Play Dead (15 page)
“So she could hurt herself.”
“Yes, and others as well. The book is priceless; I spent a great deal of my life trying to find it. But it’s not only priceless; it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous for who?”
“Everyone, as I said.” She sat back down at her desk and tented her hands, placing her fingertips together. Not to mention . . .”
“What?”
“Toward the end of his life, Richter became very interested in alternate dimensions, ‘gateways between the worlds,’ as he called them.”
“A bit fanciful.”
“The language, maybe. There was nothing fanciful at all about his results. According to his notes, he succeeded in creating what he called ‘thin areas,’ places where you could slip between dimensions.”
Like what Lou could do. Or the energy pool.
“There’s a lot in the book about those things,” she continued. “And one other thing. One of the things the book covers is how to go about creating singularities—are you familiar with those?”
“Somewhat,” I said cautiously.
“Well, it takes a lot of skill to create them. Or a lot of power. Like if you had power objects, talent enhancers, as it were. But those items are hard to come by, as I’m sure you know. And even if you have them, it’s still tricky. There can be unintended consequences.”
“Such as?”
“When singularities are created the edges become thin, and things can slip through. All kinds of things, and some of them are not nice.” She smiled at me, knowingly. “I believe you’ve already found that out—something about an energy pool, a portal?”
The pool that Jessie had been sniffing around. I wasn’t getting the whole story, not by a long shot. I wasn’t sure if Jessie was lying to me about the book, but as she herself had noted, the best lies are composed partly of truth. One thing did make sense: if there was such a book, with notes by Richter about singularities, that would explain how Jackie had managed to whip up such a good one.
But Jessie being so worried about theoretical consequences that didn’t affect her directly didn’t mesh with what I knew about her. That wasn’t the kind of person she was, as far as I could tell. And hiring me, specifically, to locate Jackie still made no real sense. Developing a line into Victor’s camp seemed a more likely motive.
Or, she could be killing two birds with one stone. She might as well get some value for her money, even if putting a wedge into Victor’s operation was her main objective.
“So in essence we’ve got a kid running around out there with a loaded gun,” I said.
“Basically, yes. Which brings us to the point. Obviously you haven’t located her, but have you at least found a trace? Anything?”
“Well, I did find Cassandra. And I tracked Jackie to a cheap residential hotel over on Sixth and Mission, the Hotel Carlyle. Ever heard of it?”
“No,” she said. “Is she living there?”
“I doubt it, and if she was, she’s not living there now. She knew I was looking for her.” I didn’t mention details. “But I do have some other leads,” I said, standing up. Lou was up instantly and at the door. He didn’t like being in the same room with a poisonous snake, Ifrit or no.
“Like what?”
“Just some ideas. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to know.”
Jessie wasn’t happy about my vagueness, but there wasn’t much she could do short of firing me, and that wouldn’t help her at all.
“Just be sure you do,” she said, and her tone changed subtly, becoming flat in affect. “And if you get any idea about finding that book and using it for your own purposes, don’t. Naja’s a sweetie, but she does what I ask of her.”
That came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t sure if she was making a bad joke or if she was deadly serious. Especially since she’d been so outraged at me when I’d suggested something similar at our first meeting. Why can’t people be a little more consistent?
I didn’t respond, just headed out of the office, but before I made it to the door she spoke again, and this time her tone was light and friendly.
“Oh, on another subject, are you free tonight?”
“That’s flattering,” I said, “but employer/employee dating never works out.”
She flashed me a smile. “Not for the employee, maybe, but what does that matter?”
“I see.”
“No, I’m having drinks tonight with a few colleagues, discussing some things. They’re interesting people. I thought you might like to meet them.”
“What sorts of things?”
“The usual. The Giants’ chances next year. The proper use of bat’s blood.” She held it a beat, like a trained public speaker. “The changing role of practitioners in today’s society.”
Ah, there it was. I feigned disinterest.
“Not really my thing,” I said.
“Sooner or later it will be everyone’s thing. You should come by.”
“Where?”
“Gavagan’s Bar. Eight o’clock or so.”
So my public tiff with Victor had got back to her after all, and she was letting me know. I shrugged.
“Why not? I’ll try to stop by.”
THAT AFTERNOON AT VICTOR’S I FILLED IN ELI and Victor—the singularity, Cassandra, Jessica’s invitation for drinks. When I told Eli about the singularity, his reaction surprised me. Usually he’s like a little kid at Christmas where all things new and magical are concerned. But he didn’t ask many questions; I guess singularities and such were old hat to him by now. He’d never had to find his way out of one, though.
He was more interested in what might have followed me out of there, especially the second thing. The last time something uncanny had slipped into our world, there had been a spot of trouble over it. Like people dying.
“You didn’t get a look at it?” he asked. “Nothing? Not even a glimpse?”
I shook my head. “Barely an impression, like it was made of shadow. I couldn’t even tell if it was human or not.”
“Or human-looking. I doubt anything that came out of there was actually human.” That thought didn’t make me feel better.
“What about Jessie’s idea of things slipping through?” I asked “The thin places.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “We all need to keep a sharp eye out.”
“Moving forward, how are you planning to handle Jessica’s social hour?” Victor asked.
“By ear, as usual. Any suggestions?”
“Just the same caution: don’t overplay your hand; don’t seem too eager. If she wants you on board, she’ll keep at it. Let her drag you reluctantly into it. The essence of every good con game is to get the mark pleading to be taken.”
