” I asked looking through the phone. I even had social media accounts that had a considerable amount of activity, going back five years. Thorough.

“They always know, and too many attempts get you flagged. Anything you make, like tips or shift money on the job is yours though.”

“How gracious,” I rolled my eyes. Bishop set our beers in front of us.

“Look Cassidy, they’re hiring a bartender.” He pointed to the help wanted sign taped behind the bar. "Hey man, that position still open? My friend here is a bartender and looking for work.” He gestured toward me, like I wasn’t the only person sitting next to him at the bar.

Bishop wiped at the counter in front of us with a bar rag and nodded his head, looking me over again.

“Yeah, actually, the owner’s in the back. Let me get him.” He left the bar unmanned while he went to the back office.

“You don’t think I could have handled that?” I whispered to Brandon.

“I had to make you look non-threatening. If you can’t speak up to ask about a job, you’re not a threat. You know, you’re the kind of girl that has to have a man do it for you, Bishop won’t worry about you. You need him not to worry about you, so he won’t be on guard around you. You’ve got to play the part, Cassie. This guy is threatened by independent women.” Brandon sipped his beer and stared toward the back of the office.

“Maybe he needs a woman to kick his ass then, that’s my idea of karmic retribution,” I huffed. My words had little bite. I was talking tough even though I had never been in a fight in my life. At least not one I could remember. It bugged me that I didn’t remember a lot of my life. Who knew, I might have been some kind of Kung Fu master when I was alive. I frowned and took a sip of my beer.

“He needs to be put in his place, not beat to a pulp,” Brandon corrected and I nodded. This was what I did. Karma wasn’t a beating, it was a spanking. A spanking that hopefully changed the person’s life drastically.

“Can I ask you something off topic?” I asked. He looked at me and gestured to go on. There weren’t many people in the bar. I figured we wouldn’t be overheard if I brought up some Afterlife things. “Why can’t I remember my life? Is that normal?”

“I don’t know, not usually.” He took a gulp of his beer. “Most people do remember their life, their memory loss usually only revolves around their death. It might be that something traumatic happened, or it might be that it faded while you were waiting to be processed. Your wait time was longer than most. It’ll come back in time, hopefully.”

“I think it took almost a year to be processed. Do you know exactly how long it was?” I asked, unsure about the time frame. The missing time that bugged the crap out of me. What happened to me during that time?

“Yeah, that’s about right, and it is a little long, I don’t know why. I wish I could help you more.”

“Is it against the rules to look into it myself?” I was dying to Google my obituary.

“Uh, I don’t recommend it, hun.” He gulped his beer like he was nervous.

“It’s really bugging me, though, I feel like I can’t go forward if I don’t know what happened.” He looked over at me, scrutinizing my sincerity. He typed something into his phone, like he was texting someone. I wondered if he could look it up for me.

“You can’t do it yourself, not on the complex computers, or on any gadgets we give you, it will be blocked. I don’t even recommend doing it on a computer out here. Everything is closely monitored.” His phone pinged and he scrolled through whatever was sent to him.

“I need to know what happened, Brandon,” I sighed.

“There’s a guy,” he said under his breath. “He’s an investigator, they call him a finder. We've used him before, on different cases. I know he’s some kind of supe, but I don’t know what kind exactly. Go through him, don’t do it yourself. And you can’t tell him what you are.”

“Soup?” I asked confused.

“Oh, uh, yeah, supe, short for supernatural. A non-human, you’re a supe now, by the way. They call us angels in the paranormal community, actually, even though we’re not angels. But I guess it’s the best description most can come up with. No one outside of Afterlife can know about the Corporation. You’ll get stripped of your position and thrown into Limbo if you tell anyone about it.”

“Supernatural? Angel?” I gaped at him.

“Yeah, the world gets a lot more complex after you kick the bucket,” he laughed.

“You only become a supernatural after you die?” I asked.

“No, actually. There are all kinds of things, basically anything you’ve heard about, it probably exists.”

“That’s so bizarre, an angel. Wow. I was just calling myself undead, in my head of course.” I laughed.

“No, we’re not undead, we're not even angels, the undead would be the vampires, or the occasional zombie…and real angels don’t bother with the living at all.”

“There are vampires and zombies? Those exist? This guy, this finder guy, he’s not a zombie, is he?” I asked a little too loudly and a man down at the end of the bar looked at us oddly.

“Yes, they do exist, but you’ll probably never know it if you meet one. And no, this guy, he’s not a zombie. Or at least I hope he’s not. The finder, I don’t know what he is, I just know he’s not human.” He quieted down when Bishop and an older man came out from the office at the back of the bar.

“So, who is this guy?” I said quickly.

“I’ll leave you his card in your apartment. Use discretion though. You can’t tell him who you are, your job, nothing, no matter how many questions he asks you. Come up with a good cover story.”

Bishop walked the owner over to us and made introductions.

“Cassidy Hail,” I said as the owner shook my hand.

“Marshall Crow.” He shook my hand weakly, his palms slightly moist and uncomfortable to hold. He was a short man, with an unfortunate thinning hair issue that he didn’t know how to manage. His eyes only strayed to my cleavage once, so I gave him credit for trying. Bishop didn’t even try to cover his obvious breast obsession.

“We’re in a bit of a bind, Cassidy, the girl I hired to work tonight’s shift called in sick on her first day of work, needless to say, she won’t be doing a second shift. You have any experience?”

“A few years. I’ve been working over at the Black Cat, up by the University, for the last year. But, I need something in the city.”

“We don’t do a lot of fancy mixes here, our signatures are premixed and in the jugs there,” he gestured to containers with bright blue liquid in them. “The girls come in and mostly order wine, and your occasional mixed drink. Ladies night on Wednesdays, Dollar Drafts on Fridays. The fanciest mixes are the shots, and if they come up with something off the wall and they can’t tell you what’s in it, then they don’t get it. You think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, sounds easy,” I bluffed.

“It’s forty a shift, and my bartenders usually don’t complain about tips. It’s a straight pool, our shifts usually line up so no math involved, fifty-fifty split. You’re hired. Can you start in an hour?”

“Uh, yeah sure,” I said. Easiest job interview, ever.

“Good, you can spend the hour filling out the employment forms, follow me,” he motioned.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” I said to Brandon.

“Sure, good luck,” he winked and sat down at the bar to finish his beer.