“I know,” I said. “But one more thing. Jessie made a veiled threat about sending Naja to visit me if I don’t toe the line. She’s a powerful practitioner, and Naja, being an Ifrit, isn’t as discouraged by wards as most things are. I’d hate to be sitting quietly at home some evening and have her come slithering through the back window.”
“Yes, I can see how that might be worrisome.”
“Talent isn’t reliable, either, when it comes to Ifrits,” I said. “Can I borrow that sawed-off shotgun of yours? Just in case.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best weapon. It sprays pellets like a garden hose, even in a small area. You could easily hit Lou as well if you fired it inside. And if you were outside your house, anyone walking by would be at risk.”
“Any other ideas?”
Victor gave me a calculating look. “Do you play tennis?” he asked.
“I used to. Why?”
“Any good?”
“Not bad. Not great.”
“Follow me,” he said, and headed down to the basement.
The basement of the house was where Victor has installed his gym. He works out almost every day, which is how he stays in such good shape. I should do the same, but keeping up with an everyday exercise routine would be too obsessive for me.
He opened a locker at the far end of the big room and took out what appeared to be a slightly curved sword resting in a scabbard.
“Wow,” I said. “For me?”
“No.”
He reached into the locker again and came out with an identical sword, only this one was constructed of hard black plastic.
“Ahh,” I said. “I get the training wheels.”
“If I just handed you the katana with no preparation, you’d probably cut your own ear off. Do you want to learn the basics, or not?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m all ears. So far.”
He started to put the sword back in the locker, but I quickly apologized. He takes all that martial arts stuff very seriously and was doing me a favor, so I needed to behave.
“Sorry,” I said again. “Do you really think you can teach me to handle that sword properly?”
“Sure. If I had a couple of years. But I can also take an hour and show you how to use it well enough to be effective.”
He handed me the plastic copy and went through some basics—footwork, balance, grip, how to turn the edge to the right angle for a strike.
“Don’t strike at the target,” he said. “It’s not about power; it’s about smoothness and speed. Strike
through
the target, like it’s not even there, like it’s simply in the way of where the sword wants to go. It’s like hitting a two-handed forehand or backhand in tennis, except there’s no topspin involved.”
through
the target, like it’s not even there, like it’s simply in the way of where the sword wants to go. It’s like hitting a two-handed forehand or backhand in tennis, except there’s no topspin involved.”
When Victor was satisfied I had the basics down, he attached a thick piece of rope to a hook in the ceiling, the kind you’d use to moor a small boat. He stepped back, did a figure-eight move with the sword, dropping into a crouch at the same time, and sliced it cleanly through three feet from the floor.
He stepped back, replaced his sword in the scabbard and took another one out of the locker, and offered it to me. I took it gingerly; a plastic practice tool is one thing, a razor-sharp blade quite another.
“Your turn,” he said. “Don’t try a fancy move; just remember what I told you and swing through it.”
I stepped forward and gave it my best shot. The rope swung wildly when I struck it, just as if I’d struck it with the practice sword. When it swung back, it was frayed and half-cut through where I’d hit it.
“Not bad,” said Victor. “Try again, and this time make sure the edge of the blade is perpendicular to the rope, and don’t swing quite so hard. Speed, not power.”
The second time wasn’t much better, but after a few more tries I got the hang of it. The last two times the rope parted cleanly, barely moving at all. Victor nodded, satisfied.
“I pronounce you apprentice serpent killer,” he said. “Just don’t get carried away. And Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll be tempted to feel the blade with the ball of your thumb to see exactly how sharp the katana is. Everyone feels that impulse. I’d advise against it.”
AT EIGHT THAT NIGHT, WHEN I MADE MY WAY into Gavagan’s, Bill greeted me from behind the bar. I picked up another Black Rock Porter and a glass, since I hadn’t had time to enjoy the last one I’d got there.
Jessie was at a booth in the back, and as I made my way over toward the booth, Bill gave me a quizzical look. He wasn’t much of a gossip; successful bar owners keep things pretty close to the vest when it comes to the peccadilloes of their customers. But first a public fight with Victor, then a meet-up with a black practitioner? This would surely test his powers of discretion.
Jessie was wearing black jeans and a black top and she made the outfit look slinky. Across from her sat a practitioner I knew slightly, at least by sight, a large balding man with a bushy red beard. He was a black practitioner, I knew, but I’d never had any dealings with him. Next to him sat a middle-aged woman I’d never seen. And next to Jessie was a surprise, a practitioner I knew fairly well. The booth was full, so I pulled up a chair.
“Warren,” I said to the man sitting next to Jessie. “How’s life?”
“Not as easy as it used to be,” he said.
About a year ago Victor and I had busted him pulling a scam on ordinaries, and he was obviously still pissed about it. He’d advertised himself as a life coach, assuring clients that he could change their lives, give them self-confidence, and make them more attractive to the opposite sex.
For all I know, he might have given them some good advice, but that wasn’t all he was doing. After each session, he’d laid a glamour over their appearance, nothing drastic, just enough to make them more attractive. They could have got the same benefit if they’d lost weight and worked out for a year, but that was never going to happen. He also included the opposite of an aversion spell, sort of an attraction spell, very subtle, a nice piece of work, actually.
At least he wasn’t cheating them. They got results. But the spell lasted only a couple of days at most before fading away. So they needed to come back for additional “self-esteem” sessions, after which the bar scene became much easier for them. Warren charged an arm and a leg and people were happy to pay it.
He didn’t see that he was doing anything wrong. “It’s not like I’m hurting anyone,” he’d said. “It’s not a con—they do get what they pay for.”
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